Lanche strolled the streets as usual. Having lived here for years, he was the only one who wandered the city daily, so many recognized him.
A fruit shop owner greeted him with a smile, and Lanche bought some fruit.
His allowance was far more generous now; he no longer had to penny-pinch.
After he left, the straw sandal seller beside him asked curiously, "Who’s that guy? I always see him loafing about."
"Ah, newcomers like you wouldn’t know him. He’s the fifteenth son of our lord," the fruit shop owner chuckled.
"Oh, the Earl’s most talentless son. No wonder he’s so free—useless at everything. Amazing his family still supports him," the old sandal seller muttered, disdain in his voice.
"My sons, even if useless, work the fields. Nobles really have deep pockets."
The fruit shop owner smiled but didn’t engage further.
Though Lanche was famously useless, those who knew him found him kind. He often patronized their shops, so they rather liked him.
Of course, some gossiped behind his back, calling him good-for-nothing or saying he lived off a woman after marrying into her family.
Lanche had heard it all but didn’t care. Strolling with a fruit bag, he popped pieces in his mouth one after another, utterly content.
This pampered noble life was what he’d prayed for in his past life—praying until bald, scratching lottery tickets until bankrupt—yet never achieved. Why bother with gossip now?
Next, he headed to the tavern. He enjoyed watching the pretty owner while eating and listening to nearby mercenaries brag and spin tales.
The tavern was familiar, but mercenaries changed often. Some left for missions; others died. New faces always replaced them.
"Hey, kid, back again?" an old mercenary and drunkard grinned at Lanche.
"Mhm." Lanche snorted, sat beside them, and ordered juice from the owner.
"Sis Dais, the usual," he said warmly.
The owner smiled and handed him honey orange juice.
Just then, a cute girl with short yellow hair emerged from the kitchen. Seeing Lanche, her face lit up.
"Mister Lanche, you’re here!" she beamed. "Wait a moment; I need to serve customers."
She hurried off with a tray.
"Tahina’s so easy to read~" the old mercenary chuckled lecherously.
"Who can blame me for being handsome?" Lanche declared proudly, chin up.
"You lot better not tease her," the owner said coolly.
Tahina soon rushed over. "What were you talking about?"
"Nothing much. Just saying today’s Tahina is as cute as ever," Lanche replied.
Tahina put her hands on her hips, displeased. "Mister Lanche, you’ve complimented me too much; I’m tired of it."
"Huh? But I haven’t praised you enough yet," Lanche said innocently.
"Hmph, ignoring you." Tahina huffed and ran off to new customers.
"Lanche," the owner said with a faint, ambiguous smile.
Lanche raised his hands in surrender. "Sis Dais, you know I prefer mature women. I’m just joking with her."
The owner sighed. "You’re already married into a wealthy family. Don’t corrupt my Tahina."
Lanche waved it off. "I’m training her. Hearing sweet talk prevents her from being fooled by bad men."
"So many bad men here. If not by me, others would deceive her. At least I like mature older sisters; I won’t trick her," he smiled at the owner.
The owner sighed helplessly and fell silent.
She couldn’t persuade Tahina, who was smitten with Lanche. And Lanche truly meant to "train" her without responsibility, so she had no words.
Fortunately, Lanche only visited occasionally.
Just then, the tavern door burst open. A young female mercenary rushed in, anxiously scanning the room.
"Excuse me, sorry, but I truly beg for help!" she said urgently, bowing deeply.
"What’s up, little girl?" an older mercenary chuckled.
"I’m begging you to save my teammates!" Kelly pleaded.
"Oh?" A few men showed interest, but most turned back to their drinks.
Lanche didn’t need details to guess what happened.
Such things were common for rookies in the mercenary trade—many died on their first missions.
Kelly urgently explained: her rookie squad hunted Goblins but got surrounded. Only she escaped.
"No point going. They’re dead. Goblins chopped them up by now," a seasoned mercenary waved off.
"Goblins are rookie killers. E-rank newbies think they’re small monsters."
"They are small, but swarm in numbers and are cunning."
"Spot one Goblin, stay alert. Dozens might hide in corners."
Mercenaries chatted, faces showing disgust and headache.
A single Goblin was weak—ordinary men could kill it—but had no sellable parts, and no one ate their meat. Hunting them was thankless.
Yet if ignored, they bred fast, raided villages, stole livestock, and caused chaos.
To control them, lords paid bounties: new mercenaries killed Goblins, cut ears as proof, and earned per kill.
"Were there other girls in your team?" a mercenary suddenly asked.
"Yes! And a mage named Ariel!" Kelly nodded urgently.
"Then it’s over. Goblins love torturing human girls—rape and murder first. Worst bandits imaginable."
Even bandits were called Goblins. Bandits had some humanity; Goblins had none. Death beat capture.
"How can this be?" Kelly was stunned.
"Please, hurry and save them!" she pleaded tearfully.
"Too late. No saving them," seasoned mercenaries waved off.
Going now meant no rescue, no pay, and risking lives. No one would do it.
Kelly slumped weakly to the floor. The mercenary guild and other taverns had given the same answer.
Tahina stepped forward, unable to bear it, and guided her to a chair.
"Drink some water first."
"Thank you..." Kelly was distraught. Fresh from the academy, she’d already faced this crushing blow.
Lanche watched from the bar, sighing silently. Life was truly hard here.
