Apple snorted as he trotted along the road towards the town of Marinsgarde.

Bearing me at a leisurely pace, he mindfully allowed me enough time to do away with all the slightly damp blossoms which sought to cling to me.

Nature being what it was, even the white maples competed to offer a welcome.

The flowering buds drifted as a curtain of song and dew, orchestrated by the robins which hopped upon the branches.

It made for a splendid sight, matching the streets of the town which awaited.

Boasting the closest market to the Kingdom of Lissoine, Marinsgarde drew upon much of the haute couture which originated from our fashionable neighbour.

As a result, it was only fitting that I should visit.

Sadly, I was still masterfully incognito, and thus I lacked my favoured dress. A versatile gown sewn with 10,782 detachable rhinestones and the crystallised tears of those still plucking them off from my last request.

Still, no matter what I wore, no garment was as important as my smile.

My kingdom was home to many, yet even more still wished to reside in it. And so as a princess, I needed to remain presentable at all times, espousing the beauty and welcoming nature of this fair realm.

A problem, then.

Because despite my beauty and welcoming nature, not all were happy to be welcomed.

Sometimes, they were quite the opposite.

They were very grumpy.

And also extremely rude.

For example–

Goblins.

On and on they paused, wrinkling their noses before carrying on, ignoring the smile which had faded in favour of whatever appalled expression I was making instead.

When it came to charm, they were slightly more affable than a hole in a wall.

Famously grouchy no matter the season, they were known as much for their unsociability as their wish to remain out of sight and out of mind.

Until now.

Because far from doing … whatever it was goblins did, they were instead filling up my horizon like an unbroken queue of suitors at my door, each tugging a cart filled with pottery, tableware, paintings and even the nails which had failed to hold them down.

I tugged Apple to a halt.

And then—failing to see the end of the marching line, I lowered my face in my palms and sighed.

“... Coppelia?”

“Yes?”

Beside me, I peeked through my fingers to see my loyal handmaiden curiously eyeing the household wares which passed us by.

One of the goblins paused to allow her a better look. She nodded. He nodded. And then the goblin left, mutual respect in their wake.

I lifted my face, having seen nothing.

“... By any chance, are goblins looting my kingdom?”

“That depends on your definition of looting.”

“How many definitions are there?”

“For goblins? Loads. You might think they don't do books, but they have an entire section in the library to themselves about looting. It's like a life philosophy.”

“I see … and what definition of looting would this be, then?”

“The type where they'd probably admit it's just regular, ordinary looting. I'm pretty sure I just saw someone with a bathroom mat. And also the floorboard beneath it.”

I let out a groan.

Of all the things I couldn't feign ignorance to, here was the second—just after Coppelia reaching into the bag of premium apples.

I shooed her hand away, then looked towards the unending line of carts.

I still didn’t believe what I was seeing.

After all, there was brazenness. And then there was this.

One another another, they trundled by with the professionalism of caterpillars exiting an apple tree, their day of work complete before midday had even arrived. Whatever existed before no longer did. It was just an empty husk, the walls laid bare until not even the paint remained.

“It'sch impresshive, huh?” said Coppelia, an apple somehow in her mouth. She swallowed a gulp and beamed. “Goblin efficiency. You guys have a lot to learn. The moment goblins decide to build their own Soap Island, I think your dreams of a soap empire will already have fallen.”

“And if that were to happen, I would acknowledge their contributions to hygiene gracefully. Looting bathrooms, however, does not count.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere. And to be fair, this is a bigger start than I would've expected. I actually don't see this sort of wholesale looting too often. Isn’t there a treaty and stuff?”

I nodded.

There was. Several of them, in fact.

After a thousand years of warring, skirmishing and banging on kitchen apparatus in the dead of night, a wide ranging and unprecedented series of accords had been hammered out between the goblin representatives and all major nations.

A feat of diplomacy, brinkmanship, compromise and almost all the alcohol which the continent could produce annually used up over the course of 3 days and nights. And what followed were tears, fists and peace.

A happy ending as storied as any to come from the realm of Ouzelia.

And now I saw it being idly shredded in front of me, one cart at a time.

“Yes, there are treaties,” I said, my tone sombre and unfamiliar to my own ears. “Treaties of peace, reconciliation and respect which have stood longer than anyone could have dared hope. To disregard them so openly is not only an insult to those who worked and drank so hard. It is an act of blatant aggression.”

I tightly clenched my fists around Apple's reins, my teeth gritting together.

“These goblins … why, they have no idea what looting in moderation means!”

“Eh?”

I nodded, the indignation rising with every moment I saw the works of my predecessors as wasted as the window frames now being taken back to a cave.

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“Do you know what the exact terms of the treaties are, Coppelia?”

“Wasn’t it an agreement where you acknowledge their territory and goblins don't loot you in return? And also something about not murdering each other. Too much.”

“Indeed, it is. Naturally, both stipulations were broken the very night it was signed.”

“Really? That wasn’t mentioned in any of the history books I’ve read.”

“It wouldn’t be. Nor would the fact that the ink used for the signing wasn't ink, but simply sludge from a nearby bog. The unspoken agreement, however, remains true.”

I furiously gestured towards the goblins laying waste to mutual understanding.

“... We turn a blind eye as they fully empty the occasional village and they ignore us when we strip and pillage their mines!”

“Ooooh~” Coppelia broke into light applause, impressed by the pragmatism of our peers. “Mutual backstabbing, I like it! I’m impressed. I didn’t know goblins let you loot them.”

“Of course they do. Why wouldn't they?”

“I mean, I figured if nothing else, you’d be too busy looting other humans. The goblins never mention anything about this while backchatting you.”

“Nobody needs to mention anything. And that, Coppelia, is politics. A cordial state of affairs where everybody loots each other and then whistles while passing like ships in the night.”

“Uwah~ I never knew politics could be so fun.”

“Perhaps it is for goblins.” I frowned at the scene. “Daylight robbery within full view of every farmer, trader and princess to share these roads. It is shameless. Lissoine is just over the horizon. What will the tourists think when they see goblins idly robbing my kingdom? … Why, they'd assume that my kingdom wasn't safe!”

Coppelia raised a hand, then began counting with her fingers.

She raised the other as well.

“Nobility. Pirates. Sisters. Liches. Women in racy underwear—”

“Exactly. It would give the wrong impression. Everything needs to be in moderation. Except snacks. Regardless, if my treasury officials cannot waltz into every mine, then goblins cannot burgle every house. That is the agreement.”

Thus—I turned to the nearest culprit failing to understand the message.

“You there.” I clicked my fingers at the passing goblin. He paused. Slowly. “Explain. What am I seeing here? Because it appears that my kingdom is being looted. This is entirely against protocol. How, exactly, am I supposed to feign ignorance?”

A wrinkled nose met me.

I wrinkled my nose back.

Then, after an exchange transcending all words, the goblin pointed behind him at the next goblin, before duly trundling off again.

I swallowed a short breath, then tugged on Apple's reins.

A moment later—

“You there.” I clicked my fingers. “Explain. What am I seeing here? Because it—”

The goblin immediately pointed at the next goblin behind him.

I pursed my lips … then tugged on Apple's reins again.

A few short trots later—

“You there.” I clicked my fingers. “Explain. What—”

The goblin pointed at the next goblin … who then pointed at the next goblin, who did the same with the next goblin behind him.

One by one, an unending queue of goblins pointed me towards someone else to answer my queries. A battle of will, attrition and resolve which I would lose no sooner than when the last star fell from the sky.

Until finally … 57 goblins later, I was greeted by a sight other than a pointing finger.

The forest.

Detouring away from the road was a newly created trail.

Far from being hidden by the brambles and shrubs, it'd been paved by enough carts that it was now smoother than the road it joined. Branches had been removed from the overlooking trees, preventing damage to any wares being hoisted away.

And all to thoroughly lay waste to any modicum of taste.

In clear view for all to see, goblins were amassed around a tomb entrance.

Stone pillars, faded walls, half a door and a crumbling roof were all guarded by a large statue fallen from its plinth. A lasting home for those who’d trodden on the requisite number of peasants, but not quite enough that this was anywhere near fashionable.

And now the crumbling stonework was joined by dozens of huts, scarcely more than open tarps hewn from the forest. Tables and chairs, most of them looted, littered this sunlit clearing, while a roaring campfire monopolised its centre, large enough that it was roasting an entire boar whole.

And off to the side ... a dozen wooden outhouses sat beside a stream.

I almost fainted on the spot.

“... H-How dare they!” I said, hands clasping around my mouth. “Even for goblins, this is beyond anything I could have imagined!”

Coppelia looked at me in confusion.

“Eh? You mean looting tombs?”

“What? No, of course not. I mean that.” I pointed at the outhouses. “They have built … things to conduct their business!”

Coppelia nodded enthusiastically.

“Like I said, goblin efficiency. Impressive, huh?”

“Efficiency?” I was almost insulted on the goblins’ behalf. “This is clearly more than that! I cannot imagine any way to set fire to decorum any faster! This … This is an infrastructure project! What’s next? A rooftop bar to enjoy their spoils away from the rain?”

“Nope. Usually it’s a market where they can fence their ill-gotten goods wholesale. In fact, I think they’ve already begun building it. Want to stick around? The bargains for early birds are usually really good.”

“We’re not sticking around,” I said, ignoring the playful smile poking my eyes. “And neither are these goblins.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure they won’t be here much longer.”

“That is already too long. Looting tombs is something done overnight, discreetly and horribly as they perish to all the traps and carnivorous spiders waiting within. I see no mangled remains serving as a warning. This level of organisation is ridiculous.”

I shook my head.

No, I refused to accept this.

Here in my kingdom, half the tombs belonged to my family. For them to be looted was ordinary, of course. They were filled with unnecessary amounts of treasure and riches.

But to purposefully dally in such a manner?

This wasn't just audaciousness. It was utter contempt.

“... Very well!” I said, tugging on Apple's reins. “We’ve seen more than enough. It’s time to right a wrong precedent in the making.”

“Okie~”

Emboldened by the blasé of my loyal handmaiden, I took in a deep breath, then held it in for as long as I could while Apple bore me forwards.

After all, no matter how poorly goblins thought of us, it was little compared to the waft of ill will as each and every pair of eyes looked up.

For a moment, all movement came to a halt.

The boar roasting above the firepit ceased to spin. The bowls of some hideous gruel, beverage or both stopped at cracked lips. The glint of coins or jewels too precious to be loaded onto carts vanished into shadow.

Only the knives continued to move, their wielders sharpening them against the fallen pieces of the tomb they sat upon.

Eyes as black as night appraised me as I entered the midst of their illegal camp.

And then—

The goblins wrinkled their noses, before utterly ignoring our presence.

Low, indistinct chatter filled the clearing. Voices of suspicion and wariness. Which was fine. This was my kingdom, and I didn't need the hospitality of tomb robbers.

Only their reparations and their exit.

Near the tomb's entrance, Apple trotted past piles of everything waiting to be tossed into the next cart. Not even a sack to hide the possessions. The hedgehogs which invaded my orchard were more subtle than this.

Especially when it came to the leader of these misfits.

Unlike those around him, he didn't wear rags pilfered from bottom-tier bandits.

He'd proven his credentials by robbing their leader instead.

His armour was almost whole. Leather made functional with bands of iron stripped from some soldier's beaten cuirass. He had no knife by his waist, but a falchion one step away from being a troll’s club.

His greatest feature, however, was the white chef's hat he wore upon his head.

I raised a brow at that.

How quaint. Either a chieftain or a cook. And that meant he was the most important goblin here.

I tugged Apple to a halt.

“You.” I clicked my fingers for the 58th time. “Explain in five words or fewer. Why are you looting a place for the departed? Furthermore, why are you looting it with all the eyes of the kingdom upon you? This is outrageous. You may as well place diversion signs outside, letting everyone know to give proper space for the robbery occurring.”

The goblin deliberately stared at a twig in the ground, seemingly grossly intrigued.

When it was clear I wasn’t leaving, he looked up and wrinkled his nose.

Then, like all the other goblins before him, he pointed.

Except this time, it wasn't to any goblin behind him.

Instead … he pointed upwards.

I looked up with the confusion this deserved, seeing only the sky peeking back at me.

Yet as I returned my frown towards the goblin, the reply halfway past my lips was stifled by the fact he was continuing to point. And I came to realise he wasn’t gesturing towards the sky.

Instead … he was showing me the ring around his finger.

One which possessed a dullness matching the copper it was forged from.

My mouth opened wide.

And though no smile answered me, the wrinkling of a nose ceased to be.

“We ain't looters,” said the goblin, the faintest hint of amusement in his gruff tone. “... We're adventurers.”