Goblin Slayer - Volume 3 - Chapter 6

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Chapter 6 – Seven Powers

The canary chirped against the pouring rain.

It sang a melody from its cage, and the droplets pelting the window formed the accompaniment.

Cow Girl sat by the window. She touched the fogged glass with a fingertip and exhaled.

She leaned on her arms. The dress she still wore was all that was left of her festival morning.

She could feel the cool air on her cheeks. A faint smile appeared, and she murmured, “I wonder where your master is now. What he’s doing.”

There was no reply. The bird just continued to twitter tunefully.

The bird he had brought home that summer now lived with them on the farm.

When she had asked, “Is it a gift for me?” he had replied, “Not really.” He could be strange sometimes.

Strange. For him, that included going to a festival, or going on a date.

“…”

Maybe he’s not coming back.

She buried her face in her arms as the thought crossed her mind.

She didn’t want to see herself reflected in the window. She couldn’t stand to.

Her right hand clenched. It still bore the ring—really just a toy—that he’d given her.

She’d been quite content with it when they were together. But now that they were apart, it was not nearly enough.

More, more, more.

More of what?

“Have I always been this selfish…?”

She could hear the throaty rumble of thunder in the distance.

Old stories told that such sounds were the voices of dragons, but she didn’t know whether it was true.

Thankfully, she had yet to meet a dragon. And hopefully she never would.

Rumble, rumble. The thunder was getting closer. Thunder…?

Cow Girl realized the sound had stopped just near her.

That wasn’t thunder. So what…?

She lifted her head, confused. She could see herself in the glass. She looked terrible. And past her reflection…

A grimy steel helmet, drenched with rain.

“Wha?! Oh… Wha?!”

She sat up in a rush, her mouth opening and closing.

What should she say? What could she say? Words and emotions whirled around her head and heart.

She couldn’t quite manage Welcome back or Are you all right?

“Wh-what are you doing out in the rain like that? You’ll catch a cold!”

That was the greeting she settled on as she pulled the window open with a bang.

“Sorry. The light was on, so I thought you were awake.”

Compared to her disheveled state, he was so composed it made her angry.

“Something’s come up.”

“Something like…?”

“I’ll be back in the morning,” he said calmly, and then after a moment’s thought, added, “I would like stew for breakfast.”

“Uh—”

He would be back. He was going out of his way to tell her he would be back. And that he wanted to eat her cooking.

This man… Oh, this man!

“…Stew? In the morning?”

Warmth spread through her chest, and a smile lit up her face.

I’m such a light touch!

“I’m counting on you,” he said.

All she could muster in response was, “Gosh, I’m hopeless” before she continued to say, “If you end up oversleeping because you catch a cold, I’ll be angry. So make sure you’re up on time.”

“All right.”

“…Mm.”

Cow Girl nodded.

He never lied.

The “something” he was dealing with could only be one thing.

That’s why she didn’t ask anything else.

Their day of celebration was over. Things were back to normal. Another regular day.

Despite all she was feeling, this was not the day for showing her emotions.

“Well, then…o-okay.”

There was only one thing she could say to him.

“Do your best!”

“I will.”

And with that he took one step, then two, away from the window with the usual careless ferocity in his gait.

“Don’t go outside,” he said. “Stay with your uncle.”

She watched him go until he vanished into the dark.

Rumble, rumble. The sound came again and grew more distant along with him.

Cow Girl saw what it was, and she chuckled to herself as she closed the window.

“Your master does the strangest things sometimes.”

She poked the cage with a finger, causing it to sway gently. The canary chirped its objection.

But for once she paid it no mind.

Half of her was pouting in anger, the other half almost floating with excitement.

She had a sense this was not the time for these feelings—but she also wanted to go straight to bed and fall asleep still holding them to her heart.

Her dreams would give her time enough to enjoy them.

“But still…”

She took off the dress, folding it carefully so it wouldn’t get wrinkled, then slid her voluptuous form into bed.

He obviously had something in mind.

“…Why in the world was he rolling those barrels along?”

The rain fell harder and harder as the wind grew biting.

The night was deep now, so inky black that it was hardly possible to see past one’s nose.

This was a true storm.

“Ho, Beard-cutter!” Near the building that rose up out of the dark, Dwarf Shaman was calling. “I lit the furnace!”

“Did you?” Goblin Slayer stopped his rolling barrels, now at their journey’s end, and nodded. The building—a small brick structure on the outskirts of the farm—had a chimney, but so far no smoke rose from it. “How does it look?”

“It was awfully damp. But nothing a little magic couldn’t deal with.”

Dwarf Shaman stroked his beard and smirked. Many of his special skills revolved around the earth, but dwarves and fire were also natural friends. It was simple enough for him to summon a Fire Salamander to ignite the sodden firewood.

“The direction of the wind seems good for now.” High Elf Archer grabbed a spider crawling past and coaxed some silk from it, using it to restring her yew-wood bow.

All elf equipment was made from things found in nature. They might not have magic to control the spirits of the world, but from the day they were born, elves lived in true harmony with all things. Apparently, they felt that other races were simply oblivious, but…

It remained that there was no people in the world more suited to being rangers than the elves.

She flapped her distinctive long ears and said, “The storm is going to be right on top of us. But for now, we’re upwind. Nature’s on our side.”

“All right. What about the goblins?”

“They’re getting close. We don’t have much time.”

“I see. Let’s hurry.” Goblin Slayer nodded, then turned to Dwarf Shaman. “If you have spells to spare, try to intensify the wind. Just for good measure.”

“Wind is the province of elves. Though I suppose I can find a bit of a gust, here…”

“Please do.”

Dwarf Shaman responded to Goblin Slayer’s request by pulling a fan out of his bag.

He opened it with a snap and began to sweep at the air, chanting in a strange, high-pitched voice.

“O sylphs, thou windy maidens fair, grant to me your kiss most rare—bless our ship with breezes fair.”

Amid the howling of the storm, a softer current began to tickle their cheeks.

It was a simple spell for calling the wind, of the kind a mage might use when putting on a show for pocket change.

“That’s about as strong as she gets,” Dwarf Shaman said. “Don’t know how much good it will do you.”

“Can’t you dwarves do anything right?” High Elf Archer chortled, drawing a barbed look from the shaman.

“I don’t care. This is enough.” With his back to the summoned wind, Goblin Slayer began checking all his preparations.

“How are your Dragontooth Warriors coming?”

“Everything is prepared.”

Lizard Priest pointed to the small fangs scattered on the ground, then made his strange hands-together gesture.

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

As his prayer resounded, the fangs grew, bubbling and rising.

Finally, two lizardman skeletons stood before them—Dragontooth Warriors.

Lizard Priest rested his Swordclaw on his shoulder and made an appreciative noise.

“Unfortunately, this represents the extent of my spells. Perhaps I could borrow something in the way of weapons for them?”

“No matter,” Goblin Slayer said, righting the barrel at his feet. “I rent the shed over there. Use any of the weapons inside.”

“Thank you. I shall appropriate one or two of them.”

Lizard Priest curled his tail, and he and his skeletons lumbered away to the outbuilding.

As he took his leave, Goblin Slayer turned another barrel upright.

There were three barrels in all. They were almost as large as he was tall.

They also appeared to be quite heavy, packed with something inside. As he stood the barrel up, it landed with a spray of mud. It put dark spatters on Priestess’s vestments, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Goblin Slayer, sir, aren’t you cold?”

“If anyone is cold, I think it would be you.”

Her thin garments were soaked through with rain, clinging tightly to her slim form. Priestess showed just a hint of embarrassment at the skin that was barely visible through the fabric, but she shook her head.

“No, I’m fine. This is nothing. Sometimes we perform our ablutions in ice-cold water.”

“…You have miracles still, yes?”

“Yes, sir, no problem.”

Priestess smiled bravely.

Her garments were, in fact, intended for battle, and the Earth Mother would hardly discriminate against a stain from the soil.

To dirty her pure white clothing in the aid of another would make her that much more beautiful.

She clutched her flail and nodded.

“I’ve had a chance to rest since I used Silence earlier. I can manage two more.”

“Very well.”

Goblin Slayer used the hilt of his sword to pry open the lid of one of the barrels.

It came off with a screech , and a raw stench mingled with the smell of the rain.

“Ugh,” High Elf Archer said, scrunching up her face, but Priestess immediately reached into the barrel.

“We’re out of time. I’ll help!”

“Thanks. Please do.”

“Sure thing!”

“Stuff them all in there. Every last one.”

“Got it!”

She had pulled out a fish that had begun to rot in the sun.

She filled her arms with them, headed over to the furnace, and shoved them inside.

The searing hot flame was roaring now. They had not prepared it as merely a way to dry off from the rain.

As Goblin Slayer watched her, Dwarf Shaman elbowed him in the ribs. “Got to let the girl warm herself,” he said knowingly.

“Erk.” This came from High Elf Archer. “So what about me? I’m drenched!”

“Yes, yes, Miss Two Millennia. I thought the elves see rain as a blessing from heaven.”

“Elves don’t like being cold, either!”

And they were arguing again. It was their usual friendly banter.

Lizard Priest, who had returned from arming his Dragontooth Warriors with hoes and sickles, rolled his eyes merrily.

“And what exactly are you planning, milord Goblin Slayer?” His tone suggested this was what interested him most.

Goblin Slayer answered as he prepared his own equipment, making sure his shield was cinched down.

“It should be obvious. A basic goblin-slaying tactic.”

He straightened his helmet and pulled the dagger he had stolen from a goblin out of a sheath at his hip.

He took a dirty rag from his pouch, carefully cleaning the blade.

He returned it to its sheath, then chose another blade with his right hand.

His dirty leather armor, his worthless-looking helmet, his sword that was neither long nor short, and the round shield on his arm.

With his unchanging appearance, in his unchanging tone, he declared simply:

“We’re going to smoke them out.”

Goblins were approaching—twenty or thirty, perhaps.

The smokehouse belched thick, black fumes into the storm.

For the goblins, this stormy night was a gift from above.

Night was their friend, and the dark their ally. The very thunder was their war drum.

Dark Elf, positioned behind them as their warlord, shared their sentiments.

He wore a grimy leather vest under an overcoat swollen and heavy with rain. A thin sword rested at his hip.

His skin may have been the color of pitch, his ears pointed like spikes, his hair silver—but he might still have passed for an adventurer. A good-hearted dark elf could come along once in a blue moon.

The weapon that he clutched, though, dispelled any question.

It was a twisted thing with an intricate pattern carved into it. At a glance, it rather resembled a candlestick.

Who could have wrought such a thing? Even now, it stretched out its fingers as if to grasp something.

And if all this were not enough, it glowed with the light of life, pulsating.

No partisan of order would wish to hold such an object.

“GOBOR!”

“GROBR!!”

“Mm. I care not. Continue the advance—trample them, bring them low!”

Dark Elf nodded placidly as one of his adorably stupid goblins gave a report.

The creatures made excellent foot soldiers but were eminently unsuited for anything else.

Of course, with simple weapons and armor and a position on the frontlines, they were more than enough to overrun the agents of order.

“You say there appear to be adventurers ahead? Dear fool. Quaking at shadows.”

This was one of the cities where adventurers gathered. It was certainly possible some might be there. That was why he had deliberately arrived on the night after a festival.

“But…shall it go well for me…?”

Who was he to doubt the handout from the gods of chaos?

With the cursed object I hold, I shall summon the ancient Hecatoncheir, the hundred-handed giant.

Hecatoncheir, foremost among the fearsome giants found in the book of monsters that many believed the gods of chaos held. A creature created to do battle when the gods first began making the pieces for their war games.

He had heard how, with the power of its countless arms, it had struck down the gods of order.

Ah, Hecatoncheir! Hecatoncheir! Dark Elf veritably trembled with excitement.

His actions would make more certain the coming day of victory for the forces of chaos.

Ever since he had received his handout, he had spared no effort.

And yet somehow…he couldn’t escape the sense that there was a flaw in his plan.

But why should he feel that way? For what cause?

Was it that communications with his squads to the east, west, and north had been mysteriously cut off?

Was it that the disgruntled adventurer he had hired to cause confusion in town seemed to have entirely neglected his job?

Or was it that all the women he had ordered his goblins to kidnap as living sacrifices had been stolen away from him?

Could it have been a mistake that this cursed object even came to him…?

“…No!” He bellowed as loud as he could, as if to banish his self-doubt. “The die is cast. Now there is nothing but to move forward!”

He had just thirty goblins with him under his personal command. But they were merely decoys.

So were the goblins approaching from the other directions. All simply to cloud the eyes of the adventurers.

The true mission was literally in his hands.

So long as he held this accursed thing, seat of Hecatoncheir’s power, there was nothing to fear.

He would bide his time. Each hour, each second, wasting nothing.

He would offer up the dice. Seeking one more person, one more drop of blood.

Until Hecatoncheir awakened.

“Hrk…!”

Then it happened.

His senses, as sharp as any elf’s, picked up something amiss.

A smell.

A stench, in fact, one that pierced his eyes and nose. Something rotting… No… The smell of the sea?

The rain and wind wiped out all sound, and now they carried a black mist that blotted out what little light there was.

It came on the wind, blanketing over his battlefield.

“A smokescreen? No… Poison gas?!”

He immediately covered his mouth, but unfortunately, his goblins were not so smart. The smoke enveloped them, and they began to scream and cry.

“C-curse you! You call yourselves adventurers, yet this is what you do to your foes…?!”

Dark Elf noticed his agitation rising, unable to restrain an angry snort.

This was hardly a tactic that the allies of law and order would employ.

But it was also not all that was in store.

Skeleton warriors emerged from the cloud, pale white against the black smoke, and laid into the goblins.

“You said you didn’t set any traps, Beard-cutter!”

“I didn’t.”

Goblin Slayer spoke as they watched the goblins fall like wheat to a scythe.

“I did not say I had no plan.”

“Oi.”

“There is always a way. Often many.”

“Oi.”

The Dragontooth Warriors were truly terrible to behold on the battlefield.

They were only bones, lacking eyes, noses, and any need to breathe. The rotting fish smog had no ill effect on them.

The goblins were hacking and coughing in the cloud, swinging their weapons blindly. How easily the fossilized warriors overpowered them. One swing of a sickle severed a head. With a strike of the hoe, an arm went careening. The smell of blood and the reek of the goblins’ own bodies joined the stench of fish in the air.

Perhaps hell smelled this way.

“You’re not kidding,” High Elf Archer said, scrunching up her face and covering her mouth and nose with a cloth. “You always have something up your sleeve for times like these, Orcbolg.”

That was what made him the leader of their party.

High Elf Archer may have had more experience (or so she fancied), and Lizard Priest was perhaps a calmer head.

But when it came to sheer number of unorthodox strategies…

“But you can’t use it on our adventure, all right? I’ll get angry if you do.”

“Not this one, either?”

“Of course not.”

“I see.”

Priestess giggled at his dejected response.

“Are you that disappointed?”

“When outnumbered by the enemy, it’s an effective way to slow the vanguard,” Goblin Slayer explained neutrally, then nodded with a grunt. “They search and investigate and become more anxious. They doubt what will come next. It’s sleight of hand.”

“I’m not sure those are really the same thing…”

No sooner had she said this than Priestess looked up at the battlefield as if she had sensed something. Her eyes went wide.

“Oh…!”

She trembled mightily as she called out, then leaped in front of the rest of the party.

Before anyone could stop her, she raised first her flail, and then her voice.

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

She implored the gods for a miracle. The all-compassionate Earth Mother bestowed her with an invisible barrier, centered around the staff she held in the air.

At that instant, the words of an ancient tongue rang out across the battlefield.

“Omnis…nodos…libero!” I unbind all that is bound!

An exploding light blinded them. A sheath of whiteness cut through the dark rain and enveloped everything.

It pierced the battlefield, cleared away the smoke, and shattered the Dragontooth Warriors. The skeletal soldiers collapsed like sacks of bricks.

The light pulsed across the battlefield again, catching several goblins and turning them to dust—

“Hrr…rrr…”

—until, with a crash, it slammed against the invisible barrier and vanished.

The rain whipped into a whirlwind, now with yet another strange smell intermingled with it.

Priestess reeled drunkenly, unable to completely absorb the spiritual shock of such an impact.

Goblin Slayer used his shielded left hand to hold her and keep her upright.

“I… I’m sorry…”

“Are you hurt?”

“N-no, my b-body is fine…” The blood had drained from her face, and she bit her lip regretfully. “But I… I only have one miracle left now…”

“No.” Goblin Slayer shook his head. “It’s enough.”

The dark clouds that had covered the battlefield had been burned away.

They would not have long before the goblins recovered from their confusion.

The Dragontooth Warriors didn’t last as long as I’d hoped.

Goblin Slayer quickly revised his plans. He had intended to move in only after the Warriors had reduced the goblin numbers a bit.

He did have one idea—not exactly a trump card, but something he had prepared in case they were facing something other than goblins.

But the farm was to their backs. They had to kill all their enemies here. Not one could be left alive.

Just as usual.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“That’s got to be a Disintegrate spell,” Dwarf Shaman said, stroking his beard as he dug in his bag of catalysts. “That’s an ill thing to face, but chances are they can’t do it more than once.”

“It is strange, though,” Lizard Priest said from where he crouched for cover in the undergrowth, watching the field alertly. “Would a spell-caster of such power normally split up his goblins?”

“Could he have some other aim?” Goblin Slayer muttered.

Dark clouds whirled above their heads. The elements lashed at them without mercy.

Goblin Slayer had a bad feeling. The same feeling he got when a goblin was sneaking up on him from behind.

“We have no way to buy ourselves time.”

“There is an old proverb, ‘A trap tripped is a trap no more.’” Lizard Priest swished his tail. “I think our best chance lies in a frontal assault, forcing his hand. You?”

“I agree,” Goblin Slayer said shortly, then turned his helmet toward Priestess.

She wiped the sweat and mud and rain from her face and met his gaze.

His helmet was similarly soaked from the deluge, stained with mud and gore, and the expression within it was inscrutable.

“You’re crucial. I’m counting on you.”

But she could feel his gaze on her. She blinked.

It was more than enough to shore up the faith in her heart.

He—Goblin Slayer—this helplessly unusual person—

He was counting on her. He’d said so.

“…Yes, sir!”

“All right. Everyone, you know the plan. It’s just as I told you earlier.”

Goblin Slayer took up his sword, readied his shield, and stepped forward.

Lizard Priest lined up beside him, his Swordclaw at the ready, his tail raised.

In the rear, High Elf Archer set an arrow to her bow, drawing back the string.

Dwarf Shaman held catalysts in both hands as he began to chant.

And Priestess held tightly to her holy flail, offering a prayer to the gods in heaven.

“Let’s go.”

And so the battle was joined.

The first casualty was one trying to crawl away from the smoke screen.

The goblin cocked his head, sensing someone was approaching, and shortly after he no longer had a head to cock.

“GROORB?!”

Goblin Slayer stepped on the skull as he pressed forward, crushing it.

He swept the creature behind him with the shield on his left arm and pierced the throat of another that jumped at him.

“Two.”

The fresh corpse fell back as he let go of his sword. He kicked it, striking out with the hand ax he had taken from its belt.

He cut the creature stumbling behind him at the base of its neck, claiming its life.

“Three.”

He flung the ax casually into the goblin horde before collecting a short spear from his latest victim, and then pushed on without a glance back.

“This is the way. Let’s go.”

“Understood!” Lizard Priest responded smartly, bounding along, his tail curled.

He swung the White Fang like a broadsword, cutting down several enemies at a slash.

“Behold! Fearsome naga, my forefathers, behold! We revel in this night!”

“GOROROR?!”

Raindrops danced, blood flowed, and flesh flew. Yells and screams resonated in the air.

Goblins were born cowards. It was part of why they were so cunning.

Loath to die themselves, they used their companions as shields. Enraged at the resulting deaths of their allies, they swarmed together to overwhelm the foe.

And because their enemies had done them this grievous injustice, any and all torture was justified.

Look! The enemy is only two. Some have fallen, yes, but numbers are still on our side.

And amid the rain and the lingering vestiges of that awful stink— Do you smell that?

A girl. An elf. A woman.

There is nothing to be concerned about. Do it.

“GOBBRO!!”

“GROBB!!”

It took only moments for the goblins’ confusion to turn first to anger, then to greed.

Some took up their multifarious weapons and endeavored to halt Goblin Slayer’s onslaught, and some brought out spears and sought to surround and kill Lizard Priest in his whirlwind of violence.

The more intelligent among them fled these terrible opponents and broke formation to escape.

But Goblin Slayer and his party were well aware that some were likely to try this.

“Pazuzu, Locust King, Son of the Sun, bring trembling and fear, on the wind you come!”

The goblins trembled at a sound like a high whistle on the wind.

And then they saw the source of the strange, howling rumble—a black wave rolling across the earth, straight at them. A storm of pitch.

It was a vast swarm of bugs, ready to overwhelm and destroy.

“GORRBGGOOG?!?!”

“GORGO?!”

The goblins tried desperately to sweep the biting creatures off their skin, unaware that it was only an illusion.

Fear was the most primal emotion in the world, and terribly effective at controlling the goblins. They fled screaming and gnashing their teeth.

They routed, dropping their weapons and running as fast as their legs would carry them in every direction.

As if they would get far.

“Gnomes! Undines! Make for me the finest cushion you will see!”

The goblins were ensnared.

The earth held their feet fast, and they flopped to the ground one by one. Sticky mud bubbled up around them.

“GORBO?!”

“GBORBB?!”

They struggled and fought but discovered they couldn’t get up.

Lizard Priest made his way relentlessly around the summoned swamp, doing his deadly work.

Claw, claw, fang, tail. He danced among the goblins, sweeping them away with every limb.

“Ho! Forefathers of mine, who are part of my very being! Accept this rampage!”

The lizardmen came from the swamps. This mud was no hindrance.

Lizard Priest carved through the goblins, then raised his great head and howled.

“Onward, milord Goblin Slayer!”

“Right,” Goblin Slayer said, coming up beside him. He carried some specially prepared leather.

He used his spear to stab one of the fallen creatures through the back. That was one. He took the monster’s sword and threw it. Two.

He advanced with his shield up, knocking down several more near one of the bodies. He braced himself against the cadaver, pulling a sword out of it. Three.

He used that sword to split the skull of a goblin that tried to block his progress. Four. He dropped the blunted weapon, kicking a body aside and taking its club.

Coolly and precisely, seeking the greatest effect for the least effort, he cut a swath through the enemy force.

“Gods, Beard-cutter. He surely can handle himself.” On the far side of the field, Dwarf Shaman laughed with a hunting horn in one hand and some clay in the other. That man defied belief. “Of course, without me here, things might not have gone so well…”

“ Make a swamp ,” Goblin Slayer had told him. “ Don’t let them get away. ”

Dwarf Shaman had had just the thing.

Fear, then Snare. The effects would only be amplified by the fact that they were outdoors.

Two large-scale spells. Admittedly, he was blowing through his catalysts, but…

“Look alive, Long-Ears, you’re up next.”

He gave her a hearty smack on the shoulder, and she flicked her ears at him in displeasure.

“Don’t hit me. You’ll throw off my aim.”

“Don’t be silly. A horde this big, it doesn’t matter where you shoot, you’ll hit something.”

“You dwarves, never serious about anything… Those hits still only come after aiming.”

She inhaled quietly, then exhaled from her nostrils. To an elf, shooting was like breathing.

Her fingers worked the string rhythmically, sending her arrows soaring through the rain. In this world, the gods alone could match an elf for sheer volume when it came to shooting. And High Elf Archer was, well, a high elf, the heir of a bloodline that stretched back to the age of the gods.

And indeed, her targets were goblins mired in the muck.

Despite her protests, she could have hit them without aiming. But she was too dedicated for that.

After all, Orcbolg had agreed to go on an adventure with her! She wouldn’t let that opportunity slip away. She couldn’t.

“Adventurers always see their quests through to the end!”

And her rain of bud-tipped arrows joined the rain that fell from the sky.

Goblin Slayer himself shot like a missile across the field, not a moment’s hesitation in his step. This was not chance, but what needed to happen.

He had one aim—to reach the leader far behind enemy lines.

All the more reason…

“G—Grr!”

Dark Elf ground his teeth.

His thirty-goblin shield had been broken, the enemy was near at hand, and he had no time to focus on his chanting.

He thought of rallying his goblins, but he knew they would not come.

The one thing he could rely on was this. Dark Elf pulled his sword from its sheath.

“You damnable human!”

He struck, his blade a flash of silver light.

Goblin Slayer met it with his upraised shield. This was why he carried it. Its usefulness as a bludgeon was only secondary.

He immediately replied with a sweeping strike from the club he grasped in his right hand. He aimed for the head, hoping to shatter the skull or the spine.

But dark elves grasped motion as well as their forest brethren. In other words, far better than any human.

There was a spray of mud as the elf leaped backward, unperturbed by the swampy ground and not intimidated by the fearsome illusion.

Goblin Slayer’s club connected with nothing but air.

“Hrmph. To think that one equipped to see through my plans should live in this town…”

“…You don’t seem to be a goblin.”

Goblin Slayer and Dark Elf now stood some distance apart. The mud softly sounded slosh, slosh as they shuffled to find an advantageous position.

Dark Elf’s sword was clearly a better weapon than the adventurer’s club.

Fully aware of this, the elf took the time to interrogate his opponent.

“Who or what are you?”

“…”

“I had heard that some in this town had reached the rank of Silver… But I cannot imagine such an experienced adventurer would stoop to using a goblin’s club.”

“Are you their leader?”

Goblin Slayer replied with his own question. Indifferently. Just as always.

“Indeed I am,” Dark Elf returned, feeling a touch annoyed. His chest puffed out, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “I am the apostle of anarchy, recipient of a handout from the very gods of chaos themselves!” He bore a sword in his right hand, a magical item in his left. Dark Elf kept a low stance as he exclaimed, “And my goblin army approaches from every direction! The next life will soon welcome you and your—”

“I don’t know what you are. And I don’t care.” Goblin Slayer interrupted the elf’s proclamation. “…That goblin lord was more trouble than you.”

“ ? ”

There was a pause as Dark Elf processed what had been said.

“Wh-why, you insolent…!”

His agile toes took a refined, complicated geometrical step.

From this unusual stance, his blade came like a flash.

The barely detectable glow was the proof of its magic latency. It was a magic sword. Not particularly unusual.

Goblin Slayer drew up his shield to block the blow. The strike ran along the surface of the shield, curving up and over it.

No—

“Hrggh!”

Goblin Slayer grunted.

The thin blade warped, piercing through his chain mail through a seam in his shoulder armor.

Blood seeped out on his left side. Dark Elf didn’t simply have the better weapon, but was experienced in using it.

“Hah! You’re slow, human!”

His skill should not have come as a surprise. After all, his level was high enough that he could even use Disintegrate.

Elves and dark elves had fundamentally different physicalities from humans.

Humans were not really naturally endowed in any exceptional way, which made it difficult for them to gain the upper hand over an agile dark elf. Let alone one like this, who had tens or hundreds or thousands more years of experience. Confronted with Dark Elf’s eyes and hands and skills, just-passable equipment was as good as no equipment.

“I see. As their leader, you have no need to hold back.”

Not that it mattered to Goblin Slayer, of course.

The hit wasn’t critical. It didn’t hurt enough to impede his use of the shoulder. And it wasn’t poisoned.

He evaluated his own wound with his usual calm detachment, then elected to continue the fight.

“Still eager for more, are you, you dirty little worm?”

“…”

“Very well. See for yourself if we are less than a goblin!”

Dark Elf, who seemed to have jumped to some unwarranted conclusion, thrust the artifact in his left hand into the air.

“O lord of this great limb, prince of the hurricane! Set the winds blowing! Summon the storm! Grant me power!”

Something changed at that moment. An uncanny crackling sound came from Dark Elf’s body. It twisted and swelled. Then, one after another, they burst from his back.

Arms.

Deformed and bizarre, bones connected in the wrong places, bulging with muscles.

Five of them in all—seven, including the arms he had been born with.

“…Hrm.”

“Heh, heh-heh, heh. I see you cannot even speak, you accursed adventurer!”

The grasping appendages, like a spider’s or crab’s, were visible even from across the battlefield.

He was no longer truly a dark elf. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, his voice high, straining against the limits of all his senses and abilities.

He barely made a sound as he leaned in with his massive weight and dived at Goblin Slayer.

In the next instant, a geyser of mud shot from the earth, accompanied by a thump.

“What in the world is that?!” High Elf Archer shouted as she let off an arrow, catching an encroaching goblin through the eye. “Did that dark elf just grow arms from his back?!”

“Can’t be! Ridiculous!” Dwarf Shaman already had his ax out and was putting it to good use against the goblins.

The work of the Dragontooth Warriors and the two frontline fighters had reduced the enemy numbers significantly. As long as the party could hold its battle line, they had a strong chance at victory.

“Blast! Whatever he’s done, it seems to be some kind of magic. And it doesn’t look like anything we want to get mixed up in!”

“Oh, I don’t think we’ve anything to fear.” That was the third member of the party. Lizard Priest, his tail curled up, sounded more confident than usual. “It’s just a bit of instantaneous bodily transformation. Milord Goblin Slayer has everything well in hand.”

That left them free to concentrate on their role. With a howl, Lizard Priest leaped anew at the goblins.

It was fair to say Goblin Slayer was holding his own against an enemy who could attack seven times at once.

He blocked an attack from the left with his shield, then struck out with his club. He rolled away from blows that came from every direction, then rose to one knee.

A fist came pounding down from over his head. This time he dove forward, straight toward Dark Elf.

“…!”

Goblin Slayer swept his dagger in upward, but Dark Elf’s agility allowed him to dodge.

The creature’s arms allowed him to nearly fly over the mud.

“What’s wrong, human? You’ll have to get closer if you want to use that blade of yours!”

Now that the enemy had widened the space between them, Goblin Slayer had no choice but to advance.

Dark Elf waited without so much as a wobble, despite the five massive arms growing from his back. The sight of him standing there, his balance unaffected by the new limbs, was most disturbing.

“Well, the bigger they are, the better targets they make!”

True, Goblin Slayer was at a disadvantage one-on-one. But didn’t that simply mean he needed some friends?

High Elf Archer had just finished off some goblins nearby. Now she dropped to one knee and readied her bow.

She pulled an arrow from her quiver, nocked it into her bow, drew back, and released it in a single flowing motion.

Her aim was dead-on. The bud-tipped arrow slipped between the raindrops, struck Dark Elf in the forehead—

“……!”

—almost. The instant before it landed, a vast white hand suddenly appeared and snatched the arrow from the air.

It was like a whirlwind, like a pillar of stone. A hand swollen and bulging and twisted.

The translucent limb snapped the arrow like the branch it was and vanished.

Dark Elf smirked and held the cursed artifact in his left hand aloft.

No one would lead from the front lines without some kind of protection.

“He can deflect arrows…?!” High Elf Archer wailed, shuddering in terror.

It was said that in the depths of time, a giant had fought in the war between the gods of order and chaos.

That accursed artifact was its arm—an object with the power to summon the giant. And Dark Elf was its owner.

“So—” Dwarf Shaman slapped his cheeks, grimacing. “—he’s a summoner?!”

If he could truly summon a creature from the age of the gods, that meant he was as strong as a Bronze or Silver adventurer, or even…

His summoning methods were unorthodox, indeed, inhuman, but there was no denying the confidence he exuded. It was possible that for Dark Elf, he himself—let alone his goblins—was not the most important thing.

Behold the dark clouds that roiled overhead. Behold the storm that made to attack the town. The thunder. The wind. The rain.

What if all of these were but the harbingers of Hecatoncheir’s return to earth?

“If he deflects arrows, are we to assume that all ranged weapons shall prove ineffective?”

“I don’t know exactly, myself…”

Lizard Priest had just returned from decapitating the last goblin covered in mud.

High Elf Archer’s answer was accompanied by an anxious flick of her ears. Still reeling from disbelief, she readied another arrow.

“…But when I was small, my grandpa told me that no matter how many arrows were loosed at that giant, it stopped them all.”

If a human grandfather had told such a story, it might well have been dismissed as a tall tale. But this was an old elven veteran who had been alive during the battles of the mythical age.

And he had said arrows were useless.

“Gods,” Dwarf Shaman said as he clicked his tongue. “Of all the times for an elf to find out what it means to fail.” He didn’t seem open to optimism.

He held up a finger, judging the distance to the mutated Dark Elf. The enemy was just within his range.

But Stone Blast carried too much risk of hitting Goblin Slayer. And even if it struck true, how much damage would it actually do to those monstrous arms…?

“Oho?”

Dark Elf’s eyes had gone wide.

Goblin Slayer had tossed aside his club and drawn his sword. The strange-length sword was covered in a film of dirt, perhaps from fighting in the mud.

But Goblin Slayer took a deep stance and rotated his wrist once.

“Do you imagine a change of weapons will allow you to prevail against me?”

“No.” Goblin Slayer steadied his breathing, pointed the tip of his sword at the enemy, and spoke in a low voice. “I imagine it’ll let me kill you.”

“Spare me your idiocy!”

As he bellowed, Dark Elf’s arms stretched unnaturally, reaching out toward Goblin Slayer.

The human warrior dove forward, taking advantage of the slightest of gaps.

In his right hand, Dark Elf held that nimble sword. It was a good weapon, but its owner’s reflexes made it truly dangerous.

“A suicidal charge? You’ll never reach me.”

Goblin Slayer just managed to deflect the whistling flash of silver with his shield.

The piece of round leather had already sustained several cuts and piercings and was reaching a point when it would no longer be of much use.

But Goblin Slayer paid this no mind, closing the distance with his sword at the ready.

Dark Elf jumped backward and prepared to thrust again. Goblin Slayer followed, reaching out with the tip of his blade.

The enemy’s chest armor cracked ever so slightly with a ringing echo. But that was all.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! It seems your trusty arm isn’t strong enough!”

Goblin Slayer simply didn’t have the power to strike the elf himself.

The enemy landed on the ground, splattering mud everywhere, and declared in triumph:

“I have taken your measure! You are no better than Ruby, the fifth rank. Or even Emerald, the sixth!”

“No,” Goblin Slayer said, shaking his head. “Try Obsidian.”

Goblin Slayer didn’t have it in him. But…

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, grant your sacred light to we who are lost in darkness!”

They heard a clear voice, raised in supplication to the gods.

On this night of all nights, for a prayer from one she had so recently blessed with her love, how could the Earth Mother fail to grant a miracle?

Holy Light exploded from Priestess’s upheld flail.

Uttering a soundless scream, Dark Elf retreated when a light as bright as the sun pierced the storm.

His eyes, accustomed to the night and the darkened rain, burned as if exposed to daylight.

Priestess no longer needed words to communicate with Goblin Slayer.

The party would handle the goblins; Goblin Slayer would handle their leader. And…

You’re crucial. I’m counting on you.

He had entrusted this role to her.

Of course she would follow the path he carved through the goblin army.

And now, with the light at his back, Goblin Slayer surged into the darkness.

Priestess stood behind him, covered in rain and mud and sweat, yet immaculate in her resolve, holding the light high.

Her beauty did not come from the light of the gods that bathed her, nor from the vestments she wore.

It came from the way she could carry her prayer to the very place of the gods in heaven on behalf of another.

Without a moment’s doubt or hesitation. Though trembling and afraid, still she raised her flail.

“Goblin Slayer, sir!”

His sword worked, though he did not shout or bellow.

He raised the weapon, advanced, took aim, let it fall, and cut his foe.

It was a completely normal, totally unremarkable attack.

“Hrr—gah!”

But an attack it was.

Dark Elf’s chest armor shattered, gore spraying. It wasn’t much. But the blow had struck home, and that was enough.

“Wh-why, y-youuuu—!”

He dropped his sword and pressed his hand to his chest, stumbling back.

He had feared no arrow, nor indeed any sword or magic spell. That blow had wounded his pride as a dark elf far more deeply than his body.

How could this ragtag party of busybodies have brought me so low?!

“I shall make you wish I had merely used the giant’s power to obliterate this town!” Murder blazed in his eyes. As much as forest elves seek harmony, dark elves cherish pride and torment. “I will make you food for my goblins. And your elf and your little girl—I shall cut off their hands and feet, then leave them deep in the nest until they die…!”

Dark Elf assumed it was his own burgeoning fury that made it difficult to get the words out.

He fell to one knee in a spatter of mud.

“Erg… Gah… Hrrr…?”

His face, the color of darkness, contorted with pain. The five arms on his back clawed at the mud, and he struggled to stand.

Was it the summoning that had sapped his strength so suddenly? Impossible. If anything, it had brought him more strength.

The injury, then—the wound?

—No.

“It’s poisoned.”

Goblin Slayer offered only those two words and tossed out an old rag from the pouch on his hip.

It held the darts that had been used against him and Guild Girl in the attack at the Guild Hall.

Goblin Slayer didn’t know exactly what kind of poison was on them, but…

“Wh-why, you—! You—! Youuu—! ”

…to use it on his enemy, it was enough to know that it was poison.

Blood seeped out from between Dark Elf’s fingers and ran to the ground.

Rage flared in his eyes, and the rain streaked across his contorting lips.

He used the arms on his back, instead of the ones that trembled on his torso, to prop himself up.

Lightning flashed behind Dark Elf, highlighting his unsteady form, like a withering tree.

He panted, fighting against the poison coursing through him. He looked like one about to die, and yet more terrible than before.

“Omnis…!”

He bellowed out the words of true power, a last-ditch death spell if there ever was one.

“No…!” Priestess tried desperately to hold her flail up in quaking hands, her face pale and bloodless.

But the strain of connecting her soul to the very gods time and again had made her fingers unsteady.

“If he hits us, it’s all over, but—his guard’s down!”

High Elf Archer pulled three arrows from her quiver, launching them at him all at once, quicker than magic.

But with a gust of wind, the cloudlike hand swatted away the arrows as they zipped through the storm.

“Hecatoncheir’s great power…!”

High Elf Archer ground her teeth and angrily pulled out another arrow. She refused to believe it was useless.

“Stone Blast is too imprecise! It’s up to you to save the day, Long-Ears!”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?!”

The archer loosed shot after shot, but the arm swept each one from the sky.

“My own spells and those of our lady the priestess are exhausted. Meaning…”

“Nodos…!”

Charge in for a melee attack? No, at this distance neither they nor Goblin Slayer would be in time. Lizard Priest joined High Elf Archer in grinding his teeth.

Dark Elf’s incantation continued clear and loud. Their time was nearly up.

So—the party’s eyes turned to one man.

“Goblin Slayer…sir…”

“Arrow deflection?”

Covered in mud and poison and blood, that steel helmet tilted ever so slightly.

“He is able to deflect incoming arrows…is that right?”

Despite the storm raging around them, his gentle murmur could not fail to reach the high elf’s ears.

“Deflect them, defend against them—you know!” She raised her voice to be heard over the wind. “What…? What did my grandpa call it…?” She chewed on her finely formed thumb, flicking her ears in annoyance. “I think he said… ‘No metal pierceth my skin, the shaft of every arrow is caught by my hand.’”

“I see.” No metal pierceth the skin. The shaft of every arrow caught. He muttered to himself. “Arrow deflection…”

All this he said without emotion, then finally nodded to acknowledge Priestess’s call and took a step forward.

Before his eyes, the white light was already beginning to shine. The air hummed with building magical power.

As he took a second step, he put his longsword back in its sheath and turned his right shoulder lightly around.

“Libe…”

“I see.”

Then the third step. At that instant, Dark Elf’s left arm went flying.

Nobody—including Dark Elf himself—realized it had happened until blood began gushing from the stump.

The storm picked up the spurting blood and scattered it like rain. The noise of the arm landing in the bushes could be heard.

The strange, bent throwing knife had cut through the air, and then through Dark Elf’s flesh and bone.

The windmill-shaped blade. Dark Elf had no way of knowing it was a Southern-style throwing knife.

“—?! Gaaahhh!!”

The throwing star trailed through the mist as the chant morphed into a hideous scream.

Dark Elf clutched at his mangled limb. Behind him, the arm waved like a blade of grass in the storm.

“This is considered a dagger.”

There was nothing at all remarkable about Goblin Slayer’s throw.

It was simply fast and precise.

Two arms danced in the night—that of Dark Elf, and the one his hand had been holding.

They landed pathetically in the muck, and Goblin Slayer stepped on them.

From beneath his boot, there was a sound reminiscent of rocks cracking.

He didn’t know exactly what had happened, but it seemed the arm now deflected arrows no more than a goblin’s arm did.

“N-no! My—my arm! Heca—toncheir’s—arm—!”

An instant later an unerring arrow pierced Dark Elf’s throat where he writhed on the ground.

There was a distant exhalation from High Elf Archer as she let the shot go. This was all she could do without some sort of cheat.

“My…sacrifices…not enough…sacrifices… And my goblins…no…use…at all…”

Dark Elf hacked up a stream of blood, then focused his scorching gaze on the encroaching enemies.

But the fire in his eyes was low, indistinct. His vision was blurry. He blinked quickly.

All he could see was an adventurer in the strangest equipment.

Grimy leather armor, a cheap-looking steel helmet, a sword of strange length, and a small round shield strapped to his arm. He was splattered with rain and mud, blood and earth. Even a novice adventurer would be in better shape.

And yet…

“Y-you… It was you…” Bile rose with the blood in Dark Elf’s mouth. “In the water town… The hero who…thwarted…our ambitions…!”

He should have seen it sooner.

Their revenge on that accursed Sword Maiden, the Demon Lord’s revival, and the ritual to summon a storm of chaos.

It was adventurers who had put an end to it all.

This man. This man was one of them, he was sure. Dark Elf glared at that steel helmet with thoughts as bloody as his lips.

“……No.”

He answered dispassionately.

So many people supported him.

Helped him.

Guided him. It was thanks to all of them that he was here.

When he went back to town, there would be those whom—regardless of how they might feel about him—he called friend.