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Goblin Chapter 242: Wyrmling
🕑 Added 2025-09-22 11:06:52 +0000 UTC…
“Total monsters slain: 4450”
“4460”
“4475”
…
The numbers flickered madly before Gauss’s eyes.
He tirelessly dropped burning charges down through the crevice.
Alia, Serandur, Shadow, the clay constructs, the sprites—everyone took part.
As the burning went on, the space below the fissure glowed red-hot; thick black smoke belched out.
“Cough, cough!”
The smoke was laced with toxins, but they’d prepared gear to filter it in advance.
Fire plus poison in a sealed space was shockingly effective—more savage than many conventional spells.
Even if any goblins survived the initial heat, the smoke would slowly choke the strength out of them, strip away their life, and trap them to die inside.
“Goblin Slain ×1”
“Hobgoblin Slain ×1”
At last a line popped up for Gauss—proof that elites were beginning to die in that furnace of stone.
After the first, a second, a third followed…
Then the system even stopped reporting common goblin kills—because the rabble simply couldn’t withstand the roasting anymore, and were all dead.
Even without prompts, Gauss kept feeding the fire.
Sure enough, a new line eventually appeared:
“Goblin Wolf Rider Slain ×1”
He’d figured some elites were still clinging to life. And from the clay micro-constructs’ scouting, there should still be two particularly important goblins inside. Until the prompts for those appeared, he had no intention of stopping.
“Cough.” Seeing Alia and the others flag, Gauss said, “Let’s fall back and rest a bit.”
Even if they left, the clay constructs could keep up the mechanical work. He just needed to climb up now and then to top off their mana. No special prompt, no stopping—the fire wouldn’t go out for a second. In a goblin tribe, the chieftain is the true keystone; rabble can be raised in droves anytime.
The four split-off clay goblins worked without rest, each with a role: fell trees, chop fuel, carry loads, slather fuel, light, toss…
It went on most of the day. The sustained burning sent a black smoke column into the sky—visible from far away.
Lawrence Camp.
Captain Miller stood atop the watchtower, staring at a thread of black smoke like a ribbon against the mountain sky.
“Could that be Gauss and his team?” he murmured.
If memory served, they’d headed that way. All he could do was hope. To a distant city, more goblins might not matter; but for this camp and nearby villages, livelihoods and lives were under threat. If someone ended the goblin problem quickly, people’s lives could settle back on track.
Was it a mountain fire? Hard to say. And yet, it was hard to keep a blaze going in the damp, miasma-rich Emerald Forest for long—unless something special was at work.
…
“Goblin Shaman Slain ×1”
…
“(Extraordinary) Goblin Chieftain Slain ×1”
“Total Monsters Kill: 4995”
…
By the end, the blasting and burning had killed more than seven hundred goblins.
Gauss had lost track of how many times he’d refilled the constructs’ mana. When the different prompt finally appeared, he let out a breath.
He’d suspected the commander the clay scouts saw inside was a different species. Until the prompt confirmed a new kill type, he wouldn’t relax.
He’d been right to be cautious—stubbornly so. That chieftain’s vitality had been far stronger than expected; even after taking an alchemical bomb head-on and enduring heat and fumes for so long, it had clung to life until now.
Then something clicked.
He re-read the message.
Extraordinary monster.
He sucked in a cold breath. So that chieftain had already stepped into the Extraordinary tier—and he’d killed it like this.
Lucky…
From the start, he’d never planned a frontal brawl. He’d scouted thoroughly, analyzed terrain and kit, and chosen the most conservative plan. Otherwise, never mind the cave-bound rabble—just the Extraordinary chieftain could have been a nightmare.
Truth be told, the chieftain died aggrieved—it never got to use its power, and was less threatening than the bat rider the other night. Still… this was likely the weakest kind of Extraordinary. He was clear-eyed enough to know: stronger ones would be trickier.
As he weighed that, new text jumped up:
…
[Extraordinary Path unlocking.]
[Slay 5 distinct types of Extraordinary Monsters (1/5). Reward: Randomly draw one Extraordinary Monster Racial Trait.]
…
The prompts kept coming, unusually long—likely from the sheer volume: rabble, elites, and an Extraordinary.
…
“Sufficient potential absorbed from host ‘Goblin (Original).’”
“White-quality, Elite-tier Racial Trait [Storage Glands] is upgrading!”
“Success—Upgraded to Extraordinary Tier.”
“Current state allows [Storage Glands] to advance in quality. Spend 100 elite points to promote?”
…
He had 115 elite points and no other use for them. He didn’t hesitate.
After a short pause:
…
“White-quality Trait [Storage Glands] Advanced to Blue-quality [Special Stomach].”
“[Special Stomach]: keeps prior effects; adds [Matter Breakdown]. Your digestive system has mutated; digestion power is vastly improved. Your ‘stomach’ can break food down with very high efficiency into basic energy and nutrients—boosting food utilization.”
“Additionally, [Matter Breakdown] lets you go beyond ordinary food: by ingesting certain non-standard substances (e.g., special meats, specific minerals, mana-rich plant roots), you can convert them into mana.”
“Note: conversion is limited per day! Use with care to avoid harming your body.”
…
White → Blue; Elite → Extraordinary. Layered upgrades turned the old trait into something qualitatively new. Gauss felt things twist within—mysterious changes rippling in order.
When it settled, he exhaled and tallied the gains. With Special Stomach, the same food now yielded more energy, at higher speed. And he’d gained something rarer: the ability to recharge mana by eating special materials.
Odd as it sounded, if his body could take it, that was powerful—short-term mana in a crunch. As for the warning… if it was life-or-death, side effects were a price worth paying.
…
“Sufficient potential absorbed from host ‘Goblin (original).’”
“Blue-quality, Elite-tier Racial Trait [Ironscale Bloodline] is upgrading!”
“Success—upgraded to Extraordinary Tier.”
…
Alongside the stomach, his other goblin-derived trait rose too. Goblins were proving a bottomless mine.
Heat ran in his blood; he couldn’t help a sigh of wonder. Stronger scales, and they would strengthen further as his mana did. In bloodline stance, claw, strength, stamina—all rose.
His eyes, too.
It felt like he could hold golden pupils as a normal state…but to what end? He willed it; emerald turned to gold, pupils narrowing to imperious slits—without triggering the bloodline.
His vision sharpened; his mind felt cooler. And the energy cost was almost nothing. A passive buff he could keep on, then? If Blue ever advanced to Purple, would the golden eyes gain more?
When both racial traits settled, he let out a long breath.
And there was more.
He looked inward at the class-mana image.
“Time to level!”
He wasn’t alone. The others hadn’t gained as much as he had, but each sat with eyes closed, feeling their own changes, expressions shifting.
Sun speared through a gap in the clouds, a golden pillar striking the ridge.
A harvest—deep and complete.
…
At a small camp at the foot of the Hren Mountains.
Inside a tent, Gauss sat upright on a blanket. After days of prep, the cup of mana within him finally surged past a threshold into a new realm.
BOOM!
Mana, long constrained, gushed from the brim—roaring through him, widening and thickening the channels it flowed in.
Hummm—
Air rippled around him; stirred mana made the ambient mana sing. The resonance went on and on.
Outside, on watch, Serandur turned toward the tent and smiled. Captain’s leveling at last? He’d gained plenty, but as a fresh Level-4 he wasn’t close to 5.
Same for Shadow—stalled at 5, a foot from the master’s gate; the gap was taut and fine. Even so, something had loosened within. Alia, like Gauss, was leveling—her sprint was 2 → 3.
After a long while, the tent’s waves calmed. His mind smoothed. In his sea of awareness, the shining cup’s mana spun and compressed; some of it liquefied. The wafer of liquid at the bottom swelled to roughly one-quarter.
At that moment, the Level 3 mage bottleneck shattered. Mana boomed through him—richer, stronger. All force pooled in the cup and fed back into flesh, raising his overall power: mana strength, mana pool, class talents—all got a bump.
He opened his eyes. A bright glint flashed and sank.
“Class Level Increased: 4!”
The dust settled; the first thing he saw was the level-up prompt.
Finally—fourth.
He exhaled.
…
“Intelligence +1”
“Strength +1”
“Perception +1”
Stats ticked up:
STR: 10 → 11
DEX: 9
CON: 10
INT: 13 → 14
PER: 9 (8) → 10 (9)
CHA: 10 (9)
…
A good spread—INT plus STR and PER. Strength was welcome—even for a “mage.”
He knew STR mattered a lot to his whole kit. Perception reached 10 now, though the display still showed the Ring of Second Sight bonus.
Next time PER/CHA rise, the numbers won’t jump (just 10(9) → 10), and the ring will only be useful for its active skill—maybe time to pass it to Alia, if she wants it.
He clenched a fist, feeling the change. Against Level-5 pros or monsters, he’d likely walk over them; most Level-6 pros, too. No-stat-dump build, a stack of class and racial traits—plus both goblin-linked traits newly advanced.
Level-6 monsters? Hard to say without a frontal test—but in the worst case he should get out alive. And if the target is goblins, it only gets easier.
On paper, he was a Level-4 elite. In truth, he could punch past 5, maybe scrape 6.
He drew a slow breath. Back in town he could ask about Extraordinary Monsters and the Master tier—he’d heard Masters undergo a special change.
He ducked out of the tent, stretching. Sunlight stung; he narrowed his eyes and let the warmth wash over his face.
A rare lightness loosened him—like a weight gone. A battle-power step into “handles some Level-6 problems” took a lot of pressure off. No need to fear a sudden Extraordinary in the woods throwing the team into crisis.
Serandur slid over, tail swaying. “Captain—Level 4?”
Snake eyes locked on him—perceptive as ever—picking up a heavier pressure than before. Stronger and stronger… Same level, but worlds apart. At times, even through the tent wall, it felt like a miniature dragon sat inside—something both familiar and unavoidably daunting.
Face-to-face, though, that pressure eased—maybe Gauss’s looks and manner blunted the bloodline’s weight; maybe it was simple familiarity.
“Yes—smooth enough,” Gauss said, not overly excited. He’d done his celebrating in the tent.
“Congratulations,” Shadow said, drifting closer, peeking at his eyes—gold again. Emerald one moment, gold the next; it fascinated her. She couldn’t seem to escape black: a black shadow for power, black hair, black eyes.
“Thanks. How about you?” Gauss asked. If she hit 6—Master—there’d be a qualitative shift.
“Needs more time,” she shook her head.
“Then keep at it,” he said—and meant it.
There was still a veil over her. In some ways, her grasp didn’t quite match a “Level-5,” or so it felt after days together.
He glanced at Alia’s tent—quiet. They’d wait here two more days—time to drill the Level 2 Spell Cloud of Daggers he’d just learned.
As for the job—it was essentially done. After torching the mountain nest and the goblins inside, they’d found and cleaned out the training pens for the mounts, then camped here.
Thinking of the now-dead expedition, Gauss drifted. The day after the fire, once the cave cooled and the fumes sank, they went in.
Not for loot—the blaze had reduced almost everything to slag—but for intel. They found signs of iron mining, crude smelting tools, and a few rough ingots.
Clearly, the goblins weren’t out just to raid—they meant to extract and use the ore. Iron becomes weapons and armor—which arms yet more goblins.
A tremor of upheaval.
For now, though, it was one commission completed. “We can go collect the reward in the nearest town’s guild,” he mused. “What should we pick?”
The thought remained the same as after the bat rider: anti-air. The guild’s payout would be generous—time to patch a gap.
They lingered two days more. In that time Gauss settled into Cloud of Daggers, pushing it to Lv2 (18/20)—almost Lv3. Progress was brisk; as his level rose, class talents—Spell Proficiency, Magic Resistance—quietly grew, scaling with mana and level (unlike racial traits).
Spell Proficiency boosted learning speed, so he only got faster. Even so, a Level 2 spell wasn’t trivial, hence the pace.
Two days passed; Alia finished “seclusion” and stepped out. The flood of “XP” made this push easy—no need for deep communing—she simply… leveled. Enough input makes up for ritual.
Alia’s animal companions changed more than she did—especially Ulfen, her longest partner.
“Gray Wolf” no longer fit—his coat gleamed silver-white, and his physique had grown lean and sharp. Muscles traced clean lines; talons glinted in sun; his eyes shone with a keener mind. He strutted a little—then, reaching Gauss, tucked his tail, yipped, and dipped his head to nuzzle Gauss’s chest. He knew who led.
Gauss pulled generous cuts of meat from the bag—treat and congratulations.
Echo the raven had bulked up—bigger than a hawk now—and had begun to mimic words.
“Echo—Echo—reporting to you!”
“Dumb dog—Ulfen—caw caw!”
Watching Ulfen spring and snap at the taunting bird, Gauss palmed his face. Great. Smarter doesn’t always mean better. Echo’s posse had grown into adult ravens—very loyal to him.
The powderwing butterfly looked the same, but he could feel stronger mana within—power up nonetheless.
“Nice—everyone’s stronger,” Gauss nodded to Alia. Druids had a delightful perk: companions level with them.
“Hehe. So… shall we go claim our reward?” she said, and Gauss couldn’t help but grin. He wasn’t the only one thinking about it.
“First, let’s return the Ballista to Lawrence.”
…
Lawrence Camp.
With the green pests quiet, order returned. Hunters hunted; herb-men and miners went back to work.
A few idle adventurers chatted about the days-long black smoke.
“Didn’t think that kid would actually pull it off.”
“Heard Miller sent scouts—kid’s ruthless.”
“Found the nest, set it ablaze for a whole day—didn’t let a single goblin out.”
“Turned a cave into a furnace.”
“Impressive, the younger lot.”
“Felt like more than a day—smoke was up for ages.”
“Feels like he’s been gone for days—probably wrapping it up.”
In a corner, a newly arrived bard scratched away, quietly recording.
“Hren Mountains: the adventurer Gauss burned a goblin lair for days and nights. The range became a furnace. Thousands of goblins were reduced to ash, none left alive.”
“Flames unending; a black pillar of smoke like a baleful tower; even at night the mountains were limned by underlight; the goblins’ ghastly wails pierced the dark.”
“To this day the ground there is an anvil of heat; stones turned to glass; no grass grows; beasts shun it. Folk name that place the Gauss Furnace.”
…
Matt the Bard paused, pen tip hovering. He had to admit—some “minor embellishment” crept in. The gist was accurate… probably? Who cared? No one would—or could—count the dead with precision. “Thousands” was invented; he’d thought to write “tens of thousands,” but for a three-star adventurer, that strained belief. He dialed it back.
As he scribbled, a stir rose in the distance. He looked up—at a striking young man walking through the gate. Afternoon sun poured behind him, gilding his outline, making his features hard to see—only a tall, uncommonly fine silhouette in a halo of light.
Matt had heard the phrase “light has divinity” and never understood it. Until now. The light on this man did feel like something nameless.
He wore a cleaned—but still scuffed—black mage’s robe. Not flashy. But calm and poised. Militia on either side of the lane split without thinking, eyes tracking him—curious, respectful, a bit tense—as if silently escorting him.
Matt squinted to see. A few steps nearer—out of the direct blaze—and he finally did: a very handsome face, high bridge, clean jaw. And the eyes—
—gold.
Not the gaudy tincture nobles dyed with potions, but a deeper, inward gold—like molten metal moving in quiet currents, with a hint of vertical pupils if you looked closely. Caught by that glance, Matt’s heart thumped—like a great predator had idly looked his way. His pen clacked onto the table.
“Mr. Gauss, welcome back.”
“Lord Gauss—well fought.”
…
“So… that’s Gauss,” Matt breathed.
Moments ago he’d been “creating” by force of habit—and knew he’d exaggerated. But the young man called “Gauss” only had to stand there to draw belief and awe.
He’d wandered long and far and seen many traits—none who hit like this. He was sure this wasn’t mere recency bias.
His heart hammered. One word sprang to mind:
Wyrmling.
Even with a three-star badge, plain robes, a pale, unweathered face—Matt believed it: this youth was a wyrmling—latent, gathering power, about to take wing. And his golden eyes were already open.
He sucked in a breath; inspiration bubbled like a spring. Instead of crowding closer, he scrambled for another sheet and wrote. Perhaps even a wyrmling needs the retinue of a dragon.
In the crowd, Gauss met his gaze for a heartbeat, then moved on. Feeling the warmth around him, he again sensed what being an adventurer meant. They’d come to complete a commission; yet the work truly had helped ordinary folk—made life safer.
A little girl, trailing her herb-gatherer father, stepped up with a wildflower bouquet from her basket. “Big brother, this is for you.”
“Thank you. I love it.”
Gauss bent and took the flowers, lifting them to his nose. Dewy petals breathed a cool, refreshing scent.
