The first rays of dawn pierced through the clouds.
The Alchemy Legion, led by the Grand Artificer and four Goblin Elders, crushed across the land like a tide of steel.
As one of the Four Great Tribes that emerged from countless clans in The Borderlands, their profound foundation was fully displayed during war.
The most numerous Flesh Tearer Golems in the legion formed the vanguard, each step shaking the earth, followed by Steel Tearers, Earth-Splitting Raging Flames, and other Advanced models—fewer in number, elite golems.
Beyond these, mechanical beasts carrying giant heavy cannons Advanced with heavy steps.
Grand Artificer Scott stood atop one of the mechanical beasts.
He was the highest-ranked Alchemist of the Golden Tooth Tribe, and his Alchemy skills, while not top-tier, could still earn some acclaim even in the Southern Federation.
He was now over two hundred years old.
Among Goblins, whose average lifespan was eighty, he was absolutely an old monster.
However, his appearance showed no signs of age; he still looked like a young adult Goblin.
Unlike other Goblins' exaggerated facial expressions, Scott's face remained as calm as a mask. This unusual steadiness, coupled with his long life, had made him a 'Legend' in the eyes of his tribe's people.
When Scott was born, the Golden Tooth Tribe had already discovered the Black Oil Field, gaining resources for rising, but they still lacked foundational power. They had to be careful, hiding and developing slowly. At that time, the Golden Tooth Clan was like a beggar holding gold—ecstatic at the windfall, yet terrified of covetous powerful neighbors.
Unlike other Goblins,
Scott, after gradually understanding this world, became obsessed with Alchemy.
He wanted to know the composition of stone, why metal could move, and what the essence of the world was. He had too many questions, too much curiosity.
A desire to explore and a thirst for knowledge.
Combined with excellent talent,
Scott unsurprisingly became an Alchemist. He Advanced in Rank quickly, acted decisively, and implemented ideas immediately. With enough time and Materials, he could even handcraft a mecha. He soon became the leader of the Golden Tooth Clan.
After discovering a broader world, he thought that if he had been born in the Goblin Kingdom of the Lothern Federation, he might have had an even broader future.
Becoming a true Legend might not have been impossible.
But Scott ultimately did not abandon the Golden Tooth Clan.
Leading a weak clan in The Borderlands to develop and grow, step by step toward glory, was also a Legendary feat. He was determined to lead the Golden Tooth Clan through thorns and brambles.
At that time, the Golden Tooth Clan was weak, afraid to reveal the existence of black oil, and even dared not to mine it.
As an Advanced Alchemist, Scott could handcraft mechas, but it took a long time, and they couldn't be mass-produced, so they couldn't become the true backbone of the Golden Tooth Clan.
Thus, Scott went all in, forcefully smashing the heads of all dissenters.
He nearly exhausted the entire Golden Tooth Clan's savings to buy yellowed mecha blueprints and an old, rusty Flesh Tearer from merchants.
He studied day and night, gradually fully analyzing the structure of the Flesh Tearer.
After a year, the first Flesh Tearer assembly line was built under his leadership.
From then on,
The furnace in the workshop never went out.
The Golden Tooth Clan finally had reliable armed forces.
Gradually,
One Mecha Golem after another came into being.
Under Scott's careful teaching and guidance, Goblin Alchemists also sprang up like mushrooms after rain.
The Golden Tooth Clan gradually developed into the Golden Tooth Tribe. Even the Serpentfolk, their natural enemies, gradually stopped recklessly hunting and eating Goblins.
As for Scott, he had originally reached the end of his lifespan, frail and aged.
But after a period of seclusion, he came back to life, reborn in the form of a young adult. The other Goblins never learned the specific details.
The tribe's Alchemists whispered among themselves.
Some said he had transformed himself into a perfect humanoid construct, while others claimed to have seen him drink an elixir of longevity refined from black oil, but all speculation ended under Scott's cold gaze.
At this moment,
Bathed in the strands of dawn light, Scott gazed at the approaching southwestern border, his face still expressionless.
As time gradually passed,
The legion crossed the border.
The Molten Iron Tribe's border outposts bore the brunt.
An outpost guarded by many Gnolls and Kobolds was the first to taste the Alchemy Legion's fury. Mecha Golem artillery blasted the watchtower, and chainswords tore through weak flesh.
The tide of steel rolled over the outpost, steadily advancing toward the Fertile Plains.
Along the way, the Alchemy Legion faced many harassing attacks from the Molten Iron Tribe, but these attacks were insignificant to them. All incoming monsters were crushed by Mecha Golems and Alchemy heavy cannons.
Steel ground the broken bodies into bloody mud.
The Golden Tooth Tribe's legion shattered line after line of defense, and their banners appeared at the edge of the Fertile Plains.
The movement of the large-scale legion was noisy. The Molten Iron Tribe's defenders were already waiting in force on the Fertile Plains. Young Dragons and the Wyvern Swarm circled in the sky, while on the ground, a legion composed of Centaurs, Ogres, Gnolls, Kobolds, Grey-mane Werewolves, and other creatures stood ready.
"Attack!"
The Grand Artificer gave the order coldly.
The noon sun scorched the iron armor. The Golden Tooth Tribe's tide of steel charged toward the Molten Iron Tribe's defense line, the steel golems advancing in unison, each step shaking the ground.
At the same time, the voices of the golem operators rang out through loudspeakers.
The Goblin warriors following around the golems also shouted together.
[The furnace is our sanctuary, the wrench is the scepter of prayer!]
[black oil boils in our veins, gears sing in our chests!]
[Crush those flesh-and-blood bodies!]
[When bronze rust stains the earth red, civilization truly grows!]
The Goblins' voices were unpleasant—shrill, harsh, and discordant. Some were as sharp as steel nails scraping glass, others as hoarse as a grinding wheel on scrap iron. Yet, they eerily wove together above the battlefield, merging with the heavy steps of the Alchemy Golems and the roar of engines, gradually forming an overwhelming sense of pressure.
[Gold coins! Gold coins! Pave the road to heaven!]
[Dismantle everything! Dismantle everything! Even the ribs of gods are priced!]
[Today, write poetry with cannonballs; tomorrow, refine steel from enemy camps!]
[The Grand Artificer's smile is the dawn of a new world!]
The Goblins sang loudly, their bodies trembling slightly, their eyes shining with excitement, their morale unprecedentedly high.
"They're indeed not ordinary Goblins anymore, to have such morale."
Garros narrowed his eyes, thinking that the Molten Iron Tribe also needed a war song.
"Facing the Golden Tooth Tribe's Alchemy Legion head-on, we might still win, but the losses would be severe."
"However, we've been prepared for a long time."
Iron Dragon Sorog's voice sounded directly in Garros's mind through mental connection.
Then, the war began.
The Young Dragons seemed to fear the Alchemy Legion, not daring to land or act rashly. They only circled timidly in the sky, occasionally using some long-range skills with limited lethality, mostly ignorable, including the previously ferocious Red-Iron Dragon.
Facing the morale-boosting, pressing Alchemy Legion,
The Molten Iron warriors couldn't resist the steel edge. They fought and retreated, paying the price of many Gnolls and Kobolds, plus a few elites, before temporarily withdrawing from their base on the Fertile Plains. A considerable number were routed and scattered.
The Fertile Plains, as its name suggested, was a fertile and abundant land.
In the entire southwest, the Fertile Plains was the richest in various resources.
Having captured the core territory of the southwest, the Goblins—as greedy and stingy as Dragonkin—naturally wouldn't give it up.
In the previous war, the Molten Iron Tribe had suffered repeated defeats. Abandoning the Fertile Plains almost meant giving up the southwest, and they likely wouldn't make a comeback anytime soon.
"Set up camp here! Build a base."
The Grand Artificer gave the order.
Immediately, on the battlefield where the smoke had not yet cleared, Goblin engineers busied themselves like an ant colony.
Amid the roar of steam shovels, quick-setting concrete poured into the trenches like gray blood. Temporary walls grew at a visible rate. The wreckage of destroyed golems was quickly dismantled and reassembled—the rotating saw blades of Flesh Tearers were modified into meat grinders on the walls, and the torsos of Steel Tearers became watchtower bases.
A month gradually passed.
During this time, the Molten Iron Tribe organized counterattacks time and again, trying to retake the Fertile Plains, but were repelled by the Goblins. The intensity of their attacks gradually weakened, with fewer monsters coming each time, as if they were about to give up entirely.
During this period,
Because there were many Alchemists in the legion, the Golden Tooth Tribe's base had taken shape.
However, this project had consumed a lot of the Goblins' resources. Their carried supplies were running low, nearly exhausted. But logistical support was already on the way and would arrive soon, so it was not a major issue.
It was now deep night, the darkness thickening.
Grand Artificer Scott and several Goblin Elders were discussing the next battle plan.
Driving the Molten Iron Tribe from the Fertile Plains was just the first step. They wanted to completely eradicate them and bring the southwest under control.
Suddenly,
A Goblin scout hurriedly entered the temporary camp.
"Grand Artificer, we've discovered an Abyssal Rift!"
Having gradually gained a foothold on the Fertile Plains, the Goblin scouts had explored further and found the existence of the Abyssal Rift.
Except for Scott, the several Goblin Elders all changed expression simultaneously.
An Abyssal Rift?
On the Fertile Plains?
There was actually a hot potato here! Wait... something seemed off.
A Goblin Elder frowned and muttered, "We defeated the Molten Iron Tribe, but thinking about it carefully, they scattered too quickly... as if... it was an orderly retreat."
"In their subsequent counterattacks, they seemed to lack the determination to retake the Fertile Plains, often making brief contact and then quickly withdrawing."
Considered cunning and sly,
The Goblin race was actually quite intelligent. Coming back to their senses from the previous victory, the Goblin Elders felt a chill inside, gradually noticing those suspicious details.
"The Molten Iron Tribe paid a bloody price."
"But the vast majority of those who died were those insignificant Gnolls and Kobolds."
Another Goblin Elder's breathing grew heavy as he said, "The elites—Centaur, Ogres, Wyvern Swarm—suffered very few casualties. The Dragonkin that dominate the Molten Iron Tribe are completely unscathed."
After a brief silence,
The Goblin Elders simultaneously felt a chilling crisis.
"A trap, it's a trap."
"The Molten Iron Tribe used the entire Fertile Plains as bait to set a trap!"
"Their recent attacks have been infrequent, as if they're waiting for something to brew."
The Goblin Elders realized the severity belatedly: "Damn, it's the supplies. They're waiting for our supplies to run out! Speed up the logistics convoy! Send more golems to escort!"
However,
Their reaction was a step too late.
Before the escort could arrive, bad news came from the logistics convoy first.
They had been attacked, and by a Dragon Lord in person.
On a route between the Black Iron Plain and the Fertile Plains, a Red Dragon and a White Dragon swooped low, spewing flames and frost respectively, melting or freezing the Mecha Golems escorting the supplies. Iron Dragon Sorog also tore open a golem's chest.
Soon, the last golem was reduced to scrap under the Red-Iron Dragon.
From the start of the attack to the end, it took less than ten minutes.
"The Goblins reveled in the illusion of defeating us Dragonkin."
"Little did they know, the real prey was themselves."
The Iron Dragon grinned.
Garros turned to look toward the Fertile Plains and said slowly, "The real decisive battle begins now."
Meanwhile,
On the Fertile Plains, the Grand Artificer decisively ordered a retreat.
The Goblin warriors, who had been gloating over the occupation of the fertile territory, were puzzled and confused by the abrupt retreat order.
But they soon understood the reason.
Before they had retreated far, monsters appeared all over the mountains and fields.
They did not immediately engage in battle but followed the Alchemy Legion at a distance, watching menacingly.
Only when the Alchemy Legion withdrew from the Fertile Plains did the Centaurs begin their charge.
By then, the Goblins were short on supplies, their rations reduced, and most were hungry. They still had plenty of black oil, but they could no longer squander it freely. The Mecha Golems, lacking sufficient maintenance, could not perform at full capacity.
The Molten Iron warriors were the exact opposite.
They were fierce and aggressive, unleashing all the pent-up ferocity at once, like a beast that had been hungry for a long time, baring its fangs.
A resounding war song rose again, but it was not the Goblin war song; it came from the Molten Iron Tribe.
[Lava flows in the veins, flames burn between the teeth]
[What we want is not victory—]
[If we fight, we smash the skull!]
[If we kill, we kill until the rivers of blood run dry!]
Realizing that the war song could greatly boost morale, the Molten Iron Tribe had hastily composed one overnight.
Centaur, Ogre, Gnoll, and many other monsters shouted simultaneously, their roars and howls, the pounding of iron hooves on the earth, and the rhythm of weapons striking shields weaving into a wave of sound that shot into the night sky.
[Fight, fight for the Dragon Lord!]
[Every wound is a medal! Every drop of blood is fine wine!]
[But is that enough?]
[No!]
[Then tear open more chests! Smash more spines!]
[Until the moon hides in fear behind blood clouds, until the sun dims!]
Different creatures, different voices, merged into the same war song. The sound waves soared into the sky, shaking the Goblins' hearts and livers.
The Molten Iron Tribe's morale soared as they pressed forward step by step.
The Alchemy Legion's morale rapidly declined as they retreated continuously.
At this moment, it was just like that moment before.
But the difference was that the Alchemy Legion's retreat was not pre-planned; it was forced, and their mobility was inferior to the Molten Iron Tribe's.
Want to flee? Too late.
×=×
15PS = 1 Extra Chapter. ✓
30PS = 2 Extra Chapters. ✓
50Ps= 3 Extra Chapters.✓
75PS = 4 Extra Chapters. ✓
100Ps = 5 Extra Chapters.