Goblin Slayer - Volume SS1.02 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – One Ring, One Spear

That day was as terrible and ugly as any other. 

The mossy stone ruins were bone-chillingly cold to the touch; sunlight pierced like a needle through a crack in the ceiling. 

The goblin on guard duty had a rusty spear in his hand. He gave the floor an irritable kick. 

“GOROOBB! GORB!!” 

“Eee—yaaaaggghh?! Huurrgh, haaaaghhh!” 

“GOROORBB!!” 

If he listened carefully enough, he could hear the sounds of merriment coming from the main hall. 

Argh—why did he have to get the “night” shift now of all times? 

Who would even be stupid enough to come to a place like this? 

The goblin had already managed to forget that the people they had caught the other day had been adventurer-explorers. All he remembered was that there had been several men, several women, and the prospect of enjoyment for some time to come. Plus, the dwarf man was plenty fat, so food wouldn’t be a concern for a while. The meat was tough, but he wouldn’t ask for too much (despite believing that he was naturally entitled to ask for as much as he wanted). 

“Hrrrraaaagghhhh?!” 

“GBOR!!” 

The woman today certainly had a set of lungs on her, though. The goblin licked his lips; they must have come up with a new way to play. 

At the beginning, stabbing the heads of the dead men had made the women clamor and shout, which had been quite a lot of fun. But their responses got less emphatic every day, and now they were in danger of becoming downright boring. 

Even showing them the heads—thoroughly rotted by now—provoked only a dull “ugh” or “ahh.” 

But listening to her now, they had to be doing something interesting. 

The thought caused the goblin to stamp his feet, making it impossible to stay where he was. 

Maybe he could just let guard duty take care of itself? 

The goblin nodded; a fine idea, if he did say so himself. No one would notice if he quietly sneaked in to join them. The others should be pulling some guard duty anyway. 

Yes, that was what he would do. The goblin threw aside his spear, adjusted his loincloth (it didn’t cover much), and turned back. 

The next second, he found something wrapped around his mouth, like a snake, and then a sharp blade ran across his throat. The goblin heard the whistling gurgle of his own blood, instants before he began to choke on it. 

A moment after that, he was unable to move, and then he was dead. 

No one mourned him. 

§ 

“One.” 

The adventurer kept the twitching goblin’s mouth covered until he was sure the creature was no longer breathing, then he slowly rolled the corpse over. He gave his sword a shake to get the blood off, then shoved it back in its scabbard. In its place, he inspected the dropped short spear, then added it to his belt. 

There was a limit to how much he could carry, but so long as they didn’t become a hindrance, one could never have too many weapons. 

Then he silently surveyed the area before kicking the goblin’s body into the shadows. Just to be sure. 

He took the torch in his left hand and sent it rolling across the floor so that both his hands were empty. Well in the distance, he could hear the unmistakable sounds of goblin revelry. 

Slowly, carefully, he brought his heel down, tensing his abdominal muscles so as to be as quiet as possible while he crept along. Trying to sneak along on one’s tiptoes used too much energy, and it brought the heaviest part of the body down too quickly. How was anyone supposed to sneak around if they were practically falling all over the place? It was a question his master had posed to him amid a flurry of angry blows. 

He spotted a light source, but goblins didn’t need light to see by. It was either for warmth, or for fun. 

The latter, perhaps. 

He was exactly right. 

“Ahhh?! Aggghh!” 

“GOROBOGO! GOROBOGOGOG!!” 

A woman screamed inarticulately, followed by the cackling of goblins. They were taking a metal pole resting in the fire at the center of the room and pressing it to the woman’s skin. Each time, she would thrash about trying to escape in a hideous perversion of a dance. 

He couldn’t tell immediately whether she was an adventurer or a village girl. Terrified and screaming, weeping as she desperately tried to run away, begging for forgiveness, she could have been any girl anywhere. But then there was the jangling of the rank tag around her neck. 

She was so thoroughly broken that he couldn’t tell who she was, even though they’d given him information prior to the quest. He didn’t think about what must have happened to make her this way. He already knew. 

And in her own way, she was still better off than the others. 

Amid discarded skeletons, he had found several other young women consigned to the blood and muck. Their clouded eyes had lost their light, their bodies were missing things they should have had, and they constantly muttered gibberish to themselves. 

Presumably, the remaining prisoners were now in the goblins’ stomachs. 

Which was the better fate? He didn’t bother with the question. He had other things to worry about. 

I count four enemies. At least one sword, ax, and club each. No archers. One looks like a hob. 

“GOROOBOG! GOROBG!!” 

“GBRRG…” 

One especially muscular goblin grabbed some meat from a plate (not crafted by the goblins, surely) and took a big bite. Then he gestured with a tug of his chin at another of the goblins, gave the creature a shove, and stole the wine cup from his hand. 

Around the big monster’s neck sparkled several rank tags he must have taken from adventurers. 

This was their leader—it had to be. A hobgoblin. 

The adventurer mulled over things for a moment, then slipped into the room. He stuck his fingers into a crack in the stone wall. There was moss inside, but it would do for a handhold. He began to pull himself up one bit at a time. 

Once he was high enough, he began looking for footholds, then he felt for the next place to put his hands and started climbing again. He wasn’t exactly nimble, but compared to the tree he had climbed as a boy, this was easy. 

Was that tree still there? Or was it gone now? 

“Errggyahh… St…op…” 

“GROBG! GRROROGB!!” 

He ignored the sudden flash of memory, focusing his attention on the goblins. Fortunately (as fortunate as anything could be in this place), they didn’t seem to have noticed him yet. His enemies’ revelry didn’t mean he was free to make noise, but a small amount of sound could go unnoticed. 

The adventurer stopped where he was and steadied his breathing, then climbed just a little higher. 

He checked his distance, then kicked off the wall as hard as he could. 

He had no superhuman jumping capability. In his armor and helmet, all he could really do was drop like a stone. 

But he only needed enough speed to crush a goblin underfoot. This would do nicely. 

“GBOROB?!” One goblin shouted when something suddenly landed on him. The adventurer ignored him except to step on his neck. Two. 

“GGB?! GOBOGORB!!” 

“GRBG!!” 

The ambushed goblins now yammered and got to their feet, but of course, he had been expecting that. He didn’t waste a moment: he already had a dagger in each hand. 

“GROOGBG?!” 

“GORRG?!” 

One goblin found a tossed knife protruding from his windpipe; he flailed his arms like he was drowning and then collapsed. Three. 

Rather than bothering to watch the monster die, the adventurer pulled the spear from his belt in a reverse grip and thrust it behind him. 

“GOBOOOGOB?!” 

The goblin, slow to react because he had been so engrossed in jabbing the woman, thrashed as he was stabbed through the back. Four. 

The captive shrieked as a geyser of blood came down on her head, but that didn’t matter right now. 

“GOOOROGOB!!” 

The companions of the dead goblins were waving clubs that appeared to be made of wood. Taking the leader in an ambush was always best, but there were no guarantees. If he’d failed, it would have been a five-on-one fight, and he had wanted to avoid that. 

He had chosen to even the odds a little first. Then the fight could really start. 

“GOROBG! GGBGOROGB!!” 

“Hrrr—ah!” 

The club slammed down on what looked like the remains of a meal, scattering bits of it everywhere. 

He jumped back to dodge it, drawing his strange-length sword with his right hand. 

“Are you all right?” 

“Ahh… Ugh…” 

Immediately to his side was the woman the goblins had been torturing until a moment before. He spoke to her, but the response was faint and slow. 

It would be difficult to do this without involving her. He couldn’t retreat. The hobgoblin was closing in. The adventurer clicked his tongue. 

“Hmph.” 

“GOROG?!” The great monster tried to continue his attack, but then cried out. It was because the adventurer had flung the red-hot pole rolling on the ground nearby with his foot. 

The creature shouted and flailed, entirely missing the parallel between the current predicament and what they had been doing to the young woman a few minutes before. 

The armored man, not about to miss such a ripe chance, raised his round shield and charged into his enemy. 

“GROGORO!!” 

“Hrrgh…!” 

The club came at him again; he did his best to catch the attack early in the swing and divert it. He felt his left hand tingle from the impact. 

But it was no longer a problem. He felt the sword in his right hand sink into the hobgoblin’s gut, then he twisted it. 

“GOROGOBOGOBOGOROBG?!” With a great howl, the hobgoblin dropped his club. 

This would make five… 

“GGBGRO!!” 

“Hagh…?!” 

But the next instant, he felt a massive fist connect with his head, and he went tumbling through the air. He landed in a corner of the hall, falling among the bones and scraps—no, rolling. 

He had to if he wanted to avoid the fist that came crashing down the very next second. 

The girls screamed—they had become numb to their surroundings but still retained instinctive fear—while he got to his feet, shaking his head. 

It didn’t die immediately? 

He hadn’t struck the hobgoblin in a vital place. Wait—he had more important things to do now. 

He felt around near his feet, fighting against his wobbly, unsteady vision until he found something. 

“GBOORGB?!” 

A scream. The sound of shattering bones. He didn’t know where he had hit it, but he’d hit it nonetheless. 

“Ah… Hrah!” 

“GOROGB?! GBRRG?! GOBOG?! GBBGB?!” 

He closed the distance, raised his weapon, brought it down. Again. Once more. And then again. 

Soon the hobgoblin’s screams ceased, and the room was filled only with a watery smacking sound. 

He finally let out a breath and looked at the implement in his hand. 

It emitted a faint smoke; this was the shard of timber the goblins had been using to keep a fire going. 

“…I see.” He tossed it behind himself again, then braced a foot against the hobgoblin’s stomach and pulled out his sword. It was followed by a pile of entrails, but he jabbed and slashed the creature again, just to be sure. 

Stabbing it in the stomach hadn’t killed it. Even a monster with a caved-in face could potentially stand again. 

Finally, he wiped the blood off on a goblin’s loincloth, returned the sword to his scabbard, and murmured, “Five… It wasn’t supposed to be a small brood, though.” 

Most likely, the adventurers who had come to explore this place had thinned out the goblins’ numbers. It was also likely that’s how they got wiped out. 

He considered that fact, accepted it, then shook his head. 

It wouldn’t do for him to misunderstand. It was a common story, but not inevitable, not even frequent. It was simply that there were always unlucky people, at all times and in all places. Maybe they were novices who lacked the knowledge or experience, or maybe they had tripped up in the middle of battle… 

That was all it was, and nothing more. 

All the more reason he shouldn’t imagine that he was better than anyone else merely because he’d survived. His master had taught him that more than once, and here again he found himself keenly aware of the truth of that lesson. 

After all, it was goblins who unequivocally believed they were always the best and most important things in the world. 

He reminded himself of these things as he gathered the young women, the hapless survivors, picking them up and setting them down like so much luggage. He found the most presentable blankets from his own bags as well as from among the goblins’ looted goods and used them to cover the women. 

He did so in part because he didn’t know their physical state, and partially because they must be exhausted. 

All any of them could do was weep; when he saw that none of them was in a fit state to talk, he calmly gave them just the facts. “You’ll be able to go home soon,” he said, and then after a moment’s thought, he added, “Just wait a little while.” 

No other comfort I might offer would have any meaning. 

Now ignoring the wailing women behind him, he began rifling through the goblins’ instruments of battle with a nonchalant hand. It hadn’t been very long since the initial kidnapping this time, but he had seen goblin children before. 

They might be hiding. He had learned that goblins were quick to reproduce. 

Plus, he wanted to at least bring back the rank tags of the dead adventurers. 

“……?” 

In the muck, his hand brushed against something hard. He pulled it out and found a small ring set with a gemstone. 

A ring of Mapping, perhaps? 

No, it’s not that. 

He wiped off the grime and looked at the shimmering stone. He had never seen anything quite like it before, not that he was especially familiar with such things. 

The inside almost seemed to be aflame, burning and burning without end. 

“Hmm.” 

He tossed it nonchalantly into his bag and out of his mind. 

He had other things to think about. 

The goblin corpses. The kidnapped women. Getting everyone home safely and making his report. 

After that, there was collecting his reward, preparing his equipment, finding the next quest, and killing goblins. 

He wore grimy leather armor and a steel helmet with a broken horn on it. He carried a sword of a strange length at his hip and a small round shield on his arm. 

For Goblin Slayer, as for the goblins, this was an ordinary day, just as terrible and ugly as all the others. 

§ 

“Ahh, what fantastic weather!” 

The sun and blue sky hanging overhead, Cow Girl flung white sheets over the clothesline. They gave an audible snap as they fluttered open. 

She put the laundry in a washbasin with some ash, trod it clean, let it dry, and then gathered it together. The process took time and effort, but to her own surprise, once she got started, she enjoyed it, so much that she started openly chuckling to herself. 

As for him, he had gotten to the point where he actually slept in the main house instead of in the shed. That meant more laundry—but maybe that was part of why she enjoyed it. 

“?” 

Cow Girl hummed a little tune as she grabbed the next item: a shirt—his shirt. She had quietly gone into the shed and collected it while he was out. It was caked with dust, dirt, sweat, and what she thought was probably blood. 

She could hardly just leave it that way. She was taken aback to see how thickly the water ran with grime as she worked the shirt with her feet. But then she gave it a firm flap to get the wrinkles out and nodded at it in satisfaction. 

“Mm, excellent!” 

There were still a few defiant stains, but the worst of the stuff had come off. That would do nicely. He did talk to her, a girl, almost every day. Surely it wasn’t wrong to expect him to pay just the slightest bit of attention to his appearance. 

“Then there’s that armor of his…” 

She put her chin in her hand and had a hard think. It was definitely dirty—at least, that was what she figured—but somehow it didn’t seem likely he would clean it for her. And something in her hesitated to take it upon herself to shine the thing up. It was part of his work, his job, and that wasn’t something she should intrude on. 

His work… 

Cow Girl briefly paused in her own labors and looked up at the sky. 

Adventure. Adventurers. 

She felt so close to those words, and yet so far away. 

He ensconced himself in his armor and helmet and delved caves or old ruins where he did battle with monsters. 

The way she remembered him was from five years before, on the day of their fight… And then that boy she remembered reappeared before her as an adventurer. 

On one level, she understood that one of those boys had become the other. 

Yet on another, she couldn’t for the life of her imagine that they were the same person. 

“…This is a tough one.” She ran a hand over her bangs, so much lighter after her escapade with some scissors. Her field of vision seemed wider now, too; she felt as if she could see things a little differently now, and yet, she still couldn’t quite accept it all. 

“Well, I guess it’s not really anything to worry about… I think?” 

Hmm? Cow Girl cocked her head in surprise. She had reached for the next piece of laundry, but her hand only grabbed empty air. When she looked over, she found there was nothing left in the washbasin. 

Hmm. So she had cleaned it all up without even realizing it. 

What to do? 

She put her hand to her face instead, shading her eyes as she stared up at the sun. It was still high in the sky, too early to be done with work. There were the cows and pigs and chickens to attend to, of course, but they didn’t need constant care. And though she tried to help out around the farm any way she could, her uncle rarely let her do anything too physical. She understood that he was concerned for her, knowing how she had been until very recently, but it still left her a bit dejected. 

“Hmm…… Oh, got it!” She snapped her fingers awkwardly. She would make dinner. That would be good. 

Nothing special motivated her; it was just an innocent, passing thought. To Cow Girl, though, it seemed like an excellent idea, and she started skipping toward the house— 

“Whoops, hold on, hold on.” 

She grabbed the washbasin she had nearly forgotten, pouring out the water so the tub could dry. Then she jogged back to the house. 

What to make? What did they even have? What could she cook well? She was familiar with her uncle’s favorites, but… 

“I wonder if he’ll like them…?” she murmured, running a finger along her lips. 

The possibility made her very happy. She pumped her arm, excited and ready to go. 

§ 

“Sorry, can’t buy it from ya.” 

“I see.” 

The stubborn old man dropped the ring on the counter, fixing the adventurer in front of him with a suspicious glare. “How’d y’come by the likes of this anyway?” 

“I picked it up,” Goblin Slayer replied. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “In some ruins. They had been turned into a goblin nest.” 

“Goblins, eh…?” 

The equipment shop attached to the Guild was busy today, as it was almost every day. Goblin Slayer had boldly stridden in just after noon. From the grime and the smell that followed him, it was obvious he had come straight from an adventure. 

“Urgh,” griped an adventurer with a spear, seeming to have recognized Goblin Slayer, who ignored him. 

“I need to restock,” he announced. 

So far, so typical—it was exactly how he had acted ever since becoming an adventurer. The craftsman was used to it by now. 

Torch, herbs, salves, antidotes, wedges and other small items, knives and defensive equipment. 

That’s the shopping list of a ranger or a scout, not a warrior. 

He had even come in once before requesting a bow and arrows. When the craftsman asked if he knew how to use them, the answer had been “More or less.” 

The old man had made a mental note that this visitor was as clever as he was eccentric. 

What came next was different from usual. 

Reaching into his item pouch to pay, the young man suddenly seemed to recall something and had produced the object in question. 

The ring. 

A circle of metal set with a gemstone that glittered as if on fire. 

No—not as if on fire. Something inside the gem was actually burning. 

“Will you buy it from me?” 

He had set it on the countertop with such indifference. The shopkeeper had picked it up, fixing a jeweler’s glass to one eye and taking a long, careful look. Finally, he shook his head. 

“Sorry, can’t buy it from ya.” 

Then came that look and the pointed question. The old man folded his arms and grunted thoughtfully, tapping his finger rhythmically on the counter. 

“No question that ring’s magical, but it’s dangerous to handle before it’s been identified.” 

“Can you identify it?” 

“I can, but it’s a pain.” 

The craftsman reached over and tapped a wooden sign hanging nearby. In several different writing systems it read WEAPONS & ARMOR BOUGHT AND SOLD. ITEMS IDENTIFIED—HALF PURCHASE PRICE. The inscription was accompanied by a series of pictures for the benefit of the illiterate. When dealing with adventurers, it was important to be accessible and, ideally, unflappable. 

“Now, some people think that’s highway robbery, but a man deserves to be compensated for his skills. No discounts.” 

“I see.” Goblin Slayer looked pitiful even to the craftsman, the person who had made his gear. The adventurer seemed to be well enough aware that some derided him as filthy and strange. 

An enchanted ring would demand a certain price. Would a still-green dungeon-diver like him be able to pay it…? 

“D’you have the money?” 

“I do,” he replied, evoking an impressed “Ho” from the craftsman. 

“Been saving up, have you?” 

“Yes. I’ve been putting away the rewards from goblin hunting.” 

The old man nodded. Come to think of it, he’d heard this adventurer took quests relentlessly. 

“But,” Goblin Slayer added soberly, “I have plans for it. If the price is too high, I can’t pay.” 

Them’s the breaks, eh? 

“S’pose you could always try just putting it on.” 

“I was sternly warned never to put on a strange ring.” 

“And a wise warning it was.” Then the craftsman let out a long, deep breath, as though he had only just now thought of something. “…Hrm, that’s right.” 

What of it? He was old enough now. He could show a little kindness toward some young pup once in a while if he wanted. 

“There might be some other adventurer who can identify it. Maybe ask around, eh?” 

“…Other adventurers,” Goblin Slayer murmured shortly, then he swept up the ring, flung it back in his bag, and nodded. “Understood.” 

“I wonder if you do,” the old man said from behind him as he strode out of the room. 

It was a fair question—and indeed, there was something about this the young man hadn’t yet grasped. 

Oh, he understood well enough that the ring had to be identified before he could sell it, and that he could ask another adventurer to evaluate the thing for him. The problem was… 

“Hmm.” 

Goblin Slayer entered the Guild waiting area, taking in all the adventurers around him. But every single one of them seemed to act as if he weren’t there. 

They weren’t exactly avoiding him, per se. But neither was he getting any encouraging looks. Instead, many a suspicious glance was directed at this young man notorious for his eccentric habit of hunting nothing but goblins. 

In a word, he received no more interest than any other grimy novice. 

That was all they took him for. And that was the problem. 

“Identification.” 

Who here would be able to help him with that task? He didn’t have the slightest idea what sorts of jobs the other adventurers even did. 

Goblin Slayer grunted softly and went to sit on a bench in a corner of the waiting area. 

It was the bench farthest from the door. If what you wanted was first pick of the quests, it was the worst possible place to be, but he knew he didn’t have to hurry; the goblin quests would still be there. He thought it would be good to sit down here, where he would be out of the way of the other adventurers. 

With a quick motion, Goblin Slayer pulled the ring back out of his bag and held it up to the window light. He could just see the other adventurers going about their business at the Guild through the flickering flame at the ring’s center. 

To the right, to the left. Looking at the board, laughing with their friends, going to the front desk or setting out on a journey. 

He watched it all aimlessly. Many different adventurers, doing many different things. 

And why? 

When he thought about it, he couldn’t see any real meaning in it. 

If something was useful, he would use it. If he could sell it, the money would go into his war chest. And if it was neither useful nor valuable, he would throw it away. 

That was what he should do. Nothing to regret. 

“Um, excuse me…” 

It was just at that moment that a rather hesitant voice spoke to him. 

“…Is something the matter, sir?” 

In front of him, he saw a female staff member of the Guild, her hair tied gently in a braid. He didn’t have to search his memory to know who she was. She had helped him out any number of times. 

It was Guild Girl. 

“It is nothing important,” he said and showed her the ring in his hand. 

The glittering flame inside its gemstone provoked a gasp of amazement from Guild Girl. “What a lovely ring. Did you find it in some ruins or something?” 

“No.” Goblin Slayer shook his head. “I found it in a goblin nest.” 

“Really…” Guild Girl didn’t look quite sure what to say next. He glanced questioningly at her, and she shook her head, causing her braid to bounce, then smiled. “I guess you are Goblin Slayer.” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’ve been looking for someone to identify this ring.” 

“You…” Guild Girl blinked. “…were?” 

“I don’t know who to ask.” He tossed the ring casually back in his bag, letting out a soft sigh as he did so. “So just now, I decided to simply throw it away. 

“There’s no point in carrying around something you can’t use,” he murmured, and Guild Girl’s expression grew more ambiguous still. 

“What?” Goblin Slayer grunted, unable to read what she was thinking. 

“Oh, uh…” Her shoulders jumped in surprise, and she fiddled uncertainly with her hair. “I, er… I might be able to introduce you to someone.” 

§ 

“…Well, now?” 

The witch had come into the Guild just as usual, but now she blinked and arched one of her long eyebrows. Guild Girl was waving at her to come over. And what was more, beside her was— 

“…” 

Witch’s lips relaxed into a small smile, and she headed over, hips swaying. Adventurers around the room stole glances at her voluptuous body and whispered to one another. But she pulled her wide-brimmed hat down over her eyes and returned none of their looks. 

What worth could there be in the words of people who didn’t even have the nerve to talk to her face-to-face? She almost seemed to be enjoying the room’s reaction as she made her way along, shaking her head gently. 

“And, what…could this be about?” Her breathy voice seemed to catch ever so slightly. Her generous chest shifted each time she drew a breath. She chuckled, a sound she made deep in her throat, then spoke the name of the man before her like a mischievous child. “Goblin, Slayer?” 

“I have a request.” The man in the grimy leather armor and cheap-looking steel helmet could not have been more blunt or disinterested. “Are you able to perform identifications?” 

“Identifications…?” Witch couldn’t seem to decide what he wanted—or perhaps she understood exactly what he was asking, and that was what prompted her questioning look. 

Watching over the exchange from the side, Guild Girl gave an uncomfortable laugh and, hoping to rescue the situation, said, “Uh, you see… Our friend Goblin Slayer, he found a ring in some ruins.” 

“Ah, haa…” Witch narrowed her eyes deliberately before nodding. “That…explains it.” 

“Right. He wants to know if you could have a look at it…” 

Witch reached out a slim, pale arm, beckoning to the man. “May I, see it?” 

“Here.” Goblin Slayer nonchalantly went through his bag and produced the ring. 

“Well, now…” Witch made an admiring sound. Even Guild Girl, seeing the ring for the second time, widened her eyes and breathed, “Wow…” 

The metal circle glinted faintly. Guild Girl hadn’t realized earlier just how modest it was. It didn’t look like an item that contained a powerful magic; it didn’t even look like it would command much value as a piece of jewelry. But the shimmering inside that gemstone somehow captured the heart. 

Witch took the ring in her hand and gazed at it in the sunlight coming through the window. She caressed it as if feeling it out with her fingertips, turned it over to see if there was any writing engraved on the inside. 

A moment later, she shook her head gently. “I’m…sorry.” She offered the ring back along with her words. Goblin Slayer took it and put it back in his bag. “I’m, not…quite sure…what it is.” 

“I see.” There was no hint of disappointment in his response. He just said calmly, “Sorry to bother you.” 

If anything, Guild Girl was more disappointed than he was; she murmured, “Is that right? What a shame.” 

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “It simply means I will get rid of it.” 

Witch, however, was not done talking. “But…listen.” She practically draped herself over her own staff, pointing a finger to indicate his item bag. “That thing… I know, someone…who, might want exactly…what you, have there.” 

“Hmm.” Goblin Slayer grunted and reached into the bag once more. “I will give it to you, then.” 

“…Heh, heh… There’s, no greed…in you, is there?” 

Hmm, hmm. There was that quiet chuckle again. Then Witch told him where to find the person in question, as melodically as if she were intoning a spell. It was nothing so distinguished as an actual address, but rather a vague description of a spot beside a river outside town. 

“Just…go there. I should think…she’ll be there…at, any time.” 

“I see.” Goblin Slayer nodded. “That helps.” 

“Don’t, mention it,” Witch said with another slow shake of her head. “I was, glad to see…what you showed me.” Then she seemed to remember something and added, “Apple cider… Perhaps you ought, to bring some…along?” 

Goblin Slayer thought this over for a moment then, with a tilt of his helmet, replied softly, “Understood. Thanks. You’ve been helpful.” 

And then he strode boldly away. 

For a second, Guild Girl seemed surprised to have been so summarily left behind, but she soon murmured, “Oh,” and smiled. It had taken her a moment, but she had figured out whom those last few words were directed at. 

“Not at all!” she called to his swiftly receding back, waving her hand. Even though she knew she wouldn’t get a response. 

“So…?” Witch smiled at Guild Girl like a cat toying with a mouse. 

“Y-yes?” Guild Girl asked. Her shoulders trembled, causing Witch’s smile to deepen. 

“Perhaps…you could, give me…something, as a reward?” 

“Wh-who, me?” 

Uh-oh. Guild Girl frowned now, concerned. Did she want money? Guild Girl was still paid the starting salary and didn’t have much to spare. 

“Say… Do you, perchance…know any, adventurers…who can handle, a spear…?” 

“Huh?” Guild Girl, roused from her troubled ruminations, blinked. After a moment’s thought, she said, “Oh yes.” Yes, she did know someone like that. A sharp new adventurer. In fact, she had worked with him herself. 

“The one who, fought that…centipede. He often…asks me, to work with him…temporarily. But…” 

She got along fairly well with him. They could banter with each other. It might have been fair to call them friends. 

But, she said. Witch’s voice was small and hesitant, only just above a whisper. 

She wanted to form a proper party with him… 

Guild Girl giggled; Witch looked so young and innocent making this shy request. 

“But of course. Just leave it to me!” 

§ 

He’d been told he would know it when he saw it, and indeed he did. 

For a while he had been walking down well-traveled streets, the jug of apple cider he’d bought at the tavern hanging from one hand. 

Where he would normally head toward the farm for the night, though, he went in exactly the opposite direction, until he reached the outskirts of town. There he found what perhaps would be best described as a hovel. 

A waterwheel creaked in the river nearby, and smoke drifted from the chimney of the small building. It was sturdier than a simple hut but too modest to be called a proper house. 

Which makes it a hovel, after all. 

By the time he had reached this conclusion, Goblin Slayer was standing in front of the weathered door. Only the knocker shone brightly, as if it alone were new; it looked out of place on this building. 

I will have to do a more careful study of the geography around here. 

He felt a pang as he realized how little he knew about what was in the area around town. He should have pounded the details into his head. But he hadn’t known about this hovel until this very moment. 

Swallowing his frustration with himself, he gave a few firm strikes with the knocker. 

“Pardon me,” he called to whoever was inside. “I have something I would like to have identified.” 

There was no response. 

He stood in front of the door for several seconds longer. 

Still no answer. Goblin Slayer, continuing to stand there, grunted softly. He was certain the occupant was home. If Witch hadn’t implied as much, the smoke from the chimney would still have been a giveaway. 

To receive no answer from someone who wasn’t home was one thing; but if she wasn’t going to answer even when she was home, then there would be no point in coming back another time. 

He knocked again, harder this time. 

“Pardon me. I have something I would like to have identified.” 

This time, a voice came from within: “Oh, it’s open. Just come on in.” 

There was a note of impudence in the invitation, but Goblin Slayer paid it no mind as he opened the door. The haughtiness wasn’t so different from the way he acted. He figured he should be grateful she had replied at all. 

Inside the little house—well, the first thing he had to decide was where to walk. The place was, in a word, buried. Piles of old books and children’s toys—or were they just junk?—were scattered around. Visible plates were loaded with table scraps. 

A pair of bellows worked over by the hearth with a metallic screech; a rope was strung across the ceiling, and laundry had been hung from it. 

As far back in that room as one could get, in the slightest of open spaces, a shadow leaned over a desk, squirming. When he got close enough—moving slowly, carefully, so as not to bump into anything—he finally realized the shape was a person. 

It was someone who looked like a wizard, in fact, although the robes were covered in patches from top to bottom. There was something on the desk in front of them. “No, not like that,” the wizard was muttering. “No, not that, either.” 

Cards. 

Cards with colors and pictures of all sorts on them—the wizard would pile them up only to slide them apart again, then shuffle and cut the deck. 

The figure hardly seemed to notice Goblin Slayer standing behind them. He watched them for a moment, and then, when they didn’t say anything, he quietly offered, “I would like to request the identification of a ring.” 

“Hmmm…? Oh, a ring. Oh yeah? That so? A ring…” 

The voice was younger, higher-pitched than he’d expected, but regardless, didn’t sound very interested. The wizard continued to move the cards around, chin in hand, muttering something. 

“A ring?!” 

Suddenly, the mage jumped up with a clatter, and the cards went flying as if a blizzard had blown them away. At the same time, the hood covering the wizard’s head fell away with a flutter. 

Dull gold hair, clipped more or less to the shoulders, tumbled out. 

“Don’t tell me! You’ve not found Spark, have you?!” The wizard who clutched at his leather breastplate was female. 

So it was a woman? 

Behind his visor, Goblin Slayer blinked. 

The wizard’s hair was wild, sticking out this way and that—maybe she never combed it, or maybe trying wouldn’t do any good. 

She quickly ran a hand through the hair, producing a whiff of a not-unpleasant aroma. 

From this distance, he could see her eyes, which seemed to be green. But they were distorted by her spectacles, and the color was strangely indistinct. 

An outer garment made from the fur of an animal he couldn’t identify reached down to the woman’s knees. He had no idea whether it was intended to be that short, or if the wizard just didn’t care whether or not it fit. When she covered the entire thing with an outer robe, voilà—it was enough to conceal her gender. 

“No, but wait, we mustn’t jump to conclusions!” the wizard rebuked herself. “First, let me see the ring!” And then she drew back again, leaving Goblin Slayer in place, flummoxed. 

“…” He didn’t know exactly what to say, but he had come here precisely to show her the ring. Goblin Slayer offered the item in question; and indeed, the ring shimmered faintly in the dim room. Although it was noontime, the house was dim because the books were piled so high that they blocked the windows. There was just enough light to make the drifting dust inside visible; the motes floated about, twinkling like fireflies. 

“This is it.” 

“Ha-ha…! Is it, now? Let me… Here, let me look.” 

The wizard dispensed with pleasantries, urging him along like an impatient child. Then she grabbed the ring. 

She opened her eyes wide as she leaned toward the gleaming object, studying it as closely as she could. She didn’t seem to quite comprehend what the light was, but she looked like a kid seeing her first rainbow. 

At last, her lips moved as if she was giving a kiss; she murmured a word, then two. 

When she did so, the ring in her white palm began to project a faint halo, and then the gleaming seemed to increase. Little flecks of light flew from it like tiny fireworks, jumping and then fading like shooting stars. 

They were sparks, indeed. 

A moment later, they stilled again, sinking back into the gem at the center of the ring. 

The woman watched all this, then rubbed her eyes, nodding and making pleased noises. 

“…Where’d you get this?” 

“A goblin nest.” 

“Goblins had it? Goblins?!” 

“That’s correct.” Goblin Slayer nodded. “It was with the trash near their sleeping chamber.” 

“Ha… Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!” 

In an instant, all seriousness vanished from her expression; she slapped her knee, laughing uproariously, practically rolling on the floor. She hugged her stomach, then finally began pounding her desk in hilarity. 

“Ohhhh, ha-ha-ha! Did they—did they really? Now that’s something I wouldn’t have imagined!” 

“…” 

“And here everyone thinks a magic ring you find in a cave is the least, most disreputable thing!” 

True. Goblin Slayer nodded. He recalled his master saying something similar. 

“Oops,” the woman said, reaching out to a pile of junk on the desk that threatened to fall over from the shock of her slapping and shouting. 

Goblin Slayer waited, but the answer he wanted never came, so he asked the question himself. 

“Tell me, what is the effect of that ring?” 

“Not much, for most people,” the wizard replied. She settled luxuriously into her chair, pointedly crossing and recrossing her legs. Her muscles were taut and toned, despite the fact that she didn’t seem to get out much. “But personally, I find it very valuable.” 

“And what about me?” 

“Dunno. It’s a Breath ring, see? It lets you breathe anywhere. Literally anywhere.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Whatcha think?” The corners of her lips rose in a smile like a spider weaving a web. “Think you’d be interested in selling it to me?” She leaned in so close, she seemed about to plant a kiss on Goblin Slayer’s helmet. “I’ll pay anything. In fact—” There was that smile again. “I’ll do anything, for this.” 

An unusual scent drifted through the air. It wasn’t alcohol. Maybe herbs, he guessed. 

Goblin Slayer grunted softly. “You are willing to give something other than money, then.” 

“Bet on it.” 

“I see.” 

She nodded at him, ready for what he would ask. Goblin Slayer spoke without hesitation. 

“I want something that will help me kill goblins.” 

“……Huh?” The wizard blinked, and then, apparently unable to contain herself, burst out laughing again. “Hhh—ggh… Hkhk… B-bwa! G-goblins?! Goblins, he says!” 

Under the assault of all this protracted shouting, the stuff on the desk finally collapsed. 

The wizard practically fell out of her chair, her body twisting with laughter, her eyes running with tears. 

“Hah—he-he… Hoo, hkhkhk… What a— What a…!” 

Her ample chest bounced as she gasped for air. 

Goblin Slayer waited until she calmed down, then added as if he had just remembered, “I will also offer you apple cider.” 

“Spa…spa…s-spare meee…!” 

She smacked the desk a couple more times, at which the deck of cards proceeded to scatter everywhere. 

And so Goblin Slayer was confronted by a woman contorting with laughter on the floor, surrounded by a great cloud of dust. 

Such was his meeting with the magus of electricity, Arc Mage.