Night.
Thin Mist Forest, outer perimeter.
The flickering orange-red flames set off the cold moonlight leaking down through gaps in the canopy overhead, and the air was filled with the gray-white mist unique to the forest.
A campfire, several bedrolls, and four adventurers sitting idly in a circle.
An adventurer party as common as could be.
The number of Goblins that surged during Hunting Day, along with bounties that had nearly doubled, drew countless adventurers eager to make a fortune from it.
Two or three months of work could equal a full year's income, even several years' worth.
Even those "old-timers" who had long since retired and were living steady lives in town sometimes found it hard to resist such temptation.
After so many years, every time Hunting Day came around, they would close their shops, take leave, find three to five trustworthy old friends, and head to River Valley Town to earn some extra money.
For retired adventurers living in the nearby towns, it had already become the norm.
To a certain extent, if one ignored the risks along the way and the high-pressure environment inside the forest—
Every once in a while, they could break free from their complicated, trivial family lives and work, drink to their hearts' content in a tavern with friends and brothers who had gone through life and death with them, and spend a few dozen days without needing to think about anything else.
For these pillars of their households, fathers and husbands, middle-aged men in their thirties and forties—
Hunting Day was like a dangerous vacation.
"This thing should be Turquoise, right? How much could it be worth?"
In the firelight, between fingertips whose nails were packed with dirt, was a translucent pale-green gem.
Big Ben narrowed his eyes, his face filled with