After the first exchange teams landed on the northern shore of the Source Realm, they split into several groups and entered the territories of the human nations from different directions, preparing to trade and preach.
These groups then divided into several missionary squads, ready to spread the Supreme God's radiance to the world.
The goblins' appearance, however, made every human they encountered along the way reveal looks of disdain.
In this world, goblins were the lowest-ranked magical creatures. Yet here they were, dressed in robes and preaching with solemn expressions. No matter how one looked at it, it seemed absurd.
The goblins' uniforms were standardized gray-white short robes, with the Goblin Empire's gear-and-wheat emblem and the Supreme God's Court's Stigma Mark embroidered on the cuffs.
They looked exceptionally refined, more splendid than the clothing of any race in the Source Realm.
But worn by goblins, they appeared especially comical.
It was like monkeys dressed in hats.
One missionary squad suddenly stopped on a dirt road leading to a southern town. The thaumaturge in the group stared blankly into the distance.
Several gaunt goblins crouched on the distant wasteland. They were native wild goblins of the Source Realm.
Their skin was grayish-green, their ribs protruded beneath their skin, and the outlines of their shoulder blades were clearly visible. It was obvious they had been living badly.
An old goblin crouched at the front, with three young goblins behind it. The young goblins clung tightly to the old goblin's back.
At that moment, the old goblin raised its head, its gaze falling upon the approaching group.
It looked at faces so much like its own, at the thaumaturge's white robe and the Stigma Mark, and a gleam of excitement flashed through its eyes.
Were they kin from that world?
The thaumaturge stopped