Task

Two days later, the sewer-cleaning task was finally complete. "Ding! Sewer-cleaning task complete. Reward: one hundred dinars."

The crisp notification made Renard smile, but his quill never stopped moving. He drew circles and lines across the map with a fluid hand, covering its once-clear surface with countless marks, large and small, thick and thin.

If Old Walker saw what had become of the map he had so carefully drawn, he would probably cough up three liters of blood. After all, he had spent ten days making it in such detail, only for it to be ruined so easily.

Not long after the system notification rang out, the nine lackeys dragged their exhausted bodies back to the fortress. They all reeked, forcing the servants to keep their distance.

For the lackeys, the past few days had been a nightmare. Anyone would be miserable after spending a week in garbage heaps and filthy ditches.

Raleigh, who had once been short and chubby, had lost a full twenty pounds. He had spent every day trudging through mud beside piles of shit and piss. He couldn't eat, and even a sip of water made him throw up.

Fern had it worst of all. He had always been a neat freak, and now he had thrown up until there was nothing left but bile.

Fortunately, they had completed the task their young master had assigned. At the thought of the reward they might receive, their spirits lifted.

Full of hope, they went to Renard. But the first thing he said was, "All of you, get the hell away from me."

After speaking, Renard couldn't help retching twice. He immediately covered his nose and mouth with a scented handkerchief, glanced up at them, then bent his head and went back to scribbling on the map.

His quill finally came to rest in a corner of the map, where a red circle marked a kobold camp.

Kobolds were the most numerous creatures in the Barren Land. They were small, only about a meter tall, with bony frames and long, pointed tails like rats. Their faces resembled dogs, which was why they were called kobolds.

But despite their numbers, they had never amounted to much because they were individually weak and stupid.

They were cowardly bullies with nasty tempers, and took particular pleasure in tormenting their prey. Their way of life resembled that of goblins and gremlins, though they were much smarter than the latter. Larger kobold tribes even traded with other races.

Only a small number of kobold tribes engaged in trade, however. Most survived by robbing and looting—at least, that was how the residents of Saint Brieuc Fortress saw them.

According to the markings on the map, more than thirty bands of kobold bandits lurked around Saint Brieuc Fortress. The largest numbered several thousand, while even the smallest had two or three hundred. Renard had set his sights on a tribe with fewer than three hundred members.

"Slaughter task: kill one hundred kobolds. Reward: one potential point. Completion: 0%."

After accepting the task, Renard took a deep breath and nearly fainted from the stench. He looked up, frowning. "Why haven't you gone to bathe? Hurry up and get out of here. There's another task later."

Another task? The nine lackeys looked at one another, then scattered like startled birds. They really wanted to shoot back, To hell with your tasks.

Of course, they only dared curse him in their hearts. If they said it aloud, their legs would surely be broken.

Half an hour later, the nine appeared before Renard again. They had scrubbed themselves with soap nuts and changed into clean clothes. A rank, fishy smell still clung to them, but they were much better than before.

They lined up according to a particular set of rules. Ben stood at the front and asked nervously, "May I ask what else you have in mind, young master?"

His heart was in his throat. He feared Renard might assign another unreasonable task.

He wasn't alone. The other eight lackeys felt the same.

They prayed silently: Gods above, forgive our foolishness. Please make our young master go back to the way he was—or just strike him dead with lightning.

The gods clearly hadn't heard their prayers. Renard was still sitting safe and sound on the sofa, tapping his fingers on the table. After a while, he asked, "Ben, you're the strongest among them. How many kobolds do you think you could handle?"

"Kobolds?" Ben's expression froze. He had no idea what his young master was up to, so he carefully considered his answer.

Renard didn't interrupt. He let Ben think it through, since this was a matter of life and death.

After a long while, Ben replied hesitantly, "Sixty at most. Any more than that, and I couldn't manage."

Ben was actually being very conservative. With his strength as an Intermediate Swordsman, he could cut through those pitiful kobolds with ease. He could kill not just sixty, but a hundred or more.

But he didn't know what Renard was planning, so he left himself some room.

"Sixty?" Renard's mouth fell open. This was what showing off looked like—the most lethal kind was the kind you did without even trying.

Then he turned to the other eight lackeys. They understood and gave their answers.

"More than thirty." "About thirty." "About thirty." "..."

Although they hadn't discussed it beforehand, everyone had given the lowest number they could.

Once they had answered, the nine exchanged discreet glances and smiled knowingly.

Ben was an Intermediate Swordsman and could handle sixty kobolds at once. The others were all Beginner Swordsmen. Though there were slight differences in strength, they were roughly on the same level.

Renard counted on his fingers for a while, working from their answers. Then he slapped his thigh and exclaimed, "That's exactly enough!"

The others twitched at the corners of their eyes. They had no idea what their young master was planning now, but seeing how happy he was, they could only force a laugh to avoid upsetting him.

Then they stopped laughing. Renard extended his right hand and pointed grandly at a spot on the map. "I'm going to take you all to wipe out this kobold tribe and bring peace to the residents of Saint Brieuc Fortress."

Silence. Unparalleled silence.

Even the servant polishing the cabinet looked incredulous. Was this really something that the cowardly, tyrannical young master would say?

"What? Do you have some other opinion?" When no one responded, Renard's expression darkened. He scanned the nine lackeys before him and asked coldly, "Or are you unwilling to give your lives for me? Were all those things you said before lies?"

Seeing his expression, Ben immediately rallied and raised his fist, declaring indignantly, "Wipe out the kobolds and bring peace to the residents of Saint Brieuc Fortress!"

The other eight lackeys hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly raised their hands too and repeated listlessly, "Wipe out the kobolds and bring peace to the residents of Saint Brieuc Fortress!"

Their scattered oaths echoed through the fortress, lingering in the air.