Chapter 1: Biting the Kobold Chief to Death at the Start

(Volume One: Who Isn’t a Princess? Begin!)

“From the first budding of life underwater, through the age of stone and the rule of giant beasts, to humanity’s first upright steps, you have endured much…”

Thoughts scattered like startled tadpoles, chaotic and disordered. After an indeterminate amount of time, they slowly gathered again, and Li Ao gradually regained consciousness.

A familiar game narrator murmured from afar, calling Li Ao back from his nightmare.

A violent headache!

A burning sensation across his whole body!

It was as if his brain had been tossed into a blender, then subjected to cremation ahead of schedule.

Li Ao couldn’t help but utter a painful groan, deeply dissatisfied with his own physical state.

Wasn’t it just a few days of overtime, followed by a round of Barbarian Six at home?

Was fainting really necessary?

He’d only played a bit.

Though he’d been a diligent office worker for five years, a chosen laborer, he had been a sports student during his school days, renowned for his physical fitness.

How could a simple game leave him so dizzy?

Suppressing the intense pain, Li Ao slowly opened his eyes and felt the jolting beneath him, as well as the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

His vision swayed, revealing shifting skirts and a generous bosom.

No, this was an illusion!

Li Ao forced himself to look up, finally seeing his surroundings clearly.

For a moment, he suspected he’d been transported to the opening of Elder Scrolls V.

Eyes open, he found his hands bound, being carted off by carriage to an execution ground.

But reality was even more miserable.

The howling cold wind, muddy roads, an endless convoy, refugees clad in tattered clothes and burdened with bundles.

The braying of donkeys, the cries of children, and the shouts of drivers filled his ears.

He was currently lying on a donkey cart, covered with a ragged blanket, atop a heap of parcels and animal pelts.

The jolting was somewhat cushioned by the cargo, but still made him nauseous and miserable.

A blonde girl with emerald eyes knelt beside him, cradling his head to prevent him from choking on his own blood while unconscious.

“You’re awake?”

The blonde girl had been watching him closely. Seeing him groan and open his eyes, her worried face broke into a smile.

She called down from the cart, “Leo’s awake! Leo’s awake!”

“Damn it, finally! He’s been unconscious for three days. If he didn’t wake up soon, I’d have buried him alive!”

A rough voice sounded beneath the cart, followed by a pair of coarse hands gripping the side rails.

A Viking-faced man, helmeted with bull horns and a full beard, popped up.

He braced himself with an elbow on the cart, then roughly grabbed Leo’s head, twisting it to inspect him, clicking his tongue. “I’ve never been this pale after three days dead!”

The already overloaded donkey let out a wretched cry, and the cart slowed, tilting precariously.

“Dad, get down!” the blonde girl complained, pushing the bearded man’s head away, saving the cart, then carefully wiped the blood from Li Ao’s nose and mouth.

“Ow!”

Li Ao moaned again, his head feeling as if a blender had whipped it into a frenzy. A fragment of memory splashed out, sending him a partial recollection.

In his mind’s eye, hundreds of dog-headed kobolds, wielding short spears, surged down from an ambush on the hillside toward the refugee convoy.

They resembled upright golden retrievers, but with thicker limbs and the hands and feet of primates, combined with the claws and fangs of canines.

The leader stood nearly five feet tall, the rest mostly around four feet three inches.

Most crowded together in a disorderly mass; a few lagged behind, running on all fours in wild panic, with no formation to speak of.

It reminded Li Ao of a school cafeteria rush.

Still, their numbers made their charge impressive.

The convoy reacted quickly, carts herded together, the vulnerable hid behind them.

Militia members with makeshift weapons and shields formed a line, while those with bows climbed atop the carts, sending sporadic arrows at the kobolds.

Many militiamen wore bandages, evidence of repeated attacks.

As the newly appointed militia captain—Leo Mundo, the original owner of this body—he was particularly calm.

Kobolds lacked high fighting prowess and weaker morale. Trained and battle-hardened militia could easily drive them off.

Previous ambushes went just so: hundreds of kobolds rushed the shield line, a swift clash, leaving a dozen kobold corpses.

The kobolds fled, while the militia suffered few casualties.

But this time, something went awry.

Mid-charge, the kobold leader barked, and all kobolds unexpectedly hurled their spears.

Hundreds of spears rained down from the slope, catching the militia off guard, sending men and carts tumbling.

Not only those behind Leo, who had weapons but no shields, but even several shield-bearing militiamen were skewered and killed.

The militia, numbering less than fifty, lost a third in an instant.

This was only because the kobolds had poor aim and the leader called too early, so weaker kobolds’ spears landed short.

Seeing comrades suddenly slain or impaled, the shield line faltered.

Leo Mundo, shocked and furious, had never imagined the kobolds would pull such a trick. He shouted to maintain formation, picked up a fallen spear and threw it back, killing a charging kobold with precision.

But it was too late—the kobolds were upon them.

A melee ensued.

Kobolds, though small and seen as weak fighters, were strong from years of mining, hunting, and raiding. Their muscle rivaled that of malnourished human peasants.

With their natural fangs and claws, they were individually stronger than common wolves.

The militia were just peasants, hastily trained, their weapons little more than scythes, pitchforks, and axes.

Less than half wore leather armor. In truth, their individual strength was evenly matched.

In the chaos, seasoned militiamen who had survived previous beastman invasions held their shield line and could handle being outnumbered.

But hot-blooded or nervous rookies who lost formation were quickly overwhelmed and torn apart by several kobolds.

Like calves hunted by African hyenas, once a militiaman fell, there was no getting up.

Their screams and spurting blood rapidly lowered morale.

The most reckless, the newly appointed militia captain, was Leo himself.

He raised his shield against a flying spear, split a kobold’s head with his sword, and dragged back a wounded comrade who’d fallen from the shield line.

Surveying the carnage, his rage boiled over.

He called for the militia to hold formation, but leaped out himself, smashing through smaller kobolds with his shield, charging the largest, most ferocious kobold.

This massive kobold was the leader. Though shorter than Leo, the muscles beneath its mottled fur were even more powerful, like a monstrous, muscle-bound pit bull pumped full of protein powder.

Since the attack began, the leader had commanded with barks.

In previous assaults, it stayed far behind, out of bow range.

Leo’s simple experience told him: kill the leader, and the weak-willed kobolds would scatter.

Seeing Leo charge, the leader showed none of the usual kobold timidity. It raised its head and howled, swung its heavy chain mace, and struck at Leo.

The blow shattered his shield.

A two-kilogram iron head crashed down, easily smashing the leather-bound wooden shield.

Leo seized the moment, stabbing his blade into the leader’s vulnerable belly, enduring the agony of a fractured left arm, and twisted the blade in its gut.

This beast, with the physique of a jackal-man, unlike previous cowardly retreats, ignored its wounds.

It smashed its chain mace into Leo’s chest, then tackled him, biting for his throat.

Leo twisted desperately, avoiding a fatal bite, but the leader’s fangs clamped onto his shoulder.

Luckily, Leo wore a bear-skin pauldron reinforced with iron mesh. Though the leader’s fangs sank deep into his muscle, it couldn’t break the bone or tear the shoulder off.

Leo’s left arm went numb, his right hand still twisting the blade in the beast’s guts, weakening it, but unable to escape its crushing grip.

The original owner of this body was clearly no gentleman; he bit back immediately, sinking his teeth into the leader’s muscular neck, and they wrestled until Leo lost consciousness from blood loss.

The memory was vivid; the brief, brutal struggle left Li Ao’s scalp tingling.

The wounds, mercilessly, translated into excruciating pain, assailing his mind from every direction.

Li Ao, accustomed only to overtime and a sedentary life, had never known such primal violence.

So, I started by biting a kobold to death?

This hurts so much. Wouldn’t it be better to just die suddenly?

I want to go home!