Goblin Slayer - Volume 7 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Jungle Cruise

The tweet of a bird, cheep-cheep-cheep. The sunlight that slashed in through the windows. An atmosphere to be found only in the depths of a forest.

Any one of them would have been enough to rouse Cow Girl from her slumber, but none was what actually woke her.

“Mmn, hggh—ahhh…”

She pushed aside the fur blanket, giving a big stretch. The early morning chill was pleasant on her naked body.

There was no time to savor it, however. One thing had awakened her from sleep.

Clank, clank. It was the metallic scraping sound that could be heard from the adjoining guest room.

“…Right!” Cow Girl gave herself an invigorating slap on each cheek, then set about stuffing her ample frame into her clothes. She pulled on her underwear in a hurry, fastened the buttons of her shirt, and then…

My pants! What’s with my pants…?

She was by no means overweight, but somehow she just couldn’t get them on. Her fingers slipped, perhaps because of her haste.

“Ohh, for…!”

She clicked her tongue and decided it wasn’t something she usually worried about anyway. Instead, she pushed past the divider that separated her from the living room, wearing just a shirt over her undergarments.

“G-good morning!” “Hrm…”

As she’d expected, he was there.

He was in his usual cheap-looking steel helmet and grimy leather armor, his sword of a strange length at his hip and his small, round shield on his left arm.

He was also carrying his bag of miscellaneous items; he looked ready to depart on a trip at any time.

She murmured “Umm” or some such as a way of diverting him then hugged her own arm. “…Are you going already?”

“The goblin hideout is almost certainly upstream,” he said, nodding crisply. “If they were to put poison in the river, that would be the end.”

“Yeah, that’d be bad,” Cow Girl said with an ambivalent smile. Her head was full of the weather, and the sun, and her uncle. All going around and around…

“Er, well… Be careful, okay?”

Those were the words that finally made it out of her mouth—those obvious, banal words.

He nodded and replied, “I will.”

Then he strode toward the door at a bold pace.

As she watched him go, Cow Girl opened her mouth several times, but each time, she closed it again without saying anything.

“You too…” With his hand on the door, he shook his head slightly. “All of you.”

Then there was a sound as the door opened, and another as it shut.

Cow Girl let out a breath. She pressed a hand to her face then ran it through her hair.

Oh, for… The softest of groans escaped her.

Suddenly, there was a rustle of cloth and a voice from behind her. “…Has he gone?”

“…Yeah.” Cow Girl gave a small nod then rubbed her face. Finally, she turned around slowly. “Do you wish you’d had a chance to say good-bye?”

Guild Girl, still in her nightclothes, mumbled, “Not really,” and scratched her cheek awkwardly. She offered a weak smile. “I don’t…want him to see me before I put my face on.”

“Can’t say I don’t sympathize, but…”

Guild Girl may not have had her makeup on and may not have done her hair. Yet, as far as Cow Girl could tell, she still boasted an unadorned beauty.

Still, she and Cow Girl were about the same age. Cow Girl knew how she felt and was, in fact, painfully aware of it. And yet, even so…

“I like him to be able to see the way I normally look.” “………I envy your courage,” Guild Girl said, somehow sad.

Cow Girl tried to distract her with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I just try not to think about it, is all.”

Neither of them said what it was they were trying not to think about: That each and every good-bye could be the last.

§

The elf harbor: on a collection of leaves that came out into the river like a bridge, the adventurers were gathered.

“Mm… Hmm…” High Elf Archer squinted like a cat and gave a great yawn; she was still half-asleep. The other adventurers, though, were already busy loading luggage onto the boat.

Elvish boats were elegant teardrop-shaped vessels carved from the silvery roots of the white birch.

“And heave, and ho, and hup, and oh!”

Dwarf Shaman was busy lining up wooden boards along the gunwales as shielding, turning the little bark into a crude warship.

“…Could they not be made a little more…pretty?” the elf with the shining headdress asked, pulling a face.

“’Fraid beggars can’t be choosers. We don’t have very many of them, and I had to come up with them in a hurry. No time to be concerned about looks.” Dwarf Shaman gave an annoyed snort and stroked his white beard. “Not like I’m happy to hang them up this way anyway.”

It would have been one thing if they’d had more time, but in a pinch, this was the most that could be managed. The elf must have acknowledged as much, because instead of continuing to complain, he reached out his hand into the wind.

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

There was a whistling as the wind gusted up in time with the elf’s chant and began to blow around the boat.

“I have a certain affinity with the sprites by virtue of being an elf, but I’m still a ranger, a tracker. I ask you not to expect miracles.”

“Believe me, I don’t,” Dwarf Shaman said with a mischievous smile and a glance out the corner of his eye at High Elf Archer. “Everyone is good at some things…and not at others.”

“…Yawn…” High Elf Archer was still rubbing her eyes, her long ears drooping pitifully. It didn’t look like she would be fully awake for a while yet.

“And where’s her older sister?” Dwarf Shaman said.

“…It seems the two siblings were up talking until quite late last night.” “Still in the Sandman’s grip, eh?”

The elf with the shining headpiece let out a sigh, then furrowed his brow as if his head hurt. “Humans are quite industrious… My new younger sister could stand to learn something from them.”

He was looking at the two clerics, who were already aboard the boat and offering their prayers to the gods.

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, please, by your revered hand, guide the soul of we who have left this world…”

“O great sheep who walked the Cretaceous, grant to us a modicum of your long-sung success in battle!”

Priestess was clinging to her sounding staff and imploring the Earth Mother to keep them safe on their adventure.

Lizard Priest was making a strange gesture with his palms together and prevailing upon his ancestors for aid in combat.

Even if these were not requests for miracles proper, there was no question that the gods’ protection would be with them.

“Phew…” Finished with her prayers for the time being, Priestess stood up and wiped away her sweat as the boat rocked gently in the current. “I’m not so sure we should beg the gods for favors like this. We should try on our own until we understand where we are insufficient.” Priestess looked like she might topple over at any moment; now a scaled hand supported her, and Lizard Priest nodded.

“I don’t suppose it should hurt so very much to ask. Why pray to a god that would not grant you victory even after you had staked all on a tremendous battle, expending your every effort?”

“I think that may be a little beyond what I’m talking about.”

One of them was a devout cleric and servant of the Earth Mother.

The other was a lizard priest who venerated his forefathers, the fearsome nagas.

But this difference didn’t mean they necessarily had to be at odds. “Anyway, let’s do our best.” Priestess nodded to herself, clutching her sounding staff with vigor.

“Are you finished?” Goblin Slayer asked as he emerged from belowdecks.

His arms were full of provisions and sleeping gear, and he ran his gaze along the shields that had been put up against the sides of the ship.

“Oh yes. The shields are up, we’ve said our prayers, and we have the blessing of the wind as well.”

“I see,” Goblin Slayer murmured. “Thank you for your help.” “Oh, not at all!”

Priestess had a bright smile on her face; Goblin Slayer nodded at her and then boldly climbed down onto the wharf. The large leaves shuddered slightly under the weight of him and his equipment, and a ripple ran along the surface of the water.

“I’m grateful for your help.”

“Think nothing of it,” the elf with the shining headpiece answered evenly. “However,” he added, “if you wish to thank me, see my younger sister-in-law safely back.”

“Very well,” Goblin Slayer replied without hesitation. He turned to look at the girl in question, who still appeared dangerously unsteady.

Priestess was trying hard to shush Dwarf Shaman, who was suggesting that a dunk in the river would do the elf some good.

“I accept,” Goblin Slayer said.

“Very well,” the elf replied. His face relaxed in what might have been relief, but he quickly made his expression taut again. Then he reached into an item pouch at his hip and withdrew a small jar of rich golden honey.

“This is an elixir,” he said. “A secret remedy passed down among the elves. It is said to be made with a combination of herbs, varieties of tree sap, and fruit juices, along with a ritual to the spirits. The top was sealed with a kingsfoil leaf, so the elixir can be drunk only once.”

Goblin Slayer took the bottle without a word and put it into his own item pouch.

“If I do not come back, please see to the two women.” “I accept.”

“And to the goblins as well.”

“But of course.” The elf nodded and then, after a moment’s thought, added somberly, “…She may not be perfect, but she is my younger sister by law now, and I have known her for a long time. Take care of her.”

“As long as it is within my power, I will do so.”

Even the elf, for all his long life, seemed surprised by Goblin Slayer’s response. “You don’t take anything lightly, do you?” he said, his expression softening just a little—but he spoke so quietly that only the trees could hear. Then he went on, “The elders have received some kind of news from the water town.”

“Oh?”

“…But even I am not yet mature by the reckoning of the high elves. I can’t guess what move the elders may be planning to make.”

The elfin imagination spanned a vast period of time. The smallest and most seemingly insignificant thing could have ramifications countless years later.

The actions they took here, now, would most likely be the same. The elf with the shining headpiece gritted his teeth. He was to be the next chief, and yet, even he had not been told what the news was.

Not that he couldn’t take a guess, of course. But a guess was still a guess.

It was not a fact.

So long as he didn’t know what the ripples on the surface might form, he could only stay silent.

Goblin Slayer looked at the unspeaking elf and grunted. Then slowly, as if nothing had happened, he opened his mouth.

“Also, be careful of the river.”

“You’re the ones who will need to be careful,” the elf said lightly, feeling a bit odd at the nonchalance of Goblin Slayer’s words. “I believe there will be a mist today.”

His ears twitched like leaves as he took in the sound of the wind and looked at the pale light of the morning sky.

“Goblins are not the only danger in this forest. At the wrong time, Nature itself can be your enemy. Bear that in mind as you go.” Because after all… The elf with the shining headpiece and Goblin Slayer looked into the forest. “You will be journeying into darkness.”

“Into darkness,” Goblin Slayer repeated softly.

The sea of trees that extended to the source of the river harbored an impenetrable blackness.

There was a warm breeze that brought thick, humid air. Like the inside of a goblin nest, Goblin Slayer thought. And that was a fact.

What should he do, then? He considered for the space of an instant then formulated his plan.

“…I have one further request.”

“What is it?” the elf looked at him questioningly. “Prepare another boat.”

“I will do it.” The elf nodded, making the ritual sign of a promise of his people.

Seeing this, Goblin Slayer said, “By the way,” as if he had just thought of something. “I have been wondering. Is it true that elves have no concept of ‘cleaning up’?”

“We do,” the elf with the shining headpiece replied, looking very weary. “But some sisters don’t.”

“…I see.”

§ The fog turned out to be a true blessing.

It blocked out the sun, daubing everything with a white haze, so that even objects only a short distance away were vague and indistinct.

The goblins didn’t think of the fog as a blessing; to them, it was only natural. When something good happened to a goblin, he didn’t feel gratitude toward anyone or anything. Since goblins were so often tormented, so thoroughly put-upon, it was only right that something decent should happen to them sometimes.

It was no different now.

The goblin who had been told to watch the river flowing through the forest noticed it immediately. He had been slacking off in his work, so he squeaked and squealed when it happened.

It was “nightfall,” when the sun behind the veil of mist had only just risen.

Mingled with the river’s gurgling current, he heard a creaking sound getting closer.

The goblin guard’s ugly eyes got wider; he peered into the fog and listened as hard as he could.

Yes, there it was.

Creak, creak. There was no question: the sound was coming from downstream, from the direction of the elf village.

The elves, who always contemptuously looked down on the goblins, thought they could just come right on up this river!

“GROORB.”

When he spotted the slim form of a sailor emerging through the mist, the goblin licked his lips.

If it was a he-elf, they could beat him to death and feast upon him. If it was a she-elf, they could make her the bearer of their young.

Whichever, he had found them first, so he was entitled to be the first to enjoy them, wasn’t he?

He didn’t think for one second that the only reason either of these outcomes was possible was exactly because his companions were with him.

“GRORO! GROOBR!!”

The goblin put his fingers in his mouth and produced a not very skillful whistle.

“GROB?!” “GOORBGROOR!”

The goblins, who had been sleeping, were not pleased to have been roused early. But they, too, snapped awake the moment they caught sight of the elvish boat.

Elves! Adventurers! Prey! Food! Women!

“GORBBR!” “GOBGOROB!”

As quietly as they could, they whispered their lusts to one another, taking up their equipment and flying to their cherished mounts.

Well, let us not say cherished. They didn’t care all that much for the wolves they rode.

“GOROB!”

The guard, who now fancied himself the leader, gave an order, and the goblin riders galloped off.

Unlike horses, wolves make no clatter of hooves as they approach. As long as they’re muzzled, they don’t howl, either. Goblins (except hobgoblins) could conceivably ride horses, but wolves were more convenient.

The goblins beat cruelly at the sides of their mounts, pushing them onward.

“GROOROGGR!!”

First, they would deal with the captain. Then, the oarsman. Then, they would climb aboard and finish the job.

The goblins grinned and laughed, imagining the panicked faces of the elves. The sight of the prideful forest people spilling their guts upon the deck would be delightful indeed.

The dark imaginings made the goblins grasp their weapons that much tighter. They carried crude stone spears and arrows, along with slings. Primitive though the weapons were, they were more than potent enough to take a life.

“GGRO! GRRB!”

The guard yowled calamitously, and the other goblins clicked their tongues. He was getting too full of himself. They would have to correct that later.

“GRORB!” “GGGROORB!”

Ignoring the yammering guard, the goblins held their weapons at the ready, drew their bowstrings tight.

The guard complained about this with gusto, but when he found that no one was listening to him, he glumly raised his own hand spear.

Spurring on their mounts, the goblins began their attack.

They aimed in the general direction of the creaking boat; there was no leader to coordinate their offensive.

“GORB! GBRROR!”

Nearly half the arrows that came raining down simply splashed into the water.

Some, though, not only the arrows but also the spears and sling-stones, managed to connect with the rower.

“!”

The fiend was dead! That was the collective thought of every goblin there.

Some even cheered.

But… “—?”

Without so much as a quiver or sound, the rower continued to row.

Had the attack not been intense enough? Or had the oarsman, by sheer good luck, avoided fatal injury?

Taken aback, the goblins nonetheless prepared for another attack. But in that instant:

“One…!”

A warrior in grimy leather armor leaped into their midst and slashed the guard’s throat.

“GBBOOROB?!”

The monster screamed and crumpled, and Goblin Slayer kicked him out of the way, into the river.

The ensuing splash was the signal. “Bbffah!”

The signal to the second ship being pulled behind the first one.

This ship, whose sides were protected by defensive shields and which had the blessing of the wind sprites, was totally unaffected by the arrows.

High Elf Archer threw off the fur covering that had been concealing the vessel and stood from where she had been hiding behind the armor.

“You stinking, stupid, ugly little—! How dare you come so close to my own home!”

Still on one knee, she brought her great bow to bear in an elegant motion and loosed three bud-tipped arrows simultaneously. They flew through the air with a whistle.

“GOOB?!”

“GROBO?!”

The bolts pierced the eyes and throats of goblin riders, throwing them from their wolves as if they were already drowning. High Elf Archer’s impeccable technique was not in the least affected by the swaying of the boat or the fog that obscured her vision.

Her long ears twitched, taking in every sound on the battlefield. “Orcbolg! They’re coming from the right!”

In lieu of an answer, she heard a goblin cry, “GBOR?!” and she nodded in satisfaction.

“I’ve gotta say, though, preparing a whole second boat just to distract them with the similar sounds seems like a waste of time…”

“True, it needed Dragontooth Sailors and everything,” Dwarf Shaman grumbled, drawing his ax and peeking out from behind the shielding for a better look.

The two Dragontooth Warriors, who had been dressed in overclothes and placed on the leading boat, continued to row faithfully even in the face of the attack. Arrows and spears had passed through their largely vacant bodies, or occasionally lodged in a bone.

“Oh, but we have to reduce our speed…” Priestess put her pointer finger to her lips even as she huddled down and clung to her sounding staff. “Goblin Slayer’s on the shore and everything.”

“Mm. I shall go ashore as well, so please do convince them to slow.” Ready with a Swordclaw in hand, Lizard Priest cried:

“Hrrraaaaahhhahhhh!” and flung himself toward the goblins on the shore, his tail flailing, crushing the neck of the first monster he encountered.

Priestess cried out and grabbed hold of the shielding as the boat rocked with the force of his leap.

“Can’t you jump a little more quietly?!” Dwarf Shaman demanded. Then he called to Priestess, “You still aboard?”

“I-I’m okay!”

Priestess and Dwarf Shaman were mainly supposed to stay out of the way, so their job was to deal with any goblins who happened to get onto the boat.

“Huh, don’t you worry. I won’t let them get…anywhere near us!” High Elf Archer’s posture wavered not an inch as she let loose another three arrows.

Three screams followed. Her archery bordered on magical. “Nine… Ten!”

“GROOBOO?!”

Goblin Slayer had jumped ahead into the mist, and now he swung his shield to the left, trusting to luck to strike something. The polished and sharpened edge tore through a goblin’s face.

He moved again, relying on the scream to guide him, piercing the creature’s throat with his sword.

The monster waved its arms, trying to pull the sword out; Goblin Slayer kicked it away and grabbed the dagger from its belt.

He flipped the dagger into a reverse grip as he heard the howling of wolves coming closer. Even as he did so, his left hand searched through his item pouch and came up with a leather strap with stones tied to either end.

“Hmph.”

He let the strap fly; it spun, skimming the ground, and from somewhere in the fog came the yelp of a wolf.

“GORB?!”

There followed the sound of something collapsing to the ground, and a goblin’s shout.

The bolas had wrapped themselves around the legs of one of the bestial mounts.

Without pausing, Goblin Slayer jumped in that direction, cutting the throat of the goblin who had fallen.

To him, there was scant difference between the darkness of a cave and the limited visibility of the fog.

“Ten and one.”

Thus, it was Goblin Slayer who held the advantage when jumping into the maelstrom.

After all, the goblins could hardly tell who was friend and who was foe. A careless swipe of a weapon might strike an ally. Unlike in any cave, it was difficult to rely on numbers to overwhelm the enemy.

Not that any one goblin was especially concerned about what happened to the others, but they did hate to lose a shield that might have protected them.

“…A patrol, or perhaps a random encounter.” “GOROOB?! GROBOR?!”

“So you agree?”

Lizard Priest kicked down one of the riders then grabbed the wolf by the snout and tore open its jaws through sheer strength.

Being in combat made him sound happy, but it was the blood all around that quickened the thinking of the lizardman.

“If this is supposed to be an ambush,” Goblin Slayer said, shredding the spine of the rider on the ground and muttering “Twelve” as a muffled scream sounded. “They lack offensive power.”

As he stood up, he launched his dagger into the fog, provoking a shriek. “We can’t let any of them get home alive.”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Were we ever going to?”

Lizard Priest swept out with his tail, slamming a goblin behind him against a tree, shattering its spine.

Thirteen. Six, maybe seven remaining. Goblin Slayer grabbed a spear at his feet.

“In that case…”

He raised his shield and advanced, deflecting the poisoned dagger of a goblin hidden in the mist, striking out with his spear.

He could feel it hadn’t sunk deep enough. Instantly, he pushed with the polearm to keep the monster from moving then smashed its face with his shield.

The creature fell, its forehead shattered, and Goblin Slayer came with it to crush its throat.

Fourteen. Goblin Slayer extracted his spear from the dead monster. “…we should finish this before the fog clears.”

And that is exactly what they did.

§ “…I wonder if the flowers are blooming?”

The murmur came from Priestess, shortly after the party had defeated the goblin riders.

The only sounds were the rush of water, the creaking of the oar, and five adventurers’ shallow breathing.

As they got farther upstream, even the animals that lived in the trees seemed to be holding their breaths.

The sun climbed higher and the mist began to dissipate, but the thick vegetation all around them cast dark shadows. Brightness did not return, and there was something eerie about it all, as if they were entering the depths of a cave.

Maybe that was why Priestess responded to the unexpected and ever more noticeable sweetness in the air the way she did.

Priestess clung to her sounding staff, but High Elf Archer shook her head. “I dunno, but…I’ve never heard of a flower that smells like this.”

“Their territory is close,” Goblin Slayer said calmly, keeping his hand on the weapon he had stolen from the goblins. It was a club that appeared to be a shaved-down tree, and it had gruesome dark-red spots here and there. The splatter was from when it had been used to crush the heads of people—and goblins.

Ultimately, more than twenty goblins and their mounts lay dead in the river. They couldn’t have left the corpses out in the open; too much chance they would have been discovered by another group. And there was no time to bury them.

Anyway, if the corpses washed downstream, they wouldn’t be noticed by the goblins upstream…

And the carnivorous fish in the river would probably get rid of the bodies for them.

This had given Priestess some pause, but Lizard Priest had told her it was a form of burial in its own way.

“The mist is beginning to clear. Perhaps we should be making ready.” That same Lizard Priest was now trying to see as far through the fog as he could. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed one of his two Dragontooth Warriors, the one that had been piloting the boat. The skeletal sailor pulled up the oar and sat down, hugging it.

“It would be no small trouble if they were to discover us by the sound of the paddling.”

“Oh, should I pray for the Silence miracle…?” Priestess asked.

“Not yet,” Goblin Slayer said, shaking his head. “We’ve already used Dragontooth Warrior twice, and Swordclaw once.”

The helmet turned to Lizard Priest as if seeking confirmation, and the cleric gave a great nod.

The party had a total of seven miracles. Now they had four left, and the only magic available to them all belonged to Dwarf Shaman, who could manage another four, as well. The party was blessed with considerable magical resources, but it was still important to keep track of how many miracles and spells were available.

In addition, Silence by itself was no guarantee that they would avoid combat.

“Keep saving your miracles.”

“All right.” Priestess felt she hadn’t been much use in the earlier battle. She nodded unenthusiastically. “…?” Then she blinked, rubbed her eyes, and peeked out between the shields guarding the boat.

“Ho, careful now,” said Dwarf Shaman, taking hold of the girl’s waist to support her.

“Of course,” Priestess said, looking around wide-eyed. She had seen a slender shadow rising through the mist.

It wasn’t a tree. Its silhouette looked far too strange to be vegetation.

Standing alongside the riverbank, the misshapen thing looked almost like the prey of a butcherbird, impaled on twigs…

“…Is that a…totem?!” A gasping cry escaped Priestess’s throat.

It was a corpse. The earthly remains of someone who had been pierced through, from between their legs to their mouth.

Being left out in this warm, damp place, they had begun to rot, their juices expanding to the point that now they looked barely human. Judging by the rust-eaten armor, it had been a woman. The corpse had been so badly mutilated by bugs, though, that now it wasn’t even clear what race she had originally belonged to.

“Ugh…!” High Elf Archer felt herself about to retch but forced down what threatened to come up.

It was obvious why the goblins had exposed the corpse. Cruelty.

A bold declaration to the world that this was their territory, and a brutal mockery of any who might dare to impinge upon it.

They simply wanted to see any interlopers terrified, panicked, mad with fear, or at least enraged.

Why else would they put up a trophy like this, an object at the gates that served no defensive purpose?

“Was she skewered alive, or mounted on that stick after death…?” Lizard Priest asked, glancing around as he brought his hands together in prayer. “… At the very least, she has had the good fortune to remain a part of the natural cycle.”

The reason for his broad gesture became clear: there was more than one totem.

There was a forest of them.

Corpses impaled on sticks lined the riverbank like trees along a roadside.

Some were only bones; on others, the flesh had not yet begun to rot.

Some bore a panoply of fresh scars, while others had swelled almost comically with gas.

Some of the corpses appeared to be merchants, while others bore ornaments that made them seem like adventurers.

How many had been killed?

How many had been made the playthings of the goblins?

“Ergh…” Priestess put a hand to her mouth, and who could blame her? She crouched down, her face pale, while her sounding staff clattered to the deck.

“Hrrrgh…!” Clinging to the side of the boat, she emptied the contents of her stomach into the river. What had finally done it was the realization that the sweet smell she had wondered about was the stink of the rotting corpses.

For a year and a half now, she had witnessed the goblins’ cruelty and had become somewhat inured to it, but even she couldn’t stand this.

There was a series of splashes as she vomited into the water.

“Here, chew on this. And have a drink of water.” Dwarf Shaman rubbed her back gently.

“…Ur…urgh. Th-thank you…” Her voice was faint, her throat burning.

With both hands, she took the herbs and water he held out to her, chewing the leaves gently.

“…So is this what’s gonna happen to us if we lose this fight?” High Elf Archer must have been feeling just as bad as Priestess, because her always- pale skin was now absolutely bloodless. She spat out a curse. “This is no joke.”

“I agree,” Goblin Slayer said. “It is not a joke.”

The cheap-looking metal helmet stared straight ahead. There, in the mist, a strange shape rose like a mountain. The thing appeared as a dark shadow in the white fog.

Unexpectedly, a fetid wind came up, pushing the mist away.

“…Huh,” High Elf Archer said, her lips still tight but her tone terribly even. “So that’s the One That Stops the Waters…”

How to describe this thing?

It was made of great chalk blocks, a temple or a shrine—or perhaps a fortress.

The elegant structure, which had stood since the Age of the Gods, was now worn away, covered in moss and vines. Yet the construct, built to dam the river, hardly seemed like the sort of ruins that goblins would find amenable.

“It was right next door, lass. You really didn’t know about it?”

“Hey, this was Mokele Mubenbe’s territory.” High Elf Archer pursed her lips and flicked her ears as if remonstrating with Dwarf Shaman. “Maybe the old people of the village knew about it, though. Maybe my sister had even heard about it.”

“So you really didn’t know about it,” Dwarf Shaman teased, provoking an angry hiss from the elf.

Their argument was just as energetic as ever, and perhaps that was deliberate. After the terrible sight they had just seen, anyone would want to shift the mood.

“What we have to worry about now is the goblin fortress,” Goblin Slayer spat, looking around. “Stop the boat. The fog is lifting.”

“Aye, aye,” Lizard Priest said, gesturing a quick instruction at the Dragontooth Warrior. The skeleton brought the little craft closer to shore.

Goblin Slayer put a hand to the club at his belt and knelt down beside Priestess.

“What do you think?”

“Er… Wh— What do I think?” The blood had drained from her face, and she was shaking her head listlessly from side to side. “We have to…do… something…”

“Yes.”

“If we…j-just leave this…”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet like hers, but not weak. “We will not just leave it.”

Priestess swallowed heavily. Goblin Slayer saw her hand go to her armor, and he picked up the fallen sounding staff. Priestess gripped it to her chest with both hands, as if in an embrace, then got unsteadily to her feet.

She forced herself to relax her stiff facial muscles and glanced at his visor. “…Because…they’re goblins.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “They’re goblins.”

“Hold it, Beard-cutter.” Dwarf Shaman heaved himself ashore as the elven boat came soundlessly to the bank. He skillfully tied the boat up, securing it to a nearby tree. “Like you said, the mist’s clearing. And it’ll be night soon. Sneaking in is going to take some doing.”

“In that case—” High Elf Archer tried two or three times to snap her fingers but ended up just clucking her tongue at the pitiful fp fp sound she got. “…In that case, I have an idea!”

§

Some time later.

The party crept like a train of shadows under the illumination of the twin moons.

Through the undergrowth, pushing aside leaves and branches, they kept their weight low, moving as quickly as they could.

The only sound among them was the barest whisper of a prayer from Priestess: “O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, grant us peace to accept all things…”

She ran through the absolute silence as fast as she could, sweat pouring down her brow, her hands gripping her sounding staff.

As they got closer, the goblins’ levee and fortification loomed up strangely ahead of them.

The way the rocks had been piled and carved was the work of dwarves.

The way the structures had been built without disturbing the trees around them was the doing of the elves.

The preparations against attack must have come from the knowledge of the lizardmen or the humans.

Here and there, a stone had been dislodged by the goblins, besmirching this place.

What could this place have been built for? Priestess wondered suddenly.

A shrine, a temple, a tower, a castle, a levee, a bridge… It seemed to be all these, and yet none of them.

Whatever it was, it was a goblin nest now, and to challenge it would take more than a miracle of the Earth Mother, no matter how merciful she might be.

That was why the adventurers had something else to defend them. A white mist that seemed to rise up of its own accord, fssh, fssh.

It was also intensely hot.

To an extent, that was to be expected—they were in a rain forest, after all

—but it was punishingly humid as well. Priestess’s vestments had absorbed enough water to grow heavy, and her sweat made her clothes cling to her most unpleasantly. She’d rolled up her sleeves out of necessity but never stopped praying.

There was someone else who hadn’t stopped at his work—Dwarf Shaman.

He held a stone, glowing red, in his roughhewn hands. The source of the heat, of the mist, was in that stone—in the salamander who lived within.

Dancing flame, salamander’s fame. Grant us a share of the very same.

The fire spirit invoked by the Kindle spell evaporated the water with which the spirits of air were so pregnant. The result was just like being cloaked in mist.

Dwarf Shaman looked suspiciously at High Elf Archer as she gave a triumphant little snort.

She’s getting to be as bad as Beard-cutter.

Nonetheless, Lizard Priest came from the South, High Elf Archer was from this very forest, and Dwarf Shaman was quite intimate with fire. The thick heat made their movements quicker, if anything.

Priestess huffed and puffed along, and Goblin Slayer’s expression couldn’t be seen.

Lizard Priest looked up at an observation tower high above the goblins’ fortress. With his heat-detecting eyes, he spotted a goblin with a spear happily taking a nap.

No problems. He nodded at Goblin Slayer, who then led the party forward again.

The gates of the fortress were practically in front of their noses now.

The huge, thick door was characteristically elven, made of ancient, sturdy wood. There was no sign of metal anywhere on it, but its durability was beyond question.

At first, it appeared to be all of a piece, but in the right corner of the massive gate a square outline could be seen. A smaller door within the door, perhaps a sally port.

Goblin Slayer gestured to his companions to wait in the bushes then pulled his club from his belt. High Elf Archer clambered into a tree, her long ears twitching; she reached a branch and sat down without so much as dislodging a single leaf. She put an arrow into her bow and drew it with a hush, while down below, Lizard Priest adjusted his grip on his fang-sword.

As for Priestess and Dwarf Shaman, they continued to intone their miracles and magic respectively. The silence went on, and the fog kept rising.

Priestess’s lips briefly formed the words Be careful. Goblin Slayer nodded.

When he left the bubble of silence, the hue and cry of life suddenly returned to the forest. Leaves rustled as the wind blew through them. The river gurgled. He could hear his own breath inside his helmet.

“Hmm.” He stood for a moment in front of the gate before pounding noisily on it. Then, with an agility that belied the weight of his full body armor, he dug his fingers into the grain of the wood and pulled himself bodily up.

The reaction came just a moment later. “GROB?”

The sally port opened, and a goblin, most likely a sentry, stuck his face out.

High Elf Archer was prepared to loose her arrow that very instant, but Goblin Slayer didn’t move. A second, then a third goblin crowded out of the little door.

The click of High Elf Archer’s tongue was muted by Priestess’s prayer, so no one heard it.

A fourth monster emerged, and then after waiting exactly five seconds, Goblin Slayer moved.

“GORAB?!”

He jumped down from above, landing squarely on the back of the last goblin to come out. The impact stole the air from the creature’s lungs, and he didn’t make any more noise.

Goblin Slayer brought his club down.

There was a dry sound of something breaking, and the goblin’s skull turned an impossible direction at an equally impossible angle.

Goblin Slayer drew the sword from the twitching corpse’s belt. “One.” “GBBR?”

The first goblin, surprised by the sudden shout, started to turn around— “GORB?!”

A bud-tipped arrow whistled through the night, spearing the creature straight in his right ear and out his left. He collapsed to his knees like a marionette with its strings cut, and an instant later, the second goblin was dead.

Despite their shock at the ambush, the remaining two monsters had begun to act.

But the adventurers were too quick for them.

One goblin turned toward the enemy behind and found his face smashed in with the club.

“Two, and…”

“GRRB…?!” The creature fell backward, clutching his crushed nose; Goblin Slayer immediately jumped on top of him. He had already dropped the club, drawing the stolen blade from his scabbard. He clapped his left hand over the goblin’s mouth, and with his right, he mercilessly stabbed into the creature’s windpipe then slashed.

“That makes three…” And that meant one left.

This last goblin was slightly smarter than the others; he at least grasped that two of his companions had been killed. He was taking a deep breath, opening his mouth wide to yell for reinforcements, but before he had time to raise his voice, he found an arrow lodged in his throat.

He toppled forward with the force of the shot. “…Four.”

Goblin Slayer confirmed with his own eyes that all four of the creatures had stopped breathing then quickly glanced inside the sally port. It was dark, but there were still two moons in the sky to provide illumination.

Inside the gate was an open square. There was no sign of goblins nearby.

However indolent goblins might be, though, the absence of the guards would not go unnoticed for long.

Goblin Slayer propped the small door open with a peg then motioned to the bushes.

Priestess let out a long breath and rushed over to him. “…Are you okay? Are you hurt, or—?”

“No, I am not.”

At that, her little chest relaxed, relieved.

Lizard Priest emerged just as quickly, almost crawling along the ground, and Dwarf Shaman trundled after him. Last of all came High Elf Archer, jumping down from the tree and heading for the door so quickly she hardly even left a shadow. It would not be amusing if the one who was supposed to make sure everyone got to their destination safely was herself discovered.

“I’m supposed to be a scout, but I felt like an assassin just now,” she said. “So what’s next?”

“I don’t like it, but we will have to mount a frontal assault.” Goblin Slayer wiped his blade on a goblin’s rags and returned it to his scabbard. Then he took a hatchet from one of the monsters and thrust it unceremoniously into his belt. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but it looks like there will be no time for rest. I need you on the front row.”

“Just so, just so,” Lizard Priest hissed. “I have never been one to do less than stand out front in battle.”

He had one single miracle left. The Dragontooth Warrior had been left to guard the boat, so his Swordclaw and his strength were all they could count on.

But for Lizard Priest, that was enough.

“Got three left, m’self,” Dwarf Shaman said, stroking his beard. “And as for me, uh—” Priestess counted on her fingers. “Two more.” “All right.”

That meant six altogether.

That would be a veritable bounty for the average adventuring party. But would it be enough for assaulting this fortress?

They had started with eleven, so they had used up roughly half their supply so far.

“…” Priestess shook her head, trying to clear away a sudden rush of bad thoughts. What had happened on her first adventure didn’t have anything to do with this. Not even the dead she had seen on their way here mattered now.

“Um, what should we do about light…?” “No lights until we’re inside.”

Goblins could see well in the dark. They needed no fires to get around at night. To enter the courtyard with torches burning would be as good as begging the goblins to come find them.

“Once we get in, we treat it like any other cave,” Goblin Slayer said. “Okay. I’ll get some torches ready, then,” Priestess replied.

“Please do.”

As he spoke, Goblin Slayer drew his dagger.

“Er,” Priestess sighed. She pulled a face then let out a resigned breath. “Do we have to…?”

“Yes.” Goblin Slayer flipped his knife around in his hand then walked over to the goblin with the smashed face.

High Elf Archer, catching on, quickly patted down her clothing, making sure everything was ready. The blood drained from her face, and her ears drooped pitifully. “…Aw, are you serious?”

“Unless you have a packet of perfume.”

“H-hey, I never imagined a trip home would mean g-going goblin hunting…”

“It’s part of the job.”

Goblin Slayer paid no mind to her excuse as he cut the goblin’s belly open. He pulled out the steaming entrails, and Priestess wrapped them in a handkerchief she had produced, her face expressionless.

High Elf Archer backed away with a sort of choking sound; Dwarf Shaman quickly caught her by the hand.

“You’ve gotta know when to fold ’em.”

“It just takes guts,” Lizard Priest offered from where he had moved to prevent her escape, his eyes rolling in his head.

“Huh—? No, no way, there’s gotta be something else we can—!” “Pipe down.”

It was, perhaps, only High Elf Archer’s level of experience that saved her from screaming.

§

The adventurers slid along the wall, High Elf Archer at their head as scout.

The tower was in ruins, the gate devastated, nature reclaiming the structure for itself, and there was no shortage of shadows in which to hide.

And by the same token, many shadows in which things might be hidden.

High Elf Archer licked her lips, trying to decide where she could put her feet without disturbing the underbrush. If any goblin sentinels found them, that would mean an alarm, and that would be no fun at all.

“Thanks.”

Goodness gracious. High Elf Archer blinked. Orcbolg, thanking her?

Humans were not best equipped to creep through the night with only starlight and misty moons to guide them.

“Humans have it rough pulling something like this, huh?” she said. “I-I’m sorry…,” Priestess replied.

“It’s no problem. Don’t worry about it.” High Elf Archer waved a dismissive hand without turning around. “…Ooh.” At that moment, her pointy ears twitched, as if blown by the breeze.

She narrowed her eyes: she was looking at a goblin who lolled around, a spear resting on his shoulder.

There was some distance between them. The adventurers hadn’t been noticed yet. But he was coming this way. A sentry.

High Elf Archer drew an arrow from her quiver and put it into her bow. “What should I do?”

“Shoot.”

Her bow twanged almost before he finished speaking. The goblin, pierced through the throat, waved his arms uncomprehendingly as he toppled to the ground. There was a muffled whisper of grass, but that was all. No other guard seemed to have noticed what happened.

High Elf Archer let out the breath she’d been holding and started moving again, Goblin Slayer and the others following behind. She grabbed her arrow out of the goblin corpse as they passed by.

“Ugh…” She scrunched up her face at the black goblin blood, giving the arrow a thorough shake. “I don’t want to get any dirtier than I already am…”

“No kidding,” Priestess agreed in a truly pitiful voice. High Elf Archer nodded sympathetically.

These two sweet young women were covered from head to toe in unspeakable pollution. It was smelly and sticky, and as much as they were used to it, it still made them a little sick. It was necessary, but never fun.

“Argh, the tip broke off… This is the worst.”

“Well now, if this is the worst, then perhaps we will never be discovered.” Lizard Priest, crawling forward, raised his head like a snake. “I should think things will be a mite more troublesome when we enter the tower.”

His eyes were focused ahead, on the huge wooden gate that barred entry into the tower. It was obviously immensely thick, and it was not the only such door. A whole series of them stood surrounding the structure’s outer wall.

“I have heard that royal tombs are sometimes supplied with false entrances,” Lizard Priest added. “Perhaps it is of that nature.”

“You mean those are all…fake?” Priestess poked her head out to look, taking care not to be noticed by the goblins. The massive, heavy door, standing imposingly in the pale moonlight, hardly appeared anything less than real. “It certainly doesn’t look like it…”

“We should be so fortunate that it were mere sculpture,” Lizard Priest replied. “If it should be a trap, I hesitate to think what would become of us.”

“……”

For a few seconds, Priestess stared silently at the doors among the ruins. Something felt wrong about them, something she couldn’t explain. She tried to put her finger on it…

“…Well, I don’t think we need to worry so much,” she said with a giggle after a moment and pointed a pale, slim finger at the door. “Look how the undergrowth has been trod down there.”

“Goodness, indeed…!”

The false door, the brainchild of some ancient elf or the like, had now been rendered pointless by the passing of time and the goblins’ stupidity. The goblins unthinkingly used the door in and out, so the bushes by it were indeed trampled flat.

“I guess this leaves us with the same problem we started with,” High Elf Archer said irritably. “Goblins.”

One or two guards were lolling about, looking bored.

“The quickest way would be to off the guards and steal the key.”

“That’s if goblins knew how to lock doors,” Dwarf Shaman said, brushing an errant leaf out of his beard and letting out a thoughtful breath. “At the very least, we have to take the ones on the right and the left simultaneously if we aren’t to be discovered.”

“Not a problem,” Goblin Slayer said. “I know eight different ways to kill goblins silently.”

“Really?” Priestess asked, blinking.

“That was a joke,” Goblin Slayer continued, slowly shaking his helmeted head from side to side. “It is many more.”

In light of High Elf Archer’s assessment that arrows were at a premium, it was decided that Goblin Slayer and Dwarf Shaman would take the offensive. Each of them readied a sling, moved to close distance, and loosed their stones at almost the same time.

The rocks flew through the air, unerringly finding the throat of one goblin and the head of another.

“GRORB?!”

“GBBO?!”

The first collapsed with his windpipe cruelly crushed; the other got unsteadily to his feet, clutching his forehead. Before the creature could cry out, however, Lizard Priest sprang up to him, as if in a dance. His Swordclaw slit the monster’s throat before he could make a sound.

Thus, the guards were dispatched without a noise, the silence of the courtyard in front of the gate continuing undisturbed.

“…I learned to use a sling, too, but it doesn’t seem to have helped much,” Priestess said despondently.

“Don’t worry, there’s a time and a place for every talent,” High Elf Archer said, patting her on the back.

Lizard Priest gave his Swordclaw a great shake to get the blood off then began dragging away the corpses of the goblins. “You must do what you can,” he agreed as he stuffed them into some bushes. While High Elf Archer made sure they were covered up, Dwarf Shaman rifled through the goblins’ weapons, selecting a hand spear.

He held it up to the moonlight: the iron tip gleamed, plenty sharp. No rust, either.

“You know, for a bunch of goblins in a rotting fortress, they’ve got pretty fine weapons. Wonder if they nicked this off an adventurer.”

“Perhaps there was an arms merchant among those they killed,” Goblin Slayer said. “Or perhaps it was already here…”

“Hrm,” Dwarf Shaman murmured, shaking his head at Goblin Slayer’s musings. “Who can say? It seems antique at a glance, but sometimes products are made to look weathered.”

“What are the chances it was forged here?”

“That I can rule out,” Dwarf Shaman said confidently. “Fire can’t be used here. Can’t do any smithing at all without a special spell from the elves.”

“…Hrm,” Goblin Slayer grunted. “Whatever the case, the one thing we know for certain is that a goblin was carrying it. Did you find a key?”

“Yeah, here,” High Elf Archer said, handing it over to him. It was an old key that had been hanging from a goblin’s neck a few minutes before. It took the form of a tag with numbers carved in it, strung on a rough, frayed rope.

“Good.” Goblin Slayer held it tight, examining it closely. “We enter, then go as far in as we can,” he said.

“Is that our, uh, strategy?” “Yes.”

As always, Priestess couldn’t help but smile at his behavior. Then she quickly knelt and held her sounding staff. “O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy,” she intoned, praying for the peace of all the goblins who had died so far, and all those who had been killed by them. “Please, by your revered hand, guide the souls of those who have left this world.”

The adventuring party waited until she was finished with her prayer of repose, then they hurried toward the gate.

Goblin Slayer slid the key in the lock, turned it. There was a hollow clack. “It doesn’t fit.”

That meant it had to go to some other door somewhere else. He clucked his tongue and pulled the key out.

Priestess opened her bag, clearing some space. “Here, I can take that.” “Yes, please.”

She took the key, put it away, and let out a breath.

“I guess that makes it my turn,” High Elf Archer said, crouching confidently in front of the lock. Her ability to pick such devices, which she claimed to have learned largely to amuse herself, had proven quite valuable to the party.

She used a pick to fumble with the lock, twitching her ears in search of the gentle click that would announce her success. When it came at last, she announced, “Excellent,” and puffed out her chest proudly. “It’s unlocked.”

“Right, now before we open it…,” Dwarf Shaman said. He crouched next to her and rooted through his bag of catalysts, pulling out a cloth.

Priestess tilted her head in confusion, asking hesitantly, “What are you doing?”

“Gotta put a little oil on there,” Dwarf Shaman winked. “Wouldn’t want it creaking, now, would we?”

“Oh, I’ll help!”

“I’ll take the right, then, and you take the left.”

He tossed Priestess a rag dipped in oil, and she got to work. She showed herself to be an excellent cleaner, from long experience with her duties in the Temple. Soon, the door had been carefully oiled, and the adventurers pushed it open with nary a sound.

They slipped through as quietly as shadows then closed the door behind them. The goblins still had not noticed their companions had been killed.

If they had realized it, they would not have mourned or wept but would have thought only of how to punish the adventurers.