Goblins.

Not even history recalls when the first stone was thrown. Only that when it was, it was followed by a thousand years of antagonism.

Sometimes this took the form of strongly worded letters, which goblins used as fashion accessories. What the goblins sent back was still never clear, except for the fact that none of them were good at drawing.

Other times, however, it was more than wasted words and crude illustrations which were exchanged.

It was arrows and swords more barbed than any insult.

Yet though war with goblins was a terrible thing, few soldiers were ever sent to experience it.

Goblins were as nomadic as the seasons, delving as deep as the dwarves and as far as the elves. They carved homes beneath mountains and deep into forests, and rarely did their defences suffer for it.

Thus, when it came time to pillage the goblins in response to a response which came at the heels of another response, it was not scores of knights who were sent to become lost in the bottomless swamps and trapped labyrinths which awaited.

It was mercenaries, hedge wizards, wayfarers … and adventurers.

Whether it was the promise of gold or the promise of acclaim, it took little for the adventurers of yesterday to stroll daringly into the abodes of goblins. And it took even less for goblins to do away with them accordingly.

But that was then. And this was now.

Now, to wander into their caverns was a faux pas met by wrinkled noses as much as poisoned arrows. A status quo which everybody enjoyed, particularly the goblins who relied on official trespassers for archery practice.

Even so, the history between goblins and the guild was as stained as the welcoming mat I saw being hoisted away. And although peace sown by mutual distrust now prevailed, the memories undoubtedly lingered.

That was why—

“Excuse me? … Could you please repeat that?”

I leaned forwards from atop Apple’s back, hand shielding the non-existent breeze from my ear.

After all, I'd just heard something unfathomable.

Something so bizarre that the sight of a new maid who didn't end the day attempting to resign drew less questions from me. Especially since they were probably an assassin.

In response, the goblin before me nudged his white chef's hat slightly, moving it from perfectly straight to slightly off-balanced.

“We ain't looters,” he repeated, his tone almost bored were it not for the tinge of humour glinting within his dark eyes. “We're adventurers.”

He wagged his finger, still pointing upwards.

I scarcely saw it, blinded instead by the anvil of confusion my mind was being hammered against.

But eventually, the ring came into focus.

The dull copper failed to flash in the sunlight, but I caught it nonetheless. The only hint of jewellery not to be hidden away like acorns buried by rampaging squirrels out to rob another tree.

I defaulted to a beautiful smile.

It was as strained as yarn given to a cat, yes, but a beautiful smile nonetheless.

“My apologies, but it’s been a tiring few weeks for me. Other than sleeping on my magical enchanted bed, I’ve had little chance to rest. I must have misheard. Again. Did you just say you were … adventurers?”

The goblin turned his hand around to study his ring, despite the fact it made no difference to the viewing angle.

“Yeah,” he answered simply.

“I see.”

I gave the goblin’s words a moment of consideration.

And then I offered the only response I could.

A look of outrage so palpable that all around me nodded in satisfaction.

… Why, they should be quivering under the weight of their own shame instead!

This … This was the worst falsehood I'd heard since Coppelia claimed that the reason hazelnuts were missing from the croissants was because they’d been slowly absorbed by the pastry!

Goblins? As adventurers?

They were more likely to be tour guides instead!

Indeed, goblins viewed adventurers with nothing but the disdain they deserved! And for good reason! Someone had to clean up the mess which occurred all over their deadly traps! That was an experience which would sully any opinion!

For goblins to be adventurers was something which simply didn't happen … ever! It was a stamp on their pride greater than the boots which ruined the mud in their tunnels!

“H-How dare you offer such a flimsy defence!” I said, utterly appalled by the lack of effort. “You cannot just don a copper ring and call yourselves adventurers!”

“Why not? They loot. We loot.”

I thought for a moment.

“Yes, true,” I admitted. “And I have no argument against that. But even so, 'adventurer' as a profession is a protected term … somehow. Through all their weaving through politics, they've somehow captured the word for themselves. As a result, you first need to accidentally save enough cats to earn the approval of the guild.”

I gestured towards the tomb. A goblin exiting with a shiny goblet in his arms paused.

He quietly tried stuffing it down his rags. I decided to allow him to keep it.

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“... This means that until that first layer of bureaucracy is navigated, this is duplicity on top of looting! You cannot declare yourselves adventurers and burgle at will! Even they need a minimum of justification! This is robbery through misrepresentation!”

Far from paling at being outed, the goblin only wrinkled his nose.

“This ain't misrepresentation.”

“No? Then what do you call this? Interest-free borrowing, perhaps?”

The goblin paused.

“Ye–”

“Pick a different answer.”

“This is work.” The goblin sniffled, as if the very concept was uncomfortable to him. He shrugged the peculiar sensation aside. “... This is a copper ring issued to me by the guild. And I'm officially an adventurer.”

A pair of dark eyes glanced at the ring disgracing my own finger.

Even without the accompanying smirk, I could hear the laughter ringing as clear as the knives being sharpened in the backdrop.

“... Just like you, eh?”

I turned to Coppelia at once.

She was already studying what the goblin wore.

“Mmh~ it's a real copper ring,” she said, leaning this way and that. “Or rather, a real adventurer's copper ring. They all have a tiny amount of magic in them. The same signature. It's what the receptionists work with to record stuff down.”

“There you have it.” The goblin stretched his jaw in a silent yawn. “Bona fide ring. Bona fide adventurer.”

I briefly closed my eyes, then swallowed a deep breath, hoping that comprehension was one of the things I accidentally inhaled.

“Very well, then … if I may inquire, Mr–”

“Snotrag.”

“Mr. Goblin, for what possible reason could you have chosen to join the guild? To my knowledge, that is an organisation goblins have held nothing but acrimony towards for as long as your homes have contained even a single clay pot to be searched.”

In response, the goblin reached into a pocket.

Out came a yellowed piece of parchment. He unfolded it, then rotated it around several times.

“I, Goblin Name, have always aspired to join the Adventurer's Guild,” he said, eyes narrowing as he slowly read the words written in large lettering. “Ever since I was a small child, I have dreamed of fame and fortune. But more than that, I have wished to bridge the gap between goblins and non-goblins. I believe that by proving myself beneath the eyes of the world, I can further the image of goblinkind for all to see, in the hopes of furthering the lasting peace which now exists between us.”

Apple snorted, his hooves digging at a clump of buttercups.

I was in full agreement.

“Excuse me?! You are clearly reading from a prepared note! Who is 'Goblin Name'?! … These are not your words!”

The goblin stared at me.

And then … he reached into his pocket once more.

“I confirm these are my words,” he said, slowly reading from a second note. “As I am unused to conversation with non-goblins, it is necessary for me to have written down my thoughts beforehand, in order to ensure that my objectives are not miscommunicated. If I have made any error, please rest assured that it is only due to untold stress. I am in the middle of a custody battle for my eight children.”

The goblin frowned, pausing as he re-read the last line.

“... I am not undergoing a custody battle,” he said, his shoulders drooping slightly. “It is only at the petitioning stage.”

I immediately poked the back of his parchment.

“I do not care what legal issues plague you. This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah. That's what I told Martha.”

“Not that. This.” I gestured at everything. All at the same time. “Even should I generously assume that you didn't scoop up this ring from those idiotic enough to fall into a spiked pit, being an adventurer doesn’t give a carte blanche to desecrate tombs at will. The optics of that for furthering goblin relations is very poor.”

The goblin scratched his ear.

“I'd argue that the optics of sitting back is worse. This tomb is filled with giant rats. We're stopping them from breeding.”

“It's a tomb,” I said, thoroughly exasperated. “It's always filled with giant rats.”

“Yeah. Because nobody else wants to deal with them. Except us.”

“A beloved service, then. But does subjugating giant rats necessitate removing all the tableware far across the horizon as well?”

“It helps,” said the goblin without shame. “And by right of triumph, we're also due a small portion of the treasure we liberate.”

The sound of four small figures collapsing under the weight of an entire pilfered bar counter promptly came from the side.

More than one groan seeped out, lost beneath the woodwork.

The goblin in front of me looked over, then shrugged.

“... Lots of small portions.”

I narrowed my eyes as I leaned closer, peering through whatever loophole he was hoping to stretch.

“The portions will need to be considerably smaller. This is a breach of the treaties.”

“There's been no breach. This is—”

“This is an unworthy attempt at besmirching the Adventurer's Guild. And while I appreciate all efforts to undermine their name, it will not come from looting tombs more than they already do.”

The goblin blinked.

He eyed the ring dirtying my finger as he betrayed a look of confusion. I chose not to correct him.

After all, I was hardly done.

“I demand that every item that’s been removed be returned,” I promptly informed him. “Any profits you’ve already accrued through sales needs to be relinquished. You will write a formal letter of apology, preferably using words and not pictures. Only after may you depart for your territory to submit whatever arguments you wish to be ignored. I suggest you have reparations prepared to quietly sweep this episode beneath the bulging diplomatic carpet.”

I waited for the wrinkled nose.

I received a frown instead.

For a moment, only silence abounded as all movement in the clearing stilled once more. Even the knives ceased to sharpen. A warning like the calm before a storm.

And then … it was broken by a scampering of feet as a single goblin rushed out from the tomb.

Paying no heed to the lack of chatter, he stopped before us, wrinkled his nose at me, then whispered into his superior's ear.

A nod met him in answer.

And just like that—he ran.

The rest followed with professional efficiency. Tableware, carts, hidden coins and jewels, even hunks of boar were tossed aside with no thought spared to value or the desperate need to inventory what they were leaving behind.

I was aghast.

Why … the sheer rudeness!!

They were supposed to flee in horror after I'd used one of them for punting practise! Not before!

I hadn't seen a hint of a single fruit slime so far! How was I supposed to improve my delicate gardening techniques without an appropriate target?

The answer, as it turned out, came from the very tomb they'd looted.

A trickle of cold like a falling raindrop tickled my cheek. Turning to the side, I was met by the sight of an ominous shadow seeping out from the entrance.

What was dark before was now a shade blacker.

Inky appendages reached out, clawing at the edges of the doorway like a dozen tortured souls all seeking to escape their stone mortuary.

“Ooooaawwwwwwwwwrrrrrghhhhhhhh!!”

All that exited was an indecipherable gurgling.

A sound of choking bile and boiling malevolence. Of frigid death and unquenchable sorrow.

With it came a tremor. The very foundations of the tomb shook, an unnatural cloud forming over the clearing as the grass suddenly began to wilt.

I gave it a moment's thought, then nodded in acknowledgement.

Vandalising, littering, waking up some unspecified horror and then fleeing the scene without thought to the indescribable amounts of inconvenience caused to the kingdom’s princesses.

“Hmm.”

Coppelia tilted her head slightly, smiling as she always did.

“Something on your mind?”

“Only a little. I believe I need to offer an apology.”

“Really? What for?”

“For casting doubt on the goblin’s claim. These are the most professional adventurers I have ever met.”