They quickened their pace once they cleared the village.
The goblin nest for this contract wasn't exactly close to Stone Creek; it sat roughly between several villages. That was why the villagers pooled their money and asked the Adventurers' Guild to handle it. Unfortunately the pot was small, so days had passed with no takers—until Gauss saw the posting.
They followed Stone Creek upstream. The water murmured along. Gauss knew this path well; he used to set handmade fish traps here for small fry. To keep other villagers from walking off with trap and catch, he'd go farther out and tuck them under weeds along the bank.
A clear breeze met them; nostalgia softened Gauss's face. Life is strange… Two hurried years, back to an old haunt, and both mood and standing are completely different.
Not far from the spot described in the contract, they ran into a villager who'd come on his own to scout. Not from Stone Creek—likely a young man from a nearby hamlet. He rode a stocky pony, carried a homemade spear, wore no armor but had layered clothes with some kind of padding underneath, a woven reed hat, and a wooden pot-lid refashioned into a shield. Comical, maybe, but for an ordinary villager it wasn't bad kit.
When he saw Gauss's party closing fast, he instinctively nudged the pony aside.
Gauss pulled up alongside. "Are you from around here? We're the adventurer team that took the goblin-clearing contract."
At that, the young villager exhaled, then broke into a grin. He'd been standing watch for days in case the goblins launched a large raid on the neighboring villages—ready to run the warning if he saw an "army on the move." Finally, real professionals.
He had a weapon, sure, but at best he could scout. Clearing goblins wasn't something one man could do. Thirty-plus goblins was a real threat; you needed a tight, experienced team.
His eyes flicked over their gear—then, for a heartbeat, caught the rank badges. A team like this… taking a 20-silver job? He didn't believe it at first—and then joy washed over him. No problem. With pros of this caliber—clearly not rookies—there was no way things could go wrong. He didn't understand why they'd take such a cheap contract; to hire even one of them should cost more than that. But with a party like this, it was as good as done.
"Yes, sirs. I'm from Forest Stream Village," he answered respectfully. "I'm on scout duty today."
"Point us to the goblin camp, then?" Gauss asked. Perfect—no need to waste time.
"If it please you, let me guide you there," the young man said, tamping down fear and excitement. If it had been a bottom-tier party, he wouldn't have offered; it would be dangerous and a burden. But with these people, goblins couldn't touch him—he could confirm the nest's end and watch real professionals fight. For a would-be adventurer, that was a rare chance—maybe he'd learn something useful.
Gauss saw the hunger in his eyes, thought a moment, and nodded. "We'll count on you."
This wasn't like Cicero—he was an adult and responsible for himself. With them there, there'd be no risk.
"My honor."
Led by the villager, they entered the shallows wood. Soon they reached a clearing before a cave mouth, strewn with signs of goblin life—filth, bones, broken stones—and a stinging stink. Gauss knew the scene too well.
"I'll go in. You wait here," he said after a quick sweep.
"Alright," Alia nodded.
"Anyone taken recently?" Gauss asked the villager.
"No."
"Good."
While they spoke, Serandur threw a Blessing on Gauss, and the pale-green Powderwing Butterfly on Alia's shoulder drifted over his head, shaking down a veil of invisible, translucent dust.
Before the young villager's eyes, Gauss's figure faded and vanished.
Invisible? No… what did he even need to learn this for? The youth blinked, mouth dropping open. He'd had high hopes for the team, but seeing a man just… disappear was still jaw-dropping to someone from a remote village.
Gauss padded toward three goblin sentries on the clearing. A nimble knife appeared in his hand. Under the Powderwing's optical veil, the goblins didn't react—not even the one that looked straight at him; seeing "empty air," it looked away again. Most creatures—humans included—trust their eyes; even though the butterfly's trick was only visual, it worked better than you'd think.
Gauss checked their spacing, coiled, and in a blink vanished from where he stood. His knife flashed—and three goblin throats blossomed scarlet. Before a sound could leave them, their heads were already rolling.
With the sentries down in silence, he turned to the cave. Inside was worse: a slick mix of urine and feces underfoot. Goblins are filthy; even when you can kill them, they disgust you in a dozen ways. Plenty of pros avoid goblin jobs for that reason. After a grand hunt on a powerful elite, who wants to "relax" on a grunt job that makes your skin crawl?
Except Gauss.
He glanced at the thick layer of dung and smiled. Judging by the time the goblins had been active and the cave's size, there were clearly more than thirty inside. A bottom-tier party would be cursing. He wasn't. Ordinary goblins—bring as many as you like. And this was his hometown's request; no point grousing.
Still, he had no intention of going in—not out of danger, just out of disinterest in slogging through muck. He drew the white staff.
"Poison Spray!"
"Gust!"
Two cantrips, flung one after the other. Billowing poison rolled forward, and the Gust shoved the airflow to ram it into the cave. The white staff juiced both effects. Gauss even felt that with more tinkering he could fuse them into a Level 1 Spell "Toxic Gale" instead of alternating cantrips—but now wasn't research time.
Pale green mist slowly flooded the cavern. Stirring rose within. Gauss didn't rush. Since the bone staff had become the white staff, Poison Spray's venom hit harder; if the goblins didn't come out, they'd all be dead soon enough—saving him effort. However you do it, dead goblins are dead goblins.
[Goblin Slain ×1]
…Soon, kill prompts began to tick up, and the patter of feet poured out. Twisted faces showed in the cave mouth—only to be met by a sudden wash of crimson light. With a flare, a fan of surging flame roared out, igniting the ground and throwing up a solid wall of fire before them.
"Waa! Waa!"
A blazing corridor meters long, and a wave of heat you could feel on your face—an impassable barrier. This wasn't ordinary fire; it was magic-hot. Even the bravest goblin wouldn't cross it.
"Waa waa waa!"
They hopped in panic: poison creeping from behind, fire sealing the front.
Alia and the others joined Gauss as his form shimmered back into view. The raven took wing.
"I'll have Echo check for any other tunnels," Alia said, careful to leave no fish uncaught—this was Gauss's home, after all. Goblins are like roaches; one can start a colony.
"I'll sweep the area too," Serandur added, seeing there was nothing left for him at the doorway.
Through the firelight, the villager heard the goblins' pained wails and stared, dazed. That easy? The "major threat" was about to die without a fight? He hadn't seen their previous savagery—only a flock of desperate green runts.
He snuck a look at Gauss and felt goosebumps prickle his skin. So this is a professional? Without lifting a finger—without even showing himself—the goblins were done.
Soon the wails faded. A few stray arrows sputtered through the flames; a handful of charred goblins pitched over at the threshold. Then nothing. The fire dwindled. In the passage lay a carpet of bodies. Faced with burning or gasping, most had chosen the latter—no screaming, just quiet poison.
To be certain no iron-willed outlier had endured the fumes, Gauss sent in the clay spiders. One white and three brown scuttled in; razor mandibles punched hearts and brought back left ears.
The job was done.
Gauss glanced at his panel.
[Goblin Slain ×41]
Plus the three scouts: 44. An unlucky number… but—
His eyes slid to a new set of prompts, and a smile touched his lips.
[You have slain 1,000 goblins in total. Title upgraded from "Goblin Slayer" to "Goblin Butcher."]
[Detected: Race "Goblin" is the first monster type to surpass 1,000 kills. Set this race as your Mainline Extermination Target?]
[Note: You may only have one mainline target, and it cannot be changed later. Choose carefully!]
He'd expected the title upgrade. The next prompt surprised him. Mainline Extermination Target—what was that? What would it change? Hit 1,000 and you qualify. Only one, and permanent—meaning even if another species hit 1,000 later, it couldn't be set.
He hesitated a beat. The choice felt important—like in a game, where some picks don't matter and others fork the world line. The voices of Alia and the rest seemed to stretch and drift; time itself stilled, the world holding its breath for his answer.
What was there to wrestle with?
He chuckled and shook his head. In his mind, nothing fit the bill better than goblins.
His gaze hardened. "Yes."
He would wipe goblins from this land—leave not a single one.
Vmmm.
The world resumed. Overhead, some unknowable force seemed to brush the clouds aside; sunlight spilled down and bathed him. Gauss felt an invisible, exalted attention upon him—not a demon, not a god, but a higher-dimensional will.
[Race "Goblin" set as Mainline Extermination Target.]
[Reward granted: Recognition from the Sublime.]
[Mainline Extermination Target—Goblin Butcher achievement reward: Intelligence +1, Strength +1, Constitution +1.]
Golden text flashed across his vision, and a mysterious force poured into him from above. Warmth surged through his limbs and deep into his marrow, releasing a comforting heat that made him want to sigh. Wonderful.
Three attribute points at once—on exactly what he needed most. A big boost.
His mind felt like it had pierced a membrane; the world sharpened anew. At the same time, it was as if invisible scalpels had reshaped his muscles and organs—new, powerful lines.
Intelligence: 12
Strength: 10
Constitution: 9
~~~
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