Dungeon King: A Lady Knight Offered by My Goblins

"Don't you know? It's said to have been killed by someone, right after the full moon night, half a month ago. A caravan found traces of the white-furred wolf king's battle on the plains. They say the ground was scorched!"

The man spoke with an air of mystery.

"You talk as if you saw it with your own eyes. If the ground was scorched, that means a magus was involved! Do you think magi are as common as cabbages?"

His companion rebutted skeptically, raising doubts.

"Well, wasn't there some activity from the city's magus guild a couple of days ago? Something about reserve magi leaving the city in a large carriage."

"Were they going to investigate?"

"Who knows? Anyway, some say they were following up on the traces left by the white devil."

"Is that so..."

The man's companion remained half-convinced.

After all, a powerful mythical beast that had roamed those plains for nearly thirteen years wouldn't just disappear without reason.

And even if one were inclined to believe it, further investigation would surely follow.

The disappearance of such a beast implied the presence of a force even greater, suggesting a potentially worse scenario if it were a more powerful mythical creature.

"Have I been noticed already?"

Howard hadn't expected there to be a magus guild in the New World.

Magi on the continent were rare, and a significant presence here could impact the future expansion of the Oli Kingdom.

"I wonder if my presence has caught their attention..."

Suddenly, the sound of cutting wind!

Who's there?

Howard abruptly looked up, and smack!

A ruler made of folded paper struck him hard on the forehead.

"Ow!" Howard let out a low cry, swiftly tilting his head to dodge a second strike, bellowing, "What are you doing!"

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"Slacking off! You deserve it!"

A girl, seemingly about seventeen or eighteen, around Howard's age, dressed in a simple, dusty grey cloth dress, holding a wooden tray in one hand and a paper-folded ruler in the other, pointed at Howard authoritatively.

"You, we kindly offered you a job here at the inn, and you dare to slack off. You deserve a beating!"

Howard, having no money on him and not a single gold coin for his outing, had negotiated with the people here to stay for a while.Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs ɴo(v)elꜰɪre.ɴet

However, they were unwilling to let him stay for free and insisted he work in return.

After some hesitation, Howard reluctantly agreed.

It had been ages since Howard had endured such humiliation.

Noticing crumbs at the corner of the girl's mouth, he retorted angrily, "And what about you, sneaking off to eat, how much better are you than me!"

"Don't falsely accuse others. I never did what you're claiming!"

The girl's face showed a moment of nervousness, but it quickly vanished.

She fiercely flipped her brown hair, pointing the ruler at Howard, "Hmph, I'm off to work, and you better stop slacking off!"

With that, the girl shoved the ruler into her dress pocket, skillfully navigated through the hall with the tray, greeting familiar patrons along the way, and quickly made her way to the counter.

There, she flashed an apologetic smile and chatted with the girl behind the counter.

Footsteps halted beside him, and Howard easily deduced that it was Greg, a young man with whom he worked at the tavern, and a Dwarf.

Dwarves are a race native to the New World, and from Howard's observations, they lacked significant combat abilities, posing no threat to the kingdom's endeavors on the continent.

"You're not in the kitchen helping out? You're not even as tall as the table!" Howard joked.

"Even you mock me, you mere newcomer!"

Greg thought about slamming the table and glaring at Howard in indignation, but upon raising his hand, he realized the table was as high as his forehead and resignedly dropped the idea.

"I got kicked out by that bastard Ali, who said, 'Dwarves and rats alike should never enter the kitchen' and 'Do Dwarf hands serve any purpose other than blacksmithing?' I was mocked! Laughed at! To think I would be looked down upon! He dared to scorn my craftsmanship! I'll file a complaint with the Federal Racial Council! I'll accuse him of racial discrimination!"

Greg rambled on, "What's wrong with potatoes! What's wrong with salted meat! Who says these ingredients can't make fine dishes!"

"How many Dwarves have grown up eating just that, and still managed to forge so many superior weapons!"

"All these are the achievements of Dwarf chefs!"

Howard wisely chose to stay silent and just listen to Greg's complaints, though he couldn't help but wonder, are Dwarves truly skilled in forging?

In truth, Greg was just venting, as both he and everyone else were well aware of how poor Dwarf chefs' culinary skills were.

Given their routine engagement in physically demanding tasks like metalwork and weapon forging, Dwarves generally consume large amounts of food, including a significant intake of salt...

This has led to a universally high salt content in Dwarf cuisine, making it unpalatable to non-Dwarves, though Dwarves themselves relish it.

Actually, that wasn't the worst part.

The key issue lies in Dwarves' dietary staples of potatoes and salted meat, leading to these being the primary ingredients in their cooking, coupled with Dwarves' notoriously destructive creative thinking...

Recall the Ing Empire, renowned for its culinary disasters.

Ever since Howard was tricked into trying one of Greg's dishes upon his arrival at the tavern, he's been convinced that all Dwarves must hail from a similar culinary background.

After grumbling to himself for a while, Greg cleared his throat and remarked, "I think I saw Vivia scolding you just now?"

"Is she always like this? Scolding others while she slacks off?"

As Howard cleaned a table and moved on to the next, Greg carefully groomed his beard, showing he cared greatly about its appearance.

"How old are you, exactly, Greg?" Howard asked curiously.

"Thirty? Thirty-five?"

"Do I look that old! I know I might appear a bit hurried in growth, but that's too much!" Greg nearly jumped on the spot.

"I just turned twenty-three after my birthday, alright! Don't underestimate someone's future so lightly!"

"Twenty-three? I thought you were thirty-two, what with the full beard."

"It's just a bit of excess body hair!"

"Vivia, does she... not like me working here? It seems like she's always coming over to scold me."

Howard wiped down the table, carrying the rag to the backyard to wash it before tucking it at his waist.

"See, she hasn't gone after you guys, right? Ali only arrived a week earlier than me, didn't he?"

Following Howard, Greg displayed an odd expression upon hearing this, unable to resist saying, "Haven't you noticed?"

"Noticed what?" Howard paused, perplexed.

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"Should I have noticed something?"

Greg opened his mouth as if to say something but seemed to reconsider, ultimately remaining silent.

Thanks to his bushy beard, his hesitance went unnoticed by Howard.

"Forget it, it's better for you to figure these things out on your own."

"What things?" Howard pressed, clearly confused.

"Nothing! I'm heading back; there's a batch of farm tools yet to be delivered. Keep up the good work here, and I'll buy you a drink tonight!"

Greg walked off toward the separate blacksmithing shed in the yard.

"Howard, could you fetch some wine from the cellar?"

Antalya, who had been behind the counter, appeared at the yard's entrance and called out to Howard.

"Oh, right away!" Howard immediately replied, dusting off his clothes and heading toward the cellar door in the yard.

To think, a king, leaving behind a realm vast enough to rival empires, to work here.

If word got out, it would surely be the subject of ridicule.

But it's unlikely anyone would believe such a story.

Howard, for his part, seemed to find some enjoyment in the situation.

"Thank you for coming, take care, and welcome back anytime!"

After seeing off the last customer with Antalya and Vivia, Howard dropped the smile that had adorned his face all day, rubbing his somewhat stiff cheeks: "No job is easy, huh? I feel like my face has frozen."

Antalya merely chuckled softly at his side, while Vivia had already huffed, saying, "Is that all it takes to get to you? Someone who doesn't know better might think you're nobility."

With that, she turned and headed back into the tavern, leaving Howard with a view of her slender back.

"Don't mind her; that's just the way Vivia is. She means no harm," Antalya said with a smile.

"Yeah, I know."

Howard and Antalya walked side by side into the tavern.

"Still, it's impressive that you, barely older than me, can run a place like this," Howard remarked.

"It's not as grand as you make it sound. It was born out of necessity, really. People are shaped by the pressures they face."