Goblin Slayer - Volume 15 - Chapter 1

Too late to wage battle,

the enemy already lies far beyond.

But fall to your knees?

Kneeling would you never live.

Run, run, silver star!

The best, the worst:

You leave all behind.

Horses, horses, O fine horses!

The Valkyrie’s blessing is for you alone.

Run, run, silver star!

The best, the worst:

You leave all behind.

Chapter 1 - Rescue The Princess!

The first town gate she ever saw was so much bigger than she’d imagined.

It was so tall that she had to crane her neck to look up at it, which she did for a long moment before steeling herself and taking a step forward.

She walked resolutely, her footsteps clacking on the hard, tightly packed stones. Was it the gallant footsteps or the Dai Katana and greatbow the girl carried on her back, practically dwarfing her? Something made passersby look at her with interest, their gazes sharp enough to pierce. But when it came to piercing gazes, the girl’s was as sharp as anyone’s. It caused the interested onlookers to glance away, uneasy, and that was enough; the girl ignored them and walked on.

She was practically in enemy territory here. Everyone was on guard; no quarter would be afforded to her. And if she let her own vigilance slip, even for a second, this pack of wolves would be on her; they would tear her apart.

At least, so the girl believed. In her mind, there was no room for doubt.

Still… Still, the place was enough to make her dizzy. The road was stone. The buildings were stone. The sky seemed narrow and cramped, far away above the towering buildings. It was extraordinarily unsettling not to be able to see the horizon. The breeze was fetid, and the body heat from the crowd was overwhelming. Her ears were assaulted by a cacophony of sounds; it was chaotic, nary a blank space anywhere. A person could go mad in a place like this.

The girl shook her head and picked up her pace, as if she knew she would regret coming to a halt even accidentally. Her destination—everything was all right. She knew where she was going. At least…she was pretty sure she did. She’d imagined she would find it right away, but this town of stone was starting to sap her confidence. She couldn’t show weakness, though. Her lip stiffened.

She worked her way through what seemed like a labyrinth to her. No weakness. No weakness. She couldn’t look like a mark.

Thankfully, it didn’t take as long as she’d feared to find her destination, and she made it there before twilight. That was due in part to the fact that all the streets had names, and there were plenty of signs saying which was which. Did that mean this was a trap? Or that even the people who lived here couldn’t remember them all?

Well, even if it was a trap, there was nothing to do but spring it. The girl stood in front of the building she’d been looking for, a tavern with a sign shaped like an ax, and took a piece of paper out of her pouch: a letter, creased and worn from being opened and refolded so many times.

The girl studied the characters intently, looking back and forth between the paper and the sign to make sure she had it right. She did. This was the place.

There was a pair of saloon doors at about chest high, swaying gently open and shut. They hardly looked big enough to serve as doors. From the entrance came sound, light, noise, and an aroma of herbs and spices she had never smelled before. The girl, her senses overwhelmed, started to think she might not have the courage to take that next step.

But she couldn’t let herself be beaten now. That was exactly what her enemies wanted.

The girl clenched her fist, got a good running start, and went charging into the maelstrom.

The hinge cried out at her assault, attracting another round of stares from those within, but the girl responded with her own look like a honed blade, sweeping away the too-interested gazes. At the same time, she looked around the tavern—and then, finally, her tense face bloomed like a flower.

She’s as beautiful as ever!

With her lush hair tied easily on her head, it was as if the boisterous atmosphere didn’t touch her beauty. Her figure was robust and yet womanly, showing how pathetic the girl’s own spindly body was. She had her hair tied up the same way, in imitation of the older woman, but she couldn’t help thinking that there was no comparing the two of them.

What should she say? Should she call out to the woman? Her mind ran in circles—but she mustn’t panic. She forced down the impulse to shout and run over to the woman, instead taking a serious, careful step forward. It gave her the time to, somehow, wipe the smile off her face as she walked along in time to the creaking of the floorboards.

The other woman hadn’t noticed her yet. Perfect.

Her relief was short-lived, however. The other woman was wearing—unbelievably—what appeared to be the outfit of a menial laborer.

The girl was somehow able to fend off the rush of blood to her head—but that, too, was only for a moment, until she saw the way the drunkard at the table reached for the woman, altogether too friendly. When the girl saw the woman try to push the man’s hand away, disgusted, she finally lost control.

She dashed forward so hard that it seemed she would leave footprints in the wooden floor, and she reached for the katana on her back.

The man caught sight of her just before she drew her sword. She didn’t care. How could she care?

“Get away from my sister!”

Whoosh! The sword sliced past the man’s nose and grazed the tabletop. She’d been trying to cut off his arm, but the man had already moved out of the way.

What inexperience! Tears of rage and humiliation beaded in her eyes, but still the girl howled, “Where did you take the princess, you bastard?!”

“Huh?”

“Wha—?”

Heavy Warrior and Centaur Waitress looked at each other, both utterly confused.

§

“…I’m really not much for urban adventuring.”

“I see.” The bluntest possible answer. Goblin Slayer’s grimy metal helmet shook from side to side.

The Adventurers Guild was filled with a pleasant burble that was, effectively, peace. In the waiting area, adventurers clad in and carrying every imaginable kind of equipment sat on the benches or otherwise congregated. Every single one of them seemed to be staring at Heavy Warrior, who was looking weak and out of sorts. Virtually no one outside his party had ever witnessed him this way, for the only times he’d acted anything like this were perhaps on his very first adventure—when he’d smacked his huge sword directly into a wall—and when he’d been sweating a promotion.

It was clear that the cause of his distress on this occasion was Female Knight, who was standing behind him and looking royally angry. Or did it have to do with the two centaur women standing some distance away? The smaller one was glaring around intimidatingly, trying to protect her rather confused older sister.

The young centaur girl had her black hair tied up and carried a huge katana and a giant bow across her back. Her hands and all four of her legs were armored in leather—lightly, by human standards.

“It looks a bit like the sort of equipment an elf would wear,” observed Priestess with some admiration.

“I believe those are the weapons and armor of the people of the plain,” Lizard Priest said, shaking his head on its long neck.

Not long ago, the young cleric might have been in a tizzy about this, but now she was unfazed.

Heavy Warrior cast a resentful gaze at Goblin Slayer. The malign influence he was having on this purehearted young girl!

“I don’t know the circumstances,” Goblin Slayer said.

“Well, neither do I!” Heavy Warrior insisted. He sighed, clearly at the end of his rope. If he didn’t know what was going on, then of course Goblin Slayer wouldn’t.

The grimy adventurer and the adventurer whose weapons had been taken from him: One would never have imagined they were both Silver-ranked. They glared silently at each other.

Recognizing how thoroughly unproductive the moment was, Female Knight finally came up and jabbed Heavy Warrior in the back of the head. “This is your fault, blast it.”

“How is this my fault?”

“You’re the one who tried to get a hand on that girl’s older sister and her princess.”

“I didn’t try to get a hand on anything!” Heavy Warrior groaned. “Not on anyone’s older sister and not on any princess.”

Female Knight glared as if to say, Excuse me? Heavy Warrior could only sigh for the umpteenth time.

Bloodshed at a tavern was hardly unusual, but nobody wanted things to get out of hand. He’d given the tavern keeper a few coins for the trouble, left the centaur waitress to talk down her little sister, and made his retreat. He’d figured everyone would have cooled off by the next morning. And yet, now here he was.

He’d found Female Knight charging into his room in the morning, grabbing him by the nape of his neck, and dragging him to the Guild…

“And how exactly am I supposed to find this princess?” Heavy Warrior asked.

This one scruffy warrior was the only person he could turn to—what was he supposed to do? The high elf girl was watching the scene with undisguised amusement, while Dwarf Shaman seemed to be treating it as a show to accompany his meal. Heavy Warrior’s accountant and the kids had promptly looked at him like a pariah and beaten feet.

Maybe if Spearman had been here…

Naw. He’d have laughed himself sick about this.

But Spearman wasn’t an option, because he wasn’t there. He and his partner were off on an adventure at the moment. Thank the gods.

“She’s looking for a princess?” Goblin Slayer asked.

“That’s what she says,” Heavy Warrior replied.

“Hmm.”

“I was just having a drink! I only said I was finally done sharpening my sword, and I could go on an adventure tomorrow.”

“I see.”

Heavy Warrior nodded at Goblin Slayer, who mumbled his various responses, and repeated: “I’m really not much for urban adventuring…”

“I see.” The helmet shook again, and then the two men lapsed into silence. If left to their own devices, they seemed likely to go on like this forever, until the end of time.

Female Knight, however, had finally had enough. “Argh! We’re not getting anywhere!”

Maybe it was her wish for an explanation that prompted Centaur Waitress to seize the moment. She clopped up to the group, holding her little sister by the hand—well, more like her sister refused to let go. “Uh, I’m sorry about her. Really.”

“Sister! You don’t have to apologize!” the younger centaur girl shouted, looking as if she might draw her sword at any moment. She was obviously not in the mood for discussion. “This man is at fault, and he alone!”

“See, this is all your fault,” Female Knight said with a glare at Heavy Warrior, who stared helplessly up at the ceiling. He had never wished so desperately that the Supreme God would come and pass judgment himself. But the knight’s deity had entrusted righteousness and justice and whatever else to humans. Maybe this was just another divine trial.

“Um…”

The Supreme God refused to intervene, but the Earth Mother stuck up for him.

“Maybe we could start by going over exactly what’s happening. Slowly. From the beginning.” Priestess was speaking to the centaur girl, nervously but not haltingly at all. Her collection of adventures and experiences had progressively shaped her into a real adventurer in her own right. “Fighting here is just going to cause trouble for everyone…”

Okay, so her motive wasn’t deep compassion for Heavy Warrior—she cast a quick glance at the Guild reception desk. Guild Girl was standing there with a key in her hand and the kind of smile Heavy Warrior had never seen her make.

“She’s quite right,” said Guild Girl. “Perhaps you’d come talk over here?” Her language was so polite, yet it likewise brooked no argument.

Female Knight was on the move before Heavy Warrior could even try to stop her. “Yes, thanks, that sounds like a great idea.”

“Not at all. Please let me know if I can be of help in any way.” The key to the meeting room was reverently passed from Guild Girl’s hand to Female Knight’s.

“Okay, upstairs. You bunch of scoundrels…” Female Knight looked triumphant, grabbing Heavy Warrior’s arm with a grip every bit as irrefutable as Guild Girl’s pleasantries. That the Supreme God didn’t see fit to punish her implied this was according to his will…

Looks like it’s me against the world right now, Heavy Warrior thought. He nodded at Female Knight, looking like a prisoner about to be led to his execution.

§

“Okay, what’s going on here?”

“Yes, do tell.”

“Hey, don’t ask me!” Heavy Warrior sank onto the bench, defeated, as High Elf Archer and Female Knight interrogated him, the elf’s eyes shining and the knight’s sharp as steel.

The meeting room on the second floor of the Adventurers Guild was by no means a small space—but with two centaurs and a lizardman crammed into it, it did start to feel a little claustrophobic. The room had been designed by humans, and although people of every kind came through the Guild, the builders probably hadn’t designed the place with centaurs in mind. And if they had, then humans would probably have found the results pretty uncomfortable.

“Uh… Ha-ha… I’m sorry, y’know? Really,” said Centaur Waitress, whose legs were bent uncomfortably in order to fit in her seat.

Lizard Priest, ever the gentleman, responded with a friendly nod. “Goodness, fear not. You were simply dragged into this, it seems.” But even the lizardman’s decency couldn’t spare him a glare from Centaur Waitress’s younger sister, who still hadn’t left her side.

Heavy Warrior had hoped the young woman might have come to her senses after spending the last night with her older sister, but she’d done nothing of the sort. In fact, she looked ready to draw her blade at any moment, as if she was poised to face down an army. In her mind, this was enemy territory, and she was right in the middle of it.

“Ever since last night, she hasn’t stopped talking about how the princess is missing and she’s come to find her,” Centaur Waitress said, sounding downright hopeless.

“Hmm.” Dwarf Shaman, who had been listening throughout the course of the conversation, grabbed a tipple and then asked, “This princess—she belongs to your people?”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s like…” Centaur Waitress made a gesture at the hair by her forehead, then traced it along her nose. “She had this one lock of white hair in her bangs. It looked like a silver star. Beautiful and awe-inspiring.”

“And now she’s gone?”

“She always was a bit of a tomboy—not that I’m one to talk! Ha-ha-ha!” Centaur Waitress laughed loudly, but even her attempt at cheerfulness couldn’t take the edge off the atmosphere in the room.

“All right, out with it,” Female Knight said, closing in on Heavy Warrior—even though this seemed less and less likely to have anything to do with him. At least, that’s what the other adventurers thought (except maybe Goblin Slayer; it was hard to tell with him). They nodded at one another.

Only one person in the room knew what was really going on.

High Elf Archer turned her eyes with their starlike sparkle on the younger centaur. “Guess there’s nothing for it but to…”

“…!”

“…ask you…” High Elf Archer trailed off, smiling ruefully at the brutal glare she received in return. She waved her hand dismissively, as if to say there was no hope here. If the centaur was willing to take that attitude even with a high elf, it at least proved that she didn’t want for courage.

However, this was no way to have a conversation. And if they couldn’t talk, then nothing was going to be solved. Just as they were trying to think of what to do:

“Um…”

There was a rustle of cloth, and as naturally as anything, Priestess was kneeling in front of the younger centaur. The centaur, who had knelt down on the carpet, yelped an “urk” and looked startled to find someone at eye level.

“I’m sure you’re worried about your princess. But you can’t figure out what to do on your own, can you?” Priestess asked.

“…”

The centaur didn’t respond, but Priestess, taking this as confirmation, said, “I thought so.” She nodded briefly and smiled. If the girl hadn’t needed help, why would she have come all the way to an unfamiliar human settlement to seek out her older sister?

Priestess didn’t say anything like, It’s okay or It’ll be all right. Instead, she whispered, “Come,” and placed her palm atop the centaur girl’s clenched fist. “Do you think you could tell us what’s going on? Maybe we’ll be able to help you somehow.”

“……”

The girl remained silent for a long moment, meeting Priestess’s blue eyes with a close-range glare, but finally she asked hesitantly, “How do you think you can do that, exactly?”

“Well, let’s see…,” Priestess said, putting a slim finger to her lips and looking theatrically thoughtful. “At the very least, if you’ll share your story with us, we can all think about what to do together.”

“……”

Once again, the centaur was silent. She looked at Priestess, who was waiting anxiously for her response, then at her older sister, standing to one side. Centaur Waitress brushed the girl’s cheek, then let her hand run along her neck, as if to say, Talk to them. The girl’s ears, flicking restlessly on top of her head, finally lay flat. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll talk.”

Was that resignation in her voice or resolve? She clenched her fists, and her lips formed a single straight line. She thought silently for several moments, then began with no preamble: “……The princess set off from our ulus, our tribe, saying she was going to be an adventurer, and now we don’t know where she is.”

“Hmph. Hardly an uncommon story.”

The sniff came from Female Knight, who still had Heavy Warrior cornered. For that matter, she still had him lifted up by the collar, and there was a striking quality of emotion in her voice. Only Priestess seemed to understand why, but she just smiled.

“Perhaps for you, but it’s quite rare for us,” the centaur girl said with a firm shake of her head that made her long ears and braided mane quiver and the sword and bow across her back tremble audibly. “What’s more, the princess wasn’t alone. She was tempted away by an adventurer.”

“This adventurer?” Female Knight asked, lifting Heavy Warrior up even farther and eliciting a sound like a squished frog from him.

The girl studied him closely, then announced with absolute conviction: “The adventurer was carrying a greatsword.”

“Well, there it is!” Female Knight said.

“There what is?” Heavy Warrior snapped. Then he added, “Let me go already!” He took her arm and twisted gently, and simple principles of body weight caused her grip to come open.

“Hrm,” she growled, but Heavy Warrior was busy rubbing his neck.

“There must be a zillion adventurers who dress like me,” he said, puffing out his cheeks at the idea that he might be the victim of a false accusation. “Lots of people carry broadswords—even if most of them are just hunks of metal.”

“They’re only imitating the saga—that black-clad swordsman’s been a legend for a long time,” Dwarf Shaman said easily, chuckling at the unusual sight of the despondent Silver.

Admittedly, the “black-clad swordsman” who had been so popular was supposed to have been an attractive man who wielded two blades, but times change. Nonetheless, it was still true that Heavy Warrior was among those who had attempted to follow in the swordsman’s footsteps. How many adventurers, inspired by the way the legend made their pulses pound, had tried to trace its path, discover how it might end?

Now no one could know. Heavy Warrior had to realize that he would never reach that place, yet he still kept facing silently forward. He was an adventurer, and no matter how pathetic he might seem, how inexperienced, that was the only thing he could do.

“You just need to wear a helmet, like Orcbolg,” High Elf Archer said, breaking the tension (purposely or not).

The centaur girl’s palpable grief weighed on the room, and the elf’s irrepressible cheerfulness was like a refreshing breeze blowing through. Hard to tell if she was acting on her comportment as a noble or whether it was something instinctive to high elves, but whatever the case, she drew a circle in the air with her pointer finger, the gesture immensely refined. “Then people wouldn’t mistake you for anyone else.”

“I was also told to always remember my helmet,” Goblin Slayer muttered (a very earnest remark).

“Yeah?” Heavy Warrior replied.

There was wisdom, sometimes, in what the man in the grimy armor said, but at the moment, he didn’t seem likely to be very helpful. In fact, Heavy Warrior suspected the rather troubled-looking cleric girl was his best bet. A couple or three years ago, she would probably have been standing there in a panic, but now she looked downright capable.

I guess the person herself is always the last to realize, Heavy Warrior reflected.

He thought of the kids in his own party and wondered if maybe he could stand to be a little tougher on them.

In any case, he shot Priestess a pointed look to keep things moving.

“Right,” she said and nodded. “If that’s all, then I’m not sure there’s…anything we can do.”

If the centaur girl wanted them to bring the princess back, that might be one thing. But if Priestess had been in a position to put people to work, she wouldn’t have left things to this girl alone.

“Are you going to hire adventurers?”

When she remembered the hubbub surrounding the king’s younger sister, Priestess quailed at the thought of having everything entrusted to her. She was not so simplistic, however, as to let those feelings show here and now. Instead, she maintained a serious demeanor and, in an attempt to get the centaur girl to keep talking, had spoken gravely to her.

“We haven’t heard anything from her since then,” the centaur girl said.

“It’s possible…” Possible she failed. Not that Priestess would dare to say it aloud.

Adventurers took on dangerous quests—that was what made them adventurers. There was no quest that carried no danger of death. If you could just make money in complete safety doing this work, then who would hire adventurers for anything? No, be it slaying a dragon, mucking out the sewers, or hunting down goblins, danger was always at hand. It was sometimes greater and sometimes less—but even goblins, which were supposed to be the least threatening creatures in the world…

“Our princess was an accomplished fighter in her own right. Do you dare suggest that she would let herself be overcome like that?!” the centaur yelled reflexively, seeming to intuit what Priestess was thinking. “She never reached the point of going on an adventure! She was supposed to send word when she got to town, and she didn’t even do that!”

“…I admit, that is a little strange,” Priestess said.

The Four-Cornered World was full of adventure and danger, Fate and Chance—in the open field as much as anywhere. Okay, so maybe not everyone was going to bump into a dragon right on the road, but you could certainly have an unlucky encounter with a monster.

Still, this was a young woman who had gone to town in the company of a real adventurer, with hopes of becoming an adventurer herself. Would someone like that disappear without a trace, without asking anyone anywhere for help?

I think this could turn out to be quite the adventure, Priestess thought. Something far beyond a goblin hunt, whether it was the doing of monsters or people. She couldn’t help hoping, though, that it might turn out to be nothing more than a simple case of a young woman running away from home. And that led to the hope that if that were so, the young woman might be reconciled to her family. Families weren’t always lucky enough to get along well all the time, but there were better ways to take one’s leave.

“Don’t centaurs worry when the eldest daughter leaves the household?” Dwarf Shaman piped up, more or less ignoring Heavy Warrior, who was still being cornered by Female Knight, who was still convinced that he had somehow lured the girl into it. “I mean you and your princess both.”

“Why should we worry? It’s the youngest who inherits,” Centaur Waitress said, as if it should have been obvious.

“A younger sister was born to the princess, so she was able to leave with no concern and no regrets,” the waitress’s sister added, equally blunt.

“Hoh,” intoned Dwarf Shaman, impressed.

“Children are born stronger after bloodlines have already been joined,” Centaur Waitress went on. “It doesn’t settle everything, but that’s how our urus thinks, at least.”

“There are indeed many and varied customs,” Lizard Priest said jovially.

“You’re one to talk,” High Elf Archer said with a bit of a smile. “Don’t you kidnap your brides or something? I’ve got questions.”

“What a thing to say.” Lizard Priest’s eyes rolled merrily in his head. He bared his fangs. “I have heard centaurs are the same way.”

“Really?”

“Mm!” the centaur girl said with confidence, puffing out her toned chest proudly. “Obtaining an excellent spouse and making the bloodline ever stronger helps the tribe to glory and victory.”

“The point is, this girl’s the youngest, so she’ll inherit our household,” Centaur Waitress said. She poked her little sister in the forehead and teased, “What are you doing, dummy?”

“But, my honored sister!” the girl exclaimed, holding a hand to her brow. “I’m already an accomplished baturu! A warrior!”

She could protest that she was a centaur warrior-noble all she wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that she was the youngest child.

“Dummy,” her sister repeated and poked her again, this time eliciting an “ow!” from the accomplished warrior.

Female Knight and Heavy Warrior were jabbering away, as were Lizard Priest and High Elf Archer—and Dwarf Shaman, naturally, wasn’t about to stop them. The somber atmosphere of moments ago was swept away, replaced by lively chatter and noise.

Goblin Slayer, who had been silent until then, watched the room for a moment and then said, “This is most familiar.”

“Yep,” said Priestess, who was watching everyone with something like pride. “All these youngsters who end up with us are like that—just nervous. Besides…,” she added, “she’s no scarier than a Viking.” Priestess was making a joke, sort of—it was the truth, but not all of it.

Probably.

The centaur princess had gone missing, and this girl had come after her but had no one to turn to. Those were feelings Priestess could sympathize with. It was like being in a temple where you didn’t know anyone, where you were forced to confront the fact that you were all alone in the Four-Cornered World. It was like supporting a wounded companion, leaving another of your friends screaming behind you as you crawled away through a dark cave.

Priestess knew in her skin the anxiety of such moments, the creeping terror.

“I see” was all Goblin Slayer said. He was silent for another moment, watching his friends and colleagues chatter boisterously. Priestess, sitting beside him, knew what he was thinking at such moments. Even if she couldn’t see what was behind the visor of that grimy metal helmet. After a beat, he raised his head and said gravely, “…Do you think goblins are involved?”

Every gaze in the room shifted to him.

Goblin Slayer’s helmet turned to take in Heavy Warrior, whom Female Knight had once again in her grasp. “I owe you a favor.”

“I’m gonna owe you a favor by the time this is over.” Heavy Warrior forced Female Knight’s arms away again and resumed rubbing his neck, his lips turning up in a smile. “I’ll pay you back sometime.”

“Very well.” Goblin Slayer nodded. “You’ll have to treat me to a drink or the like. I believe that’s the going rate.” He thought for a moment; then his helmet tilted in curiosity. “But why me?”

“No other good scouts around.”

“…” Goblin Slayer was silent for a moment, then said, “…I think of myself as a warrior.”

High Elf Archer let out the sigh she’d been holding in, attracting a blank look from Baturu.

§

“My goodness, that sounds terrible!” Guild Girl exclaimed, and she wasn’t being fatuous—this really was a serious matter.

An adventurer committing a kidnapping?

That was a problem. A big problem. A problem of blame. Who knew how far the ripples might reach?

The whole purpose of the Adventurers Guild was to certify that adventurers, so often regarded as riffraff and scoundrels, were nothing of the sort. That was the reason the country had gone out of its way to establish the Guild system. If people found out that the Guild had given its approval to someone who turned out to be a kidnapper, that would be a major issue. If it turned out to be someone from far away, who didn’t know how things were done around here, they might be able to smooth things over, at least…

No, no!

Someone really was missing, so the very best they could hope for was that she would return unharmed.

“Anyway, all I can tell you is that there haven’t been any centaurs who have registered as new adventurers recently.” Guild Girl flipped through some records as she spoke.

“I see.”

Centaurs stood out in a crowd. If one had been at the Guild, that alone would have been enough to get people talking.

Goblin Slayer nodded. “I should take that to mean that she isn’t around here, then?”

“She didn’t register as an adventurer here, at least.”

But then, this town wasn’t that big. If a centaur princess with a distinctive lock of silver hair on her forehead (so the centaur girl described her) was to show up here, somebody would have noticed. Which implied…

“I can’t imagine she made it all the way to the capital,” Guild Girl said. “But that still leaves—”

“The water town.”

“Yes, exactly.” Guild Girl nodded.

There were, of course, plenty of small villages and pioneer settlements dotting the frontier where adventurers would be needed. But if a young centaur woman, taken with the idea of becoming an adventurer, had come here, there were likely only so many places she might have gone.

Maybe I’m stereotyping, but…, Guild Girl thought. It seemed to her that a centaur, whose people lived on the open plain, wouldn’t be particularly impressed by life among frontier pioneers.

“I’d have to double-check to be completely certain, though. Let me have another look at the Adventurer Sheets,” she said. She stood up and, after a moment’s thought, added, “I’ll also check for this adventurer who was supposedly wielding a broadsword.”

“Yes, please,” Goblin Slayer said.

“Of course.” She smiled at him and then jogged back behind the curtain without ever looking anything less than refined and elegant.

Her colleague glanced up. Her face was stuffed full of sweets; whether she was on break or if this was a bit of slacking off was hard to tell. “What’s up? Trouble?” she asked.

“They say an adventurer has vanished along with the person who came to town with him,” Guild Girl replied.

“Blargh!” her colleague exclaimed, a sound not very fitting for either a disciple of the Supreme God or an employee of the Adventurers Guild. Admittedly, Guild Girl would have made the same sound if her position had permitted it. But it didn’t.

Inspector stuffed the last of the treats in her mouth and washed them down with some dark tea, then said, “If our more experienced colleague found out about this, there’d be hell to pay.” She didn’t even try to hide her annoyance.

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“You’ve got that right.” Naïveté.

Sometimes joking was the only way to cope.

In any case, Guild Girl was grateful to her friend, who immediately swept away the detritus of her snack and stood up. She pulled out the Adventurer Sheets of adventurers who had been active recently, and the two of them started flipping through the pages. A centaur adventurer and someone carrying a huge sword would both have stood out.

Goodness…

She discovered there was no shortage of adventurers who wanted to swing around a broadsword. Reasons varied: It was cool, or glorious, or it made them look strong, and so on. The fact that it wasn’t just men but some women, too, maybe went to show the great glory of the Supreme God. Maybe.

Guild Girl thought she recalled songs about one of the six members of the All Stars being a warrior, a red-haired foreign mercenary who carried a massive blade.

I’m pretty sure she was a black-haired woman, wasn’t she?

As Guild Girl scanned the pages, her eyes and hand and brain working, her mind cast away all extraneous thought.

“Mm, nothing here,” Inspector said.

Guild Girl looked up when her colleague spoke, then added, “Looks like it.” She nodded, closing a notebook. “Maybe she really did go to some other town.”

“Yeah, probably.” Inspector nodded as well, then stretched and put the papers back on the shelf. “I guess this is one of those things we’d better report to the Guild President, huh?”

“Could you handle that for me?” Guild Girl asked. A cleric of the Supreme God would be in a better position in a discussion like that.

“I don’t mind—but I’d sure like to try using Sense Lie on this centaur girl.” Inspector wiped some sweat from her brow as she finally finished reshelving all the papers. She looked very serious. “It’s not that I think she’s lying necessarily, but I need to be able to say I made sure.”

“I understand that.” Guild Girl smiled and giggled, brushing aside her braid, which had settled on her shoulder. She knew very well that her colleague wasn’t drunk on power, wielding her authority in suspicion of everyone and everything. If she was that sort of person, Guild Girl doubted she would ever have received a miracle from the Supreme God. “I’ll check with Goblin Slayer, but I think that should be all right.”

Guild Girl reemerged at a quick jog, looking as energetic as a puppy; when she had explained the request to Goblin Slayer, he said, “I see,” and nodded. “I don’t believe she would listen if I asked her, but if the request came from our cleric, I doubt there would be a problem.”

“Thank you so much. Given what’s going on, I’ll set things up so that this is a proper quest from the Guild.” Part of it was that even Silver-ranked adventurers didn’t work for free—but above all, it was because this incident affected the Guild’s credibility. They would at least have to issue a survey quest. “I’ll prepare a letter of introduction to the water town for you; you can show it to them when you arrive.”

“Yes, please,” Goblin Slayer replied.

Still…

Even as she industriously filled out paperwork and chatted with Goblin Slayer, Guild Girl couldn’t suppress a smile. She knew it must seem out of place. She absolutely knew that this wasn’t the time. Still. Yes, even so, and yet, it made her so happy.

“I think you’ve changed, Goblin Slayer,” she said.

“How is that?” he asked.

“I mean…” Guild Girl held some paperwork in front of her to hide her smile; she looked as pleased as if she was speaking of herself. “You sound interested in an adventure involving something other than goblins.”

“…”

You’ve become an outstanding adventurer. That was essentially what she’d said to him, but he only sank into a brief, almost sullen silence. Finally, he grunted and said, “…I don’t see it.”

§

“There’s no need—I don’t have to engage in such antics to know what I’m saying is the truth. If I know, that’s enough.”

“But don’t you think if lots of people knew you were telling the truth, it would help you find your princess?”

“Hrm…”

“I know you can do it on your own—so just think of how much faster it’ll go if everyone helps out!”

“Hrrrm…” Baturu’s ears lay back on her head, and she nodded sweetly. If Priestess said so, then all right. Evidently the cleric had indeed been able to talk her around.

Such was the scene Goblin Slayer found upon returning to the waiting area. He was sincerely pleased to find it had been the right choice to let Priestess handle the young woman.

“Even dwarves and lizardmen usually freak out when they see something they think is a Living Armor,” High Elf Archer said, kicking her legs in amusement and squinting like a cat. “But you can even stare down a high elf. Truly, a fearless centaur warrior.”

“Hrmph,” grunted Baturu, sticking out her lip at the elf’s gentle teasing. She glared at the adventurer. “I’m told that your kind trick people into getting lost in the forest, then ambush them with a hail of stones from the treetops. They say you can’t be too careful around elves.”

“Sure they weren’t talking about some other sort of faerie?” High Elf Archer guffawed and waved the story away, despite the exasperated look on her face. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. There’s going to be a formal quest, and we’ve accepted it. Now you can just leave it to the adventurers!”

“I’m not saying I trust you,” the centaur said with a pout. “I’m going, too.”

“That is not a demand the inheritor of our family’s estate gets to make,” Centaur Waitress said. There was a gong! as she smacked Baturu on the head; Baturu clutched her brow and exclaimed, “Ow!” Centaur Waitress snorted and glared at her, but her expression quickly softened. Her personality, along with her experience, must have been what enabled her to switch between domestic scolding and external politeness so quickly. “Unfortunately, I know that once this girl says she’s going to do something, she won’t listen to reason, so if you don’t mind…” She bowed her head respectfully.

“Mm, mm,” Lizard Priest said with a broad wave—a sign of acceptance. Sometimes such a deferential attitude was part of responding appropriately to another person’s feelings. Centaur Waitress would have only grown more anxious if the adventurers about to take her little sister away had acted too humble or lacking in confidence. “We shall do whatsoever is within our power. You may set your mind at ease.”

“Thank you. I’m worried about the princess, too. I hope you all can find out what’s going on,” Centaur Waitress said. “C’mon, you too,” she added in the direction of Baturu, who dipped her head reluctantly.

“Thank you for your help,” she said, failing to successfully hide the displeasure in her voice. An argument broke out between the sisters: the elder exclaiming, “Be nice!” and the younger retorting, “I said it, didn’t I?!” Their disagreement was noisy, but Goblin Slayer was silent as he watched the sisters jabber at each other. He said nothing, nor even began to say anything. He didn’t even grunt softly, as he usually did. No one in the party could guess what expression he was making under that metal helmet.

“How about it, Beard-cutter? What d’you plan to do?” Dwarf Shaman asked, judging the most natural timing.

“Hrm…,” Goblin Slayer muttered, as if only now registering the presence of others. His helmet moved. “What do I plan to do about what?”

“I mean, what’re you going to do next?”

“Ah…”

Surely he’d at least been considering it, but Goblin Slayer crossed his arms as if in thought.

A missing princess. An adventurer who might have kidnapped her. Located in the water town.

No communication since the princess’s disappearance—it would have taken a few days before this centaur girl decided to act. Long enough that if the princess was in mortal danger, they should assume it was now too late.

But what if it wasn’t?

“We need to hurry, but it’ll be quicker to catch tomorrow’s first carriage than to walk,” he said.

“Good point. We won’t be needin’ provisions, but have you got that letter of introduction to the water town office?” Dwarf Shaman asked.

“Mm.” Goblin Slayer nodded. “And I have acquaintances in that city. We’ll manage.”

“You mean Lady Archbishop,” Dwarf Shaman said. “And that young woman. I hear she’s doing quite well for herself in the world of commerce.”

Priestess picked up the thread: “She’s been at the king’s palace pretty much all the time lately!” She sounded as pleased as if she was talking about herself.

“Sounds like she’s keeping busy,” High Elf Archer said with a twitch of her ears. “Why do you humans like to collect money so much? It’s just round pieces of metal.”

“It lets you have good wine and good food, even if you can’t make ’em yourself. That’s the power of cash.” Dwarf Shaman nodded knowingly and took a swig of fire wine from the gourd flask at his hip. “Money helps you manage what you can’t do on your own. It’s pretty convenient once you grasp the principle.”

“Huh. Is that how it works?”

“You’ve got money,” Dwarf Shaman said, scowling at the elf. “That’s why you can blow it playing around!”

“Sure, sure… Wait, I’m not blowing it!” The elf tried waving away the hurtful words with an indeterminate gesture; the remark seemed to hurt even her long ears.

“…You speak of jiaochao, yes?” Baturu said with a serious expression, her hooves clapping on the floor. She seemed to feel this was the perfect excuse to escape her sister’s lecture. “It appears you are going to help us, much as I might wish it were not so. I am more than willing to compensate you.” (Then again, perhaps it was her older sister’s presence that made her try to act as mature as possible.) Ignoring Centaur Waitress’s slight smile, Baturu reached into her baggage and pulled out a pouch. “How much will it be? Will this be enough?”

She held it up proudly. Dwarf Shaman took it in his fingers, his eyes going wide. “I can’t believe this…”

It was a bill. A paper bill, made from some sort of grass (“Mulberry skins,” High Elf Archer commented). It was a sight to behold, covered in letters and elaborate patterns in ink.

But that was all it was. High Elf Archer might not have realized it, but Priestess did; she said, “Er, ahem,” and looked uncomfortable.

Baturu flicked her tail in annoyance at the uneasy looks from all and sundry. “What, you need more?”

“We need currency we can use!” Dwarf Shaman said. “I mean, sure, good paper has its value—but paper’s not gold or silver.” He held the bill near a lantern so the light shone through it, and he shook his head.

“…You barbarians,” Baturu spat and snatched the bill back.

Centaur Waitress—who had certainly seen this coming—was about to offer a sisterly word of exasperation, but then Goblin Slayer said, “It makes no difference to me. A reward has already been promised, and I don’t seek more than that.”

“…Are you sure, sir?” Centaur Waitress asked.

“I meant what I said,” Goblin Slayer replied. Before Centaur Waitress or Baturu could speak up again, he cast a look around at everyone in the room and said, “Come what may, we leave tomorrow. You should all go get ready.”

§

Who talks like that? It was almost as if I was…their leader, Goblin Slayer mused, chastising himself. He was on the way home, and the gore-red light of the setting sun turned the town orange and shimmered over the path to the farm. He walked nonchalantly, weaving among the people around him, making his way through a scene he’d experienced many times before.

Knowing there was some part of him that was pleased was deeply discomforting.

An adventurer… Didn’t it make him nervous to be seen as one?

I fear I’ll cease to pay attention to where I’m going.

He must never begin thinking that he was somehow special. He must simply remember that he had done all he could do and that this was where it had led him. That was the simple fact; he was neither contemptuous nor envious of anyone else.

And yet, it bothered him that no one had pushed back against the words he had spoken earlier.

Were their perceptions changing with time, leaving him behind? Was what they were seeing really him? Could it be that after years of pulling the wool over their eyes, he was going to be seen through at a stroke? Realize that he had his hands full simply handling whatever was in front of him—that that was the most he could manage?

Hmm.

Did that mean he wished to be thought of as someone important? Someone special?

What a ridiculous idea. Truly and profoundly stupid.

The very fact that he was even expending any energy thinking about this was the height of foolishness.

“…It’s very difficult,” he said slowly. A quest searching for a centaur princess was the last thing he was suited for. And when he thought about it, he realized:

Quests like that seem to have become my bread and butter lately. From running the dungeon exploration contest to surveying the northern reaches—even, going back a bit, the exploration of the underground city. When this is over, he thought, I’ll focus on goblin hunting for a while.

Goblin hunting was certainly no picnic (nor was any adventure). But everyone had specific strengths and weaknesses, just like how Heavy Warrior said he wasn’t suited to urban adventuring. From that perspective, goblin hunting was good. There were fewer things you didn’t know, fewer things to worry about—like what was where or what would happen in the next instant. Goblin nests were familiar places to Goblin Slayer. They almost felt like home.

Now that I think about it…

It occurred to him that he had now spent longer in goblin nests than he had in his own village. At the realization, he felt his lips tighten, tensing into a warped smile beneath his helmet.

That was living; that was all it was. It didn’t always go the way you wanted.

“…You’re back?”

He halted, surprised by the voice that came at him from the dusk. A figure stood outlined by the brackish sunlight—the owner of the farm.

“Yes,” he answered after a moment’s thought. Then he added in a respectful tone, “I was thinking about what I would do on my next adventure.” It sounded like an excuse. The owner hadn’t asked him about that.

The man was swinging a farm implement listlessly through some hay. In the middle of fieldwork, perhaps. He sighed and hefted his pitchfork onto his shoulder with a motion that suggested it was a great effort. “Another goblin hunt?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Goblin Slayer replied. After a moment of thought, he shook his head. “It doesn’t seem to be.” Then he even added that he had been asked to find someone.

He said nothing further—he couldn’t. He didn’t know how to explain it. How to tell the other man that he had been asked to find a centaur princess, just as if he was a halfway decent adventurer. He accepted that some people might laugh in his face if they heard it, not that he thought this man to whom he owed so much would necessarily do so.

“That right…?” The owner almost looked relieved. Although Goblin Slayer didn’t understand why he would feel that way. “Tough job?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know yet.”

He refrained from mentioning that it would depend on the circumstances. That the most optimistic scenario was that the centaur princess had simply forgotten to send her letter after she left home and was now an adventurer in the water town. That was still not outside the realm of possibility, so he would have to investigate before he could say anything for sure.

Baturu was adamant that the princess wouldn’t have been so neglectful of her commitments, but…

I’m not so sure.

They would get nowhere except by testing each possibility, one thing at a time.

“She doesn’t appear to be in this area, however,” Goblin Slayer continued. “I think I’ll end up going to the water town.”

“I see…”

The owner and Goblin Slayer started walking side by side. It wasn’t far to the main house. The owner was probably on his way to put his tools in the shed (not the one Goblin Slayer was using). Goblin Slayer didn’t expect the conversation to last terribly long.

“Things’ll get busier by the end of summer,” the owner said. “If you were back by then, it’d be a help.”

“Yes, sir.”

He shuffled along beside the man, feeling like a child whose parents were asking him to help out. He found it hard to claim that he was particularly good at farmwork, especially with this seasoned professional right next to him, but he’d picked up the basics.

Moving his body without having to think was relaxing for him. He would never keep up with people if he constantly had to be using his wits. He was convinced he was more suited for work that didn’t require such mental exertion.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said.

He wasn’t sure what the old farmer thought about that, but the man said, “Ah… I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean you have to hurry your work…”

The door to the main house was before them, but Cow Girl, whose cooking was presumably the source of the smoke drifting from the chimney, wouldn’t be able to hear them from here. The farm owner stopped and looked at Goblin Slayer’s metal helmet. Finally, he said slowly, “Work is work. Someone asked you to do it, and you accepted, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then make sure you do it right.”

From behind his visor, Goblin Slayer looked at the farmer. The farmer gazed back, straight at him, as if his armor wasn’t there.

“They’ll know if you cut corners,” the man said.

“…Yes, sir.”

Thick hands covered in dirt and scratches gave Goblin Slayer’s leather armor a gentle pat. Goblin Slayer watched the old man as he walked away toward the storehouse. He let his own fingers brush the dust where the farmer’s hand had touched his shoulder.

He was convinced his own hands would never be like that.

§

“So you’re leaving again?”

“Seems like it.”

She knew he must be nodding his helmeted head from his place at the table behind her. Cow Girl always loved these quiet moments when the two of them were alone together as she got dinner ready.

I guess Uncle is nice enough to leave us alone…

The thought made her feel embarrassed, or maybe a little shy, so she determined not to think about it.

A pot of stew, rich with milk, was heating on the stove; she stirred it idly from time to time. The smoke from the stove and the steam from the pot combined to feel warm and friendly. The dishes and tableware had been polished with cleaning sand until they gleamed; it was as if they were eagerly waiting for their turn to serve.

She couldn’t wait, either. This was one of the moments she loved most of all.

He liked stew very much—and she liked serving it to him. Besides, a farmer’s dinner was supposed to be stew; it was practically a cliché. Only in the city did you get to have rich, elaborate fare for every meal. A city like…

“The water town, say?”

“Mm.”

She’d almost been talking to herself, but he responded nonetheless.

Cow Girl smiled happily, just as glad that her back was to him.

“I don’t know how long it will take, though.”

“No?”

“I’ll be looking for someone,” he said. “It won’t be over until I find them.”

“Sounds tough…,” she said, although she didn’t have any idea how tough it might actually be. Once, she had visited an elf village (ah, that had been like a dream!). And not long before, she had been attacked by goblins in an abandoned village in winter (ah, that had been like a nightmare!). But this alone didn’t give her any understanding of the difficulties of real adventure, let alone doing something someone had requested you to do. That, she knew only from what he’d told her.

“But I’d like to try to finish the quest and be back before the end of summer,” he added.

“Sure.” She nodded, giving the stew a stir. It wasn’t that big a deal. She thought she understood, more or less, what he was trying to say. But rather than point it out, she often liked to wait silently. She kept one eye on him as she glanced at the meal or opened and closed the cupboard to no real purpose.

Still wearing his metal helmet as he always did, her childhood friend continued slowly. “So I’ll be away again starting tomorrow.”

He stopped there and fell into something of a sullen silence. It did not signal the end of the conversation—that much she had learned long ago. So she simply looked down into the pot, considering what she would say, how she would answer…

“I’ll be back,” he said finally.

“Have a good trip,” she replied. She hoped her voice hadn’t scratched as she spoke. She wasn’t sure. His own voice had been tenser than usual; he seemed to speak all in a single rushing breath.

“…”

At last, Cow Girl couldn’t stand just stealing sidelong glances and turned to face him. She rested on the edge of the stove, almost sitting on it (not very polite of her), and looked at him. He was sitting silently at the table, looking straight back at her.

She peered behind his visor. She knew the expression that must be on his face, as if she could see it with her own eyes.

The canary chirped faintly from a corner of the house.

Cow Girl was the first to speak at the sound, unable to hold it in any longer. “…I guess this isn’t exactly the time for this conversation, huh?” she said, giggling.

“Mm,” he replied and nodded very seriously. “Although I wasn’t sure how else to say it.”

“Me neither!” Now laughing out loud, she turned back toward the stew. Her uncle would be coming in for dinner soon. It would be the last time they ate together as a family for a while.

Maybe I should have made something fancier, she thought.

But he liked stew, and she liked to make it for him. It would be a while until she got to do that again, too—and the thought made her feel that “the usual” was best tonight.

A pleasant aroma wafted from the stew; it would taste wonderful and be hearty in their stomachs.

He’ll have to go without this for a while…

That was part of what made adventuring so tough, she figured. That struck her as less than modest, and she started laughing again.

Would it have been too ordinary to tell him to be careful? Do your best! meanwhile, seemed somehow irresponsible. Wasn’t he always doing the best he could?

Cow Girl let her imagination range as she spooned the stew into their bowls. She thought about how she would spend the time until he got back; she wondered whether her uncle already knew about this trip.

The water town: She’d been there once before. It was a big city. He had gone a number of times, by her recollection.

Oh yeah! Even as she chatted with him, Cow Girl’s mind didn’t stop working. There were things she had to do. Such as, say…

“You’re welcome to bring me a souvenir—but no animals this time, okay?”

“…” He grunted softly, then tilted his head, perplexed. “I don’t think I bring you animals that often.”

Just doing what had to be done each day as she waited for him would be work enough.

§

“…I will not ride in any vehicle pulled by horses!”

Well, they probably should have seen that coming.

It was the next morning, and they were at the carriage station on the outskirts of the frontier town. Warm sunlight shone down on people heading east to the capital and those going even farther west, toward the pioneer settlements. Some of the travelers appeared to be farming families with their lives on their backs, while others were mountaineers carrying digging equipment.

Merchants with loads of cargo, preachers with holy books, and a circuit-rider woman were all there, too. As, of course, were the adventurers in their panoply of equipment who served as bodyguards to all these. Boots, hooves, and of course carriage wheels clattered over the flagstones. There was a lively burble of conversation.

The place was small for a station, but it was still the most crowded spot in town. And standing there, making an unwavering declaration about her willingness (or not) to ride in a wagon, was the young centaur woman Baturu. She stared with astonishment at the horses hitched to the wagon, who were taller than she was.

“T’ain’t going to get there by walking,” said Dwarf Shaman, who had worked his proverbial magic to arrange the ride. In fact, he cut quite a dashing figure sitting in the driver’s seat, holding the reins.

“Wow, you rented this for us?” Priestess asked him.

“Figured it’d be a lot more convenient than sharing a ride.”

To Priestess, the horse looked in excellent shape, its legs large and strong, its mane shiny, its eyes glittering. She patted its nose, and it gave her palm a friendly nuzzle. Priestess smiled at it.

“It looks very smart and very strong… It would probably be fit for riding,” she said.

The wagon Dwarf Shaman had procured was just as magnificent, a large vehicle with a cover. It seemed like maybe it was intended to carry cargo rather than passengers—but the wheels looked a little elaborate for that…

“It’s for transporting wine,” Dwarf Shaman explained when he saw Priestess looking at the wheels. “And shaking is the enemy of good wine.” He grinned mischievously. “After what happened with the early harvest and the sacred drink, I thought the wine merchant might be open to negotiating. Let’s just say I borrowed this thing.”

“Ahhh…”

Priestess was surprised to realize that she now looked back almost fondly on the events to which he was referring. The commotion surrounding the sacred wine—some things about it had been unpleasant, but as adventures went, everything had ended more or less happily. She remembered Sister Grape had been quite close with the young merchant.

I guess those are important connections, too. Who knew when they might come in handy on an adventure? She nodded to herself: She would have to remember that.

“I don’t need this!” Baturu declared, otherwise ignoring the conversation between Dwarf Shaman and Priestess. She was scuffing the ground angrily, as if to communicate that she wanted to leave right now. The stone felt so different under her hooves than the grass of the field, and that only made her more upset. “I’m perfectly capable of walking the distance to the water town or wherever it is. Unlike you humans.”

“Why make things harder when you can make them easier?” said High Elf Archer, peering out from under the wagon cover, into which she had slithered almost without their noticing. She’d already staked out her spot, tossing her baggage down and kicking back.

She must have caught some provocation from Dwarf Shaman on the driver’s seat, because her ears went flat; she pulled her head back under the cover and shouted, “I can hear you, dwarf!” after which she reemerged. “That’s one human philosophy I think we can learn from,” she said before adding, “because humans are experts at being lazy!” Even the way she cackled sounded like a tinkling bell.

“I don’t think it’s laziness…,” Priestess offered, but all she could do was smile.

She tried finding an angle where she could meet Baturu’s eyes, just like she had the day before, but unlike when the other girl had been sitting down, she now had a head’s height on Priestess. Stretch and stand on her tiptoes how she might, Priestess couldn’t look Baturu in the eyes; she finally resorted to climbing on a wooden crate.

When Baturu saw that, her head drooped slightly, although Priestess didn’t look much happier. “I suppose it’s…not impossible. Horses are horses. They’re not Pray-ers…”

It was much like how a human felt no particular discomfort watching a monkey being made to perform. (Although in fairness, the idea that humans and monkeys shared some kind of blood relationship was just one of those absurd things the lizardmen were given to saying…)

“However, is it not the height of folly to entrust oneself to another’s back?” Baturu asked.

“There is indeed something compelling to that logic,” Lizard Priest said, slithering down to look under the wagon. His trained warrior’s eyes would not miss anything that had gone unprepared. He and Goblin Slayer appeared satisfied with their inspection of the vehicle. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust the wine merchant or, for that matter, Dwarf Shaman, but there was always the possibility of problems that no one had even thought of.

“For example, I was veritably freezing during our battle in the water,” Lizard Priest went on. His blood, he informed them, had quite slowed down! He sounded like he was making some kind of joke, but lizardman humor could be hard to fathom. It must have been uncomfortable, though, knowing that his entire fate rested in the hands of others.

“All the more reason for me to walk…!” Baturu said.

“But it won’t do you any good to waste your stamina,” Goblin Slayer replied as he dusted off his gloves, evidently finding the state of the wagon acceptable. “A human can cover a hundred kilometers by walking two nights through, but we use horses.”

“Hrm…” Baturu looked like she wanted to say something to that but couldn’t think up a comeback; all she could do was grumble. Could centaurs not manage that speed, then? For that matter, could humans?

Priestess looked from Baturu to Goblin Slayer and back, then finally just asked the question: “…Is that true?”

“A human can match a horse for speed—at least over a long distance like that,” Goblin Slayer answered.

In short sprints, a horse or a centaur could use their explosive power—literal horsepower—to be much faster than a human. Across long distances, meanwhile, a human could prevail using their most ordinary trait: almost inexhaustible stamina. In the Four-Cornered World, humans were, after all, recognized as the most tenacious people, those who were the worst at knowing when to give up.

“That, however, is assuming one kept nothing in reserve. If you want to be ready for a fight, then you must conserve what you’re able,” Goblin Slayer said.

Right.

Priestess gripped her sounding staff firmly with both hands and nodded. “If you can win by doing something reckless or outrageous, then it makes things easier… Like you always say!”

Goblin Slayer was silent. High Elf Archer was on the wagon’s luggage rack, grinning like a cat. Baturu, unsure what that was supposed to mean, simply looked confused.

Goblin Slayer grunted quietly, and then before Priestess or anyone else could say anything, he continued in a quick, low tone. “…There is also the rain and the wind to consider. And neither you nor I wish to remove our armor, yes?”

Here, too, Baturu seemed to have no answer.

Priestess could only imagine a life of running free around grassy fields—but she was familiar with the elements, for she had encountered them many a time on her adventures. Not just wind and rain—she had found herself faced with snow and storms as well. Older and more experienced adventurers had warned her not to be cavalier about even a passing shower. Someone might say to themselves that it was only a little rain, and the next town was close, and they would just get wet as they walked there—only to collapse by the road and die. Yes, it could happen in the rain, not just in blizzards. One never knew what Fate and Chance held in store.

Baturu must have been well acquainted with the cruelties of nature.

“………Fine,” she said at last. “Yes, I understand.” She puffed out her cheeks like a young woman scolded by her parents or teacher. “I am not enough of a child to keep griping.”

She trotted over to the wagon (clop, clop), where she reared up and put her front legs on the cart. High Elf Archer quickly reached out and took her hand to help her, but even for a high elf, a centaur was heavy. Priestess quickly moved to support Baturu’s rear end—but then realized she wasn’t sure how to help.

“Uh, m-may I touch you here…?” she asked.

“…Yes, that’s fine.”

So with some hesitation, Priestess pushed on Baturu’s shapely buttocks. It wouldn’t have bothered her to do this to a horse, but she was dealing with a centaur—with a toned young woman, at that. She looked at the ground to hide the flush in her cheeks; the velvety feeling under her hands gave her the sense that she was doing something wrong. She couldn’t see Baturu’s face, but maybe that was for the better.

“And…hup!” Baturu said.

The sight of a centaur clambering into a wagon must have been a strange one indeed, for many passersby at the station turned and gawked. A glare from Lizard Priest, however, persuaded them to go about their business.

Thankfully, Baturu was able to make her way onto the wagon readily enough, if not quite gracefully. However, even the relatively spacious vehicle felt a little cramped with a centaur the size of a young horse in it. It didn’t help that, though she ducked to fit under the cover, she remained standing. High Elf Archer looked perplexed, but Lizard Priest stuck his head under the wagon cover and said, “I was unsure what the centaurs do in such situations, you see. Shall I bring straw for you?”

“…I’m not a horse,” the young centaur lady replied brusquely, making no effort to hide the annoyance on her face. She nonetheless didn’t completely abandon her civility, seeing as Lizard Priest did behave as if he was dealing with nobility. Humans had a tendency to view lizardmen and centaurs (to say nothing of frontierspeople) as simple barbarians, yet here they were.

“Forgetting your manners when the other person could kill you at any moment would be to take your life in your hands,” Lizard Priest had said. And yet, Priestess sometimes found herself thinking that his lack of hesitation as he said this perhaps showed that he was the more civilized.

“We lay a khivs on the floor of our ger for rugs,” Baturu said. “But…since there is no khivs here, straw will do.”

“Splendid,” Lizard Priest said.

“I’ll go get some!” Priestess offered, and then she set off, pattering along like a small bird. There must have been some straw close by a station like this.

Goblin Slayer watched her go, full of vim and vigor and downright excitement at the idea of an adventure. Then he hefted the bag she’d left onto the luggage rack. He studied Baturu closely from behind his visor (she made a small “erk”) and headed for the driver’s bench. As the scout charged with keeping an eye out for enemies as they made their way across the open plain, it would be best for him to be somewhere with a wide, open field of view. It was always Goblin Slayer’s role to switch off with High Elf Archer, each of them keeping their eyes peeled in turn.

Using the step, he swung himself up beside Dwarf Shaman, looking accustomed to the act if not quite graceful.

“Ho, Beard-cutter. This is shaping up to be quite an adventure.”

“An adventure…”

“Sure! Finding a lost princess! Though I’ve got to say…you don’t hear much about centaurs in the sagas.” He grinned and offered a sip of fire wine to Goblin Slayer, who silently declined. “No?” Dwarf Shaman asked, but he accompanied it with a great guffaw, not upset in the least. He took a dramatic swig himself.

Finally, wiping the droplets off his beard with his sleeve and lighting up his red face with a smile, he said, “…Disappointed it’s not goblins?”

“No,” was all Goblin Slayer told him.

Goblin Slayer shook his head and looked around at the mass of people going by. They chatted amiably under the bright sunlight; boots smacked against flagstones, almost as if pushing their owners forward through town. Some of them were leaving the Adventurers Guild, checking their equipment, chatting with their party members, clad in every manner of gear as they headed out. They belonged to every race and age and job and gender, those who walked by, and not one of them doubted where their road was leading.

Not one of them went forward assuming they would fail on their next adventure.

If one wanted only to earn money to survive, one could just as easily be a farmer or, for that matter, a prostitute. There were plenty of options. If one wanted only to achieve victory and earn glory, one could be a knight, a mercenary, or a sword fighter.

There was something else. Something those vocations didn’t have. That was what drove people to risk themselves on adventures. That was what made them adventurers. If they didn’t seek that thing, they wouldn’t be adventurers.

“…” The One Who Slays Goblins sighed. “I think…perhaps it might be good to try something else.”

“Well, you were personally asked. Got every reason to hold your chest high and do it.”

“That’s easy enough to say.”

Dwarf Shaman didn’t reply but waited patiently for Goblin Slayer’s next words. High Elf Archer, under the cover, could probably hear what they were saying, but she chose not to interject. What about Lizard Priest? One couldn’t be sure, but in any case, he busied himself dealing with Baturu.

Goblin Slayer was painfully grateful for his party members’ decorum.

He sighed. How, he wondered, could he repay them for that?

“…But it is difficult,” he eventually said.

“Ah, there ain’t an easy adventure around,” Dwarf Shaman agreed. And he was right.

Priestess came jogging back with an armful of straw, her brow glistening with sweat. “Thanks for waiting!” she said.

Goblin Slayer nodded, contemplated what he ought to say, and then spoke it:

“Very well. Let’s go.”