After finishing off the goblin nest, the Red Dragon Company entered another rest period.
Even though Luna had already admitted her mistakes and Gauss told her not to worry about it, the guilt-ridden Luna still tightened discipline training for her subordinates.
In her view, compared to raw combat strength, Gauss would care more about the discipline of the newly absorbed members.
In truth, Gauss only asked a few questions and quickly turned his attention to the loot.
"We need to haul a batch of supplies out."
Pack-beasts had limited carrying capacity, and an adventuring company couldn't keep moving with that much baggage.
He glanced toward Luna—she'd mentioned needing to restock too.
Seeing Fourth Squad made him think of Fisher again.
That day, he'd used a hypnosis spell to successfully put the exhausted Fisher under and gotten some information.
For example: the power behind Fisher really did come from Vespeteria, but Fisher himself knew very little about that evil god.
Gauss wasn't surprised.
He'd tried investigating that name before—through the Adventurers' Guild and even by asking Moterra—and got nothing useful.
That meant either the "evil god" didn't exist at all, or it was extremely cautious and well hidden.
A shallow believer like Fisher, worshipping purely for power, was never going to know much.
And Fisher's contact with that evil god traced back to a wooden idol he'd bought on the black market half a year ago.
The moment he sensed something "off" about it on the stall, he bought it without hesitation.
After one night's sleep, the wooden idol—no matter how much he'd studied it before—had turned into a pile of white powder.
That was when the strange power appeared inside him, and he learned the name.
At first he was extremely cautious, deliberately avoiding that energy.
It was so vile that he feared touching it would mark him with the stench of a cultist and turn him into prey for everyone.
But one day, that energy brushed against his mana—and to his astonishment, the caster level he'd been stuck at for years jumped from 8 to 9 in an instant.
After that breakthrough, his attitude flipped completely. He became eager.
If it meant power, he didn't care about becoming an evil god's dog.
So he began "communing" with that vague, intangible will more and more.
That was when he set his sights on Gauss.
If he killed Gauss, it promised to keep rewarding him with further breakthroughs.
After Fisher gathered and submitted intelligence on Gauss, it even—perhaps fearing Fisher wasn't strong enough—handed him a cursed divine technique.
Unfortunately, that curse barely affected Gauss at all.
Gauss let his thoughts settle.
He'd been carrying this in the back of his mind for a long time—otherwise he wouldn't have asked Moterra for help the moment he had the chance.
But now he felt a lot calmer.
Because Fisher's attack had clarified one thing:
Vespeteria might be hidden, but it couldn't do much directly.
It couldn't just drop divine punishment from the sky and smite him. It could only use indirect, covert methods—pushing creatures in the material world to act for it.
And it didn't even have perfect information, or it wouldn't have needed Fisher to gather intel.
Gods—or at least that kind of god—seemed heavily restricted in how they could interfere with the material world.
Still, one thing needed vigilance:
It did seem to have its eye on him.
They'd crossed paths once—he'd only wiped out a tiny ratman den. Surely it couldn't be that petty?
Or had it sensed something about him?
Come what may, he thought. I'll deal with it when it comes.
…
Gauss led a convoy and shipped out one load of supplies.
At the temporary adventurer camp near Blackwater Town, the camp had grown even more crowded: more adventurers, more caravans. Some tents had been pushed to the outskirts.
But the Red Dragon Company's spot hadn't been touched. Nobody was stupid enough to provoke an entire adventuring company.
Red Dragon's logistics team had also arrived from Grayrock.
As soon as the goods came back, the whole operation spun up.
Items that could be sold directly—or weren't worth the space for processing—were sent by Ivan to the camp's merchant guilds for bids. Highest bid took them, freeing wagon space.
Meanwhile, the backline crew hustled to process anything worth refining, maximizing the payoff.
Gauss took his people for a walk through the camp market.
Most of the merchandise here had been looted from monster nests. He casually bought a few monster-style cantrip books.
As he wandered, plenty of eyes followed him.
There were only a handful of adventuring companies stationed here. As the Red Dragon captain, he naturally drew attention.
And a rumor had been spreading these past two days: Fang of the Gray Wolf had supposedly been "swallowed" by Red Dragon.
People believed it because someone saw Fang of the Gray Wolf members dismantle their old camp, move into Red Dragon's area, and—when Red Dragon's main force returned today—Luna, the former Fang of the Gray Wolf Deputy Captain, was with them.
"So that's Red Dragon's captain?"
"If Fang of the Gray Wolf got merged too… Red Dragon's getting scary."
"Think we could apply? Any chance?"
Red Dragon's growth wasn't exactly subtle. Even without knowing how the small fish ate the big one, people could see Red Dragon was about to hit a growth spurt.
Their logic was simple: if the former #2 of Fang of the Gray Wolf was willing to "lower herself" and join, Red Dragon had to have something special.
So a lot of people started thinking about signing up.
At least they weren't dumb enough to walk straight up and try to "boss-direct-hire" him. They gathered in groups and headed toward Red Dragon's camp instead.
Gauss didn't turn around, but he heard every word.
His senses had reached a nonhuman level. Unless he deliberately filtered things out, he could hear movement within hundreds of meters.
In crowded places, he usually narrowed it down to a few dozen meters—past that was mostly useless noise, and constantly processing it was exhausting.
"Sir, want the latest Kingdom Times? Thirty copper a copy."
"Sure."
Gauss took the paper and paid.
As an adventurer, you had to keep up with news from nearby provinces and the entire kingdom.
He bought papers now and then in town. The price was pocket change.
His eyes flicked across the columns—seconds per page. It looked like browsing, but he'd already digested every line.
"Hmm… interesting."
Ten seconds later, he'd finished the whole issue and dropped it into his storage pouch, thoughtful.
Around him, things felt calm. But zoom out to the whole kingdom, and every few days there was some headline big enough to shake nations.
First: unrest in the Borderlands.
"Borderlands" wasn't a single place so much as a broad term—the huge buffer region where the monster realms met the human kingdoms. In principle, Borderland lords swore fealty to the Monster King.
In practice, they weren't a monolith. Those lords had considerable autonomy.
The Jade Forest was one of the Seven Borderlands, and its lord—the Green Dragon Queen—was known as the Forest Lord.
To the east, the Frontier Province bordered the Greatfang Highlands; its Mountain Lord was a mountain giant king said to carry ancient high-titan blood.
The Borderlands news Gauss had just read came from the Greatfang Highlands: a sleeping mountain giant had awakened, triggering tremors across hundreds of miles. Villages near the quake belt were wiped out; low-level adventurers and civilians died in droves.
"This is what the world's strong look like," Gauss muttered. "They move, and it's a natural disaster… ordinary lives are so fragile."
He shook his head. That was why he couldn't afford to rest.
He couldn't bet his life on luck, fate, or the mercy of stronger beings.
Even he—if he really wanted—could erase a town with effort. Only more strength would let him protect himself and the people around him.
Another story caught his eye—imperial news.
The legendary Sword Saint's holy blade still hadn't been drawn?
That surprised him. The empire's "realm-wide adventurer proclamation" about the sword had been out for over a year. For the truly powerful, the information would've circulated even earlier.
A year was plenty of time for everyone with ambition to try.
So the sword's standards really were bizarre and strict. Raw strength alone wasn't enough.
After all, when Sword Saint Roland drew it, he'd been a common farmer—not even a professional.
His power came afterward.
And the last "selection period" before Roland had apparently lasted a long time too, though it had happened over a century ago and details were lost to "story logic."
Gauss pulled out his map.
Six kingdoms encircled the central Empire. The golden Holy Capital—Aureidian—sat in the imperial core, the heart of human civilization.
But he was in Coldemerald Province on the far southern frontier. Flying straight north, even with rests and detours, would take months.
Between nations were vast no-man's-lands—dangerous even for humans.
He'd heard major cities had long-range teleport gates. If you could use them, travel time collapsed.
But Coldemerald Province had none—at least none he knew about. Even if one existed, he might not be cleared for it.
And the placement of major teleport nodes was cautious for good reason: if a frontier province fell, a gateway there could threaten the entire human world.
Even if you could afford it, you needed paperwork: identity, purpose, approvals from both ends.
Most people just traveled the old way.
"When I reach the transcendent tier—if the sword still hasn't been drawn—I'll go try."
He wasn't going to pretend he didn't want it.
A sword that carried a legendary saint's legacy and reputation? Of course he wanted it.
But right now he was in a high-growth phase. If he spent months traveling and failed to draw it, the opportunity cost would be crushing.
Time and resources burned. Growth stalled. A terrible trade.
In short: his current level couldn't absorb that risk.
It was like his early days, coveting someone's full plate armor—back then he couldn't buy it even if he sold himself. Now? Plate was "whatever." He didn't buy it because it didn't fit his style.
So he'd wait until he was transcendent—Level 11. By then his practical combat power would likely be 14 or 15, and many barriers would simply vanish.
That confidence only existed because he truly believed he'd reach transcendent in a reasonable time.
If another adventurer said "I'll go when I'm transcendent," it would just mean "I'm never going."
He folded the map, thinking.
For now, he still had work.
He had battles to win, loot to move, and a company to run.
~~~
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