Goblin Slayer - Volume 10 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – Ghouls & Ghosts

“Urrrgh…” Priestess kicked the ground angrily as she walked. For her, it was extremely unusual. She was always an even-keeled girl, and although it was old, this was a cemetery; and she had never been the type to disturb the rest of the dead. 

Perhaps cemetery wasn’t as accurate a term as funeral mound . Deep in a forest darkened by numerous trees, there was a place where the ground rose in a gentle slope. Nearby was a pile of rocks, covered in moss but obviously not natural. It was clearly the grave of some powerful king or noble, once famous in times past. 

That being the case, it was a place that a devout disciple of the Earth Mother such as herself should have shown the proper respect. 

“Urrrrrrgh…” 

And yet there was Priestess, gritting her teeth like a sullen child, barely able to conceal her unhappiness. High Elf Archer, going ahead of her, twitched her ears and whispered without looking back, “Very unusual.” 

“A sign of how difficult this is for her to accept,” Lizard Priest said with a nod. “One can hardly blame her.” 

Dwarf Shaman just looked up helplessly at the sky. He was surely not expecting anything from the gods in heaven. She’s like a right child, she is. 

The girl was seventeen years old. Two years into her majority, and certainly more grown-up than she used to be, but she was still young. Besides, by age alone, the anvil up ahead was the oldest of them by far. 

Adulthood was more than just the accumulation of years. She was still a young girl. Always diligently thoughtful, always worrying about everyone else, always trying to make herself useful—and that was precisely what made her seem such a child. It would all be very heartening to see, if one didn’t know the cause of it. 

“Hey, Beard-cutter. Say something to the girl, why don’t you?” 

“Hrm…,” Goblin Slayer, scouting from his position second in line, grunted softly. “Such as?” 

“Surely you don’t need me to tell you.” 

Goblin Slayer didn’t answer. There was no answer to give. 

His focus was on the ground in front of him, on the adventure ahead, and he had no attention to spare for other matters. 

As quests go, it is somewhat unusual. 

For one thing, no actual harm had been done yet, an all too rare feature of goblin hunts. The claim was that goblins had been spotted in the forest near the village that was used for hunting and gathering. They were little shadows that squirmed through the white mist. Shifting forms that a hunter identified as goblins. 

This hunter had been part of the battle the year before, as an archer. He would never mistake a goblin. He had debated with himself whether he should act first. When he considered that antagonizing one or two of the creatures could bring a whole horde down on his village, he thought better of it. 

It was quite understandable, too, that the hunter would take his concerns to the Temple of the Earth Mother before he thought of going to the Adventurers Guild. And it was through the nun he spoke to that the story reached Goblin Slayer… 

“I’ll do it.” That was what he had ultimately said. 

“ Eh, seems nothing has actually happened yet ,” Sister Grape had admitted with an embarrassed smile. “ It just worries a person, having goblins skulking around. ” 

“ I agree ,” Goblin Slayer had replied. “ I agree completely. ” 

The problems started after that. 

It wasn’t clear who had said it first, or why. But whispers began in town, at the taverns, even in the dark corners of the Guild. 

“ Think that nun is a goblin’s spawn? ” they asked. 

It was, of course, difficult to openly criticize the Temple of the Earth Mother. This was a world where gods performed very real miracles for people. They existed. That was a fact accepted by all. 

But attacking an individual was an entirely separate matter. Citizen or adventurer, not everyone was pure and upright. 

She was the daughter of a woman who had been impregnated by a goblin, they said. They turned lascivious eyes on the generous chest that strained against her nun’s habit, and they whispered. 

How could such rumors not reach Priestess’s ears? 

Her mind went back to the scene at the Adventurers Guild just before they had left. 

§ 

“ ? …” 

Priestess’s footsteps felt light as a feather as she walked through the Guild, the building bursting already with the morning sun’s luminous rays. She hummed a hymn as she mentally listed the things she would need. 

Gear—sometimes including weapons and armor—and items, particularly the usual consumables. Potions could go bad if they got old enough, and the grappling hook at the end of her rope could grow worn. Iron stakes could rust. It was important not just to replenish supplies after they had been used, but to proactively replace things that were showing their age. When you really needed a healing potion, you didn’t want to have to drink five or six to find one that worked. 

The best way to avoid that situation, then, was always to check your bag and purchase new supplies as necessary. 

This was what it meant for something to be habit. 

Not that I want to be cavalier, but… 

The thought that they were heading for a goblin hunt could be cause for unhappiness. She expected adventuring with him, with them, to be fun—or at least, she thought it would be—but the actual battle with the goblins… 

She felt she had grown up somewhat, yet self-confidence still seemed to elude her. This wasn’t good or bad—simply part of who she was, but anyway, she managed to be helpful sometimes. The diligent provision of supplies was the role Priestess had found for herself. Working at it with all her heart was her job, a respectable job that let her hold her little chest up high. 

“Hey, y’hear the rumor?” 

Thus, even when she caught the whisper, she paid it no mind at all. She had no reason to expect that it was anything to do with her. 

“You mean the one about that cleric, the Earth Mother one?” 

“Wha…?” She stopped short and found herself looking at some boys who, from the unblemished state of their equipment, she took to be new adventurers. 

It was a year since the training grounds on the edge of town had been completed. During the construction, Priestess had herself lent a hand in the short span of time before the place truly got up and running. Still, the majority of the instructors were seasoned adventurers; Priestess was just an assistant. One could almost go so far as to say that taking the lead in the battle with those goblins had been all she had done. 

The memory was precious to her now, because it had been the basis on which she had been promoted. 

Naturally, her heart also ached for those who had died. 

Many were the novices who had quit adventuring when they discovered the gulf between dreams and reality. 

Now the facility’s teachers were mostly old, retired adventurers, and Priestess was no longer part of it. Besides, there were plenty of new adventurers who chose not to receive any training. 

All of which was to say, she had no reason to think this had to do with her… 

“Oh, yeah, I know the one,” the other adventurer replied with a nod. The blood drained from Priestess’s face upon hearing what he said next. “There’s supposed to be this girl who got attacked by goblins, right? An adventurer?” 

Priestess couldn’t speak. She clutched at her belongings; it was all she could do not to drop them. 

Was there another cleric of the Temple of the Earth Mother who had failed a goblin hunt? Not that she remembered. 

What should I do? she found herself thinking. What should I do? That was the only thought in her mind. Her knees started to shake a little. 

“Not that one, dumbass,” the first boy smirked. He wasn’t looking in her direction. Priestess realized she had not been noticed, but she stayed rooted to the spot. “I mean the story that there’s some goblin’s kid there.” 

“Huh? A goblin’s kid?” 

“Eh, a friend of a friend told me. Not totally sure what he meant.” 

“But think about it.” The boy smirked again. “That dark-skinned lady?” 

What? Priestess thought. What are these people talking about? 

“Ugh, no way. You mean the one who makes the wine? Crap, I drank some of that stuff.” 

“Yeah… Makes you sick to your stomach, huh?” 

“They’re goblins , right? You’d have to be serious trash to lose a fight with them.” 

“It’s an easy win, long as they don’t get you surrounded. The Great Hero would burst out laughing— goblins !” 

“You know how it is—people who get in trouble with goblins turn into chicken littles. They’re like, Oh no! Goblins! ” 

“If they think goblins are bad, I hope they never see a dragon. They’d drop dead on the spot!” 

The boys’ cackles echoed through the room; Priestess huddled into herself to block her ears. We could handle a dragon if we had to! The words pulsed relentlessly in her mind. 

§ 

“…Concentrate,” Goblin Slayer said—just one word—as he crept soundlessly over the leaf mold. 

The word brought Priestess’s attention back to the present. She shook her head. High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman looked exasperated for some reason she didn’t understand. Lizard Priest shrugged, clearing away the reeds with what seemed like irritation. 

The trees blocked out the sunlight, the humid air stagnant. 

“I—I know…!” Priestess answered, dismayed and confused but alert to the smell, which was different from that of a goblin nest. She bit her lip and looked at the ground; she had been heedless of her feet. “I know, I really do…” 

She looked just like a child who had been scolded by her parents. She squeezed her sounding staff, resenting herself, feeling pathetic. 

I should have… 

She should have said something. Why didn’t she speak up? Why had she let the moment pass? Was it fear or something else? 

Perhaps it was simply that her brain couldn’t keep up with her emotions. Even now, hours later, she wasn’t sure. 

When and if we get home… 

She repeated the name of the Earth Mother to herself, trying to regain some measure of composure. If she couldn’t concentrate, she would die. She understood that all too well. 

She was perfectly familiar with the sight of the others who, normally engaged in easy banter, had focused all their attention on preparing for combat. She would try to imitate them. She would try to be like them, she thought, as she took in a deep breath and let it out. The dregs of her ire stayed with her, of course, but there was such a difference between trying and not— 

“Hey, do you smell something?” High Elf Archer whispered, her nose twitching. 

The party stopped. A beat later, Priestess came to a halt, too, and looked around. A party could live and die on the senses of its scout—and no scout had better senses than an elf. 

They listened hard, and then they heard something around them, a rustling as of something heavy moving through the leaves. 

Maybe the sky above the trees was overcast and gray. That was what Priestess saw in her mind’s eye as she sniffed the air. Rotting leaves, earth, humidity, all mingled together into a stale taste that clung to her tongue. 

It’s different from the smell of a cave, but… 

“I hafta think a funeral mound like this always has smelled and always will,” Dwarf Shaman said, but he still reached for his bag of catalysts and dropped into a fighting stance. 

“I wonder how much time has passed since this place went forgotten.” 

“Who can say?” Dwarf Shaman responded to Lizard Priest with a stroke of his white beard and gazed thoughtfully up at the sky. “A hundred years or a thousand. Though I doubt it reaches back as far as the Age of the Gods. And I don’t think our friendly anvil there has a stuffy nose.” 

“I’ll show you stuffy,” High Elf Archer growled, her ears sitting back, but Dwarf Shaman ignored her, whispering, “I also don’t think this mound is quite normal.” 

“Goblins?” 

“Can’t rightly tell,” Dwarf Shaman said and then shivered. “Wouldn’t be surprised for a wight to show up.” 

“Wight,” Goblin Slayer echoed. “…I don’t know that word. Is it some kind of monster?” 

“You don’t know any word except goblin .” High Elf Archer frowned, reaching for her quiver and pulling out a bud-tipped arrow. She set it gently into her bow as her ears swiveled this way and that, listening closely. “Wights are a type of spirit—cursed kings or generals who broke faith with a ruler and aren’t permitted to rest.” 

“I myself am no specialist, but…” Lizard Priest stretched out his long neck, his hands playing over a dragon’s fang in his palm. 

A fine mist had sprung up, but his lizardman eyes were untroubled by it. This party had a great diversity of races, including an elf, a dwarf, and a lizardman, so they were quite able to deal with poor visibility. Although it was a mystery to Priestess how the others were able to see so well in so little light. 

“…I should much more expect spirits than goblins in these old burial grounds,” Lizard Priest concluded. 

“Would goblins set themselves up where someone like that had lived…?” Goblin Slayer’s voice sounded softly from within the metal helmet. It was clear he didn’t like the situation. He kicked the dirt with the toes of his boots, searching for footing. The earth was treacherously soft, and he came away with mud on his soles. “I don’t like this.” 

Priestess swallowed heavily and clung to her staff. She felt a prickling on her neck, her hairs standing on end. It was an unpleasant sensation. She always had this feeling when something bad seemed about to happen. So she paid close attention to the funeral mound and everything within the vicinity, fixing her eyes on the shadows that flitted through the fog. 

The pillar of stones piled one atop the other. The vestiges of a burial mound of heaped earth. Did she see something moving in between them? 

It was not fair, perhaps, to say that was the reason she noticed. But she was the one who noticed the sign. 

Zzf. Almost soundlessly, all by itself, some mossy earth trembled, and that was what Priestess noticed. 

“Oh…!” she exclaimed. “The earth there…!” 

The next instant, an arrow was flying. High Elf Archer drew the bow and released it with a twang like a lute string, too fast to see. A mound of earth seemed entirely unperturbed by the arrow that was now sticking in it, but it rose up, as if crumbling from within. 

It was small, humanoid. It had nasty eyes and a foul smell. 

Priestess could only imagine it was one thing: a goblin. Goblin Slayer seemed to think the same. 

“So it was goblins. How many?!” 

“Not sure!” High Elf Archer twitched her ears as she readied another arrow. “But they’re coming from every direction!” 

And so they were. The mounds of earth all around began to shake and collapse, enemies rising from the soil on every side. Priestess groaned and pressed a hand to her mouth to resist the nauseating stench that now surrounded them. 

“Hoh-hoh. A sneak attack from within the earth.” Lizard Priest looked around, his eyes sharp, but on his jaws was a smile. “A rather refined stratagem for these little devils.” 

“We can admire them later! Beard-cutter, give us a plan!” Dwarf Shaman was reaching into his bag of catalysts. 

Goblin Slayer, his shield and sword at the ready, gazed around at the encroaching enemy forms. Then again, strictly speaking, his helmet made it impossible to tell where he was looking. Priestess flinched as she felt him glancing at her. 

“We’ll form a circle, centered around you,” he said quietly. “Get ready.” 

“Y-yes, sir!” 

The adventurers acted in the blink of an eye. At a moment like this, action now was better than a clever idea later. 

They surrounded Priestess protectively, ready with sword, bow, ax, and claws. High Elf Archer was in front of her, with Goblin Slayer to her left, Lizard Priest to her right, and Dwarf Shaman behind. In the middle of it all, Priestess bit her lip and looked carefully around with her staff in her hand. She was not looking, of course, at the enemy, which she couldn’t see for the fog, but at her friends, how they were doing. Her job would be to keep them all abreast of any pertinent new information as the situation developed. 

This role was second in importance only to the provision of miracles, and the responsibility and anxiety evidently weighed heavily on Priestess. 

“They aren’t moving very quickly, are they…?” she asked. 

“No, they aren’t,” High Elf Archer replied, her bow creaking as she watched the shadows flicker in the fog. 

Slick, flick. The figures got closer, step by step, and Priestess felt a chill run down her spine. 

“They didn’t go down even when I shot them. But I don’t hear any armor… Something feels off about this.” 

“What do you think?” Goblin Slayer took note of High Elf Archer’s appraisal and spoke softly to Lizard Priest in turn. 

The proven warrior hmmed and licked his nose with his tongue, sucking in a breath. “Speaking from a purely personal perspective, I am not eager to cede the initiative on this occasion.” 

“I agree,” Goblin Slayer said. “Stay in formation. We’re going to cut our way through.” 

“Right!” 

Forgetting the foreboding of a moment before, Priestess nodded emphatically. At this moment and this moment only, she felt she could let go of the fretfulness from the Guild. 

Though she was hardly thankful to the goblins for their help. 

§ 

“What is this?” 

A goblin tumbled backward, a spray of blood erupting from his throat where a thrown sword had mercilessly stabbed him. Even from behind the veil of fog, the rotten stench of flesh and blood made their noses prickle. 

The goblin fell with a thump, but then, soundlessly, its body floated up, rising slowly in the mist. 

“These are not goblins,” Goblin Slayer spat in frustration. 

“They’re obviously undead…!” High Elf Archer shouted back, firing off a literal hail of arrows. The bud-tipped bolts flew like lightning at angles that would be impossible for a human, disappearing into the mist. The ensuing thock, thock of arrows piercing flesh proved that her aim was true. But the squirming shapes in the fog continued to advance calmly on the adventurers despite the arrows bristling out of them. 

High Elf Archer gave a graceless click of her tongue: They just couldn’t seem to do enough damage. “Oh, for—! Why’s it always like this lately? This is why I hate anything nonliving…!” 

“Let us begin by breaking their legs!” Lizard Priest lashed out with his long tail, wrapping it around some rotting legs and slamming their owner to the ground. There was a perverse sound like a bursting fruit, but the goblin could only writhe on the ground and did not get up again. 

Lizard Priest wiped the filth from his tail and howled to his friends: “The flesh and bones are but complications; destroy them and the things will not move again!” 

“Thought you weren’t an expert on dead bodies…!” 

“To my knowledge, the dead do only one thing—return to the earth. Are these things some kind of slime, perhaps?” 

Dwarf Shaman shrugged at Lizard Priest’s easy reply to his own banter and hefted his ax. He only had one hand to use, because the other was in his bag. 

The blade of the ax bit through goblin limbs like tree branches, but it did little to forestall the dead, who knew no fear. 

“If they get their hands on us, it’s over,” Dwarf Shaman said, working his short legs to keep up with his party. “We have to find the necromancer, Beard-cutter, and take him out!” 

“Necromancer,” Goblin Slayer echoed quietly. “He’s controlling the goblins?” 

“How are we supposed to know that if you don’t, Orcbolg?!” High Elf Archer shouted. She had already put her great bow on her back and was holding her obsidian dagger in an ice-pick grip. She waved it menacingly, as if to say, Get any closer and I’ll cut you , but the goblins did not waver. From left and right, they popped out of the ground, drawing ever closer. 

High Elf Archer thrust her ears back in anger, cursing at them in elvish. The goblin corpses were many; the one saving grace was that they were slow. Circled up at the center of the horde, the party continued to move, not sure where they were going but diligently maintaining their formation. 

They were, however, gradually being cornered. It was only a matter of time until they broke ranks. 

“Uh, um…!” From her place in the center, Priestess strained to see into the fog; she put a finger to her lips as a thought came to her. Necromancer: Good or evil, it was anyone who used magic to control corpses, or so she had heard. That meant this was a spell at work. An accursed one. And that meant… 

“It must be coming from somewhere!” Her knowledge of the subject was fuzzy, but Priestess followed this flash of insight. “I don’t know if this is a goblin trick or the work of a true necromancer, but…” 

“Then it is most likely to be at the top of the funeral mound.” Lizard Priest, raking the nearest corpse with his claws and tearing it apart, said easily, “If it were I, that is certainly where I would offer my blessings.” 

Goblin Slayer picked up a sword at his feet, his helmet turning this way and that. It was likely this weapon had been buried with a soldier in this funeral mound. It was old, rusted, and he didn’t like the length. He gave it an experimental swing or two to feel it out, then looked at Priestess. “Can you stop it if we go to the source?” 

“Yes, sir…!” Priestess nodded firmly, clutching her staff. 

“Then it’s settled,” Goblin Slayer said. “We’ll head for the top of the mound.” 

The adventurers nodded at each other and began moving as one. They worked their way up the gentle slope, carving a path through the goblins that came at them from every side. There were few parties that could have plunged through a horde quite like this one did. Goblin corpses might stand in front of them, but they were hardly in the way. 

“Just have to cut off their legs—right…!” High Elf Archer mumbled as she ran ahead. She pulled out the bud-tipped arrows that had been so little help earlier. As she jogged along, she tapped one arrow with her dagger, causing the tip to split like a blooming flower. 

High Elf Archer held her dagger between her teeth, and with all the grace of a flowing stream, she took the great bow off her back and loosed the arrow. The bowstring twanged with a sound like a musical instrument, and the arrow slithered along the ground before bouncing upward. 

It went where it was intended: right at a goblin’s loins… 

“—?!” 

The arrow spun around the point of impact, tearing through the legs with a sickening sound. If corpses had been capable of surprise, this one would have been shocked. 

The adventurers stepped on and over the body where it lay, pressing ever forward. 

“Whoo!” High Elf Archer exclaimed, the dagger still between her teeth and her ears bouncing up and down as she made ready for the next shot. 

“Nasty business” was all Dwarf Shaman had to offer. “This is why they warn you never to go to war with elves…” 

He could criticize all he wanted, but he was no slouch himself. With the rear of the formation entrusted to him, Dwarf Shaman took a waterskin out of his bag of catalysts. He pulled out the stopper and poured some of it on the ground—he was simply getting ready. 

“Gnomes! Undines! Make for me the finest cushion you will see!” 

Even creatures that do not know death must still stand upon the ground. 

As Lizard Priest had said, the bones were merely a framework for these things, something on which to hang the flesh. When the ground suddenly bubbled up into mud, it swallowed their feet and sent them sprawling. They flailed and clawed, but it got them nowhere. After the mud had claimed their footing, after they had fallen into it with a great spray of wet earth, they were left essentially to drown. 

They gave great swipes of their arms, like panicked children, but they only continued to sink. As the goblin corpses continued to shuffle forward, lusting after the smell of the living, they simply got themselves mired in the muck, one after another. It would have been bad enough back when they had the intelligence of children, but now the goblins had lost even that. 

“Beard-cutter! I’ve got the rear covered; just go!” 

“All right” was all Goblin Slayer said before he sprang forward to the frontmost row. He flung his sword at a goblin corpse that wobbled in front of him, the blade burying itself deep in the creature’s head. He followed up by slamming his shield into its throat, digging through until he shattered the spinal cord. 

“They are numerous, as always…” He gave a click of his tongue as he stomped on a still-twitching arm, tearing away the rotten flesh. “Goblins are a nuisance, even after death.” 

“Goblin Slayer, sir!” 

Priestess’s shout was answered by the immediate whoosh of a club. The weapon split open the head of a goblin that was working its way out of the earth, trying to grab Goblin Slayer’s foot. He kicked the creature in its newly concave face, then looked around without a word. 

The enemy was indeed numerous. Overwhelmingly so. He could see ever more shadows writhing in the fog ahead. They almost looked like a single massive creature. 

But I suppose that’s no different from usual. 

That simple fact was unchanged. 

“………!” 

Behind him, Priestess clasped her sounding staff with both hands, nodding with a resolute expression. 

No problem, then. Having reached this decision, the party proceeded to cut through the fog with Goblin Slayer at its head. Upward, upward, ever closer to the top of the mound. 

Eventually, all became the disturbing sounds of flesh being shattered and cut, ragged breathing, and squelching mud. The occasional screams that echoed around the area were, they supposed, Lizard Priest’s war cries. The restless dead were silent as their peaceful counterparts. There was only a low groan soon carried away by the wind. 

Priestess blinked as drops of sweat ran down her forehead and into her eyes. The mist seemed to make her whole body cold and clammy, like rain, and her sodden garments clung to her skin. She pulled the hem of her skirt away from her legs, desperately trying to follow him , but her throat was tight with worry. 

The outcome of this battle, the chance for everyone to come home alive, rode on her willowy shoulders. If her prayer for Dispel, together with Holy Light, didn’t reach the Earth Mother, she didn’t want to think about what would happen. 

When their strength was finally exhausted, they would be taken by the mass of enemies, torn limb from limb, their guts split open, their honor besmirched, before they were finally eaten. 

All of a sudden, she thought maybe she was still in that cave. Maybe she was in that filthy goblin hole right now, lolling in the filth heap, waiting to die. 

Maybe she was just living some foolish dream as she lay reflected in the empty eyes of a horde of goblins. What could a little girl do who was capable only of collapsing in fear, weeping and calling the name of her god as her voice shook helplessly? That prayer would never reach heaven, and her friends would be shattered by the horde, murdered, and then she would follow, of course she would… 

“Almost there.” 

The words were brief, quiet, mechanical. He didn’t say keep fighting or it’s all right or any other warm encouragement. 

Priestess felt the space around her become brighter, and she replied “Right” in a small voice. 

It is different. It is. 

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with as much air as her little chest could hold. That was enough navel-gazing. It was the all-merciful Earth Mother who provided miracles; Priestess was merely a conduit. All her other party members were doing their utmost, so she, likewise, would pray with all she had. She couldn’t afford to be conceited. 

The thought made the blood that had seemed stultified in her veins start to flow again, making her mind quicker, everything easier. Maybe that was why. Priestess blinked. She heard something on the misty mound, a strange sound that didn’t come from the corpses… 

“…?! Heek?!” 

The next instant, Priestess’s cap went flying, dancing through space along with several golden hairs from her head. She listened to the prickle at the back of her neck, throwing herself down into the mud: It was the right choice. 

Something flew overhead with a whistle, something that had been headed for Priestess. Then it happened again. 

“Oh, ahh…!” She let out a cry as she lay there, her clothing streaked with mud. Her boots had been badly torn as she tumbled down, almost like she had been shoved, and blood was running from her thigh. Closer inspection revealed a proper gouge in her vestments; the attack had clearly been intended to take her life. If it hadn’t been for her chain mail, which glinted dully from regular use, the strike might have pierced her heart. 

Then came the third blow… 

“Above us!” Goblin Slayer said bitterly. “It’s not a goblin.” 

There was a thump of flesh and bone being cleaved, and a rotten arm went flying and sank into the muck. Goblin Slayer threw away the goblin arm, which was now just a wrist, pulling a rusted sword from its belt. He held the weapon in a backward grip, quickly crouching beside Priestess. 

“Can you stand?” 

“I’ll…be fine…!” Breathing hard and leaning heavily on her staff, Priestess managed to get unsteadily to her feet, only to collapse again from a shock of pain. It was not the pain but humiliation, the feeling of how pathetic she was, that brought the tears to her eyes. She would never reach the top of the mound— 

“Wha…?!” 

She had hardly finished the thought when she felt herself floating. It took her a moment to realize she was resting against Goblin Slayer’s shoulder. 

“Here we go.” 

“Oh! Y-yes, sir…!” She reached out as best she could to collect her hat, but at that instant there was another rush of air. Sparks flew from Goblin Slayer’s upraised sword, along with flecks of rust that settled on her face. 

“Can you take care of her?” Goblin Slayer asked quietly, unmoved by Priestess’s embarrassed babbling. 

The response came from his (it took him an instant and a breath, released inside that metal helmet) friend. 

“Sure thing!” High Elf Archer replied immediately; she zagged toward them even as she loosed arrows into the fog. An elf’s ears were the most sensitive things any word-haver possessed, and she could easily hit enemies she couldn’t see. “I only got a look at it for a second, but there was some humanoid thing with wings—living, I think! It didn’t look rocky!” 

“Ah,” Goblin Slayer replied. “Not a gargoyle, then.” 

High Elf Archer’s ears twitched, and Priestess forgot her pain for a moment and blinked. “You… You know about those…?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“Heavens—that’s some kind of demon!” Dwarf Shaman worked his stubby legs to keep up even as his ax lashed out, smashing apart goblin corpses. He held his weapon at the ready to defend Goblin Slayer and Priestess, scanning the skies. He frowned as he heard the sound of wind swoop around them. They had more than undead goblins to worry about now. This was not a positive development. 

“Long-Ears, I think we’ve seen the likes of this before. You know what I mean.” 

“…I think this one moves differently.” 

“Well, there’s major and minor ones.” 

“I think they should’ve called them aces and jokers…!” And then without so much as a twitch to give away what she was about to do, High Elf Archer loosed an arrow into the murk. The split-tipped bud wound away out of sight, answered by a great flapping of wings. The demon had changed course, hoping to avoid the incoming projectile. It had panicked. 

But the arrow had not missed. No elf wasted a shot. In other words, she had intended to miss. 

“Now!!” 

“Rrahh!! Velociraptor, behold my leap!!” The shout rang through the mist as a great dark shadow raised its tail. This was an ambush, lizardman style. 

“AAAARERRRERERREM?!” The demon, which had been staying silent to maintain the element of surprise, cried out with the impact. 

To do the same thing as before was to recognize that there was no need for a great change in fighting tactics. Lizard Priest’s claws and fangs once again grabbed hold of the demon, so that he was clinging to its back. 

“AREEEM!! AREEEMEER!!” The demon screeched wildly, cursing the scaly creature on its back as it flapped its wings and rose into the air. Its plan was all for naught now. It had meant to start by destroying that pitiful little girl. 

That was his goal, an ironclad rule of demonic battle: Start by taking out the cleric. Tear them apart until they looked like a worn-out dishrag. But now his hand had been forced. He would still kill them all, but he would have to start with this lizard. 

All creatures died if they hit the ground hard enough. He would bury this foolish fighter! 

“ARRERMERE!!” 

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Foul creature, found on no branch of evolution’s tree!” 

Even as the demon tried to gain altitude, he felt claws, both hands and feet, tearing at his back and wings; the creature wouldn’t come loose. Worse, the claws were tearing through his skin, spraying filthy demon blood everywhere. No matter the challenge, a lizardman would never overlook prey he could hunt. 

The strong survive, and to be strong and to survive in every sense was the lizardmen’s justice and truth. Lizard Priest took hold of the bat-like wings, a wild grin on his face. “Wings such as these are disrespectful to the pterodactyl! I’ll have to get rid of them!!” 

And then with a howl, his fangs bit into the demon’s throat. 

“ARRRRARARRRRMMM?!?!” 

The scream didn’t even hold meaning anymore. The lizardman’s claws ripped relentlessly through the demon’s wings, clasping the twisted bones, squeezing them. And finally, Lizard Priest with his great strength tore the monster’s wings clear off, tossing them away like so much garbage. 

“AARAMM?! ARARAMMMMRREERMMMM?!” 

All that remained was the fall. 

No one could say what the demon thought as he spiraled toward the earth. Blood and screams followed him like a long tail, like a comet crashing to the ground. A geyser of mud shot into the air, causing Dwarf Shaman—half-soaked in the stuff—to mutter, “That’s a better funeral than he deserves.” 

“Hey, are you still alive?!” High Elf Archer cried, but Lizard Priest sat up and replied calmly, “Oh, that was nothing.” He spat the foul demon blood from his mouth, then gave a great shake to get the mud off his body. With his tremendous feet, he stepped on the demon where it lay still twitching, craning his neck to look down at it. “Keep moving forward; don’t worry about this one!” 

“R-right…!” Priestess nodded, fighting the pain, and Goblin Slayer silently continued walking. Just look where you’re going. Nothing could be easier. Paying special attention to his left side, where Priestess was, he worked his rusty sword in swift, short strokes, chopping off goblin legs, treading over the bodies. 

His sword broke in half as he slew his umpteenth goblin, but now it was the perfect length. Yes, this was how long a sword should be. Goblin Slayer gave a flourish of his blade and then flung it forward. It flew straight and true, not tumbling end over end, lodging in a goblin’s throat. 

“Yikes!” Priestess yelped as Goblin Slayer swept her up, jumping forward and kicking the goblin down, crushing it underfoot. 

There was a stench of blood and mud, mixing with the reek of rot that came from corpses and the unmistakable odor of spilled innards. Everything was exactly the way it always was. The difference was that there was no screaming; the goblin who ought to have been dead simply squirmed under his boot. 

The goblins were unarmed; they simply shambled forward with eyes empty and hands outstretched. 

“I don’t like this.” 

These were not goblins. 

Goblin Slayer looked at his sword, which had been reduced to only its hilt. He had no supply of weapons. He set Priestess down carefully, raising the shield on his left arm. 

“Can you make it?” 

“I…” Priestess put her feet to the earth and groaned with pain. “I can…!” 

“Good.” 

Priestess nodded, holding back the tears that pricked at her eyes, and set off walking, dragging one leg. They were so close to the top now. That short distance seemed so far. 

Seized for an instant by a sort of regret, she looked back, and there was his round shield swinging behind her. It was so small, but the sharpened edge cut through rotten limbs like a hatchet through branches. Beyond that were High Elf Archer’s arrows, Dwarf Shaman’s ax, and Lizard Priest’s claws and fangs and tail, all perpetrating great violence. 

The mist seemed oddly thin; Priestess could see the whole battle, which should have been concealed from her by the fog. 

All of a sudden, High Elf Archer’s ears twitched, and she looked up and waved with a smile. Priestess nodded. Her leg hurt as badly as if her very heart were located within it, but she pressed on the wound, took a breath, and forced herself to her feet as she let the air out. She reached out to her staff as if in supplication; the blood from her wound— her blood—trickled down it. 

She clutched the staff. 

The plague demons that had run roughshod over the continent in the past had used something beyond simple curses to control corpses, or so it was said. If the same thing was happening now— if . That was the fear that lodged in her chest, but she took a breath and snuffed it out. 

All that was left was prayer. She would not do anything. She was just a conduit. 

So I don’t have anything to worry about. 

She took one last look at that grungy helmet, then squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. It was a direct connection of her awareness to the heavens above. Gentle, soothing fingers brushed the heart of this most devout disciple. 

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, grant your sacred light to we who are lost in darkness…!!” 

There was a flash, a light at once merciful and merciless, that wiped out the accursed fog in a white darkness. 

§ 

“Oh, wow…” 

As the mist cleared as if swept away with a broom, High Elf Archer was the first to speak. She crested the top of the funeral mound, kicking the damp, mossy earth on her way, and looked around. 

The sky was blue, the air was clear, and the wind was a pleasant tickle on her ears. There was a sense of peace here, as if it were a different place from the fog-shrouded hilltop of just a moment ago. 

Row upon row of inert pillars of earth stood around them. High Elf Archer tapped one right next to her with her bow, and it crumbled into a pile of soft soil. This was what had become of the monsters that had stalked them and threatened them until the miracle occurred. 

High Elf Archer had been witnessing these divine miracles with her own eyes for more than two years now, but she was still astonished by what they could achieve. 

“They all just turned into…dirt…” 

“Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, as they say.” Lizard Priest, still dragging along his heavy body, sounded downright relaxed. It was only natural that his movements would still be slow; he pulled something out of his bag to use as a palate cleanser—a wedge of cheese. High Elf Archer doubted, though, how good it could really taste when he hadn’t even rinsed out his mouth yet. “I know not of the devils of that other realm, but so long as the goblins die as well, then all is right in earth and heaven. This thing is well done.” 

“Hey, that’s right, the injury…!” 

High Elf Archer was not, of course, talking about Lizard Priest. He was the hardiest of any of them. The braids of her hair flew as she rushed up the hillside, giving Dwarf Shaman a knock on the head on the way by and receiving a “Mm!” and a look in return. 

“Where is she?!” 

“Up there,” said Goblin Slayer as she passed by. “Go and tend to her.” He was knocking over the piles of earth that had once been goblins to ensure that they had, in fact, stopped moving. 

“I’m on it,” High Elf Archer said and redoubled her speed, reaching the top of the hill in an eyeblink. “Are you okay?!” 

“I’m sorry…it took me so long…” Priestess was there, collapsed on the ground, her face pale, but with a heroic smile. There was a large tear in her cleric’s vestments but no sign that anything had gone through her chain mail. 

What caught High Elf Archer’s attention instead was Priestess’s leg, splayed out behind her. Blood was seeping through a bandage wrapped around the wound. The elf crossed her arms somberly. 

“Times like this, I wish I could use miracles,” she said. 

“No, I might still be able to manage…” 

“…That’s him talking, and I don’t like it.” 

Priestess could only smile painfully at her friend giving her a click of the tongue, as she leaned on her staff and worked her way to her feet. But the strength just wouldn’t enter her legs; she trembled like a child learning to walk and wasn’t sure she could stay standing. 

Geez… High Elf Archer sighed but then smiled as if to say, No other choice . “C’mere, grab on.” 

“Th-thank you…” 

“Just do it,” High Elf Archer ordered, dismissing Priestess’s air of abject apology, and then she let the girl lean against her. High Elf Archer was not much less delicate-looking than Priestess, but elves have rather greater physical abilities than humans. 

“Gotta say, though, I’m impressed,” High Elf Archer remarked, adjusting how she was supporting the girl. “Taking out all those zombies in one shot.” 

“I just assumed that undead would be vulnerable to anything that removed curses… I’m glad it worked.” Priestess put a hand to her chest in a gesture of relief, but meanwhile, she was covered from head to toe in mud. Her cap, her lovely golden hair, her white garments and boots, all of it. To be fair, it was perfectly understandable, given that she had fallen in the mud. 

“Sheesh…” As High Elf Archer looked at the girl, who appeared happy, oblivious to the filth that streaked her cheeks and even the tip of her nose, all anger toward her vanished. But I’ll have to give Orcbolg a piece of my mind. 

Her eyes quickly spotted him, having some sort of discussion with Dwarf Shaman. Of course, even at this distance, her ears were quite capable of picking up what they were saying. 

“What do you think?” 

“I couldn’t begin to guess whether there’s such a thing as a goblin necromancer, but I wouldn’t assume that demon earlier was the one behind this.” 

“You think not?” Goblin Slayer said, sounding surprised. “I thought this was the sort of thing demons did.” 

“Maybe the greater ones, like the one in that dungeon recently—the one that was just an arm…” Dwarf Shaman took a swig from the flask at his hip, then looked at the sky with a thoughtful twirl of his beard. “But this one struck me as a servant, not a master. Although, I’ll admit he was pretty strong for a lesser demon.” 

“A hob, in goblin terms.” 

“If you can even compare goblins and demons,” Dwarf Shaman said with a frown. “This thing was stronger than any hob, but as far as a place in the hierarchy, I suppose you’ve got the right idea.” 

“So there was another giving him instructions…” 

“That’s how it was in the battle ten years ago.” 

Ten years ago—the delving of the deepest maze in this world, the Dungeon of the Dead. The overflowing of death had created an army of the deceased, turning all the world mad. The ambitions of Chaos—to which the six adventurers, upon reaching the dungeon’s innermost chamber, had put a stop—were still fresh in the memory. Even this slayer of goblins and his party had lately challenged that abandoned labyrinth themselves. 

“The one thing I don’t understand is what they wanted. Y’don’t make a horde of zombies just to attack a village.” 

“That’s what a goblin would do.” 

“Don’t think it’s a goblin,” Dwarf Shaman said. “I think there’s a source of impurity under that burial mound, or otherwise this is the work of some evil cultist’s ritual, or…” 

There was no end to the possibilities. It wasn’t precisely a fool’s errand, but they totally lacked the manpower to find the truth. 

“Think it might be best to let the Guild know for starters. Then we can get other adventurers investigating this.” 

“Yes,” Goblin Slayer said with a nod. “If it’s not a goblin, it’s more than I can handle.” 

High Elf Archer’s ears sat back on her head to discover that he was still talking about goblins. “Come on, Orcbolg! You have to do a slightly better job than this of looking out for people!” 

The answer she received was brusque, as ever. “I do feel bad about it.” 

She sniffed, and Priestess, caught between the two of them, shrank into herself even further. “Oh, no… I-I’m fine…” 

“Let me remind you that it is okay to be a little angrier at him sometimes.” 

“I’m sorry,” Priestess said, shrinking further, and High Elf Archer simply sighed. 

Dwarf Shaman, sensing his moment, broke in easily, “Don’t squawk, Anvil. You know Beard-cutter cares in his own way.” 

“Yeah, well… Yeah.” 

“More importantly: Is there anything else moving around here?” 

“No, nothing. Not a sound. Other than us.” High Elf Archer gave a proud twitch of her ears. 

“All right,” Dwarf Shaman said, forced to acknowledge the superiority of the elf’s hearing. 

So the battle was over, for now. Priestess finally relaxed, bowing her head to Goblin Slayer, who had arrived at the hilltop. “I’m sorry, Goblin Slayer, sir. If only I could have done a better job…” 

“…” Goblin Slayer didn’t respond immediately, but the helmet flitted in High Elf Archer’s direction. There was a low rumble, then it turned toward Priestess. “…You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

Is that it? No, it wasn’t. Priestess understood by now: This was the silence of him looking for the words. 

“You did well… You were a help to us.” 

“Yes, sir!” Those words were all she needed to hear. Her face brightened, and she nodded eagerly. If she’d had a tail, it would have wagged. 

“How’d you like that, Orcbolg? Things didn’t quite go according to plan, and there was no treasure, but…” High Elf Archer gave a proud “Heh-heh,” spreading her hands wide. “We fought unknown monsters, cut our way through a horde of enemies, and triumphed over undeath! If that’s not an adventure, nothing is.” 

“Yes… Although, it was not goblin slaying.” 

That only seemed to make High Elf Archer happier. “It sure wasn’t!” she said. 

Maybe she was too busy being pleased to hear it. But Priestess caught the quiet whisper. 

Goblin Slayer, not attempting to hide the displeasure in his voice, growled quietly, “Then…where are the goblins?” 

§ 

There are only a few things that move faster than rumor: wind, light. Perhaps a thunderbolt. 

“Hey, didja hear? At the Temple of the Earth Mother, there’s—” 

“Oh yeah, the goblin’s—” 

The whispers in the buzzing tavern seemed innumerable. But that was typical for the drinking establishment attached to the Adventurers Guild. Those within often believed without proof, and just as often claimed to know that which they had neither seen nor heard. 

It was not simply that they were feckless gawkers. In this whole world, there was no information you could be totally certain of, even that you had confirmed for yourself. You might be misled by illusions; your own ignorance might cause you to mistake what was right in front of your nose; or there might be someone pulling the strings from the shadows. 

In the underworld, it was said that if you were going to dinner with your own grandmother, you’d better be sure to check out any dirt on her. It was true—and how much more so when you were dealing with novice adventurers. At best, they knew the myths and stories they’d heard from their village elders or their parents, vague tales of long-vanished times. Yes, they might be brave, and they might know how to seize an opportunity—they had, after all, left their towns and become adventurers. But all too few of these young people knew how to listen to a rumor, still less how to ascertain its truth. 

If anything, it could be called a privilege granted only to the young: the courage to take on the world with no knowledge and no experience, just one’s own wits. It was too grand a thing to disparage as simple foolishness or stupidity. 

So the rumors that flew around the tavern were an embodiment of youthful vigor—but still. 

“Urrrgh…” 

That was not how they felt to Priestess, freshly returned from defeating restless goblin corpses and the demon who commanded them. She let out a sound somewhere between a groan and cry from where she was slumped over, an empty cup in her hand. Her face and skin, so pale until a moment ago, were bright red now, and the enthusiasm of her drinking made even Dwarf Shaman’s eyes go wide. 

It was most unusual for her—perhaps the first time ever, in fact—but she was well and truly drowning her cares in drink. 

“G-gee, should you really be letting it get to you like that?” High Elf Archer rubbed Priestess’s back consolingly. “Rumors have a pretty short shelf life. Everyone’ll forget about it pretty soon, I’m telling you.” 

“A rumor that disappears ‘pretty soon’ for the elves is a legend that’s told for centuries among the rest of us,” said Dwarf Shaman. 

“What else am I supposed to say?” High Elf Archer shot back, raising her eyebrows with a keep-out-of-this look. 

Dwarf Shaman, however, ignored her, pouring himself more wine from the jug and drinking it down in a single gulp. High Elf Archer’s eyebrows got even higher at what seemed to be his total lack of concern for Priestess. 

“Goodness’ sake,” Dwarf Shaman said, like a master confronted with a dense apprentice. “Sometimes you need bad wine. Let the girl drink until she feels like stopping.” 

“I still think we should do something…” 

“We will, if she’s about to drown. Sometimes it’s best just to vomit it all up.” 

Besides, the girl keeps too much pent up inside. 

They didn’t know much of one another’s backgrounds—did friendship need any prologue?—but it had now been a bit over two years since they’d come together as a party. He knew only that this girl had been raised as an orphan at the Temple of the Earth Mother. Yet he also well understood that she put the feelings and happiness of others before her own. 

“Me, I think Beard-cutter could afford to take it easier on her.” Dwarf Shaman patted Priestess’s slim shoulders with a rough hand, gently, as she made an inarticulate sort of moaning noise. 

Amused to see Priestess so thoroughly inarticulate, Lizard Priest rolled his eyes merrily in his head. “Heavens, I’m sure she wishes to show off for our Goblin Slayer.” The cleric was relaxing on his seat—a barrel he was using in place of a chair. “If she were more tender, I believe a bit of indulgence would not go amiss, but one wishes she could be made to realize that the shell has come off this egg.” 

Still, the lizardman reflected, it was too much to bear, too embarrassing to rant and rave, and too humiliating to be unable to act. Thus, she found herself leaning on the rest of them. Lizard Priest chuckled softly. It was unmistakably the laugh of a vicious, carnivorous beast, yet at the same time, it contained a deep well of love, the laugh of a monk. 

High Elf Archer hmmed as if she was not impressed, then splayed herself out on the table in imitation of Priestess. The elf lay there with her arms outstretched, her head lolling to one side, only her eyes turning to take in Lizard Priest. “You’re supposed to be a monk; you could stand to say something more monkish.” 

“Well, now…” Confronted with her look, Lizard Priest touched the tip of his nose with his tongue thoughtfully. A high elf was looking at him with eyes brimming with the spirits of wine, clearly incensed. Any normal man would have been intimidated. Lizard Priest, however, was unmoved; he only opened his jaws and said calmly, soberly: “One may, I believe, safely disregard such idle chatter as what we have been hearing… At least, such as my personal opinion.” 

“Look, we have no idea if it’s true or not,” High Elf Archer said, sticking out her pointer finger and drawing a lazy circle in the air. “But there’s gotta be someone who started this rumor, right? And they’re guilty of bad-mouthing our girl’s senior nun.” 

The rumors disgusted her, and it wasn’t as if they concerned a total stranger. High Elf Archer had seen her friends and her forest targeted by goblins. She herself had even been subjected to them once. She wasn’t the type to linger over unpleasant memories, but there was no question it had been a terrifying experience. So now her long ears drooped pitifully, and she mumbled, “Don’t you wonder…what they were thinking?” 

“Groundless rumors are the fundamental stuff of battle. They are not incantations nor curses.” Lizard Priest shook his head gently but spoke firmly, as if to overrule the elf’s quiet words. “Where there is hostility but no courage, then it is more certain than the falling of a star that the foe will be silenced by strength.” 

“…You don’t, like, hate hearing something awful being said about you?” 

“If that is enough to break me, it means I was the weaker. And not worth fearing in the first place.” His brusque declaration sounded very much in character. 

But it was too much for High Elf Archer, who muttered, “Bar bar ian,” but giggled. 

“Well, aren’t we having quite the lovely time?” quipped Dwarf Shaman. 

“How could we not when we are drinking with our dear cleric?” replied Lizard Priest. 

The two men smiled at each other and shrugged as if to say there was nothing more to do. When they needed to, they would enlist the help of some other female adventurers to get the girls up to their rooms. In the meantime, they would drink the night away—that’s what they were planning, anyhow, when: 

“All right, food’s here!” With a padding of feet, the waitress bustled up to the party’s table. The tray she carried bore a basket of bread and some kind of steaming metal stewpot. 

“Food…?” High Elf Archer inquired, lifting her head and sniffing the air. 

“Meal’s here, all right,” Dwarf Shaman said. “Now get off the table before you get burned.” 

“Yaaay, food!” High Elf Archer raised her hands in celebration. 

Lizard Priest, meanwhile, reached out and gently rearranged Priestess into a sitting position. 

“Mrrf…?” 

“I think you had best put some food into that belly along with your wine, or you may find your stomach quite upset.” 

“Uh-huh,” Priestess mumbled like an overtired child, but she managed to hold herself upright. Barely—her head drooped dangerously where she sat… 

“One dried ice fish in garlic oil, here you go!” Into the newly cleared space on the table, Padfoot Waitress placed a small stewpot that looked very, very hot. Olive oil bubbled inside. There were stalks of onion, boiled until they were limp, and then a small fish. Boiled with garlic and spices, it produced an indescribable aroma; Lizard Priest’s nostrils flared as he took it in. Though perhaps he was in fact smelling the bread and cheese in the basket that accompanied the fish. 

“I thought the season for ice fish was winter, just before they lay their eggs. Is it any good right now?” Dwarf Shaman peered into the pot with interest, squinting at the slightly pungent steam. 

“Heh!” Padfoot Waitress sniffed, puffing out her shapely chest. “Spring was cold this year, you see. You can still catch some ice fish carrying their roe!” 

Now all the proof would be in the eating. Dwarf Shaman took himself a heaping helping of fish and onions and began munching away at it. There was a tingle of spices, followed by soft fish flesh bursting in his mouth, meeting the texture of the onions—it was beyond words. 

High Elf Archer had appeared suspicious at first, but when she finally tried an onion, she was quite pleased to discover it was good. Lizard Priest, for his part, was putting the cheese on the bread, dipping it in the soup, and then eating it, accompanied by cries of “Sweet nectar!” 

“What’s with her?” Padfoot Waitress asked, gesturing at Priestess. “She get her poor little heart broken?” The cleric was listlessly sipping from her spoon. “I brought this food by thinking maybe she was depressed…” 

“It’s that rumor that’s been going around,” High Elf Archer grumbled, looking at Padfoot Waitress from under heavy eyelids. “Dirty, rotten rumors! What’s so much fun about them?” 

She didn’t seem to be speaking to, or indeed glaring at, anyone in particular, but rather at the entire phenomenon of spreading stories. 

“Ah,” Padfoot Waitress said, unperturbed by High Elf Archer’s evident ill temper. “Yeah, can’t say I’m a big fan of that sort of thing myself. But I guess the people with the sharpest ears have already started to act.” 

“How do you mean?” Lizard Priest asked pointedly, halting the progress of his bread and cheese. 

“Hmm?” Padfoot Waitress replied, pressing the pads of her paws into her cheeks. Perhaps she hadn’t expected such a sharp response from him. “I mean, there’s already this merchant from the water town asking if we don’t want to buy his wine instead of the stuff from the Earth Mother’s temple.” 

“A merchant, eh…?” Dwarf Shaman growled. 

“Quicker to strike than any predator I know of,” Lizard Priest said. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, the old man turned them down.” 

As well he might. The rhea chef was altogether too good-hearted a person, too capable and trustworthy, for such mischief. He knew the difference between what he had seen and heard for himself and a merchant who had come drifting along on the currents of rumor. 

Of course, sometimes following those currents could lead to the best outcome. It was, in effect, a question of one’s personal stance. Living and dying were as close as two sides of a sheet of paper. It was as true for merchants as it was for adventurers. 

“What do you make of it, Master Spell Caster?” 

“Afraid I don’t know any more than you do, Scaly.” 

Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest held a whispered conference about just such a stance. They questioned whether it was possible to respond so promptly to a story that had only begun to circulate in the past couple of days. With merchants, though, it would be a surprise if there wasn’t something going on behind the scenes. 

When there were large sums of money involved, there were often runners in the shadows. There were coins to count, potential profit and loss to calculate; and where money was involved, dwarven knowledge often applied, but… 

I just don’t know. 

He hadn’t had enough wine yet; that was the problem. Dwarf Shaman nodded sagely, filled another cup with wine from the Temple of the Earth Mother, and took a drink. 

“Where is that weirdo friend of yours anyway?” Padfoot Waitress said, putting her hands on her hips as she picked up the thread of the conversation. “Now of all times, he ought to be looking after this girl…” 

“Goblin Slayer?” To their surprise, it was Priestess who spoke up, in a voice that was quiet but—much like his—carried well. “…He made his usual report, and he went home, just like he always does.” 

“Argh,” Padfoot Waitress said, pressing her paw pads to her forehead and looking up at the ceiling. Weird is one thing, but he’s stupid, too! 

§ 

“They weren’t goblins.” 

“What, really?” 

“They were corpses,” he said. Then added, “That moved.” 

“I see, goblin zombies… Anything else?” 

His helmet tilted at the question. He went silent, evidently thinking. There was a pause. 

“And a demon.” 

“Demon?” 

“It was red.” It seemed like that was all he was going to say, but then he appeared to remember something else. “It flew in the sky.” 

I see. Guild Girl gave a quick nod, her pen scratching over the report paper sitting on the counter in front of her. 

After any given adventure, it was the job of the Guild to take down the adventurer’s report, formalizing it as paperwork. It was important, not least because these reports would form the basis for any potential promotions—they reflected, as it were, the adventurer’s experience points. Of course, some of the less savory adventurers had been known to exaggerate their own accomplishments, so one always had to be careful. Guild employees could not simply take everyone at their word, and figuring out who to trust was part of their role. 

Then again… Guild Girl let out a mental sigh, stealing a glance into the helmet across from her… This particular adventurer doesn’t seem to have any interest in further promotions. 

Meaning this was her chance to sneak in a little chitchat—call it a fringe benefit. Of course, one mustn’t mix one’s professional and private lives, and she would never think of giving less than her best effort to her work, but… 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, uh, nothing.” 

She hadn’t expected the question; she quickly shook her head, sending her braid bouncing. 

Her pen must have stopped moving. Or perhaps he had noticed her looking at him. Guild Girl cleared her throat to hide her embarrassment and forcefully changed the subject. “So, ahem… What do you think?” 

“Of what?” 

“That girl,” Guild Girl said, discreetly looking down. “You know, there are all those rumors…” 

Although there was still a childlike quality to Priestess, it had already been two years since she’d become an adventurer. She had turned seventeen. Even as she grew into her womanhood, she was maturing as an adventurer, and in the near future, they would have to talk about promoting her again. 

And in the middle of all that came these unsavory rumors about goblins. She was like a little sister, a valuable friend, and someone who was on her way to becoming a stalwart adventurer. This wasn’t confusing professional and private: In this case, Guild Girl’s professional and private feelings pointed the same way, and she couldn’t let this matter go. 

“Well…” Goblin Slayer grunted from inside his helmet. “She did appear to be somewhat disheartened.” 

“…Do watch out for her, won’t you?” 

“I doubt it would mean much if I spoke to her.” He shook his head slowly. “The most I could say is that she’s all right, so there is nothing to worry about. But what purpose would it serve?” 

“Well, you’re not wrong, exactly…” Guild Girl thought back. Back to Priestess’s first adventure. 

The party members she had met at the Guild. A group of people who still didn’t know one another but who forged ahead based on dreams and hope and a sense of what was right. 

It would be easy to ridicule them, to say they were thoughtless, foolish. But she didn’t see it that way. She was sure there was something there, something precious within them that they shared with every adventurer. The only problem, the simple, unfortunate fact, was that they had overreached themselves, gotten ahead of the growth of that thing… 

And only one adventurer had survived. A girl, orphaned a second time. 

The entire fact that she had stood back up, and was progressing forward, was thanks to one thing: him and their party members. 

So what could he say? That’s why you shouldn’t worry about it; the rumors aren’t about you anyway ? 

True, that would be no kind of help to her. 

She thought she knew what he believed. That if one did not stand up and move on one’s own, one’s situation would not change. 

Guild Girl, though, set down her quill pen and let a smile come onto her face, different from the one she had to put there by force. “When you’re hurting, sometimes…it can make you surprisingly happy when someone goes out of their way to do something for you, you know?” 

Like if you were buried in quests, and someone appeared who took them on. Or if you were attacked on the night of a festival, and someone came to rescue you. 

“…I see.” Goblin Slayer sounded like he was thinking about it, and then, abruptly, he went silent. He took a deep breath before his next soft murmur. “I admit, it doesn’t make much sense to me.” 

Guild Girl spent another few minutes listening to Goblin Slayer’s report and creating the paperwork. When they were done, he stood up with a simple, “All right,” and began to walk off with his usual heavy stride. But then he suddenly stopped, and his helmet turned toward the tavern. Priestess was there, her face flushed with wine, surrounded by their friends, who were chattering away. 

For a moment, he stood and watched them, then slowly worked his way out of the Guild. 

Confronted by the gently swinging door, Guild Girl could only sigh. 

§ 

“Psst, hey… C’mere!” 

He had just gotten out the door and into the night when Goblin Slayer found his arm grabbed. Dragged into the shadows, he managed to free his arm and get a look at his interlocutor. It was a living creature, humanoid, completely concealed under a battered overcoat. 

A goblin? 

No, not a goblin. It was too tall and its voice too high. He dropped his hips and put his hand on his sword, completely alert. Behind the visor of his helmet, he moved only his eyes, scanning the area. They were behind the Guild, where materials for the workshop and ingredients for the kitchen were stored. He came here often when he was helping her . He had a sense of the terrain. He could move around. There would be no problem. 

“What?” 

“…You don’t have to growl at me like that,” the figure in the overcoat said, chuckling awkwardly. “It’s not like we don’t know each other.” 

“In that case,” Goblin Slayer replied, feeling out the footing with his toe, “take off your coat.” 

He detected a sigh of breath, and the other person resignedly removed their outerwear. 

Waves of black hair spilled forth like a roiling sea, and he saw dark skin. “I was trying to keep a low profile here…” Sister Grape looked away, nervously scratching her cheek. 

Goblin Slayer slowly took his hand off his sword and straightened up. There was no need for such caution after all. “I simply thought you might be a goblin.” 

“Was that a hint of sarcasm I detected?” 

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. Then after a moment’s silence, he added, “At least, that wasn’t my intention.” 

“Hmm,” Sister Grape said, and her face broke into a smile. “It’s nice to meet a man who knows what he wants.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

The conversation halted for a moment. Sister Grape fiddled uncomfortably with her hair, and Goblin Slayer waited for what she would say next. “Uh, say…” 

“What is it?” 

“Erk,” Sister Grape yelped, caught off guard by the instantaneous reaction to the words she had worked so hard to summon. Still, she managed a small cough and gathered her battered courage. Whatever one was doing, by starting it face-to-face, it was impossible to turn back. “The girl… I just wondered, how’s she feeling?” 

“How do you mean,” Goblin Slayer murmured, “how’s she feeling?” 

“Just, you know, she isn’t pushing herself too hard on adventures or…” Sister Grape stumbled through what was clearly a cover, before she finally said what was on her mind. “Maybe I’m just thinking too much into things, but look. I was, you know, worried that the rumors about me might be a problem for her.” 

Goblin Slayer didn’t answer immediately. He went silent inside his helmet, though there was an audible grunt. He didn’t know how best to respond. “She’s doing well,” he said, then paused distinctly. “At least, I think so.” 

“I see…” Mm. Sister Grape nodded, then leaned back against a wooden box behind her. Had she relaxed a little? Goblin Slayer thought she looked less tense. “I see. If she’s doing well, then that’s great. That’s all I need to hear.” 

In fact… 

“It seems like she’s moving on up. I’d hate to think I had gotten in her way. That would be awful.” 

In fact, she looked to him like his older sister, insisting with a smile on her face that she was okay. 

“How could you get in her way?” Goblin Slayer said, almost before he meant to. Sister Grape blinked at the forceful question. “You couldn’t possibly.” 

“…Glad to hear that,” Sister Grape replied, and then she put the overcoat back on, her smile vanishing into the darkness. “Guess I’d better be on my way, then.” 

“…” Goblin Slayer’s helmet turned, indicating the window of the tavern, which was illuminated with a warm light. “You’re sure?” 

“I’m sure.” Sister Grape nodded. “I told you, I don’t want to cause her any trouble.” 

“Is that so?” 

“All there is to it. 

“See you,” she said with a wave of her hand, and then she slipped off into the dark. The adventurers she passed, catching sight of the vestments of someone from the Temple of the Earth Mother, glanced after her. Their whispering voices somehow seemed all too audible inside the metal helmet. 

Goblin Slayer grunted softly, glowered up at the sky with its two moons, and then, without another word, walked away. 

§ 

The night did not seem to belong to spring or summer or fall, but might have been part of any of them or none of them. Unusually, there was no breath of wind, the air sitting heavy over the land. The starlight was slight, and the red moon shone dim; only the green moon glowed brightly. 

Goblin Slayer was no astrologer. He couldn’t divine the workings of fate and chance in the movement of the stars. So he paid no further attention to the heavens but looked down and walked on his way. 

He didn’t like it. 

He didn’t like any of it. 

Even though he was walking down a dusty dirt path, his feet felt as heavy as if he were dragging them through the mud. At every step, he had to wrench his boot from the earth, and he brought it back down as if kicking the very ground beneath him. 

Had he looked up, he might have been able to see the lights of the farmhouse in the distance by now. But he never did look up; not at the lights and not at the stars, but only down at the mud. 

It was, indeed, a long road. He seemed to remember those were the words to a song his master had sometimes hummed. 

He couldn’t shake the sense that the road went ever on and on and that he would never return home. He felt abandoned in the darkness between the bustle of town, the lights of the house he was trying to get back to, and the spreading fields around. He even felt that he could smell the stench from under the floor that night, dredged up from deep within his memory. 

He said nothing but only ground his teeth. That was all in his mind. The things in front of him at this moment, that was all he needed to be paying attention to. Everything else was over. 

“……” 

He finally looked up when he heard the sound. He knew from traveling this road time and time again that this sound did not belong here at night. 

It was the heedless clattering of wheels and the thump of horses’ hooves. A fluttering light was coming from the direction of the farm toward him, approaching fast. 

A carriage? Even as he put a hand to his sword, Goblin Slayer took a step to one side to open the road. Two horses went racing past him; they seemed to see no value in sparing a glance at the grimy adventurer. They were followed by a carriage so ornate the luxury of it was evident even veiled in darkness, despite the poor light of the stars and moons. The driver was well appointed, wielding the reins with pretension even as he held his hat to his head. 

Goblin Slayer watched them go in the direction of the town until they disappeared as if covered over with black paint, and then he shook his head. 

Truly, he didn’t like any of this at all. 

§ 

“…Ahh, you’re back?” The calm, quiet voice greeted him as he arrived at the gate of the farm sometime later. 

He turned his helmet until he discovered the owner of the farm leaning against a gate post. “What’s the matter?” 

“Just went to check on the cows.” It sounded like an excuse. Then the owner fixed him with a stare, his mouth opening and closing a few times. After a moment’s hesitation, he seemed to simply give up; he said impassively, “Little late tonight, aren’t you?” 

“No,” Goblin Slayer told him, but then thought for a second before adding slowly, picking his words, “It seems a carriage was here.” 

“There was,” the owner replied, with a disgusted shake of his head. “A wine merchant, from the water town. And no minnow, either.” 

“A wine merchant?” 

“Wanted to know if I was interested in focusing on field work, turning this whole place to barley fields. Seems like he wants to brew his own beer.” 

“…” There was a grunt from inside the helmet. He didn’t know whether that was a sound business proposition or not. And it was not for the ignorant to offer comment. That was a matter for the owner, and her . He was well aware that it was not his place to go offering opinions. He intended to behave like it. 

“…Turned him down, I did.” 

Hence, he was acutely aware of the way the breath involuntarily sighed out of his mouth when the owner said this. He didn’t quite know why, but he felt as if something immensely quiet within his heart had been satisfied. 

“It’s not about whether it would be clever to do something new or best to keep doing something old…” The owner crossed his arms and looked up at the stars as if unsure how to conclude. He imitated the gesture, looking at the sky. The stars and the moons shone so brightly it almost hurt. He squinted behind his visor. The owner glanced at him and, after a moment, said softly, “…But I happen to like my life the way it is.” 

“…Yes.” He nodded slowly. On this one point, he was sure. It was one of the few things he could declare with confidence. “I think you have a good farm.” 

“That so…?” the owner said shortly, then repeated tonelessly, “That so…” At length he said, “The girl’s waiting for you with dinner.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Eat it, and get some sleep.” The owner slowly turned away from him, heading for the cows he had allegedly been checking on just moments before. “Just finished a job, I presume… And you’re selling yourself, aren’t you?” 

“…Yes, sir.” 

“Make sure you rest up, then.” 

“Yes, sir,” he repeated as he watched the owner walk away. Then his nose twitched, and he caught the aroma of boiling milk from somewhere. The helmet turned again, and he began walking slowly toward the door of the house. 

His feet still felt heavy. 

§ 

She didn’t ask any questions, just silently watched him eat his stew. She sat across from him, her hands on her cheeks—but her expression was different from usual. Normally, she would smile happily, but today, strangely, her smile was missing. 

After taking a few spoonfuls of stew, sucking them in through the visor of his helmet, he grunted quietly. 

There was the hiss of the candlewick burning down. The canary chirped sleepily. In the distance, the cows lowed in displeasure. There was a gust of wind, and the night somehow felt deeper. It occurred to him to look out the window, where he discovered that the stars and moons had been hidden by clouds. 

With a clack, he set his spoon on the table, considered, and then opened his mouth. “Is something…the matter?” 

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” This was followed by an annoyed humph . She let out a breath as if—only as if, he thought—she was exasperated. Inside his helmet, he closed his eyes. She could divine no meaning from his mask or his visor. Sometimes they got in the way, sometimes pierced her heart, but… 

Is that what’s going on? 

Because she was always that way , it was actually somewhat gratifying. Knowing she had seen through him, he felt silly for trying to put on. Who could blame her for being exasperated? 

“It’s not work, is it?” she said. “So what is it? Did something happen to someone else?” 

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then took in a breath and let it out. Beyond the slats of his visor, he could see her eyes, looking at him. Straight at him, as if she could see it all, but still she waited for him to speak. 

At last he steeled himself and put things, however briefly, into his own words. “I’m lost.” 

“Unusual for you.” 

“Yes.” 

What would his master say, if he were to hear this? Actually, he probably wouldn’t say anything, just laugh and hit him. Act! That was his master’s teaching. The moment you decided to do something and then followed through, victory was yours. If you do nothing, nothing happens. Whether or not you can do it is something else entirely, but whether or not you will do it is entirely up to you. 

Of course, if you fail, people will laugh at you… 

How many times did he make that point to me? 

What was it he felt so uncertain about? He looked down at the half-empty bowl of soup so he would no longer have to meet her gaze. “There’s something I want to help with.” 

“Yeah…?” 

“But I don’t know how to do it.” 

Speaking the words aloud brought it home to him. It was good to act. So what should the action be? 

How simple goblin slaying was. Hack and slash. That’s all there was to it. He knew what he had to do to accomplish it. He was always thinking about it. But… 

That won’t help me this time. 

Lost as he was, it suddenly struck him: the reason why goblins only ever stole anything. All they needed to avoid resorting to thievery was to make things of their own. But how? Racking their brains to come up with a solution—that was terribly difficult. 

And goblin slaying alone, at worst, would claim only his own life. When acting as the leader of a group, the lives of his friends (another soft grunt accompanied this thought) were riding on him, but solo, it was different. 

In this case, though, everything was different. This was not about him. It was not about goblins. If he got it wrong, it was not he who would bear the consequences. 

He had never once been under the illusion that he had become a master of all trades. There were a great many things he couldn’t do. But to realize just how few cards he really held—it was unpleasant. 

He registered all this, but still he was just a single, impotent man. No different from when he was hiding under the floorboards… 

“Mn, I wonder.” Her words sneaked into his heart. 

“…” He looked up from the bowl of soup, gazing at her as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

Her head was tilted to one side in concern, and she appeared to be thinking deeply, yet she was smiling. “I don’t really get it, but this sounds tough.” 

“…I suspect.” 

“In that case…” Her voice seemed to draw a line, cheerful and clear. “Just be your usual self.” 

“My usual self.” 

“Yeah, every bit of you.” 

He was lost for words. She just smiled; it sounded so simple. 

Perhaps—perhaps it really was as unremarkable as that. Was that how he always acted, from her point of view? He cast his mind’s eye back on the boy under the floor ten years ago and nodded slowly. 

“…Is that so?” 

“Sure it is.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is…” 

He picked up his spoon again. 

What would his master say, if he were to hear this? Actually, he probably wouldn’t say anything, just laugh and hit him. 

He had been a poor disciple, not quick to learn lessons. Behind his helmet, his lips softened nearly into a smile. 

Almost as if she could tell, she smiled even wider and quietly got up from her seat. “You want seconds?” 

“Yes, please.” 

§ 

“See you later!” 

“Yes” was Goblin Slayer’s only response as he left the farm. 

Perhaps rain had fallen during the night, or perhaps it was just morning mist. The grass gleamed in the sun, and the sky was blue enough to hurt the eyes. Goblin Slayer looked through his visor at the sun and the white clouds, then set off slowly. 

Today, strangely, she hadn’t volunteered to go with him. “It’s better that way, right?” she’d said, and he hadn’t known how to respond. She probably knew better than he did. So he simply did as she said. Always, it seemed others understood better than him. 

He followed the path along the fence, nodding his head when he spotted the owner far off with the cows. He didn’t see whether there was a reaction. He was determined not to check. 

He proceeded silently along the road, damp but drying quickly in the sun. Soon he found himself on the byway, then heading toward the frontier town, each part of the path bringing more and more people. 

As a child, he had longed to walk this road ever since the first time he wished he could become an adventurer. Now, since registering with the Guild, he walked it virtually every day. Today he strolled along lost in thought, able to follow the road by memory. He slipped past one person after another, heading straight for the Guild. Before he pushed his way through the swinging door, he stopped and looked up at the building. 

Had he ever really paused to take it in before? 

It’s been nearly seven years now, and yet— 

“…Not going to go in?” 

Goblin Slayer slowly turned to the source of the voice behind him. It was Guild Girl, standing and giggling almost in a shadow. In her arms, she protectively clutched a brand-new inkpot and quill pen among other small items. 

“I promise I’m not late for work,” she said when she saw him looking at her. “I was on a special errand. I guess the lid didn’t sit right on my inkpot, and all the ink dried up.” 

Goblin Slayer seemed to search the thin air for something to say before grunting softly. “No,” he said, but it wasn’t clear what he was denying. “I was only looking.” 

“Oh, okay. But don’t you see it every day…?” 

“Yes.” 

Hmm. Guild Girl held her purchases thoughtfully to her shapely chest. She looked up at Goblin Slayer, seeming to see straight through the visor. “I know the feeling—even if you see it every day, sometimes you just want to take a good, long look.” 

“Is that the case?” 

“I should say so.” Guild Girl nodded and smiled, although Goblin Slayer wasn’t sure quite what was so funny. 

“I see,” Goblin Slayer said, glancing first at Guild Girl and then at the Guild. Nothing about the building had changed. Or rather, he couldn’t remember how it had appeared the first time he had been here. He simply couldn’t imagine it changing. 

After another moment of staring at the building, he shook his head and turned back to Guild Girl. “Most likely,” he said, then mulled over his words for a second, “today and tomorrow, I won’t be able to go on goblin hunts.” 

“Goodness,” Guild Girl said, pointedly widening her eyes a bit and acting surprised. “Are you taking a vacation?” 

“I’m not, but…” 

“…Hee-hee, I see how it is. What a fix I’m in…” Gracious. Guild Girl pasted a smile on her face, playing with the end of her braid as if unsure about something. 

Goblin Slayer thought he should say something and opened his mouth. But nothing came out. At last he managed to squeeze out simply, “I see…” 

It hardly meant anything, but Guild Girl giggled nonetheless. “It’s all right.” (Inside his helmet, Goblin Slayer blinked at her response.) “I’m not out to put the entire load on you alone, Goblin Slayer.” No need for concern! With that, Guild Girl puffed out her chest and added, “Don’t worry about us!” 

“I see,” Goblin Slayer said, letting out a breath. “I will finish as quickly as I can.” 

“That’s good. We can get by without you, but it’s certainly nice to have your help.” Guild Girl blushed slightly as she said this, then ran off with all the energy of a happy puppy. Just before pushing through the swinging door, she slowed. Her triple braid bobbed as she turned back to him. “Whatever you’re doing, good luck! I’ll be rooting for you!” 

“Yes,” Goblin Slayer replied, short, quiet, and dispassionate. 

Guild Girl veritably danced through the door of the building. He watched her go, then he watched the door swing for a moment, and then he slowly began to walk forward. His usual bold stride, nonchalant, almost violent. 

“That’s what I’m sayin’! Charging in, stabbing first, and asking questions later, that’s a kind of adventure, too!” 

This exclamation was the first thing he heard as he walked through the door. 

It was Spearman. He was over in a corner of the waiting area where adventurers of every type lounged and relaxed. On a bench in front of him were Scout Boy and Druid Girl, along with Rookie Warrior, Apprentice Cleric, and Harefolk Hunter. 

Come to think of it , Goblin Slayer thought with a shake of his head, perhaps they’re no longer rookie nor apprentice. 

The young people were surrounded by longtime adventurers. 

“No one’s gonna think of you as a first-rate adventurer if you just sit around waiting for quests to come to you,” Spearman said, sounding like a teacher delivering a lecture. 

Beside him, the voluptuous witch he was always with, likewise sitting on the bench, opened her mouth. “That’s, true,” she said. She was virtually whispering, yet somehow, the words reached even Goblin Slayer’s ears. “How, exactly, does…an adventure start? That’s something only…the gods know…no?” 

Hmm. The five young adventurers on the bench had already amassed a fair amount of experience, but this didn’t quite seem to be making sense to them. 

Scout Boy gave them a blank look. “Are you sure about that?” 

Female Knight crossed her arms in front of her armored chest and nodded sagely. “I think she’s right. Nobody knows where you’ll find the seed of the adventure that might save the world. Be it omens of the Dark Gods’ revival, gates to other planes, or the Hellmouth itself, you can’t survive if you don’t know how to see what’s around you.” 

“Listen to her.” Heavy Warrior rested his chin in his hands with an aggravated look but showed no sign of talking back. Probably, he felt that in some way, she was speaking the truth. “Let me clarify,” he said, seeing that the boys and girls were not quite able to imagine an adventure that could save the world. “Say you’re on a monster-hunting quest, and deep in their cave, you discover ruins that go even deeper. You’d check ’em out, right?” 

“Sure, of course we would,” Druid Girl said, clapping her little rhea hands and nodding. This, she understood. “That might be where the monsters are coming from, and anyway, unknown ruins might just be packed with valuable treasure.” 

“Yes, but.” Half-Elf Light Warrior entered the conversation with an elegant gesture. “ Some preparation would be needed. To go rushing in without a second thought would be to invite death.” 

“Yeah, gotta be careful.” Female Knight puffed out her cheeks in annoyance, and Heavy Warrior managed to keep himself to just a smile. 

“Which is all a long way of saying, I think we better go to the water town . They’ve got that temple there—and this lady is a follower of the Supreme God.” Heavy Warrior let a little laugh slip out of his mouth as he gave the pouting knight a friendly pat on the head. “We have a kind of sidelong connection to the Temple of the Earth Mother, too. Gotta use those connections if we want to find out what’s going on with these rumors.” 

“Hmm… Wonder what I should do…” Spearman frowned, adding something under his breath about being bad at “city adventures.” Thinking back on it, he should have paid more attention to that Bronze adventurer he’d met in his first year. The tricks for dealing with that Rock Eater would definitely have come in handy. 

“I know a guy who’s at the water town right now, an adventurer. Guess I can at least go with you that far.” 

Witch responded to this thoughtful mumble of Spearman’s with a “That’s, true” and a lovely nod. “This…looks, like…it could turn out to be…big.” She produced a smoking pipe from her ample bosom, lighting the end of it with a spell. A small shower of magical sparks was followed by Witch inhaling a lazy puff of aromatic smoke. “It never…hurts, to have…more options.” 

“Yeah, but—” 

“Hey—” 

Rookie Warrior and Apprentice Cleric, who had been listening silently, looked at each other and nodded. 

“I remember the year before last, when that farm was attacked—you said she wouldn’t help if it wasn’t a quest.” 

“Hufh,” Harefolk Hunter said, her cheeks full of barley porridge. “I don’f know abouf these rumorfs or whatefer, but—” She twitched her ears and swallowed. “…What’cher sayin’ is, he’s a good guy after all.” 

“Aw, stuff it! It’s just a man’s duty to help a beautiful woman in distress!” Spearman was most vehement, but the boys and girls were already giggling and gabbing together. Heavy Warrior, Female Knight, and Half-Elf Light Warrior watched them in amusement for a moment before wading in to stop them. And then Witch, with a giggle, turned to him . 

“…” Goblin Slayer could say nothing; he just stood in one place and watched. It wasn’t hesitation or even disengagement. He himself wasn’t sure what he should say. 

“Heh-heh!” The laughter was lovely to listen to, like the chirping of a bird. There she was, sitting on the bench usually occupied by Goblin Slayer himself. “That’s adventurers for you.” High Elf Archer twitched her ears pointedly and grinned at him. Beside her was Dwarf Shaman, chin in his hands, wearing an expression that said he had no choice. Lizard Priest was standing by the wall with a knowing look on his face. 

And then there was Priestess, surrounded by them, looking a bit overwhelmed. But then she glanced up and saw him. Her face blossomed into a smile. “Goblin Slayer, sir, um…!” 

He shook his head slowly from side to side. Behind his visor, they detected a slight softening of his lips. 

It was always like this. Just as his master had said, he was not very bright. As ever, other people seemed to understand what was going on better than he did. That was just the way it was. 

“Yes,” he said. “I’m going now.” 

And then Goblin Slayer began to walk over toward his friends and companions. Compared with that long road home, his footsteps felt easy and light.