Signs of Ruin
A merchant caravan wound its way along the narrow mountain path.
Dozens of people traveled in a tight, defensive cluster, their wagons heavily laden with food and various trade goods.
Yet, at this very moment, the woman leading the coalition looked deeply troubled.
Matilda, a merchant leader distinguished by her flowing blonde hair, could not shake the heavy sense of dread weighing on her chest.
This feels like sitting on a bed of needles. How on earth did things get this bad?
As an established merchant who had closed countless deals, Matilda was no stranger to danger. She had overcome numerous crises in her career.
And yet, the current situation filled her with an agonizing, relentless anxiety.
They were a mid-sized caravan carrying valuable cargo.
But their escort consisted of nothing more than a few low-ranking Bronze-rank adventurer parties.
Monsters and bandits infested the lands both inside and outside the Empire's borders.
Traveling without proper preparation was a surefire way to end up as a corpse rotting by the roadside.
While the main highways connecting the Empire's major cities were relatively safe, straying even slightly from those beaten paths invited immediate ambush.
Because of this reality, merchants absolutely required armed escorts to transport their goods safely.
Whether it was a lone peddler carrying a pack on their back or a mid-sized coalition leader like Matilda, hiring adventurers—the primary force of armed protection—was a mandatory cost of doing business over long distances.
But to think the cost of hiring adventurers would jump threefold... Ever since that man Judah became the Guildmaster, everything has gone to ruin. If only Lord Chronos were still here, none of this would have happened.
At these exorbitant rates, merchants often found themselves failing to even break even after risking their lives to transport goods.
Consequently, Matilda and many other merchants were forced to cut corners to survive. Instead of hiring the reliable Gold or Platinum-rank adventurers, they took their chances with Silver, Bronze, or in desperate cases, apprentice-level Iron-rank adventurers.
Some even chose to travel entirely unprotected, gambling their lives against the wilderness.
Still, I couldn't afford to spend any more on escorts. One more coin, and this entire venture would have run a deficit.
Though she felt suffocated by the lack of viable options, Matilda could only pray that this meager defense force would be enough to see them through to a successful trade.
It was then...
"Grrr..."
"Ah!"
Low, guttural growls suddenly echoed from all directions.
The faces of Matilda and her companions instantly froze.
A moment later, they watched in horror as creatures began to pour out of the dense foliage like a swarm of ants.
"G-Goblins?"
"No, how are there so many of them..."
"Look! There are Ogres and Trolls coming with them!"
"Hold them back! Form a defensive line immediately!"
In an instant, a horde of monsters surrounded the caravan.
While the vast majority were low-grade Goblins, their numbers easily reached into the hundreds.
Worse, the dozen or so massive Ogres and Trolls towering among them were threats that a few Bronze-rank adventurers could never hope to defeat.
To make matters worse, the path was narrow and rugged, preventing the wagons from making a quick escape.
Their retreat was completely cut off.
Everyone present knew exactly what this meant.
"M-My Lady... this is..."
"Damn it... I should have spent the extra coin on better escorts, even if it meant going into debt..." Matilda muttered, her face contorting with regret at the steward's trembling words.
Right before her eyes, the clash began as the Goblins surged forward and the desperate adventurers fought to repel them.
"Come at us, you filthy beasts!"
"You're just Goblins—argh!"
"No matter how many of you there are—aaaaargh!"
"Damn it! Watch out for the Ogres! The Goblins are nothing, but those giants are—"
"I-I can't... there are too many... ugh!"
"Anson! Yona!"
Though the trapped adventurers swung their weapons, loosed arrows, and cast spells with desperate bravery, they were ultimately overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and the crushing power of the mid-grade Ogres.
One by one, the guards defending the wagons met a swift and brutal end.
Deprived of its protectors, the caravan was left entirely at the mercy of the rampaging horde.
"Aaaargh!"
"Save... save me... ugh!"
A one-sided slaughter unfolded across the mountain pass.
Small Goblins swarmed the merchants like locusts, clinging to their bodies and tearing at their flesh with sharp teeth.
The Ogres used their monstrous strength to overturn the heavy wagons, trampling the scattered goods beneath their massive feet.
It was a scene of pure, unadulterated carnage.
Amidst the chaos, Matilda was dragged violently from her horse by a cluster of Goblins before she could even attempt to flee.
As the sudden, hollow reality of death closed in, a suffocating wave of terror and despair washed over her.
Goblins.
With an average combat power of around 5, they possessed a rudimentary intelligence that allowed them to use basic tools and communicate in simple speech.
However, even fully grown, they rarely exceeded a meter in height, and their physical strength was comparable to that of a young human boy. They were the very definition of low-grade monsters.
Yet, despite being classified as weaklings, Goblins could display terrifying power when gathered in massive numbers.
It was not uncommon for inexperienced civilians or novice adventurers to be ambushed and slaughtered by them.
Furthermore, some Goblins harbored a taste for human flesh, or worse, dragged captives away to satisfy their primal, beastly urges.
Because of this, some warriors harbored such a deep hatred for the creatures that they dedicated their entire lives to hunting them, earning the title of Goblin Slayers.
Still, those were exceptional cases.
In the grand scheme of things, Goblins were universally regarded as the weakest of monsters, and for good reason.
They were typically used as training targets for novice adventurers.
Moreover, because they possessed a surprising amount of meat that tasted decent, hunters often targeted them like deer or rabbits.
Though their flesh contained a mild toxin, it was easily neutralized by cooking it thoroughly over a fire. Lacking any distinct, unpleasant odor, it was a relatively easy ingredient to prepare.
In fact, restaurants and chefs specializing in Goblin meat dishes could be found throughout the Empire.
Thus, while they possessed a dangerous element that warned against complacency, Goblins ultimately remained at the very bottom of the food chain, dying by the thousands daily.
However...
Deep within the heart of the Great Forest of the South, there existed a tribe of Goblins that shattered all common sense.
"Did you bring the humans?"
"Grrr... Yes, Chief. Half are dead, half are captured."
"We followed Chief's orders, grrr."
A massive figure sat arrogantly on a crude throne.
Though partially shrouded in the shadows of the cave, the creature was easily three times the size of a normal Goblin, and its eyes gleamed with an ominous light.
Speaking in clear, articulate language, the Chief commanded in a haughty voice, "Good work. As always, you may feast on the males."
"Understood, Chief, grrr."
The Goblin Chief glanced at something resting beside his throne, then turned his gaze back to his subordinates, his voice carrying an oppressive weight.
"Do the captured females look strong?"
"Grrr... We do not know."
"But, grrr. One of them... looked like Chief."
"Shiny and golden, like Chief. Human female. Looks like Chief."
"...Oh? Is that so?"
A deeply intrigued expression crossed the Chief's face. He pondered for a moment before speaking with heavy authority.
"Very well. Bring only the females to me."
"Understood, Chief, grrr."
"We obey Chief's command."
With their orders received, the Goblins scurried out of the chamber.
Once his subordinates had departed, the Chief slowly stood up, grasping a heavy weapon as he muttered to himself.
"Perfect timing. I was just about to need a replacement. Surely that shiny human will prove more useful than this one."
The Chief turned his gaze to the side.
There, covered in a viscous blue fluid, lay a human woman, her eyes vacant and hollow.
A heavy black chain was wrapped around her neck, reducing her to the status of livestock. Yet, even in her state of utter exhaustion, she realized the horrific fate that awaited her.
"No... please... spare me... Please don't kill me! I'll... I'll do better next time! I promise! So please...!"
She wept, begging desperately for her life.
Watching her, the Chief let out a cold sneer and raised his blade without a shred of hesitation.
"No... no! Please, spare—!"
-Thwack!
With a dull impact, blood splattered across the stone floor.
The Goblin Chief leaned his massive head down toward the lifeless body of the human female.
-Crunch, tear, chew.
He began to feast on the warm flesh. After consuming about half of it, he licked the blood from his lips, his face twisting into an expression of dark anticipation.
"I hope the next breeding stock is of better quality..."