Goblin Slayer - Volume 2 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Onward Unto Death

“So, what’s with that thing, anyway?” 

The next day, back in the sewers once more, the elf was looking at Goblin Slayer with one hand on her hip. He had a new sword on his belt, oddly sized of course, and a small cage hung next to the scabbard. 

Inside, a little bird with light green feathers chirped cheerily. The sound seemed out of place in the polluted sewers. 

Goblin Slayer gave her a puzzled look. 

“You don’t know this bird?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“It’s a canary.” 

“I said I know that,” High Elf Archer replied, ears back. 

Beside her, Dwarf Shaman tried to hold back a chuckle. 

“You’ve been upset about this since last night, haven’t you?” the dwarf said. 

“Doesn’t it bother you? It’s a bird! A little canary!” 

They proceeded slowly and quietly into the sewers, through the dark, but her anger wouldn’t cool. Her long ears, perfect for scouting, bounced restlessly up and down. For a second, her almond-shaped eyes darted to Goblin Slayer behind her. 

“Well, it’s not going to destroy us if we touch it, right? Like your scroll?” 

“Do you believe canaries are fatal to people?” 

High Elf Archer’s ears gave a great jump, and Dwarf Shaman managed to let only a low chuckle escape him. 

“G-Goblin Slayer, sir, I don’t think that’s what she meant…,” Priestess broke in, unable to let this pass. 

She shuffled along in the middle of their line, holding her staff with both hands. 

“What?” 

Goblin Slayer looked back, and she found herself staring at his metal helmet. She was suddenly lost for words. 

It had been one night since the bath. She hadn’t slept a wink, but when she had gotten up in the morning…nothing. Maybe all her nervousness had simply given her a strange fit of the imagination. 

Sword Maiden had appeared at breakfast and said a word of thanks to the party as she passed by. All hint of the previous night’s indecency had vanished from her bearing, as if it had never been there. 

Yes…I’m sure it’s nothing. It was always nothing. 

Just a mistake on her part. Of course it was. It had to be… 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, nothing…” 

Priestess went stiff at Goblin Slayer’s brief, quiet question. She exhaled gently. 

“That is, what I mean is, why did you bring a canary with us?” 

She glanced toward the birdcage. The grass-colored creature was hopping happily up and down on a branch. 

“I mean, it’s cute, but…” 

The man in front of her was Goblin Slayer. He was not one to be frivolous or irrational when it came to killing goblins. 

“Canaries make noise when they sense poisonous gas.” 

“Poisonous gas…?” 

Goblin Slayer nodded, explaining in his typical dispassionate tone: 

“The goblins in this nest are educated. It would not surprise me if they had set traps such as you might find in old ruins.” 

“Come to think of it, don’t human miners use birds to detect bad air underground?” Dwarf Shaman gave a knowing nod, holding his bag of catalysts. “All things considered, dwarves are less worried about poisonous gas than we are about dragons coming after our treasure.” 

“Oh, really?” High Elf Archer smirked as she peeked around the corner, then motioned the others to follow her. 

Goblin Slayer went after her, taking slow, careful steps. He had one hand on his sword. The other held the torch, and his shield was mounted on his arm. Just as always. 

“I heard once of a dwarf kingdom that was destroyed when they dug up some underground demons,” Goblin Slayer said. 

“…Well, that’s bound to happen once in a while,” Dwarf Shaman said morosely and then fell quiet. It seemed Goblin Slayer had struck a nerve. 

It has always been the way of things for countries to fall, prosper, war, and fall again for every kind of reason. The world has never lacked for lands both rich and ruined. 

“I see,” said Lizard Priest, his tail waving behind him. “And if I may ask, milord Goblin Slayer, where did you come by such knowledge?” 

“A coal miner,” he said, as if it were obvious. “There are many in this world who know much that I do not.” 

After a few minutes’ walking, they came to a dead end, though not a natural one. The path was blocked by a waterway as wide as a stream, and something had destroyed or swept away the stone bridge that had once crossed it. 

High Elf Archer stuck her thumb up and held out her arm, eyeballing the distance. 

“We might be able to jump it, if we had to.” 

“Any other routes?” asked Goblin Slayer. 

“Let us see…” There was a rustling sound as Lizard Priest unfolded the old map. The ancient drawing was covered in a variety of newer marks, reflecting the adventurers’ discoveries. He traced waterways and passages with his claw, then gave a slow shake of his head. 

“This large waterway appears to bisect everything. Although there is a possibility one of the other bridges is intact.” 

“A thin hope.” With some surprise, Dwarf Shaman leaned out over the water and poked at the broken stone. 

“Whoa, don’t fall in,” High Elf Archer said, grabbing him by the belt. 

“Sorry… Mm. This is the work of many a flood over many a long year. It didn’t wash away just yesterday.” So muttering, Dwarf Shaman came back to the hallway. He showed everyone a bit of debris he’d collected, then crushed it in his hand. 

“I’d be willing to guess the other bridges are in more or less the same condition.” 

“Then, we jump,” Goblin Slayer said without hesitation. “First one over carries a rope. A lifeline.” 

“I—I have a rope,” Priestess said gallantly and pulled a coil of rope, complete with grappling hook, out of her bag. 

It was just like her that it should be neatly rolled up. And it was a testament to her real strength that it appeared never to have been used. 

“Ah, the Adventurer’s Toolkit,” High Elf Archer said fondly as she narrowed her eyes and peeked into Priestess’s bag. 

It was a bit of equipment aimed at novice adventurers, containing everything they might need on the job. Rope with grappling hook, several lengths of chain, and a mallet. Tinderbox. Backpack and waterskin. Eating utensils, chalk, a dagger, etc. 

“You’d be surprised how useless most of that stuff is. Grappling hook excepted.” 

“But when you go adventuring, you shouldn’t leave without them.” 

“Huh,” High Elf Archer breathed, then grabbed the end of the rope that didn’t have a hook. She took one or two steps back, then ran as lightly as a deer. 

“So, Orcbolg.” 

She leaped and landed on the far side without a sound, then tied the rope to one of her arrows and stuck it in between the flagstones. 

“What about that Gate scroll? You learn that from someone, too?” 

“I heard once of someone who tried to use Gate to go to a sunken ruin, and the water killed them.” 

That woman—that is, Witch back at the Adventurers Guild—must have told him the story. 

At a signal from High Elf Archer, Goblin Slayer grabbed the grappling hook and jumped across. He made a heavy, dull sound on landing, as one might expect from a person in full armor. 

“Impressive,” he said as he handed the hook back to High Elf Archer, who tossed it back to the far side. 

“You really will do anything to kill goblins, won’t you?” 

“Of course,” was all he said. 

He must have decided the interview was over, because he fell silent and began looking all around the hall. 

“Can you jump, lass? I’ll be getting Scaly’s help myself…” 

“Oh, right. Well, um, I’m next, I guess.” 

At the urging of Dwarf Shaman, Priestess, who had been gazing around somewhat vacantly, hurriedly picked up the hook. She stepped back for a running start, then jumped across with a little shout, her expression darkening just a bit. 

He set traps and killed children without hesitation; he was clever and merciless. To her, he looked very much like a goblin. Maybe he knew that better than anyone. 

No doubt one day he, too, will disappear. 

The thick, honeyed voice came unbidden to her mind, ran through it like a river before slowly fading away. 

Their investigation of the sewers went more smoothly than it had the day before. This was partly because they had a better grasp of the pathways, but more than that, they had changed their philosophy. 

Goblin Slayer had determined to completely avoid any encounters with goblins. He walked with his unconcerned stride, holding the torch and sneaking along like a cat. High Elf Archer seemed to be taking after him; her footfalls were as light as a feather. Sometimes they would slip past goblin patrols; at others, they chose routes with no goblins. 

Priestess, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest followed after them through the hallways. 

“I never thought I’d see the day when you would let a goblin go, Orcbolg,” High Elf Archer whispered. 

“I am not letting them go,” he replied, pressing himself against the wall and peeking around a corner. “First, we cut off the head. We slaughter the rest after that.” 

“I wonder if it’s another goblin lord or ogre,” Priestess murmured anxiously, but Goblin Slayer only shook his head and said, “I don’t know.” 

Goblins were at the bottom of the monster hierarchy. Almost any kind of creature might be leading them. A dark elf, some kind of demon, even a dragon… 

“I suppose it will do us no good to stand here wondering about it.” Lizard Priest took the folded-up map from his bag and opened it nimbly with his claws. Thanks to his excellent night vision, inherited from his forebears, he could read it even without a light. 

“I should think we have not yet glimpsed even the shadow of the tail of the one who is behind this.” 

“What you mean,” said Dwarf Shaman, “is that we’ve got to keep heading farther in.” 

“Farther upriver, to be precise.” Goblin Slayer had stood and was holding the torch over the map to read it. He traced a path with one leather-gloved finger. It followed the waterway up, past the site of their random battle the previous day. 

“Their boats came from farther up the river of sewage. It’s safe to assume they have a base somewhere in that direction.” 

“If we keep going upriver…that means we’ll end up off this map, right?” Priestess’s white finger followed Goblin Slayer’s along the paper. 

The map Sword Maiden had given them was only of the city sewers, after all. It showed only a fraction of the vast ruins that sprawled beneath the water town. 

“Will we be all right?” 

“We won’t do anything foolish.” 

Priestess adjusted her grip on her staff, unable to calm herself, but Goblin Slayer was decisive. 

It wasn’t clear whether that was out of consideration for her. But at the sight of his unchanging countenance, Priestess’s tense cheeks relaxed, and she smiled. 

“Right, that’s right. Let’s not do anything foolish or silly.” 

She held her staff firmly, forced her knees not to shake, and looked ahead. 

“Upriver, huh? That’ll be this way.” High Elf Archer went on, ears bouncing, without a moment’s reluctance, and the rest of the party followed. 

A short while later, just as they reached the very edge of their map, the air changed noticeably. The simple stone hall gave onto a gallery covered in wall paintings. The moss-covered pavement became cracked marble. Even the water went from polluted to clear. This was obviously not a sewer anymore. 

“There are traces of soot here.” 

Goblin Slayer, studying the wall paintings intently, held the torch aloft and pointed at a spot near the ceiling. 

High Elf Archer stood on her tiptoes to get a look. 

“You mean there used to be lights?” 

“A very long time ago.” Goblin Slayer nodded, wiping a bit of soot from his finger. “Goblins have excellent night vision. They don’t use lights.” 

“Hmm…” 

Lizard Priest leaned toward the wall and gave one of the paintings a thoughtful scratch with his claw. Humans, elves, dwarves, rheas, lizardmen, beastmen—every race who had words was depicted in full equipment, the old and the young, men and women. 

“Warriors or soldiers…no.” 

Their outfits were not uniform enough to be soldiers. Mercenaries, perhaps, or… 

“Adventurers.” 

“I have heard it used to be quite lively around these parts,” Dwarf Shaman said, standing to one side and following the brushstrokes closely with his eyes. The paint, weathered over many long years, flaked off at the slightest touch. “This style of painting hasn’t been current for four, five hundred years now.” 

“Oh,” said Priestess, looking up and around, “could this be…” 

The carefully constructed gallery. The painted figures. The clear water. It felt much like a place she knew very well. Tranquil, quiet—not to be trespassed upon. Not a temple… 

“…a graveyard, perhaps?” 

Catacombs. 

That’s what this was; she was convinced. She brushed the paintings—the people—with her delicate hand. They were those who had fought on the side of order in the Age of the Gods—and this was their resting place. She sank to her knees in mourning for all those who had come before and clung to her staff. 

High Elf Archer stood above Priestess as she prayed for the repose of these souls, as if guarding her. Her shoulders slumped. 

“It’s a goblin nest now.” 

Her words evoked a twinge of sorrow as they echoed for a moment and then faded away. For the elves, who lived thousands of years, even the Age of the Gods did not seem so long ago. Or perhaps she was moved to be standing amid the graves of the warriors her mother and father had told her about in stories. 

“‘Even the brave are at last brought low,’ huh…?” 

“That doesn’t matter now.” 

Goblin Slayer cut off the girls’ somber ruminations. He quickly scanned the area, and when he was satisfied there was no immediate threat of goblins, he set off at a brisk trot. 

The reaction was very much like him. High Elf Archer and Priestess looked at each other. 

“What do you think about that?” 

“I guess…he’s still our Goblin Slayer.” 

Priestess’s reply was a mixture of resignation and fondness. 

High Elf Archer stood gracefully and walked after the warrior; Priestess scurried behind them both. 

“Hrm. No one ever accused Beard-cutter of excessive patience.” Dwarf Shaman followed next with a huff. “You’ll probably scare those little devils off just by showing up.” 

“That would be a problem,” Goblin Slayer said quietly. “I hate it when they run.” 

The party smiled wanly at his overly serious response, and the adventure was back underway—into the catacombs. 

Everything about the architecture here was different from the sewers. The path twisted confusingly, turning back on itself, branching off, like a maze. From above, the catacombs might have appeared like a spider’s web. 

“They must be built like this to confuse any monsters that wander in, keep them from disturbing the dead warriors,” Dwarf Shaman explained with an impressed whistle. Even the dwarves’ best stonemasons would not have found it a simple matter to create halls like these. “To wander this place as a lost spirit…that’d be a cruel fate.” 

“Yes, for it removes one from the round of death and rebirth,” Lizard Priest said. “But this place has already fallen into the hands of the goblins.” 

There was no doubting the place had become a seedbed for chaos. 

“Above all…,” muttered Lizard Priest, adding a few strokes of charcoal to the sheepskin paper, “the drawing of a map cannot be done halfheartedly. Each of us must remain vigilant.” 

“Well, this room first, I guess.” 

Holding her staff with both hands, Priestess looked up at the thick, heavy door. It was the ebony of the night sky, worked with a border of gold, and it seemed to defy the flow of time. Miraculously for being in such a damp place, the door showed no sign of rot or wear. It was clearly enchanted with some age-old magic. Other than a touch of rust around the keyhole, there was not a scratch on it. 

“It’s not locked,” High Elf Archer said. “And there don’t seem to be any traps—at least not on the door itself.” She finished inspecting the keyhole, nodded slightly, and stepped to the side. “This isn’t my specialty, though. So don’t blame me if things go wrong.” 

“Here goes,” Goblin Slayer declared, then kicked in the door of the burial chamber. 

The adventurers tumbled into the room like an avalanche. 

Once they were all inside, Dwarf Shaman pounded a wedge under the door to hold it open. He always kept the tool on hand against any unexpected situations, and the easy way he used it suggested long familiarity. 

Lizard Priest kept his weapon up to protect Dwarf Shaman from any ambush. While the dwarf worked, it was High Elf Archer’s job to search the room. 

The burial chamber was about ten feet square, floored with nine tiles in rows of three. High Elf Archer spun around to scan the room, an arrow ready in her bow… 

“Look at that!” 

“How awful…!” 

High Elf Archer and Priestess both swallowed heavily, expressions of open disgust on their faces. 

The room was empty save for several stone coffins. In the center, a shape came into view in the faint light of the torch. Someone was tied up, spread-eagled as if to deliberately expose them. 

The shape appeared to be a human figure, head hung in exhaustion—a woman with long hair. She wore faded metal armor. Perhaps she was one of the adventurers who had gone before them and had not returned. 

“Goblin Slayer, sir!” 

“No other choice…” 

With Goblin Slayer’s permission, Priestess ran up to the captive woman. 

She knelt and asked, “Hello? Hello? Are you all right?” There was no answer. 

The woman didn’t even look in Priestess’s direction. Her head simply hung there. 

Had she lost all strength? Or was she…? 

“…! I—I’ll try to heal you…!” 

Priestess pushed aside her fears of the worst and began to pray to the Earth Mother for healing. 

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, lay your revered hand upon—” 

With a soft swish, the woman’s hair fell to the ground, right in front of Priestess as she raised her hands to invoke the miracle. 

Empty eyes stared up at her. 

It was a person. 

Was. 

A dusty skeleton, dressed in the skin of a woman who had presumably been flayed alive. 

“It’s wrong! This…this is all wrong!” 

Priestess gave a choked scream. 

At the same instant, the entryway sealed with a crash. 

The wedge clattered across the floor, mocking them. 

“Hrr—!” 

Lizard Priest immediately charged the door with his shoulder, but it didn’t budge. 

“This is trouble! I think the door has been barred!” 

“Come here, Scaly! Maybe you and I together…!” 

Lizard Priest and Dwarf Shaman slammed into the door with all their might. It groaned, but didn’t give. It showed no sign of opening at all. 

“GROOROOROROB!!” 

“GORB!! GORRRRB!!” 

Cackling voices echoed from the other side of the stone wall, mocking the adventurers’ futile struggles. 

High Elf Archer bit her lip. 

“Goblins…!” 

“So they got us,” Goblin Slayer spat in annoyance. 

They should have expected it. The goblins could hardly miss a party of adventurers trespassing in their home. 

Cornering cautious prey was difficult. It was much easier to ambush them—to set a trap. The goblins knew no adventurer would leave a woman in trouble. 

Every once in a while, all the cruel wit in their little heads could outfox even a human. This, along with their fertility, was what had allowed them to survive for so long. 

“No…!” 

They were trapped. The reality of it rendered Priestess speechless. Her knees shook, her teeth chattered, and she thought her legs might give out. The tragedy of that first adventure sprang to life in her mind. 

“Calm down.” 

The rebuke was as dispassionate as ever. It wasn’t meant to support her in her fear, but break through it. She nodded fiercely, as if clinging to his words. Her face was pale, and something gleamed at the corners of her eyes. If he hadn’t been there or if she had been alone, she surely would have fainted. 

And that would have meant death—or something far worse. 

But beside her stood Goblin Slayer, his guard up, his weapon at the ready. 

“We’re still alive.” 

The canary began to twitter noisily. 

“Gas!” 

No one was sure who said it first. 

“GROB! GORRB!!” 

“GROOROB! GORRRB!!” 

The tweeting of the canary mingled with the screeching laughter of the goblins on the other side of the door. 

A white mist had begun to seep into the room through several holes that had been bored in the walls. The adventurers packed into the center of the burial chamber as though surrounded. They were certainly in dire straits. 

“We’re in trouble now. They’ll finish us all in one fell swoop.” 

“Not all gas is deadly… But I’m sure it means us nothing good, whatever the case.” 

Lizard Priest clucked his tongue, and Dwarf Shaman groaned and wiped sweat from his brow. His eyes had happened upon the awful skeleton in the woman’s skin. 

Looking all around the room in desperation, hoping to find an escape route, High Elf Archer gave a cry. 

“It’s no good! There’s no other way out!” 

“What…are we going…to do, Goblin Slayer, sir…?” 

Priestess still had not received the Cure miracle, which could neutralize poison, and even its effects would only last for a short while. When it wore off, that would be the end. With no idea how long the gas would keep coming, all she could do was to buy them a little time. 

Priestess looked imploringly at Goblin Slayer, her eyes bright with tears. 

He made no response. 

“Goblin Slayer? Sir?” 

“……” 

He was rummaging silently in his bag. 

As Priestess watched, he pulled out a black mass and thrust it at her. 

“Wrap this in a hand cloth, and put it over your mouth and nose.” 

“Is this—charcoal?” 

“It will protect you somewhat from poisonous gas. If you have any medicinal herbs with you, put them in the cloth, too. Quickly, if you don’t want to die.” 

“Yes, sir!” 

Priestess hurriedly took the charcoal and sat down in place to dig through her own items. When she had pulled out six clean hand cloths, she found a scaled arm reaching over from beside her. 

“Let me help you. Toxic vapors do not much affect me.” 

“Th-thank you…!” 

The two of them quickly began to wrap charcoal and herbs in each of the cloths, making simple gas masks. Priestess continued to prepare cloths for her companions as Lizard Priest wrapped one around her face. 

“Goblin Slayer, sir!” 

“Thanks.” 

“Here, take these, too…!” 

Two gas masks, one made with a larger cloth. He seemed to guess what she had in mind; he immediately wrapped the large cloth around the birdcage. Then, he pushed his own mask through the visor of his helmet and began digging through his bag again. It was full of objects none of the others could identify. 

“Gods. You have everything but the kitchen washbasin in there, don’t you?” Dwarf Shaman said as he struggled to try to fit his beard into the cloth Priestess had given him. 

“Only the minimum,” Goblin Slayer replied, grabbing two bags from the mess of items. “I wanted to bring masks such as doctors use when treating the Black Death, but they’re too bulky.” 

“So, just what do you have in mind, Beard-cutter?” The dwarf seemed to be grinning gallantly under his mask. 

Goblin Slayer tossed one of the bags to him. Dwarf Shaman scrambled to catch it, then gave a questioning look at its unexpected heaviness. 

“What have we here?” 

“Quicklime and volcanic soil.” Goblin Slayer was as dispassionate as ever. “Mix them together and plug the holes.” 

Dwarf Shaman suddenly slapped his knees. Even with the mask, his grin was evident. 

“Concrete!” 

“It won’t dry very quickly,” Goblin Slayer said, but he nodded, and Dwarf Shaman thumped himself on the chest. 

“What are you worried about, Beard-cutter? I’ve got the Weathering spell!” 

At that, High Elf Archer swiped the bag from Dwarf Shaman’s hand. 

“Hey, long-ears, what are you doing?” 

Above her gas mask, her eyes narrowed, and her ears flicked. 

“I’ll seal the holes, dwarf. You cast your spell!” 

“Well said!” His quick response was like a mallet striking a nail. 

He and High Elf Archer began zipping around the room. High Elf Archer would spread concrete wherever she found a hole, and Dwarf Shaman would reach out his hand. 

“Ticktock says the clock, its hands never stop. Pendulum, swing—time’s the thing!” 

He finished with a great shout and a gust of breath, and the muddy compound hardened in the blink of an eye. 

Lizard Priest rolled his eyes in his head at the sight. 

“Mm. Your wiles are many, master spell caster.” 

He worked his jaw up and down. It was covered in a cloth, which was not quite long enough; it had been supplemented with a bandage. His voice was muffled but otherwise sounded normal; if anything, he seemed quite at ease. For a lizardman who had grown up in the jungles of the south, the battlefield was like a second home. 

“Did you have a next step in mind, then, milord Goblin Slayer?” 

“We move one of the coffins in front of the door as a barricade,” Goblin Slayer said evenly. He sounded no different than usual; he didn’t seem the least bit excited. “When the gas clears, they’ll come in.” 

“Oh, I—I’ll help!” 

Priestess hurried to clean up her items and stood. 

Goblin Slayer nodded in reply, and Lizard Priest went up to a coffin at random. 

Priestess came to his side. Could they really move it? They had no choice. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Goblin Slayer said. 

“Together, then.” From behind them, Lizard Priest placed his massive arms against the stone. 

“One… Two…” 

“Hrr!” 

“Hnnn!” 

Along with the warrior and the priest, Priestess leaned in with all the strength in her willowy body. Her slim arms and supple flesh were almost nothing compared to her companions. Even so, she pushed against the coffin with all her might, sweat beading on her face. 

“Hn! Hrrnnn!” 

At some point, she stopped shaking. 

Soon, she heard a sharp cracking sound, and the coffin slowly began to move. 

It left white scratches on the floor as they pushed it along, finally shoving it up against the door with a crash. 

Lizard Priest gave it two or three more pushes before he nodded in satisfaction. 

“This will do nicely.” 

“We’re finished, too!” 

High Elf Archer came bounding back toward Lizard Priest. 

Dwarf Shaman moved at a stagger, wiping sweat off his forehead. 

“So are my spells, unfortunately.” 

“Pick up a weapon, then.” Goblin Slayer pulled a dagger from its sheath. 

He took the birdcage, where the canary had finally settled down, and set it in the middle of the room. He then checked the state of his shield and bag and readied himself to fight at any moment. 

“Oh-ho. Shan’t want for ammunition around here,” Dwarf Shaman said, pulling out his sling. He collected a bunch of pebbles from the ground and slipped them into his pocket. High Elf Archer took her cue from them, checking her bow and making sure the string was tight. 

“Shall I summon a Dragontooth Warrior?” 

“How about Protection…?” 

“Please.” 

At Goblin Slayer’s response, the two clergy members began their prayers to their respective patrons. 

“O horns and claws of our father, Iguanodon, thy four limbs, become two legs to walk upon the earth.” 

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, by the power of the land grant safety to we who are weak.” 

By the good grace of Lizard Priest’s forefather, the fearsome naga, the claw he had tossed on the ground became a soldier as they watched. 

And the all-compassionate Earth Mother granted all of them, including this newly made warrior, the miracle of Protection. She had heard the cry of Priestess as she clung to her staff. 

Now safe behind an invisible barrier, High Elf Archer nimbly set an arrow in her bow and took aim at the door. Her long ears fidgeted up and down, betraying her nervousness. 

“It’s gone quiet outside.” 

“They’ve noticed.” Goblin Slayer, sunk in a deep stance, crept toward the door. “With those holes blocked, the poison gas will have begun flooding back toward them. We may have killed several already…” 

It was a good guess. The unsettling rumble of battle drums echoed up from deep within the earth. Then footsteps of a huge crowd of something coming toward them. A scraping of metal that must have meant armor. 

The goblins were already close. 

The door, barricaded by the coffin, began to shake; then there was a dull sound of something being slammed against it. The first thump produced no effect, but then there was a second, and a third. The door began to groan under the impacts. 

At last, part of the door gave way with a great cracking noise, and a dirty yellow eye peered in. 

“Look out!” Even as she shouted, High Elf Archer let her arrow fly. 

“GRRB?!” 

The bud-tipped arrow threaded through the rent in the door and pierced the goblin through the eye. The creature fell backward with an ear-rending screech, but his companions quickly filled the void. 

“I can’t tell how many footsteps there are, but there’s something weird out there!” yelled High Elf Archer. 

The goblins, of course, were not going to stand around to be shot. 

As soon as they realized the adventurers in the room were fighting back, arrows began flying through the opening. 

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, by the power of the land grant safety to we who are weak!” 

The Earth Mother protected her humble disciple as fiercely as any mother would her child. Protection had saved them from a hail of arrows before; sporadic potshots weren’t going to get through. 

As long as the girl clung to her staff and prayed, the arrows would never reach them. 

“They’re coming… They’re coming… A swarm of ’em!” Dwarf Shaman muttered with a frown. His hands moved with blinding speed, supplying his sling with rocks as quickly as he could fling them. 

Arrows and stones, wails and bellows, all mixed in the air. But the back and forth through the door didn’t last long. The ebony door may have been ancient beyond memory, but even it could not stand forever against crude weapons and brute strength. Despite the bracing of the stone coffin, it finally gave a great death rattle. 

“GORORB!!” 

“GROOROB!!” 

Goblins flooded into the room amid a shower of wood splinters. Although the implements were rough-hewn, they carried swords, spears, and bows. They even wore leather armor and chain mail. 

“They’re well equipped.” 

Goblin Slayer noticed one exceptionally large creature who seemed to be leading them. 

“A hob… No.” 

With a soft grunt and a flash of his right arm, he flung his dagger at the creature. 

It struck true, piercing the vital point of an exposed shoulder, but the wound was clearly not fatal. 

Goblins are often referred to as “little devils,” but there was nothing little about this one. His dark green skin rippled with muscles, so many he seemed fit to burst with them. He held a club. The ugly smile on his face was certainly that of a goblin, but… 

“GORAORARO!!” 

“So. A goblin champion.” 

The champion had stumbled slightly when the dagger struck him, but now he pulled the blade out and gave a gaping grin. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Goblin Slayer drew his unusual sword. 

“I’m going in.” 

“Indeed! Let me add a blade to your number!” 

The howling Lizard Priest drew his fang-sword and, following his Dragontooth Warrior, leaped into the fray. 

Swords rang out, and shouts, and screams. The small burial chamber was soon drenched in the stink of blood. Goblins pressed into the field of battle in swarms. Cut them down, and more would only come. They had to strike the head. 

Sword and shield firmly in hand, Goblin Slayer prepared boldly to move forward. 

“U-um!” 

A voice came from behind him. 

It was Priestess, still clutching her staff to her chest. 

She looked up at him, shielded by the slings and arrows of Dwarf Shaman and High Elf Archer. 

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. 

Goblin Slayer didn’t look back. 

Instead, he waded directly into the fight, and soon she could no longer see him. 

He moved constantly so that he could not be taken from behind, aiming his sword at the goblins’ throats. He thrust his sword backward and skewered another one. What he could not cut, he struck with his shield and sent tumbling. 

He wasn’t alone. The Dragontooth Warrior fought beside him. One creature crawled up to it with a dagger, but it gave the monster a kick and sent it flying. Its claws crushed the goblin’s jaw. 

Goblin Slayer spun and threw his sword at a creature armed with a spear. He picked up a club at his feet. 

“ORARAGA?!” 

“Five.” 

If he was forced to cross swords with every monster in the room, he would probably wind up as mincemeat himself. There was no telling how many goblins there were in this horde and to deal with them all squarely would leave him exhausted. 

Well, he wouldn’t deal squarely with them, then. Goblin Slayer was willing to use any and all tactics. 

“Give them everything you’ve got!” he said. 

“Gladly!” bellowed Lizard Priest. “Ahhh! See my deeds, my forebear!” 

With his tail, he swept aside an enemy approaching from behind, then grabbed one in front and spun it around before flinging it into a wall. 

“GORARA?!” 

“GROOROBB?!” 

Claws and fangs and tail. Lizard Priest’s whole body was a weapon, his fighting as brutal as a whirlwind. 

Their foes were legion. All four of his limbs lashed out ceaselessly, seeking something to strike. The Dragontooth Warrior helped to open a gap in the enemy line, and Goblin Slayer leaped through it. 

“Geez, there’s so many!” 

“That’s why it’s called a horde! Keep shooting!” 

High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman launched their projectiles at any opponents the three melee combatants had missed. 

“How are you holding up, lass?” 

“I’m…managing…” 

The miracle Priestess had called down from the Earth Mother was still in effect, and the adventurers were doing rather well for themselves against the goblins who pressed in through the door. 

But it couldn’t last forever. Goblin Slayer knew that better than anyone. 

He moved across the battlefield, crushing a goblin skull with the club in his right hand. He used his shield to deliver a blow to a monster who came charging at him with a longsword, then broke the creature with his club. 

Then he threw the club, finishing off a third monster, before picking up the longsword from the one he had just killed. 

“Seventeen…” 

Finally he stooped, covering himself with his shield, and dashed along the wall behind the protection of the stone coffin. He was heading straight for the goblin champion, who was protected by several of his underlings. 

The champion was a minor colossus, wearing armor of a dull leaden color, swinging a club and howling. He had to be at least as strong as three goblins and might even have overpowered two people. 

A goblin champion was in many ways similar to a hobgoblin. Hob was originally an old word meaning a wanderer, a giant, a chief, or a demon. This creature’s vast muscles fully justified all those names, an inheritance from his ancestors. He had trained that body by moving from nest to nest, meeting adventurer after adventurer in battle. It was like an adventurer with abundant natural talent who had gained a great deal of experience points—the goblin equivalent of a Platinum rank. 

That, in a word, was a goblin champion. 

One such creature had taken on the inexperienced Heavy Warrior and Female Knight together at the farm. Most likely, this creature was quite an experienced warrior. 

“In the end, though, goblins are goblins…” 

This was not to say Goblin Slayer was underestimating the creature. He never underestimated a goblin. 

“……” 

“ORGOORORB!!” 

The champion shouted something intimidating to its trembling henchmen to encourage them to greater feats of valor. 

Goblin Slayer, who had successfully slipped around behind the creature, lightly adjusted his grip on his sword. 

An old story held that a certain rhea had once knocked off the head of the goblin king with a single stroke of his club. Goblin Slayer had no idea whether the legend was true, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying something similar. 

Specifically, killing the creature in one blow. 

He intended to stab it in the back, straight through its vulnerable brain. 

He readied his blade to strike. 

“OROAGA?!” 

He felt the yielding answer of flesh, saw the geyser of blood… 

“Hrm!” 

But Goblin Slayer suddenly grunted. 

He had pierced something certainly. But it was a different goblin, one that had been thrown toward him. 

“GORAGAGA!!” 

The champion had used one of his allies as a shield. 

Not that this was surprising. Goblin Slayer found it perfectly normal. There is nothing in this world so selfish as a goblin. 

All they wanted was to win. If that meant sacrificing their companions or their horde, even their entire race, so be it. This was one crucial point of difference between the thinking of goblins and of those who had words. This tendency, combined with the altogether unjustified anger they felt when their companions were killed, made them quite unpleasant. 

“GOROROROB!” 

He had pierced the goblin through the stomach, in between the pieces of the creature’s armor, and the beast yammered something as blood erupted from the wound. 

“Feh…” 

Goblin Slayer immediately pulled his sword out and prepared for the next attack. The champion’s dirty yellow eyes saw the adventurer who had meant to ambush him. Perhaps he recognized the man who had thrown the dagger at him earlier, for an ugly smile spread over his face. 

“GROOOOORB!!” 

His powerful arms brought his club up from below in a scooping motion. 

“Hrggh?!” 

Metal, flesh, and bone twisted; there was an awful rending sound. 

Weightlessness, impact, nothingness. A warmth that rose up from his innards. Pain. 

In an instant, Goblin Slayer took in the situation. The shield he had instinctively thrown up to protect himself had been sent flying. 

And he himself had slammed against one of the coffins that lined the room. The stone shattered with a great crack, dust flying everywhere. The lantern tumbled from his hip and broke, freeing its flames. 

“Goblin Slayer! Sir!” Priestess called out to him from where she watched over the battle in the back row. 

“Orcbolg! Are you all right?!” 

High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman both looked toward him at Priestess’s shout. 

But there was no response. 

“No! Goblin Slayer…sir…?” 

Her legs trembled under her, as if she were on a rocking ship. 

He was all right. He had to be. He had even come back from the blow from that ogre. He would say, We won’t do anything foolish or silly. Just like he always did. 

But he only lay there in the cloud of dust, like a discarded doll. With a hacking sound, thick blood came out of the visor of the metal helmet. 

There was no mistaking it; it had been a critical hit. 

“N…!!” 

Her staff rattled weakly as it slipped out of her grasp and fell to the floor. She brought her shivering hands to her face. Her delicate features twisted. 

“Arrrrgh! Goblin Slayer, sir! Goblin Slayer!” 

“GORB! GRROB!” 

“GROROB!” 

The girl’s weeping echoed throughout the room. The goblins cackled horribly; that was one of their favorite sounds. 

The vanguard was wounded. The magic user’s spirit was broken. The hated Protection would vanish as well. The party had lost its leader—that was what mattered. The goblins, of course, would not let this moment pass. This was how they had buried many adventurers before. 

“What is this thing…?!” Lizard Priest cried, even as he battled with the sort of strength only a lizardman possessed. 

Though it had killed quite a number of the goblin horde, the Dragontooth Warrior was suddenly struck down. 

Lizard Priest would soon be cornered. The three defenders had become one. Even if he held his ground and used all his strength, he could not hold off an entire goblin army. 

“Stay calm! Keep your concentra— Grk?!” 

Thus, High Elf Archer became the first catch of the day. 

She had been firing her arrows without pause, and no goblin had been able to get near her. 

But when her pace slackened for an instant, just the blink of an eye, a goblin took advantage of it to jump toward her. 

Elves are inherently elegant, slim creatures. Their agility is immense, but they lack brute strength. She struggled to shake the goblin off her back, but it was a futile gesture in the face of the encroaching horde. 

“Lemme go! Get off—huh? Ahh! Ahhhh!” 

She was dragged to the ground, and with a scream, she vanished under a black mountain of goblins. 

For a second, one thin leg stuck out from under the mound, kicking at the air. 

“Long-ears!” 

Dwarf Shaman was the first to notice what was happening, and the only one able to respond. He tossed aside his sling and, with a yell, took a hand ax from his belt. 

“You little beasts! By the gods, get off her!” 

His judgment was beyond question; there hadn’t been time to use a spell. If Dwarf Shaman hadn’t leaped in immediately, High Elf Archer might well have been carried off to who knew what fate. 

But without any ranged attacks to support the lone close combat fighter, there was nothing to hold back the goblin onslaught. 

This was critical. 

Now… 

“Oh…ahh…” 

Now there was nothing between Priestess and the goblin champion. 

“No… Oh… Oh no…” 

Her teeth chattering and her entire body quaking with fear, she could barely stand. There was a soft thump as she slid to the ground; then she felt something warm and wet spread across her legs. 

“GROB! GROORB! GORRRB!” 

The smell of it caused the goblin champion to grin mockingly at her. It would be so much easier if she could just lose consciousness. Ironically, it was all the experience she had gained that refused to let her do that. 

The champion’s meaty arms stretched out and grabbed her waist. 

“Hrr…?! Ahh…!” She groaned as the creature crushed her internal organs. 

She was terrified. What if he simply squeezed until her bones broke? 

“Hrr…?! Wh-whaa…? Whaaat…?” 

But that wasn’t what happened. 

The champion pushed his face close to her. His breath reeked of rotting flesh. 

“Erryaaaaaaargh!” 

And then he took a great bite out of her shoulder, vestments and chain mail and all. Blood gushed out, running red across her white skin. 

“Agggh! Ahhh!!” 

She had never known such pain. She was at the limits of her endurance. The color drained from her vision. She couldn’t speak, but only wept like a child. She was in an awful state, her eyes running with tears, her nose with snot, spittle hanging from her lips. 

“Stop—! —mmit, let…me…go…! Ahh!” 

High Elf Archer added her own shouts from beneath the pile of goblins. 

There was the sound of tearing clothing. Beating. Screams. Groans. 

“This will not do! Master spell caster, I fear that if we do not gather these three and withdraw, we will all be lost!” 

“Whaddaya think I’m—? Hey! Gerroff, ya monsters! Off!” 

Lizard Priest and Dwarf Shaman continued to fight valiantly, but they couldn’t go on forever. 

“GOROROB!” 

“GORRB! GORB! GOB!” 

The champion and his goblins pointed at them and chortled loudly enough to rouse the dead. This was the fate of anything brought low by goblins, be it an adventurer or a village. 

Its fate, its destiny. Due to chance. A roll of the dice. 

Horseshit. 

“?” 

All of it resonated with something deep inside him. 

When he put one hand on the ground to push himself up, he discovered a staircase leading even deeper underground. 

One could have called it a stroke of good luck that the stone casket had been hollow to conceal a hidden staircase. That it hadn’t contained a body or funerary relics like the others. 

If it had, it wouldn’t have been able to soften the shock, and he would have died. 

But for the moment, he ignored all of this. What mattered was that he was alive. And if he was alive, then he would fight. 

He reached into his item bag and pulled out a cracked potion bottle. He struggled to pull out the stopper with a wrist that bent at a strange angle, then gulped down the contents. The healing effects of the medicine were subtle. It was not like a divine miracle that closed wounds instantaneously. 

But if the pain would ease, he could move. And if he could move, he could fight. 

There was nothing in his way. 

With his right hand he groped around the area, seeking anything that might serve as a weapon. His hand gripped what he found, and then he willed his injured hips to raise him up. 

Several goblins that had noticed he was still alive and moving came toward him. Each had a weapon in his hand and a cruel laugh in his throat; no doubt they came with thoughts of finishing him off. 

But so what? 

“………!” 

He swung the shield in his left hand with all his might and beat the goblins to death. 

“GORARO?!” 

The polished edge of the round shield was weapon enough. 

He cracked their skulls, blood and brains flying everywhere. Forward. Forward. He wouldn’t shout until the last moment. He couldn’t. Just like before. He must not be noticed. 

The goblin champion was focused on tormenting his new catch. He seemed oblivious to the fact that the interloper he had thrashed earlier was standing behind him. Priestess had gone limp in the demon’s embrace, only twitching now and again. Her lips, turned even redder by the blood that flowed down from her white neck, moved two or three times. 

No voice came out. 

Was it, Save me? 

Or Oh God? 

Or Mother? Or Father? 

Not Run away. That would have given him away. 

Him… Him… 

Goblin Slayer… 

“Y-yaaaah!” 

Goblin Slayer leaped on the champion from behind. 

At first, the champion surely had no idea what was happening. 

Something wrapped around his neck—the spinal column and skin of the woman, which had tumbled to the ground during the fighting. 

The creature reached up in annoyance to brush away what had been, for him, only bait… 

“…!” 

But in the next instant, the thing was pulled tight against his throat. 

“GO-ORRRRBBBB?!?!?!?!” 

He could not quite get the scream out of his throat. 

The champion scrabbled at the bones, unable to breathe. A few hairs broke, but it didn’t change anything. He could no longer see the priestess he had been about to have his way with. She had rolled onto the ground like an abandoned toy. 

“Ahh…” 

The thinnest voice. She was still alive. 

And that was all Goblin Slayer needed to know. 

“Haa—haaaaa!” 

He had the bones in his right hand and the woman’s hair wrapped around his left. He pulled as hard as he could; the hair bit through his leather gloves and into his flesh. 

But the same thing was happening to the goblin champion. 

Assassins were said to make wire out of human hair and use it to kill; this was the same principle. It was not easy to untangle oneself from. 

The champion twisted his own body, struggling. He rammed backward against a wall. 

“Hrk…!” 

Blood flowed from Goblin Slayer’s helmet again. He gave a cry as his insides were crushed. Even so, his grip did not loosen. 

“GOROROB?! GROORB?!” 

The champion had grown terrified. 

Naturally, the other goblins were not simply standing by and watching their leader get throttled. Several of them had raised their weapons and begun to advance to kill this resurrected enemy. 

Until suddenly, their heads went flying off, replaced by spouts of blood. 

They had been killed by the champion’s club as he swung it about in his desperate struggle. The headless goblin corpses slumped to the ground. 

This was too much, even for them. 

Goblins showed no fear of death when they believed they could win. If loot and debauchery awaited them on the other side of victory, so much the better. 

But here—could they win? 

“Yaaaaaaahhhhh!” 

A great roar. 

A moment’s indecision, an instant’s hesitation, spelled the goblins’ defeat. 

With a bellow to honor his ancestors, Lizard Priest, now free once more, set upon the monsters. His fang-sword, drenched in goblin blood, whirled like a storm in his scaly hands. 

“GRRB?!” 

“GORORB?!” 

With each flash of the blade, a hand or a foot or a head went flying. With his tail, he knocked down those who tried to flee, and with his fang, he finished them. 

Thrown into confusion, the goblins rushed to surround Lizard Priest—only to meet a rain of wooden arrows. 

“Go!” 

A familiar voice rang out. 

She was covering her exposed chest and drenched in goblin blood, but she was there. As she shot her bow while kneeling, High Elf Archer shouted, “I’ll handle these guys!” 

“My thanks!” Lizard Priest shouted and began to weave his way through the attackers. 

He was trying to get to where Priestess lay on the ground. He still had some spells left. 

That meant the girl was going to be okay, High Elf Archer thought with a relieved sigh. 

“…Thanks.” 

“What’s this all of a sudden?” 

It was Dwarf Shaman beside her who answered her murmur. 

Covered in blood splatters, breathing heavily, and still holding his ax, he handily dispatched any goblins who came hoping to kill the enemy archer. 

“I can’t believe I owe my life to a dwarf. I’ll never live it down.” She turned away, struggling to hide her small chest. Her ears twitched. “For an elf, the only thing more shameful than that would be not to say thank you.” 

“Leave it to an elf to go from weeping for help to being up on her high horse,” Dwarf Shaman said with a barely suppressed chuckle. 

She winked at him. “Better than your low horse, right?” 

As she tried to affect nonchalance, she loosed an arrow at the goblin champion and let out a shout. 

“Get him, Orcbolg!” 

“Hrrr!” 

Goblin Slayer held the bundle of hair like the reins of a horse. He clung to the back of the champion, who flung him left and right like a bucking stallion. At first, each jolt had hurt him so badly he thought his body might fly apart. But now he felt no pain, nothing. All that was left was a strange lightness, like floating in the water. 

Some objective part of his mind was sounding a warning. Pain was proof you were alive. And now he felt no pain. Perhaps his nerves had been overwhelmed. 

Had he made the wrong choice? 

He almost fancied he heard a whisper: 

Go forward unto death. Pound the nail into your own coffin. 

But the lack of pain also happened to be convenient for him. 

Whatever foolish or silly thing it takes to win—I will do it. 

“Hey…!” 

His voice squeezed out from between his lips. 

Could the words that echoed in his mind have reached the mind of the goblin champion? 

The creature struggled to turn his head and see the enemy that clung to his back. A grimy, blood-caked metal helm reflected in his filthy yellow eyes. 

“Take a good look, goblin.” 

Goblin Slayer raised his broken right arm and jammed it into the eye. He grasped something disturbingly soft, scratched and clawed at it. 

“GRORARARAB?! GROOROROROB?!?!” 

The champion howled incoherently in agony, bending backward. 

Goblin Slayer went with him, rolling to the stone floor. He barely avoided being crushed by the giant body as it collapsed to the ground with a resounding thump. 

Breathing raggedly, Goblin Slayer used nearby bones to push himself up. The warrior was covered in blood and wounds, near death, but the goblins simply watched him from afar. 

There was no good reason for them to do so. It would have been easy to finish him off at that moment. 

And yet they were unmistakably afraid of him. 

“Who’s next…?” The voice was dispassionate, toneless, and cold as the wind blowing through a valley. “Is it you…?” 

Goblin Slayer flung the lump of flesh in his right hand. The champion’s eyeball hit the ground and burst with a wet noise. 

“GORB…! GARARARAB!!” 

The champion staggered to his feet and began to babble. Blood and pus streamed like a waterfall down his face from his missing left eye. 

“GOB…” 

The goblins stood frozen. One of them dropped his spear. His eyes flitted back and forth between the goblin champion and Goblin Slayer, both of them wreathed in blood. 

That did it. 

“GORROROROB!!” 

The goblin champion gave a roar that could only be an order to retreat. 

“GORARAB! GORAB!” 

“GROOB! GROB!” 

Screaming, the goblins forgot everything else and fled. 

In this, as in all things, the goblin champion led them. A champion he was, but still a goblin. 

Each goblin was most interested in his own survival; all they wanted was to escape this place. Thus, the idea of holding their ground against impossible odds never so much as occurred to them, and the rout gained momentum quickly. First two, then four, then eight fled… 

One after another, goblins dove for the exit, weeping and shouting. At last, only the piles of goblin corpses and the gasping adventurers were left. 

No one suggested they should pursue the enemy. All of them were wounded and exhausted; they could barely think of moving. 

“……” 

Only Goblin Slayer was different. 

He dug unsteadily through the bones and used the hand spear he found as an improvised walking stick to hobble around the room. Dragging his feet pitifully as he moved, he began to check each of the bodies. 

As he went, he dripped a trail of blood, as if he were a brush running along a canvas. 

“………hrr…” 

One step. Two. A violent shake, then Goblin Slayer’s body lurched at a strange angle. 

“Orcbolg…!” 

High Elf Archer worked her way over to him and supported him from the side. She didn’t begrudge him the blood that ran onto her torn clothes and exposed skin. 

In a terribly thin voice, Goblin Slayer asked, “Are you…okay…?” 

“Somehow… But…” High Elf Archer’s voice was strained, too. “I’m not so sure about you…” 

To her, he felt like a bag full of spare parts. 

Even so, he managed to mutter, “Perhaps,” and nod. “What about the girl…?” 

“…This way. Can you walk?” 

“I’ll try.” 

High Elf Archer struggled to support Goblin Slayer, who seemed like he might collapse at any moment. She felt a warmth on her cheeks and suddenly realized tears were beading up in her eyes. 

She bit her lip. 

“Try to have some…dignity, you two.” 

As they veritably crawled along, they found Dwarf Shaman’s arms supporting them. 

He was in no better shape than they were. Blood soaked him from the top of his head to the tip of his beloved beard, and his bag of catalysts, as well as his belt, had been badly torn. 

Even so, the dwarf managed to hold Goblin Slayer up with his great hands. 

“After all, we still…have to get home…” 

“…Right.” 

Then, together, they walked the vast-seeming but terribly short distance. Soon they were in the center of the room, beside the shattered coffin. A broken fang-sword rested there, Lizard Priest sitting beside it. 

“Well, now. It was a close call, but I think she will come through.” 

Priestess lay at his feet, swaddled in his tail. 

The flames of the broken lantern were the only illumination, the light playing across her form. 

Her bloodstained vestments and chain mail had been pulled away; bandages were wrapped around her pale shoulders and chest. Her hair was stuck to her sweating cheeks, and her eyes were still closed. The barely perceptible rise and fall of her chest was the only sign that she was alive. 

“How is she?” 

Lizard Priest narrowed his eyes and gently raised Priestess’s head with his tail. 

“Mm. Her life is not in danger. Though if the wound had been any deeper, it would have been beyond my abilities.” 

“I see.” 

“Here, hang on. I’ll help you sit. That’ll be easiest, right?” High Elf Archer said, almost whispering, as Goblin Slayer struggled for breath. “Dwarf, you take that side.” 

“’Course.” 

Together, they lowered him down by the stone coffin, at Priestess’s side. 

It felt like he might topple over the moment they took their hands away. Even the way he sat looked more like he had fallen on his behind. 

“I…I’m…s-s…orr…” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Goblin Slayer held out his hand, gloved in leather that was tattered, dirty, in altogether terrible shape. He rested it on the ground next to her. Priestess took it weakly with her own small hand. 

“Gob…S…ayer…sir…” 

At long last, he murmured: 

“These things happen.” 

“Let’s head back up,” High Elf Archer said. “We don’t want to be here when they come back. Orcbolg, can you stand?” 

“Ahh, go find yourself a coat or somethin’, lass. I can help Beard-cutter.” 

“It seems I will have to bear him on my shoulders,” said Lizard Priest. “Gather yourselves. We shall be safe soon…” 

Someone was saying something. 

But Goblin Slayer felt consciousness slipping away, and then everything was dark.