Chapter 6 – Solo Adventure Not Even Seven Adventurers
Her teacher told her not to go outside that day, but her curiosity was more persuasive than her instructor.
There was a part of the temple’s outer wall that was broken, and this would be an excellent opportunity to see if she could get out via the gap.
“Hrrn…ahh… There! Heh-heh! Nothing to it.”
Her clothes were covered in dust, but she paid the fact no mind as she made a sound of triumph and stuck out her as yet undeveloped chest.
Beyond the hole was a field of grass and a blue sky. Piercingly bright sunlight announced that summer would soon arrive.
The girl had long, black hair that stuck out every which way. Her tunic, tied with a belt, had patches all over it and, now, dirt, too.
She gave her clothes a brisk dusting off, and then started running, dragging her feet in her big, ill-fitting sandals.
She was heading for the village gate, which was connected to Outside by a road. Not that she had any idea what was actually out there.
I sure hope I don’t miss them!
She ran up to the fence and around, but she didn’t see anyone. Thank goodness, I’m in time. She sat herself down on the fence. She kicked her legs, scratching her toenails against her sandals. There was a gentle breeze that felt wonderful against her sweating, overheated limbs.
Maybe I’ll go swimming in the river later.
Teacher didn’t let them play outside very much these days, and the girl didn’t like it. Her teacher had always been given to little nagging aphorisms—“Better to study than play” chief among them—but recently, it had been especially bad.
Goblins were about, she said. She wouldn’t tell them whether there was a nest nearby; maybe she didn’t know herself. If she didn’t know, why didn’t she just say so?
She probably thinks that if she told me there was a nest, I’d go look for it.
But the girl was hardly stupid enough to do such a thing by herself. She would need at least two or three of her friends from the Temple to join in.
“Yawn… Ahh… Hmm…”
As this nonsense passed through her head, she soon found herself yawning. The early summer sun was perfect for a little nap. She would wait just a little longer, and then if the person she was expecting didn’t show up, she would just close her eyes for a few minutes.
“But then…”
If she had run away just to sleep and play, what would she say when Teacher gave her the inevitable scolding? But I was going to—she would say, but her reason for slipping away would have vanished.
“Maybe I could say a little kid was crying, so I went and got some fruit for them? Nah, used that one already…”
Hmm. She crossed her arms thoughtfully, until she found herself leaning backward so far that she could see behind herself.
“Whoops!” She wheeled her arms, trying to balance herself, until she landed on the ground with a little thump. It was an excellent landing, even by her standards, and she allowed herself a satisfied smile. No one else at the temple school could do the same.
It’s pretty simple, though… The words left her mouth in a mutter. That was when she noticed the dark figure in the distance. It was striding along the road, coming straight at her. A man.
“Is this the village where the goblins appeared?”
“Yup!” she replied, feigning indifference. But then she cocked her head in his direction: “Hmm?”
For the first time, she took a good look at him from head to toe and was perplexed by what she saw. “You’re dressed weird…”
“Is that so?”
Grimy leather armor, a cheap-looking steel helmet with one horn broken off. At his hip, a sword of a strange length. On his arm was a small, round shield.
He was the first adventurer the ten-year-old girl had ever seen.
§
“Gods above! And after I told you all those times not to go outside!”
“But I thought… I thought maybe I should help the adventurer get around the village…”
“This village is too small for him to need any help!”
The girl’s crying echoed around the temple. She had received her share of whacks to the head.
“Just go back to your room,” the teacher said. The girl nodded weakly, and the instructor shooed her away. Then she cleared her throat. “I’m very sorry you had to see that…”
“Not at all,” he said with a shake of his head. “She did show me here.”
“It’s kind of you to say that. That girl is certainly energetic, if nothing else.”
The instructor of the temple school was a woman with a stern face, no longer young; but when she looked at the children, her eyes softened.
He saw the windmill, the symbol of the God of Trade. This deity oversaw travelers and fortune, as well as merchantry. In addition, he was the god of the ties that bind. Perhaps it was only natural that his temple should take in orphans, but this woman looked especially qualified to run a school like this.
“A battle claimed her parents, but she hasn’t become bitter. She helps around the temple whenever she can.”
“Is that so?”
“If those children were to lose their homes again, to some monsters…”
“…”
He was quiet, pondering, then he nodded. “I have my intention.”
The instructor seemed to take this answer as encouraging. A question formed in her mind. Without losing her smile, she said, “And where might your companions be?”
“…”
He gave no answer but simply stood there, staring straight ahead.
Actually, she didn’t know if he was staring. It was impossible to see inside that helmet.
“Hello?” the instructor said dubiously, and the helmet stirred as if he were just now noticing her.
“What?”
“Oh, no, I simply…wondered about your other party members. If they—”
“No.”
“You mean they’re coming later?”
“I’m solo.”
That caused the teacher’s eyes to go wide.
No sooner had he made this brusque comment than he reached into his item pouch and drew out his purse. He pulled a silver coin from it and held it out.
“This should cover my room. I may need your help with other things, as well.”
“G-goodness…”
Even the Guild had not entirely settled questions of this nature. The quest filers were offering a reward, so they shouldn’t be required to furnish room and board as well. On the other hand, should adventurers have to pay to stay wherever a particular quest was located?
It would be simple enough to include room and board in the reward, but since the reward by definition was provided upon successful completion of the quest, it was impossible to pay in advance.
On the other hand, if these expenses were considered entirely the responsibility of the quest filer, there were adventurers who would take a quest, accept a free meal, and then simply leave.
By long-standing custom, therefore, exact payment for lodging and food was settled by negotiation between the adventurer and his hosts.
“Well, thank you very much.”
Having said all that, this was the temple of the God of Trade. Clerics couldn’t live on thin air, and neither could the orphaned children. The abbess took the coin with an experienced hand, scratching the edge with one nail. “Our gratitude for this blessing,” she said firmly and then dropped the coin in her pocket. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she added. “So many coins of poor quality circulating these days.” Smiling sweetly, she said, “May the god’s wrath be on all their heads.”
“So,” he said calmly, nonchalantly. His voice was like a rumble in the earth. “Where are the goblins?”
§
The village was a small pioneer settlement at the foot of a mountain, just a dozen houses or so huddled up against a hill. The sort of tiny village you might find anywhere.
There were no old ruins for them to take advantage of, no highway running through town. It was just a speck of a place where people tried to farm and canvass the mountains enough to earn something to live on.
One man, an adventurer, strode boldly through the village. He looked strange and unusual, and the people watched him at a cautious distance.
“Hey, is that the adventurer they were talking about?”
“I hear he’s a warrior. Ain’t no novice, judging by that armor.”
“How d’you know? He might’ve just filched it off some battlefield.”
“Just the one of him, though? I thought adventurers usually traveled in packs of five or six.”
“I hope he won’t come to grief like that…”
“It ain’t—you know. He ain’t gonna try to put this on us, is he? Turn us into a fighting force or something?”
“Who knows?”
The gist of the whispered conversations was not very favorable to the adventurer. Maybe that was only to be expected. The villagers had known that they were likely to get amateurs, but they had expected a full party of five or six people, including a scout and a warrior.
Instead, they had gotten this one swordsman in beat-up gear, and they couldn’t quite believe it.
It was just as much to be expected that they would follow the adventurer on his rounds when he said he wanted to start by having a look around the village.
He suddenly stopped walking when he had done a single circuit all the way around the village, following the fence that ran around the settlement.
“So the mountain is to the north,” he murmured, quietly enough that the villagers were unsure whether he was talking to himself or asking them.
The villagers all looked at one another until someone, somewhere in the crowd, muttered, “That’s right.”
He fell silent again at that.
At length, the person unfortunate enough to be closest to him ventured a question: “What ’bout it?”
“How steep is it?” he asked.
“G-gentle enough for a horse, I s’pose.”
“Any caves or the like?”
“Not sure myself, but we have a woodsman. You could ask him.”
“I’d like to.”
The villager set off at a gentle jog. Still standing there, he grunted softly.
They claimed they didn’t know where the goblins were attacking from. Just that every night, the creatures slipped past the guards and over the fence, running roughshod over the fields before they fled.
At first, the villagers suspected it might just be bandits. But that idea was disproved by the discovery of obviously nonhuman footprints.
How many were there? The villagers could only say, “a lot.”
In other words, it was the same way such quests usually ended up at the Guild.
After a few minutes, the villager came jogging back. “I asked him, and he said there ain’t no grottos nor old ruins.”
“I see,” the adventurer said, nodding thoughtfully. “Wanderers, then.”
They had been chased out of wherever they had been living before and were looking for a new home. They had settled on this village as a place where they could get food, as well as women, both to help them pass the time and furnish them with new goblins.
In any event, they couldn’t be left alone. That was why he was here.
“I have a request, if you don’t mind.”
“Heh?”
“I will pay you. I need the leftover wood from the building of this fence, as well as some carpentry tools.” He took several silver coins out of his purse and gave them to the villager.
“That’s well and good, but these coins…they ain’t been shaved down, have they?”
“I received them as a reward payment from the Guild,” he said flatly, even as the villager ran a nail along the coin and gave it a dubious look.
“I guess that’s fine, then,” the villager said and slipped the coin into a patchwork pocket.
Shaving down the edge of a coin, thereby reducing the weight, and saving the filings was a common way of “saving money.” It was, of course, illegal, as it reduced the value of the currency, but there was no end of those who tried it anyway. If he had been a common tough and not an adventurer, the villager might have pressed him harder on the point. As it was, it was hardly surprising that the man should regard this strangely: the adventurer was supposedly here to make money, yet here he was paying to slay goblins!
“Thank ya, I’ll be right back with the materials.”
“Do you post guards at night?”
“We have some of the young men keep watch.”
In place of the man who had gone to fulfill the adventurer’s request, this answer came from an older man who seemed likely to be the village chief.
“Not all of ’em, though,” he went on. “The duty rotates…”
“Keep doing it. We don’t want the goblins to know anything has changed.”
“Yessir,” the headman said with a nod. He couldn’t quite hide the hint of doubt in his voice, but his expression had softened immensely after seeing that silver coin change hands. A person willing to pay his own way was one who had earned a certain amount of trust.
“I’m going to prepare.”
“Prepare?”
“Yes.” The adventurer nodded, looking intently all around the village.
He thought chances were good that the goblins would come from the mountain to the rear. But that was no reason not to be wary of the other three directions.
Farmers’ fields were usually split into three: one sown in spring, one in autumn, and one left to lie fallow. The crops in spring fields had not quite begun to grow yet, but those planted in autumn were near to harvest. When he saw the ripe cabbages and turnips, and the bobbing wheat and beanstalks, he knew what the goblins would be after.
The fallow fields posed a danger of their own. Currently, only white clover, food for the livestock, grew there, and getting into the fields was easy. For the time being, the goblins were contenting themselves with stealing vegetables, but soon enough, they would move on to animals, and then village girls.
They didn’t have the luxury of time. But could they gain a little?
“Would it be possible to bring in the harvest early?”
“I guess we could do that.” The headman turned sun-scorched, dejected eyes toward the fields, blinking against the brightness. “If we start now, with everyone pitching in at a good pace, we might be done by tomorrow noon.”
“Do that, then.”
His words caused the village chief to start waving his bony arms, giving instructions to the hovering villagers. Several men and women hurried to grab tools from a shed, then headed for the fields.
He didn’t know whether the individual farmers owned the fields, or if the village had serfs. Whatever the case, though, it would be better for the villagers to harvest slightly before things were ripe rather than to have all of it stolen from them. Even if those people were serfs, they would presumably be eager to harvest.
“That’s where you draw your water from, isn’t it?” he asked, turning his eyes to the river that flowed past the village. It was a shallow thing, not enough to be an obstacle to a goblin despite their short stature.
The problem was the irrigation canals that connected the river to the town.
“Raise the volume of water in the canals. I want to use them as a moat.”
At this, the headman raised an eyebrow.
“I assume the canals are deep enough that a child could drown in one.”
“Er, yes, well, it’s technically the local lord who owns the water…” He glanced at a water mill standing along the river. It bore the insignia of the governor; there was no other building in the area large enough to mill flour.
In other words, the river’s current belonged to the governor, too, and if they wanted to use it, they would have to pay taxes. Since they were paying taxes, the governor would like to protect the area; that he was unable to do so showed how difficult things were on the frontier. They couldn’t expect the military to intervene against mere goblins. Even on the off chance they did, how many days would it take just to muster the men?
“It’s rained of late, so the river’s running high.”
Farmers are clever people, though, and they do what they can to get by. He knew that very well. He came from a village himself, after all—although not this one.
Beneath his helmet, he closed his eyes to steady his shaking vision and swirling thoughts. He took one deep breath.
If he were a goblin, what would he do? What would he aim for? What would he resent?
If you resent someone, you become a goblin.
It was true; he was sure of it.
“Also, prepare for a festival.”
“A festival?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I hate to say it, but we must let the creatures do as they will tonight. Tomorrow night, however, it will be different.” With a growl, he looked around the village one more time.
What should one do, when one could be attacked from any direction?
“First, spikes.”
In fact, there was a great deal he needed to attend to.
§
“All right—let’s do it!”
Cow Girl smacked her cheeks and gave a little yell to work herself up. She opened the door of the shed with some force.
She went in, coughing a little at the dust she had stirred up.
The empty room yawned around her. It was one thing to stay here for a night, but who would sleep in such a place all the time?
“Honestly, I can’t believe this guy!” Cow Girl put her hands on her hips and made a sound of exasperation.
There was almost nothing in there in the way of personal possessions; all he had was his own body. She wondered what he did about changes of clothing. Something arbitrary, no doubt.
If he thinks I’m going to let him get away with that sort of thing forever…
She started by covering her mouth with a cloth, then took her broom and swept all the trash outside. The shed itself actually seemed in decent shape; perhaps he had been doing repairs.
“Gah! He’s always been so…so…!”
The improved state of the structure made her a little more reckless with the broom; she could sweep enthusiastically without fear of the place falling down.
Swinging that broom around reminded her of him.
It seemed like they had always been together when they were small. There had been other children their age in the village; maybe it was just because they lived next door to each other.
He loved to run through the fields, swinging a stick around, pretending to be an adventurer. But he didn’t know what was beyond the mountains or even what the city was like.
That’s why we had that last fight.
Once all the trash was taken care of, she started cleaning the floor.
“I should bring at least a hand towel for him…”
Or maybe just yell at him to sleep in his own room already.
“Yeah, that’s it. Yeah. I’ll ask him what’s wrong with the bed I set up for him.”
She could practically picture his older sister with her hands on her hips, scolding him.
I guess it wouldn’t be fair to bring her into this.
So she would leave that part out. Just that.
“Phew…”
After she had given the floor a good scrubbing, she squeezed her rag into her bucket of water, immediately turning it black. It was filthy. Maybe that was what they got for leaving this place alone for so long.
She regarded the room silently. It wouldn’t be so easy, she knew. People’s hearts can seem complicated and simple at the same time…but they’re definitely complicated.
She couldn’t shake the sense that even this cleaning might all be for nothing.
She hated the way such dark thoughts bounced around in her head.
“Forget it, just work!” she told herself. “Maybe a nice, clean room will change how he feels.” She set to scrubbing once more.
Something dribbled onto the floor. Was it sweat or tears? Even Cow Girl herself didn’t know.
§
O Goddess, Earth Mother
The god who sows the wind claims
Your chest is worth a thousand pieces of gold
Though one spends money like water,
Whatever comes of it is up to you
Us, we have no money, but
Goddess, O Goddess, come out
Come out to the golden sea
The peasants sang lustily as they worked to collect the crops. Sickles swung, cutting down grain; cabbages were plucked up and radishes pulled from the earth; beans were piled in baskets.
Harvest was always an urgent business, but there was evident enjoyment on the faces of the people. Seeds were planted in autumn, lay dormant through the winter, and now could finally be collected as food. Perhaps the joy was understandable.
The farmers had taken such pains to grow these crops, preparing the soil, keeping a close eye on the sun and wind and rain. Some of the harvest would be converted into money to pay their taxes, but there would no doubt be a good deal left over.
Far be it from them to let some sniveling goblins simply walk in and steal the stuff.
You’ve come, you’ve come, Earth Mother
The god who sows the wind claims
Your bottom is like the four directions
Though one spends money like water,
If they have not your love, Goddess, you will not come.
Us, we have no money, but
This, O Goddess, is your wedding procession
We lead you to the golden sea.
The warm sunlight, the breeze in the grass, the song drifting to the ear.
The gentle babble of the irrigation channels, where the water level was gradually rising; the regular creak of the waterwheel.
The sounds, sounds that could be heard only in a farming village like this one, communicated an almost otherworldly idyll.
If one were to sit on the paths between the rice fields to listen, it would be all too easy to pass the time in listening until drifting off to sleep.
He suddenly realized he had been standing there motionless, and he quickly started working his knife again.
There was no time; certainly, there was none to waste in napping.
“…”
First, make the spikes.
That had been his declaration, and in his hands was a stake of plain wood, along with a carving knife. The stake was long enough that it could almost pass for a spear, but it was a simple thing that had been shaved down to a point at both ends.
He brushed the wood shavings off his crossed legs and put the finished stake in a pile beside him.
“Hey, why’d you sharpen both ends of those things?”
Beneath his helmet, he frowned slightly at the interruption.
He glanced over and saw the little girl who had introduced herself to him when he had arrived at the village. The last time he had seen her, she had been weeping copiously from the abbess’s scolding, but now, she was all smiles again.
He considered for a moment, then tilted his helmet with its one horn curiously.
“Do you not need to help the others?”
“I don’t think they need my help.” Oddly, the child puffed out her chest as she spoke with something very near to pride.
“Is that so?”
He all but ignored her and picked up the next stick. Scritch, scritch. The entire time his knife worked, the girl stared at him intently.
“……”
“……”
“……”
“……”
After a while, he let out a sigh and said, “They are for posting in the irrigation canals.”
“Lots of ’em?”
“Enough to make our enemies think twice about trying to cross them.”
The reason they were longish and pointed on both ends was so that they could be stuck in the canals.
His survey of the geography along the border of the village had suggested that where a fence could not be built—in other words, along the fields—the only choice would be to take advantage of the canals.
“More importantly,” he said, glancing away from the girl, who was regarding him with some admiration, “the abbess is looking for you.”
“Oh, crud!”
Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the girl sped off like a hare. He tried to follow her with his eyes, but she was nothing more than a bit of fluttering black hair at the corner of his vision. She was quite quick. The abbess arrived at a jog, out of breath, but she seemed to have little hope of catching the girl.
“Oh, for goodness’— Pardon her. I did tell her not to bother you.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, shaking his head. “I was not bothered.”
He placed the next pared-down stake beside him and again brushed the shavings from his knees. He worked mechanically, dutifully; he seemed to have a sense that he should simply remain nonchalant.
Start by doing what’s right in front of you. There isn’t and never will be time to worry about the future.
The old rhea had shouted something else at him, too, though: but never stop thinking!
Looking back on it, it occurred to him that such contradictory proclamations might simply have been his master saying whatever came to mind at a given moment.
“There may be goblin patrols. They will be less likely to notice anything if all continues as usual.”
Still, he continued to let his mind work at the same time as his hands, just as he’d been told.
“Do you really think so?” the abbess responded.
“It’s likely,” he said, and his helmet shook.
He indicated something just on the edge of the village: a largish stone building, like a funerary structure.
“Is that the warehouse where you store the crops?”
“Yes. And although it’s made of stone, it’s not an especially sturdy building…” The abbess confessed how embarrassed she was by the fact.
He ignored her, muttering to himself.
In that case, that’s the one place the goblins absolutely must not be allowed to enter.
And on the other side of the coin, it’s the place the goblins would be most keen on getting into.
“Can I ask you to handle the cleanup of the fence and stakes when the quest is over?”
“I’m sure we don’t mind, sir…”
He gathered up the finished stakes, then stood slowly.
“I may not be able to help you.”
§
“Okay, everyone, we’re now offering a quest to slay the Rock Eater!” Guild Girl shouted at the top of her lungs to make herself heard over the din of the building.
“We’re on it!”
“My party’ll go!”
“Sure thing!” Guild Girl said as adventurers raised their hands. She rushed to prepare the paperwork.
She was slowly starting to get used to her regular work, but this was the first time she had dealt with a case in which several parties formed an alliance and worked together. Having been entrusted with such a large project, she was set on doing her very best, but…
If I mess up because I don’t know what I’m doing, it could turn into a disaster…!
“Er, okay then, please sign this paper, and when you’re done—”
“I thought the next thing was—you know. That waiver that says the Guild won’t be responsible for any disputes between parties.”
“Oh, right! Yes. Pardon me!”
Nervousness had all but robbed her of the ability to think; it was all she could do to listen to the adventurer she was ostensibly helping. She was starting to doubt whether she should be doing work that would affect so many people…
Well, I guess it’s a little late for that.
Ever since one of the Dark Gods had been struck down five years before, monsters had been flooding into the world.
The story was that this particular incident had begun with some mining. The miners, searching for a deeper vein, had instead come across lumps of viscous black liquid.
They were a type of Slime, known as Blobs, and they multiplied almost instantaneously, chasing the miners from the mine.
That much was common enough and, indeed, would have been a job that adventurers would have been happy to take.
But that wasn’t the whole story this time.
A Rock Eater had appeared from underground.
Although frequently confused with giant centipedes, Rock Eaters were a breed apart from simple bugs. The two were sometimes confused because Rock Eaters had an appearance somewhat like a many-legged insect, but that would be like making no distinction between lizards and dragons.
They were massive creatures that literally consumed rocks, eating their way deep into the earth underneath mountains. Caves, holes, and caverns everywhere in the world were the legacy of hungry Rock Eaters…
Or anyway, so went the myth, although the philosophers of the capital denied it vehemently.
Rock Eaters’ penchant for gems meant they were the sign of an especially rich mine—but only so long as they didn’t get so close to the surface that they chased Blobs out.
These slow-moving lumps made good prey for a creature that ate rocks; a Rock Eater wasn’t going to dissolve that easily. And Blobs just had thin carapaces enclosing the rich liquid inside…
It’s almost too much.
Just for a moment, when the steady flow of adventurers had briefly abated, Guild Girl put her head on the desk. She turned, laying her cheek on the wood. It felt nice.
“Blob slaying. Sure, they took the job, but…”
If someone were to die—if a party were to get wiped—on a quest I did the paperwork for…
And this was a particularly sudden case. Insofar as Guild Girl hadn’t participated in any investigation of the incident prior to assignment, she shouldn’t bear any responsibility. But still…
“Ugggggh…”
“Gosh, just when I thought you were getting used to it, there you go being depressed again.” Hang in there.
The encouragement from her colleague elicited a “Right” and a small nod from Guild Girl. “But doesn’t it ever get to you? I mean, wondering whether they’ll be all right?”
“Sure, it bothers me, but my worrying won’t make things any better, will it?”
“I guess not.”
She sat up and picked up her pen with what she hoped was extra gusto, but she just couldn’t bring herself to face more paperwork.
When her coworker saw Guild Girl mindlessly spinning the pen in her hand, a knowing smile crossed her face.
“What? Got an adventurer who’s on your mind?”
“No, I don’t!” Guild Girl said with a pouty look, but her colleague’s catlike smile didn’t waver.
“Well, tell me about them sometime. Ha-ha. So that’s what’s been going on…”
“I’m telling you, it certainly isn’t!”
“It’s bad policy to get too emotionally invested in your adventurers. You have to focus on your work.” Guild Girl’s colleague gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder, then went back to her own desk looking perfectly happy.
I mean, sure, but…
Guild Girl repeated the injunction to herself silently, then quickly made sure she was presentable.
Yes, work was work. If she was going to be dealing with adventurers, she had to make sure she looked her best, and—
“Miss Receptionist.”
“Eep! Uh, y-yes! Yes?”
The sudden summons almost sent her jumping out of her seat.
The first thing she registered was the odor of alcohol. She frowned—the smell of wine on an adventurer was not one she had good memories of—and then she blinked. A man with a face like a bear was standing in front of her; his clothes were somewhat disheveled, and his beard was unkempt, but his glance was keen.
It was the young warrior who had lost his friend in the first encounter with the Rock Eater some days earlier.
“I’m going, too,” he said in a remarkably calm tone. “I’m going. Please, send me, Miss Receptionist.”
“Er, um…”
Guild Girl’s eyes flitted around the building. There were so many things she ought to say to him, but she couldn’t figure out which one to say first. Perhaps it would be best, then, to simply say nothing. Accede to his request. And yet, that felt deeply wrong to her.
Taking on a quest was a voluntary act, and those who accepted a quest were responsible for their own fates. As long as they were of roughly the right rank, that was all there was to it.
This young man was still Porcelain-ranked, as she recalled, but the Rock Eater quest was open to participants of any rank. A Rock Eater that had installed itself in a cave was a fearsome foe but still a far cry from a Dark God or a dragon.
But this adventurer was solo at the moment. He had no party.
“…Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“I’m sure.”
“…”
Guild Girl didn’t speak for a moment, but she thought of him.
Was he fighting goblins by himself right then? Why was it all right for him to go alone but not this young man? Truth be told, she didn’t want him to go by himself, either, but—
“Perfect, you listened.” A raucous voice cut through her reverie. She looked up to see a giant of a warrior with a broadsword across his back. “Consider him temporarily part of my party, then.”
“…”
Guild Girl didn’t say anything right away. The young warrior chewed his lip and then said simply, “Thanks.”
Heavy Warrior shrugged without a word. Behind him, his party members exchanged wry looks.
“Miss Receptionist.”
This time, Guild Girl let out a soft breath.
Adventurers took responsibility for themselves. Maybe that was enough. She could only give her utmost to the work she had to do.
“Very well. Good luck,” she said and then bowed deeply.
§
For now, strengthening the fence is most important.
The sun was slowly sinking, turning the sky dark crimson. He continued his work silently.
The last light of day flung itself into his room at the temple, bathing the plain stone chamber in a dazzling array of colors. The play of light from the westering sun over the cheap-looking helmet made it look even more uncanny than usual. The girl and the other children had come to peek into his room, but when they saw him, they had given little squeals and ran away with no sign of coming back.
“…”
In the otherwise empty temple room, he selected wood from the pile beside him and arranged it into groups. He had several large, round sticks freshly cut from the mountain to the north. He crossed them one over another and looked at them—maybe they could make a fence.
“Hmm……”
He thought back to his encounters with goblins to date. How large had they been? No bigger than children. Except the hobs.
In that case, the question became how to space the vertical and horizontal members of the fence. Most people thought a sturdy fence was enough by itself to keep out enemies, but one had to consider the possibility of the foe climbing it. If the horizontal members ran too close, they would be easy to scale.
And yet, as the goblins’ nickname, “little devils,” suggested, they were physically small. If the crosswise bars were too far apart, they would simply sneak through.
“In that case…”
The obvious thing was to space the vertical members closely.
He put together the wood, tying it down tight to make the fence. Then he let out a breath. His jury-rigged barrier looked almost like a ladder lying on its side, but it would serve for defense. It would be difficult for goblins to get through or over.
Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind: I’ll have to make one for the farm at some point.
He slowly shook his head, blinking beneath his helmet. Another gentle shake made him realize his temples were throbbing. When he thought about it, he recalled that he had been on the move ever since morning.
He pulled a waterskin from his luggage and took two long swigs. Then he brought out a piece of dried meat, slicing it into thin strips with his knife, which he then inserted through the visor of his helmet. Each time he chewed, his barely moist mouth was filled with an unpleasant saltiness.
He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the act of chewing the meat. His tongue hurt something awful. Perhaps it was the salt? He took another pull from his canteen, swallowing the drink and the meat in one gulp.
He stood slowly. Once he refilled his waterskin, he would most likely have to stay on watch for the night.
The goblins would almost certainly send scouts.
He left the temple. Outside, the last rays of twilight shooting over the horizon seemed piercingly bright. He held up his hand against the light and looked at the sky. When twilight was clear, his sister had told him, there would be fair weather the next day. If the last light of day was a dark red, however, it meant there would soon be rain.
“So it’s rain.”
The decisive battle would take place the next night. It would be best if it didn’t rain. At the very least, not in the morning.
But perhaps rain would come. If it did, what then? He was not optimistic about the outcome.
How would the goblins attack? That was the question he entertained as he walked along. Finally, he arrived at the now high-running irrigation channels, where the farmers, finished harvesting, were just washing their hands.
He greeted everyone briefly, then began to fill his canteen.
“How’s the harvest?”
“Fair enough, I guess,” said the farmer who had gone to get him wood that morning. He had a face baked dark by the sun; now he wiped it with a cloth he had dipped in the canal. He smiled gently. “Better than it was five years ago, with the war ’n’ all. Them monsters came and trampled our fields, burned our villages…”
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “I know.”
“I suppose you would, sir, bein’ an adventurer and all.”
“…”
The man chuckled merrily, then plopped himself down beside the canal. He was looking not at the adventurer who stood beside him but at the sun nearly sunk below the horizon.
“Back then…only the villages us adventurers went to survived.”
He was silent, watching the red light stretch out over the land. However desperately the light might cling to the soil, when night came, it would slip away, and the board would be cast into darkness. Then, it was the goblins’ time. How gladly they would move across it.
“I will do what I can,” he said finally, and then he started walking slowly toward the fields.
That night, he saw hazy illumination, like ghost lights, flickering out beyond the fields.
Stationed near the storehouse, he rose to his feet several times, believing that a goblin attack had come.
It turned out, however, that the lights were nothing more than lamps the villagers used on patrol.
But still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were the burning eyes of goblins.
Was he fighting goblins now, or wasn’t he? As he passed the night with one eye shut and one open, his sense of reality became muddied, ambiguous.
He stood, looked around, sat down silently, and then stood again. Once each hour he would do this, waiting on tenterhooks.
What was he waiting for—goblins or the dawn? He himself didn’t even know.
It was dawn that came first.
§
Even a cursory count of the adventurers gathered at the entrance to the mines indicated forty or fifty people, suggesting well over ten different parties were participating. As alliances went, it was only average size, and the highest-ranking adventurers could be forgiven if they breathed a sigh.
A Copper-ranked adventurer, a man in shining armor, vigorously waved a war fan to command attention. “All right, listen up! Our enemy is at the bottom of the mine! So we’re going to take the miners’ paths and surround him on every side!”
The man’s neatly trimmed beard and the sword at his hip gave him a distinguished air and made him look like one of those nobles who sometimes played at being an adventurer. But one could not achieve a high rank by landholdings and reputation alone.
“This guy looks like he’s more fit for city living than underground combat,” muttered Spearman, who had been assigned to a party of Porcelains at the vanguard.
Still, at least they had a Copper rank to lead them. From what Spearman had seen, the man was actually a fairly capable fighter. A quick look around revealed that most of the people there were Porcelain or Obsidian, barely more than beginners.
Of course, Spearman was hardly in a position to judge, but he had made it through a fight or two at least. Any newbies who had chosen this for their first job because it sounded cooler than goblin slaying, though…
“This is monster killing, right? Couldn’t they at least have brought a couple barrels of oil? There’re Blobs down there.”
“Dumbass,” a voice said, putting a hand on Spearman’s shoulder. “Take this many people in a space that confined and add fire? Total wipe, I guarantee it.” The speaker was a heavy warrior with a broadsword across his back. “And the quest giver is the owner of the mine. I don’t think he’d be happy if we blew up his property.”
“And what? You think all these people are just going to go along quietly?”
“This isn’t some small-scale expedition. Take a good look around. Somebody here might end up saving your neck.”
“You can always tell who the party leaders are. They sure know how to talk.”
Don’t push it, Heavy Warrior advised, frowning, and then went back to his companions.
In his group, a half-elf fighter was keeping an eye on two youngsters.
“Okay, now, do just like we did with those goblins, and you’ll be fine,” the half-elf said.
“Y-yeah. Obviously…,” the scout boy said.
“Conserve your spells. Blobs are one thing, but Rock Eaters are serious opponents.”
“Yessir,” the druid girl answered. Both kids nodded seriously. They glanced in Heavy Warrior’s direction, and he gave them an encouraging smile. It would give them some relief to know that their leader was looking out for everyone.
“How about you?” Heavy Warrior called out. “Looking good?” He was talking to a female knight, who was getting her gauntlet on with a somewhat tense expression. They fit securely over her hands, like gloves.
The knight looked over at the warrior, flicking back her long, golden hair. “I’m fine,” she said, the strain clear on her face. “More importantly, where’s my helmet?”
“Good point, we’ll want to be wearing those. Hey, helmets! Headgear!”
“On it!” Scout Boy rifled through his belongings and pulled out what amounted to a headband, while Half-Elf Fighter nodded and put on a leather cap. Druid Girl adjusted her headwear, something like a broad-brimmed hat.
In the midst of all this, Heavy Warrior came around behind Female Knight, looking exasperated. “Why would you put on your gauntlets before your helmet? Some things never change…”
“O-oh, be quiet. I lost track a little bit. Simple mistake.”
“It stops being a mistake when it happens every time.” He took a breath. “Forget about it. Just hold still.”
Female Knight grunted in annoyance but didn’t move. Heavy Warrior bundled up her golden hair with a somewhat unpracticed hand, holding it in place with a hair clip behind her head.
“Why let it get so long? It just gets in the way.”
“Well, pardon me for wanting a touch of womanliness.”
“Is that it?” Heavy Warrior muttered, taking a helmet from his bag. Female Knight accepted it with a small measure of panic and did the fasteners with more than a little complaining.
Heavy Warrior also produced a new leather helmet for himself, putting it on and tying the chinstrap. Now they were ready.
“What about you?” he asked. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah.”
He was speaking to the young newbie warrior.
Well, “young”—he wasn’t so different in age from Heavy Warrior, neither of them more than fifteen or sixteen years old. He was different from Scout Boy and Druid Girl, who had had to lie about their ages, so Heavy Warrior was less worried about him. If anything, he looked quite competent as he checked over the condition of his armor and weapons.
“Looks like this isn’t your first adventure.”
“I went goblin slaying, once.”
“Goblin slaying?” Heavy Warrior murmured, frowning openly. The memory embarrassed him.
“Don’t press him,” interjected Female Knight, who had overheard the conversation.
“What’s all that about?” asked Spearman, and Female Knight eagerly told him the story of her leader’s failure. Although her helmet hid her expression, there was no doubt that she was smirking behind her visor.
“I don’t see that one kinda weird guy,” Heavy Warrior said, pointedly changing the subject.
“Who?”
“The one who’s always talking about goblins.”
“Oh, him,” the young warrior said, taking his own helmet in hand. Then he added with absolute dispassion, “I’m sure he’s off slaying goblins somewhere.”
§
From the village came merry voices, mixed with the sound of music and the aroma of a burning fire.
The source you know, but whither does it go? Its true form you guessed, yet it’s not manifest. An old riddle his teacher had posed to him.
He picked up his things and started walking away, seeking some distance from the commotion. His only companions as he went were the fading sounds and smells of the festival.
The first light of summer seemed hot enough to burn, his bag bit into his shoulders, and every step seemed heavy.
But a step was a step.
Put one foot out, move your body forward, then the next foot, body forward.
One step.
If you took one step over and over, you would move forward. The steps would pile up, until eventually, you got where you were going.
Time, and strength of body, were limiting factors, but still, there was no place one couldn’t reach with enough walking.
So he gritted his teeth and walked, and when he had reached the outskirts of the village, he discovered a place for himself.
“…”
First, let down the luggage. He was carrying the defensive fence he had made the day before, and of course, his intention was to set it up. Given how short goblins were, it wasn’t necessary for the fence to be very high, but it still weighed a fair amount.
Pikes in the river, and where there was no river, a fence. There was no time to be enjoying himself at some festival.
But as for the villagers, I need them to enjoy their little party.
If all the villagers suddenly turned out to work on the defenses, the goblins would be sure to notice. They might go to work on that information with their nasty little brains, and it would end up making things worse.
“Hrm…”
Thus, he summoned all his strength and set to work. Quietly, sweat streaming down his brow, he anchored the fence in the earth, secured it with rope, and then moved on to the next piece.
When he ran out of fence, he had to go back to get more, and when he came to the river, he went to get the stakes, and then he continued with his work. He liked this sort of thing: working intently, mechanically, not thinking anything.
He wasn’t all that good at thinking, anyway. His older sister and his master had not been shy in telling him this.
In truth, he fully recognized that he was, perhaps, a little stupid.
So keep thinking!
His master had bellowed those words at him, and he had no desire to turn his back on his teacher’s instructions, but thinking was such tiring work. Sometimes it was a relief to be able to simply focus on what was in front of him. He liked that most of all.
Right now, all he had to think about was erecting the fence and getting the stakes in the river.
Goblins.
Yes, this was in order to protect the village from goblins.
Goblins. Goblins…
With each piece of fence he put up, he thought about killing one goblin. He thought about the same thing with each pike he sank in the river.
It was like a daydream: cut with his sword, or smash with his shield; slice the throat, sever the spine.
How would he kill them? What process would he use? In what way would he attack; how would he stop their breathing?
He had learned as much as it was possible to learn from his previous battles.
Goblins were weak. One on one, they were hardly a threat. A villager could chase one off with a stick, even kill it.
The question was how to do that many, many times in a row.
Enter the cave. Were there ten enemies? Twenty?
In the worst case, he might have to cut down twenty foes with his sword. He would need stamina.
And his weapon: a master with the blade could focus every strike, but he was swinging practically at random. The edge of his sword might chip against bone, or become dull with fat as it cut through flesh.
And what do I do then?
His hand stopped moving, and he stared at the sky. There was no answer there. No one to tell him what to do.
Use a club? No—it was easy enough to swing, but swinging was about all it could do. From the perspective of versatility…
“No.”
That wasn’t it. He slowly shook his head.
He could hear the festival in the distance. He suddenly had the sense that a familiar voice had called his name.
Score one, and it’s a beer for an adult, a lemonade for a child.
He had practiced often.
He was good at throwing things. He’d always been ready to boast about how he did this for the sake of his older sister, and the neighbor girl.
“The fence,” he muttered. “Must build the fence.”
He reached for his cargo, only to find that he had already used up all the fence he had brought with him.
And that wasn’t all: he discovered he had already circled the village. The piece of fence he had just put up stood next to another piece; all he had to do was tie them together.
On the other side of the fence was open field, and the north mountain in the distance. The villagers said it was a mine.
He gave the untied fence an offhanded kick. It groaned under the impact and wobbled, creating a little gap.
“…”
He took a close look at it, then gazed up once more at the sky. It was obvious how the goblins would interpret this.
The sun was nearly gone. Twilight was all over the western sky, and he could all but hear the cry of the thunder dragon.
Here, he finally realized that he had eaten nothing since that morning. He poured more water down his prickling throat. Then he took out some dried meat and forced it into his mouth. Chew, swallow. His throat still seemed dry enough to crack despite the drink of water, but all this was at least enough to help him focus his attention.
He crouched among the bushes and took out a torch. It was made of pine resin and sulfur, walnut shells, and dried-out rat and cow dung that had then been treated with alcohol.
He held the torch, waiting for the sun to disappear completely.
And then…
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