Goblin Slayer - Volume 16 - Chapter 3.2

This was not easy.

“I knew this would happen…!” the rhea girl grumbled—but she was careful to do so in a corner of the competition field, where no one could hear her. She removed her helmet and peeled off her balaclava; she took a deep breath, which brought with it the sweet musk of her own sweat.

Wizard Boy, however, paid no attention—this was hardly the time. He was too busy grabbing a kerchief and tossing it to the girl in the saddle. He was also grumbling angrily, but his gaze was forward.

“They can’t be knocked off their horses,” he growled.

On the far side of the coliseum, which heaved with the passion of the audience, was a knight replacing a shattered lance—a centaur knight.

Actually, Wizard Boy wasn’t even sure it was appropriate to call him a knight. Not out of discrimination but as a matter of definition: It was impossible for a centaur to mount up. Which gave them a definitive advantage in mounted jousting…

“But you didn’t fall off, either, and that’s what counts. The score’s even.”

I’d like to meet the buffoon who thought centaurs and humans should face each other in combat.

Since the opponent couldn’t be unhorsed, an ordinary knight was at a decisive disadvantage. The fact that his partner was holding on at all with her tiny stature was testament to her force of will, but that didn’t matter to the score.

The centaur at least had the good grace to look guilty, but it wasn’t going to make him hold back—no warrior worth their salt would.

That was fine. He felt no anger about someone trying to achieve victory under the rules as stipulated. Instead, his frustration and the rhea girl’s were directed at whomever had deemed this situation acceptable.

Never mind that, if you trawled the history books, there were war songs that described a young lion crossing spears with a centaur.

“What really hacks me off—,” the girl started—they were in an interval, a resting time, between bouts. She wiped off the sweat, wetted her parched throat, and took a bite of dried meat, her umpteenth lunch of the day. “—is that if I win this, that paladin gets to go around grinning like he was right all along!”

The boy could readily imagine it, but he tried to keep a calm front as he grinned. “Let me guess—you still don’t plan on losing.”

“I damn well don’t!”

“Perfect.” He was glad to hear it. If she’d sounded like she was giving up before the battle even began, he’d planned to advise her to expend the minimum of stamina and go for victory in the swordsmanship contest. But if she was ready… “Then we’re here to win. Think you can do it?”

“I assume you have a plan?” She glanced at him, and her smile was like the sun. “Better believe I’m going to do it!”

He actually had to avert his eyes from her earnest gaze, coughing discreetly. Then he closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and said as casually as he could, “You’re already down low, so take advantage of that to strike with your lance from a low position. That’s the key.”

“Right.”

“It also means your opponent is going to have to aim low, down over the tilt.”

“Right,” the girl said again and nodded.

“Okay,” the boy said. He waited a beat, and then he told her the plan.

“……You really think that’s gonna work?” the girl asked. It sounded a little underhanded to her.

He responded to her unease with a confident “No problem. A song from the east says that if you want to strike down a man, first you have to strike down his horse.”

And because the centaurs came from the plains to the east, the opponent would no doubt be familiar with the saying.

“That makes sense!” Rhea Fighter said. Her eyes shone, but really, Wizard Boy was just saying what he had to. If you didn’t go into a contest with confidence, then you could lose even when you should have won.

She said she could win, and she intended to. Anyone trying to put frivolous distractions in her mind could go get kicked by a horse.

“…He’s not a horse anyway,” Wizard Boy added.

“Oh, good point,” the rhea girl said, clapping her hands innocently. “So it’s from underneath, like this.” She made some sort of gesture, her armor clanking as she moved. Wizard Boy didn’t know much about martial arts, and he didn’t fully understand what she was implying. But then she said, “One good thrust, right?”

“Yeah!” He nodded. “We aren’t looking to hurt anyone.”

“Sure, that’s true.”

“Then there’s the shout. Bellow as loud as you can—make sure it comes from deep in your belly.”

“Right…!”

The girl nodded, and then the boy handed her the balaclava and helped her slide her helmet over it. He gave her a gentle tap on the head just before she lowered her visor, helped her up onto her donkey, and sent her on her way. Now there was nothing he could do but watch.

If this is an adventure…

Rhea Fighter rode off on her donkey, a fresh lance in her hand. As he watched her go, Wizard Boy gave a quick shake of his head and said, “No…”

No.

Is this an adventure?

Wizard Boy couldn’t understand how that pigheaded old rhea thought, but his view of the world probably deserved Wizard Boy’s attention. He had asked them: Was it ruthless, sending a single rhea to retrieve a gemstone from a dragon’s den? He who can’t send his friends off and trust them as they go is either very arrogant or doesn’t really think of them as friends at all.

If they’d believed for a second that rhea would pocket the stone for himself, they would all have gone charging in together instead—and would certainly have been wiped out.

I’ll never make such a stupid mistake.

So it was that the boy clenched his fist and simply watched the rhea girl ride forth to challenge the centaur. The tiny figure mounted on a donkey looked as brave as she did comical.

Even if the girl won this round, it might be a fluke. There might not be a next time. She was facing a horse person, after all; she had as much chance as that mournful old man against his windmills.

But who gives a shit?!

The rhea girl snorted under her helmet. Who would dare to laugh at that chivalry-mad old man? Hadn’t he believed that chivalry was possible, to the bitter end? That was why he had challenged the four-armed giant. The Four-Cornered World might be wide, but how many people could there be in it who would challenge a giant all on their own?

She hadn’t known the story until she heard it from her master, and he had said, “Some might think the old man merely a fool, but what story of a mere fool ever lasted so long?”

I want to be like him.

That was the thought in her mind as she put the spurs to her donkey.

“Yaaaaahhhh!”

Her mount accelerated, rushing forward, the force of it throwing her back in her saddle. The centaur knight raced to meet her. She heard hoofbeats, like the roar of a waterfall—not that she had ever seen one.

The rhea girl couched her lance firmly, ignoring the cloud of dust. The contest would be decided in one instant. She opened her eyes as wide as she could, trying to see past her own visor.

So fast. They were both moving so quickly. She didn’t have any precise numbers, but she could see the distance closing. It would be one second more.

“Listen,” the boy had said. The opponent had the edge on her in speed, mass, and physical force. Even the girl’s position was disadvantageous; coming up from below was not as powerful as coming down from above.

In which case…

You don’t have to thrust yourself into that situation!

“Rrraahhh!”

The lance came crashing down from over her head. There was an earsplitting shout. She refused to lose. She clenched her abdominal muscles.

“Keeeeeeeehhhh!”

With an animalistic yell, the rhea girl strained her entire body. The centaur’s eyes were wide. He even smiled at her.

Up coming down, down coming up. The lance points slid past each other. A draw, then? No, it wasn’t.

The centaur’s lance grazed the rhea girl’s shield and was deflected to the side. That was the opening she needed; her lance was through.

The centaur practically threw himself against her weapon. Its trajectory was like a wildfire reaching upward—except it was almost completely horizontal.

She rammed the lance home, striking the centaur’s shield from the left as hard as she could. Unlike with a human knight, there was no horse’s head there. Which meant… Which meant…

He’s got to be leaning forward!

Wood splintered, the impact running like lightning through the girl’s small hands, making everything numb.

But so what?!

The rhea girl braced herself in her stirrups; her small body was forced backward, but she stayed in the saddle. Behind her, there was a thump as the centaur tumbled sidelong into the dirt.

Chatter broke out in the audience. The rhea girl brought her donkey around and took in the scene dumbly, not sure whether she had actually won.

The centaur’s servant was quickly at his side. The centaur wouldn’t be dead. The judges looked at one another.

That’s right: Just because someone couldn’t be unhorsed didn’t mean they couldn’t be knocked down. Tumbles were usually adjudged to be the fault of the mount and therefore not a defeat—but when horse and rider were one, then surely it was the knight who was responsible.

If her opponent wasn’t in violation of the rules, then surely neither was she. And as such…

“Knock ’im the hell over.” That was the plan the boy had given her. The boy who was now sprinting toward her from the other end of the field.

Defend, then strike—and when they were at a draw, she would make her move.

She’d been raised to seize the initiative at every moment, and it seemed like madness to her. But…if the limping old rhea—the one who had taught her how to use a stick—could see it, what would he say? Would he get that fond look in his eye and tell her, Not bad…for the likes of you?

Nah… Probably not.

Her grandpa, just like her current instructor, wasn’t much for praise. Although he wasn’t much for humiliation, either.

“You did it…!”

So it was that the boy, rushing up with his face red as an apple, was the only one. The only one who had words of unvarnished approbation for her—even if he didn’t say everything he felt.

“I did…I did it!” The girl tore off her helmet, jumped off her donkey, and leaped toward him.

Speed and mass. Unable to hold her up, the boy exclaimed, and they ended up in a tangle on the ground.

On the other side of the field, the judges were raising a large flag in the rhea girl’s direction.

§

“Th…that was excellent…”

In the spectator seats, Priestess applauded awkwardly, somehow managing to maintain something that could pass for a smile.

Everything felt so constrained, so discomfiting. Nothing felt quite right; it was like someone had a hold of both her shoulders. The makeup made her face itch, while the way her hair was pulled back tugged at her cheeks and forehead and made her whole visage tense.

And this dress! It pinched her chest, which had been rather shoved into the outfit, while her hips had nearly given up the ghost, the fit was so tight. She could hardly believe princesses endured such garments every day.

“What’s the matter? Ahem—I mean, is anything distressing you, Your Majesty?”

“If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to tell us.”

“Su-sure…”

I’m not sure this is quite fair…

Such must have been the thought in the minds of the two ladies-in-waiting who stood behind her, one with red hair and one with gold. Guild Girl, who was the daughter of nobility, Priestess could understand, but how could the girl from the farm seem so at ease? Priestess was uncomprehending—but she couldn’t let it show on her face. Instead, she sat there stiff as a doll.

“Indeed! Absolutely indeed!”

The biggest issue of all was the person who sat applauding beside her—the man who called himself a paladin of the Supreme God. “This is the epitome of equality! Is it not wonderful?”

“Er, uh, well…”

He took note of her every move, her every shift; she felt like she was under constant surveillance.

He claimed to be a representative there on behalf of the Temple of the Supreme God, and he seemed to be acquainted with the king’s little sister. Just trying to make sure she didn’t slip up in some matter of etiquette was exhausting.

At the same time, she couldn’t help noticing…

He’s nothing like the Lady Archbishop.

In fact, he wasn’t like any of the other followers of the Supreme God that Priestess knew. Not the cleric with whom she’d become friends in the frontier town nor the inspector at the Guild. His proud self-possession reminded her of that female knight, but…no, it wasn’t quite the same.

How could she put it…?

It was the difference between someone trying to be righteous and someone who assumed they already were.

“I thought she was at quite a disadvantage…,” Priestess ventured.

“By no means!” Consider the way the paladin responded to Priestess’s doubts with full confidence, as if he himself had achieved the feat. “They each made the fullest use of the abilities they were born with! A follower of the Earth Mother must be more enlightened.”

He sounded like he would put a fish on dry land and encourage it to run. Priestess still had questions, but she chose not to voice them. She suspected the paladin would happily continue to talk anyway.

“Sometimes, Your Highness… Your Highness?”

“Er…oh!” Priestess blinked. “Yes?”

“Sometimes I see the great festivals and think, We must reform the Earth Mother’s ceremonies.”

“Um… How so?”

“I’m referring to the dancing girl at the harvest festival.” Priestess cocked her head, so the paladin of the Supreme God continued. “Her outfit shows far too much skin for a young woman! No cleric should appear like that in public.”

“Ah…” Priestess sounded a bit strained, but she managed a facial expression whose exact meaning was open to interpretation.

After all, she was herself one of those who had appeared in this outfit that one must never wear in public. Now, years after the fact, she was able to see it for the honor it had been. Not that she felt or had felt no embarrassment—but the pride was greater.

I was so inexperienced back then…

Of course, she still had much growing to do even now.

That was an excellent adventure.

The paladin of the Supreme God continued to argue, even as Priestess let her thoughts wander. From questioning the propriety of such garments in public, the logic quickly took a leap. The ritual cast doubt on the moral character of the dancers. It inflamed the desires of the spectating believers. Which was to say, it could be taken to suggest that the Earth Mother herself was a seductress. By extension, it was an offense to all women!

He didn’t even spare the maidens who trod on the grapes of the early harvest. How could they say that showing skin was immoral yet work the grapes in their bare feet?

“I can’t believe that any woman would engage in such activities willingly. Reform is necessary at the earliest possible…”

Priestess was only half listening, but she thought she could hear the blood rushing to her head. His words reminded her of long-ago events that had been an embarrassment to people she treasured. A foolish plot that they had at last undone, and now he wanted to drag the entire thing through the mud again.

Anger boiled in the pit of her stomach, but she forced it down.

No… Don’t do it…

She focused everything she had on breathing in, then forced herself to breathe out as calmly as possible. She had to resist letting her emotions make her cause a scene—or go drinking, as she had before.

And yet… She glanced at the two women behind her, who both wore awkward smiles. I guess it’s not my place to speak on the princess’s behalf.

Priestess privately pouted, wishing the others would think about what she was going through. That’s right: She actually pouted.

They didn’t all have to go away and leave me…

Of course, she understood the situation. She knew it was what it was. She understood she had been given this role because she was the only one who could do it—so she would do it as best she could.

Even so, she wasn’t thrilled at being left behind, dissatisfaction born of her burgeoning awareness of herself as a halfway decent adventurer. (Although she hadn’t yet noticed that she herself had cultivated that precious treasure.)

“Is that so? I see,” she said. After the rush of anger and frustration, she constrained herself to a nod and a few words. A pleasant smile. “Thank you for telling me how you see things.”

“…Is that all you have to say?”

Priestess gave the paladin a questioning look. “Yes? I believe it is…”

He leaned toward her eagerly, seeming to have forgotten where he was and who he was ostensibly with. “Does that mean, then, that you have no intention of correcting these injustices within the Temple of the Earth Mother?!”

“Why would I?”

“Why?! Have I not pointed out the problems to you?!”

“Yes, and I heard you.”

“Then why do you not seek to do something about them?!”

“Because you and I are different people.”

The paladin of the Supreme God was stunned into silence. His already pale, noble face grew even whiter, drained of blood. Priestess had a passing thought: that he looked almost like ash. Like the white ash that remains after everything else has burned away.

“Well, then…,” he managed to squeeze out, his voice like settling ashes. “Do you believe that this disordered, this chaotic Four-Cornered World should simply remain as it is?”

“Umm…,” Priestess said, tapping her pointer finger against her lip in thought. “I’m not really sure.”

There! The man’s lips curled in an ugly expression of triumph. His smile ridiculed everything about her: her shallow thoughts, her ignorance, her narrowness of vision.

“I mean, I’m friends with an elf, a lizardman, a dwarf…even a centaur,” Priestess said, smiling right back at him, paying no heed at all to his expression.

There were adventurers, and there were also princesses. There were nobles, and there were merchants. Farmers. Waitresses at taverns. Priestess had never once thought of them as disordered or disorganized or one better than the other.

“The desert to the east is hot, and the north is cold. The plains are wide, but the forest is dense.”

She remembered the Innsmouth, the fish-people she’d met when they slew a sea serpent—it seemed like it would be very hard for them to live on land. And yet in the tavern Goblin Slayer had taken her to, there had been a fish-people barmaid. A lovely girl in perfect clothes, making beer—Priestess thought her very cool.

Then again, maybe everyone wore adorable outfits while making alcohol—she thought of her senior cleric stomping on the grapes.

The people she met might have been of all kinds, yet all of them were joyful from deep within. How many chances did you get to play around in bare feet, after all?

In the desert, on the other hand, it was boiling (not just hot!), too punishing to show much skin, and that had been a challenge. And yet as overdressed as she’d felt at the time, if she’d gone to the icy seas of the north in that outfit, she would have been frozen stiff.

Now that I think about it, I’ve really gone to a lot of places and met a lot of people.

The thought drifted pleasantly through her mind, and she shook her head gently from side to side. “Trying to fit all those people into just one thing… It’s not—Uhhh, I mean… Hmm.”

Indeed, it seemed impossible. But that didn’t mean that, within her, some were worthier than others. When she realized that, Priestess finally felt the pieces fall into place.

“I think maybe everyone likes being different, and it’s important for us to accept that,” she said.

Yes. Priestess nodded as if to affirm her own words. She was sure. She knew there were people who disliked things that she loved, while there were probably people who loved things that she found intolerable. The húsfreya of the north was trying to learn a new language, and the centaur racers set crowds of every kind cheering.

And yet Priestess had found the culture of the north dizzying, and the centaur princess had claimed adventurers made no sense to her. To be different was not to say you couldn’t walk together, and to walk together is not to say everything had to be the same.

“Anyway, that’s what I think,” Priestess concluded, and then she scratched her cheek, a bit embarrassed, a bit shy. She’d only said what was on her mind, and although she’d said it quite fluently, it would never have passed as a proper sermon.

More to the point, she wondered if maybe the “king’s little sister” shouldn’t have spoken so freely…

“…You sound like one of those people who want to claim that even goblins have their virtues,” the paladin said.

That made Priestess freeze. She turned to look at him, and he snorted in disgust.

He hasn’t…figured me out, has he? She glanced at the two women behind her, but they were both shaking their heads.

Of course not. He didn’t know. Priestess put her hand to her chest, now slightly larger because of the padding, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Still…

That subject came up awfully suddenly.

“They exist, you know,” Priestess said. “Good goblins.”

“…What?” the man asked, incredulous.

Priestess smiled. “Didn’t you know? The sea goblins—they were wonderful people.” The paladin looked positively flummoxed. Priestess then added, “I grant, the gillmen don’t much like being called that.”

But it was okay.

This was the question she’d been asking herself since the day she became an adventurer.

She looked the paladin straight in the eye. “Yes… I daresay there might be a good goblin out there.”

He goggled at her. This was obviously completely unexpected to him. Although she wasn’t sure if he was more baffled by the fact that she didn’t agree with him or by the answer she had given.

“True, a ‘good goblin’ would be one that didn’t attack humans. He would probably still hate people and probably still think stealing was good. I don’t think that would change.”

The Four-Cornered World was wider, bigger, more complex and varied than anyone knew. There were good things and also bad things. And while one couldn’t simply accept the bad things, still… Yes, even still…

“The world will never be quite the way I want it or quite the way you want it.”

There were certain things that should be done. Things that even the gods had entrusted to Fate and Chance.

“…”

For a moment, the man didn’t say anything—although Priestess thought she caught the sound of grinding teeth. Then he exclaimed, “You must pardon me! It seems you fail to understand what our true problems are!”

You can practically smell the ash on him.

That was the aroma Priestess detected as the man stood up from his chair so fast he almost kicked it over and exited the room at a brisk stride—different from that other person’s.

Priestess didn’t bother to watch him go but slumped against the back of her chair, letting it hold her up.

“…Considering he was watching the proceedings in a noble box with the king’s own little sister, his manners seemed somewhat lacking.” Priestess heard a sigh from behind; it was Guild Girl, half scowling and half chuckling.

Still slumped in the chair in a most unladylike fashion, Priestess gave the woman behind her a dubious look. “Did I go too far…?”

“It was a theological debate. I would say you went just far enough.”

Priestess felt maybe Guild Girl could have lent her a hand. No, then again, maybe not.

They shared a silent exchange, and then Cow Girl handed her a drink, laughing. “Nice job.”

The magical carafe brimmed with cold, pure water. The device had stunned even Priestess, let alone Cow Girl, when they first saw it, but this was no time to be shocked.

“Thank you,” Priestess said, taking the water and drinking greedily.

“Very nice work,” Cow Girl said again, and then she directed her next question at Guild Girl. “I don’t know much about the Supreme God’s teachings, but they’re not…that, are they?”

“Certainly not.” Guild Girl was brimming with confidence on that point. She puffed out her chest, as if emphasizing the carefully curated body that was the source of that confidence. Even Cow Girl was taken with her attitude, her certainty that she had nothing to be ashamed of. “Rejecting things by constantly invoking the name of justice—it’s not that at all.” That, she had to admit, was something she had heard from her friend. She smiled bashfully.

She can be very…cute sometimes.

Cow Girl was the tiniest bit jealous, but she decided to stop at simple admiration. “It would kind of stink if we couldn’t have festivals anymore. Where would we get all our fun?”

The harvest and grape festivals represented a prayer for abundance, of course, but festivals were also times of joy. If it was wrong to enjoy them, she didn’t know what she would do.

“You know,” said Priestess, who had finally wetted her lips and throat with the water. She and the other girl—the real little sister of the king, who was resting soundly at that moment—were completely different people. “Do you think he even noticed I was pretending?”