The next day, the rapid reaction teams – reinforced by local volunteers – started to comb through the countryside for slimes. The combing was done in order to find detached lonely Slimes since finding the main horde wasn''t exactly hard. An undulating wave of slime in the middle of a lifeless desert wasn''t easy to overlook. That begged the question, of how the outbreak could happen in the first place.


    Probably it was the responsibility of the state to look after the Goo, and there were rules for public procurement, controlled from the centre, and by the time the needed forms were filled out and the money transferred, the original issue resolved itself a year ago. But again, Ostwaldland wasn''t modern Europe, so it was probably just normal pseudo-medieval carelessness.


    Either way, Prof’s party – reinforced by five representatives of the local agrarian proletariat, wielding repurposed farming implements and spears – made its way slowly to the actual frontline. The Greenskins had a strict procedure in place for such an outbreak, the teams were to advance in a line and wait for each other. No glorious – and doomed – charges were taking place. Bad luck for future poets, but good news for the grunts on the ground, doing the actual dangerous work.


    Not, that mopping up stragglers was exactly dangerous work, as long as no one got Slime on their faces. Normally, that particular danger was only present for vertically challenged folks, and the Greenskins were excellent enough for the local defense volunteers to not send Goblins to the frontline. Prof''s party, on the other hand, had a Dwarf and a Kobold. Neither species was known for its excessive vertical dimensions.


    Sharpclaw was quick enough to not be endangered by lowly Slimes – she even managed to backstab one or two blobs. Prof refused to ask, how exactly that was done, simply to keep his sanity intact.


    Cat, on the other hand, wasn’t so well endowed in the Agility- and Dexterity-department – strangely, its Stats weren’t significantly lower, than Sharpclaw''s, and its defending Skills were about the same. Why Cat faceplanted right on a Slime, had no definitive, System-based reason. It could have something to do with its overly long fake beard, though. Even if everyone donned their normal battle gear, Cat stubbornly refused to put the beard somewhere safe. "A proper Deviant Dwarf has to have a beard" was the reasoning. That innocent and logical answer sparked another round of innocent, logical, and mature discussion on the advantages and disadvantages of wearing long beards when in danger of getting Slime, Jelly, Marmalade, and other viscous foodstuff on one''s face.


    “Ditch it, you just endanger yourself, Miss? Cat!”


    “Yeah, it looks ridiculous and comical.”


    “Dwarvessss sssstupid.”


    “Esteemed adventurer! It is pink! Pink is almost red – are you a redcap to wear almost red?" Even their henchmen butted in.


    “You are stupid! This is cultural!”


    “Cat, could you at least shorten it? Say, to your waist?” Prof was gentlemanly aiming for a compromise “And maybe in a colour that could not be mistaken for red?”


    “No! This is cultural, and it has to look like this! The beard is practically new! I hate you!”


    Right after the faceplanting issue – well, not exactly right after it, first came a bit of screaming, a lot of bits of burning things to ashes, and applying de-sliming potions to the face – Cat acknowledged the dispensed wisdom of such a well-traveled, admirable and experienced party of awesome adventurers. A knife was taken to the beard immediately after the screaming and burning was done.


    It still reached Cat''s knees, but at least the chance of being tripped was lowered to reasonable levels. The volunteers still eyed the color suspiciously, though.


    It took a few hours to comb through the fields and bushes until the rapid reaction force reached the true frontline. For some reason, Prof thought, it would look like a medieval melee, tightly packed infantry on one side, and a wall of slime on the other.


    Well, it wasn’t.


    It was more-or-less a staggered skirmish line, the parties and their local volunteers banded together, with fifty or so meters distance between each cluster. Behind the gaps in the first line were other groups – mostly lower-levelled parties and the bulk of the volunteers – and behind them the support groups. Musicians, archers, healers, and the artillery, the dedicated mages. Finally, the reserves, namely Hog Raiders and heavy infantry from the regular army and a few master (and high)-level adventurers.


    The tide of slime wasn''t advancing in a solid wall either – clumps of Slime or a few evolved specimens on their own or in small groups was what the front had to defeat. It was made clear to everyone that if a Marmalade or anything more dangerous approached, it was to be let through, so the third line – or, in case the truly devastating versions showed up, the Army – could deal with them. Mostly by glassing the neighborhood.


    Prof and his party “only” had to slaughter the riff-raff.


    It was a pity, that Arkadia didn''t work on the kill count of low-level critters; Prof found himself in a target-rich environment. On any other world, he (and everyone else) probably would have gathered at least a few Levels. Assuming, the jealous, thoughtless, and over-leveled seniors didn''t just swoop in for a kill-steal, or obliterating swathes of critters, they didn''t get any EXP for, but denying the grunts every last morsel. Well, every world has its own advantages and disadvantages.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Arkadia, for example, had the grunts do the dirty work, without the benefit of EXP for hundreds of Slimes killed off. Probably it was like this everywhere (and definitely on Earth); benign overlords couldn’t be bothered with tasks, they could pawn off to someone else.


    Prof was technically a simple grunt – no one was interested in him being an awesome transmigrator, and who was interested in him being one, would have killed him off to be on the safe side. On the other hand, being Level 6 did mean, that he truly was a grunt, without the immediate possibility to retitle himself as a benign overlord. He needed more Levels to be considered one.


    Not to mention his age on Arkadia. As a twenty-two-year-old, he was, although an adult, widely still considered an obnoxious bedwetter.


    So, technically and truly a grunt, he did, what grunts did all over all the multiverses as day jobs: hacking Slimes, Jellies, and Jams all day. After the Kitchen Disaster, he was almost certain, he wouldn''t work in gastronomy ever again – but noooo, here he was spreading suggestively named stuff all over hard surfaces!


    At least Mythrillhead – responsible for the sector, Prof''s party was fighting – provided nice background music. Prof found, that Mythrill, coupled with [Magic: Music], made it easier to make his axes sing. A riff here, a solo there, an awesome stance after a tricky figure, and a few Slimes were no more. He was sorry for the sectors on his right and left, one had to be satisfied with Clay, the other with a lone Military Musician.


    By sunset, Prof and his friends had killed a few hundred Slimes and other innocent variations but had only seen two Marmalades and one Pudding. Thankfully, nothing more insidious came near them. On the way back to the camp he heard, however, that the heavy infantry had to be called in a few sectors over. Either, because the troops there weren''t so awesome as Prof''s bunch, or something more dangerous than a mere Pudding showed up.


    Of course, just because the Sun wasn''t working its dayshift didn''t mean, the battle was paused for a few hours. New recruits – adventurers, volunteers, and regular army – replaced the tired frontline troops, and illuminated by fresh mages, the de-sliming operation continued unabated.


    Back in camp, Prof had to join a row for his supper. Standing in line was still better, than cooking their own chow – they were quite tired as it was and still weren''t exactly proficient in [Cooking]. During the day, a few runners brought easy-to-eat stuff to the line – obviously, Greenskins already invented fast food, but then again, putting some meat and vegetables in something looking like bread wasn''t exactly rocket science – so Prof already knew, the Greenskins took care of their conscripted… ehmm… voluntold fighters.


    The only question was if they provided inedible slop, porridge or real food in the evening.


    It was real food – a thick, healthy, greasy soup with vegetables, meat, and enough sharpness to kill off a small Westerner village on Earth. Just like home! If there was one thing, he would be missing in Ostwaldland, was the hot food. And the sharp drinks. Maybe he could buy enough ingredients and booze to last a year or two?


    He never understood all those Japanese isekaied folks, who got a nervous breakdown because of the absence of rice. It was rice, after all. It wasn’t like alcohol couldn’t be bought! That would be a catastrophe of mythical proportions! Now, however, he understood. Not the rice part, but getting food, that was almost like home after a day of heavy work, trampling Slimes. He could do without the heavy – and mostly unpaid – work, though.


    The next day, normal Slimes started to get rare, with Jellies being to most numerous ones, and even Puddings starting to get more common. Well, they had to evade four in twelve hours.


    Worse, Mythrillhead was assigned to another sector, and they got only a band of beginners instead. They were trying to play – mostly Granite, with a little bit of Mythrill – but their Skill was lacking. Prof even suspected, their [Magic: Music] wasn’t even at 100%.


    Well, if Earth was an example, not everyone could reach A-listed quality, even after years of practice… The overwhelming number was stuck at the garage… ehm… stable-band level. Arkadia seemed to work the same, but at least without radio and the ''net, the smaller bands had at least a chance for long-term employment, playing walking or working music somewhere. Their current musical support was probably not even on that level


    The difference to the previous day was stark: while with Mythrillhead it was almost a dance, the new guys made everything a slog. Prof''s party had to take more frequent breaks, hitting Slimes was harder, and they didn''t even have time for banter. That last part was actually welcomed by "Cat", it didn''t seem to like Prof and his very funny, eloquent, and cultured friends overly much.


    At least, the front was advancing slowly. Instead of trampled, burned, and melted grass, they soon fought on trampled, burned, and melted dirt. The Slimes were indeed eating everything. Not a single blade of grass, not a crippled bush, not a fallen tree was left in their wake. Probably not even land-dwelling insects, but Prof did not have time – or an inclination – to search for ants, bugs, and… other crawlies, that usually crawled around underfoot.


    What the Slimes hadn’t devoured, the mages burned to the ground.


    The third day was mostly the same, with basic Slimes almost completely absent by this time, and even Jellies getting rarer. Instead, there was a marked increase in Jams, Marmalades, and even Puddings. The team to their left even had to let something even more slimy through, so the support mages and the Army could take care of it.


    Prof could spare only a few glances to the thing, but what he saw, wasn’t to his liking. Instead of the almost colorless twenty-centimeter blobs, that the regular Slimes were, that monster was almost as high, as a normal Human, colored in a thickly yellow-green hue. Bianca warned him previously, that such a higher-order slime could devour a grown infantryman – arms and armor including – within seconds.


    Prof was glad, professional monster exterminators were taking care of it. Well, other monster-exterminators, since he was technically also one.


    In the evening they learned, that the strike teams, sent directly against the spring of Goo were making good progress, and if everything went well, the mission would be over in a few days.


    Prof learned previously, that things usually didn’t go well.


    He was partially right.