Deus Necros

Chapter 740: Organized Troops

“Good,” Ludwig said as he recognized the spirit of the warriors who were willing to risk their lives for a chance at a better life.

The words came out simple, but the moment carried weight. In the Safe Lands, people had learned to smile at the edge of a cage and call it freedom. This, this restless readiness, the way hands tightened around weapons and eyes stopped drifting toward mugs, meant the lie was breaking.

Ludwig could read it in their posture: orcs rolling shoulders like they were waking up from a long boredom, ogres standing straighter as if they’d remembered what their bodies were built for, goblins fidgeting with tools and dart tubes, pretending they weren’t afraid.

Even the lizardmen, usually cautious in groups, looked less like prey today and more like something that had decided it would bite first if cornered.

“Now, let’s head down by the river. We have to force them to confront us on our own terms,” Ludwig said as he moved past the groups of different races dwelling in the mountain.

He didn’t wait for applause or chants. He simply started walking, and that alone pulled the group into motion.

The settlement’s warm noise fell behind them as they threaded between huts and torchlines, stepping through the invisible boundaries that separated “safe” from “real.” The air outside felt colder despite the rising sun, damp with fog that clung to armor seams and the edges of clothing.

Ludwig kept his gaze ahead, already placing the battle in his mind: where they could funnel, where they could retreat, where they could bleed the Red King’s numbers without letting his mass swallow them whole.

The troops followed him as he began delegating tasks, “Goblins, you guys are quite nimble, but unfortunately, you don’t pack enough power,” he said. It wasn’t derogatory, nor was it demeaning to them; it was facts.

The goblins bristled anyway, out of instinct more than pride. Small bodies always resented being reminded they were small. Ludwig didn’t soften it with flattery. Flattery got misunderstood as permission. Facts kept people in their lane, and lanes kept armies from collapsing into chaos.

“So, I’ll require you guys to work supply, help the wounded, and if need be, harass and disrupt the enemy. You can use poisoned arrows?” Ludwig asked.

He spoke while counting faces. Not just goblins, but which goblins, who looked steady, who looked twitchy, who was already scanning for exits. Supply mattered. Wounded mattered. Harassment mattered most when your enemy outmassed you. If the goblins could peel off a few red orcs, distract, slow, force mistakes, they’d be worth more than any heroic charge.

“We have this,” one of the goblins showed Ludwig a long tube-like instrument.

The goblin held it with careful pride, like a craftsman presenting a tool that had kept him alive long enough to earn the right to be smug about it. The tube looked simple, hollow, smooth, worn where lips had met it too many times. Ludwig’s eyes narrowed. Simple tools were often the most dangerous because people underestimated them.

“A blow dart?” Ludwig asked.

“Silent and deadly, well, to most races, we use this in wars.” The goblin said.

The goblin’s grin was thin and sharp, the grin of someone who didn’t win fights by being bigger. Ludwig nodded once, already imagining darts appearing from brush and fog, not enough to kill red orcs outright, maybe, but enough to make them stumble, to make them twitch, to make them turn at the wrong moment while an ogre’s blade came down.

“Good, use them. What sort of poison do you have in the darts?”

“From hallucinogens to paralyzing to deadly.” The goblin said.

“Perfect, use them all. I’ll delegate missions to you if need be.”

Ludwig didn’t bother asking for quantities. They’d use what they had. This wasn’t a campaign with supply lines and careful rationing.

This was a scramble against a monster that learned faster each cycle. Better to spend poison now than die with it still neatly packed.

“Now, lizardmen, we’ll be fighting near a water body, so I suppose that’s your terrain of advantage.”

He turned his head toward them as he spoke, watching how their eyes tracked the river line on the map in their minds. Lizardmen didn’t just like water. Water changed how their bodies performed, their stamina, speed, and the way they could move without wasting energy. If the battlefield shifted toward the river, they’d stop looking like cautious survivors and start looking like something predatory. Ludwig needed that.

“The mountain is almost surrounded by water; if the orcs walk through it, we’ll have the upper hand.” One of the Lizardmen said.

“Good to know,” Ludwig said.

He tucked the detail away immediately. If the Red King’s army came straight through the river, the lizardmen could punish that arrogance. If the red orcs avoided water, the river still acted as a boundary, something that shaped movement even without a single spear thrown.

“Trolls, you guys…Just don’t die.”

It wasn’t a joke. Trolls were useful when they were moving and terrible when they were panicking. They didn’t coordinate like orcs. They didn’t plan like goblins. They did one thing well: keep coming until something stopped them. Ludwig needed them to be meat that pushed back, not meat that got fed to the Red King in a neat line.

“Troll strong, troll eat! King! KING!” one of them shouted.

The shout came with spittle and enthusiasm, and the other troll echoed it with a thump of a fist against its own chest. Ludwig didn’t correct the worship. Let them be excited. Excitement could be shaped. Fear tended to explode sideways.

“I guess they’re pretty stoked up,” Damra smiled.

“That’s what I like to see,” Ludwig said, letting the faintest edge of approval enter his voice, “as for our main combat forces, Orcs and Ogres, how confident are you guys in taking on red orcs?”

He slowed slightly as he asked this, forcing everyone to match his pace. This was the part that mattered most.

Not speeches. Not enthusiasm. Numbers and capability.

How many red orcs could each fighter reasonably handle before being overwhelmed?

Pride didn’t care about bravery.

Pride cared about outcomes.