Emerald Forest, afternoon.

Light snow began falling again as bitter winds howled through the branches, carrying icy particles that swirled between the trees. The wintry killing aura of the Winter Hunt permeated the increasingly frigid air.

Warrior Blake's heavy pauldrons were coated with frost as each step sank deep into the snow-covered leaf litter, producing muffled crunching sounds. His companions moved while flexing their chilled limbs.

"Damn this cursed weather... Just when it warmed up slightly this morning, the freezing starts again in the afternoon. And still no prey in sight," grumbled the mage Pierre at the center of their formation, his face turning blue from cold as he struggled to maintain his detection spell's glow. Being the least cold-resistant in the group, even bundled in thick winter gear, he couldn't match the melee fighters' physical advantages.

"No matter," the rogue Dylan rubbed his hands together, exhaling a white puff of breath, his eyes glinting with cunning. "Let's scout further ahead. If we truly find nothing..." He deliberately paused, waiting for his companions' attention. "We could always visit the 'neighbors.' I noticed earlier—the adjacent territory belongs to that two-person team, one man and one woman. Given their efficiency... heh." His unfinished sentence spoke volumes through that meaningful chuckle.

The other three exchanged knowing smirks. While stealing kills was frowned upon, among similarly-ranked Bronze adventurers, numbers dictated the rules. If those two chose to form such a small team, they had only themselves to blame.

"Shh!"

"Alert!"

Blake at the front suddenly growled, instantly raising his greatsword horizontally.

Three green-eyed dire wolves burst from the bushes beside them! The ambush caught both sides off guard, instantly igniting battle!

"Haah!" Blake roared, his greatsword cleaving through the air with a dull whoosh toward the lead wolf. The creature couldn't adjust its pounce mid-air, crashing directly onto the icy blade.

*SCHLICK—SPLAT!*

An earsplitting tearing sound erupted as a twisted crimson line split the wolf from neck to belly. Scalding blood and viscera splattered across the snow in a grotesque scarlet display, the bisected corpse sent flying backward!

While Blake struck, his companions swiftly dealt with the other two wolves.

"I swear Blake, next time keep it down!" Pierre wrinkled his nose, sidestepping the spray of warm blood.

Ignoring him, Blake kept his blazing gaze fixed on where the wolves had emerged. Unlike ordinary wolves, dire wolves possessed enhanced endurance and combat prowess, often allying with elite goblins, orcs, or other monsters as mounts or guards. Rumor said they were originally magically engineered war beasts, though generations of diluted bloodlines had weakened them. Still, their instinct for monster alliances remained.

Their appearance usually signaled a nearby monster stronghold.

The others realized this too, eyes lighting up.

"Finally a lead," the rogue complained. "Only one measly nest all morning—I thought we'd return empty-handed today."

"Light's fading. Let's hurry to the location and finish this quickly," urged the priest.

With prey confirmed in their own territory, they abandoned thoughts of poaching their neighbors' kills—no need to stir trouble when their team always preferred peaceful resolutions...

Rogue Dylan took point, tracking the fresh wolf prints in the snow.

But as they progressed, their expressions shifted from excitement to confusion.

They encountered scattered fleeing monsters—panicked kobolds, a limping quasit—all fleeing as if from some terrifying pursuer.

"Stay sharp."

Suspicions grew. Had someone beaten them here? But nearby teams were similarly ranked—none should be this fast. Unless the monsters had clashed with some native forest creature?

Baffled, the quartet pushed through dense fir trees into a sudden clearing.

There, amidst the remaining monsters, a man danced with lethal grace—his rapier flashing with each precise thrust that sent another creature collapsing. His footwork was both elegant and deadly, like performing some macabre waltz across the battlefield.

"Damn it! Someone really stole our prey?!" Pierre's frostbitten face flushed red with anger. To him, this interloper must have broken protocol by crossing boundaries before clearing his own zone.

Though they'd considered the same tactic earlier, being the victims felt entirely different!

"Him?" Dylan squinted through the snowflakes, finally recognizing that calm face framed by black hair.

"You know him?"

"Yeah, the two-person team I mentioned earlier. Come to think of it, he's probably that 'Goblin Slayer' people in town keep joking about—black hair, rapier..."

"Strong?" whispered the priest.

"Unclear," Dylan shrugged. "Just heard he specializes in hunting goblins."

"What strength could someone have who only bullies weak monsters?" Shivering from cold, Pierre burned with indignation at seeing their afternoon's potential rewards "stolen" before their eyes.

This represented hard coin! And worse—they'd caught the thief red-handed!

"Should we... teach them a lesson?" Blake rumbled.

At the clearing's center, the battle concluded.

Gauss flicked his rapier, shaking off foul blood before pinning the last gray ooze—which had tried melting into the frozen earth—with surgical precision. A satisfied glint appeared in his eyes.

Third half-ogre chieftain down.

And...

"Total Monsters Slain: 801"

Plus the sixteenth ordinary monster encyclopedia entry unlocked: [Gray Ooze].

Everything was proceeding perfectly.

Yet...

His gaze suddenly shifted toward the tree line where four figures emerged.

Gauss vaguely recognized them as one of the Winter Hunt teams—likely outsiders, unfamiliar faces who'd probably arrived in Grayrock Town within recent weeks.

Unhurried, he retrieved a special green flare from his belt and ignited it. A thick emerald smoke pillar shot skyward, stark against the snowy gloom, declaring this zone cleared.

"Listen here, 'Goblin Slayer,' that's hardly sporting," the mage at their center frowned, speaking first upon seeing this territorial claim.

"Problem?" Gauss tilted his head slightly, still leisurely chewing his monster jerky.

"This is our territory!" the mage snapped. "And you couldn't possibly have cleared your own zone already before jumping over here!"

Gauss's eyes swept across the silent but equally displeased group.

Behind him, Aria and Urfen came trotting over from their positions.

"So what do you propose?"

Gauss knew explaining he'd finished his sector first was pointless—their aggressive stance wasn't seeking clarification.

"Since you broke guild rules first, hand over half the spoils from this clearance. We won't report you," the mage bargained, eyes darting between Gauss and Aria.

Facing two opponents who'd just soloed a nest, he acknowledged their skill—but his fresh four-member team held numerical superiority.

The math was simple.

He believed his demand was generous.

"We've cleared our territory properly. You're the ones breaking rules—Grayrock's Winter Hunt doesn't condone such bullying!" Aria spoke up from behind Gauss, disgusted by these outsiders' audacity.

The four ignored her, keeping focus on Gauss.

He popped another jerky strip into his mouth, chewing methodically as he studied them—heavy warrior, mage, rogue, and an unremarkable priest, all Bronze one-star adventurers.

The icy wind ruffled his bangs as snowflakes danced between them.

After a long pause, his rhythmic chewing creating inexplicable tension, Gauss finally shook his head with deliberate clarity.

"I decline."

"File your complaint if you must."