Snow continued to fall, coating the world in a thin layer of white.
Rosie had been walking through the snow for several hours.
The road grew narrower and increasingly remote, eventually turning into a small trail barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side.
Her warm breath condensed into small clouds of fog before her face, quickly dispersed by the wind.
Tireless Marcher kept her steps at a steady rhythm, but traveling through snow was inherently far more exhausting than clear weather.
By the time twilight deepened, Rosie found herself stuck in the middle of nowhere.
Surrounding her were endless rolling slopes and scattered bushes—no houses, no chimney smoke, not even a makeshift shelter against the wind.
For a moment, she thought she would have to tough out the night in the open, but fortunately, luck was on her side.
Under an earthen slope covered in withered vines by the roadside, she discovered a small natural cave.
Calling it a cave was a bit of a stretch; it was more like a fissure in the rock.
The mouth was only half a person tall, obscured by dry vines and bushes, easily missed if one wasn't paying close attention.
It wasn't large, extending only three or four meters before hitting a dead end. However, the cave walls were dry, the ground was sandy earth, and there were no puddles or traces of wild beasts.
Rosie used the dry vines to build a small fire at the deepest part of the cave. She dried her pant legs and cuffs, which were soaked from the snow, ate a bit of dry rations, and curled up next to the fire to sleep through the night.
When she woke the next morning, the snowfall had diminished significantly, leaving only faint, scattered specks in the air.
She extinguished the fire, covered her tracks, and resumed her journey.
After walking for about an hour and cresting a gentle slope, she saw smoke rising at the far end of the fields ahead.
It was a village.
It wasn't large, consisting of perhaps thirty or forty households. Most of the houses were built from a mix of rammed earth and timber, topped with thick thatched roofs.
A waist-high wooden fence stood at the village entrance.
The fence gate stood wide open, revealing people moving around inside. A few thin wisps of smoke drifted from the chimneys, dissipating into the wind at the edge of the vast fields.
Rosie stood at the top of the slope and watched for a moment.
If she had gritted her teeth and walked a bit further yesterday, she could have spent the night in a proper village.
Adhering to the principle of “since I'm already here,” she decided to head into the village.
First, to ask where exactly she was, and second, to see if she could pick up some work.
Rosie walked down the dirt path toward the village.
An old man stood by the wooden fence at the entrance.
He squinted at Rosie as she approached, his gaze filled with the caution and scrutiny typical of isolated villagers.
Rosie stopped in front of him, putting on a smile that was as harmless as possible.
“Hello, sir. I'm a passing adventurer. I wanted to ask where this place is, and if there's a town nearby where I can rest and resupply?”
The old man remained silent for a few seconds before speaking suspiciously.
“Young lady, are you really an adventurer?”
Rosie chuckled, speaking in a lighthearted, slightly boastful tone.
“Of course! I'm someone who fought off a pack of snow wolves in the dead of night and killed their alpha.”
She said it with complete confidence, without so much as a blush.
“A snow wolf alpha? Really?” The old man's voice carried a hint of seriousness.
“Naturally,” Rosie replied with utmost gravity.
“I just sold the alpha wolf pelt yesterday to the landlady of the fur shop in Mountain Wood Town. See these boots on my feet? I bought them with the money from that pelt.”
She extended her foot slightly, showing off the dark brown mid-calf leather boots.
Though stained with snow and mud, they were clearly a fine pair of new boots.
The old man's expression shifted from suspicion to belief, and then to a hopeful enthusiasm.
“That's wonderful!” His tone instantly grew eager. “I'm the chief of this village. Young lady, since you're an adventurer, could you do our village a favor?”
“What kind of favor?” Rosie asked.
“A pack of goblins arrived near the village ten days ago.”
The old chief's tone turned heavy.
“Those damned little greenskins often sneak into the village at night to steal things. Smoked meat, dried vegetables, wheat flour... they steal everything. A few days ago, they even killed the guard dogs at the entrance.”
He looked at Rosie with earnest eyes.
“Can you help us drive them away?”
【Optional Adventure Quest: Annoying Little Greenskins!】
【Drive away the nearby goblins. Reward Title: Goblin Slayer】
Here it comes.
Rosie felt a surge of excitement.
“No problem. But as for the reward...”
“I can offer twenty silver coins.”
The old chief thought for a moment and added, “Ah, and I can provide some food as an extra token of appreciation.”
Twenty silver coins.
Rosie weighed the number in her mind.
The goblins in this world weren't like those in those adult Japanese comics.
The goblins here were actual low-level magical beasts.
Barely a meter tall, their physical strength was roughly equivalent to that of a human teenager. Individually, they weren't particularly strong.
The trouble was that goblins knew how to craft simple weapons and tools.
Rough as they were, sharpened wooden spears and clubs with attached stone flakes could still inflict harm.
What was even more disgusting was that they coated their weapons with all sorts of filth.
Getting scratched by such a weapon, even just a shallow cut, made it extremely easy to get infected and fester.
Ordinary villagers were helpless against these stupid, malicious thieves.
It wasn't that they couldn't fight them, but that they weren't willing to.
Who would risk their life against a bunch of greenskins wielding dung-coated weapons just for a stolen cabbage or piece of cured meat?
But for Rosie, it was different.
She had equipment, skills, and combat experience.
Low-level magical beasts like goblins were perfect for grinding skill proficiency and saving up funds.
Rosie mulled it over for a moment, then held up three fingers.
“Thirty silver. Paid after I deal with them.”
The old chief opened his mouth, seeming like he wanted to bargain, but looking at Rosie's young yet resolute face and thinking about the increasingly arrogant goblins, he ultimately nodded.
“Alright. Thirty silver, paid after it's done.”
He agreed straightforwardly without dragging his feet.
Rosie nodded in satisfaction and asked the crucial question, “Where do these goblins frequent? You'll have to point me in the right direction.”
The old chief turned and walked toward the outskirts of the village.
Rosie followed behind him, crossing the muddy dirt path at the village entrance to reach a small earthen mound on the outer perimeter.
The old chief stopped and pointed toward a forest in the distance.
“They come out from over there.”
Rosie looked in that direction.
The forest was less than a kilometer from the village, looking gloomy under the pale gray sky.
“Didn't you send anyone to check it out?” Rosie asked.
The old chief gave a bitter laugh and shook his head.
“There's not much work in winter, so the able-bodied men went out to earn money. Everyone left here is old, weak, a woman, or a child. What if they ran into those little greenskins?”
Rosie nodded in understanding.
A village left with only the elderly, women, and children truly lacked the capability to actively scout out a goblin lair.
“Is there anything special about that forest? Like a cave, abandoned buildings, or anywhere they could hide?” Rosie asked.
The old chief thought for a moment and said, “There's a rocky area in the middle of the forest with a cave in it. It goes deep. The older generation said ancient undead are buried inside, so no one in the village dares go near it.”
“That must be the place. Tell me how to get there,” Rosie said.
A cave was an ideal choice for a lair—sheltered from wind and rain, and easy to defend while hard to attack.
The old chief immediately explained the general route to Rosie.
Once she had the route clear, Rosie set off immediately.
“I'm off then.”
“Take care, young lady. Those little greenskins may be small, but they're sly as can be.”
“No problem.”
Her voice was caught by the cold winter wind, sounding faint by the time it blew back to him.
Several villagers walked up to the chief, asking what was going on.
A woman holding a child asked softly, “Chief, will she be alright going alone?”
The old chief didn't answer. He simply tucked his hands into his sleeves and watched the figure grow smaller and smaller in the distance.
“I don't know, but I think she's quite capable...”
...
Rosie walked all the way toward the forest.
The ground beneath her feet was covered in a thin layer of snow, her leather boots crunching faintly with every step, leaving behind a clear trail of footprints.
The fields were quiet, save for the occasional gust of wind rustling the dry grass.
The forest drew closer, its outline growing distinct.
Following the route described by the old chief, Rosie found the cave without the slightest trouble.
The cave entrance was hidden behind a low slope of jagged rocks, partially concealed by a few crooked, gnarled trees.
If one didn't already know a cave was there, anyone passing by for the first time would likely overlook it.
The entrance wasn't very large, about wide enough for two people to walk side by side, but looking inside, it was pitch-black, and one could vaguely sense the space expanding inward.
Rosie didn't rush inside.
She paused, crouched down, and carefully examined the tracks around the entrance.
There were several messy footprints on the ground, overlapping new and old, large and small. It was obvious the entrance was used frequently.
The dry grass and loose stones near the entrance remained in their natural state, showing no signs of human manipulation, traps, or alarm devices.
There wasn't even a sentry.
Had these goblins grown this lazy?
Or did they simply never expect anyone to come looking for them?
She lightened her steps cautiously, sticking close to the rocky wall at the entrance. Raising her shield to protect her chest, she edged into the opening bit by bit.
Then, she heard a sound.
It was snoring.
Long and short bursts, interspersed with the occasional muffled smacking of lips, sleeping quite soundly.
Following the sound, Rosie slowly stepped into the cave.
In a spot where the rock wall receded slightly, a small green figure lay curled up, holding a crude wooden spear in its arms, sleeping like a log.
The green face was wrinkled, with pointed ears, a broad nose, and a slightly parted mouth revealing a row of jagged, yellow teeth.
Its chest rose and fell evenly with its breathing, drool trickling from the corner of its mouth.
It wasn't that there was no sentry.
This fellow had retreated into a sheltered nook to escape the cold draft blowing in from the entrance, and then fallen asleep.
Rosie quietly circled behind the goblin.
Reaching out with her left hand, she slammed it over the goblin's mouth and nose.
The little greenskin jolted awake from its sleep. Its body instinctively tried to struggle, but Rosie's hand was as unyielding as a vice.
Her right hand drew her blade and slid it cleanly across the goblin's throat.
The struggle lasted two or three seconds before going limp, as if its power had been unplugged.
Rosie let go, allowing the small corpse to slide onto the rocky ground.
She wiped the short sword twice on the goblin to clean off the blood, then sheathed it.
Bending down, she picked up the wooden short spear and brought it closer to inspect it.
The spear's craftsmanship was appalling—the tip was crooked, lacking even basic symmetry.
On the tip was a layer of suspicious, dark brown coating emitting a foul stench, like rotting organic matter fermented with feces for days.
If stabbed by such a spear, the probability of wound infection was astronomically high.
“Poop on a spear, guaranteed death to whoever gets poked...”
Rosie glanced into the pitch-black depth of the tunnel.
She strapped her wooden round shield to her chest.
Then, she pulled a pine resin torch from her backpack.
Fiddling with her striker and flint, she struck a few sparks that landed on the resin atop the torch. The resin caught quickly, a bright orange flame leaping up with a soft whoosh.
Holding the torch in her left hand and gripping the dung spear in her right, she stepped into the depths of the dark passage.
Rate on N.U.
