In the old wooden cabin, beside the stone-encircled fireplace, the orange-red flames danced like dancers at a celebration, constantly jumping. A dark iron pot was suspended over the flames, the fire's tongue gently licking the bottom of the pot, making a bubbling sound inside. Evidently, something was being stewed inside the pot, wafting out wafts of food aroma.
Bartlett subconsciously sniffed and instantly distinguished the ingredients in the pot: dried salty meat stewed with mushrooms, rutabaga, and a few artichoke petals, along with some rye beer.
The dried meat was pork, and there should also be some lizard meat and...
Bartlett frowned, damn it, there was goblin meat too! That Butcher Emile had mixed in goblin meat again. Hadn't he learned a lesson from the three broken ribs last time? Did he really think the adventurers in Pig Bay were all pigs? But pigs had a keen sense of smell!
Bartlett had always been proud of his sense of smell, and of course, his hearing and vision too. As a seasoned adventurer who had survived in Pig Bay for more than a decade, these senses were his lifeline.
"I was harassed by the Hammerhead Shark today!" The girl adding firewood to the fireplace said to Bartlett: "He dirtied my skirt! You know, it's my favorite skirt, and my only one!"
Hammerhead Shark? Bartlett pondered for a moment in his mind. The image of a burly man who was no less imposing than himself appeared in his mind.
Names had no meaning in Pig Bay. There were too many people coming and going, and even more people dying. No one bothers to remember the names of those about to die, and three Andrews were not as memorable as a single Dragon Slayer. So unless they were particularly familiar, adventurers tended to use nicknames to address each other.
"You should help me teach him a lesson, a big lesson!" The girl walked over to the iron pot, picked up the wooden spoon, and waved it vigorously forward, as if she were an exquisite knight: "Just smack him like this on his filthy face, and it'll be best to break his nose so he knows not to mess with me, Riley!"
After she finished speaking, the girl turned around and looked at Bartlett. When she realized that the barbarian adventurer hadn't responded to her, she said sarcastically, "You're not scared of him, are you?"
'Hammerhead Shark Aubrey,' Bartlett knew him. He was a minor celebrity among adventurers. As for being afraid? Bartlett had been on and off in Pig Bay for more than a decade, never afraid of anyone except mages. That was the dominion of this continent and the most powerful force in the entire Multiverse.
As for the Hammerhead Shark, Bartlett was confident that he could easily take him down with one hand and with his eyes closed. It wasn't arrogance, but full confidence in his own strength.
However, even so, the barbarian adventurer didn't want to agree to the girl's request. This girl was somewhat... well, a bit worrisome. To describe her with a proverb from Bartlett's hometown would be 'a cat with the heart of a giant dragon.'
He shifted his gaze from his sword: "You should wear trousers and a leather armor instead of this exposed skirt." This was his first sentence to the girl since she entered the house.
"And I should also pick up an axe or a longsword for protection?" The girl rebutted with her hands on her hips, "And should I make some scars on my face with a dagger? Just like you?" She looked up at the barbarian who, even sitting down, was no shorter than her, her face displaying the unique arrogance that women showed when 'making sense.'
There were no scars on my face. Bartlett thought to himself, the scars were tattoos, and the real scars were on my throat. But he didn't want to correct the mistake in the girl's words.
Women were always troubling, and Bartlett slightly regretted taking the girl under his wing. No, not saving, I just happened to find her in the wild, and with her, two eager goblins were found as well.
Two goblins and a girl, the goblins had a stick and a stone, but the girl had a sharp dagger. Place your bets, see who can make it to the end.
Bartlett didn't gamble, so he didn't place a bet. He just stepped forward, casually swung his sword, and drove away the goblins like he was chasing flies. After that, the girl followed him.
The girl's name was Riley, she had told Bartlett herself. As for whether the name was real or not, the barbarian adventurer couldn't know. And Bartlett didn't know whether Riley was her first or last name. In fact, he knew very little about the girl. He didn't even know why she was following him.
Bartlett had asked Riley this question, and the girl had answered - 'Between becoming the miller's third wife and leaving my hometown for adventure, I chose the latter.'
No, that's not an answer. You can leave your hometown for adventure, that's what I did at 19, but that doesn't explain why you're following me. Is following me an adventure in itself?
Alright, this could be a reasonable explanation.
Bartlett's silence made the girl even more triumphant, the arrogant expression on her face like a white goose patrolling its 'territory' in the pen.
"If I knew how to use a sword, I'd cut off that man's nose myself. Such scum don't deserve compassion!" She brandished the wooden spoon in her hand again: "If I were the king, I'd enact a law to hang all the scoundrels like the Hammerhead Shark!"
From twisting one's nose to cutting it off, and then putting them on the gallows, this whole process hadn't taken more than five breaths. If you were a king, you'd undoubtedly be an efficient one, and a "generous" one at that. Of course, what you'd be generous with wouldn't be gold coins, but executions. Bartlett thought to himself.
"If that were the case, your gallows would definitely be overused, my queen." Bartlett mocked, "Half of the people would be sent to hell by you, and the other half would take up arms to resist you."
"Would you protect me then?"
"No, if that day ever came, I'd already be hanging on your gallows. Besides, I am not your knight."
"I can pardon your crimes and appoint you as my personal knight." The girl smiled, holding the soup spoon horizontally, pointing it towards Bartlett's shoulder.
The soup spoon should be in the pot, the girl should be at home, or in a tavern, or in bed... But Bartlett hadn't done so, even when the girl had hinted at it.
If she later becomes a ***, instead of a queen, maybe I will do that. But now, no. Pleasure should be in the form of a transaction, and not involve responsibility! It shouldn't!
He looked up at the girl again, her wine-red hair as dazzling as flames. If I were an ill-tempered bull, I would definitely be provoked by the color and charge violently, but I am not, he thought.
Perhaps I should teach the "Hammerhead Shark" a lesson, not for her sake, but so she would stop nagging me.
Riley scooped the stew from the pot into a wooden bowl with a wooden spoon, then sliced the rye bread with a dagger, "Eat, my personal knight. Although your mouth can't be used for communication or kissing, at least it can still eat, right..."
It must be said, the girl's cooking skills were not bad; the soup, though not thick, was cooked just right. In the still somewhat chilly early spring weather, taking a sip made one feel warmth from the heart spreading throughout the body.
Bartlett dipped the rye bread into the soup and ate, then picked out a softened piece of salted meat from the soup and threw it into the fire. It was a piece of goblin meat, which Bartlett could tell, and he didn't eat goblin meat.
"You shouldn't waste food," Riley frowned, "especially when it's a big piece of meat."
"It's goblin meat!" The barbarian explained.
"So what if it's goblin meat?" The girl retorted, "Those green bad guys are no different from the monsters and magical beasts in the forest; eating them won't upset your stomach. You are really quite delicate!" She looked somewhat disdainful.
No, it's not the same, Bartlett thought to himself, but he didn't want to argue. Goblins were a wise race, and they once had a glorious civilization. Wise races shouldn't treat each other as food.
When Bartlett was young, he had read a book called "The Last Goblin". The book had no author, nor the first publication date, only the printing dates of each country's reprint. As for who wrote the book and when it was written, no one can know anymore.
However, those who have read the book believe that the author should be a goblin, written at the moment when goblin civilization was wiped out.
To this day, Bartlett still remembers the passage on the title page of the book:
"I am the last goblin, and after me, the goblin civilization will officially vanish.
In the future, when other races refer to goblins, they may not use the word 'goblin' as a quantifier,
Instead, they might say 'head', 'foot', or 'piece'.
Regardless, this was the fate chosen by the goblin race itself.
——To warn the still surviving civilizations with this book"
...