Abyss Summoner-Chapter 349 - 340: Battle of Vengeance

There weren’t many living creatures to be seen on the desolate plains.

A magic-imbued rat stood on a dirt slope, gazing into the distance. It seemed to sense something, shuddered, and quickly burrowed underground.

A team approached from afar.

Soon, they revealed their appearance—Half-Beastmen with cat ears and tails. This tribe, which used to hide in the corners, hoping no one would find them, now boldly walked on the land.

"Bang!"

With a loud noise, a shadow-hidden Demon Hunting Spider was struck and fell in an arc directly to the ground.

A female from the Cat Race panted heavily, calming herself as she touched the gun in her hand. Her eyes revealed undisguised fondness and excitement.

Guns.

These were weapons not found in the Abyss.

Compared to cutting open an enemy’s body with a knife, the advent of guns greatly reduced the dangers of close combat for the tribesmen. One hundred and fifty people, each wearing transported Insect Armor, wielded edged weapons, and carried hot weapons loaded with bullets.

They fought all the way.

Confidence was that simple. Flora still felt like it was a dream. Ever since the effectiveness of guns was demonstrated, her tribesmen had been eager to try them.

After a brief rest, a small team of one hundred and fifty set out on the path of revenge.

Confidence derived from weaponry.

The appearance of guns gave the tribesmen an unprecedented sense of security.

Flora walked alongside them. Without her even needing to act, her tribesmen started from creeping around to taking the initiative to attack.

A Demon Hunting Spider lay dead on the ground.

Flora glanced at the corpse on the ground but found nothing of value, so she soon continued on her way forward.

After walking some distance,

the ground began to show obvious footprints, indicating more creatures were active nearby. Flora suddenly halted, then waved her hand, signaling people to follow her.

Her gaze was fixed forward.

In the dim light, an established camp came into view.

Kobold camp.

Kobolds love to wear clothes in shades of red and orange, with rat-like tails. Their language sounds like a dog’s bark, often leading others to think of them as clowns. Underestimating them, however, can be fatal, as Kobolds make up for their shortcomings in size and strength with brutality and stubbornness.

Despite their small stature and lack of individual strength, they are actually a very dangerous species.

Ordinary Kobolds use melee attack methods. Like lizards, Kobolds are egg-laying, reach a height of about 3 feet (nearly a meter) as adults, have scaly skin that ranges from dark rust to pale black, and smell like wet dogs or stagnant water. Their eyes resemble two bright red spots with 60-foot infrared vision, which is impaired in bright sunlight. Their small horns atop their head can be white to brownish.

They speak their own language, and 75% speak Beastman and Goblin languages.

In combat, they often exploit their numerical advantage or employ various simple strategies. Kobolds particularly hate gnomes and will attack any within sight, although they will reconsider attacking humans, elves, and dwarves, usually engaging them only if they outnumber them two to one. They prefer to throw javelins and spears at enemies and close in only after ensuring their target’s strength is weakened. They also despise Casters and will target them whenever possible.

This small race also enjoys setting traps filled with spikes, crossbows, or other mechanical devices. Near the traps, they typically have observation windows and killer chambers, enabling them to pour oil, shoot weapons, or drop toxic insects on those caught in their traps.

Kobold battle teams are armed with maces, axes, javelins, short swords, and spears. Their shields are rarely metal, usually wooden or wicker. The leaders and guards use somewhat better weapons.

One can say that Kobolds have no mental burden and are far from being honorable. For them, any method is acceptable as long as it can kill the enemy.

This was a Kobold camp, with numbers between 600-700, similar to the Cat Race, but they had often suffered oppression from the other side in the past.

Why?

Kobolds are a very complex tribe, servile to the strong but savage and cruel to the weak. Without a doubt, in the eyes of Kobolds, the Cat Race was a pushover.

Perhaps due to genetics, even a young Kobold follows its elders into battle at an early age. For them, killing is as easy as drinking water.

Nearby, there are three Kobold camps, and this one was undoubtedly the weakest. Flora’s target was to train troops and familiarize them, starting with a weaker stronghold to greatly increase the chances of success.

There was no need to hesitate.

Flora squinted her eyes, pointed the gun at a guard Kobold, and slowly pressed the trigger until she heard a sound.

"Bang!"

The Kobold let out a scream, alerting the nearby guards, and the camp sounded alarms, clearly attempting to prepare a defense.

"Woo woo..."

Faced with Flora’s surprise attack, the Kobolds’ first reaction was not to encircle the enemy but to howl and call for their companions.

After all, their tribesman died too strangely, without an arrow in their face, yet as if struck with a stone, half their face was blown apart.

A few Kobolds stood on the tower, seemingly searching for the enemy’s hiding place, with several pairs of eyes constantly peering into the bushes.

Flora raised her hand, aimed the gun barrel at the reinforcements, and pressed the trigger in the same manner. This time, the opponent’s head exploded directly.

Panic boiled.

Unaware of the situation, two companions had died in this way, causing the Kobolds to become restless. They vowed to kill these detestable night creatures.

"Creak..."

The door opened, and a group of ferocious Kobolds emerged from inside, roughly a hundred strong.

These Kobolds were the elites of the camp. Once they were taken down, the stronghold would be half-captured.

"Finally, they’ve come out."

Flora observed everything before her and perhaps due to spending time with Chen Feng, a cold smile unknowingly appeared at the corner of her mouth in such a situation.

"Begin."

With a command, the Cat Race members aimed their guns at the enemy. Some even unbuttoned their clothes, revealing several high-explosive grenades hanging on their chests, which appeared somewhat glaring.

It wouldn’t be long before these Kobolds would understand what true despair meant!

...............