"Nothing left?" Ron stopped Delaford, who was about to teach Davin a lesson, and quickly asked, "What does that mean?"

"This... Davin here just said you were short on water and food..."

"It means exactly what it sounds like," Delaford said, sizing Ron up. This human was the savior of his precious rat, so he was happy to answer his questions. "That’s why the boss told us to follow some deer herds north. But when I was scouting up that way, I felt it getting colder the farther I went. I was only two days out, so that shouldn’t be happening."

"I’ve captured some prisoners before, and they all said there’s a vast, warm, and humid plain to the north. But what I felt was completely different."

’Little rain, a shortage of food, and getting... colder?’

Ron seemed to recall something. In a geology elective he’d taken one semester, the professor had mentioned a similar event—a cataclysm that nearly strangled human civilization in its cradle.

’If saving that big white rat could buy me a temporary reprieve, what if I saved these goblins? Could that earn me my safety, or even... freedom?’

’Besides, if they really go north like Delaford said, I’ll never survive... That place would be a true, natural hellscape.’

At this thought, Ron spoke up at once. "I need to see your leader immediately! You can’t go north!"

"Why—" Delaford began to ask, but then he cut himself off. "Alright! I’ll go tell the boss. You wait here!"

It would have been useless for him to ask. Goblin Hunters only had talents related to combat; one like Delaford who could speak the Common Language was already considered unusually studious.

’Besides, didn’t this human just give me that pile of "bitter grass" without any explanation? And didn’t that save Big White’s life?’

Delaford was quite pleased with his own simple brilliance. He immediately turned and scurried off, disappearing into the passageway. All that remained was the echo of his order to Davin:

"Davin, you’d better take good care of my precious and his savior! Or I’ll skin you alive!"

"Bah, rat-born bastard!"

Davin spat on the ground in disgust.

While waiting for Delaford, Ron took the opportunity to walk around the space, which served as a prison, animal pen, and slaughterhouse all in one. The surrounding goblins were all in awe of what Ron had just done, so none of them tried to stop him.

Ron casually strolled over to the cage used for holding prisoners.

Aside from one person lying motionless on the floor, it was empty of any other living beings.

Needless to say, the other unlucky captives had all become emergency rations under Davin’s knife.

"Who’s this?" Ron asked, casually pointing at the figure inside. "Looks like a woman?"

"Just a Half-Elf," Davin glanced inside. "Why do you care if she’s male or female? She’s just a mouthful of meat for me either way."

"Just curious. Don’t you guys have any... other ideas about her?"

Ron put it rather delicately. Mostly due to the influence of certain... media from his past life, Ron had always wanted to confirm whether goblins actually did *that sort of thing* to their captives.

"Why would I have ideas about food?!" Goblins weren’t stupid; Davin instantly understood what Ron meant. "I admit we’ve got some freaks in our race, but you can’t just stereotype us like that!"

"The one for me, Davin, should be a bear goblin! Or at least a hefty goblin girl—definitely not a skinny stick like this!"

Davin’s "declaration" opened the floodgates, and the other goblins erupted into a chaotic argument. It looked as if they were about to come to blows, ready to fight over some imaginary "goddess."

The level of chaos was plain to see.

Just then, Delaford appeared at the mouth of the passageway.

"Human, the boss has agreed to see you. Come with me—what are you all doing?"

"This bastard is insulting our taste!" Davin ran over furiously and kicked Ron in the shin. "Get going! I have to settle this with them today: my ideal girl can only belong to me!"

"Well, good luck with that," Ron said with a smile, then followed Delaford out.

Goblins aren’t natural architects or engineers, but they are skilled miners and craftsmen. Thus, they usually choose existing caves or mines, which they then fortify and rig with traps.

On the way to the leader’s room, Ron observed his surroundings, memorizing the locations of nearby traps and alarms.

Empty bottles and cans, spiderwebs, pitfalls, even rolling boulders and removable load-bearing supports—there was a reason goblin lairs were the stuff of nightmares for novice Adventurers.

And if worst came to worst and he had to risk escaping the lair, remembering the locations of these traps might be his last lifeline.

As Ron was busy observing everything, Delaford poked him in the side. "This is it. The boss is waiting for you inside."

"Be careful. Pissing off the boss doesn’t end well," Delaford whispered, perhaps as a way of repaying his savior.

When Delaford lifted the animal hide serving as a door flap, a stench even more acrid than the slaughterhouse’s washed over Ron, making him choke and cough.

’This... stinks so bad!’

But this was a matter of life and death. Even if a mountain of knives and a sea of fire awaited him inside, Ron had to brace himself and enter.

Inside the cavern, Ron immediately spotted the goblins’ leader—not because of any bizarre features, but because he wasn’t the same species as the goblins at all.

This "boss" was about five-foot-seven, taller than the average goblin, which stood between three and four feet, but still half a head shorter than Ron. In terms of build, however, he was much stronger. He had reddish-brown skin and deep red hair. A pair of yellow eyes were set beneath a protruding brow, and two or three long, sharp yellow fangs jutted from his large mouth. But most noticeably of all, he had a large blue nose.

All these features indicated that the creature before Ron was an Earth Goblin.

They were a cousin-race to the goblins, natural-born Warriors and leaders. With a love for war, they would typically enslave goblins or other easily replaceable creatures to bolster their armies. They would lead their subordinates to seize resource-rich lands, claiming them as strongholds from which to expand.

Unfortunately for this Earth Goblin and his goblin army, their luck wasn’t very good. If Ron’s guess was correct, then whether they held their ground here or migrated north, only one fate awaited them: to become ice sculptures in a raging blizzard.