It was the first time Gauss had ever seen a goblin tribe of this size.
Obviously, he had to observe for a while and gather enough intel before planning his next move.
He climbed up a massive tree, using the trunk—thick as a wall—for cover, and peeked out carefully to observe the goblin village below.
With his Perception now at 7, his five senses had essentially been "hardware-upgraded."
Under normal conditions, spotting something even a hundred meters away was no longer a challenge.
From his elevated perch, the full view of the goblin village finally came into focus.
He had already guessed from the crude stone walls that this was a somewhat organized group, but now, seeing the internal layout in detail, he was still a little stunned.
What lay before him resembled a primitive human settlement—goblins going about their lives in an orderly fashion.
At the center of the clearing was a large bonfire pit. Around it hung racks of meat: birds, game animals, and what looked disturbingly like human thighs.
A smaller fire nearby held a huge pot of bubbling, deep green “special stew,” presumably lunch.
A horde of goblins—big and small—stood with crude wooden bowls, waiting their turn for food.
On a flat rock sat a goblin about the same size as the others, greedily devouring grilled meat. What set it apart was the red-brown cap on its head—dyed, perhaps, with blood.
That was the Redcap Goblin, the tribe's leader.
The existence of this leader probably explained why a typically chaotic race like goblins had managed to form such a sizable and organized settlement.
Goblins, with their low intelligence, rarely formed stable societies unless there was a dominant figure—a powerful individual capable of enforcing discipline through raw strength.
This Redcap was one of those rare figures.
Back in town, during his two days of prep, Gauss had done some research through casual chat at the adventurer’s guild. He’d picked up quite a bit of intel on Redcap Goblins.
They weren’t larger than normal goblins. Nor did they wield magic like shamans.
What set them apart was their hyper-aggressiveness, bloodlust, and deceptively powerful muscle mass packed into small frames.
They hunted in packs, set traps, and used cunning tactics. And after each kill, they’d soak their caps in fresh blood to keep the color vibrant.
If too much time passed and the color faded, they’d hunt again—just to maintain that deep red hue.
This gruesome habit, combined with their smarts and brutality, made Redcaps some of the most dangerous non-elite goblins in existence.
Gauss focused on the Redcap.
Aside from the blood-dyed hat, it wore patchy armor—maybe leather or cloth. A short blade hung at its side. A longbow and quiver rested nearby.
So it can fight at both close and long range.
Gauss narrowed his eyes.
He wasn’t going to underestimate this fight—not one bit.
This was his first mission as a professional. His first real strike.
The Redcap wasn’t officially ranked as an elite monster, but it was clearly the most dangerous enemy he’d face since the Mantis.
He didn't count the Ghast—that hadn’t been a real fight.
And the Redcap wasn’t alone.
Sitting nearby were four large goblins, each around 1.6 meters tall—huge for their kind.
Likely fed well by the tribe’s successful hunts, they served as the Redcap’s bodyguards.
This Redcap clearly had both strength and smarts. Without it, no way it could keep over fifty adult goblins and several bruisers under control.
Gauss also noted the layout of the village—surrounded by a low wall smeared with something that was either mud… or worse.
Within the perimeter were a few zones: living quarters, the chief’s tent, a storage area, and several other crude facilities.
Near the storage area was a natural spring—likely the village’s only water source. Gauss even saw a goblin stroll over and start drinking.
He had already brainstormed tactics before arriving: fire attack, diversion, assassination, poison...
After weighing the options, poisoning the water was clearly the most efficient plan.
It wasn’t glamorous, but he wasn’t here to play fair.
He needed results—and poison would get them.
Gauss slid down the tree trunk.
He dusted off his hands and returned to his hidden supply stash.
Opening his pack, he rummaged through a collection of tools and weapons.
He pulled out a special poison pouch.
Once tossed into the water supply, it would dissolve and release a delayed-effect agent—masked by scent neutralizers. The goblins wouldn’t notice anything off.
The poison wouldn’t kill instantly. Instead, within one to three hours, it would induce diarrhea and dehydration.
He even tripled the dose—knowing goblins might have stronger toxin resistance.
Why not just buy something lethal?
First, the town didn’t stock such potent toxins—or he couldn’t find them.
Second, a quick-acting poison would be too obvious. If goblins dropped dead at the spring, even they would realize something was wrong.
This way, they’d drink, fall sick later, and only realize too late.
All he needed was for them to lose combat effectiveness.
And once they started running, they’d be slower too.
He packed the poison and waited.
He knew goblins wouldn’t linger in the sun for long.
Sure enough, after lunch, the goblins dispersed—retreating into shacks made of branches and leaves for afternoon naps.
Meanwhile, the Redcap barked orders to a few goblins who took up guard posts by the wall.
Once done, it disappeared into its tent.
As soon as the Redcap was gone, the sentries started slouching—barely keeping their eyes open.
Gauss smeared deodorizer across his body, then crouched low and began moving.
From the forest edge to the wall was the riskiest part.
But with the goblins sleepy and inattentive, he made it to the wall undetected.
The smell hit him instantly.
That wall was definitely coated in goblin filth. Some parts weren’t even dry yet.
With heightened Perception, the stench was ten times worse. It overwhelmed his nose.
Hold it in. Breathe through it.
Now he understood what the rogue trainee Meva meant when she talked about suffering for her craft.
Creeping along the wall, Gauss worked his way toward the water source.
His Mage Hand spell had improved after advancing—it still couldn’t carry more weight or move faster, but its range had doubled from 10 to 20 meters.
Even so, he had to get closer.
Finally, he reached a spot directly adjacent to the spring.
He checked his surroundings.
One of the goblin guards nearby was dozing, head bobbing like a pecking chicken.
Gauss quietly cast Mage Hand.
An invisible hand formed in midair.
He placed the poison pouch in its palm—and began guiding it slowly, low to the ground.
The hand crept forward.
But just as it crossed a few meters—
The drowsy goblin twitched its nose and cracked an eye.
The goblin looked around, confused—but saw nothing out of place.
Still dazed, it slumped back against the wall.
Gauss had stopped Mage Hand the instant the goblin reacted.
The pouch, lying on the ground, looked like a piece of trash—not worth a second glance.
You really can’t underestimate anything in this jungle.
Even dumb green-skins had instincts.
He waited a few moments longer, then resumed the operation.