"Guji, guji."
"Wow!"
"Wow, wow."
"...!"
Deep within the tangled depths of the Great Tob Forest, faint sounds drifted through the humid air.
Minori's sharp eyes flashed.He stopped, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, and pricked up his ears.
The noises grew steadily louder, more distinct.
Something—or rather, many somethings—were approaching.
Minori narrowed his eyes, surveying the dense jungle with practiced calm.He swiftly located a sturdy, broad-trunked tree nearby, moved quietly behind it, and pressed his body against the bark, blending into the natural shadows.
Time slipped by in tense silence.
Every so often, the strange "wow wow" cries echoed again, their familiarity stirring a memory.
Minori's gaze sharpened.
Goblins.
He had encountered them several times before.
There was no doubt—that sound belonged to goblins.
—
It made sense.
He was nearing the borders of the trolls' territory after all.
Still leaning lightly against the tree trunk, Minori tilted his head slightly, peering toward the source of the noise.
Moments later—
they appeared.
A ragged group of thirteen goblins stumbled into view.
Their bodies were clad in mismatched scraps of clothing—torn fabrics, stitched leathers, even discarded trousers repurposed into crude hats.
They looked like a band of refugees.
But Minori's gaze grew colder.
Because among all the goblins he had seen, these were the first who were uniformly clothed, even if only in tatters.
Most goblins he had encountered before had been almost entirely naked, their primitive nature laid bare.
Even more alarming—
the two goblins leading the group held iron weapons in their gnarled hands.
Rusty forks, yes—but iron nonetheless.
A clear mark of a goblin tribe with some measure of resources.
Minori's expression shifted subtly when he saw what followed them.
Dragging behind the main group—
were five bloodied human corpses.
Two women, three men, by the look of it.
Their limbs dragged limply across the ground, torn clothes stained dark with blood and dirt.
Minori's eyes narrowed.
Villagers.
From their worn garments and calloused limbs, he deduced they were likely farmers from the outskirts of the forest.
He recalled the map he had purchased in Ye Lantier.
South of this region lay the E-Rantel frontier villages, frequently threatened by goblins, trolls, and worse.
This tragedy was all too common.
Even now, the Adventurer's Guild issued year-round extermination requests for such vermin.
"Wow, wow."
The goblin leader barked a harsh cry toward those struggling to carry the bodies.
The goblins in the rear flinched visibly at the command, panic flickering across their green faces.
They stumbled forward, burdened by their grisly cargo.
All the while—
they remained oblivious to Minori's presence, hidden carefully behind the great tree.
Minori silently turned the hilt of his sword within his palm.
Then, with smooth precision, he began to trail behind them—quiet, patient, a hunter stalking prey.
Thirteen goblins, perhaps fifteen in total if others waited nearby.
Not a threat.
In terms of pure combat ability—
ordinary goblins were roughly level 1, equivalent to a minimally trained human peasant.
Given their racial traits, goblins were slightly stronger than human farmers, but only marginally so.
However—
Minori's instincts told him to wait.
Judging from their behavior, these goblins were likely returning to their tribal den.
It would be wiser to locate the tribe's heart—and eliminate them all at once.
As he shadowed the goblin group deeper into the forest, the atmosphere began to change.
The towering trees grew denser.
The light dimmed considerably, heavy shadows swallowing the undergrowth.
The very air felt thick, oppressive.
Minori checked the pocket watch stored in his magic item box.
Just after 3 p.m.
Yet beneath the ancient canopy, it already felt like twilight.
—
"It's still the outer forest," Minori murmured inwardly.
But caution was necessary.
He reached out and drew two shallow gashes into a nearby tree trunk—a hunter's mark, an anchor to trace his path.
In addition, he carried lime powder in his inventory, ready to scatter trails if necessary once the terrain grew treacherous.
They advanced for another ten minutes.
The goblins' pace quickened, excitement replacing fear.
A foul stench thickened the air—a nauseating mix of rotting flesh, wet socks, and sulfur.
Minori wrinkled his nose slightly.
He was close.
Soon, the dense jungle opened into a small clearing—no larger than a basketball court and clearly cleared by crude hands.
No large trees grew here.
Just broken stumps, scattered bones, and piles of filth.
The goblin group spilled into the clearing, shouting in crude joy.
The goblins dragging the corpses dropped their burdens carelessly, eager to join their kin.
Minori observed them silently from the shadows.
His gaze swept the area.
Animal corpses lay strewn about, some picked clean, others rotting.Human limbs, stripped to bone, were tossed haphazardly among the refuse.
Near the center stood a single thatched hut, made of branches and dried grass.
Strangely large for goblin dwellings.
Far larger than anything the small creatures would normally require.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
The tribe was too small.
Aside from the returning goblins, Minori counted only five others lingering near the hut.
All appeared young and capable—no elderly, no children.
An ordinary goblin tribe usually contained a mix of ages:elders, females, offspring.
This one...
Only young warriors.
As if the entire population had been stripped bare, leaving only a small raiding party.