Goblin Slayer - Volume 11 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Choose Your Own Adventure

“Out of the frying pan, into the fire, is it…?” 

Priestess almost didn’t realize at first that the whispered words came from Goblin Slayer. “Wha—?” she said, glancing in his direction. He continued from just beyond the window to the driver—although he may or may not have actually been answering her. “Words my teach—my master once said.” 

“Well, he got the fire part right,” High Elf Archer said with a shrug, then looked out the window at the blue sky. Sunlight poured down mercilessly, making even the inside of the carriage warm. Combined with the reflection off the sand, it was something like being in an oven. “If I went out there, I’d singe my ears off.” Her ears twirled as if to express their displeasure at the idea. 

And to think, when they had finally managed to stop for a rest the night before, it had been cold enough to chill the skin. You didn’t have to be an elf to find the change in temperature jarring. It certainly didn’t seem like a place for the short-lived. 

Perhaps because of his people’s affinity for fire, Dwarf Shaman, by contrast, seemed quite at home. It wouldn’t quite be true to say he wasn’t sweating a drop, but he didn’t look much perturbed by it. 

But then, neither of these two were human. 

“…I’m profoundly sorry. This is all because I ran the horse too hard last night…,” Female Merchant said in a small voice from where she was curled up in a seat. Her skin, usually white as snow, was red and beaded with sweat. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Priestess watched her chest heave painfully for a minute before helping her loosen her clothing, at which point her breathing finally calmed a little. 

“Is this…heatstroke?” It would certainly be understandable. Even Priestess, who was well used to being out in the field by now, felt a touch dizzy. Female Merchant might have been an adventurer at one point, but she was still of noble birth and now spent all her time as a merchant. This couldn’t be easy for her. 

Priestess offered her a waterskin, and Female Merchant took it with a “Thank you” that came out dreadfully dry. She put her lips to the mouth of the canteen and drank noisily, Priestess holding the water for her. Once she had wiped away a few stray drops with a rag, she mumbled “Thank you” again. 

“Now that you’ve had some water, have a nibble of the dried meat. It’ll keep y’alive now a god of sunstroke has his hands on yeh.” 

Priestess nodded at Dwarf Shaman and took out some provisions, tearing off a piece with her own teeth. She held it out to Female Merchant in the palm of her hand, and the other woman took it gingerly between her fingers and started to chew the softened meat. The drink of water had put some moisture in her mouth, and she seemed to eat without too much difficulty. 

Yes. Thankfully, they still had some provisions, so the situation wasn’t critical. Diluted grape wine and food were both plentiful in the luggage on the carriage behind them. However, the horses’ pace had slowed considerably what with the heat and only occasional brief breaks to rest and feed. 

“Make sure you take it easy once in a while yourself, Beard-cutter. You and that metal helmet. Your brains’ll fry before you know it.” 

“Right.” Goblin Slayer nodded. 

The situation was not critical. But neither was it particularly optimistic. 

The fact that we ran into quicksand suggests we’ve lost the main road. 

They no longer saw the statues of the Trade God, either, and the path they were seeking seemed to have vanished beneath the sands. They might have the stars and moons at night and the sun during the day to guide them, but they still didn’t know exactly where they were. When he looked out past that metal visor, all he saw was the baking sun. No mountains large enough to serve as landmarks, just sand all the way to the horizon. 

Heat shimmered up off the ground, dancing in the distance. 

“A mirage…?” There had been something about them in a book he’d read before he left. It said that apparitions sometimes manifested themselves in the desert and lead travelers astray… 

He had been talking half to himself, but High Elf Archer, poking her head out the window, answered him. “You just take a good look, ask a few questions, and those things won’t get you.” She squinted, catlike, against the hot wind and blowing sand, then shook her head and looked over. “Hey, you doing all right over there?” 

“Ha-ha-ha. The lack of water concerns me somewhat, I confess, but as to the heat, I find it quite congenial,” said Lizard Priest, sounding at ease. He sat on the driver’s bench of the rear carriage, bathing in the sun as he held the reins. 

The hired driver was hunched beside him, muttering to himself. “The desert is hell,” he mumbled. “If you die here, your soul gets eaten…” 

“Admittedly, it is something of a struggle against the cold of the night.” Lizard Priest patted the driver gently on the back, as if his muttering was of no consequence. Indeed, he seemed to think it might be best not to speak to the man at all. “I must also say that it does concern a person to be unsure of where we are going.” 

“Yeah, hope we can get back to the road,” High Elf Archer said, leaning against the window frame and looking downright bored as the wind ran over her ears and cheeks. 

The situation was not critical, but it wasn’t cheerful, either. 

I’ve been forced to acknowledge that fact, myself. And having done so, Goblin Slayer found it was all but impossible for him to remain optimistic. So Goblin Slayer made himself join in the banter. “It’s unfortunate that we were unable to recover any of the goblins’ equipment.” 

“No kidding. Doesn’t look like I’m going to be finding any more arrows around here,” High Elf Archer said—perhaps aware of his need for this conversation. Perhaps not. She giggled like the sound of a ringing bell. 

Then suddenly she squinted, putting her hand to her forehead to shade her eyes as she looked into the distance. 

“What is it?” 

“Over there. A building… Maybe? It’s something anyway.” 

“Hrm,” he grunted. There was the possibility of mistake, but no room for it. “It’s settled.” Tired as it was, the horse nonetheless responded promptly to Goblin Slayer’s movement of the reins. Inside the carriage, a creaking and swaying communicated the change of direction. 

“Careful there, Anvil. Sure you’re not seeing a mirage yourself?” 

“I’ll show you a mirage,” she growled, pulling her head back into the carriage. Priestess watched the argument, such a familiar scene, take shape with relief. She, too, was battling the heat. To conserve water, she would soak a hand towel, then wipe it around her cheeks and forehead. Then she would offer it to Female Merchant, whose hair was plastered to her face with sweat. 

“I guess I should have trained a little harder, huh…?” She smiled weakly at Priestess, who shook her head. 

“I hope we can take a rest up ahead,” she replied. 

Not long after, the carriage did indeed arrive at a village—but one that was altogether too quiet. 

§ 

Shf. His outstretched foot kicked the pile of sand, naturally. As Goblin Slayer lowered the long stick that served as a brake on the carriage and jumped down from the driver’s bench, he found himself thinking, Is it normal in the desert for the sand to come up past your ankles? His heat-roasted brain wasn’t working very quickly. He gave a click of his tongue and took one gulp of water, then another. The liquid that came into his mouth, the opening of the canteen pressed up against his visor, was unpleasantly lukewarm. 

“At any rate, I believe we should begin by investigating, but what do you think?” 

“…Doubt we have any other choice. We have to know where we are or we won’t get anywhere,” Female Merchant said as she emerged, slim legs first, from the carriage. She was wearing tall boots against the sand, her cloak pulled up over her head to shield her from the sun. She gave him a hesitant nod. “But why ask me?” 

“Because you’re our quest giver.” 

She blinked at Goblin Slayer’s answer, then felt her cheeks soften into a smile. It was as if some tension had been released. “Continue with the quest, then, if you would be so kind.” 

“Yes.” Goblin Slayer nodded, then waved to his party members to proceed toward the village. As he went forward, he heard more crunching of sand behind him. The rest of them disembarking the carriage, he supposed. 

Foot out, step forward. White sand glittered as he kicked it up, before it was carried away as dust on the wind. He checked the sword at his hip, careful that he could draw it at any time as he moved. Several buildings stood in the village, made either of a very white clay or sun-bleached bricks. It had been impossible to tell from a distance what this town’s livelihood was, but perhaps they raised the lumpy donkeys. Or maybe it was an inn town. In any event, he hoped they could get water and information here. 

“Oh man, my feet are scorched…,” High Elf Archer whined, frantically kicking aside some sand. She didn’t appear to actually leave any footprints, though, being an elf. 

Priestess squinted against the sun that threatened to bake the party, its reflection bouncing off the sand. “I feel like it’s going to burn my eyes…” 

“Best plan is to not look too far up or too far down,” Dwarf Shaman said. “I’m starting to think Long-Ears had the right idea with that costume.” 

High Elf Archer, a few steps ahead, heard him and turned around, puffing out her modest chest with no small amount of pride. “That’s elf wisdom for you—real intelligence at work. You have to be in accord with Nature, with whatever environment you’re going into.” 

“This from the people who bend the spirits of Nature to their will!” 

“Better than ones who dig holes in the ground and cut down forests like dwarves do.” 

Their arguing voices were the only sound apart from the whipping of the wind and their footsteps in the sand. Truly, there was nothing else to be heard. 

Goblins? 

No, it was too clean for that. He shook his helmeted head as they entered the seemingly deserted village. There were so many things to think about. 

“Where’s the driver?” 

“Hardly in any condition to follow us nor do we have the wherewithal to babysit him,” Lizard Priest said gaily, his eyes rolling in his head. He gestured with a slow shake of his long neck toward the curtain of the luggage carriage, behind which a man could be seen crouching. He was shielded by an overcoat, his fingers in his mouth as he muttered inaudibly to himself—as he had been doing since the night before. 

The desert environment, the sudden attack and headlong escape, and now wandering aimlessly in the desert—not everyone was designed to endure such things, Goblin Slayer supposed. 

“Any danger?” 

“Well… I’m afraid I can’t say. The behavior of those whose souls have been stolen by the desert can be impossible to foresee.” Lizard Priest’s jaws moved, and his tongue flicked out of his mouth. “Small as our Female Merchant may appear, she is quite…plucky. And it’s not as if she cannot call out.” 

“Keep an ear open for her.” 

“As you wish.” 

Goblin Slayer gave the vanguard to the lizard, who shuffled forward, then he let out a breath. He had to be aware of what was around them. Had to know the status of everyone with him. As party leader, there was a great deal to think about. A great deal to do. 

“What about you? How are you feeling?” 

“All right,” Priestess replied, smiling despite the sweat in her eyes and the harshness of her breath. “I’m okay.” 

“Good, then,” Goblin Slayer said with a nod. “Be sure to hydrate.” 

“It’s…concerning, isn’t it?” 

Hrm. Semiconsciously matching his stride to hers, he found Priestess jogging up beside him and making this unusual remark. When he tilted his helmeted head in puzzlement, though, she smiled. “I mean her.” 

“Ah…” Inside his helmet, he moved his gaze to survey the carriage. Female Merchant had moved to the driver’s bench, using her coat to block the sun. She was looking around, on high alert. From this distance, he couldn’t make out the pallor of her face. But both physically and mentally, he suspected she might be forcing herself to endure the situation. When she noticed him, however, she raised her hand and gave a broad wave. I’m okay, she seemed to be saying. 

“After all,” he mumbled, as if trying to pluck the words out of thin air, “she’s our…quest giver.” 

“That’s true,” Priestess said knowingly, chuckling in the back of her throat and then picking up her walking pace. Goblin Slayer slowed his, so she could finally catch up and walk alongside him. 

And so in the dizzying heat, the two of them walked side by side along the river of sand that seemed to have once been a street in this village. Barrels, farm implements: Everything outside seemed either to have been knocked over, to have been buried in the sand, or both. Nothing about the place seemed like a location people would inhabit… 

“And yet, for all that…it doesn’t really feel rotted out, either,” Priestess said, looking around nervously, but Goblin Slayer responded with silence. He was in complete agreement with her. He didn’t recognize the feeling here, but it wasn’t the feeling one got in a goblin nest. He valued that intuition highly, though he wasn’t the kind to let it make him hesitant. 

“How about it? Find anyone?” he asked High Elf Archer. 

“Yeah, but…” Her ears flicked where she stood in the doorway of a building. “It looks like they’re sleeping.” 

“What…?” Goblin Slayer stepped over the pile of sand on the threshold and through the open door. Even just a single step inside, it felt almost cool within, perhaps because the sunlight was blocked, or perhaps it had something to do with the building materials. In any case, he headed inward through the clammy gloom, discovering what seemed to be a dining area. He could see patches of carpet under the scattering sand, but in the center of the room, rather than the round table he expected, there was a single long table. A middle-aged man was splayed out across it, asleep. Lizard Priest and Dwarf Shaman stood on either side of him. 

“We checked the other rooms, and everyone is like this. Even the babes didn’t make a sound,” Dwarf Shaman said. 

“Well now… If the other houses are all like this, and indeed, even if they are not, then this would be a most fantastical situation,” Lizard Priest replied. He and High Elf Archer must have sensed the strangeness of the moment just as Goblin Slayer did. 

The man lying across the table wore desert garb much like High Elf Archer had on. Otherwise, he appeared completely unremarkable, except that he was facedown, not moving. 

“Um, hel—” Priestess started to call out hesitantly, but Goblin Slayer stopped her with a motion of his hand. Instead, he drew his small sword from its sheath, taking one step closer to the man, then another. Then, reaching out with his shielded left hand, he took the man’s shoulder… 

“Eek?!” Priestess exclaimed at the exact instant the man crumbled away without a sound. He turned to dust like a stone statue that had spent too long in the elements. The dust was a reddish color that evoked raw meat, and now all that was left of the man rested in Goblin Slayer’s palm. And even that would have drained away had he not squeezed his hand shut to catch hold of it. 

“What… What’s going on here…?” Priestess understandably backed away. Even Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest blanched (though it would be hard to tell with Lizard Priest’s scales). 

“Hold on, now. This mean everyone in this village is…?” 

“It seems to have happened in the night without their ever realizing it, and no one was spared.” Goblin Slayer let out a short breath. 

“That would explain the silence,” Lizard Priest said with a shake of his head. “Should we presume they were attacked by some monster?” 

“If so, it would have to be…Grograman, The Many Colored Death.” Everyone looked at one another at this brief announcement from inside the helmet. “I have heard there are terrible things in the desert. Though I can’t say I understand what they are.” This thing, Goblin Slayer told them with a quick shake of his head, was supposed to be a fairy-tale creature. “But no matter—forget about it. It was simply something that came to mind.” 

Goblin Slayer rarely, if ever, uttered the name of any monster other than goblins. If she hadn’t been so busy keeping watch, High Elf Archer might have made quite a fuss about this fact. 

But at that moment, she found she had more important things to worry about. “Hey, everyone! Bad news!” 

§ 

“E-eeyargh! I can’t take this anymore! This desert is cursed…!!” 

“Hey, hold it…! Where do you think you’re—?!” Female Merchant grabbed the driver’s arm, but he swatted her away and took the reins of the luggage vehicle. Female Merchant, falling on her behind on the sand, gave a little shout. The man didn’t so much as slow down, though, as he cracked the reins and set the luggage carriage moving. Female Merchant had to roll out of the way, or her svelte, lovely body might never have been seen again. 

“I’m going home! I don’t wanna spend one more second in this place! I don’t wanna die!!” The driver’s eyes were wide and bloodshot, and foam flecked the edges of his mouth as he cracked the reins again and again. Female Merchant couldn’t even manage to get to her feet before the carriage had vanished beyond the dunes. If she’d known this was going to happen, then she should have started by drawing her rapier…! 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop him…!” 

“Forget about that!” High Elf Archer shouted, bounding up to her. Kicking up sand—an elf, of all things!—as she arrived, she took stock of the situation in a glance and then helped Female Merchant to her feet. “You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?!” 

“Thank you, I’m fine,” Female Merchant said, coughing. “Just a bit of sand in my mouth.” 

“Good.” High Elf Archer sounded sincerely relieved. She gently brushed the sand from her beloved friend’s hair and cheeks. She glared into the distance, giving an inelegant click of her tongue, then called out calmly but quite audibly, “Hey, everyone! Bad news!” 

Her companions immediately emerged from the building. Lizard Priest was first, balancing himself with his tail; he was followed by Goblin Slayer, who moved with remarkable agility for a man wearing so much armor. Priestess pattered after them, and finally Dwarf Shaman trundled along at the rear. 

“Goodness gracious!” Lizard Priest exclaimed. “I hadn’t realized that his spirit had been quite so thoroughly broken by the desert!” 

Lizard Priest had thought the man had completely lost his mind, but some measure of it seemed to have come back to him. Since the despondent so often lack the motivation to do anything at all, Lizard Priest had assumed it was safe to leave the driver alone, but he had misjudged. 

“What’s the matter? Why didn’t you shoot him?” Goblin Slayer asked, trying to ignore the impression that he could hear the sound of dice being rolled in the distance. 

High Elf Archer didn’t answer, but only gazed off across the sands and asked quietly, “Find anything?” 

“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “No one alive.” 

“I’d like…to give them a funeral, if we can…,” Priestess said hesitantly, but she knew full well it would be dangerous to stay here for very long. Some death whose form they didn’t know was on the loose. The runaway driver might prove the wisest of them. “But I guess we should go after him, quick…!” 

“With a whole carriage of our own? Wouldn’t be easy…” Dwarf Shaman frowned. “Might work, if I used Tail Wind…” 

“I wouldn’t do it if I were you, dwarf,” High Elf Archer said, not bothering to hide her frown. She pointed with a graceful motion at something just over the sands. “Take a look at that.” 

“That” was the reason she hadn’t shot the man or given chase. Yes, it was over the sands, quite literally. Specifically, the top layer of sand seemed to be moving. It swirled up above the horizon caught in a wild wind. Priestess mumbled distantly that it was like a great, coiled snake. 

And it was coming this way. It was like a huge, dark mountain heading directly for them. 

“Wha…” 

Female Merchant simply stood and stared, until finally the words came. 

“…t the hell is…is that?!” 

“Gods, I see it now! The Many Colored Death, indeed!” Dwarf Shaman shouted, almost mockingly. “The simoon, the Wind of the Red Death! So that’s what killed these villagers!” 

“What is it? Some sort of monster?!” High Elf Archer hollered, looking at her diminutive companion as if she’d been struck. 

“No!” Dwarf Shaman yelled back. “It’s a sandstorm!” 

Simoon: The name meant “poison wind.” It brought blinding sand and devastating heat. Superheated stones would fly everywhere. It would mercilessly attack all in its path. Anyone caught in it would be whipped by unimaginably hot winds. They would find the sky closed off by sand and would be sucked dry until they died. 

Not, of course, that all the adventurers knew these details. But being adventurers, they were acutely aware of when death was approaching. That was one thing the driver, running the carriage headlong into the storm, obviously lacked. 

“Run!” Perhaps it was Goblin Slayer who issued the order. Everyone dove for the buildings. 

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Now, this has become interesting!” 

“This’s no time to chuckle, Scaly!” 

Lizard Priest, scrabbling along the ground with his claws, promptly hefted Dwarf Shaman with his long tail and placed him on his back. There was no way he could outrun the sand with his stubby legs. Right now, time mattered more than dignity. 

“But you said no one was left alive inside anyway, right?!” High Elf Archer cried, sparing a glance backward as she flew along. “Don’t you have those breathing rings you like so much?!” 

“I have them, but I don’t know if they would work in sand, and I don’t wish to stake my life on finding out,” Goblin Slayer replied. His breathing was still even as he worked out the best strategy in his mind. “The people here died because they didn’t see it coming,” he said. “We’ll shut the doors and windows, barricade ourselves in.” 

Once a party leader has decided on a plan of action, all that’s left is to carry it out to the best of one’s ability. As Lizard Priest, Dwarf Shaman, and High Elf Archer went on ahead, Priestess was supporting Female Merchant on her shoulder. Still feeling the effects of a god of sunstroke, the young merchant’s breath was pathetically, dangerously shallow. 

“I’ve got you! Just hang in there…!” 

“The h-horse… What about…the horse?! We can’t…just leave—” 

“Forget the horse.” 

“Yikes!” 

“Eek?!” 

Goblin Slayer unleashed this instruction as he sprinted between the two women. Each of them found their delicate bodies wrapped under one of his arms and hauled up like firewood. Ignoring their shouts and feeble displays of resistance, he picked up his speed. 

But the darkness was faster than he was. It came closing in, relentless, even as Female Merchant continued to object: “I-I’m all right. I can… I can walk…” 

“I can’t help you if you fall.” 

Priestess burst in: “Listen to me!” 

She must have decided that their best chance of survival was in Goblin Slayer’s arms, even if it was a narrow chance. She twisted, looking behind her, trying to think of any way she could be of help. The oncoming rush was a proper sandstorm now, winking out any light from the sun. A dark shadow was stretching over the party, and soon it would be black as night. 

Should she chant Holy Light? No, it wasn’t as dark as that. Heal or Purify, then? No, not those, either. 

“If we need it, I’ll cast Protection!” 

“Please do.” 

All that remained, then, was to focus her spirit completely, preparing to pray to the gods in heaven. As Priestess closed her eyes and began to murmur the words of a prayer, Female Merchant bit her lip, hard. Goblin Slayer considered saying something to her but felt his strength was best used for running. 

“Orcbolg, quick!!” 

Through his visor, he could see High Elf Archer up ahead. She had reached the doorway first and was shouting and waving to him. He nodded when he saw that Lizard Priest and Dwarf Shaman had dived inside already. The Wind of the Red Death was almost upon him, but he had one turn left. 

“I’m going to throw you.” 

“Wha—?” 

“Eek…?!” 

Without waiting for their responses, Goblin Slayer did exactly as he had declared he would. He flung Female Merchant, followed by Priestess, toward the doorway. And then in the space of a breath, he covered the remaining distance himself. The two girls tumbled across the sandy carpet and were caught by Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest. As Goblin Slayer slid through the entrance, High Elf Archer slammed the door behind him. 

The next second, there was an immense roar, and the house shook and groaned. 

They had cut it as close as they possibly could. 

§ 

“Close the door and barricade it!” 

“As you say…!” 

As he burst into the room, there came a sound like water being poured into a hot pan. If they didn’t know it was bits of sand flinging against the building, they would never have imagined it. 

Lizard Priest hefted the dusty table and shoved it up against the door, while Goblin Slayer grabbed the rug. The girls scrambled to get away from where they’d fallen, and he used the rug to block the window, pounding it into place with nails. Sand still trickled in through the doorframe and around the edges of the rug, but they were shielded from the worst of it. 

The storm continued to pound away, but it wasn’t so loud that they couldn’t talk. Goblin Slayer looked through his visor at the groaning ceiling, then shook his head. “What about the other rooms?” 

“I went around and secured them as best I could,” High Elf Archer replied (When had she found time to do that?), batting at her hair. The motion had all the innocence of a cat grooming itself, but in an elf, it still looked exceptionally beautiful. “Ugh…I’ve got sand in places I didn’t even know I had…” Each time she combed her fingers through her hair, a cloud of dust would poof out like pale smoke. 

This alerted Priestess and Female Merchant to check their hair and clothes as well. Any way you sliced it, there was hardly a surface in the building that wasn’t covered in sand. Even Goblin Slayer could feel it crunching beneath his clothes. And of course the other men could, as well. 

“Maybe we should rest for a while…,” Priestess suggested. 

“Yeah… Not a bad idea,” Female Merchant agreed with a tired smile. “On the bright side, I guess this place no longer belongs to anyone.” 

They had been in a state of high alert ever since they crossed the border. Mental strain led to physical strain and then to fatigue. Goblin Slayer nodded. “When you conclude the services for the dead, then rest. Nothing good can come of having our spell casters tired.” 

Did he have her mental state in mind? …No, not quite. It would be trouble if they stayed awake. Goblin Slayer looked around for a chair, saw there was nothing of the sort, and slumped down against the wall beside the door. He removed the sword at his hip, then kicked out one leg, leaning back. 

“Even if goblins were out in this storm, I doubt they would be able to get in here.” Thus it would fall to those on the front line, who were not spell casters, to stand guard. And so, as was standard operating procedure when they camped out, he and High Elf Archer would watch, while the three magic users—presently four—took rest. 

When Goblin Slayer presented this plan, Dwarf Shaman stroked his beard knowingly and nodded. “Might as well pull one more little trick, then…” After all, his spells would be replenished after he rested. Perfect time to use them. Dwarf Shaman rifled through his bag of catalysts and pulled out a roll of sheepskin paper. “Sandman, Sandman, rasp of breath, kin to th’ endless sleep of death. A song we offer, so take your sand and on our dreams now place your hand.” 

The paper drifted through the room, scattering dust, and abruptly disappeared into thin air. Then the sound of the storm seemed to become somewhat softer, and it seemed to them that the inside of the room was filled with a gentle warmth. Maybe that was why Priestess felt her eyelids growing heavy with sleep and why Female Merchant had to press a hand to her mouth to politely hide her yawn. 

“The Sleep spell?” Goblin Slayer inquired, and Dwarf Shaman snorted. “’Tis about all I’m good for.” It must have been profoundly difficult to summon the sprites with a storm like that outside. Dwarf Shaman took a swig of the wine from the jar he kept at his belt, wiping the droplets off his beard. “If you need me, I’ll be off lookin’ for something to eat… Ideally something not covered in sand, though my hopes aren’t high.” 

“Allow me to accompany you. I haven’t enough heat here, no, not enough heat,” said High Elf Archer. 

“Yeah, right,” Dwarf Shaman muttered, but in any event the two of them moved into what seemed to be the kitchen. 

“Okay, well, we’ll…we’ll just…get a little sleep…,” Priestess said, her head bobbing. 

“Sorry. Could you…handle things here…?” Female Merchant asked, starting to slide slowly to the floor. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” Priestess said, offering Female Merchant her hand; she took it and they made their way to the sleeping chambers with unsteady steps. Goblin Slayer watched them for a moment, concerned lest they fall, but they made it successfully to the bedroom. There was a rattle of the sounding staff as Priestess began to pray. “O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, please lay your revered hand on those who have left this place, that their souls might have guidance…” The invocation seemed to take her rather more effort than usual. 

Then the two women, pushed to their very limits, collapsed into bed. Soon their breath fell into the even rhythm of sleep. They looked like sisters as they lay with their hands clasped, sleeping amid the blowing ashes that had once been people. 

“…” Silently, Goblin Slayer took a waterskin out of his item bag. It was mostly empty by now; it was all too clear that he was going to have to drink sparingly and conserve what he could. Deciding that a sip was nonetheless necessary, he wet his tongue and throat with a precious mouthful, then let out a breath. He would have loved to wipe his face. His eyes stung from the sand. 

“What do we do about water?” he asked. 

“Good question. This storm’ll probably bury the wells,” High Elf Archer said, shrugging with a twitch of her ears. She took a quick glance at the barricaded window. Could her eyes see something that he, a human, couldn’t? “I think there was a water jug in the kitchen, but it had a bunch of sand in it. Probably still drinkable, though.” 

“I see.” 

“Being all considerate, are we?” High Elf Archer scuffed some sand aside with her foot so she could sit down somewhere relatively clean. She fixed him with a broad grin. 

“Hrm…,” Goblin Slayer grunted. “…I don’t know.” 

“You’re not embarrassed, are you?” 

“No.” Goblin Slayer shook his head. “I truly do not understand. I don’t understand this thing called a party leader.” After that, he fell silent. 

He didn’t understand, but he was by no means foolish enough to suggest that a party didn’t need a leader. He remembered Heavy Warrior and how he had never done anything to suggest he was less than confident in himself. 

Goblin Slayer was most grateful that High Elf Archer simply said “Huh” and didn’t pursue the matter any further. She did kick off her boots and turn them upside down, trying to empty out the sand that had gotten into them. Elves might not leave footprints in the sand, but the sand could still get at their feet. As that thought passed through Goblin Slayer’s mind, he frowned at himself, at the fatigue he was feeling. Thinking pointless thoughts was proof that he was tired. 

“Anyway, it’s all good,” High Elf Archer said. “How long you plan to be awake?” 

“…Hrm.” 

“I want to get some real sleep, here,” she added with annoyance. That was probably her way of saying that, as usual, she would take the first watch. But it was also a less than subtle way of telling him to hurry up and go to sleep. 

Goblin Slayer, thinking of someone very familiar, very dear to him, felt his expression soften. He was glad he was wearing his helmet. Suddenly, he felt he wasn’t sure which voice he had heard. 

“Understood. I’ll go to sleep.” 

“You better.” High Elf Archer waved a dismissive hand at him, and Goblin Slayer set about loosening his armor. Then he leaned well back against the wall, took a single deep breath, and closed one eye, letting his consciousness range far and wide. 

Water, food, travel, and goblins. Rest—when he woke up, he would get food from the kitchen. That and a map. And then goblins. 

How did they survive in this cruel environment? It would take more than a horde. They would have to live almost like mountain bandits. In fact, the territory of the two overlapped. How was it they didn’t fight? Where was the nest? 

How were they getting food? And they would lack amusements, here. Their appetites were great, and forbearance was unknown to them. 

They could not survive in the desert. But in that, he was the same as them. 

If he could not bring his party back home alive, he could hardly call himself an adventurer. If his teacher saw him now, how disappointed would he be? How thoroughly would he mock him? 

Adrift in a sea of thoughts, Goblin Slayer took another breath. 

The sandstorm let up at some point, but he didn’t know when. 

§ 

It was going to be an effort to get outside. The door was bent inward, and the shutters on the windows were laden with sand. 

“We are well and truly buried,” Dwarf Shaman said with a look of defeat, shaking his head. No one in the party argued otherwise. After all, a dwarf was pronouncing on a matter of the earth. There could be few if any who had the knowledge or experience to contradict him. 

The question, then, was what to do? Goblin Slayer mentally reviewed the cards in his hand. 

“I guess digging our way out wouldn’t be so easy…,” Priestess ventured, peering through the gaps around the door and windows. She was no engineer, but even she could tell that they weren’t going to get anywhere working by hand. If the sand flooded into the house, they would never be able to resist it. And they wouldn’t know which way or how far to dig anyway. 

Goblin Slayer grunted quietly. “Could you make a path using a spell?” 

“Tunnel, y’mean?” Dwarf Shaman didn’t look thrilled. It wasn’t because he had just gotten up from a nap. “Not impossible, but if the spell were to give out while we were still moving, we’d all be buried alive, and that’d be the end of us.” 

“Ugh…,” High Elf Archer groaned, which effectively snuffed out that idea. They might yet have to try their luck, but only after every other option had been exhausted. 

“If we cannot go across, then perhaps up. The path to life and evolution may lie that way.” Lizard Priest, curling his tail as he spoke, sounded like he was delivering a sermon to a congregation of the faithful. 

Yes, that made some sense. The building was constructed of sun-dried bricks. They wouldn’t need tools to smash their way through easily enough. And so long as one was not standing directly beneath the hole, they wouldn’t be buried alive…probably. 

There was a problem, though. High Elf Archer eyed the roof uneasily and muttered, “What if the whole thing comes down on us?” 

“Then we just toss up Protection to keep it standing. Or let it roll right off our backs, as it were.” Dwarf Shaman made it sound so simple. 

Priestess smiled uneasily. “That miracle isn’t precisely meant for that sort of thing, but…I can give it my best shot.” 

High Elf Archer looked distinctly nonplussed by this, but then she gazed up at the ceiling, giving a long shake of her head. No, Protection was certainly not meant for such things, but still. Still. “He really is a bad influence.” 

“…How do you mean?” Priestess asked, openly puzzled. High Elf Archer patted her on the head like a little sister. Each pat produced fresh clouds of sand, but the two of them only laughed. 

“Up, then.” Goblin Slayer got to his feet and looked at the ceiling, stretching to run a hand along it. He pressed gently and felt the stone press back. No buckling here. “We’ll have to proceed cautiously.” 

“From what I remember outside, the roof looked like good, hard earth,” Dwarf Shaman said, stroking his beard and then crossing his arms in thought. “No reason we shouldn’t be able to get out this way, sand or no sand.” 

“…Don’t you think we ought to eat something first?” The suggestion came from Female Merchant. Considering how nervous and exhausted she was, maybe it just slipped out. But her face was indeed dry as was her throat. And her stomach was empty. 

“Good point,” Goblin Slayer said, exhaling inside his helmet. “Let’s do that.” 

The party was already mentally well prepared to borrow whatever they could from the house. It was practically an adventurer’s job to procure goods from old ruins or burial sites. All the more a house where the master and everyone in it were already dead. Being respectful of the deceased, they nonetheless gathered what they could, rescuing the sand-addled water jug and pulling a piece of flatbread, long gone cold, from the oven. 

They emptied out another jug and brushed the sand away. Placing a cloth over the mouth, they passed the water through it several times to get the sand out. As for the flatbread, they started a fire in the oven and heated some stones that allowed them to warm it up again. In this way, a little ingenuity helped them conserve a Purify miracle and a Kindle spell, not to mention their provisions. 

“This is a good opportunity. We haven’t had a chance to sit down to a proper meal in the past several days,” Goblin Slayer said, tearing off a piece of bread and shoving it through his visor. 

That got a tired smile from Female Merchant. “Been a few days since I had somewhere to sleep that wasn’t bouncing around, too,” she said. 

“Just wish we could rinse ourselves off with this stuff,” High Elf Archer added, tugging listlessly on her hair. Elves and filth didn’t mix, and she was understandably upset. 

Female Merchant looked apologetically at the elf. “Wish I’d been granted a miracle to create water.” 

“That’d be perfect. Start yourself up a tidy little business out here,” Dwarf Shaman put in, getting a wry smile from Priestess and a significant nod from Lizard Priest, who then said, “One speaks of spending money like water, but perhaps in this place the expression is not quite so apt.” Then he took a bite of bread, which looked awfully small as he put it into his huge jaws. “And speaking of water, I have heard it is possible to boil cheese in a small pot, then dip other ingredients in it. Yes?” 

“Ah,” Female Merchant said, squinting at him. “White wine and cheese… Yes, I’ve heard they do that somewhere in the mountains.” 

“One must say, it sounds like the food of dreams.” 

“Is there a demand for it?” 

“Oh yes, of course,” Lizard Priest insisted, nodding at Female Merchant’s display of interest. “There most certainly is a demand.” 

They did all the cleanup with sand, whether it be washing their hands or cleaning the dishes. Having been exposed to so much sunlight, the sand was far cleaner than the rather questionable water supply. 

It was a tremendously, almost incongruously, cheerful moment. It was as if everything had fallen away: The fact that there was a desert outside, that they were in the jaws of a crisis, even the goblins, appeared to have been forgotten. 

The thought came to Goblin Slayer as he was contemplating goblin slaying: They had many more chances these days to sit down together and eat. Several times during the meal, he noticed Female Merchant rubbing the corners of her eyes as she laughed. But he chose not to say anything about it. Maybe the others noticed, too; and maybe they chose not to say anything, either. 

None of the party members would be so crass as to tread lightly upon the feelings of the only one who was not a member of the group. Priestess, though, did treat Female Merchant solicitously, like a young child with a new baby sister. That was her choice, and if Female Merchant accepted her hospitality, then that was all well and good. 

When everything was cleaned up, Goblin Slayer stood with no regrets and no attachments. “All right, let’s get started.” 

As noted, getting outside was going to take some effort. 

They positioned a chair under the roof, and since there was a question of height involved, it was Goblin Slayer who climbed onto it and began delicately removing the roof boards. Above those were the sun-dried bricks, which he broke through with equal care. To accomplish this, he used the hammer and chisel from the Adventurer’s Toolkit (you know what they say about that). 

With the bricks smashed, sand began flooding into the room with a thump. They all knew it was going to happen, yet, it was still unsettling. But the glimpse of blue sky just visible through the ceiling gladdened Priestess’s heart just as much as the sand troubled it. “We’ll be able to get out that way…!” 

“Yep, just need t’widen that hole a little first.” Dwarf Shaman held up his hands, making a little square with his fingers and peering at the gap. “Trade places with me, Beard-cutter. And Scaly, let me borrow your shoulders for a moment. Humans do the roughest work, and I can’t stand it.” 

“Well and very well!” Lizard Priest bent over and Dwarf Shaman scrambled up on his back, literally standing on his shoulders to continue what Goblin Slayer had started. His stubby fingers wielded the hammer with utmost skill as he cracked the bricks, broke them into pieces, removed them, and cast them away. That was all the more effort that was required; after that it was only a matter of time. 

And indeed, in what seemed a few blinks of an eye, the hole was wide enough for a person to climb through. Goblin Slayer was the first to go up. 

“All clear,” he said, tossing a rope down through the opening. Priestess scrambled up it to discover… 

“Wow…” 

…the horizon of the Four-Cornered World, seeming to go on forever, and a blue sky that appeared to stretch into infinity above her. She had never realized the world was such a vast place. 

The clouds drifting through that distant blue were so far away she couldn’t have touched them if she had reached out her arm as far as it would go. On the ground, meanwhile, all she could see was reddish sand stretching out toward every point of the compass. She squinted against the hot wind that slapped against her cheeks and held her hair in place as she felt her breathing intensify. Huff, huff, huff. Quick, short breaths. For some reason, the vista inspired a feeling in her like she had been thrown into the sea and was drowning. 

But that was also why she—Priestess—was the first to notice. “The sand… It’s moving…?” 

Just small vibrations at first. Little ripples in the sand. Then it emerged: a dorsal fin like a spire. 

There was a tangible thump as the creatures surfaced in a cloud of dust, massive fish that made her think of impossibly large capes. 

At first she saw one, then more. Two. Three. One after another the great things launched into the sky, pectoral fins working, their tails trailing sprays of sand. A vast school, numerous enough to make her dizzy, emerged from the ground, nearly covering the sky, before they dove back under the sand again. The great geysers of sand they kicked up veritably rained down on the party. 

“A school of sand mantas on the move…!” someone finally exclaimed in wonder. Was it Dwarf Shaman, or perhaps Lizard Priest, or even Female Merchant? But these were the last words spoken for some time, the adventurers gone mute with amazement at the overwhelming scene. It was the sort of thing one might be lucky to see just once in a lifetime—even an elf’s lifetime. 

“Bah… And what are we supposed to do? Jump on those sky-horses and bounce away?” They weren’t, High Elf Archer muttered disconsolately, the black-clad hunters of the fairy tales. “And speaking of fairy tales, some of them mention an endless snake that seems to have actually existed way, way in the past.” 

“And what of it?” Lizard Priest asked with great interest, but High Elf Archer only shrugged. “The elf who encountered it back in the day is still waiting for it to pass by again.” She delivered this declaration with a completely straight face, but after a short while she could no longer hide the shaking of her shoulders, and soon after that, laughter came bursting out of her. “Hah! Man, I just couldn’t help myself there!” she cried, her voice like a tinkling bell, her joy reaching from the bottom of her heart up to the blue sky far away. She tossed herself back like a child at play, stretching out her arms and legs, heedless of the sand. “This is why I can’t get enough of adventures.” 

Somebody laughed at that. It spread like a ripple, swiftly overtaking the entire party. Maybe there was nothing to do but laugh, or maybe they were all just overawed. 

But none of this meant they had given up. They had no horses, no supplies, and no time, but they also had no choice except to wait for the sand mantas to pass. And once they had, the party would then have an idea which direction to begin wandering over the sand. 

And despite all this, somehow—somehow—none of them felt despair, not even Female Merchant. Goblin Slayer murmured “Yes,” but perhaps none of them noticed that it wasn’t even necessary to say anymore that this was an adventure. And if this was an adventure, then the dice of Fate and Chance were still rolling. However the pips came out, for good or ill, it would be dramatic. 

It was Female Merchant who finally saw the numbers on the dice. “A ship…,” she said softly, pressing her way through the sand to the edge of the roof. 

Priestess scrambled after her, wrapping an arm around her thin waist to support her. “A ship…?” she echoed, following Female Merchant’s gaze. Then she blinked. There was, indeed, a ship. It sliced across the sands, great white sails full of the hot desert wind. Ship after ship, an entire fleet, triangular sails billowing—they seemed to be following the sand mantas. It was almost enough to make one forget one was standing in the middle of a desert—and then it seemed perhaps it was only an apparition. 

“Well, perhaps we might hope to be rescued as victims of the storm,” Lizard Priest said casually. Goblin Slayer nodded and held up his sword of a strange length. “Shout as loud as you can. And anyone with something reflective, wave it around.” 

“Oh, r-right!” Priestess said, raising her sounding staff. 

“Perhaps this, then…!” Female Merchant added, drawing the rapier from her hip. With a clear ring of metal, there emerged a weapon seemingly forged from ruby, with a quicksilver sheen. It caught the sunlight and flashed, and this seemed finally to get the attention of the ships. The rudder of the leading vessel shifted heavily to one side, pointing the ship toward the abandoned village. 

“Old sea dogs—or desert dogs, should I say? Hope they aren’t trouble, at any rate.” Even this foreboding murmur, though, sounded cheerful in Dwarf Shaman’s mouth. 

“Eh, if they are, we’ll just steal the ship out from under them,” High Elf Archer replied. 

At length, the ship arrived beside the village in a cloud of sand, turning broadside as it came to a stop before them. Perhaps it was some kind of fishing boat. It wasn’t that large—or at least, not in comparison with the sand mantas. The deck seemed to have room enough for about ten people, and upon it stood an old man with a harpoon in his hand. 

“Drifters, are you?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Goblin Slayer replied with a reserved nod. “We’re”—and there was a beat—“adventurers. We are in distress. Would it be possible to ride on your ship?” 

He sounded nonchalant, and the other man likewise spoke quiet and low. 

“Do as you please,” said the elderly captain—a Myrmidon, his mandibles clacking as he spoke. 

§ 

The wind as they experienced it upon the deck of the ship was different again from the breeze that blew through the desert; it was a sharp, good air. It was not due solely to the speed of the ship, but also to the Myrmidon, who had given them water and washrags. Just running a cold, wet cloth over her face was enough to provoke an exclamation of relief from Priestess. And to think, they had only been in this parched land a few days. 

“Appreciate it, Master Myrmidon. Real help you’re bein’,” Dwarf Shaman said, but the captain met him with more nonchalance and more clacking. 

“It’s fine by me. My type don’t need much by way of water.” 

Then the captain arranged his ships in an ever-shifting formation, surrounding one of the sand mantas that had been on the fringes of the school. Quite suddenly cut off from its compatriots, the giant fish was speared with one harpoon after another thrown by the Myrmidons. They could not throw as well as humans, of course, but they made up for this weakness with sheer numbers. Put crassly, if you threw a hundred harpoons at a target, one of them was bound to hit. 

One harpoon, though, was hardly enough to take the life of a massive creature that lived at once in earth and sky. Perhaps it wasn’t even enough to wound it; if the harpoon had a rope attached to it, it would only drag the ship along. But the Myrmidons grabbed the rope in their claws, spread the wings on their backs, and shimmied down to the manta. 

Now the Myrmidons were in their element. They slammed harpoon after harpoon into the manta’s back, then switched to hatchets, hacking away at it. They didn’t have time to actually whittle down its health, but struck into crevices in its shell, making pinpoint slashes at its gills and fins. It wasn’t long before the manta gave a mourning cry and tilted to one side, drifting lazily down through the air. Finally, it hit the ground with a great crash, spraying sand everywhere. 

“If you get ’em on the ground, even the big ones die,” the Myrmidon captain explained. “’S just how it works.” 

“A magnificent display,” Lizard Priest said, rolling his eyes in his head, to which the captain replied with a clack of his mandibles, “This is how we make our living. Happens to be their mating season just about now. They form these huge schools to go find females.” 

It made fishing a simple matter. 

With that, the Myrmidon captain turned his antennae into the wind, promptly raising his hand toward the others on the ship. In the blink of a compound eye, the sailors had adjusted the sails and turned the rudder. To Priestess it seemed like pure magic, but Female Merchant appeared to feel differently. Her face was a mélange of anxiety, concern, and excitement as she stared fixedly at the ships and the sand mantas. 

“Everything all right?” Priestess asked, and Female Merchant waved a hand as if to dismiss the question. “Oh, uh, f-fine. I was just thinking it’s all sort of…incredible.” 

“You over there,” the Myrmidon captain called to Female Merchant. “You look like a merchant. I might could be had to do a little trade.” 

“…I would be most grateful,” Female Merchant replied, looking at the deck and flushing a little upon realizing he had read her so easily. 

I’m surprised, Priestess thought. She had always heard Myrmidons were colder, less-engaged creatures. But even these brief interactions didn’t seem so. I guess you never know for sure until you meet them. Priestess diligently corrected this presupposition—perhaps it didn’t go far enough to be called a bias—within herself. 

Assumptions were not helpful, not when it came to the desert, or to Myrmidons, or to adventures. This much, at least, she had learned to her great distress on her very first quest. 

She shot a glance at Goblin Slayer, though it wasn’t clear what he took it to mean. The cheap-looking metal helmet quietly turned to the captain. “…Do you know anything about the goblins?” 

Oh gosh. This again. Priestess felt a smile tug at the edges of her lips at his sheer hopelessness. 

“Goblins?” the Myrmidon captain said, dipping his head in what appeared to be thought, his antennae bobbing gently. “Used to fight them and fight them pretty often back in the day, but I don’t suppose you’d be interested in those stories.” 

“What?” High Elf Archer, her ears flicking almost like the captain’s antennae, was immediately intrigued. “Don’t tell me… Did you used to be an adventurer?” 

“Something of the sort.” The Myrmidon captain waived the subject away as if it was all too much trouble. Or wait… Could it be, Priestess wondered, that he was embarrassed? “Frankly, it all depends a bit on how much you all know—about this country, I mean.” 

“Well, I know diplomatic relations soured after the new king came to the throne…,” Priestess said, putting a finger to her lips and trying to remember. 

Female Merchant picked up the subject. “…And I’ve heard there have been suspicious movements on the border.” 

“You’re not wrong, but you’re not right, either,” the Myrmidon captain said as he slowly took a seat. He looked dignified and self-possessed as he did so, bespeaking many years of real experience. His carapace, visible in glimpses under his robes, was streaked with a panoply of small scars. “The king hasn’t changed. The old king died, that much is true. But it’s the prime minister who runs this country now.” 

“As a tyrant?” Female Merchant asked. The Myrmidon captain shrugged, producing a clicking sound from his carapace. “There’s still a princess around. Doubt she can stop him, though.” 

“And what, then?” Lizard Priest asked with a slow motion of his head. Lizardmen were consummate warriors. Chances were he knew the answer before he asked the question. “Those bandits we battled, who looked akin to soldiers. Were they instead…?” 

“Soldiers disguised to look like bandits, most likely,” the captain responded. Goblin Slayer gave a low grunt. He didn’t bother to hide his intense displeasure—as if he ever did. 

Priestess understood how he felt, though. This was a fact that hardly bore contemplating. 

“You’re suggesting the soldiers may have been working with the goblins?” 

If those had been simple thieves or mountain bandits, it would not have been unusual for their territory to encroach on that of the goblins. But for the armed forces of the state itself to engage in such Bushwacker-esque behavior within spitting distance of goblins… Yet, it seemed the only conclusion. The goblin horde had equipment, the resources to keep wargs, and the ability to ride them. Under ordinary circumstances, no horde so large and elaborate could have survived for long within spitting distance of a national army. 

The Myrmidon captain didn’t respond. Instead, he clacked his mandibles. “No one knows for sure if the king died of assassination or just illness. One thing’s certain: That prime minister is a clever man.” 

He probably means…whatever he puts his mind to. Priestess felt a rush of vertigo and suddenly felt unsteady on her feet. Humans…obeying goblins? If it were some cultist or knight-servant of the gods of Chaos, she might yet understand—but the prime minister of an entire country? What kind of plans could possibly motivate such a wretched act? Priestess hugged herself, feeling a chill despite the oppressive sun. 

“Don’t act so shocked. There have been humans who obeyed monsters from time immemorial.” Hrmph. The Myrmidon expelled air from his spiracles, his antennae bobbing. “It’s a mad story all around… For example, have you heard of a weapon that launches a stone using fire powder?” 

“You mean the ones that look like cylinders, big and small?” Dwarf Shaman said as if this made sense to him, but Priestess had never heard of such a thing; she exchanged a puzzled look with High Elf Archer. 

“You mean flintlock rifles,” Female Merchant said. Priestess could only echo, “Flint lock?” 

“I’ve heard of them,” Goblin Slayer said softly. “But from what I can tell, they don’t suit my purposes. I don’t need them.” 

“Well, these people did,” the captain said. “These weapons can pierce through armor. Get enough of them together, and you can sweep an enemy unit off the field. An army equipped with them could rule the day.” Or at least, the captain added, it seemed that someone, at some point in this nation’s history, had plotted to do such. 

“And what came of it?” Goblin Slayer asked, urging the captain on. 

“The opposing horseman avoided the bullets by scattering as they charged, evaded them by using Deflect Missile on contact and smashed the rifle formation.” 

“As well they might,” Lizard Priest stated as if it were obvious, his eyes rolling in his head. “A single weapon can never rule all on the battlefield. There are too many paths to victory.” 

A sand-laden wind swept noisily across the deck. The Myrmidon captain looked up at the sky with his compound eyes. The sand formed a brownish haze against the blue. “All it means is…they have no idea what they look like to everyone else.” 

§ 

When the sun was just past its zenith, the ship slid to a halt with a whisper of sand. In the distance, they could see something looming like a small, dark mountain. It had several tiers of rounded minarets—a castle. It was unlike any castle Priestess had ever seen, though, and she found herself so taken with the sight that she forgot to climb down off the gunwale. 

“That’s the capital,” the Myrmidon captain said. “We give it a wide berth. Don’t want any trouble.” His remark seemed to bring Priestess back to reality; she straightened up and bowed her head. “Uh, um, th-thank you very much…!” She bowed repeatedly, clasping her cap to her head. This seemed to discomfit the captain, who waved a hand. 

“Don’t bow and scrape. Whatever happens to you lot doesn’t matter to me. I don’t know how you plan to deal with the goblins, but if you want information, that’s where you’ll find it. Do you have any connections at all?” 

“We have a safe-conduct pass and the handful of supplies we could carry…,” Female Merchant said, her finely shaped eyebrows pulling into a frown. She looked something like a disappointed child. “But everything else, we lost in the sandstorm.” 

“The Red Wind of Death? That’s a force to be reckoned with. Do you have any money?” 

“Yes, some. And we have our passes… Do you think they’ll really get us through the gate?” 

“If they don’t, the money will. And some gold and silver will enable you to do some trading in the city.” 

Virtually everything in this world had a price: goods, information, the right to enter a city. You could obtain them all if you could pay. 

The wind rushing by told the story. The Myrmidon captain spoke as if comforting a small girl: “There are two deities in the desert. The God of Wind, and the Trade God. What the wind takes, the wind may yet return to you.” Then he reached into his robes, his mandibles clacking and his feelers stretching out toward the group. “Which of you is the cartographer in your party?” 

“That would be me,” Lizard Priest said, raising his hand. “What of it, Captain?” 

“Take this with you.” With an almost casual motion, he tossed him a roll of what appeared to be papyrus paper. Lizard Priest caught it easily out of the air and unrolled it, to discover an expertly drawn diagram. “Well, well…,” he said with a gasp. “A most magnificent map…” 

“It depicts the area around here. Do with it as you like, so long as you don’t take it out of the desert.” 

“Your consideration is most moving.” Lizard Priest brought his hands together in a strange gesture and bowed his head deeply. 

“When Scaly’s right, he’s right,” Dwarf Shaman said from beside him. He gave his bulging item pouch a smack with his rough palm. “And we sure appreciate you sharin’ your food and water.” 

“With all this, if we run into another storm, we might just make it!” High Elf Archer said. 

“Prefer we not. Not all of us can live off mist and dew like elves, Long-Ears.” High Elf Archer laughed openly at this, hopping down off the ship with an acrobatic motion. Her white robes billowed as she came to rest on the ground without disturbing a single grain of sand. Dwarf Shaman, in contrast, landed with a thump, provoking another gale of laughter from the elf. She stopped laughing when she was caught in the shower of sand kicked up by Lizard Priest’s landing. 

“Many pardons,” he said when he saw her standing there with her hands on her hips, but then he rolled his eyes in his head as if he was not after all too concerned. Then he stretched out his long tail toward the ship so that Priestess and Female Merchant could use it like a railing as they came down. 

“Now you may both disembark.” 

“Th-thank you.” 

“…Pardon me.” 

The girls held hands—and Lizard Priest’s tail—as they worked their way hesitantly down to the sandy ground. Still perhaps perturbed by the shower of sand, High Elf Archer jabbed Lizard Priest gently in the side with her elbow. “I notice I didn’t get a tail railing.” 

“I was so taken by the agility and grace you displayed that I forgot to even think of it,” he said with a guffaw, and High Elf Archer puffed out her cheeks in a way most unbecoming of a high elf. It lasted for only a moment, though. By the time she was striding forth on her long legs across the sands, she was already back in good humor. “Orcbolg, hurry up!” she called, spinning and waving to him. 

“Ah, elves. A cheerful people if there ever was one,” the captain commented from the deck, fondness evident in his tone. 

“She’s always a help,” Goblin Slayer said, not necessarily sure what the captain was driving at. “Me, I am not capable of behaving that way.” 

“You,” the captain said. Goblin Slayer stopped with his hand on the gunwale. The Myrmidon captain turned his compound eyes, the emotion and expression of which were almost impossible to read, on Goblin Slayer. “You look like a man lost.” 

He sounded so certain. 

“…No,” Goblin Slayer said, but for a moment he didn’t say anything further. He inhaled; considered; and finally, slowly, admitted, “Yes. I am surprised you could tell.” 

“It wasn’t hard.” The Myrmidon produced a dry clicking sound. It seemed he was laughing. “I seemed to fall in with a lot of those back in the day.” 

“I am their leader…,” Goblin Slayer started, but then corrected himself. “Or rather, they have recognized me as such.” Then the cheap-looking metal helmet swiveled from one side to the other. Through the slats of his visor, he saw his party and Female Merchant, standing on the sand and waiting for him. 

“Hey, what’s going on with that roof? It looks like an onion! Weird!” High Elf Archer was saying. 

“Theory’s simple enough, that. You pile up the stones, then add the keystone and voilà, it stands up on its own.” 

“There is certainly a great breadth of knowledge among the peoples of our many lands.” 

“I feel like I haven’t stopped being surprised since we got here,” Priestess commented. 

“…Me too,” agreed Female Merchant. 

Goblin Slayer let out a breath as he watched them. He had never imagined he might come to such a place and in such company. Perhaps until this moment, he never would have thought he was even capable of it. 

“I’m afraid that other than goblin slaying, I am…not good for much,” he said, wondering privately what he might have been able to do about all that had happened up to this moment. Could he go forward? It would be a simple fact to say he was uncertain on this matter. 

Without pomp or ceremony, though, the Myrmidon captain replied, “Any adventurer eventually has to take that step into completely unknown territory. Some die there. Some come close. Some survive. How much they fretted about it rarely comes into it.” 

“…” 

“So I guess the only thing to do is whatever you can do.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Yes,” the captain answered with a flick of his antennae. “That’s the size of it.” 

“…I see,” Goblin Slayer said after a long moment, then exhaled again. 

It was not an answer. His concerns didn’t suddenly vanish. It was simply a reaffirmation of fact. Gods—if his master were to see this, how he would laugh, how he would mock, how he would beat his charge mercilessly. His charge who had no smarts, no talents. All he had was guts—which meant all that was open to him was to act. It was everything he had. 

Goblin Slayer squeezed his fingers on the gunwale, tensing his whole body before leaping to the sand. He landed with a thump, a light but powerful sound unlike that made by either Dwarf Shaman or Lizard Priest. 

“May you do well, adventurer,” the Myrmidon captain murmured as he watched the group depart with his compound eyes. The sun, though past the midpoint in the sky, was still bright and hot enough to burn, but soon it would soften into the crimson of evening. That would be about when those adventurers would reach the city. 

The captain waved his antennae to help distract from the fact that he had come to their aid almost without thinking about it. He had left adventure behind him long ago, but every once in a long while things like this happened: The dice were inscrutable. 

Perhaps this is a tailwind from the God of Travel. Or perhaps it’s the doing of Fate or Chance… 

“Well, personally…I’m perfectly happy either way.” 

And with that, the Myrmidon Monk gave a loud clack of his mandibles.