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Goblin Chapter 226: Return, Report, Upgrade...
🕑 Added 2025-09-06 14:13:55 +0000 UTCIt was three days later by the time Gauss and company made it back to town.
Dusty and spent, they stepped into Lincrown—familiar timbered buildings, thin cooking smoke curling from rooftops, people and livestock moving along the streets—and only then did the tension that had wound through them finally unwind. Real relief, from the inside out.
On paper, with two teams and several Level 5s, they shouldn’t have met anything they couldn’t handle outside the Jade Forest. That’s the theory. Even when you know it’s likely safe, an adventurer in the wild keeps their guard up. Only back in the human world do you truly let it fall.
They didn’t dawdle. After dropping packs at a nearby inn, they headed straight to the guild to report. They left out Laduguer’s taint—Solin’s business—but flagged the monster camp around the ruin for the guild to verify. Once confirmed, there’d be a bounty for the intel.
“Just to confirm—here on the map, a large monster encampment?” the guild clerk asked, circling a position.
“Yes,” Gauss nodded. “Not a slapdash nest, a proper camp—palisades, archer towers, patrols, wagon trains; Green Dragon banners flying. Mixed force—goblins, lizardmen, gnolls on the outer ring. What’s at the center, we didn’t see.”
“Adventurers heading that way need to be warned.”
The clerk pushed his spectacles up and took it down word for word. A Green Dragon banner spoke for itself.
“Valuable warning. Once verified, the bounty will be issued—you can collect here or at any other guild branch.”
He finished the note, then turned back to Gauss. “Mr. Gauss—there’s also a payout for your team. President Ritchie’s commission to scout the Black Forest has been graded 4-star basic and marked complete. Here’s your pay.”
He slid a pouch over. Gauss checked—forty gold, plus five Association merits.
“Has President Ritchie returned to Lincrown?” Solin’s voice floated up from below the counter. The clerk rose on his toes—ah, the dwarf—and shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”
They left the guild and hit a local trading house with their spoils—mostly metal from the constructs, with a grab bag of monster bits and arms.
After some haggling, they landed at a mutually tolerable price—ninety-five gold, counted on the spot. A lot for a commoner; split six ways and with three Level 5s in the mix, it made sense. By prior agreement, Solin slid sixty to Gauss’s team—extra to offset their help purging the taint.
“Count it. Yours by right.”
Gauss didn’t fuss. He tallied it and tucked it away to split with Alia and Serandur back at the inn. It would cover living, repairs, upgrades, and spell costs for a while.
…
The next evening, they were back in the Silverflower’s quiet booth, the air thick with meat, stew, and beer. Two teams around a groaning table—sizzling ribs, savory patties, roast veg, mushroom stew, and foaming mugs of stout.
Solin drank deep—cheeks redder than usual—and launched into tall tales. Nancy only sighed and leaned over to Gauss. “Don’t mind him—everything after the third cup is a story.”
“Oi, I heard that,” Solin said, lurching into the conversation. Laughter rolled around the table.
Halfway through, he circled back, clapping an arm around Gauss’s shoulders. “Be serious, lad—come with us. Eat well, drink well, fill your coffers.”
Nancy added, “Your talent is rare, Gauss. With us, you’ll see higher-tier commissions—that’s… better nourishment for your growth.”
The first invitation might’ve been whim; this was earnest. Gauss’s impact had been obvious; if the job was done, credit leaned his way. Eyes locked on him.
He set his cup down, weighed it, and said, “Solin, Nancy, Elton—thank you, truly. But I prefer to grow with my team, at our pace. Sorry.”
He didn’t voice a further worry. Solin’s trio were no mere freelancers—he suspected ties and obligations. Where did commissions like theirs come from? Could they refuse? He guessed no. Joining them might mean binding his own hands.
“Haha,” Solin laughed, a little rueful. “Big goals, then.” He waved it away. “Friends, if not teammates.”
Nancy slid over a prepared slip. “This is our address in Wineheart City. We work there most of the time. If you pass through—or need extra hands—please find us.”
“I will,” Gauss said, tucking it away. Another city—beyond Coldemerald’s borders, farther than Grayrock and Lincrown.
Elton, kinder and less invested in recruiting, only offered his caution. “Gauss, I can’t see the heart of that power you wield—but great strength brings great peril. Use it carefully. If anything feels… wrong, the Morninglord’s halls are open to those who seek light and hope. Faith may help you steer it.”
Gauss nodded and sank his awareness inward. The egg had fed on the taint and fed him back—and slept again, shell brighter now, faint gold filigree running across it.
They dropped business and swapped stories and notes, and time slipped. The meal ended on a warm note. Trust set, the two teams parted ways.
…
At the gate they saw Solin’s team off. Then Serandur turned to Gauss. “Captain, I think the bottleneck at Level 3 has loosened. I’d like a few days—to prepare for the jump to 4.”
“You’re leveling? That’s good news,” Gauss grinned. Serandur had sat at 3 for almost three years.
“This is thanks to you, Captain,” Serandur said.
“Thanks? You did the work,” Gauss said, thinking it courtesy.
Serandur shook his head, solemn. “No. Without this job, it would have been longer. Especially when you cleansed that taint—I felt a surge of pure power run through me. I think…it came from you.”
Alia nodded quickly. “Me too—my class bar jumped a lot.” Curiosity brightened her eyes.
Gauss looked at the two who had walked into fire with him more than once, thinking hard. Adventure nudges a career forward—but it’s a slow curve, often felt only in hindsight. This spike was something else. He himself had felt it—like experience poured straight in.
A thought surfaced: the egg shares a slice of party experience—to allies.
The images from the Black Forest flickered—the egg’s guardians, the treants, the changed insects, the surge of life. It had a way of evolving things.
“It’s probably the egg,” he said, rubbing his brow, and told them his guess. They stared—then put pieces together and drew in breath.
“…Either way—thank you, Captain,” Serandur said again. Nothing is “owed” by right; without Gauss, they wouldn’t have bathed in the spillover.
“Small thing. Go make your level. Alia and I will wait in town. Be careful—find us after you break through.”
“Understood.” He left that afternoon.
Gauss turned to Alia. “Just us again. Let’s rest, resupply, and study. And sniff around for news from the forest.”
“Perfect,” Alia said. “I need a lot of reagents—and Lincrown’s flora puts Grayrock to shame.”
With thirty-plus gold each still heavy in their pockets—not counting older coin—it was time to spend and turn money into the tools of survival.
Young adventurers don’t hoard; coin only matters when it becomes steel, spells, skills, and knowledge.
They stopped at a smithy called Flametongue—Solin’s recommendation. The owner was one of his kin. A wave of heat hit them as they went in, spiced with metal, coal, and leather. The shop was bigger than it looked; walls hung with everything from farm tools to war gear.
A bare-chested dwarf in a heavy apron quenched a red-hot blade with a hiss and a cloud of steam, wiped sweat away, and glanced up. “What’ll it be?”
“Solin said you could take on repairs?” Gauss asked.
“Sol… Solin—ah, you lot,” the dwarf said, manners tightening at the name. “He sent word. Aye, I do refurbs. Name’s Morik.”
Gauss laid out Zephyr, Alia’s golden dagger, and Serandur’s silver buckler. He’d used Zephyr a few times; it had been sealed for centuries. Proper hands should wake it right.
“Been a while since I’ve seen a Zephyr this clean,” Morik said, eyes lighting. “And these—Dawnblade and Thunderface, right? Top-shelf kit from centuries back. You’ve brought them to the right door. In all Lincrown, only I’ll take the job.”
“You found a ruin, then?” He’d put it together in a heartbeat.
“Mm,” Gauss said, keeping Solin’s matters out of it. Morik didn’t pry.
He lined them up, stroked his beard, and said, “Solin’s folk get a straight answer. Zephyr’s in fine shape—but if you want durability, she needs a full overhaul and edge treatment. Dawnblade wants a new charge to wake it. Thunderface needs edge trueing and bracing.”
He tapped and prodded, then named a price. “All three—materials and time—twelve gold. Pick them up the evening after tomorrow—good as new, better in the hand.”
Gauss glanced at Alia and nodded. It wasn’t cheap—but spread across three elite pieces, four gold each made sense.
Elite blades run in the tens of gold; a deep service chews through costly material. Expecting elite repairs at iron prices was fantasy.
Dwarf work, too—duergar and dwarves shared craft, like it or not. A common smith wouldn’t touch them.
Weapons are not a place to cut corners. Zephyr had felt fine—but tiny faults become disasters. Steel and shield are a second life.
“Deal, Master Morik,” Gauss said, sliding twelve gold over.
Morik nodded, satisfied. “Trust me. They’ll sing when you come back.”
They left the smith and wandered the market street, topping off rope, hooks, antidotes, Alia’s reagents—special seeds and teeth—and Gauss grabbed a few strong adhesives. They finished on the guild’s second floor, buying spells.
Alia chose a Level 1—Faerie Fire—control plus support, limning foes so the invisible show themselves and the hidden stand clear, boosting allies’ aim.
Gauss picked a Level 2—Heat Metal. On paper, simple: choose a metal weapon or armor you can see; make it white-hot so anything touching it burns. In practice? Broad.
Against goblins with sticks and rags, useless. Against what’s coming—armored foes with steel in hand—vicious.
A different way to say “disarm” and “disarmor,” forcing a choice between flames and letting go.
