Chapter 47 - The True Value of a Half-Ogre

This grand project took Gaven and his team more than two days.During this time, he also drove the cart back with a load of miscellaneous things and summoned a small squad of Gnolls to work overtime.

But the rewards were rich, piles of Spirit Crystal Stones, as large as a head, not only enough to make the Spirit Crystal Servants but also with some to spare.

This indirectly confirmed Gaven’s guess that there was a vein of Spirit Crystal Stones nearby, the exact location of which was still unknown; the only thing known was that it was in the hands of a Goblin Tribe.

Finding out which Goblin Tribe had control over it was not difficult; it merely required the Half-Ogre to stroll along the usual taxation route for this ten-day.

Gaven noted this task in his itinerary, then set off on the return journey grandly with the cart, the Half-Ogre carrying large and small bags, and two squads of Gnolls.

Along the way, the Half-Ogre couldn’t help but look back at his cave, feeling faintly that he might not get a chance to return there in this lifetime.

There was no need to mention the sorrow and anger of the past few days.

Not only did he have to lead a group of people, but it was the Gnolls who had been oppressing him since he could remember rifling through his cave, loading all the treasures he had painstakingly accumulated over the years onto their carts.

The skeletons he considered as art were carelessly tossed around by those Gnolls, trampled underfoot, and buried in the mud.

Anger, like a fierce fire, surged from his heels to the top of his head, scorching his brain, his soul, and completely igniting him.

But in the next second, the flames extinguished amidst a pair of cold, dangerous eyes.

According to Roar’s wild instinct, if he dared harm a single Gnoll, he would not get another chance.

Roar had thought about fleeing several times, even found the perfect opportunities; with just one leap, he could dash into another ravine, and with his long strides, the short-legged group behind him would definitely not be able to catch up.

But every time Roar was about to take action, his legs felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead.

In his mind, he couldn’t help but recall the food he had eaten these past two days.

He had never eaten anything so delicious in his life; by comparison, everything he had eaten before was garbage.

Eating garbage every day didn’t feel like much before.

But now that he had tasted delicious food, the thought of going back to eating garbage made the Half-Ogre hesitate.

Often, in that moment of hesitation, he would have already followed the group a great distance away, and the chance to run would vanish in an instant.

The thought processes of the Half-Ogre Roar were not as concealed as he might have liked; basically, all of his thoughts showed on his face and in his actions.

The struggle, conflict, fierceness, and timidity continuously alternated on his ugly face, so much so that even the Gnolls could discern his mood from it, let alone Gaven.

By the time they returned to Blackwell, Gaven was fairly certain that the Half-Ogre had been initially tamed and was ready for the next step, including the Blackwell Tribe.

In the short two days that Gaven was away, earth-shattering changes were happening at the Blackwell Tribe.

Construction was booming here.

One by one, the freshly felled logs were being dragged over by the combined strength of the Gnolls.

More Gnolls were working under Gos’s guidance, wielding simple tools to level the land surrounding Blackwell Mine.

The most significant change was that most of the Gnolls no longer went nearly naked but had acquired at least a few pieces of leather armor and weapons.

The strongest among them even donned studded armor.

These pieces of equipment were naturally salvaged from the Half-Ogre Roar’s heap of trash and had been mended by the Goblin Sorcerer and the Maiden Priestess with Mending.

This was the best sign that the Blackwell Tribe had already accepted them.

They had once been like duckweed, floating at the mouth of Blackwell, where any small wave might wash them away.

Now, they were going to take root here. ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴovᴇl_Firᴇ.ɴet

“Lord, you’re back, woof,” Gos immediately came scuttling up at the news and followed Gaven closely, saying, “Lord, my people can handle the leveling work, woof.

But we really don’t know how to construct houses afterward.

In my view, if we expand the entrance of the Blackwell Burrow several times over, woof, it won’t take many days to carve out a cave for the lords to reside in.”

“Have some people from other tribes come to join us these past few days?” Gaven did not answer Gos’s question.

At this inquiry, Gos’s eye sockets perked up, and his fine scales lifted.

His entire spirit escalated a notch as he quickly replied, “Thirteen.

I heard from the new tribe members that many in their tribes have the same idea, woof.

But their Leaders strongly suppressed it.

They had to sneak away to come here, woof.

However, I estimate their Leaders won’t be able to suppress them for long, woof.

In a few days, at least another twenty will come to join us.

And then, woof, our tribe will have over a hundred members, and we won’t be the Blackwell Nest anymore but Blackwell Burrow.”

Whether a nest or a burrow, these were the Gnolls’ specific terms for distinguishing the size of their dens.

For them, population was everything, so they naturally used numbers to classify.

“How many members can your Blackwell accommodate at most?” Gaven threw out a new question.

Gos was stunned, as he clearly hadn’t considered this before.

He counted on his four fingers, “One hundred, one hundred and fifty…

Right now, we should be able to accommodate about one hundred and eighty.

If we squeeze in, maybe up to about two hundred.

Any more than that, and it would be too cramped.”

“How long do you guess it will take for us to reach two hundred?”

“This…” Gos hesitated, as naturally growing to that number would take at least half a month.

There were only so many Gnoll Tribes nearby after all.

But considering Gaven’s way of doing things, he wouldn’t likely just sit and wait.

Gos’s roving gaze fell upon the Half-Ogres who had joined the Construction crew nearby.

He felt as though his forehead was struck by lightning, and his mind suddenly cleared, “Ten days, at most ten days, our tribe’s population will break two hundred.”

The Half-Ogres didn’t press just their tribe but all the tribes within several kilometers.

This bully had already been thoroughly subdued by Gaven, and next, all Gaven needed to do was stand before other Gnoll Tribes with him and assert his identity—countless Gnolls would join the Blackwell Tribe.

No, no, that’s not right.

Such thinking greatly underestimated Roar’s deterrent power around this area.

Gaven had already taken Roar back and forth along the mountain paths nearby, and the news of the Half-Ogre’s new master would spread with the mountain breeze across the surrounding peaks.

Those cunning creatures would come presenting themselves at his doorstep.

Gaven gave a “you are a clever woof” expression, saying, “So, set your sights further.

We’ll have knowledgeable builders, professional miners, and powerful warriors.

What you need to do now is lead your people to establish a good foundation and prepare for the soon-to-arrive population growth.”

“You’re right, my lord, I was too shortsighted, woof.” Gos nodded repeatedly, heartily agreeing.

Privately, he always thought of himself as smart, a cunning Gnoll with all kinds of shrewd schemes.

But in Gaven’s presence, just a few questions had his mind turning to mush, utterly inadequate.

Because Gaven’s vision was never confined to the petty details he obsessed over but was focused on a broader, more macroscopic view.

Every time his thoughts aligned with Gaven’s and he looked back at his original ideas, his own calculations seemed so childish, so laughable.