#Chapter 6: Goblin Pouch
He patted the back of the dazed guy clutching a goblin coin.
“Hurry up and change your class.”
“Uh… okay.”
Paf.
The goblin coin vanished, leaving a circle etched on Jintae’s right hand.
Cheoldu grinned and extended his own hand. Unlike Jintae’s empty circle, the number “2” glowed on Cheoldu’s palm.
“Huh? Does it stay like that?”
“No. Just think about how many you want to withdraw.”
When Cheoldu visualized one coin, the number “1” materialized on his hand.
Paf.
He opened his fist to reveal a single goblin coin.
“Wow.”
“You can do it too.”
“Yeah… this feels kinda weird.”
Now Jintae understood why explaining the novice class transition was so difficult.
It was like having knowledge forcibly implanted into his mind—yet it felt utterly natural, without a hint of dissonance.
“So now we just find the portal?”
“Yep.”
“Should we grab those?”
“Hmm. Good idea.”
They collected the military rations the goblins had been looting.
“Most of it’s gone.”
When goblins died, their bodies and belongings vanished entirely—including the rations stuffed into their pouches.
‘Is even loot tied to their existence?’
Nine rations remained in the crate. Cheoldu divided them equally.
“Let’s go.”
“Why do I get two?”
“You’ll need at least two meals. I’m being generous.”
“Oh.”
So Cheoldu gave me extra because he cares. But with seven rations left… how many meals is he planning to skip?
“Let’s move.”
“Okay.”
The two newly-classed novices climbed a ridge to survey the terrain.
Peaks dotted the landscape, and in the distance, the portal’s azure light pulsed beneath a black sphere hovering at the map’s center.
“We’ll take that path.”
Bang! Bang!
“Whoa—was that gunfire?”
“Yeah. Over there.”
“Not a large group.”
“Just two people.”
“We should avoid them, right?”
After a pause, Cheoldu nodded. “Let’s detour around them.”
The portal was still far.
Cars lay wrecked or buried in the distorted terrain—even intact vehicles would struggle here. On foot, it’d take six hours at a brisk pace.
“Let’s hunt along the way.”
“Ugh… fine.”
Jintae tightened his resolve, trailing Cheoldu down the ridge.
They clashed with goblin packs four times. Cheoldu slaughtered most, amassing eight coins, while Jintae—having killed four—still had zero.
Drop rate’s supposed to be one-in-three. Is my luck that bad?
“Hey. Look.”
A half-collapsed prefab building stood ahead—likely a ruined farmhouse. Four goblins loitered outside.
“How many inside?”
“Maybe four?”
Jintae’s eyes sharpened.
Take out one outside quickly, then rush the rest. Could bag two this time.
“Let’s go.”
“Oh? Finally stepping up.”
Cheoldu pointed to a scrawny goblin on the roof, raving at the sky with red-dyed tattoos. Its withered staff looked pitifully weak.
“You handle the weakling up there.”
“Got it.”
Their strategy was set: Cheoldu’s frontal assault, Jintae’s ambush.
Paf-paf!
The duo struck.
The farmhouse stood in open fields—no nearby cover. Thirty meters to the nearest thicket.
Enough distance.
Cheoldu exploded forward like a sprinter, muscles coiling and releasing with each stride.
Paf-paf!
He closed the gap instantly—but the goblins were ready.
“Kreek!”
“Keesk!”
These were warriors: leather-armored, bulkier, wielding crude swords, shields, and a bow.
Twang!
Cheoldu’s eyes locked onto the arrow’s trajectory. Unlike bullets, arrows were visible—but could he react?
Clang!
He deflected the stomach-shot with his iron pan, then slammed into the warriors.
Crunch!
A neck snapped under his blade.
Thud!
A kick sent another sprawling.
The archer nocked another arrow—
—until Cheoldu wrenched its arm, snapping bones.
“Kee-sheesh!”
A stomp crushed its skull.
Inside the farmhouse, three grunts dismantled farming tools.
Low-tier looters. Warriors guard; these scavenge.
Cheoldu dispatched them swiftly.
Rumble—
Outside, Jintae stood frozen mid-charge, trembling violently before collapsing.
On the roof, the tattooed goblin’s staff crackled with electricity.
Crackle!
Cheoldu lunged—but lightning was faster.
“Graaah!”
Jintae’s body seized, hair standing on end as he crumpled.
Cheoldu scaled the roof, muscles locking under the spell’s current.
“Kee-sheeeee!”
The shaman’s staff flared, but Cheoldu tackled it, both tumbling to the ground.
“Hrrrlgh!”
He roared, shaking off the residual sparks—a barbarian’s innate resistance.
“Dangerous little—”
The shaman spasmed in the mud. Cheoldu slit its throat, retrieving three coins and a yellow orb:
Permanently grants a small amount of mana.
Activates with 10 goblin coins.
Trial version. Non-transferable.
“Huh? Can I gain magic without rituals?”
Pocketing it, he found Jintae dazed in the rice stalks.
“Bastard’s still alive.”
Fifteen coins collected, Cheoldu approached.
“Jintae.”
“Ugh…”
“Holy shit—I almost died!”
“Dramatic. The shock was brief.”
Barbarian resilience aside, a human like Jintae wouldn’t have survived prolonged exposure.
“Let’s go.”
“What… happened?”
“I cleaned up. Rest first.”
They retreated into the crumbling farmhouse—now strewn with dismantled tools.
“Why’d the goblins hoard this junk?”
“Dunno. But whatever they touch disappears when they die.”
