GobSle 5 pt.2

Posted by : Unknown Friday, 19 October 2018

Chapter 03

The adventurers left the village at dawn. They had wanted to reach the nest as

soon as possible, but night belonged to the goblins. True, the “white

darkness” reigned both day and night here, but there was no reason to hand

an advantage to their opponents. There was no objection to leaving town at

the moment when the scales between safety and danger were most evenly

balanced.

No objections as such anyway…

“Ooooh… It’s so c-c-c-cold…!” High Elf Archer whined, her long ears

trembling as they walked among the snowdrifts. She was accustomed to life

on her feet, but her first time on a snowy mountain was still something of a

surprise.

A rope tied all the members of the party together. Scaling the snowy peak

would not be easy. The fluffy white snow carpeting the ground was deep and

cold, and if anyone was unlucky, their foot might find a place where there

was nothing but loosely packed snow. There were spots with sharp fallen

rocks, where a careless stumble could cost one’s life.

“Erm… Hrgh. Hmm. This is quite…”

“Are you okay…?”

“Oh… But of course…”

Lizard Priest, who came from the South, became even slower as he grew

colder. He nodded at Priestess, who was looking at him with worry, and

curled up his tail. Dwarf Shaman grabbed his hand.

“Hang in there a bit longer. I’m using Tail Wind to keep the blizzard off

us. It could be worse.”

“Hmm. And I’m grateful.” Lizard Priest nodded. “Milord Goblin Slayer,

how does it look ahead?”

“No problems.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Goblin Slayer was walking just a bit ahead of his four companions. He

looked down the ridge of the mountain, comparing their position to the map

in his hand.

“We’re almost there.”

Be that as it may, the scene before them was an uninspiring one. A dark

hole marred the white landscape of the mountain. Waste was piled to one side

of the entrance. It was certainly the sort of place that monsters would call

home.

They were all thankful for Dwarf Shaman’s Tail Wind spell, which

enlisted the help of wind sprites to hold the blizzard at bay. Still—

“We need to get warm,” the dwarf said. “Heeey, Beard-cutter! All right if

I start a fire?”

“Please.”

“On it.”

With skill befitting a dwarf, he pulled out some dry branches and struck a

flint.

“Where did you find those?” Priestess asked.

“Under the snow, and then a little farther down. You’d do well to

remember that.”

They sheltered in a small cave they dug out of the snow so the goblins

wouldn’t see their fire. The sky, heavy with clouds, was still slightly dark; the

sun was weak and far away.

“Sunset is near. When our bodies have loosened up, we’ll go in.” Goblin

Slayer loosened the straps on his armor and set down his bag.

Priestess looked at him in surprise; she had never known him to remove

his armor like this before. “Are you sure it’s okay to be doing that?”

“If I don’t spend at least a few minutes this way, my body will never

relax.”

He took off his gauntlets, squeezing his rough but untanned hands

mechanically.

“You should rub your arms and legs,” he said. “If they’re poisoned by ice

sprites, they may rot and fall off.”

“Eep!” High Elf Archer yelped. She knew as much about sprites as any of

them, and maybe that made the thought even worse for her. With a frown, she

began to work her fingers along her limbs.

“Your feet, too. Don’t forget.”

“Er, right!” Priestess took off her boots and socks and began rubbing her

pale, slim toes. Her socks surprised her; they were soaked through and quite

heavy. Perhaps it was a mixture of sweat and snowmelt.

I should’ve brought a second pair…

“How are you doing?” Goblin Slayer asked, looking at Lizard Priest. The

monk’s scaly face was as difficult to read as Goblin Slayer’s but for an

altogether different reason. Still, it was clear enough that he was practically

frozen stiff from the cold.

Lizard Priest picked a bit of ice off his scales. “M-mm. Well, we’ve

arrived anyway. Who knew there were such chilly places in the world?”

“There are others even colder than this.”

“Incredible!”

He could well believe the rumors that his forebears had been annihilated

by a deep freeze.

Quietly snickering at the lizard, Dwarf Shaman reached nimbly into his

bag and pulled out a jar of fire wine and cups for the whole party. He began

to pour.

“Here, here’s some wine, drink up. It’ll warm your innards.”

“Wonderful. Mm, you know just the thing, master spell caster.”

“Oh, stop it, you’re embarrassing me. Here, some for you.”

“Th-thank you,” said Priestess.

“Thanks.” High Elf Archer.

“I appreciate it.” Goblin Slayer.

They each began to sip at their drinks. They were only seeking a bit of

warmth; it would have been counterproductive to get drunk.

Without warning and for no perceptible reason, High Elf Archer brought

the conversation around to Lizard Priest. “Hey, didn’t you tell us that your

goal was to raise your rank and become a dragon?”

The lizard’s huge body was curled up as close to the fire as he could get,

and the bag of provisions was in his hand. Perhaps he was hungry, or perhaps

he just wanted a little taste of the cheese he was now taking out.

Lizard Priest didn’t attempt to hide what he was doing but nodded

importantly.

“Indeed; even so.”

“A dragon who loves cheese, huh?” She took another sip from the cup in

her hands and giggled.

“Better for the world than a wyrm that wants treasure or sacrifices of

maidens,” Dwarf Shaman said.

“At least he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone trying to slay him. Can

I have a piece of that?”

“Indeed you may.”

They were within spitting distance of a goblin nest, still freezing despite

their fire, but High Elf Archer was feeling a little bit warmer and in good

spirits. She used an obsidian dagger to slice off a piece of the cheese Lizard

Priest offered her, then tossed it into her mouth.

The food from that farm was delicious, as ever. Her ears twitched happily.

“Tell me the truth. Do girls really taste that good to dragons? Or is it some

sort of ritual or something?”

“A fine question. Perhaps when I become a dragon, I shall understand.”

“Are you… I mean, you don’t have any doubts that you’ll be able to

become a dragon?” Priestess asked, sipping hesitantly at her wine. A small

sigh escaped her lips. “I mean…breathing fire and flying through the air…

Maybe those are things you could do with miracles?”

“Heh-heh-heh! That’s how the old folk describe dragons, all right!” Dwarf

Shaman had already drained one cup and was pouring himself a second. “But

you can’t believe most of what old folks say anyway.”

“But in my hometown resided a great and terrible dragon that had turned

to a skeleton. And if apes can become humans, surely lizards…”

Priestess smiled slightly at this grave murmur from Lizard Priest. Each

person had their own faith.

“Oh, that’s right!” High Elf Archer said suddenly, snapping her long

fingers. “When you become a dragon, you’ll be immortal, right? I’ll come

visit you!”

“Oh-ho.”

“I mean, we’re talking at least a thousand years, right? You’ll get super-

bored. You’ll go crazy without any friends to help you pass the time.”

She said seriously that she estimated at least 60 percent of the world’s

rampaging dragons were just looking for something to do.

Lizard Priest nodded in acknowledgment. Then he tried to imagine what it

would be like when he became a dragon.

“A dragon who speaks of the adventures of Goblin Slayer. One visited by

a high elf.”

“And…one that likes cheese,” High Elf Archer put in.

This caused Lizard Priest to roll his eyes happily. “That sounds quite

congenial.”

“Right?”

“But enough of that. A thousand years will pass in due course, and we

must attend to what is coming now.” Lizard Priest turned to look at Goblin

Slayer. “Milord Goblin Slayer, how shall we attack them?”

He had been listening to the conversation silently. Now he said, “Good

question,” and immediately lapsed back into thought. Then he said, “I think

we should do as we usually do. Warrior in front, then ranger, warrior-monk,

cleric, and spell caster.”

“By the book,” Lizard Priest said.

“That tunnel looks wide enough,” said Dwarf Shaman, who had peeked

around the snowdrift for a look at the entrance. “Perhaps two by three will

do?”

Goblins had good night vision. The entrance to the nest yawned silent and

dark. There didn’t seem to be any guards. Was it a trap? A careless

oversight? Or…

“Feh. My wine doesn’t taste so good anymore,” Dwarf Shaman said with

a cluck of his tongue. He must have noticed that the waste at the entrance was

more than just trash.

The body of an adventurer lay among the refuse. The corpse had been

thrown away as if it were no more important than a broken-up fence. Her

equipment had been stripped off; it was clear she had been much defiled, and

her exposed remains gnawed on by beasts.

Cruelest of all, the adventurer appeared to be an elf woman. Appeared—

well, she must have struggled, and the violence seemed to have continued

after her death. Her ears had been cut down to the size of a human’s, the tips

stuck in her mouth. The goblins’ twisted games knew no bounds.

High Elf Archer glanced at Dwarf Shaman. “Hmm? Something wrong?”

“…Naw. Nothing,” he said bluntly. “But take my advice, Long-Ears, and

don’t go peeping around too much.”

“I would never. Most of the time.”

“Hey,” Goblin Slayer grunted, and asked softly of Dwarf Shaman, “…was

Gold-hair there?”

The dwarf shook his head slowly. He stroked his beard, took another look,

then shook it more firmly. “Doesn’t seem so, as far as I see.”

“Then we may still have time,” Lizard Priest said, and the other two men

nodded.

Priestess shuddered, perhaps intuiting something of what their

conversation portended. Goblin Slayer tapped her on the shoulder and said,

“Let’s go.” Then he glanced at the girl’s pale, bare feet. “Put on your socks

and boots.”

The shadow of the torch flame danced eerily in the wind. But the angle at

which the tunnel had been dug meant that even just a step inside, one was

sheltered from the snow and the wind; one could almost be warm. If it

weren’t for the smell of meat and excrement that drifted from within, the

place could almost be cozy.

“Hmm. The path descends at a rather steep angle,” Lizard Priest said, his

tail swishing with interest.

“Yeah, but it goes right back up again over there,” High Elf Archer said.

“Mmm.”

It looked as if the goblins had dug down into the ground immediately

upon beginning their nest and then come back up. The rather severe angles

didn’t seem natural; most likely, they had been made by goblin hands.

“Hmm. Quite a clever barrier against rain and snow,” Dwarf Shaman said,

showing his fine knowledge of construction. He glanced back over his

shoulder at the entrance. “Any precipitation that blows in gets caught here

and doesn’t go any farther into the tunnels.”

“Goblins make things like that?” Priestess said, blinking with perplexity

or, perhaps, surprise. She well remembered what she was often told: that

goblins were stupid, but they weren’t fools. In other words, just because they

didn’t have much knowledge didn’t mean they didn’t think. But this…

“I don’t know.” Goblin Slayer’s answer was dispassionate, almost

mechanical. He drew the sword at his hip and used it to stir the pool of waste

at the bottom of the depression. He clicked his tongue. “We can’t say

anything yet. All I can tell you is, try not to step in the water.”

“Is there something in there?” Priestess asked.

“It’s a trap. There are stakes at the bottom.”

A pit trap, in other words. Rather than burying it, the goblins had hidden it

at the bottom of a waste pool.

High Elf Archer, testing the depth of the pool with one of her bud-tipped

arrows, frowned. “Ugh. That’s vile.”

“I need you to listen for enemies.”

“I know, I know. Leave it to me, I told you.” She jumped nimbly over the

pool, but then winked mischievously and laughed. “I can’t stand getting so

dirty too many times.”

A fragrant sachet hung around High Elf Archer’s neck to help keep away

smells. She twitched her long ears with pride, but Goblin Slayer shook his

head and said bluntly, “Getting dirty isn’t the point.”

“Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha… Right, but, well, when you get that messy, it’s a pain

to clean up… Right?”

Priestess heard the hollow note in the elf’s laugh. A similar pouch hung

next to the status tag around her own neck. She may have gotten used to

rubbing blood and guts all over herself, but it was never something she

enjoyed.

Come to think of it, the pile of corpses next to the tunnel entrance was

much the same. She had plenty of experience with goblins now, had seen this

many times and fancied herself accustomed to it—but still. She needed more

than a joke or a chuckle…

“Hey.” High Elf Archer, up ahead, glanced at her and nodded gently. She

was the same way. Elves had exceptional sense perception. Seeing the flutter

of the archer’s ears, Priestess nodded back.

“Let’s…do what we can.”

“Right.”

After going down and then up two or three more slopes, the party finally

arrived at the cave’s main tunnel. The torch had nearly burned down, and

Goblin Slayer replaced it with another from his pack.

“Hold this.”

“Oh, yes, sir!”

He gave the smaller torch to Priestess, while he held the new one, which

burned brightly.

The humans were the only members of this party, indeed, the only ones in

this cave, who lacked decent night vision. In the light from the torch, Goblin

Slayer examined the earthen walls intently.

They seemed to have been dug with some crude tool. They were rough

but sturdy—a textbook example of a goblin nest.

The problem was elsewhere.

“I don’t see any sort of totems.”

“Does that mean there are no shamans?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

“Mmm… But wouldn’t it be easier for us if they don’t have spell

casters?” High Elf Archer asked.

“It had begun to bother me as well,” Lizard Priest said, opening his huge

jaws. “The attack on the village, the skill with which they dispatched the

previous adventurers. It would be hard to imagine that there are no brains

behind this operation.”

“Do you suppose it’s another dark elf or an ogre?” Priestess asked.

“Or maybe…a demon?” High Elf Archer whispered with a petrified

expression. The word echoed through the halls of the cavern, making their

hair stand on end.

The adventurers looked at one another, and then Dwarf Shaman, stroking

his beard, let out a breath. “Ahh, stoppit already. No sense getting all uptight

over hypotheticals.” He reached up (because he was very short) and slapped

Goblin Slayer on the back. “This isn’t exactly what we call ‘striking a famous

sword with a hammer.’ But, Beard-cutter. We ought to focus on what we can

do now.”

“Yes,” Goblin Slayer said after a moment. He raised the torch and took

another look at the wall, then nodded. “Were you alluding to a dwarven

proverb?”

“I was,” Dwarf Shaman said with a pleased sniff.

“I see.” As Goblin Slayer set off walking with his usual bold stride,

murmurs could be heard. “There’s no need to further forge a famous sword. ”

And then, “Hmm. Not bad. ”

The layout of the cave didn’t seem too complex, and they followed the

path for a while. There was no sign of goblins, only a pervasive stench of rot.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” High Elf Archer muttered, pulling her collar

up over her mouth. Nobody else said it aloud, but most of the party seemed to

sympathize with her—Goblin Slayer excepted.

Eventually they came to a T-shaped intersection. High Elf Archer

immediately crouched down, inspecting the floor carefully for footprints.

“Lots of prints heading to the right,” she reported, clapping her hands to

get the dust off them. She couldn’t always read man-made buildings, but in

natural settings like this cave, her eyes were reliable. That suggested that to

the right were sleeping quarters, with an armory or warehouse to the left. Or

perhaps…

“Last time, we started with the toilet,” Dwarf Shaman said.

“Correct,” Goblin Slayer said. “It would be inconvenient to miss someone

simply because he was using the bathroom.”

“Same plan this time?”

“Mm,” Goblin Slayer grunted.

Should they do the same thing they had done before? Was it safe to use

the same strategy each time? What was the likelihood that the enemy would

predict what they were going to do?

Imagine. Think. If a human’s actual armaments were his first weapon,

knowledge and planning were his second.

If he were a goblin, what would he do?

“We’ll hit the right first.” Goblin Slayer made his determination without

compunction. There was no debate.

High Elf Archer nocked an arrow into her great bow, while Lizard Priest

prepared a fang blade. Dwarf Shaman had his bag of catalysts in hand, and

Priestess gripped her sounding staff firmly.

They moved quickly through the tunnels, arriving at a large, hollowed-out

living area. There before them was a horde of goblins, carrying shovels and

pickaxes as if preparing for a surprise attack…

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, grant your sacred light to we who are

lost in darkness!”

With these words, Priestess seized the initiative. She did this through no

special ability— just a roll of the dice. But the way she intoned the Holy Light

miracle without hesitation was a sign of how much she had grown. She held

up her staff, the end of which was host to the sacred miracle. A brilliant light

filled the cavern.

“GORARAB?!”

“ORRRG?!”

The goblins, struck by the holy light, pressed their hands to their eyes and

cried out. She counted ten—no, fifteen?

“Seventeen. No hobs, no spell casters. Archers present. Let’s go!”

For the adventurers, who had the light at their backs, the illumination was

no problem at all.

“First blood is mine!” No sooner had Goblin Slayer issued his order than a

bud-tipped arrow began to fly. High Elf Archer had drawn back the spider-

silk string of her bow elegantly, releasing the three arrows she carried in a

single motion.

The cavern may have been dark and confined, but that was no hindrance

to an elf’s aim. Her skill was so advanced that it was hardly distinguishable

from magic. Three goblins collapsed where they stood: fourteen left. A hail

of stones began to assail the remaining creatures.

“Come out, you gnomes, it’s time to work, now don’t you dare your duty

shirk—a bit of dust may cause no shock, but a thousand make a lovely rock!”

Dwarf Shaman flung some sand into space, turning it into rocks that

rained down on the enemy.

“ORGAAA?!”

“GROOROB?!”

The goblins howled and fell back. The Stone Blast spell assailed them

indiscriminately, breaking bones and tearing flesh.

At this point, of course, spells that harmed the enemy and those that aided

allies were both of use. It was Dwarf Shaman himself who had settled on

Stone Blast, an offensive technique. Spells that struck an entire area were best

while one held the initiative, before engagement with the enemy.

Ten goblins left. Screeching and weeping their vile tears, the monsters

surged forward.

“Here we go! You’re up, Beard-cutter! Scaly!”

“Hrrrooahhh!”

“Good.”

One great roar and one curt reply: the two members of the party’s

vanguard stood blocking the entrance to the room. It was only logical that

they not enter; when fighting a large number of opponents, it was wise to

choose a choke point and defend it.

The enemy, which had outnumbered them nearly four to one, was reduced

to half its strength. And only two or three goblins could stand abreast in the

tunnel. Against the two warriors, and in light of the terrain, the fight was

nearly even. It only went to show how crucial it was to take the initiative in

combat.

After all, there would always be more goblins than there were

adventurers. The fate of adventurers who sought to face goblins without

acknowledging that basic fact was a cruel one.

“GORROB!”

“Eeyahhhh!”

The goblins were still half-blind from the flash of light; their attacks were

hardly worth worrying about. Lizard Priest struck out with claws and tail,

dealing one goblin a mighty blow and rending another to pieces. Eight left.

Lizardmen respected animality—for it was a bestial nature combined with

keen intellect that defined the nagas. Violent and brave, war cries mingling

with prayers, Lizard Priest threw himself at the surviving goblins.

“Hmph.” Just beside him, Goblin Slayer stabbed the creatures in their

vital places—quietly, dutifully, precisely.

Throat, heart, head. It didn’t matter. Humanoid creatures tended to have a

great many weak points. Goblin Slayer personally preferred the throat. A stab

there might not result in an instantaneous kill, but it would render the target

helpless. He kicked aside a choking goblin and hurled his sword at another

one farther away.

“ORAGAGA?!”

“Ten, eleven.”

His target collapsed, pierced through the throat. Even in the dark, his aim

was exact.

Six left. Goblin Slayer shoved a club belonging to one of the dead goblins

with his foot, kicking it up into his hand. He caught an ax blow from the

goblin beside him with his shield, then aimed a strike of the club at the

creature’s stomach.

“ORARAO?!” Something disgusting poured from the goblin’s open

mouth. Goblin Slayer struck again. This made two more since his last count.

After dealing a vicious blow to the creature’s skull, Goblin Slayer

nonchalantly swept the vomit from his shield.

“Thirteen. The enemy is going to recover soon.”

“Right!”

Four left. Hardly an excuse to take it easy, of course.

Despite the nervousness evident on her face, Priestess held up her

sounding staff and invoked another of the soul-erasing miracles.

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, grant your sacred light to we who

are lost in darkness!”

The Earth Mother answered the prayer of her faithful disciple with

another miracle. Blinding light filled the room once more, banishing the

darkness of the cavern.

The goblins, however, were no fools. They were certainly not

intellectuals, but when it came to cruelty and malice, they had no equals. And

when this total lack of principles was joined to violence, the result was

inevitable.

The staff the girl held up had shined. Now she was raising it again. That

meant it would shine again.

One of the goblins, putting these most basic facts together, ducked his

head. Unfortunately, he was one of the archers. As his three companions were

murdered, he kept his head down, waiting for his chance, bow and arrow at

the ready.

“Hh—Haagh!”

The shout seemed to be one of shock. Someone tumbled: it was High Elf

Archer. The goblin’s arrow had lanced between the two frontline guards to

strike her. A critical hit indeed.

“What is this, now!” Lizard Priest exclaimed.

“Hrrgh…” A crude but sinister arrow stuck cruelly out of High Elf

Archer’s leg.

Goblin Slayer glanced back, then tossed his club before running over to

the elf.

“ORAAG?!”

Woosh. The club spun once in the air and then connected firmly with a

goblin’s head, provoking a scream. It wasn’t enough to kill the creature,

though. As he ran, Goblin Slayer picked up a dagger from the ground,

covering the final few steps in one great leap.

“GOAORR…?!”

The goblin grabbed his arrow and spun, trying to get away, but he was too

late. The dagger plunged into his heart, twisted once, and it was over.

“Seventeen…”

That was all of them.

Looking around at the pile of corpses, Goblin Slayer picked up a nearby

sword and put it in his scabbard.

“Hey—hey, you all right, Long-Ears?!”

“Hrr—r—yeah. I’m—I’m fine. I’m sorry. I failed.”

“I’ll tend to you right away,” Priestess said. “Is it poisoned?”

“Here,” Lizard Priest’s gravelly voice said. “First, we must remove the

arrow.”

High Elf Archer’s face was pale, but she was trying to act brave; she kept

her hands on the wound as she murmured, “Okay.”

Normally, Goblin Slayer might have gone straight over to his comrade.

But this was still enemy territory. They needed to be alert for any possible

ambush.

From what Goblin Slayer could see, the wound was not fatal—and

anyway, there was something he wanted to check. He went over to the corpse

of the last goblin archer he had killed and gave it a nonchalant kick.

“Hrm.”

The body rolled, exposing the shoulder. There, he saw a scar, from an

arrow wound that had since healed. He remembered this goblin.

“…Wha?!”

“What’s wrong?”

At that moment, Goblin Slayer heard voices of surprise coming from

behind him and turned around. He strode over to where High Elf Archer was

cowering. Priestess looked up at him from beside her.

“G-Goblin Slayer, sir… Look at this.”

With a shaking hand stained with High Elf Archer’s blood, she held up

the shaft of an arrow. Yes—just the shaft, no arrowhead.

It had been carved from a branch, crudely enough to suggest a goblin’s

work; it even had some ugly little feathers stuck on the end. The head,

however, had not been well secured. Or… Perhaps that had been done

deliberately. Maybe the arrowhead was intended to break off and remain

inside High Elf Archer’s body.

He had been careless.

No—the contemplation, and the remorse, would have to wait.

Immediately, Goblin Slayer knelt by High Elf Archer’s side.

“Does it hurt?”

“I-I-I’m just fine, r-really… Orcbolg, you w-worry too much…”

It looked like it hurt just to move. Blood was flowing from High Elf

Archer’s leg, and she was groaning.

“Keep pressure on the wound. It will help stem the blood. Although it

isn’t much.”

“R-right, I’ll… I’ll do that.” No doubt she was trying to sound strong, but

her voice was much softer than usual.

Goblin Slayer switched to asking Priestess questions.

“Any kind of poison?”

“For the moment, I don’t think so. But…” As she spoke, Priestess looked

with concern at High Elf Archer’s injury. Even with the elf squeezing as hard

as she could, blood was leaking out between her fingers. “With the

arrowhead still lodged in there, there wouldn’t be any point in closing the

wound up with a healing miracle…”

A cleric’s miracles might come from the gods, but their effects were

limited by physical reality. Using Minor Heal while a foreign object remained

in the body was a difficult situation.

Goblin Slayer glanced at Lizard Priest, but he shook his head, too.

“Refresh is capable only of enhancing the body’s native healing abilities.”

That made the conclusion simple. Dwarf Shaman reached into his pouch

as he spoke. “Can’t just leave it there, can we? Beard-cutter, lend me a hand,

will you?”

“Sure.” He and the dwarf looked at each other and quickly got to work.

Priestess, who had some idea of what they were going to do, looked rather

distraught; High Elf Archer, who didn’t, merely seemed uneasy.

Goblin Slayer drew a dagger—his own, not one he had stolen from a

goblin—and checked the blade.

“I’ll do it. Give me fire.”

“Sure thing. Dancing flame, salamander’s fame. Grant us a share of the

very same. ” Dwarf Shaman removed a flint from among his catalysts, striking

it as he spoke. A little ghost-flame sprung up in midair, shining on Goblin

Slayer’s dagger.

Goblin Slayer heated the blade carefully and then snuffed the flame out

with a quick motion. Almost at the same time, he pulled a cloth from his own

bag and tossed it at High Elf Archer.

“Hold that in your mouth.”

“Wh-what are you planning?”

“I’m going to dig out the arrowhead.”

High Elf Archer’s long ears stood straight up.

“I—I don’t want you to do that! After we get home, we can—!”

Still sitting on her behind, she scrambled backward. Dwarf Shaman let out

a sigh.

“No whining, now, Long-Ears. Beard-cutter has the right of it. You want

that leg to rot and fall off?”

From beside them, Lizard Priest spoke coolly and with the conviction of a

rock falling from the sky. “There would certainly be no reattaching it then.”

“Ooh… Ohhh…”

“Come on, everyone, you’re scaring her.” Priestess, unable to sit by any

longer, scolded the men of the party—but she made no effort to stop what

they were doing.

She herself had an arrow pulled out of her by force once. She knew the

fear, and the pain—and just how much worse it could get if they left it alone.

“…At least, try to do it in the least painful way possible.”

“What else would I do?” Goblin Slayer was waiting for the red-hot blade

to cool to the right temperature. A traveling doctor had taught him that doing

this would get rid of any poison on the blade.

“Show me the wound.”

“Errgh… Ohh… You really won’t make it hurt, will you…?” Very

slowly, her face completely bloodless, High Elf Archer moved her hand.

Goblin Slayer didn’t respond but inspected the injury, from which blood

was still dripping.

“Wine.”

“Right ’ere.” Dwarf Shaman took a mouthful of fire wine and spat it out,

as if he were casting Stupor. Tears leaped to High Elf Archer’s eyes as the

alcoholic spirits burned in the wound.

“Hrr…rrgh…”

“Bite down on the cloth. So you don’t bite your tongue.”

“Just… Just asking again, but… You won’t make it hurt, will you…?”

“I can’t promise anything,” Goblin Slayer said with a shake of his head.

“But I’ll try.”

High Elf Archer, appearing resigned, bit down on the cloth and squeezed

her eyes shut. Priestess clasped her hand. And then Goblin Slayer plunged the

dagger into the elf’s thigh, widening the wound, digging deeper.

“Hrrrrrgh—Gah! Gaggghhh…!”

High Elf Archer’s lithe body flopped like a fish that had washed up on the

shore. Lizard Priest pressed down on her shoulders to hold her steady, and

Priestess continued to hold her hand. Goblin Slayer didn’t pause in his work;

his hand was cruel but sure.

The removal of the arrowhead took only a matter of seconds, although

High Elf Archer might have sworn that hours had passed.

“Done.”

“Hooo…hooo…” She let out long breaths of relief.

Lizard Priest placed a scaled hand on High Elf Archer’s thigh and recited,

“Gorgosaurus, beautiful though wounded, may I partake in the healing in

your body! ” He was granted a gift: Refresh. The power of the fearsome nagas

made the archer’s wound better before their very eyes. Flesh joined itself, and

skin built itself up, the wound seeming to boil away. A true miracle.

“Can you move?” he asked.

“Y-yeah,” High Elf Archer said unsteadily, tears still at the edges of her

eyes. She moved her leg back and forth, checking that it worked. Her ears

drooped pitifully. “H-human first aid is awfully violent. I can still feel it.”

“A-are you okay?” Priestess asked, offering her shoulder to support High

Elf Archer as she stood up.

“I think so…”

“Can you shoot your bow?” Goblin Slayer asked.

“Of course I can,” the elf replied, perhaps a little more hotly than

necessary.

She wasn’t bragging, exactly. But even if she could still shoot, her

mobility was impaired. At least for the remainder of the day.

“We ought to make a tactical retreat—” Goblin Slayer shook his head. “—

but we can’t do that yet.”

“I am not confident in the number of our spells and miracles remaining,”

Lizard Priest announced calmly.

Even so, the helmet turned slowly from side to side. “There are still more

of them deeper in. We have to investigate.” Goblin Slayer checked his armor,

helmet, shield, and weapon. Satisfied, he turned to his companions. “I can

remain by myself if you prefer.”

The wounded High Elf Archer was the first to respond. “Don’t try to be

funny. We’re coming with you. Right?”

“Indeed! We certainly are,” Priestess said with an energetic nod.

“Mm,” Goblin Slayer grunted. Lizard Priest laughed and put a hand on his

shoulder.

“I suppose that means all of us are going, then.”

“Pfah! Long-Ears, never thinking of how tired the rest of us are,” Dwarf

Shaman said with a smile and an exaggerated shrug.

High Elf Archer fixed him with a glare. “Hey, Orcbolg’s the one who

wants to—”

And they were off and running.

Goblin Slayer, ignoring the customary ruckus of their argument, took

another look around the living area. Although outmatched, the goblins had

shown no sign of trying to run away.

So there was a goblin who had copied his little trick. One who had

received first aid for his arrow wound. And one who commanded him.

“I don’t like it,” he muttered.

He didn’t like it at all.

“Hmph.”

Goblin Slayer gave the rotted old door a kick, bringing it crashing down.

At almost the same moment, the adventurers piled into the room, taking up

positions, with Priestess in the center of their formation, holding a torch.

“Hrm…”

They had expected a warehouse or an armory or, perhaps, a toilet. But the

room the light shone on was none of those.

Much like the living area from earlier, this was another large room dug

out of the earth. There were several mounds of dirt that might have passed for

chairs. Farther into the room was an oblong stone that might have been

brought from elsewhere.

It was unmistakably an altar.

This was a chapel—so was this cave a temple? If so, this altar would be

where they offered their sacrifices…

“Oh…!” Priestess was the first to notice, as was often the case. She rushed

over. The memory of a trap they had encountered in the sewers flashed

through her mind, but that was no reason to hesitate. She would be vigilant—

but she would not refrain from helping.

A woman lay atop the cold stone as if she had been simply tossed there;

she wore not a scrap of clothing. Her exposed body was dirty, and the way

her eyelids were squeezed shut spoke to her exhaustion. Her matted hair was

a gold the color of honey.

“She’s breathing…!” Priestess said happily, gently cradling the woman.

Her ample chest rose and fell gently: the proof of life.

“Quest accomplished, huh?” High Elf Archer muttered, obviously

believing no such thing.

There was never any sense of satisfaction or closure in slaying goblins.

She pursed her lips and looked around the chapel. It was a primitive place of

worship. To a high elf like her, it didn’t seem like it would be possible to

sense the presence of the gods in a place like this.

“…I wonder if a priest of the Evil Sect was here.”

“Or perhaps these are vestiges of some ancient ruin,” Lizard Priest said,

looking around. The elf could hear him scraping away at the dust as he

examined the place. “Though I cannot quite imagine what god could be

worshiped in such a vulgar place…”

“Wait just a bloody moment,” Dwarf Shaman said, running his finger

along the wall. “This earth is fresh. This was dug out recently.”

“Goblins?” Goblin Slayer asked.

“Probably,” Dwarf Shaman nodded.

Were goblins fallen rheas? Or elves or dwarves? Or did they come from

the green moon? No one knew. But as creatures that made their homes

underground, they had estimable digging skills. No matter how remote the

place, goblins could dig a hole and start living in it before anyone knew what

was happening.

They could pop out and surprise a group of adventurers as easily as they

could eat breakfast. One didn’t have to be Goblin Slayer to know this. On her

first adventure, Priestess had—

“Um… Look here…!”

At the distressed exclamation from Priestess, he looked once more at the

captive adventurer. Priestess was holding up the woman’s hair, not afraid to

get her own hands dirty. She was pointing to the nape of the woman’s neck.

High Elf Archer couldn’t hold back a mutter of “That’s awful,” and it was

hard to blame her. The unconscious woman’s neck bore a brand, which stood

out painfully. The ugly red-and-black impression besmirched her otherwise

beautiful skin.

“Hrm…”

Goblin Slayer picked up the metal brand, which lay on the floor nearby. It

looked like a stray horseshoe or some such thing had been worked into a

complicated shape.

“Is that what they used?” Lizard Priest asked.

“So it appears.”

It seemed to be a sort of circle, in the middle of which was something that

looked like an eye. Goblin Slayer took a torch and examined the brand

carefully, fixing it in his memory. Was it the mark of a noble tribe or clan?

There remained many mysteries about goblins.

“However… It doesn’t appear to be a goblin totem.”

Goblins had little notion of creating things themselves. They would

simply steal what they needed; that was enough for them. This brand, though

—even if it was constructed from a combination of found items—represented

an act of creation.

“I think it’s…the green moon,” a shaking voice said. It was Priestess,

gently stroking the woman’s neck. “It’s the sign of a god. The deity of

external knowledge…the God of Wisdom.”

—Many gods gathered around this board, to watch over it. They included,

of course, the God of Knowledge, who ruled over the knowing of things and

found many faithful among scholars and officials. The light of the God of

Knowledge was said to shine among all who ventured into the unknown,

seeking the truth and the ways of the world.

Yes: what the God of Knowledge granted was not knowledge itself but

guideposts, a path leading to the truth. For adversity itself was an important

kind of knowledge.

The God of Wisdom, who was the deity of the knowledge of things

outside, dealt with something subtly different. The God of Wisdom did not

lead supplicants to knowledge but gave wisdom to all who asked. What this

would do to the world, the board, was probably of no interest to the deity.

Consider, for example, a young man who, confronted with the niggling

unhappinesses of daily life, mutters, “Maybe the world will just end…”

Normally, such words would be mere silliness, an innocent expression of

dissatisfaction. But when the eye of the God of Wisdom falls upon such a

person—what then?

In an instant, some terrible way of ending the world enters the young

man’s mind, and he begins to take action. More than a few believe in this

god, thanks to unaccountable bursts of insight. But…

“Geez. Now my head hurts almost as much as my leg,” High Elf Archer

said, frowning as if she indeed had a headache. “I’ll keep watch. You guys go

on.”

“Hey,” Dwarf Shaman said with a touch of annoyance. “It’s all well and

good you’re keeping guard, but you can at least listen to what we’re saying.”

“Yeah, sure…” She didn’t sound very enthusiastic. She thumbed the

string of her bow, an arrow held loosely at the ready. She kept shifting her

legs restlessly; perhaps the pain was bothering her. Her ears flicked a little as

she listened carefully.

Goblin Slayer glanced in her direction but then looked once again at the

brand.

“The green moon, you said?”

“Yes, sir. I learned just a little bit about it during my time at the Temple.”

Priestess didn’t sound like she quite believed it herself. Her time as an

apprentice seemed so far away already.

“You mean the one the goblins come from?” Goblin Slayer murmured,

picking up the metal brand. “If so, then there’s no doubt that our enemies are

goblins.”

He spoke without a hint of hesitation. “One of those goblins showed signs

of having been healed.”

But who would go so far as to use a miracle to help a goblin?

“An agent of chaos just overflowing with mercy and compassion?” Lizard

Priest scoffed. “I doubt it.”

“Then it must have been a goblin, right?” Priestess said. “But… How

could they…?” She blinked, as if she didn’t want to believe it.

The god who gave knowledge from outside was a mercurial one; it would

not have been a great surprise if the deity had spoken to a goblin.

It wouldn’t have been strange, yet a desperate doubt remained in

Priestess’s heart. Even so, if the goblins were able to complete a ritual… That

would be far worse than occasionally hearing the voice of God.

“Are you sure it isn’t some high-ranked evil priest, a dark elf or

something?” she asked.

“What? I don’t think so,” a high, clear voice said in response to Priestess’s

suggestion.

Dwarf Shaman sighed again and stroked his beard with more than a little

annoyance. “You can keep watch or you can chat. Pick one.”

“You’re the one who told me to listen to you guys. If I’m listening, I have

the right to contribute, don’t I?” High Elf Archer chuckled quietly.

“Mm,” Lizard Priest said, nodding in agreement. “And mistress ranger.

What would you like to contribute?”

“I mean—” She spun her pointer finger in a circle. “If you’ve got a bunch

of goblins, and you only use them to do some looting… That doesn’t make

you much smarter than a goblin, does it?”

“Well hell, Long-Ears, maybe a bunch of bandits found religion and

thought they were supposed to worship the goblins!”

“You’re just upset that you can’t believe in your own explanation

anymore.”

“Hrm, well.”

“Heh.” Lizard Priest gave a sort of snort, crossed his arms, and then began

counting off on his fingers. “It thinks like a goblin, controls goblins, heals

goblins, attacks people, and is a follower of evil.”

Priestess put a finger to her lips, thinking through the possibilities. “A

goblin priest? A warrior-priest?”

Nothing quite seemed to fit. What were they facing here? A goblin of

some kind? But what kind?

At that moment, an idea came into Priestess’s head, as suddenly as if it

was a gift from heaven.

It was an outrageous, impossible idea. But…

Things began to make sense if they were dealing with someone who

wielded an army against nonbelievers.

“No… It can’t be. That’s impossible.”

“…”

She hugged her own shoulders, shook her head, refusing to believe it.

Beside her, she could hear the brand creaking in Goblin Slayer’s fist.

It wasn’t possible. It was ridiculous. But in fact, nothing was impossible.

There was only one answer. Goblin Slayer acknowledged the truth of their

enemy clearly.

“A goblin paladin…”

Chapter 04

“That’s their little den over there.”

The cold was cutting, but it did nothing to dim the young woman’s

beauty. She looked like the daughter of nobility, like someone who would

have been more at home in an elegant ballroom than under the gray skies of

the northern mountains.

Her wavy, honey-colored hair was tied in two tails, and her facial features

had a prideful cast. The size of her bust was obvious despite the chest armor

she wore, her waist so narrow that she had no need for a corset.

The rapier that hung at her hip was of striking construction; the way it

demanded admiration gave much the same impression as its master.

At the girl’s neck hung a brand-new Porcelain-level tag, catching the sun

that shined off the snow.

She was an adventurer, and she and her four companions had spent

several days scrambling up the side of this snowy mountain. Now an ugly

little hole lay open before them. One look at the disgusting mountain of waste

beside the entrance made it clear that this was a nest.

And what did the nest belong to? With these newly minted heroes here to

do battle, what else could it be?

Goblins.

Noble Fencer’s heart lusted for battle at the very thought of them.

Now, here, she had no family and no riches, no power or authority. Only

her own abilities and her friends would help her complete this quest. A true

adventure.

For their first deed, they would get rid of the goblins attacking the village

in the North. They would do it more quickly than anyone had ever seen.

“All right! Is everybody ready?” She put her slim hands to her hips in a

proud gesture that emphasized her chest, then pointed at the nest with her

sword. “Let’s starve those goblins out!”

That had been weeks ago.

It was good that they had stopped up the goblins’ tunnels by erecting

defensive barriers around the exits. And they hadn’t been wrong to set up a

tent, build a fire for warmth, and prepare an ambush.

“The goblins are attacking the village because they’re low on supplies,”

Noble Fencer had said, full of confidence. “They’re foolish little creatures. A

few days without food, and they’ll have no choice but to make a run for it.”

And indeed, that was what happened. They fell on one group of goblins

trying to break through the defensive barriers and killed them. Some days

later, a group of starving monsters emerged, and they, too, were slaughtered.

It was safe to say that everything was going as planned. They would

complete the quest with hardly any danger and a minimum of effort.

But that was as much a dream as the idea that these untested new

adventurers might suddenly become Platinum-ranked. If it were as easy as

they imagined, goblin slaying could hardly be called an adventure.

This was the north country, a frozen place—there was even an ice cap

nearby—beyond the territory of those who had words. A person’s breath

could turn to ice as soon as it left their mouth, burning the skin, and frozen

eyebrows made noise each time one blinked. Equipment became heavy with

the chill, stamina draining away day by day with next to no relief.

There were two other women in the five-person party including Noble

Fencer, though the men of course kept their distance. They ate to try to

distract themselves and keep up their strength. It was all they could do.

But the load was heavy, since it included their equipment, the barriers,

and the cold-weather gear. Individually, each of them carried only a handful

of provisions. One of their members knew the ways of a trapper, but there

was no guarantee it would be possible to obtain food for five people.

Arrows, too, were limited. They could try to retrieve the ones they had

used, but…

First and foremost, though, they ran out of water.

Their group made the mistake of eating the ice and snow, giving

themselves diarrhea and further taxing their endurance.

They weren’t stupid; they knew they had to melt the stuff over a fire, even

if it was troublesome.

Meaning, of course, that next they ran out of fuel.

They had scant food, no water, and no way to keep warm. It spelled the

ignominious end of Noble Fencer’s seemingly foolproof battle plan.

Yet, it would be ridiculous to give up by this point. They were only

dealing with goblins—the weakest of monsters. Perfectly suited to beginners,

to a first adventure. To run back home without even having fought the

creatures would be humiliating. They would forever be branded the

adventurers who had fled from goblins…

That being the case, someone had to go down the mountain, get supplies

in town, and return.

The adventurers looked at one another, huddled under their cramped tent,

and all focused on one thing. Specifically, Noble Fencer, who was shaking

from the cold, using her silver sword like a staff to support herself, yet levelly

returning everyone’s gaze.

Nobody wants to blame themselves when things go wrong.

“You go,” their rhea scout said, sharply enough to pierce a heart. Even

though he had been the first to agree when she had suggested the starvation

tactics, saying he thought it sounded interesting. “Right now, I’m the only

one doing any work around here. Go get that! Catch us some dinner! ” I just

can’t stand it, he muttered.

“…He’s right,” their wizard said, nodding somberly from underneath a

heavy cloak. “You know what? I was against this idea from the start. I

haven’t even had a chance to use my spells.”

“Yeah, I agree.” It was the half-elf warrior next, stifling a yawn as she

spoke. “I’m getting pretty tired of this.”

If Noble Fencer recalled correctly, neither of them had thought starving

the goblins out was an excellent idea at first. When she explained that this

would be the safest method, however, they had both come around.

What was more, Noble Fencer thought that she and Half-Elf Warrior had

grown closer over the past several days of marching. She turned her gaze on

the warrior, feeling betrayed, and gave a dismissive little sniff.

“But then there’d be no point to all our suffering,” the half-elf added.

“And what do you think, Pint-sized?”

“Eh, I don’t much mind whoever goes.” The dwarf monk played with a

symbol of the God of Knowledge, apparently trying to answer in as few

words as possible. “But dwarves and rheas have such short legs. And half-

elves are so slight. I think a human is our best bet here.” He looked at Noble

Fencer with a sly glint in his eyes, which were almost lost in his black facial

hair.

Warriors were more suited to going it alone than spell casters. He might

as well have asked her to go outright.

“…Very well. I’ll do it,” Noble Fencer, who had listened in silence until

that moment, replied curtly. “It’s obviously the most logical choice.”

Yes, that was it. She would go because it was logical. Not because her

plan had failed. Or so she repeated to herself as she worked her way down the

long mountain road.

Leaning on her heirloom sword as a staff, she removed her breastplate and

stashed it on her back, no longer able to endure the weight and the cold. She

bit her lip, embarrassed that her adventurer’s equipment had winded up as

nothing more than more luggage.

On top of that was the welcome waiting for her back at the village.

“Ah! Master adventurer, you’ve returned! You’ve had success?”

“Well, uh…”

“Were any among your number injured?”

“Not yet… I mean, we haven’t…fought them yet…”

“Gracious…”

“But I wondered…could you…could you share a bit of food with us,

please?”

The answer was no.

One could imagine how the headman and the villagers felt. The

adventurers they had summoned via the quest network had been away for

weeks and yet had accomplished nothing! And now they wanted more food,

more fuel, more water. If the village had the spare resources to supply five

heavily armored young people, would they have needed to call for

adventurers in the first place? They barely had enough for the winter

themselves. Trying to support an adventuring party on top of that would be

too much.

It could only be called a stroke of good luck that Noble Fencer was able to

wheedle a few trifles out of them.

“…”

The cruel irony was that these additional supplies only made her return

journey that much slower and more difficult. With every step she took

through the snow, regret filled her heart like the ice that sloshed in her boots.

Should they have made more preparations beforehand? Invited more

adventurers to be part of their party? Or maybe they should have made a

tactical retreat instead of pushing ahead with the starvation idea…?

“No! Absolutely not! No one is running from goblins!”

She let her emotions do the talking, but there was no one to talk back.

By now she was enclosed in night, a night that further blackened the

“white darkness” of the whipping snow. She had already been exhausted

when she began this march with her heavy load, and everything about it was

a cruelty to her.

“We won’t give in…to goblins…”

She breathed on her numb hands, trying desperately to set up her tent. Just

having something, anything, between her and the snow and the wind would

make such a difference…

“It’s cold… So cold…”

The icy night air was merciless. Hugging herself and trembling, Noble

Fencer fumbled with some firewood.

“Tonitrus,” she murmured, incanting the Lightning spell. Small bolts of

electricity crackled from her fingertips and set the logs alight.

Noble Fencer was a rare frontline fighter who could use lightning magic,

which she had learned because it was a family tradition. And what would be

the harm of a little lightning here? She could use it once or twice each day; it

made sense to put it to work starting a fire so she could get some warmth. But

even that was a luxury, for it used up some of the meager firewood the

villagers had given her.

“………”

She spoke no further but hugged her knees, trying to curl into a ball to

help her escape from the sound of the howling wind and snow.

Until a few days ago, she had had friends.

Now, she was all alone.

Her companions were a few hours’ climb away. They were waiting for

her. Probably.

But Noble Fencer simply didn’t have the strength to reach them.

I’m so tired…

That was everything, all she could think.

She loosened her belt and the straps of her armor. It was something she

had once heard you should do. The warmth of the fire began to seep into her

body, and her spirit eased.

She had imagined dispatching the goblins readily, easily. In the blink of

an eye, she would have risen to Gold or even Platinum. She would make her

own name, not rely on her parents’ power. But how difficult that was turning

out to be!

I guess…maybe I should have expected it.

Things like fame and fortune did not come to a person overnight. They

accumulated over decades, centuries. Had she believed that she, alone and

unaided, would be able to put forth all at once an effort worthy of such

accomplishments?

I’d better apologize.

Did she mean to her friends or to her family? She wasn’t sure, but the

humility she felt in her heart was real as Noble Fencer closed her eyes.

She began to drift off, consciousness growing farther away. With such

fatigue in her bones, how could she want anything more than rest?

That was why she didn’t realize immediately what she was hearing.

Splat. The sound of something moist slapping down.

Somehow the edge of the tent had come up—had the wind caught it?—

and something had landed next to the fire.

Noble Fencer sat up from where she had lain down and looked at the thing

sleepily, questioningly. “I wonder what…this is…”

It was an ear.

Not a human one, but the ear of a half-elf, cruelly severed halfway down.

“Ee—eeyikes!”

Noble Fencer fell backward, landing on her behind. Still shouting, she

scrambled back.

At that moment, there came a horrible laughter; it seemed to surround the

tent.

It was the moment after that that something from outside grabbed the tent

and pulled it down.

“Ahh—oh! No! What’s this?! Why are you—?!”

Noble Fencer writhed under the fallen tent, half-mad. The bonfire spread

to the tent, sending up copious amounts of smoke, causing her eyes to water

and inducing a coughing fit.

When the fighter at last worked her way out from her entrapment, she was

hardly recognizable as what she had once been. Her neat golden hair was in

disarray, her eyes and nose messy with tears and snot, and there was ash on

her face.

“Ee-eek! G-goblins…?!”

She shouted and recoiled at the sight of the dirty little creatures, backing

away from the sound of their hideous laughter. Noble Fencer was completely

surrounded by goblins in the dark, snow-whipped night. They had crude

clubs and stone weapons and wore little more than pelts.

Yet, it was not the appearance of the goblins that so terrified Noble

Fencer. It was what they held in their hands: the familiar heads of a rhea, a

dwarf, and a human.

Farther away, the half-elf was being dragged limply by the hair through

the snow. She left a red streak behind her like a brush across a canvas.

“Oh… Please…”

No, no. Noble Fencer shook her head like a spoiled child, the movement

sending waves through her hair.

Had they waited until she was away to attack?

Had the others decided to assault the cavern while Noble Fencer wasn’t

there, leading to this grisly end?

Noble Fencer reached for her sword with a hand that wouldn’t stop

shaking, tried to draw it from its scabbard—

“Wh-why? Why can’t I g-get it out…?!”

She had committed a crucial error. What had she thought would happen?

Her sword had been soaked by snow, then she had left it by the fireside—and

now it was exposed to the cold again. The snow had melted onto the hilt and

scabbard. What else would it do in this situation but freeze once more?

Dozens of goblins closed in on every side of the weeping fighter. The girl,

however, pulled her lips tight. Maybe she couldn’t draw her sword, but she

began to weave a spell, her tongue heavy with the cold.

“Tonitrus…oriens…!”

“GRORRA!!”

“Hrr—ghh?!”

Of course, the goblins were not kind enough to let her finish. She was hit

in the head by a ruthless blow from a stone; it brought Noble Fencer to her

knees.

Goblin “sympathy” served only one purpose: to mock their pathetic,

weeping, terrified prey.

Her shapely nose had been squashed, the dripping blood dyeing the snowy

field.

“GROOOOUR!!”

“N-no! Stop—stop it, please! Ah! H-hrggh! No, please—!”

She cried as they grabbed her hair, screamed as they took her sword.

The last thing she saw was her own feet flailing in the air. Noble Fencer

was buried by more goblins than she could count on two hands.

So who was it who had been starved out here? Was this what they got for

challenging the goblins on their home turf? Or for failing to prepare well

enough to see out their own strategy?

Whatever the case, we surely need not dwell on what befell her next.

That was the end of those adventurers.

Noble Fencer’s eyes opened to the crackling sound of flying sparks. She felt

a faint warmth, but the ache in her neck—a burning sensation—let her know

that this was reality.

What had happened? What had been done to her? A series of memories

flashed through her mind.

“…”

Noble Fencer silently pushed the blanket aside and sat up. She appeared to

be in a bed.

When she looked around, she saw she was in a log building. A smell

prickled her nose—wine? It had been one more bit of bad luck that even

being stuffed in a pile of waste hadn’t dampened her sense of smell.

She was on the second floor of an inn. In one of the guest rooms, she

thought. If she wasn’t simply hallucinating.

At the same time, she could see a human figure crouching in one dark

corner of the room, which was illuminated only by the fire.

The figure wore a cheap-looking helmet and grimy armor. The sword he

carried was a strange length, and a small circular shield was propped up

against the wall. He looked singularly unimpressive—except for the silver tag

around his neck.

Noble Fencer’s voice was done shaking. “Goblins,” she said. She spoke in

a whisper, more to herself than to anyone else.

“Yes.” The man responded just the same, his voice quiet and his words

blunt. “Goblins.”

“…I see,” she said, and then lay back down in bed. She closed her eyes,

looking into the darkness on the backs of her eyelids, and then she opened

them ever so slightly. “What about the others?” she asked after a second.

“All dead,” came the dispassionate reply. It was almost merciful in its

cold directness, giving her only the facts.

“I… I see.”

Noble Fencer thought for a moment. She marveled at how hardly a ripple

passed through her heart. She had expected to cry, but her spirit was

strikingly quiet.

“Thank you for helping me.” A pause. “What I mean is…is it over?”

“No.” The floorboards creaked as the man stood up. He fastened the

shield to his left arm, checked the condition of his helmet, then approached

her with a bold, nonchalant stride. “There are some things I’d like to ask

you.”

“…”

“Just tell me what you can.”

“…”

“You don’t mind?”

“…”

Perhaps taking Noble Fencer’s silence for agreement, the strange man

continued detachedly: How many goblins had she encountered? What was

the layout of the nest? What types of goblins were there? Where had she

encountered them? What direction?

She answered without emotion.

I don’t know. I don’t know. They all looked the same. Near the cave. The

north.

The man only grunted, “Hmm,” adding nothing further.

Snap. Crackle. The moments of intermittent speech were connected by the

muttering of the fire in the hearth.

The man rose and took a poker in his hand, jabbing it listlessly into the

fire. Finally, he spoke, still facing the hearth and just as quietly as before.

“What did you do?”

“…Tried to starve them out,” Noble Fencer said, something tugging at the

edges of her mouth. It was only a slight gesture, so small that no one but she

might have noticed it. But she thought she had smiled. “I was sure it would

work.”

“I see.” She nodded at this dispassionate reply.

Block off the exits to the cave, wait until the goblins started to starve, then

finish them off. She and her friends could do it together, nice and clean. Get

some experience, raise their ranks. And then… And then…

“I was so sure…”

“I see,” he repeated and nodded. He stirred the fire again and then put

aside the poker. There was a rattling of iron as he stood. The floor creaked.

“Yes, I understand how that could happen.”

Noble Fencer looked up at him vacantly. The helmet prevented her from

seeing his face. It occurred to her that these were the first comforting words

he had said to her.

Perhaps the man had already lost interest in Noble Fencer, because he

strode for the doorway. Before he got there, she called out to him.

“Hey, wait!”

“What?”

Something was coming to her, a dim and ambiguous image from

somewhere on the far side of memory.

That grimy armor. That cheap helmet. That strange sword and round

shield. Someone stubborn and strange, with a Silver status tag around his

neck. Someone who killed goblins. All just a dim memory.

But it reminded her of certain lines from a song she had heard somewhere.

It brought back memories of long, long ago, when she and her friends were

laughing together in town.

An adventurer known as the kindest man on the frontier.

“Are you…Goblin Slayer?”

“……”

He didn’t respond immediately; there was a moment of silence.

Then, without turning around, he said, “Yes. Some call me that.”

His voice, as ever, gave no hint of his emotions, and with that, he left the

room.

There was the sound of the door closing. The poker on the ground was the

only sign he had been there.

Noble Fencer stared up at the ceiling. Someone had cleaned her skin and

clothes, and exchanged them for a rough, unadorned outfit. She put a hand to

her chest, which rose and fell in time with her breath. Was it that man who

had wiped her body clean? Or not? Truthfully, she didn’t care either way.

There was nothing left for her now. Nothing at all.

She had abandoned her home, her friends were gone, and her chastity had

been stolen. She had no money, no equipment.

That’s not true.

She spotted something in a corner of the room, the corner where the man

—Goblin Slayer—had first been sitting. Leather armor, battered and gouged,

and her item pouch, now dirty.

The ache in her neck flared up.

“Goblin Slayer… One who kills goblins.”

It seemed the goblins hadn’t noticed that Noble Fencer had a false bottom

sewn into her item pouch.

Traditionally, when using a rapier, one carries an object in the opposing

hand that aids in defense.

What she had hidden in the very bottom of her item pouch was a second

jeweled blade from her family home. It was an aluminum dagger forged by a

lightning-hammer against a red gem.

“How is she?”

“Awake.”

As Goblin Slayer came down the stairs, Priestess questioned him with

worry in her voice, but he responded nonchalantly.

Unlike during their earlier discussion, there were no villagers at the inn

now.

Night had well and truly fallen by the time Goblin Slayer and the others

came back. If the goblins were all dead, then there was no need for the

villagers to spend the night in fearful vigilance. Their days of being

tormented by the dark and the cold and the fear were over.

The only exception was the village chief. He had the misfortune of

welcoming the adventurers and was the first to hear their report.

“The goblins appear to have built a separate nest.”

The headman could hardly be blamed for the way his jaw fell open. How

was his village, here in the North, supposed to prepare for winter now? They

had so little to spare. And now it had come to this. The goblins in the cave

had been slain; the adventurers would be within their rights to consider the

quest concluded. The villagers would have to go back to the Guild, file

another quest, and pay another reward.

If they didn’t, the village would simply be destroyed.

Therefore, his relief was immense when Goblin Slayer announced that his

party would continue to work on the goblins. But it didn’t resolve the

village’s problem with provisions. The table the party sat around had only

modest fare, mostly salted vegetables.

In a free space among the plates, a sheet of lambskin paper lay open. It

was the map of the snowy mountain the trapper had given them prior to their

attack on the cave. Goblin Slayer had the map arranged so that north was up

from where he sat.

“Hey,” High Elf Archer said from under half-closed eyes. “Should we

really be leaving her alone?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“How could I know?” Goblin Slayer said, sounding a bit annoyed. He

could be curt, and abrupt, and cold. But he almost never shouted. “What

should I have said to her? ‘I’m sorry your friends are dead, but at least you

survived’?”

This took the wind out of High Elf Archer’s sails. “Well… Well…” She

opened her mouth, then closed it again, before finally saying, “There’s such a

thing as the sensitive way to say things.”

Goblin Slayer’s reply was brief: “It doesn’t change what they mean.”

Come to think of it…

Priestess bit her lip gently. He had not tried to comfort her in her own

case, either. Nor when they had rescued the injured elf adventurer from the

ruins. He was always just…

The faint taste of blood was so bitter it almost brought tears to her eyes.

She glanced in Goblin Slayer’s direction, but he didn’t appear to notice.

“How is your injury? Does it affect your movement at all?”

High Elf Archer pursed her lips. Such bald changes of subject were a

specialty of his. Then again, he was worried about her (even if his concern

was mostly about slaying goblins!), and she couldn’t complain about that.

“…It’s fine. Even if it still hurts a little. I’ve gotten treatment for it.”

“I see.” A nod. His helmet rattled with the motion. “In that case, moving

on to the provisioning of equipment. How are things going?”

“Mm.” Lizard Priest nodded somberly and patted the hempen bag sitting

beside him. His chair, around which he had somehow managed to wrap his

entire tail, creaked. “I have managed to obtain provisions—although they

came rather dear, as I had to ask the villagers to draw from their own

stockpiles.”

“There go our profits…again,” High Elf Archer said with a sigh. She was

trying to sound frustrated, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. They

had been together for close to a year now, and she had grown used to this.

Although her resolve to take him on a real adventure had only strengthened

as well.

“What’s this, then? Worried about money, Long-Ears? You’re not usually

the type.” Dwarf Shaman laughed uproariously, whether or not he understood

what High Elf Archer was really thinking. Not content with just the wine he

used as a catalyst, he had gotten another cup to see him through this

conversation. It was a tasteless, odorless, and strong spirit; the bottle had

been buried in the snow and made into mead. Dwarf Shaman gulped it down.

High Elf Archer thought she would get a hangover just watching him. “Of

course I am,” she said, glaring at the dwarf. “The rewards for killing goblins

are measly!”

“Then again, we did manage to rescue an adventurer this time around,”

Lizard Priest said.

“Well, it’s not every day you see five or six Silver-ranked adventurers out

slaying goblins, is it?” Dwarf Shaman said.

“Er… I’m only Obsidian,” Priestess murmured, and smiled ambiguously.

She knew what it was like to be the only survivor of an annihilated party.

She wanted to believe that she wasn’t forcing the interpretation—but she

couldn’t help wondering how different she really was from that Noble

Fencer.

She didn’t know if it was fate or chance… But each time she thought of

the invisible dice rolled by the gods, she felt something like dregs accumulate

in her heart.

“Say, I managed to get us some medicine,” Dwarf Shaman said. He

drained his cup, poured, then drank again.

“That girl’s older sister…” Goblin Slayer paused for a second. “The

medicine woman. We were told she’s inexperienced.”

“Maybe she can’t make us potions, but she said she would give us all the

herbs we wanted,” Dwarf Shaman said with a broad grin. Then he stroked his

beard. “Don’t you think she’s just the type for you? She’d make a nice little

wife.”

“I have no idea.”

“Um…,” Priestess burst out, unable to contain herself.

Dwarf Shaman and Goblin Slayer, their conversation interrupted, looked

at her, and Lizard Priest and High Elf Archer shortly followed.

“Um, well…” She squirmed under their collective gaze. “I just…wonder

what we’re going to do next,” she ended lamely.

“Kill the goblins, of course.” Goblin Slayer’s answer was as cold as ever.

He leaned over the table, eyeing the cups and plates that hemmed in his map.

“Move the dishes.”

“You got it,” Dwarf Shaman said as if suddenly coming to himself; he

grabbed a steamed potato off one of the plates and took a bite.

“Hey!” said High Elf Archer, who’d thought she had dibs on that food.

She cleared the plates away looking very ill-used.

Worried that his liquor might be collected along with the rest of the

dishes, Dwarf Shaman pulled his cup and bottle toward himself protectively.

Lizard Priest judged the sight of both of them to be “most amusing,”

sticking out his tongue and pouring more wine into his empty cup.

“……”

When all was done, Priestess silently wiped the table down.

“Good,” Goblin Slayer said, nodding and rearranging the map on the

tabletop. Then he took a writing utensil—just a piece of charcoal attached to

a piece of wood—out of his item pouch and marked the location of the cave

with an X.

“It’s obvious that cave was not their living quarters.”

“Yeah, it was definitely a chapel or something,” High Elf Archer said,

sipping a bit of grape wine. “Although I still can’t quite believe it.”

“Believable or not, fact it appears to be. I think we must recognize as

much. Still…” Lizard Priest gave a hissing sigh, closing his eyes. A second

later, he opened one of them and looked at Priestess. She met his eyes and

trembled. “…I wonder what our honored cleric thinks.”

“Oh! Uh… Um, yes…” Priestess quickly straightened up in her chair,

gripping her sounding staff, which lay across her knees. It was clear that he

was trying to show some consideration for her.

I have to respond.

She took a loud gulp of wine, licked her now-moist lips. “I agree with

Goblin Slayer. It was…thirty?”

“Thirty-six,” Goblin Slayer put in. “That’s how many of them we slew.”

“I don’t think thirty-six of them could possibly all sleep there.”

“True, the place didn’t seem to have much in the way of food or wine or

any of their other favorite things,” Dwarf Shaman said.

The word goblin was practically synonymous with the word stupid, but

that didn’t mean they had no brains at all. The reason they had no technology

for creating anything was because they tended to consider looting enough to

meet their needs. But the same could not be said of the caves they lived in. If

they had stolen a house, or some ruins, some preexisting structure, that might

have been a different matter. But a cave…

Goblins, in their own nasty way, would prepare storehouses, sleeping

places, and trash heaps. At the very least, one would have expected to find

the scraps of one of their great feasts lying around, but the adventurers had

discovered no such remains. They had found only that stone altar, a place that

seemed like a chapel, and a woman about to be offered up…

“This suggests that their main habitation is elsewhere,” Goblin Slayer

said, circling on the map a hilltop beyond the mountains. “According to the

locals, there are some old ruins at some point higher than where we climbed.”

“Chances are very strong that the goblins are based there.” Lizard Priest

nodded. “Do you have any sense what kind of ruins they are?”

“A dwarven fortress.”

“Hmm,” Dwarf Shaman murmured at this mention of his race; he took

another mouthful of mead. “One of my people’s fortresses from the Age of

the Gods, is it? That means a frontal assault would risk life and limb, Beard-

cutter. Shall we try fire?”

“I have a small amount of gasoline,” Goblin Slayer said, withdrawing a

bottle filled with black liquid from his bag. “But I presume the fortress is

made of stone. A fire attack from the outside would not set it alight.”

“From the outside…,” Priestess repeated, tapping a finger against her lip.

“What about from the inside, then?”

“A fine plan,” Lizard Priest said immediately, opening his jaws and

nodding. He ran a claw along the sheepskin map, tracing their marching route

carefully. “Castles infiltrated by the enemy are and have always been

vulnerable.”

“But how are we going to get inside? I’m sure we can’t just walk in the

front door,” Priestess said with a sound of distress.

At that, though, High Elf Archer’s ears stood straight up, and she leaned

well forward. “So you want to sneak into a fortress!” She looked positively

giddy. She kept murmuring, “Right, right,” to herself, her ears bouncing in

time to her contemplations. “Right! This is almost starting to feel like a real

adventure. Great!”

“Th-this is…an adventure?”

“Sure is,” High Elf Archer said in her bright, cheerful way. She was

naturally upbeat, although it was possible she was putting on an encouraging

front. Nothing said you had to act depressed just because you were in a

depressing situation.

“Ancient mountains deep in the wilderness! A towering fortress controlled

by some powerful ringleader! And we sneak in and take him out!”

If that isn’t adventure, what is it?

High Elf Archer offered this explanation with much waving and gesturing,

then looked pointedly at Goblin Slayer.

“I guess we’re not exactly fighting a Demon Lord or anything…but it’s

not classic goblin slaying for sure.”

“It’s not quite infiltration, either,” Goblin Slayer muttered. “The enemy

will know there are adventurers around. We must approach cautiously.”

“You have a plan?” Dwarf Shaman asked.

“I just thought of one.” Goblin Slayer looked at them. His expression was

masked by his helmet, but he seemed to be looking at his two clerics.

“Are disguises against your religion?”

“Hmmm. I wonder,” Lizard Priest said, his eyes rolling in his head. Then

his reptilian eyes fixed on Priestess and glinted mischievously. She took his

meaning and smiled gently herself.

I can’t just let everyone baby me all the time.

“I—I think it depends on the time and the situation.”

“All right.” Goblin Slayer fished in his item pouch and, at length, pulled

something out. It rolled across the table, over the map, and then toppled.

It was the brand bearing the sign of the evil eye.

“Since they were so kind as to leave us a clue, I could hardly refuse to

pursue it.”

“Ha-ha. Very clever,” Lizard Priest said with a clap of his scaled hands.

He seemed to understand what was going on. “Become a member of the Evil

Sect. Mm, very well.”

“Yes.”

“I am a lizardman who serves the Dark God. My disciple is a warrior, and

we are accompanied by a dwarven mercenary…”

“I guess that makes me a dark elf!” High Elf Archer said with a catlike

grin. Then she turned to Priestess. “I’ll have to color my body with ink. Hey,

maybe you could put on some false ears! We could be twins!”

“Huh? Oh—huh? Will I—will I have to color myself, too?”

Suddenly Priestess didn’t know where to look. High Elf Archer zipped

around her, all smiles.

“It’s better than goblin gore, right?”

“I don’t think that’s saying much…!”

Given the freedom to choose, she wouldn’t have picked either of those

things. But if it came down to it…

Goblin Slayer glanced at the two chattering girls, then turned back to the

other men. Lizard Priest narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.

“They are two fine young women.”

“Yes,” Goblin Slayer said with a nod, “I know.”

If he had to do something outrageous or unbelievable to achieve victory,

he would. If he had to become depressed or serious in order to fight

effectively, he would do it.

But the reality was different. Laughter and cheer: the whole party

recognized how important those things were.

“Now then, I suppose we must decide what we will do in the manner of

disguise,” Lizard Priest said.

“It would be inconvenient for the goblins to discover we were

adventurers,” Goblin Slayer said. “Whatever else we do, we must change

what we’re wearing.”

“Pfah,” Dwarf Shaman said with a cackle, his breath stinking of alcohol.

“If you don’t mind ’em well used, I’ve got a few outfits.”

“Oh-ho. You are a dwarf of many talents, master spell caster.”

“Good food and wine, good music and song, and something beautiful to

wear. If you’ve got all that plus the company of a fine woman, you’ve got

everything you need to enjoy life.” He settled back with another cup of the

mead in hand and closed his eyes. “I can handle cooking, music, song, and

sewing on my own. As for a woman, there’s always the courtesans in town.”

“Goodness. You’ve no wife, then?” Lizard Priest looked rather surprised,

but Dwarf Shaman answered, “Indeed I don’t. I thought I’d spend another

hundred years or so enjoying bachelorhood, playing the bon viveur.”

Lizard Priest chuckled, sticking his tongue out and sipping happily at his

drink. “Master spell caster, how very young you seem. It’s enough to make

an old lizard jealous.”

“Ah, but I do believe I’m older than you.” He held out the wine jar

invitingly; Lizard Priest nodded and held up his cup.

Goblin Slayer was next. He grunted, “Mm,” and simply held up his cup.

Alcohol sloshed into it.

“You all just make sure to enjoy your lives,” the shaman said, adding, “Be

it with goblins or gods or what have you. ” Then he settled back to appreciate

his wine.

His gaze settled on the two chattering young women.

“Laugh, cry, rage, enjoy—the long-eared girl is good at those, isn’t she?”

“…”

Goblin Slayer looked into his cup, saying nothing. A cheap-looking

helmet stared back at him from the wine, tinged with the orangish color of the

lamps. He raised the cup to that helmet and drained it in one gulp. His throat

and stomach felt like they were burning.

He let out a breath. Just like he did when he was on a long path, looking

behind, looking ahead, and continuing on.

“It is never so simple,” he said.

“No, I don’t suppose it is,” the dwarf responded.

“Is it not?” asked Lizard Priest. “I guess you’re right.”

The three men laughed without making a sound.

It was only then that the girls noticed them, looking at them with

puzzlement.

“What’s up?” asked High Elf Archer.

“Is something wrong?” said Priestess.

Dwarf Shaman waved away their questions, and after giving things a

moment to settle down, Goblin Slayer said:

“Now. About the goblins.”

“Ah-ha! So we come to it, Beard-cutter.” Dwarf Shaman shook the

droplets off his beard and shifted in his seat. “I s’pose this paladin-like fellow

is their leader. That’s if he really exists, of course.”

“Yes.” Goblin Slayer nodded. “I’ve never fought such a goblin, either.”

“The question is, just how smart is he?”

“He was able to imitate my devices, at least.” Goblin Slayer took the

arrowhead out of his bag, rolling it around in his hand. It was stained with

High Elf Archer’s blood. It gave him a dark feeling. “And if we can destroy

thirty-six of them in one expedition, it means our foe is many.”

“So, mean little brains and lots of ’em? Sounds like another day’s work

with goblins,” Dwarf Shaman said.

Things at the harvest festival had somehow gone in their favor, but that

was because they knew the terrain and had made preparations. Even if there

were no more enemies than there had been at the farm, the adventurers

numbered only five. Fighting in hostile territory seemed rather

unmanageable.

Lizard Priest, who had been listening quietly, made a rumble in his throat,

then said seriously, “And there is one more problem.” He struck the floor

with his tail, stretched out his arms, and tapped the claw on the newer mark

Goblin Slayer had made on the map. “Specifically, if we should be so

fortunate as to get into the enemy’s fortifications, what do we do from there?”

“Ah, about that,” Goblin Slayer said. “If we do manage to get in—”

Criiiick.

No sooner had he spoken than there was a sound of creaking wood.

Immediately, the adventurers all reached for their weapons.

They held their collective breath. The innkeeper had retired much earlier.

Slowly, the creaking became quiet footsteps. Someone came down the

stairs, then exhaled.

“Goblins…?”

The voice was strained, almost like a sigh. It came from Noble Fencer,

who stood clutching the railing of the staircase, swaying unsteadily. She wore

tattered armor over her light bedclothes, and in her hand a silver dagger

glittered in the light.

Mithril…? No, the color’s too light. A magical item of some sort,

perhaps…?

Dwarf Shaman found himself squinting at the gleam. To think that it

should be something that he, a friend of metal, had never seen.

“……Then… I’m coming, too.”

“No way!” High Elf Archer was the first to respond. “We came to rescue

you because of the quest your parents posted.” She looked into Noble

Fencer’s eyes with characteristic elven directness. Those eyes were deep and

dark, like the bottom of a well—or so they seemed to her.

The mention of her parents didn’t seem to stir so much as a ripple in

Noble Fencer.

There was an intake of breath, ever so slight.

“Before you put your life in danger again, don’t you think you should at

least go home and talk to them?” High Elf Archer said.

“……No. I can’t do that.” Noble Fencer shook her head, her honey-

colored hair shaking. “……I have to get it back.”

Lizard Priest put his hands together in a strange shape, resting his chin

atop them. With his eyes closed, he appeared half as if in prayer, half as if

enduring some pain. Quietly, he asked:

“And what might it be?”

“Everything,” Noble Fencer answered firmly. “Everything I’ve lost.”

Dreams. Hopes. Futures. Chastity. Friends. Comrades. Equipment. A

sword.

All that the goblins stole from her and took away into the depths of their

gloomy hole.

“I cannot say I do not understand,” Lizard Priest said after a moment, his

breath hissing. Noble Fencer was talking about pride, about a way of life.

Lizard Priest brought his palms together in a strange gesture. “A naga has his

pride precisely because he is a naga. If he has no pride, he is no longer a

naga.”

“Ju-just a second…!” High Elf Archer said. Lizard Priest was so calm and

collected—although, come to think of it, he did seem to like combat. The

elf’s ears had drooped with pity, but now they sprang back up. “Dwarf! Say

something!”

“Why shouldn’t we let her do as she wishes?” the shaman said.

“Guh?!”

Yet another un-elf-like sound (she seemed to have an ever-increasing

repertoire) came from High Elf Archer’s throat.

Dwarf Shaman paid her no mind but, shaking the last drop out of the

bottle of mead, said, “Our quest was to rescue her. It’s up to her what she

does after that.”

“Et tu, dwarf?! What if she dies, huh?! What then?”

“You might die, yourself. Or me. Or any of us.” He drained that final cup

and wiped his mouth. “Every living thing dies one day. You elves should

know that better than anybody.”

“Well… Well yeah, but…”

Droop went the ears again. High Elf Archer looked around with an

expression like a lost child who didn’t know what to do next.

Priestess met her eyes, and it almost prevented the girl from saying what

she said next. She looked at the ground, bit her lip, quietly drank the last of

the wine in her cup. If she hadn’t, Priestess didn’t think she could have gotten

the words out. “Let’s… Let’s take her along.”

If she didn’t say them, no one else would.

“If… If we don’t…”

She can’t be saved.

Without a doubt, there will be no salvation for her.

Priestess herself had been that way, once.

And—she suspected—so had he.

“I…,” he—Goblin Slayer—began, picking his words very carefully, “…

am not your parents, nor am I a friend.”

Noble Fencer said nothing.

“You know what should be done when you have a quest in mind.”

“I do.”

“Hey!”

But almost before High Elf Archer had gotten the word out of her mouth,

there was an unpleasant tearing sound.

The golden hair went flying through the air.

“………Your reward. I’m paying in advance.”

She took a lock of the hair she had just cut off. She cut another lock with

her dagger—another tearing sound—and set it on the table. The two tails of

her hair, once tied with ribbon, were now cruelly lost.

“………I’m going, too.”

Her hair was brutally short now, her lips drawn back in determination—

the very image of someone bent on vengeance.

Priestess heard a soft grunt from inside Goblin Slayer’s helmet.

“Goblin Slayer…sir…?”

“What can you do?”

He ignored Priestess’s look, instead flinging this question at Noble

Fencer.

Without hesitation, the girl responded, “I can use the sword. And a spell.

Lightning.”

The helmet turned, looked at Dwarf Shaman.

“Summoning thunder,” he said disinterestedly. “Very powerful stuff, like

a cannon.”

“…Very well,” Goblin Slayer said softly. Then he asked, “You don’t

mind?”

The helmet turned toward High Elf Archer, who was looking at him

beseechingly. Now, she averted her eyes; she clutched her cup with both

hands and looked at the floor. Finally, she rubbed the outer corners of her

eyes with her arms and looked up piteously. She said only: “If you’re all right

with it, Orcbolg.”

“Good.” Goblin Slayer rolled up the map and stood.

It was clear what had to be done.

It was the same thing that always had to be done.

Always and everywhere.

No matter what.

It was what he had done for the past ten years.

“Then let us go goblin slaying.”

Interlude 01

“Yikes! Cold! It’s cold!” Despite her yelp, Cow Girl looked quite happy as

she pushed open the door of the Guild. “There’s even snow falling!”

It’s winter, all right! With those words, she came into the Guild’s waiting

area, brushing the white powder off her clothes. The few adventurers inside

were sitting on the long bench, warming themselves by the fire in the hearth.

The small number was partly down to the time of day—and partly to the

simple fact that not too many people wanted to go adventuring in winter.

It was cold, it wasn’t easy to camp out, there was snow, it was dangerous

—and, oh yes: it was cold.

Stories spoke of barbarians from far beyond the northern mountains who

were not the least bothered by cold like this, who claimed that this was the

season when weak civilized peoples clung to what was warm.

As Cow Girl walked through the balmy room, she let out a breath. Most

adventurers, eager for money as they were, saved up from spring through fall

so that they could pass the winter without working.

That didn’t necessarily mean, though, that the adventurers here now were

just bad at saving. Adventurers might rest in the winter, but Non-Praying

Characters didn’t: goblins, fallen spirits, and monsters were still abroad.

Then, too, there were ruins whose gates opened only in the season of

snows, and hidden treasures to find. Those undergoing harsh training,

explorers, or adventurers of races not susceptible to the cold didn’t stop their

work simply because it was winter.

In fact, a dearth of adventurers meant more quests to go around during the

winter—something of which we’ve spoken before.

“It certainly is winter, indeed,” said Cow Girl’s friend Guild Girl, picking

up on the words the farmer had muttered to herself.

Cow Girl made a sound of puzzlement to see her friend looking out the

window with a melancholy gaze, her chin on her hands. “What’s wrong?” she

asked. Someone passed her a menu as she spoke.

“Nothing,” Guild Girl said with an enigmatic smile. “I was just…

watching the snow come down.”

“Oh…”

Drawn by the remark, Cow Girl looked out the window as well. It might

be easy to miss if you were out in the middle of the swirling stuff yourself,

but from inside this room it was genuinely beautiful.

Soon, the fluffy flakes would cover the town in white.

“I hope he’s okay…”

Guild Girl was only whispering to herself; she didn’t say who she hoped

would be okay, or what he was doing that put him in danger.

It didn’t stop Cow Girl from putting a hand to her ample bosom and

whispering, “He’ll be fine.” Then she added, “I think he’s been to the snowy

mountain before.”

“Oh really?” Guild Girl said, blinking at this unexpected new information.

“I didn’t know that. So he’s been there before…”

“He never did tell me what he was doing there, though.”

Everyone has certain things they don’t want to talk about. He was always

taciturn, and although it sometimes made her feel a little lonely, Cow Girl

was willing to live with it.

After all, there are things I haven’t told him, either.

She returned the menu with a word of thanks and tucked away her

feelings into that expansive chest of hers.

“Ugh! Cold, cold, cold! That freeze is enough to hurt! I know that guy

was only using his fists, but…!”

“He was…the descendent…of Frost Giants, wasn’t he?”

“That fight was too long and altogether too painful.”

The door of the Guild opened, two familiar faces entering along with a

gust of wind.

One of the adventurers was a handsome man with a spear leaning on his

shoulder; the other a witch whose outfit left little of her generous figure to the

imagination.

They shook off the snow in the doorway, then Spearman—his hair

carefully coiffed—breezily approached Guild Girl.

“Ahh. You always get back before he does,” Guild Girl said, sighs

mingling with her pasted-on smile. “I’m glad you’re safe, of course.”

Cow Girl got to her feet. “Good luck with work.”

“Thanks. I’ll work my hardest.” There was a pause, then, “I don’t hate

him, you know?”

“He’s just not my favorite,” she whispered, and Cow Girl smiled at her.

“I think everything will work out fine.”

“How do you mean?”

“He’ll be back before we celebrate the passing of the year.”

I’m sure of it.

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