Goblin Slayer - Volume 12 - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Li'l Here Vs. The Undead King

“Hiiiiyah!”

A girl came tearing through space with a shout much more cheerful than seemed warranted by the underground gloom. Her equipment shone, and in her hand was a sword that seemed to contain the light of the sun.

She was in a crypt deep underground, someplace that could have been anywhere in the Four-Cornered World. The swirling miasma, the fell mist, were as nothing compared to those on the surface, but the walls and floor here were covered in terrible, rotting flesh. The way the stuff throbbed, almost imperceptibly, suggested that this might indeed be the inside of some living creature.

Surely no one would guess that this was directly below the mountainous peaks known as Wyvern’s Roost.

But the black-haired girl—the hero—glanced around and then declared, “Looks safe!”

“I don’t care how safe it is, I don’t think I approve of you charging right in,” complained a female fighter who followed her, though she sounded gallant doing it.

Finally, there came a youthful woman holding a staff—a sage, walking none too confidently. “We did use my crystal ball to check that it was safe…” In her hand she held a precious gem, which she now tossed into her bag like a toy she was tired of playing with. “…Regardless, it was quite a stroke of luck that we obtained that Gate scroll.”

“And that it happened to have these coordinates written on it!” Hero kicked at the flesh around her like a child kicking a snake they’d found in the grass. “Wonder who’d build a place like this.”

“In an old song, it would be some ancient wizard or something, but there are a lot of people in this world who keep themselves and their abilities quiet.” Sword Saint looked around, furrowing her eyebrows. It was a very unsettling place. She was used to dungeons by now, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable in them.

“Whatever the case, it means there was in this world a wizard with a true gift of foresight,” Sage noted.

“An even better wizard than a certain someone I know?” Hero said, nodding emphatically. She owned four or five Gate scrolls, but if you didn’t know the coordinates, they weren’t that much use. But if there was someone who had known from long before the danger that would befall this world…

“The Four-Cornered World’s a big place, huh?”

“…I suppose, but what matters is where we are and what we’re about to do,” Sage replied, her expression never twitching at Hero’s joke. Instead, she started pulling items from her bag, more items than it seemed should fit in a bag of that size. In fact, the bag itself had seemed to come out of thin air.

They weren’t exactly items she had prepared specifically for this adventure—but stuff does accumulate when one travels. A wonderful thing it was, to have excellent items on hand.

“I’ll start preparations,” Sage said.

“Roger that!” Hero chirped.

There were potions, of course, along with every kind of secret brew for boosting stats. There was the potion of supernatural strength, which temporarily bestowed power nearly akin to that of the giants who had helmed the storms in the Age of the Gods. And a decoction of invulnerability that granted resistance to virtually every kind of spell, albeit only for a very brief time. There was a whirlwind potion that gave one the agility to dance through the sky like a colored wind; a draught of mind-reading, which granted the ability to perceive the thoughts of those around you. And then, the holy water from the Valkyrie, the goddess of battle, which could grant the blessings of the gods merely by drinking it down.

There was a magic scroll that would show the path to your destination from wherever you were, and another that let you know of any traps or dangers on the way. And there were baked goods—said to have once been the food of the gods—that only the royal family of the high elves was permitted to make. Plus, further provisions, granted after supplication to the gods, that bestowed the vitality of a hero.

Many other things there were, too, so many that we would run out of paper if we tried to list them all. Each one had a legend of its own, each something the average adventurer couldn’t expect even to lay eyes on in their lifetime. To purchase any one of these items at market—if one ever appeared—would take enough money to buy a warship.

And these young women went through such items like water; made of them their daily bread.

“Awfully convenient,” Sword Saint said, tossing aside an empty bottle. “Just stinks how short the effect is.”

“We’ve got lots more. In fact, you start to get tired of this stuff, even if it is delicious,” Hero said. Then she exclaimed, “Oh yeah!” and dug her favorite seasoning out of her bag. It was a powder, rather like salt, but the moment it tipped out of the little jar, it sparkled in the most beautiful way. This, believe it or not, was a magical spice, and it would provide the delicious flavor its owner craved. It wasn’t much, just a little something, but—

“This really makes the difference!”

“Hey, mind if I have some?”

“………Me, too.”

—it got rave reviews from the three women.

Sage got her food a little later than the others, delayed by all the many scrolls she had to read over. Despite her waifish appearance, Sage had a robust appetite, and Hero wondered if maybe that was why Sage was so much more developed than she was.

Or maybe she’s using some sort of secret magic spell, Hero thought, licking the crumbs of the baked treat off her fingers as the others passed the seasoning around.

“You can use it for up to ten meals per day, so we can each have some to spice up our breakfast, lunch, and dinner!” Hero said.

“That’s probably not quite enough uses for a rhea,” Sage remarked.

“But you’re not a rhea…are you?” Sword Saint said.

Sage responded only, “…Hee-hee-hee.”

“She’s a real mystery!” Hero said.

It was a pleasant little chat, but too brief to be anything more than that. They did a quick check of their equipment, and then Hero exclaimed, “All right!” and jumped to her feet. “Now all we have to do is go save the world!”

She sounded like someone headed off on their very first adventure.

§

“DAEEEEMOOOONNNN?!?!?!”

“Kreeeaaaahhhhhh!!!!”

Each time the colored wind blew through the room, the unearthly walls of the dungeon were painted with filthy demon blood. What was this that traveled so quickly, faster than sound? Was it the wind—a whirlwind—a scorching wind? Anyone who waited to find out would be cleaved clean in two.

No matter how far away, the wind could engage with a minor action, and in its next major action it would bash, bash, bash. An absolute weapon that cut through the layers of space. Any who survived its attack were sliced down by the katana that followed it.

They moved like a lightning storm through an abandoned field. These demon mobs couldn’t slow them down for even a second. That didn’t stop them from trying, of course. From every shadow they poured forth, from every angle they attacked, spilling out, fangs bared, seeking to steal the girls’ lives.

But would the veteran Sword Saint let them? Ah, that was another story.

“The shadow at your feet!”

“…Mm.”

Sage reflexively lashed out with her magical force-sword, striking a single decisive blow. The death rattle of the shadow demon that had sought to sneak among them and catch them unawares was already behind them as they pressed forward, forward, forward. The scroll they had opened showed them the way, and they knew where every trap was located. The blessing of the goddess couldn’t reach the deep heart of this dark fortress, but these adventurers weren’t so soft that that was enough to stymie them.

That was precisely why the goddess, ruler of justice, had chosen this hero to regain the crown. The chance to be her champion would have been an honor for any adventurer. The legend they carved would become as scripture to other adventurers, there was no question.

As they passed the umpteenth intersection, Hero saw an enemy detachment approaching from ahead. “Ooh, here comes a serious group!” she called.

On they came, creatures out of the pit as if from a nightmare.

“What’s the plan?” Sword Saint asked, jogging up to Hero with her sword in her hand. “Hmm,” Hero said softly. It wasn’t that she was unsure. The monsters were scary, yes, but it didn’t really bug her too much. She could just charge forward and carve open a path. She knew that was her role. But there were three of them fighting—and many more behind them. Three heads were better than one.

“…I wanted to conserve my resources,” Sage said, holding up her staff. “But time is short.”

“All right, take it!”

They didn’t slacken their pace as Sage intoned two words, then three. “Ventus…semel…concillio. Winds, for this moment, converge!”

On the instant, the momentum of the oncoming army of demons subsided. The creatures in their tens and their hundreds—but not their thousands; there weren’t as many as that—clawed at the air, arms and legs flailing as if they were drowning. It didn’t matter whether they had wings. This was Float. It didn’t function like ordinary flight.

Once the demons were caught up in the air, Sage ruthlessly pronounced her next word.

“Restringuitur. Extinguish.”

Then the wind showed its fangs.

The demons, having been lifted to a high place, suddenly found themselves back in the grip of gravity and were smashed down against the ground. As the great sage who once brought an entire flight of dragons crashing out of the sky said, “Push a god from a high enough place, and if he can die, he’ll die.”

As for gods, so certainly for demons. “Those ancients sure knew what they were talking about!” Hero cackled. They ran down the path, strewn with bodies burst like ripe fruit, with nothing to stop them.

“I kinda expected more of them, though,” Hero said as they rushed from chamber to chamber, from one fight to the next. She’d been imagining the evil cultists’ secret hideout would be packed to the brim with monsters. She was practically relieved that this wasn’t the case.

“Our opponents must split their fighting strength as well,” Sword Saint said, running beside her. Despite having just fought a series of battles, she hadn’t so much as broken a sweat. Hero was nearly envious of this, her awesome friend—she nearly felt like she could have fallen in love with her herself.

“The human-wave strategy only works if you can bring the requisite forces to bear at the time and place where they’re needed,” Sword Saint continued.

“Uh… Meaning what?”

“Meaning if you can do it, it’s not just thanks to your soldiers, but also to everyone who makes the weapons and provisions, and everyone who transports them, and everyone who plans the operation.”

“The king did his part. And the adventurers, too. And lots of others,” Sage added. She would add anything at all, if it put Hero’s mind at ease.

“…Wow, guess we can’t lose!” Hero chirped, and then she forced herself to smile. Sword Saint and Sage nodded. The two of them knew. They knew this little girl was speaking as much to herself as to them. It was time for the hero to do her part.

Her part: two simple words, but such a great burden. Even though the chattering masses might never think of it.

To save the world wasn’t a duty anyone should have to shoulder alone.

“Yes—everyone is out there doing their damnedest for us,” Sword Saint said.

“…And so we shall do ours,” Sage agreed.

They would do everything they could. With her friends’ words to hearten her, Hero promptly said, “We sure will!” and grinned.

§

When they kicked down the door (bang!) and entered the great room, it seemed to be packed full of all the darkness in the entire world. Things that had once been people were scattered about, slowly being absorbed by the pulsating walls of flesh. The walls rose and fell slightly with each throb, and Sage finally found the conclusion inescapable: “…This entire dungeon must be some sort of new body.”

“And so it is,” came a chilling voice that echoed off into the darkness.

That thing’s not of this world, Hero thought. It was obvious from the air that filled the room. It was altogether too cold here for any human to survive.

“I’m impressed you made it so far, heroes.”

At the far end of the room was an altar—or perhaps a throne, or perhaps some sort of gallows; it was hard to tell. Darkness wriggled there in the shape of human beings. And there was a wizard, his upraised staff sparkling like a jewel, his clothes as dark as if he wore the night itself.

His face, though, was inhuman. He looked more like a dull white skull. A lich or a wight, perhaps; someone who through the practice of magic continued to cling to this world even after death.

“Your arrival I anticipated, but you’re here early. Yes, twenty times sooner than I expected.” His voice sounded like dry wind, blowing through the branches of a dead tree. No living thing could make such a sound.

Even confronted with this terrible voice, Hero only snorted and grinned. Twenty years, twenty months, twenty weeks, twenty days, twenty hours, twenty seconds? Doesn’t matter—who cares about his dumb prediction?

The undead king turned his pallid eyes, like blue-white flames, on the sword of legend, which shone with a soft glow like the first breaking of dawn, and waved his hand. “To be clear, I have no special interest in destroying the world or any such thing.”

“You say, as you attempt to flip over the board,” Sage replied. Her voice was always even, nearly nonchalant, so much so that even her friend Hero wasn’t always sure what she was feeling. But the cold edge in her voice, Hero recognized.

That means she’s totally pissed, she thought.

“Yes, for when I do, this land will itself become one corner.” The undead king made himself comfortable in his throne, seemingly unaware of Sage’s mood. From a corner of the Four-Cornered World, one would be able to see three sides—beyond the board. One would be able to planeswalk, in other words.

The undead king spoke of the very heights of magical achievement, but Sage’s tone was unchanged. “You’ll kill countless people doing this. Many have already died. People we can never get back.”

“All things that live will die,” the undead king said as if he understood everything in the world. As if to say that, having understood these things, they were disposable.

“I’m afraid we can’t have that,” Sage replied flatly. “The world is too vast for you to claim that you know all those who live and all those who die.”

The world you claim to have no need of is so pitifully small.

The two, who must have been among the foremost spell users in the entire Four-Cornered World, locked eyes. A battle between mages is conducted with words, meaning this was in its own way already an exchange of spells.

The wizards of old might have spread cards covered in fearsome spells before them, but neither Sage nor this necromancer had yet reached such attainments. One said such attainments were not necessary—while the other said it was the world that was not necessary, if its sacrifice could propel them to those heights.

Even without any further words, the course of this battle was clear as a burning flame.

“This is dumb…,” said Hero, who had been listening quietly, but now, finally able to bear it no more, spoke up in support of Sage. “I knew we shouldn’t have bothered listening to you. We should’ve just chopped you up.”

“Hey, it’s only polite to listen to a person’s last words,” said Sword Saint, as though chiding the young woman. (Well, not really as though. She was.) “Not much more he can hope for, considering we’ve come to kill him.”

“This is the part where the villain’s supposed to say I’ll at least spare your life or I’ll give you half the world, or something, right? Except…I guess that would be our line now.” Hero guffawed, and Sword Saint could only shrug agreement. It was true: They were the ones who had assaulted the place, and their enemy who stood to die.

They had come to kill him. No more and no less than that. It was clear who held the upper hand here.

The necromancer’s fingers creaked faintly as he grasped his staff. He had cleared the wyvern out of this nest; he had prepared the ritual; he had created the undead army; he had conceived and implemented the entire plot. To have the ritual into which he had poured all his pride dismissed as “dumb”—well, naturally he was angry.

For all these reasons, Sage felt compelled to say: “You seek to overturn the board and aim for the Beyond with a lump of dead flesh. And why? Because you couldn’t get there with your own power. That’s what’s dumb.”

That was why one who had already flown beyond the board had seen through it all. A gift from that mage, combined with the swirling destinies of many and various people, had led to this moment.

All was a chain of cause and effect.

“I’m sure you think you’re very clever, but I believe I know what that evil and cursed god would say.” A slight smile played over Sage’s lips. “Your plans are neither perfect nor decisive.”

These words appeared to strike the critical blow.

“I thought perhaps I would make you immortal, so that I could spend eternity humiliating you to pass the endless time…” Thrum. A shadow rose before them. The shadow of death. The terrible Dungeon Master who assaulted the Four-Cornered World. “But I see it would be better to hang your severed heads from a post!”

“Just try it!” Hero yelled. “I’m ready for you!”

The battle began.

§

Spells flew, light flashed, life and death intertwined. To say it was a battle that beggared the imagination—well, that would be the easy way out, but I crave your indulgence as I make an attempt to describe it.

It was a battle that beggared the imagination.

It was Sage who made the first move: “Caelum…carbunculus…concillio! Stones of fire, come down from the heavens!” A meteor shower appeared near the ceiling of the great room, raining down. As one comet after another crashed into the ground, spewing flame, Sword Saint and Hero charged straight forward. Sword Saint’s sword couldn’t quite reach. But did she care? Hero’s blade, the shining sword of the sun raised high above her head, was what really mattered here.

“ ?!”

Yet her movement was ever so slightly slower than it should have been. It was only a matter of a second. The most minor of Hold spells.

“Blood to sand, flesh to stone, soul to dust.”

Hero felt the terrible realization all through her body. It was a petrification curse. She gritted her teeth and tried to save herself against the piercing cold in her back. Sword Saint lunged forward to protect Hero should the moment come when she was no longer able to move…

“Aren’t you just a pain in the neck!” she cried, and from the ground emerged a mountain of swords, a forest of blades. It was a sword wall. Anything that crashed against it would be torn to shreds.

I’ll do everything I can…to push through! That indeed was the pride of a human warrior. Without a moment’s hesitation, Sword Saint dove into the fray, drawing her sword, letting her own blood fly like a banner to which the others could rally.

“Most impressive…!” The display earned Sword Saint the praise of the undead king, although he seemed to mean impressive for a wild barbarian.

Sword Saint clucked her tongue, not caring that it wasn’t very ladylike. She wasn’t happy that her opponent still had the wherewithal to sneer. He was supposed to be screaming in terror, gripped by the fear of knowing his head was about to be lopped off—anything less was failure.

“I’m good to go now!” Hero called, regaining her balance. “Take a step back for me, will you?!”

“I’m not done with you yet…!” Sword Saint howled, but Hero glanced at her and nodded, then stepped decisively forward. There was no distance to close. A single step was enough. But as she took that single step, a withering spell assailed her.

“Shrivel where you stand. Wasting in the wilderness, thirsting after rain, scorched by the sun.”

“Mors…adversus…anima! Death, be reversed to life!” The king’s attack was rebuffed by another spell from behind her; she had nothing to fear.

“Meddling little…!” The undead king gesticulated broadly with his left hand, the one not holding his staff, then pointed at the oncoming girl. “A sword the trump card, and a dark staff; when eight splits in two, the one left is the Grim Reaper’s hand!”

It was an incantation of instant death; an awful hand reached out to squeeze Hero’s heart—but Sword Saint, shining, smashed it away.

This still, though, provided just the opening the undead king had been looking for. Hear his words of true power!

“Magna…manus…facio! Form, magical hand!”

“Hrrnnghh?!” An invisible force field formed a rampaging fist, smashing into Hero, and the young girl couldn’t hold back a scream.

She struggled. She kicked with her one free leg, gritting her teeth, trying to resist with all her might. Her bones creaked. Her joints cried out. It was hard to breathe, and she felt something bitter work its way up into her mouth. “Argh… Agghh…!!”

It hurt. So had being struck by lightning, and burned by flame, and the petrification of just moments ago—but now she was scared.

But…scary and painful…that’s all this is. She kicked at the air, forced the strength into her arms, and with a mighty effort she held on to her sacred blade, she kept fighting. That was why she was still there, why Sage’s spell arrived in the nick of time, just as it felt Hero’s internal organs might be crushed.

“Arma…fugio…amittimus! Weapons, flee and be lost!”

If a hand can hold, a hand can slip, so Fumble was always going to have an effect. Hero tumbled through space like a broken doll, but she just managed to get her feet under her and land standing up. She forced strength into her quaking legs, rising and trying to regain composure on her snot-streaked face. “I thought I was gonna die…!” she said.

“Well, you haven’t yet,” Sage replied, wiping away the blood that dribbled from her mouth, a consequence of the Overcasting. “I was just in time.”

Hero somehow managed a smile. She knew she should have been the one to take on the army of foes earlier. Heh! “I wouldn’t have minded if you’d been just a little quicker…!”

She wiped away the tears in her eyes (a biological response), then got a better grip on her enchanted sword before launching herself once more at the shadow.

All the while, Sword Saint held the front line alone. With the strength of a Storm Giant, she was powerful enough to take on any wizard, no matter how fearsome. She was bleeding all over, a pitiful sight, but so what—blood was just a sign you were still alive. She’d lost a bit of her long hair, her pride and joy, but she was safe.

The elves say that to steal even a single strand of a maiden’s hair, or to make a single scratch on her unblemished skin, is to pay with your life, she reflected internally.

“I see. I thought you were doing surprisingly well—you’ve been granted tremendous strength.” The undead king chuckled to himself. He turned his staff toward the oncoming Sword Saint—no. Hero was on her feet, too, and charging forward, and Sage had gotten her breathing under control and had raised her own staff. The necromancer was confronting all three of them.

“Magna…remora…restringuitur! An end to magic!”

A freezing wave attacked the young women. It was almost possible to see it reaching into their bodies, eliminating the various powers they had been granted. The giant’s strength, all the various magical resistances, the wind-like speed, the sharpness of the swords—everything.

Counterspell: a spell that canceled all other magic, a decisive play in a battle between wizards.

“Your work was feeble, O sage,” the necromancer said. But Sage said nothing; she didn’t rise to the bait. Or perhaps she was unable to say anything. Perhaps it was all she could do to cling to her staff now…

Sword Saint answered instead. “So? What about it?”

“Hrk?!”

Her blade tore into the necromancer’s chest as if to say this was all dumb. The undead king immediately produced a force-blade from his wand, slashing at Sword Saint again and again. He was no master swordsman, but he let his physical strength as a high-level undead substitute for skill.

Sword Saint was covered in wounds; she should already have been in danger of her life—but she shuffled her feet, weaving between her opponent’s blows, sliding past one and then another by a hair’s breadth. That was all she did, and yet it was critical.

She changed her angle to get a better target. Shuffled her feet. Changed her angle. Shuffled her feet. They were only the slightest of movements, but they were enough to forestall the necromancer’s attacks.

“Heh-heh!” Sword Saint chuckled, and she moved like flowing water, first right, then left, slicing, stabbing. The undead king widened his eyes in astonishment at this display of the danse macabre.

The woman clutched a katana in her hand. A perfectly ordinary thing, at least as far as swords from the east went. That was its only distinguishing feature. The slightest of cracks and chips were visible in the metal of the blade, but otherwise, it was completely unremarkable; just…

“A steel sword…?!”

“I don’t much care which weapons are supposed to be better than which others,” Sword Saint said with a smile—she almost sounded like she might stick out her tongue like a kid. If the one who had once used just such a blade in the Dungeon of the Dead could have heard her, he would have laughed.

She didn’t know whether it was some famous, legendary blade, and she didn’t care. Her belief—her faith—could be summed up in just a few words: “A sword that won’t break, that won’t bend, is a good sword. And it’s why I’m going to win!”

“Curse you…!!” Yet even as the undead king spat the words, the light of the sun began to peek into the darkness of this deep chamber.

It was Hero: Her shimmering armor was fouled with filth, her steps were unsteady, yet still she raised high her sword. Sword Saint’s blow had been powerful enough to destroy the ghost that moved the corpse. The rotting undead that was left was never going to be able to escape. Instead, it glared hatefully at the blade of sunlight. “Damnéd pawns of the gods…!”

“Are you trying to say you lost because there wasn’t anyone in control of you? You think you would have won if there was?”

The necromancer might wish it were so, but he was just being a sore loser. And that made him look pathetic. Hero gripped her sword with both hands. She couldn’t seem to summon the strength. She gritted her teeth and tried again.

That was when the voice of the goddess of battle rang out. The spell on which Sage had been focusing all this time, silently weaving with utmost concentration, was finally complete.

“Ennoia… Iao… Aurora. Wisdom… Fire… Dawn!”

Strength returned to Hero’s ravaged body. She could fight again. She could lift her sword again. The pain and the fear still remained, but this was enough to go on.

“Even you will meet destruction one day! Let them revere you, let them worship you—in the end, you will return to dust!”

“I guess.” Hero had the strength to laugh now. Why not? They all said the same thing, more or less. Like they had all agreed on it ahead of time. “But not now!”

If she was defeated now, the world would fall into darkness. How could she ever face those who had helped her? There were the soldiers and the other adventurers, their families, and many people who had nothing at all to do with any of this—not to mention her friends, and her. That was why the undead king and his ilk all said the same things—because they didn’t know any of those people. That was why they could so calmly talk of destroying the world, of killing people—even think it was the right thing to do.

They believe no one would come save the world if that person weren’t being controlled by the gods? If the necromancer really felt that way, then there was nothing she could say to convince him otherwise. And in that case, there’s just one thing for me to say—one thing for me to do—on behalf of everyone.

Just before she unleashed a blow to summon the dawn, she exclaimed: “Take this, you fiend!”

It was as if the sun had exploded.