Goblin Slayer - Volume 14 - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 - Honey Moon

The coming of spring is heralded by a languorous sunny atmosphere that makes you want to yawn.

And indeed, that was what Cow Girl found herself doing, making no attempt to hide her audible yawn as she sat on the fence, kicking her feet. The sky was blue, the sunlight was warm, and the breeze was lovely. You could hardly have asked for a better afternoon.

“Mmmm…”

It wasn’t that she was shirking work. She’d mostly finished the things she had to do today. She hadn’t yet done the things that would be good to do today, however, or started the things that would take several days.

Awww, it’s all right, she thought. On a day like today, who could blame her?

She’d finished all her jobs in time to have a few minutes to herself; there was no need to keep working. Everything pressing had been done; no one could complain if she took it easy for a while.

“Hup…!”

Cow Girl leaned her weight backward off the fence, like a child in the branches of a tree. Just like that, the world was upside down, spreading out before her in reverse. The sky was made of green grass, and at her feet there was solid blue. Back when she was a child, she’d had to wear a skirt, and she would have been scolded for doing this—they would have said it was bad manners.

Oh…huh. Maybe it still is?

If her uncle found her, she thought, he might have something to say about it—but even that was a welcome thought. He was still quite harsh about the winter excursion, but otherwise, it had been quite a long time since she’d been scolded by anybody.

Then again, just because it had been a long time, and because she found the thought welcome in its own way, didn’t mean she was eager to be scolded.

Well, if he sees me…we’ll worry about it then.

Cow Girl’s logic was about as sound as that child in the tree branch. For now, all she felt she had to do was savor the sun and the wind and the sense of spring.

“Ooh…”

Suddenly, a decoration like a tattered rag dropped into her upside-down world. Swaying in her view from the green above her head was a cheap-looking, but familiar, metal helmet.

He had a lot more cargo than usual, but then again, he’d gone much farther than usual. He’d put away his cloak—this far south, he must no longer need it. Knowing him, she was sure that it was folded neatly and placed in his backpack. Only one thing was unusual enough to catch her attention: the gorgeous sword at his hip.

“No animals this time?” she teased, grinning at her upside-down friend.

“Mm,” he grunted, coming to a halt and looking intently at her. “…What are you doing?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh…” Cow Girl kicked, flipping back upright. Then the world swiveled around, and now she could see the other side of the fence from before. Her feet hit the ground (tump!), and she pushed off, turning around.

There was the grimy metal helmet, just like she’d expected. She was very happy to see it. “I’ve been waiting.”

“…Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. Sure is.”

Cow Girl smiled, and he simply said, “Is that so?” again, the helmet nodding.

There was only one thing she could say to that.

“You’re back?”

“Yes… I’m back.”

§

The road to the farm’s main house was certainly not a long one, and she enjoyed listening to him talk on the way. He spoke in brief bursts, and she had to ask him in detail about things to learn anything.

I mean, I’ve just got to.

He had crossed the mountains. He had killed some goblins. He had seen the northern country. A monster he didn’t know much about had appeared. He had killed more goblins.

That can’t be all there is to the story, Cow Girl thought. At the same time, though, she didn’t necessarily understand enough about adventuring to have grasped the details, even if he told her. Take the subterranean dwarven city, for example: She couldn’t quite figure out what that meant. And of the northerners—their houses, their way of life, their frozen sea, their ships—she could form only the vaguest picture.

As for the monster, he said it had many legs. The only things Cow Girl knew like that were insects.

“So it was sort of like a centipede?”

“No, I don’t think so…” He shook his head from side to side, thought for a moment, and then added, “They called it a…devil fish or some such. I don’t know the details. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Huh…”

It was like one thing was everything; that’s how it was with him. But when she asked questions, he did answer them, and she liked hearing his piecemeal explanations. She didn’t always follow, but about the time he was demonstrating with a gesture how he had tried to move a stick, she started to think:

He had fun, didn’t he?

And that made her happiest of all.

“So it was good?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Although I didn’t succeed in moving it.”

“It was really big, right? Not your fault.”

As Cow Girl spoke, they reached the door of the main house. The air inside carried the slightest chill, as if a hint of winter were still hiding within. Cow Girl’s uncle was at work and wasn’t back yet. It made her heart skip a beat to walk quietly into the house, just her and him.

“I’ll put tea on,” she said, trotting toward the kitchen.

First things first: She had to make a fire. And lighting a fire made her eager to boil water.

Thus when he said: “I have a gift for you,” it was only after watching her scurry around for a moment. He said it quite seriously, setting his baggage down as she took a seat while she waited for the water on the fire to come to a boil.

“Ooh, what is it?”

“First, this.”

On the table, he set the magnificent sword that had been at his hip. Even Cow Girl, who knew nothing of such matters, could see how exquisite a weapon it was. The hilt was carefully wrapped in leather, and the guard was polished to a sparkle. No doubt the blade was in similar condition. There were no obvious ornaments to speak of, but it was clear at a glance that this was a very fine piece indeed.

After all, it was only natural: As fine as the sword was, it was the scabbard that was truly beautiful. Worked with dark-steel and copper accents that were polished to shimmering, even the fur pelt was oiled and shining. Its value was unmistakable, as was the immense thought and care that had gone into it.

“Wow,” Cow Girl said, blinking. “I was wondering about this thing. What’s its story?”

“The sword, I found. The scabbard was made for me.”

His answer was brief, but it was enough to tell her what she needed to know. He had requested specifically to have this made. He was truly blessed with the people he met.

“That’s great,” she said.

He was quiet for a moment, then said slowly, “I thought it might serve as a decoration.”

Cow Girl folded her hands on the table, then rested her cheek against them. She knew very well what expression he was wearing behind his visor. Thus she knew what he would do when she spoke, knew he would fall silent and look at her.

“I think you should use it as a decoration in your shed.”

“…Is that all right?”

“I think that would be the best fit.”

“Mm,” he said with a little nod, and then he took the sword, looking genuinely happy. He drank in the sight of it, then nudged the blade from the scabbard for a peek, his helmet bobbing up and down.

Cow Girl recognized it as the same way he’d reacted when he’d been bought a wooden sword at a festival long, long ago. She got up from her seat, so as not to interrupt or interfere with him. She banked the coals from that morning, and when the water (brought from a bucket) was boiled, next came the tea. She used some of the leaves the receptionist at the Adventurers Guild had given her, although as far as actually making the tea, she could only imitate what she’d seen and been told. It was fine—as long as she didn’t pretend she was going to brew the most delicious tea in the Four-Cornered World, there was no problem.

“There’s another, as well,” he said softly as she was returning to the table with two cups. He riffled through his belongings, took out a carefully wrapped wine jug, and set it on the tabletop. He must have seen the question mark appear over Cow Girl’s head, for he explained: “It’s mead.”

“Huh…”

She could be forgiven, one hoped, for having a completely different reaction to this than she had had to the sword.

Mead—honey alcohol. Of course she knew about it; she had even drunk some. But maybe the mead they made in the north was different somehow. Intrigued, Cow Girl leaned toward one of the jugs.

“Was this a gift, too?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “They asked me about my household, although I didn’t quite follow.”

“Your household?”

“I said that I’m unmarried but that I live with you and your uncle. Then they told me to take this home with me.”

“Huh… There’s quite a bit of it here. Maybe they want us to drink it together?”

The mead was fragrant despite the tight seals on the jars. She gave one of them a shake and was rewarded with a distinct, pleasing splish. The sound made her excited somehow.

“Maybe we should have some with dinner tonight.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Although I don’t know much about alcohol consumption.”

“As if I do!” She giggled. “Say… Do the people of the north wear horned helmets?” Still smiling, she waved her fingers in the air, tracing two horns. “You know, like you used to do?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I saw it myself.”

As the steam rose from their tea, the two talked about a great wide variety of things.

How immensely useful Uncle’s cloak had been on the journey north. How the land there had been quite different from the saga the two of them had heard once upon a time, and yet just like it described. The bravery of the northern warriors. Their strength. How they were a company of heroes.

The chill of the north. The warmth of the north. The startling culture, games, and food. The songs.

The terribleness of the raging sea. The unknown monster that lurked within it. The captured women. The northern hero challenging the sea devil. And the faraway princess who loved him. How sweetly the two got along.

The massive sword the hero wielded. The great, inspiring horns that decorated his helmet.

How of the rescued women, some had returned home, while several had decided to stay and become brides of the northerners. How it seemed the cleric girl who served the Earth Mother was being talked about for promotion.

This and much, much more he told her, giving his all to speak of it in his poor style and minimal vocabulary.

She oohed and ahhed at the appropriate times, occasionally asked questions or urged him on, and all the time listened joyously. It was a whole collection of stories to make the heart race.

In other words, it was an adventure.