The other was [Steel Stomach].
This racial Talent was even more overbearing, granting Goblins the ability to digest almost any organic matter.
Whether it was raw meat, rotting corpses, or moldy roots, anything they swallowed could be converted into energy. They also possessed extremely high immunity to most foodborne diseases.
In a different world without food safety regulations, it was practically powerful life insurance.
Lance was filled with anticipation.
He just did not know how the extraction range was calculated in this world.
Could he only extract the most basic racial Talents?
Or could it randomly draw from the entire Goblin Talent lineage, including all mutated variants?
Lance recalled the records in the Monster Handbook.
Although Goblins were weak, their genes were an absolute mess.
Among all monster races, the lower down the hierarchy a creature was, the less stable its genes tended to be.
That instability was a double-edged sword.
It made individual Goblins frail, but it also gave them an extremely high chance of mutation.
From immensely strong Big Goblins, to Goblin shamans capable of casting spell-like magic, and even flying Goblins that grew wings, there was every variety imaginable.
The truly powerful creatures at the top, such as dragons, were the opposite.
Their races were highly uniform, their genetic structures as stable as bedrock.
While that ensured every young dragon was born with a formidable baseline of strength,
if one underwent an exceedingly rare mutation, it often meant the birth of a monster that surpassed its racial limits—enough to trigger a natural disaster.
Lance looked at the "4/20" progress bar and grew even more expectant.
As everyone knew, Goblins were the most numerous low-level creatures in every monster compendium.
For Lance, gathering the remaining sixteen Research points meant little more than spending some extra time clearing out those green-skinned pests.
It was hardly a difficult problem.
Of course, in the questionable game setting Lance remembered, killing was never the only way to increase Research progress.
Certain specific zero-distance interactions could also provide large amounts of Research experience, and even came with exclusive animated CGs.
But considering what Goblins looked like,
Lance felt it was safer to stick to physically sending them on their way. He would save such bold experiments for when he encountered succubi or elves in the future.
For now, the most urgent issue was the increasingly turbulent environment.
Whether it was the magical rampage in the dungeon earlier or the expanding activity range of creatures in the Outer Region of the forest now, the source behind both remained shrouded in mystery.
Lance had a strong feeling.
The surrounding environment was like a pot of water slowly being heated, growing more and more unstable.
Periodic tremors would be one thing. What he feared was that this was the precursor to some great catastrophe.
But placing his hopes on luck was clearly not his style.
"Training can't stop."
Lance looked at the newly purchased shortbow in the corner and muttered to himself.
Previously, in order to register as an adventurer, he had pushed himself through half a month of consecutive intensive training.
But once he had obtained his certification, the tension eased, and it became difficult to maintain that high-intensity training rhythm.
That would not do.
Whether it was to hunt Goblins and accumulate points or to deal with the unknown risks that might erupt in the future,
he had to wind himself back up.
After all, with a divine skill like [Hvergelmir's Boiling Surge], training only sporadically like an Ordinary person would be an outrageous waste.
Before night had fully fallen, Lance sat at the table and began replanning his finances on paper.
He still worked as a copyist, reporting for work five days a week and spending the remaining two days taking relatively safe gathering jobs in the forest.
Recently, his food expenses had risen sharply along with his increased exercise.
Lance scribbled calculations across the paper before arriving at a figure.
After daily expenses, he could probably save sixteen silver coins a month.
But in order to practice archery and consolidate his swordsmanship, he also had to pay the guild logistics department ten copper coins every day without fail as a facility wear fee.
By that calculation, he would have to spend another three silver coins every month.
Lance looked at the number with some heartache, counting over it on his fingers again and again.
"I'll observe things for a month first."
He drew a heavy circle around the words on the paper.
This month would be both an adjustment period for himself and a period for observing the environment.
If he gradually adapted and his strength proved sufficient, he could quit his copyist job and become a full-time adventurer.
Otherwise,
if conditions in Copper Creek Forest worsened further, causing the safer gathering commissions to shrink across the board or making the risks exceed what he could bear,
then he would retreat without the slightest hesitation and honestly live off the fixed pay from his copyist job.
He did not want to be like those wandering adventurers who lived on the edge, having to pack up and seek a living in another town whenever the slightest trouble arose.
Lance's goal was clear: quietly endure in Grayrock Town until he had saved enough travel money for Ostella.
Besides, there was Nia's lively smile, Amber's hearty laughter, and Flora's blushing face.
These living, breathing people had given him a sense of belonging in this unfamiliar world.
Rather than struggling alone in an unfamiliar city, staying here and supporting one another was far more comfortable.
"I hope that Potion Research comes through."
Lance sighed and turned his gaze toward the patch of moss drying in the shade on the windowsill.
As long as he could finalize the improved formula for [Hemostatic Ointment], he would have another stable source of income.
Once he had that improved formula, whether he used it himself or put it up for consignment, it would provide steady additional income.
As for the [Swordsman] Class, which still seemed distant,
just the pile of scalp-tingling attribute requirements had made him abandon any thought of changing Class in the near future.
He should stay grounded, improve his basic skills first, raise his attribute points, and then consider it later.
Aiming too high was the quickest path to death.
And he should also look for information on other Classes. Perhaps there was one better suited to him.
As he listed each of his upcoming goals, large and small, on the paper, his previously chaotic thoughts gradually settled.
By then, the sky outside had begun to darken.
Lance pushed open the small attic window, and the evening breeze, carrying the scent of cooking, rushed over him.
On the street below, townsfolk who had worked all day were heading home in groups of two and three. Children's laughter mingled with the faint sound of an accordion drifting from a distant tavern.
The entire Grayrock Town was bathed in a warm, languid orange-red sunset glow.
That peaceful atmosphere, so full of everyday life, slowly relaxed Lance's taut nerves, and he even found himself intoxicated by it.
He leaned on the windowsill, watching the enormous red sun slowly sink behind the rolling mountains in the distance.
At the same time.
Several hundred kilometers from Grayrock Town, in the northeastern Iris Kingdom.
An astonishingly wide river cut across the plains. Since its bed was covered in white chalk, its waters took on a distinctive milky hue beneath the sun. That was how White River Province had gotten its name.
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