They'd been on the road for hours.
Gauss still hadn't quite shaken the melancholy of parting when the sky opened up on the ride back.
The rain came out of nowhere. A bank of leaden cloud swallowed the sun in an instant, and bean-sized drops slammed down without warning—sparse at first, then merging into a white curtain that hammered puddles into a crackling froth.
"Tch, talk about bad timing," Alia muttered, brushing the damp, sky-blue bangs plastered to her brow as cold water ran down her neck.
Gauss pulled rain cloaks from his storage pouch and tossed them to his teammates, then scanned their surroundings.
Open ground in all directions—no shelter in sight. He cinched his cloak under the steady drumming. The downpour cleared his head. He soothed the chocobo beneath him as it tossed its wet head, uneasy in the weather.
Ugly weather is part of the adventurer's road, too.
They met each other's eyes.
"Keep moving?" Gauss's voice cut the rain.
"Okay." They nodded. Even Alia, the least hardy of the three, was used to getting rained on outdoors. It was just a letdown that their "holiday" had barely ended and they hadn't even reached Grayrock before the skies broke.
Gauss squeezed with his legs.
"Kweh!!"
The chocobo lunged, thick legs churning like a warhorse's, kicking up sheets of clinging mud as it plunged into the heavier rain.
Thud-thud-thud!
The rugged bird ate distance under the deluge; cold water pummeled Gauss's cloak with a dull drumming. The world narrowed to white rain, slick, muddy track, and the bird's breath and splash.
"Maybe we should pitch a tarp and wait it out?" Gauss sent twice in quick succession with the Message cantrip, passing the thought along.
He'd meant to ride out of the downpour's heart—when his chocobo suddenly gave a sharp, urgent cry.
"Heads up—something's wrong!"
Gauss saw the distant black specks, went cold, and hauled back on the reins. The chocobo braked hard, hooves plowing deep furrows in the mud. It danced in place, throat feathers standing.
Alia and Serandur were just as fast—she checked her mount; he skidded to a stop and drew his weapon.
Gauss squinted through the rain, drops streaming down his face, blinking hard to keep his sight clear. In the shoulder-high grasses he caught the twist and bob of small, warped shapes along the road and to either side.
The hiss of rain carried thin, piercing shrieks.
"Waa-waa-waa!"
A mass of green-skins burst from the wet brush—dozens at a glance. Dark green hides gleamed oily-wet, uglier for the wash of rain; crude weapons waved above their heads. And in their midst stood a figure larger than a goblin, radiating a different, malignant ferocity.
Gauss's eyes fixed. A spark lit in his chest.
An elite gnoll.
A wolfish head, foul fangs bared, gray-brown fur like steel needles standing firm even under the downpour, drool thick and stringing.
It wore a rough half-armor stitched from metal plates and leather; in its hands, a huge, wickedly curved blade gleamed.
Rain sheeted off its powerful legs. It didn't so much as flinch—just fixed the three with cruel, cunning amber eyes and let out a low, threatening growl.
The sound rolled over the goblins' clamor; the little green things hunched instinctively.
Gauss's trio had blundered into a goblin troop led by an elite gnoll.
"How are we running into this out here?" Alia blinked. This was north of Grayrock; odds of a monster unit led by an elite this deep were low.
Yet here they were.
"Get ready," Gauss said, a corner of his mouth ticking up. Strange as it was, his overclocked brain said one thing: fight now. Besides, his monster index didn't have an elite gnoll yet. That thing out there wasn't just a monster—it was ten walking Elite Points.
Hard to size it from a distance in the rain, but by reason, it shouldn't be too bad. If it were truly strong, it wouldn't be leading so few goblins. Like humans, the stronger the monster, the stronger its vassals tend to be.
The gnoll didn't try to parley. The rain hid everything; just as Gauss couldn't read its strength, it couldn't read theirs. In the heartbeat Gauss measured his options, the gnoll lifted its blade and howled—charging orders.
"Awooooo!"
Driven by fear, the goblins screeched nonsense and slopped forward in a ragged rush.
Gauss didn't move. He had Alia use Speak with Animals to send the chocobos back out of the fight, then glanced at the oncoming goblins. They were fodder, and the gnoll behind them… was already easing back.
Testing us with cannon fodder? And bolt if it goes south?
He snorted. The books didn't lie—gnolls were crafty, and some of them didn't have a shred of fighting spirit.
"Alia, Serandur—the goblins are yours."
"Got it."
In that beat, Gauss fired [Enhanced Leap].
Thoom!
Steel-toed boots punched the mud. The burst hurled him through the rain; the force shattered the drops to mist. A black streak split the downpour. He punched through the goblin line before they even reacted—cutting a few down as he passed—and arrowed for the gnoll.
The gnoll's eyes narrowed. It had seen the explosion of speed and power. Too late to run.
"Rrragh!!"
It snarled in mingled rage and fear—and hurled its great blade. The edge keened through the air, spinning true for a perfect intercept on his midair arc. Good timing.
It didn't matter.
Gauss moved faster. As the blade flashed up at him, he showed off the upgraded grace and reaction speed of a fresh Level 3—contorting impossibly in the air into a sliding, side-on dive—
Shhhhh!
The blade scythed the rain, the edge skimming his chest, wind shearing a few wet strands from his hair.
Clean evasion—but not by luck. With the level-up, control and judgment had spiked; the "near-miss" was long by his read. He'd taken the narrowest line to conserve speed.
His palm slapped the mud; he sprang upright. The gnoll had already turned tail. It had badly misjudged how fast he'd read and dodged that throw. It was still in range.
Mana thrummed in the white staff. Magic Missiles leapt from his hand.
Boom!
Sapphire bolts burned brighter in the rain. On purpose, he drilled both the gnoll's knees.
Crack!
Little protection there—explosions shattered the joints. The upper body pitched forward on momentum and hit the mud hard.
That's why you don't turn your back and run—you can't see the attack, and you die faster and dumber.
It wasn't dead yet. Not strong, either. Barely Level 2, if that. Lots of bark—no bite.
Gauss didn't close. The gnoll, legs blown off, clawed itself up to sit, snatched a cleaver from its belt, and stared at him, yammering in a tongue he didn't know. Maybe Alia could make it out. He'd held back on purpose—not out of mercy or meanness, but to maximize the return.
The staff pulsed with Clay Shaping. Blobs of clay splatted into the muck and rose into spiders, each a different build.
"Figures—a downpour's a big negative for claywork," he muttered. He could feel the constructs' discomfort; it cost mana just to keep their shapes against the water. He'd have to look into waterproof materials and a water-adapted variant.
For now—spirit first. Clay needs the last hit to harvest spirits.
He sicced three of the weaker spiders on the goblins and sent the strongest—Venom—to the gnoll.
Construct power depends on mana quality, spell mastery, base materials—and spirit. From studying the spell's nature, he'd learned: build around the spirit shed by a single elite creature. The stronger the creature, the stronger the spirit when it dies.
His current spiders were built around a base of low-tier Giant Spider spirit and topped up with bug spirit: fine in quantity, lacking in quality. This elite gnoll would be an upgrade. And if he guessed right, gnoll spirit wouldn't be bad—cunning souls had their edge.
Blue-white Venom skittered over the mud and was on the gnoll in a blink. The gnoll scrabbled backwards, struck out with the cleaver—missed easily. The spider crouched, coiled, and sprang; needle mandibles punched the gap in the plate-leather and bit.
At the contact point, dark green energy spread like a web, racing over the gnoll's body. It didn't melt like the sparrow a few days ago; it stiffened, eyes rolling white. It twitched a few times and stilled.
[Gnoll Chieftain Slain ×1]
[Unlocked Elite Monster Index Entry: 8.]
Another ten Elite Points—thirty total. And as the spider finished the kill, a heavy clot of spirit floated to Gauss—more complete than goblin or spider spirit, without that wispy, ready-to-disperse fragility.
His first elite-grade spirit.
He studied it briefly, then glanced back. Alia and Serandur were wrapping up. His three spiders were doing their part, too; at this distance, little motes of spirit hung waiting for him to collect.
When the fight ended:
[Total Monsters Kill: 2,415]
He walked forward and the spirit streamed to him like filings to a magnet. Goblin variants would get stronger. "Still missing one elite goblin, though…" he mused. After tasting elite gnoll spirit, the scattered goblin stuff was hard to love. Build around an elite goblin, then feed it masses of regular goblin spirit—that would make a fine helper. The gnoll chieftain might serve too.
The rain kept falling. He rejoined his partners, quickly stripped the field—especially the gnoll; elite organs fetch a price—and swung back onto the chocobos for Grayrock.
Oddly, beyond that patch the rain thinned fast. Soon the sky cleared. At a dead run they dried without even using magic. They stopped around noon to rest.
"That gnoll unit felt… off," Alia said over food. The group was nothing to them—but in a village, it was a nightmare. Driving a troop into the human heartland was risky for monsters. Even without Gauss, they could hit other professionals—once they started burning and killing, they'd draw stronger hunters. Most elites know to avoid the line; they don't wander into towns.
"Maybe they were 'escorting' those goblins in?" Gauss shook his head. He had no firm answer, but ever since last winter the Jade Forest had been getting lively. He thought of Vice Guildmaster Shirley's message—maybe it was tied to the forest's unrest.
After lunch, they rode on, making Grayrock by dusk—thanks to chocobos. With a caravan it would've taken two or three days.
At the gate, Gauss eased the reins; the chocobo clicked through at a measured "tock-tock," and they entered Grayrock to a busy tide of merchants and laborers loading and unloading.
Then a strange hush rolled outward as he came into view. People slowed—hawkers, porters, loungers, adventurers—heads turning toward the gate.
A young man in a fitted black mage's robe sat straight-backed on a splendid chocobo. His forelock fell artfully without looking unkempt; his face was sharp, not merely pretty but tempered with power, confidence, and quiet wit.
His eyes, especially—clear and keen, as if they could see through you without pressing, warm with steadiness.
The sky was spotless, the warm-gold of sunset edging him in pale light. The market's clamor paused for a heartbeat, then resumed as he rode on; life goes on after a moment of appreciation. A few girls stayed pink-cheeked, chirping.
"Gauss, everyone's staring," Alia said, blinking.
"Mhm. I know." He knew why. "A bit of a nuisance…"
"As if," Alia snorted. He'd very obviously slowed his mount.
Gauss shook his head. Leveling to 3 had nudged his Charisma to 10. Charm doesn't just polish your looks; it thickens your presence, your pull—especially for strangers.
And it wasn't just Charisma 10—nearly all his stats were around 10 now; a near-perfect body pushes a harmonious "presence" from the inside out. Even others with boosted Charisma wouldn't draw eyes quite like this. Not all upside; this was one of the "side effects" of getting strong.
"…Though." He glanced at the Horn Bangle on his wrist and hummed. It felt like the gear couldn't keep boosting past 10. His panel showed Charisma 10 (9). The bracelet straining to turn 9 into 10—once the true stat hit 10, the item's effect would all but vanish.
They tied the chocobos, left Ulfen and Echo outside, and stepped into the Guild. Plenty of adventurers were back—no surprise, with the labyrinth closed.
They turned in the quest and collected the 20 silver. A receptionist led them to Shirley's office. Not quitting time yet.
Knock, knock.
"Come in," came a lazy voice.
They entered. Even behind a desk, Shirley drew the eye like walking flame—hair down over shoulders and back, tips curling; wine-deep reds, dusk rose, the bright orange of newborn flame—heat and life rolling in gradients through the strands.
Gauss took one look, then sat. Straight to business. "Lady Shirley, what did you need from us?"
"Tea first?" She sat up from a lounge, and a fine ceramic pot appeared in her hand, steam ghosting from its spout.
"Sure." He'd gotten used to tea before talk. Cups appeared; the spout poured clear red that caught the sunset through the glass like the sky tipping into porcelain.
Shirley glanced over Gauss's face—and didn't glance away. Maybe it was just her; she didn't bother with the pretense. She openly stared, as if she might read a secret there.
"What a waste," she sighed at last.
"…," Gauss thought, black lines forming on his forehead. Vague much? After staring at his face that long? And "what a waste" meant what, exactly? He'd just been "troubled" by it outside—Alia's eyes were very smug right now.
"Don't take it wrong," Shirley said, realizing. "I mean it's a waste you didn't become a warlock."
Misunderstanding cleared.
"Mages aren't so bad," Gauss said carefully, even as a small part of him preened.
Shirley rolled her eyes inside. Since their first meeting, she hadn't believed he was a mage. Even ordinary jobs change a person's air over time—how much more the supernatural?
Close up, Gauss's presence wasn't like a mage's—or like any class she knew; it had to be something rarer. With conditions like his, not becoming a warlock really was a shame.
For warlocks, Charisma isn't just looks or patter; it's personal force, will, and the ability to wield the magic inside. Mages study and reach outward; warlocks draw on born bloodlines and inner power—discovering and guiding it.
Mages need intellect; warlocks need Charisma to command the power within.
Gauss understood her regret—but he didn't share it. His Charisma looked high, but it was just one of six stats, and not his best. His Intelligence was higher.
"Business, then?" he said once he'd finished his tea. He wanted a hot bath. Beautiful or not, he wanted home more.
"Impatient," Shirley smiled. "Alright. I want to talk about opening Outpost 11."
"Outpost… 11?"
"Answering the province's call: gather the adventurers of Grayrock, Lincrown, Wormwood, and Blackwater, plus a provincial knight detachment, to establish a foothold inside the Jade Forest."
She took another sip, lips like flame. "You've felt it too—since last year, monsters along the forest edge have gotten more active, more rabid. There are more reports of abnormal migrations."
At "abnormal migrations," Gauss, Alia, and Serandur traded looks—thinking of the gnoll-led goblin squad in the rain. Shirley saw it. "You look like you have a story."
"On our way back, northwest of town, we ran into…" Gauss laid it out succinctly.
Shirley drummed her fingers, a shadow of understanding and thought in her eyes. "Not an isolated case. We've had plenty of reports—monsters driving lesser creatures toward towns."
"Outpost 11 sits on a special natural mana node on the forest's edge. If we hold it, it tilts the area in our favor."
"In fact, there'll be seventeen outposts along the forest. Your job is to hold the area around Outpost 11 before construction finishes. Bounties as usual, plus daily stipends for the watch."
"Well? Interested? Beats mopping goblins and kobolds around town, doesn't it?"
Gauss didn't answer at once. He lowered his gaze, thumb circling the warm cup. "Honestly, I find clearing goblins pretty interesting."
Shirley's face froze; she'd almost forgotten. He was the Goblin Slayer making a name around Grayrock. He might truly enjoy it.
"There'll be more goblins at the outpost," she said dryly. "You know how it is—goblins are everyone's favorite fodder."
"I need to talk to my companions." He looked to Alia and Serandur. Alia had learned Message, too; they spoke with cantrips in front of Shirley, quick and silent.
Four towns' adventurers, provincial knights, freelancers from the interior—a big muster. Everyone knows the unspoken rule: to climb in class, get yourself into big events. The ones at the top rode wave after wave and seized their moments. Bigger stage, bigger leaps.
Their own history proved the point. After the Winter Hunt, Gauss hit 2; Barry's labyrinth saw Alia to 2 and set Gauss up for 3. Even Serandur had confided he could feel the edge of 4. Outpost 11 looked like a live front in the rising heat between humans and monsters—maybe the first chapter of a new era.
They reached consensus fast. Gauss looked up at Shirley, who was sipping her tea with patient amusement.
"Lady Shirley," he said. "We'll take it."
"Knew you would." She set her cup down with a smile. "Sensible choice. Now the details…"
Hands folded under her chin, she laid them out.
…
By the time she'd finished, with Gauss's questions laced through, they had the shape of the long contract.
First: Outpost 11 hadn't broken ground—zero progress—but personnel were mustering at Lincrown. Not just the four towns and provincial knights, but volunteer adventurers from inland. Pillars like them would see more benefits.
Second: The site—this mana node—naturally attracts monsters and affects spawn rates around it. Expect constant small raids during the watch.
Third: It isn't just "hold the wall"—there's convoy work, runs to and from the surrounding towns, cleaning up strays around villages, scouting special sites—each paying more than ordinary commissions.
Fourth: In addition to kill bounties and stipends, "priority redemption rights": special tasks award guild merit. Merit buys rare resources you can't get outside—magical-grade clay, gear, potions, spellbooks, and more.
"We're set," Gauss said, pocketing the parchment Shirley handed over—clauses and redemption lists all in neat rows. "When do we leave?"
"Sooner is better," she said with a bright smile. "But you just got back—rest a day. The morning after, a supply convoy leaves the Guild for Lincrown. Go with them; I'll flag it."
"And I'll mark the escort as a basic 1-star task for your party."
Small perk, but a perk all the same.
With that decided, Gauss didn't linger. They left the Guild into a sky painted in orange and rose. He watched the busy street—and seemed to be staring past it, toward Lincrown and the just-confirmed Outpost 11.
Behind this calm life, the currents were rough. He knew. However peaceful Grayrock looked, if the fight's heat rose and humans lost ground, these towns—stubborn nails in the map—would be the first to suffer, even under wyverns and worse.
Border towns like Grayrock are outpost hubs by nature. There's a mana node beneath Grayrock, too; if it falls, the region becomes a monster nursery.
He exhaled, thinking of Shirley's brief. Good thing he hadn't moved his family into town. Small villages are low-value targets; monsters won't sink much force into them—there's nothing to hold beyond petty loot. These wars are about mana—mana that spawns monsters, grows rare herbs, feeds ore-veins, and raises the odds of Classes in the area.
"Enough. Rest a day. Day after tomorrow, we head for Lincrown," he said to his teammates under the afterglow.
Lincrown was the biggest town around. Eberhard's personal power had surprised Gauss, but Grayrock's overall level wasn't high; a 3-star "Iron Arm" team was a big deal here. Grayrock lacked 4s and 5s. The inland elites would be different—less field time, maybe, but academy training and family backing—plenty of strength and potential.
"Let's use Lincrown to properly make a name for—no, for our party," Gauss said, rubbing his chin. "Alia, what should we call ourselves? We need something punchy."
Better he pick a name than let "Goblin Slayer" or "Goblin Slayer Party" stick out of malice.
"I've got nothing," Alia said, edging back.
"Serandur?" Gauss asked, eyes bright.
"Captain, I've got no ideas either. Something this big—you decide." The serpentfolk shrugged.
"…That's a problem," Gauss sighed. First step to fame—and all three of them had naming block.