Goblin Slayer - Volume SS1.01 - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – Ending Phase The Battle Ends 

The abbess had told the girl strictly that no matter what sounds came from outside, she was not, under any circumstances, to open the door. So when she heard a violent pounding on the door, echoing over the sound of the falling rain, she made no move to get out of bed. Neither would the rest of the children. No matter how long the pounding on the door went on, no one was going to get up. 

Their teacher the abbess showed no sign of getting up, either; it seemed the girl was the only one awake. 

But it’d be all right just to see who it is, wouldn’t it? 

Hence, she slid out of her sleeping spot. All the children had been gathered in the great room together and remained wrapped in their blankets, unmoving. 

Cowards, the girl thought as she felt her way along, clutching a broom with both hands. With her improvised weapon firmly in her grasp, she proceeded hesitantly around the nighttime temple. 

The candles had been doused early (“lest we waste them”), so it was truly dark. The chapel lay under a veil of silence, the towering image of the Trade God in shadow, looking strangely severe. 

Outside, the storm raged—indeed, howled, like a mournful spirit. 

The girl was just starting to regret having gotten up, when, as she neared the door, the knocking sound came again. 

“Who…? Who is it? Can we…help you…?” 

There was a beat, and then a very low voice came from the other side of the wooden portal. 

“My work is finished. I’ve come to report.” 

Immediately, the girl’s face shone, and she ran to the door. She braced herself against the well-oiled bar, and with a “Hmph!” she managed to slide it open. 

The abbess had told her not to open the door no matter what sound came from outside, but not “no matter who came from outside.” 

So this is fine! 

The bar slid neatly free, and the door slowly opened. 

Standing there with the storm at his back was a single man. He was cloaked by the darkness, but she saw the unmistakable form of the adventurer she had come to know over the past two days. The cheap-looking helmet, the grimy leather armor, the sword hanging from a scabbard at his hip, and the round shield tied to his arm. 

Just one thing was different, perhaps: he was now missing the other horn on his helmet. 

He took a single step into the chapel, dripping mud. 

“Did you take care of the goblins?!” 

“Yes,” he said. “I killed them.” 

The young girl looked a little askance at such blunt language. As he drew near, she detected an odor from him such as she had never smelled before. 

Mud and sweat. And something else besides. She scrunched up her nose, but he only said to her, “Do you have any medicinal herbs? Any healing miracles?” 

“Uh-uh.” The girl shook her head. “Mistress Abbess says she never received any miracles.” 

But what about other medicine? The girl knew about healing potions only by reputation. 

“I see…” He sighed deeply on hearing the girl’s answer. He appeared to her as little more than a numinous shape, but he was clearly tired. 

He did just come from battle. 

So it made good sense. When she exerted herself, she got tired. Even when she was only playing. 

“Hey, how about you rest a little? Or do you just wanna go home?” 

“Go home?” 

The girl had asked the question without really thinking about it, just a common courtesy. But he looked at her with absolute perplexity. 

“Home…,” he murmured, as if hearing the word for the first time. 

Home, home, home. He seemed to be chewing it over, taking it in steadily. 

Finally, his helmet moved, slowly but surely. 

“Yes,” he said, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “I will go home.” 

“Oh… Okay.” 

“There’s”—and he still sounded disbelieving—“someone waiting for me.” 

The girl nodded. She had been ready to drag him into the temple if she had to, but… 

If he wants to go home, then that’s what he should do. 

For the girl, this temple was home. It had been five years since she had been separated from her parents; she didn’t even remember their faces. 

But things must be different for him. 

“Well then, um, thank you, okay?” 

“No,” he said, slowly turning around, his hand on the door, about to go back out into the rain. The girl hadn’t been quite sure what words to offer to that image. His head shook, and he spoke, as ever, quietly. “It’s all right.” 

Then the door closed noisily. 

“Right,” the girl said with a small nod, and then she pitter-pattered through the dark chapel and crawled back into her bed. 

That night, she had a strange dream. 

It would vanish come morning, hazy, indistinct, and fleeting. 

She would completely forget that in the dream, she had held a holy sword in her hand, like a true hero. 

§ 

“Finally up, huh?” 

When the young warrior came to, he found himself lying pathetically on a mat spread over a flagstone floor. 

He tried to sit up, but his head pounded agonizingly in time with his heart, leaving him unable to move. 

He discovered his legs and arms were wrapped in bandages, and to judge by the feel, so was his forehead. 

He resigned himself to lying prone on the mat. 

“Where am I…?” he asked and found that his throat felt like it might split open. “What became of…?” 

“The temple of the Earth Mother.” 

“The Earth Mother…?” 

“You know. The one you see all the time when you’re walking around town?” 

This thoughtful offer of information came from Heavy Warrior, who was sitting beside him. He was also heavily bandaged, but the expression on his face was lighthearted. 

“They were kind enough to turn the worship hall into an impromptu medical center,” he said. 

The young warrior managed to take a slow look around the chapel. Sunlight streamed through the windows—it must be morning already. The sure footsteps of clerics could be heard among the groaning of injured and exhausted adventurers. 

The clerics worked tirelessly in caring for them: bringing water here, giving food there, wiping sweat from those who could not move to do it themselves. No doubt they were also the ones who had tended to the young fighter’s wounds. Otherwise, he would never have gotten off so lightly after his encounter with that insect’s gigantic jaws. 

Standing in the middle of it all, giving instructions, was none other than the Copper-ranked leader. Given the way his now unarmored left arm was hanging at his side, it seemed he had done his share of the fighting. Young Warrior regretted his foolishness for having judged the man by his appearance. 

“Anyway, we’re all just lucky to be alive. You, me, all of us.” 

“Right…” 

Nearby, Heavy Warrior’s party members—the fighter and the scout boy and the druid and all of them—were resting, each of them lost in their own thoughts. For some reason, Female Knight was leaning against Heavy Warrior, asleep. She didn’t seem like a light burden… 

“Hey… What about that awful bug?” 

“Dead,” the blunt answer came. 

Young Warrior, still lying on his side, clenched his fist. 

“I hate to tell you,” Heavy Warrior added with a shrug, “but you weren’t the one who killed it.” 

It was rough, after you went out. Then Heavy Warrior told him about the life-and-death struggle that had ensued: The Rock Eater rampaging about with its pierced throat. The hail of stones from above them. The Blobs that kept popping out. 

The adventurers had staged a brave offensive against what amounted to a tidal wave of the fluid creatures. If it wasn’t going to be possible to rejoin the main group, then they would just have to fight a battle of attrition. They worked their way through the Blobs, striking the Rock Eater whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

Before long, the main party came to reinforce them, and the adventurers were able to press their advantage… 

“Then that smug spear-wielder put it right through the bug’s head, and that was it.” 

“I see…” 

“That’s life for you,” Heavy Warrior said with a frown, unsure how to take the other fighter’s noncommittal response. Perhaps it provoked some bad memories. “Things don’t always go the way you want them to.” Heavy Warrior glanced at the woman sleeping against his shoulder as he spoke. She was no longer wearing the helmet he had helped her with. 

When the young warrior asked what had happened, Heavy Warrior just shook his head and laughed, pointing to her melted metal helmet. “Her face’ll heal with time, but that thing wasn’t so lucky.” He gave Female Knight a rather unsubtle poke in the cheek. Her beautiful face fell into a sour expression, and Heavy Warrior laughed again. 

“Well, when a woman gets a burn on her face, it costs her an awful lot…” 

From that perspective, the helmet could certainly have been said to have fulfilled its duty. 

Come to think of it, she said something about wanting to be a paladin, didn’t she? 

Although the position of knight was not hereditary, training diligently enough in service could well yield military rewards in due course. Proudly serving the country as both knight and noble was, perhaps, one path to paladinhood. 

The fact that she had decided to become an adventurer instead hinted at some deeper reason for her choice. 

“All I can do is make the best of it when things don’t go my way,” Heavy Warrior said. “It’s the same for all of us.” 

“Yeah…” 

It was true of Heavy Warrior, and it was certainly true of the young warrior as well. 

“One thing’s true, though: you were the first to go for it. You did what you could, eh?” 

Young Warrior thought about that for a moment, then said simply, “I did,” and closed his eyes. 

He’d done what he could. 

He had led his party as capably as he was able. 

The first time they had encountered the creature, he had somehow managed to get them out of there with just one casualty. 

His other former party members had all left town, but he was still here, adventuring. 

He had jumped into the very jaws of that massive insect, the Rock Eater, and stabbed it as hard as he could. 

Yes, he was sure he had done all he could. 

So forgive me… But I’m not going to do any more for you. 

Apologetic words floated through his mind to that girl, who was now gone. 

Then he sank once more into unconsciousness. 

§ 

“I’m sorry—just a second—I’ll bring some antipyretic herbs!” 

“Right, sure thing!” 

The acolyte was a little girl, still barely ten years old. Of course, she didn’t have the status of a cleric; it would be something of an exaggeration even to call her an apprentice. 

She wore a habit of plain cloth, well patched and ill fitting (perhaps she was still too short). It had been given as payment in kind, and now she rolled up its hem and sleeves as she bustled around the chapel. 

They grew medicinal herbs in the temple garden, one of their most important acts of service. She grabbed some of the plants they had recently dried from the shelf where they were kept and came scurrying back. She had to get up on a stepping stool and then stand on her tiptoes to reach them, but she didn’t complain. 

“Here they are!” 

“Thank you. I don’t need any more help here, so go somewhere you can be useful.” 

“Right!” 

She gave the herbs to another cleric, one of her seniors, then worked a smile onto her tired face as she went pattering off again. 

The senior cleric watched her go with a grin. The scurrying girl, like so many other priests and priestesses, was an orphan. She had been abandoned at the temple five years before, right about the time the war was ending. This year, she would be ten years old. Hardly a grown woman but more than old enough to help with the work of healing. 

That wasn’t exactly the reason she was here, but— 

“Heeey! Got another one for ya!” 

She stopped in surprise at the unexpected summons, sweat on her brow. She looked up to see a handsome adventurer with a spear supporting another adventurer in leather armor on his shoulder. 

“Er, uh, you mean me, sir?” 

“Yeah. Sorry to bother you when you’re busy. Just tell me where this guy can sleep.” 

Even Spearman had no intention of pressing such a young girl. The acolyte nodded and said, “This way,” leading them into the chapel. 

The place was crowded with injured adventurers, but there were still places to rest, on benches and on the floor. In the worst case, the clerics’ quarters could even be made available. There would be no particular problem with that. 

“Did, uh, was this person also in the fight with the insect…?” 

“No. He was slaying goblins, I’m sure.” 

“What…?” 

“I found him collapsed at the edge of town and brought him here. Damn… He’s nothing if not trouble.” 

With evident annoyance, the spearman helped the adventurer slump down on a blanket that had been laid out on the floor, as the acolyte indicated. On closer inspection, the adventurer clad in grimy armor was covered in dark blood and mud. 

She would have to wash and clean him and see to any wounds. Not that she was actually capable of such things yet. 

“All right, keep an eye on him for me!” 

“Y-yessir!” 

Since he had been entrusted to her, there was nothing to be done. 

The acolyte nodded vigorously at the spearman several times, then watched him go. 

Hey… Didn’t they say that it was a spear-wielding adventurer who finished off the monster…? 

Could it possibly be him? 

Even as her eyes followed him with a questioning look, the girl was already bustling out of the chapel, going to her senior for instructions. 

“We don’t have enough hands!” the older priestess said. “If his wounds aren’t serious, then just leave him for now.” 

“Hey, where are the fresh bandages?” 

“If you change the dressings too often, you’ll put them at risk…” 

“Just don’t reuse them. As long as they’re clean, that’s enough!” 

We’ll see to him later. The acolyte stood there dejectedly at this verdict from her overworked seniors. 

But there wasn’t even time to stand around. 

“Here, bandages! Wash these!” someone said, foisting a load of dirty dressings on her. They were covered in crimson smears and stains. 

“Oh, r-right!” 

The acolyte hurried off with her hands full of laundry, but she managed a glance toward the wall. 

There was the adventurer who had been set down earlier, looking exhaustedly at the ground. 

Isn’t there anything I can do for him? 

What, though? The acolyte didn’t know. Maybe she would know someday in the future, when she had much more experience. 

It was a very difficult question for a ten-year-old girl. 

She scrubbed the bandages in cold water until her hands started to hurt, but still nothing came to her. 

The water quickly turned dark and red from the washing, but no matter how many times she got new water, it never seemed to stay clear. 

Get fresh water, scrub, get fresh water, scrub, get fresh water, scrub, get fresh water, scrub… 

As she worked silently, the acolyte suddenly discovered that there was an empty space inside her. Her hands kept moving, and even her thoughts remained focused. But there was an opening, a void, there in her consciousness, and she seemed to be floating in it. 

What’s going on? she wondered vacantly, but her heart was strangely calm. 

The sound of the water as she washed seemed terribly far away. So did the chill on her skin, and the commotion in the chapel. She perceived all those things but was somehow cut off from them. 

Empty. 

Although her eyes remained open, in her heart she closed them. And even as her hands worked, in her heart, she clasped her hands together. 

She did all this spontaneously, as if it were the most natural possible thing for her. 

Protect, heal, save. 

The fundamental precepts of the Earth Mother. The most important things. 

Suddenly, she connected them to the image of the adventurer languishing against the wall. 

O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, lay your revered hand upon this child’s wounds. 

At that moment, the acolyte felt as if she herself were enveloped by something, as if she were being pulled bodily upward. 

A gentle light glowed in her hand, and she didn’t know if it was only in her mind or in reality. 

A shimmer bubbled up, and she thought she saw it flying toward him. 

“Wh-wha…?!” 

Almost instantaneously, a tremendous fatigue struck her, and the acolyte let out an involuntary gasp. Her ears were filled with something akin to ringing as the sounds all around her came rushing back. 

The acolyte felt as if the ceiling and the ground were trying to switch places; she clung to the washbasin to stave off the dizziness. 

The smells of soap and water, and blood, too, all sealed her nose together. 

“Haah—ah—haa—wha…? Wh-what was…that…?” 

She found she had started sweating profusely; droplets fell from her face into the wash water, ploop, ploop, ploop. 

A miracle had just occurred, but as yet, there was no one who realized it.