Pioneer Lord: I Have Conquering System

Warg Mounts charged past each other, curved sabers flashing like shooting stars. In an instant, life was separated from death.

The Burning Corps Scout Squad emerged unscathed, their light Plated Chain Armor not even scratched. The five enemy Jackal Wolf Scouts were easily dispatched, their throats slit. They tumbled from their mounts with horrified expressions, and their Warg Mounts galloped on for dozens of paces before realizing their masters had fallen.

It’s worth noting that the Jackal Wolfman’s advancement path is quite linear, primarily developing toward the Ranger class.

From lowest to highest tier, they are: Jackal Wolfman Commoners, Jackal Wolfman Shepherds, Jackal Wolfman Riders, Jackal Wolfman Rangers, Jackal Wolfman Raiders, and Sowers of Woe.

In total, there are six tiers of soldiers, and from Tier Two onward, they are all cavalry.

Although the members of this Burning Corps Scout Squad were young—most having just reached the age to become Warriors—they had recently gained experience by frequently slaughtering wandering Wilderness Bandits.

As a result, with the exception of Scarface and Lame Leg—the two who always followed Hog and were Tier Four Jackal Wolfman Rangers—the rest of the squad were all Tier Three Jackal Wolfman Riders.

Empowered by the System Power and with a crushing equipment advantage, they had taken down the five opposing Jackal Wolf Scouts the moment they clashed. The disparity was obvious.

The seven remaining enemy scouts hastily retreated. Frankly, while their primary duty was to relay intelligence, they couldn’t help but feel a surge of fear. Nearly half their brothers had been cut down in the first exchange, and the enemy hadn’t even suffered a scratch.

The Scout Squad wanted to press their advantage—after all, intercepting enemy scouts was part of their mission. But after giving chase for only a few dozen paces, a forest of banners and a massive, disciplined army waiting in formation came into view.

Forced to halt, they could only brandish their Curved Sabers in defiance from a safe distance. Leaving behind a few mocking whistles, they turned their Warg Mounts around and headed back to High Cliff Castle.

Scouts from both sides returned, delivering intelligence to their respective leaders.

"Oh, the King of Harland. May he live long."

Levi cracked a joke no one else understood and stretched, his joints popping like roasting soybeans. "I’ve been waiting for what feels like a lifetime. They’re finally here."

Levi patted the massive slab of iron he was sitting on—it could hardly be called a Shield anymore, looking more like a piece of a giant iron gate. A satisfied smile spread across his face.

He had specially commissioned this Shield from a Feder Blacksmith. A full twenty centimeters thick, it was large enough to completely cover his body. It was made from ample materials, with mountain copper mixed into the alloy.

For him, the only threat a Giant Dragon posed was its steel-melting Dragon Breath. As long as he could withstand the first blast, he was confident he could defeat the beast. Thus, this specially forged Shield was created for that very purpose.

While one could simply add thickness out of fear that normal steel wouldn’t stop the Dragon Breath, the addition of Magic Metal to the alloy gave the Lord a great deal of confidence.

Next to him lay a massive weapon resembling a Fish Spear, a heavy iron chain coiled at its tail.

Once the Lord landed a successful throw, the viciously crafted barbs would dig deep into the Giant Dragon’s flesh, allowing him to control the beast as if he were flying a kite.

The Giant Dragon would become a lamb for the slaughter.

It could be said that the two methods Levi devised were hardly sophisticated—in fact, they were rather crude. So why had no one ever used them before?

Simply because no one else had the strength.

The Lord was arguably the only person in history capable of wielding a shield weighing several thousand pounds and a chained Fish Spear weighing several hundred more.

In the past, Kingdoms hunting Giant Dragons used Bed Crossbows to fire Heavy Iron Arrows, with chains attached to the tail of each bolt.

But no one had ever attempted to throw such a projectile by sheer physical strength alone, as the Lord intended.

"Have everyone on alert. Execute the plan as arranged."

The Jackal Wolfman messenger who received the command vaulted onto his Warg Mount and, carrying the written orders, galloped off to the various posts. The Lord’s command would be carried out to the letter, from the top of High Cliff Castle to the bottom.

"I saw a contingent of Minotaurs among them," Hog said gravely, feeding his Warg Mount some fresh water.

Minotaurs are an extremely rare Race in the Wilderness. You could think of them as bipedal cattle.

Due to variations within the Race, some resemble oxen, while others look more like water buffalo.

This highlights a key difference: Alien Races like the Jackal Wolfman and the Beastmen are more man than beast, whereas Minotaurs are purely beasts that happen to walk upright.

Although bovine in appearance, these Minotaurs are thorough carnivores. They are extremely short-tempered and cruel, with a passion for war and slaughter.

Ninety-nine percent of them are either in a fight or on their way to one.

But that’s not the main reason they are so feared by the powers of the Wilderness. What’s truly critical is that these Milotheus, upon reaching adulthood, become super-heavyweights standing over three Tri-Blades tall and weighing over a thousand pounds!

But in terms of physical condition, they were on par with Giants, though weaker than the truly colossal ones... and yet...

They possess another deadly ability: Half-Berserk!

Once engaged in battle, they automatically enter this state of Half-Berserk.

In this state, a Milotheus’s Power and stamina are greatly enhanced. They even become immune to pain, turning into tireless killing machines.

But every coin has two sides. This berserk state also causes them to lose all reason, throwing their already undisciplined formations into chaos as they begin to fight for themselves.

This is why they can never play a role on a truly grand stage. On a battlefield with ten thousand or more elite soldiers, a Minotaur that has lost its mind is no different than a farm hog with immense strength. Slaughter is their only fate.

However, if the battle is merely a clash of rabble in the Wilderness, then against an equally undisciplined army, their berserk state is an undeniably powerful Skill, posing an immense threat to their opponents.

"Minotaurs?" Levi mused. "How many, exactly?"

"There were too many to get an exact count, but I’d say over a hundred head," Hog replied, shaking his head.

"We’ll meet them head-on. So what if they’re Minotaurs? How many of my arrows do you think they can stop?"

Levi sneered, his eyes glancing toward the dense reeds on the nearby riverbank.

"Hog, have your wolf pups keep scouting. I want to know their every move."

...

"My lord, we’ve spotted the enemy’s scouts."

Perched high atop his Black Mountain Deer Boar, Gorgon listened intently to the report from the kneeling Jackal Wolf Scout.

’I thought I’d wiped out those two Tribes completely. I can’t believe the news still got out.’

Gorgon felt a pang of regret. He had intended to catch them off guard but found they were already prepared.

The main issue, however, was his army’s slow pace. But that couldn’t be helped. An army of four thousand couldn’t be expected to move quickly.

"Since they’ve already spotted us, don’t let them get away!"