As Ephraim reached the entrance of the cave, a wave of foul odors hit him—sharp ammonia from urine, the metallic tang of blood, and a sickening smell that hinted at far worse.
He grimaced, forcing himself to suppress the reflex to gag. The stench confirmed what he feared, darkening his thoughts. 'Am I right…?'
He let out a quiet sigh, muttering under his breath, "Time to see what's inside."
With measured steps, Ephraim slipped into the cave. The air was thick, almost suffocating, with dampness seeping into his clothes and clinging to his skin.
As he moved deeper, faint noises reached his ears—guttural sounds and chattering that he recognized instantly. 'Goblins,' he thought, tension coiling in his muscles. But something was off.
"Why do I only hear a few of them?" he murmured, eyes narrowing in suspicion. The cave's size suggested it could easily house over ten goblins, yet the sounds didn't match that number.
When he was close enough to the source, Ephraim found a shadowed spot to conceal himself and peer inside, his breath held as he observed the scene ahead.
Ephraim's eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing a scene that stirred his disgust. Three goblins were animatedly conversing, their expressions twisted with lecherous glee.
Using his Empathy skill, Ephraim sensed their recent satisfaction, tinged with a sense of euphoria.
Beyond them, more than a dozen goblins sprawled across the cave floor, some snoring loudly, others muttering in their sleep.
His gaze was drawn to one goblin that stood out—larger than the rest, with a protruding pot belly and a small bronze crown resting atop its head.
"A goblin king?" he whispered, eyes narrowing. The realization sent a jolt through him, but he quickly noticed something else.
No signs of human captives. "They must be somewhere else, then," he thought, tension easing from his shoulders.
He walked out of the cave and signaled for Roran to come over.
"I've got a task for you," Ephraim said, his tone firm. "Shoot anything trying to come out of the cave. It doesn't matter if you miss—just keep trying."
He handed Roran two bottles with liquid inside while holding two himself. "Also, help me spread this from the inside to the entrance of the cave."
Roran eyed the bottles with confusion at first. But as he opened one, the sharp scent hit him, and understanding washed over him.
"Is this gasoline?" he asked, his voice a little incredulous.
"Yeah," Ephraim replied casually, continuing to scatter wood branches around the entrance. "I bought it from a random shop when I was walking around town."
Ephraim smiled, his tone slightly more serious. "You should know that gasoline burns fast when lit..."
Roran nodded once he was done spreading it at the cave entrance. "Yeah."
Ephraim lit a match, his eyes narrowing as the flame caught. "...Then do you know that if you inhale enough smoke from it, you could die?"
Most people know that smoke from a fire can kill you by depriving your body of oxygen, or by damaging your lungs and airway with chemicals and heat.
From his world this was common knowledge since people study science they naturally know that without oxygen you can't survive.
Ephraim threw the match, and the fire ignited instantly, spreading rapidly toward the inside of the cave.
Roran took a few steps back, his eyes fixed on the growing flames as they consumed the scattered gasoline.
It seemed luck was on their side; the wind shifted, blowing directly into the cave, pushing the smoke inside faster.
"Prepare to shoot anyone who comes out," Ephraim reminded, noticing Roran was still in a daze, watching the fire.
Ephraim counted in his head. It had been about ten minutes, and the cave should be filled with smoke from the fire by now.
After a few more minutes, figures began to appear, running toward the entrance of the cave, clearly desperate to escape. But they couldn't—they were trapped by the flames.
It was obviously the goblins. Ephraim could even make out the goblin king at the back, desperately trying to push the others forward, but it was all in vain.
The goblins were weak from inhaling the smoke. Even if they didn't die, the damage had already been done—either brain damage from the lack of oxygen or burns from getting too close to the fire.
Time passed, and soon enough, most of the goblins were dead. Notifications popped up constantly in front of Ephraim and Roran's eyes.
[You have slain a goblin]
[You have slain a goblin]
[You have levelled up]
[You have slain a goblin]
...
Ephraim couldn't help but grin, his excitement bubbling over. "This is why smoking is bad for your health!" he sighed.
Roran glanced at him, puzzled. "What is smoking?"
Ephraim chuckled, shaking his head. "It's nothing, don't mind me."
Roran gave him a confused look but turned his attention back to the notifications popping up in front of him.
Roran stared at his status page, eyes wide with both curiosity and happiness. "Is this what a status page looks like?" he asked, his voice a mix of wonder and pride.
He had leveled up four times due to his assists, and Ephraim had leveled up three times as well.
As he read through the details, Roran's thoughts drifted to his father. When he was younger, his father had often told him about the importance of a status page, but he never got the chance to have one himself.
His father had planned to give him a chance to earn a kill once he grew older, so that Roran could gain more power. After all, who wouldn't want their child to grow stronger?
In this world, it was better to have the power to protect yourself and the people you cared about than to rely on others.
Unfortunately, an accident had occurred while his father was hunting monsters outside the city, and he had perished before he could fulfill his plan.
Now, with the status page finally in his hands, Roran felt a swell of emotion. A lump formed in his throat as tears welled up in his eyes.
He wiped them away quickly, not wanting to appear weak, but the emotions were too strong to suppress.
"Father, your son finally took the first step to becoming stronger," he whispered under his breath, the weight of his father's wishes settling over him.
He also felt a deep sense of gratitude toward Ephraim. After all, it was Ephraim who had given him the opportunity to get an easy kill like this—something that had made all of this possible.
With that, his determination solidified. If they ever found his sister, Roran would repay Ephraim's kindness with unwavering loyalty.
Ephraim could sense the emotions swirling inside Roran, and although he didn't show it, a quiet satisfaction bloomed within him.
Roran had taken a significant step forward, and Ephraim was genuinely happy for him. But he kept his face neutral, not wanting Roran to think him strange or too sentimental.
The fire was weakening now, and the air was thick with the smell of charred bodies and smoke. Only two goblins remained in the cave: one was the goblin king, still struggling to stand, and the other was a normal goblin, barely hanging on.
The normal goblin was in a pitiful state. Its body was scorched, and it was gasping for air, its life slowly draining away. Even without Ephraim's instruction, it was clear that it would soon die.
"Shoot it," Ephraim ordered, his voice steady and calm.
Roran didn't hesitate. He nocked an arrow and pulled back the string of his bow, his eyes fixed on the goblin. He had grown used to killing monsters in this world, and there was no moral conflict in his mind.
To Roran, it was just part of life—kill or be killed. The goblin, already on its last breath, had no claim to its life other than the experience points it would give.
It was a chance for Roran to hone his skills, a target for practice. And though there was no thrill in it, it was simply how things worked in this world.
He made sure to aim carefully. Once satisfied that his shot would land, he released the arrow. The moment it left the bow, it seemed destined for its mark. The arrow struck the goblin squarely in the eye.
There was no dramatic struggle. The goblin collapsed immediately, the life drained from its body in an instant. Another notification appeared in front of Roran's eyes:
[You have slain a goblin.]
[You have leveled up!]
Roran felt a mix of satisfaction and quiet gratitude, but he didn't dwell on it. The task was complete. His attention, like Ephraim's, now shifted to the last remaining goblin—the goblin king.
The goblin king, though greatly weakened and battered by the smoke and fire, still had some fight left in it. Its beady eyes burned with rage, and it let out a guttural growl, the remnants of its pride flaring up.
Who wouldn't be angry, Ephraim thought, if their rest had been disturbed, their minions slaughtered, and their own life nearly snuffed out by a fire? It was a creature backed into a corner, with nothing left to lose.
Ephraim sighed, a small exhale of resignation. "It seems this won't be as easy as I hoped."
He drew his short sword from its sheath at his waist, the steel gleaming in the dim light, his grip firm. His other hand, though, did not reach for the dagger—there was no need for that just yet.
He turned to Roran, giving him a brief, almost unreadable look. "Let me handle this."
Roran nodded in response. For a brief moment, he thought he saw something flicker in Ephraim's eyes—something like excitement?
'Is he... excited?' Roran wondered, momentarily unsure if he had just imagined it.