Goblin Slayer - Volume 10 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Tower Defense 

“Well, well, Beard-cutter. You showed admirable restraint,” Dwarf Shaman said with a smirk, his voice nearly lost in the clattering of the carriage’s wheels along the ruts in the flagstone. 

Goblin Slayer’s metal helmet moved slightly. He had set up shop inside the carriage and was silently working away. He offered only a thoughtful “Hmm,” though he then added in his usual dispassionate tone, “It was necessary.” A blunt response. It was a mystery how well he grasped the meaning behind the dwarf’s words. 

Dwarf Shaman watched the scenery go by outside the curtain as he drank some wine from a gourd at his hip with a glug , and let out a breath with an ahhh . “Rumors of a goblin’s daughter? Would’ve expected you to go charging straight in, I have to say.” 

“She’s merely descended from a dark-skinned people,” Goblin Slayer said shortly. The helmet turned pointedly toward Dwarf Shaman, the gaze hidden behind the visor settling on his beard. “And the quest giver is the wine merchant’s son. Not a goblin.” 

Dwarf Shaman guffawed, quite satisfied with the reply, and in the corner, Priestess’s cheeks softened into a small smile. 

High Elf Archer, watching them, produced an elaborate shrug. “But it all works out to the same thing: goblin hunting, again . Gods, I get so bored sticking with you, Orcbolg.” 

“Is that so?” 

“That was sarcasm.” 

“…Is that so?” 

This murmur was accompanied by a brief pause in his work, but he quickly resumed. He was grinding something black with a mortar, like an alchemist. High Elf Archer, who might normally have been inspecting the work with curiosity, gave a couple of sniffs and frowned. Then she waved a hand as if to make it clear just how uninterested she was. 

Dwarf Shaman, ignoring her, took another drink. “Eh, in the end, an adventurer’s just a club.” 

“A club?” Priestess said. 

“I should say so,” Dwarf Shaman replied, stroking his white beard. 

Priestess was almost too flummoxed to say anything more, but Lizard Priest chose to fill the gap. “And what makes you say that, Master Shaman?” He uncoiled his long neck, and Dwarf Shaman nodded. 

“Because in every place and time, the last resort for solving a problem is to hit it as hard as you can. Up to that point, you might try politeness, might work your way through different problems, but when things get bad… Then it’s us they call on.” 

Lizard Priest nodded in agreement. “Since the creation of all things, violence has ever been the preferred solution to problems.” 

Priestess offered a tight smile and chose not to respond directly. “Do you…really think so?” 

“Of course, it is not true of every situation,” the lizardman replied with a significant tone very fitting for a monk. “However, after gathering information, convening a council of war, and reaching general agreement…” 

“Then there’s usually just one conclusion, and that means it’s time to go charging in!” Dwarf Shaman said, and he and Lizard Priest both began laughing uproariously. Their mirth shook the curtain and left Priestess at a loss for how to respond. At length she settled for offering a “Sorry” to the driver and left it at it. 

She wondered, though, at the way even this simple exchange buoyed her heart. 

Maybe it’s because I’m finally back. 

This was hardly the first time she’d operated without the others. And it really wasn’t so many days since she had last adventured with all of them, if she counted it up. But…yes, to come back was certainly the right expression. Everyone else was chatting and enjoying themselves; she was there but with a disturbed expression on her face. It was really quite comfortable, and in order to hide the fit of embarrassment, Priestess contrived to let out a little mumble: “Gosh, really…” 

“This is the sort of thing that makes people assume dwarves and lizardmen have a few screws loose,” High Elf Archer said to Priestess. Don’t let them bother you. Her ears flicked in the direction of the curtain. “Hey, I see something—is that the place?” 

Goblin Slayer moved calmly to where the elf was leaning to look out. He stuck his helmeted head out, past the curtain, turning in the direction they were going. 

I see; so that’s it. 

Beyond a copse of small trees, built on top of an imposing hill so it appeared to glare down upon them, was a mansion. Yes, they had said the merchant ran quite a profitable business. The house looked brand-new, a spectacular building. 

Goblin Slayer grunted as he looked up at the house, then asked flatly, “What do you think?” 

“I think I’m not the person you usually ask that question,” High Elf Archer replied. Not that I care. She likewise looked outside, her ears twitching. “Vineyards to the west. That’s why the house is here. There’s a slope down from the mansion, then a river to the east…” 

“A river?” 

“I can hear water,” High Elf Archer said as if this should have been patently obvious. 

“Hmm,” Goblin Slayer responded, digging through his pouch and producing a map. 

It was a sketch of the immediate area, of course. They would have to investigate themselves to get the finer details of the terrain, but—ah yes, there was the river. To the east, indeed. It ran into the water town as well, a branch of the river on which they had traveled south to the elf homeland. 

“Anyway, if they’re gonna show up, I bet it’ll be from the west,” High Elf Archer said, ducking back into the carriage as Goblin Slayer studied the map. The elf felt that this was not really her job. She was happy to improvise once she saw what things were like on the ground; she didn’t think too hard before she got there. 

“Would the vineyards not make for a good position?” 

“Position?” she repeated dumbly, caught off guard by the question. Then she said, “Ohh, like a strategic position,” as the meaning sunk in. She nodded. “Good question. I think the goblins are too short for it to make much difference.” 

“I see…” 

The grapevines were kept trimmed and arranged in neat rows to allow for work to go on. Almost like the teeth of a comb , Goblin Slayer thought. If there was a road prepared for them, could the goblins be expected to march stupidly straight down it? 

“…We won’t be able to use fire,” he reflected. 

“’Course not!” someone said, and “Of course we can’t!” said someone else. But who had spoken? 

Goblin Slayer cleared the doubts from his head and watched the scenery flow by. He was surprised by the humanlike figure he saw standing on the grounds. At first, he took it for a guard or perhaps a servant, but it wasn’t. Armed with a weapon and capped with a helmet, it was a hastily built scarecrow. 

Such things might have some use in the night, but in the day, they were largely meaningless. And to goblins, night was day. 

Would it throw the goblins off or put them on their guard? Goblin Slayer considered it for a moment, then shook his head. Neither would serve much purpose. The assault would come in early evening. That was how goblins were. And once they were on the attack, they never imagined that they could lose. 

Then again, many adventurers were the same way. 

§ 

“You’re here! From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for coming…!” 

When the party disembarked from the carriage, they were greeted by the wine merchant’s son, who had returned a bit ahead of them. When they followed him through the door, however, what they discovered was a complete betrayal of their expectations. 

“Hrk…” 

“Well now… My goodness…” 

Goblin Slayer stopped in the doorway, while beside him Dwarf Shaman spoke quite in spite of himself. 

The yard had been neatly kept, along with the winding pathway through it, and then there was the thick oaken door. But when they entered the salon that formed the front of the house, they found it a wreck. Bare lumber and building materials could be seen around, and the walls were repainted but only partway. One corner of the room was occupied by discarded furniture, which had been abandoned with only a large cloth over it to keep the dust off. Priestess wasn’t sure whether the place was in the process of being built or falling apart. 

“So you’re…still working on it?” she finally asked. 

“I said we couldn’t worry about reputation anymore, but we wanted the outside to look nice at least,” the merchant’s son answered. “My father hired a carpenter to refurbish the place, but he ran off on us.” 

“Gaaaah! An awful thing, this.” Cut wood and carved stone, as opposed to raw wood and untouched stone, were the province of the dwarves. The shaman was incensed. He looked like an elf confronted with a brutally hacked-down forest—and probably felt like one, too. His face was the picture of gloom, and his voice was thick with compassion for this house, which had been unable to fulfill its role. “Waste of a good building…” 

“But convenient for us,” Goblin Slayer said, putting a hand to one poorly assembled wall. He seemed pleased to discover just how thin it was. “We’ll punch through the walls. There will be many foes to face. With this as a base, it will be best if we can access the interior easily.” 

“What, planning to turn this place into a fortress?” Dwarf Shaman said, half joking and half concerned. 

“No,” Goblin Slayer replied, shaking his head. “A branch castle.” 

“Mm, a time-tested tactic for defensive engagements,” Lizard Priest said, making his typical strange hands-together gesture. The lizardman knew more of battle than any other race in this party and could become quite loquacious when it came to strategy and tactics. He waved his long tail, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth, as he looked Goblin Slayer in the face. “It is difficult to say what the forces of Chaos may want here, but I doubt it is simply control or conquest.” 

“Are goblins capable of thinking that much in the first place?” 

“Not they, perhaps, but those above them. Thus, we may be able to guess their aim.” 

“Hmm,” Goblin Slayer mused and considered. What was here? “The grapes and the wine. And the building.” 

“Yes, supplies they may obtain through this theft. But I think stealing provisions was only incidental to their main objective.” 

“The water town… A beachhead, is that what you would call this?” 

“Most likely. But I doubt even that is their primary goal. This operation has many facets. Meaning—” 

The two of them put their heads together, speaking of battle with familiarity. As the ideas flew, it was all Priestess could do to keep up with them. It was intimidating, but inexperienced as she was, even a conversation like this was a valuable lesson for her. 

I have to say my piece, though. 

“Um,” she said with a sweet little cough, drawing the piercing gazes of the two discussers. Even though she was blushing red from the attention, Priestess hesitantly put a hand in the air. “Shouldn’t we run that sort of thing by the quest giver first…?” 

“…Hrk.” 

“A wise notion.” 

Goblin Slayer just grunted, and Lizard Priest rolled his eyes merrily in his head. High Elf Archer, who had been listening to the conversation without much interest, tried to suppress a laugh, but there was still a soft, bell-like chuckle. 

Dwarf Shaman could only sigh at the scene, and he turned to the quest giver. “You heard ’em. All right by you, sir?” 

“Yes, it’s quite all right.” 

The answer came before the wine merchant’s son could speak, from the top of the staircase that reached up out of the main room. The voice was like a tightly stretched bowstring, and it belonged to an elderly woman. 

She wore clothing that was less fancy or elegant than it was simply restrained, and her ash-gray hair was tied high on her head. She must once have been a robust beauty, but now she was thin and wasted, attended by the passage of many years. She showed no shame in this, though, as she descended the staircase with sure steps—and that very forcefulness was her beauty now. 

Priestess swallowed and sat up straighter. The old woman seemed to accept even that gesture as a matter of course. 

“There is only one thing left to the honor of this house; all else is trivial.” 

“Mother…” 

“Quiet, child.” The woman’s voice was full of age, but her words were strong. She fixed a sharp, very much appraising eye on the adventurers, looking from one to the next. “Our family may fall to its knees, but it will never fail to rise.” Perhaps that was what gave her such conviction even in these trying times. 

Is this what it means to have a way of life? To have style? 

Priestess thought of the words she’d heard in that den of rogues. She still only dimly understood them. 

“As it is in business, so it shall be in war. I expect you to earn your rewards, adventurers.” The old woman gave an elegant bow, then disappeared upstairs, almost gliding away. She didn’t make so much as a footstep, no doubt explaining how she had entered without their noticing. 

“Man, you humans are fascinating.” High Elf Archer grinned from beside Priestess. There was just a hint of admiration in her voice. “I’ve gotta show that kid my best side, considering I’m older than her.” 

“But she’s certainly a lot older than me ,” Priestess said—and that, to her, seemed like a reason to make sure she acted in a way she could be proud of. 

The woman had told them to earn their rewards. That was, in its own way, an expression of trust in them. And trust was just as valuable as a bag of battered old coins the village headman had collected or the gold produced by a merchant from his safe. 

To have a father, to have a mother, to have a child, to have friends, to have work, to live life day by day. 

I’m pretty sure that’s what it means… Right? 

Priestess directed the silent question at no one in particular—perhaps at the Earth Mother in heaven. Of course, no answer was forthcoming. But that was just fine. 

“Anyway, let Orcbolg and his buddies worry about the details.” High Elf Archer was suddenly all easy amusement. “I just shoot things.” 

“Now just a minute, Long-Ears. When we’re this shorthanded, even an anvil can be pressed into service.” There was a sound of objection (“ Bah! ”), which Dwarf Shaman summarily ignored as he turned to the wine merchant’s son. “One more time, sir—how do you want to handle this?” 

“My mother gave her approval,” the boy said with a pained smile. “Who am I to contradict her?” 

“Then it’s settled.” Goblin Slayer nodded. And he immediately started calculating in his mind. All of them were with him. And his hand was in his pocket. He felt a wave of gratitude for all of this. “I will let you decide which walls to break through and which to leave. Make it easy to get in and out.” 

“I’m your man. But we still have that problem I mentioned about being shorthanded.” Dwarf Shaman sounded less than pleased. All they had, he explained, was one anvil. (“ Pretty soon we’re gonna have one dead dwarf! ” High Elf Archer threatened with a shake of her fist.) Then they were off and arguing, and Priestess realized how long it felt since she had last seen this familiar scene. 

She was just deciding whether and how to intervene when Goblin Slayer nodded again. “I wish to borrow any servants who are still here and any leftover timber and tools. Whatever we use, you may deduct the cost from our reward.” 

“All right. There isn’t much left, but a few of our servants have been good enough to stay with us. Reliable people.” There was a note of pride in the young man’s voice amid the self-recrimination. “They’re at your disposal—as am I. Do with them as you see fit. You’re a specialist, right?” 

“I suppose.” Goblin Slayer nodded again. Goblin Slayer. It was something like five, six, seven years now since they had started calling him that. No one could match the time he had spent hunting goblins. 

You’re stupid and a fool and have no luck, so make sure you think when you act! That’s what his teacher had told him. 

“In that case, please bring me the person who said they saw the goblin tracks. I wish to confirm it for myself.” 

“Yes, sir. Right away.” 

Then, after a few more conversations, Goblin Slayer began to act. 

High Elf Archer, Lizard Priest, Dwarf Shaman, and Priestess each moved to fulfill their respective roles. Time was short, hands were few, enemies were many, there was much to defend—and failure was not an option. 

The situation was dire. But Goblin Slayer was calm. 

After all, that was how it always was. 

§ 

Maids pattered this way and that, while servers rushed about. All who were left, the high and the low, cooks and serfs and everyone else, threw themselves into their work. The great, empty house rang with the sound of construction tools, life returning to the halls once again. It might have been an inspiring scene—if one didn’t think about why it was occurring. 

“This ’ere’s the tracks I saw,” the old servant man, leaning on a rusty spear in lieu of a staff, told Goblin Slayer. “The demons’ magic sent me flying,” he said, tapping his wooden leg with a smile on his wrinkled face. “But the master and mistress were kind enough to give me a job here, y’see. Wouldn’t be much of a man if I didn’t repay them as they deserved.” 

“I see.” With a quick nod, Goblin Slayer crouched down to inspect the indicated patch of earth. 

They were at the far-off path that wound its way among the vines near the house. The leaves and branches of the almost treelike vines twined overhead, and he could just make out hideous footprints among the dappled shadows. As he counted them up from behind his visor, he suddenly thought of spring two years before. 

There had been more of them then. 

“Are the tracks left every day?” 

“Nay, just once, good sir. Ever since we put up that scarecrow, the little devils have kept their distance.” 

“But things progressed enough that you called adventurers.” 

“Well, surely we did.” The old man’s face, no doubt worthy of a warrior once, was tight as he nodded. “Goblin scouts, they were. That lot, you get in their way, they’ll come charging in just to get you back.” 

“Yes.” 

That is certainly true. 

Goblins considered it only natural that others should be attacked by them, stolen from by them. To be interrupted in these pursuits clearly angered them; they saw it as an affront. So there would certainly be an assault, just as he had imagined. So far as it went, nothing was unusual. 

The issue was that scarecrow. 

Goblin Slayer stood and looked at it in the slanting light of the sun. It had a weapon in his hand, wore a helmet and armor, a brave warrior to keep away goblins and crows—a warrior stuffed with straw. 

The goblins could see at night, and if they got close enough, they would most likely realize what it was—so how good was their vision, exactly? From far enough away, would they look and think that the makings of a great army awaited them? 

They didn’t erase their footprints. That suggests their leader is a goblin as well. 

If they were really serving as foot soldiers for the forces of Chaos, they would have been given some kind of equipment. There was always the possibility they would attempt some trickery; he had to be prepared. 

“…I wish to see the river as well.” 

“Yessir. Go around back and down the slope, and you’ll be right there.” 

“The slope?” 

“A levee, you might call it. The master several generations ago built it up alongside the river.” 

I see. Goblin Slayer nodded and stood. The sun filtering through the vines was turning red, so it looked like he was showered in a rain of blood. Hmph , Goblin Slayer snorted, and then from his item pack, he pulled out the pouch he had been working with in the carriage. “This is something I prepared. Please put one of them in the middle of each of the farm roads.” He gave the bag to the servant, then after a moment’s thought said, “You may get someone to help you.” 

“Heh, even I could handle this work alone, sir. Leave it to me.” The old man grinned, then walked away with the bag. A short distance away, though, he stopped. “Ah, sir, what d’ye plan to do about the scarecrow? Shall we pull it up?” 

“No,” Goblin Slayer said after a moment. “Leave it there.” 

“Yessir.” 

Goblin Slayer watched the old man go, then turned his helmet. 

In the end, in the grand scheme of things, this was a tiny battle. An unimportant struggle over a miniscule corner of the game board. The enemy were merely foot soldiers of the force of Chaos, and they themselves were only adventurers. No doubt the players up in heaven were interested in bigger things as they rolled their dice. Whether he won or lost here, the scales of heaven would change but little. 

“But what do I care?” 

If there was some problem with any of this, Goblin Slayer didn’t know what it was. 

§ 

“G-good work, everyone!” seemed to be Priestess’s constant refrain as she rushed through the house. She knew nothing of carpentry and wasn’t suited for prolonged bouts of physical labor. High Elf Archer had a handle on watching the perimeter, and when it came to the daily life of the house, the servants knew more than Priestess did. 

That left just one thing to do. Priestess covered her hair with a cloth, put on an apron, washed her hands, and stood in the kitchen wielding a knife. One thing she was quite accustomed to from her days at the Temple of the Earth Mother was making food for many mouths. 

Something like stew would not be suited for work like this; there was no time to stop and eat. Happily, ingredients were plentiful. More than enough to fill the stomachs of everyone in the house. 

All right, then. 

She appropriated old bread to use as plates, loaded it with other ingredients, put another piece of bread on top, and cut it roughly. She wasn’t sure what they would all make of sandwiches, these not being typical fare for nobles or merchants, but— 

“At least they can eat them while they work…!” 

She bowed and thanked the maids helping her in the kitchen, then gave each one a basket. 

At any given time, there was something that every person could do. At this exact moment, Priestess felt this was all she could offer, and indeed she was right. 

Dwarf Shaman, who had been busy giving instructions to the various servants, grinned and promptly began to share the food around. Lizard Priest, who had been carrying timber, rolled his eyes happily, gulping down a sandwich with cheese on it in a single bite. 

High Elf Archer jumped down lightly from the roof, took a sandwich with a quick “Thanks!” and bounded back up. 

Thank you were indeed the words on everybody’s lips, from the maids to the manservants to the old man with the wooden leg. It made Priestess very happy. It was very encouraging to be of help. 

She pattered from room to room, finally arriving at the innermost chamber. 

She swallowed. Took a deep breath. Her small chest rose and fell as she knocked. 

“You may come in.” The voice was clear and commanding. 

“P-pardon me very much, then,” Priestess said and opened the door. 

Inside were shelves lined with the biggest books Priestess had ever seen in her life. Perhaps this place was a study. 

Priestess looked around, a bit overwhelmed, entering the room as quietly as possible. The wine merchant’s son sat at a massive writing desk, jotting something down, while the old woman was seated in a chair, a book open in front of her. She didn’t look up as Priestess approached but said sharply, “Ah, this is that food—the one they say is so popular with that noble who loved to gamble.” 

“Mother…” The young man stopped writing. He stood up and went over to Priestess, thanking her with a bow. “We have our own battles to fight. We should be grateful for provisions.” 

Perhaps the remark was directed at his mother. “I know that,” the elderly woman replied testily. 

“That noble was very diligent, no fooling around whatsoever,” she added. “This should be just fine to eat while you work.” 

Priestess considered for a beat, then decided to reply simply, “Yes.” She didn’t want to shame these people by bursting their carefully constructed facade. “Things are going according to plan,” she continued. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a little noisy…” 

“Battle is a noisy thing,” the young man said. He took a sandwich from the basket and bit into it with a smile and a remark of, “Ahh, that’s good!” It was not a very refined moment for him, but it was also heartfelt, and it somehow suited him. 

“But, sir… Battle?” Priestess said, tilting her head. 

“For what follows,” the wine merchant’s son replied. “Last wills and testaments, just in case the worst should happen. Strategies we can follow if we survive. There’s always much to do before a fight.” 

If you put your all into a fight and won, well and good, but if you spent yourself so much in the battle that you didn’t survive the aftermath, it defeated the point. Think ahead, then further ahead, then further still: That was just what businessmen did. 

“My goodness, but this truly is tasty. Won’t you try one, Mother?” 

“One needs more than victory in battle to survive. Thank you for your effort,” the old woman said at length. She didn’t deign to touch the food while Priestess was present, but she at least had this word of appreciation in the end. 

“Th-think nothing of it!” Priestess replied, smiling, and she politely bowed her head and withdrew from the room. 

When the door was safely shut behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone, each and every one of them, whosoever they were, was doing what they could. That included her and the two in that room. Each simply doing what was most obvious for them to do. It had been only a brief time since the answer had emerged, yet now she laughed to remember what trivial things she had worried about. 

When Goblin Slayer gets back from his patrol, I’ll make sure he eats, too. 

As she went about with thoughts like these, the sun set and night came before she knew it. 

And then the moment finally arrived. 

§ 

The twin moons and the stars looked down on the horizon, from beyond which came an unsettling pounding of drums. The little dark shadows they assumed were coming could not be seen from their vantage point on the second floor of the mansion; the enemy was hidden by the stubby foliage of the vineyard. 

High Elf Archer twitched her ears, bracing one foot against the improvised crenellation where the window frame had been hacked away to provide a hole through which she could shoot. “They’re out there—a lot of them. Just goblins…I think, but I hear armor rattling.” 

“As we expected.” 

“Wish they would’ve surprised us.” 

“I agree.” 

Goblin Slayer gave High Elf Archer, who had her great bow at the ready, a gentle pat on the shoulder, then moved to one side almost as if he was gliding. The wall had been smashed through to provide easy ingress and egress, while the resultant debris had been cleared aside so it wouldn’t get in the way. 

The director of all this work had been none other than Dwarf Shaman, now crouched before the arrow port. He held his bag of catalysts close as he gazed out over the battlefield. At his feet lay a pile of ammunition: shards of a broken brick. He took a swig of wine, wiped the droplets from his beard, and laughed with his typical amusement. “Right now, Beard-cutter. Mind you don’t slip up.” 

“Our first moves need to be in concert. I’ll leave the timing to you.” 

“You got it. We’ve been at this together for two years.” 

Two years for a human. Two years for dwarf. Two years for an elf and a lizardman. How much difference there was between all those two years, Goblin Slayer did not know. 

When he said nothing, Dwarf Shaman cackled again. Goblin Slayer left the room with that sound still echoing behind him. 

Doors that had formerly blocked off rooms from one another or separated rooms from the hallway had all been detached and were now leaning against various walls. In a worst-case scenario, they might have to go to ground inside the house. The doors would make useful shields in a pinch. 

In the hallway, beside the doors stood the servants, all looking thoroughly alarmed, armed with a motley array of weapons. Weapons , in fact, might have been a generous term; with the exception of some swords and spears pulled from a storehouse, many of the servants were armed only with slingshots or with small bows such as were used for hunting. If the battle reached these people, it would truly be the end—death might be the best outcome they could hope for. 

Goblin Slayer spotted the old soldier from earlier among the assembled men and women and nodded at him. “What’s your status?” 

“I handed everything out. Don’t worry y’self!” 

“Have a few people watch the river as well. You never know.” 

“This isn’t my first war. I know what to do.” 

His bravado suited a soldier. He edged over to an arrow port and stared out at the river. 

Goblin Slayer looked at him and the other servants, then quickly descended the stairs. 

It’s important to see things for oneself, to confirm with one’s own eyes. 

Was that something his master had taught him or something he had learned in the course of his adventures? Or perhaps Heavy Warrior had said it. When one became a party leader or the commander of an army, it behooved him to consider how to give his comrades peace of mind. Thus, he must not become frantic or show panic. Not fear, either. Nor excitement or agitation. 

Goblin Slayer had never been so thankful for his helmet as he was this day. He had no confidence that he could present such a front. How must he look to Priestess? And his other companions? Guild Girl kept pointing out that he was a Silver-ranked adventurer. But what was that? 

But I am Goblin Slayer. 

That was how he, keenly aware of the rank tag dangling at his neck, defined himself: just a few short words. He was Goblin Slayer, and this was a goblin hunt. He had only to do exactly that. It was what he was good at. 

“Goblin Slayer, sir!” As he arrived at the front entrance, he was met by Priestess, jogging out of the kitchen. She had discarded her apron and traded the cloth over her hair for her usual cap, and in her hands was her sounding staff. “The goblins…!” 

“I know,” he said with a nod. A perfectly typical gesture for him. “Is everything ready?” 

“Yes, sir!” she responded, and in a complete change from the past several days, she looked bright and happy. Her expression was of course tinged with anxiety at the forthcoming fight with the goblins, but she was clearly different. 

Hmph, truly hopeless, this person. 

“…? Is something the matter?” Priestess asked. 

“No,” Goblin Slayer replied with a shake of his head. He turned toward the front door. “You remember the arrangements?” 

“Yes, I’ve got it!” 

“Good, then.” 

For all the detached doors and broken window frames in the house, this front door alone they had left in place. If the house was a branch castle, this was the castle gate. If it came to it, they could even bar the door. Lizard Priest stood beside this great oaken slab, the key to their defense, with his arms crossed and looking positively like he was enjoying himself. “Ahem, now, milord Goblin Slayer. This is the moment of truth—do you need more soldiers?” 

“We don’t have enough people, but I wish to leave some spells available.” 

“Understood, of course.” Lizard Priest swung his long neck from side to side, worked his claws, and generally limbered up his body. On reflection, of late he had not—either on the snowy mountain or among the zombies—had a chance to simply tear an enemy limb from limb on level ground. Goblin Slayer wasn’t sure how much that might pain a lizardman. 

“What do you think?” 

What really mattered was that this giant was the most experienced military strategist of the party. Knowing that, it was easy to trust their lives to him, though he bore no more elaborate title. 

“Well, now,” Lizard Priest said, rolling his eyes in his head. “If all goes as intended, I should think it will be very much business as usual.” 

“I see.” 

“However, a battlefield such as this may produce certain surprises…” Lizard Priest spoke with calm composure that suggested an old hand at battle, then he made his strange palms-together gesture. “The two of you should best think, not of killing, but rather of surviving. I believe that would also improve the results of this combat.” 

“All right,” Priestess responded. She hadn’t expected her voice to have quite such a squeak, and she put a hand to her mouth, her face reddening. 

“A difficult proposition,” Goblin Slayer grumbled. “I have no intention of sending any of them home alive.” Then he placed both hands on the great oaken door. He shoved it open, the door scraping audibly along the floor. 

In the end, it was no different from delving into a cave. Or meeting the goblins as they assaulted a village. Having reached this moment, he saw that Dwarf Shaman had been right: He had been uncommonly measured. 

And the things he couldn’t do himself, he had entrusted to the run. 

All this behavior could hardly be said to be very adventurer-like. But neither did it resemble a rogue. For his part, he believed that he fully accepted who and what he was. Everything he had done, he brought to this situation. That being the case, there was one thing to do. He didn’t need to ask anyone else. 

But just the same, Goblin Slayer said it out loud. His words were as sharp as a dagger in the night as the twin moons gleamed down. His voice was as cold as the wind blowing through a cave in the depths of the earth. 

“We’re going to kill all the goblins.” 

§ 

“GOOROGGOORG!!” 

“GOORGB!! GBBOORGBB!!” 

They were emaciated and dried-out. Their feverish starvation could only be sated here, here alone, they were sure; they had no doubts. 

If nothing else, these bastards had reneged on a contract with them. That was what the high and mighty visitors had said. So the goblins could beat them, hurt them, stomp on them, kill and rape them, and they had no right to complain. Let them weep and apologize, there would be no forgiveness—and if they died, it only proved their weakness. 

This spear-wielding straw man they put up, a silly little trick, showed their foolishness. 

“GBOOOGGB!!” 

“GOGB!!” 

The goblins cackled as they kicked down the scarecrow standing watch over the vineyard. They spat on it, tore it apart, then jumped up and down on top of it. 

Here was an idea! Whoever they caught, they would spear on this stick, and set them up at the entrance to the forest. Then the humans would know that these grapes and these vines and everything here belonged to the goblins. Those humans seemed to think the vines were theirs, but they were wrong, wrong, wrong! 

“GOROOGBB! GOBR…?” 

Then one goblin who had been lost in these vicious fantasies suddenly shook. He stumbled, feeling like the sky and the ground were switching places, and then he collapsed. 

The earth, of course, had not budged; it was the goblin who had tumbled. He didn’t know it when his companions around him started to fall down one after another, too. He had no idea when an arrow from afar pierced his spinal cord and ended his life as easily as if he were drifting off to a dream. There was no pain, no suffering—it was an awfully good death for a goblin. From that perspective at least, the hail of arrows that came in from a strange angle was a great mercy indeed. 

It was not so, though, for the goblins watching from a distance. 

“GOROGB?!” 

“GGBB?!” 

Magic! This is magic! 

The goblins began gibbering in agitation. These cheaters, giving themselves an advantage. 

Wrapped in smoke, shot through by arrows, the goblins drew back down the road in a rush. 

This didn’t really mean anything. The guys who got shot were just idiots. If we take a different path— 

“GOR? GOOGB?!” 

But even then, the goblins could see one road after another being cut off by ribbons of smoke. Magic smoke everywhere. But they were learning. If they stayed out of the smoke, they would be fine. 

“GOOROGB!!” 

“GRRB! OOBOGRR!!” 

With clubs and hatchets to hand, the goblins pressed down the one road that had no smoke. They would never, ever forgive the son of a bitch who’d pulled this. They would break every bone in his body, drag him around by the hair, jab a spear up his ass, and put him on display. 

The goblins were angry. 

Their tiny heads were completely full of anger and hatred—in other words, everything was as normal. 

And so everything went as usual once the goblin hunt began. 

§ 

“Ugh, Orcbolg has the nastiest ideas,” High Elf Archer grumbled as she loose one arrow after another through the port in the second floor, each one loaded with embers. 

Long ears twitching, she read the night air, her bolts flying true to their destination on the footpath between the vineyards. There, a simple fuse awaited, easily evident to a high elf’s eyes. 

“I got it burning, just like you said. But what’s all that smoke?” 

“A smoke screen created with a combination of dried wolf dung, sulfur, wood ash, pine needles, and reeds,” Dwarf Shaman informed the irritated elf as he took a swig of wine. This was a wine merchant’s house, after all, and he had said everything was at their disposal. Dwarf Shaman needed enough energy and focus to control his spells, true—but as far as the alcohol that was his catalyst, there was an endless supply of it, and a dwarf with wine is invincible. 

Dwarf Shaman began to weave his spell with an energetic exhortation to the sprites around him: “ Drink deep, sing loud, let the spirits lead you! Sing loud, step quick, and when to sleep they see you, may a jar of fire wine be in your dreams to greet you! ” 

His Stupor spell descended in a mist over the battlefield—not quite the fog of war but certainly stupefying to the goblins. As they stepped onto the path between the vineyards, their consciousness grew dim, making them easy pickings for High Elf Archer. 

The goblins fled in fear, looking right and left, but the other paths were likewise billowing with fog, and they had only two choices. One was to charge down the final available path; the other was to run with their tails between their legs. Most chose the former. After all, they hadn’t been hurt themselves, and they knew they were not going to die yet. 

“With a goblin level of brains, not much difference between my spell and a smoke screen.” 

“So you’re saying your precious spell and Orcbolg’s smoke toy are on the same level?” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Dwarf Shaman sniffed disinterestedly. 

“Well, it was sarcasm,” High Elf Archer sniffed back, releasing an arrow in the meantime. 

“If what Beard-cutter says is true, that lot can see in the dark but not through smoke.” 

“I seem to recall saying he couldn’t use fire…” 

High Elf Archer herself could not see so well through the smoke. But any sufficiently advanced skill is indistinguishable from magic. If she could sense where something was in any way, she could hit it, even with her eyes closed. She could almost feel the arrows lodge themselves in the distant goblins after their long yet brief flight through the dark. High Elf Archer allowed herself a smile as she pulled arrows from her quiver and shot them as fast as she could. 

She had several bundles of the bud-tipped bolts lying at her feet. She didn’t need to worry about running out of ammunition even at her pace; it was a situation she was very pleased with. 

“Huh, for once I finally have enough arrows. I love being able to shoot with abandon!” 

“Hey, Anvil,” Dwarf Shaman said dubiously. 

“What?” she growled. 

“Where’d you get all these arrows anyway?” 

“I didn’t get them, exactly. I just asked the little ones around me for help.” 

She said, “Watch” and reached out through the crenellation, speaking ancient words that only the high elves knew—whereupon a branch of a tree growing near the window trembled as if with pleasure and stretched to meet her. In the blink of an eye, the extended branch had produced a hard, sharp bud: clearly an arrow. 

“Thank you,” High Elf Archer whispered, taking the bud-tipped branch and nocking it into her bow. “See?” 

“Well, now……” Dwarf Shaman sighed, deep and earnest, and then said words that very rarely left his lips: “I guess you are useful sometimes!” 

“Sometimes, my foot! I’m always helpful!” High Elf Archer’s ears stood up proudly, then she readied three arrows at once in her bow and let them loose. 

§ 

“How many have you killed?” 

“Three, as of that one just now.” 

Along the final footpath, Goblin Slayer and his companions lay in wait for the goblins. Lamps were lined up at their feet, Priestess crouching beside them. There was a scratching sound as she struck flint against metal to get a spark and then a soft fwoosh as the lamp caught. 

“There, it’s ready.” 

“Good.” 

Priestess looked up, holding her sounding staff firmly in both hands. Anxiety was evident on her face, but despite the tightness at her mouth, she was smiling, a look of bravery. How had it been when they’d first met in the spring two years before? Goblin Slayer considered, then shook his head. Her actions had saved his life. Ever since, he had regarded this slight young girl as someone to be relied upon. 

Perhaps Priestess noticed his gaze on her behind his visor. Her eyes shifted, unsure where to look. 

“U-um…?” 

“It’s nothing,” Goblin Slayer replied. “Follow the plan.” 

“R-right… I’ve g-got it!” She nodded fervently; he knew he did not need to give her more detailed instructions. 

“Ha-ha-ha,” Lizard Priest laughed, observing the exchange. “Has she finally broken through her shell?” 

“Perhaps” was all he said. “But I’m counting on you when the fighting gets thick. I don’t believe I can take care of them all by myself.” 

“Understood and very understood. The paragon of animals has only four limbs and so just two arms. If that does not suffice, simply borrow more,” Lizard Priest said, then assumed a fighting posture. “As for my kind, we have claws and claws and fangs and tail at our disposal, so you may fight with no concern for what will happen.” 

Lizardmen’s thinking might have remained obscure to him, but of their strength there was no question. Goblin Slayer nodded, then took up his own fighting stance. 

At last there came a pounding of disorderly footsteps, no discipline or rhythm to them at all. Goblins might all be of similar build, but they still ran at slightly different speeds from one to the next. Obviously, it was not the brave who came in the forefront but only those who were quickest—and most thoughtless. The other goblins followed after, for they loathed the idea that the fastest might get all the spoils. 

Thus, it was that a goblin at the very front saw some prey. A young woman, standing next to some ridiculously large object. 

The goblin sniffed; he could smell the woman on the air, her youth. It mingled with an aroma of the forest. 

“GOROOGOBB!!” 

The goblin was quite vocal as the nasty smile spread over his face; what do you suppose his words meant? That’s mine , perhaps. Or: Hey, a woman! Or: Everyone, follow me! Or perhaps it was simply a war cry. 

Whatever, the result was the same. The goblin assumed things would go his way, that he would dive past the lizardman and get the girl—and with that in mind, he ran forward. Several others followed behind and several more behind them. They were not going to be late to the fun. They wouldn’t let that fool in front have her all to himself. Mine, all mine! 

At that instant, Goblin Slayer barreled in from the side. 

“GROG?!” 

The goblins with the sharpest intuition turned immediately toward him. In the dark, they could see him coming. A cheap-looking metal helmet and grimy leather armor. A sword of a strange length, a round shield tied to his arm: a bizarre adventurer. 

“GOROOGB—” 

“One…!” 

The goblin’s wide-open mouth was suddenly full of sword, slashing through his tongue, silencing him forever. The little devil tumbled backward. Goblin Slayer slammed into the corpse, sending it flying and pulling his sword free in a single motion. Then he carried the momentum into another swing… 

“Two!” 

“GGBB?!” 

He drove the weapon into the throat of one of them coming from the left. It pierced clear through to the spine, and the blade bent. He slammed the goblin with his shield as it hacked blood and froth, grabbing the hatchet that fell from its hand. 

“Three!” 

“GOOBOG?!” 

He swung upward with it to cleave through the chin of the next goblin, splitting its face in half. Taking a step back, he deflected the spray of brains and blood with his shield. 

I was right—these weapons are of excellent quality , Goblin Slayer reflected as he shook the blood from the hatchet. At least, they were high quality for goblin weapons. There was still no question that they belonged to the forces of Chaos. 

Very convenient. 

After all, they were the ones providing his supply of weapons. It just meant taking a little extra care. He found his footing with a shuffle step as he prepared to meet the next enemy. 

“GOOROG!!” 

“GOBOG! GOOGOBRBG!!” 

Of course, the goblins had hardly given all their attention to this pathetic adventurer. If anything, to them he was a mere obstacle, a mere obstacle to overcome on their way to the girl. 

“O blood of my forefathers that courses through my veins! Behold your descendant’s deeds in battle!!” 

This meant they didn’t immediately register the other impediment to their objective. 

One was swept aside with a great slap of Lizard Priest’s tail, then pounced upon where it fell and raked with his claws. The goblin was torn apart before he could even scream, his body reduced to a ragged heap. That was one, though he himself never knew it. Buried by the descendant of the fearsome nagas, terrible to goblins. 

“Ahh, I have come near unto the ways of my fathers! All I need now is to breathe—oop!” 

One of the cleverer little devils had taken advantage of the death of his foolish comrade, vaulting off the body toward Lizard Priest. The dagger in his hand dripped with something that gleamed slickly in the light, clearly some insidious poison. 

“Hmph, a poisoned blade!” 

“GOROGB?!” 

But he was dealing with the great and powerful warrior-monk Lizard Priest, who aspired to sit among the nagas. His scales easily deflected the blade, his fangs sinking into the head of the goblin (flush with victory) before he knew what had happened. 

There was a hideous crunch of flesh and bones. 

Lizard Priest spat the creature out without swallowing a bite, giving the twitching corpse a kick for good measure. “Dangerous indeed, that one. Am I correct that you have not yet been gifted the Cure miracle?” 

“Well, er…” Priestess smiled awkwardly at Lizard Priest, his tone completely conversational despite the spectacular battle raging around them. Truly it was said that even formerly grim memories meant nothing before the heroes of the scaled race. Priestess was all too used to being flustered with surprise by this point; even she was starting to think it was a little silly. “I hope and expect I’ll receive it, eventually!” 

“Mm, that is the spirit. It is through overcoming hardship and adversity that we proceed along the road and indeed change…!” 

Still, was there any cleric so high in level that they should learn from him ? Priestess brushed away the passing thought, steadied her breathing, and gradually elevated her awareness. One had to be calm of heart when praying—but one must also bind one’s soul to heaven above in order for one’s prayer to reach the gods. To achieve the necessary concentration, she clasped her sounding staff with both hands. 

The goblins became far from her—and Lizard Priest and even Goblin Slayer. The world, herself, and the gods. The sound of rolling dice clattered in her ears. Breath: in, out. 

And just as she began to lose herself in the great sea of all things… 

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, by the power of the land grant safety to we who are weak!” 

Suddenly, the goblins found their way blocked, as if by a divine miracle. 

“GOOROG?!” 

“GGOBBOGOB!!” 

The goblins, especially those who found they could go no farther, were thoroughly confused. They charged forward, not wanting to be left behind, only to discover a wall of light in their path. They slammed their heads into the wall, bumping their noses and complaining loudly. 

But it was those in front, oblivious to what had happened, who were in a truly fatal predicament. 

“Four…!” 

“GBROGB?!” 

Goblin Slayer flung a hand ax, splitting open the skull of one goblin as he advanced forward. He raised his shield, trusting to the weight of himself and his equipment as he slammed into his next victim. 

“GBBBG?!” 

“That makes five!” He stole the dagger from the hand of the flailing goblin, driving it into the creature’s throat to finish it off. He extricated the weapon, stood up, and then threw it back behind himself in a single motion. 

“GOOBGR?!” 

“Six—how does it look?!” 

In a pitched battle, he was never going to stop all of them. The ones that ran past Goblin Slayer, heading back to their comrades, were met by Lizard Priest. 

“Eeeeyaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!” 

The spectacular primal bellow was the only answer to his question. Lizard Priest, practically become one of his terrible forebears, the nagas, was using all four of his limbs to the utmost. Any goblin that got within reach of him was eviscerated as if with a Blade Cusinart. 

“I think… I think we’re okay!” 

It was Priestess who supplied the more articulate response in between her desperate prayers. Clinging to her staff, reaching out as best she could to the gods in heaven, she was all too aware that she was the key to this operation. 

Goblin Slayer, having confirmed that they were both still in one piece, nodded. “Do it!” 

He took a sword from the corpse of a goblin sprouting a dagger from its throat, spinning it overhead. Somebody whistled between their fingers, and there followed a hail of stones from the mansion. They struck the goblins on the other side of the Protection barrier, the creatures screeching and crying. 

Most likely, several would be killed. But not all of them. He didn’t care— This was about battlefield control. The servants were amateurs anyway. He wouldn’t want them to accidentally hit an ally in the confusion of battle. But still, humans were the best slingers in the world. With the Protection barrier to aim at, these were fearsome indeed. 

I wonder if I was able to whistle well enough. Priestess was momentarily distracted by the thought but then hurriedly brushed it away. 

When they had been conceiving this plan, High Elf Archer had wanted to take this part. It was about buying time, causing confusion, and then during that confusion— 

“Seven, eight—nine!” 

“GGOOROOGB?!” 

The first goblins to leap out in front met their ends at the hands of two adventurers. 

More than ten, less than twenty. Such was the pile of corpses Goblin Slayer stood upon like a conquering ruler. He knew what he had to do. He used a goblin loincloth to wipe away the monstrous blood that stained his blade. 

Keep his breathing level. Check for wounds. No problem. But even so, he had no time to rest. 

“Wall!” 

“Yes, sir!” 

Priestess’s answer was instantaneous; she withdrew her consciousness from the Protection prayer, returning it to the present. The wall of light vanished like the frost of night in the morning sun. 

“GOOGOB!!” 

“GBBG! GOOROGB!!” 

The goblins piled through, naturally focused only on what was right in front of their eyes. 

They had been pelted with stones. The wall had disappeared. Their companions had been killed. 

Now drive forward! Kill the scum! Rape the girl, again and again, and then kill her, too. 

That was all that was in their heads. Even if they believed these were the most elevated thoughts possible. 

Yes, it was those goblins who charged in at the front who had fallen into the deadliest situation. 

After all, the single greatest strength of goblins was their numbers. 

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, by the power of the land grant safety to we who are weak!!” 

And they lost that strength when a prayer repeated denied reinforcements. 

“Hrrr—yahh!” Goblin Slayer cut his way straight into the milling mass of goblins. 

First, distracted by the scarecrow, they had been split up by the fog of Stupor. Then they charged through the vineyards down the last available path and found themselves cut off by Protection. Now all that remained was to dive in and destroy the next group, then tempt forward even more. Priestess could use three miracles in all. It was worth assuming this stratagem would only work twice. 

Yes, it might have been possible to use Dwarf Shaman’s Spirit Wall spell. 

But the earth sprites are also what feed these fields. 

It would be like using fire, and when he thought of it that way, he had to admit, if grudgingly, that it was best avoided. 

But two times would be enough to eliminate the majority of the goblins. 

The idea that a smaller number of goblins was less frightening was one even the newest adventurers could comprehend. 

When faced with many problems, you have to split them up and deal with one at a time. 

It was a bit of wisdom Dwarf Shaman had shared with him—something simple, a nice tip for daily life. 

If he didn’t try to take on an entire army but dealt with those goblins that came dashing straight through the “cave”? Well, there was no way Goblin Slayer could lose. 

All things being equal. 

Yes, assuming nothing else happened. 

A whistle from the direction of the house broke into Goblin Slayer’s thoughts. It could mean only one thing. 

The river. 

§ 

“It’s—it’s awful!” the old soldier exclaimed, blowing the whistle again as he raced into the room. 

High Elf Archer was up before he finished speaking, her ears twitching. “The river, right?!” 

“Yes’m, from the south—upstream—boats, coming this way! Couldn’t… Couldn’t see how many!” 

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than High Elf Archer, bow in hand, was rushing from the room. When a high elf decides to use all her speed, she can move so fast it can be nearly impossible for a human to see her. The change from repose to action was startling. High elves need only a single step to be moving as fast as they can go. Therefore, by the time Dwarf Shaman wandered over, High Elf Archer was already looking out the back window. 

“Whatcha see?” 

“Goblins. At least, that’s what the rowers look like.” 

“A goblin fleet? Good gods, was your forest asleep?” 

“It wouldn’t matter, since the river is under human jurisdiction!” 

The jabs were flying, as usual, and though there was urgency, there was no anxiety. They weren’t particularly shocked. After all, they had seen goblins on ships during their battle in the water town. It was impossible to say when exactly the goblins had stolen the secret of using vehicles and mounts, but they had. Wargs, wolves, and spiders were just the beginning—not the most pliant mounts, perhaps, but still something to ride. The problem was not so much that goblins had arrived on vehicles but, as ever, the sheer number of them. 

High Elf Archer focused her hawklike eyes into the distance, watching the black shapes float through the night. Two of them—no, three. 

“Damn, why are there always so many of them…?!” Even as she spoke, High Elf Archer put three arrows in her bow simultaneously and let them loose with a twang and a whistle. Each followed a different arc, as if the missile had a will of its own. Dwarf Shaman couldn’t tell where they went. Being able to see in the dark and being able to see far away were two completely different things. 

“Did you get them?” 

“Do you even have to ask?” High Elf Archer sniffed. She resumed her barrage of arrows. Each bolt became a glint in the starlight, like a comet, diving into the night. No doubt there were as many goblin corpses as there were arrows, or perhaps even more if some ricocheted. “But I’m afraid this isn’t going to get us anywhere,” High Elf Archer said quietly, taking another arrow from her quiver and pulling the string back with a creak. “I can take out all the oarsmen, but the river will still wash them this way. And if they pull back inside, I won’t be able to touch them.” 

“You can’t sink the ship with one shot?” 

“No—sorry, my arm isn’t as strong as my brother’s!” 

“So he could ?” Dwarf Shaman murmured, but his words were lost in the sound of the bowstring singing like a harp. This time, even Dwarf Shaman could tell what happened, for he heard the sound of ripples as something hit the surface of the water. 

I hate to say it, but this anvil can sure handle a bow, if nothing else. 

Whether or not she did do it with the customary pride of her people, even a dwarf had no choice but to give credit where it was due. 

Well, he couldn’t slack off, then. How could he hold his head up as a dwarf if he let the elf do all the work? 

“Perhaps I could use a spell to change the direction of the river’s flow.” 

“Might work. I’d like to just get in among them if we could, but right now a hand-to-hand battle is a little…worrying!” On the last word, she let an arrow fly, and another goblin died. “After all, they’ve got numbers. I hate how—” 

Unexpectedly, High Elf Archer fell silent. 

“What’s wrong?” Dwarf Shaman said, but when he saw the grim look on her face, he too stopped speaking. 

High Elf Archer’s long ears moved up and down, ever so slightly, and then she said sharply, “Something’s coming… Something big. And fast. What the hell is that?” 

“You telling me it’s something you’ve never heard before?” 

“I’ve heard something like it,” High Elf Archer replied, knitting her brow. “But this…!” 

At that moment, it became possible for everyone in the house to hear the terrible sound of cracking earth. It was a sound like thunder that came with the speed of lightning—not from the sky but rather from the very ground. 

Yes, goblins’ strength lay in their numbers but also in their cruel cunning. 

There were boats on the river. Surely, then, there was something on the land as well. 

“Dear gods…” Of the three of them there, only the old soldier knew that sound, and his face was drawn in fear as he groaned out the words. 

He had heard that sound before on the battlefield. When you heard it from behind you, it gave you strength and boosted your morale, but from ahead of you, it inspired only a helpless knocking of the knees. 

He had hoped he might never hear that sound again in his lifetime. 

“It’s a chariot…!” 

§ 

It appeared to be some kind of bizarre war machine. 

“Ee-eeek?!” 

It was just about the time that the second Protection barrier disappeared, a third group of goblins being suckered in. The sound, like thunder, was accompanied by a great shadow kicking up earth, and this was what caused Priestess to scream. 

“Hrk…!” 

“This is not ideal…!” 

The two more-experienced adventurers protected themselves from the flying stones, one with his shield and the other with his scales, lowering themselves into fighting postures. 

“GBBORB?!” 

“GORG?!” 

There were cries from a couple of goblins in front of them as they were caught up and crushed beneath the wheels. Blackish gore splattered everywhere, adding fresh variety to the carnage inflicted at the hands of the adventurers. The stench of viscera was the unmistakable smell of death, the intestines still steaming with warmth. 

Yes, these were weapons made for murder, crude but brutal. 

“GOORGB! GGOOOROGOB!!” 

A goblin could be seen grinning above the lip of the vehicle, which glinted red in the light of the moon. The “chariot” he commanded had once, it could be seen, been a regular cart or wagon; they had simply turned it around. Then they had equipped the front with defensive shielding and a variety of terrible weapons: spikes, halberds, a catapult. The war cart advanced by means of handles pushed by countless other goblins. 

“GOOROGOOROG!!” 

A name for this implement? Perhaps goblin battle wagon would do. A terrible instrument no doubt made with the technical assistance of the forces of Chaos. 

“Break!” 

Which came first: Goblin Slayer’s order or the arrival of the chariot? 

“GOOROGB?!” 

“GRGB?!” 

On came the battle wagon through the soft earth of the vineyard, catching several more goblins under its wheels. Still, to be run over or otherwise impaled on the chariot’s spikes, was perhaps the better fate. Those unlucky enough to be thrown into the air had several agonizing seconds to contemplate the fear of impending death. 

“GGBBRG?! GOOROGGB?!” 

For a few heartbeats, one monster flailed in the sky, as if trying to swim through the air—a vain pursuit. He hit the ground, where his head cracked with a sound like a ripe fruit bursting. His life, the last seconds of which he spent twitching, his limbs bent at impossible angles, was finally ended when he was run over by the careering chariot. 

“GGOROGB! GGRRROGOBBGORGB!!” 

The morale of the goblin battle wagon was unaffected by the casualty—at the very least, that of the chieftain who rode atop it. He continued to gibber orders, at which several of the goblins pushing him grumbled angrily. In any event, the war cart made a long arc, changing direction to pursue the adventurers once again. The bits of flesh and droplets of blood that had landed on the cart seemed to say: You’re next . 

“Well, good heavens!” Lizard Priest rolled away from the oncoming threat, slapping his tail jovially against the ground. “Chaos has outfitted itself well today, I see!” 

Just beneath him, shielded by his massive frame, Priestess had curled up as small as she could in a desperate attempt to keep herself safe. “S-sorry…,” she offered feebly, keenly aware of how slow her own reactions were. She might have grown and gained experience, even considerable amounts of it, but her physical capacity wasn’t going to change dramatically. Nonetheless, even as the mud besmirched her delicate face and golden hair, she was keeping a close eye on the progress of the goblin battle wagon. “What are we going to do about this…?” 

“They’re still goblins,” Goblin Slayer spat as he rose from one knee. “We’ll do what we always do!” 

But things weren’t that simple—or more precisely, they were getting less simple every moment. The whistle from behind them signaled that something was happening by the river. 

“Tsk…!” 

Whatever he did, no matter how crazy, no matter how outrageous, it wouldn’t change the situation. But complaining about it wouldn’t help, Goblin Slayer admonished himself, thinking as quickly as possible. 

What should I do? 

“How does it look to you?” 

“Well, now…” The goblin battle wagon was tearing up the dirt as it wheeled around again. Lizard Priest stood easily to his feet. “Conventional wisdom says that to strike the general you must first deprive him of his horse—and it seems someone has rather tipped them off to it.” 

Yes, that was the first problem. Normally the goblins pushing the chariot around might have been undefended. But a shield ran out from the chariot to cover their heads and backs. It probably prevented them from seeing what was in front of them, but with the driver (if that was the word) present, it wouldn’t matter. Even High Elf Archer’s darting arrows would be hard-pressed to strike these monsters from the back or sides. 

“What about from head-on?” 

With an infinite amount of time, there were any number of plans they might be able to pull off. But the whistle probably meant reinforcements from the river. They would have time to make one move, two at best. 

“I’m unsure,” Lizard Priest responded, shaking his head. “With the miracle of Partial Dragon, five minutes perhaps. Depending on the balance between our strength and theirs and how quickly they move.” 

“A gamble, then,” Goblin Slayer growled. “I don’t like it.” 

“What’s not to like? Every facet of this world can be described by numbers, they say.” 

Where had he heard that idea before? Goblin Slayer let out a breath. “From the side… Spikes, I see.” 

“Ha-ha-ha, it seems they have anticipated most every mode of attack.” 

The axles of the cart had long spikes sticking out of the sides to sweep away columns of soldiers. 

There were many problems here. The real problem—yes, it was that the problems were at once discrete and overlapping. In which case… 

“Goblin Slayer, sir!” 

Unexpectedly, he heard Priestess’s strained but determined voice. She was getting to her feet, her vestments still covered in mud, her staff in her hands, and she was looking straight ahead. 

The goblin battle wagon had come around again. Soon the order would be given, and it would charge toward them once more. Priestess, though, in spite of the evident anxiety and terror on her face, spoke clearly: “Let’s narrow our problems down!” 

“So that’s your plan.” Goblin Slayer nodded. 

There was always a plan. No matter when. No matter where. 

§ 

The rider of the goblin battle wagon cursed his subordinates for how slow and clumsy they were about changing direction. Inept fools! Just think what will happen to you if our prey gets away. 

There was no need to share anything with the likes of these. The captain did all the work, so it was natural he should keep everything for himself. The rider conveniently forgot that just a few days before, he himself had viewed all authority figures as worthless freeloaders. 

Now, where was the prey? Ah, there. After running around in confusion, they had done the stupidest possible thing and trapped themselves in front of the fortress gates. The rider licked his lips when he saw the petite human girl standing there, clearly terrified, clutching her staff. 

Let’s give her something to really be afraid of. 

The rider gleefully lifted a rusty hatchet, and in a single stroke, he cut through the rope of the catapult. There was a thock as the weight sank, the arm flying up in response. It was shaped like a huge spoon, in which sat a rock that now went flying through the air. 

Goblins, of course, were in no way capable of calculating trajectories. The rock flew well over the girl’s head, slamming into the wall of the fortress with a boom. Some of the bricks cracked under the impact, bits of them shattering away. 

“GOOROGOOROOGG!!” The goblin charioteer was most pleased to see the girl cry “Eek!” and huddle down. It had been worth installing the catapult, even if it could only be used once. 

The front wheels, which had lifted off the ground when the catapult launched its heavy missile, now came slamming back onto the earth. All that remained was to charge the girl and run her down or run her over. Just imagining how she would look at her last moments, how she would weep and beg for forgiveness, was enough to fire up the goblin. Carried along by the image in his mind, he stamped his feet and howled at his crew: 

“GGORG! GGOOOROOGGB!!” 

“GOOROGB!!” 

The idiots dallied and complained but finally began to push. If they got up enough of a head of steam, they could crush both the man and the woman to pieces, and they would be the victors. With this awesome and terrible weapon, they could not possibly be defeated. 

That was how goblins were. Like slavering dogs reacting reflexively, they dove at whatever was right in front of them. They didn’t consider that many of their comrades had already died, that they themselves might soon be killed. No, each assumed he was the exception. He was smart. He wasn’t like the others. He was better. 

And so… 

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

From the moment the light flashed into their eyes, until their very last vile breaths, they never imagined the true identity of the dark shadow that leaped at them. 

§ 

“Yah—!” 

The instant Priestess’s miracle caused a burst of sacred light, Goblin Slayer kicked off the ground and began to run. From inside the gate, he kicked the door open and came flying out. At almost the same moment, a great green form grabbed the frail young woman, pulling her backward. 

“O proud and strange brontosaurus, grant me the strength of ten thousand!” 

With the strength granted by the blessing of Partial Dragon, his burst of power was immense. Whether he could actively stop the chariot would have been a question of luck, but his speed was more than enough to keep him and the girl both out of its way. 

Goblin Slayer, on the other hand, made a beeline for the goblin battle wagon. One step, two steps, three. He didn’t put a foot wrong even as the battle wagon ate up the distance between them. 

“Hrm…!” 

The chariot reached the doorway at approximately the same instant as his momentum allowed him to roll onto the cart. He grabbed the frame of the catapult to ensure he wouldn’t be shaken loose, pulling himself up. The contest would last until they were through the front living room. The furnishings rushed by. 

“Orcbolg?!” 

“GOOROGBB?!” 

High Elf Archer could be heard from the stairway. But he had no time to respond. With her eyes, she could see what was happening anyway. He searched for the dagger at his belt and attacked the goblin as it shook its head, trying to clear the last of the blindness. 

“GOROG!” 

“With you —” He was going in for close combat, and that meant a reverse grip was best. It provided the shortest route between his blade and the goblin’s throat. “—that’s twenty-five!!” 

There was a scuffle—he might be dealing with a goblin, but he was doing it atop a shaking cart—but he twisted the hilt, gaining a critical hit. The goblin drowned in his own blood, unable even to scream, reduced to a bit of repetitive twitching. There were a few scant breaths of life left in the body; Goblin Slayer leaned into it to snuff them out. 

“GGOORGB?!” 

“GGBG! GGOOROGB!!” 

Beneath the shield, unaware of the death of their leader, the goblins gibbered and jabbered. But what did he care? 

“Hrrgh…” Goblin Slayer gave the shield a kick to shut them up, then took tight hold of the side of the cart. Only he, riding atop the chariot and thus with an unobstructed view, fully understood what was about to happen. 

The war cart found ample purchase on the foyer’s marble, charging ahead—until it didn’t. 

It was a wall. 

Goblin Slayer felt a shock run through his body comparable only to a blow from the hammer swing of some massive creature. He found himself bent almost in half, then straightened back out again with a shock. His arms, clinging to the chariot, groaned; and he could feel something hard hit the goblin corpse he bore on his back. 

“GGORBBG?!” 

“GBBG! GOORGBB?!” 

The goblins, having finally realized something was amiss beyond their blinders, started to shout, but it was too late. The next thing they felt after the impact was the sense that they were floating, at least for an instant. There was a cool kiss of night breeze. 

The impact had torn the catapult clean off the war cart, the rest of which had punched through the wall and was tumbling through space. The few seconds before it hit the ground (it wouldn’t be a very clean landing) seemed inordinately long. 

“Hrg…ggh…!” 

Goblin Slayer’s body shook again with the terrific impact. He had never been on a bucking horse before, but he imagined this was what it was like. If he fell, the best he could hope for was to hit the ground hard; but at worst, he might be thrown into the spikes projecting from the wheels. 

Goblin Slayer simply focused on clinging to the battle wagon, keeping his breath steady. 

“GBBOGB?! GOGGG?!” 

“GOOROGGB!!” 

The goblins pushing the cart along were in roughly the same position: unable to let go, carried along by the cart’s momentum. 

Their ends would come soon, at any rate. 

The cart arrived full tilt at the bottom of the hill, speeding toward the dark river. And the goblin ship attempting to make its way down it. 

“GORGB?!” 

“GOOOROGBB?!” 

On deck, the goblins, who had been focused on defending against the hail of arrows from the mansion, cried out as they spotted the battle wagon. No doubt they were exclaiming, What the hell?! or What are those idiots doing?! —something of that nature. 

An instant later, the chariot broadsided the ship, its weight and speed turning it into a giant battering ram. Goblin Slayer himself hardly knew how he managed to withstand the impact. The chariot plowed into the ship’s hull, tearing clear through to the center. 

There could hardly be said to be a chariot anymore—or a ship. Just struts of timber waiting to be reduced to so much flotsam. As they went plopping into the water, they had only the vague impression that they were slamming into something white. Then their brains registered that they had been plunged into something heavy and viscous, and they began to reflexively struggle. But they could not escape. The water sprites pulled mercilessly on their legs, and as for their heads—yes, the remains of the chariot itself served as a lid over them. 

“GOBOO?!?!” 

“GOOGRBB?!” 

The goblins pounded desperately on the cart, coughing and hacking froth and foam, but it didn’t budge. They would soon suffocate and drown. Goblin Slayer watched to be sure, then kicked off the river bottom. That’s right: Sink down deep, then kick off—and even if both your hands were bound, you could swim. 

It was even easier if, on the ring finger of your left hand, you wore a Breath ring. 

The spark had long vanished from it, but the magic contained within was unchanged. Even in the depths, he had no reason to fear. He pushed through the surface of the water, into the open air, droplets dribbling from his helmet. 

“Ahh…” 

He opened his mouth wide, sucking in air. It carried the thick humidity of early summer, an atmosphere that conducted magical energy poorly. 

“GOOROGB!!” 

“GOGB?! GOORGB?!” 

He looked around and discovered that the goblin battle wagon had driven into what appeared to be the second of three ships. The vessel had split in two with a great crack, both halves now proceeding down to the bottom. On deck, screeching at the top of their lungs, were a few goblins who had jumped clear of the impact. But there was no help for them now. 

The goblins had thought that if they rode on a chariot, or sailed in battleships, that victory would be theirs. Could they be defeated or sunk? Not I , each one was sure. Now they were fighting to get off the deck, each trying to save himself first. Even if they succeeded in jumping into the river, they would most likely be slammed by the sinking derelict, pinned down and crushed to death. 

But even so… In Goblin Slayer’s mind, that changed nothing. He was just considering whether to dive down, using his ring to get deep enough to avoid the hulk, or whether to climb up its side when— 

“Orcbolg, look sharp!” a clear voice called out, and soon he was saved. A bud-tipped arrow came whistling by, lodging itself in the wood boards just in front of him. He noticed the rope attached to it and grabbed on without hesitation. 

“My word, you do come up with the wildest plans, Beard-cutter…!” 

The other end of the rope was in the hands of Dwarf Shaman, standing with his feet planted firmly on the bank. High Elf Archer had her hands wrapped around his waist, pulling with all her strength to keep the dwarf from sliding into the river. Priestess, covered in mud, came rushing up to the two friends engaged in their tug-of-war. Following her came Lizard Priest, looking supremely satisfied as he let out a great breath. 

“The impact with the ship was not part of the plan.” Did Goblin Slayer’s voice quite reach the others? 

“A’right, now, Beard-cutter, hold on good and tight!” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Sorry for the trouble, but I need your help.” 

“Ahh, no dwarf would stand by and watch his friend drown. He’d pull him out or go to the bottom with him!” 

“It’s looking a lot more like the bottom at this rate!” High Elf Archer cried. 

“I’ll help,” Priestess said, reaching out with an awkward smile. And when Lizard Priest shouted, “Allow me!” and added his strength to the pullers, it seemed there was nothing more to worry about. 

“Nothing to worry about?” Goblin Slayer mumbled underneath his helmet, amazed at himself for even having the thought. He glanced back to see the goblin ship cracking apart and going under, plainly visible even in the darkness of night. 

This, he suspected, represented the successful completion of the quest. The goblins would all die. If there were any survivors, they would be mopped up as they came on shore. It was over. Or, at least, it ought to have been. 

For heaven’s sake: He never could feel completely confident. He probably never had, not since ten years ago—ever since that goblin hunt protecting that village in his first year. Had he, in fact, truly protected this mansion? Had he been able to clear away the suspicions surrounding Sister Grape? How long would the battle with the goblins go on? 

What had he been able to accomplish? Did he even think he could accomplish anything? 

He thought back over the role he had played in these events. 

Then he asked himself if he had fulfilled that role. 

He almost didn’t know. 

All he knew was that at the other end of the rope he clung to were his comrades. 

“Hrmph.” Goblin Slayer sighed for the umpteenth time, adjusting his grip on the rope. “Goblin hunting is indeed simpler.”