Goblin Slayer - Volume 12 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Of When You're Right In The Middile Of An Adventure And A Wyvern Shows Up

Just then—well, you saw the chapter title.

“Yeeeeeek!”

“Run, run, run-run-run!! It’s gonna eat us!”

“Gosh, we are truly done for now, I daresay…!”

At the screech from behind them, the warrior with the club and sword gave a scream and began beating a desperate retreat out of the forest. The cleric, tears welling in her eyes, ran alongside him as they followed the white-furred hunter bouncing ahead.

How did this happen…?!

Frustration filled his mind, along with a profound commitment to keep his eyes forward. Don’t look back.

From above came what seemed to him the shadow of death. That wasn’t the wind howling; it was a cry of murderous intent.

Why did the air seem so hot and thick? It wasn’t because he was sweating.

“GYAAAAAAAAAAOSSSSSSS!!!!”

It was because a massive, airborne predator was swooping at them from behind!

Which idiot was it who said that wyverns are just failed dragons?!

Then again, the statement wasn’t exactly wrong. They weren’t quite as strong as dragons, but dragons were so strong to begin with that it hardly made a difference. Especially when the wyvern’s prey was a trio of adventurers who barely had any proverbial hair on their chests!

He hadn’t wanted to use the ploy he’d picked up recently quite like this, but…

“T-tell me what we’re supposed to do now!” his old friend, almost out of breath, shouted at him.

The shadow overhead half-flapped and half-coasted along, vastly quicker than they were down on the ground. The trees gave them some small measure of cover, but the end would come soon.

“What do we do…?!”

There was only one thing to do: Run. They weren’t going to fight that thing and win. But where to run to?

The young man, Club Fighter, thought as fast as he could, but he knew perfectly well that he wasn’t likely to come up with any bright ideas for turning the situation around. He had never really been the thinking type.

Harefolk Hunter looked back at him and frowned. Padfoots were quick and nimble, but they lacked endurance. Harefolk, in particular, could be quite acrobatic so long as they had something to eat, but they weren’t made to run very long without stopping for a snack or a tipple.

“I—I don’t think…I can last…much longer…” Harefolk Hunter said.

“Aw, gygax!”

“Hey, no sweari—Agh!” No sooner had the boy seen her white paws slipping than he grabbed Harefolk Hunter by the belt, hefting her up and seating her astride his shoulders. Despite her girlish shouting, she was both softer and heavier than she appeared, but the warrior hardly noticed.

This farmer’s third son is stronger than you think!

It was only after he let out a breath that he noticed something that made his eyes widen in realization. The first thing he saw was the girl’s ears, bobbing above him from where he had placed her on his shoulders, a position she apparently objected to.

He seemed to recall this happening once before. Only that time, his cleric friend had been huffing and puffing alongside him, and they had been in the sewers. That adventure had been quite an ordeal, in part because it had been only the two of them then. It was still an ordeal now. Even though they were a trio.

A trio?

“Oh…” That was when he was gripped with a flash of insight. “That’s it—ears!”

“Huh?!”

“You remember—on our way here—the river! The sound of water! Can’t you hear it?! Which way? Can you tell?!” He knew he wasn’t being entirely coherent, but Harefolk Hunter got the gist of what he was thinking. She collected herself, then hmmed thoughtfully, listening, and finally pointed to the right. “Think it’s prob’ly that way, but…”

“Okay…!” That settled it, then. With his free hand he grabbed that of the cleric of the Supreme God and ran like his life depended on it. His childhood friend’s hand was smaller than he remembered, and it was trembling—but he couldn’t think about that now.

“The river—Wh-what are you going to do at the river?!” she yelped, her face pale—both things he might have teased her about under other circumstances, but now…

“I don’t—I don’t know, but…something…!” A strained smile crossed his face as he realized his pallor at the moment was probably no better than hers.

Shortly thereafter, his field of vision expanded; they must have left the forest. A river spread out before them—well, not exactly before them; it was at the bottom of a narrow ravine—a thin line snaking its way between sheer cliffsides. Normally, he might have come screeching to a halt from sheer terror. He would never have picked this for his staging ground. Certainly not in the middle of an adventure.

“GYAAAAAAAAAAOSSSSSSS!!!!”

But they had nowhere to turn and not a single second to spare. Now that they were beyond the shelter of the trees, the wyvern made a beeline for them.

“It’s coming—You know it’s coming, right?!” Harefolk Hunter shouted. From her perch on Club Fighter’s back, she could well see it overhead.

“Don’t blame me if we all die, okay?!”

“Of course I’m going to blame you!” Cleric shouted. “I’ll give you a piece of my mind right there in front of the Supreme God!”

At least she was going to follow him. Such, in any case, was how Club Fighter chose to interpret the little squeeze she gave his hand.

And then he jumped.

One great leap, with an old friend beside him and a new one on his shoulders, right off the cliff.

He had no sense of floating; it was more like the ground was sucking him toward itself. The wind whipped in his ears. The girls—and the warrior himself—screamed at the top of their lungs. It was chaos. The young warrior pulled the girls close, hoping to save them from being bashed against the cliffsides if nothing else, then wrapped his arms over his own head. The fast-approaching surface of the water was still terrifying. He closed his eyes for an instant, then opened them and tried to look anywhere else but down.

He twisted his neck around; it took all his strength to look up, but he was just in time to see the wyvern gnashing its beak where it had plowed into and was stuck between the cliff walls.

Too big to fit? Even a roach could get in here, sucker!

If the wyvern could have read his mind at that moment, it would certainly have been incensed by its findings. Instead, it had to settle for an enraged howl at the escape of its prey, the ear-piercing noise reverberating through the ravine.

The next thing he heard was the rush of water…

Then there was pain and cold, as if he had been struck with a ball of ice, and the warrior fainted.

§

“I guess this is, what, the third time we’ve done this? Goblins really are small fry…”

“GBBOR?!”

He caught the goblin’s dagger on the blade of the sword he called Chestburster II, then crushed its skull with a flourish of his club, Roach Slayer II. He never got used to the wet, gooey feeling of the brain giving way; it was always unpleasant. It wasn’t like killing bugs.

The cave floor was damp, but there was none of the slime that was perpetually present in the sewers. Plenty of traction. Club Fighter kicked off the ground, firmly planting his feet ensconced in his tall boots, and pulling his weapons in close. Fighting in the club-and-sword-both-at-once style—“dual wielding,” maybe—had felt profoundly strange at first, but he was getting used to it.

How many more?

“Probably five or six left, I think! Stay sharp…!” called a sprightly voice to his side. It was Supreme God’s Cleric, her back against the rock wall. She held the sword and scales in one hand and a lantern in the other, and was watching the battle closely. Until recently, it had always been just the two of them, so she was always on her guard, taking nothing for granted. After all, their only ranged attack was a single miracle she had been granted by the Supreme God.

It was also their only ace. A precious resource not to be spent lightly.

Yeah, gotta use it carefully, Club Fighter thought.

“Meh, think we can handle this much,” Harefolk Hunter said, sounding utterly unconcerned, despite the fact that they were in a cave hunting goblins. Even as her hands worked her bow rat-a-tat-tat, the string snapping sharply again and again.

Harefolk Hunter—she was what made this so different from the days when they had been hunting roaches in the sewers. She seemed to be able to keep track of everything that was happening at once; she could stand on the front line—and look at her shoot! She could jump back, bring her bow to bear, and nock in an arrow all in a single turn. And as long as she had a turn to take, she could keep shooting—unlike with magic! (Even though she had once chuckled, her ears bobbing shyly, and admitted, “Well, t’ain’t like arrows come free, y’know. Take too many shots and I might not be able t’make my next meal!”)

“Taaaake that!” An especially heavy arrow went flying with a sound like chopping wood, landing a bull’s-eye on a goblin far in the back of the battle line. The creature looked amazed at the bolt suddenly sprouting from his neck and tumbled backward, rolling over once before coming to a stop and not moving again.

“GGOROGB!!”

“GROB! GOOROGB!!”

The goblins made a terrible racket at that, but they must have believed they could still win, because their morale remained high. Or maybe they had simply realized that the adventurers had nowhere to go but through them.

It was easy to get distracted by the opponents right up at the front, but luckily Cleric was there to warn them. “There’s more coming from deeper in…!”

“Aw, that’s just what we need! My bowstring’s startin’ to feel awfully heavy!” Nonetheless, Harefolk Hunter gave a great pull on the bow, which seemed far too large for such a small creature. She had to brace herself and tilt it to one side; it took a certain amount of time.

And it’s my job to buy her that time…!

“I’m on it!” Club Fighter shouted and rushed in. His hands were slippery with sweat, and the protective metal plate strapped to his forehead felt heavy, almost making it hard to see. But he had the tethers of his club and sword wrapped around his wrists. And his friends were watching out for him. So he stayed faithful to his role, lashing out with the club in his left hand as he drove forward.

“GOOBGG?!”

“Rrrahh!!”

The goblin in front of him gave an incoherent screech, his throat crushed, and Club Fighter finished him off with a stroke of the sword in his right hand. He tilted his head down so that the splatter of blood wouldn’t get in his eyes, catching it instead on his forehead guard. He remembered how he always used to flinch backward at the various fluids that squeezed out of the rats and roaches on his earlier hunts.

Is this what you call “experience” at work?

“GORB! GOBBGB!!”

“Hrngh…?!”

No time to be thinking about that. Better be thinking about the dagger of the goblin who’d just made a leap for him, totally unperturbed by the death of his comrade.

Club Fighter was too late to catch the dagger with his weapon; the blade pierced the simple leather glove covering his left arm.

“Eeyow, that hurts!” he cried, more from surprise than pain. He inadvertently let go of his club, but the thong securing it to his wrist caught it for him.

“GORRGBB!!”

Even that didn’t matter—this goblin did. Club Fighter pulled his arm back forcefully, away from the mocking, triumphant creature.

“You stinking son of a—”

“Here I go!!”

“GOBGB?!”

There was a great ker-ack and one of Harefolk Hunter’s thick arrows came flying. It pierced the goblin through the eyeball, stabbing him in the brain and taking his life as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Club Fighter kicked the corpse out of his way, knocking it back into the encroaching goblins, then stepped back, panting. “Sorry—hold the line for a moment…!”

“Y’all can leave it to me!” Harefolk Hunter said with a flick of her ears, stowing the bow across her back and producing a large hunting knife as she advanced on the goblins.

He and Cleric could never have this when it was just the two of them. The boy pulled the dagger out of his arm and threw it away.

“Hey, are you okay?!” His partner’s face as she hustled over to him was tight with worry. He shook his head. “I dunno…! I’m too scared to look…!”

“I don’t think you have a choice!” She put the lantern on the ground and pulled off his gauntlet, inspecting the wound. Thankfully, the leather had taken the brunt of the attack, the tip of the blade just grazing his forearm. There was only a small trickle of blood. “Okay, I… Let’s see… I need to put antiseptic on it, then bandage it… Press it down tight to stop the bleeding!”

“Y-yeah, got it…!”

A good, firm press would stop minor wounds from bleeding. A blessing from the gods, perhaps.

He had only learned about this since he had started adventuring, and he followed his old friend’s instructions to the letter. The squeezing honestly seemed more painful than the stab wound, but Cleric wasn’t going to take it easy on him.

“Was it poisoned?!”

“Dunno…!” He frowned when he realized it might have been. “No choice, I guess—Gotta drink one of these…”

They both hated to see expenses mount, but if he ended up paralyzed here and now, costs would be the least of their worries. He glanced toward the front line, where Harefolk Hunter was shouting and brandishing her dagger at a group of goblins.

How many did we kill? How many are left…?!

He wasn’t sure anymore. Slightly panicked, the boy took out an antidote bottle and drank it in a single gulp. “Damn, that’s bitter! Okay, I’m going in again!”

“I’ll watch your back—you just take care of those goblins!” Supreme God’s Cleric gave him a slap on the back, and Club Fighter, holding his weapons in his hands again, ran through the cave.

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” he called to Harefolk Hunter, who shouted back, “You oughtta be! Argh!” A goblin with a gaping slash in his chest was lying at her feet, but Harefolk Hunter herself was covered in small scratches. Specks of blood were visible in her white fur, and her breath was ragged. She was obviously nearing exhaustion.

“GOROGBB!”

“GBBGB! GORGBB!!”

Two goblins remained, which meant she had been fighting three on one. The goblins’ eyes glinted with lust; they made no effort to hide their hideous appetites. Their awful little brains must have been imagining all the fun they would have with the rabbit girl, all the many ways they would trample on her dignity. No doubt they were having similar imaginings about Supreme God’s Cleric in the back row. But Harefolk Hunter was between her and them.

It must have been terrifying for her to have all the force of this lust turned upon her. The young man frowned with this understanding. I have to get a better grasp of the situation—give better directions…!

If Harefolk Hunter had made any kind of slipup, the goblins would have been upon her now, might already have had her on the ground. “I’ll take your place!” he thundered, sorry he had forced her to hold the line. “You get back there and have those wounds looked at! There might be poison involved!”

“Yeep! Y-yeah, sure thing…!” She hopped out of the line of battle with all the agility one would expect of harefolk. She almost rolled away, in fact, and Club Fighter leaped over her, letting his momentum carry him into a strike against the goblins. The sword and the club in his hands thudded against the goblins’ rusty equipment.

“GOORG…!!”

“BGGGBGORG!!”

“You…stupid—” It might have looked cooler if he’d been able to come up with something more fitting—like, “This is for hurting my friend!” or something—but such is life.

He briefly locked weapons with one of them, but managed to shove the creature back. He had to think about both of the remaining goblins, though. He could smell their fetid breath, feel the warmth of it. Detect their disgusting body odor. Club Fighter was much stronger than they were in terms of brute force, but he couldn’t let his attention waver. Couldn’t afford to offer them the slightest opening.

“—stinking goblins!”

Club Fighter had barely learned everything there was to know about swordsmanship. He didn’t think very hard, just pushed with his weapon, forcing his way through the goblins’ own weapons.

“GROGB?!”

“GOOBBGG!!”

The goblins stumbled, but only for a second. Their eyes shone with a nasty light. Each one figured that while the other was being killed (they naturally assumed it would be the other goblin), he would jump on this human and kill him!

And it very nearly worked out that way.

“Hrrrahh!”

“GOROOGOG?!”

Club Fighter lashed out at the unlucky goblin with his club, adding the finishing blow with his sword. The other comparatively lucky monster screeched and made to move in on him…

“The fangs of the vorpal bunny take your life!” Harefolk Hunter, her face now bandaged, fired at him with all the anger of her wounds, and the modicum of luck ran out.

The goblin collapsed without even a scream. Club Fighter gave him a stab to be sure, and then it was done. He suddenly registered that he was standing among a room full of goblin corpses, his own labored breathing the only sound.

“…Is it over?” Supreme God’s Cleric whispered, to which he replied, “I think so,” and glanced around. It was too dark to see exactly what was in the shadows or hiding farther back in the interior of the cave. But he didn’t think he felt anything. “I think so…” he repeated, and then he went on without much confidence: “I think it’s over.”

“Urgh…I’m bushed,” Harefolk Hunter said, then sat down right where she was with an indecorousness that made one wonder if she was a girl or a boy.

“Nice work,” Supreme God’s Cleric said, passing the harefolk a waterskin, which she grasped with both hands and drank from lustily. After all, well-fed harefolk can keep going indefinitely, but without food they were paralyzed.

“I think we have some baked rations, too. All we have to do now is get home, so go ahead and eat them.” Club Fighter took a swig of diluted grape wine from his own drinking pouch.

“Yahoo!” Harefolk Hunter exclaimed. “Gods, I’m just starving…!”

The tough baked goods were standard provisions for adventuring. Harefolk Hunter took them out of the item pouch with a big grin on her face, then started stuffing her face with them. Nibbling away with her cheeks full, she really did look like a rabbit, Club Fighter thought.

“Hey, not so fast,” Supreme God’s Cleric said. “You’ll spill…or choke.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!”

“Gosh,” Supreme God’s Cleric added quietly, but she was smiling as she plucked a stray crumb off Harefolk Hunter’s cheek. Club Fighter put his weapons away as he watched his two companions, making sure they were still all right. Then he repeated his conclusion to himself: Goblins… Just small fry.

Compared to the vampire, or the sasquatches they’d battled on the snowy mountain, goblins were nothing. Heck, they had taken care of this entire nest, just the three of them together. Including the battle to protect the farm on the outskirts of town—Club Fighter was sure that counted!—this made three times now. After fighting other monsters as well as goblins, there was no other conclusion: Goblins were real chumps.

“All right, let’s catch a quick rest and then we’ll scope out the inside of the cave. If there’s no one else here, we head out.”

“Sounds good,” Supreme God’s Cleric said with a nod. “I’m sure the villagers will want to know what’s happened.”

It was a classic—one might almost say cliché—quest. Some goblins had appeared near a village. The nest, it seemed, was in the mountains. Couldn’t the adventurers do something about it?

And so these adventurers fought, cleaned things up, and that was the end of it. There were none of those “country” goblins—the big hobs they’d heard about—nor any spell casters, nor prisoners.

“Kinda makes you feel like they just now showed up here from somewhere, don’t it?” Harefolk Hunter said, still wolfing down the food, her nose twitching. “Guess the stories do say that’s how a lot of goblins get started.”

“I know a certain strange adventurer who hunts goblins every single day who might disagree with you,” Supreme God’s Cleric shot back, and all three of them laughed.

Yes, this was how your average goblin hunt was supposed to go. They would head into the deepest parts of the cave together just to be sure, and then they would all go happily home. The reward was nothing to write home about, but it was another feather in their caps, and the villagers would be grateful, too.

They were feeling good. Downright happy, it must be said. But they didn’t think that was any kind of mistake. They left the gloomy cave behind, and now they could smile up at the sun, which was getting lower, true, but the sky was still bright and blue.

All that was left was to work their way back through the forest and down the mountain, and back to the village. The adventure was over—no, wait.

“Hmm?”

“Huh?”

“Buh?”

The moment they stepped out of the cave, a shadow large enough to cover all three adventurers flew overhead.

“GYAAAAAAAAAAOSSSSSSS!!!!”

It turned out the adventure wasn’t over at all.

§

He woke to a strange sensation; he felt warm, but his skin was clammy. His head was spinning, his mind thick. Deep in his nose and throat he detected blood, but it wasn’t quite a smell, and it wasn’t quite a taste.

He was caught unawares by a memory of when he was young. He had a friend who had fallen from a tree and hit their head. They’d laughed and said they were fine, but not long after, they developed a nosebleed and died. A blood vessel inside their head had burst, and they hadn’t known.

Now Club Fighter forced himself to sit up, struggling dimly with the anxiety, the terror, that the same thing might happen to him. “Urr… Urgh…?” He felt dizzy, like he’d had too much to drink (though he had only ever experienced alcohol at the rare banquet). He quickly thrust out a hand to steady himself, and his fingers were met by a warm rock face. When he listened closely, he could hear both the crackle of a fire and the burbling of water.

Am I in a cave?

He blinked several times, trying to clear away the fog that seemed to muddy both his thoughts and his vision. After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and the first thing he saw was the cheerful dancing of an orange fire. A hasty air trap had been devised from a piece of tent cloth or the like and hung over the fire to direct the smoke outside.

Yeah, otherwise you could suffocate, he thought distantly, letting out a breath. He realized his clothes had been stripped off. There was a blanket beneath his body, but he was still cold—and warm at the same time.

Okay, so I’m sleeping on the floor of a cave. And I have no clothes. Does that mean the others are all right?

As his mind finally began to sharpen, his first concern was for his friends…

“Ahh, y’awake now?” The voice that echoed through the cave was so cheerful that its joy was practically visible. “Yaaay!” A figure, soft curves outlined by the glow of the fire, clapped her hands. The long ears Club Fighter could make out bobbing above her head, and the poofy cotton tail, revealed that it was Harefolk Hunter. He could also tell that other than her mottled fur, her pale, healthy skin was covered by nothing at all. In fact, the fur on her hands and her most sensitive parts made the rest of her look even softer.

“Y-yikes—!” Club Fighter swallowed hard without meaning to, praying she wouldn’t hear the noise—but who could blame him? The last female body he had seen was a quick glimpse of Supreme God’s Cleric once, when they had been camping out together. And then, only at a distance, while she’d been changing. He hadn’t meant to peek, of course. He would never. Although he might just admit to having the occasional impure thought.

“Birchwood burns even if the bark’s a bit wet. Sure glad we brought some along!”

Harefolk Hunter’s body was seemingly in constant motion, and paired with her unguarded smile, it was all the more alluring to him.

What was going on? What should he do? Club Fighter’s mind felt literally frozen. He was well and truly gone, and wouldn’t have come back if he’d been smacked on the head.

“Hold it!” came the voice that was his salvation. It was his childhood friend, wrapped in a blanket, her hair loose and her cheeks even redder than the fire. “Modesty! Clothes! Your clothes…!”

“Whazzat? Oh, I—ack!” Harefolk Hunter exclaimed as she realized what Supreme God’s Cleric was saying. She hugged herself and shrank down, finally crouching on the ground. “P-please, dun’ look at me… G-gee, that’s humiliatin’. There’s just so few boys in the village…”

She just hadn’t thought of it. Now her accent was out in full force. The young man nodded. “Y-yeah. It’s okay. Hey, I—I’m sorry…”

She pulled a blanket over herself with movements like a small animal, and he did likewise, grabbing the blanket out from under himself. He seated himself with the blanket cowled over his head, certain that he was blushing just as hard as the girls. He was just glad that none of them could see well in the dark. It was best for all of them not to discover too many details about each other.

“…Hey,” Supreme God’s Cleric said, jabbing him gently through the blanket as though she could tell what he was thinking. “Keep your mind out of the gutter, okay…?”

“My mind isn’t in the g-gutter…!” he protested, but he couldn’t help his voice cracking. Her body was right there next to his. It was a challenging moment for a young man.

He stole a quick glance in her direction, taking in the fact that her hair, usually tied up, was loose; it was wet with water and gave off a faint aroma.

She’s not a kid anymore, he thought. Back when they’d been children, playing together in the stream in their village, her body had been almost indistinguishable from his. So when had it started changing? When she had entered the Temple of the Supreme God? When they had set off on this journey together? Maybe when they had challenged the snowy mountain side by side?

The blanket covered her body, so he couldn’t actually see anything, but the curves were all there. Combined with the glimpse he had gotten when she was changing, it was more than enough to let him imagine everything…

No, quit it! He desperately tried to fight back thoughts that made him want to split his own head open.

A young man alone with two nubile young ladies could hardly be oblivious to the situation. Yes, one sometimes heard of heroic men who could remain completely stoic at such moments, but Club Fighter didn’t believe this for a second.

Still, it was a true hero who could step up at moments like this and say something sensitive. If you tried to pass everything off as a convenient accident, or if you mucked up your approach, your fate was sealed. And anyway, he didn’t want the two of them to like him so much as he wanted them not to dislike him. But he was still too young to know whether this was pretension, longing, or desire.

For the first time, he found himself with renewed respect for that Silver-ranked spearman. But Club Fighter didn’t know how to handle his embarrassment over the girls without embarrassing them in the process.

That guy really must be something…

“Uh, um… A-anyway. I mean… Anyway.” He tried to find the right words to say, noticing how dry the inside of his mouth was. “You’re both okay?”

The two girls nodded, Supreme God’s Cleric from beside him, and Harefolk Hunter from near the fire.

“What happened after…you know…?”

“W-we fell plumb into the river. And you…you got knocked out…”

“So the two of us brought you to this cave, got your clothes off, and started a fire so we could all dry out…and waited for you to wake up,” Supreme God’s Cleric said before whispering, “I thought you were dead.” He wondered if he should be grateful for the note of sorrow in her voice. He offered a very quiet thank you, but heard only sniffling in response. Club Fighter smiled, just a little. “And our friend…?”

“Listen real close, and you’ll hear him.” Harefolk Hunter, on her part, had bent her ears down as if she weren’t listening at all. Club Fighter soon understood why.

“…ooooosssss………”

The wyvern’s howl sounded like the wail of an enraged spirit screeching from the depths of hell.

“He… He’s waiting for us…!” Club Fighter put his head in his hands and buried himself in the blanket.

§

“…Dragons breathe fire, right?” Club Fighter asked.

“Yeah, but some of ’em breathe poison or acid or ice or lightning; that’s what they say,” replied Harefolk Hunter.

“…Think wyverns breathe fire?”

“…Maybe. Could also be poison or acid or ice or lightning…”

“I don’t know! I just don’t know…!”

Outside the cave was a wyvern. And inside the cave were three novice adventurers. Their chances didn’t look good.

Club Fighter almost thought he heard a voice in his head: Alas, our adventure ends here. He groaned, still wrapped in the blanket, trying desperately to come up with a plan.

“I don’t suppose it’s still too cramped out there for the wyvern to get in, is it?” he offered.

“I think it was pretty well open…,” came the cleric’s reply.

“Uh, okay, okay—maybe this cave leads somewhere else, then?!”

“There’s water, right enough, but ’s far as I can see, t’ain’t no way to follow it.”

They were cornered.

Club Fighter frankly wondered if he might be forgiven for simply throwing everything aside, curling up into a little ball, and crying. Of course, that wouldn’t get them anywhere. It was possible nothing they did would get them anywhere.

If he’d been by himself, he might have simply huddled under the blanket and wept like a child who’s made the biggest mistake of his life. He thought fondly of the tree hollow where he used to run when his mother had scolded him. Even if, admittedly, he had usually been dragged out of it when his mother found him. He’d hated that. He still hated it.

All this time, and it turns out nothing has changed. He couldn’t suppress a smile at how pathetic he was.

That was when Harefolk Hunter twitched. “I’m hungry as all get-out…” The words, deeply distraught, seemed to escape her almost involuntarily. Club Fighter looked over to see she had clasped her paws over her mouth in an oops gesture. Her eyes were wide and she was shaking her head, but a soft gurgle from her stomach gave her away. The harefolk girl blushed so hard it almost made him feel sorry for her, and she shrank even further down into her blanket.

“For goodness’ sake…” The response came not from Club Fighter, but from Supreme God’s Cleric beside him. “Just a second,” she said, and grabbed her bag, which had been hanging from a rocky protrusion to dry. She produced baked rations wrapped in a cloth. The standard provisions. “…Here, eat this. I’m afraid it’s a little damp.”

“Er, but…” Harefolk Hunter shook her head when confronted with the hardtack, even as her nose twitched, enticed. “We dunno how long we’ll all be in this cave…”

“But if you don’t eat, you’ll die, right? So eat.”

“…Yes’m.”

Harefolk Hunter took the food in both hands and obediently began nibbling. Supreme God’s Cleric nodded. “Good,” she murmured, then sat back down next to Club Fighter. She was still covered by her blanket. Club Fighter gritted his teeth, realizing that even the faint whisper of her breath was enough to set his pulse racing.

She glanced at him, not quite raising her head from where she had buried it in her blanket. “…What is it? You hungry, too?” She had her usual teasing tone, but her voice was weak, tired.

“Nah, just thinking,” Club Fighter said. Then he added earnestly, “I’ll eat later.”

“Hmm…” Then his old friend fell silent. Harefolk Hunter continued eating, albeit apologetically.

All right, I need to calm down and think logically.

Club Fighter took a breath of the cave air, thick with the aromas of moss and smoke and the two young women, then let it out. It was thanks to his companions that he hadn’t succumbed to his childish impulses. Neither of them was crying yet. It would be absurd for him to be the first.

I don’t want to look bad. He didn’t know if this was pretension, a sense of responsibility, or simple stubbornness, but…

“……Oh.”

Suddenly it occurred to him that they might have already died long ago.

If that wyvern were able to spit out fire or poison or whatever crazy stuff like that…

Then wouldn’t it have done so the moment they ran into the cave? Why waste its time waiting for them at the entrance?

Maybe because it couldn’t eat us, then?

It couldn’t get into the cave. If they died in the cave, it couldn’t reach them to eat them. It was waiting for them to come out. But if they came out on the assumption that it had no breath weapon, was that when they would learn otherwise?

But wouldn’t it have used it when we were running away, or when we jumped in the river?

Okay, so that thing didn’t have a breath weapon. Most likely. He thought. Anyway, if it did, they were going to buy the farm.

So it’s the claws, the fangs, and the tail we have to worry about.

Those three things. If they could just do something about them…

“…I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Club Fighter’s surprised utterance sounded stupid even to his own ears. But that was how startled he was by Supreme God’s Cleric’s whisper, how totally he failed to comprehend it.

“…Can’t help much…”

“Uh… What can’t help?” he asked, genuinely not understanding, but his question only seemed to upset her. She glared at him, and the corners of her eyes seemed to glint ever so slightly in the firelight.

“Me!”

“Why?”

Even then, Club Fighter didn’t quite grasp what his companion was trying to say. But he didn’t want to leave the matter alone, either. Forcing down his embarrassment, he turned toward her decisively. She had to spell this out for him, or he wouldn’t understand.

“I mean…” she started, subdued. “I’ve only been granted a single miracle. And I don’t know anything useful or helpful… And, and…” Supreme God’s Cleric narrowed her eyes and pinched her lips, speaking ever so quietly. “And you were looking at her earlier.”

“What does that have to do with anything…?!”

He heard an odd little “yeep” from Harefolk Hunter. The two of them weren’t trying to keep their voices down, and her ears could pick up a lot, anyway. Club Fighter and Supreme God’s Cleric looked at each other, then smiled. It had been silly, they started to feel, to get so serious.

“Auuugh…” Thinking they were talking about having seen her so embarrassed, perhaps, Harefolk Hunter’s ears drooped.

“Hey, sorry,” Club Fighter said, then let out a big breath. “Anyway, I mean… I dunno, but… I don’t think strong or weak, or…helpful or not helpful, I don’t think that has anything to do with it.”

He believed, with absolute sincerity, that he would never pick his party members, his friends, purely for such reasons. Yes, there might be places where it seemed too dangerous to take them. And each person was suited to different things, had different gifts, and so might be expected to take on particular roles. But that didn’t mean they weren’t able to help, or that they weren’t a member of the party.

“So, uh, let’s just… Yeah.” The young man looked up through the gloom at the ceiling, trying to decide what to say to the two girls.

There was no response. Instead, there was only the howl of a monster waiting impatiently for its chance. And thus, what they had to do was clear.

“Let’s just do something about that thing and go home.”

Right. The girls nodded, and it was settled.

§

No matter what you were setting out to do, the first step was always to check your equipment; confirm the cards in your hand. This was an ironclad rule of adventuring that they’d learned well in the sewers.

“We’ve got our weapons and equipment, right?” Club Fighter asked. “Even if they are a little damp.”

“That means your club and sword for you. Maybe you should wipe the sword down so it doesn’t get rusty?”

“Oh, I’ve got oil!” Harefolk Hunter offered. “And pine resin, too. Lotsa stuff.”

“Thanks, wouldn’t mind borrowing that oil… But why pine resin?”

“Helps stick an arrowhead on an arrow, helps coat a bowstring, plus it’s good for making poison bolts.”

Huh. Club Fighter nodded. Poison. Poison, eh? Supreme God’s Cleric leaned over. “Hey, do you have any poison?”

“Uh-huh,” Harefolk Hunter replied. “Don’t think a bit of wolfsbane would work on a wyvern, though.”

“Yeah…” Supreme God’s Cleric dipped her head in disappointment, though she probably hadn’t been expecting much when she asked. But she promptly regained her good cheer and looked up, her hair bobbing and face shining. “Okay, we’d better make sure we’ve got everything!”

“Right,” Club Fighter said. “Sword, club—check. And you two have your sword and scales, and your bow.”

“Don’t forget the slings. All our weapons are good to go. Right?” Supreme God’s Cleric asked.

“Sure are!” Harefolk Hunter chirped, then the girls looked at each other and laughed. Club Fighter felt oddly left out, but nevertheless he nodded and said, “Good, then. Our clothes and armor are hanging over there to dry.”

“Yeah, thanks to us,” Supreme God’s Cleric pointed out.

“I know, I know. Anyway…how’s our potion supply?”

“Swallowed by the river. The bottles broke when we landed,” Harefolk Hunter said despondently, shaking her head and causing her ears to flap back and forth.

Damn, and those were expensive, too. Club Fighter frowned, as did Supreme God’s Cleric. How did other adventurers handle their potions? He would have to ask when they got back. If they got back.

“What do you think we should do with the shards?” Supreme God’s Cleric asked.

“For now, take them out of the bag and set them aside,” Club Fighter said. Then after a moment’s thought, he added, “Don’t throw them away, just keep them in a pile together.”

“On it.”

It was important to make the wisest choices, but at the moment they needed every advantage they could get. Later they might think, If only we hadn’t thrown away those shards… In any event, since they couldn’t get out of the cave, they couldn’t really throw the shards away anyway.

“Then we need to know how many days’ worth of food we have… And the Adventurer’s Toolkit, is it here?”

“Never leave home without it, just like they say.” Supreme God’s Cleric said, echoing the words that the priestess—a girl about their age, perhaps the most notable of their cohorts—recited like a prayer.

The priestess might have felt humbled by the fact that she was in a party full of Silvers, but she had done a fair bit of growing herself. The three of them had seen it up close on their trip to the snowy mountain. It was clear why she was on the cusp of moving from Steel to Sapphire.

“We’d better do her proud,” Supreme God’s Cleric mumbled, checking over the contents of the Toolkit. “Let’s see… Grappling hook, pitons, writing chalk… The torch is too wet to do any good, though…”

“We bought that thing because everyone claimed it was so important, but we ain’t gotten a lot of use out of it,” Harefolk Hunter said, gently smacking the bags that hung near the fire. With her minimal endurance, she didn’t like having to carry any excess gear.

Club Fighter smiled. He felt the same way. After all, it wouldn’t look cool to be hauling around too many bags. “Might still get a chance if we keep it with us. Okay… So, I guess the question is… What do we actually do?”

And then they were back to square one. Club Fighter understood that his sword and his club weren’t going to help him against this enemy. Things might have been different if he could swing a broadsword like Heavy Warrior did—or maybe that weapon was magical?

Someday, sometime. The thought floated in his mind as he made himself focus on what was right in front of him. “That thing doesn’t really track by scent, does it?”

“Think it’s like a hawk or a kite—got good eyes,” Harefolk Hunter said with a twitch of her nose. She knew the most of all of them about the beasts of the field.

“Okay, then how about we wait till night and sneak out?”

“It’s a type of dragon, and you think it can’t see at night?” Supreme God’s Cleric said with a frown. “I really doubt that.”

The three of them debated back and forth for a while, but sneaking seemed like a tall order. If a bit of hiding were all it took, they might have been able to get away when they’d fallen into the river. Much as they hated to think of it, they would have to go into this assuming they would need to fight.

“How about your divine miracle? Think it could reach a flying wyvern?”

“I… I think it would,” Supreme God’s Cleric replied guardedly, after careful contemplation of her friend’s question. “But only if it isn’t moving too fast. And even if I landed the hit, I don’t think one blast would do it…”

“Okay—arrows, then?”

“Not if it gets too high up.” Harefolk Hunter waved a furry white hand, concerned about altitude. “Think I can hit it, right enough, but I don’t think I can get through those scales.” Despondent again, she gave a subdued shrug and a shake of her head. Both gestures seemed very earnest.

Hmm. Club Fighter crossed his arms and tried to think strategically, something he wasn’t used to. He began to think out loud. “Maybe if we could clip its wings so it couldn’t fly, or cut off its tail to slow it down, or give it a good whack in the head and knock it out…”

“Impossible.”

“Or at least darn hard.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Club Fighter gave a disappointed sigh. This was a tough one for a group that was only a step above novices. But of course, they knew that already. They weren’t Spearman, or Heavy Warrior; they weren’t even that guy who killed goblins. They didn’t have enough strength or equipment or anything. But they would have to work with what they did have.

The three of them huddled together, debating and arguing and reassessing their limited options. They chewed on the hardtack when they were hungry, took sips of water when they were thirsty, and grimaced when the howl came from the entrance of the cave.

And somehow, long after they had lost track of how much time had passed, they managed to come up with something resembling a strategy. It wasn’t a stroke of genius, a brilliant bit of turning the tables—of course not. It was a plan pieced together from their passing thoughts and half-formed ideas, and would have sent anyone who heard it into fits of laughter.

“If we can roll twin sixes, we might make it,” said Club Fighter.

“Yeah,” replied Supreme God’s Cleric, “and if he rolls snake eyes.”

“If we don’t swing it, at least we’ll all be together in his stomach…,” added Harefolk Hunter.

Was that enough? Well, it might have to be. They looked at one another and started to giggle.

It would have been so easy just then to burst into tears, or cower in fear, or otherwise act absolutely pathetic. But they were full of the desire to do what they could, such as it was.

Better to die in the attempt than to die having done nothing at all.

§

In other words, a headlong charge ended up being their only option.

From the wyvern’s perspective, they were just three tiny bipeds: nothing special. Honestly, there wasn’t even much value in eating them. By the time it had chased the trio down, it would actually be hungrier than when it had started.

Ah, but…

Imagine yourself confronted with three insects that you’ve chased around your house until you’re good and angry. Is there any choice after that but to crush them? And if those three tiny bugs tried to run away, squealing all the while, would there be any reason to let them?

For the wyvern, at least, there certainly wasn’t. After the adventurers had dived into the river and then run into the cave, the wyvern had set itself up just outside the entrance. That would have been the height of stupidity had there been any other entrances or exits to this cave, but happily for the wyvern, it knew there weren’t. It needed only to wait patiently, happily.

Sometimes such waiting can breed frustration, but in this case the wyvern was delighted. The pipsqueaks who had fled into the cave were afraid; shivering and panicked, they would soon come running back out again. Nothing could satisfy the wyvern’s evil dragon heart so well as the tragic, defeated looks on their faces at that moment.

Wyverns, so-called “flying dragons,” were less threatening than full-fledged dragons in some ways, but in one respect they were the same: Once they settled on their quarry, they would never give up on it; they could wait for it if it took a decade or two decades. And if they realized their chosen prey wouldn’t live that long, they would let out a great howl.

If its prey died there in that cave, what would it do to retrieve the bodies? These were the pleasant thoughts that occupied the wyvern as it eagerly waited for the bipeds to emerge.

“Y—Yahh—Ahhhhhh!!”

The creature did not miss its moment. One of the bipeds came rushing out of the cave with a weapon in each hand, giving a comical shout. The little creature seemed full of pathos and tragedy, but the wyvern could have fallen over laughing.

“GYAAAAAAAAAAOSSSSSSS!!!!”

Give the tiny creature what it wants, then. The wyvern turned toward the charging human, opening its jaws and baring its fangs. Start with the head, take two or three nips, and the human would be in its stomach, leaving only the arms and legs behind…

“The heart of the harefolk is in my arrow!!”

“OOOSOOS?!” The wyvern choked on its own roar. The arrow that came slicing through the air had flown straight down its throat.

Obviously, that wasn’t enough to actually damage the wyvern. It was a bit like having a small bone stuck in its gullet. Thus, the creature hacked hideously once or twice, in great fetid coughs.

Vexing little beasts!

“GYAAAAAAAAAAOSS!!!”

With a scratchy, annoyed howl, the wyvern spread its wings and lofted itself into the air. There would be no more arrows flying down its throat.

An attack from above, then, raking the enemy with its claws. Just like a hawk catching a rabbit. Then it could drop them. Or break their necks in midair. Maybe not enough to kill them, just enough to make them suffer—that might take the sting out of this humiliation.

The sky was the wyvern’s domain. Behold: The little boy with his two weapons, the tiny girl pawing at her bowstring—they couldn’t reach the wyvern. It decided not to kill them in a single blow. The wyvern flapped its wings once more and—

“Lord of judgment, sword-prince, scale-bearer, show here your power!”

The flashing bolt from the heavens, though, came from beyond the sky itself. The sword and scales, brandished within the darkness of the cave in the name of the Supreme God, produced this blade of electricity.

“ ?!?!?!”

This time the wyvern was rendered all but speechless. Of course, it didn’t die from this attack; it wasn’t even blinded. It blinked a few times, searching this way and that with its wavering vision for the fiend that had done this to it. This called for an even crueler death than the wyvern had originally planned. The boy, for example, whom the wyvern could see clearly even as the world seemed to tilt around it. It would pick him to pieces right in front of the two girls—that would make them regret their foolishness.

“GYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAOSSSSSSSS!!!” The wyvern flapped its wings, trying to regain the altitude it had lost reeling from the thunderbolt, and howled out its rage. But the little boy—the adventurer—didn’t stop charging. He was like an arrow flying toward a target.

And then, suddenly, wings appeared on his back—no, it was some kind of cloth tied to his sword and his club. Now the wyvern was beginning to understand. This was what he had been flourishing.

But it was still just cloth. What did he hope to accomplish with that? Did they think they could hide themselves from the wyvern that way? It would take the creature only a single turn to tear the cloth apart.

“Hrrrryyaahhhhhhh!”

The wyvern drove its head into the cloth, with neither the time nor the need to avoid it.

There was a sort of heavy thunk, and the creature bellowed as pain tore through its eyes.

§

“That’s it, you big—!!”

“No time for cool wit, just run!”

Supreme God’s Cleric, the sleeves of her vestments bound up, rushed past Club Fighter where he was giving a whoop of victory. A brave thing to do, considering there was a wyvern struggling to pull a cloth off its face right in front of him.

“Yeah, best we got going!”

“Hey, wait for me…!” Club Fighter cried, realizing Harefolk Hunter had passed him up, too. He rushed after the girls toward the riverbank, with his club and sword still hanging from his arms. He didn’t want to put them in their sheaths just yet, lest the pine resin get all over everything. After some puzzlement, he finally used the thongs that secured them to his wrists to tie them to his belt. Very convenient.

“…Man! I can’t believe that worked!”

“You’re telling me…!”

“Yeah, no kiddin’!”

It wasn’t anything that special. A childish prank, really. They’d daubed the tent with pine resin, mud, and wolfsbane, then laced it with the shards of glass from the potion bottles. If they put the stuff on thick enough, it would be hard to get the cloth off; it would cover the monster’s mouth and maybe even get glass in its eyes—with the result as observed. Poison generally wasn’t effective against dragons, but that didn’t mean it was comfortable for them to get it in their eyes.

Of course, this was nothing more than a simple way to buy time. It would be foolish to think they had defeated the wyvern, or that they had won. They had, though, given up their tent and destroyed several potions; considering the average reward for a goblin hunt, they were going to take a major loss on this one.

They looked absolutely pathetic dashing for their lives along the river, and they were panting hard by the time they made it into the woods. But even as they fled, and despite the enraged monster behind them, the three of them had shared heartfelt smiles.

“Hey, that’s at least one step closer, though!” Club Fighter said (it was all he could do to talk through the panting), wanting somehow to shout his lungs out.

Supreme God’s Cleric caught up to him and Harefolk Hunter, exclaiming, “Closer to what?!”

“Slaying a dragon someday!”

That was the dream they’d shared since the day they’d left their sleepy village—in fact, long before that. Anyone they’d told would have laughed at them, made fun of them, told them to be realistic, and they wouldn’t have been wrong.

But, the boy thought, did you see that? Me—me, the guy who fled his village only to be chased around the sewers by rats and cockroaches—I just went toe to toe with a wyvern! I’ve done all sorts of things you’ll never do, seen all sorts of things you’ll never see!

His murmured declaration of triumph might have been small, might have seemed silly to anyone else, but the harefolk girl clapped her hands. “Wow. That’s really something…!”

The boy blushed at these simple but sincere words.

“Ooh, you’re red up to your ears.” Supreme God’s Cleric cackled from behind him. “What are you so embarrassed about?”

“I’m not embarrassed!” he shot back—which was just about when the howl of a monster reached them from the direction of the river.

“’Kay, can’t be chatting all day, unless we all want to be dinner…!” Harefolk Hunter said, starting out ahead of them with her ears bobbing. She held out a soft hand, and he took it.

“Hey, you two, not so fast…!” Even Supreme God’s Cleric’s face was red when Club Fighter looked back. She was stretching out her hand desperately, and he took hers, too.

“…All right, off we go!!”

It was a long way to town, even longer to their dreams, and the wyvern behind them was not that far away at all. Even so, the boy who had become an adventurer grasped what mattered most to him, his footsteps light as he ran.

His adventure—their adventure—wasn’t over yet.