Goblin Slayer - Volume 6 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Magical Resources

First, we should elucidate the mistake they made.

They had all their gear. The party was well balanced.

They were vigilant and resolute, and they let nothing disrupt their formation.

Yet, they were all destroyed. Why?

The god Truth, seated in the high heaven, would no doubt smile and say: “Just because I was set on bringing down a party today.”

§

The quest they had taken on was to clean up monsters around the area where the training facility was to be built.

The battle with the Non-Prayers was endless, reaching back to the Age of the Gods. Most of the fortresses and castles built during that time were now nothing more than ruins.

The five of them had challenged just such an ancient place.

They were a mix of ninth-rank Obsidians and tenth-rank Porcelains, but all of them were novice adventurers. They had met with success on a number of adventures, and they approached these ruins as they had their other quests.

They attacked the goblins who nested there.

Forming their battle lines, they readied their spells, and burst through the door. Their swords flashed, lightning bolts and fireballs flew, corpses were trampled upon and treasure chests were opened. A textbook hack and slash.

“Heh! I told you, goblins just aren’t quite satisfying,” a lizardman said, sheathing his serrated shark-tooth sword and letting out a breath. His carefully cultivated muscles bulged under his scales, obviously the body of a warrior. “As long as you keep them in front of you, there’s no way you can lose.”

“Oh?” came a laugh from a young human girl. “I really had fun.” She looked healthy and trim, but suitably feminine; she was dressed in armor that could hardly be considered anything other than underwear. The massive battle-ax at her feet indicated there was more to her than met the eye. A warrior-priest and servant of the Valkyrie, she seemed to be triumphantly displaying her body.

Another party member glanced at her and sighed. He was a human wizard well into middle age. He put a hand to his receding hairline and focused his eyes as craggy as a cliff directly on the young woman.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, but please don’t go diving in among the enemy like that. It makes it impossible to aim my spells.”

“Aw, is our dear general upset?” Warrior-Priest seemed unmoved by the mage’s reproachful look; her smile didn’t shrink at all. “What’s the big deal? You get to save your spells, and I get to do what I do best.”

“That’s not the—well, never mind. I’ll save the lecture for later. More importantly, what’s our status?”

“Wait.”

The response came not from Warrior-Priest but from a man in a black outfit, who crouched in front of a treasure chest the goblins had left behind and spoke in low, dark tones.

“The cheeky little creatures have left us a trap,” he said. He was covered from head to toe, and given the skill with which he worked at the lock on the chest, it was easy to tell he was a thief.

His skill was superhuman—indeed, he wasn’t human. Black ears peeked out from his bandanna. He was a dark elf who had become a Pray-er.

“Can you open it?” the leader asked.

“Don’t patronize me,” the dark elf snorted. “Compared with my fellows’ work, this is child’s play.”

“Well, I hope it contains more than a child’s pittance.”

There was a soft click and the chest opened. A well-endowed cleric leaned in for a look.

Hanging from her neck was a golden wheel on a chain, the symbol of the Trade God, who protected travelers and merchants.

The acolyte frowned unhappily and put a hand to her cheek, her expression dispirited.

The entire contents of the chest consisted of old coins. It would be a chore to get them out of there.

“If only you all didn’t have so many weapons and items and provisions, this money wouldn’t be so much trouble,” she said.

“Hey, only a fool mocks provisions.” A large, scaly hand settled on her shoulder. “How can we fight on empty stomachs?”

“Yes, I understand that very well,” she said, placing her hand over the lizardman’s with an intimate smile. “That’s exactly why we need to earn more than we do.”

“Gawd, you two lovebirds…” Warrior-Priest pointedly made a disgusted face and said, “Come on, let’s go on to the next one. There are still three doors left in this burial chamber.”

“So there are,” the mage said. “Come on, check the doors. Start on the north side.”

“No traps,” the dark elf replied, quickly pressing his ear to the door and feeling it with his fingers. He didn’t have to listen hard to hear the harsh breath on the other side. “Our next prey is right through here.”

Eyes all around the party sparkled at that.

Battle, monsters, treasure, victory. Everything they wanted from an adventure. There was no better job in the world.

They took their familiar positions for battle. Lizardman and Warrior-Priest were in the front row, General and Acolyte were in the middle, and Thief stood in the back with a dagger at the ready, watching for sneak attacks.

“Here we go!” With a great shout, Lizardman burst through the ancient, rotten door. It crashed inward and the party piled into the room.

A massive shadow loomed in the middle of the dim burial chamber. Some unidentified monster.

As it slowly sat up, though, club in hand, General realized what it was. His eyes went wide, and the usually reserved man cried a warning at the top of his lungs:

“Trollllll!”

A troll. The monster was a troll. Stupid, but strong. Slow, but incredibly powerful. It had no scales, no rocky hide. But any wounds it received, save those inflicted with fire, quickly healed.

How can there be a troll here…?!

For an instant, General couldn’t think straight. It crossed his mind that goblins sometimes hired bodyguards. Was that what this was?

Can we beat it?

A troll was nothing compared with an ogre, which could use magic, but it was no trifling threat, either.

No—we can win. We will win!

General forcefully pushed aside the fear and astonishment that assailed him and began giving orders as if this were any other battle.

“Front row, intercept him. Acolyte, buff them. Thief, use an ambush. I’ll get some fire ready.”

“You don’t want me guarding the rear, then?”

“If we don’t bring to bear everything we’ve got, we’re going to pay for it!”

“Understood.” Thief melted into the shadows of the burial chamber, while

Warrior-Priest burst out, “I’m going iiiin!” and the battle began.

“Bring us victory!”

“OLRLLLLRT?!”

The blow from the battle-ax, boosted by Holy Smite, caught the monster on the shin, and the troll staggered like a tree in a hurricane.

“Heh! Don’t like that, do you?”

“Yaaaaaah!” Lizardman didn’t miss the opportunity to bring his blade into the fight. Carved from the fangs of a sea monster, it literally bit into the troll’s grey skin. But then—

“H-huh?! This thing is tough!” Numbness ran up Lizardman’s arm, the same feeling he got when he slammed a wooden sword into a boulder.

“Why is it you’re always ahead of me?” Acolyte complained.

“It’s your fault for being so slow,” Lizardman shouted as he fell back, the troll’s club smashing the ground where he had been standing just a moment ago.

“TOOOORLLL!!”

The burial chamber, which had stood for a thousand years, now found itself hard-pressed; the room trembled, and pebbles rained down from the ceiling.

“Hrh… This thing’s all brawn!” Acolyte said. With a mixture of chagrin and distaste, she brought her hands together and closed her eyes. It shaved away a certain part of one’s soul to pray like this, but it allowed one to beg for a miracle directly from the gods in heaven.

“O my god of the wind that comes and goes, may fortune smile on our road!”

There was a whoosh as the sacred wind of the miracle Blessing gusted through the chamber. The lizardman’s blade was sharpened by its pure breeze and the power of the gods.

“Now, that’s more like it! O my forebear Yinlong, behold my deeds in battle!”

“If you’re going to exclaim to anyone, it ought to be the Trade God!”

A single blow from Lizardman’s enhanced muscles caught the troll’s club square on.

“OLLLT?!”

“Aw, yeah!”

The two weapons met with a crack, the momentum bouncing them back off each other. At the instant the troll stumbled, a burst of light struck at his ankles: a sneak attack by the dark elf.

There was an unpleasant crackling as the blow cut his ligaments. In any other case, the strike would have ended the fight.

“TOORRRRROO!!”

“Yikes! Look out, look out, look out! I think we just ticked him off!” They, however, were dealing with a troll.

Warrior-Priest dropped and rolled with a shout, narrowly dodging the descending club.

The monster’s skin bubbled, wounds closing themselves up. It was a vision of utmost fear to the warrior. How much damage had their attacks actually done? And this was when they had a holy miracle on their side—a miracle that wouldn’t last forever.

“Where’s that magic?!” Acolyte demanded, sweat pouring down her forehead.

“I’m working on it!” General shouted back then jacked into his own consciousness.

He pulled out the words of true power that were carved into his mind, used them to override and refigure the world itself.

“Carbunculus… Crescunt… Iacta!!”

Thus he was the first of them to die.

The Fireball he cast flew in a random direction, scorching stone and vanishing in a shower of sparks. Do you suppose General recognized, at the moment of his death, the source of the blunt sound that accompanied the blow to the back of his head?

The goblin’s stone ax scattered that brilliant brain all over the floor of the burial chamber.

“GROORB!!”

“GORR!”

“A rear attack?!”

Who was it who sent up the shout?

Now they saw the goblins pouring through the doorway behind. It was too late to curse the gods. Closing the door would have meant cutting off their own escape route. What other outcome, then, could there have been?

“GORBBBO!!”

“OOOTLLTL!!”

Lizardman, seeing how quickly the battlefield situation had changed, beat back the troll’s club and shouted, “The two of us will handle this. Fall back!”

Instead of an answer, he saw a dark shape slipping around the burial chamber. The dark elf had gotten behind the troll and somersaulted in, seemingly in an attempt to protect Acolyte.

“You get back, too! In that armor, you’re just asking to die!”

“No way! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!” Warrior-Priest yammered. She was working her weapon as hard as she could, but the situation did not look good.

The group of three who had been fighting the monster now had to contend with just two party members. And all while watching their backs.

The goblins had let the troll distract the adventurers then ambushed them from the other burial chambers. How clever and cruel.

Sometimes you crit, and sometimes it’s a natural one. “…Hng—”

Acolyte desperately looked away from General, his brains still leaking onto the floor; she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. In that moment, the real tragedy was the loss of magical resources. She had to think of the battlefield she was on. If she wanted to survive, if she wanted to claim victory, then she had to put the death of her comrade out of her mind at this moment.

Acolyte repeated these things over and over to herself as she brought her hands together and began trying to pray again.

“GRORORB…!”

After all, she herself was not yet out of danger. There were several goblins coming up behind her—indeed, nearly a dozen. And goblins were not famous for their mercy toward prisoners.

Goblins divided the world into three categories: toys for themselves, loot to steal, and enemies. Just as adventurers would slaughter any goblins they found, goblins would surely let no adventurer go alive.

“Ah— Ahh!” Acolyte stumbled forward as she dodged a rusty dagger. “Keep giving support!” the dark elf said as he came in to cover her. He deflected the goblin weapon in a hail of sparks then administered a second blow that cut the monster’s throat. There was a wheezing sound and a spray of blood; the dark elf gave the creature a ruthless kick.

“We aren’t gonna last long over here!” “Right! Miracle, coming right up—!”

Acolyte grasped the holy mark that had fallen down between her bouncing breasts, sweat running down her bloodless cheeks as she intoned her miracle once more. “O my god of the wind that comes and goes, may fortune smile on our road!”

Money makes the world go round, as do travelers. The Trade God oversaw them both. He sent a fresh wind blowing into the burial chamber, chasing away the moldy stench that had prevailed in the room.

“H-hrraaahhh! Graaahhh!” Lizardman bellowed. “TOOTLOR!!”

The troll raised its club. The two of them met head on.

Warrior-Priest, her hair in complete disarray, prepared to bring her battle- ax down on the troll’s foot.

“T-take this! Both together now!” “Let’s do it!”

The holy ax and the Blessed serrated blade tore without mercy through flesh and muscle.

“TOORL?!”

There was a spray of blood and an ear-splitting screech from the troll, and the shouts of the two warriors rang throughout the chamber.

None of this changed the fact that the situation was very, very dire.

All the injuries they had inflicted on the troll were relatively minor. And a three-on-one fight had been reduced to two-on-one—or perhaps more accurately, five-on-one had become four-on-eleven.

Without a mage, the party had no way to strike a decisive blow. Yet, at the same time, their escape route was cut off and they couldn’t retreat. Could they hope to do anything that might turn the situation around? “Damn… Damn! Dammit!!”

Great, wet tears formed in Warrior-Priest’s eyes and began to stream down her face. She and Lizardman fought like lions, but eventually they would reach their limit.

There was no fear. Only regret.

If they’d had their dark elf scout watching their rear, maybe they wouldn’t have been taken unawares. And yet, if they had done that, they would have had no good way of attacking the troll. The outcome, she suspected, would have been the same.

Warrior-Priest well understood that there are no ifs in battle. But somehow that only made the regret sting all the more. Where had they gone wrong? Why had it turned out this way? She hated all the questions she couldn’t answer.

“Grr…!”

The second to fall in battle that day was the dark elf thief. He stopped one goblin, killed a second, buried a third—but then a goblin dagger grazed his cheek. The fact that he recognized the seemingly unidentifiable liquid slathered on the blade as poison was perhaps testament to his being a dark elf.

With a free hand, he reached back to grab a bottle from his belt. An antidote.

“GRORB!”

“GROB! GRRRORB!!”

The goblins, naturally, were not about to give him the time to drink it. Relying on their numbers, they threw themselves at him relentlessly. The dark elf’s movements began to slow visibly, and then…

“Grgh—hagh!”

He was overwhelmed, dragged to the ground, and there the goblins sliced him up until there was no life left in him.

“Ahhh!”    Lizardman    clearly    heard    Acolyte’s    involuntary    scream.

Unfortunately.

“Hey, are you all right?!”

It was a careless lapse. Yet, who could blame him? The lizardman’s passion for battle was fueled by that beautiful acolyte.

The next instant, he registered the club rising, and coming down, and no way to avoid it.

A troll is born with strength enough to shame a tree; their regenerative powers, too, are natural. As weapons go, the club is quite crude—but plenty powerful.

This creature was strong, an enemy to be feared. Was that not enough? They had been good companions, and this was a good enemy. It was a good life.

Would the troll do him the service of eating his heart?

That was his only disappointment. But even if not, his remains would one day rot away and return to the great cycle.

What else could he say, then, at the end? “—Brilliant!”

The lizardman warrior’s skull ended up inside his chest armor, and he died. It almost looked as if the body had been beheaded, but it collapsed without so much as a spurt of blood. His weapon fell out of his hand and clattered to the ground.

“N—”

Acolyte saw it all. She stood dumbly with her eyes wide, and then against every effort of her will, a strangled scream rose out of her. “Nooooooo! It’s not true! It can’t be…!” She was about to dash over to where her fallen companion lay.

“Don’t do it, idiot! It’s too late now!”

That is to say, she was about to run over to the troll.

The scream had been more than enough to get the monster’s attention, and that of the goblins as well. The hideous smiles on their faces made plain what they were imagining in their polluted little minds.

“Y-you sons of—!”

Warrior-Priest gave just a slight stutter before she went diving in among them.

If she had had any thought of running away, she might have been able to. If she had been willing to abandon Acolyte, she could have gone home alive.

Instead, it was all going to go to waste: Everything, from the moment she had been born until this very instant. All the training. All the friends. Her dreams. Her future.

She knew that full well. And yet, in her mind, the choice of doing nothing didn’t exist.

“Outta the way!” “Ah!”

She shoved Acolyte aside. The last expression the young woman saw on Warrior-Priest’s face was that of a girl who had run out of strength.

Then with a crushing sound, Warrior-Priest vanished, what was left of her splattering on Acolyte’s cheeks. From underneath the club that now rested firmly on the floor, only a few strands of hair and a single twitching limb could be seen.

Up rose the club, a few threads of blood clinging to it, and all that was left was a quivering mass of flesh.

“Ah—ahh—ahh—ah—”

Acolyte’s legs trembled, and her strength left her. She could hardly stand up anymore. She felt something warm and damp running down her leg.

“GRRROR…!” “GROB! GROB!”

One by one, step by step, the goblins came closer with an agonizing slowness. Their dirty yellow eyes burned with cruel desire; their disgusting gazes ran up and down Acolyte’s body. Acolyte, who had fallen on her behind, could only flail both hands in the direction of the approaching monsters.

“N-noo! Stop—stop it, please…!” She struggled and fought.

One of the goblins gave an annoyed wave of his hand to their bodyguard, the troll.

“GROB!” “TOOOORLL!”

Whoosh. A single swing of the club. It was as easy as snapping a twig.

There was a dry crack as Acolyte’s leg broke, pointing off in an unnatural direction.

“Eeeyyaaaarrrrrghhh!!?!?”

Her pitiful shout echoed throughout the burial chamber.

It was only moments before Acolyte vanished behind a wall of goblins. Sad to say, for her and her friends, the adventure ended here.

§

We repeat ourselves, but it bears reiteration. We should elucidate the mistake they made.

They had all their gear. The party was well balanced.

They were vigilant and resolute, and they let nothing disrupt their formation.

Yet, they were all destroyed. Why?

The god Truth, seated in the high heaven, would no doubt smile and say: “Just because I was set on bringing down a party today.”

§

O adventurer, O journey of mine

Does a dragon or a golem await me Or perhaps a ghostly knight?

And there must be legendary gear somewhere With just a torch and a spear

And a staff, life is easy.

To east or west, I cross a bridge Perhaps to die on the other side But I seek only love

A princess I would cherish, but I don’t ask much Just a night’s pleasure

O adventurer, O journey of mine!

The six party members headed for the intended site of the training facility, accompanied by Priestess humming a little song. Once, supposedly, there had been a small village here, but the field was now covered in tents, with people milling about busily.

Some of those present bore the marks of old wounds on their bodies; they must have been retired adventurers. Were they happy that there was still work for them to do even after they had quit adventuring? Or were they frustrated that they had to keep working even after they had retired?

Priestess, unable to decide, looked from one person to the next. Then she saw a woman coming their way, and she blinked.

It was an elf. An especially beautiful one, her sensuous body draped in revealing clothes. The hint of perfume that lingered as she passed by immediately marked her out as a prostitute.

“Whoa…” the boy breathed. Apparently, Priestess wasn’t the only one whose attention the elf had caught.

A sidelong glance at High Elf Archer showed that her face was red; she was turned away and trying to pretend nothing was happening.

Priestess was relieved to discover that Goblin Slayer didn’t appear to have any particular reaction; she tried to suppress the flush in her own cheeks.

“Y-you know, I had heard rumors, but…”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha. Men are simple creatures, aren’t they?” Lizard Priest said with a great guffaw, slapping his tail against the earth. “When there’s a way to spend money, they will spend it like water. And then they’ll work to earn more to spend.”

“Yeah,” High Elf Archer said, glancing at Dwarf Shaman beside her. Almost as if by magic, he had pulled out a skewer of meat from somewhere and was digging in lustily. “I see what you mean…”

“It’s that insufferable nobility of yours that keeps you from enjoying the pleasures of a good bit of street food,” Dwarf Shaman said, munching away. He finished the entire skewer with the gusto of a starving man then casually cracked the wooden stick in two. He licked the grease off his fingers then let out a pointed sigh and eyed High Elf Archer’s thin frame. “I know you elves like to keep the weight off, but you could use a little meat on your bones, if you know what I mean…”

“…Hmph! I resent that! I’ll have you know that elves—”

And off they went, bantering as ever. The rest of the party regarded this as merely normal, but Wizard Boy wasn’t used to it. He tugged on Priestess’s sleeve, looking a little panicked. “Er, uh, h-hey. D-don’tcha think we should st-stop them or something?”

“Oh, they’re good friends,” she said with a smile, and that was it.

The boy looked at the two demi-humans in disbelief. The various passersby took note of them but didn’t seem unduly bothered; it was all just another day for a bunch of adventurers.

Wizard Boy looked desperately at Goblin Slayer, but he was acting as though none of this affected him, and Lizard Priest was doing the same.

“Indeed, even so. Here, give me one of those,” Lizard Priest said. He appeared to be buying something with cheese on it. He ate it in a single gulp and announced, “Nectar! Mm, sweet nectar. If anyone were to ask what is my joy in life, I would have to answer: it is this.”

Absolutely beaming (yes, lizardmen can beam), he nodded happily. “I suppose, as the song said, a night loving an adventurer is never just a night.”

“Well, uh, I mean, I understand that, but…”

The Earth Mother was the goddess of the harvest and closely related to marriage and childbirth. Priestess exhaled and shook her head, just trying to clear her mind for a moment.

After all, there was serious work ahead. She had to focus.

She gripped her sounding staff with both hands and took a deep breath.

She reviewed the procedure in her head. All right.

“Er, well then, Goblin Slayer, sir. Shall we go?”

“Yes.” He nodded briefly, prompting the slightest of smiles from Priestess. It seemed she had been right: no problems with the first step.

“Awesome! So we’re getting right down to kickin’ some goblin ass, huh?” Priestess didn’t know what exactly Wizard Boy thought was going on, but he struck the ground emphatically with his staff.

“Er, I’m afraid not yet…” she said.

“Don’t be stupid,” Goblin Slayer said, less diplomatically than Priestess. “We have to gather information. We’re going to see the quest giver.”

§

First, we should observe their skills.

Wizard Boy’s power and Priestess’s ability to command. It was the perfect opportunity to discover both.

There were no objections to Goblin Slayer’s proposal, and soon the party set out with the red-haired boy in tow.

The quest this time came from the foreman leading the work on the training facility, an important figure within the Carpenters Guild. He was seated in a tent on the edge of the building area, a dwarf with a black beard who looked as craggy as if he had been carved from stone.

He poured something from a beautiful glass carafe into some cups and offered them to the adventurers. It was chilled grape wine, and it felt wonderful on throats that were dry from all the talking they had been doing.

“Whyn’t yeh put out th’fire wine, brother?” Dwarf Shaman asked.

“Y’damn fool. Only dwarves can start in on the spirits at midday and still keep t’workin’. Yeh’ve humans there, haven’t yeh, brother?”

After this exchange, Dwarf Shaman and the foreman shared some kind of greeting in the Dwarvish tongue. It happened to take the form of three toasts:

“To your long Dwarven beard, to the gods’ dice, to adventurers and monsters!”

The foreman wiped some droplets from his dark beard and said, “Right, then. Some days ago, a party that’s been making a name for themselves took me up on this quest.”

Goblin Slayer took a swallow of wine and interjected, “And they didn’t come back.”

“Sure enough,” the foreman replied bluntly.

He was dealing with a Silver-ranked adventurer, but he himself was a dwarf, beloved of steel and fire. There was no way he could fail to recognize the man before him; that equipment was too unique.

“You’re the one they call Beard-cutter,” he said.

“Yes.” Goblin Slayer gave a slow nod. “Some call me that.”

“Goblin Slayer…,” the foreman said softly, then he smiled and drained the cup he was holding in a single gulp as though it were water. “What do you want to know?”

“Goblins.” It was less a question than a statement.

“Yeah. Well, maybe not just goblins but certainly plenty of them.” The foreman crossed his short, beefy arms and grunted, revealing canines polished to a sharp point. Those accursed goblins. “For now, they’re just stealing tools… Well, there’s nothing ‘just’ about that at a construction site, but anyway, it would be trouble for us if they started hurting anyone.”

“So it is goblins.”

“I know a bunch of laborers aren’t like a kidnapped goodwife or merchant. And I know goblin work doesn’t pay much.”

“Yes. That is the nature of it.” Goblin Slayer nodded.

“Hey, Orcbolg…” High Elf Archer jabbed him with her elbow. The foreman frowned to have his conversation interrupted by an elf, but he said nothing. He knew enough of the world to know adventurers had their own ways.

“What is it?” The helmet turned to her with its blunt question.

The elf shook her ears and whispered, “This is all well and good so far, but you’re not forgetting that she’s giving the orders today, right?”

“I’m not.”

“…Are you sure?”

“However, I will take over in an emergency.”

“Yes, please. I’d very much appreciate that,” Priestess said with a smile and a polite bow of her head. “That would be much safer.”

This was absolutely how Priestess felt. She would far rather be shown incompetent than see her party wiped by her own fault. Skill might improve with experience, but a fallen companion could not be brought back.

Watching the forthright and brave young woman, the dwarf foreman let out a sound of admiration.

“So then, um,” Priestess began.

“Ahem. What can I do for you, m’lass?”

“Thank you, sir. I’d like to take over the questioning, if you don’t mind.” She leaned in and managed to meet his eyes. “These goblins…er, whatever monsters they may be. Can you describe the ruins they’re living in?”

“I can. One of the damn fools who got his tools stolen got all hot under the collar and tried to follow them, but I stopped him.” The foreman snorted. He seemed less upset at the goblin who had taken the tools than he did at the carpenter who had lost them.

“That’s just how dwarves are,” Dwarf Shaman leaned in and whispered helpfully to Priestess. “We don’t look kindly on those who treat their tools lightly.”

That made sense. Priestess nodded. “In that case, we should certainly bring back any of the stolen tools we can find,” she said.

“I’d appreciate that,” the foreman said, his face softening into a smile. “And maybe that moron will be more careful the next time around.”

Ah, good. Priestess allowed herself an internal moment of triumph. You had to have a good relationship with the quest giver and other locals. That was a thought she had come up with on her own, but it was also one of Goblin Slayer’s precepts. Adventurers could never get anywhere without other people’s support.

“Anyway, it’s a place just a little north of here. I can make a map for you.

I suspect it’s a—”

“Mausoleum,” Goblin Slayer interjected. He took another swig of wine and, apparently oblivious to the looks he was getting, went on. “I’ve heard it’s in a common style, a collection of burial chambers connected by paths.”

“Well, now, you know it?”

“Long ago,” Goblin Slayer said softly, “I was warned not to go near it.” Then he fell silent again. Priestess blinked at him.

Long ago.

Now that she thought about it, she had spent an entire year at his side, yet she hardly knew anything about his past.

He had an older sister. He’s been an adventurer for five or six years. He slays goblins.

She was familiar with some of his personal qualities, like his surprising kindness and consideration for others, but how much did she really know about him?

“…”

No. Now isn’t the time. It can’t be. She shook her head. She mustn’t run away from her duties as the point person on the goblin-slaying quest that was fast approaching.

“Ahem,” Priestess said. “So is there anything strange about the entrance to that mausoleum? Bones or paintings or anything?”

“The fool didn’t mention anything o’ the sort, assuming he didn’t just forget to see it.”

No totems, then.

Priestess tapped a pale finger against her lips and murmured, “Right, right.”

That suggested the absence of any shamans, an advanced class. Of course, a year of adventuring had made her painfully aware that they weren’t the only possible threat. It was crucial not to underestimate the enemy.

So now, what was important was…

“Do you happen to know the rank and party composition of the people who went in before us?”

“I don’t recall who was what rank, but it was a mix of Porcelains and Obsidians. As far as their classes, just judging by what I saw—”

The foreman crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling of the tent. He searched his memory, crooking his fingers as he listed them off.

“A lizardman warrior and a cleric—a warrior-priest. Then there was a wizard, another cleric, and some kind of thief or assassin.”

“Were any of them women?”

“Two of them. The warrior-priest and the cleric—or, er, maybe she was what you’d call an acolyte?”

Something cold whispered in Priestess’s gut: That means we can hope for two left alive…at best.

She bit her lip, having no choice but to accept the fact.

“Is there a chance you have any potions to spare?” she asked. “We’ll pay for them, of course.”

They had prepared ahead of time, naturally, but it never hurt to have plenty of healing items. The ability to heal without using up a miracle recommended potions very highly.

“Sure, not a problem,” the foreman responded generously. “Anything else you need?”

“Hmm… Well, if there’s a doctor around, please have them wait here…”

As they continued talking, Goblin Slayer mumbled a low “Hrm.” He turned to Lizard Priest. “What do you think?”

“I think her judgment is correct,” answered Lizard Priest, who had stayed out of the conversation until that point. “Two at most. But I’m almost certain they’ve all been destroyed.”

“Wha—?!” Wizard Boy goggled at the cleric’s fluent declaration. Lizard Priest’s bulbous reptilian eyes turned and stared at him.

“Something the matter?” “N-no…”

“Mm, indeed? Oh, gracious, there’s cheese. What considerate people.

Pardon me.”

Lizard Priest ignored the boy’s disturbed gaze and reached out a scaly hand. He grabbed a serving plate near Priestess and the foreman and pulled it close, happily grabbing some of what was on it. It was cheese, most likely served as an accompaniment to the wine. A smile came over his great jaws.

“Ahh, nectar, sweet nectar! Goodness me. Is this cheese also from your farm, milord Goblin Slayer?”

“Most likely.” “Perfection!”

He acted genuinely untroubled, and as a matter of fact, he was. To the lizardmen, it was simply natural that all living things might one day die. Sooner or later, the moment would come. They might have different ways of life; some might be stronger than others; and each would die in their own way. But those were the only differences.

He swallowed the bulging mouthful of cheese then licked the tip of his nose with his tongue.

“I think we may suspect something besides goblins down there,” he said. “Yes,” Goblin Slayer agreed. “If there are no totems, though, it means there probably aren’t any shamans.”

“Yet, the adventurers failed to return. I should certainly hope it’s not another Paladin.”

“A hob would be easier prey.”

“Or almost any other kind of Non-Prayer.” “At any rate, traps are the real danger.”

“A mausoleum will be made of stone. Perhaps we can suppose that there won’t be any bursting through walls.”

“They’ve stolen some construction tools, but it’s not like working through earth. I suspect we’re dealing with about twenty of them.”

“Yet, I think we can assume their numbers have been diminished somewhat. I can’t imagine five adventurers failed to kill even one goblin.”

“Regardless, we haven’t time. When they tire of their captives, they will come in force.”

“We must deal with them in one fell swoop, then. Do you think we can do it?”

“It will depend on the girl’s judgment.” “Even so.”

The conversation between them flew so fast it left the boy blinking his eyes wildly.

It was well known that the lizardmen were powerful warriors, but he had never actually seen one up close. And then there was the adventurer talking to the lizardman, with his grimy armor and cheap-looking helmet. He was the one they called the kindest man on the frontier.

There was a major difference, though, between knowing something intellectually and seeing it for oneself. So when he heard High Elf Archer give a lazy yawn, he glared in her direction.

“…What’s with you?” he asked. “Don’t you do anything around here?” “When the timing’s right,” High Elf Archer said. She languidly wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, and her ears twitched. “I’m a scout and a ranger. I let other people handle the rest.”

“She’s right about that, boy,” Dwarf Shaman interjected. He seemed thoroughly into his cups by now; he was pouring himself some fire wine from the flask at his hip.

“H-hey, we’re about to start an adventure, here!”

“Don’ be stupid, child. A dwarf who’s not drunk is like a stone at the side of the road.” Then he coughed. Even from where he was standing, Wizard Boy could smell the alcohol on his breath. “For once, I agree with Long-Ears there. Spell casters need to be able to modulate their emotions.”

“You didn’t need to say for once,” High Elf Archer said with a sniff. “I only say the wisest and most sophisticated things.”

“Seriously?” “Seriously.”

Suddenly, Dwarf Shaman seemed at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to respond but then noticed the boy’s disbelieving look.

He cleared his throat once. “Anyhow. We’ve each our own roles to play,” he said.

“Roles?” the boy said, pursing his lips suspiciously. “You mean like how he’s a warrior and I’m a wizard?”

“No! Not remotely!” Dwarf Shaman said, gesturing as if he were swatting a fly. “Beard-cutter and Scaly there are our front-row fighters, so it falls to them to work out a strategy ahead of time.”

“The girl is doing the talking today because of how we decided to approach this quest,” High Elf Archer said, drawing a circle in the air with an extended pointer finger. “Usually she takes care of the cargo, makes sure we have our supplies. All sorts of details.”

“You could stand to be a little more diligent yourself, Long-Ears.”

High Elf Archer’s ears went back, and she growled angrily, but Dwarf Shaman just put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Take a good look, boy,” he said. “Remember this.” “…”

Wizard Boy studied Dwarf Shaman silently then pushed the calloused hand away. “Carrying the cargo just means doing all the chores, doesn’t it?”

High Elf Archer chuckled to see Dwarf Shaman brushed off like this, but the dwarf, undaunted, laughed a great belly laugh.

When Priestess had finished her exchange, the party put their heads together and began to discuss. The boy watched them intently from one side of the tent.

“…If you can slaughter some goblins, isn’t that good enough?” he muttered, so softly that no one in the party heard.

§

The mausoleum was buried among some small hills, its mouth yawning open. Above the entrance was a hillock on which grew grass and trees; whether the hill had been built over the entrance or the entrance had been dug into the hill was impossible to say. It had been weathered by far too many months and years.

It was past noon when the adventurers arrived. They were losing the spring light, the sun having passed its zenith, its rays now slanting down over the land. It would be nearing twilight soon, and then all would be swallowed up by darkness.

The perfect moment.

“I get it now,” High Elf Archer said to Goblin Slayer with a laugh, her ears twitching with distinct interest. “This is definitely the sort of place kids would come play in.”

“Yes. That’s why I was told not to.”

“But I s’pose yeh did anyway,” Dwarf Shaman said with a smirk, as if expecting a story of some youthful mischief. He gave Goblin Slayer a poke with his elbow for emphasis.

Goblin Slayer reached through his hazy memories, trying to recall some distant day. It was more than ten years ago now—no, exactly ten years, and he had been a different person.

“…”

Had he gone in there? He couldn’t remember.

He doubted it, though. Doing so would have earned him a severe scolding from his sister. He knew it was wrong to cause trouble for her. So he would not have gone near the mausoleum. Probably.

“Never mind,” Goblin Slayer said with a slight shake of his head. “A’right,” Dwarf Shaman said shortly. “Nothing you can tell us about the inside, then?”

“I was told it was constructed of hallways and burial rooms.” Yes. Goblin

Slayer nodded. He remembered now. “That’s what my sister said.”

She had told him because he wanted to know what was inside. She had researched whose grave it was and then told him.

That was why he hadn’t gone inside nor even gone near it.

He wished dearly that he could remember. All of it. He didn’t want to forget.

But now his memories were like moth-eaten clothes. The finer details had been wiped out, and everything was ambiguous.

Ten years—ten whole years. To think, there had once been a village there. “Whatever the case, that was long ago now,” Goblin Slayer said. Then he forcefully changed the subject. “So what do you think?”

“Hmm… Well, there aren’t any totems, and no guards, either,” Priestess replied. She tapped a finger against her lips, taking stock of the ruins before them.

Just near the entrance, she saw the piles of waste that were characteristic of goblin holes. But that was it. She didn’t see any of the childish animal symbols that goblins worshipped.

At least we can be pretty confident there are no shamans…

“C’mon, let’s just go already! They’ve got those other adventurers captive, don’t they?!”

Priestess felt a slight twinge in her heart at the boy’s impassioned exclamation.

He’s just the way I was a year ago.

She had been so ready to go along when the boy, the monk, and the wizard had said, “Let’s hurry and help those people!”

She still remembered how that had turned out. Even though she didn’t want to. It haunted her dreams.

So what about who she was now? She was still anxious, cowardly, and frightened, but…

“Well, but wait.” It was Lizard Priest’s great hand that came to Priestess’s rescue as she stood there caught in the whirlwind of her own thoughts. The clawed, scaly hand rested on her shoulder. “Long has it been said that haste makes waste.”

“Right…” Priestess nodded. Calm down. You can take your time. Be precise.

First, they needed to…do a final check of their equipment.

“Everyone, is your gear in order?” she asked, checking through her own equipment as she spoke.

She had her sounding staff, and she was wearing her mail. In her bag were her potions, as well as her Adventurer’s Toolkit. Mustn’t forget that.

There was a whole medley of things, in fact. Wedges and rope, nails and a hammer, chalk and candles, and much more.

Can’t leave anything behind.

This was the way they always started, but still, she was glad to see that nobody questioned their temporary leader.

Grimy leather armor, a cheap-looking steel helmet, a sword of a strange length, and a small, round shield, along with a bag full of miscellany.

As Goblin Slayer inventoried his equipment, High Elf Archer restrung the spider’s-silk string on her bow. Dwarf Shaman checked his bag of catalysts, and Lizard Priest counted up how many dragon fangs he had.

Only the boy did less: he looked at his staff, and then at his robe, and that was it.

“And what would you have us do next, milady leader?”

“Oh, stop it. You’re enjoying this, I’m sure of it.” Priestess puffed out her cheeks.

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” Lizard Priest laughed, his massive jaws opening. “For heaven’s sake,” Priestess muttered, but it was true that time was dear. They had to decide on their formation.

“We may have to modify this based on how wide the passages are,” she said, “but since we have six people this time, I think two rows of three, or three rows of two, would be best.”

Sounds good. High Elf Archer nodded. Then she pointed to the entrance, eyeballing the size. “My guess—assuming the paths are the same width as the entranceway—is that columns of three would work.”

“Hmm. Okay, three rows of two it is,” Priestess said, then clapped her hands. If the passages turned out to be a little wide, this would be easier. “If there’s enough room to go three abreast, we can interchange our formation if need be.”

“Perfect,” High Elf Archer replied. “Can’t argue with our leader, can we?” She winked and chuckled.

“Oh, stop…” Priestess let out another sigh. “As far as how we’ll line up…”

She mulled it over a bit but, in the end, went with their usual formation. Goblin Slayer and High Elf Archer would be in front. Priestess herself and the red-haired wizard boy would be in the middle, and Lizard Priest and Dwarf Shaman would make up the rear. If they encountered enemies ahead, High Elf Archer and Lizard Priest would switch places. If there was an attack from behind, Dwarf Shaman and Goblin Slayer would do so.

This ought to work… I’m pretty sure…

“You’re not gonna put the magic users at the back?!”

“Enemies don’t just attack from the front, you know,” Priestess said, smiling ambiguously and shaking her head. She of all people could not possibly take the rear for granted.

“Oh, and…” she added. “…What?”

“We have to make sure to cover our scent.”

She clapped her hands again. High Elf Archer frowned. The boy made a sound of incomprehension.

They had three people there wearing fresh, clean clothes. In contrast, they only had two perfume pouches.

And the young women were in no mood to give them up.

§

“GROB?!”

“GROOROB!!”

The adventurers piled into the mausoleum like an avalanche. This complex, the resting place of heroes, was now no more than a hideout for goblins. The coffins had been overturned, the offerings stolen, and all manner of refuse and pollution littered the marble floors.

The warrior was in front. Grimy leather armor, a cheap-looking helmet, a sword of a strange length, and a small, round shield, along with a torch.

“Goblins,” Goblin Slayer said. “Five of them.”

He had hardly finished speaking when his sword went flying. Its aim was true; it pierced the throat of one of the goblins.

“GORB?!”

The creature had opened his mouth wide, about to call out to his companions, but instead of a shout, a bloodied froth bubbled up out of his mouth. He gave a choked scream as he drowned in his own blood, sending dark flecks flying.

Speed above all was the key to a hack and slash. “One.”

Of course, the other four goblins were not about to remain silent in the face of their comrade’s murder.

“GROOR!!”

“GROB! GOORB!!”

Were they calling for reinforcements? No, it was pure murderousness. Revenge. They wanted to swarm the adventurers, beat them down, have their way with them. The goblins’ little heads filled with hatred, and with dagger and spear and club in hand, they advanced on the adventurers…

“Make that two!” No sooner had the clear voice sounded than one of the creatures slumped against the wall as if simply tired. His skull was pierced by a bud-tipped arrow; with the bolt lodged in his brain, he twitched once and died.

We hardly need mention that it was High Elf Archer who fired the shot.

She jumped gracefully backward even as she readied her next arrow. “GORO?!”

“Hrmph.”

Goblin Slayer raised his shield to cover her retreat, using it to sweep aside one of the onrushing goblins. At the same time, he picked up the club the monster dropped and brought it down on the unfortunate creature’s skull.

“Three.”

The goblin died without even a squeak. Goblin Slayer gave the weapon a shake to clean off the brains.

Three goblins dead in nearly the time it took to blink. They had taken full advantage of their opportunity.

“Sons of bitches!” One member of their party, his brand-new cape covered in unspeakable waste products, seemed to think now would be a good time to join in. He raised his staff theatrically. “Carbunculus… Crescunt…”

“Don’t use your spells yet!” Priestess said firmly.

“Wha—?!” the boy exclaimed, but this wasn’t the time for argument. Conserving your magic was the most basic of basics. Priestess was thinking fast, sweat pouring down her forehead.

With this group more than any other, she hadn’t expected to have to give detailed instructions in the middle of battle.

Take in the whole situation. Even if the battlefield was chaotic, it was much better to do something now than to think of it later.

Imagination is a weapon, too…as he says.

All the knowledge she had acquired to this point, the many experiences she’d had, bubbled through her mind. There were two more goblins, closing in on them with crude weapons in their hands. Not counting the one they had entered through, the burial chamber had three doors, one in each direction.

“The doors!”

“On it!” High Elf Archer said. As the elf passed by Priestess on her way to the back, the leader handed over the Adventurer’s Toolkit. They would shove the wedges under the doors to keep them shut. It was something only High Elf Archer, with her agility, could do.

“With just the two of them, I think we should be fine for now,” she said. After all, Dwarf Shaman could use four entire spells. They would need to have him keep some on hand, just in case.

Just as the boy had been told earlier, sometimes the best thing a spell caster could do was nothing.

“Now then, I should hope that I will have a chance to join the fight,” Lizard Priest said, waving his tail.

“The enemy is still numerous,” Goblin Slayer replied.

It was at this moment that they needed the fighting strength of their warriors.

Goblin Slayer was in a deep stance, his shield at the ready; he held a club in his right hand. In his own way, he cut a comical figure.

Considering they were fighting goblins, however, no one in the room had the gall to laugh.

“We can hardly be frittering away our time here, in that case,” Lizard Priest said, and he was exactly right. He spread his arms wide, and then with claws and fangs and tail, he demolished the two remaining goblins, tearing them limb from limb.

But this merits no special remark. There were still many goblins to come.

§

“Can we really afford to take our time like this?”

“If we don’t go room by room, we could put ourselves in danger.”

They had cleaned up the goblins in two or three of the chambers. In this mausoleum, in which several rooms were sometimes linked, the layout was easy enough to follow, but it meant a lot of chambers to check. The constant work of finding and eliminating goblins left them aching to their bones.

Wizard Boy jabbed irritably at the stone floor with his staff, prompting Priestess to take a comforting tone.

“But think about it,” the boy said, scowling. “Those captives could be in danger…”

That was certainly true. Priestess, too, was worried about the adventurers who had come before them. There were traces—dried blood here, a goblin corpse there. But no more than that. It wasn’t even certain whether or not their predecessors were still alive.

But…almost certainly not, a cold voice whispered deep in her heart.

Still… She bit her lip gently. That was no reason to give up hope.

“How do the other rooms look?” she called to High Elf Archer, pushing the welter of unpleasant thoughts to one corner of her mind.

The elf pressed her ear to a wooden door, seeking a sound; she peeked in the keyhole and finally concluded, “Unlocked and empty.” Then, however, she pointed to the top edge of the door with one slim finger. “But look at that.”

What appeared to be a piece of string was caught in the gap. If they opened the door, the string would fall, and something might come collapsing down on them.

“A trap?” Goblin Slayer asked. “Looks like,” she answered.

Goblin Slayer humphed softly. He tossed away his spent torch, trading it for a new one, which he lighted with a flint. He pulled out a spear stuck in a goblin corpse, checked the tip, then threw it away. The dagger at the creature’s hip would be more useful.

He picked up the weapon and put it into his sheath. It was a bit rusty, but you could still stab something with it. He considered it disposable anyway.

Lastly, he went through the pile of stolen loot and came up with a battle- ax that he liked the looks of. It was a single-handed weapon, but surprisingly heavy.

“Troublesome,” he declared, even as he rested the ax on his shoulder. “Go figure,” High Elf Archer said with a shrug of her elegant shoulders.

Priestess pattered up alongside them, standing on her tiptoes to look at the top of the door. The string wasn’t very thick, and the construction was quite simple. But that didn’t mean they could relax. It might connect to something as crude as a rusty nail, but if that nail happened to catch you in the face, you would still die from it. Or perhaps there was poison involved.

Priestess furrowed her shapely eyebrows. She could think of a number of possibilities.

“Come to think of it…the foreman said the goblins had stolen some tools, didn’t he?”

“Not that I want t’think about what goblins might do with good carpenter’s tools,” Dwarf Shaman growled, his arms crossed. He ran a hand over his receding hairline then inspected the string. “Doesn’t look t’me like it’s attached to anything all that heavy. Whatever it leads to, it’s not very elaborate.”

“We could also consider taking a different route.” Lizard Priest slapped his tail against the stone floor. “There were two other doors besides that which led us to this one. The goblins don’t seem to know we’re here yet.”

“Hmm…”

What to do? Which direction to go?

With the party’s collective gaze on her, Priestess rifled through her bag and took out the map. It was a simple, hand-drawn affair, in quill pen on sheepskin. This party didn’t have a dedicated cartographer. If they went through some of the sealed-off chambers to come around to the booby- trapped room…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the boy’s shout. “Arrrgh! I can’t stand it anymore!!” He was no longer trying to hide his annoyance as he pointed his staff at the door. “This is where the goblins live, right?! They don’t even know how to set a real trap!”

“Oh! No, wait! Don’t just—”

“Outta my way! I’ll open that door!”

High Elf Archer may have been Silver-ranked, but the boy was still easily able to pull her aside.

“Wha—? Oh, uh, ummm—!”

She had to stop him. Yet, despite this desperate thought, Priestess couldn’t seem to form even a full word. What should she say, and how should she say it? Now that she thought about it, she realized everyone had simply obeyed her orders to this point. She didn’t have any idea how to deal with someone who refused to listen.

“…”

Priestess looked desperately at Goblin Slayer, but he said nothing. She didn’t know what expression was hidden within that steel helmet. Did he appear disinterested? Or…

If… If he gives up on me…!

The thought was more than enough to shake Priestess to her core. A cold, quiet voice began to taunt her from somewhere in her mind.

What    should    I    do?    What    should    I    do?    What    should    I dowhatshouldIdowhatshouldI…?

Her thoughts raced, but she couldn’t say anything. She reached out, hoping to at least hold him back, but the boy was already opening the door…

“Eeyaaaahhhhhh?!” he shrieked as he saw something tumbling down.

His scream echoed around the burial chamber; it seemed loud enough to reach the very depth of the mausoleum. Wizard Boy fell backward, scrambling out of the way of the falling object.

“Wha-wha-wh-wh-wha-wh-what the hell is that…?!”

It was a hand and an arm. They had been torn off so violently that they almost looked like they had been put through a meat grinder. They had once belonged to a woman.

They were lovely limbs with well-developed muscles, but now they looked tragic. It was almost impossible to contemplate what must have befallen their former owner.

“A bit of goblin mischief,” Goblin Slayer said with a cluck of his tongue. “They just wanted to frighten us.”

“U-ugh…” Priestess moaned involuntarily. She felt something bitter and acidic rising up her throat; with tears in her eyes, she swallowed it back down.

This was no time to be losing her nerve. Hadn’t she seen plenty of similar things before?

She desperately told herself to keep control. She gripped her sounding staff as firmly as she could in her shaking hands.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” High Elf Archer said, giving Priestess an encouraging pat on the back. She didn’t look much better than her leader; she had flipped up her collar to hide her pale face and lips. “With that scream, there might as well have been an alarm on that door.”

“I think that was the idea,” Goblin Slayer murmured with no sign of agitation; he took up a fighting stance with his ax in hand. “I believe we will soon have company.”

“I can’t be sure, but—” “ GY-GYAAAH…!!”

High Elf Archer had just been giving a flick of her long ears when a woman’s high-pitched scream echoed through the mausoleum.

All the adventurers froze, but only for an instant; a second later, they had each readied their weapons.

The only exception among them was Wizard Boy. “…It came from over here!”

“No! You can’t go alo—”

The boy rushed off, paying no heed to the voice that tried to stop him. He kicked down the door of the burial chamber, pushing into the next room, turning this way and that until he found what he was looking for.

“This has to be it…!”

He rammed the door with his shoulder, forcing it open.

The moment he did so, a wet, choking stench assaulted him. Part of it came from the goblin waste that was scattered everywhere. Some came from blood and vomit.

Then the boy saw them. The goblin.

And the woman.

The woman, tied to a chair with bits of wire that bit into her pale, soft skin and flesh.

Her eyes, open as wide as they could be, streaming with tears. The ax in the goblin’s hand, covered with dark red stains.

And then the woman’s bloodied hand.

The red liquid that dribbled along the chair’s armrest. And in the pool of blood, several pale, dainty… “Ee—yaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!” the boy howled.

He was still bellowing as he fell upon the goblin, battering it with his staff. His heart and mind were aflame with rage, and the fire of his emotions spontaneously caused words of true power to weave themselves on his lips.

“Carbunculus… Crescunt… Iacta!! Fly, O sphere of flame!”

The Fireball streaked through the air, trailing a burning tail. It flew true, slamming into the goblin’s skull. Brains and blood and shattered bits of bone erupted everywhere, and the now headless goblin collapsed to the ground.

“Pant, pant, pant… Take…that…!”

It was…nothing. Nothing at all.

He had killed another living being without so much as laying a finger on it. It didn’t feel real.

He had sent a goblin to its doom in a single stroke, just like he had wanted

—it was surreal.

The entire interrogation room, the whole awful scene, swirled around him; he couldn’t quite grasp it.

“Anyway, I have to help her… Hey, you all right?!”

But he should have paid more attention to what he had done.

The only spell he could use was Fireball, and he could only use it once per day.

He should have remembered the alarm earlier. And the fact that this was a goblin nest.

“Ahhh…hhh… Errr…g…”

“Just hold on! I’ll get you out of here right away!”

The boy was focused completely on cutting the wire that bound the woman’s limbs to the chair.

That was why he didn’t notice. The boy didn’t register the obvious fact that there must have been something there that had wiped out the other adventuring party.

“…Errgh… Nngh… Ah…” “—?!”

It was no skill of his, but sheer luck, that sent him tumbling backward, just avoiding the club that came smashing past him an instant later. “Wh-whoa—?!”

The blood drained from his head. He discovered that at times of true panic, one’s legs become unreliable.

“OLRLLT…?”

He saw a massive, lumpy shape covered in old scars. He smelled a body odor strong enough to make him nauseous.

The creature’s bald head seemed like the very embodiment of stupidity, and its face bore an unrestrained, moronic grin.

It had arms the size of tree trunks, and it carried a huge club. And the innumerable nails that studded the club, there to rend and tear flesh, spoke to the murder in the monster’s heart.

A troll.

The creature hefted the club as if unsure why its attack had missed. The boy caught sight of some dark red stains on the weapon, and bits of hair that looked like they belonged to a woman…

“Errg… Ugghh…!”

The boy clenched his jaw to prevent his teeth from chattering. Holding out his staff, he stood.

Behind him was an injured, barely conscious, captive woman.

He couldn’t run away. Not even if he wanted to. And yet, what was he to do?

As a wizard in training, the boy was naturally familiar with trolls from an academic perspective. Of course he was.

They were huge. Powerful. Stupid. And they had regenerative powers— dealing with them demanded fire or acid.

There was a problem, though. He was out of spells. “GRORB!”

“GRB! GROBRORO!!”

And that was not all.

He heard the cackling of goblins echo around the burial chamber, and he knew that things had just gotten worse.

They had put out the bait, and he had swallowed it hook, line, and sinker.

Why would they go out of their way to torture a captive in a place like this? And (as it happened) immediately after some stupid intruder had been screaming, no less!

The doors on every side of the burial chamber opened. Goblins came tromping in, chuckling all the while.

I shoulda listened when that elf suggested circling around the other way…!

But it was too late for regrets now.

This was a trap. One designed to catch adventurers who were advancing room by room.

By the time he realized this, the spell-less young man had only one course of action left.

He licked his dry lips. He took a deep breath and put it all into shouting: “Stay back! It’s a trap—!”

This would be the boy’s final action.

An instant later, a hand ax came flying, an arrow whistled through the air, and a Swordclaw flashed.

“GRBRR?!” Screaming and shouting, the goblins collapsed like wheat under the scythe.

“There are twenty of them. Seventeen left.”

The voice was as calm as a wind blowing under the ground, and with it, Goblin Slayer leaped into the fray. His empty right hand moved as precisely as a machine, drawing out his dagger and transitioning instantly to a strike at the neck of a confused goblin.

“GROORORB!!”

“Hmph… Four. Sixteen left.”

The rusty blade, unable to withstand the force of the impact, shattered and went flying, but it was enough to deal a critical blow to the goblin’s spine.

Goblin Slayer gave a click of his tongue and tossed the hilt aside, grabbing instead the sword carried by the collapsing goblin. He drew it by giving the monster a careless kick as it died. He rotated his wrist, taking up a vigilant fighting posture.

“Alive?”

Wizard Boy nodded repeatedly. “Uh, y-yeah… I’m—” “Not you,” Goblin Slayer said coldly, cutting him off.

“I believe he’s curious about the young lady over there,” Lizard Priest said, scuttling over and taking up a defensive position in front of the relieved boy.

“Yeah!” the boy exclaimed, swallowing heavily. “She’s alive! Of course she is!”

“I see,” Goblin Slayer said, and from behind his visor, he fixed a reproving gaze on the boy. Not that Wizard Boy was actually sure quite where the man was looking behind his metal helmet. But he thought he felt it. He closed his eyes and tried to offer an excuse.

“I just… I wanted to help her as soon as I could—”

“There are women on our side as well,” Goblin Slayer said, his voice sharp and cold. “Two of them.”

This caused the boy to draw a sharp breath and look in the women’s direction.

“Ugh. This is why I hate goblins…” “…Hrk…”

High Elf Archer was pale from the sight of the torture chamber, but she let off one arrow after another to keep the troll at bay.

Beside her, Priestess could only offer a sort of stricken gasp; the hands that clutched her staff trembled gently.

“But…!” The boy was about to offer a rebuttal, but Dwarf Shaman came bounding up and shouted angrily, “This is no time to chat, boy! Grab the girl, chair and all, and let’s get out of here!”

The two warriors and the ranger carved a path, and the shaman and the priestess followed it.

“We’re outta time!” And indeed they were.

“GROROB! GROB! GROORB!!” “OOOORLLLLT!!”

Their escape route was gone.

Sixteen goblins. One troll. It wasn’t precisely a multitude, but the adventurers were surrounded.

Slowly but surely, the monsters advanced, wicked smiles appearing on their faces as they grew ever more sure of victory.

The adventurers circled up to protect the boy, the acolyte who had been taken captive, and Priestess.

“But how are we supposed to carry her…?” The boy hesitantly put a hand to the chair; several indecipherable moans came from the woman’s mouth. His hand came away covered in slick, sticky blood. It was enough to make the boy’s stomach twist; he felt as if he might vomit then and there.

Lizard Priest, observing him, rolled his eyes in his head, a wide field of vision being a special trait of his people. His tongue slid out of his mouth.

“Don’t forget the fingers. If all goes well, we may be able to heal her.” “Oh…!”

The boy tossed himself to the ground, searching quickly through the red liquid.

The rusty ax had cruelly hewn off flesh and bone together. But he didn’t have time; no time. The fingers would’ve been so easy to overlook, but he made sure he found them, counted them, and wrapped them in a cloth.

He tried to wipe away the sweat on his forehead with a grimy, bloodstained hand. He bit his lip hard.

“I’ve got ’em!”

“Excellent! You, take that side—yes, that one!” Lizard Priest commanded.

There was a clatter as the chair was picked up, mingling with the woman’s moans.

High Elf Archer kept them behind her, shielding them, her bow drawn and her ears flapping.

“They’re still coming from deeper in!” She glanced at Priestess. “What do we do?!”

“Oh—ah—!”

Priestess found herself unable to speak immediately. Her hands froze on her staff, which she gripped so hard that her hands hurt and her knuckles turned white.

What to do? What was the right thing to do? Fight them here? Or try to break through?

She had to come up with an answer, right away. Yes, and yet—but—

We’ve fallen into a goblin trap.

Not just fallen into it, run into it.

It was she who had said, Let’s follow him!

There was no regret. Of course not. But it was enough to make her legs feel unsteady.

She could see Female Wizard, the poison dagger buried in her. Fighter, being torn to shreds by the little devils.

Female Monk, trapped, beaten mercilessly, violated in the most awful ways.

Calm down. Each time she tried to push away a memory, she simply found the next one waiting for her.

The time the goblin champion nearly crushed her—the terror, the pain, the despair.

The spot on her neck where she had been bitten throbbed. “Uh… Um…um…!”

The goblins, closing in. That gigantic troll.

Priestess was dying to speak, yet her tongue refused to move.

Tears began to well up at the edges of her eyes; her teeth wouldn’t stay still, setting up a terrible chatter.

And all this when she know as well as anyone that this was absolutely not the time for such things…!

“Milord Goblin Slayer!”

Her salvation came in the form of Lizard Priest, who quickly sized up the situation and then called out.

“Right,” Goblin Slayer answered dispassionately. “May we?”

Even now he looked for her consent. Priestess nodded weakly. She didn’t know what else she could possibly do.

Goblin Slayer’s instructions were swift and curt. “Use Holy Light. We push through to the inside. I’ll leave the front line to the rest of you. I’ll take rear guard and deal with that giant, growling thing.”

“Excellent!” Lizard Priest answered promptly.

“R-right!” Priestess, on the other hand, fought to push down her sense of how pathetic she was.

Wizard Boy, working hard to bring the chair along, was agog. He would deal with it?!

“You’re a warrior, right?! That thing’s a troll!”

“Dummy,” High Elf Archer said, puffing out her small chest knowingly. “It’s times like this that Orcbolg is at his best.”

Lizard Priest chuckled. This man was not going to be defeated by goblins.

Priestess, however, did not laugh. If she could do nothing else, she would at least perform the duty she had been entrusted with.

She gripped her staff in both hands. Raised her consciousness, appealing directly to the gods in heaven.

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

And just so, she was granted a miracle. “GGRORRRROOB?!”

“TOOLR?! OORTT?!”

There was a flash of blue-white light, like an exploding sun. It seared the eyes of the goblins and the troll.

Priestess, her small chest heaving with the exertion of this soul-shearing supplication, shouted, as much to inspire herself as anyone else, “Let’s go!”

As she started running, her staff held high, Lizard Priest appeared alongside her.

Goblins poured out from the burial chambers, filling the path, filling their vision. Lizard Priest lashed out with claws, claws, fangs, tail, sweeping them mercilessly aside.

Following behind him along the path he carved were Dwarf Shaman and Wizard Boy, carrying the prisoner along with them. They had no leeway to cast spells.

High Elf Archer had her arrows constantly at the ready, peppering the road ahead with covering fire even as she ran.

And then—

“A troll?” muttered Goblin Slayer, left behind at the rear. “Not a goblin, then.”

“OOOORLLT!!”

The spikes in the monster’s club glinted as he brought it down. But blinded as he was, his strength availed him little. Without a hint of panic or even hurry, Goblin Slayer jumped back. He searched through his item pouch and pulled out a small bottle.

When the container smashed against the troll’s skin, sending shards everywhere, it did the creature no harm at all.

Of course, it didn’t have to.

The important thing was what was inside the bottle. “TOORL?! TOORRL?!”

An unidentifiable viscous black liquid clung to the troll’s giant body. The stuff gave off a nose-prickling smell. The troll flailed about, desperately trying to wipe away the clinging substance, splashing it around.

The monsters had no idea that the stuff was Medea’s Oil, petroleum-based gasoline.

“Good-bye.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Goblin Slayer pitched his torch at the creature, turning around in the same motion.

“TOOOOROOOOROOOOOORRRT?!?!”

“GROROOB?!”

Howls and bellows came from the troll, totally enveloped in licking flames, and the goblins whom he was catching up in the conflagration.

Goblin Slayer was already running the other direction; as he went, he grabbed a weapon from one of the dead goblins his companions had left behind. It was a hand spear. He held his sword in his left hand and the spear in his right, crouching low as he barreled along.

“That caught perhaps half of them. Meaning…”

The spear went flying. It slammed straight through the stomach of a goblin who had braved the flames, doing him in.

“GGRORR?!”

“That makes fifteen.”

Goblin Slayer spun neatly, setting off after his friends once again.

There was no mistaking the route. Doors were left hanging open; goblin corpses were scattered everywhere. He had only to follow the sounds of battle. His real problem was the goblins who continued to pop out from side doors.

“GBGOR?!”

“GRORB! GORORRB?!”

Arrows came flying from afar, cutting them down. That was three more.

Eighteen.

Goblin Slayer ran onward, jumping over the bodies that thumped to the ground in front of him.

Soon he spotted High Elf Archer, her braided hair bouncing behind her like a tail.

“Orcbolg, what’s going on? I heard some kind of fwoosh from back there!”

“It was an emergency situation.”

“You could at least give us a little warning!”

“I hadn’t thought that far.” As he ran, Goblin Slayer turned, as if springing an ambush from midstride. “Nineteen.”

The goblin, who had finally caught up with him, was caught off guard by the half turn. A sword was buried ruthlessly in his throat. When it twisted, the goblin frothed blood and died. A kick to the monster’s chest freed the blade again.

“How is it up ahead?”

“Just the usual! Yargh! Blargh! All kinds of craziness.” High Elf Archer fired off two or three more arrows as she spoke, trusting to luck to land a hit. Three goblins collapsed to the ground, writhing, bolts sprouting from their eye sockets. Twenty-two.

“So do you have a plan?” the ranger asked.

“Of course.” Goblin Slayer had completed a change of direction in the time it took the elf to kill those three monsters; now he was jogging alongside her. “I always do.”

§

There was only one door in the burial chamber to which the adventurers had fled. The other three sides of the room were just walls. All that remained there was the scattered detritus of goblin life.

The room was entirely extraneous to the goblins, who thought about nothing except how to take advantage of exactly what they had on hand at any given moment.

As they set down the woman, still tied to the chair, Wizard Boy suddenly exclaimed, “We’ve just let ’em corner us—!”

“Oh, that is not necessarily the case,” said Lizard Priest beside the entranceway, fully on guard. He held a Swordclaw, which he had already honed with Sharp Tooth. He was bleeding: he had literally bought their escape with his blood.

“But where are Goblin Slayer and—?” Priestess, for her part, was braced against the innermost wall, breathing heavily. Maintaining the Holy Light miracle, even as they rushed through the maze, was a lot to ask of such a physically frail young woman. Her face was pale, bloodless with exhaustion.

Dwarf Shaman rubbed his bloody hands together then found a potion in his item pouch.

“I’m sure Long-Ears and Beard-cutter will catch up with us soon enough.

Here.”

“Thank you…”

Holding the potion in both hands, Priestess opened the bottle and drank it slowly, letting each sip moisten her lips. Each time she swallowed, she felt a bit of warmth return to her body. It was not as restorative as a miracle of the gods, but the salutary effects of a potion were nothing to sneeze at.

She closed her eyes and let out a breath. Yes, she felt a little better now.

Priestess adjusted her grip on her staff.

“…We have to tend to this woman, right away…,” she said, but as she was on the verge of casting Minor Heal, Dwarf Shaman stopped her.

“Take it easy. You need your rest. She’s not going to die of these injuries anytime soon.”

The petite cleric wobbled a bit then slid down the wall and onto the floor with a dull thud.

“Thank you,” Priestess breathed again, but Dwarf Shaman waved her off with a “Think nothing of it.”

Whatever else, Priestess would find it very difficult to reattach the severed fingers at her level of skill. Meaning it would be vastly better to save the miracle.

“You okay, kid?” “Yeah, no prob…!”

“Good,” Dwarf Shaman said flatly. No doubt he could see right through the boy’s show of bravado. His eyes narrowed. “Just a word of advice,” he added. “No one’s going to be able to help even if you wind up in a pinch later, because you’re too exhausted.”

“…I am not exhausted!”

Unlike that girl over there, he seemed to imply—but even this boy couldn’t bring himself to say as much aloud.

He, too, went over and leaned against the wall, although he kept his distance from Priestess. He dropped his eyes to his hands. The blood had dried on them in crimson splotches; he rubbed his hands together to try to take off the stains.

Clerics should huddle in the back row and say their prayers.

Now he realized what idiotic things he had said. She had given orders, held her staff high to give them light, and run as hard as any of them.

He glanced to the side, where he could see Priestess, still breathing hard and downing her potion. Even Wizard Boy could understand that she was trying to restore her vitality so as to be ready for the next fight.

His lips opened partway then closed. His tongue felt too large for his mouth. He swallowed some saliva and tried again.

“I’m…sor—”

“They’re here!” The sharp voice of Lizard Priest cut him off.

Wizard Boy blinked several times, turning to stare into the darkness of the hall they had come by. He quickly discerned the light of a torch coming nearer to them.

“Dammit, Orcbolg—it’s still alive!”

“It does seem to have been more resilient than I expected.”

High Elf Archer came bounding into the room, as elegant as a deer.

Goblin Slayer ran in after her.

And behind them… “OOOLRTTTTR!!”

The giant troll was puffing smoke and swinging its club.

Simple weight gave the adventurers an advantage in speed. But if either of them lost their footing and fell, that would be the end of it.

Goblin Slayer and High Elf Archer ran as only those could who heard a massive club smashing into the walls and floor immediately behind them.

“I’m so tired of this!” High Elf Archer exclaimed as she burst into the burial chamber. “The heck is that thing?! I’m sick of this! I wanna fight a cool monster for once!”

“I think the cool ones are all even stronger than this,” Dwarf Shaman added.

“Myself, I would well prefer a dragon,” offered Lizard Priest.

Dwarf Shaman knew, however, that as long as they were bantering or complaining, there was really nothing to worry about. He let out a breath. “So. What do we do, Beard-cutter?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Goblin Slayer said, looking around the room at his party.

Lizard Priest, Dwarf Shaman, and the red-haired boy all looked fine. High Elf Archer was breathing hard, and Priestess was fatigued.

Goblin Slayer reached into his item bag and took out two bottles by feel alone, passing them to the girls.

“Drink these.” “Wha…? Ah…”

“A Stamina potion, eh? Thanks.”

Priestess seemed a little confused, but High Elf Archer gladly uncorked the bottle and downed the contents.

They each had their own supply of these potions, but at that moment, there was no time to quibble about what belonged to whom.

“O-okay, then… Thank you…” Priestess hesitated far more than High Elf Archer had but eventually brought the bottle to her lips. This was her second Stamina potion. The increasingly healthy glow of her cheeks contrasted with the dark expression still on her face.

“Good, we’re all ready,” Goblin Slayer said, catching the change in her out of the corner of his eye. “I want water. Can you produce it with a spell?”

Although the question hadn’t been directed at him specifically, Wizard Boy made an uncomfortable noise. Fireball was the only spell he knew, and he had already used all the magic he could that day. He somehow found it deeply humiliating that this man knew all that.

“There’d be no point, learning a spell like that…” the boy found himself saying, almost pouting.

“Is that so?” Goblin Slayer responded.

Taking in the situation, Dwarf Shaman quickly interjected, “Water? Well, if rain is good enough for you, we can do that. It’ll be a bit weak, though, there bein’ a ceiling here and all.”

The roaring and rumbling of the troll was getting closer. “Ready,” Lizard Priest whispered.

“But listen, Beard-cutter. You can’t just play one of your usual tricks now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Goblin Slayer said brusquely. “A shower will be enough.”

“Right, then.”

“And we will need Holy Light again. Can you do it?”

“I…” Priestess’s voice was trembling, and she had to bite her lip to get the words to come out. “Yes, I… I can. I will!”

“Good.” That settles it. No sooner had Goblin Slayer made this pronouncement than their enemy was upon them.

“OLTROOOR!!”

The rooms and passages of the mausoleum were large enough for a troll to move about easily. Who had the builders imagined was going to visit this place?

“Eeyah!”

“Look ou—”

Priestess was just a hair too late in crouching out of the way, and High Elf Archer jumped to cover her.

The metal spikes of the club grazed her hair, slicing through the ribbons she had used to tie it back.

“Are you all right?!” Priestess asked.

“Don’t worry about me!” High Elf Archer shouted, her hair in disarray. “Just do it!”

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

She raised her staff as high as she could from where she had been shoved to the ground, offering supplication to the merciful goddess. And of course, far be it from the Earth Mother on high to deny the soul-enervating request of her devoted follower.

“RRLLRTTOOR?!”

There was an explosion of light like the sun. The flash filled the chamber, flooding it with irresistible illumination.

The troll stumbled back, and immediately, Goblin Slayer could be heard to shout, “Water!”

“On it! Go now, kelpie, it’s time to get busy! Earth to river and sea to sky, turn all a-tizzy!” Dwarf Shaman intoned, clasping a tiny horse figurine he pulled from his bag of catalysts. No sooner had he spoken than there was a high-pitched whinny, and a wet wind galloped through, quickly turning to a drizzling rain.

As Dwarf Shaman had said, the act of summoning a kelpie to produce precipitation was nothing more than Call Rain.

“All yours, Beard-cutter!”

“Next… This.” As he spoke, Goblin Slayer took a leather pouch from his item pouch and tossed it at the troll.

“ORLTLRRLR?!”

The monster immediately began bellowing. Its lumpy gray skin began to crack and shatter even as they watched, starting with the scorched parts.

When someone is attempting to clear some land and needs to get rid of a huge boulder, sometimes the rock will be heated very hot, and then cold water will be applied to it. This causes the stone to crack, after which it can easily be broken down with a hammer.

And what about the troll? It was made of rock, said to turn to stone if exposed to the daylight. And it was just like that hypothetical boulder.

“TLRORL?!”

The troll, however, did not understand what had happened. To think mist should descend upon it just because it had been splashed with a little water!

“TTLLOOTTTTTL?!”

“Simple, but surprisingly effective,” Goblin Slayer remarked, observing the troll as it clutched its face and thrashed around.

It wasn’t entirely clear that even Goblin Slayer understood the science behind what he had done. But what mattered was the outcome of his actions.

The fire powder—what the alchemists called saltpeter—absorbed the water and the heat of the troll, accelerating the cooling process.

“…Where in the world did he learn to do that?” High Elf Archer asked with a touch of annoyance.

“…Oh!” Priestess found herself thinking back to their visit to the water town.

I do remember him asking how to make ice treats…

“ORLT?! TOORLRLOT?!”

Perhaps this was evidence that healing powers or no, being shock-cooled immediately after being superheated was too much to take. The troll, distressed that its wounds showed no signs of regenerating, began flailing about madly with its club.

With a hissing chuckle, Lizard Priest twisted his jaws into a beastly smile. “Most unbecoming, that. Shall we put him out of his misery?” He jumped at the monster, followed quickly by a bolt from High Elf Archer.

“Whatever that large creature is,” Goblin Slayer said, flinging his weapon away but immediately picking up another sword from among the detritus. “Once we finish it off, we will go kill all the goblins.”

The fate of the troll was always going to bear closely on what happened to the remaining goblins. Amid all this, though, the young boy, chased to the back row, was watching Goblin Slayer with absolute intensity.

I see now. He’s right—what I said to that girl was terrible.

But who was this man, who seemed to regard a troll as little more than a nuisance yet was so eager to hunt down goblins?

Yes, the young man had been careless. He had acted like the rookie he was. He had a share in the responsibility and the blame.

But I just can’t admit that this man of all people was so right…!

§

“Oh, come on. If a dwarf doesn’t give the toast now, when will it ever happen?”

“Right, very well then. Here’s to our safe return—to that acolyte’s future

—and to a whole hell of a lot of dead monsters!”

Hear, hear! Their voices rang out, followed quickly by the clatter of cups and the splashing of wine.

There’s a reason adventurers and alcohol both start with the same letter; they’re inextricably linked.

Many parties were relaxing at the Guild tavern after another day’s work.

Goodness, but the foe that day was tough. Well now, who would use this enchanted sword they’d found? Gracious, that village girl was pretty.

The worst part was when you missed with that attack. But then there was that finishing blow. Lots of chances to use spells.

A celebration of their victory had to come first. Then, a careful consideration of what could have gone better. They laughed off their companions’ mistakes and showered their successes with praise.

They divided up the loot they had gotten, conferred about whether to sell or to use any equipment they had obtained, and spoke excitedly of their next adventure.

By convention, adventurers didn’t argue or complain about fairness during the adventure itself. No one wanted to have a falling-out in the middle of a dungeon. Such details were reserved for the “after session,” the time after an adventure was over. During this phase, the party let it all hang out, so that nothing would be left unsaid, so that, if they should die the next time out, they could do so without regrets.

Goblin Slayer’s party was very much part of this tradition.

“What’s wrong with you, Orcbolg? I know you’re not much for talk, but you could at least come up with something at a time like this!”

“Is that so?” “It sure is!”

Even though High Elf Archer was only sipping her own watered-down wine, she was more than happy to pour for others as they drained their cups. It was less out of a sense of service than personal amusement—not, perhaps, the best side of her personality; but then again, perhaps the drink was already going to her head.

In contrast, Goblin Slayer quietly poured the wine through the slats of his visor, just as always.

“Pardon me very much, milady server, but could I trouble you for some sausage?”

“Sure thing, master lizard! The usual?” Padfoot Waitress came working her way through the crowd of adventurers, weaving between seats and tables. “And cheese on top, right?”

“Ah, sweet nectar! Yes, indubitably!” And then Lizard Priest, having ordered a snack to go with his drink, slapped his tail on the floor. All this was just as usual, but…

“Ahh, come now, your cup is getting lonely! Drink up!” “Right…”

Priestess, for one, did not look herself, sitting with her shoulders slumped. In fact, it was normally she who assiduously attended to everyone, making sure all the cups stayed full. Otherwise, High Elf Archer could be expected to be altogether intemperate with both her food and her drink.

“I just… You know, today…” Priestess sounded like she might break into tears at any moment. Her gloomy look was not best suited for a cleric, let alone for a celebration like this.

Then again, it was hard to blame her. It was her first experience of leading a party, and it had been going reasonably well—until she fumbled it. It worked out, because one of her other party members had been able to take over. But if he hadn’t, they would certainly all have been wiped out.

Just like her first adventure.

“Aww, c’mon! We’re all still here, aren’t we? So don’t sweat it!” Elves, who lived for two thousand years, were not inclined to be worried about such trivial details. “What, did you expect to jump in and be able to manage things perfectly?” High Elf Archer’s tone and expression (witness the great twitch of her ears) made it clear how silly she thought this was. “That’s beyond even an elf. If you meet an elf who can do that, tug on their ears, because I guarantee they’re stuck on.”

“For once you’re making real sense, Long-Ears!”

“Pfft! I always make sense!” she replied, puffing out her small chest.

But it only lasted a moment. Her eyes drifted half-shut, and she turned her red face to the other side of the table.

“Anyway, what about you?”

In addition to Goblin Slayer and Priestess, there was one more person at the table who wasn’t saying much. It was the young man, who was resting his chin on one hand sulkily and pushing a piece of sausage around his plate with his fork.

It made a certain sense: this had been his first adventure, and he had almost nothing to be proud of. He had rushed ahead in a surfeit of valor and run straight into a trap. His magic had been the ace up his sleeve, and he had used it at the wrong time.

His experience seemed almost the polar opposite of the glamorous adventure that so many dreamed of.

Well, I guess that’s reality for you. High Elf Archer heaved a sigh then went back to nursing her drink as if she had lost interest.

“There is no need for such consternation,” Lizard Priest said. “You returned safely from your first adventure, and that is reason enough to celebrate.”

“He’s got that right, boyo. Not everyone runs into a troll the first time out.” For better or for worse. Dwarf Shaman pounded the pouting boy on the back and took a gulp of wine.

“If that stupid troll hadn’t been there,” the boy said, “then even I wouldn’t have had any trouble with those goblins…”

“Only one thing to do, in any case,” the dwarf said, pouring liberally into the boy’s cup. “Drink up! This is some decent wine.”

The boy eyeballed the glass as if it might bite him then swallowed it in a single gulp.

“Guh?! Cough! Hack! Ugh!” The boy choked on the throat-searing alcohol.

“There now, see? Ain’t a lot as goes right the very first time you try it!” Dwarf Shaman’s laugh was both a little bit mean and a little bit encouraging. The boy shot him a resentful look and opened his mouth as if to say something.

Before he could speak, however, he found his mouth full of sausage, pulled off a heaping plate of the stuff.

“Come, now, soothe your tongue with a taste of my cheese-covered sausage.”

The meat, so warm it was steaming, was partially buried in gooey, melted cheese. Lizard Priest happily grabbed some of his own portion (noticeably larger than the others’) and stuffed it into his mouth. The skin of the sausage crackled as he chewed; his mouth filled with rich juices. The saltiness of the condiments brought out the sweetness of the cheese, a perfect combination.

“Nectar!” he exclaimed, bringing his hands together as if in worship. Then he offered a plate to Priestess. “Have some. Delectable, I assure you. And auspicious, besides. After all, a delicious meal is the most heartening thing after a difficult experience.”

“I guess you’re right…” With much hesitation, Priestess brought her fork toward the sausage. She speared a piece and brought it to her mouth, which opened just enough to take a little nibble.

“I also…wanted to do better back there.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” Lizard Priest laughed jovially. Priestess glanced up at him. He was standing; he claimed his tail got in the way when he tried to sit in a chair. It only served to emphasize how tall he was.

Priestess puffed out her cheeks just a little bit, earning an approving nod from the lizardman.

“That fire in the heart is a good thing. If you have no desire to do a thing, then you never shall do it. What is progress but the attempt to move ever forward?” One scaly finger pointed up, drawing a circle in the air. “The nagas, my fearsome ancestors, first crawled in the swamps before walking on the land with four legs, whence they became nagas.”

This was a lizardman myth. Priestess wasn’t familiar with it.

Detritus in the sea became fish, then the fish emerged onto the land, trod upon the soil, stood up, and finally became the nagas that ruled over all.

It was the lizardman way of speaking of progress, or perhaps evolution; their culture encouraged them to always be moving forward.

Although all this was quite interesting, Priestess wasn’t entirely sure what it meant for her, and she ended up smiling ambiguously.

I can at least understand that he’s trying to encourage me.

“Hey, by the way,” High Elf Archer said, breaking in just as Priestess was taking a mouthful of sausage so she didn’t have to say anything committal. No doubt the elf hadn’t intended to help the girl out; she just had a tendency to jump to whatever subject came into her head. “What about that, you know

—the acolyte girl? What happened to her? Will she be all right?”

“Oh, yes,” Priestess said, nodding quickly and wiping the fingers that had been at her mouth. “They managed to reattach her fingers. Once she’s rested, they’ll think about what to do next.”

“That’s great to hear. I mean—I know it’s still rough, but as long as you’re alive, there’s always something else you can do.”

For High Elf Archer, it was just a passing comment. So it was all the more surprising when an answer came back at her.

“Sometimes you’re alive and there still ain’t shit you can do!” It was the boy.

He was staring at High Elf Archer as intensely as if he could destroy her with the power of his glare.

“She was defeated by goblins, wasn’t she? She’ll never live that down. No way.”

“Wh-what’s your problem?” the elf girl said, pursing her lips and looking slightly cowed. “I don’t think it’s as sure a thing as—”

“Well it sure was for my big sister!” the boy shouted, pounding the circular table with his hand.

High Elf Archer sat back in shock, her ears wilting against her head.

The dishes rattled, the food spilled, and the wine overflowed when the boy struck the table. Lizard Priest quickly started picking up the biggest plates, Dwarf Shaman helping him. They seemed to have appointed themselves guardians of the drunken young man.

Eh, the young’uns are so often this way with a bit of wine in ’em.

This was better than keeping his feelings inside. That, at least, was the dwarf’s appraisal.

“She lost to the goblins! The things they did to her—!” “Older sister?” a voice said, very quietly.

Reflexively, the gaze of all the adventurers seated at the table turned to the speaker. It was Goblin Slayer, who until that moment had been quietly drinking his wine.

“You have an older sister?”

“I had an older sister!” the boy shouted. The alcohol had stirred up his emotions, and now the words came in a torrent. “And I’d still have her, if she hadn’t died after a goblin stabbed her with a poisoned blade!!”

“Huh…?”

No one quite seemed to notice the blood drain from Priestess’s face at that remark.

Her thoughts were a dizzying mixture of Of course and It can’t be…

Her hands quivered ever so slightly. Her throat trembled as she swallowed some saliva; it sounded terribly loud to her.

A poisoned blade. Killed by a goblin. Red hair. A spell caster. How could she ever forget?

“My sis was amazing! If those goblins hadn’t used poison, she woulda beaten ’em!” the boy said with a sort of half groan. Then he threw his cup as hard as he could.

Oop. Lizard Priest grabbed it with his tail.

“But those bastards from the Academy, they just…!”

“They can all go straight to hell.”

With these last words, almost a whisper, the boy slumped down on the table.

Did the voices of the other adventurers in the tavern only seem to subside for a moment? Or had they heard the boy yelling? Was anyone else in the room looking at him?

Well, even if they had been, they wouldn’t have said anything.

Becoming an adventurer was all about being responsible for oneself. Everyone had some burden they bore or some hope they embraced. They sought riches, or fame, or martial renown, or discipline, or money, or dreams, or ideals, or faith.

Though no two were alike, the weight of what was in their hearts was all the same.

How could you compare the desire to put food on the table for another day, and the desire to plumb the depths of unknown ruins? What difference was there between a beginner fighting giant rats in the sewers for all they were worth, and an old hand going toe-to-toe with a dragon?

That was why nobody said anything.

The exception—the only exception—was the man who, despite being an experienced adventurer, continued to hunt goblins.

“Is that so…?” Goblin Slayer muttered quietly, his own voice a groan much like the wizard’s.

He picked up his own cup and took a swig.

Then there was a clatter as he stood up from the table.

“I’m going back. Find him a room. It doesn’t matter where.”

There was a quiet click of his tongue. The boy had not yet gotten a room at any inn.

The adventurer pulled a single gold coin from the pouch at his hip and tossed it on the table.

“This should cover the expense.”

“Sure, we’ll take care of it.” Dwarf Shaman nodded but didn’t say anything else. He picked up the coin with his thick fingers.

“Oh…” Priestess seemed like she was maybe, perhaps, about to say something to the man as he walked by. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out except, in a very small voice, his name. “Goblin Slayer, sir…”

“Get some rest.”

She found a crude leather glove placed on her delicate shoulder.

By the time she moved to place her own small hand over his, he was already gone.

She looked this way and that for him; she saw him heading for the doorway with his usual nonchalant stride.

“Hold on, Orcbolg!” High Elf Archer shouted, her voice cutting through the hubbub of the tavern. “What about tomorrow? Are we taking a break?”

The answer was short and cold. “I don’t know.”

Just as he was pushing through the swinging door of the Guild, Goblin Slayer ran into another adventurer coming in.

“Yikes! If it ain’t Goblin Slayer!” a handsome but tough-looking man exclaimed. It was the spear-wielding adventurer.

Maybe he had just finished an adventure himself. He was covered in dirt and dust, and smelled faintly of blood.

“Don’t just jump out at me like that, man, you scared the sh—”

Whatever he had been about to say, he swallowed it. Instead, he looked intently at Goblin Slayer’s cheap-looking helmet.

“…What’s wrong?” he asked. “Something happen?” “Nothing.”

Goblin Slayer practically shoved Spearman aside as he left the Guild.

Spearman stood there in the doorway, looking after him as if he couldn’t believe what he had seen.

He had never known Goblin Slayer to shove anyone before.

§

There’s nothing adventurers like more than good drunken reveling.

The carousing from inside the Guild came through the walls and windows to lend an air of jollity to the night.

If an adventurer were to be curled up in some back alley, somewhere so dark even the light of the twin moons didn’t reach it, who would notice?

Cheap-looking leather armor and a grimy helmet. Even a freshly minted newcomer would have fancier equipment.

It was perfectly common: a new adventurer, awash in the relief of surviving an adventure, proceeds to get dizzyingly drunk.

“…An older sister, he says?” the adventurer growled, throwing aside his helmet.

Had he thought he had been able to accomplish even one thing? Had he thought he had succeeded at doing even one thing right? “…Idiot.”

He ground his teeth and clenched his fists, but it did nothing to alleviate the feeling that there was a lead weight in his stomach.

Unable to resist the wave of nausea, he vomited in the alleyway.