Goblin Slayer - Volume 14 - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Deep Rising

It had been spoken of since the Age of the Gods: the consuming appetite, The Greed, the rising deep.

“GOOROGB?!”

“Hrgh—ah—ahhhh?!”

Those who were taken by the waves could scream and struggle, but it was no use; they vanished to their dooms. Human and goblin alike, all were equal before the voracious appetite of this monster.

Truly, it was a scene from hell. Where first there had been one geyser of water, soon there was another and another. Could it be an army of terrible monsters appearing from under the waves? The battlefield became a maelstrom of chaos, confusion, and killing.

“Husbondi!”

Thus it was understandable that there should be abundant joy in the húsfreya’s voice as she called out: Clad in black armor now covered with reddish blotches, the goði returned, dragging one of his companions.

“Hoh, dear wife, I’ve returned!” he shouted, sounding no more concerned than a child who had been out to play and every bit as cheerful. It was almost as if he wasn’t bothered by the sea devil wreaking havoc—but things weren’t going to be that easy.

Still vibrating with the thrill of battle, the chieftain took the canteen his húsfreya offered him and drank lustily, then said, “So what is that thing?”

It was Goblin Slayer who replied. “I don’t know.” He stood by the side of the ship, observing the battle with the yelling warriors and screaming goblins and howling waves, then added: “But it’s not a goblin.”

“And it looks like blades work perfectly well on it!” the chieftain said, passing the canteen to his men and telling them to drink. Boosh. He dropped something on the deck: one of the monsters, cut clean in two. So the stuff dribbling from his sword must be the creature’s blood.

The creature jumped and bounced on the deck, demonstrating a frightening level of vitality as it continued to twitch and writhe. Someone exclaimed, “Eek!”—was it Priestess or the húsfreya?—while High Elf Archer groaned, “Ugh.”

“Think we can drag it up out of there?”

The chieftain’s question was simple, and Goblin Slayer’s response was equally so: “What do we do after that?”

“We kill it.”

He sounded so nonchalant, but the tentacle at his feet was proof that it could be done. Resting against his sword as if on a cane, the chieftain smiled, baring his fangs, then shrugged. “At least, we ought to be able to have a good, long fight with it. So long as the goblins don’t interfere.”

“All right.” With that decision made, Goblin Slayer acted quickly. Because he had been told that decisive judgment and decisive action were crucial. “The usual plan. Can you do it?”

“Thing’s awfully big.” Dwarf Shaman, although clearly intrigued, frowned as if to ask whether they were really doing that. It was an unpleasant way to use a spell. “Might be nice to be a little closer… Say, Long Ears. Where would you reckon is directly above it?”

“Blargh… Don’t tell me you want to get inside it?” She hated the thought, but the frown that contorted her face detracted nothing from her beauty—perhaps one of the benefits of being an elf.

She leaned out as far as she could, Lizard Priest wrapping his arms around her waist to support her. In the distance, another pillar of water appeared. Another boom, taking with it another ship—goblin or northerner, it wasn’t clear.

High Elf Archer knew they had to hurry. Her long ears twitched back and forth; she squinted her gemlike eyes and looked deep into the water, then drew a breath. “That guy in the bear pelt. I think it’s around there, maybe… The thing’s so big, it’s hard to be sure.”

“That’s where we’ll go, then,” Goblin Slayer declared. They had to kill the goblins anyway. He made sure the northern sword was secure at his hip, and he nodded. He’d asked them to shave it down to a strange length, so it felt familiar—but it was still sharper and more polished than he was used to. He turned his helmet to look at Priestess. “What will you do?”

There was no hesitation in her voice. She spoke firmly and clearly. “I’m coming with you…!”

“I see.”

It was decided, then. They would wager everything on defeating the sea devil. Quickly.

“How many spells and miracles do we have left?”

“I’ve only used the one. Been able to conserve ’em otherwise,” Dwarf Shaman said.

“M-me too! I haven’t used a single miracle today.” Priestess glanced at the húsfreya, letting out a breath of relief. “…Because they can do so much healing even without miracles here.”

Ah, she thought, I still have so much to learn. There were so many in the Four-Cornered World who deserved her respect and admiration, who had gone before her. Witch, Sword Maiden, and now the húsfreya-princess of this northern land—could she become a woman like them?

I know I have to decide what kind of adventurer I want to be.

Priestess remembered what Female Knight had once said to her. It felt like good fortune to be able to make the choice.

“You gonna use your Purify miracle?” High Elf Archer inquired.

“That’s dangerous, so no,” Priestess replied flatly—maybe there was still some youth in her that needed to come out.

“The same for myself,” Lizard Priest said, keeping one eye on Priestess. “I am managing to cope with the cold, but still…” He helped High Elf Archer down; she jumped like a cat.

“Thanks.”

“Oh, hardly.” Lizard Priest rolled his eyes in his head. “I thought perhaps I should leave a Dragontooth Warrior to guard the ship. It would make a fine messenger as well.”

“Try not to scare anyone,” Goblin Slayer said. Was there anyone there who realized he was making a joke? Priestess giggled to herself. “But go ahead.”

“Yes, of course. Very well, then…” There was a rattle as Lizard Priest produced a fang from his pouch, tossed it to the ground, and then brought his hands together in the unusual lizardman gesture of reverence. “O horns and claws of our father, iguanodon, thy four limbs, become two legs to walk upon the earth!”

Even as they watched, the enchanted fang began to swell and grow, until it took on the shape of a soldier. There was a murmur among the northerners at the appearance of the Dragontooth Warrior; meanwhile, the adventurers nodded to one another.

“We’re going in. Our first priority is to cast spells”—Goblin Slayer looked at the sea—“on him.”

“S’pose I’d best save Water Walk, then. Be careful—won’t do any of us much good if we go falling in.”

“We should probably put on our breath rings ahead of time.” Mm. Priestess put a finger to her lips in thought. She noticed that it had gotten much colder, a strange thing to observe at this moment. “I’m glad we were able to rescue the dormouse girl, too; that makes me feel better. Assuming she doesn’t get eaten…”

“That’s up to luck and the heavens now,” High Elf Archer said. She chuckled with some resignation, tugged gently on her bow, and shrugged. “Don’t screw it up, okay? If you fall, all of us together won’t be able to pull you back up.”

“Mm! Yes, it is time to make my stand. How could I face my ancestors if I was defeated by a little freezing water?” Lizard Priest made an energetic noise, then hefted Dwarf Shaman’s stout form onto his shoulders. Everything was ready to go.

With this council of war complete, the adventurers knew what they had to do next, and they moved eagerly to challenge the monster. Their courage was like that of the northerners and yet different—it was the courage of adventurers.

“The honored smithy god, I’ve heard, stores up courage in those who pray…” The húsfreya smiled, her one eye glinting.

“We need them, don’t we?” the goði said, clasping his sword. “These adventurers.”

“Mm…” The gyðja of the sadistic god nodded at her beloved’s words, then took a deep breath of the sea air, filling her ample chest.

Loot may be lost, a family may fall,

and you, too, will one day die,

but I know

that one thing ne’er fails nor fades:

great deeds grasped

by the dead.

From her mouth flowed the high words of the gods. Words of prayer that praised the adventurers’ and the warriors’ deeds of valor.

The dice could be heard rolling in heaven, where they acknowledged the gyðja’s wish. Certainly the adventurers running across the great plain of the sea heard it.

The die was cast. As such, one needs hardly say what was to happen next.

But if one did, nonetheless, wish to put it into words, it would be very simple.

“Go forth, adventurers…!”

The adventure began.

§

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

“GOOROGBB?!”

“GOBBB?! GOBRGBB?!?!”

The fight began with a flash in the midst of the storm, like a star descended to earth. Priestess, charging forward with her party members, held her sounding staff high, its light searing the goblins’ eyes.

“Outta my way!” High Elf Archer, unleashing a literal hail of arrows, kicked writhing, screaming goblins aside to open a path.

“Jump!” On Goblin Slayer’s signal, the adventurers, running along the boat, kicked off the deck. They cleared the spraying, frothing gap between the two ships, secured to each other with hooks, in the space of a breath and pressed forward. “Twelve…!”

“GBBOGB?!”

As he landed, Goblin Slayer mercilessly kicked a goblin in the head. There was a dry snap of the spinal cord cracking; he immediately slammed the goblin to his right with the Viking sword. “Thirteen!”

“GOOB?! GBGR?!”

There was a whistling sound and a spurt of blood as the goblin collapsed, his throat slashed. Goblin Slayer didn’t even spare a glance at the body as he went past. The enemies were many, and his destination was far away.

The goblins left behind him began to recover from the shock of the holy light, jabbering to themselves. A high elf. A sweet little servant of the Earth Mother. The goblins hated all adventurers but especially these ones. They were just giving chase, their hands full of a random assortment of weapons, when—

“Hrrrngh!”

“GOROGBB?!?!”

—a single blow from a great, powerful tail literally swept them away. Right, left. Their attacker might not be able to bring his claws or fangs to bear, but for this descendant of the fearsome nagas, his tail was deadly enough. He didn’t have to be a Euoplocephalus; his tail was all muscle, like a living whip.

The battered goblins tumbled away from the ship, catching their companions up with them as they went. If any of them was alive as they sank into the ashen waters, it didn’t matter; they wouldn’t be coming back up.

“Good gods, your cloak is soaked!”

“I didn’t account for a sea voyage!”

The exclaiming Dwarf Shaman was on Lizard Priest’s back, where he had a firm hold on the down cloak and was observing the battlefield. How hard was he going to have to concentrate; how many sprites was he going to have to call, to cast a spell on something so huge? Monster though it may have been, the thing was a creature of the sea. It would be more intimate with the sprites of water, air, and ocean than he was.

“Well, sometimes you just have to trust the dice…!”

“Here it comes again! From below!” High Elf Archer shouted, her ears twitching fast. Then a great impact sent their ship rising into the air.

“Yeeeek…!” Priestess couldn’t hold back a scream. She tried to keep her footing even as the sea appeared to rise like a wall, looking as if it would overwhelm them.

No—she realized heaven and earth had switched places.

By the time she registered that the boat had been overturned by the sea devil’s emergence so close to it, it was too late. Priestess found herself thrown clear, tumbling through the air; she squeezed her eyes shut…

It’s all right… Even if I fall in the water, I can still breathe…!

With her eyes still shut, she reached out with her sounding staff, seeking any sort of clue, doing all that she could do under the circumstances. She knew falling in the water wouldn’t kill her, at least not immediately. And if you gave up, then your adventure really was over. She couldn’t allow herself that.

Ah! May she have the blessing of Septentrion, the north wind!

“Are you all right?!”

“Yes!”

Goblin Slayer grabbed her outstretched staff and pulled her up. Piercingly cold water struck her body, but she was not in the heart of the sea.

The party, lucky enough to have been flung free of the rolling vessel by the sea monster, succeeded in landing on top of the overturned ship. Although whether it was lucky that they were now able to witness the destruction of the other ships by the creature’s tentacles at close range was debatable.

Goblins and northerners alike who had been flung off their ships found themselves mercilessly consumed. When one realizes that with a single misstep, the adventurers might have met the same fate, one begins to think that the dice must have been smiling on them today.

“That is definitely not a horde of water snakes! I don’t know what it is, but it’s something incredible…!” High Elf Archer, shaking herself dry like a cat, sounded awfully upset and un-high-elf-ish.

Yes, they were safe—but only for the moment. The capsized ship was like a leaf battered by the waves, and it was still sinking. With the hooks that had once kept the ships bound to each other broken, they had no way to get where they were going.

It was beginning to look like the only thing that awaited them was disappearing into the icy depths…

“I…I have a grappling hook!” Priestess said, producing an item from the Adventurer’s Toolkit that she never left home without. How many times had it saved her skin?

“Good!”

She handed the grappling hook to Goblin Slayer, who took it and, with an exquisite throw, hooked it onto the nearest ship. They kicked aside goblins who scrambled to reach for the rope, then jumped off the sinking vessel.

“GOORGGB!!”

“Fourteen!” A goblin waiting for them on deck got a sword to the brain like a nail in a coffin, and that was the end of his life. A person could fall in love with a blade this sharp. He almost didn’t feel anything as he cut down goblins with the northern sword; blood simply flew.

Forward they went, producing a mountain of corpses in the process. Then they jumped to the next ship, working their way across the sea.

“You know, Orcbolg, I notice you haven’t done a lot of throwing this time,” High Elf Archer remarked, even as she let loose an endless stream of arrows. “Starting to get attached to your toys?”

“Ha-ha-ha! Pretty unusual for Beard-cutter!” Dwarf Shaman laughed, but Goblin Slayer didn’t answer them.

Because first, he had to kill the goblin in front of him. “That’s fifteen…!”

“I can see it!” Lizard Priest called. Goblin Slayer, kicking off the goblin’s corpse, turned in his direction. A collection of bodies hung from the mast—corpses of women, who or what they once were no longer discernible. The remains whipped wildly in the wind.

They were a banner most awful. Beneath them, the goblin leader, so far from leading his troops from the front, was jabbering and cocky.

How very goblin-like. That was all Goblin Slayer had to say about it.

“I’m going to jump!” he shouted, and then he pushed off the gunwale and leaped for the next ship.

Because first, he had to kill the goblins in front of him.

§

Damnable fools!

When he saw the adventurer boarding his ship, the first thing the goblin felt was rage toward his fellows. None of them did any work. They just yelled and shouted and did whatever they wanted. The moment they opened their mouths, it was nothing but “Graah, graaah!” “Do that for me!” “Do this for me!”

And yet, look. They hadn’t even been able to stop that stupid human.

Yes, all the humans were stupid. It seemed the man causing all the commotion was their leader—but how idiotic could you be? What were they thinking, having the most important of them jump into the fray first? It was precisely because the leader was smart, and strong, and great that the horde was powerful. If the leader died, was that not the end of everything?

It was exactly because no one else understood this that he had to go so far out of his way.

The goblin chieftain snorted in disdain and took a firm grip on the shining battle-ax in his hand. It had been on the body that had been wearing this bearskin cloak, and the chieftain was confident that it was a weapon fit for a leader. The blade glowed with a mystical light that even a goblin could tell was magic. This goblin knew that as long as he possessed it, he wouldn’t die.

Even while all this was going on, the boat was shaking as the surface of the sea erupted, ba-boom, ba-boom. Goblins and humans both were flung stupidly into the sea and eaten. But he wouldn’t be eaten, the chieftain knew very well. For he was the chief, categorically different from those fools. With his levelheaded observation of the battlefield, he would never be thrown off his feet like they were—obviously.

Yes, situational awareness, that was it. The goblin leader took a few proud, threatening swipes with his ax. Just the sound of it slicing through the air was enough to cow the other goblins and make them do as he said. And it made captives, whether human or padfoot, cry out in fear, which pleased the chieftain.

“GORRGGBB…!”

And so he was somewhat vexed by the attitude of the adventurer leader: a man who, with his pitiful equipment, was clearly on a lower level than the goblin. He didn’t even seem to flinch! Not that the chieftain could really tell, since the adventurer wore an expressionless metal helmet.

Bah, who cares?

The adventurer obviously thought he would win, but if the chieftain killed the leader, then it would all be over. The stubby little dwarf, and the apathetic lizard carrying him, were no match for the goblin. If he could just kill this man in front of him, then the high elf and the skinny little girl would be his. He would break their arms and legs, have his way with them until he tired of them, and then—if they were still alive—he might see fit to toss them to his lackeys.

Needless to say, he would do the same with that accursed one-eyed woman. Ooh, she would chirp if he tore out that other eye!

The goblin chieftain could see his future victory, right there, just beyond the adventurer in the grimy armor. Assured of his superiority, the goblin laughed. And it would all start with taking care of this man right here!

“GOOROOOGGBB!! GOOROGGBBB!!!!” the goblin chieftain howled, swinging his ax so hard, it seemed he was trying to summon up a storm. If he landed a hit on the adventurer’s head, it would crack his skull clear through his helmet, while if he caught one of the man’s limbs, it would be lopped off, armor and all.

No one could possibly maintain their composure in the face of this display. Look—the adventurer wasn’t even trying to draw his sword!

“GOOOROOGGBB!!!!”

But of course, this didn’t mean the goblin would show him any mercy. Had the adventurer not killed other goblins? This was a simple, fully justified case of revenge.

The goblin, his head full of these goblin-y thoughts, raised his ax to deliver what he was sure would be the coup de grâce…

“GOOROGGBBB?!”

The next instant, he found a twisted blade, crueler than he could imagine, biting into his arm.

§

“GOOROGGBBB?!”

The upgraded southern-style throwing knife did exactly what Goblin Slayer had come to expect it would and sliced the goblin’s right arm clear off. Still holding the battle-ax, the limb whirled through the air. Before it landed, Goblin Slayer was already kicking off the deck.

The goblin was babbling, but there was no need to listen; it would have been pointless.

Now he saw it, the strength of the tempered steel blades of the northerners. How something like sacredness dwelled within them. Truly awe-inspiring.

Berserkers: warriors in bearskins who knew no fear. A word with which to inspire terror. They chewed up shields, tore people apart, could even pull gods limb from limb. Nothing could be more awful.

And yet…

Why should I be afraid of a goblin?

He might fear a great barbarian who could not be intimidated, but at a goblin cowering for his life?

“GORROGGBB?!”

With his right hand, Goblin Slayer pulled out the northern sword. Short, of a strange length, but polished to perfection. He had no qualms at all with it. It was wasted on him.

The goblin was holding the stump of his arm and bellowing. Thrashing with pain, weeping and jabbering, cursing everything he could think of.

The distance would be closed in one, two, three. Normally Goblin Slayer would aim for the throat, but this goblin’s throat was a bit big. The belly would be enough.

And then the sea will do the rest.

“GOROOGGBB?! GBB?!”

His blade met virtually no resistance as it drove into the goblin’s guts, like he was stabbing a snowbank. He gave the hilt a twist to make sure he did plenty of internal damage, and the goblin let out a choked scream.

“This makes…sixteen!”

The monster was reaching his one good hand toward Goblin Slayer—was it a spasm of pain or did he think he was begging for his life? Whatever it was, it didn’t rise to the level of resistance.

Ah. Yes.

Goblin Slayer reached out with his own left hand and tore the bear pelt away.

“This is more than you deserve.”

Then he gave the goblin a merciless kick. Thump. There was a spray of filthy blood as the sword came out, and the goblin went tumbling into the freezing ocean. There was only a dull splash as he hit the water—a fitting end for a goblin. The waves would carry him away shortly, and he would be gone.

Meanwhile the ax, which had continued to spin through the air, finally landed on the deck with a thump of its own.

In one hand, Goblin Slayer held a rotting bear skin. In the other, the ax. He let out a breath.

“I knew…” He slid the sword back into its scabbard, stuffed the pelt into his item pouch, and nodded once. “…this was more suited to throwing.” He sounded satisfied as he tugged on the string tied to the southern-style knife.

He had no regrets at all, having it upgraded. It fulfilled a different purpose. At least, different from his other equipment.

“How are you doing there?” he asked.

“Oh, we’ll manage somehow!” High Elf Archer shouted, letting off another volley of arrows. “If that thing doesn’t eat us!”

Goblin Slayer replaced the throwing knife in the sheath on his back and ran up the deck, which was bouncing in the waves.

Ignorance was a sin, but it could also be bliss. The goblin chieftain’s ship was drifting closer to the sea monster—or monsters; he didn’t know if it was a whole swarm of them or just one. And yet, the goblins appeared completely unbothered—for they were goblins, after all. High Elf Archer and Priestess were battling furiously to keep them at bay as the little monsters argued about who was to be the next chieftain.

“If we could just…use a spell, then I think…the rest would be…!”

Priestess might not be the strongest, but she’d survived more than one battle like this. She had a lot to learn about wielding her staff as a combat weapon, but it was more than enough to keep the goblins from getting too close. Protected by the two women, Lizard Priest leaned over the side of the ship with Dwarf Shaman on his shoulders.

“All right, I’ve got ’im!” Dwarf Shaman cheered, clenching his small but doughty fists in the air. The way he raised his arms was very spell caster–ish; it almost looked like he was reeling in a fishing rod. “Keep those feet firm, Scaly!”

“I shall! I daresay I’m not eager to fall in…”

For a lizardman from the south, the northern sea must have seemed a terrible thing—but his people lived in the marshes, so they had a certain affinity with water themselves. Lizard Priest’s sharp claws bit into the deck of the boat as it tossed and reeled and was soaked by the waves as if it were deliberately trying to throw off its passengers. He held out his ample tail for balance.

Dwarf Shaman gave a sharp tug on the invisible fishing rod, grinning as if he could feel it catching something under the water. And then he roared to the sprites, seeking to enlist their help in dragging his quarry to the surface: “Nymphs and sylphs, together spin, earth and sea are nearly kin, so dance away—just don’t fall in!”

The sea exploded—not metaphorically but literally. The battered boats were shaken like candy in a bottle, slammed together by the waves. The geyser of seawater blocked out the sun so that everything suddenly went dark. And the spray turned the world white—but none of this could conceal what emerged.

“OOCCCTAAAAAAAAAAAALLUUUUUUUUUUUSSS!!!!!!!”

“Wha—?”

“Heek…!”

The sight was enough to rob one of sanity. Confronted with the writhing creature that emerged from the sea, anyone would find their grip on reality under assault.

Now it was clear why they had initially taken it for a whole swarm of giant sea snakes. It was a mountainous, towering collection of tentacles bending at impossible angles, and flesh, and fangs that consumed anything and everything. It was a cephalopod-like creature that looked as if its parts had been stuck together with clay—but it was a single monster. The master of the abyss, who had dwelled in the deep perhaps since the Age of the Gods.

“Hmm,” Goblin Slayer grunted, while everyone else stood stupefied. He sounded less surprised than he did eminently sure and satisfied as he said: “I knew these people couldn’t be defeated by mere goblins.”

§

“Ha-ha-ha-ha, now, this is a big one! A real big-name hunt!” A hero dove across the stormy sea, leaping from one rotting hulk to another. A man with black-steel mail and a steel sword in his hand. A knight who had come from the south to the north to be a goði. He was accompanied only by a single silent Dragontooth Warrior acting as a shield bearer.

Of course, the sea devil with its monstrous appetite would not overlook even something so small as this. Now awakened from its drowsiness by having been dragged forcibly up to the surface, its tentacles all struck at once.

If anyone was to deride the hero’s sword as a mere blunt instrument, however, it would only be testament to their own ignorance.

“Hrr…n!”

A single sword, a single swift strike. The chieftain stood his ground—indeed, pressed forward, cutting loose the tangle of tentacles. He spun his greatsword over his head as the feelers all but stumbled over one another to reach him, slicing through them.

The tentacles, which had come at him like stabbing spears, were thrown up and back, and he brushed the roots away with the flat of his blade. A crimson banner seemed to fly above his head. Brandishing his blade right, then left, he continued to push forward. Training upon training, practice upon practice: This was simply an utter mastery of the fighting arts.

“OOCCCTAAAAAAAAAAAALLUUUUUUUUUUUSSS!!!!!!!”

It was impossible to say, really, whether the sea creature felt pain. Or whether it had reason or was even sentient. He’d cut off a handful of the creature’s seemingly infinite tentacles, but there appeared to be as many of them left as hairs on a person’s head.

Still—the sea creature howled. Maybe it was just a yawn or maybe was directed at the insect who had awakened the monster from sleep, but it was unmistakably a howl.

All aimed at one simple human in front of it.

“Today,” the goði said, baring his fangs, his voice almost melodic, “is the day you die…!”

The sound of steel and the sound of the uncanny beast collided with each other. Writhing tentacles shot forward with what seemed enough force to destroy a single warrior.

The chieftain didn’t take a step back; in fact, he pushed forward instead. When one was wielding the sword, one could not stop moving. The momentum itself was what led to the next attack. The protecting sword ought always to be pointed like a stake at the heart of the enemy.

Talho! Lebetz! Alte, basso!

The sword was everywhere, and yet it couldn’t possibly parry every single attack. The Dragontooth Warrior and its shield took a blow in the goði’s place, crumbling apart. “Brilliant!” the chieftain shouted and continued to press forward, ever forward.

Yes: The chieftain’s sword had certainly reached the sea monster.

No problem, then. Just keep hitting it, and it will die.

When the ship beneath his feet began to break apart, he leaped to the next one, sweeping aside the thorns of flesh with his blade.

The chieftain stood, and struck, and cut. With each stroke, blood flew, flesh was rent, and all of it crashed over him like a wave.

The way his breath fogged in the air revealed how hot the chieftain’s blood was. O gods, behold his deeds! See the battle of the hero and the devil of the northern sea. This creature was a warlord of Chaos, a major playing piece, on a scale with Hecatoncheir or a battlemech. And here a single unique unit was facing it down.

This was it, the radiant adventure evoked by the adventurers. For all the many adventurers in the Four-Cornered World were radiant, shining stars.

“…A berserker is quite a sight to see, isn’t it?!” the húsfreya said with a smile as she watched the man she loved do battle, unperturbed by the crashing waves.

The northerners saw all this and looked at one another. What were they doing? Just pissing about with goblins who didn’t understand at all what was going on? Look, had the adventurers not held up their side of the bargain? While the northerners had been shocked, and shaken, their formation broken, the adventurers had worked as one to pull the devil from the deep. And now the northerners simply watched their goði fight. They watched, unable to do anything, as he and his sword alone confronted the beast.

But consider—just consider. When people saw them later, the survivors of this battle, what would they say? When they saw the helmets, armor, and shield without a scratch? The swords without so much as a chip in the blade? What would they think? Had these Vikings, they would wonder, been content to let the adventurers fish the enemy out of the sea and then merely stand by as the goði fought it?

They had defeated the small fry. Done their jobs. Was that why they had looked on as the hero finished things?

To be seen in such a way, to be thought of in such terms—they couldn’t bear it. A true warrior preferred death to living with dishonor.

“…Gygax! Praise the gods!”

“Gygax!!”

The warriors shouted, loud enough to be heard by the ninth pillar of the Circle of Eight, the great god who had gone beyond the stars.

So what if they died? One of their brothers would take up the fight and another after him. What did they have to fear?

“GOROGGB?!”

“GOB?! OROGGBB?!?!”

Such conviction was unknown to the goblins, who were and would only ever be possessed of but little wit. All they knew was that the cowed and hesitant warriors were suddenly charging forward, disdaining wounds and injuries. There was no way the likes of goblins could cope with such a push.

The air shook with the shouting of the warriors, the death rattles of the goblins, and the bellowing of the storm.

“Who cares about any sea monster? For my husband is without fear…” And thus, the húsfreya smiled. The prince whom she loved more than anything could never be defeated by what was before him. “For he is the bee-wulf, the bee hunter!”

The squirming tentacles became whips of flesh, striking the chieftain’s armor almost faster than the speed of sound. The chains of his mail jumped aside, his flesh was split, and his blood flew. But so what? In exchange for that single blow, the goði had a chance to drive at the heart of the beast.

“Hrrrahhh…!” Even as he moved in, the flesh-spears were stabbing at him, but the chieftain parried to one side and then the other and pushed another step closer.

He let the momentum of the slashes carry him into a corkscrew motion, flying from the prow of the ship toward the monster. This was one of the master’s techniques with the two-handed sword. The Fourteenth Form, which meant death.

The steel blade sliced away the monster’s tentacles, sending them flying, the creature spewing terrible fluid higher than the waves.

“OOCCCTAAAAAAAAAAAALLUUUUUUUUUUUSSS!!!!!!!”

“From my ship, speed! From my shield, strength! From my blade, blood!” The húsfreya sang out her own prayer, louder than the roaring of the sea devil. The light that spilled from her one good eye became lightning that ran along her arm. Then the light became electricity that struck the goði in the heart.

“And from my maiden fair, a kiss! These I seek!” The lightning enveloped his body, coursing around him, leaping through space to the top of his helmet.

In Priestess’s eyes, he looked like a stag with golden antlers. Yes: like the horns of the great god that every child imagined on the helmets of the fearsome Vikings.

The lightning ran onto the chieftain’s sword, swelling its size, making it ever larger. The chieftain grinned and brought the sword back toward his shoulder, preparing to swing.

It is pain that gives life its joy.

It is the searing heat followed by the shock of cold that tempers steel.

A god of steel wreathed in lightning. A true miracle, bestowed by the blessing of the husband-and-wife gods.

This, this was the all-cleaving blade known only to those who had uncovered the deepest secrets of steel.

“Hoh, adventurers!” the chieftain shouted, taking aim at his mortal foe. “On my mark!”

§

“Goblin Slayer, sir!” It was Priestess who acted before anyone else, raising her sounding staff, with Spark on her hand.

The furious sea. The ship that threatened to break apart beneath their feet. The massive sea devil. The horde of goblins. The fight they were still in the middle of. The journey north. Adventure.

Precious moments, all. Inspiration came like a dawning light in the back of Goblin Slayer’s mind.

“Tail Wind, now!”

“You got it!”

Even though he had just fished a gigantic monster out of the ocean, Dwarf Shaman didn’t look tired, and he acted without a moment’s hesitation. He understood well that at times like this, this man, Goblin Slayer, would always come up with something.

“O sylphs, thou windy maidens fair, grant to me your kiss most rare—bless our ship with breezes fair…!”

Even as the sylphs of the northern sea sang and danced, they reached out a hand to their friend. The wind began to batter the ship—which was really just some rotting wood barely holding the shape of a boat. The gust was powerful enough to catch even High Elf Archer off guard and send her stumbling. She glanced in Priestess’s direction. Her cherished but much younger friend was standing at the prow of the ship, her staff held high, praying for all she was worth.

Boy, she’s really become something to be proud of.

Priestess herself was probably the only one who didn’t realize it. Humans were quick. That made the elf a little jealous and also a little bit sad.

“Oh, for… It always turns out like this, doesn’t it?” High Elf Archer said with studied cheerfulness, pounding Lizard Priest on the back. “One more stand. Let’s not go falling down now…!”

“Mm, I quite agree.”

High Elf Archer raced across the deck, giggling at the way his tail tickled as it brushed past her legs. Whatever Orcbolg was up to, it would bring down that sea monster. And if the high elf’s arrows could hit it at all, they would whittle away the creature’s hit points.

Although granted, she did grumble “Ugh” when she saw Orcbolg pull out the bottle full of greasy liquid. “I thought I told you to stop acting like a Hylar dwarf.”

“This is a different plan,” Goblin Slayer said calmly. “Get ready.”

“Ha-ha-ha…”

I’m so going to kick his ass when we get home.

But even that thought was somehow reassuring. High Elf Archer kicked off the gunwale, pulling back on her bow and loosing an arrow.

“OOCCCTAAAAAAAAAAAALLUUUUUUUUUUUSSS!!!!!!!”

Then fire glowed in Goblin Slayer’s hand. The black liquid in the bottle was beginning a conflagration, and he flung it—down through a hole in the deck.

This was Medea’s fire, petroleum, or Iranistan’s oil. Whatever you called it, it was…

“Fire water.”

Boom. There was a great roar, accompanied by an eruption of flames. Immediately, the fire began to lick at the whole ship, charring everything black, shining all around…

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, please, by your revered hand, cleanse us of our corruption.”

From the midst of this, how could the gods fail to hear the plea of a young girl?

Her soul-shearingly pure prayer reached the Earth Mother—who must have smiled a little when she thought of where this prayer was going. But still she granted it, her delicate, invisible fingers brushing across the corrupted goblin ship, purifying it.

There might be flames all around, but this was unmistakably a holy wind blowing past them. Although, since the fire was sucking up all the oxygen, it would have been tricky to breathe without their breathing rings.

The fire devoured the speed of the ship, sucked in the wind behind it, growing stronger as it consumed.

“I knew this ring would be necessary if we used this much fire,” said Goblin Slayer, who had checked his facts ahead of time. Then he took the battle-ax bequeathed to him by the northern warrior and put it in the belt at his hip. He gave a disinterested “Hmph” regarding the goblin arm lying at his feet and kicked it out of the way.

There was no turning back now. There was only one thing to do.

“Release the spell!” Goblin Slayer shouted. “We’re jumping!”

“You’re on, Scaly!”

“Understood…!”

“Heek?!”

“Your ass is gonna get so kicked!”

Goblin Slayer grabbed up Priestess, while Lizard Priest put Dwarf Shaman on his back, and High Elf Archer flew merrily through the air.

Then the adventurers put an end to their adventure.

§

The goblin grinned to himself, grateful to his own good luck. He was covered in wounds, he had been stabbed in the belly, and the stump of his arm had been inundated with saltwater, agonizing it. But despite it all, the goblin was alive. Even if only just.

He’d clung to the side of the rolling ship, and that had saved him. The foolish adventurers had foolishly overlooked him, like the fools they were. One day, he would make them regret it.

He had done nothing wrong, and yet, look how he had been treated. Surely he was entitled to do the same to them.

Struggling with his single remaining arm, the goblin managed to crawl across the deck.

His head just wouldn’t stop spinning, though.

“GOROGB…?”

Suddenly, he noticed there was fire everywhere. It should have been too hot to bear—so why did he barely feel warm?

The air, however, was deeply unpleasant. It made him want to retch.

The goblin cursed everything he could think of, but he was in fact rather satisfied with his current situation. The ship seemed to be speeding along for some reason. That would help him. And he had survived. Thus, he could always come back. And then he would find those adventurers, and someday, he vowed, he would kill them…

“GORRGGB?!?!”

The last thing the goblin saw as he looked up was the vast, black emptiness within the yawning jaws.

§

Up on the surface, the roar of the lightning dragon resounded. The blade of electricity struck true, slamming into the sea devil, and meanwhile, the burning ship became a flaming spear piercing the monster.

“OOCCCTAAAAAAAAAAAALLUUUUUUUUUUUSSS?!?!?!”

The monster bellowed and reared back. The lightning-shrouded sword and the burning ship were both terrible weapons—and yet, they were not enough. Neither could land a final, critical hit.

What shocked the creature more than anything else was the great sacred flare, the likes of which it had never experienced before. The weight of the “holy ship,” carrying the blessing of the Earth Mother, overwhelmed the sea devil.

And then the effect of Water Walk wore off.

Monster and ship both hit the water with an enormous spray of foam and sank. Down they went, then farther down. The great mass of them, which had been supported by the water sprites until that moment, slammed into the sea.

They sucked a massive flow of saltwater down with them—which then rebounded. It caught up the abandoned hulks floating on the battlefield, the surviving goblin, and the northerners in a single tremendous wave.

“Hold steaaadddyyyyy!”

But the Vikings, the People of the Bay, ate massive waves for breakfast. They weren’t worried about the goblins or about the sea devil—for they were with the people they lived and fought with every day. At a single order, without panic and without hesitation, they grabbed their oars and began rowing.

Even the least of the northerners was a formidable warrior and an unimpeachable sailor.

“GORGGB?!”

“GORBBGG?!?!”

And the goblins, needless to say, were not.

The goblins, without the least sense for ships or the sea, could hardly even struggle. They were simply swallowed up. Consumed. No goblin would emerge from these waters alive.

Nature in the Four-Cornered World was absolutely fair to all. It bestowed its blessings upon those who could adapt—and upon those who couldn’t, destruction.

Perhaps it would be most accurate to say that the northern sea settled everything with its own hand.

§

“Good gods, but you do the wildest things,” the chieftain said with an exasperated smile. The sky had changed completely and was now bright and sunny.

The adventurers had jumped from the flaming ship, passing the sea devil and the lightning sword. They were hale and healthy as they stood on the deck, watching the sea gradually regain its calm.

“Is that so?” Goblin Slayer asked, cocking his head, seawater dripping from his helmet. “I only did what I always do.”

High Elf Archer gave him a good, sound kick, sending him sprawling. She pointed and laughed, but Priestess hurried up to her. “I-it was my idea, so…!”

At that, High Elf Archer looked up at the heavens and covered her face. But whatever she was wishing for at that moment, the Earth Mother—averting her eyes herself—probably didn’t hear it.

Lizard Priest, observing the three of them, rolled his eyes merrily in his head, while Dwarf Shaman grabbed the wine at his hip with some resignation. “Do yeh really think that killed it? I mean, something that big? Not entirely confident m’self…”

“Hmmmm.” Lizard Priest sighed heavily. “Even if it did, I very much doubt whether that thing was the last of its kind.”

“Aw, who cares?” At his friend’s joke at the spell caster who had done more than anybody else this time out, he glugged down some wine.

“If it ever comes back…it just means another drekka!” The goði looked at the northerners, who gave a great bellow of victory up to the heavens. The rescued prisoners wept and embraced one another, argued with the other northerners, and generally made a lot of noise.

The chieftain, listening happily to the hubbub, smiled. “Was I as heroic as you’d hoped of me, my dear—?” And then he spoke the húsfreya’s name.

She chuckled and said, “Oh, my dear husbondi. Your accent is showing again.”

“Oops!” The chieftain scratched his cheek in embarrassment. He still had a lot to learn. “Ahem… Dear wife. I do thank you always,” he said, making sure to sound like one of the northerners.

The húsfreya leaned toward him: Under his helmet, his lips were undefended. She brushed them gently. In perfect common speech, she said: “I do adore you, my prince.”

“——”

“Hmm?”

“Once more! Dear wife, I beg you!”

“Heavens, I couldn’t!” she said mischievously, slipping back into her accustomed style of speech and dancing away from the chieftain with a smile. The black-steel keys clinked on her hip; she brushed them with her fingers, looking endlessly happy.

“Please return these for me. Later, when there’s a chance.” Goblin Slayer, who had finally gotten to his feet again and was watching the two of them, spoke to a nearby northerner—the warrior with the wounded face. He had more wounds now—and Goblin Slayer handed him two weapons. The northern sword that had been at his hip until this moment and the enchanted battle-ax.

“Are you quite certain?”

“They’re good weapons,” Goblin Slayer replied. And then he added, “They’re wasted on me.”

Hmm. The scar-faced warrior let out a quiet breath, but at length he said, “I understand,” and took the items reverently.

Among the Vikings, it was said that if you offered something to someone, be it as humble as a hunting knife, you ought to receive something in return. This was a land where fighting never ceased. That was exactly what made it a land so rich in the knowledge of how to avoid fights and traditions that promoted peace.

But receive something? He had received so much already.

The young lovers—the husband and wife—their joyous faces were things of such profound value here in the north.

“What really matters is this: It was a fine fight,” the northerner said.

“Hrm?”

“I speak of your reward.” The warrior with the wounds on his face made sure he had a firm, respectful grip on the sword and ax. “You adventurers are not thieves, are you? Mercenaries, perhaps?”

“No.” Goblin Slayer shook his head. It was almost a reflexive movement; thus, it took him several seconds of silence to find the words. “No…,” he repeated. “Adventurers are those who go on adventures.”

Adventurers were those who risked danger. They traveled the world, delved into dungeons, and faced dragons for riches, honor, renown, or the sake of the people. That was how it was supposed to be—how he wanted to believe that it was. How he wanted to be.

“I am Goblin Slayer,” he said. There was nothing he hated more than having goblins stand in his way. But there was also nothing more painful than having goblins stand in his way. “For a reward… I ask that in the future, when adventurers visit this land, you treat them as adventurers.”

“Is that indeed enough?”

“Yes.”

Priestess, listening at a distance, thought for a moment she had misheard, her eyes widening. Because otherwise, if she hadn’t… Well, it might be the first time she had ever heard such a thing. And yet, she didn’t feel the tremble of discomfort that had run through her in the past.

Because—well, hadn’t he done it? Perhaps it had the groaning quality of a rusty hinge, but he—he had laughed out loud.

“Yes, that is enough,” he said. And then, as if it was a matter of utmost importance, Goblin Slayer added, “Also, if you could provide a scabbard for me.”