Goblin Slayer - Volume 6 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – The Training Field On The Edge Of Town

“…Come again?”

Dwarf Shaman was in the Guild tavern, stuffing hot mashed potato into his face. It was a bit too early for lunch—the meal in question might be considered a late breakfast. “Y’want me?”

“Yes.”

Across from him was a man in grimy leather armor and a cheap-looking steel helmet: Goblin Slayer. There was no sign that he had eaten or was eating anything.

Goblin Slayer put a hand to his helmet as if he had a headache and drank some water through the slats of his visor.

“Will you do it?”

“Sure, I don’t mind, but…”

Dwarf Shaman ate another spoonful of mashed potato. Dwarves were known as gourmands who would try anything, and as such were greatly welcomed in any dining establishment. The food just had to taste halfway decent and be in plentiful supply. If the flavor happened to be especially exquisite, that was a bonus.

High Elf Archer, if asked her opinion, might have characterized this as a lack of restraint, but Dwarf Shaman would probably have replied that elves simply had no imagination.

Regardless, the spell caster was quite happy to eat a mountain of mashed potatoes with only a bit of salt for flavor.

“Potato?”

“Mmf, mrf… Yes! I was in a potato mood today,” he replied, coughing indelicately as he took another mouthful. “Not going to have any, yourself?”

“I have goblin slaying to do.”

“That so?” Dwarf Shaman took Goblin Slayer’s cup, filled it to the brim with wine, and pushed it back at him. “Well, drink up. You can spare a few minutes with me, can’t you?”

“Mm.” Goblin Slayer gulped down the contents of the cup. Dwarf Shaman watched him with a smile.

“I get the impression that me and our brash friend practice slightly different kinds of magic,” Dwarf Shaman said.

“I don’t know the specifics, but I suspected as much,” Goblin Slayer replied.

“And I think you might be better off asking someone other than me for this.”

“That will not do,” Goblin Slayer slowly shook his head. “You are the most capable spell slinger I know.”

“…”

Dwarf Shaman’s hand froze as he reached for another helping of potatoes. He swirled his spoon (which had previously been making ceaseless trips into his mouth) in the pile of food, rather tactlessly.

After a while, he sighed.

“Well, no sayin’ no t’that, is there?” he said. He shot Goblin Slayer a resentful glance. “I’ll bet y’could say the same thing to that witch lady.”

“I certainly could not,” Goblin Slayer said softly. Even Dwarf Shaman could guess what he meant by that.

“Sorry. That was a poor thing to say, even in jest.” “If it’s too much, feel free to refuse.”

“A foolish thought. I only ever turn down work from people who don’t like dwarves.”

Then Dwarf Shaman set to eating ravenously again. He didn’t even bother to clean off his beard but veritably poured mashed potato into his mouth, like wine into a barrel.

When he had at last made a dent in the quantity of food, he tossed aside his spoon.

“But, Beard-cutter, I want you to tell me one thing.” “What?”

“Whatever brought this idea on?” Goblin Slayer went silent.

It wasn’t such an unusual story. He was a warrior; he had little aptitude for magic. When he needed someone talented in such arts, why not turn to a shaman?

But that was not what the dwarf was asking. Even Goblin Slayer understood that much, as he looked over Dwarf Shaman’s beard to meet his eyes.

“I am Goblin Slayer.” He took a swallow of wine as if to wet his lips. “And he is an adventurer.”

“Fair enough.” Dwarf Shaman gave a snort and leaned his small frame against the back of the chair. It creaked under the weight of his heavy girth. “When our long-eared friend gets wind of this, I don’t think you’re likely to hear the end of it anytime soon.”

“Is that so?”

“I should think.” “I see.”

Dwarf Shaman pushed his empty plate toward Goblin Slayer and waved his hand.

There was now a collection of five or six empty plates, and the waitress— this one padfoot—appeared and ferried them away to be washed.

“Anyway, I accept. But I might…need you to wait for a little while.” “I don’t mind. I told him to come this afternoon.”

Goblin Slayer poured some water as he spoke. He swirled it around, watching the tiny waves run along the edges of the cup.

“…Do you think he’ll be there?”

“Heh! We could bet on it, if you like.” Dwarf Shaman smirked and rubbed his hands together. It was a dramatic gesture, like a magician preparing to show off his next trick. “Now, then. I think I need a few more drinks before I go. And then a nice, easy walk.” He pounded himself happily on the belly. “I’ve eaten just enough, after all. Not too hungry, not too full!”

Goblin Slayer didn’t say anything but set his empty cup on the table.

§

“……”

The boy was standing in the training grounds; they were still under construction, so a good portion of the area looked like little more than a grassy field.

He was the very picture of being forced to do something involuntarily. His cheeks were puffed out, he looked pouty, and he had his chin in his hands as he looked up at the man who had called him.

“…What, not off killing goblins?”

“No.” The man in the grimy leather armor and steel helmet shook his head. “I intend to go once I’ve collected you.”

“I don’t recall anyone asking you to look after me.” “Is that so?”

“Yeah!”

“Sorry.”

The nonchalant attitude got under the boy’s skin and angered him.

What a guy to be in a party with!

If it had been he who wound up in that group—well, he couldn’t have categorically refused, but it would have been awfully unpleasant. How could that priestess do it? Or that elf, or that lizardman? Or—

“Ah, there y’are. Excellent, that’s a sign of promise.” Or the dwarf, who was now trundling across the grass.

He was grinning, though the boy couldn’t imagine what was so funny, and taking swigs from a jar of wine that he kept at his belt.

Yes, he was Silver-ranked. No doubt he was a very capable magic user. But still, that didn’t mean the boy wanted to have to learn at his feet.

It didn’t, and yet… “…”

The boy came back to himself at the sound of his own gnashing teeth. “Good. May I trust you to handle this, then?” Goblin Slayer asked Dwarf

Shaman.

“I’m sure you may. And don’t you go getting yourself worked over just because you don’t have a spell caster along.”

“Of course not.”

“And treat me to some wine sometime.” “Very well.”

As the boy watched, the two men conducted their conversation in short bursts, almost as if they could read each other’s thoughts. He fixed them with a glare, indignant at being unable to join the talk.

Goblin Slayer turned toward him. “Listen to what you are told, don’t cause trouble, and get serious.”

He practically sounded like an older sibling giving instructions to their kid brother. The boy just snorted. Goblin Slayer seemed to take this for acceptance, because he turned around. Then he set off at his usual bold, nonchalant stride. “Hey, wait—!”

“Eyes on me, boy, I’m the one you ought to be worried about.”

The boy couldn’t shake the sense that he was being left behind, but Dwarf Shaman grasped his shoulder. His small but rough hand was strong enough that his grip almost hurt.

“Have a seat, boyo. It makes a difference whether you try to learn sitting or standing. You don’t use your head the same way.”

“…Fine,” he responded, adding to himself petulantly, I just have to sit, huh? and setting himself down in the grass.

From a distance away came enthusiastic voices and the clanging of weaponry. Added to that were laborers carrying materials and working their tools.

The sky was blue, the sunlight warm enough to make one sweat. The boy let out a bit of a sigh.

Dwarf Shaman noticed it; he slowly sat in the lotus position and grinned. “Right, then. I’m no expert, but… How many spells can you use and how often?”

That was the one question the boy least wanted to answer.

“Fireball. And…just once.” He spoke quietly, sticking out his lip. “…But you know that already, right?”

“Y’blamed idiot.” A fist came down on the boy. “Gah?!”

“I’m tellin’ you, you’re dead wrong.”

The boy groaned, holding his throbbing head where he had received the blow. Weren’t spell casters supposed to be physically weak?

No, wait, this one was a dwarf. Dammit. The boy grunted. Differences in race couldn’t be taken lightly.

“Er… Ergggh. That frickin’ hurt… You coulda split my head open!”

“A spell caster’s head shouldn’t be so hard to begin with! You might be better off if it split open.”

“…I thought dwarves were normally warriors anyway.”

“We’re monks, too, if you didn’t know. And why not? We have wits to spare, and spirit, too.”

“I—I guess I have heard about the Dwarven Sages…”

“They’re just a story,” Dwarf Shaman said, sighing deeply. “Listen,” he said, whispering as if to impart a secret. “Fireball is not the only spell you have.”

“Huh?”

The boy spontaneously forgot the ache in his head, his face a mask of surprise. Three fingers appeared in front of his eyes.

“Carbunculus—fiery stone. Crescunt—arise or become. Iacta—shoot or release. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Uh.”

“You bring together three words of true power and they become Fireball.

See what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I know that, but…”

He swallowed the rest of what he had been about to say.

It was so obvious.

The spell he had learned consisted of three words of true power, woven together to create a single spell.

That meant power resided in each of the words individually, as well. How much simpler could it be?

Each word might contain far less power than the complete incantation. But still, anyone who reacted to an obvious but new teaching by saying “Yeah, whatever…”

…would just be an idiot.

Dwarf Shaman observed the boy’s face stiffen, whereupon he smiled broadly. “Excellent! Looks like the first cracks have appeared in that skull of yours. Now, what are the implications? Tell me what you think.”

“…Create fire. Expand. Throw.” “See! Now you’ve got four options.” “Four?”

“You can cast your Fireball, or you can set something on fire, or cause something to swell, or shoot something.”

Though I suppose shooting a swelling ball of fire is still the main thing.

The boy stared at his palms. He cocked his fingers, counting.

Four…

He had been under the belief that a Fireball was all he was capable of— and yet all this time he’d had four spells?

“Hey…” “Hrm?”

“Is it really supposed to be this simple?”

“Changing the way you look at the world isn’t— Well, I suppose that’s not quite what we’re doing. We’re just making sure how many cards we have in our hand.”

With that, Dwarf Shaman pulled a deck of playing cards seemingly out of thin air.

What was this—a sleight of hand? The thick fingers moved so fast they were almost invisible as he cut the deck and fanned out the cards.

“Low cards are still cards, no?” “I guess…”

“No need to guess! They are.”

He reformed the deck and then, like magic, it disappeared.

He didn’t pause for a moment to call attention to this act of prestidigitation but instead whispered conspiratorially, “Say, boy, do you remember a certain very lovely magic user? A witch?”

“…Yeah,” the boy said, blushing as he pictured the buxom spell caster. “I know her.”

“She uses inflammarae to light her smoking pipe.” “…Wait, seriously?”

It was the first completely honest reaction the boy had shown all day, and no wonder. If anyone had done something like that at the Academy, the professors would’ve had their head.

Magical spells were composed of words of true power, able to alter the logic of the world and manipulate the very way things were. They were not to be used lightly—weren’t experienced adventurers always saying things like that?

Don’t let down your guard. Don’t hesitate to kill. Don’t use up your spells. And stay away from dragons…

“Anyhow, I think you understand that it isn’t best to just pop off spells left and right like that. But think about it.” Dwarf Shaman crossed his arms and made a thoughtful noise; the boy still didn’t quite follow him. “Say you’re out in the rain, you don’t have any flint, and all your fuel is wet, but you just have to build a campfire. That’s when you’d use it.”

“…Well, yeah, I guess.”

“But if you’re really clever, you could build a fire another way in that situation and save a spell.”

If you combine branches and bark you can sometimes get a fire going, and often branches you dig up out of the ground will be dry. And depending on how carefully you pile up your firewood, sometimes a wet branch can dry out as the fire burns, making it useful fuel.

Having more than your share of brains is the best way to look after your spells. Any sufficiently advanced skill is indistinguishable from magic.

“The only difference is the method,” said Dwarf Shaman. Each method is an alternative, and alternatives mean, in turn— “More cards in your deck.”

“…”

“And another thing…” Dwarf Shaman ignored Wizard Boy, who had his arms folded and was grumbling. He then pulled the cork from the jar at his hip. An expansive smell of alcohol, the unique aroma of Dwarven fire wine, drifted out. “A spell caster’s job isn’t to chant spells.”

This caused the boy to blink in confusion. “It’s to use them.”

“…? And those are different how?”

“If you can’t figure that out, you won’t get anywhere.”

Riddles like this were at the heart of what it meant to be a wizard.

What weight was there really in the words of those who always went around proclaiming that they had the truth?

And what value was there really to the truth that one had? Thus, a wizard would laugh. Laugh and say, Maybe, maybe not.

“Only a know-nothing amateur would think that a wizard is doing nothing more than lobbing a ball of fire or some lightning at his enemies.”

And then Dwarf Shaman grinned like a shark.

§

Goblin Slayer struck a flint, lighting his torch on the sparks. The smell of burning pine resin mingled with those of damp and mold, as well as less wholesome odors wafting around the cave.

This seemed like it would be as good as alerting the goblins that adventurers had arrived, but strangely, goblins frequently failed to react to the smell of a torch. The smell of women, or children, or elves was much more likely to draw their attention and provoke an attack.

Goblin Slayer’s hypothesis was that goblins couldn’t distinguish the torch from the rest of the rotten stenches in their home. At the same time, he believed there was nothing better to minimize the smell of metal from armor.

“Ugh… This is just soooo unfair…”

And one must not forget to cover the aroma of elf.

High Elf Archer’s face was daubed with muck, and she wept and simpered. She looked vastly less than pleased as she rubbed mud all over her ranger’s garments. Her long ears drooped pitifully, trembling.

“Why am I the only one who has to get covered in this stuff?” “Because you will agitate the goblins.”

The answer was curt. High Elf Archer hugged herself and shivered. Since she had joined up with this obsessed adventurer, she had seen more than a few victims of “agitated goblins.” She even recalled once when she herself had nearly been killed by them, a position she didn’t want to imagine being in again.

If she wanted to avoid that fate, she had to take the appropriate measures.

And so, looking thoroughly pathetic, she continued to paint herself with the vile effluent at the entrance to the cave.

“What happened to the sachet of herbs you used last time?”

“…I ran out.” High Elf Archer’s expression was vague, and she looked away evasively. “…Of money.”

Apparently even High Elves, with bloodlines that reached back to the Age of the Gods, were subject to such ordinary problems. Maybe that was part of the reason she had joined a party where she was going to do nothing but goblin slaying, a job she detested.

It didn’t particularly cross her mind to be grateful to Goblin Slayer.

“Just as with your arrows,” he said softly, “it’s important to manage all your resources.”

“I told you, I hate money!” “Is that so?”

“You use it, then it’s gone!” “Yes, that’s true.”

“But then it never grows back!” “Right.”

“I just don’t get it…!” “I see.”

Her ears bobbed up and down in anger; Goblin Slayer listened impassively.

What mattered to him were the drawings the goblins had left on the cave walls. The crude, cartoonish forms of unidentifiable animals were painted in a dark crimson.

He looked at them, confirming that he saw no relation between these drawings and the brand that had been used by the goblin paladin.

“Simple totems.” Goblin Slayer rubbed at one of the symbols, which had been painted in the blood of a living creature. Dried blood flaked off the wall, leaving reddish grime on the palm of his gauntlet. “There is a shaman here.”

“Hmm.” High Elf Archer didn’t sound especially interested. She pulled the bow off her back and readied an arrow. “How many?”

“Fewer than twenty, I suspect,” Goblin Slayer said, guessing based on the amount of pollution outside the cave. “Are you in?”

“Let’s do it,” High Elf Archer replied, puffing out her scrawny chest. “If they think they can take us lightly just because there’s only two of us, they’ve got another think coming.”

Only two.

Yes, this time it was just a pair of adventurers who were going to challenge the goblin nest: Goblin Slayer and High Elf Archer.

Dwarf Shaman was helping the boy, while Lizard Priest and Priestess apparently had some sort of business to attend to together.

When it came to facing down twenty goblins, a warrior and a ranger did not make the best pair.

But nonetheless, goblins had appeared. And he was Goblin Slayer.

The quest was exceedingly simple—practically off a template. Some goblins had shown up on the fringes of a village. The villagers had sought to simply leave them alone, but that had only allowed them to multiply.

Crops had been stolen. Livestock made off with. A girl who went to pick herbs was attacked, kidnapped.

Please, please help her. The reward was a pouch of grimy, rusty coins from at least two generations ago.

But there was no reason to ignore them.

A stereotypical case. A pitiful reward. But so what?

The enemies were goblins. What more reason could he need?

Goblin Slayer certainly couldn’t answer that question.

“You’re conscientious if nothing else, Orcbolg,” High Elf Archer said, glancing back at him with a smile. “I notice how when there’s a chance of rescuing someone, you never use poison gas or water or fire.”

Although when it was too late, or after they had helped the person, he was merciless. High Elf Archer gave a little chuckle.

“Here, take this. A little something for your belly.”

She tossed him something: some of the elves’ secret food, small fried treats.

High Elf Archer herself was already nibbling on some of the stuff like a squirrel or some other small animal. Goblin Slayer’s helmet turned toward her.

“With you around…” “What?”

“With you around, it is always lively.”

“…Is that a compliment?” She glared at Goblin Slayer suspiciously, scuttling up to him like a little bird. She looked deep past the visor, her ears drooping in time with her eyebrows for a moment. “That’s not your way of saying I need to shut up, is it?”

“I meant only what I said.”

“…Well.” She spun on her heel, leaving the noncommittal word hanging in the air. Her hair fluttered along behind her like a tail.

She darted deeper into the cave, free as the wind, but still… “Heh-heh!”

Her ears bobbed happily, something that could clearly be seen even from behind her.

Of course, the two were not in as easy a mood as their banter suggested. Anyone who wasn’t a complete beginner would know that they were on enemy ground in a place like this.

Goblin Slayer shoved the baked treat through his visor, drawing his sword even as he chewed.

High Elf Archer’s superlative senses caused her ears to flick each time she heard a noise.

The lighthearted chatter—even if it was High Elf Archer doing all the chattering—was a way of preserving their sanity.

The proof came a moment later, when High Elf Archer suddenly stopped in her tracks. “They’re quick.”

“Yeah. But I didn’t get the feeling they were watching us.”

They needed no words. Goblin Slayer already had his weapon at the ready, and High Elf Archer was as taut as a drawn bow.

“If you kidnap a young girl, it’s only to be expected that adventurers will come.”

The battle between goblins and adventurers had been going on since time immemorial. Over a dizzying accumulation of ages, even the goblins had managed to learn something: adventurers will come.

They always came. They came and killed and took what belonged to the goblins. Therefore, the goblins would kill them.

It was a total failure to reflect on their own actions or to take any kind of caution that made goblins what they were.

“Which direction?”

“Right.” High Elf Archer closed her eyes, her ears fluttering. “Five or six of them, maybe. I hear some weapons, too.”

“What about in front?” “Nothing for now.”

In other words, there would be no attempt to catch them in a pincer movement. Goblin Slayer snorted, then took his sword in a reverse grip, holding it by the blade and taking up a stance.

“They always think ambush is a skill that belongs to them alone.”

The next second, Goblin Slayer took his sword and slammed it into the earthen wall as if he were chopping firewood.

“GROOOORB?!”

The earth, shallow now from being dug out, collapsed inward, raining into the side tunnel. The goblin at the head of the digging party opened his eyes wide, completely flummoxed.

They were supposed to surround the stupid adventurers, beat them, humiliate the woman, make her bear their—

Goblin Slayer landed another blow to the creature’s head, putting an end to his plans—and his life.

“One. We’ll hit them from this direction. Let’s go.”

“It’s awfully tight. Hard to shoot in.” Of course, even as she complained, High Elf Archer fired off three arrows simultaneously over Goblin Slayer’s shoulder, piercing three goblins. “GROR?!”

“GOOBBR?!”

One took the arrow to the throat; the monsters to either side were caught in the eye, one left, one right. They collapsed, and Goblin Slayer struck their corpses.

“Four…”

A sword covered in brains up to the hilt wasn’t going to be much use. He kicked over a goblin that now had a blade sprouting from his forehead, taking up the spade the monster had been using as a weapon.

“…Five.”

The fifth goblin attacked him. He blocked the blow from the monster’s pickax and, in the same motion, took the torch, which he held on the same side as his shield, and brought it down into the goblin’s face.

“GROORRORBRO?!”

There was a crackling sound and the hideous stench of cooking flesh. Goblin Slayer watched the monster with the fried face cry out. The counterattack’s failure would soon be discovered, he assumed. A scream would make scant difference now.

Goblin Slayer was utterly without mercy: he thrust the spade into the goblin’s neck.

“GROORB!!”

The final goblin howled even though nothing had happened to him yet. He threw away the hatchet he had been holding and tossed his arms over his head. Slobbering and sniveling, he prostrated himself before the adventurers.

A creature we missed at the mausoleum?

Goblin Slayer cast aside the broken torch and picked up the crimson- stained hatchet. He put it into his belt, pulled out a new torch, and lit it from the old one.

“Now, then.”

“GOR?!”

Goblin Slayer gave the creature a kick; it shrieked and tumbled on its behind. But it quickly resumed its pathetic groveling, scraping its head against the ground.

He was begging for his life. Did he have a modicum of intelligence? Was he calculating what would be in his best interests? Did he have a notion of surrender?

Given that he had been at the back of the group, maybe he had a certain status even among goblins.

Then again, he was physically the smallest. A child, perhaps…? “Orcbolg…”

“Yes.”

High Elf Archer’s voice was shaking. Goblin Slayer nodded silently. That young goblin was trying to draw a poisoned dagger from his belt. Around his neck was a necklace.

A necklace he had gotten by stealing.

The objects on the necklace had been pierced by an awl, sewn together. They had been chopped off by a hatchet. Ten freshly cut fingers of a young woman.

To this goblin who cowered and simpered, all the while hiding a dagger at his back, Goblin Slayer had one simple thing to say.

“We kill them all.”

§

“Come to think of it…” “Hmm?”

“This may be the first time it’s been just the two of us.”

“Ah, indeed, I think you are right about that,” Lizard Priest said, his tail swinging gently.

It was afternoon at the training grounds. Although the facilities were nearly half-finished, the place was still open to the elements.

Novice adventurers, as well as laborers, lounged here and there on the grass, eating their lunches.

It wasn’t guaranteed that food would be provided, and even if it was, physical activity made a body hungry.

“Even the gods and spirits cannot cure an empty stomach,” Lizard Priest mused.

“You’re forgetting about the Create Water and Create Food miracles,” Priestess said.

Not that I have them yet.

“Ho-ho,” Lizard Priest laughed appreciatively. “If I changed religions, the available blessings would change as well, I see.”

“That’s true. Although I don’t think I can do any more praying today…”

Why had the two of them come to the practice grounds? The answer was training, combined with performing some healing.

It wasn’t just inexperienced adventurers who were at risk while practicing. If anything, the people working on the construction of the facility were probably in greater danger.

Bumps and scrapes, of course, could be treated with simple first-aid, but broken bones could affect so much more than just the construction. Calling on the gods for a Minor Heal miracle could make all the difference.

At length, the two clerics settled on the outskirts of the field to have their food.

Priestess sat with her knees drawn together and undid the parcel that held her lunch. It was bread and cheese, along with watered-down wine and several pieces of dried fruit.

“My,” said Lizard Priest, peeking at her provisions from where he sat cross-legged. “Will that be enough for you?”

“Yes,” Priestess answered. It wasn’t so much about a balanced diet; she just tended not to eat that much. “I’ve, ahem—” She looked away from him, her cheeks turning a little bit red. “I seem to have put on a few pounds since becoming an adventurer.”

Lizard Priest opened his great jaws and cackled. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Never fear! Surely that is from building muscle.”

“I think it might be because there are so many good things to eat in this town…”

“I should think, child, that a little meat on your bones would be for the best. You’re rather too thin.”

“The Chief Priestess told me the same thing…”

At a certain age, perhaps even cleric girls worried about these things. It probably didn’t help that there were so many attractive women around her, like Cow Girl, Guild Girl, and Witch.

Priestess let out a small sigh then quickly offered a prayer of thanks to the Earth Mother for her food.

Lizard Priest, for his part, made one of his strange palms-together gestures and opened a pouch made from an animal skin.

“Oh,” Priestess said. Her eyes widened a bit, and then she smiled gently.

“A sandwich, huh?”

“Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh.”

Lizard Priest made an expression that was perhaps a full-faced grin then rolled his eyes and held up the sandwich triumphantly. It consisted of thick bread slathered in butter, surrounding slices of seared beef.

What really drew the eye, however, was the cheese, so much of it that it threatened to be more than the bread could contain. It practically buried the beef; the cheese was obviously the star here. It was the exact opposite of a normal sandwich, in which the beef would be the main component and the cheese just an addition.

“One’s favorite ingredients, arranged just as one pleases. This is true freedom.” He sounded as happy as a clam, and Priestess couldn’t resist a smile.

“I can’t say I don’t understand…”

“Mm. If food is indeed culture, one would need a truly enlightened civilization to produce this.” As he spoke, Lizard Priest gobbled the sandwich down. Half of it was gone in one bite; two chomps later, it had vanished.

“Ahh, nectar! Delicious!”

“Heh-heh. You really do like cheese, don’t you?”

“Indeed. It makes me grateful to have ventured into the human world.”

Smack, smack. His tail slapped the ground in a display of high spirit.

Priestess followed its movement.

She opened her own mouth, much less wide than Lizard Priest, and began putting torn-off pieces of bread into it. As she chewed, a nutty flavor filled her mouth. She accompanied it with a swallow of grape wine.

“What kind of food did you eat back at your home?” Priestess asked.

“We were warriors and hunters, you see. We ate birds or animals that we caught.” Having finished his first sandwich, Lizard Priest was reaching for his second. “The young warriors ate with the young warriors, the more experienced with their own cohort. And the superiors ate with the superiors.” Holding his sandwich in one hand, he smacked the grass with the other. “We ate on the ground or on the floor, just like this.”

“You didn’t all eat together?”

“If a king or a general were to come among the common soldiers, how could they relax?”

“I see.”

“Banquets, now those were different. When we would achieve a victory in battle, fires would be lit in the public square, and everyone would sit down together.”

In her mind’s eye, Priestess found she could picture a scene from a land she had never been to. A great crowd of lizardmen gathered at the foot of a huge tree in the rain forest, raising their cups and drinking their wine, celebrating together.

In the midst of it all, a great beast roasted on a spit, brave warriors cutting off hunks of meat and raising their voices. For some reason, one of them in particular was joyfully taking mouthfuls of cheese… But that was probably just an imaginative detail on her part.

If nothing else, though… “It seems very festive.”

“I should say so,” Lizard Priest said confidently. “At times, we would also go in search of corn or potatoes…”

“Ooh. Potatoes go well with cheese, you know.”

“Oh-ho!” Lizard Priest leaned forward suddenly, his eyes gleaming and his jaws open. It was no wonder Priestess drew back a little with a frightened yelp.

“I should like to hear more on that topic!”

“Er, well, I—back at the Temple, I used to cook them together…”

Cut the potatoes, mix them with a sauce of milk, flour, and butter, then sprinkle cheese over them and bake them in the oven. The result was a rich meal for winter festival days or any kind of celebration.

“Everyone gathered in the Great Hall, offered up our prayers, and then ate together.”

“That is most excellent…!”

Both the recipe and the meal, he meant.

“To share a meal with one’s fellows,” Lizard Priest proclaimed, “is to deepen one’s ties to them.”

“Yes,” Priestess nodded, smiling. Then she thought of something and cocked her head at him. “Oh, if you want, we can cook it together when we have a chance.”

“I should like that,” Lizard Priest replied.

That was when a bright, cheerful voice reached their ears: “Hey, looks like you’ve got something good to eat there!”

Priestess looked in the direction of the voice. The first thing she saw was a pair of bare feet. Small but muscular, they led up to legs covered in short pants, and then a light shirt. She was hot and sweating, fanning at her collar to get the air moving. It was Rhea Fighter.

“A sandwich? Lucky you! Can I have a bite?”

With a grunt, Lizard Priest flung the rest of the food into his mouth, waving his tail in an intimidating manner as he chewed.

“Among the teachings I received, there was no such thing as the sharing of food.”

“Aww…”

She didn’t actually look that disappointed, though, and soon Lizard Priest rolled his eyes in his head.

“Well, not like I didn’t bring my own lunch!” she said. “Can I join you?” She laughed openly and held up a parcel in her hand. It was wrapped neatly in a red handkerchief and was startlingly large.

Priestess, who had been chewing on some dried sweet beans, swallowed her mouthful and made an affirmative noise, nodding. “Oh, yes. I don’t mind.”

“Nor am I bothered.”

“Don’t mind if I do, then!” The rhea girl flung herself down in the grass next to them, busily unwrapping her lunch. It was a pile of fluffy pancakes, cooked to a golden brown color not unlike that of a fox pelt. Each one was as big as a person’s face, and there were one, two, three, four—five!—of them.

Considering a rhea’s physical size, this was equivalent to enough food to feed a dwarf.

She took out a bottle and popped the cork, pouring thick, rich honey over the pancakes, then she dug in.

Priestess found herself blinking. “You’ve got quite an appetite, haven’t you?”

“We eat five or six times a day!” Can’t always get all your meals during an adventure, though… The girl licked clean a honey-sticky finger. “So I have to make sure I eat enough at once that I don’t starve between meals!”

“Ha-ha-ha…” Priestess laughed noncommittally. She had the distinct sense that the rhea would have eaten just as much even if she were getting all her meals.

“By the way,” Priestess said, “you’re solo right now, aren’t you?”

“Sure am. So I was thinking maybe I’ll hunt some rats next or something.”

Cleaning the giant rats out of the sewers was a basic task for beginning adventurers. That didn’t mean it was an especially popular job—people felt it wasn’t adventure-y enough. No one became an adventurer just to fight overgrown rodents. They wanted to do battle with terrifying monsters, delve dungeons, and get loot from treasure chests. That’s what adventuring was all about.

But it wasn’t easy to do any of that solo.

“Plus, this place is crawling with fledgling warriors.” No party for me.

She laughed.

As great as it was to join forces with some people you got along with and go adventuring, by the same token, it could be painful when you were left on your own.

If it weren’t for Goblin Slayer…

What would have happened to her? That was what was in Priestess’s mind.

It was such a strange thing. If those three people hadn’t called out to her on that day, where would she be now?

If she hadn’t gone on an adventure with them, she wouldn’t be here at this moment.

It was all because of that adventure, and all the fighting that had come after, day upon day piling up. The tiny decisions she had made, one second at a time, had produced this exact instant.

“Um…” The thought caused the words to come out of her mouth almost of their own accord. “If you like, why don’t you…try adventuring with us?”

“Adventuring?” The rhea looked at them, a bit baffled. “What about your armored buddy, Goblin Slayer or whoever? Don’t think I’ve seen him around today…”

“Oh, umm…”

“As it so happens,” Lizard Priest said, leaning forward and picking up the thread from the momentarily inarticulate Priestess, “in order to advance in rank, she must demonstrate her abilities and, as such, is seeking temporary adventuring partners.” As he spoke, he chewed and swallowed another sandwich noisily.

“Most likely, we’d only be together for one quest…” Priestess said apologetically.

“Hmm.” Rhea Fighter crossed her arms and looked into the distance.

Beginning adventurers were sometimes called “the mob,” and in that group, human and dwarf warriors were plentiful. A great many of them were solid and strong, either because they had trained hard or because they were born that way.

“I’m just warning you, I’m really nothing special,” Rhea Fighter said with a faint smile. Yes, she had trained, but she lifted one of her arms to demonstrate that it was still smaller than that of a human or dwarf. “I mean, I’m a rhea. I don’t have really good equipment. And I’m just a warrior.”

Then leather armor. A sword and shield. Decent equipment, but definitely on the small side.

In light of her skills and strength and equipment, there were probably lots of warriors better than her.

“Are you sure about me?”

“Ah, but,” Lizard Priest said, nodding somberly, “you have luck.” “Luck…?”

“Call it a convivial relationship with fate. No?”

“Absolutely!” Priestess immediately agreed with Lizard Priest. She puffed out her little chest as best she could. “Like how you asked us about our potions? That’s why…!”

That’s why I asked you.

“Huh, so you remember that?” Rhea Fighter said and nodded. “…Well, fine then, all right. But I have to say, I think it’s gonna be a liiiittle difficult for just you and me.” So—she clenched both fists and raised them high. “Let’s invite some others, too! Just leave it to me—I’ve got some great ideas!”

“Oh, I’ll come, too!”

Once the idea was in her head, Rhea Fighter moved startlingly quickly.

She was off like a hare; Priestess belatedly rose to go after her.

As she went scurrying away, Priestess spun around and bowed deeply to Lizard Priest.

She fully understood that the naga cleric had engineered this on her behalf.

It had been a full year since the four of them had become a party.

Lizard Priest gave her an encouraging wave, as if to say, Don’t worry about it, and she nodded at him again.

“Heeey, let’s move! Everyone will start training again once they’re done eating!”

“Right! Sure! Sorry, and thank you…!”

“Yaaah!” Well ahead of Priestess, Rhea Fighter was giving the red-haired boy a kick.

When Priestess caught up, she bowed repeatedly and explained what was going on. Dwarf Shaman laughed uproariously. In that interval, Rhea Fighter spotted her next targets and went barreling off toward Rookie Warrior and Apprentice Cleric.

The latter was objecting that they were right in the middle of lunch, when Priestess came up with Wizard Boy in tow, once again bowing and apologizing.

“Ahh, luck is a virtue, and virtue is luck,” Lizard Priest said happily as he ate and observed the goings-on.

They had been together for a whole year, after all. He was well acquainted with the girl’s personality, with her goodness of heart.

Well, then.

His mind worked as he finished off his final sandwich.

What about the virtue of milord Goblin Slayer, the strange fanatic at the heart of our party?

§

Chirp, chirp. Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp.

Cow Girl was roused from the depths of sleep by the canary’s tweeting. “Hrn… Hmm? Hmm?”

She rubbed her eyes and blinked several times. She gave a big stretch and realized she was sitting in a chair in the dining area. She must have stretched out on the table and then fallen asleep at some point.

The sun was already well and truly set, leaving the interior of the room dim; the only light was the faint shimmer of the twin moons.

On the tabletop was a cup of black tea, which had gone completely cold. She must have fallen asleep waiting for him.

“Hmm… At least I don’t have pillow marks,” she said, massaging her stiff cheeks. As she did so, a blanket fell from her shoulders.

Her uncle must have put it there. Although it was early spring, the nights were still cold. Cow Girl picked it up and folded it.

“I’ll have to thank him…”

As she did this, the canary continued to chirp noisily, flapping around its cage. Cow Girl quickly lit a candle, placing it in a candleholder and making her way over to the cage.

“What’s up? Are you chilly? Or maybe hungry?”

The tone she adopted, as if she were speaking to a small child, was probably only natural. She leaned forward, peering into the cage; the canary cocked its head and peered back.

She could just make out the silhouette of herself in her nightclothes wavering in the window’s reflection.

Maybe I ought to go sleep in bed.

The thought made good sense, yet she just didn’t feel like it.

Maybe I should start going with him…

She went over to the window, put her chin in her hand, and sighed. No, impossible. A fantasy that faltered at every point.

True, she was rather muscular—as much as she hated to admit it, her body was better built than most girls her age. But even so, that didn’t mean she would be able to use a weapon or face down monsters.

Most of all, though, was that if she were to start going places as well, perhaps he just wouldn’t come home anymore…

“…Whoa, don’t get a big head, now.” Cow Girl couldn’t resist a chuckle. That was when it happened: with a rattle and a clatter, the door opened.

The night air came drifting in, along with a strange smell. An odor of iron. Mud and sweat and dust, along with blood.

Even without looking, Cow Girl knew immediately: it was his smell. “Welcome home!”

“…I’m back.”

The response to her gentle voice was quiet, dispassionate, and blunt.

He closed the door behind himself as he came in, trying as hard as he could to be quiet, but the noise was still just a little bit loud. Cow Girl turned, smiling softly, and his helmet shook doubtfully.

“You’ve been awake all this time?” “Nah. I just woke up.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it. Somebody got me up at just the right moment.” She pointed at the birdcage and added, “Huh, little buddy?” to which the canary responded, Chirp!

“This bird’s really something. It knew you were home before you came in.”

“Hmm,” he grunted softly, pulling out a chair and sitting down heavily. Cow Girl thought he could at least afford to take off his weapons and armor, but she didn’t say anything. She pulled herself away from the window, grabbing an apron that hung in the kitchen and tossing it on over her nightwear.

“Dinner?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him as she tied the apron string behind her.

“Let me see,” he replied, and then, “Yes, please.” Finally, he added quietly, “Anything is fine.”

“I’ve got stew ready to go.”

After a moment’s pause, “…Is that so?” he replied with a predictable nod. It took time to relight the oven fire and warm up the stew.

“Oh, you may want to wipe down your armor a bit.” “Is that so?”

“Yeah. There’s a hand towel over there you can use.” “Ah.”

He obediently began to wipe the grime from his helmet and armor, although his movements were rather rough. Of course, these were not stains that were going to come off with a little rubbing, but it was enough to satisfy Cow Girl.

When she set the stew down in front of him, he began shoving it through his visor like a starving man.

It was already spring, and there was no longer a need for such warm foods, yet she still made stew. Yes, very unsophisticated.

“It’s all the time these days, isn’t it?”

She sat across from him, supporting her head by putting her hands against both cheeks.

“What is?”

“That you go out.” Cow Girl grabbed a napkin and leaned over the table, mopping a stray bit of stew off his helmet. “It’s all those goblins—or, well, I guess you’ve got that training area now, too.”

“Yes.”

“Are you busy?”

“…No,” Goblin Slayer replied after a moment’s thought. The helmet tilted as if he wasn’t quite sure. “…I wonder.”

Hmmm. Cow Girl sat back in her seat, chin in her hand, and observed him. Obviously, she couldn’t see the color of his eyes, which were hidden behind his visor.

“I knew it,” Cow Girl said, giggling a little in the back of her throat. “You don’t want them building something there, do you?”

Bull’s-eye. His spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. “It is not…exactly that I don’t want them to.”

Hrrrm. He tried to act as if he was thinking.

His body language hadn’t changed a bit from when they were younger. He had always struggled to hide when he was upset.

“It’s a lonely feeling, isn’t it?” “…”

“And you’re worried about that girl, aren’t you?” “……”

“You’re worried, but you can’t think of a good way to help her out.” “………”

“And in the meantime, goblins will be up to their tricks…” “…    ”

“You get anxious when you’re not doing anything.”

He tossed down the spoon in his hand, still silent. Then he sighed deeply and finally spoke. “…You know me well.”

“I ought to. We’ve been together for years.” Finally, she couldn’t restrain the laughter, and she winked at him.

From inside the helmet, his gaze was fixed on her. It made Cow Girl sit up straight in her chair.

“Do you not think anything of it?”

The question was brief, but she was probably the only one who could understand what he was thinking when he asked it. In fact, she wasn’t completely sure that even she understood.

Her uncle, however, was not a resident of that little village. The only two remaining were him—and her.

“I’m not…saying it never bothers me.”

“…”

“I remember…splashing in the lake and lots of other things.” She remembered.

The voices of her parents, with their little brick house.

The friendly warmth of the stone wall when it had been sitting all day in the sun.

The wind on her face as she ran along the little path through the village.

The sound of the adults’ hoes and plows as they worked the fields.

The creaking of the poorly wrought bucket as it came up from the well full of cold water.

That little tree that stood on top of the hill, and how her heart pounded when she hid some treasure in its hollow.

Those feelings she had when the two of them watched the bright red sunset spread from the far side of the horizon out over the entire world.

How the grass tickled her back when she lay out on the plains, staring up at the two moons until late into the night.

The pain of the slap her father gave her, angry at her for coming home so late. The loneliness of the attic where she had shut herself up in anger.

How her mother’s home-cooked breakfasts smelled, the scent wafting up to her after she had dozed off upstairs.

She remembered it all.

It was a world that no longer existed anywhere, except in her heart, and his.

“But I’ve started to think, maybe it just is what it is.” Cow Girl smiled weakly. “That’s how everything goes, right? The world keeps turning, we keep living. The wind keeps blowing and the sun keeps rising and setting.”

Fwip, fwip. She made circles in the air with her pointer finger. It had been so long since that day and yet not long at all.

Ten years, eleven. Enough time for a child to grow up. For the look of a place to change. And towns, too, and people, and everything else.

Everything in the world continued on, changing, never resting. Even thoughts and memories.

Was there anything that didn’t change? Perhaps change itself was the only thing that didn’t change.

I’m not even sure if change is bad or good.

“All that means we need to accept change.”

“…Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.” Cow Girl nodded as if to emphasize her own point. “I’m sure of it.”

“I see.”

That was all he said; then he fell silent.

A great many things had happened, he thought.

A year—it had been a year since he went on that adventure to save that priestess girl or, more accurately, to kill goblins.

He had met High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest. He had fought that monster whose name he could never remember.

He’d done battle with a goblin army that attacked the farm. Spearman, Heavy Warrior, and many others had helped him emerge victorious.

Then there were the goblins who had appeared in the sewers beneath the water town. The fight with the champion. Sword Maiden.

The autumn festival was another occasion that showed him how many friends he had made.

And in winter, they had gone to the snowy mountain and fought the goblin paladin.

There was an unmistakable difference between his previous self and the way he was now. Otherwise, would he ever have considered looking after that boy?

The path of life was full of crossroads and forks. He could choose any direction he wanted now.

“…” Still.

Still, yet…

And I’d still have her, if she hadn’t died after a goblin stabbed her with a poisoned blade!!

“…It isn’t yet possible,” he—Goblin Slayer—murmured quietly. “…Mm,” Cow Girl said. She nodded, somehow sadly. “…I see.” “I have no proof, but I think the goblins are on the move again.”

Goblin Slayer picked his words carefully, thinking hard as he spoke.

Goblins had stolen construction tools. They were appearing with impunity near the training grounds.

Were they simply interested in the unusual spectacle of the training area being constructed?

Not possible.

It was a warning, a sign.

The thought might seem alarmist, but in his mind, these things were connected.

It was not clear whether this was the doing of fate or of chance.

The one thing he was certain of was that he would have to fight the goblins.

“That’s why I believe I have to do this.” “Yeah. Yeah… I know.”

Their eyes met. Cow Girl’s gaze wavered with anxiety. His, from deep inside the helmet, never flinched.

Her throat tightened. What should she say, and how should she say it?

Several times, she opened her mouth then closed it again. “I’ll be…waiting for you, okay?”

“Yes.”

Then Goblin Slayer rose from his chair. He left his empty bowl on the table.

She heard the door shut, and then she was alone in the kitchen again.

Cow Girl turned her face away from the unsteady candlelight, clutching her head as if she wanted to curl into herself, but instead, she lay out on the table again.

The soft twittering of the canary was no comfort to her.

§ For the next three days, nothing happened.

Adventurers spent their time on adventures, or training, or deepening friendships.

It was certainly a meaningful time, no question.

The flow of time can no more be reversed than the current of a river. Even the gods themselves cannot take back a roll of the dice.

That was why it was certain that goblins would appear. Fate? Or chance? It happened three days later—at twilight.