Time passed, day after day.
Under Minori's leadership, and guided by the captured Great Goblin Muguo, countless goblin tribes in the outer forest were destroyed—their corpses piling up, their lives harvested for experience points.
The once lively outer forest grew unnervingly quiet.
The air, once filled with bird calls and buzzing insects, now hung heavy with the stench of blood and death.
Even the wildlife began to flee deeper into the woods.
[Unlucky Month] - June 29th
Splash—
A spray of cold river water broke the stillness.
Minori emerged from a narrow forest stream, droplets cascading from his body as he swam to shore.
Even though he could cast [Odorless] to eliminate bodily smells, there was no substitute for the feeling of an actual bath—the cleansing chill of real water, the way it stripped away the grime of days spent hunting and killing.
Stepping onto the grassy bank, Minori calmly retrieved a clean cloth from his magic item box, dried himself, and donned a fresh set of robes.
Nearby, a small fire crackled softly.
A pot of simple broth simmered atop it, filling the clearing with the faint aroma of boiled meat.
Minori sat down, took a ladleful, and sipped.
"Hiss..."
He let out a small sound of satisfaction.
The broth was plain, lacking salt or spices, but after long days in the wild, it felt like a luxury.Warm food and clean skin—a rare comfort in this savage land.
And perhaps, most importantly—
He was steadily growing stronger.
A few meters away, a pitiful sight unfolded.
The Great Goblin Muguo—once proud leader of his kind—now lay prone, his legs shattered and twisted unnaturally.
The monster whimpered weakly, tears streaking the filth on his grotesque face.
"No more... No more killing...""Spare them... spare me...""There won't be enough... not enough to last winter..."
The creature's voice cracked with desperation.
—
Minori ignored the whining.
He continued sipping his broth with an indifferent expression.
Muguo's words, though pitiful in tone, carried no real compassion.
Not for his fallen kin.
No—In truth, the Great Goblin's cries were purely selfish.
Among goblins, even large variants like Muguo, "kinship" was a shallow illusion.They viewed weaker goblins not as brothers, but as food, breeding stock, or expendable slaves.
Muguo wept only because—
Without a stockpile of goblin meat to survive the winter, his own tribe would be slaughtered by the ogres.
Nothing more.
"Shut up," Minori said quietly.
His tone was flat, not angry, just final.
Immediately, Muguo clamped his mouth shut.
The goblin's beady black eyes shimmered with cowardice and silent resentment.
Minori tossed a piece of roasted boar meat toward the broken goblin.
It landed with a wet splat in the dirt.
Muguo's demeanor changed instantly.
Gone was the weeping, the pitiful pleading.
Instead, with a crazed hunger gleaming in his eyes, the goblin crawled forward on broken limbs,grabbing the dirty meat with both hands and stuffing it into his jagged yellow teeth, slobbering like a beast.
No dignity.No loyalty.Only base instinct.
—
Minori watched without expression.
"Survival of the fittest is the law of the forest,"he murmured, raising his bowl again."And deceit is just another survival tool."
Meanwhile: E-Rantel
Inside the E-Rantel Adventurer's Guild, on the third floor, a quiet, tense meeting was underway.
The room itself was simple, almost spartan.
Old shields and battered swords hung from the walls, each bearing deep scars of battle.The rugged decorations lent the space a grim, experienced atmosphere.
Three figures sat around a worn wooden table:
On the left, a middle-aged man with graying hair and weathered skin,muscles still visible beneath his loose tunic—Bordon Ainzach, the leader of the Adventurer's Guild.
Opposite him, a thin, sharp-eyed magician flipping through documents—Theo Rakesiel, head of the Magician's Guild.
And at the table's head, a grotesquely obese man, slumped in his chair, snoring faintly—Panasole Gruzel Del Redingmeyer, mayor of E-Rantel and a noble of the Re-Estize Kingdom.
—
Panasole's crimson velvet coat strained against his bloated body.A glittering gold tie, set with a ruby, gleamed at his throat.
He looked more like a caricature of wealth than a true leader.
But appearances were deceptive.
No one reached his position without some cunning.
Ainzach set down his silver goblet, letting its cold surface touch the table with a muted thud.
He glanced at the sleeping mayor and spoke calmly:
"Your Excellency."
The snoring paused.
Panasole cracked open small, piggish eyes, their depths unreadable.
For a moment, silence stretched between the three men.
Only the faint creak of the building's old beams and the distant sounds of adventurers downstairs broke the quiet.