Gauss admitted he'd had a chance to stop the cloaked figure a moment ago.
But in situations like this, his instinct was not to get involved.
If a squad of rookie adventurers were in danger, or if it was clearly a case of bullying, he'd jump in without hesitation. In those brief seconds just now, though, he didn't know who the parties were or what had happened, so the only sensible move was to wait and see.
In a mixed crowd like this market, acting rashly could turn good intentions into a mess.
And whatever doubt he'd felt evaporated the instant the man started barking at him as if it were his obligation.
He was in the right.
"Why should I help you?"
Gauss didn't raise his voice, but at the quiet mouth of the alley, every word carried.
His gaze stayed steady on the man in front of him, not budging in the least.
Seeing his quarry completely gone and hearing this cool, needling reply, the man's temper snapped. His face flushed, veins stood out. Customers and shopkeepers poked their heads out to watch, whispering among themselves.
"She stole my stuff! You're standing right here—wasn't it only right to block her? Or are you with her, huh? Is that why you stood here and let her pass?"
As he ranted, his hairy right arm shoved toward Gauss's shoulder.
The men behind him closed in, eyes ugly, hands "casually" drifting to the hilts at their waists.
Gauss moved first. The instant the brute lunged, he slipped aside, light on his feet.
The shove hit nothing; the big man stumbled two steps forward. He clearly hadn't expected the lean-looking Gauss to react so fast. Off balance, he felt his right arm caught by a precise twist of leverage.
As Gauss slid past, his right hand snapped onto the man's wrist. He borrowed the man's forward momentum, added a small pulse of force, and finished a clean, fluid redirect—flinging the brute away.
The man felt his own lunge suddenly magnified; his feet lost the ground and his body went spinning. He bounced twice across the cobbles.
Thump!
The heavy smack echoed at the alley mouth.
He wound up sprawled against the wall in a puff of dust, flat on his back and groaning, unable to get up for the moment.
The sudden toss drew a low oooh from the onlookers—faces tight with "concern," but eyes glittering with that deeper, guilty thrill of a fight about to break out.
The brute's friends yanked out their blades—short swords and daggers crossed in front of their chests.
"You—you bastard!!"
They blustered, faces fierce, but the slight backward shuffle of their feet gave away the truth: all bark, no bite.
Gauss had dropped their strongest man with a single move. Even with weapons out, that kind of gap didn't inspire confidence.
He didn't posture or raise a guard. He just stood there, eyes passing over cold steel and jittery faces.
"Put the weapons away, or I stop pulling my punches." His tone was even but brooked no argument. "Then take your friend and get out of my sight."
Under his gaze, the men felt pressure roll over them like a tide, heavier with each second.
After a few beats of stalemate, one of them worked his throat, stole a look at the brute still moaning against the wall, then glanced back at Gauss.
"W—we'll take Antony for treatment. You just wait—we'll be looking for you later. Don't… don't get cocky, kid."
The others seized the out, shoved their weapons away, and hurried over to haul the big man up. They didn't so much as glance at Gauss—heads down, they half-carried, half-dragged their groaning pal and hustled off into the shadows.
Quick to flare, quick to fade. The alley quieted again, leaving only disappointed murmurs from the would-be audience.
Gauss shook his head, straightened his sleeve, ignored the stares, and walked deeper into the market.
He didn't give their threat a second thought. Big mouths, honest bodies.
As for the brute who'd "couldn't get up," the truth was Gauss hadn't even used much force on the throw; there was no reason he couldn't stand. Sure enough, once his buddies grabbed him, he was on his feet and hustling along just fine.
Still, the cloaked figure who'd brushed past him did stick in his mind—faintly familiar.
He ran through the details: height, build, eyes, the way she moved. Even with her face covered, there'd been plenty to note. But nothing in his memory matched.
After a while, he shook it off and kept down the lane.
…
In a cramped, cluttered room in Lincrown Town's residential quarter—neighbors arguing faintly outside the window—a black-clad figure slipped through the window and landed without a sound.
She pulled off her hood and mask, revealing a bright, lovely face, and took a delicate pocket watch from her breast, handing it to a young woman who'd been pacing and wringing her hands.
"Here. Your jewelry. Check it—any issues?"
The girl took the pendant and turned it over and over. When she was sure it was right, she let out a long breath and clutched it to her chest.
"Yes, this is it. Thank you, Miss Shadow. It's the only thing my mother left me. If I'd lost it, I don't know what I'd have done." Her eyes shimmered and her voice hitched.
It was a plain copper locket, but family gave it weight.
The woman called "Shadow" just waved it off, went to the table, and poured water for them both.
"All right, put it away. Next time, keep your eyes open. 'Three-handers'—pickpockets—love targets who look easy like you."
She took a long drink and went on.
"I looked into it. The one who took your piece is a street pickpocket who works with the black market's 'Old Pipe' general store—random hits in the crowd, nothing targeted. Stay away from that stretch and you should be fine."
"Okay, I understand, Miss Shadow."
After the girl in roughspun left and the door shut, another mature woman's voice suddenly sounded in the otherwise empty room.
"Saved another lass, huh? Nice. A mother's keepsake—that's worth a lot."
"Mhm." The black-clad woman nodded absently.
Her eyes dropped to the floor. Her shadow was writhing slowly, alive with its own will. The voice came from that inky shape where it met her feet.
"What's on your mind?"
Like an old friend, the shadow sniffed out her mood at once and thumped her calf—lifting off the floor as it did.
If shadows can be said to be born naturally, then there's no pair in this world more tightly bound than the two of them.
"I…" Her brows knit, a wash of uncertainty in her tone.
"That man at the alley, right?" the shadow teased. "Got your eye on him? I mean, I wouldn't object—handsome kid. If you two hit it off, I could feast my eyes too."
"Behave, my shadow, or I'm locking you away tomorrow."
"My bad, Little Shadow," it pleaded, chastened. "So what did space you out on the way back?"
"He just looked familiar—like I'd seen him somewhere." Her fingers tapped the chair arm, combing her memory.
"That's it?" The shadow sounded puzzled. "Probably just someone you spotted around town or on the road. He looked like a Professional to me. Those folks travel a lot."
"No. It's not that simple. I feel like I saw that face in some more important situation. I just can't place it…"
The shadow lifted phantom hands in a shrug. "If it won't come, let it go. It's not important. Get some rest—we're out gathering intel tomorrow."
…
Night had deepened by the time Gauss left the market.
In the end, nothing unusual happened. After browsing a few shops, he did buy a lump of clay suitable for spellcasting—pricey, at seven gold coins. At least the volume was decent, roughly the size of an adult body. After his clay goblin absorbed it, it should get another boost.
He didn't plan to withdraw his guild request, either. He'd leave it posted—this sort of casting material was the more the better. More clay meant stronger single constructs and more of them at once—great for clearing small fry on jobs, and, on off days, they could handle simple repetitive work.
A cool breeze scoured away the market's leftover clamor. Gauss glanced up at the moon half veiled by clouds and headed for the inn.
A few days slipped by.
He lived simply and single-mindedly—back to basics, like in his early adventuring days: eat, fight, sleep.
The goblin nests around Lincrown Town suffered for it.
Total Monsters Kills: 3,611
Strictly by contract counts, that should have been only about four hundred kills; the extra hundred-plus came from roaming. His eye for sign was too good—he kept spotting threads in the wild, and following those tracks made quick work of finding monster bands in the empty stretches. He'd wipe them even if they weren't on a bounty.
That pace drew attention—from the guild and from other adventurers. A few hundred monsters might not sound like much, but clearing that many in a few days, in peacetime, is terrifying output. A hundred a day becomes three or four thousand a year even if you can't sustain it. If every adventurer did that, monsters would be facing doomsday.
To many Professionals, Gauss's string of routine jobs looked like a waste—burning precious time to strangle little tribes in the cradle. Low-tier jobs are time-consuming, tiring, and, worst of all, don't "train" you. Keep it up for years and your drive dulls; your career stalls or even backslides.
On the second floor of the guild hall, near the railing, a few adventurers with Bronze badges looked down at the figure at the first-floor counter—so at home among the beginners—and some shook their heads.
"That dragonkin—no, the Goblin Slayer—off to butcher goblins again?"
"Looks like it. Check that bulging sack—yikes, big haul."
"Waste of time. He's young—bright future—and he's hooked on jobs with zero challenge. Can't wrap my head around it."
"Has no one told him grinding like that will stall his rank?"
"Who knows. Maybe he just wants to 'experience' the beginner life."
Most Professionals were baffled. In their minds, mass-clearing low-end jobs is pointless: travel and talk chew up time, the payout is worse than one elite kill, and most importantly, for a Professional it won't raise your class level—might even drag it down. Anyone with a career could feel as much.
They were still chattering when a quiet voice cut in:
"But he's already a Level 3 Professional—and I heard he's always done it like this."
The buzz died on the spot. People glanced at one another. Most wore one- or two-star Bronze badges on their chests.
Gauss? Younger than most of them and already Level 3.
So… could killing goblins really make you stronger?
On the first floor, Gauss took his payout and nodded, satisfied. He ignored the stares and the talk; live by other people's opinions and you'll die of exhaustion. He also knew his case was special.
Even at Level 10, Level 15, or higher, he'd still need the bottom rungs. Numbers see to that. Power, monster or human, stacks like a pyramid; low-tier creatures are always the most numerous. The count of unranked mobs alone dwarfs the rest put together.
The receptionist watched his calm face and quietly admired him. No one knew his efficiency better than the desk staff. Low-level jobs or not, Gauss finished them fast, and cleaned them thoroughly—leaving virtually no loose ends. A perfect small-fry exterminator.
The only issue was the speed. At this rate, specialized goblin-hunting teams wouldn't be "out of work," but they'd have fewer choices—forced to take jobs farther out. Gauss didn't care about fees; he cleared every nearby posting that fit his route, high-pay or low.
As he turned to go, the receptionist suddenly remembered something. "Mr. Gauss, one moment please."
He stopped and looked back.
She smiled. "The senior director is waiting for you in the receiving room."
"Got it."
He had a pretty good idea what this was about. The anomaly he'd reported had likely been confirmed and the compensation was ready.
He followed staff into the room. The elder he'd met before sat inside.
"The anomaly you reported has been verified," the elder said. "Per regulation, here are ten gold coins as compensation."
"Thank you. Did you find out what caused it?" Gauss cared more about the why.
"Still under investigation," the elder said with a shake of his head.
Just as Gauss figured he'd been called in only for the payout, the senior director added:
"Mr. Gauss, the guild has noted your recent efficiency on numerous goblin exterminations. Let's say you seem keen on such contracts—and skilled at them.
"As it happens, there's a… 'non-public' commission available. A bit unusual, with a reward far beyond routine jobs. Would you be interested in hearing the details?"