Arkenwald Forest
29 June
Time passed day after day.
Under the guidelines of the hobgoblin Mugo, large numbers of goblin tribes were destroyed, all turned into experience points that continually pushed Saelran's level higher.
The air in the outer area had begun to fill with the smell of blood, and even the forest had grown quiet, with the usual chorus of birds suddenly thinning out.
Splash.
Water Splashed upward.
Saelran emerged from the shallow river, swam toward the bank, and bathed himself with ease.
Although he had the spell "Odorless" that could erase his scent, it only removed odor, it could never replace the comfort and cleanliness of an actual bath.
Hobgoblin Mugo was indeed very familiar with this area.
Stepping onto the riverbank, Saelran took out a set of fresh clothes, dried himself, then changed into clean garments.
After that, he sat before a pot of steaming meat soup simmering above the campfire.
"Hiss."
Saelran sipped the soup, letting out a small satisfied sigh.
The soup tasted rather bland.
But in an environment like this, it was already good enough. At the very least, a bath and a mouthful of warm soup were satisfying enough.
Of course, his rising levels had put Saelran in a fairly good mood lately.
But the other one felt the opposite.
Hobgoblin Mugo lay on the ground not far from him, with both of his legs broken, leaving him no choice but to remain sprawled there.
"No, you cannot kill anymore."
"You cannot kill anymore, Human Lord."
"I beg you, do not kill anymore."
"You cannot keep killing..."
"Too many goblins have died."
Hobgoblin Mugo lay there, repeatedly letting out weak wails and mutters.
Faced with these voices, Saelran was long accustomed to them. He calmly continued enjoying his soup without expression.
The hobgoblin's cries sounded like pleas for the fallen goblins, but in reality, that was not the case.
The truth was simple.
Even though they were of the same race, in the eyes of hobgoblins, normal goblins were not considered kin aside from their ability to breed with each other. They were merely a group of inferior creatures.
For a race that would even treat its own kind as food, there was no room to show pity toward those considered beneath them.
The real reason behind Mugo's cries was because the mass slaughter of goblins meant the population would not be large enough to serve as a winter food reserve.
Their hobgoblin clan might become the meal of the Grunnfang instead.
That was all the meaning behind Mugo's lamentations.
"Quiet," Saelran said calmly as he swallowed the soup in his mouth.
Hobgoblin Mugo immediately fell silent. He shut his mouth, his dark pupils filled with complaint and cowardice.
Thud.
Saelran tossed a piece of roasted boar meat.
The cooked meat, smeared with dirt, rolled several times across the ground before stopping in front of Mugo.
In the next second, the fear and sorrow on the hobgoblin's face vanished, replaced by burning greed.
He immediately crawled forward, his hands clawing into the earth.
Soon after, Mugo, drooling, bared his sharp, yellow teeth as he tore into the roasted boar meat clutched in his hands.
He looked completely different from his pitiful appearance just moments earlier.
"The survival of the fittest, natural selection. That is the rule of the forest," Saelran said, sipping his soup again. "Feigning is simply another way to survive."
...
Border City, Antara.
Third floor of the Adventurer Guild.
A large room.
The furnishings were simple, without any luxurious items. Only several shields and swords, covered in chips and scars, hung on the walls, silently telling extraordinary stories of their past battles.
It was these battered weapons that filled the otherwise plain room with a rugged, adventurous atmosphere.
Three figures sat at a long, old wooden table.
A middle-aged man with graying hair and wrinkles around his eyes and forehead sat on the left side of the table. He appeared to be in his forties.
Despite his age, his gaze was sharp, and although his clothing was loose, the strength of his well-built muscles could still be faintly seen.
His rough, calloused hands especially showed how familiar he was with wielding weapons.
At that moment, those rugged hands held a delicate silver container; the liquid inside emanated a faint chill despite the scorching heat of June.
Across from the middle-aged man sat a slender wizard dressed in a sorcerer's robe, examining a document.
Next to the two of them, seated at the end of the table, was a burly man.
His bald head, sharp jaw, and immense body made him resemble a bear.
Especially since he leaned back in his wooden chair, head drooping as he slept, producing a soft rumbling "khrr" with each breath.
He looked like a barbarian.
Yet he wore a dark red velvet coat, a blue vest with gold buttons, and a clean white undershirt.
Most striking of all, a pure gold silk tie hung around his neck, adorned with a ruby that glowed faintly under the sunlight.
The extravagant clothing clearly showed that this bear-like man was not an ordinary person.
The people of Antara would be astonished to see these three sitting together.
The three individuals at the table were the highest-ranked figures in the entire city of Antara.
The middle-aged man was Rowan Aldegar, the guildmaster of Antara's Adventurer Guild.
The wizard in front of him, wearing a sorcerer's robe, was Tikshiel Burton, the guildmaster of Antara's Magic Caster Guild.
And the city's mayor, a noble of the kingdom, Marnagor Del Remavora.
After a moment of silence in the room, Guildmaster Rowan gently placed the silver magical container on the table and looked at the seemingly sleeping mayor.
"Your Excellency, Mayor." Rowan said softly, his expression turning slightly serious.
A quiet "pfft" was heard.
Mayor Marnagor opened his eyes. His massive body made his thick eyelids looked heavy, and his narrow eyes made it impossible for outsiders to grasp his emotions.