12

The city ruins—left untouched for many long years, now overtaken by nature—were covered in vegetation everywhere. The sight was very similar to landscapes I’d seen on a monitor before.

Almost none of the buildings retained their original form; their outer walls had uniformly crumbled, and whether large or small, all their interiors were fully draped in greenery.

(Well then, let’s start by figuring out which city this is.)

Given that there were no traces of exterior walls, I could be sure this was still an inland city.

In the Empire, to counter airborne threats, cities near the borders had high, fortress-like walls built in multiple layers, all equipped with anti-air weapons such as anti-aircraft guns.

Following the strategy of defending the nation’s interior, these weapons had been deployed to block the entry of flying monsters.

One of the key reasons the Empire was able to reach its largest territorial extent was this anti-air policy.

After all, they tackled “eliminating aerial threats,” something every other nation had given up on, and in doing so won massive support from Imperial citizens.

Immigration from neighboring countries increased as well, to the point of causing diplomatic issues.

Though they couldn’t eliminate the greatest threat—dragons—they still achieved significant results, and their national power undoubtedly grew.

Naturally, this led to complaints from neighboring countries.

To sum it up, their gripe was, “You’ve driven away flying monsters, and now they’re all coming our way. What are you going to do about it?”

If I think about it, maybe that’s what triggered the war in the first place.

The Kingdom of Canaan had always had a strained relationship with the Empire, but in this case there was at least a reasonable cause.

To the north lay the sea; to the west, the impregnable Elven Forest.

An eastern invasion was blocked by massive mountain ranges, so to expand, the only choice was to clash with the Empire to the south.

Anyway, after a thorough check, I confirmed there were no walls big enough to be called outer walls—this ruin had been an inland city.

The next step was identifying its name. With the presence of high-rises, even if few retained their original form, it clearly wasn’t a rural town.

It was unlikely to be a city I didn’t know at all; I already had a few candidates in mind.

I looked for a main road, hoping for an intact sign, and lumbered along the cracked and uneven streets, scanning the surroundings carefully—better to search slowly and miss nothing.

The first sign I found was intact in shape but unreadable, offering no clue.

But the second one revealed the truth:

“Eilqueel”—the most likely candidate from my list.

In the old Empire’s northeast, this city had supported a front-line urban area.

From here, heading north-northwest would lead to “Rukudil,” the closest town to the Canaan border, while going east should take me to the “Old Carnash Fortress” frontline base.

Now that I understood my position, I could plan my route without worry.

With this knowledge, I could head to the old Imperial capital anytime I wanted.

Incidentally, I used to be a wealthy resident of the capital, and if I’d had the talent, I might have walked the elite path.

(Well, just a possibility, I added inwardly.) With my first goal achieved, it was time for exploration.

Because of my large size, I could only enter certain buildings, but with most of them ruined, breaking a little more wouldn’t be a problem.

So I began my search, but as expected in ruins, those things were around.

They really did pop up everywhere—it’s troublesome.

It was possible every old Imperial city was infested with them.

I didn’t even want to imagine how many there’d be if that were true.

Their reproduction rate was so extreme that even Imperial scholars could only say, “What are these things? This is insane.”

So, I decided to combine pest control with scent training.

With a stench this strong, finding their location was trivial, so it wasn’t much of a training exercise—but distinguishing other creatures’ scents among the goblin stench was another matter entirely.

That training proved… in a word, “too difficult.”

The sense of smell just wasn’t that important for humans.

And if you imagine someone who regularly “discriminates by scent,” they’re probably either in a rare profession or have a peculiar fetish—likely one of those two.

Naturally, I was neither, so I’d been indifferent to smells.

Even with a suddenly heightened sense of smell, I couldn’t fully utilize it right away.

(Yeah, this isn’t working. I’ll just have to ease into it over time.)

I quickly gave up on training and focused on goblin extermination.

I lumbered through the streets, smashing buildings and hunting goblins.

I also kept an eye out for anything of interest, but found nothing noteworthy.

Even if they hid, their smell gave them away—though I did make the occasional mistake.

I sometimes saw wild animals fleeing, but the goblin stench was so overpowering I wouldn’t have known they’d been there otherwise.

After disposing of about 30 of them, I noticed something.

(They’re all fleeing north… what’s on the north side of this city?)

I searched my memory of Eilqueel but couldn’t recall anything specific.

To properly explore the city, I’d need to do at least a rough cleanup.

I didn’t know what was there—or who—but I decided to go take a look.

Without even using my camouflage, I walked boldly along the overgrown streets.

Every goblin that saw me fled north, as if inviting me along.

If they were guiding me, perhaps they had some sort of plan—or maybe something they believed could beat me.

I figured just watching wouldn’t hurt, so I followed the direction they were running.

Even along the way, I saw no intact shops or even houses—none retained their original shape.

Some places bore marks of material being stripped away, perhaps used by goblins for construction.

Eventually, I came to a building that looked very much like one I used to attend.

(A school… ah, and the gymnasiums are always big.)

It was in relatively good condition, with much of the roof still intact—no wonder goblins would hole up there.

And sure enough—there they were, a swarm of green pests milling about beyond the school gates.

Judging by their numbers here, the school building and gymnasium were probably packed with them.

There were signs of patched-up walls, confirming this was their base.

I punched through the flimsy repairs in a single blow, knocking goblins aside as I entered, and observed their movements.

The boss was probably in the gymnasium, so I lumbered in that direction.

As expected, more goblins blocked my way.

I punched, kicked, and smacked them with my tail, but the stench was overwhelming.

The reek coming from my destination was strong enough to make me gag—it might be suffocating inside.

So I made a new entrance for ventilation.

A punch made a hole, and a few kicks widened it enough for me to pass.

I saw it immediately.

The source of the smell—a bloated green monster larger than me—was sprawled on a bed of mats and futons.

(Given the numbers… just as I thought, a queen.)

While goblins did sometimes use other species for breeding, the norm was for a special individual called a “queen” to give birth.

With enough nutrition, she could produce three or four a day—it’s no wonder Imperial scholars were astonished.

Clearly, this was more in the realm of magic than science.

And when a higher type—like a “queen” or “king”—was present, a certain phenomenon occurred.

(So they didn’t flee because of the goblin queen.)

Yes—groups with a leadership individual never run away.

Ordinary goblin bands scattered when things looked bad, but with a leader, they fought on unless that leader was killed.

When I appeared, the queen gave a shrill cry.

Goblins poured out of the crumbling school building in response.

There had to be 300 or 400 at least, but I felt no fear.

By looking at their equipment, you could tell how dangerous they were.

If they had heavy firearms, that would be one thing—but with only stone spears and bows, it wasn’t even a battle.

It was extermination.

I charged into the goblin mob outside.

Arrows bounced off, stones shattered on impact, and stone spears and axes broke easily.

In return, a swing of my fist killed several at once, a swipe of my tail did the same, and a kick sent multiple flying.

It was a complete one-sided slaughter.

Their throwing strength couldn’t hurt me, and their stone weapons couldn’t scratch a body harder than iron.

In game terms, my defense was far higher than their attack—zero damage across the board.

Even the magic they used was all low-grade—no pain, no effect.

Fire was hot, but it went out quickly, and I might even have heat resistance.

Unless they used a powerful magic item—which goblins couldn’t make and which wouldn’t be found out here—they had nothing.

The only possible threat would be poison, but even that might not work on me.

And dangerous poisons in the Empire’s natural environment were few, beyond goblin capability.

Even if they found some, how would they get me to ingest it? Extracting it? Impossible for them.

They’d have to find it in an abandoned pharmacy or hospital—but after 200 years without power, finding something that still worked on me would be absurdly unlikely.

“Honestly, your body odor’s more of a chemical weapon.”

I muttered, knocking aside another clump of goblins.

(Really, you could call these things biological weapons.)

The queen cried again, calling more goblins.

Perfect—if she gathered them all, extermination would be easier.

So I kept hunting them in the schoolyard until reinforcements stopped coming.

After three or four hours, there were no more.

No matter how much the queen called, none answered.

Finally, only her guards remained—an elite group with noticeably better weapons.

But they were just roughly sharpened metal spears scavenged from the city—no threat.

One even tried magic, but when I punched away his rock projectile, the rebound fragments killed him instantly.

Fifteen guards down in ten seconds—leaving only the bloated queen, unable to move on her own.

Now, how to kill her… but I didn’t want to get any closer because of the smell.

So I used rubble—throwing it.

The target was huge, perfect for practice.

I couldn’t say “How many throws until she’s dead?”—only “gag-gag-gag” came out—but I took my first shot.

It missed, flying over her head.

Second shot—hit her shoulder.

Ignoring her scream, I threw a third—hit her belly.

Blood spurted; she was probably done for, but I went for a fourth.

This time, the head. Satisfying.

All that was left was to deal with the children she’d birthed.

As expected, they were in the school building.

Lots of classrooms—of course they’d be there.

I broke the walls to get a clear line of fire and continued my rubble-throwing.

Trying to hide them by shutting doors backfired—they couldn’t open the broken ones, and when some tried to escape through windows, their own dead blocked the way.

The trapped goblin children stumbled around helplessly until I picked them off one by one.

When I ran out of ammo, I broke more walls to replenish it.

In the end, I exterminated 33 goblin children from two classrooms.

Listening carefully, I sensed no more movement nearby.

The city cleanup was complete.