Gauss ran into goblins more than anything else that day.
He didn't mind. Beyond all the familiar "advantages" they offered, goblins were relatively easy for him to kill.
As his goblin tally climbed over these days, the second perk on the title [Goblin Butcher]—"Bloodthirst: when you kill goblins or their advanced variants, you have a chance to restore 2% stamina."—had quietly risen from 2% to 3%.
It still looked small on paper, but goblins were plentiful, and with his existing [Bane] boost, he already cut them down with little effort. Gains on one side, losses on the other—the work only got smoother.
"Total Monster Kills: 5,837."
By day's end, another two hundred or so monsters lay dead, and the clusters around the village were basically cleared out. To find more, he'd have to range farther—but that was for later.
Watching the sun slant west, he led the party back to the village, bagging some game on the way.
Night fell. Orange firelight climbed into the dark.
Tonight was special. That afternoon, the last stretch of palisade had gone up—the village was finished. To mark the day, Chief Bruno called for a simple celebration.
Bonfires big and small filled the square, lending a festive air to an ordinary night. Tired faces from days of labor were scrubbed clean, smiles bright.
Whole families came—wives and children at their men's sides—eyes shining with pride as they looked over their remade home. A few proper little stalls even popped up, selling homemade food. Besides villagers and Gauss's team, a handful of passing merchants—drawn by the energy of a new settlement—loitered at the edges.
The air was thick with roasted meat and the sweet tang of fruit wine—bought from the peddlers. Children chased each other between bonfires, laughter clear as bells. They might not grasp the wistful looks on adult faces, but they felt the joy.
Bruno stood by Gauss, cheeks fire-red—excitement or wine, hard to say. When most had gathered, he stepped forward and called the crowd to order.
"Everyone! Today we stand here together—on a home we built with our own hands! Not long ago, there was nothing here but ragged huts and fear. We didn't know whether monsters or bandits would come first.
"And now—look around."
He spread his arms to stout houses, tall watchtowers, a palisade that made the heart rest easy.
"This took every one of us—but we owe it most to Sir Gauss, Lady Shadow, Sir Serandur, and Lady Alia."
He turned and bowed deep. "You drove out the bandits, cleared the monsters, and gave us new life and hope to survive on this barren land. None of us will forget."
Applause broke out; grateful eyes swung to Gauss and company. The ones he'd brought down from the mountain—now part of the village—blinked away tears.
Alia ducked her head, a little shy under so many eyes—though her mouth couldn't help but lift. Shadow stood quiet in the shadows, but the hard line of her lips softened. Serandur tipped his head at Gauss: your turn, captain.
Gauss hesitated, then stepped up. Truth be told, this wasn't his forte—but given the mood, silence would be wrong. He cleared his throat.
"Chief Bruno gives us too much credit—we did a small thing. We're happy to see the village as it is. Tonight's celebration isn't an ending. I hope you remember the courage from the first day you picked up a weapon—help each other, protect this place with your own strength, and build it into a thriving home."
He took the cup Bruno offered and raised it to the crowd. "May these fires always light your way. To the village—cheers!"
A cheer rolled back. With the simple speech done, the celebration began—songs and dancing around the flames.
Bruno led them to the very center. Gauss had already noticed a cloth-draped shape. Without fanfare, Bruno and a few others pulled the black cloth away.
A wooden statue stood revealed. It wasn't fine work—but clear enough: the base held four figures in familiar poses and sizes. Gauss a step ahead, wand angled forward, face focused and calm like he was mid-cast.
Shadow to his side, half-turned in shadow, eyes sharp. Alia on his other flank, staff driving to the ground, a bright smile on her face. Serandur behind, palms lifted in a healing gesture.
"Sir Gauss, we hope you and your companions like this," Bruno said when everyone had looked their fill. "We wanted to do stone, but there wasn't time—so a wooden carving for now. Next time you come, there should be a proper statue."
"We don't have riches to repay you—so we'll raise your figures in our square, so people remember who gave us this new home."
"Thank you. I… like it very much," Gauss said after a long look. In the bonfire's warm orange, the rough wood seemed softer. It was the first time anyone had carved them. To find time for something this large in the middle of building—the thought counted.
Not just him—Alia, Serandur, even Shadow were a touch dazed, studying their likenesses, familiar yet strange. It might be the best gift they'd ever been given.
"Sir Gauss—one more favor," Bruno said.
"Please."
"Name our village."
Gauss watched the singing and dancing, thought for a long moment, then said, "Call it Bonfire Village."
Not unique—but it fit. Bonfires mean warmth and hope; he genuinely wished the place would grow. Maybe, years from now, he'd come back and find it thriving.
"Then Bonfire Village it is," Bruno said, and the people around him tried the name on in their hearts. He'd wanted to name it for Gauss—but the choice felt right.
…
They stayed one more day.
"Total Monster Kills: 5,915."
Looking at the number, Gauss was sure: no monsters around Bonfire Village—at least for now.
At the gate, the whole village gathered to see them off.
"We'll part here," Gauss said, swinging into the saddle. He glanced past the people to the central square—at the statue of him and his friends.
"Safe travels, Sir Gauss!"
"Come back to Bonfire Village!"
He waved and turned away. The two villages they'd worked in had been very different—and moving in their own ways. He'd come on a contract, but he'd taken a lot back with him, too.
He set out again. With the 6,000 mark near, he took to the sky after a short ride. Bless and Enhance glowed faintly on him.
He set the [Eagle-Eye Monocle] to his eye; the world snapped into crystalline focus. If he concentrated, he could see a cicada's wings tremble on a far-off trunk—every ridge on its body.
It still felt miraculous—no ordinary telescope could do this. The monocle pulled in more than sight—threading extra data into his mind, filling out his inner map. Within minutes, a two-kilometer radius around him was "scanned" and sketched.
He quickly picked out likely lairs—campfires, cairns, caves, crude tools: signs of activity even without a direct sighting.
He drifted down.
"Find one?" Alia stretched. She was used to Gauss deciding to "pop off and clear a few" before moving on. No need to ask why. Killing monsters, for him, was like eating or sleeping. You don't marvel when someone sleeps every day—only when they don't.
"Yes," he said. "Let's move. I think travelers up ahead are in trouble."
At that, Alia and the others straightened and followed fast.
…
On a narrow track through open woods, several wagons had circled into a makeshift redoubt.
Seven or eight guards used the wagon walls to hold off more than fifty goblins. The goblins howled, swinging rusty maces and wooden spears, battering the line. Strange mana flickered around them—their speed and strength were above normal.
Two guards on the roofs loosed arrows—two goblins dropped, and the archers ducked as shafts hissed back. These guards were trained and coordinated; badly outnumbered, they managed to stalemate the goblins behind their hastily raised palisade.
In the center stood a well-dressed old man with a professional's air, a young man beside him with similar features.
"Grandfather, let me go fight," the young man said, gripping his sword, tense.
"Not yet. There are Elite Goblins mixed in," the elder muttered. These weren't roadside nobodies; something was off. Step outside and get ringed, and you die.
And he didn't have to die here—worst case, he and his grandson could take the best horse and run. That's why you hire guards, after all. Sometimes you don't have to beat the enemy—just outrun your allies.
Goblins slammed the wagons. The guards picked their moments, dropping a few more. The fight was balanced on a knife when several goblins flaring red with buff-magic heaved a wagon over.
Thud!
The line broke.
Greedy green eyes snapped toward exposed humans, drool stringing down.
"Hold!" the captain roared, shield braced—no time to think.
If the goblins flooded in, it was over; they'd be pulled apart from all sides—claws and teeth tearing limbs and guts.
"Hyah!" He chopped; a goblin split at the waist, blood splashing his boss shield and the goblins around him. It only stoked them hotter.
He hacked, and the others fought like mad—but there were too many. Goblins flipped over from the far side, dropped inside, and swarmed a guard, teeth clamping his nape.
"AAAA!"
They were faster than usual under the strange boost. The captain heard the scream and shouted, "Lord Seko! We need you!"
No reply.
"Lord Seko?" He shoved forward and turned to look.
Despair: the old man and his grandson were gone.
"Captain—the old bastard legged it!"
Hope died. The "professional" who'd told them to hold while he "prepared a spell" had no intention of fighting; he'd sold them out cleanly. They'd fought on, clinging to the thought of a mage to swing the fight—only to be abandoned.
Their breath went out; their line sagged. Another guard went down.
Finished. We're finished.
The captain swallowed hard and swung faster—but one man can only do so much.
Goblins poured through the gap. He couldn't kill them all.
Slick—
A goblin in front of him jerked—and everything froze. Air seemed to stop for a heartbeat. Then white lines—like swallows—cut into the melee.
Shing! Shing!
The goblins pinning men to the ground, weapons raised—never brought them down. The white flashed their taut necks first. Petals of blood opened.
Thum-thum-thum-thum!
Heads hit earth.
The guards beneath them felt their bonds vanish, looked up—and saw the monsters in front of them become headless corpses.
D-dead…?
It was so sudden most didn't understand what had happened. Only the captain, half-seeing, caught the direction of the white.
All the goblins seemed… stunned, stuck. He took the chance and looked up.
A tall man in a plain black robe floated above.
Help.
He let out a breath—then the figure vanished.
A moment later, screams ripped through the pack. He dropped his gaze; his pupils shrank.
Too fast. In the time it took him to look up and back, the man had gone through the goblins like a tiger through sheep—heads dropping one after another. It didn't look like he was killing them; it looked like they were throwing themselves on his blade—and he was dancing.
No goblin lasted a heartbeat beneath that beautiful, lethal step.
S-so strong…
He swallowed again and again as the scene washed over him: the wolf-pack that had pressed them so hard suddenly reduced to mute, kneeling lambs.
After a while, when the smallest goblin at the very rear had its heart pierced, the man walked—unhurried—over a carpet of gray-green and dark red and stopped in front of the captain.
"Congratulations," he said.
…Congratulations?
The captain blinked—then felt something welling up inside—new breath, new force. The power he'd wanted for years.
I… advanced?
The gate he'd battered his head against for so long gave way the moment he'd let go of obsession and fought just to live.
Fate, he thought, is impossible to predict.
~~~
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