"Hey goblin, where are you!" a stern voice made Jet jump and scurry towards the hall.

"Yes, sir! I'm coming!

"Damn cockroaches! Come on, goblin, do what you were summoned to do!"

But there was no need to go on — Jet, a master in the extermination of insects and parasites, was already hunched over his equipment, busily setting it up. Tornville, his hometown, was famous for its master poison-makers. Their recipes were passed down through generations, and the youth of the town dreamed of making new discoveries and having their names recorded in the annals of poison-making. Jet shared the ambitions of his peers, but he couldn't shake off the persistent — and scandalous, by Tornville standards — idea that their recipes should not only be able to kill, but also to heal, restore, and invigorate people...

"Hey goblin, are you asleep or what?" the customer exclaimed indignantly.

"I'm almost done!" Jet hastily replied and increased the pressure in the sprayer.

In the evening, worn out after a hard day's work, Jet sat with a friend after dinner.

"No seriously, listen!" the little mouse sitting next to him began excitedly. "Last time, the neighbors made fun of your presentation on the theory of medicinal poisons. Remember how you felt! Maybe it's time to fully dedicate yourself to your ideas and show everyone how brilliant they are? Poisons are cheap, you don't need magic or any other questionable stuff to make them. And what miracles are possible, if you just alter the recipe slightly!"

"Thibault, don't rush me. I already work all day every day, and spend any free time I have in the lab. Nobody needs my research. Such a waste of time..."

"Oh, my friend! You gotta believe in yourself!"

The weeks passed in this way, one after another, and Jet became more and more depressed, losing his clients and his interest in work and life. He started visiting Speckled Gilroy's tavern more frequently, sometimes staying late into the night. There were even occasions when he had to be physically removed because his legs wouldn't hold him up any longer. The encouragement and support of his friend Thibault fell on deaf ears.

One day, Jet was whiling away time in the tavern looking sullenly at Thibault, who had just tried and failed once again to motivate his friend. But neither his words, nor anything around them could spark Jet's interest, until with a sudden bang the door burst open and a knight in armor strode into the building. It was none other than the people's hero, Galahad the Guardian! And right on his heels came snapping and snarling a real demon! The customers in the tavern panicked and ran outside, only to find a whole horde of monsters waiting for them in the street. "Darkness, darkness has come!" a cry rang out from somewhere. "Run for your lives!" Galahad, wounded and bleeding, struggled to his feet. He mustered the strength to lift his heavy sword, ready to fend off the enemies closing in. But his energy seemed to be dwindling.

"Jet, now's the time to put your potions to the test!" Thibault urged his friend, pointing to a bag under the table. It was full of various vials and tools.

"You're crazy! Why did you bring my stuff here? I... I can't..."

"Come on! Snap out of it! Otherwise the Guardian will die, and the whole village will be gobbled up by these fiends! Come ON!"

Exhausted, Galahad fell to his knees. The hand holding his sword was shaking. Seeing this, Jet hesitated no longer. He grabbed his bag, pulled out his sprayer, loaded it with a vial of bright pink liquid, and shot it directly at the Guardian. Everyone who was still in the tavern gasped: "My God, he's killed Galahad!" But within seconds, as if by magic, the Guardian leapt to his feet, completely reinvigorated and full of fighting spirit. "My friend! Keep it coming!" shouted the knight, his eyes shining zealously.

Jet fired the sprayer again, this time completely emptying the vial of rejuvenating potion. At the same time, with his other hand he threw flasks of bright green poison at the snarling demon. The monster let out a blood-curdling scream and fell to the floor, where Galahad swiftly finished it off with his sword. Combining their strengths, the two heroes fought off the invading hordes of darkness and saved the town.

Impressed by the goblin's skills, the Guardians invited him to join their ranks, and in Tornville nobody made fun of Jet anymore. Moreover, the next generation of poison-makers were inspired by the ideas and exploits of the former exterminator and continued in his path, developing further beneficial uses for their concoctions.