Aftermath

“Die, goblins!”

Serandic threw a punch, blasting a fleeing goblin to death.

He didn't notice at all why this pack of goblins rushed toward him knowing it meant death.

Nor did he care in the slightest why they had routed to such an extent.

“Folke,” a voice called out from the pitch-black cave.

The daytime sunlight fell upon Ogre's body.

One couldn't tell at all that he had just conducted a slaughter inside the cave—because Ogre had draped his blood-stained coat over a pitiful woman, which actually made him look clean.

“Ogre, why did you come out so fast?” Folke, who was guarding the entrance, asked with slight surprise.

“Here,” Ogre said as he tossed a cloth bundle in front of Folke. The bundle fell open, and two goblin heads rolled out.

These two goblin heads could definitely be described as grotesque, even among goblins.

One was easily twice the size of a normal goblin's head, bristling with fangs.

The other had traces of magic patterns on its face, with half a black nail protruding from the dead center of its crown.

These were indeed the dead large goblin and Goblin Shaman.

“You solved them both?!”

Folke's eyes widened. It wasn't surprising that Ogre could defeat a large goblin and a Goblin Shaman; what surprised him was Ogre's efficiency.

How long had it been? He had dealt with them in just about ten minutes?

This was less time than it took to travel here. Was the tank-and-mage combo really that easy to deal with?

“I'm a professional,” Ogre said, unbuckling and removing his striped mask.

“Our luck was decent this time. The women captured by them are all alive.” Ogre wiped his mask and put it back into his bag.

His relaxed expression made it seem as though he hadn't just gone through a major battle, but had simply taken a stroll inside.

Of course, this was also because Folke didn't know the weight of the identity behind Ogre's mask.

The title “Goblin Butcher” wasn't known only to goblins. Some of the captives Ogre had rescued along the way were also spreading his legend.

It was just that the time had been too short, so his fame hadn't spread far yet.

“Captives?” Folke stared blankly for a moment. Only then did he see over a dozen women with various hair colors walking out of the cave, dragging chains that hadn't been fully removed. Two of them were unconscious and being supported by the others.

Only now did Folke realize why Ogre hadn't used the strategy of smoking them out with fire from the very beginning.

Since it was to rescue people, he had nothing left to say.

Let him do as he pleases. Folke's complicated feelings about not being able to join the fight improved slightly.

He actually didn't quite like Ogre's style of taking everything upon himself—it wasn't like he was just some slacker riding on coattails, after all.

“Regrettably, there isn't much wealth in this cave,” Ogre said, scanning his surroundings. He then asked Folke for a blade. “Captain, give me a blade.”

Folke looked at the survivors who had escaped with their lives with a complicated expression, before turning his gaze back to Ogre. “What do you need a blade for?”

“To chop some firewood and smoke the place out. I think there are still some things in there that aren't completely dead,” Ogre answered.

“Do you have to go that far? Is it really necessary?” Although Folke felt it was somewhat unnecessary, he still pulled a longsword from his void pocket and handed it to Ogre. “I don't have a blade. You'll have to make do with this sword.”

Ogre took the sword, weighed it in his hand a couple of times, and nodded in satisfaction. “This should work well for chopping wood.”

“Then what do we do about these people?” Folke didn't realize that he had unconsciously begun to rely on Ogre's opinion.

“Let Lange and Serandic escort them to the village. Have them take the mission proof and the two goblin heads. I'll arrive a bit later.”

Ogre took the sword and walked over to a nearby tree, casually chopping off branches.

With leader-class heads, there was no need to collect fangs anymore. Of course, these rescued women would also serve as eyewitnesses.

“Never mind, I'll wait for you. We're not in that much of a rush anyway,” Folke said. Seeing Ogre's attitude, he stopped questioning him further.

He began organizing and comforting the captive women, asking them questions in the process.

After a brief conversation, Folke gained a general understanding of the situation.

Then, suppressing his discomfort, he lifted his leg and prepared to go inside the cave to take a look.

However, before he could take more than two steps, Ogre called out to him, “Captain, you'd better prepare yourself mentally.”

Ogre was somewhat worried that this inner city young master wouldn't be able to handle the environment inside.

This was part of the reason he hadn't brought the others into the lair. Monster nests were already chaotic and filthy on a regular day; after he had slaughtered his way through it, the inside was as repulsive as it could possibly get.

“I'm not that fragile,” Folke said, waving his hand without turning around. He then cast a Light spell on his staff and plunged straight into the cave.

He wanted to overcome his aversion to such environments.

At the same time, he wanted to give himself a bit of a challenge. This mission had been too easy, to the point where he found it slightly boring.

Ogre watched Folke dive inside, feeling a sliver of curiosity. He wanted to see how Folke would react when he came out.

“Hopefully, this young master can back up his words with action,” Ogre muttered, shaking his head as he went back to chopping wood.

Folke's action was clearly also out of spite for the hesitation he had shown when they first arrived here.

The outskirts of the Forest of Monsters were very close to human towns, so powerful and intelligent monster groups rarely congregated here.

Only the weak but highly reproductive goblins would be pushed out to these areas. Then, for the sake of reproduction and survival, they would choose to raid human villages.

Of course, this was limited only to villages; they couldn't even get close to border towns.

“Where's the young master?”

After killing a few goblins and waiting for a while without seeing any more emerge, Lange left his post and came to the main cave entrance.

His act of leaving his post without permission couldn't help but cause a trace of displeasure in Ogre's heart.

However, Lange wasn't his subordinate, so no matter how displeased he was, Ogre wouldn't say anything.

He simply couldn't help but look down on this flighty knight apprentice just a bit more in his heart.

“He went inside just a moment ago. No need to worry, the interior has already been cleared by me,” Ogre said. Carrying the chopped firewood, he bypassed the women and placed it at the cave entrance.

“The young master went in? No, I have to go too—” Before Lange could finish speaking, he saw a beam of light shining from the mouth of the cave.

This made him instinctively guard, but then he clearly saw the person who emerged—it was Folke, who had cast his Light spell.

“Blegh...” Not long after walking out of the cave, Folke couldn't help but lean against the rock wall and begin to retch.

“Young master, are you alright?” Lange hurriedly rushed over in concern, completely ignoring the rescued women.

Folke merely raised his hand to indicate he was fine, but he remained bent over, retching. After spitting up a couple of times, he could no longer vomit anything and simply dry-heaved repeatedly.

Evidently, he had already thrown up inside.

This environment, more disgusting than a slaughterhouse, was indeed very likely to turn the stomach of a rookie adventurer.

What Folke had seen in the first half of his life could not compare to this in the slightest.

“You'll feel better in a bit...” Ogre pulled a small bottle from his bag, popped the cork, and sprinkled its contents onto the pile of firewood.

Black powder slipped from the bottle's mouth onto the wood.

This kind of wood, even if dry, was difficult to ignite, and even if it did burn, the smoke wouldn't be strong enough. Thus, he had to add some extra ingredients.

“Phew...” After taking a few deep breaths regardless of his image or the stench, Folke finally recovered his senses.

He had wanted some adventure, but he hadn't signed up for this much excitement.

“I'm fine, Lange,” Folke said, waving his hand.

However, when he looked at Ogre, whose expression was completely normal, a hint of admiration could be seen in the depths of his eyes.

He also finally understood why Ogre had insisted on having them wait outside.

“Next time, next time I'll go in with you,” Folke said. He felt that he wouldn't be so pathetic next time.

“Of the rookies I've seen, you're actually considered quite good,” Ogre said honestly.

When some rookies panicked, they behaved far worse than Folke. Let alone those from the inner city, even the rookie Professionals from border towns usually performed terribly the first time they witnessed such a scene.

Many Apprentice Professionals didn't die because of their lack of ability, but because of their state of mind.

What limited them was not capability or talent, but a momentary mindset—be it fear, arrogance, or... greed.

Perhaps, once they grew up, they would become outstanding Professionals, but...

Many things in reality simply wouldn't give you the chance to adapt step by step.

“Was it like this for you the first time as well?”

Only now did Folke realize why there was a zero-star rank for adventuring bands...

Sending rookies to face goblins right off the bat might not actually be a good thing.

Tempering a rookie's mindset through tedious tasks was indeed a good method, and it also allowed them to clearly see the destruction and danger these low-level monsters caused across various villages.

“Me?” Ogre pondered, trying to recall. He really didn't seem to have ever been like that.

After all, he was practically a fraction of an ogre himself...

“I don't remember,” Ogre said, merely shaking his head with a smile. He decided to spare the young master some dignity.

“We really should completely level this place...” Folke deactivated the Light spell on his staff and fully emerged from the cave.

“Young master...” Lange hurriedly went to assist him. This was the first time he had ever seen Folke so disheveled.

“Lange, go and bring those two heads.” Folke's emotions had not only failed to find release, but had grown even more complicated. He opened his void pocket, pulled out a bottle of water, and began to drink.

He still had to thank Ogre for feeding him that nasty fruit earlier; otherwise, he probably would have thrown up even more violently.

“Yes,” Lange replied. He wanted to say something, but in the end, he kept his mouth shut. He decided to wait until they returned to talk about it...

“Captain Folke, could you help cast a Fireball?” Although Ogre could light the fire with some effort, there was a mage right next to him. Might as well make use of him.

It would also help lighten the mood.

“Mmh, uh, sure.” Looking at the somewhat thick-skinned Ogre, Folke suddenly doubted himself. Was he overthinking things before?

Perhaps this kid's intentions were extremely straightforward.

“O Fire, blaze through the gap!”

Folke raised his wrist toward the pile of firewood and chanted a simple magic incantation—Fireball.

Suddenly, a ball of flame flew out from the palm of Folke's raised hand.

Magic incantations were used to focus the mind, assist in channeling mana, and amplify the manifestation of a spell. They were not strictly necessary for casting magic.

For manipulation mages, incantations played an indispensable role.

Even though Folke knew how to perform Silent Casting.

He really wasn't in the mood for it right now. Silent Casting required a certain level of concentration and a stable mindset from the mage.

As the Fireball collided with the woodpile, under the influence of the unknown powder Ogre had sprinkled earlier, the fire instantly flared up.

“Now, a wind spell, please,” Ogre said, pointing inside the cave. Since he had already helped with one, it shouldn't be too hard to help with another, right?

Folke rolled his eyes at Ogre, but did not dwell on it, instead turning around and beginning chanting rapidly.

“O Wind, surge forward!”

The incantations for low-level magic were very simple, as they were only used as mental aids.

Incantations had both advantages and disadvantages, as one could often deduce what spell the mage was about to release simply from the wording of the chant.

For example, if they cried, “O spirits of the wind, gather by my side!”—this was basically the format for a Wind Shield or Wind Armor.

Something like “O Wind, turn into sharp blades and sweep across the front!”—this was a classic Wind Blade.

If words like "wild" or "intense" were added, the spell's power would increase significantly.

Of course, to prevent this characteristic of magic chants from being exploited by enemies, mages would employ several methods to adapt during combat:

First: High-Speed Chanting. As long as one chanted quickly enough while maintaining concentration, the opponent wouldn't have time to deduce the spell's effect.

Second: Silent Casting and Pre-Casting. These methods eliminated the embarrassment of calling out attacks in the midst of a fight at the root level.

Third: Chant alteration and misleading tactics. Clever mages could train themselves to intersperse false words into their incantations to mislead the opponent without affecting the spell's efficiency.

Some mages could even chant one incantation while releasing an entirely different spell.

This practice involved directly substituting the meaning of the words in the chant with other meanings, similar in principle to self-hypnosis or mental translation.

“Magic is truly convenient,” Ogre couldn't help but admire as a breeze swept up from the flat ground.

This was once a power he had deeply yearned for.

Soon, under the effect of the smoke, the last remaining goblins hiding in the dark recesses of the cave could no longer endure it and began fleeing toward other exits.

Serandic, who had been waiting for them, immediately greeted them with a barrage of iron fists, while some of the quicker-footed goblins failed to escape Ogre and Folke's ranged sniping.

After busying themselves for about ten minutes, Ogre finally confirmed that there should be no living goblin survivors left inside.

“What is this?” Lange asked, looking at the bag in Ogre's hand—why did this guy's pockets seem bottomless?

“This is flour found in the goblin nest; they probably plundered it from the village.” Ogre pulled out the remaining black powder from earlier and mixed it all into the flour.

Lange muttered, “What use is flour...”

“What are you doing?” Folke's curiosity was piqued as well. When Ogre stood up just now, he had assumed they were ready to leave.

“To blow up the entrance. Otherwise, this place will eventually become a gathering spot for goblins again.” Utilizing the last trace of the breeze, Ogre opened the bag containing the mixture of flour and powder and scattered it into the cave.

The blowing wind carried the dust, scattering it everywhere inside the cave.

“Everyone, stand back,” Ogre warned.

Although the others were slightly puzzled, they still listened and did as they were told.

Then, with practiced ease, Ogre picked up a stone—it was a piece of flint.

Rumble—!

As the flint struck sparks against the cave wall, a violent explosion erupted right before their eyes.

Only then did they understand what Ogre had meant by standing back.

“How... how did this happen?!” Lange asked instinctively as he stared at the explosion.

“I'm not entirely clear on the science behind it either. I only know that doing this causes an explosion. Well... how should I put it, I read about it in a book,” Ogre answered casually.

It was indeed something he had read in half of an old book he bought at the black market, which seemed to have been printed by the Church of Truth in the past.

He didn't know why such useful knowledge hadn't spread further.

“Although it can't completely collapse the cave, it will keep this place clean for a very long time,” Ogre said, looking at the falling rocks.

The collapse of the main cave would effectively prevent the goblins from reclaiming this space in the short term, compressing their living area.

“You really are...” Folke stared at Ogre, not knowing how to evaluate this youth who was about the same age as him.

To call him steady, he seemed a bit unconventional at times; yet to call him unconventional, his execution of tasks was incredibly meticulous.

If he weren't so money-grubbing, he would make a perfect friend.

It was hard to believe that this guy was actually his peer.

“All goblins deserve to die!” Serandic's opinion was much simpler.

“Alright, enough with the emotional sighs. There's nothing else worth seeing here. Let's go, it's time to hand in our mission. Our adventure for today has only just begun...”