Chapter 376: One Against Ten

Sertans had never seen undead before, but that didn’t stop him from making a judgment based on the legendary tales he had heard in the military. The Batiz people, a force that once threatened even the elves, had long been eradicated from this land. Yet, as a staple villain in many stories, traces of their existence had not been completely erased—they still lingered in the memories of some.

However, Sertans did not voice his thoughts. He carefully observed the mousefolk driving these undead creatures, confirming that they were entirely unaware of this fact and had never even considered such a possibility.

In truth, as the second most reviled beings in these tales—second only to the insectoids—Sertans’ loathing of the undead was only slightly less than his hatred for the swarm. Yet, he had never imagined that these malevolent beings could also be put to peaceful use. Of course, this was because he had arrived too recently—no one had yet told him what had transpired in this land.

Naturally, there were no shortage of intelligent people in this world, and there were bound to be those who could guess that Nagrand was employing undead creatures. However, the beastfolk of this land bore deep-seated blood feuds with the elves, their hatred stretching back hundreds, even thousands of years—far outweighing any grievances they might have toward Nagrand for wiping out a few clans. Furthermore, Nagrand had yet to become famous enough to attract merchants from the south on long trade journeys, so this information had not yet spread to the elven territories of the south.

Sertans continued quietly observing the city, and before long, he noticed its tallest and most ornate building. Based on the sounds coming from its bell tower and halls, he deduced its purpose.

Soon, they had the opportunity to enter a slightly smaller temple. On their third day in Nagrand, a sermon was held, and a houndfolk priest from a nearby district invited them to attend. Meanwhile, the young tigerfolk were quickly absorbed into the church-run school, where they not only learned many new and fascinating things but also began to understand more about “Xuanyuan.”

Sertans had no objections to this.

As a former part of the Elven Empire, his people—though living in remote mountain regions—had long since abandoned their ancestral spirit worship, having been forced to convert to the Eight Gods of the elves generations ago. However, as the targets of elven slaughter, they were not among those whom the elven deities favored or protected. Under such circumstances, accepting the faith of their saviors was not something he found difficult.

Especially for Sertans himself—whether or not he had been formally invited, he would have gravitated toward the Xuanyuan Church regardless, if only to fulfill his oath. In a way, he had never been particularly devoted to any faith to begin with.

Only after he and the other tigerfolk had gradually acquired enough knowledge about Nagrand from their neighbors, priests, teachers at the church school, and various other individuals they interacted with—only then did Wu Qingsong finally summon Sertans. By that time, he had been waiting for this day with growing impatience.

After all, counting the treatment he had received years ago, this was the second time he owed Wu Qingsong a great debt. And he was not the kind of person who could accept such things without feeling obligated to repay them.

“This is Angus, commander of Nagrand’s garrison. This is Beck, captain of the personal guard.”

Wu Qingsong briefly introduced his key officers, and Sertans greeted them with humility.

However, he was both surprised and disappointed to find that, in his eyes, most of these individuals were nothing more than mediocre fighters.

After a brief exchange with them, Sertans could already tell that none of them had received formal military training. Their military knowledge likely came from regional militias, mercenary bands, or hunter groups at best. None of them could possibly have an Imperial army background.

The troops they were so proud of only deepened his disappointment.

The largest numbers were wolfmen, followed by minotaurs, houndfolk, boarfolk, bearfolk, and badgerfolk—all of whom suffered from a clear lack of training. Most of them looked like the kind of young men from rural villages who liked to brawl, relying solely on brute strength, raw aggression, and the remnants of battle techniques passed down from their ancestors—fragments of old ways that they clung to with misplaced confidence.

With a single squad from his former unit, Sertans believed they could easily defeat three or four of these groups without even needing to deploy war wolves.

Another glaring issue was their lack of discipline. Their uniforms and armor bore clear marks of their tribes and clans—especially among the wolfmen, where this was most pronounced.

Only a small number of houndfolk and minotaurs exhibited decent discipline and seemed to possess genuine combat capability, but their numbers were far too few, relegating them to guarding the inner city and serving in the elite personal guard.

However, none of this surprised him. What truly left him speechless was the sight of the large mousefolk battalions.

He had previously seen them standing watch and patrolling the city, and he had to admit, they were agile and diligent. But as warriors?

Due to his oath, he had resolved to follow Wu Qingsong’s every command. But he simply could not comprehend, let alone accept, such an arrangement.

“What do you think?” Wu Qingsong asked after leading him around the city’s forces.

Sertans knew he ought to say something polite to save face for the other officers. But his pride and honor as a tiger warrior prevented him from doing so.

Thus, he remained silent.

Wu Qingsong couldn’t help but chuckle. “Pretty bad, huh?”

“The personal guard is of fairly high quality,” Sertans finally said after some hesitation.

This remark immediately earned him the resentment of many, their expressions darkening.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Wu Qingsong said. “The personal guard was personally trained by me. The rest, however, are mostly forces provided by Nagrand’s vassals to fulfill their obligations, or troops sent by our allies as reinforcements. Some have cut ties with their original tribes and formally joined Nagrand, but as you’ve seen, their discipline and skills leave much to be desired.”

Sertans noticed that several officers looked particularly displeased at these words. However, they did not dare to show any dissatisfaction toward Wu Qingsong—perhaps not even daring to think it. Instead, their frustration was redirected entirely toward him.

“I recall you once served in the Imperial army?”

“My lord, I served in the Expeditionary Legion at Garlos’ Gate for ten years.”

“Ten years? Then you must have been more than just a common soldier,” Wu Qingsong mused.

“I was once a squad leader.”

Some of the beastfolk scoffed, clearly unimpressed. It was evident that they neither believed his claim nor thought much of the so-called Expeditionary Legion at the Abyssal Gate.

“Where’s your spear?” Wu Qingsong asked.

“My lord, I did not bring it with me.”

Wu Qingsong gestured for a nearby soldier to hand over his spear.

“If you don’t use your abilities, how many of them do you think you can defeat?” he asked in a low voice.

Sertans didn’t answer—because the truth would be far too offensive.

“Then let this be your first task,” Wu Qingsong declared. “No abilities, just your skills. I want you to beat them all into submission. Think you can do that?”

“All of them at once?” Sertans hesitated slightly, but those beastfolk who overheard him were already seething with anger.

“Of course not,” Wu Qingsong chuckled. “One at a time. What do you say, can you handle it?”

Sertans said nothing. He simply took the spear, spun it in his hands, testing its flexibility and weight.

“Give the order, my lord,” he said at last.