Rise of the F-Rank Hero

The guild hall was already lively when he arrived — adventurers chatting, weapons clinking, and the smell of ale lingering faintly in the air.

Behind the counter, Lena looked up from her paperwork. "Well, if it isn't our rising star."

Oliver grinned, resting his arm on the counter. "Flattery this early in the day? You're spoiling me."

She smiled knowingly. "You seem in good spirits."

"Of course. I came for a new mission."

"Is Miss Isolde not with you today?" she asked, flipping through the request parchments.

"Nope. Flying solo today."

"Ah…" Lena said softly — and before Oliver could blink, she quietly set aside one parchment and reached for another.

Oliver noticed immediately. "Hey, hey—what was that? What did you just put away?"

"Hmm? Nothing."

"You definitely switched missions after hearing I'm alone," Oliver said, frowning. "What's that supposed to mean? Are you looking down on me?"

"Oh, of course not!" she said quickly, smiling in that practiced way only receptionists could. "It's not about your strength, Oliver. It's about numbers. That one was a party quest — it requires at least three members."

She tapped her chin thoughtfully, then pulled another parchment forward. "But—luckily for you—I've got something perfectly suited for a strong, young man like you."

She leaned forward slightly, tapping his arm with a teasing smile. "Should be right up your alley."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "You sure this isn't another easy errand like catching chickens?"

"Why don't you read it first, hero?"

Oliver took the parchment and began to read. A second later, he groaned.

"Hah~ Seriously? Goblin subjugation? Are you mocking me right now?" He lowered the paper and glared half-heartedly at her. "Just the other day I completed an orc subjugation, and today you're giving me goblins? What am I, pest control?"

"Of course not!" Lena shot back, crossing her arms. "Someone has to take that mission, though. It's been pending for more than a week. The villagers are constantly attacked. Several women have gone missing."

Her tone had turned serious by the end — enough that Oliver's teasing expression softened.

"Then why not send a D-rank team?" he asked.

"I did," she said with a sigh, rubbing her temple. "They went missing too. It's not some small fry nest. I think a tribe has formed. But high-rank adventurers won't take it — their pride won't let them pick a goblin mission."

Oliver smirked faintly. "So you're saying I don't have pride?"

Lena snapped. "Hey, are you taking it or not? Stop playing with me!"

"Alright, alright, fine!" He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Geez, I was just trying to lighten your mood."

He rolled up the parchment and tucked it into his pouch. "Consider it done."

"Be careful," she said as he turned to leave.

Oliver flashed her a grin. "Always am."

He left through the main gate soon after, flashing his adventurer's card to the guards — who nodded respectfully and let him pass.

The road leading out of the city bent toward the farmlands, and beyond them, the tree line loomed like a dark wall.

"Okay…" he muttered, unfolding the parchment again as he walked. "These are the farms that've been getting attacked. The goblins are probably holed up somewhere in that forest."

Goblins weren't usually a real threat individually, but in numbers, they became a nightmare — brutal, cunning scavengers who adapted frighteningly fast under a strong leader.

"They usually follow the strongest among them… which means there's probably a goblin chief, maybe even a shaman," Oliver murmured. His fingers tightened around the spear. The etched runes shimmered faintly in the daylight. "I just hope there's no hobgoblin mixed in. That'd be annoying."

By the time he reached the outer farms, the fields were eerily silent — only the wind rustled through the grain. No farmers, no livestock, just a few broken fences and faint stains of dried blood.

He checked his gear one last time: potions, rations, spare knife, rune pen. Everything in order. Then he drew his spear, feeling the familiar hum of runic energy course through it.

"Alright, buddy. Let's see what you can do."

He didn't bother talking to the villagers — there weren't any in sight anyway. Instead, he headed straight into the woods.

The forest was thick and wild, roots coiling underfoot, the smell of damp earth heavy in the air. Oliver moved cautiously, cutting through the smaller bushes with the spear's edge, his eyes scanning every shadow.

'This is when having a tracking class like a Hunter would be useful,' he thought grimly.

He advanced quietly, staying close to the trunks, mindful of every crunch of leaves beneath his boots. After several minutes of tense wandering, his patience paid off.

Through a gap in the trees, two goblins came into view — squat green figures with mottled skin, yellow eyes, and crude bone daggers. They were lounging lazily beneath a large oak, one gnawing on something that looked disturbingly like a human hand.

Oliver's jaw tightened.

'Bastards.'

He crouched lower, gripping his spear. The faint glow of runes flickered along its shaft as he prepared to strike.

The goblins under the oak never saw it coming.

A faint hiss cut through the air — shhkk! — and the first goblin's head snapped back, a thin line of blood tracing his throat before he collapsed without a sound.

The second turned, wide-eyed, just in time to see a blur of motion.

Oliver lunged out of the brush, spear flashing in the filtered sunlight.

"Wind Edge!"

Whsshhh!

A sharp gust trailed his strike, slicing through the goblin's chest cleanly. The creature screamed, gurgled, and fell.

The runes carved into the shaft pulsed faintly, drinking in the ambient mana of the forest. Each swing felt light, alive — the weapon almost guiding his movement.

"Not bad," Oliver muttered, rolling his shoulder.

The forest quieted for a heartbeat — then rustling erupted from deeper within.

More shapes moved between the trees.

"Grahh! Grik!"

"Gyaaah!"

Four more goblins burst out of the undergrowth, waving crude clubs and rusted knives.

Oliver smirked. "Guess we're doing this, then."

He dashed forward. The first goblin swung — clang! — Oliver parried, twisted his spear, and drove the butt into its gut, sending it crashing into a tree. The second leapt; Oliver stepped aside, sliced horizontally — shhk! — another one down.

The remaining two hesitated, snarling. Oliver took a single step and swept his spear in a wide arc.

"Wind Edge!"

Fwoooosh!

A crescent of compressed air erupted outward, slicing through both goblins at once. Their bodies hit the dirt with dull thuds.

Oliver straightened, breathing steadily.

"Six down. Not bad practice."

But the forest didn't stay still for long. A faint sound echoed — the unmistakable grug-grug-grug of goblin chatter. They were gathering.

He followed the trail cautiously, moving from shadow to shadow. Broken branches, footprints, a discarded human shoe — signs of where the creatures had dragged their victims.

Each time he spotted a goblin patrol, he eliminated them with quick, silent thrusts. The rune-etched spear hummed after each kill, faint traces of mana flickering along its blade like rippling wind.

Finally, the trail led him to a clearing at the edge of a small cliff — and there it was.

A cave mouth gaped open beneath a mound of roots and stone, faint firelight flickering inside. Two goblins stood guard, jabbering to each other.

"Grak-grah! Ruk-ruk!"

Oliver crouched behind a boulder, assessing.

'This looks too organized. Lena was right — a tribe's formed here.' He eyed the torches placed neatly at the entrance, the rough wooden stakes driven into the ground. 'A chief's running this bunch… maybe even a shaman.'

He frowned. 'No wonder the D-rank party vanished. This isn't a nest — it's a full tribe base.'

He tightened his grip on the spear.

'Should I go back and report it? Or handle it now?'

Logic said retreat, but before he could decide, a shrill scream cut through the air.

A human voice.

Oliver's head snapped toward the sound.

Through the trees, a group of goblins appeared — five of them — dragging a young woman by her hair.

She looked barely older than him—maybe twenty, maybe less—her clothes in tatters from the chase, one shoulder bare, arms scraped and dirt-streaked. Rope bit into her wrists. Every movement she made left a smear of blood and dust along the forest floor.

Her eyes were wide with terror, unfocused, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. The creatures barked guttural laughs, shoving and yanking her like hunters hauling prey.

The goblins were laughing in their guttural voices, shoving and pawing at her as they pulled her toward the cave.

"…You've got to be kidding me."

He'd seen that look before — on the faces of victims, powerless against monsters. He had same expression when he was abandoned in the dungeon full of monsters. Helpless.

His fingers clenched around the spear. The runes along its length flared faintly, reacting to the spike in his emotion.

"No time for dilemmas," he muttered under his breath. "Decision made."

He stepped out from behind the rock.

*********

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