The First Vanguard Sets Out

Flora did not agree immediately. Instead, she rested a finger against her chin and thought.

"There is an opportunity better than putting it in a potion shop."

"Recently, the Guild has been looking for potion merchants to cooperate on orders because it is organizing a large-scale clearing operation."

"Aunt Morwenna has been worried about it too."

"The Silver Bottle Alchemy Firm from White River City has a wide variety of potions and an advantage in supply channels, so they are a major threat."

"But hemostatic medicine is highly suitable for competing for the next batch of orders."

"The joint clearing operation will last six days. The first vanguard will leave today. We failed to compete for that order, so Aunt Morwenna will definitely have to grit her teeth and secure the second batch."

"Although many experienced adventurers can make Hemostatic Ointment themselves, the effects of yours..."

Flora glanced at the rabbit in the cage, which had already begun hopping about energetically.

"This is already very close to the effect of a Trollblood Potion, and it has a greater cost advantage."

"If it is introduced to the market, it will definitely be highly competitive."

At that thought, the girl nodded to herself in affirmation.

"There should be no problem putting it in the shop. If we are lucky, it might even make it onto the Guild's procurement list. I'll go back and speak to Aunt Morwenna right away."

Though nothing had been formally settled yet, her confident expression made it clear that she was already completely certain.

Lance was overjoyed.

As long as he opened up this sales channel, it would be like owning a hen that laid golden eggs.

"Then I'll be counting on you, future potion master."

Lance laughed happily and pressed his palms together in thanks.

"Once I make some money, I'll treat you to a feast. Order whatever you want."

At the words "feast," Flora swallowed, and the snacks in her apron pocket suddenly seemed far less appealing.

"Then it's settled!"

The two quickly reached their "deal."

Lance packed all the small jars of "Lance-Brand Special Hemostatic Ointment" he had stayed up late making the night before into the satchel Flora had brought.

He kept only two jars for himself as backups.

He also repaid Flora all the money he had owed her for buying books.

After seeing off Flora, who left with a full load, Lance did not idle around.

Today was his day off at the Guild, so he did not need to sit behind the counter.

It was the perfect chance to make some extra money in the forest, while also earning skill experience and knowledge experience.

Lance expertly dragged the heavy equipment chest out from beneath his bed.

He changed into riveted leather armor, tightened his leg guards, and hung the well-maintained, gleaming shortsword at his waist.

Finally, he pulled on the oversized hood, hiding most of his face in shadow.

The scribe Lance vanished.

Now, he was the adventurer Raven.

He stuffed the last two jars of ointment into his waist pouch and checked the hazel shortbow and quiver on his back.

Then he set off for the Adventurers' Guild.

The moment he pushed open the Guild's heavy doors, an atmosphere of tension entirely unlike usual rushed over him.

The adventurers still moving about the Guild hall wore fewer playful smiles and more solemn expressions.

The first batch of logistical supplies for the joint clearing operation had already been assembled.

Box after box of supplies bearing the Guild's seals were carried by laborers shouting in rhythm and stacked along one side of the hall, nearly forming a small mountain.

According to the battle plan on the notice, this operation would use a "three-stage relay" advance.

The first vanguard had already finished preparing and was expected to officially depart today, pushing into Copper Creek Forest.

Although the announcement had only been posted yesterday, the first vanguard had not actually been recruited and assembled through it. They had been personally selected by the Guildmaster.

Their mission was both difficult and clear.

Not only did they have to forcibly secure a safe area as a base camp for the troops to follow, they also had to use it as a springboard to clear the way for the next two waves.

The latter two groups would repeatedly comb through the occupied area like combs, until they completely achieved the strategic objective of advancing five kilometers inward.

As the pathfinders, the first group had set its blade directly at Thornspike Hill.

It was a long-established medium-sized Goblin nest, with eight scattered small settlements around it. Like a malignant tumor, it blocked the forest's vital passage.

Beyond clearing out the adult monsters, the more critical objective was to destroy the nursery and food-storage caves deep within the nest.

They intended to cut off the Goblins at the root and completely eliminate their ability to reproduce rapidly.

Besides the Goblins, several other monster nests slightly smaller than medium-sized ones also needed to be dealt with by the vanguard.

Lance stood at the edge of the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the adventurers in the center of the hall who were preparing to depart.

There were nearly a hundred of them.

They wore well-maintained chainmail or leather armor, their weapons gleaming coldly as they spoke quietly among themselves about tactical coordination.

Even from a distance, he could sense the killing intent in the air.

This was the true foundation of an Adventurers' Guild.

"What a sight."

Lance lowered the brim of his hood. Watching these people about to dance on the edge of a blade, he could not help sighing inwardly.

A mobilization of this scale was indeed rare in a small frontier place like Grayrock Town.

But he knew his place very well.

For Lance, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

War meant bloodshed, and bloodshed meant a need for potions.

He could even imagine how sought-after the special-effect hemostatic ointment in his hands would be when these vanguard members were exhausted and covered in wounds after fighting Goblins in the jungle.

Lance skillfully avoided the crowd and went to the deserted low-level quest window.

He casually accepted a simple commission to gather Silverflake Grass.

His main purpose for this trip was to continue accumulating skill experience and knowledge experience through gathering quests, while taking advantage of the vanguard clearing away the dangers ahead to collect some Blood-Clotting Moss.

Although the materials he gathered himself would be little more than a drop in the bucket once he officially began producing Hemostatic Ointment.

He would still have to spend money buying raw materials from others.

But Lance considered that once he entered the world of professionals, there would definitely be many places where he would need to spend money.

He needed to start watching his expenses now.

Saving a little on materials today and a little tomorrow would add up to a considerable amount over time.

On the other hand, he could stay behind the vanguard. When the time came, he could retreat alongside the wounded, learn how they used potions, and roughly estimate how much he should make next.

He would make a big profit, then take another step closer to his dream of going to Ostella.

After completing the procedures, Lance tucked the parchment commission into his clothes, lowered his head, and hurried toward the doors.

Just as he stepped out of the Guild and squinted slightly at the sunlight outside.

A voice carrying a hint of surprise suddenly sounded behind him.

"Senior!"

Lance stopped, his brow furrowing slightly beneath his hood.

Was that calling for him?

He instinctively pressed a hand to the hilt of his sword and slowly turned around.

At the foot of the Guild's steps stood a blond youth with a longsword on his back.

The youth looked somewhat uneasy.

It was Damian, the one Lance had mercilessly scolded that day.

Damian, standing below the steps, looked very different from when Lance had last seen him.

He wore leather armor similar in style to Lance's, but its once-smooth surface was now covered in many fresh scratches.

Lance recognized those uneven tears as the handiwork of some canine creature's claws.

It seemed the kid had been engaging in quite a few close-quarters fights with Jackalmen lately.

Looking at the boots on Damian's feet, their toes and sides were smeared with dried dark-red mud. He had clearly spent quite a few days trudging and crawling through the forest's muddy swamps.