Goblin Slayer - Volume 16 - Chapter 4.3

“Yikes… Yikes!”

That was all well and good—but not everyone was capable of immediately leaping to such distinguished action.

The black-haired girl felt the huge lump of stone graze her as it went over her head: She ducked and rolled to avoid it. It was a very close call. If she’d been wearing a hat, it might not have survived. After a second of thought, she pushed up her protective headband. She had decided to act, and this would be the best defense. Yes, this was best.

She scuttled amid the spectator seats, then gave a swing of a sword that was almost longer than she was tall.

“Hiii…yah!”

The blade sliced through the air, wumph, wumph. Of course, it couldn’t reach the monster that floated above. The red creature arced out of the way, then came diving through the air again.

“AAAARREEMMEEEERRRRR!!!!!”

“Eeek!”

The girl with the name of the primal whirlpool rolled again, evading the deadly blow from above. She wove amid the seats once more, racing to find a different position. The monster’s movements were irregular, highly unpredictable. So she stopped and observed, watching how it moved, evading when it attacked.

Move, wait, attack, dodge. That was her entire focus as she carried on the fight. She didn’t have any brilliant ideas. She had simply decided to do all she could, as best she could.

“Yah! Hiyah! …Ack! Whaaa—?!”

If she could draw even one enemy to herself, it would help the others. That was the only thought in her head—and she wasn’t wrong.

The rhea fencer’s blade sang out, followed by a vermilion lance that prized justice, and the half-dragon girl who planned to slay a dragon howled.

Some of the adventurers here were known; others were not. All had come from each of the four corners to be at this coliseum. And one of the monsters who would have moved to accost those adventurers didn’t, because he was pinned down by this girl with the name of a storm.

The battle spreading among the spectator seats was a brutal affair, but the people held the advantage.

As for the girl, she could hardly be said to have distinguished herself. She was pathetic, even silly, but she was desperate.

“Why…you…!”

She bled from a scrape, but in her eyes and in the magic wand at her chest, there was an unmistakable spark.

This was her adventure. And if that was true, then…

“Magna…nodos…facio! Form, magical binding!”

…the heavenly players would certainly not leave her side.

Words of binding rumbled from somewhere, and with a crack, the monster’s wings were tied up.

The girl made a sound that wasn’t quite a “what?!” and wasn’t quite an “oh!” She looked up and saw two adventurers.

“It’s paralyzed—do it!” shouted a young woman who looked to be a wizard. At that moment, the black-haired girl thought she saw a colorful breeze slip past her.

This breeze was also in the shape of a young woman, and there came a terrible grating noise. Before the black-haired girl could register that it was the sound of feet cracking the stone beneath them, there was a shout:

“Diiiie!”

The cry was as sharp as any sword, and along with it, a long leg lashed out, slamming against the monster’s wings. They crumbled into dust, and the red creature succumbed to gravity.

It was, however, still dangerous as it continued to struggle despite half of its body having been reduced to rubble.

“Oops! Ah!” The girl hefted a sword that looked very heavy, shouted “Yaah!” and whacked it against the creature. The huge weapon, polished with care every day, made a terrific racket as it slammed into the creature’s head, pulverizing it.

Even then, the girl wasn’t sure the monster was dead. She sucked in desperate breaths. Her hands were shaking, she stood frozen as if paralyzed, and sweat poured down her forehead. She wiped it away vigorously with her arm.

“Excellent work.” The woman’s partner, the mage, lazily waved a hand. Only then did the black-haired girl realize the wizard was standing in front of her.

“Oh! Um… Um!” She looked up at the other woman, and one simple word passed through her mind: beauty. She thought she had understood the word before, but now she realized she had known nothing. The person in front of her wore a man’s outfit, and as becoming as it looked on her, she was without question a woman and a beautiful one.

She’s wonderful…

The thought didn’t cause the girl to forget the first thing she needed to say. “Thank you…very much!” She bowed deeply, the pack on her back shifting and rattling as she did so. She blushed furiously at it, but the other woman surprised her.

“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of,” she said and got down on one knee so that she was eye to eye with the smaller, black-haired girl. Only then did the girl realize that the other woman had just one eye. It was sharp and perceptive—but also had a kind warmth. Like the person from the dungeoneering contest, she thought. “You survive, you take a step forward. One step at a time. Just keep moving.”

Yeah… That I can do.

“That’s…sort of my specialty.”

“Very good!” The woman grinned, and her gorgeous, clear eye gazed hard at the girl, remembering her.

Seeing such a lovely older woman from this proximity naturally caused the girl to feel a bit out of sorts.

Could I…be like her?

Could she become so beautiful, so wonderful? It was hard for her to imagine.

“Uh, um…”

“Oh, pardon me.” The woman smiled that luscious smile again, then brushed away the hair that hid her eye. “You just reminded me of someone I know.”

“Someone you know…?”

“Mm.”

Not that he was here. Most likely—

“That boy is off on a goblin hunt somewhere.”

Even though he was too old for such things.

§

Wizard Boy had a thought: It was good that that man wasn’t here.

“I knew we couldn’t leave things to that king of ours. He invited this trouble,” the knight grumbled, but Wizard Boy ignored him and looked around the tournament grounds, his hand on the thing he kept at his hip.

A flock of monsters—gargoyles—was attacking the spectator seating and the royal box. He’d just seen someone smash one of them. Pretty good work.

That one was kind of reddish colored. Think it was some sort of fire demon…?

It was probably quite serious stuff, then—but this wasn’t the time to be ruminating. The bulk of Wizard Boy’s attention was turned toward the girl, who stood on the field of combat, and on the gargoyle above her. The way it circled made the boy think of a vulture or a buzzard.

Not that I’ve ever seen either of those.

He didn’t know if they really circled over dead bodies. Maybe he would find out one day.

If vultures didn’t let their prey escape, well, neither did this gargoyle. It had both the rhea girl and the knight pinned.

Just one thing to do, then.

For the second time, he was glad that guy wasn’t here. He wouldn’t have admitted under torture who it was who had instilled in him the habit of always picking up things to throw.

In Wizard Boy’s hand was a boomerang.

His mentor had given him grief about it: It was hellish magic, forbidden magic, a spell from a foreign land.

So what? Who gives a shit?!

The boy took one step forward, then two, gaining momentum, and then he let the thing fly.

“GARRRGG!!”

However good humans might be at throwing things, though, they were never going to get a hit 100 percent of the time. The boy didn’t know whether gargoyles felt emotions, but when it juked out of the way of his boomerang, he would have sworn it was laughing at him.

But the boy was laughing, too.

“Iacta! Toss!” he shouted.

His entire body glowed a faint green with magical energy. The object of the word of true power that he wove from his mouth was not the boomerang but the blowing breeze.

What wizard worthy of the name didn’t know the true name of at least a passing wind?

The boomerang’s trajectory took an impossible turn, veering around.

“GOYYYYYYY?!!!?!!?”

In the grip of the wind, the boomerang did exactly what the boy wanted, cutting through the air and slamming against the monster’s wings, which vaporized with the impact.

Whatever magic one might use to cause stone wings to beat, when deprived of those wings, there could be only one result: a fall—and then death.

The drop from that height was more than enough to smash stone to pieces. The boomerang passed over the pile of debris and returned safely to the boy’s hand. A magic/flying-stick combo, Wizard Boy’s very own new battle tactic: the telekinetic boomerang.

He didn’t have time to admire its effectiveness in battle, however. He was too busy shouting at the top of his lungs: “Finish hiiiiim!” His voice echoed across the coliseum. “Send his ass flying!”

No doubt the knight did not grasp what he meant. He probably thought the young mage was exhorting them to finish off the monster.

“I certainly will,” the knight replied. “Simply let me handle this, and all will be well. From the very start, you should have—”

He didn’t get to finish. Why would anyone have listened to him all the way through?

The rhea girl bellowed:

“Eyes on me!”

She threw aside her ruined helmet and tore off the shoulder girdle that was dangling from her chest armor.

“We’re not finished yet! You can’t just decide this is over!”

“ ?”

The knight appeared perplexed: This was another pronouncement he didn’t understand. He stood dumbfounded, and then his muffled voice could be heard from under his own headgear:

“What are you talking about?”

“My—our—battle with you! I don’t care about anything else! And I mean anything!” She gestured around with her arms, her whole tiny body bouncing as she shouted. “This is the entire world!”

This was everything. They were going to settle this. Win or lose: That was everything there was.

Pierced by the gleam in the girl’s eyes, the knight took one unsteady step backward. “You wish to continue our contest…?”

“Damn right I do!”

“But…” His voice wavered, troubled and confused. He held up the shattered remains of his lance. “I have no lance.”

“You have your sword!”

She was not going to let him get away. She was not going to let him find an excuse.

Rhea Fighter drew her sword, the one her grandfather had given her. The nameless but beautiful blade he claimed to have found in a dungeon under the mountain.

The greatest under heaven? The strongest in the world? She couldn’t be those things. But she could try. And she wouldn’t let anyone laugh at her for it.

He had. This paladin had pointed and laughed. Told her she shouldn’t even bother.

You wanted this fight? You’ve got it.

“Come at me!” she howled. “I’m gonna rock you!”

§

Curse these adventurers. As pleasant as plague rats.

Even as the vampire pursued the enemies, who had fled into one of the holes of his abode, he had time to reflect. To a servant of the No-Life King, the ruler of the night who had occupied the capital, adventurers were as dust underfoot.

Yet in spite of that, they had stopped the Demon Lord and his minions from spreading the Death around the four corners.

That affront was difficult to ignore.

If these bandits were going to come sneaking around his domain, he would have to punish them properly.

“Come out, come out, little adventurers…” The vampire crossed his arms as if he had all the time in the world. He shoved aside goblin corpses as he went. In his voice, there was the slightest hint of haughty magnanimity and something that sounded almost like compassion—but wasn’t quite. “If you’ll surrender like good boys and girls, I might even offer you eternal life.”

Eternal life as my slaves!

Not as servants of the night, no—the thought didn’t even cross his mind. One of the intruders had been an elf woman. If she was still a virgin, then there was every chance she might become a banshee, and he couldn’t have that.

Instead, I’ll enjoy sucking her blood for the rest of the eons.

This vampire was not so bored as to cultivate any buds of rebellion. There were plenty of ways in the world to enjoy an unending life without risking such danger.

If there was anything that dissatisfied him about being a servant of the night, it was that there was no changing of the guard. Elders of dizzying age continued to hold sway—if you wanted to move up in the world, you had to get rid of them physically.

Machiavellian masquerades, then, were the order of the day…

But what of it? It lasts but a moment.

Now that he was a servant of that god, it would be only a matter of time until he possessed more than enough power to rid himself of that lot. And to a vampire, time was always an ally…

“I warn you, if you’re hoping for rescue, you hope in vain!” That, the vampire assumed, was why they weren’t moving. He even spared a chuckle. “The capital will be in shambles by now. Wait as long as you like, they will never—”

“Don’t be stupid.”

The voice was casual, almost mechanical, like a wind blowing deep underground. The vampire should never have been able to hear it, yet somehow it reached his ears.

With his literally monstrous vision, he spotted his prey leaping out of the passageway faster than the speed of sound. “There are adventurers in the capital,” said the adventurer buried in the grimy armor, his voice almost a growl. “Adventurers far greater than I.”

“Clean water, dirty water, mixed together like cloudy weather, nothing can be seen through!”

At that same moment, a rotund little dwarf scattered the contents of a wine jug at his hip while singing a silly little song. The droplets fsshed and fzzed and became a clinging mist that filled the shrine.

Absurdity!

Nonetheless, the vampire’s smile remained like a crimson tear in his face. No doubt the dwarf had used Invisible or some other trick like that. Yes, that might have worked on the likes of goblins. But him?

They have no idea why vampires can see in the dark, do they?

The world vampires saw was not one bathed in light. Vampires saw heat. They saw life. Their senses were spiritual in nature; they didn’t depend upon their physical eyes.

Even if those droplets were magical, it was an affront that the adventurers had imagined they would be of any use.

Ah, what fools these mortals be…

Now the vampire knew victory was within his grasp, and he had no time to hiss and spit about a childish prank like this.

“Enough of this!”

He swept away the arrows that came flying at him through the mist, then bounded forward. He could tell there were flickering flames racing at him like lightning through the mists of Invisible from left and right. It must be that impertinent creature who spoke to him a moment ago. That must be their leader. Yes, kill him first.

The scruffy armor emerged from the mist. The vampire’s sword was raised and ready.

He would cleave him apart with a single stroke. Crush his head like an overripe melon and trample on his corpse.

“Now you die!” the vampire bellowed and reduced his opponent to dust. His opponent, who was only a pile of white bones. “Wha—?!”

The vampire looked in every direction: Much against his will, he found his eyes forced to follow the pieces as they scattered.

He didn’t know what had happened. He was sure that an instant ago, he had been fighting their leader, the one they referred to as Goblin Slayer or some such thing. And now, in his place, there were only bones.

A dragon’s skull. A dragon soldier. Fine—but where had it come from? Had it taken the adventurer’s place? When had they made the switch?

No! That isn’t what happened…

He spotted the small pouch the man was holding. Its mouth was open, and the dragon soldier was emerging from it…

“A bag for holding?!” the vampire yelled. In temporal terms, he was frozen for less than a second. “So I missed a single move—so what?!”

“One move is all I need.” The steel helmet was close now, with that darkness behind its visor. That growling voice. “I’m told you’re a corpse—is that right?”

The next second, the vampire felt the bag come down on his head.

“Whaaaaaa—?!”

He didn’t even have time to finish his howl before the bag slipped over him, swallowing him up. A world of blackness, even for this servant of the night who could see in the dark. No sound, no air. He could scratch and scrabble, but it gained him nothing. As he watched, his arms, his torso, his legs were all consumed by the bag.

“In that case, I can put you away,” came a voice from behind and above, like a sentence of death. “Because you are just a thing.”

“No! Undone by the machinations of a mere munchkin…!”

The vampire rained curses on the heads of his enemies, but they never made it out of the bag. Soon he was lost to the endless void.

“Farewell,” came the voice, and then with merciful quickness, all light vanished.

§

The fight ended as abruptly as it had begun. No sooner was the vampire in the bag than the zombies, their master no longer on the same plane as them, collapsed. All that remained was dust, a pile of ashes. And the adventurers—living and breathing.

They remained vigilant, weapons and catalysts at the ready, keeping a close watch all around. After all, the vampire hadn’t been destroyed. He might have some hidden trick up his sleeve yet. He might even be able to tear open the bag and escape.

The aching silence was finally broken by a single disinterested sentence. “That was excellent work.”

Goblin Slayer gingerly tied the bag shut, then picked up the skull by his feet: the Dragontooth Warrior, its duty fulfilled. How many times had these nonspeaking servants saved him and his party?

Is there some way to reward them?

He never seemed to be able to find an answer to that question—no matter of what or whom he was asking it. For the only thing he was capable of doing was killing goblins.

“…Are we alive? We are alive, aren’t we?” High Elf Archer asked now that Goblin Slayer had cut the thread of tension. She threw herself down spread-eagled on the ash-covered floor, grinning like a child tired from playing too much. That even so, she appeared unutterably elegant—well, this was why the bards loved to sing of the elves. “Gods above, I’m exhausted! And we didn’t even get to see the tournament…!”

“They tell me she’s an elf princess. Not sure I believe it, though,” Dwarf Shaman grumbled—but then he laughed. Yes, this princess of the elves was confident that the tournament had in fact been held in the capital; she didn’t doubt it. Maybe there had been a little trouble—a little adventure—but that kind of trouble meant business for them.

There were adventurers there. Including a friend of theirs—the priestess. How much of a problem could there be?

Guess she and I are probably on the same page, thinkin’ that.

“Well, best hope that’s the end of it. I’m fresh outta spells,” Dwarf Shaman said.

“And I as well,” added Lizard Priest. It had taken everything he had to go toe-to-toe with the vampire. He sat down heavily on the floor; if left to his own devices, he looked like he might just curl up right there. His fingers played across the staff of the Earth Mother, which he held in his hands, and he shook his long head gently. “In the end, we never did figure out why that monster stopped whenever he saw bones.”

“I didn’t expect to,” said Goblin Slayer, tossing the bones to Lizard Priest. “We were lucky.”

“Indeed, even so.”

“It was my suggestion! Make sure you give me the credit!” High Elf Archer cut in.

“Naturally,” said Goblin Slayer, his helmet moving up and down. “I wouldn’t have thought of it.”

“Somehow that doesn’t feel much like a compliment…” High Elf Archer’s head drooped, but from the way her ears flicked, she seemed to be in a good mood.

If they didn’t have enough dragon fangs, why not get more from a Dragontooth Warrior? They might not serve as catalysts, but a bone was a bone. It might be enough for a distraction.

It had been High Elf Archer’s idea, if not her greatest pleasure.

A bag for holding…

The bag, tied shut, didn’t so much as twitch. Of course it didn’t: There was nothing living within it.

They could put the Dragontooth Warrior inside and then unleash it in front of the enemy. It would serve as their shield; all it had to do was distract the opponent when he destroyed it. Even if it didn’t succeed at that, it would absorb his first blow.

All they needed was a single action to enable them to slip the bag over the vampire.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Orcbolg: You could do with having a few magic items on hand.”

“That’s more than I need for dealing with goblins.”

Ugh!

He wasn’t wrong—but High Elf Archer nonetheless gave a dramatic click of her tongue and made an exceptionally distressed face. This was nothing new with him—he had always been this way.

He just took out a vampire without using any explosions, fire, or floods…

For Orcbolg, that was pretty good.

“Tell me, Beard-cutter,” Dwarf Shaman began, sipping the very last of his fire wine. “What was your plan if you couldn’t get the vampire in the bag—or if he got back out?”

“I didn’t have any plan to speak of,” Goblin Slayer said succinctly. “I assumed I would put my remaining fire powder in the bag and light it.”

High Elf Archer stared at the ceiling, speechless.

§

We need hardly speak of what became of the vampire after that. Perhaps he was dumped out of the bag into a bright patch of sunlight, or perhaps a torch was tossed in the bag with him. Hell, maybe it was both.

The point is, the vampire himself never knew in what way he was reduced to ashes.

§

“Gyyyaaaaahhhhh!”

“Hrngh?!”

The primal scream was accompanied by a blow as fast and as hard as lightning. Like lightning, it didn’t give the knight so much as a second to say anything.

In fact, the rhea girl had never been of a mind to give that bastard a chance to open his mouth.

Instead, the coliseum echoed with a cry more monstrous than that of any of the gargoyles.

She flew in—yes, she seemed to move as if she had wings—to deliver the blow faster than the eye could see.

In the space of a breath, that blow was followed by ten more, twenty, thirty.

“This isn’t…! This is brutality… You might as well be wielding a club…! This isn’t swordsmanship!”

It was to the knight’s credit that he was able to bring his weapon up at all. Even if it couldn’t do much more than take the blow, it prevented the stroke from landing on his head.

“Gyyyaaaaahhhhh!”

She’s insane…! Beneath his helmet, the blood had drained from the knight’s face, and he was scowling hard. The opponent pressing in on him—a rhea girl so small he had to look down to see her—seemed far larger than she was. The knight took two steps back, then three, as if he was facing a giant, not a rhea. She’s only charging forward! I can deal with that!

“Hrrah!” He swung his blade down hard—but the rhea girl wasn’t there.

He heard a zhwf as her bare feet scuttled across the sand; the speed with which she put herself behind him was unreal. This was footwork that could only be achieved with the stubborn feet of a rhea. The girl had learned that from her grandfather, a person of few words but much knowledge.

He had been an adventurer himself. He’d delved the dungeon depths beneath the mountain, and his own heel had been pierced. She didn’t know if it had been from a trap or if it was the doing of a monster. She knew only that it had put an end to his career in swordsmanship.

“What we practice, ’tain’t a strong blade. ’Tis a fast one.”

That was what he had told her as he had her strike a tree as fast as she could, morning and night.

“To make a fast blade work, you have to put your energy into every stroke. Otherwise your sword is no better than a kitchen knife.”

She shouted and beat the tree until she was out of breath. She hit the tree as hard as she could. Never letting her stance falter, stroke after stroke.

“A blade needs proper energy—but never put your heart into it. For the sword has no heart.”

He said it was so that she could practice anywhere, anytime—and everywhere, all the time. Even if the people around her mocked her, laughed at her, said there was no way she could do it.

“Swing the sword with your heart, and in time, without even trying, you’ll be like lightning.”

Her grandfather died. There was a plague, and then he was gone. She couldn’t believe how sudden it was.

She heard people talk: “Now that girl will stop with her foolishness. She’ll settle down and get married.” They didn’t ask what she wanted—they just tried to make things the way they wanted.

It made her sick. She ignored them. That was why she was here now. That was how she had gotten here.

“Gggyyaaahhh!”

“Hrk?! What in blazes does she thinks she’s—? I’ve never seen such absurd swordsmanship!”

She didn’t care. She wasn’t listening. At that point, the girl wasn’t even thinking anymore.

There was only one thing in her head—or perhaps two.

Swing the sword. Move forward. Swing the sword. Move forward. Swing the sword. Move forward.

You’ve got to strike! someone cried in her mind. It was the little girl mocked and ridiculed by all and sundry.

You’ve got to strike. For that little girl.

You’ve got to strike. For your grandfather.

You’ve got to strike. For the slightly deranged mentor whose ideas she could never quite follow.

You’ve got to strike. For the older girl on the farm. For the people of that decent frontier town. For her friends.

You’ve got to strike. For him, the one who had brought her this far.

“Gyyyyaaahhheeee!”

“Hrn…?! She—! What?! But how?!”

Her sword blazed with a flare, the aura of the gods. The thoughts and feelings of the people in the Four-Cornered World, their very wills, now imbued her blade through the bonds they shared.

It was a light that would be incomprehensible to those who chose the path of Chaos, who sought to bend the world to their will. Therefore—yes, that was why, as an explosion like the sun lit the coliseum from somewhere far overhead…

“H-hrgh?!”

“Yaaaaaaahhhh!”

The paladin stumbled backward, his eyes seared by the light, and the girl leaped forward with the light at her back.

It was one-eighth of one breath. No, one-tenth of even that. Another tenth. Then another. Then another. In fact, the blade was like lightning as it crossed the battlefield.

“?!?!?!”

The paladin cried out a wordless scream. He raised his sword to defend, and it shattered in his hand—truly, a bequest of good fortune. The attacking blade slammed into his shoulder, smashing the joint clear through his armor. His left arm fell limp, and then so did the paladin, tumbling to the ground.

“Ahhh… A—Arrgh! The pain…!”

Finally, the contest was settled. The rhea girl lowered her sword and replaced it in its scabbard with a trembling hand. She had done it—somehow.

Her body felt as heavy as lead; sweat poured off her in a waterfall. She thought she could see it pooling at her feet.

She fought the urge to fall to her knees. She sucked in oxygen, her chest heaving up and down.

She felt faint, and there was a ringing in her ears; she couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t hear? No…

“ !!”

It was her name.

The spectator stands were in a terrible state, spattered with blood, riddled with monster corpses. Seats were broken and crushed. Yet in spite of it all, the people were cheering. They were shouting her name.

The adventurers who had finished their fight, the soldiers, the returned spectators. All of them were cheering for her.

“ …!”

For the first time, the girl could only stand dumbly. She couldn’t believe it. Was this really happening? She’d never even dreamed about this. It seemed impossible.

She looked around, her eyes welling up with tears, and then finally she shuffled forward. Her first step was unsteady, her second more of a stumble, but with the third, she flung herself onward, hurtling headlong.

We hardly need say where she was going.

She let the momentum carry her straight to the red-haired boy and caught him up in a hug.

“We are the champions, my friend!”

“Whoa! Ack…!”

Unable to slow her down, the boy toppled on the ground. He noticed the girl’s warmth, her softness, her smell. He felt agitation. Excitement. Joy. Embarrassment. It was like he was feeling every possible emotion at once.

Was that her who was crying, or was it him? He didn’t even know. They hugged each other and rubbed their eyes—but the boy still managed to find time for a good rebuke.

“You…you dummy! What do you mean, champions?!”

“Well, aren’t we?!”

She was a mess of tears and snot and weeping—and yet (the thought flashed through his mind) she was still beautiful.

He tried to pretend he hadn’t had the thought by saying, “It’s not the finals yet!” And then he poured all his many emotions into mussing her hair. She shrieked, but soon she was laughing, laughter that echoed all around the coliseum.

To close this chapter, however, it seems appropriate to quote from one of the heroic sagas.

On that day, the coliseum echoed endlessly with cheers for a rhea swordmaster.