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Goblin Chapter 69: Devilish Goblins
🕑 Added 2025-07-24 16:45:12 +0000 UTCGauss obtained the signed quest completion document from the village chief.
The chief originally thought he would leave quickly like most adventurers, but when he heard Gauss say he intended to stay in the village for a while longer to clear out more nearby goblins, his face immediately lit up with a warm smile.
And when Gauss asked if there was an inn in the village where he could stay, the village chief waved his hands repeatedly and enthusiastically brought him to a guest room in his own house that had been specially tidied up for him to rest in.
Of course, the chief wholeheartedly welcomed Gauss’s decision to stay and continue eliminating goblins.
Even if the other goblins weren’t very close—maybe even near another village—their presence was always a potential threat. Goblins weren’t stationary creatures that just stayed put after settling down.
An adventurer who continued the work even after completing the quest—without extra pay—was truly rare.
Unable to refuse the chief’s kindness, Gauss temporarily stayed at his home.
Besides the chief and his daughter-in-law, the house also had a boy around ten years old with short brown-black hair.
When he heard Gauss was an adventurer, the boy was thrilled and pestered him with endless questions, like:
“Do goblins bathe? Do they poop?”
“Who’s stronger—an average human or a goblin?”
“How do I become an adventurer?”
Gauss responded casually while picking through his stories and treating the goblin ears—proof items—to prevent rot under the oil lamp’s light.
After all, if he didn’t preserve them now, by the time he returned to Grayrock Town to turn in the quest, the ears would likely have rotted beyond recognition.
When he was done with the quest items, he washed his hands and began maintaining his armor and weapons.
Rubbing a deerskin cloth soaked in maintenance oil along his sword, the moonlight shining through the window gleamed off the polished blade in a beautiful bluish arc.
Fortunately, the village chief’s grandson—though curious—wasn’t rowdy. He simply lay nearby with eyes full of wonder, but never tried to touch anything.
So Gauss let him watch.
“Jenos, it’s time for bed!”
The boy's mother, a plump woman with a kindly smile, came to call him.
Reluctantly, the boy jumped off the stool.
“Go on now.”
“Can I come find you again tomorrow?” the boy asked, eyes full of admiration.
“Uh...” Gauss paused. “Only if you wake up early—I’ll probably be heading out in the morning.”
“Can I come with you?”
“Sorry, but no.”
The boy’s mother gave Gauss a smile and a nod, then gently pulled the reluctant boy away. At the doorway, the boy gave Gauss one last stubborn, wistful look.
Gauss shook his head, knowing he had likely influenced this village boy’s future.
Maybe, years later, another young man would leave home and step onto the path of an adventurer.
Whether that was a good or bad thing—he wasn’t sure.
After the boy left, Gauss returned to his gear maintenance. This, too, was part of an adventurer’s daily life. One had to care for their own equipment to ensure nothing would fail at a crucial moment.
…
The next day.
After a warm breakfast offered by the village chief, Gauss set out again.
Unfortunately, the meal didn’t suit his tastes and wasn’t very filling.
He discreetly pulled out a few emergency meat jerky strips from his pack and chewed as he walked.
“I’m heading out,” he said, bidding farewell to the chief and Jenos. “Chief, you mentioned someone from a neighboring village saw goblins recently?”
“Yes, I heard a caravan leader mention it a few days ago. Just turn left out of the village and follow the path. The first village you reach is the one.”
Satisfied with this lead—vague though it was—Gauss set off again.
Even if it was just a rumor, it was better than blindly searching without direction.
In the forest, as evening approached, golden light filtered through the dense canopy, tinting the woods with warmth.
Beside the exposed roots of an old oak tree, the heart of hunter Randall grew colder and colder.
He clenched his teeth, cold sweat running down his rugged face. When the droplets fell onto the ugly, savage wound on his leg, he couldn’t help but hiss in pain.
How ironic—to be wounded by one of his own traps.
His coarse linen clothes were drenched in sweat. He anxiously glanced toward the darkening bushes as the sun sank further.
Just twenty paces away, within those shadowed shrubs, several pairs of cloudy, greedy, glinting eyes stared at him with undisguised hunger.
Goblins. It was these vile creatures that had pushed him into this dire situation.
These emaciated green-skinned pests were among the scrawniest of goblins. On a normal day, he might have been able to fend them off or scare them away.
But now, the wound on his leg—barely bandaged—was throbbing fiercely. The pain blurred his vision and dulled his thoughts like poison dragging him into sleep.
He looked down at the bow in his hands. If not for it, the goblins might have charged him already.
But he knew the bow would only keep them at bay for so long.
Night was falling fast. Soon he might not even have the strength to draw the bow, and even if he could, he’d never hit anything in the pitch dark.
A sense of doom welled in Randall’s chest.
He knew—he might not survive the night.
Time passed.
The pain in his leg slowly numbed his awareness. He felt like he was slipping into a drugged sleep.
Just before passing out completely, the image of his daughter Taylor flashed before his eyes—sweet and innocent. Her mother had died years ago from illness, and now he was on death’s door too.
What would happen to the child?
He had no relatives in this village—just a stranger who had settled down here. Even if others were kind enough to take Taylor in, would they treat her well?
Tangled thoughts filled his mind. A surge of survival instinct overwhelmed the haze.
And just as his consciousness returned, the goblins—smelling weakness—began to creep closer like swarming flies.
Randall let out a furious, beast-like roar:
“Get back! You filthy scum!”
He raised his bow, trying to draw the string one more time to drive them off.
But he was too weak.
His arms trembled. The bowstring barely bent before his grip gave out.
An arrow wobbled from the bow and flopped a few feet forward, harmlessly embedding itself in the dirt.
Damn it!
He cursed inside.
As expected, the goblins saw through his weakness.
Realizing the prey before them was bluffing, their predatory eyes lit up with greed and malice.
They surged forward like a pack of hyenas catching the scent of blood.
Chattering and cackling with eerie glee, their grotesque eyes glinted under the falling darkness—like demons from hell.
