Reincarnation Paradise Park-Chapter 787: Revised - 18: The Meeting

At the top of the Black Soil Fortress, inside a house built of obsidian.

The stone house covers an area of about a hundred square meters. A circular stone table is placed at the center, with a blazing flame at its core, casting a dim glow over the interior.

The stone house is filled with orcs, dwarves, goblins, and a few trolls. They either stand or sit, shouting loudly. The hot-tempered dwarves occasionally roar in anger, and the orcs, not to be outdone, bellow back with booming voices. This is the tribal council meeting.

Bang, bang, bang!

A troll, about four meters tall, bangs on the stone table, trying to stop the quarreling dwarves and orcs.

Around the stone table sit several leaders from the Black Soil Battle Zone: a burly minotaur, the Mountain Dwarf King, a goblin inventor, and the troll who was just banging the table. This troll is a Frost Troll, a rare spellcaster among trolls.

These four are the supreme commanders of the Black Soil Fortress. There’s no hierarchy among them; important decisions require discussion at meetings.

Behind these four are their respective tribe members. Those who can enter this stone house are the high-ranking members of the tribal army.

As the Frost Troll bangs the stone table, the interior of the stone house quiets down a bit.

"Silence!"

The Frost Troll is visibly furious. To him, everyone in the stone house, except the Troll Tribe, is just a rabble.

"Hmph."

The nearby Mountain Dwarf King snorts coldly. He shares the same sentiment; to him, everyone except the dwarves in the stone house is worthless.

"We need unity. Our lack of unity is the main reason we can’t defeat the Imperial debris."

The leader of the orcs in the Black Soil Battle Zone, Minotaur Amst, sighs. Though he looks rough, he has the best temperament among the four present.

"Yes, unity."

A sharp voice says. A goblin inventor, wearing a golden crown and with at least twenty rings on his ten fingers, speaks up. These rings are not just for show; all his skills are contained within them.

Goblins are like fence-sitters; they won’t make active proposals. They lean towards whichever side has more people.

"The Empire’s army is about to attack, you all heard the calls. In the last battle, the orcs suffered heavy casualties, so this time, they can’t be the vanguard again."

The Frost Troll nods at Minotaur Amst, who feels a warmth in his heart, silently noting the Frost Troll’s goodwill.

"If they aren’t the vanguard, who will be? The dwarves? There are many of them."

The goblin inventor, realizing something is amiss, quickly shifts blame to the Dwarf Clan.

"Shut your pig-stench mouth! If our dwarves suffer massive casualties, are you going to fight with wooden sticks?"

The fiery-tempered Dwarf King slams the table and glares.

"If you’re not going, should we goblins go...?"

"Good idea."

"Indeed."

"I agree with this opinion."

Before the goblin inventor finishes speaking, the other three all look at him. The work style of the goblins really annoys others. In all past battles, they’ve always stayed at the very back.

"Impossible."

The goblin inventor firmly rejects. Using orcs as cannon fodder has almost become a tradition.

"The enemy is about to attack, and we can’t even select a vanguard. Sigh."

The Frost Troll sighs deeply. This is why the tribal army, despite being more than three times the size of the Empire’s army, has always lived on the edge of the continent.

It’s inevitable though. There are inherent conflicts between the various races on the tribal side. Even when forced to ally due to the Empire’s pressure and harsh living conditions, they can’t select a Great Chief, unless that Great Chief is a four-race half-blood, then there might be a slight possibility.

Additionally, it’s very difficult for the royal families of the tribal races to intermarry. Imagine, a female goblin marrying a troll. The prospect of the wedding night would be what? It’s not exaggeration to say "straight to the stomach," that’s not marriage, that’s murder. As for other races combining with female trolls, that’s also impossible. Female trolls can’t bear offspring with other races; this conclusion is based on numerous experiments.

Orcs, goblins, and dwarves all have instances of intermarriage, and they’ve produced decent offspring. However, the troll aspect remains an unbreakable barrier.

Moreover, even if a four-race half-blood is born, subsequent troubles will continue, so the tribal side directly adopts a parliamentary system.

The advantage of the parliamentary system is that it reduces conflicts between races; each race holds power. The downside is that making decisions on something takes too long, such as deciding which race should be the vanguard for defending the Black Soil Fortress.

"The situation is urgent. We’ll act as the vanguard," the Troll Tribe steps forward.

"No way."

The goblin inventor is the first to oppose.

"Frost, do you want your tribe to be exterminated?"

The Dwarf King withdraws his fiery temper. The Troll Tribe’s fertility rate is already low. If the Troll Tribe suffers massive casualties, it would be a severe blow to the tribe.

"We have no other choice..."

"We’ll be the vanguard then," Minotaur Amst rises, his figure somewhat despondent. He looks over the three others present.

"My fellow tribesmen, the day we unite will be the day the Imperial debris meets their end. Until then, we can only hide in Chimney Mountain."

Amst gets up to leave. He pushes open the door and ducks under the doorway to exit the stone house. The remaining three leaders inside the stone house fall silent.

Just after stepping out of the stone house, Amst feels the fortress underfoot gently trembling.

Boom, boom, boom...

The march of hundreds of thousands causes slight tremors in the ground.

"They’ve arrived so quickly, as expected of Border Blood Lion Carlos."

Amst walks to the edge of the city wall and looks down. By the moonlight, he sees the army half a kilometer away.

In front of the army, a man riding a horse, clad in blood-red armor, catches Amst’s attention.

"Is that... Carlos!?"

Amst shakes his head in disbelief, and blinks his eyes. After several seconds of confirmation, he is sure. That’s Border Blood Lion Carlos.

"This guy, is he insane..."

Amst begins to feel uneasy, very uneasy. He rushes back into the stone house, accidentally knocking off a piece of obsidian from the doorframe with his horns.

With a muffled thud, Amst bursts into the stone house. The three leaders inside are caught off guard.

"Amst, what’s this about...?"

The Frost Troll senses something is wrong with Amst’s expression.

"The Empire’s army is attacking."

Amst’s face twitches.

"Tch~"

The goblin inventor sneers, laughing at Amst’s current sorry state. Isn’t it just the Imperial army coming? It’s something it has seen countless times.

"The Border Blood Lion Carlos is leading the charge."

"What!?"

The three leaders stand up simultaneously.

"This isn’t good."

"Has Carlos lost his mind? If he dies..."

"Nonsense, with Border Blood Lion Carlos personally leading the charge, just imagine how high the Imperial soldiers’ morale will be once the battle starts."

All four tribal leaders realize the gravity of the situation.

"Frost, we should find an opportunity to take him out."

Amst lets out a puff of white breath from his bull nose.

"Alright."

The Frost Troll gets up. In the orc and troll tribes, only the strong can be leaders. The strong are the royal family, and their royal families aren’t inherited by bloodline, but by ability.

"Count me in. Everyone knows Carlos’ strength, and besides, the Dark Night Elf Princess is surely nearby. Rumor has it those two have a thing."

The Mountain Dwarf King sneers.

"No, if you leave, who will command the defense of the Black Soil Fortress?"

Amst firmly rejects.

"What am I, decoration? Sometimes brains work better than muscle. If the Dark Night Elf Princess really is near Carlos, then he’s doomed."

The goblin inventor smirks, as if victory is already in hand.