Even though they called it "rest," there was still plenty to do.
For professional adventurers, these lulls between crises are the golden hours for digesting gains and leveling up, so you're ready when the next disaster hits. Gauss and Alia both understood that.
Alia needed to learn the new spell Faerie Fire, keep honing Beast Form, build rapport with a few animal companions, and train up Animal Handling and Nature. She'd be spending the next few days either in their inn room, the meditation chamber, or the woods on the edge of town.
Gauss had his own plan: practice new spells, keep pushing his Magic Missile upcasting, and head out on contracts.
Yes—Gauss had no intention of lying low around Lincrown Town. He was going to practice while picking up small jobs in the surrounding area. That way he'd have moving targets while drilling his casting, and he could quietly pad his index kill count at the same time.
Dripping water hollows stone; it's never a one-day job. The index count is built little by little, too.
He sank his mind inward to check his current progress.
Total Monster Kills: 3,050.
Less than a thousand to go before the next milestone reward.
Common Monster Entries: 39.
He needed 11 more species to hit fifty and roll for a new talent.
Beyond the most generic bottom-rung critters, any given region only hosts so many species, so the further you go the harder it is to log new kinds. Some monsters live only in special terrain—fire elementals and red ants in volcanic zones, sandworms and sand scorpions in deserts. There was no way he'd find those around the Jade Forest.
That would be neither scientific nor magical.
Gauss skimmed his index and quietly mapped out the next few days. After a quick sync with Alia, they split up.
He headed alone to the Adventurers' Guild hall and turned to the notice board full of scattered one-off contracts.
The fall of Outpost No. 11—under Lincrown Town's purview—had rattled this otherwise vibrant green city. The board was plastered with jobs of every stripe.
"So many requests."
"I heard the Jade Forest has been wild these past two days," an adventurer beside Gauss griped to his friend. "No idea why, but lots of monsters rushed out from the edges."
"Our squad finished a contract yesterday and got jumped by a crazed kobold pack on the way back. Thank goodness we were careful—no one got hurt."
"It's all too weird lately."
"I also heard President Ritchie still hasn't come back. He vanished after the Outpost 11 incident. Don't know if that means…"
"Good thing the Provincial Capital, Falrim, sent more cavalry to garrison here, or I wouldn't dare stay in Lincrown Town."
"Word is some big shot went missing near Outpost 11, so Falrim moved a ton of people into the Jade Forest."
"Shh…"
Gauss kept his face blank while he listened, but he was full of mixed feelings.
If President Ritchie still hadn't returned, odds were something had gone wrong.
It hit him again how lethal this line of work really was. Even someone like Ritchie—already at the very peak of the Master tier—could still run into enemies and risks beyond his reach.
You can't let a higher level and stronger power convince you you're untouchable. Keep your head down and grow.
With the Adventurer's Manual, Gauss believed his late-game possibilities were limitless; he didn't need to fuss over short-term wins and losses.
With that, he pulled his focus back to the board.
First, farm some small fry.
His eyes swept the slips, automatically filtering out the far-flung jobs. Those usually paid better, but he didn't even look twice. If he was picking up routine contracts, it wasn't for the money—it was for practice, easy round trips, and fewer surprises.
Soon, a few slips caught his eye: clear the goblin gang haunting the west logging camp, cull the berserk boars near the farms, and wipe out another goblin band occupying an abandoned hamlet. On the map, all three were on the same route. The real goal was goblins; the boars were conveniently between the two goblin sites—fresh meat, too.
"These will do."
Gauss neatly plucked the three slips.
A couple of adventurers had been eyeing the same notices and opened their mouths to complain, but one of their companions spotted the three-star Professional Badge on Gauss's chest and hurriedly clapped a hand over the complainer's mouth.
Gauss didn't pause. He turned toward the front desk.
"Why'd you stop me? He's breaking the rules—already holding other slips and still taking more. He think he can do all that?" the muzzled adventurer groused once he wriggled free. "He's just grabbing—"
"He's a Professional."
"…"
Those two words swallowed all the man's anger.
"Still… isn't a Professional stooping to fight us for scraps kind of embarrassing?" he muttered, voice unconsciously dropping. "Guy looks awfully free. Is he a newbie Pro or what?"
"If I didn't missee, that was Dragonkin Gauss. Supposedly one of the stronger Bronze-tier adventurers. And—by the way—he loves taking routine contracts. He's even got another nickname…"
"What?"
"The famous Goblin Slayer."
"Huh??"
Gauss heard the whispers behind him and sighed without changing expression. He'd given up fighting it. Every new region, the same nickname stuck to him like a shadow.
Goblin Slayer. Goblin Butcher. Green-skin Reaper…
Even after his standout performance the night at Outpost 11 earned him the moniker Dragonkin Gauss, people still brought up "Goblin Slayer" first.
Was there some strange power at work?
Whatever. The job came first.
Goblins were, in truth, the perfect practice target for him: plentiful, reliable, and profitable. He wasn't going to avoid goblin jobs just to dodge a nickname. The whiff of an evil god had been a brief detour in his career; grinding goblins was the steady, satisfying main quest.
He strode to the counter and handed the three slips to the receptionist.
She clearly knew who he was. The top sheet read "Cull Berserk Boars," but two more pages peeked out beneath; when she lifted them—yep, both goblin exterminations. Probably trying to half-hide them.
Her gaze flicked between "berserk boars" and the two goblin jobs, the corner of her mouth twitching as she kept a professional tone. "Mr. Gauss, you're taking this boar cull, plus two nearby goblin exterminations, correct?"
"Yes. Thanks."
"Right away." She worked quickly. As a Professional who was starting to get a name, Gauss could take routine contracts so long as he didn't overload, and the Guild wouldn't object. Frankly, he'd do them faster and better than handing them to several beginner teams. The only "waste" was using a Professional's power on small fry.
Stamp, register, and she slid back the slips with his badge. "May your hunt go well."
"Thanks."
With faint, curious stares at his back, Gauss left the hall. Sunlight filtered through thin clouds, falling warm across his shoulders.
He swung onto his chocobo and headed west. On the ride, he even stole time to read the spellbook for Heat Metal. Now that he was Level 3, studying Level 2 spells was much easier—lighter work than for most other Level 3 Casters. Partly because his class met the threshold, partly because his stats and traits (like Spell Proficiency) stacked in his favor.
Knowledge poured into his mind in that familiar, brute-force way.
By the time he finished the read-through, the chocobo had come to a halt. First job site reached.
The loggers spotted him and came hurrying over. "You're the adventurer who took our job?"
From a distance they'd doubted a lone figure. Up close—seeing his bearing and the badge—their doubt vanished.
"Yes. I'm Gauss."
He drew in a breath. Beyond the clean resin of cut timber and a little rot, there it was—that familiar rank goblin stink.
Goblins really were everywhere. Big, filthy flies with knives.
"Could one of you show me the way?"
Fewer than twenty goblins was, for Gauss, like punting a rabid stray on the roadside.
"Me!"
"I'll take you!"
The loggers were eager to lead—because that badge on Gauss's chest made them feel safe. If this had been a greenhorn team, they'd have stayed as far away as possible. A Professional was different. Even ordinary folks had heard what Pros could do, and some of the loggers were itching to watch him work; chances to see a Professional fight up close were rare.
"I should go! I found the first footprints by the fence!"
"Bull! I saw them when I went out to piss at night!"
"I—"
Watching the red-faced bickering, Gauss could only rub his brow. You'd think he'd offered them a royal stipend.
He pointed at the burly man who'd spoken up first. "You, please. Just take me toward where they show up most; no need to get too close. I'll handle it from there."
The chosen man straightened, grinning as he traded looks with the others, then nodded briskly. "Right! Mr. Gauss, follow me—I know the path they like."
Gauss dismounted, handed the chocobo's reins to a worker, and followed. Up close with a Professional for the first time, the guide was excited and nervous, chattering as he led.
"Please be careful, sir. There should be a lot of those smashed little green-skins. I saw nearly twenty a few nights back, and they had weapons. Fierce lot. If not, we could've managed ourselves."
"Got it. Thanks." Gauss didn't say much, but he listened, collecting intel. At the fence line he spotted palm-sized footprints and places where the sturdy rails had been gnawed or pried.
His read: the goblins were scouting and marking, sizing up worker numbers, looking for livestock and tools worth stealing, and testing for weak points in the fence. Textbook behavior—this camp was on their shortlist. If you didn't clear them early, you'd be looking at a full raid later.
They passed chopped stumps and reached the outer edge of the logging grounds. The ground showed a scatter of small tracks, easy to see.
"Those green pests come by every night," the guide said. "We set some simple traps along the trail in daylight, but nothing got caught. The little runts stole the traps instead."
That was the heart of it for most folk. Goblins are active at night—and most commoners suffer night-blindness. It comes from diet, genetics, poverty; it won't improve anytime soon. Goblins, on the other hand, see like cats in the dark. Stack exhaustion from hard day labor on top of that, and you can forget about fighting nocturnal raiders.
As Gauss was thinking it through, something flicked at the corner of his eye—a head peeking from behind a thick ironwood trunk.
"Shh. I've got eyes on them." He lifted a hand, stopping the guide mid-sentence.
"Huh?" The man followed Gauss's gaze and spotted a small, hunched figure bolting from behind the tree.
"Mr. Gauss, it ran!"
"Mm." Gauss nodded. "I know."
He'd startled the scout on purpose. At his feet, a clay spider was already skittering off in pursuit.
That was part of clearing goblins—apply just enough pressure to a scout. Let it know it's been seen without scaring it into a blind sprint that forgets to go home.
"Shouldn't we… chase it?" the guide asked, anxious, as the green blur vanished into the scrub.
"It won't run far. Relax." Gauss's voice was unhurried. "Thanks for leading me here—head back now."
"Uh? Could I… tag along to watch? I won't get in the way."
Gauss met his eyes. After a few seconds, he nodded. "You can, but stay quiet. When we're near the lair, keep to my side. Don't wander."
They were adults; they could own their choices. Maybe the man also wanted to confirm the goblins were really gone.
Feeling the clay spider's feed through their mental link, Gauss moved out. The guide crept behind him.
The forest thickened and dimmed. After about ten minutes, the goblin scout slipped into a hidden hollow. Huge fallen stones lay scattered there, making a natural maze. The stink of goblins grew so strong that Gauss wrinkled his nose. Behind an entrance half-draped with vines and dead branches came a dense, shrill chorus of goblin cries.
The scout had done its job: it had brought Gauss to their base.
"S-so this is where they were." The guide sucked in a breath. Obvious to Gauss, but to them it was just more woods. Even with manpower, finding a lair this well hidden would have been a nightmare. He glanced at Gauss, grateful. Let the pros handle professional work. This adventurer had all but strolled through the grove and nailed the spot; the how didn't matter as much as the result.
Gauss had already "seen" the inside through a clay spider he'd sent in. The count was higher than the contract said—close to forty goblins, not including the pups tumbling around like little dogs.
He pressed his lips together. The number itself didn't bother him—for him, forty or twenty made no practical difference. If anything, it was better: faster index progress.
But for a basic adventuring squad, that difference was massive. Forty meant a stronger leader, tighter roles and hierarchy, and teamwork that doubled their effective power. A party that could beat twenty might get wiped against forty.
When did contract intel get this sloppy?
It wasn't like they'd recruited a horde between the posting and now… right?
He clicked his tongue. Hard to say if this was a one-off or part of something bigger. By rumor, the Guild's giant machine runs on prophecy magic and an intel web. Each branch files details to the provincial HQ, which verifies with divinations. Accuracy across ordinary human-held territory was usually solid.
"Mr. Gauss, should we—" The logger's nerves spiked at Gauss's silence.
"It's fine. I was thinking about something else." Gauss refocused on the hollow. "Get behind me."
Two more clay spiders and a clay goblin sprang from his side and darted ahead. The guide saw the pale constructs appear from nowhere and went slack-jawed, legs trembling.
"Easy. It's my magic," Gauss said with a wave.
Under his control, the spiders sealed a rear exit, and the clay goblin strode up to the vine-draped mouth. With a wrench of its thick arms, the vines tore free. Light poured into the hollow.
Inside, goblins who had been arming up on the scout's warning turned toward the noise. Dozens of eyes fixed on a figure they half-recognized: a goblin their size, but corded with muscle and pure white.
"Eee!!"
Many froze in confusion. Two stepped closer, chattering.
Bang!
Before they could react, the white goblin lunged. One slap cracked across a skull, bursting it like a smashed melon. The other goblin didn't last either—the white goblin's off-hand clamped its throat like iron, hoisted it kicking, and, with a brittle snap, sent it limp to the dirt.
Two instant kills.
That sudden, treacherous butchery—paired with raw, terrifying power—stunned the lair into a breathless hush. Then panic, fury, and chaos exploded.
"Gyaa!!"
"Eee-yaa!!"
Some goblins recoiled from the white monster; others grabbed weapons and edged forward. A scrawnier goblin in relatively clean robes—the shaman—screeched as it waved a staff, riling the tribe and signaling a surround. Glow from its magic steadied trembling nerves. Archers scrambled up ledges on both sides, arrows nocked and aimed at the white goblin.
The white goblin, however, was nothing but calm. It only had bare-bones combat instincts and absolute obedience to Gauss—no fear, no frenzy, no sorrow. And it was overtuned for its size. The clay in its body was fused with iron; under magic, it was hard as steel and far stronger than any common goblin. It scooped up a dropped weapon and waded in like a wolf among sheep. Every swing left a mess and a gap.
One versus many, but the fight flipped in the first crash of bodies.
Arms, heads, and ropes of blood hit the ground around that squat, brutal white form.
Gauss stepped to the mouth of the cave and watched. Behind him, the logger rubbed his eyes, half convinced he was dreaming. Gauss had warned him, but watching a "goblin" slaughter goblins felt too eerie—and too devastating—for a common man.
Inside, the machine-like killing didn't slow. The clay goblin had no fatigue, no pain—no animal survival urge. It punched through tight clumps, and the courage the goblins had mustered dissolved against the gap in power. Those who tried to flee the back exit fell to the clay spiders without mercy.
Only the shaman kept any fighting will, and even that was smothered. Every time it lifted its staff to cast or buff a kin, a perfectly timed Magic Missile slammed into the ground by its feet, disrupting the incantation and forcing it into a panicked roll. Its magic backlashed, scorching its own nerves. It howled, helpless.
Gauss, wand leveled, was coolly using the shaman as a live dummy to practice upcasting Magic Missile, while also preventing it from dragging out the fight.
Minutes bled by. The goblin count dropped at speed. The screams thinned.
At last, when the clay goblin drove a gore-slick fist into the chest of a cowering goblin, cave-quiet fell. Every goblin was dead—even the pups. Those had died the ugliest, heads popped under quick, efficient stomps.
The shaman, last alive, pressed against the rock wall, babbling in a tongue Gauss didn't understand—probably trying to treat the clay goblin as some special kin and bargain.
It got no answer. The clay goblin hefted a javelin and hurled.
The javelin tore the air and pinned the shaman through the chest to the stone.
Goblin Shaman Slain ×1
Gauss arched a brow. So it had been a new elite type after all. He hadn't felt it—too weak on its own. In hindsight, it was built to buff others; it had never gotten the chance.
Still, its death wasn't worthless.
He stepped into the hollow. The swirl of goblin spirit washed over him—especially the shaman's. He smiled.
And beyond the spirit gains, the upcasting work he'd been putting into Magic Missile finally clicked into place.