The adventurers' hall was packed.
Lincrown's Adventurers' Guild was laid out much like Grayrock's: two floors, with a broad posting area and public service counter in the center, and a second floor reserved for professionals.
Unlike Grayrock's rough, utilitarian style, though, Lincrown's hall was dotted with greenery—pots of plants everywhere, bright green vines climbing the stone pillars, a lively touch of nature.
Broad-leafed spider plants, vivid moth orchids, and nameless ferns were tucked into corners, windowsills, and dividers, lending freshness to a place that should have stunk of sweat and easing the tension in the air a little.
Right now the ground floor was full of adventurers: warriors' apprentices in worn leather, ranger apprentices with bows, mage apprentices whispering over staves, and dusty newcomers just in from distant towns—clustered in twos and threes, heads together, trading rumor and hearsay in low voices, a constant background buzz.
The Jade Forest's unrest had, unsurprisingly, grabbed even low-tier adventurers' attention.
Many had never been to Outpost 11 and had no plan to get tangled with a border redoubt—but that didn't mean its fall had nothing to do with them. In practice, it touched everyone's life and work.
The most immediate, most-discussed effect: nearby monster numbers and activity would rise. Without the outpost's deterrence and regular culling, monsters from deep forest would likely push their range outward. That meant more eyes on the road for anyone running jobs in the villages and farms around Lincrown, or farther afield; a spot that "used to be safe," a scrub of woods or an abandoned mine, might spit out a few sly goblins or gnolls.
For those living on the low-tier commissions around town, risk was going up.
Still, a few sharp-nosed adventurers also saw a silver lining: danger breeds work—and higher pay. Even now, as staff slapped fresh contracts on the board, the crowd surged. Patrols and scattered-monster-clears from the town guard; caravans hiring seasoned hands to keep routes open; a raft of subjugations and collection jobs—payouts a notch richer than usual.
"I called that one first, sorry."
"Don't shove!!"
"Captain, that one's too far—let's pick another."
…
Gauss stepped through the doors into the familiar noise and felt a little smile tug—nostalgia. He liked watching the ground floor wherever he went; it reminded him of when he started—broke, with the shabbiest wooden spear, quietly doing the math on the wall postings. It also felt like a snapshot of the local ecosystem—people of every kind under pressure, still keeping a raw vitality; you could sense a region's pulse at a glance.
After a moment soaking in the floor, the party took the side stairs up.
Upstairs was much quieter. Thick carpet swallowed footfalls; oil paintings of famous adventures and trophies hung on the walls. There were plenty of people, but most were steady-breathed, well-kitted professionals—talking in cushioned lounge chairs, leaning on the rail to watch the floor below, or studying the boards with the tougher contracts.
Because of the Outpost 11 deployment, Lincrown held more pros than a typical town—some from the local circuit, some up from the richer interior.
Gauss even spotted several teams wearing five-star elite badges. For an ordinary person, that was the ceiling; a five-star might still take a public local contract now and then, but once a team broke into master tier, they focused on bigger, quieter work near the cities—or were recruited by major powers—and drifted out of the average adventurer's orbit.
He wasn't the only one watching the elite teams. Others were whispering, too. The gap between pro and pro can be bigger than the gap between pro and novice.
A few one-star adventurers glanced over with open envy at a high-end team leaning on the rail: a dwarf not quite five feet tall but built like a mountain, with russet beard, heavy plate glowing faintly with magic, a tower shield etched with mountain runes in his left hand and a massive warhammer in his right.
Beside him stood a tall human mage in a close-cut deep-blue robe trimmed with silver filigree, the hem stirring without wind, frostlight running faint in the weave. Silver hair was bound with a simple mithril band, exposing a smooth brow and slightly pointed ears.
The third was a male cleric in immaculate white, gold hair combed to perfection.
"That's the 'Hammer,' right?"
"I heard he's from the Ironheart clan of the dwarven kingdom," a lanky adventurer murmured. "They've lived at a volcano's foot for generations—masters of smithing. Imagine getting one of their masterworks someday." His gaze lingered on the dwarf's hammer and shield; even a layman could see the quality.
"No wonder he held so long on the wall that night," his friend said. "And that priest is 'Light-Healer' Elton? He's the one who fixed me up…"
Gauss nodded to himself at the buzz. So he wasn't the only one who'd made waves that night; other name teams had shone elsewhere. From the talk, though, most of the remembered heroes—besides him—were Level 5s. The jump at that tier was real.
"Dragonkin Gauss is here too."
His arrival didn't go unnoticed. "Gauss? He's from Grayrock—folks there call him the Goblin Slayer," a fellow Grayrocker said, proud to explain.
"Goblin Slayer? Why the weird title? What's the story?"
"Well, see…"
Gauss and his two reached the service desk, explained their case, and were quickly led to a meeting room. Twenty minutes later, they came out with a decent answer: Outpost 11 might have fallen, but the Black Forest scouting was assigned before that—and by President Ritchie in person.
Even with Ritchie still out, the local office wasn't going to stiff them; they'd report up and process it, and in about five days, the reward should go through.
Not a waste of effort after all.
As they stepped out, a booming voice with a dwarf's burr rang across the quiet second floor. "Hey, you there, lad!" A thick arm waved; reddish beard wagged.
It was the Level 5 dwarf from the rail.
Gauss glanced around, pointed to himself. "Aye, you. Don't look around. Come over and say hello." The shout turned heads. Gauss frowned slightly but kept his peace. The tone carried no edge—friendly, even.
The dwarf strode up—shorter than Gauss had expected: a hair taller than Andeni, and maybe not if you discounted the curls. He had to tip his chin to meet Gauss's eyes, but his presence didn't shrink. "I'm Solin Shancopper—'Hammer' if you like—from the Ironheart clan." Pride colored his voice as he looked Gauss up and down—especially his right hand.
"I'm Gauss, from Grayrock," Gauss said, curious what a Level 5 wanted.
"I know you. You're the 'dragonkin' who transformed on the wall and tore a bear-fiend apart with your claw. Not bad—really not bad…"
Solin put his hands on his hips and let his hammer thump down onto the carpet with a soft thud. His eyes held a trace of approval.
A lot of people had seen Gauss change that night. Partly because the draconic look was rare in a border town, partly because he'd shown clear spellcasting—an unusual mix with that brutal close-quarters style.
Low-tiers were too timid to approach—but Solin wasn't. He always liked a strong arm. "Nancy, you should learn from this lad. This is what a mage should be like," he said loudly to the woman in blue.
She cut him a cool glance; ice-blue eyes flat with a "Gods, not again" look. "Learn to claw things apart barehanded? Solin, that's not in my grimoire. Maybe you should go to the Royal Academy and propose a crash course for 'melee mages.' You could personally teach headbutts. How about it?" She paused. "You'll need a TA, though—your headbutt will only reach a knee."
Alia, who had been quietly watching, snorted a laugh and clapped a hand over her mouth. Solin puffed his beard but seemed used to it. "I was praising him—being able to hit and take a hit is what matters. You robe-types shatter like glass—always trouble…"
"Next time your beard freezes, I won't thaw it out."
The back-and-forth eased Gauss's shoulders. They might be Level 5, but they weren't prickly—and maybe his strength won him a peer's welcome.
"Ahem!" After a bit of bickering, Solin coughed to paper over it. "Anyway—Gauss. You're good. I like your kind of grit!" He slapped his chestplate; it rang. "How about it—interested in joining my team?"
Ah. So that's what this was. Like Quake from the Iron Arm team before—but this time the offer was from a full five-star squad, a step from master. The pressure off the three of them was real. Solin's eyes shone, pausing a moment on Gauss's three-star badge—Tempting, right?
Nancy and Elton looked over, too. They often found Solin unreliable, but not on this—none of them minded the idea. The kid's power was good; even as a caster, he could fill a front-line gap, and his character looked sound—escorting dozens of low-tier adventurers and soldiers through the slums spoke well enough.
"Sorry—and thank you, Solin."
"Eh?!" His eyes popped. He hadn't expected such a quick no.
"Told you," Nancy murmured. Recruiting prodigies is never simple; they have their pride.
"Because of your two teammates? If it really won't—" Solin tried one more time.
"Sorry. My team's fine as it is."
He didn't like joining someone else's banner—instinctively.
"…Fine." Disappointment flickered across the dwarf's face.
"Maybe you can join my team later," Gauss joked—he found Solin amusing.
"Don't look down on me, boy. I'm a genius warrior of Ironheart!" Solin puffed and glowered. "Forget it. In a bit I'll be master-tier, and then—then even if you beg, I won't—" He cut himself off.
"Joking," Gauss waved.
"Then you're forgiven. Oh—one more thing. I've got a good gig lined up. Interested in doing a big one together?"
…Huh?
Gauss had thought the conversation done. He blinked and eyed Solin with suspicion.
A big one? He didn't mean… robbery? The quick-money "jobs" were written in the kingdom's lawbooks for a reason. And if it was such a sweet deal, why recruit a Level 3 you'd just met?
Highly suspicious…