HOT NOVEL UPDATES

Goblin Slayer - Volume 5 - Chapter 4




Hint: To Play after pausing the player, use this button

Chapter 4 - Rebuild

“That’s their little den over there.” 

The cold was cutting, but it did nothing to dim the young woman’s beauty. She looked like the daughter of nobility, like someone who would have been more at home in an elegant ballroom than under the gray skies of the northern mountains. 

Her wavy, honey-colored hair was tied in two tails, and her facial features had a prideful cast. The size of her bust was obvious despite the chest armor she wore, her waist so narrow that she had no need for a corset. 

The rapier that hung at her hip was of striking construction; the way it demanded admiration gave much the same impression as its master. 

At the girl’s neck hung a brand-new Porcelain-level tag, catching the sun that shined off the snow. 

She was an adventurer, and she and her four companions had spent several days scrambling up the side of this snowy mountain. Now an ugly little hole lay open before them. One look at the disgusting mountain of waste beside the entrance made it clear that this was a nest. 

And what did the nest belong to? With these newly minted heroes here to do battle, what else could it be? 

Goblins. 

Noble Fencer’s heart lusted for battle at the very thought of them. 

Now, here, she had no family and no riches, no power or authority. Only her own abilities and her friends would help her complete this quest. A true adventure. 

For their first deed, they would get rid of the goblins attacking the village in the North. They would do it more quickly than anyone had ever seen. 

“All right! Is everybody ready?” She put her slim hands to her hips in a proud gesture that emphasized her chest, then pointed at the nest with her sword. “Let’s starve those goblins out!” 

That had been weeks ago. 

It was good that they had stopped up the goblins’ tunnels by erecting defensive barriers around the exits. And they hadn’t been wrong to set up a tent, build a fire for warmth, and prepare an ambush. 

“The goblins are attacking the village because they’re low on supplies,” Noble Fencer had said, full of confidence. “They’re foolish little creatures. A few days without food, and they’ll have no choice but to make a run for it.” 

And indeed, that was what happened. They fell on one group of goblins trying to break through the defensive barriers and killed them. Some days later, a group of starving monsters emerged, and they, too, were slaughtered. It was safe to say that everything was going as planned. They would complete the quest with hardly any danger and a minimum of effort. 

But that was as much a dream as the idea that these untested new adventurers might suddenly become Platinum-ranked. If it were as easy as they imagined, goblin slaying could hardly be called an adventure. 

This was the north country, a frozen place—there was even an ice cap nearby—beyond the territory of those who had words. A person’s breath could turn to ice as soon as it left their mouth, burning the skin, and frozen eyebrows made noise each time one blinked. Equipment became heavy with the chill, stamina draining away day by day with next to no relief. 

There were two other women in the five-person party including Noble Fencer, though the men of course kept their distance. They ate to try to distract themselves and keep up their strength. It was all they could do. 

But the load was heavy, since it included their equipment, the barriers, and the cold-weather gear. Individually, each of them carried only a handful of provisions. One of their members knew the ways of a trapper, but there was no guarantee it would be possible to obtain food for five people. 

Arrows, too, were limited. They could try to retrieve the ones they had used, but… 

First and foremost, though, they ran out of water. 

Their group made the mistake of eating the ice and snow, giving themselves diarrhea and further taxing their endurance. 

They weren’t stupid; they knew they had to melt the stuff over a fire, even if it was troublesome. 

Meaning, of course, that next they ran out of fuel. 

They had scant food, no water, and no way to keep warm. It spelled the ignominious end of Noble Fencer’s seemingly foolproof battle plan. 

Yet, it would be ridiculous to give up by this point. They were only dealing with goblins—the weakest of monsters. Perfectly suited to beginners, to a first adventure. To run back home without even having fought the creatures would be humiliating. They would forever be branded the adventurers who had fled from goblins… 

That being the case, someone had to go down the mountain, get supplies in town, and return. 

The adventurers looked at one another, huddled under their cramped tent, and all focused on one thing. Specifically, Noble Fencer, who was shaking from the cold, using her silver sword like a staff to support herself, yet levelly returning everyone’s gaze. 

Nobody wants to blame themselves when things go wrong. 

“You go,” their rhea scout said, sharply enough to pierce a heart. Even though he had been the first to agree when she had suggested the starvation tactics, saying he thought it sounded interesting. “Right now, I’m the only one doing any work around here. Go get that! Catch us some dinner!” I just can’t stand it, he muttered. 

“…He’s right,” their wizard said, nodding somberly from underneath a heavy cloak. “You know what? I was against this idea from the start. I haven’t even had a chance to use my spells.” 

“Yeah, I agree.” It was the half-elf warrior next, stifling a yawn as she spoke. “I’m getting pretty tired of this.” 

If Noble Fencer recalled correctly, neither of them had thought starving the goblins out was an excellent idea at first. When she explained that this would be the safest method, however, they had both come around. 

What was more, Noble Fencer thought that she and Half-Elf Warrior had grown closer over the past several days of marching. She turned her gaze on the warrior, feeling betrayed, and gave a dismissive little sniff. 

“But then there’d be no point to all our suffering,” the half-elf added. “And what do you think, Pint-sized?” 

“Eh, I don’t much mind whoever goes.” The dwarf monk played with a symbol of the God of Knowledge, apparently trying to answer in as few words as possible. “But dwarves and rheas have such short legs. And half-elves are so slight. I think a human is our best bet here.” He looked at Noble Fencer with a sly glint in his eyes, which were almost lost in his black facial hair. 

Warriors were more suited to going it alone than spell casters. He might as well have asked her to go outright. 

“…Very well. I’ll do it,” Noble Fencer, who had listened in silence until that moment, replied curtly. “It’s obviously the most logical choice.” 

Yes, that was it. She would go because it was logical. Not because her plan had failed. Or so she repeated to herself as she worked her way down the long mountain road. 

Leaning on her heirloom sword as a staff, she removed her breastplate and stashed it on her back, no longer able to endure the weight and the cold. She bit her lip, embarrassed that her adventurer’s equipment had winded up as nothing more than more luggage. 

On top of that was the welcome waiting for her back at the village. 

“Ah! Master adventurer, you’ve returned! You’ve had success?” 

“Well, uh…” 

“Were any among your number injured?” 

“Not yet… I mean, we haven’t…fought them yet…” 

“Gracious…” 

“But I wondered…could you…could you share a bit of food with us, please?” 

The answer was no. 

One could imagine how the headman and the villagers felt. The adventurers they had summoned via the quest network had been away for weeks and yet had accomplished nothing! And now they wanted more food, more fuel, more water. If the village had the spare resources to supply five heavily armored young people, would they have needed to call for adventurers in the first place? They barely had enough for the winter themselves. Trying to support an adventuring party on top of that would be too much. 

It could only be called a stroke of good luck that Noble Fencer was able to wheedle a few trifles out of them. 

“…” 

The cruel irony was that these additional supplies only made her return journey that much slower and more difficult. With every step she took through the snow, regret filled her heart like the ice that sloshed in her boots. 

Should they have made more preparations beforehand? Invited more adventurers to be part of their party? Or maybe they should have made a tactical retreat instead of pushing ahead with the starvation idea…? 

“No! Absolutely not! No one is running from goblins!” 

She let her emotions do the talking, but there was no one to talk back. 

By now she was enclosed in night, a night that further blackened the “white darkness” of the whipping snow. She had already been exhausted when she began this march with her heavy load, and everything about it was a cruelty to her. 

“We won’t give in…to goblins…” 

She breathed on her numb hands, trying desperately to set up her tent. Just having something, anything, between her and the snow and the wind would make such a difference… 

“It’s cold… So cold…” 

The icy night air was merciless. Hugging herself and trembling, Noble Fencer fumbled with some firewood. 

“Tonitrus,” she murmured, incanting the Lightning spell. Small bolts of electricity crackled from her fingertips and set the logs alight. 

Noble Fencer was a rare frontline fighter who could use lightning magic, which she had learned because it was a family tradition. And what would be the harm of a little lightning here? She could use it once or twice each day; it made sense to put it to work starting a fire so she could get some warmth. But even that was a luxury, for it used up some of the meager firewood the villagers had given her. 

“………” 

She spoke no further but hugged her knees, trying to curl into a ball to help her escape from the sound of the howling wind and snow. 

Until a few days ago, she had had friends. 

Now, she was all alone. 

Her companions were a few hours’ climb away. They were waiting for her. Probably. 

But Noble Fencer simply didn’t have the strength to reach them. 

I’m so tired… 

That was everything, all she could think. 

She loosened her belt and the straps of her armor. It was something she had once heard you should do. The warmth of the fire began to seep into her body, and her spirit eased. 

She had imagined dispatching the goblins readily, easily. In the blink of an eye, she would have risen to Gold or even Platinum. She would make her own name, not rely on her parents’ power. But how difficult that was turning out to be! 

I guess…maybe I should have expected it. 

Things like fame and fortune did not come to a person overnight. They accumulated over decades, centuries. Had she believed that she, alone and unaided, would be able to put forth all at once an effort worthy of such accomplishments? 

I’d better apologize. 

Did she mean to her friends or to her family? She wasn’t sure, but the humility she felt in her heart was real as Noble Fencer closed her eyes. 

She began to drift off, consciousness growing farther away. With such fatigue in her bones, how could she want anything more than rest? 

That was why she didn’t realize immediately what she was hearing. 

Splat. The sound of something moist slapping down. 

Somehow the edge of the tent had come up—had the wind caught it?—and something had landed next to the fire. 

Noble Fencer sat up from where she had lain down and looked at the thing sleepily, questioningly. “I wonder what…this is…” 

It was an ear. 

Not a human one, but the ear of a half-elf, cruelly severed halfway down. 

“Ee—eeyikes!” 

Noble Fencer fell backward, landing on her behind. Still shouting, she scrambled back. 

At that moment, there came a horrible laughter; it seemed to surround the tent. 

It was the moment after that that something from outside grabbed the tent and pulled it down. 

“Ahh—oh! No! What’s this?! Why are you—?!” 

Noble Fencer writhed under the fallen tent, half-mad. The bonfire spread to the tent, sending up copious amounts of smoke, causing her eyes to water and inducing a coughing fit. 

When the fighter at last worked her way out from her entrapment, she was hardly recognizable as what she had once been. Her neat golden hair was in disarray, her eyes and nose messy with tears and snot, and there was ash on her face. 

“Ee-eek! G-goblins…?!” 

She shouted and recoiled at the sight of the dirty little creatures, backing away from the sound of their hideous laughter. Noble Fencer was completely surrounded by goblins in the dark, snow-whipped night. They had crude clubs and stone weapons and wore little more than pelts. 

Yet, it was not the appearance of the goblins that so terrified Noble Fencer. It was what they held in their hands: the familiar heads of a rhea, a dwarf, and a human. 

Farther away, the half-elf was being dragged limply by the hair through the snow. She left a red streak behind her like a brush across a canvas. 

“Oh… Please…” 

No, no. Noble Fencer shook her head like a spoiled child, the movement sending waves through her hair. 

Had they waited until she was away to attack? 

Had the others decided to assault the cavern while Noble Fencer wasn’t there, leading to this grisly end? 

Noble Fencer reached for her sword with a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking, tried to draw it from its scabbard— 

“Wh-why? Why can’t I g-get it out…?!” 

She had committed a crucial error. What had she thought would happen? Her sword had been soaked by snow, then she had left it by the fireside—and now it was exposed to the cold again. The snow had melted onto the hilt and scabbard. What else would it do in this situation but freeze once more? 

Dozens of goblins closed in on every side of the weeping fighter. The girl, however, pulled her lips tight. Maybe she couldn’t draw her sword, but she began to weave a spell, her tongue heavy with the cold. 

“Tonitrus…oriens…!” 

“GRORRA!!” 

“Hrr—ghh?!” 

Of course, the goblins were not kind enough to let her finish. She was hit in the head by a ruthless blow from a stone; it brought Noble Fencer to her knees. 

Goblin “sympathy” served only one purpose: to mock their pathetic, weeping, terrified prey. 

Her shapely nose had been squashed, the dripping blood dyeing the snowy field. 

“GROOOOUR!!” 

“N-no! Stop—stop it, please! Ah! H-hrggh! No, please—!” 

She cried as they grabbed her hair, screamed as they took her sword. 

The last thing she saw was her own feet flailing in the air. Noble Fencer was buried by more goblins than she could count on two hands. 

So who was it who had been starved out here? Was this what they got for challenging the goblins on their home turf? Or for failing to prepare well enough to see out their own strategy? 

Whatever the case, we surely need not dwell on what befell her next. 

That was the end of those adventurers. 

§ 

Noble Fencer’s eyes opened to the crackling sound of flying sparks. She felt a faint warmth, but the ache in her neck—a burning sensation—let her know that this was reality. 

What had happened? What had been done to her? A series of memories flashed through her mind. 

“…” 

Noble Fencer silently pushed the blanket aside and sat up. She appeared to be in a bed. 

When she looked around, she saw she was in a log building. A smell prickled her nose—wine? It had been one more bit of bad luck that even being stuffed in a pile of waste hadn’t dampened her sense of smell. 

She was on the second floor of an inn. In one of the guest rooms, she thought. If she wasn’t simply hallucinating. 

At the same time, she could see a human figure crouching in one dark corner of the room, which was illuminated only by the fire. 

The figure wore a cheap-looking helmet and grimy armor. The sword he carried was a strange length, and a small circular shield was propped up against the wall. He looked singularly unimpressive—except for the silver tag around his neck. 

Noble Fencer’s voice was done shaking. “Goblins,” she said. She spoke in a whisper, more to herself than to anyone else. 

“Yes.” The man responded just the same, his voice quiet and his words blunt. “Goblins.” 

“…I see,” she said, and then lay back down in bed. She closed her eyes, looking into the darkness on the backs of her eyelids, and then she opened them ever so slightly. “What about the others?” she asked after a second. 

“All dead,” came the dispassionate reply. It was almost merciful in its cold directness, giving her only the facts. 

“I… I see.” 

Noble Fencer thought for a moment. She marveled at how hardly a ripple passed through her heart. She had expected to cry, but her spirit was strikingly quiet. 

“Thank you for helping me.” A pause. “What I mean is…is it over?” 

“No.” The floorboards creaked as the man stood up. He fastened the shield to his left arm, checked the condition of his helmet, then approached her with a bold, nonchalant stride. “There are some things I’d like to ask you.” 

“…” 

“Just tell me what you can.” 

“…” 

“You don’t mind?” 

“…” 

Perhaps taking Noble Fencer’s silence for agreement, the strange man continued detachedly: How many goblins had she encountered? What was the layout of the nest? What types of goblins were there? Where had she encountered them? What direction? 

She answered without emotion. 

I don’t know. I don’t know. They all looked the same. Near the cave. The north. 

The man only grunted, “Hmm,” adding nothing further. 

Snap. Crackle. The moments of intermittent speech were connected by the muttering of the fire in the hearth. 

The man rose and took a poker in his hand, jabbing it listlessly into the fire. Finally, he spoke, still facing the hearth and just as quietly as before. 

“What did you do?” 

“…Tried to starve them out,” Noble Fencer said, something tugging at the edges of her mouth. It was only a slight gesture, so small that no one but she might have noticed it. But she thought she had smiled. “I was sure it would work.” 

“I see.” She nodded at this dispassionate reply. 

Block off the exits to the cave, wait until the goblins started to starve, then finish them off. She and her friends could do it together, nice and clean. Get some experience, raise their ranks. And then… And then… 

“I was so sure…” 

“I see,” he repeated and nodded. He stirred the fire again and then put aside the poker. There was a rattling of iron as he stood. The floor creaked. “Yes, I understand how that could happen.” 

Noble Fencer looked up at him vacantly. The helmet prevented her from seeing his face. It occurred to her that these were the first comforting words he had said to her. 

Perhaps the man had already lost interest in Noble Fencer, because he strode for the doorway. Before he got there, she called out to him. 

“Hey, wait!” 

“What?” 

Something was coming to her, a dim and ambiguous image from somewhere on the far side of memory. 

That grimy armor. That cheap helmet. That strange sword and round shield. Someone stubborn and strange, with a Silver status tag around his neck. Someone who killed goblins. All just a dim memory. 

But it reminded her of certain lines from a song she had heard somewhere. It brought back memories of long, long ago, when she and her friends were laughing together in town. 

An adventurer known as the kindest man on the frontier. 

“Are you…Goblin Slayer?” 

“……” 

He didn’t respond immediately; there was a moment of silence. 

Then, without turning around, he said, “Yes. Some call me that.” 

His voice, as ever, gave no hint of his emotions, and with that, he left the room. 

There was the sound of the door closing. The poker on the ground was the only sign he had been there. 

Noble Fencer stared up at the ceiling. Someone had cleaned her skin and clothes, and exchanged them for a rough, unadorned outfit. She put a hand to her chest, which rose and fell in time with her breath. Was it that man who had wiped her body clean? Or not? Truthfully, she didn’t care either way. 

There was nothing left for her now. Nothing at all. 

She had abandoned her home, her friends were gone, and her chastity had been stolen. She had no money, no equipment. 

That’s not true. 

She spotted something in a corner of the room, the corner where the man—Goblin Slayer—had first been sitting. Leather armor, battered and gouged, and her item pouch, now dirty. 

The ache in her neck flared up. 

“Goblin Slayer… One who kills goblins.” 

It seemed the goblins hadn’t noticed that Noble Fencer had a false bottom sewn into her item pouch. 

Traditionally, when using a rapier, one carries an object in the opposing hand that aids in defense. 

What she had hidden in the very bottom of her item pouch was a second jeweled blade from her family home. It was an aluminum dagger forged by a lightning-hammer against a red gem. 

§ 

“How is she?” 

“Awake.” 

As Goblin Slayer came down the stairs, Priestess questioned him with worry in her voice, but he responded nonchalantly. 

Unlike during their earlier discussion, there were no villagers at the inn now. 

Night had well and truly fallen by the time Goblin Slayer and the others came back. If the goblins were all dead, then there was no need for the villagers to spend the night in fearful vigilance. Their days of being tormented by the dark and the cold and the fear were over. 

The only exception was the village chief. He had the misfortune of welcoming the adventurers and was the first to hear their report. 

“The goblins appear to have built a separate nest.” 

The headman could hardly be blamed for the way his jaw fell open. How was his village, here in the North, supposed to prepare for winter now? They had so little to spare. And now it had come to this. The goblins in the cave had been slain; the adventurers would be within their rights to consider the quest concluded. The villagers would have to go back to the Guild, file another quest, and pay another reward. 


If they didn’t, the village would simply be destroyed. 

Therefore, his relief was immense when Goblin Slayer announced that his party would continue to work on the goblins. But it didn’t resolve the village’s problem with provisions. The table the party sat around had only modest fare, mostly salted vegetables. 

In a free space among the plates, a sheet of lambskin paper lay open. It was the map of the snowy mountain the trapper had given them prior to their attack on the cave. Goblin Slayer had the map arranged so that north was up from where he sat. 

“Hey,” High Elf Archer said from under half-closed eyes. “Should we really be leaving her alone?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” 

“How could I know?” Goblin Slayer said, sounding a bit annoyed. He could be curt, and abrupt, and cold. But he almost never shouted. “What should I have said to her? ‘I’m sorry your friends are dead, but at least you survived’?” 

This took the wind out of High Elf Archer’s sails. “Well… Well…” She opened her mouth, then closed it again, before finally saying, “There’s such a thing as the sensitive way to say things.” 

Goblin Slayer’s reply was brief: “It doesn’t change what they mean.” 

Come to think of it… 

Priestess bit her lip gently. He had not tried to comfort her in her own case, either. Nor when they had rescued the injured elf adventurer from the ruins. He was always just… 

The faint taste of blood was so bitter it almost brought tears to her eyes. 

She glanced in Goblin Slayer’s direction, but he didn’t appear to notice. 

“How is your injury? Does it affect your movement at all?” 

High Elf Archer pursed her lips. Such bald changes of subject were a specialty of his. Then again, he was worried about her (even if his concern was mostly about slaying goblins!), and she couldn’t complain about that. 

“…It’s fine. Even if it still hurts a little. I’ve gotten treatment for it.” 

“I see.” A nod. His helmet rattled with the motion. “In that case, moving on to the provisioning of equipment. How are things going?” 

“Mm.” Lizard Priest nodded somberly and patted the hempen bag sitting beside him. His chair, around which he had somehow managed to wrap his entire tail, creaked. “I have managed to obtain provisions—although they came rather dear, as I had to ask the villagers to draw from their own stockpiles.” 

“There go our profits…again,” High Elf Archer said with a sigh. She was trying to sound frustrated, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. They had been together for close to a year now, and she had grown used to this. Although her resolve to take him on a real adventure had only strengthened as well. 

“What’s this, then? Worried about money, Long-Ears? You’re not usually the type.” Dwarf Shaman laughed uproariously, whether or not he understood what High Elf Archer was really thinking. Not content with just the wine he used as a catalyst, he had gotten another cup to see him through this conversation. It was a tasteless, odorless, and strong spirit; the bottle had been buried in the snow and made into mead. Dwarf Shaman gulped it down. 

High Elf Archer thought she would get a hangover just watching him. “Of course I am,” she said, glaring at the dwarf. “The rewards for killing goblins are measly!” 

“Then again, we did manage to rescue an adventurer this time around,” Lizard Priest said. 

“Well, it’s not every day you see five or six Silver-ranked adventurers out slaying goblins, is it?” Dwarf Shaman said. 

“Er… I’m only Obsidian,” Priestess murmured, and smiled ambiguously. 

She knew what it was like to be the only survivor of an annihilated party. She wanted to believe that she wasn’t forcing the interpretation—but she couldn’t help wondering how different she really was from that Noble Fencer. 

She didn’t know if it was fate or chance… But each time she thought of the invisible dice rolled by the gods, she felt something like dregs accumulate in her heart. 

“Say, I managed to get us some medicine,” Dwarf Shaman said. He drained his cup, poured, then drank again. 

“That girl’s older sister…” Goblin Slayer paused for a second. “The medicine woman. We were told she’s inexperienced.” 

“Maybe she can’t make us potions, but she said she would give us all the herbs we wanted,” Dwarf Shaman said with a broad grin. Then he stroked his beard. “Don’t you think she’s just the type for you? She’d make a nice little wife.” 

“I have no idea.” 

“Um…,” Priestess burst out, unable to contain herself. 

Dwarf Shaman and Goblin Slayer, their conversation interrupted, looked at her, and Lizard Priest and High Elf Archer shortly followed. 

“Um, well…” She squirmed under their collective gaze. “I just…wonder what we’re going to do next,” she ended lamely. 

“Kill the goblins, of course.” Goblin Slayer’s answer was as cold as ever. He leaned over the table, eyeing the cups and plates that hemmed in his map. “Move the dishes.” 

“You got it,” Dwarf Shaman said as if suddenly coming to himself; he grabbed a steamed potato off one of the plates and took a bite. 

“Hey!” said High Elf Archer, who’d thought she had dibs on that food. She cleared the plates away looking very ill-used. 

Worried that his liquor might be collected along with the rest of the dishes, Dwarf Shaman pulled his cup and bottle toward himself protectively. 

Lizard Priest judged the sight of both of them to be “most amusing,” sticking out his tongue and pouring more wine into his empty cup. 

“……” 

When all was done, Priestess silently wiped the table down. 

“Good,” Goblin Slayer said, nodding and rearranging the map on the tabletop. Then he took a writing utensil—just a piece of charcoal attached to a piece of wood—out of his item pouch and marked the location of the cave with an X. 

“It’s obvious that cave was not their living quarters.” 

“Yeah, it was definitely a chapel or something,” High Elf Archer said, sipping a bit of grape wine. “Although I still can’t quite believe it.” 

“Believable or not, fact it appears to be. I think we must recognize as much. Still…” Lizard Priest gave a hissing sigh, closing his eyes. A second later, he opened one of them and looked at Priestess. She met his eyes and trembled. “…I wonder what our honored cleric thinks.” 

“Oh! Uh… Um, yes…” Priestess quickly straightened up in her chair, gripping her sounding staff, which lay across her knees. It was clear that he was trying to show some consideration for her. 

I have to respond. 

She took a loud gulp of wine, licked her now-moist lips. “I agree with Goblin Slayer. It was…thirty?” 

“Thirty-six,” Goblin Slayer put in. “That’s how many of them we slew.” 

“I don’t think thirty-six of them could possibly all sleep there.” 

“True, the place didn’t seem to have much in the way of food or wine or any of their other favorite things,” Dwarf Shaman said. 

The word goblin was practically synonymous with the word stupid, but that didn’t mean they had no brains at all. The reason they had no technology for creating anything was because they tended to consider looting enough to meet their needs. But the same could not be said of the caves they lived in. If they had stolen a house, or some ruins, some preexisting structure, that might have been a different matter. But a cave… 

Goblins, in their own nasty way, would prepare storehouses, sleeping places, and trash heaps. At the very least, one would have expected to find the scraps of one of their great feasts lying around, but the adventurers had discovered no such remains. They had found only that stone altar, a place that seemed like a chapel, and a woman about to be offered up… 

“This suggests that their main habitation is elsewhere,” Goblin Slayer said, circling on the map a hilltop beyond the mountains. “According to the locals, there are some old ruins at some point higher than where we climbed.” 

“Chances are very strong that the goblins are based there.” Lizard Priest nodded. “Do you have any sense what kind of ruins they are?” 

“A dwarven fortress.” 

“Hmm,” Dwarf Shaman murmured at this mention of his race; he took another mouthful of mead. “One of my people’s fortresses from the Age of the Gods, is it? That means a frontal assault would risk life and limb, Beard-cutter. Shall we try fire?” 

“I have a small amount of gasoline,” Goblin Slayer said, withdrawing a bottle filled with black liquid from his bag. “But I presume the fortress is made of stone. A fire attack from the outside would not set it alight.” 

“From the outside…,” Priestess repeated, tapping a finger against her lip. “What about from the inside, then?” 

“A fine plan,” Lizard Priest said immediately, opening his jaws and nodding. He ran a claw along the sheepskin map, tracing their marching route carefully. “Castles infiltrated by the enemy are and have always been vulnerable.” 

“But how are we going to get inside? I’m sure we can’t just walk in the front door,” Priestess said with a sound of distress. 

At that, though, High Elf Archer’s ears stood straight up, and she leaned well forward. “So you want to sneak into a fortress!” She looked positively giddy. She kept murmuring, “Right, right,” to herself, her ears bouncing in time to her contemplations. “Right! This is almost starting to feel like a real adventure. Great!” 

“Th-this is…an adventure?” 

“Sure is,” High Elf Archer said in her bright, cheerful way. She was naturally upbeat, although it was possible she was putting on an encouraging front. Nothing said you had to act depressed just because you were in a depressing situation. 

“Ancient mountains deep in the wilderness! A towering fortress controlled by some powerful ringleader! And we sneak in and take him out!” 

If that isn’t adventure, what is it? 

High Elf Archer offered this explanation with much waving and gesturing, then looked pointedly at Goblin Slayer. 

“I guess we’re not exactly fighting a Demon Lord or anything…but it’s not classic goblin slaying for sure.” 

“It’s not quite infiltration, either,” Goblin Slayer muttered. “The enemy will know there are adventurers around. We must approach cautiously.” 

“You have a plan?” Dwarf Shaman asked. 

“I just thought of one.” Goblin Slayer looked at them. His expression was masked by his helmet, but he seemed to be looking at his two clerics. 

“Are disguises against your religion?” 

“Hmmm. I wonder,” Lizard Priest said, his eyes rolling in his head. Then his reptilian eyes fixed on Priestess and glinted mischievously. She took his meaning and smiled gently herself. 

I can’t just let everyone baby me all the time. 

“I—I think it depends on the time and the situation.” 

“All right.” Goblin Slayer fished in his item pouch and, at length, pulled something out. It rolled across the table, over the map, and then toppled. 

It was the brand bearing the sign of the evil eye. 

“Since they were so kind as to leave us a clue, I could hardly refuse to pursue it.” 

“Ha-ha. Very clever,” Lizard Priest said with a clap of his scaled hands. He seemed to understand what was going on. “Become a member of the Evil Sect. Mm, very well.” 

“Yes.” 

“I am a lizardman who serves the Dark God. My disciple is a warrior, and we are accompanied by a dwarven mercenary…” 

“I guess that makes me a dark elf!” High Elf Archer said with a catlike grin. Then she turned to Priestess. “I’ll have to color my body with ink. Hey, maybe you could put on some false ears! We could be twins!” 

“Huh? Oh—huh? Will I—will I have to color myself, too?” 

Suddenly Priestess didn’t know where to look. High Elf Archer zipped around her, all smiles. 

“It’s better than goblin gore, right?” 

“I don’t think that’s saying much…!” 

Given the freedom to choose, she wouldn’t have picked either of those things. But if it came down to it… 

Goblin Slayer glanced at the two chattering girls, then turned back to the other men. Lizard Priest narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. 

“They are two fine young women.” 

“Yes,” Goblin Slayer said with a nod, “I know.” 

If he had to do something outrageous or unbelievable to achieve victory, he would. If he had to become depressed or serious in order to fight effectively, he would do it. 

But the reality was different. Laughter and cheer: the whole party recognized how important those things were. 

“Now then, I suppose we must decide what we will do in the manner of disguise,” Lizard Priest said. 

“It would be inconvenient for the goblins to discover we were adventurers,” Goblin Slayer said. “Whatever else we do, we must change what we’re wearing.” 

“Pfah,” Dwarf Shaman said with a cackle, his breath stinking of alcohol. “If you don’t mind ’em well used, I’ve got a few outfits.” 

“Oh-ho. You are a dwarf of many talents, master spell caster.” 

“Good food and wine, good music and song, and something beautiful to wear. If you’ve got all that plus the company of a fine woman, you’ve got everything you need to enjoy life.” He settled back with another cup of the mead in hand and closed his eyes. “I can handle cooking, music, song, and sewing on my own. As for a woman, there’s always the courtesans in town.” 

“Goodness. You’ve no wife, then?” Lizard Priest looked rather surprised, but Dwarf Shaman answered, “Indeed I don’t. I thought I’d spend another hundred years or so enjoying bachelorhood, playing the bon viveur.” 

Lizard Priest chuckled, sticking his tongue out and sipping happily at his drink. “Master spell caster, how very young you seem. It’s enough to make an old lizard jealous.” 

“Ah, but I do believe I’m older than you.” He held out the wine jar invitingly; Lizard Priest nodded and held up his cup. 

Goblin Slayer was next. He grunted, “Mm,” and simply held up his cup. Alcohol sloshed into it. 

“You all just make sure to enjoy your lives,” the shaman said, adding, “Be it with goblins or gods or what have you.” Then he settled back to appreciate his wine. 

His gaze settled on the two chattering young women. 

“Laugh, cry, rage, enjoy—the long-eared girl is good at those, isn’t she?” 

“…” 

Goblin Slayer looked into his cup, saying nothing. A cheap-looking helmet stared back at him from the wine, tinged with the orangish color of the lamps. He raised the cup to that helmet and drained it in one gulp. His throat and stomach felt like they were burning. 

He let out a breath. Just like he did when he was on a long path, looking behind, looking ahead, and continuing on. 

“It is never so simple,” he said. 

“No, I don’t suppose it is,” the dwarf responded. 

“Is it not?” asked Lizard Priest. “I guess you’re right.” 

The three men laughed without making a sound. 

It was only then that the girls noticed them, looking at them with puzzlement. 

“What’s up?” asked High Elf Archer. 

“Is something wrong?” said Priestess. 

Dwarf Shaman waved away their questions, and after giving things a moment to settle down, Goblin Slayer said: 

“Now. About the goblins.” 

“Ah-ha! So we come to it, Beard-cutter.” Dwarf Shaman shook the droplets off his beard and shifted in his seat. “I s’pose this paladin-like fellow is their leader. That’s if he really exists, of course.” 

“Yes.” Goblin Slayer nodded. “I’ve never fought such a goblin, either.” 

“The question is, just how smart is he?” 

“He was able to imitate my devices, at least.” Goblin Slayer took the arrowhead out of his bag, rolling it around in his hand. It was stained with High Elf Archer’s blood. It gave him a dark feeling. “And if we can destroy thirty-six of them in one expedition, it means our foe is many.” 

“So, mean little brains and lots of ’em? Sounds like another day’s work with goblins,” Dwarf Shaman said. 

Things at the harvest festival had somehow gone in their favor, but that was because they knew the terrain and had made preparations. Even if there were no more enemies than there had been at the farm, the adventurers numbered only five. Fighting in hostile territory seemed rather unmanageable. 

Lizard Priest, who had been listening quietly, made a rumble in his throat, then said seriously, “And there is one more problem.” He struck the floor with his tail, stretched out his arms, and tapped the claw on the newer mark Goblin Slayer had made on the map. “Specifically, if we should be so fortunate as to get into the enemy’s fortifications, what do we do from there?” 

“Ah, about that,” Goblin Slayer said. “If we do manage to get in—” 

Criiiick. 

No sooner had he spoken than there was a sound of creaking wood. Immediately, the adventurers all reached for their weapons. 

They held their collective breath. The innkeeper had retired much earlier. 

Slowly, the creaking became quiet footsteps. Someone came down the stairs, then exhaled. 

“Goblins…?” 

The voice was strained, almost like a sigh. It came from Noble Fencer, who stood clutching the railing of the staircase, swaying unsteadily. She wore tattered armor over her light bedclothes, and in her hand a silver dagger glittered in the light. 

Mithril…? No, the color’s too light. A magical item of some sort, perhaps…? 

Dwarf Shaman found himself squinting at the gleam. To think that it should be something that he, a friend of metal, had never seen. 

“……Then… I’m coming, too.” 

“No way!” High Elf Archer was the first to respond. “We came to rescue you because of the quest your parents posted.” She looked into Noble Fencer’s eyes with characteristic elven directness. Those eyes were deep and dark, like the bottom of a well—or so they seemed to her. 

The mention of her parents didn’t seem to stir so much as a ripple in Noble Fencer. 

There was an intake of breath, ever so slight. 

“Before you put your life in danger again, don’t you think you should at least go home and talk to them?” High Elf Archer said. 

“……No. I can’t do that.” Noble Fencer shook her head, her honey-colored hair shaking. “……I have to get it back.” 

Lizard Priest put his hands together in a strange shape, resting his chin atop them. With his eyes closed, he appeared half as if in prayer, half as if enduring some pain. Quietly, he asked: 

“And what might it be?” 

“Everything,” Noble Fencer answered firmly. “Everything I’ve lost.” 

Dreams. Hopes. Futures. Chastity. Friends. Comrades. Equipment. A sword. 

All that the goblins stole from her and took away into the depths of their gloomy hole. 

“I cannot say I do not understand,” Lizard Priest said after a moment, his breath hissing. Noble Fencer was talking about pride, about a way of life. Lizard Priest brought his palms together in a strange gesture. “A naga has his pride precisely because he is a naga. If he has no pride, he is no longer a naga.” 

“Ju-just a second…!” High Elf Archer said. Lizard Priest was so calm and collected—although, come to think of it, he did seem to like combat. The elf’s ears had drooped with pity, but now they sprang back up. “Dwarf! Say something!” 

“Why shouldn’t we let her do as she wishes?” the shaman said. 

“Guh?!” 

Yet another un-elf-like sound (she seemed to have an ever-increasing repertoire) came from High Elf Archer’s throat. 

Dwarf Shaman paid her no mind but, shaking the last drop out of the bottle of mead, said, “Our quest was to rescue her. It’s up to her what she does after that.” 

“Et tu, dwarf?! What if she dies, huh?! What then?” 

“You might die, yourself. Or me. Or any of us.” He drained that final cup and wiped his mouth. “Every living thing dies one day. You elves should know that better than anybody.” 

“Well… Well yeah, but…” 

Droop went the ears again. High Elf Archer looked around with an expression like a lost child who didn’t know what to do next. 

Priestess met her eyes, and it almost prevented the girl from saying what she said next. She looked at the ground, bit her lip, quietly drank the last of the wine in her cup. If she hadn’t, Priestess didn’t think she could have gotten the words out. “Let’s… Let’s take her along.” 

If she didn’t say them, no one else would. 

“If… If we don’t…” 

She can’t be saved. 

Without a doubt, there will be no salvation for her. 

Priestess herself had been that way, once. 

And—she suspected—so had he. 

“I…,” he—Goblin Slayer—began, picking his words very carefully, “…am not your parents, nor am I a friend.” 

Noble Fencer said nothing. 

“You know what should be done when you have a quest in mind.” 

“I do.” 

“Hey!” 

But almost before High Elf Archer had gotten the word out of her mouth, there was an unpleasant tearing sound. 

The golden hair went flying through the air. 

“………Your reward. I’m paying in advance.” 

She took a lock of the hair she had just cut off. She cut another lock with her dagger—another tearing sound—and set it on the table. The two tails of her hair, once tied with ribbon, were now cruelly lost. 

“………I’m going, too.” 

Her hair was brutally short now, her lips drawn back in determination—the very image of someone bent on vengeance. 

Priestess heard a soft grunt from inside Goblin Slayer’s helmet. 

“Goblin Slayer…sir…?” 

“What can you do?” 

He ignored Priestess’s look, instead flinging this question at Noble Fencer. 

Without hesitation, the girl responded, “I can use the sword. And a spell. Lightning.” 

The helmet turned, looked at Dwarf Shaman. 

“Summoning thunder,” he said disinterestedly. “Very powerful stuff, like a cannon.” 

“…Very well,” Goblin Slayer said softly. Then he asked, “You don’t mind?” 

The helmet turned toward High Elf Archer, who was looking at him beseechingly. Now, she averted her eyes; she clutched her cup with both hands and looked at the floor. Finally, she rubbed the outer corners of her eyes with her arms and looked up piteously. She said only: “If you’re all right with it, Orcbolg.” 

“Good.” Goblin Slayer rolled up the map and stood. 

It was clear what had to be done. 

It was the same thing that always had to be done. 

Always and everywhere. 

No matter what. 

It was what he had done for the past ten years. 

“Then let us go goblin slaying.” 



Share This :


COMMENTS

No Comments Yet

Post a new comment

Register or Login