Smart Goblin and Injured Goblin

["Knowledge is power." — A mage]

The preface to the sorcerer's notes made Annan think he was reading a mage's reflections.

["And I say Sorcerers are power."]

The image of an arrogant, conceited Sorcerer leaped off the page.

Annan stole a glance at Soluman Copperbeard, her thick beard neatly braided, then continued reading.

[Mages will tell you how varied their magic is, but never that building even a low-level spell model takes ten days or more—sometimes dozens. Mages will tell you mercenaries welcome them, but never that mercenaries only want their novel, useless little household spells. Mages will tell you they can name thousands of Magic Materials with ease, but never that their spending leaves tax collectors grinning from ear to ear...]

These prejudiced comparisons filled the first few pages, making the rivalry between mages and Sorcerers plain. But Annan wasn't interested in the anecdotes.

He looked out the window. The Snow Mountains still stood unchanged to the north, but Breeze City had long since vanished behind layers of trees.

[What does a low-level mage do when he encounters an enemy? First, he puts some distance between them, activates defensive magic, casts a Shield Spell on himself, and lays warning spells as he goes. Once he finds the enemy, he uses his repertoire flexibly: Grease to make his foe slip, a fainting spell to daze them, then Animate Rope to bind them. Only then does he decide whether to kill them. Every stage leaves less room for error, and he must also contend with running out of Magic Power.]

[And a Sorcerer? When a low-level Sorcerer encounters an enemy, he casts Arcane Missile. Then he casts Arcane Missile while putting some distance between them. He casts Arcane Missile at anything suspicious nearby. Finally, once the enemy is forced into the open, he solves the problem with Arcane Missile.]

[Is knowing fewer spells a weakness? Perhaps. But have a Sorcerer and a mage cast the same spell, and the Sorcerer's will always be stronger.]

[That comes down to the fundamental difference between mages and Sorcerers: all spellcasters have an affinity for magic, but Sorcerers have an additional affinity for something specific. We may excel at conjuration, or have a gift for evocation...]

As the blunt rivalry gave way to actual knowledge, Annan gradually became absorbed...

The crossroads in Four-Way Forest.

Two Goblins stood guard at the crossroads, just as they had on previous days. The difference was that today they had switched places.

One Goblin stood by the road holding a book. The other crouched beneath a tree, bruised and battered, with a piece missing from one pointed ear, which was broader than an Elf's.

"Those wretched humans won't listen to you either..." said the injured Goblin. "They're cunning and cruel."

"They will."

"They won't."

"They will."

A carriage coming down the southern fork interrupted the argument they had been having for dozens of minutes.

The Goblin with the book picked up a wooden sign lying by his feet. In crooked Common Tongue, it read, "Free directions."

The carriage, its wheels and body caked in mud, stopped before the two Goblins.

"Honored sir, where are you headed?"

"How much farther to the Deathwhisper Mountains?"

The Goblin pointed down the northern fork. "Another 270 li or so, and you'll see the Snow Mountains."

The carriage drove off, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

"That's no different from when I was there," the injured Goblin said, sticking the piece of his ear back on.

"It is."

"It isn't."

"It is."

Another carriage from the southern fork interrupted the argument they had been having for dozens of minutes.

As the caravan of eight or nine carriages approached, dust billowed toward them.

The smart Goblin not only stayed out of its way but stopped his companion from blocking it, letting the carriages pass.

"Why didn't you ask them?" the injured Goblin demanded.

"They aren't going to our territory."

"They are."

Not wanting the conversation to fall into another loop, the smart Goblin said, "I can't explain it to someone with your intelligence."

"You just can't explain it."

"I can."

"You can't."

"I can."

Some time later, another travel-worn carriage approached the crossroads, though the crest on its body still looked brand-new.

The smart Goblin raised his sign and watched the carriage slowly stop.

"We're going to Breeze City," said the driver, who also served as a guard and wore a rapier at his waist. He sounded intrigued.

"Follow this road north. Breeze City is about 210 li away," the smart Goblin said politely.

As the carriage started moving again, a silver coin suddenly flew out and landed by the smart Goblin's feet.

The injured Goblin stared, dumbfounded, as his companion picked up the coin, slipped it into his pocket, and went back to his book—

"Give me half." The injured Goblin edged closer.

"No."

"Give me some."

"No."

Before long, a mercenary band of more than a dozen people arrived amid the argument. They rode warhorses and had a mage among them.

The smart Goblin was no longer polite and confident. He raised his sign uneasily and looked up at the mercenary leader standing before him, a warrior of at least master rank who held a greatsword nearly as big as the Goblin himself.

"We're going to the Lost Forest."

"You can't—"

The smart Goblin clapped a hand over his trembling companion's mouth, stifling that brave protest, and said with reverence, "Brave human warriors, the Lost Forest is this way. Goblin Home is in this forest too. We welcome such mighty warriors as guests."

With that, the smart Goblin pulled his companion aside and let the humans pass, though they gave the pair strange looks.

"Dole! You betrayed the Goblins!"

The injured Goblin shouted at his companion after the mercenaries had gone.

"I didn't. Even all our people together couldn't beat them. Besides, didn't you notice?"

"Notice what?"

"They had their bows aimed at us before they even came over."

The smart Goblin glanced around furtively—at the rustling treetops, the rolling grass, a rippling pool reflecting the sky... Then his companion's sobs drowned everything out.

Goblins were never very brave.

Footsteps sounded through the sobbing. A woodcutter appeared, cloaked, with firewood on his back and an axe in his hand.

But the smart Goblin was even more frightened than he had been of the mercenaries. Clutching his sign, ears drooping, he trembled uncontrollably. "Adventurer, where are you going?"

"I'm a woodcutter."

"Of course. Please tell us if you need any help."

"I don't."

The woodcutter disappeared into the depths of the forest.

"He's even stronger than the leader of that mercenary band..." The smart Goblin's ears drooped.

"How do you know?"

"I read it in a book."

"Let me see."

"No."

"Let me see it."

"No."

At dusk, two carriages bearing crests came from the direction of Breeze City.

The clever Goblin remembered this carriage and didn't stop it. But the carriage at the rear slowly pulled up in front of him.

"What book are you reading?" asked a human boy who even a Goblin could see was handsome.

"Chronicles of the Goblin Empire," the clever Goblin said.

"Where can I find a copy?"

"I'll give you one next time you come."

"Thank you."

The carriage gradually drove away.

On a pleasant afternoon, two carriages rolled into town. Annan eagerly climbed out and gazed at the familiar streets.

Annan, the future legendary Sorcerer, had returned to his faithful Pinglin Town.

"Make way!"

Just then, a woman with a broom came up behind Annan and shooed him aside.