In the warehouse's processing room, everyone was run off their feet.
After getting approval, Steward Ivan had hired a bunch of extra day laborers.
Right now, the workers wore rough-cloth aprons and leather gloves, and under Ivan's direction they sorted loot into neat categories.
Weapons were carted to the forge's stockpile area, waiting for smith apprentices to melt and reforge them.
Herbs and other active materials were placed into their proper boxes, then stored in the compressed storage space.
As for the corpses of common monsters—goblins, kobolds, gnolls, lizardmen, slimes—each in wildly different shapes, they were piled in the central clearing, waiting for further processing.
At first, some workers were frightened by these vicious-looking creatures.
But as the work went on, they got numb to it.
Soon they were carving up bodies as smoothly as butchering livestock—skins peeled off, useful organs soaked in preservative.
"Careful! Those poison sacs are fragile!"
Ivan warned a novice alchemy apprentice nearby.
"A single intact sac is worth at least half a gold."
"Ghh—"
The newbie's hands shook twice.
But he steadied himself in time and didn't drop the "expensive" poison sac.
A speck of dust from the boss could become a mountain on his shoulders.
Nearby, a short, stocky worker hauling a suit of rusty armor wiped his sweat and grinned.
"Steward, what we've taken in these two days is more than I'd see in a whole month at my old job."
He'd used to work at a small shop where adventurers sold their spoils, and in his mind that had been big business.
"That's because the boss is incredible," Ivan thought, speechless. A tiny shop couldn't be compared to Red Dragon Company.
Even if he privately felt the man was a little short-sighted, Ivan didn't mock him.
"Stop chatting. Another batch will be here before long—we need to move."
His eyes swept across the busy floor.
These past two days, greed hadn't been absent.
A worker pocketing even a little rare loot could be stealing wealth that might take months—years—for an ordinary laborer to earn. Some people would gamble.
Yesterday, one temp tried to hide a few silver coins in an inner pocket.
But his "cleverness" didn't survive inspection.
Anyone entering the processing area had to remove all personal belongings, and everyone was checked again on the way out.
And the crows watched them like hawks. Two workers had been caught mid-theft when the crows started cawing furiously, exposing their stash on the spot.
Ivan, as the steward in charge of the base, showed no mercy. He called the patrol immediately and handed the thieves over for official handling.
That said, most workers were honest.
When those few were caught, the other laborers looked at them with open contempt.
Because Red Dragon Company's wages really was good.
Base pay was higher than elsewhere, overtime was paid extra, so even if the work was exhausting, people didn't complain.
Overtime wasn't what mattered.
What mattered was how much money ended up in their hands—rent, milk, bread, clothes for the family…
For ordinary staff, the company's "real power" and how terrifying the captain was didn't matter. That was the world of the big shots.
They cared about wages. Red Dragon Company was busy, but it paid noticeably more than their old jobs.
And on top of that, the canteen provided two free meals a day. If overtime ran late, there was even night food.
As long as you didn't waste it or try to smuggle it out, you could eat as much as you wanted.
Where else could you find a place like that?
So their opinion of the young captain improved too.
Some temps worked like maniacs.
Their reasoning was simple: they wanted to become permanent hires.
To do that, they had to work harder than everyone else and leave a good impression.
Steward Ivan had said clearly: they would be hiring more full-time staff, and performance mattered.
Even the full-time staff felt pressure now, afraid of being marked down for slacking.
The pay was good, the job sounded respectable—no one wanted to lose this spot.
…
Meanwhile, outside the city—
A notification flashed across Gauss's vision:
[You have slain 10,000 goblins in total. Title upgraded from "Goblin Butcher" to "Goblin Expert."]
Without realizing it, he'd killed ten thousand goblins?
That wasn't a small number.
If you piled up ten thousand corpses, you could probably build a hill.
More prompts followed:
[Because the race Goblins is a primary extermination target…]
[Goblin Expert Reward: INT +1, STR +1, CON +1.]
[You have obtained 1% Divinity Factor. Current Divinity Factor: 1.13%.]
Waves of energy surged through Gauss.
His body warmed, while a clear, spring-like coolness flowed through his mind.
STR: 14 → 15
DEX: 12
CON: 14 → 15
INT: 17(16) → 17
WIS: 12
CHA: 14(13)
Two 15s in Strength and Constitution triggered a subtle mutation.
He could feel his bones hardening within a few breaths.
And—
Snap.
He applied force with his thumb and bent his index finger backward into an impossible angle.
But the next moment, a strange power pulled it back into place.
The joint damage from that brutal movement repaired itself instantly.
With STR 15 and CON 15, his body had stepped beyond what a normal human should be, edging toward something monstrous.
And he hadn't activated any transformation—no Ghoul Form, no dragon scales, no body enlargement.
Just his normal state.
If he transformed, his regeneration would only become more absurd.
As for intelligence, the bonus from his purple-grade Moonlight Robe was now fully overridden by his own base stat.
Gauss stretched.
The improvement wasn't just raw stats.
There was that 1% divinity factor, too.
A few days ago, he'd been wondering how to get more of it—he'd killed nearly twenty thousand monsters before the goblin chieftain and hadn't seen any divinity at all.
That chieftain wasn't even the strongest thing he'd ever hunted, which proved the divinity factor wasn't directly tied to "strength."
And now he'd gotten 1% just for hitting ten thousand goblin kills.
He could feel that indescribable power inside him swelling.
It wasn't like stats—no immediate "bigger number, stronger punch."
It felt higher-dimensional—like an amplifier.
His core—his mana cup and sword-soul—both seemed sturdier.
And he could sense his growth rate speeding up again.
The upgraded title Goblin Expert also changed dramatically:
[Current Effect 1: Bane – Against goblins and their advanced variants, your attacks deal an additional +40% damage (Critical Strike: You have a chance to trigger a critical hit…)]
[Effect 2: Bloodthirst – When you kill goblins or their advanced variants, you have a chance to restore 5% stamina.]
[Effect 3: Intimidation – You exert powerful pressure on goblins and related advanced species; enemies suffer varying levels of stat and state reduction.]
The boost was obvious. Effect 1 and 2 got stronger—and there was a new third effect: Intimidation.
Gauss looked down at the goblins fleeing in panic beneath him and locked onto one.
A tangible mental pressure—channeled through Goblin Expert's Intimidation—slammed down onto that ordinary, weak goblin.
Boom.
The goblin froze mid-crawl.
A terrifying weight seemed to crush down on the back of its skull.
Its cloudy eyes rolled back, showing whites—
and then it went limp, twitching, foam spilling from its mouth.
"Goblin Slain ×1"
It had literally been scared to death.
Gauss raised an eyebrow.
Effect 3's description had been… conservative.
This wasn't "state reduction." This was "your soul leaves your body."
Then he realized why.
The intimidation wasn't just from the title—it was amplified by the sheer gap in power, his intelligence, and his soul strength.
An actual "death by glare."
He shifted his gaze to another goblin.
Narrowed his eyes—
and it collapsed the same way, foaming and dead.
"Slower than the first one," Gauss noted, continuing to test.
A pattern emerged quickly:
Stronger goblins were harder to kill purely by intimidation. Some just collapsed without dying immediately.
Among similar-strength goblins, the worse their physical/mental state, the higher the chance they died on the spot.
Down below, the team noticed goblins dropping for no visible reason and looked up at Gauss. They didn't know what he was doing, but they knew it was him.
Soon the hundred-goblin nest was finished.
This had been the last nest of the day, and the largest.
[Total Monster Kills: 19,777]
"Let's head back."
After bagging everything, they started returning.
Hephaestus grumbled in dragon language the whole way.
"Yeah, yeah—I get it. When we're back, I'll have them buy it."
"When have I ever lied to you?"
Hephaestus had been worked hard these two days—constant flight, and nothing to eat but monster corpses.
Gauss promised better food once they were back in the city.
They'd made good money this run anyway.
The red dragon cut across the sky.
As they approached Falrim, it lowered altitude slowly.
At the gates, people in the entry lines looked up, mouths falling open at the massive wings.
Patrolling griffin riders veered away instinctively, afraid their mounts would spook.
Gauss followed the approved corridor, crossed the walls, and landed in Red Dragon Company's training yard.
He'd barely stepped off the dragon when someone jogged up.
"Welcome back, Captain. You've worked hard."
Gauss turned—it was the alchemist Ivan.
"You too, Ivan."
Gauss remembered him well.
That stare Ivan gave him was always too intense—like he was looking at the sun.
But aside from that, Ivan was competent and efficient, the kind of managerial talent you wanted.
Gauss handed him the storage bags.
"It's what I'm paid for."
Ivan lowered his head.
Maybe it was his imagination, but the bloodline pressure coming from Gauss felt even stronger after two days away.
Feeling his own blood warming as he stood close, Ivan swallowed, a faintly blissful look crossing his face.
It felt like his thin dragon-blood was being subtly strengthened.
"Then I'll get back to work."
Ivan didn't linger. Work first.
He took the bags and headed into the processing area.
"Alright, everyone—more work's here."
Gauss looked at the roaring "workshop" and felt satisfied, like he could see coins bouncing in the air:
Gold +1, Gold +1…
"I'm going to the forge."
"I need a bath."
"…."
Back home, the team relaxed and scattered.
Gauss walked into the warehouse's compressed storage room and opened the door.
Row after row of shelves were stacked with neatly organized supplies—almost overwhelming.
Freshly forged ingots, bundles of tanned leather, organs sealed in preservative, herbs, fangs, seeds, decent secondhand weapons, cloth, copper and silver and gold…
One sweep had brought in a mountain of material.
And processed goods like these could either be sold directly to merchants—or refined further into weapons, armor, and special potions for even higher profit.
This was why building an adventuring company mattered: scale, channels, and the ability to actually digest the loot.
Back when they were just a party, a run like this wouldn't bring even half of this value—maybe a quarter, maybe a fifth.
Gauss walked the aisles a few times and nodded in satisfaction.
Life was getting better.
Maybe he should open two storefronts on the commercial street to sell premium potions, weapons, and armor—another profit stream.
He'd bring it up in tomorrow's meeting.
Also: they needed bigger portable storage.
In the future, once they started clearing larger nests, loot would truly pile up like mountains. Now that the company could process it, wasting it would be a crime.
"Oh—right."
"Debbie, come here a second."
"Captain, what do you need?"
"Go buy ten sheep and two cows from the commercial district."
He remembered something and assigned it immediately.
He wasn't the type to break a promise.
~~~
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