Goblin Slayer - Volume SS2.01 - Chapter 3.2

“Ah, so it’s them,” the nun at the Trade God’s temple says coldly when she sees the bodies you and the girls have brought back. She opened the door immediately when you knocked, even though it was the middle of the night, and was kind enough to take the remains from you. Considering her graciousness, you can’t find it in you to get upset at her disinterested attitude.

The chapel looks pale and cold, illuminated by only a few candles and the light of the moons and stars filtering through the window. But even at this hour, you can see adventurers here and there in the stone room. People praying for either healing or repose for their comrades, you suppose. In other words, people like you aren’t an uncommon sight around here.

An acolyte, still bearing traces of youth, kneels next to the wounded and begins ministering to them with a practiced air. The girls and their party watch anxiously, unable to settle down. The nun regards all this with a chilly eye, then offers a “Oh, very well. I recognize these people, and they’ve been fairly generous in their donations.”

You flash a dry smile at this less-than-direct reference to money, but it also reminds you how powerful the stuff is. There are people here who will spare no effort to help you as long as you pay them—much more reliable than foolish, unrewarded devotion. Certainly better, at least, than the half-cocked rescue you and the girls pulled off.

“Think this means we’ll get a material expression of gratitude?” Half-Elf Scout says teasingly.

“Pssh,” your cousin admonishes him. “We didn’t do this for money, all right?”

“Yeah, sure, I know. Just sayin’.” Half-Elf Scout holds up his hands in surrender against your cousin’s scolding. Female Warrior giggles, and your scout scratches his head in embarrassment. “Nothing wrong with bringing it up, at least. We came out okay, but it was a rough trip, right?”

“That’s true. If anyone should get the gratitude, it’s not us”—Female Bishop’s sightless eyes rove around the room—“but rather these girls, I think.”

“Wha—?!” The leader of the young women, the girl with ringlets in her hair, jumps in surprise to find herself the subject of conversation. She waves her hand in front of her white-clad chest, as if waving away the idea. “N-no, we didn’t do anything…!”

“Of course you did. We merely helped you.” Female Bishop turns to you as if to say, Isn’t that right, leader?

The girl with the ringlets looks from Female Bishop to you and back again, uncertain. You think for a moment, then announce:

‘If you say you don’t need any reward that might be forthcoming, we’ll take it instead.’

You ignore Female Bishop’s surprised “Huh?” and continue calmly that you incurred expenses just like the girls did. It would be too much to expect a reward, but you did as much work or more than the girls. So if they say they don’t want whatever is offered, surely there’s nothing wrong with your taking it.

Female Bishop is quietly objecting “Oh” and “But…” in the face of this supremely clear logic. Your second cousin looks like she wants to say something, too, but you ignore her.

What’s more, you go on, the girls helped haul out the bodies, and there ought to be a reward for that.

“Oh…” The moment she hears this, Female Bishop’s face blossoms like a flower, as if she realizes she’s been laboring under a misunderstanding. “Y-yes, that’s right. A reward! Yes, from us!” She reaches out, groping a bit until she finds the hands of the girl with the curly hair. “That would be all right, wouldn’t it?”

“Er, y-yes—ahem. Y-yes, thank you. That… That might.”

The girl nods unsteadily, to which Female Bishop replies with a joyful “Of course it would!”

“Ooh, Mr. Nice Guy,” Female Warrior drawls, putting a teasing hand on your cheek. But you claim not to know what she’s talking about. You make a show of checking the condition of the scabbard at your hip.

“I don’t care either way,” Myrmidon Monk says with a clack of his mandibles. His fingers quickly weave a sigil in the air, offering thanks toward the altar of the Trade God, and then he shrugs. “I just want to get home. Not interested in hanging around for something that doesn’t pay.”

But of course. You nod, then look at the nun, who has been watching you silently. Her eyes still look cold, yet then she smiles at you.

Even a pasted-on smile is still a smile.

“I like that attitude, everyone. I hope you’ll keep it up.”

You can’t tell whether she’s talking about the rescue or angling for a donation. But what’s clear is that she’s encouraging you. You smile back, bow slightly, and start heading out of the temple. Female Warrior follows you with light footsteps, and Female Bishop comes after her at a patter. Myrmidon Monk takes long, slow strides, while Half-Elf Scout looks relaxed but in fact moves quite precisely.

“Oh!” You hear your cousin exclaim before she scrambles after you. “Hey, that’s not nice, just leaving your big sister behind like that!”

‘Cousin, not sister.’ You smile as you correct her, then reach out and push open the temple door. You’re greeted by a cold breeze that caresses your cheek and then sweeps around behind you.

“U-um, excuse me!”

You turn, following the gust, to find the girls who asked for your help, led by the one with golden hair. They look nervous, working their fingers together uncertainly, but their words are clear and sure: “Th-thank you very much! W-we’ll keep working and learning…!”

“Yeah, so… So let’s adventure together again sometime!”

You laugh. Laugh and say, ‘Of course,’ then resume your gentle pace.

Twin moons shine in the sky, and the lights of the town glow so that you could almost imagine you were in the middle of the starry sky.

“Man, our captain knows how to look good when it counts,” Half-Elf Scout says with a grin, elbowing you gently in the ribs. You tell him to forget about it.

“I knew from the start he was a soft touch, but I’m beginning to think I joined the wrong party,” Female Warrior adds.

“Don’t I know it. No matter how old he gets, I can never take my eyes off him,” your cousin says.

Let them talk. You pretend not to hear a word they’re saying. Pfff. You can’t trust a thing your second cousin says anyway. Yeesh. Seriously.

“Oh, I—I, er, think…it’s a good thing…” Female Bishop smiles—awkwardly, yes, but she smiles all the same.

You purse your lips and say that yes, it’s just fine, at which Myrmidon Monk clacks his mandibles especially loudly and says, “Pfah, it’s all fine. As long as you don’t screw up.”

At last you retire to your inn, considering the day’s unexpected adventure concluded. You know the pile of straw waiting for you in the stable isn’t an especially distinguished place to sleep. But you have a feeling that tonight, at least, you might sleep pretty well.

Exhausted, you may drop into unconsciousness without so much as a dream… But you think that isn’t such a bad thing in the end.

“Welcome, welcome!”

“Good morning!”

Even so, exhaustion can’t be banished in a day. Especially not when you spent half of it sleeping on straw.

You lean against your round table, groaning to yourself, the tavern filled with the morning babble of adventurers. The waitresses’ bright greetings fly this way and that overhead. You don’t think this will ever get easier, no matter how much experience you accumulate or how much training you do. Your whole body feels creaky, slow, as if you have lead in your veins instead of blood. But your head is clear. That helps the commotion around you resolve into meaningful words.

“Hey, did you hear? They say an army of the Death appeared on the frontier.”

“Ugh, so that’s it for this country, eh?”

“Nah, just bad news for a village or two. Goblins and wargs, ghouls, centaurs, and some lizardman mercenaries—that’s all there was.”

“Huh, it’s not even worth hunting down that army, then…”

“Yeah, nobody carries a treasure chest out in the field anyway. A waste of effort.”

“All right, what say we check out a chamber or two down on the first floor today?”

The adventurers are laughing and chatting together, not so much as a hint of unease in their voices. You pluck off a piece of straw you discover stuck to your clothes.

Not like you have anything to say about any of it.

You’re no different from them, as far as puttering around the first floor. Everyone has their own reason for being down there, whether out of a sense of crisis, or duty, or something else. They can do whatever they want, and so will you. No reason for you to start anything with them.

You suppress a sigh at this thought, letting your head loll from one side to the other on the table.

“Oh…”

Then you spot Female Bishop. Perhaps she was listening to the conversation, too; her face is composed but expressionless. It almost looks like she alone stands apart from the whole great crowd in this tavern. After a moment’s thought, you say good morning to her in a completely normal tone.

“Oh, um,” she says, fidgeting awkwardly, her mouth open as if she never expected this greeting. Then after a moment, she clears her throat with a delicate cough. “G-good morning, leader… That is you, isn’t it?”

You nod and say that yes, it is, and at last she smiles with relief. She isn’t completely blind, but it must not be easy for her to identify someone sitting silently at the table.

Female Bishop quickly sits down across from you but cocks her head, perplexed. “Where are the others?”

You left them in the stable. It didn’t look like they cared to join you for breakfast. You declare flatly that men who oversleep are men who may be left to their own devices.

“O-oh, I see…” You chuckle quietly, and she asks, “Is everything all right?” You say there’s no problem. You’re rather more curious as to why Female Bishop has come to the tavern alone. “Oh, yes. Actually, there was a little something I wanted to ask about the map…” So she came here early. With a bit of a sheepish grin, she digs something out of her bag.

You change places to better look at the map. Female Bishop spreads the roll of sheepskin parchment neatly on the tabletop, and you review it from above.

“I think we’ve covered most of the first floor by now. But this one spot…” She runs her pale fingers across the lines of the map. Zwip. You watch her with fresh admiration. To be able to read what’s on the page from just the feel of the paper and ink is quite a trick. Finally, her neatly trimmed nails arrive near the edge of the sheepskin, in territory unknown. “…What in the world do you suppose this is?”

The space she’s pointing to is blank, untouched by any mapping. It’s not because there’s no way to get there. If you were to follow the twisting hallways, you could reach it if you wanted. The dungeon—or at least this first floor of it—appears to be a perfect square, so you don’t believe this area is solid rock. But for some reason, you’ve never set foot there yet. And eavesdrop as you might on other adventurers’ conversations, nobody seems to talk about this particular place.

Well, now… You scratch your chin, thinking. You already know where the stairway down to the second level is, and you have all the information you need. Whether you mean to make more money or continue your exploration, you have no special reason to head over to that blank space. And yet…

“It nags at you, doesn’t it?”

Yes, yes it does.

Although your primary concern is the way of the sword, you are still an adventurer. And no true adventurer lacks a sense of curiosity.

Of course, curiosity has led many an adventurer to their doom. For those who run illegally through the shadows, you hear, untoward interest in their clients’ backgrounds can cause them to disappear.

Ultimately, you could call this a part of your own training. A leader’s job is to be fully cognizant of their party’s current level, their teammates’ abilities, and the prospective challenges of any place they’re going to take them. So the wise thing to do would be to start by getting some information about this blank space, but…

“That place? That’s a dark zone.”

The answer comes almost as a gift from heaven. You look up from the map at the unexpected voice to find a handsome man with golden hair standing there. It’s the young lord—the Knight of Diamonds you ran into right when you first got here.

“You can’t even see the wire frame of the dungeon in there,” he says, tapping the space on the map. “I hear no one’s ever come back from that area.” He shrugs. “There must be something there, but if you get the idea that you’re the one who’s going to figure it all out… Well, I’d call that egotism at best.”

“I see…,” Female Bishop responds, knitting her brow in a frown. “In other words, whatever it is, it would probably be a tall order for us.” You nod as well. Then you congratulate the knight on his discovery of the third floor.

The Knight of Diamonds seems almost caught off guard by your words; his eyes widen a little, and he scratches his cheek self-consciously. “I won’t say it was nothing, but… Well, the dice simply rolled in our favor.” Coming from someone who stands on the literal front line of the dungeon, this could be taken as less modesty than provocation. What prevents it from feeling that way is the young man’s well-known virtue.

Then the knight shifts in place, giving you both a deep, elegant bow of his head. “You were of great help to me and mine last night. I’m the one who should be thanking you from the bottom of my heart.”

Well, now. You make a puzzled sound. True, you rescued some adventurers from the dungeon last night, but were they under this man’s command? It would be unusual for such a group to have faced destruction on the very first floor. Above all, you don’t remember seeing him yesterday. So what could he mean?

The Knight of Diamonds offers with some embarrassment, “Ah, no, they’re a secondary unit—or perhaps I should say reserve forces. Vassals of mine, you see…” They actually went into the dungeon without so much as a scout—perhaps afraid of falling behind on the glory.

You watch him as he speaks, and you realize just how young he is. You find him considerably less intimidating than the first time you met. Maybe your experience in the dungeon is telling. In fact, he might even be younger than you. Just fifteen or sixteen, perhaps, only recently reaching adulthood—not so different from Female Bishop.

Speaking of whom, she offers a question at a rather unusual word. “Vassals, good sir…? I’ve heard the term, but…”

“Ah. Well… Even the third son of a poor noble family, it seems, must worry about servants and followers.” In his evident embarrassment, he’s saved from looking completely pathetic by the diamond armor that glitters on his body. It hardly looks to you like something a poor noble would wear, but, well, you and the nobility must have different ideas of what constitutes “poor.” To them, it probably still means richer than anything you can imagine. Probably.

You don’t particularly feel the need to pursue the issue further than that, and you ask instead why the knight is here.

“As I said, I wanted to thank you.” He sounds like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Whatever you spent on that rescue mission, I’ll reimburse you for it, and I’m prepared to add a little extra as a sign of gratitude.”

You give a slow shake of your head. You practically feel giddy, in fact. You were merely subcontractors, so to speak; you have no right to any reward. If he wishes to pay anyone anything, it’s that party of young women who are entitled to it. If they refuse it, you and your party will accept the money to compensate you for your trouble.

“…Mm, is that so? I’ll do as you suggest, then,” the Knight of Diamonds says with another dip of his head; Female Bishop nods as if all this is perfectly just. You try your best not to seem too aware of her as you say with as much conviction as possible that adventurers must help each other.

“I see,” the Knight of Diamonds replies, nodding. “Fine words.” He smiles. “But the fact remains that I am grateful to you. If you ever need anything, tell me. I will help you however I can.” He gives you one more bow, then excuses himself and turns on his heel. The way his armor sparkles as he walks away makes you think that nobility, even in poverty, is something awfully impressive. You don’t believe you could ever learn to carry yourself the way he does…

“Huh, putting on airs again?”

At least not while Female Warrior, who’s finally appeared in the tavern, is standing there giggling to herself.

When you turn toward the giggle, you find all your companions already gathered.

Hrm. You turn your gaze to them, trying to pretend as if nothing significant has happened, giving them a look as if to say, Yes, what?

“We caught the part where you said we were—what was it? Subcontractors? And gave away our reward,” Female Warrior says, putting on a teasing pout.

Your cousin raises a disapproving finger. “That won’t do—you have to consult us first about these kinds of things.” She wags the finger. Grrr. Stupid second cousin. You glare at her, but she’s smiling for some reason. She seems to be under a kind of misapprehension, for you did indeed consult with them. Both her and her.

“Wait, what?!” Female Bishop is quite surprised to suddenly become the topic of conversation; you can see her eyes widen despite her bandage. “Um, well,” she says as you press her for confirmation. “Well…yes. He did consult with me before deciding.” She nods and even smiles.

Oh-ho. Now it’s your eyes that grow a little wider. You hadn’t expected her to back you up quite so assertively.

“Assertively, sir?”

W-well, yes. You nod pointedly, and she only smiles.

True, it’s absolutely true. The two of you consulted together and decided what to do. No problem. Or there shouldn’t be.

“Man, Cap, you know how to make an ally,” Half-Elf Scout says with an exaggerated shake of his head. His tone is reproving, but he’s grinning. Then he drops a creaking sack on the table, one veritably bursting at the seams. “Eh, not like we didn’t make any money this time—so no problem as far as I’m concerned.”

“All this is from yesterday…?” asks Female Bishop, her face shining as if she’s thrilled to have this work to do.

“Sure is,” the scout answers with a nod.

“May I examine it?” she asks and promptly takes the bag with a look of pleasure. After all, she’s in her element now, with the keen perception she has been granted as an identifier.

She runs her fingers over the surface of the equipment, almost in a caress, and although it’s no more and no less than what she’s done before, your cousin says happily: “Heh-heh, you look a lot more into this than you did when we first met.” She sounds proud, almost as if she was responsible for it. You nod. Though Female Bishop seems to have known a difficult life, she’s a good young woman.

The party sits around her at the table, and you roll up the map so it won’t get in the way of her work. You instruct her to let you know if there are any swords, at which Female Warrior puffs out her cheeks and grumbles, “Doubt it…”

Yes, but there’s always a chance. Say it is one in ten thousand. That means one out of every ten thousand times, you’d get what you wanted—and who knows, that one time might be the very first. Consider that piece of equipment right there, the one that practically has a question mark floating over it. When properly identified, it might be a sword.

“Yeah, sure.” Female Warrior shrugs, but you’re not sure she’s convinced.

“So? What are we doing today?” Myrmidon Monk asks clackingly once you’re all seated and have ordered your food. “Rest? Adventure? I don’t care either way.”

What, indeed. You cross your arms and think. Luckily, your communal purse is full to overflowing, and you aren’t worried about paying for your lodgings. The normal impulse would be not to slow down, but maybe that isn’t the best idea when you all exerted yourselves so much just the day before. You didn’t even expect to go out yesterday. So…

“I’d like to take a rest,” Female Warrior says before you can speak, making a show of rubbing her shoulders and sighing. “I’m awfully tired…”

You can hardly blame her, seeing as how she was attacked by slimes and everything.

“Hmph, you would say that,” she grumbles, turning a cold look on you.

She’s right, though; it’s a question of fatigue. You try to maintain your cool demeanor as you say so. Nobody goes down into the dungeon every single day. You should rest for today.

“Ooh, then I’m going to use today to study some spells!” your cousin says as soon as you suggest taking the day off.

Being gung ho is great and all, as long as it’s not just talk. At that, your cousin puffs out her ample chest as if the response should be obvious. “We can’t let those kids from yesterday show us up. Can we?”

“Oh, uh, a-are you talking to me?” Female Bishop looks up from where she was letting out a breath and wiping away some sweat after completing the identifications. By way of describing the results, she adds courteously to you, “No luck, I’m afraid.” Apparently, her way of saying there are no swords. What a letdown! “But you’re quite right. I’ll have to work on my magic studies, too…”

“Then we can work on them together!” Your cousin grabs Female Bishop’s hand even while the cleric is still shooting you concerned glances.

“Think I’ll go drop in on a friend o’ mine, then.”

“Feh, day off, huh? …Well, only leaves me one choice. Guess I’ll go see what’s up at the arena…”

The other men summarily ignore you; in fact, Myrmidon Monk can hardly hide his excitement.

Pfah. Fine. Fine. In this situation, there’s just one thing for you, the keeper of the party’s purse, to do. You’ll have to take the time to sell off the equipment you garnered from the dungeon yesterday—not that you especially regret it. But you’ll be alone…all alone! You ignore your friends’ amiable chat about how they’re going to spend their day off and pick up the sack.

“Say…” You feel a tug on your sleeve. You stop cold and turn toward the honeyed voice to find Female Warrior smiling at you. She’s pulling your arm toward that soft chest of hers, a flirtatious move she must have learned somewhere. It’s almost enough to leave you wondering whether she’s with Order or Chaos.

“I told you I’d pay you back, didn’t I?”

So why is it that, confronted with her beaming smile, you feel like a rat cornered by a cat? Yes, you do remember her saying something of the sort yesterday, if only vaguely…

“I wouldn’t mind a new set of armor… Hee-hee!”

It doesn’t sound like you can refuse, any more than you can choose what to do with your day off.

There’s only one thing people in the fortress city talk about: the dungeon. When they pass each other on the street, they talk about adventurers the way people in other cities talk about the weather. Oh, there’s a promising novice in town, they say, or they discuss the current state of exploration or speculate as to who might be the one to delve all the way to the bottom and confront the Death.

The knight who wears the diamond armor comes up especially often in these conversations. After all, he’s beautiful to look at, a handsome young lion. Of course young ladies would be intrigued by him.

“ …” You walk along, letting the rumors fill your ears, while just ahead Female Warrior seems to be genuinely enjoying herself. Her hips draw little arcs as she walks, her heels clicking on the city streets. Other than the fact that she’s carrying a sword at her hip—a modicum of necessary protection—she could almost pass as any ordinary girl simply out enjoying the town.

“What—? Trying to get a peek at my butt?” She turns to you, her hair rippling as she smiles like a cat and giggles. You still aren’t sure whether the expression is sincere or not.

You shake your head and say no but also add that she looks like she’s having fun.

“You’re not wrong. I haven’t had much time to just relax since I came to this town.” And indeed, she sounds quite at leisure at this moment. The touch of affection in her voice makes you decide not to ask too many questions. Everyone has one or two things in their lives they would rather not talk about. You might say that as long as those things don’t bear on your own survival, then they’re none of your business. She can talk about them if and when she desires. You don’t have to know every single thing about someone before you can work with them.

Anyway. As she leads you deeper into town, you reflect on how complicated the place is. You’re not keen on just meandering around with no idea where you’re going. Surely, she could at least tell you the place she has in mind.

“Hmm? Didn’t I mention it earlier?” she says, giving you a puzzled look that makes her seem very young—and in fact, you realize, she is very young.

And no, she didn’t tell you. You say as much flatly. You assumed, from what she said at the tavern, that she had an armor shop in mind, though.

“Yeah, a place I’ve been to a few times. It’s got a good feel, this shop.”

Oh-ho. Your face relaxes, almost a smile, and you put a hand on your scabbard. A shop with a “good feel” to it might have some genuine masterworks in stock.

“Maybe,” she says when she sees the look on your face, although it’s not clear if she means it.

Best to hurry, then. Get there quickly and grab some gear.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m pretty sure it was…this way, I think.”

You can urge her forward as much as you want, but she’s still the only one who knows where you’re going. She trots along like a cat out for a walk, picking the route with the most sun. The fortress city might be as easy to get lost in as the dungeon itself, but there are still places that get light from the heavens.

You turn off the main road, then turn once or twice again and find yourself in a hidden corner of town.

Some children, obviously merchants’ sons and daughters, sit in a circle beside the road, competing at a game of tossing pebbles into the circle. Goodwives nearby do laundry in big barrels, treading on the wash as they chat together. This town might run on the loot that comes out of the dungeon, it might seem the province of adventurers and merchants, but there is still a routine here.

The hubbub of the streets fades as Female Warrior and you work your way along the side alleys, until presently you arrive at a cul-de-sac.

“Ah, here it is.” She smiles and points at the sign dangling above the door that clearly indicates an equipment shop. Creaking softly as it swings in the wind, the sign looks brand-new—but then, this whole city is quite recent. Or maybe it’s just hitting a certain age—

“I’m heading in,” Female Warrior says, interrupting your thoughts. She pushes open the door. “Wonder if the old man’s here today…”

And then suddenly, she disappears. Astonished, you take a closer look at the door only to discover it leads directly to a steep, narrow staircase heading downward.

“Heh-heh, what did I tell you? Good atmosphere, right?” Female Warrior giggles from halfway down the stairs.

You nod, then all but throw yourself into the gloom. You’re almost too solidly built to fit; getting down the stairs is a real challenge. As for Female Warrior, notwithstanding her generous endowment, she’s a lithe woman. Maybe it’s a biological difference between men and women or maybe a difference in level between the two of you. Or even just a question of being accustomed to it.

When you finally squeeze your way to the bottom of the stairs, you discover a smithy’s shop, dim but for a glowing fire. It’s a cramped space packed full of various kinds of gear, and you can hear a hammer pounding within. You can feel the heat of the fire on your skin.

“Hoh, it’s you, little miss.” The master of the place is bent over, deep in this room that feels like a chamber in the dungeon. He’s an old man boasting a beard and muscles so abundant, you could almost take him for a dwarf. He gives an interested sniff, wrinkles his face at Female Warrior, then looks at you. “Got a man with you today? Always knew you were the hunting type.”

“Sure do,” Female Warrior says, putting her hands together in front of her chest. “I was thinking I might wheedle him into buying me some new armor.”

“That right…? And?”

Well, now. It seems that last bit was directed at you.

“What’s the story with you, boss? Just a walking wallet?”

For a second, you don’t quite understand what he means, but these final words help you connect the dots. You’re looking for a bladed weapon, a sword. Something thin, sharp, likely to bend before it breaks.

The old man sticks out one weathered hand without a word. He’s saying, Show it to me, you surmise. You take the blade, scabbard and all, from your hip, ignoring Female Warrior’s interjection of “Wow, so heavy” and passing it to the old man.

“Hrmph, eastern make, eh?” He can tell just by the feel of it in his hand. Next, he draws the blade with a metallic ring. The shimmering steel reflects the orange light of the fire as he runs a finger along it, then presses it silently to the side of his neck. “Undistinguished but a solid piece of work. Don’t know who made it, but it ain’t easy to take care of. I can hone it for you, at least.”

Hmm. You stroke your chin, unsure what to say. Is he insulting you or praising you? If nothing else, you don’t feel malice from his review, and what he says isn’t wrong. You don’t think you need to let it get to you.

While you’re thinking, Female Warrior says smilingly to the old man, “So about this new armor… I was hoping for something that fits a little closer.”

“Hrm?”

“And if it didn’t make my shoulders so stiff, that would be nice. Mail could work, but even tied with a belt, it just pulls on the shoulders so hard…”

You keep their conversation in earshot as you cast a glance around the shop. The place seems to be stocked with every type of armor and weapon imaginable. Swords, spears, axes, sticks, staves. Helmets and shields, body armor and mantles, and even a few potions. Merchandise is stacked on shelves that stretch up to the ceiling.

You’ve never thought of yourself as a country bumpkin, but this is enough to make your head spin. There are cutting tools, of course, along with cleaving blades and swords that appear to be of immensely fine craftsmanship…

Hmm?

You get a funny feeling as you look around the shop. Most of the merchandise is brand-new, of course, or otherwise secondhand… But your eyes are drawn to something that appears new even though it bears signs of use.

“Novices don’t always last very long,” is all the old man offers when you remark on it. “In fact, lately, a lot of them have been dying. Lots of idiots out there. And simpleminded fools, too.”

Is that so?

“The idiots, they die. And the fools who think, I’m no idiot; I’m being nice and careful, they die, too.”

Ah. You shake your head as if to chase away the recognition that he could have been describing you not long ago. Sometimes a lone survivor would bring back their friends’ equipment and sell it. Or another party might find the bodies and strip them. In any event, there’s every chance that your sword, Female Warrior’s spear, or the other equipment your party carries could have wound up lining these shelves—or might still yet. Everything depends on your level and the gods’ dice.

You don’t precisely sympathize with the lost, nor are you frightened by the idea; there’s just a sort of cold emotionlessness inside you.

“Hello?” Your thoughts are interrupted, as so often, by Female Warrior, a smile in her voice. You glance at her and see she has a hand to her collar, clearly bored; her expression doesn’t change as she says, “I’m going to have my measurements taken now…”

Hmm. You cock your head. If that’s what she’s going to do, she should do it. You have no problem with that.

“Exactly how long are you planning to stand there?”

Oops.

There are no curtains or coverings anywhere in the store. You hurriedly toss the purse to her, then work your way back into the cramped staircase. You hear her giggling behind you, followed by an almost erotic rustle of cloth.

It seems to follow you all the way to the surface.