Goblin Slayer - Volume 1 - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - Gobling Slaying

The responsibility to provide an escort for the elf prisoner back to the forest fell to Lizard Priest. 

He took several small fangs out of his pouch and spread them on the floor. 

“O horns and claws of our father, Iguanodon,” he intoned, “thy four limbs, become two legs to walk upon the earth.” 

When he had spoken, the fangs on the ground clattered and began to swell in size. A moment later, they had formed the skeleton of a lizardman, who bowed its head to Lizard Priest and kneeled. 

“This is the Dragontooth Warrior, a miracle I received from my father,” he explained. 

“How well does it fight?” Goblin Slayer asked. 

“As I myself am fairly capable, it could deal with one or two goblins if the need arose.” 

The lizardman wrote a letter explaining the situation and gave it to the Dragontooth Warrior, after which the creature hoisted the elf over its shoulder and set off. 

Between this and Minor Heal, the party had now used two of its miracles. No one objected. 

“What the hell…? What is going on here?” High Elf Archer whimpered, crouched in the muck. Priestess patted her back. 

Strangely, although they were still in the filth-riddled room, they no longer noticed the smell. 

I guess we must have gotten used to it. 

Priestess gave a rueful smile. Her arms and legs trembled just a little. 

Dwarf Shaman was tugging roughly at his beard and scowling. Claiming he felt unwell, he had gone to stand in the doorway of the room. The Dragontooth Warrior, with its elf load, passed by him. 

Goblin Slayer had his back turned to it all. He rummaged through the mess, pushing things around, tossing them aside, until at last he pulled something out of the garbage. 

It was a canvas knapsack, clearly meant for an adventurer. Goblins had clawed at the inside but had thrown it away. Perhaps they had tired of it. It was awfully dirty. Goblin Slayer, too, began to paw through it. 

“Ah, I knew it had to be here.” He took out a balled-up scrap of paper, yellow with age. 

“What’s that?” Priestess asked softly, as she patted the elf on the back. 

“It must have belonged to that prisoner,” Goblin Slayer said, calmly unballing the paper—no, it was a dried leaf. With his finger he traced the flowing lines that had been drawn on it, then nodded as if he had found what he wanted. 

“It’s a map of these ruins.” 

“That elf must have been using it to navigate…” There was a good chance that, unhappily, she had not known the ruins had become a goblin nest. Insofar as heading into some abandoned ruins was an adventure, the fate she’d suffered was certainly one possible outcome. 

That they had been in time to save her was sheer dumb luck. As much as Priestess hated to admit it. 

“The left path leads to a gallery,” Goblin Slayer said, studying the map intently, “which borders an atrium. I can almost guarantee most of the horde is there. It’s the only place large enough for them all to sleep.” He folded the map and put it into his own bag. “It seems left was the correct choice.” 

“Hmph.” The dwarf gave an affronted snort. 

Goblin Slayer also took a few bottles of ointment and other small items from the knapsack. 

And then, without preamble, he flung the bag at High Elf Archer. 

She was bewildered. 

“You take it.” 

As High Elf Archer put on the knapsack, she looked up. The corners of her eyes were red and puffy from her rubbing them; she looked very uncomfortable. 

“Let’s go.” 

“Now hold on, you can’t talk like that to—” 

“It’s all right.” The elf cut off Priestess’s indignant tirade. 

“We…we have to hurry.” 

“That’s right,” Goblin Slayer said calmly. “We have to kill those goblins.” He walked with his usual bold, somehow violent stride. Over the collapsed door he went, leaving the room full of trash behind. 

He didn’t look back. 

“H-hey, wait up—!” 

The elf called out and rushed to follow him while Priestess went along in silence. 

The remaining two adventurers looked at each other. 

“…Gods above,” the dwarf sighed, twisting his beard. “He’s a real piece of work, that one. I wonder if he’s even human.” 

“I have heard Eotyrannus, the Dawn Tyrant, was also thus. It seems the stories are not altogether untrue.” The lizardman gave a wide roll of his eyes. 

“Maybe you have to be a little crazy to be good at this job.” 

“Be that as it may, we must go. I, for my part, cannot forgive those creatures.” 

“Nor I, Scaly. Goblins are the age-old enemies of the dwarves, when you get right down to it.” 

Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest looked at each other, then went after Goblin Slayer. 

The leftward path twisted like a maze. It was only natural for a fortress. If you didn’t know the lay of the land, you would never figure it out. 

But they had the map left by the elf and two people watching carefully for traps. They did encounter several goblin patrols on their way through the fortress, but it was nothing unexpected. High Elf Archer fired her arrows into them from her short bow, and if this failed to stop them, Goblin Slayer would leap into the fray and finish them off. 

In the end, not a single goblin survived its encounter with the party. 

Priestess looked discreetly at the elf’s face, taut like a drawn bowstring. 

She had seen the elf’s almost miraculous shooting at the entrance to the ruins. The idea that her arrows could ever fail to stop their targets seemed almost unfathomable… 

Goblin Slayer, though, did not seem bothered. He forged ahead with the same calm stride as always. 

Finally, they reached the last place to take a rest before the gallery. 

“How much magic do we have left?” Goblin Slayer asked quietly. He stayed close to the wall, changing out his own weapon. 

High Elf Archer was crouched in the corner, and Priestess moved to stand near her, offering a pat on the shoulder. “Um, I used Minor Heal once already, so…I have two miracles left,” she said. 

“I have called upon a Dragontooth Warrior only once,” the lizardman said. “I, too, can use up to three miracles, but…” His tail swishing back and forth, he reached into his bag and brought out a handful of teeth. “The miracle of the Dragontooth Warrior requires a material component. I can perform it perhaps one more time only.” 

“I understand.” Goblin Slayer nodded. His gaze fell on the dwarf. “What about you?” 

“Well, let’s see…” The dwarf began to count on his small fingers, muttering “one, two…” under his breath. “It depends on the spell,” he concluded, “but say four times, maybe five. Well, four for certain. Don’t worry.” 

“I see.” 

The number of times a spell caster could use their magics increased with their rank—but not dramatically. Spell casters’ real power lay in the variety and difficulty of the spells they could cast. If they were not a Platinum-ranked adventurer—and even then, one with a remarkable gift—the number of times they could cast per day was limited. 

It meant every spell was precious. Waste them and die. 

“Um, would you like a drink? Can you drink?” 

“Thanks.” High Elf Archer took the canteen Priestess offered her and put it to her lips. 

She had been all but silent until this point. The elf had always received Priestess’s concerns with the faintest smile and a shake of the head. 

Who could blame her? Priestess thought. After seeing what became of another elf like that… 

Priestess herself sometimes dreamed of what had happened to her former companions. 

At the time, she and Goblin Slayer had taken one quest after another almost without pause. Looking back on it, she was glad she had not had time to stop and think. 

“Don’t put too much in your stomach. It will slow your blood flow,” Goblin Slayer said calmly. “You won’t react as quickly.” 

He wasn’t saying it for the elf’s benefit. It was just a practicality. He was making sure they were all aware. 

Priestess stood, as if unconsciously covering the elf. “Goblin Slayer, sir!” she said. “Can’t you be…a little more…?” 

“I don’t want to mislead anyone,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “If you are able to join me, then join me. If you aren’t, then go back. It’s that simple.” 

“…Don’t be ridiculous,” the elf said, wiping drops of water from her mouth. “I’m a ranger. Orcbolg…you, even you, couldn’t handle scouting and looking for traps and fighting all by yourself.” 

“Those who can should do what they are able.” 

“I’m saying we don’t have the strength. There’s only five of us.” 

“Numbers are not the issue. It would be much worse to leave this place be.” 

“Oh, for the gods’ sake!” The elf tore at her hair. Her ears pointed straight back. “What is happening here? I don’t even know anymore…” 

“…Will you go back, then?” 

“How can I?! After seeing what they did to that prisoner?! And my home… My home isn’t so far away from here…” 

“I see” was his only response to the agitated archer. “In that case, let’s go.” With that, he stood, announcing the end of their brief respite. 

Goblin Slayer went ahead without another word. The elf stared daggers at his back, grinding her teeth. 

“Calm down, long-ears. Enemy territory is not the place to start a fight.” 

There was a pause. “You’re right,” the elf said. 

The dwarf patted her gently on the back. The elf’s long ears drooped. 

“I’m sorry. I do hate to agree with a dwarf. Even when he’s right.” 

“Ah, there’s the long-ears I know!” 

Short bow in hand, the elf walked off. Priestess gave the dwarf a small bow as she went by. The dwarf followed, digging in his pack. And the lizardman once again made up the tail of their line. 

“Can’t be too careful,” the dwarf said. 

“Indeed. I ought to make preparations to pray.” The lizardman made his strange palms-together gesture. 

Following the map, the party soon found the gallery. 

The elf went in front, raised up on her tiptoes like a stalking cat. She gestured to the others how to proceed. 

Hence she was the first to see the vast hall. 

Just as the map showed, the gallery ran along the edge of a huge atrium. The ceiling had to be as high as ground level. Elves lived for thousands of years, and there could hardly have been a forest dweller as old as this room. 

Despite their age, the white stone walls still bore striking illustrations of the battles from the Age of the Gods. The beautiful gods fought with the terrible ones, swords flashing, lightning bolts flying, until finally they reached for the dice. 

It was a depiction of the creation of the world. If this place had once been a fortress, what must the soldiers here have felt upon seeing this? If the circumstances had been different, High Elf Archer would have let out an entranced sigh. 

But the circumstances were not different, and she kept her mouth shut. 

She leaned over the railing of the gallery and peered out into the atrium. By a wall that rose sheer as a cliff, she could see goblins. 

And not one or two. Not even ten or twenty. 

A vast host. Five adventurers could not have counted the number on their collective fingers. 

The elf swallowed. The smoldering rage in her chest went suddenly cold. 

That prisoner might have been made the plaything of every goblin in this room. The elf suddenly registered what might happen to her with the slightest slip. 

She didn’t have the courage to face this alone. She bit her lip to stop her teeth from chattering. 

“How is it?” 

The elf nearly jumped in surprise. Her ears flew back. 

How had Goblin Slayer come up beside her without her noticing? 

Partly, the elf had been focused on other things. But Goblin Slayer moved now with a delicacy she could never have guessed from his usual violent gait. He didn’t make a sound. 

He was not holding a torch, perhaps out of concern it might be seen. 

“D-don’t scare me like that…” 

“I didn’t mean to.” 

The elf glared angrily at the steel helmet. She wiped the sweat that had appeared on her forehead. 

“Anyway, see for yourself. There’s a lot of them.” 

“It won’t be a problem,” Goblin Slayer said calmly. 

He gestured to the other party members to join them, then quickly explained his plan. 

No one argued. 

The first to notice something unusual was a goblin who had crawled out of bed. It was almost time to change the guard, but the last patrol hadn’t come back yet. 

Well, maybe he’d go torment that elf a little more. True, it wasn’t as much fun now that her screams were growing weaker. Hopefully, they would catch another one soon. 

Unbeknownst to him, an opportunity to do just that was coming his way. 

The goblin gave a long stretch, loosening his thin frame and letting his bulging belly hang. Just as his stretch turned into a yawn, he saw something strange perched upon the gallery. 

A dwarf. 

A dwarf downing the contents of a red jar. 

“GUI…?” 

At that moment, the dwarf looked down at the bewildered goblin and spat at him. The spit came down in a mist. 

The goblin sneezed. This was liquor! That dwarf had spit alcohol on him! 

“Drink deep, sing loud, let the spirits lead you! Sing loud, step quick, and when you sleep they see you, may a jar of fire wine be in your dreams to greet you!” And then, once more, the dwarf let a few drops of his drink dribble down on the befuddled monster. 

The goblin was thoroughly perplexed by all this, but he knew enough to alert his companions. He opened his mouth and… 

…didn’t make a sound. 

His tongue moved and he drew breath, but his voice didn’t come out. 

Now, why do you suppose that was? 

Looking closely, the goblin could see a gorgeous human girl standing next to the dwarf, waving a sounding staff. 

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, grant us peace to accept all things…” 

The goblin did not seem to grasp the words the thin voice was saying. The rusty gears in his little head turned as fast as they could, but somehow he felt floaty and kind of…nice. 

The last patrol hadn’t come back yet. Why not catch another few winks until they did? 

He gave a great yawn and climbed back into bed. 

And then he died. 

He never knew he had been the victim of Silence and Stupor. Goblin Slayer cut his throat with a dagger before he ever had the chance to find out. The goblin opened his eyes, blood bubbling up at the wound, but Goblin Slayer pressed the dagger home and killed him. 

High Elf Archer and Lizard Priest came down from the gallery without a sound and put their weapons to work all through the great hall. They had to move quickly in order to finish the job while the spells cast by Priestess and the dwarf were still active. 

They had to be calm, ruthless. Cut the throat of a sleeping goblin, crush it down until he stopped moving, then go on to the next one. It wasn’t a battle. It was just work. 

But not easy work. The elf made a voiceless sound of fatigue. As she cut her third or fourth goblin throat, she could no longer hide the toll it was taking on her. 

Sweat beaded on her forehead. The blade of her stone knife was slick with fat that wouldn’t come off no matter how hard she wiped at it. 

She looked around, trying to see what her companions were doing. The lizardman carried a sword made from the polished fang of some beast. The white blade had already turned red, but the cutting edge didn’t seem to have dulled. It truly must have been forged by some miraculous power. 

Goblin Slayer, of course, moved easily from one throat to the next. 

And he doesn’t even have a special weapon. High Elf Archer watched his hands with the perspicuity of vision only an elvish hunter possessed. As he killed another goblin, he sliced a few fingers off to free the dagger from its hand, and traded his dulled blade for this new one. 

I see. The elf slid her own blade back into its sheath and copied him. 

She set about killing more of the sleeping monsters. Each one died without knowing that he wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. 

And in the midst of the slaughter, the elf found her anger ebbing. 

It was not that she had forgotten the awful sight of the other elf. That was impossible. And yet… 

“………” 

In her heart, there was a mechanical coldness, strange and new. 

She swallowed unconsciously. Her eyes began to wander…in the direction of the man, in his cheap leather armor and steel helm, who was still nonchalantly cutting goblin throats. As he did his work, he took an extra moment to stab each body twice, to ensure it was dead. 

How can he think of going it alone? …Well, I guess he always worked alone before. 

What was she to make of this man? The elf didn’t know, but even as she was asking this question, her hands were prying the knife from a goblin’s fingers. 

They finished killing every goblin in the vast hall in a bit less than thirty minutes. 

The fine white stone, the captivating drawings on the walls—everything was drenched in goblin gore. 

When they call the battlefield a sea of blood, they aren’t kidding, the elf thought. 

At length, the dwarf and Priestess came breathlessly down from the gallery. Goblin Slayer looked at the gathered adventurers, then pointed deeper inside with his sword. He was covered from head to toe in blood, but…to the elf, it made little difference. The map made it clear there was another room farther in. They would search for any survivors and kill them. 

Her eyes met his—at least, she thought they did, though she couldn’t see past his helmet. With a nod, Goblin Slayer set off at his bold stride. As ever, he didn’t look back. 

The world was quiet. What would he do if no one noticed him leaving? 

Good grief. 

The party looked at one another and smiled noiselessly. 

It was Priestess who trailed after him first. The elf followed, her short bow as heavy as a lead weight in her hands. And finally the lizardman and the dwarf joined them, the whole party ready to make their way out of the hall—and that was when it happened. 

There was a thump of air. In the silence, it was almost enough to knock them off their feet. 

Everyone stood stock-still, staring in the direction they had meant to venture. 

Goblin Slayer quickly raised his shield and unsheathed his sword—one of the blades he had taken from a goblin—his attention never wavering. 

There was another thump, closer than the first. Something was coming. 

Then, out of the darkness, it emerged. 

It had a great blue-black body. Horns grew from its forehead, and a putrid stench assaulted them with the creature’s every breath. In its hands was a massive war hammer. 

The elf’s eyes went wide with shock, her voice a strained whisper. “Ogre…!” 

The first thing they heard as sound was restored to the world was the echo of that word.