Inigo accepted the page and headed off, walking past villagers who gave him side-eye glances and steered their kids away. One even muttered, "Outsider troublemaker," under their breath.
He ignored them. If he wanted to survive here, he needed to earn respect—and tokens.
The walk to Farmer Hobb's land took about fifteen minutes. The field was fallow, and the farmhouse looked like it hadn't been painted in decades. A burly man in a straw hat stood near a coop, muttering angrily while examining broken boards.
"You Hobb?" Inigo asked.
The man turned. His brow furrowed at Inigo's outfit, but he nodded. "That'd be me. You from the village?"
"Sort of. Here about the goblins. Job board."
"You?" Hobb barked a laugh. "You look like a lost city brat."
Inigo smiled thinly. "Let me worry about that. Just point me to where you saw them."
Hobb scratched his chin. "By the creek to the north. Took my chickens last night. Heard squeals and saw small shadows scurry off. They build nests near the rocks this time of year."
"Any idea how many?"
"Three. Maybe five. Not more than seven."
Seven goblins. He could handle that.
"Thanks," Inigo said, already turning. He checked his Glock—magazine still had about eleven rounds left. He had one spare mag in his inventory, plus the knife if things got too close.
He followed the dirt trail toward the creek. It took another ten minutes of careful movement, ducking between trees and staying alert. Birds fled overhead as he stepped into the streambed.
Then he saw it.
Goblins.
They were short, green-skinned, with long ears and jagged teeth. Three of them hunched around something dead—probably one of the chickens. Two more lingered near the water, tossing pebbles.
Just like in fantasy animes, they looked all the same.
Five total.
[Hostile Creatures Detected]
Inigo crouched low behind a bush and drew his Glock. He lined up the first shot carefully—just like in Valorant.
Bang! Headshot.
The goblin dropped, blood spraying the rocks. The others shrieked in surprise.
Bang! Another dropped.
The remaining three scrambled. One charged at him with a spear.
"Bad move."
Bang. Bang.
One in the chest. One in the leg.
The last goblin bolted.
Inigo moved forward, keeping low. "Not letting you run."
Bang. Final shot hit center mass. The goblin stumbled and fell.
[Targets Eliminated – 5 Tokens Earned]
[Loot Available for Salvage]
He salvaged the corpses without hesitation.
[Goblin Ears x5 – 5 Tokens]
[Crude Dagger – 1 Token]
[Raw Meat – 2 Tokens]
[Total Earned: 13 Tokens]
[New Token Balance: 47 Tokens]
Inigo reloaded his Glock and exhaled slowly. He checked the area for more threats. Nothing.
He'd done it. First real quest. It was quite easy. If he wasn't reincarnated with a military shop system, or shop of freedom, he would have dealt with them with a sword, which may look cool in his imagination but terrifying in real life.
Now he has to bring some proof that he killed the goblins, and as for the farmer's chicken, seeing that there was none, it's safe to say that they were consumed.
Anyways, proof, he grabbed his dagger from inventory and then chopped the ears and stored them in his inventory.
"Time to return."
***
Farmer Hobb was still by the chicken coop when Inigo returned. The old man had just finished boarding up a hole in the side when he looked up—and immediately squinted at what Inigo was holding.
"Is that…?" he trailed off.
Inigo grinned and dropped the string of ears on a nearby fence post. They made a wet, squelchy sound as they landed.
"Five goblins," he said. "Dead. Probably the ones that took your chickens."
Hobb stared, silent for a moment.
Then, as if realizing something, he stepped closer and jabbed a finger toward the gore-covered twine. "Where did you get those?!"
Inigo blinked. "Uh. The goblins?"
"You actually killed them?" Hobb said, eyes wide. "Alone?"
"Yep."
"With what? You don't have a bow, and you didn't carry a crossbow when you left!"
"The important thing is that I killed them."
The farmer stepped back, expression unreadable. He looked down at the goblin ears again, then back at Inigo.
"I'll be damned," he muttered. "You actually did it…"
"Sure did. And not to be rude, but…" Inigo rubbed his gloved fingers together, miming the universal gesture of 'show me the money'. "There wasn't a reward posted, so I figured now's a good time to, uh, negotiate?"
Hobb blinked.
Then frowned.
"Negotiate?"
Inigo raised an eyebrow. "Look, I just risked my life and eliminated five pests that could've killed livestock or maybe even people. That should be worth something, right?"
Hobb crossed his arms. "You think killing a few scrawny greenskins is worth silver?"
"Do you have any idea how close I came to being stabbed by a goblin spear? They ambushed me. I was one stumble away from getting turned into a pin cushion."
"Fine…since you killed them and you have proof I'll give you six copper coins each."
Inigo stared at the weathered old farmer like the man had just tried to pay him in Monopoly money.
"Thirty copper coins?" he repeated, voice flat.
Farmer Hobb nodded, completely unfazed. "Yup. That's more than fair."
"For goblin hunting?" Inigo squinted. "That's like… fantasy minimum wage. I could've died out there."
"They were goblins," Hobb grunted. "Not ogres. Not bandits. Goblins. And besides, you took care of it quickly. Doesn't that mean it was easy?"
Inigo wanted to argue, but he held back. He didn't want to get on the bad side of the only man in town who'd hired him, even if it was barely a gig economy rate.
Still…
"Alright," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "Give me the coins."
Hobb reached into a pouch on his belt and tossed a small drawstring sack his way. It jingled pitifully. Inigo caught it, peeked inside, and confirmed the count—thirty coppers, rough-minted and dented. No shine, no polish.
"Do you guys have an exchange rate system?" Inigo asked.
Hobb raised a brow. "What in the gods' name is that?"
"Like… does copper turn into silver? Silver into gold?"
"Oh. Yeah. One hundred copper for one silver, one hundred silver for one gold. Simple."
"What can I buy with this?"
Hobb snorted. "A meal. Maybe a bed for the night if the innkeeper's feelin' generous."
Inigo stared at the bag in his hand, then back at Hobb. "You're telling me this"—he shook the pouch, the coins jingling like a sad tambourine—"is worth... a bowl of soup and a pillow?"
"Don't forget the hay mattress," Hobb added with a dry grin.
"Right. Deluxe accommodations."
Inigo sighed again and pocketed the coins. It was better than nothing, but just barely. Still, a win was a win—and more importantly, he was now officially a man with coin in his pocket and blood on his gloves. In this world, that was practically a rite of passage.
"Well," he said, adjusting his hoodie and giving Hobb a nod, "if more goblins show up, you know who to call."
"I'll be sure to tell the town council we've got a strange lad who kills with weird magic and asks too many questions," Hobb muttered, returning to his coop repairs.
Inigo turned back toward Valebrook, shaking his head.