Chapter 176: Swiftbird Light Cavalry

Brilliant sunlight filtered through the dense treetops, casting mottled spots of light upon the ground, where several endearing swift-bird chicks romped and played around a beam of light filtering through the forest. These roly-poly bundles of fluff clustered together, looking utterly adorable. Two young male birds sparred and pecked at each other in a contest for a branch, though the female chicks watching from the side made it clear they were merely displaying their strength to the sisters. When the male leader strode over with a majestic gait, the two young cockerels immediately straightened up and behaved.

Several alchemical militiamen pushed carts close to the flock, and swift-birds of all sizes instantly gathered around. The purple sugarcane leaves in the carts were dumped onto the ground, yet the swift-birds remained indifferent. In particular, the robust swift-leader let out a disgruntled screech, as though urging them for something else. The militiamen popped open a wooden crate, shaking out dozens of plump ground-lizards, and the flock immediately grew excited, chasing the short-legged reptiles as they scurried everywhere. The chubby little swift-birds also toddled closer. The male leader pinned a ground-lizard down with its sturdy talons while driving two impetuous young birds away, and three adult females tore the lizard apart to feed the chirping, hungry chicks.

Up on the high ridge, Victor observed the scene of these fourteen swift-birds feeding and asked Buxor beside him, "How many swift-birds do I have now?"

"My Lord, a total of thirty-seven," Buxor replied.

After sending Sylvia away, Victor did not return to the estate in Estuary Village, heading straight instead to the mountain fortress. Compared to several months ago, Victor's mountain fortress had grown increasingly prosperous.

The mountainous land cleared by the alchemical militia had expanded from the initial eight hundred mu to over two thousand mu. These hillside plots were scattered sporadically around the perimeter of the fortress, primarily growing vegetables and ground-tubers, along with a small quantity of herbs and berries. Aside from sustaining the more than five hundred alchemical humans, this yield could also be transported down to Estuary Village. Because this place was quiet, secluded, and free from external interference, Victor had also instructed Buxor to cultivate Spelt wheat, ground-tubers, and wild greens, hoping to obtain superior seeds. In addition, the alchemical militia had cleared vast stretches of brush to expand the planting areas for oil-wood and dark-gall fruit trees, and he believed that in a few years, the population of these precious trees would multiply significantly.

The alchemical militia farmed more than three thousand ground-lizards, which laid an average of over seven hundred eggs daily. The lizard eggs were consumed by the alchemical humans, while the lizards themselves provided nutrition for the war-hounds and swift-birds. To Victor's pleasant surprise, the first clutch of swift-bird hatchlings had broken out of their shells, bringing the total number of swift-birds to thirty-seven, divided into four distinct groups. According to Buxor, female swift-birds bred once a year, producing one to two eggs per clutch, and it took three years for a chick to reach adulthood. In another year, those young swift-birds would form new tribes, and by that time, the swift population would increase exponentially. Even so, their numbers would still be constrained by the purple sugarcane population; Buxor estimated that the existing purple sugarcane groves could sustain a maximum of eight hundred swift-birds.

"Let's go! Take a look at the weapon workshop."

The smithy on the south side of the mountain fortress had transformed from a crude wooden lean-to into a brick-and-tile weapon workshop. It still lacked perimeter walls, with rock-brick pillars supporting iron-oak roof beams, and the thatch on the roof had been replaced with tiles. A mountain stream cut past the outer edge of the workshop, flowing alongside the facility's wastewater toward the western cliff, forming a small waterfall that plunged into the great marsh. Dozens of alchemical auxiliary workers imbued with forging skills busied themselves endlessly within the workshop. The clanging of hammers striking anvils and the hissing of glowing red iron plunged into cold water rose and fell in an unbroken chorus.

Victor nodded with satisfaction. He maintained two weapon workshops: one visible and one hidden. The visible one was at the hilltop camp, responsible for crafting wooden spears, arrowheads, crossbow bolts, leather armor, and round shields, as well as agricultural tools, stirrups, wagon parts, and other civilian goods. The hidden one was right here, tasked with forging fine-iron chainmail, fine-iron short-spears, fine-iron longswords, thorium crossbows, thorium bolts, and detachable miniature catapults. As long as materials were available, these two workshops could continuously churn out superior equipment to arm Victor's army. Up to now, the fortress storerooms held reserves of two hundred thorium heavy crossbows, three thousand thorium bolts, five hundred standard thorium crossbows, two hundred recurve bows, fifty longbows, two hundred sets of fine-iron chainmail, six hundred fine-iron single-handed spears, and three hundred fine-iron longswords. However, Victor had not come to look at these top-tier arms today.

"Buxor, how are the swift-bird light cavalry equipment sets I ordered you to make coming along?"

Buxor said, "My Lord, we have already crafted one complete set." With that, Buxor unlocked a cabinet and laid the equipment out piece by piece on a long table.

"My Lord, according to your specifications, the light cavalry equipment includes a fine-iron single-handed spear, a fine-iron shortsword, three fine-iron throwing spears, a recurve bow, a thorium crossbow, two quivers, an iron shovel, fine-iron chainmail, an iron-oak round shield, cowhide inner armor, leather gloves, and leather boots. There is also a miscellaneous pouch containing a fire-striker, hemostatic medicine, antidote, paralyzing potion, crude sugar cubes, and silver needles with fine linen thread for suturing wounds."

Victor carefully inspected the light cavalry gear and asked, "Has it been tested? What were the results?"

"It has been tested. This equipment weighs a total of one hundred and forty pounds. Once the alchemical militiamen mount the swift-birds, the birds' speed is reduced by thirty percent, their jumping ability by forty percent, and their running distance by fifty percent. Furthermore, the recurve bow can pierce leather armor within fifty meters and chainmail within sixty meters, falling short of the requirement to inflict lethal damage on elite soldiers at eighty meters."

Victor's territory was vast, filled with rolling hills and four hundred kilometers of mountainous terrain. To control such a vast domain, the forces at Victor's disposal were already sufficient, but that territory in the northern frontier stood isolated and remote, a thousand kilometers away from here. Victor often felt that his reach fell short of his ambitions. To make matters worse, there was Sorren, a neighbor with ill intentions. Victor was deeply worried that Sorren's influence might strike at the free-man merchant caravans heading north. To cope with this situation, he needed a rapid strike force capable of adapting to mountainous terrain.

War-hounds possessed extraordinary mobility, yet they had no effective counter against armored knights. Thus, the swift-bird light cavalry was the optimal choice. Victor's swift-bird light cavalry was designed to intercept knight squads while retaining the ability to leverage terrain to shake off pursuit by silver knights. Yet the weight-bearing capacity of the swift-birds fell short of supporting all this gear. If defensive equipment were reduced, it might once again result in heavy casualties, and the trade-offs could ultimately lead to failure. Frowning, Victor asked, "What is the solution?"

Buxor replied, "Replace the fine-iron single-handed spear with a thorium single-handed spear featuring a round-paulownia wood core, discard the throwing spears, replace the fine-iron chainmail and cowhide inner armor with thorium-leather armor, and swap the recurve bow for a thorium shortbow. That will resolve the issues of weight capacity and insufficient lethality of the recurve bow."

The thorium-leather armor Buxor spoke of was no ordinary cowhide; it was four-centimeter-thick giant-rhinoceros hide. Thorium-leather armor crafted from this giant rhino skin offered flexibility comparable to regular leather armor, weighed less than chainmail, and provided defensive capabilities exceeding plate armor, making it thick enough to withstand volley-fire from crossbows. Yet Victor barely had any cowhide left at present, let alone giant rhinoceros hide.

"Would cowhide not suffice? Can a thorium-leather armor made of three layers of cowhide reinforced with thorium meet the defense requirements against crossbows?" Victor asked helplessly.

"If we use more thorium, cowhide-based armor can meet your requirements, but the weight will exceed that of fine-iron chainmail," Buxor stated rigidly.

"Never mind, we will figure something out regarding the giant rhinoceros hide later. Arrange ten auxiliary soldiers, ten ox-tending militiamen, thirty monkey-spirit militiamen, five war-hounds, and fifteen alchemical crows to establish an outpost in the northernmost mountains of the Centaur Hills," Victor decisively abandoned the notion of using cowhide for thorium-leather armor.

"Understood, My Lord," Buxor nodded and asked, "What are their orders?"

"Build a mountaineer camp, explore the surrounding resources, lie low, and await my command." Just as Victor finished speaking, a militiaman walked over and said, "My Lord, the alchemical crows have brought news from the Warhammer Mercenary Corps."

Victor took the note, read it, and smiled. "Hammer still has some ambition after all."

***

"You're mad! Commander Hammer, you must be out of your mind! We're all going to die!"

"Shut up!"

Fat Wedge curled up in a makeshift trench, trembling violently. The long howls of gnolls and the miserable shrieks of goblins chilled him to the bone. The other free-man merchants fared no better, every single one of them cowering like frightened quails. Having spent their lives mingling in towns and cities, they had never laid eyes on a monster, yet they had certainly heard of the savage reputation of gnolls. Coming into close contact with these man-eating beasts, they realized gnolls were far more terrifying than they had ever imagined.

Wood, the mountaineer chieftain, spoke cautiously, "Commander Hammer, should we rotate those brothers out? They've been on guard for a very long time, and I'm worried they'll collapse from exhaustion."

"Can you shoot those goblins and jackals in the dark? If you can't, lie down and go to sleep. Tonight we rely on these brothers, and tomorrow morning we rely on ourselves!" Hammer lay inside the trench without even opening his eyes.

By the light of the campfire and the moon, Wood saw a mercenary raise a recurve bow and loose an arrow down the slope. A short, sharp shriek echoed from the shadows—a goblin hiding in the dark, stealthily hurling stones, had been struck down. Such terrifying archery caused Wood to swallow hard.

Three days ago, this band of homeless mountaineers had posed a problem for the Warhammer Mercenary Corps. Hammer had originally intended to leave them behind and press on with the journey, but Bull suggested utilizing these mountaineers to establish a supply outpost for the caravan. After discussing it with his two old comrades, Hammer decided to adopt Bull's proposal. They had learned from questioning the old mountaineers that heading east along the mountain forest led straight into the territory of a pack of gnolls, with no other mountain villages beyond. Since the gnolls blocked the road, they had to be thoroughly eradicated; the next caravan would never possess such a powerful lineup. Since they were going to fight the gnolls, they might as well bring these mountaineers along. On one hand, it would bolster their own strength, and once the gnolls were cleared out, these mountaineers could settle here and become the first node along the trade route.

Hammer had informed the mountaineers that joining the mercenary corps meant fighting gnolls, leaving them to choose for themselves. The mountaineers were tough, courageous, and frequently dealt with gnolls, but engaging in open combat against gnolls without fortifications was absolute foolishness. A fierce debate broke out among the mountaineers, but ultimately the elder mountaineer overrode all dissent, deciding to side with the Warhammer Mercenary Corps. The reasoning was simple: refusal meant certain death—either being slaughtered by the lord's army or fighting a battle alongside the mercenary corps, and that pack of gnolls would come for them sooner or later anyway.

Over a hundred men had marched along the outer fringes of the mountain forest for three days, finally leaving the sphere of influence of the Briar family and entering gnoll territory. The alchemical crows had thoroughly scouted the area within a fifty-li radius; roughly thirty-seven gnolls operated in this region, having enslaved a small number of goblins and domesticated a dozen jackals, making their overall strength extremely weak.

Though this pack of gnolls was weak, their knack for fleeing was formidable. The moment they encountered formidable foes, they would scatter in all directions. Hammer had no time to play guerrilla warfare with them—their supplies were already running low, and now over a hundred people needed to be fed. The entire company desperately needed to gather resources and replenish their provisions. After conferring, the three veteran war-bears decided to lure the gnolls in and then annihilate them. Consequently, they selected a relatively open terrain to pitch camp, lighting only a single campfire. That very night, the gnolls took the bait.

This gnoll pack employed tactics no different from their kin: driving goblin slaves to harass the human camp, exhausting the prey so they could find no rest, and then seizing the opportunity to drag away the weakest targets. Yet tonight, they were destined to come away empty-handed. Twenty-five monkey-spirit militiamen armed with recurve bows stood guard around the perimeter of the camp. The goblins' stones bounced harmlessly off the thick leather armor, while the dim night failed to hinder the sharp senses of the monkey-spirit militiamen, whose every arrow claimed the life of a goblin. As dawn began to break, the goblin slaves were practically wiped out, and the gnoll chieftain let out a prolonged howl, signaling a temporary retreat to await the coming of the next night.

Hammer climbed out of the trench and asked Jerry, the monkey-spirit militiaman on night watch, "Jerry, do you lads want to rest for a bit? Shall we march in at noon and wipe out those beasts?"

Jerry replied, "Commander, we don't need rest. We're ready for combat at any time."

"Bull, where are those beasts right now?" Hammer turned his head to ask Bull.

Bull glanced at the alchemical crows circling in the sky and said, "Northeast, in the woods two kilometers away. There are also three gnolls nearby observing our movements."

"Take out the gnoll scouts, and let's encircle them!"