Arthur picked up the two tusks, putting each one into his pockets, then tucked one of the serpent scales under his chestpiece and pulled out his [Goblin’s Fang], before they began their descent.

Beside him, John lumbered along with the rest of their spoils: three spears in one hand, the other serpent scale in the other, and the boar hide draped across his shoulders.

As they walked, they looked less like hunters returning in triumph and more like a pair of pack mules picking their way down the slope.

Luckily, the way down was much easier than the way up.

Arthur and John walked down the same path they’d taken, and in less than thirty minutes they were already back in the safe zone where they’d met Greg and his party. Unsurprisingly, the fire Greg’s group had set had long since died out, with no one left to tend it.

Arthur was a bit surprised, if he were honest. He’d expected to run into more people hunting up here, but apart from Greg’s group and the two idiots who’d tried to assassinate them, they hadn’t really crossed paths with anyone.

Then again, it wasn’t all that strange. The mountain range itself was enormous, and the mist white cut their visibility to almost nothing. Unless two groups happened to be right on top of each other, they’d rarely cross paths at all.

At least that’s how he assumed things worked.

Ten minutes later, the two were back at the foot of the mountain. The mist had begun to thin out here, and Arthur and John could make out the familiar outline of the forest ahead of them.

Eventually, the familiar treeline swallowed them again, their silhouettes vanishing under the canopy of the massive trees.

...

The way back to the city was far more peaceful than Arthur expected. Not a single boar or Rock Serpent attacked them as they descended the mountain, and even walking through the forest, Arthur and John barely ran into any goblins.

Well... aside from the one time a level 3 Goblin Spear-Guard decided ambushing John was a good idea, only to be obliterated by an impatient kick from a level 7 Warrior whose hands were too full of loot to bother reaching for his spear, they didn’t run into anything else.

An hour later, the outline of the city walls emerged through the trees ahead.

As expected, the clearing that bordered the city and the forest was now completely empty, devoid of any players or goblins. Only a few slimes loitered here and there, but nobody paid them any attention. Well... it was more that nobody wanted to bother with those seemingly undying bastards.

Soon, Arthur and John walked past the city gates, and the endless hubbub of noise washed over them once more.

The sound of sneakers clattering across the cobblestone, players looking for groups to join or the other way around, and hundreds of other conversations layered on top of each other.

Arthur and John both let out a long breath, as if they could finally relax, even if only a little.

John turned to him, adjusting the spears in his grip as he said,

"You wanna sell these to the old man or do you have another place in mind?"

Arthur considered it, then shook his head.

"It’s fine, we can just sell everything to the smithy."

Arthur only had to think for a moment before coming to a decision. The insectoid shopkeeper was useful, sure, and building goodwill with him might pay off later, but right now it wasn’t a pressing matter.

Arthur had even considered buying a potion or two in case he got hurt on a hunt, but as useful as health potions were, getting one of those storage bags took priority over everything else.

After all, if he’d had one, he and John could have spent a few more hours hunting on the mountain before heading back, and they wouldn’t be drawing nearly as much attention as they were right now.

Granted, everyone else who returned to the city after a hunt was probably the same, but that didn’t change the fact that coming back with half a dozen items as spoils was too eye-catching.

With that thought, Arthur and John cut across the plaza as they made their way toward the smithy.

Even before they reached the square building with its anvil-shaped sign, the rhythmic clang of hammer on steel could be heard all the way from the other end of the street.

Arthur adjusted his grip on the tusks and pushed the door open with his shoulder. A wave of heat rolled out instantly as if to greet him, followed by the scent of scorched iron and smoke. Just like before, Arthur didn’t find it uncomfortable. Just mildly different than the cooler city air.

Inside, the place still looked unchanged. The dwarf still sat in front of his anvil, his hammer rising and falling in a steady rhythm against the glowing shape of what Arthur thought was some kind of blade.

The smith finally lifted his gaze when Arthur and John stepped through the door.

His eyes flicked from Arthur’s tusks to the bundle of spears and hide John was carrying, and the edge of his mouth curled up a bit.

"Back already?" the dwarf asked, his rough voice edged with a hint of amusement.

John shifted the spears in his grip and grinned.

"What? You didn’t miss me yet, old man?"

The blacksmith snorted but his smile didn’t fade as he wiped his sweat-stained wrist across his forehead. He hammered on the glowing strip of steel on his anvil one last time, then quenched it in a trough of water with a sharp hiss as steam quickly filled the smithy.

He then gave John the kind of look one saves for noisy apprentices, before he turned to Arthur.

His eyes swept over him, pausing on the tusks digging out of his pockets as he said approvingly, "And you. Not bad for a scrawny kid. Looks like the mountain didn’t chew you up after all."

Without waiting for a response, the dwarf tilted his chin toward the counter and continued,

"Alright then. Let’s see what you dragged back."