I'm not a Goblin Slayer

Gauss stepped out of the blacksmith shop, feeling lighthearted and satisfied.

This visit had been a huge win—not only had he gained valuable knowledge about becoming a professional, but his once-flat coin pouch was now noticeably heavier.

After selling off the goblin cleaver, daggers, and other loot, he now had 31 silver and 12 copper coins.

It would've been 41 silver and 12 copper, but before leaving, he spotted a fine rapier that caught his eye.

Given how badly his gear had been damaged after the brutal fight near Birchwood, he figured it was time to replace his weapon. And true to the universal adventurer code of "Well, since I'm already here...", he bit the bullet and paid full price to pick it up.

Ten silver coins was no small purchase for him, but for a long weapon? That was practically a steal.

Its low price was mostly due to the rapier's slim profile—less steel was needed compared to a broad sword or greatsword. Plus, Gron had probably given him a "friend's discount."

He'd tested several weapons before choosing this one. It allowed for thrust-based attacks like a spear, worked well with his wooden shield, and paired nicely with his accelerated thinking ability. More agility, more precision.

Of course, it would take some practice to master.

Holding the rapier in hand, Gauss studied it carefully—and the more he looked, the more he loved it.

The blade was sleek and elegant, about a meter long and three centimeters wide—just under two fingers.

A central spine ran down the blade's surface, catching the light with a silver-gray glint. The triple-edged tip looked razor-sharp and deadly.

The hilt was wrapped in leather. The guard wasn't fancy, but its simplicity gave it a clean, refined beauty.

When he held it in front of him, the mirror-like blade reflected his green eyes—eyes that now shone with quiet satisfaction.

Rapiers, like all weapons, had pros and cons.

Broad blades were versatile and better for breaking armor—greatswords could even crush through chainmail joints.

But they were heavy, demanding both strength and stamina.

Even though Gauss's Constitution had risen to 6, his Strength was still just 5—solidly average.

Using a heavy weapon for long periods would wear him down fast.

More importantly, large swords weren't suited to tight quarters—and most of the enemies he'd face would likely be low-tier monsters.

The thing about low-tier monsters?

They were weak individually, but loved to swarm. Unless they were out hunting, they typically nested together in cramped dens.

Which made big, sweeping weapons awkward and inefficient.

In contrast, the rapier's lightweight design made it easier to control, faster to strike, and better suited for precision thrusts in close quarters.

Sure, it was basically useless against heavy armor and had a tendency to break, but how many low-tier monsters even had armor?

For a spellcaster like him, a rapier was the perfect self-defense weapon.

Still, he should probably find time to study proper sword techniques.

Goblins might not know anything about form or footwork, but he wouldn't be fighting goblins forever. There were Hobgoblins, Two-Headed Goblins, and worse out there.

So why learn swordplay if he was pursuing the path of a mage?

Simple—backup options.

He didn't want to be helpless up close.

Especially after what happened last time, he was more certain than ever that he couldn't afford a glaring weakness in melee.

Combat in the real world was unpredictable. Accidents happened. Fights were messy.

If someone thought "He's a mage—easy kill in close quarters," he'd be more than happy to shove a blade in their gut.

Let them learn: a mage's sword can still cut deep.

With the loot handled and the commission officially turned in, Gauss decided it was time for a few days off—and some extra practice with his new spell, Magic Missile.

…

"Ahh… that feels amazing."

He stepped out of the hot springs, eyes half-closed in bliss.

The heat had melted away his tension. Muscles that had been tight for days were now loose and relaxed.

"Five copper coins for the bath," he muttered.

Totally worth it.

With money in his pocket, Gauss no longer had to hesitate over small expenses.

There was no point suffering through a cold bucket bath after traveling through mud, blood, and rain just to save five copper.

"…Did I get taller?"

As he changed into his usual linen clothes, he realized his shirt now sat a little short—his waist peeked out beneath the hem.

Maybe that Constitution boost was doing more than just helping him recover. Growth? Height?

That… wouldn't be a bad side effect.

He'd only been a little over 170 cm before—shorter than most of his fellow adventurers.

If stat increases led to physical development… that'd be a nice perk.

His stomach growled.

Time to eat.

…

Coral Tavern.

One of the nicer eateries in town—definitely higher-end than Nightingale Tavern, where he had his first celebratory meal before his adventure.

This was the same place Hailier had treated the team last time.

As Gauss stepped inside again, the memories came rushing back.

They were probably already back in Barry City by now.

He wondered how Bell and Mia were doing.

The interior was a stark contrast to the rugged town streets—refined and cozy.

Warm yellow lamplight flickered across the red brick walls. At the bar, a sharply dressed bartender twirled bottles and poured drinks with practiced flair.

Behind him, barrels of aged ale were stacked high, the air filled with the rich scent of malt.

Metal chandeliers hung from iron chains, illuminating the spacious tavern floor. Tables were scattered throughout the room, all made of thick elm wood.

Most patrons were adventurers—loud, rowdy, armed to the teeth.

More people than Gauss expected were already here.

But it made sense. Adventurers didn't live on a normal schedule. Whether it was morning or night, if they wanted to drink—they drank.

After all, when your life was on the line every day, alcohol became more than just a luxury—it was therapy.

Young adventurers bragged loudly at one table, gesturing wildly as they spoke.

Waiters weaved skillfully between them with trays of food and mugs.

At another table, older veterans slapped each other's backs, mouths full of meat, mugs sloshing as ale spilled onto the floor.

Watching it all, Gauss's stomach growled again.

The rich aroma of grilled meats and stews filled the air, awakening his hunger.

He didn't drink—hated the taste of alcohol—but food? That was a different story.

After days of rough meals in the wild, he felt like he could eat a whole cow.