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Goblin Chapter 291: Hunt at Blue Lake
🕑 Added 2025-11-06 09:52:30 +0000 UTCWith a local leading the way, Gauss and company quickly found an inn near the docks.
The rooms had a fine view—one glance took in the whole sweep of the lake.
Perhaps because of the lake grand prix, the town’s inns were nearly full, bustling with visitors and contestants in all kinds of dress—a sharp contrast to Gold & Silver’s emptiness.
It was just past noon; the sun was perfect. None of them felt like resting further. After a rinse and a change into easy, everyday clothes, they strolled out into the crowded main street to soak up the rare festival air.
The roar hit as soon as they stepped out. Stalls lined both sides; the air was thick with grilled fish and meat and the lake wind’s cool, fresh damp.
“So lively!”
Alia’s eyes shone. Her gaze flicked from stall to stall. She stopped at one selling shells and trinkets, picked up a wind-chime-like pendant, gave it a gentle shake, and listened to its bright, musical clink.
Food and “souvenir” trinkets dominated the street-side hawking.
“Not buying?” Gauss asked when she came back empty-handed.
“Too pricey. The owner took me for a fool—two silver for a tiny wind chime.” She shook her head. She wasn’t hard up—but she didn’t like getting skinned. The ask was so ridiculous she couldn’t be bothered to haggle.
Gauss shook his head, smiling. They stocked up on supplies. Near dusk, they headed back to rest.
Night.
Gauss walked the streets alone. After a day of nosing around and asking questions, he had a decent map of the lay of the land—where the monsters tended to be, and what exactly this “Five-Town Lake Grand Prix” was.
The festival began, he learned, because the livelihoods of the five towns around Blue Lake all depended on this vast water. They’d feuded for prime fishing grounds, lake treasures, even divine favor from the lake god—relations were poor, friction constant. Someone proposed a grand race to bring the towns together, and to turn it into a chance to honor the lake god—praying for fair weather and full nets.
Thus the Five-Town Grand Prix was born. Over time it grew in scale and prizes into a major festival every few years—mending ties, drawing tourists, and stirring trade. The timing was no accident, either. At the turn from summer to fall—hot and restive—monsters were most active. A lively festival and heavy crowds keep weaker monsters away; meanwhile, the towns could coordinate patrols, share intel, and even mount joint hunts for tougher monsters. Plenty of adventurers came for the name and helped clean the waters.
“Total Monster Kills: 7,611.”
Gold & Silver had added over a thousand kills; 8,000 was in sight. And honestly, he’d fed the drake too many goblins lately—it was getting tired of them. Blue Lake’s “river-fresh” would make a nice change. He could be considerate.
Things that run, swim, and fly—eat a mix for balanced nutrition.
Also—
He turned a special crystal over in his hand. It was the core “scoring stone” for the “Blue Lake Hunt,” one of the grand prix’s main events. He didn’t know the exact principle, but when you killed a monster, you brought the stone close and it recorded the points. He hadn’t planned on entering—but he’d be hunting anyway; might as well put it to use. Maybe even place well.
Once clear of the town, he flew a bit farther. Certain no one was watching, he let the red drake out of the beast bag.
“Rr—”
Hephaestus yawned. Being “cooped up” the last few days hadn’t made him cranky—in fact, he’d enjoyed the rare peace; it felt like the old days.
“Relax—we’re not eating goblins today,” Gauss said, patting the head. Two smooth, dark-red nubs had sprouted—cute, even.
Good news improved the mood.
“Up we go,” Gauss said, climbing onto the saddle. The drake’s wings beat; the altitude climbed fast. Gauss set the monocle and the world snapped into crystal clarity. Flatlands were laced with rivers and ponds—and the vast sapphire sheet of Blue Lake filled the horizon.
After a sweep, he turned the drake toward a broad river. As they drew near, the riverbank sharpened into figures: twenty-odd, half-human-high fishmen in the moonlight, dragging two dead mountain sheep toward the water. Some hauled, some kept watch for predators lured by blood.
WHUMP!
They’d been watching the sides—and forgotten the sky. The drake dropped like a meteor and sat squarely on a few. “Waa! Guga!” The rest shrieked and scattered.
Before they could even process the calamity, Hephaestus’ tail swept—pow, pow, pow—flinging them like dolls. He was small only compared to true dragons; to most monsters he was a giant. Small fry couldn’t stand up to that.
A handful on the edge made it through both strikes and ran for the water—but the flash of fire from the saddle killed that hope. Gauss finished the stragglers with fire arrows, then jumped down and pressed the scoring stone to the bodies.
The numerals ticked up—1, 2, 3… and stopped at 23.
One point per fishman? Duly noted. He hadn’t cared at first—but now that he’d signed up, a little competitive itch stirred. Hunting monsters was his forte. If he could help it, he didn’t want to look bad on the board.
“Eat,” he said. Hephaestus sniffed—wrinkled his muzzle at the reek—then bathed the meat in a short dragon-breath, and gulped it down. “Let’s find the next target.”
The long night was theirs. Again and again the drake lifted and landed; blood followed in their wake. Water ghouls and fishmen were the most common around the rivers and lake.
By the time the stars paled, the count had crept to 7,823—another silent two hundred. The area was richer than Gold & Silver—resources and monsters both.
“Ball-algae Beasts Slain ×5.”
A new entry—47 ordinary species in the Index now. Three more to hit the magic 50 and pull a new racial trait. He hadn’t realized how close he’d come.
He wanted to push—but a glance at the sky made him think better. He and the drake had been at it long enough; most of the time had gone into search. The rest would take more than a night. No need to force it.
“Head back.”
…
Lakeside’s guild hall was packed. Gauss flashed the scoring stone at the front desk; a clerk synced the data. While she worked, he took in the place.
“You killed 212 monsters last night?” Alia asked, surprised. She knew he hunted at night—but that diligent? Night wasn’t a great time—limited sight; many monsters roosted.
“Mhm.” Gauss nodded, eyes on the big crystal board.
Herbert: 761
Koman: 615
Angela: 599
…
The hunt had been running for days; a gap had opened. Gauss shook his head. Others weren’t slow. Seven hundred meant at least seven hundred little monsters—unless they’d hunted elites. He asked the clerk—elite points ran 10–100; a 5th-tier elite could be worth 100. Six days remained. No rush. He only had a couple hundred—but that was a few hours’ work. When he started pushing, the number would rocket.
When the clerk finished, the board flickered—and his name slotted in. Not high. 212 points put him in the hundred-somethings across the five towns. No one batted an eye; the 100–200 bracket was clogged with entrants. Plenty of lower-tier adventurers, especially in teams, could scrape that in four days.
“Herbert’s number shot up—he was just over five hundred yesterday.”
“He picked up a big commission, I heard.”
“He didn’t even sign up on day one—feels like he’s a lock for champion.”
The peanut gallery wasn’t just Gauss.
“Shall we see what commissions fit?” Alia said, hunting his rank, then looking up. “We should help push Gauss up the board.”
Even a “fun” contest—since he’d entered, they wanted to pull their weight. A word with the clerk, and they were ushered into a private room. Even without Gauss’ overkill hidden strength, this party was top-tier for any town.
Gauss took the selection seriously. Quantity, quality, and new species—that was the brief. He settled on one:
“Cull the Giant Crab Tribe.”
“Confirmed,” he said after a quick consult, turning to the attendant. The job was to clear an Iron-Claw Giant Crab tribe near a place called Shattered Shell Shoals. The chief was a millstone-sized elite—stone-breaking claws, armor like plate—a tyrant of the shallows and a danger to fishers and small craft.
The reward was 80 gold—and a note: “Purge the nest—confirm the threat eliminated.” He hadn’t killed this species—so at minimum he’d add one ordinary and one elite entry to the Index. It wasn’t too far, either—though not close. The nearest jobs had been snatched up.
With a drake, it didn’t matter; outside the town they could fly fast.
“Shattered Shell is tricky terrain—please be careful,” the clerk said, as they do.
“Got it,” Gauss nodded.
“Good hunting, then.” With that, they moved. In a quiet spot outside, they opened the beast bag and summoned Hephaestus. The four climbed on—not cramped, but Albena’s heft made the drake sag. Those golden eyes pinched.
“Rr—”
Heavy.
Gauss pressed a palm to his skull and caught the complaint. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fly—just the feeling of being a pack animal. A kid, carrying a load no child should.
“When we’re done, I’ll find you some cattle or sheep—change of taste.”
Only at that promise did Hephaestus nod, reluctant.
“Go!”
The drake spread its wings, labored to lift, and, after a long gather, finally pushed toward the horizon.
“Woo!!!” Alia whooped—her first time on a dragon. She knew she owed Gauss—but she was thrilled. She’d be a druid who’d ridden a dragon. Albena and Serandur didn’t shout—but their faces told the story.
Gauss saw and smiled. This only worked because Hephaestus was a drake—and because, over time, Gauss had imprinted absolute authority. A true dragon? Forget dangling cattle and sheep—no delicacy or treasure would make a proud dragon yield.
