Goblin Slayer - Volume SS1.02 - Chapter 5.1

Interlude – Of How It’s Best Not To Argue Over The Distribution Of Magic Items

“Ngggaahhh!!” 

Spearman tumbled away from the beak, letting out a sound that wasn’t quite a scream but wasn’t exactly a battle cry, either. 

Rocks could be heard skittering across the pockmarked floor of the cave. 

In front of Spearman as he regained his feet was a creature with a cruel glint in its eyes: a chicken. 

But it had the wings of a bat, and the tail of a lizard. This was no ordinary creature. 

“It’s…a…cockatrice.” 

“Nobody told me about any bat-lizard-chickens…!” 

Witch frowned in sympathy, but Spearman’s exclamation was entirely understandable. 

This was supposed to be an easy job—something one could practically do alone, never mind with a partner. 

Needless to say, they’d made short work of the warlock when he’d shuffled out of his cave come nightfall. Witch had cast a spell of silence, preventing their opponent from uttering the words of his magic, and Spearman had given him one good stab through the heart. 

When they pulled back his hood, they discovered that he was indeed one of the Non-Prayers. The seal of the evil sect hung at his chest. 

And that had been that. All that remained was to search the cave, and then it was quest complete. Not without risk, but still, a one-night job. That was the idea anyway. 

“When they told me ‘easy work’ always means ‘dangerous work,’ I should’ve listened…!” 

Spearman, thinking back on some old lesson, heaped abuse on his past self. It had never crossed his mind that the warlock might be keeping a cockatrice as a guard dog. 

“Just imagine if they started mass-producing these things… It’d be a nightmare…!” 

He wanted to give the what for to himself for having come rushing headlong into this cave. 

“…My spells… I have just, one more,” Witch said from behind him, her voice low and calm. 

It would have been much better to try this after they had rested for a night—not in any suggestive sense, mind you, but purely to restore Witch’s magic. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought, but no matter how much he upbraided himself, the situation didn’t change. Spearman glared at the cockatrice as it scratched the ground violently, then he dropped into a deep stance. 

“If it keeps its distance, I think we can manage somehow. But if it comes charging in, we’re done for…” 

“…” He could hear Witch gulp behind him. “…You, think, you…can, manage?” 

“If it doesn’t charge. That’s the trick.” 

“I’ll try,” Witch said nervously. Spearman trusted her. He was loath to run, even if it cost him his life. 

Gotta look good for the lady, after all! 

“Zrrraaahhhh!!” The cockatrice made a birdlike yet unearthly noise, and Spearman responded by dropping his body even lower. 

Witch’s delicate lips spoke out words as if in a melody. “Aranea…facio…ligator! Spider, come and bind!” 

It was the work of an instant. 

Spearman charged. The cockatrice kicked the ground and attempted to take flight, but its leg was trapped. 

Caught in a spiderweb. 

Spearman hadn’t seen it, hadn’t even really thought about it; he just knew it intuitively. 

A sticky, milky something was wrapped around the monster’s feet. 

Perfect! 

All he needed now was one turn to finish things. He hefted his spear and drove it into the cockatrice’s heart with all his strength. 

Killing an immobilized chicken is easier than shooting fish in a barrel. 

“Excellent, and now to find the loot!” 

“Yes, indeed…” Witch nodded, appearing detached as usual, but her eyes glinted with curiosity. 

Such was the spice of adventuring. Hack your way in, slash your way out. And when it came to a warlock’s base of operations, you could expect to find a considerable reward. 

It didn’t take them long to find a treasure chest. They spent a moment looking it over, trying to ascertain whether it was booby-trapped and wishing they had a scout. 

“…Okay, here goes.” 

“…Mn.” 

He saw Witch nod, then had her back away from the chest—just in case—and broke the seal. 

Inside was a long, thin pole apparently made from some kind of wood. There was a decorated metal tip on one end, and it glittered with magical power. 

“Ohh…!” Spearman’s eyes opened wide, and in an excess of joy he grabbed the item. “A spear…!” 

A magical weapon. Any warrior worth his salt would lust after one. There were all kinds, from those that just boasted a little extra cutting power, or never rusted, to the weapons of legend. There was no one, from the most rustic country runaway to the most experienced knight, who didn’t occasionally dream of them. 

But then Witch, peeking from beside him, gave a regretful shake of her head. “…This is…a staff, believe me.” 

“…You’re kidding.” 

“No,” she replied in a strained, apologetic voice. “This is a wizard’s staff.” 

Brushing the metal tip—the one Spearman had taken for a spear point—gently, Witch took the staff in hand. 

“But…if, we…sell, it…it will…bring in some…money.” 

“Huh?” Spearman looked at her like she was crazy. “Why would we sell it?” 

“…?” Now it was Witch’s turn to look mystified. “We, agreed…to split, the reward, no?” 

Spearman scratched his head. Then he sighed: this was common sense. 

“When you party up, you focus on building your total fighting strength. You use it. 

“But if you don’t want it, then we can sell it,” he added, closing the lid of the empty treasure chest. 

Witch stood holding the staff in her hands. She looked speechless, like a child who’s been told they can have anything they want. 

“…You’re, right,” she finally said, and with the staff still gripped in one hand, she gave the brim of her hat a sharp tug. “Then, until we find…a magic spear, I’ll…borrow this. Okay?” 

“It ain’t a loan,” Spearman said, punching her gently in the shoulder. It was an immensely casual, spur of the moment gesture. “Call it an investment in the future.” 

Witch slowly smiled. 

Her smile looked like a flower coming into bloom.