The second Rick finished talking, many different things happened all at once.

  Minister Franc in full knight armor drew his sword and took off in a flash towards Rick, all 6000 Knights behind him were prepared to do the same, but before even a single second passed, the Chiefs moved.

  There were 6 Chiefs currently present on the battlefield. Another three of them were back in the Dark Lands of Mir since it’s not like the main fronts had stopped being attacked.

  Finally the last 5 Chiefs were present beyond this battle at different Green and Black locations. Watching for the approach of more troops while also positioning themselves to clean up any running humans.

  It was a perfect net.

  Back on the battlefield, the 6 Chiefs currently present appeared from seemingly nowhere and didn’t waste a single second in unleashing armageddon at the front, flanks, and rear of the Knights.

  A group that only had 3 Tier Sevens in their ranks, not including Minister Franc. There was one in charge of each Knight Company and all three of them recovered from their shocks at the appearance of the Chiefs and moved to intercept very quickly.

  But three vs six were simply terrible odds.

  Even though the humans possessed better armor, better weapons, and more practiced battle styles, it still wasn’t enough.

  There was only so much that tools and technology could do in the face of overwhelming power, and experience.

  Neither of which the battle hardened Goblins of the Dark Lands of Mir lacked, as a group of people who have been fighting all their lives.

  And if the Tier Seven Knights thought for a single moment that they would be able to make up the gap in the individual power with sheer numbers, then they were surely mistaken.

  5000 of the best Goblins that the 14 Clans of the Dark Lands of Mir had to offer came storming through the forest with nothing but blood and destruction on their minds.

  All the bravado that Minister Franc showed seemed to dwindle from his demeanor as he moved towards Rick once his senses picked up on all the movements around him.

  But to his credit, Minister Franc’s steps didn’t halt or hesitate for even a moment and he continued his dash towards Rick.

  While his bravado slipped away, it wasn’t replaced by cowardice or fear. Just a steel-like determination to kill the enemy and accomplish his goals.

  The man wasn’t known as the Little Killer for no reason.

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  “Meegra! No one interferes! RUKNAR!!!”

  The order wasn’t for the Royal Guard to not fight or help Rick but instead to ensure none of the humans could help Minister Franc with his battle…not that the Minister would have asked for it.

  Anyway, Rick no longer cared about any of that. Power flooded his body from head to toe as he brandished his spear and charged out to meet the approach of Minister Franc.

  Now Rick had been refining his craft for well over a year now. Almost every single waking moment was either spent on one of the three fronts battling beasts or in his training room working until his limbs felt like they were about to fall off.

  He didn’t have an instructor in his life apart from real world experience.

  There was no practiced technique, no Royal Goblin Spear Style to rely on, nothing of the sort.

  And it has never once been restriction or a problem for him.

  Even when he first ran into the Orcs over 3 years ago now…he ripped that squad of orcs apart with nothing but his flames and his bare hands.

  So it was a massive understatement to say he simply improved his spear ability in the time spent fighting on the front lines of the Dark Lands of Mir.

  Yet…he was like a child in the eyes of Minister Franc.

  Despite all the fighting Rick had done recently, it could never make up for the decades spent on numerous different battlefields, training rooms, and under the tutelage of many different people.

  The amount of books read and magnitude of different generations of people working on one single style of fighting that’s been passed down longer than Rick could’ve imagined.

  It was one advantage the humans of the Verdan Kingdom had over Rick and his Goblins.

  Time.

  They had time.

  Generations worth of it.

  Time to build, time to grow, time to refine.

  And Even after trading in his armor for robes many years ago, Minister Franc had never once stopped training to refine the sword style passed down through his family.

  It was a style predicated on speed with a deception centered around power.

  There was heavy focus on feints and quick nimble strikes that aimed to whittle down the enemy in a very quick manner…and then when the enemy got used to expected quick and shark attacks behind numerous feints, is when they would be ripe for the kill.

  Where one expected or a quick jab, they would instead be met with a blow packed with everything the attacker had without giving a way they were using their entire strength until the very last moment.

  The Francen Sword.

  It was the pride and joy of Minister Franc and all the people who came before him.

  Something they saw as the perfect combination of Speed, Deception, and Power.

  And when compared to how Rick and the other Goblins were fighting, it was night and day. There couldn’t be a comparison.

  Even as Rick flooded the area and the entire battlefield with green flames, Minister Franc was unperturbed as his sword continuously flashed around Rick and quickly placed the Goblin King on the back foot without missing a beat.

  To him it was like watching a barbarian swing a spear around.

  There was no grace to his ability, no technique behind his actions, seemingly no other thought other than to hit as hard as he could, dodge, block, then hit as hard as he could again.

  Even his attempted feints were nothing more than attacking with force then stopping with even greater force.

  The type of attacks that would decimate an unintelligent beast, or people who weren’t well trained in battle.

  But in the eyes of someone like Minister Franc? This was the battle style of a welp too strong for his own good and had never learned anything beyond simple actions.

  Wounds slowly, then quickly began piling up around Rick’s body in the form of shallow stabs and slashes. Nothing truly fatal or critical, but a wound was a wound and too many small wounds could eventually cause a slip in focus, opening the door for something fatal.

  A door Minister Franc didn’t plan on missing the entrance of.