Because there were elders and children in the group, the wildlings did not withdraw quickly.
They could only struggle south along the snowy path the Slimes had carved at the edge of the northern coniferous forest. The elders were wrapped in thick hides and leaned on wooden staffs, while the children were carried on the backs of strong tribesmen, their cheeks raw and red from the cold, but they gritted their teeth and no one cried.
Their destination was a northern post station about half a day’s travel to the south.
It was a makeshift outpost the Slime Kingdom had set up to maintain communications and material transfer in the North. There were a few log-and-gel reinforced houses and a crude beast pen that housed more than a dozen swamp monitor lizards and draft animals wrapped in thick hides.
These tamed lizards were enormous, with thick limbs and broad paws suited to trudging through snow. They could carry several people or a load of supplies on their backs, and they were the Slimes’ primary mounts in the north.
When the exhausted migration finally arrived at the station, Slime messengers who had already received word immediately sprang into action. They helped the elders and children onto the lizards’ backs, secured them with straps, and handed out hot soup and hard bread.
The lizards exhaled frosty breaths and shifted their claws uneasily, but under the soothing of the Slime animal trainers they quickly calmed.
All the robust wildlings, both men and women, stayed behind at the station. They watched the lizard-mounted groups carrying their kin push off along a more concealed trail toward the southern safety zone.
They waved vigorously until the silhouettes of their loved ones vanished into the vast snowy forest, then the tenderness and reluctance on their faces was swiftly replaced by steely resolve.
The wildling people were unusual.The harsh environment had honed their bodies; gender differences in strength and endurance were not as pronounced as among humans. It was common in the tribe to see towering female wildlings with bulging muscles who could snap a caribou’s neck barehanded.
As long as they were in their prime, wildlings—male or female—were essentially born warriors, boasting explosive power, cold resistance, and pain tolerance far beyond ordinary humans. In wildling culture, women were not symbols of weakness; they could grasp stone axes or bone spears and stand shoulder to shoulder with men on the front lines, fighting to the death for the tribe’s survival.
Yet the wildlings’ wisdom and generations of experience taught them that raw flesh and courage alone, in open melee, could hardly overcome the more brutal, ferocious orcs.
Fortunately, wildlings had their own cunning. Beyond their warrior physiques, they possessed survival smarts honed by their unforgiving environment.
As early as this past summer, Molok, relying on his veteran hunter’s experience and knowledge of orc movement patterns, predicted the orcs might head south this year.
So, with the Slimes’ help, they spent the entire autumn and early winter carefully setting traps along the main snowy routes.
Those traps weren’t limited to simple snares and pits; they included compound traps using terrain and simple mechanical devices, and even more terrifying magic traps.
Especially this post station: set up as a bait and ambush point, it was surrounded by the deadliest set of magical traps.
If the orcs were lured here and triggered the traps, even if it couldn’t completely stop the legion’s advance, it would inflict significant casualties and severely blunt the legion’s momentum.
This was the wildlings’ counterattack.
They were striking back not only at the southbound orcs, but at the humiliating history of being driven and enslaved by those beasts for generations.
It was time to bid farewell to past weakness and flight. They wanted to tell those green-skinned brutes that wildlings were not to be trifled with.
“Teacher Jiggu, how are the traps holding up? Any spots crushed by the snow or frozen solid?” Molok lay in the snow on the post station’s roof, exposing only his eyes and half his head. He watched and whispered to the green Slime beside him who was also lying prone.
That blob named Jiggu was actually Molok’s close-combat and weapons instructor.
If we talk purely about warrior skills and combat techniques, even the strong, enduring wildlings couldn’t match Jiggu.
Almost any tribe member who yearned to improve their fighting ability would become Jiggu’s student and train with it in their spare time.
As for why such a formidable slime like Jiggu would stay at a bitter northern post station, Slimes privately guessed it was because their master’s personality was... overly cautious—hardly bold—and so His Majesty sent it there for seasoning.
Jiggu wanted to spring up instinctively, but since they were on a stealth mission and in front of a student, it forced itself to maintain the image of “mature and steady Instructor Molok.” It only squeezed its gel body slightly and said calmly:
“Hmph, there are formation nodes set with Gray Gravel Crystal out there. Not even that big blanket of snow can mess them up. Even if those barbaric green skins rush through, they’ll be slowed down enough to buy you time to retreat.”
“Watch how I use the traps to teach those rude savages a lesson.”
Big words were out, but then it grew a little worried. It flattened itself even more to avoid being spotted by possible orc scouts and asked in a low voice, “Um... are you sure those big dogs can’t run fast in this terrain? I heard they’re dangerous in the snow.”
Molok nodded with certainty and explained softly, “Those frost wolves are good at running across open plains and gentle woods, but this is the border between conifer forest and tundra. The terrain is more complex, and we know it better.”
“And we laid so many traps and obstacles along the way; they definitely can’t keep up with the heavily laden swamp monitor lizards. Don’t worry, Teacher Jiggu.”
Jiggu relaxed a little, its gel body wobbling slightly, a few delighted little bubbles rising from its belly.
But it soon recalled something and again lowered its voice to ask, “By the way, any news from the snowy mountains? I remember Lord Sekashi sent back word via messenger bird that the trial was nearly complete?”
Molok shook his head, worry on his face. “Lord Sekashi and Lady Semiaya last sent a messenger bird three days ago and there’s been no movement since.”
“If they were on the way back and happened to run into the southbound orc legion...”
Jiggu gave a round little nudge with its gelatinous belly against Molok’s arm, huffing, “What do you know? The King said Lord Sekashi went to complete an Extraordinary trial; when she returns she’ll be an even more powerful Extraordinary Lizardfolk.”
“Just a bunch of orcs... hmph.”
“Wait, Teacher Jiggu, movement!” Molok, whose senses were sharp, suddenly hushed. He immediately noticed motion at the edge of the forest not far away.
A cloud of snow dust rose there, but it was not on the main trail; it came from a rougher, harder-to-traverse patch of woods beside it.
It seemed the orcs had grown cautious after suffering enough from traps during their tracking and no longer dared to advance along the Kingdom road.
Soon, the orc legion’s frost-wolf cavalry scouts burst from the forest first, followed by a mass of orc warriors running on foot.
Many of them bore injuries—some clutched bloodied, ragged arms, others had filthy cloths covering one eye, blood seeping through their fingers.
They had evidently taken hits from traps set by the wildlings while crossing the snowwood.
“Teacher Jiggu, they’re coming.”
Molok whispered, then carefully scooped up Jiggu and slid down the roof via a prearranged rope ladder on the other side.
Inside the station, the other wildling warriors on guard were already in position, gripping weapons, holding their breath, waiting for the orcs to enter the final trap ring.
From now on,
these beasts would be the prey.
.....