Goblin Slayer - Volume 4 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Of The Tavern Waitress

“Hello, welcome!” 

“Heyo. Get us three ales and two lemon waters for starters!” 

“Certainly!” 

“And, uh…eh, fritellas will do. For five!” 

“Sure thing!” the waitress responded brightly, glancing at the adventurer with the two-handed sword across his back and noting the number of fingers he was holding up. 

Any tavern would be lively in the early evening, but at the Adventurers Guild tavern, it was different. There were people relaxing after an adventure where they fought for their lives. Others could put themselves at ease at long last as friends returned from far away. 

Some customers were adventurers from afar, starting with a meal now that they had arrived in this town. 

The padfoot, or beast-girl, waitress rushed from one place to another—she loved this atmosphere. The sense that she was helping people motivated her even more than her salary. 

As her long, carefully bound hair swayed like a tail (her real tail was under her skirt), she called to the kitchen. 

“Three ales, two lemon waters, and five plates of fritellas!” 

“You got it. Nice, big order—makes it easier on me!” 

A pudgy, middle-aged rhea moved constantly back and forth across the smallish kitchen. 

Pots and pans, knives and skewers, ladles and rolling pins. He wielded fire and cooking implements like magic, and the food was ready in no time flat. 

A faintly sweet sauce covered the chicken and fish fried golden in oil. They were crunchy and hot on the outside, and when you bit into them, the juices flowed into your mouth. Padfoots weren’t the only ones sniffing the air at the fragrant aroma. 

“There y’go. Take it away!” 

“Yes, sir!” 

When it came to cooking, there was no race as accomplished as the rheas. 

Of course, I added my own little touch! 

Her little touches plus the chef’s sheer skill made them, essentially, unparalleled heroes of food. 

She drew some ale from a barrel, squeezed a lemon over some well water, and the order was ready. 

She pattered over with the meal on a tray to where the party was already seated at a table and waiting eagerly. 

Maybe they didn’t want to just leave their armor on until they got home, because each of the party members had removed some of their equipment. That the front-row members nonetheless kept their swords where they could draw them at any time spoke to their long experience. 

“Thank you for waiting! Three ales, two lemon waters, and fritellas for five!” 

The half-elf light warrior who was in charge of the party’s finances handed her some jangling silver coins. 

“Thanks. Oh, and grape wine for me.” 

“Sure, I know!” 

The waitress took the coins in a meaty hand and put them in the pocket of her apron. They came to a bit more than the amount of the bill—perhaps he was thoughtfully including a tip. Although it was also possible that he was just a philanderer. 

“Look, when you go to a tavern, you’re supposed to start with ale, right?” a female knight said as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She rested her chin on her hands. 

“There goes our Lady Knight, saying whatever she will again—always good and true to Order!” 

“Well, obviously. It’s even written in the Scriptures of the Supreme God,” Female Knight said as if she couldn’t believe it, puffing out her chest. 

Light Warrior pressed a hand to his brow as if to stave off a headache and sighed deeply. 

“Kids, just don’t grow up to be like her, okay?” 

“Yessir!” 

“But she looks so cool when she’s all decked out, though…” 

Scout Boy raised his hand in affirmation, while Druid Girl gave a troubled sigh. 

Female Knight puffed out her cheeks, incensed. 

“What are you talking about? I always look cool.” 

“Gah! You haven’t even had a sip and you already sound soused.” Heavy Warrior made a shushing motion like he was scolding a baby, then raised his mug of ale. “Now, we have to toast! We’re back from an adventure. Eat and drink all you like, kids!” 

“Wooh! Meat! Meat!” 

Scout Boy and Female Knight gave a cheer and threw themselves at the food and drink. Their companions watched them with mild exasperation but set to their own meals, as well. 

“Finally home…” 

“So we are. Good, work, today?” 

“You bet! Good work.” 

With a jangle of the bell above the door, the next ones to enter were a hale and hearty man carrying a spear and a beautiful, voluptuous woman. 

Spearman and Witch slid down into their seats, their faces flush with the satisfaction of a job done. 

“Hey there, miss! We’d like to order!” 

“Yes, sir! Welcome back!” Padfoot Waitress hurried over to their table, as Spearman languidly raised a hand into the air. “What’ll it be?” 

“For me… Let’s, see. Grape wine and, duck, sauté. Can I get, those?” 

“Me… Leg of beef—on the bone and plenty grilled. And apple liqueur.” 

“Oh, apples…” Witch murmured, narrowing her eyes. Her lips opened the little with a touch of longing, but immediately closed again. 

Spearman gave an indifferent shrug. “You want some?” 

“Not, necess—” 

“Throw in a couple of grilled apples, then. I want one, too.” 

“…Hrrrm.” 

“Sure thing, I’ve got your order.” 

Despite appearances, they could actually be pretty cute. That was the impression Padfoot Waitress got from Witch, who sat pursing her lips like a little girl. 

Or is it because he’s here? 

“Say, miss?” said Spearman. 

“Yes?” 

“Is Guild Girl still here?” 

So much for her impressions of them. 

Padfoot Waitress found her strength leaving her, but she held herself up, facing Spearman, who wore a serious expression. 

She pushed her bangs aside and let out a breath. She was pretty sure Guild Girl was still working. The waitress knew well how late she sometimes stayed. 

“…Yeah, it looks like she’s still here.” 

“Yesss!” 

Witch and Padfoot Waitress watched Spearman without enthusiasm as he made a fist and cheered. 

Gosh, and when he has such a gorgeous woman right next to him… was a comment she had better keep to herself. 

It was everyone’s own business who they fell in love with. 

And yet, to think that “the frontier’s strongest” adventurer, someone whose skill with the spear could have put the Knights of the Capital to shame, would be this way… 

He would look cooler if he kept his mouth shut. 

She felt a bit uneasy as she considered that perhaps, if you learned everyone’s real reason for becoming an adventurer, it would be just as disillusioning as this. 

Well, I suppose he’s easy to make friends with, if nothing else. 

That was undoubtedly better than to be too aloof—wasn’t it? With that thought, Padfoot Waitress scuttled off toward the kitchen. 

“Grape wine, duck sauté, leg of beef on the bone, well done, apple wine. And two grilled apples!” 

“You got it! Take ’em the drinks first!” 

“Yessir!” 

Rhea Chef called out in a voice that belied his diminutive size. Padfoot Waitress responded with a shout to match. 

When she brought the two their drinks, they offered her a smile and a “thank you,” and handed her the money. 

“All right then, here’s to our ‘date.’” 

“Yes. Bottoms, up.” 

As if in harmony with the elegant clink of their glasses, the bell jangled again. 

“S-so tired…” 

“Come on, walk right! Geez!” 

Two young novice adventurers came in, the very picture of fatigue and exhaustion. 

Apprentice Priestess all but flung Rookie Warrior into a seat, then wiped the sweat from her forehead. 

“Somehow I j-just don’t feel like eating…” 

“Well, too bad! You have to eat!” 

Suddenly, the girl looked up from scolding the boy, who seemed ready fall asleep at any moment. 

Her eyes met those of Padfoot Waitress, and the adventurer girl blushed. 

“Oh, s-sorry. Umm…One bowl of oatmeal, please, and bread for two…” 

“Yes, ma’am!” 

“Oh, and water!” 

“On it!” 

She headed over to the kitchen and relayed their order. Rhea Chef raised an eyebrow. 

“Sure thing! Take it out with the grilled beef. Hrm, now, where’d that vinegar go?” 

“I know, I know. Oh, the vinegar is on the shelf behind you.” 

As the chef grinned and turned away, Padfoot Waitress pointed to one of the shelves. The chef grabbed a bit of cheese and dropped it onto the plate with the bread, then gave a satisfied nod. 

“Okay, I’ll take these over, then!” 

“You do that!” 

She dropped off the sizzling, oily plate with Spearman and Witch and offered them a word of thanks. Then she pattered over to where the boy and girl sat, but Apprentice Priestess blinked at her. 

“Huh? Sorry, we didn’t order this…” 

“It’s okay, just eat it.” Padfoot Waitress gave a wave of her hand, pointing at the cheese with one hairy finger. “Anyway, someone will be by soon who can’t get enough of that stuff, and we’ll have to get a new round out. Need to clear out our stock!” 

“Th-thank you.” 

“Nah. Thank you for helping us with it!” 

Having thus made a successful round of her tables, she went to the wall and sighed deeply. 

The lively noise of the adventurers in the tavern threatened to turn into a ringing in her ears. 

They were enjoying themselves laughing, shouting, and singing, and after eating and drinking, they would resume their merriment. 

“Mm.” Padfoot Waitress found it satisfying just to stand there with her arms crossed, watching them. 

Then… 

“Ohhhh man, am I tired! I want some food and I want to go to bed !” 

“There were an awful lot of goblins, weren’t there?” 

The bell jingled again, and five more people came in. At the head of the party, throwing the door open with a bang, was a high-elf ranger. A priestess of the Earth Mother followed her. 

“Well, a feast is customary after a battle. To drink, eat, make merry, and then sleep—in its own way, this is a remembrance of our enemies.” 

“Indeed, but Beard-cutter will be off to hunt more goblins tomorrow, won’t you? Bit of a workaholic…” 

Next came a lizardman with a solid, heavy step and a well-built dwarf caster. 

And then came the last of them. 

“Yes,” the adventurer said bluntly as he came through the door. Everyone in the tavern glanced at him. 

Grimy leather armor, a cheap-looking helmet, a small, round shield attached to his arm, and at his hip, a sword of a strange length. 

“We need the money,” Goblin Slayer said quietly. 

“I’m sorry. If I had just a bit more vitality…” 

Then High Elf Archer broke in as if to cover for the disappointed-sounding Priestess. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Just let some other adventurers handle it.” 

“If there are no goblins, we’ll consider it.” 

“Sheesh, that’s how it always is with you.” High Elf Archer looked up at the ceiling in exasperation, wagging her ears. 

“Hello, welcome!” 

Padfoot Waitress trotted up to the entrance, greeting the adventurers with a bright smile. 

There were plenty of wild and lawless adventurers, but these folk had a gentleness born of experience—one of them was Silver-ranked. 

So it was only natural that she wanted to serve them with a smile. 

“Oh-ho,” their intermediary, Lizard Priest, said with a roll of his eyes. “How fares milady waitress? Now, I desire to request some cheese…” 

Padfoot Waitress let out a giggle at his somber tone. It was common knowledge that this lizardman had become quite taken with cheese in all its forms. 

“What about the rest of you?” 

“Hmm, I’ll have—what was it?—the thin stuff. Pasta? I’ll have that,” said High Elf Archer. 

“Oh, um, s-something kind of light for me…,” mumbled Priestess. 

“’S all this, then?” said Dwarf Shaman. “Am I the only one with a proper appetite? Meat, I say, meat! And a good, strong wine.” 

“Something with meat, yes, sir!” Lizard Priest chimed in. 

The hem of the waitress’s skirt billowed slightly as she turned to look at the final adventurer. 

“Sir, our special today is the pike! Caught in the water town and grilled fresh!” 

Just the right ingredients, perfectly done, and of course, the chef’s talents were beyond question. She informed him of all this like a challenge, sticking out her average-sized chest as if to provoke a response. 

“So what will it be?” 

It was a bit of an impertinent way to talk to a customer, but she did not regard this man as a customer at the moment. 

She stared at him, refusing to let him get away, and she thought she could see a red eye within his helmet. 

“Nothing,” Goblin Slayer said. “I’m fine for today.” 

§ 

“What’s with him? Is he crazy?!” 

“Well, I don’t know about that…” 

Padfoot Waitress cut off the workshop apprentice’s response by slamming her fist on the counter. 

“I mean, adventurers are supposed to kill dragons and drink wine and laugh like Fwa-ha-ha-ha! That’s their job, isn’t it?” 

“I won’t deny there are some like that.” The apprentice accepted the girl’s argument with an ironic smile, then stuck a fork in some fish on a plate. The well-done pike had started to cool a bit, but it was still fatty and delicious. It had lemon or some other seasoning on it, giving it a faint citrus smell that made his mouth water. 

“Anyway, thanks for the snack. Mm, that’s good. Been a while since I’ve had fish.” 

“I just didn’t want to waste the stuff that went cold. Don’t get the wrong idea!” 

“I like how you’re not even saying that to cover your embarrassment or something.” 

When had it become part of Padfoot Waitress’s daily routine to bring some food—really leftovers—like this? 

It had been late at night, all the adventurers gone to their inns, and she was out of her uniform and cleaning up the tavern. 

As she got ready to go home, she’d peeked into the workshop, where the apprentice boy was alone, tending the fire. 

“What are you doing?” she had asked him, and he had said, “We can’t let the fire get low.” 

Of course, that was just a pretext; with her sharp eyes, she saw that he was making a dagger. 

It made sense. He had work during the day, so he had to make time for his own practice. 

To Padfoot Waitress, it was an excellent chance; giving him the leftover food seemed the logical thing to do. 

“People who can eat, should.” 

“I think that’s a contradiction in terms…” 

“That’s why it makes me so mad when people ignore my food!” Padfoot Waitress said, showing her anger by flicking her tail vigorously. It wasn’t clear how well the apprentice understood the uniquely padfoot gesture. 

“Do you understand that this has to do with my honor as a waitress? Or not? I wonder if you even follow my logic!” 

“Well…” The apprentice scratched one cheek with a fingertip in embarrassment. “…I guess I wouldn’t like it if the weapons I made were tossed just any old where.” 

“I thought not.” 

“That guy just throws swords every which way,” the apprentice grumbled. And the unfortunate blades were not even the work of the apprentice—he didn’t yet have permission to display his work in the store—but of his boss. 

“The boss says, ‘You’re the only one who can be truly satisfied with your own work.’” 

“Well, I want to get that weirdo to try the food at our tavern.” 

“It’s not like he doesn’t eat, is it?” 

“That’s just it!” Padfoot Waitress slumped across the workshop’s counter, which was polished to a shine. It pushed against her chest, such as it was, and the apprentice boy averted his eyes as casually as he could. “After his adventures, he usually doesn’t.” 

“I—I guess I’ve heard of people who don’t eat before they go…” 

“Awww, heck. Maybe he doesn’t like our menu…” 

“This is really bothering you all of a sudden.” The apprentice’s eyes crept downward, and he hurriedly raised them again. His cheeks flushed. “What’s the matter?” 

“I mean, he never used to come to the tavern, right?” she said, apparently unaware of his slipping gaze. “How long has he been here, anyway?” 

“About five years, maybe?” 

“I don’t know…” 

To Padfoot Waitress, the question of which adventurer had appeared when was trivial. If one paid attention to such things, one would also remember when they disappeared. Once you started worrying about where so-and-so had gone after a while, you were lost. Better to put all your energy into welcoming the people who were here now. She had learned that her first year. 

Come to think of it, didn’t the receptionist start to perk up around five years ago? 

Padfoot Waitress lay there, her chest on the counter, muttering, “Hmm…” 

The apprentice boy tried to keep from looking at her, but somehow kept glancing in her direction. His eyes would travel right, then left, again and again, until before long they had focused on a single point. 

“Oh!” 

“What?” Padfoot Waitress bounced up, her ears twitching. 

“I don’t know if it’s true or not,” the apprentice boy said with a nod, “but I heard once that he likes stew. Beef.” 

§ 

“Beef stew, is it?” 

“Right!” 

Stationed in front of a large, bubbling pot, Padfoot Waitress stuck out her chest, such as it was. Next to her, the chef stood on a stepladder to peer into the pot, crossing his arms and murmuring, “Hmm.” 

“Sorry, Pops. You having to teach me and all.” 

“Well, if you learn to cook, I can rest a little easier myself.” 

“Aw, stop sounding your age, Pops.” 

“I suppose maybe it is my age talking. I’m like butter spread too thin.” 

“You mean your spirit?” 

“It’s like I’ve been stretched and pulled.” With a “pardon me,” the chef took a spoonful of the stew and tasted it. “Mm, not bad. Let it simmer a little more.” 

“All riiight!” 

This would be her key to victory. 

The chef glanced at Padfoot Waitress as she let out a full-throated “Yay!” and muttered: 

“But I wonder how an adventurer will take it…” 

“Huh?” She froze instantly. “Was it not good?” 

“Ehh, I wouldn’t say that.” Although if he said anything, he might never stop. Rhea Chef scratched his round nose. “Well, give it a think.” 

“…Darn it all. You’ll rue the day you gave me time to think!” 

“Har har! Keep at it.” 

Padfoot Waitress glared at her boss through half-open eyes as he waved his hand at her, then she returned her attention to the stewpot. 

Staring intently at it was not the way to figure anything out, and yet… 

“Oh, my, I thought I smelled something good in here…” 

She heard a familiar voice and two sets of footsteps. The bell on the door hadn’t rung. The newcomers had come from elsewhere in the building. 

Padfoot Waitress poked her head out of the kitchen and merrily raised her hand to her two colleagues. 

“Hi! I’m just in the middle of cooking. Today’s special—beef stew!” 

“Oh, stew, that’s great.” 

“Oooh, beef stew!” 

They were her colleagues—although strictly speaking, they were officials and she was just an assistant, even though the three of them all worked at the Guild. 

But Padfoot Waitress didn’t heed such fine distinctions, nor was she nervous with Guild Girl and Inspector. 

“Thanks. Huh? Are you both on lunch?” She could see when she peeked out the window that the sun was past its zenith and beginning to sink in the sky. It wasn’t quite twilight. “It’s pretty late for that.” 

“We kind of missed it…” 

“That’s no good, how do you expect to keep your body going that way?” 

Or did they “miss” it because…? 

Surely there was nothing wrong with letting her sharp eyes turn for an instant to one particular place. 

“You’re right. I’m famished…” Guild Girl said, holding her stomach. Padfoot Waitress hated that stomach. 

We’ve got to fatten her up. 

“Okay, so, would you try some of this? We’ll be serving it to the adventurers tonight.” 

“Of course, if you don’t mind,” Guild Girl said with a smile and a nod. Then she added, “Oh, but…” 

“Hm?” Padfoot Waitress cocked her head. 

Guild Girl said awkwardly, “…I wonder what adventurers will think of it.” 

“Yeah… It looks kind of bloody,” Inspector said with a nod. 

“Oh…” 

Now that they mentioned it, she could see what they meant. The stock, which included tomatoes, was a reddish-black; chunks of meat bubbled up in the stew. 

As Padfoot Waitress stood there muttering to herself, she felt a tiny hand smack her on the behind. 

“Yeek!” 

“’Scuse me, ladies, please don’t interfere with my lessons.” 

It was, needless to say, the chef. The middle-aged man who had popped in from beside them gave his rotund belly an angry thump, and put on a stern expression. “I was hoping to see whether this girl would notice for herself.” 

“Oh, my, pardon us.” 

Guild Girl let slip a small giggle and, indicating the stew, said, “We’ll have lunch here, then. To apologize.” 

“So you shall—eat plenty! Is just stew enough?” 

“Oh, all right. Let’s see, then. Bread and… Could I get some black tea?” 

“And plenty of jam to go with it!” 

“My pleasure!” 

Guild Girl and Inspector made their orders; Rhea Chef gave them a spirited answer and tightened his apron strings. 

“Well now, don’t just stand there—to work, to work!” 

“Ergggg—yessir!” 

There was no helping anything now. The food was done, and whoever wanted to eat it would eat it. 

Padfoot Waitress rushed around on her tasks, and in due course night came. 

When the sun was well and truly set, adventurers poured into the tavern just as usual. 

Unsurprisingly, the beef stew seemed unexpected, and takers were few. 

Did they not want it right after an adventure? And yet serving beef stew first thing in the morning seemed… 

“…Actually, maybe it would work to put it on the breakfast menu.” 

She occupied herself with these optimistic thoughts until finally one adventurer came walking with a bold stride. 

For a second, every eye in the tavern turned to him, and conversation stopped, but the chatter was quickly revived. 

The grimy leather armor, the cheap-looking steel helmet, the small, round shield on his arm, and the sword of a strange length at his hip. 

He walked through the Guild building, heading outside. He did not even look in the direction of the tavern. 

As if I would let you get away! 

Padfoot Waitress rushed to stand in front of him and fixed him with a finger. 

“Sir, today’s special is beef stew!” 

“Is it?” 

“What would you like to order?!” 

“Nothing,” Goblin Slayer said. “I’m fine for today.” 

§ 

“I thought you said he liked beef stew!” 

“I said it was just something I’d heard.” 

It was midnight. 

In the scant light of the lamp, Apprentice Boy seemed quite pleased with the tureen of beef stew she had brought him. 

This did not exactly offend Padfoot Waitress, but she pursed her lips and glared at him just the same. 

“Ooh, potato chunks. Perfect.” 

“…Are you sure you didn’t say it just because you wanted some beef stew?” 

“No way. Well, maybe just a little.” Apprentice Boy grinned at her. 

The well-boiled meat was so soft you could have cut it with a spoon. But it wasn’t limp; it still felt just right to bite into. And the juices spurting out each time it was chewed, the oil and soup base, were delicious even if they were a little cold. 

As for the vegetables—he did like them chunky and heavy. 

“So, what are you doing?” 

“I’m collecting the filings from when we did the sharpening.” 

Padfoot Waitress watched him with genuine interest, and he answered as he gave her back the tureen. 

He swept at a corner of the smithy shop with a broom, all the while thinking it didn’t become him. 

“You get plenty, even from knives.” He didn’t point out that some people considered swords to be nothing more than oversized knives. 

Sharpening was accomplished by grinding the metal against a whetstone the shape of a cart wheel, so the process produced plenty of metal shavings. Making sure these were properly cleaned up was one of an apprentice’s various important jobs. 

Besides, there was also the fact that mixing them with certain metals would make their material last longer. At times, they also used the shavings when a rush job called for more supplies than they had. 

What I really want is to hurry up and do some smithing, though… 

As an apprentice, he was still learning. Obviously, no one would trust him with the all-important production of weapons and armor. 

So, he believed, he would simply have to devote his utmost to what he was given to do. 

It’s not as if I don’t get it —that feeling of seeing your efforts completely ignored. 

What if he displayed weapons he had made—in the future, of course—and they were summarily ignored? 

“You want to at least know why , don’t you?” he asked. 

“Yeah, exactly! I can’t accept it this way—acceptance is so important!” 

“Hmmm,” the apprentice muttered, his arms crossed. Then he suddenly uncrossed them and clapped his hands, exclaiming, “Hey, that’s it!” 

“What is it? Had an idea, O future master smith? Fill me in!” 

As Padfoot Waitress leaned in toward him, a fragrance of some kind drifted from her hair. It was the smell of the kitchen’s cooking, the grassy scent that was unique to Padfoot’s, soap—and something else, something sweet. Apprentice Boy swallowed heavily and waved his hands. 

“J-just ask! Ask someone who knows better.” 

“What, you mean like Pops in the kitchen?” 

“No,” he said. “I mean that farm girl.” 

§ 

“What’s that? Stew?” 

“Uh-huh!” 

It was late morning, at the delivery entrance behind the Guild. 

Cow Girl had unloaded the cargo with a “Hhup!” and now she blinked at Padfoot Waitress. 

Her generous bosom bounced as she let out a breath and wiped the sweat from her forehead. 

Padfoot Waitress was well aware that she herself was about average—actually, maybe a little more than average; certainly not less. But still… 

Maybe they’re full of milk? 

She couldn’t keep the sordid thought from crossing her mind. 

According to the office gossip, Guild Girl worked nonstop to maintain her figure—in that respect, Padfoot Waitress was still okay. 

“I’m sure you’re a better cook than I am.” Cow Girl flushed and laced her fingers together in front of her chest awkwardly. “I only know how to do stuff you can make at home…” 

“It’s not about whether or not you’re good at cooking.” Padfoot Waitress seated herself on a barrel with a catlike lightness. She ran her pen along the receipt she held in a clipboard in her hand. Money matters were the work of the reception staff, but vetting the order was her job. 

“I know I ask this every time, but are you sure you don’t want to look inside?” 

“My nose knows. It’s all right.” 

Padfoot Waitress gave a proud little chuckle and stuck out her chest that pressed against her apron. Knowing, of course, that she could never win that contest, she quickly waved her hand to change the subject: 

“Like I said. It’s not about whether you can cook. There’s this guy who doesn’t eat, and I’ve really been stewing about it.” 

“There’s an adventurer who doesn’t eat?” 

“Is something wrong?” 

“No…” Cow Girl gave a troubled smile and scratched her cheek. “…He doesn’t mean any harm.” 

“That’s the whole problem!” 

“Hmm…” Cow Girl sounded a bit lost at Padfoot Waitress’s insistence. She wiped away beading sweat with her arm, then took a seat herself on a nearby box. 

She let her legs dangle, carefree, then fixed Padfoot Waitress with a stare. 

“Is that all?” 

To a human or the like, her tone would have sounded no different from normal. But not so for Padfoot Waitress. Her sharp ears detected the ever-so-slight tremble in Cow Girl’s voice. 

“Is what all?” She cocked her head, pretending not to notice anything. 

“Well, um, you know.” Cow Girl couldn’t quite get the words out, her eyes darting this way and that. She took a deep breath. “…Do you want to give it to someone you like or something?” 

“Ohhh, no, nothing like that.” 

Padfoot Waitress gave a hearty laugh and waved her hand like she had just heard a silly joke. 

“I don’t have anyone to cook for besides the customers…” 

Her hand stopped moving. 

Well, maybe one person. 

Before she knew it, her face fell, and she covered it with one padded hand. 

There was one person to whom she always gave the food she made. 

“…I guess I might give some to that guy at the workshop.” 

“…” 

Cow Girl looked hard at Padfoot Waitress’s face. Her frank, light red eyes seemed to pin the padfoot girl in place. 

“Wh-what is it…?” Padfoot Waitress asked, but for a moment, Cow Girl didn’t say anything. 

“…Well, okay, then,” she said indifferently after a time, and Padfoot Waitress found herself letting out a breath. “I’ll tell you. You have something to write with?” 

“Right here,” Padfoot Waitress said, turning over the paperwork. She grabbed her pen and said, “Go ahead.” Cow Girl gave a helpless smile. 

“Umm, all right. The way you make it is…” 

And then she explained the recipe in detail. 

Stew, really, was a boiled meat dish, not a soup. But the food she described used plenty of milk. And in a word, the impression it made was… 

“Surprisingly…normal?” 

“Right,” Cow Girl nodded with a smile. “It’s totally normal.” 

“I mean, it’s just a regular stew, isn’t it?” 

“That’s right,” she said, never letting her smile slip. “Just a regular stew.” 

It was unexpected, to say the least. 

The waitress had been sure there was something more…unique to the recipe. She rubbed her temple with the end of her pen. 

“Is it some kind of heirloom recipe, passed down in your family for generations?” 

“Ha-ha-ha. I guess so, kind of.” Cow Girl smiled lightly and jumped down from the box. She smacked her hands to get the dust off, then gave a big stretch, pushing out her ample chest. “Not that I learned it from my mother… Although I wish I had.” 

Padfoot Waitress tilted her head at the faint murmur. 

“Your relatives, then?” 

“A neighbor.” Cow Girl looked up at the blue sky and narrowed her eyes. The wind ran through her red hair. “The older girl who lived next door.” 

§ 

“Hello, welcome!” 

“Heyo. Get us three ales and two lemon waters—for starters!” 

“Certainly!” 

“And, uh…eh, the steamed potato platter will do. For five!” 

“Coming right up!” 

The tavern at twilight. Padfoot Waitress wove her way through the back-and-forth conversations of adventurers. 

It was the same liveliness as ever. The same faces. It was wonderful. 

Another day on which they could return home to delicious food and drink. That alone was enough to motivate everyone. 

“Order coming, Pops!” 

“Sure thing. Try not to let ’em get cold—or drop ’em!” 

Such was the favorite rejoinder of Rhea Chef. 

She peeked in the kitchen, where soup was boiling noisily, a frying pan was sizzling, and a knife flashed among ingredients. 

And of course, the chef was in the middle of it all, his short arms moving ceaselessly. 

He does a lot with that little body. 

She never got tired of watching him, even though she saw him every day. 

When the plates came out, Padfoot Waitress stacked them on both arms, glancing toward the stockpot deeper in the kitchen as she did so. 

“Is that okay? It hasn’t boiled over?” 

“What, are you telling me how to cook? This from the culinary equivalent of a five-year-old!” 

“I know, I know. I was just checking.” 

Feeling a lecture coming on, she straightened her tail and skirt and trotted away. 

This was always Padfoot Waitress’s favorite time at the tavern. 

She could welcome adventurers as they came home, see their relief at getting back. 

There were those adventurers who couldn’t come home, too. She had faith that they were off traveling somewhere. 

What happened to an adventurer, and where, was something only the bravest could say… 

“…Mmm?” 

Padfoot Waitress’s ears suddenly twitched. They had picked up bold, almost violent, nonchalant footsteps coming closer. 

The grimy leather armor, the cheap-looking steel helmet, the small, round shield on his arm, and the sword of a strange length at his hip. 

And at Goblin Slayer’s appearance, of course, the tavern fell silent for an instant. 

“Sir?!” 

“…Reception told me to be sure to stop by the tavern.” The steel helmet tilted a little at the sound of surprise that escaped her. “What is it? Have goblins shown up here?” 

“Oh, no! Sir, please wait there a moment.” 

“All right.” 

Leaving the strange, but nodding, man where he was, Padfoot Waitress hurried off to the kitchen. 

“Oh— Oh-ho! What’s this, now?” 

“Get me a dish, Pops! Just a small one!” 

“Tell it to the person who washed them!” 

“That was me!” 

She snatched a dish from the shelf of tableware as they squawked at each other. She spooned some stew into it, then rushed back into the tavern so she could serve it while it was still hot. 

“A taster!” 

“…” Goblin Slayer looked doubtfully at the dish Padfoot Waitress slid in front of him. “Stew?” 

“That’s right!” 

“For me to taste?” 

“That’s right!” 

“…I see.” 

He took the dish reluctantly, but then expertly gulped it down through his visor. 

So much for Padfoot Waitress’s expectation that he might take his helmet off while he ate. But… 

Goblin Slayer let out a faintly surprised “Mm.” 

The waitress’s ears were not as good as an elf’s, but they didn’t miss that. 

She’d done it. A less than gracious smile came over her face as she asked triumphantly, “What do you think? Pretty good, huh?” 

“Yes,” Goblin Slayer nodded. “Not bad.” 

“Yeeeesss!!” 

She found herself pumping her fist in the air and giving a cheer of victory. She didn’t even mind the other adventurers who looked over, trying to figure out what was going on. 

“Yes! Awesome! I did it!” She spun around, the hem of her skirt billowing, then said happily, “So you eating tonight, right, sir? What’s your order? Stew?” 

“Nothing,” Goblin Slayer said. “I’m fine for today.” 

“What?! Why?!” 

Padfoot Waitress was so taken aback that she nearly dropped the dish, scrambling to keep ahold of it. Goblin Slayer said, “Someone is waiting for me.” 

His voice was curt, dispassionate and cold, almost mechanical. 

But Padfoot Waitress blinked at the words. She stared intently at the helmet. 

In her mind, the red eye gazing back from inside it overlapped with another, lighter red eye. 

Oh… 

So that’s how it was. 

“What’s wrong?” Goblin Slayer had tilted his head questioningly at Padfoot Waitress, who had suddenly smiled. 

She could see it now. Looking at it like this, it was unmistakable. 

“Nothing. I was just thinking, sir, you don’t mean any harm.” 

“Is that so?” Goblin Slayer nodded firmly and then said, “Are you done?” 

“I guess so,” Padfoot Waitress said, to which he predictably replied, “Is that so?” and turned away. “In that case, I will go.” 

“Sure, good to have you, our treat.” 

“I don’t understand what you mean.” 

Goblin Slayer shook his head and walked through the tavern with a bold but quick stride. 

“Hey, Goblin Slayer! Kill some more goblins?” 

“How about you fight something else for once? You’ve gotta hunt big game like me!” 

“Aww, by yourself today? No cute little priestess or sexy elf?” 

Replying “Yes” or “Is that so?” and the like to the teasing voices around him, Goblin Slayer opened the door. 

And then, leaving only the jangle of the bell behind him, he went out into the town, into the night. 

Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate. 

His adventure over, he was going back. To his home. 

“Sheesh. If that was what he was up to, he could have just said something!” 

Padfoot Waitress laughed, realizing how one-sided her competition had been. 

Then she let out an “All right!” and gave her cheeks a good smack with her padded hands. 

The cheer refreshed her, and she retied the apron strings at her back, ready to work. 

“Today’s special is stew I poured my heart and soul into! Any takers?” 

Hands went up. People called out. As each order came in, Padfoot Waitress smiled and wrote them down, calling out, “Sure thing!” 

But she had chosen an awfully large stockpot to make her stew. There was no maybe about it: there were sure to be leftovers. 

And in that case… 

“I can just make him eat them!” 

If she could make food she liked, how she liked, and feed it to a person she liked, that was enough. 

Padfoot Waitress hurried out into the furor of the tavern.