Steel Stomach

Another 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 an otherworld without food safety regulations, it was a powerful life insurance policy.

Lance was full of 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 every mutated individual?

Lance recalled the records in the Monster Handbook.

Though goblins were weak, their genes were an absolute mess.

Among all monster races, the lower a creature stood in the hierarchy, the poorer its genetic stability 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 hobgoblins to goblin shamans capable of casting spell-like magic, and even flying goblins that grew wings, there was an endless variety of them.

On the other hand, powerful creatures at the top of the food chain, such as dragons—

Their race displayed an extremely high degree of uniformity, and their genetic structures were as stable as bedrock.

While that ensured every young dragon was born with a formidable baseline of strength,

once they underwent an exceedingly rare mutation, it often meant the birth of a monster that surpassed the limits of its race, enough to trigger a natural disaster.

Lance looked at the "4/20" progress bar and grew even more expectant.

As everyone knew, among all monster compendiums, goblins were the most numerous low-level creatures.

For Lance, gathering the remaining sixteen research points merely meant spending more time clearing out those green-skinned pests.

It was hardly a difficult problem.

Of course, in the absurd 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. As for those bold attempts, he would save them for when he encountered succubi or elves in the future.

His most urgent concern now was the increasingly turbulent environment.

Whether it was the mana rampage in the dungeon before or the expanded activity range of creatures at the edge of the forest now, the source behind both remained shrouded in fog.

Lance had a strong feeling.

The surrounding environment was like a pot of water slowly heating up, becoming more and more unstable.

Periodic disturbances would be fine. 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 bought 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 intensive training.

But once he got his certificate and that taut tension loosened, it became difficult to maintain his original high-intensity training routine.

That would not do.

Whether it was to hunt goblins and accumulate points or to deal with unknown risks that might erupt in the future,

he had to wind himself back up.

After all, with a godly skill like [Hvergelmir's Boiling Surge], training on and off like an ordinary person would be a terrible waste.

Before the sky had fully darkened, Lance sat at his desk 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, because his physical activity had increased greatly, his food expenses had risen accordingly.

Lance scribbled calculations on the paper and finally arrived at a number.

After daily expenses, he could probably save sixteen silver coins a month.

But in order to practice archery and consolidate his swordsmanship, he would also have to pay the guild's logistics department ten copper coins in equipment wear fees every day without fail.

By that calculation, he would have to spend another three silver coins each month.

Lance looked at the number with some heartache, counting over it repeatedly on his fingers.

"I'll observe things for a month first."

He drew a heavy circle around it on the paper.

This month would serve both as an adjustment period for himself and as a period to observe the environment.

If he gradually adapted and his strength permitted it, he could quit his job as a copyist and become a full-time adventurer.

Otherwise—

if the situation 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 hesitation and honestly live off the fixed wage from his copyist job.

He had no desire to become like those wandering adventurers who lived hand to mouth, packing up and moving to another town at the slightest trouble.

Lance's goal was clear: to safely stay in Grayrock Town until he had saved enough travel money to reach 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 otherworld.

Rather than struggle alone in an unfamiliar city, it was more comforting to stay here and keep each other warm.

"I hope that potion research comes through."

Lance sighed and turned his gaze toward the moss spread out on the windowsill to dry.

As long as he could finalize the improved formula for [Hemostatic Ointment], he would gain another stable source of income.

Once he nailed down that improved formula, whether he used it himself or put it up for consignment, it would provide a reliable extra income.

As for the [Swordsman] class, which still seemed far away,

the sheer pile of scalp-numbing attribute requirements had already made him abandon any thoughts of changing classes in the short term.

He should keep his feet on the ground, improve his foundational skills first, and raise his attributes before making further plans.

Reaching too far was the shortcut to death.

He also needed to look into information on other classes. Perhaps there was one better suited to him.

As he listed his various upcoming goals one by one on the paper, his previously chaotic thoughts gradually settled.

By then, the sky outside had slowly darkened.

Lance pushed open the small attic window, and the evening breeze, carrying the scent of cooking, washed over him.

On the street below, townsfolk who had worked all day were returning home in groups of two and three. Children's laughter mingled with the faint sound of an accordion drifting from a distant tavern.

The whole of Grayrock Town was bathed in warm, lazy orange-red sunset light.

This peaceful scene, brimming with everyday life, gradually eased Lance's taut nerves, and he even found himself a little intoxicated by it.

He leaned against the windowsill and watched the enormous red sun slowly sink beneath the rolling mountains in the distance.

At the same time.

Several hundred kilometers from Grayrock Town, in the northeastern Iris Kingdom.

An astonishingly broad river ran through the plains. Its bed was covered in pure white chalk, giving its waters a distinctive milky-white color beneath the sunlight. That was how White River Province got its name.