Forests Don't Support Idle Goblins

Chapter 399 The Brigade's Tomb Raiding Gang

"The Brotherhood of the Phantom Troupe? Boss, are you affiliated with the Brotherhood of the Phantom Troupe?"

Little John stared at the tavern owner across the street with some puzzlement. This guy, who was two meters tall but wearing a floral apron, was actually an adventurer?

"But what kind of organization is the Brotherhood of Phantom Troupe? I don't think I've ever heard of it."

"Hmm?" The boss frowned. "You've never heard of it? Or have you been an adventurer for too short a time?"

"No, I think," John looked up and tried to think for a few seconds, then suddenly shouted, "I remember now!"

The shout drew the attention of everyone in the tavern. The people, who had been looking dejected, all turned to look at the shout, holding their spoons and forks.

John then gave everyone an apologetic smile, which finally calmed their probing gazes.

"I remember now, you are that," Little John said in a low voice as everyone stopped paying attention to them, "that tomb raiding gang."

The tavern owner's face changed upon hearing this. "What tomb raiding gang? We are a legitimate adventurer organization."

"Ah, yes, yes, yes." Little John nodded quickly, but the expression on his face was very unnatural.

He had heard of this brotherhood; it was famous ten years ago when he was young, but he occasionally heard legends about them. Legends said they hunted a high-level magical beast and offered its core to the kingdom's princess. There were also legends that they killed a demon army led by a great demon, directly quelling a crisis in a town, and that the great demon even had its horns cut off.

But none of the legends compare to a widely circulated wanted notice that followed. The troupe was dubbed a "tomb raiding gang" because they had dug up the family tomb of an earl and opened all the coffins.

"So you're from the Brotherhood, a member of the Phantom Troupe?" Little John sized up the tavern owner, somewhat surprised that the other party came from such a famous organization. Although the owner should be a skilled fighter based on his physique and strength, Little John had heard that the owner had been running the tavern for a long time.

"Yes." The boss reached out and took the light beer that was originally meant for John. Under John's surprised gaze, he took a big gulp. "I am indeed a member of the Phantom Troupe, but due to some things, we are scattered in different places."

"Is it because of that wanted poster?" Little John looked at the other person strangely, but his words did not offend the boss. The other person calmly said, "It's nothing. We're just looking for a few things."

"thing?"

"Yes, to be precise, it's three swords."

"A longsword?" Little John blinked. "What kind of longsword? Made of dwarven steel, or the sword of some ancient king?"

"Are we, the troupe, so shallow?" The boss frowned and glanced at Little John. Seeing the other man's apologetic smile, he took another sip of beer. "We're looking for the three most powerful swords in the world."

"The most powerful?"

"Yes, the three swords that are said to possess unparalleled power, even capable of killing gods."

"Godslayer?" Little John's eyes widened. He tried to suppress his voice, which became a little hoarse at the end. Godslayer was not a word to be spoken lightly. If these three swords really possessed such power, they would definitely be fought over by everyone.

"What kind of three swords are they?" He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the other person.

"Oh, they are the gold sword, the white sword, and the black sword," the tavern owner said casually, his expression completely genuine.

But this answer silenced John. He lowered his head, reached for his longsword, and slammed it onto the table.

"This is my silver sword."

"Kid, put your longsword away. It's just an ordinary steel longsword." The boss curled his lip in disdain. "I know you have objections to the names of those three longswords, but I'm sorry, we only found out about them in the ruins of an ancient tomb."

"Maybe the tomb owner was just talking nonsense," Little John sheathed his longsword, casually picking up his light beer. 66

After all, a famous sword needs a name.

"Hmph," the tavern owner chuckled dismissively, "when ordinary people hear this news, they all have the same expression as you."

"What else?" Little John shrugged. Diana's four "uncles" also had names, and even the "invisible longsword" that Red Eyes got had a name.

But if someone tells you that the three most powerful swords in the world are named "Golden Sword, White Sword, and Black Sword," anyone would scoff at that.

"You should know Siegfried the Hero, right?" The tavern owner didn't try to refute Little John, but changed the subject instead.

"Of course I know," Little John nodded. As an adventurer, who doesn't aspire to become a hero and be remembered by the world? "Siegfried, the dragon slayer, is someone everyone knows."

"Do you know what weapon the hero used to slay the dragon?" the boss said, glancing at the longsword next to Little John.

"The Hero's Longsword?" Little John chuckled, about to say he knew the answer—it was on Red Eye's waist—but he quickly shut his mouth. While the [Siegfried's Phantom Blade] was powerful, it seemed far from being able to slay a dragon.

"Could it be that the hero slayed the dragon using just one of the three longswords?"

"Yes." The tavern owner nodded.

"There doesn't seem to be any mention of heroes' weapons," Little John frowned. "Where did you get this information?"

The legend of Siegfried is widely known, but how the hero killed the dragon is a matter of much debate. Some say he used a heavy crossbow and killed the dragon with a few arrows, while others say he lured the dragon into a canyon filled with poisonous gas before finally killing it.

There are many versions of this story, but none are as exciting as what Little John just heard: the hero used one of the three most powerful swords in the world to slay the dragon with a single strike.

Please, that's a dragon, bigger than an elephant, even comparable to a giant whale. What kind of longsword could kill it with a single strike?

Even the finest, sharpest dwarven steel longsword would have a hard time cutting through a dragon's scales.

"This is what our leader analyzed," the tavern owner said proudly, straightening his posture.

"But this also—"

"Can't accept it?" The boss chuckled. "It's much more reliable than those legends. What siege crossbow? One person can't operate that thing at all. Even if Siegfried is very skilled and can fire crossbow bolts that look like spears continuously, the dragon is just that stupid. It stands still and lets him shoot. Dragons can fly."

As he spoke, the boss took another sip of wine. "And what about a valley full of poisonous gas? That's impossible. You know, dragons aren't stupid. They have a certain resistance to toxins. If the poisonous gas could kill a dragon, Siegfried would have been dead long ago."

"But the idea of ​​the three most powerful longswords is too far-fetched." Little John shook his head slightly. If anyone was going to say something was unreliable, he thought the idea of ​​"golden sword, white sword, and black sword" sounded even more ridiculous.

"Kid, that's a clue we found after digging up a lot of graves and ruins," the tavern owner tapped the table lightly. "Why do you think we searched the family cemetery of that count's family? It's because we heard that his ancestors collected some very powerful swords, swords that could fight demons."

"And then what happened?"

"And then?" The boss curled his lip and said fiercely, "The descendants were too wasteful. Their family cemetery only contains ordinary longswords, many of which are rusted from being buried with the dead. There isn't a single one that can be considered a treasure."

"You've overturned their entire coffin, and you're still complaining?" Little John raised an eyebrow, quite surprised by the moral bottom line of the Brotherhood of the Phantom Troupe members.

These words made the bar owner across the street turn pale. He silently raised his beer and took a big gulp to cover up his embarrassment.

Setting down his cup, the shopkeeper slowly said, "Let's not talk about the longsword anymore. Let's talk about those wild fruits. Can your friend handle them?"

"I didn't—" Little John wanted to argue again, but the gaze of the tavern owner across the street made him gradually shut his mouth. Finally, he could only lower his voice and ask, "How did you know?"

"Just a guess," the boss chuckled. "It's not hard to guess."

Seeing the inquisitive look on Little John's face, he slowly said, "You haven't been an adventurer for long, yet you always return from the forest laden with loot. And look at your equipment; this is something a novice shouldn't have."

After sizing up Little John, the boss continued, "Not everyone who enters the forest can reap the rewards. Many are even wary of encountering harvesters when they team up. But you managed to kill Windt on your first try, which shows you're a bold and meticulous expert. However, after observing you, I noticed that you always carried a full pack. You even managed to collect a huge amount of the hard-to-find Windweed tubers. It's impossible for that to happen without someone helping you in the forest."

"And if we're talking about who understands the forest best?" The tavern owner took a sip of his drink, his eyes crinkling with a smile as he gazed at the silent Little John across from him. "It must be the goblins of the forest."

"How much are you paying?" Little John asked calmly. He neither confirmed nor denied his connection to the goblins, but simply asked about the price of the commission.

But the tavern owner shook his head. "I won't pay."

"Hmm?" John frowned; the answer didn't sound quite right.

"Tell your friend that I'm already trying to find other sources of light beer. Wait a bit for now. I'll lower the price of the light beer I sell to him later and try to meet his needs in quantity. But his demand is growing too fast right now, and I'm having a bit of a problem right now."

"Pale beer?" Little John was taken aback. He knew that the beer was selling very well in the Shire tribe. The Naga liked it, the Frogmen liked it, the Goblins drank it, and even the Centaurs would have a small glass.

But how did the tavern owner know that it was Charles who ordered the goods?

"Surprised?" The owner chuckled. "I've been running this tavern for so long, I know exactly how much beer I need to stock each quarter. But last winter, the demand for pale ale skyrocketed, yet all the adventurers went to Torch City. So who do you think drank all that beer?"

"Well," John smiled awkwardly, "you're right."

You can't just say that someone bought a lot of light beer and then shipped it out through the port. You can easily find out that kind of transport information by asking around. Could it be that someone brought the beer to the banks of the Lun River and poured it all into the river to "release" it?

"However, your friend is also good. Throughout the winter, there were no instances of goblins rushing out of the forest to harass the village. Logically, he should have gathered quite a few goblins, which can be seen from the consumption of these resources."

The boss's words surprised Little John, but a secret joy rose in his heart. Shire's subordinates were not just goblins, but also goblins, centaurs, minotaurs, and even naga and treants. This was no ordinary goblin tribe.

Surprisingly, even members of the renowned Phantom Troupe can make mistakes.

"Well," John paused, then continued trying to ask, "does anyone else in town know about this?"

The boss smiled and shook his head. "No one said anything, but I guess some smart people must have come up with an idea. After all, they produced a lot of items that were bought by the White Shell Merchant Guild, but there aren't many ships at the port that are transporting goods away. Those goods must have filled that small warehouse, but they are still loading more goods into it. The old craftsmen aren't stupid."

"This—" Little John gripped his wooden wine glass nervously. If people found out that the White Shell Merchant Guild had connections with goblins, then what would happen to Mary—

"However, Earl Valentine keeps raising taxes, and now he's even charging a conscription fee. The artisans are complaining a lot," the tavern owner waved his hand, signaling to Little John across from him not to be nervous. "Now your friend can provide a large number of orders, and the trend is still expanding. This is a savior for the artisans. Even if they understand, they will silently accept it."

"That's true." Little John smiled awkwardly. Mary had previously boasted to him that she was already a friend of the artisans of Gynthorn, and that some people even wanted to start a guild called the Gynthorn Artisans Guild and elect her as its president.

"I'll talk to my friend and get you those wild fruits as soon as possible." At this point, John finally nodded and accepted the commission for Charles.

"Alright," the tavern owner said, downing his beer in one gulp. "However, you should remind your friend that adventurers are preparing to enter the forest in large numbers. The Earl's recruitment costs are causing everyone a headache, and many are planning to make a fortune. I think this might affect your friend."

"I understand." Little John turned and glanced at the crowd in the tavern. The listless expressions gradually disappeared, and many people began to perk up, looking ready to make a big splash.

He came to the tavern to find out the adventurers' whereabouts, and now it seems he needs to go back and tell Charles immediately.

"Also," the boss said, standing up with an empty cup in his hand, "a powerful mage has come to town. It's a real headache. We haven't caught him yet, but I don't think the security team alone can catch him. That kind of great mage isn't the low-level mage they originally thought he was. I don't know why he came to Goat Horn Town. Logically speaking, such powerful mages usually stay around big cities, since they can buy all kinds of supplies there."

As he spoke, he looked at Little John again. "What Giraffe Town has is only produced by the forest, but here there is more goblin."

"Tell your friend to be careful." With that, he turned and walked back to the bar, holding his glass.

"A high-level mage?" Little John frowned, surprised by this unexpected information. "Uh, he just said he'd buy me another light beer, but he drank it all himself."

As he spoke, he glanced at the people in the tavern again, but in his mind he was calculating the information the owner had given him.

With a "snap," he glanced at the glass in front of him. The owner had just brought him another drink, but this time it wasn't a light beer; instead, it was the "red fruit wine" that the bar wasn't selling on a trial basis.

He had only ever seen that "bat" drink this wine before; it was said to be the best wine in the tavern.

"Drink it, it's free." With that, the shopkeeper turned and left.

John pinched the glass, took a small sip, and exclaimed, "Ah—" A strong, stimulating sensation filled his mouth. "Still so strong."

""

"I don't know how that bat managed to drink it."