Goblin Slayer - Volume 11 - Chapter 5.1

Interlude – No Hit No Run

How did this happen?! 

The captain groaned to himself, racing through the stronghold even as it was swallowed up by the storm of Chaos. Things might not have been going perfectly, but he had thought they were going well enough. Breed the goblins, domesticate them, use them for soldiers: When the idea had struck him, it had seemed so inspired he thought it might be a revelation. Slaves or kidnappees could serve as a nice, cheap source of both food and procreation. He would have an endless source of disposable troops. An infinite army. They could even win a war with these forces. 

The captain remembered the withering look of disdain the prime minister had given him when he had suggested the idea. When the prime minister had brought her to parade before the troops, the princess didn’t even look at him. As the goblins grew more numerous, the soldiers also began to give him dirty looks. It was humiliating. Why didn’t they share his devotion to this country, his willingness to do anything, even something underhanded, for its sake? 

“Hey, out of my way, you dogs!” The captain brandished his saber; there was a gibbering cry and a spray of blood. He ignored it. The wailing soldiers and the goblins were all alike: merely in his way. 

Now that the prime minister held the power in this country, that made the prime minister’s second-in-command the next most powerful person—and that was him. One day he would take that despicable minister out of the picture, force the princess to marry him, and then he would stand at the top. He had the knowledge and the intelligence. He had been educated in the singing of ballads and the ways of etiquette and culture. And as for combat ability, he was displaying it now. 

So why doesn’t anyone see me for the jewel that I am?! The captain charged through the stronghold, looking around with bloodshot eyes, saliva frothing at the corner of his mouth. He had been informed of the goblin attack just as he had been preparing to entertain the foreign merchant woman. He had been on his best behavior. He would whisper a welcoming word or two into her ear so that when the time came she might aid him. He’d even had something special up his sleeve to make sure it would happen. Everything had been going according to plan. 

And then the goblins rebelled. 

He was sure the foreign woman had started it somehow. Another country instigating rebellion in his ranks. That was as good as a declaration of war. 

“It’s war!” he shouted. “Do you blaggards understand that? We have a war on our hands!” But though he shouted orders, no one listened to him. That only made him angrier. 

Can’t even count on my own soldiers anymore! 

If he wanted this job done right, he would have to do it himself. He’d come this far. He knew he could trust only his own genius. 

They would subdue the goblins eventually. The monsters had caught them by surprise, but the soldiers were stronger than they were. The problem was what came after that. It would be war. There was no question in the captain’s mind. He had to be prepared. He would have to use that something special. After all, it wouldn’t be special if he never used it. 

He hadn’t lost yet. He just needed to win. Achieve victory, and everything would be his. All the country’s treasures, all the power, the women. Even that birdfolk dancer he’d heard so much about, the one who was supposed be the most sublimely talented in all the world, even she would come to serve him. 

The captain kicked open the door to the living quarters and flew inside. “Where is it?! My map—I need my map…!” 

He turned desk drawers inside out, pulled everything off the shelves. He didn’t even care when a wine jar crashed to the ground and shattered open on the thick carpet he took so much pride in. A truly great man would not be distracted by such trivial things. No, never. The captain was sure. 

“Yo, Excellency. You have a minute? I’ve got a message for you.” 

The voice came from behind him, interrupting his desperate search. The captain already had one hand on the sword at his hip as he turned around. “What the hell is it?! And who the hell are you?! Don’t waste my time with worthless reports. Help me find—” 

His widened eyes were filled with the sight of a flying pellet of steel. 

“Die, you rat.” 

§ 

There was a thwack and the force of the bullet penetrating his eyeball spun the guard captain around, then he finally ended up flat on his back. 

The spy replaced the smoking cylinder across his back, letting out a sigh as he grabbed the captain’s helmet. “See? I told you these things were made for killing enemies from close range in a single shot. Armor or no armor.” 

“You aimed at his head. I would be surprised if it didn’t turn out this way.” Beside him, a red-haired girl gave a sour smile and tried to get the helmet to sit comfortably. She was a changeling, but her ears were longer than those of an ordinary human. Maybe the helmet didn’t fit quite right. She finally gave up, pulling off the helmet and rubbing her ears. “More important business,” she said by way of keeping the spy focused. “We aren’t doing things the usual way today. We have to hurry. Could be some trouble getting out of here, eh?” 

“Gee, sorry,” piped up a third person. It was a guard with a delicate build—the young woman who served the God of Knowledge. She was smiling. “Didn’t mean to horn in on your racket.” 

“…It’s fine, and you know it.” The red-haired elf frowned and looked away. The cleric of the God of Knowledge chuckled. “I’ll pretend the helmet did that.” 

“I said, it’s fine,” the red-haired elf said with a snort. “Just do your job.” 

“Sure, and you keep your eyes open for any problems.” The red-haired elf was her comrade, a fellow woman, and a friend, and the cleric had no special desire to upset her. She jumped over the captain’s corpse. As she went, she spotted something that seemed to have been torn from around the man’s neck: a sigil of a single eye. The cleric frowned. 

Truthfully, she had some misgivings about this herself. She would normally just leave everything to the two front-rowers. 

Everyone’s got their part to play, right? Nothing special about that. She very rarely came out to the scene of the action like this. She had to get in a little banter or she wouldn’t be able to stand it. 

“Sorry,” the spy said, his crossbow always at the ready. “Afraid we can’t read the writing around here.” 

“You both need to study more,” the cleric replied, reaching down for the papers at her feet. There were quite a few of them, many of the pages all but bursting with writing. It would take some time to find what she was looking for. 

Which means you’re up, God. 

“Watchman of the Candle, out of this googol of beams of light, show me that illumination I seek.” The cleric grasped the holy symbol hanging underneath her guard’s tunic, invoking the Search miracle. 

In an instant, her mind was full of the contents of all the texts in front of her, until she felt light settle on one place in particular. “Ah, here it is.” She knelt down on a carpet saturated with wine and brains, and grabbed a few pages that had fallen in an inconspicuous corner. They had something to do with some kind of national secret, information about the castle in the capital. It looked like a floor plan—a very recent one. Escape routes and everything… Unless this was all just the prime minister’s plotting. 

Personally, I’d love to read everything here, the cleric of the God of Knowledge thought, almost quivering with a catlike curiosity. But it was all need-to-know, so to speak. If she didn’t need it for the run, best not to know it. The cleric gathered up her haul, tucking the pages into a cylinder and sealing it shut. 

Need to know or not, a little chatter wouldn’t hurt. The cleric allowed a thin smile to creep onto her face. “Wonder who the johnson was who wanted this guy killed.” 

“Who knows? Maybe the family of one of the slaves he bought. Or maybe one of the people he kidnapped was nobility or something…” The spy offered the cleric some mild congratulations on completing her job, and she nodded in return. 

“You make enough enemies, this is how you end up,” the red-haired girl remarked. It was an uncommonly cold thing to say, for her. 

The spy just shrugged, but as for the cleric, she could think of a few possible motivations. Changelings were few and far between—valuable. And this one could use magic. There were some out there who wouldn’t hesitate to kidnap her. To do terrible things to her friends to get her. The world was divided into three categories: those who took, those who were taken from, and those who survived. 

Ahh stop, stop. 

It was all just idle speculation on her part. No evidence, no proof, and the only answers were locked up in her friend’s heart. One could imagine endless reasons a person might engage in shadowy work like this. There was the spy, who had replaced lost body parts with forbidden magic. The driver, who had taken on the debt of a woman it seemed he barely knew. The fixer, forever laughing, and the mage who supported the group without ever showing what they looked like for whatever reason. 

But who needed reasons? They all got along well. It was a good party, she thought. 

For that matter, it was something of a riddle why the cleric had thrown herself into this world of shadows. She didn’t tell anyone her reasons, and they were polite enough not to ask. She would respect their silence in return. 

“All right, I’m done here.” 

“Got it,” the red-haired elf said. Then she whispered, “Umbra fac simile. Make me darkness, as you are…,” and touched her own shadow. 

In obedience to the whispered true words, the shadow swelled and took on volume, assuming the shape of a stretcher. Most convenient. Especially when there was a limit to how much you could carry with you. “Charisma’s still in effect, so let’s do this while we can.” 

“On it.” The spy nodded, and with his strength enhanced by that spell, he was easily able to heft the dead captain and drop him on the stretcher. He tore down the nearest curtain he could find and draped it over the body. “One wounded hero, ready for service.” 

Now they could march right out the front gate and get away in the waiting carriage. It was precisely in these chaotic, “crude” situations that one needed to be most technical. 

“I’ll hold the other end,” the red-haired elf said, going around to the back of the stretcher. 

“Thanks,” came the spy’s response. He held up his end of the stretcher with one hand, keeping his crossbow ready in the other. “Just pretend you’re holding it up. It’s fine.” 

Guess he doesn’t need our help with that strength. 

The cleric didn’t want to get in the way. The thought brought an amused smile to her face. There were other objects in the room, like a halberd and a helmet, that looked like they could fetch a pretty price—but so it went. 

“We’re transporting the wounded! Everyone out of the way!” 

The three of them flew through the halls with the corpse on the stretcher. They shoved soldiers out of the way, keeping the crossbow focused ever forward, occasionally loosing a killing bolt against a goblin… 

“Hey,” the red-haired elf said as they passed a motley party going the other direction. She seemed to be looking at a petite female cleric—a servant of the Earth Mother, it looked like. 

“Everything okay?” the spy asked. 

“Yeah, no problem,” the elf said with a motion of her head. But the spy, like the cleric, would have picked up on the quiet prayer for success she then offered. Neither of them said anything, though. If there was someone in there she actually wished to pray for, then good. 

Suddenly, the hallway—no, the entire fortress—gave a great shake. “Yikes…” The spy caught the elf and kept her from falling even as he prepared to react with his crossbow; the cleric closed her eyes and, just for a second, sent her consciousness into the void. 

“Wow…,” she marveled, more or less without meaning to. It was unreal—downright impressive, even. “Those adventurers summoned the sand mantas somehow. The mantas! Can you believe it?” 

“It’s a glitch!” the spy shouted. “Dammit, these people have no manners.” 

“Let’s keep moving, or we’ll be going down with this place,” the red-haired elf said. Then she chuckled to herself. There was something to be said for panache. 

“We just have to deliver these papers, right?” the cleric mumbled, without much interest. She wanted to get them off her hands before she was tempted to read them. “Do you know where we’re going?” 

“Yeah.” The spy smiled. The red-haired elf caught his eye and smiled, too. Another mystery. Admittedly, one it would be rather nosy to try to solve. 

“Here’s what happens: We go, we give them the thing, we come back, we get our money, we go home.” 

Whatever happened to the rest of the soldiers in this stronghold, or whatever happened to this country, was no concern of theirs. They were just villains who killed for money, assassins who ran through the shadows. They weren’t champions of justice, and they weren’t out to set the world to rights: They were rogues. In the end it was just them in the dark, with nothing but their skills to rely on, “no hit no run,” no one to collect their corpses if they died. 

Let the adventurers and the heroes handle the dragons.