The second goblin corpse drew a larger crowd than the first.
Not because it was more grotesque.
Because it had been killed beyond the wall.
Word outran the patrol. By the time Bradley and the others passed through the eastern gate, farmers were already gathering near the well, standing on crates, craning for proof that the forest bled.
Ulric walked with a faint limp, jaw tight but silent. Maelor carried the body across one shoulder, efficient and unsentimental. Deorwine followed with bow unstrung, eyes still scanning rooftops.
Bradley's forearms trembled faintly.
He did not conceal it.
Proof carried weight.
So did cost.
Captain Hadrik cleared the courtyard before inspection.
The goblin was laid flat near the well stones. Smaller than expected. Lean. Sinewy. Leather scraps stitched into crude protection.
Bradley crouched.
"The blade."
Maelor nudged it free with his boot.
Iron.
Not chipped stone. Not scavenged bone.
Forged.
Crude, yes. But shaped.
Ulric frowned. "That isn't forest scrap."
Hadrik's jaw tightened.
Iron required trade.
Or theft.
Bradley searched the body himself.
Dried meat.
Twine.
Two copper coins.
Silence settled.
Farmers did not carry copper into the forest.
Hadrik met Bradley's gaze.
"This is not hunger alone."
"No," Bradley said. "It's an organization."
Deorwine folded his arms.
"If they trade, someone profits."
That shifted the problem.
Monsters testing fences were manageable.
Monsters participating in exchange networks were structural.
Bradley stood slowly.
"Mount the blade," he said. "Not the head."
Hadrik studied him briefly.
"You want the message changed."
"Yes."
The iron blade would be more disturbing than bone.
By afternoon, the tavern filled beyond expectation.
Five new faces.
Two retired caravan guards.
One trapper.
Halric returned, less skeptical than yesterday.
Ulric placed the iron blade on the long table deliberately.
"Proof," he said.
Maelor added quietly, "They adapt."
Eyes shifted toward Bradley.
Assessment, not mockery.
He unrolled parchment and fixed it to the wall.
Subjugation Contract — Eastern Sector
Reward: Twenty Silver per confirmed goblin.
Additional five Silver for retrieval beyond boundary stones.
Twenty percent administrative retention.
Guard authority supersedes during crises.
Halric frowned.
"They carry iron now."
"Yes."
"Then price should rise."
"Not yet."
Murmurs stirred.
Bradley kept his tone even.
"If we spike rates at first adaptation, we signal panic."
"And if risk increases?" Halric pressed.
"Then we adjust after confirmed escalation."
Maelor scratched his jaw.
"You price in patience."
"Yes."
Ulric folded his arms.
"And if we die during your patience?"
Bradley met his gaze steadily.
"Then structure failed. And I answer for it."
Silence lingered.
That answer carried risk.
Which meant it was not theatrical.
Halric studied him longer than before.
"You truly pay?"
"Yes."
"Immediately?"
"Yes."
Ulric tapped the ledger.
"Yesterday's forty silver is recorded."
Halric glanced at the wall.
Rates.
Names.
Payouts.
Transparent.
Suspicion did not vanish.
But calculation replaced dismissal.
By dusk, seven names were listed.
Seven.
The symmetry lingered unspoken.
The first formal contract hunt began at dawn.
Two teams.
Ulric and Halric.
Maelor and Deorwine.
Bradley accompanied Hadrik again.
Fog clung low in the fields.
"Observation first," Hadrik reminded quietly.
They crossed beyond the boundary stones.
The forest felt denser.
Not hostile.
Evaluative.
Maelor signaled near a shallow ravine.
Tracks.
More than yesterday.
Clustered tighter.
"They gather," Bradley murmured.
Deorwine's eyes shifted toward the brush.
"Preparing?"
"Repositioning."
A shout cracked the quiet.
Ulric's team had engaged early.
Halric's blade rang against iron.
Hadrik moved immediately.
Bradley followed—controlled, not charging.
Three goblins pressed Ulric's shield.
A fourth circled wide.
Not random.
Targeting the knee again.
Bradley adjusted angle instead of lunging.
He stepped between a circling goblin and open ground, forcing it into Deorwine's line.
Arrow released.
Clean strike.
Ulric drove forward.
Halric finished another.
The third disengaged instantly.
Retreat was faster than before.
"Hold!" Hadrik barked.
They held.
Breathing heavy.
Bradley's shoulder burned.
His blade arm shook faintly.
Ulric leaned against his shield.
"You repositioned," Halric said.
"Yes."
"You did not charge."
"No."
Halric studied him.
"That was deliberate."
Bradley did not respond.
Hadrik scanned the treeline.
"They withdraw quicker."
"Yes," Bradley said.
"Meaning?"
"They conserve."
Silence.
Conservation implied accumulation.
The ravine smelled of damp earth and iron.
Pressure had shifted again.
Back in town, payment was issued immediately.
Two kills.
Forty silver.
Eight retained.
Publicly recorded.
Halric counted his share twice.
"You truly pay," he muttered.
"Yes."
Halric nodded once.
"I will return tomorrow."
Reputation shifted.
Not admiration.
Reliability.
In the courtyard, farmers watched the exchange closely.
Herrik Vane approached quietly.
"If goblins carry iron," he said, "caravans will demand escort."
"Yes."
"Escorts require guards."
"Yes."
"And guards are limited."
"Yes."
Herrik studied him.
"You create confidence."
"For now."
"And when confidence meets shortage?"
Bradley looked toward the eastern wall.
"Then we adjust the scope."
Herrik's brow tightened.
"No dramatic charge?"
"No."
The merchant exhaled faintly.
"That is almost disappointing."
"Disappointment costs less than panic."
Herrik inclined his head.
That night, Bradley remained in the tavern alone.
Seven names.
Two payments.
Three total kills across two days.
Guard fatigue marginally reduced.
Merchant anxiety contained—but not resolved.
He opened the smaller ledger.
Remaining capital: Four gold, sixty silver.
If kill frequency doubled—
Unsustainable within weeks.
He dipped the quill again.
Future Clause: Material resale rights to Merchant Association.
Iron blades.
Leather scraps.
Salvageable metal.
Revenue extension.
Footsteps sounded.
Oswald stood in the doorway.
"You move quickly."
"Yes."
"You attract notice."
"Yes."
Oswald stepped inside slowly.
"The Baron's steward passed through Korvossa."
Bradley looked up.
"And?"
"He inquired about increased activity near Old Dornelis."
Silence tightened.
Not accusation.
Measurement.
"If Korvossa believes you form a militia—"
"I do not."
"They may not differentiate."
Bradley closed the ledger.
"Then we clarify the structure."
"And how?"
"With documentation. Contracts. Recorded guard oversight."
Oswald studied him.
"You rely heavily on measured escalation."
"Yes."
"And if measured escalation meets unmeasured force?"
Bradley met his gaze evenly.
"Then the cost becomes visible."
Oswald exhaled slowly.
"Try not to destabilize the county."
"I prefer stability."
When his brother left, the tavern quieted.
Outside, the wind shifted from the east.
Bradley stepped into the night air.
The mounted iron blade reflected faint torchlight.
Not a trophy.
A warning.
To the forest.
To merchants.
To Korvossa.
Pressure had multiplied.
Economics.
Military.
Politics.
And beneath it all—
Coordination.
The goblins were not merely adapting.
They were timing.
Bradley looked once toward the treeline beyond the wall.
Seven names on the ledger.
Seven goblins in the first test.
Now more.
If the pattern held—
The next strike would not test a fence.
It would test numbers.
And contracts, once issued—
Demanded fulfillment.