Chapter 50: The Half-Month Impact

Time passed day by day.

Under the leadership of the hobgoblin Mukua, numerous goblin tribes were wiped out and converted into experience points, allowing Lyle's level to soar rapidly.

The air around the outskirts began to fill with the stench of blood. Even the forest grew eerily quiet, with the usual cacophony of birdsong dwindling to near silence.

...

June 29th –

Splash!

Water scattered in all directions.

Lyle emerged from a small river, swimming to the shore and enjoying a refreshing bath.

Although his "Odorless" magic could remove odors from his body, it only dealt with smells and didn't compare to the pure comfort and cleanliness of a proper wash.

Mukua's knowledge of the surrounding environment had indeed proven invaluable.

Once on shore, Lyle took out a clean towel, wiped the water from his body, and then donned a fresh set of clothes. He walked over to the campfire where a pot of steaming broth awaited.

Sip.

Taking a sip of the broth, Lyle let out a contented sigh.

The flavor was light, but in such an environment, it was already a luxury. A simple bath and a warm meal were enough to lift his spirits.

The steady increase in his power over the past days had put Lyle in an excellent mood.

The same could not be said for Mukua, however.

The hobgoblin lay on the ground not far away, his legs crushed. Immobilized, he could only crawl and wail.

"No… no more killing!"

"Please, my lord, spare us!"

"We can't lose any more of my kin!"

Mukua's cries echoed weakly in the stillness of the forest.

But Lyle, now accustomed to these pitiful sounds, remained unmoved. He continued sipping his broth with a blank expression.

At first glance, Mukua's pleas seemed to be a lament for the slaughtered goblins, but in reality, they were far from that.

In truth, while goblins were technically of the same race, hobgoblins like Mukua regarded their ordinary kin as little more than breeding stock or tools. To them, these weaker goblins were nothing more than expendable resources.

A race that treated its own kind as food would never develop empathy for other creatures deemed inferior.

Mukua's true sorrow stemmed from the fact that so many goblins had been killed. Without a massive population of goblins to stockpile for the winter, his clan's chances of survival against stronger predators, like ogres, would plummet.

"Silence," Lyle said after swallowing a mouthful of soup, his tone indifferent.

Mukua immediately clamped his mouth shut. His black eyes brimmed with fear and submission.

With a flick of his wrist, Lyle tossed a piece of cooked wild boar meat in Mukua's direction. The dirt-covered meat rolled across the ground, coming to a stop in front of Mukua.

In an instant, the terror and grievance on Mukua's face vanished, replaced by unrestrained greed.

Mukua scrambled forward on all fours, salivating uncontrollably. With his yellow, jagged teeth, he tore into the boar meat with feral hunger, gnawing at it like a starving animal.

Gone was the pitiful creature from moments before; Mukua now looked like the very embodiment of his savage nature.

"Survival of the fittest," Lyle remarked, sipping more broth. "Adaptation is the law of the forest."

He glanced at Mukua, who was still ravenously devouring the meat, and added, "Deception is merely another tool in the game of survival."

...

E-Rantel.

Third floor, top floor of the Adventurers' Guild.

In a large room.

The décor was simple, lacking any luxurious items. The walls were adorned with a few shields and swords, each marked with cracks and various scars. These weapons silently told of their extraordinary experiences.

It was precisely because of the battle-worn weapons that the room, though somewhat monotonous and sparse, carried an unmistakable rugged and adventurous air.

Three figures were seated around an old-fashioned long wooden table.

On the left side of the table sat a middle-aged man, his hair graying, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and forehead suggesting he was in his forties. Though older in age, his eyes were sharp, and despite the loose-fitting clothes, his muscular physique was still evident, his strength palpable.

Most notably, his rough, calloused hands betrayed his skill with weapons. At that moment, his hands gripped a delicate silver container, its contents radiating a faint chill even in the heat of June.

Across from him sat another middle-aged man, slender in build, wearing a wizard's robe. His physique was sturdy, and he was perusing a document intently.

Sitting at the head of the table was a rather corpulent man.

Bald, with a thick double chin and a protruding belly, he appeared almost to be sinking into his chair. Particularly when he leaned back, his head lowered, and his chin resting on the folds of neck fat, it was clear he was dozing off. Each breath he took made a "puff puff" sound through his nostrils.

He looked almost like a bloated pig.

Yet, he wore a deep red velvet jacket, a blue vest with golden buttons, and a crisp white inner shirt. Around his neck was a pure gold tie, silky smooth, adorned with a red gemstone that emitted a soft red glow when caught in the sunlight.

This opulent attire made it clear that the man was no ordinary individual.

If any citizens of E-Rantel saw these three together, they would be astounded. For the men seated at the table were the three most powerful figures in all of E-Rantel.

The middle-aged man was the guildmaster of the Adventurers' Guild, Pluton Ainzach.

The man in the wizard's robe was the guildmaster of the Magician's Guild, Theo Rakheshir.

And the corpulent man was none other than the Mayor of E-Rantel, also a noble of the kingdom, Panasolei Gruze Day Rettenmaier!

After a brief silence in the room, Pluton Ainzach, the guildmaster, gently set the silver magical container down on the table. He looked up at the mayor, who appeared to be sleeping.

"Mr. Mayor," Ainzack's expression was serious, but his voice was gentle.

With a soft "puff," the mayor opened his eyes. However, due to his obesity, his eyelids were drooping, and his eyes were squinted so much that others could barely discern his emotions.