Goblin Slayer - Volume 10 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Roguelike

She wondered why, when she had been asked, “Are you coming?” she had instantly responded, “I am!” Now, walking down a dim, funny-smelling side street, Priestess felt the slightest twinge of regret. 

Walking ahead of her was a silent, inelegant suit of armor. Although he was kind enough to match her stride, Priestess still somehow found herself jogging to keep up. She clutched her sounding staff in front of her chest, where her heart pounded relentlessly. 

She had lived in this town for years now, yet she had never even imagined that it contained a place like this. Slums, one might call them. Although the frontier town was a sort of pioneer outpost, it used the infrastructure of a town that had already been there. Now Priestess goggled at the profusion of dilapidated buildings around her. She had never in her life ventured into the disorderly sprawl that spread out from the edge of town. 

She was, of course, a cleric of the Earth Mother. She felt no repulsion for those who sat on the ground, staring vacantly, or mumbled to themselves, hugging their rags around them. True, she sometimes felt uncomfortable around them, she would have to admit, but if one of them had asked her for help, she would have helped. 

Then, too, she had shed some of the naïveté that might once have compelled her to reach out to every last unfortunate person they passed. But still… 

I can’t help wondering if I should really have come with him. 

She picked up her pace again to catch up with that armored back, which had gotten ahead of her while she was thinking. 

“ Want me to come with you? ” High Elf Archer had asked back at the Adventurers Guild. 

“ I’m going to find help ,” he had said. “ You all should stay and guard the temple. ” 

They still didn’t know what their enemies—if there were enemies—wanted or how they would act. They had to be prepared. 

I see , she realized, reflecting on the recent adventure. It was always possible that those dead creatures or goblins or whatever they were might target the Temple of the Earth Mother. That was why Goblin Slayer was taking the time and effort to respond to this situation. That by itself set her heart pounding—on reflection, she thought maybe that was the reason. The reason when he had said “Are you coming?”—not asking for her opinion or giving her any information—she had responded, “I am!” 

Then—she thought; she didn’t remember so clearly—she had told High Elf Archer something about being worried about her home temple. It wasn’t much of an excuse, and she had the distinct impression the others had seen right through her. 

Urrgh… Just thinking about it was enough to make her face burn with shame. And here I’m supposed to be seventeen already. 

It was very dispiriting for Priestess to be confronted with her own childishness. 

Many adventurers were going into action. And (setting aside her acute self-awareness) they were doing it for the sake of the Temple of the Earth Mother—for her family. It seemed, somehow, really…grown-up, she thought. Much, much more than she was. 

When she spoke, she tried hard not to let these thoughts into her voice. “S-say, uh, Goblin Slayer, sir…” 

“What is it?” 

“You talked about h-helpers… Do you know someone around here?” 

The idea surprised her very much. Yet, at the same time, it seemed completely reasonable. She had been with him for no small amount of time now. As he went on his way from farm to Guild to cave and back again, he would naturally make acquaintances all throughout the town. Despite how he looked, she had often seen him conversing easily with people he didn’t know. 

He was a veteran now. It was really only natural that he should know people everywhere. 

It’s been three years, and yet… 

And yet she hadn’t yet discovered everything about him. The thought made Priestess a bit sad, yet at the same time, happy. Like a book she was thrilled to read and which still had many pages left. 

“Someone I know, yes. But not someone with whom I’m acquainted,” he said after one of those soft grunts. Priestess’s head began to fill with question marks. 

“What does that mean…?” 

“Come with me, and you’ll find out.” 

Well, what could Priestess say to that? 

Goblin Slayer walked through the slums looking this way and that, as if searching for something. Priestess followed him with all the sweetness—and all the struggle—of a little bird but with no idea what he was seeking. 

Perhaps he sensed her intensity, because after a while he said in his usual dispassionate tone, “A sign.” The words were blunt. “One my teacher taught me.” 

“A sign…” 

“They leave their mark. On doorways.” 

“Uh…huh.” 

At last, he stopped in front of one particular building. A small structure, standing smack on the edge of town… 

“A general store…?” Priestess asked, looking at the sign that hung on some chains above them. Was this the sign he had meant? No, it couldn’t be; Goblin Slayer had said something about doorways. “Hmm,” she said, putting her finger to her lips as she let her eyes wander the scene. 

Looking for anything that might fit the description, she noticed a tiny scratch on one corner of the door. It almost looked as if it had been inscribed with chalk, but it didn’t strike her as anything unique or special. 

“We’re going in.” 

“Oh, r-right!” 

While Priestess stood there trying to figure it all out, he pushed open the door and entered; she followed him in a rush. 

It’s dark. And cramped. 

Those were her first impressions. A rusty lamp burned although it was daytime, roasting the little bugs that flocked to it. The greasy orange light it produced made the shadows of the room seem to dance. Priestess blinked, feeling a wave of something like dizziness. 

There were ceiling-high shelves on all four sides, lined with an assortment of items boasting a patina of dust. It was obvious at a glance that stock wasn’t moving, that times were hard. This was a general store that was on its last legs. 

“U-um, Goblin Slayer, sir…?” Priestess whispered. 

“…And what might y’be looking for, my dear customer?” 

Priestess froze with a surprised “Eep!” A diminutive, sleepy-eyed man was sitting in a corner of the shop, almost buried by his stock. When had he arrived—or had he been there all along? Priestess didn’t even know that. Maybe he was a rhea, or a dwarf… No, she couldn’t rule out the possibility that he might be a human. Priestess could tell that he was a man, but his age and race were completely opaque to her. 

Maybe it was the way that his kerchief—a faded gray thing that looked like a fox—hid his face. 

“A brass lantern,” Goblin Slayer responded, sounding like he was reciting by rote. “And oil.” 

“You must be an adventurer, good sir.” 

Huh? Priestess’s eyes widened slightly. She thought she detected a slight change in the shopkeeper’s annoyed tone. Maybe that was her accumulated experience talking, or maybe… 

“Might I ask what y’ve got in mind to do next?” And two searching eyes peered out at them from just under the kerchief. The gaze was piercing. Without really meaning to, Priestess held her staff in front of her as if trying to hide behind it. 

Goblin Slayer merely nodded. “I’m going to slay the serpent.” 

“…And may y’have good luck doing it.” 

Then the shopkeeper moved, swaying gently, almost sliding along. Priestess made another sound of surprise. 

Was that magic? The wall behind the shopkeeper had disappeared. The yawning space revealed a heavy, glittering door that seemed completely out of place in the claustrophobic shop. 

“Heh,” the shopkeeper said when he saw Priestess’s expression. She thought it made him sound like a rhea. But that passing impression was quickly wiped away. 

“Welcome, young lady and sir slayer of goblins, to the Guild of Rogues.” 

§ 

“Ain’t like we’re puttin’ up recruitment posters for the scum of the earth, but it just sounds more proper when you call yourselves a guild. Far as it goes, we’re no different from your Adventurers Guild that way.” The shopkeeper snickered quietly as he led the two of them down the narrow passageway. Did this entire space really exist behind that tiny shop? Priestess was at a loss. 

There was something else that left her flummoxed, too: this shopkeeper. She could easily take him for a rhea—but also for an elf, a dwarf, or a human. Sometimes she thought there might be beast ears under that gray kerchief or that she caught a glimpse of a lizardman’s scales beneath his shirt. 

It must be the magic , Priestess thought yet again. But she sensed it wasn’t something she should ask about. Some things in this world were better left obscure. And she had so many other questions. 

“Just like the Adventurers Guild…? With quests and everything…?” she asked hesitantly. She had been speaking to Goblin Slayer beside her, but it was the shopkeeper who answered. 

“Well, johnsons talk to fixers who find runners for them; they have that much in common.” The way the shopkeeper slid forward, the only footsteps that echoed in the hall were hers and Goblin Slayer’s. And for that matter, despite his bold stride, Goblin Slayer’s steps were remarkably soft. Priestess found herself cringing with embarrassment with every clack of her boots and jangle of her sounding staff. “But then, we’re also home to those who don’t feel as they can trust the Adventurers Guild.” 

“Can’t trust us?” The brusque question came, unexpectedly, from Goblin Slayer. 

“Mmm,” the shopkeeper said with a cackle. “A matter of…credit, y’might say.” 

“ Hmm ,” Goblin Slayer grunted. 

“Gotta get the facts; that’s just proper etiquette. You let yourself get duped, it’s yer own fault.” 

“I see.” 

“Tell you the first problem with runners who come crying about someone done wrong by ’em—they look ridiculous! Begging for someone else t’wipe their asses for them…” The shopkeeper sounded dead serious, snorting as if with contempt for the whole idea. “I know it only makes me sound old t’gripe about ‘young people these days,’ but I tell you, all they do is complain.” 

It was probably, Priestess thought absently, a question of how they lived their lives. 

She had heard the rumors. Whispers of those who ran through the shadows of the great cities, working underground. Practitioners of a trade in which there was no one to protect you, nothing to count on but your own wits and skill. It was terrifying, the freedom these people enjoyed, and maybe that was why others questioned the way they lived. 

Priestess shivered at the sheer uncertainty and precariousness of it all. For her, first the Temple of the Earth Mother and now the Adventurers Guild had been something of a shield. To willingly go where those things didn’t exist and counted for nothing was more than she could imagine. 

“’Course, we don’t go out of our way to work with backstabbers…” The shopkeeper seemed to have noticed her shaking and was apparently trying to reassure her. “For one thing, we’re still grateful to the good sir for the service he rendered us at the harvest festival two years ago. Far be it from us to do him any injustice.” 

“Oh…” Priestess had never been more grateful to be hidden by the dark. She couldn’t think of who this man in the gray kerchief might be—understandably, considering she couldn’t see his face—but now she thought perhaps he had seen her dancing with her sounding staff at the harvest festival. 

“I remember that night,” Goblin Slayer murmured, but Priestess had something on her mind besides what had happened to Goblin Slayer during the festival. She gave thanks again for the gloom that hid her flushed face. 

The shopkeeper hardly seemed to notice her reaction as he pushed open a door at the end of the tunnel. Suddenly, Priestess had to squint against the light that flooded in from the other side. It burned her eyes, accustomed as they’d become to the dark. 

“…A tavern,” Goblin Slayer finally said. 

“One that hasn’t opened for th’day yet, but yes.” 

In between blinks, Priestess could see Goblin Slayer and the shopkeeper conversing normally. 

“Can you see…?” The question was out before she knew it, the same question she had asked long ago. 

Goblin Slayer grunted softly. But this time, he added some advice. “Whenever you enter a dark space, close one eye. If it isn’t for too long, you’ll be able to adapt.” 

“Y-yes, sir…” 

Priestess’s eyes, meanwhile, had finally begun to adjust, and now she could make out the space she was in. The only taverns she had known were the one at the Guild and others scattered around town. This one, by contrast, seemed—gloomy. 

Or…quiet? 

Her reaction might have been different had they come at night, but they were there in the middle of the day. The neatly kept establishment was a small space with a handful of seats, plus spots at the counter. A thought flitted through her mind: Perhaps this used to be an armory. 

Behind the counter, wearing a black vest and bow tie, a beautiful woman stood polishing a glass. The faint sound of water alerted Priestess that this barmaid was a “maid” in more than one sense—her lower half was submerged in a water barrel. The merfolk barmaid smiled when she noticed Priestess looking at her, and Priestess blushed afresh and looked away. 

This left her looking at some black-haired padfoots, both catlike and doglike ones, playing stringed instruments. Come nightfall, the troubadours would ply their trades, the wine would flow freely, and runners would discuss runs in the tavern. It was a world beyond Priestess’s imagination. 

“Speakeasy?” asked Goblin Slayer. 

“Call it an aesthetic choice. Not t’say we don’t do under-the-table deals when they’re called for.” 

The shopkeeper climbed onto one of the barstools, and Goblin Slayer sat down beside him. The chair squeaked in protest under the weight of his armor, but the sound prompted Priestess to hurry over and sit down as well. 

Before she could say anything, the barmaid noiselessly slid a glass down to Priestess. She wondered if it might be an alcoholic drink, but instead she found a generous portion of fresh milk, and she hesitantly picked it up. At the same time, the padfoots in the corner struck up a tune. The sound, somewhere between a horn and a recorder, was new to her, but she found it pleasant to her ears. 

“Your hospitality is most scrupulous,” Goblin Slayer said softly. There was a drink in his hand as well. A thin barley beer, perhaps. It seemed unlikely they would press strong alcohol on someone who had come to talk business. 

“Heh-heh,” the shopkeeper chuckled bashfully. “Now, then…” 

“Mm,” Goblin Slayer said shortly and nodded. 

The conversation that followed was enough to leave Priestess’s head spinning. 

“Now, good sir, why not take it easy? Enjoy yourself.” 

“Thank you, I will. Since you’ve offered me a chair and a cup, I shall introduce myself. Please relax.” 

“I ’preciate your introducing yourself. But surely you don’t need that mask of yours—please, relax.” 

“As you can see, this is crucial to my profession—please don’t worry about it.” 

“No, no, I must insist y’relax.” 

“No, you relax.” 

“Well, if y’insist, then I will, gratefully. Hope you don’t mind my relaxin’ first.” 

“You must excuse my uncivilized appearance. I come from a pioneer town on the western frontier; my master was he who rides on barrels, and my profession is the slaying of goblins.” 

“Thank ya, thank ya. I must apologize for the boss bein’ away on your first visit, but you’ll have to make do with myself, a foxish type with a gray kerchief.” 

“Thank you for accepting my introduction. Please, raise your head.” 

“Of course, dear sir, but raise your head first.” 

“That would be problematic.” 

“At the same time, then.” 

“That is acceptable.” 

“The request is humbly made, then.” 

The exchange, an almost ritualistic introduction of themselves and their backgrounds, was over in the space of a long breath. Priestess could only catch snatches of it, and those sounded to her like incantations or spells. As the two of them finished speaking, they raised their bowed heads at almost the same instant, each letting out a breath. 

She hardly understood one thing that had just happened, but it seemed to be something the two of them needed. The gray-kerchiefed shopkeeper grinned, baring his teeth, and said lightly, “Well, my good sir. What is it you wish?” 

“Information.” Goblin Slayer’s reply could not have been more brusque. “A wine merchant, the water town. I want to know what he’s been doing lately.” 

“Wha—?” Priestess nearly dropped the glass from which she had been about to take a delicate sip. This person he mentioned—he wasn’t totally irrelevant to what was happening, but still. Priestess blinked, grunted softly almost the way he did, but then tilted her head when she received no response. 

“…What’s his connection to you?” 

“I don’t know,” Goblin Slayer replied, another brusque answer. “That’s why I’m investigating… Or having him investigated. And then I’ll make my move.” 

“Aha,” the shopkeeper said, stroking his chin in what might have been admiration. “I see now…” And then he circled one of his short, fat fingers in the air, like a spider weaving thread. “And how much, for this information?” 

“How much do you want?” 

Priestess let out a breath. Huh, I should have known he wouldn’t bother negotiating. 

That was when the eyes below the kerchief squinted. The voice got low, like a dagger held in the hand. “Y’mean t’slap our face with money?” 

“That’s right,” Goblin Slayer replied, as though nothing were unusual. “This is an important request. If it’s too much for you, fine.” 

“Yer suggestin’ we can’t handle it?” 

“Can you?” 

A pair of appraising eyes stared from under the gray kerchief, into the cheap-looking metal helmet. Priestess discovered she had been clinging tighter and tighter to her sounding staff without realizing it, out of a subconscious recognition that something—she didn’t know what—was about to happen. It wasn’t caution, of course, that caused her to clutch her staff, or the desire to be able to react instantly—it was simple fear. 

This was not the kind of adventure she was used to, the kind that took place out in the field. This was urban adventuring, city adventuring. A situation she knew absolutely nothing about, she realized belatedly. She’d thought she had learned a thing or two in the past two years, and now—this. 

“…” 

The air was tense, and Priestess realized she could no longer hear the strains of music from the corner. She swallowed heavily, feeling like the sound must be audible all over the bar; she could hardly take a breath. 

She had no idea how much time had passed—probably less than she thought—when the shopkeeper held up three fingers. Goblin Slayer, seeing it, nonchalantly dug through his item bag, produced four small pouches of gold coins, and slid them over. They jingled as they ran along the countertop. 

At length, the shopkeeper let out a breath. “…Yer not much of a negotiator, good sir. There’s a fine line between bein’ generous and bein’ a mark.” 

“You and I are neither friends nor companions,” Goblin Slayer said softly, a breath rasping out from beneath his helmet. “But I’m asking you to do that which I cannot. It’s only fair that you have your price for it.” 

The shopkeeper in his gray kerchief studied the cheap-looking helmet with a mixture of seriousness and exasperation. Finally he said, “All these years and not a peep from ya—I thought you’d washed your hands of us. Then finally y’show up, and this is what y’do… I swear, only our dear Burglar could produce a student like you.” 

Was that annoyance or admiration Priestess detected in the whisper? She wasn’t sure. Then again, the words—and the way he said them—sounded much like the way she herself often spoke of Goblin Slayer. 

The shopkeeper slowly shook his head from side to side, grabbed the little pouches, and stuffed them in a bag. Then his gaze turned to her. “Best pay close attention, young lady. He may not look like much, but he’s an adventurer of Silver rank. Gonna be a right help to you very soon, he is.” 

For the first time since she had arrived, Priestess’s expression softened, and she giggled. Yes, she said, she knew that. 

“Good, good,” the man in the gray kerchief replied, patting his chest, which now bulged with coins. “A request from this master here, we’ll try our best to accommodate.” 

Goblin Slayer also did something for the first time since they had arrived—he shifted uncomfortably. “…Don’t call me master.” 

From the sound of his voice alone, Priestess knew. 

He was embarrassed. 

§ 

“Phew…” 

Outside, the sky was as clear and blue as when you wake up from a dream or burst through the surface of the water. Priestess found herself making a sound of relief and taking grateful gulps of air. It had been so suffocating inside, almost literally—not just the space but the conversation. She knew fervently that such a place was not her territory. It wasn’t repulsion she felt but alienation. It was not a place she belonged—a truth she comprehended completely, even if not rationally. 

“What… What was that place?” She looked back and saw nothing but a cozy general store. That was all. But it would never look the same to her again. 

“A gathering place for runners. Underground adventurers.” Goblin Slayer’s words were disinterested, mercilessly brief. He did not look back but only went ahead at his bold stride, leaving Priestess to rush to catch up with him. 

“Underground…,” she gasped. “You mean, they haven’t registered with the Guild?” 

“Yes.” 

Priestess really didn’t understand any of this. That meant they went without the proof of identity offered by the Adventurers Guild, without the guarantees about quests, with nothing. Nothing except themselves—a precarious position indeed. 

“That’s why they use those signs and rituals—to verify who you are and to protect themselves.” He still sounded dispassionate, but he seemed to have read her mind. 

To live in complete freedom, unattached to anything, was also to be completely unprotected from anything. The right to simply drift along meant the obligation to accept that you might die in the wilderness with no one to find you. Perhaps that was what made one a no-goodnik, a rogue. 

“All it means is that places like this do exist, and some people do live this way.” Goblin Slayer stopped in front of Priestess, who had gone tense as if from fear. His words were as dispassionate as ever, and yet… 

It isn’t a place he comes willingly. 

That, Priestess thought, was what he was really saying. 

“Goblin slaying,” he said, and then he fell silent for a moment. “Goblin slaying alone is not adventure.” 

“Yes, sir” was all Priestess could manage. 

She thought she understood, distantly, why he had never come to this place until now. They walked a little farther, until Priestess finally and truly felt she had gotten some distance from the general store, and then she stole a glance backward. She took a breath as she looked at the building looming in the distance. 

“Do you think…those are good people there? Or…bad people?” 

“They take money. Sometimes they do good things for it, sometimes bad. That’s how it is.” 

Priestess found that, still, this way of life seemed incomprehensibly foreign to her. 

“I see.” She wasn’t sure if the small whisper reached him where his back was turned to her. He had started walking again, stride, stride, and she jogged to catch up. 

“So next, we…?” 

“Gather evidence. That’s what the man said, and that’s what we’re going to do.” 

“Evidence…?” 

“Yes,” Goblin Slayer said, but then he let out a breath. It almost sounded like he had laughed, ever so quietly. “It’s only something I learned from my master. I never had anything to do with them.” 

“Yes, sir!” Priestess nodded. She felt as if the weight on her heart had lifted a little. 

§ 

“Guess my talk was too hasty.” 

I thought gathering information meant we were going to be visiting another dirty back alley. Not this place… 

Priestess fidgeted, the sheer surprise making her uncomfortable. 

The room was thoroughly organized and clean. The table was free of dust or food. Priestess was seated squarely on one of the chairs. 

They had left the frontier town and traveled down the road a ways, between the stone wall and the fence, through the pastures full of grass. To the farm, the farm where Goblin Slayer lived. 

“Is that so?” 

“It is, it is…” 

Goblin Slayer, seated beside her, was conversing with a middle-aged man across from him, the owner of the farm. 

Of course, it wasn’t that Priestess had never met this person. She had spoken to him before and had even had reason to visit this farm. That first spring battle after she became an adventurer—even now it remained vividly in her memory. So this man was not a complete stranger, but she had never sat down with him for a conversation like this. 

Urrgh… 

Her gaze shifted uneasily, eventually meeting that of Cow Girl, who was also at the table. Cow Girl had been surprised to see him come back in the middle of the day and had been even more surprised to see Priestess with him. The third surprise was when he’d said he had something to discuss with the owner; she had gone to the main house, indicating that she would make tea. 

And so she had, and she poured it into a teacup, which now sat before Priestess. She brought the steaming cup to her lips and let out a breath. It was strange: It tasted somehow like the tea Guild Girl offered them at the Guild. 

Maybe she uses the same leaves. 

It was just a passing thought for Priestess, but as it crossed her mind, she noticed Cow Girl chuckling. He’s seriously hopeless, isn’t he? she seemed to be saying, and that made Priestess feel even more relaxed, and she began to smile. 

“So his suggestion…was that you get rid of the pastureland and turn it into fields?” 

“In so many words, yes. Tear up that old fence and that stone wall, he said. Build something new, he said.” The owner looked like he was about to explode. He didn’t appear to wonder why Goblin Slayer was asking about this. Perhaps it just seemed normal to him… Or did it? Priestess didn’t know. “The price he offered wasn’t bad. And I’m not a young man anymore. If I don’t hire some help, I don’t see how this farm can go on forever.” So eventually I’ll have to change things was what he seemed to be saying. He frowned. “But I am an old man. Set in my ways. To do something completely new now—I don’t have the heart for it.” 

“I see,” Goblin Slayer said obligingly and glanced out the window. Or more precisely, Priestess thought he did; she could never tell exactly where he was looking thanks to his helmet. She followed his gaze (or assumed she did), which took in the spreading pasture, the cows contentedly munching on the grass. It was by no means a large farm, but it was a well-kept piece of land, a place to be proud of, she thought. 

Goblin Slayer seemed to feel the same, for when he spoke again, he still sounded thoughtful and polite. “And it would take a good deal of help to convert this land to fields anyway.” 

“I admit, some of it’s that I personally don’t like the idea. The merchant said he would find people to do all the work.” 

The owner could just take the money, take the help, obediently turned his pastures to fields, and live out his life. Yes, yes, that could be a very easy existence indeed. He would have so many hired hands, he wouldn’t even have to work himself. He could simply sit and enjoy his dotage. 

“But I tell you,” he said, “I may not look like much, but I’m a yeoman, a freeholder.” A touch of self-admonition entered his voice. It was he who had protected this land, he who had cultivated this land—it was his land. Whether he hired helpers or turned the whole place to crop fields, it was he who would make the decisions for his land. 

“…” Under his helmet, Goblin Slayer took a breath in, then let it out. “I believe you.” 

It was just those three words, but his answer seemed to satisfy the owner, who nodded slowly. Then, his face still stern, he said, “The old dog even said he had a marriage proposal for you…” 

“What?” someone said, accompanied by the clattering of a teacup—was it Priestess or Cow Girl? Cow Girl, at the very least, stood up from her chair. Her eyes were open wide, and her voice prickled with what might have been bewilderment, or confusion, or even simple pique. “What the hell? I didn’t hear anything about that.” 

“Because I turned him down,” her uncle said flatly. He picked up his cup of dark tea and took a sip. “We aren’t nobility, here. We don’t think about each other in terms of what would be best for business.” 

Maybe that wasn’t what Cow Girl had wanted to hear. Still red in the face, she swung her arms aimlessly, making a sort of moaning sound. Priestess, now very uncomfortable, kept her eyes down but managed to sneak a glance at him. She couldn’t see his expression—what was he thinking? How did he feel about this? 

“…” Goblin Slayer grunted softly, then fell into a sullen silence. She hadn’t seen him pick up the cup in front of him, but she noticed that it was empty. 

“Goblin Slayer, sir…?” 

“Yes.” 

It was the shortest of answers. Dispassionate, calm—the way he sounded when he was focusing his attention on something. There was a clatter as he pushed back his chair and got up with a nonchalant motion. 

“I’m going to go gather my thoughts,” he said to Cow Girl. “May I leave her with you?” 

“Huh? Oh…” Cow Girl was caught off guard, but she nodded. “Yeah, I…I don’t mind.” 

“Pardon.” Goblin Slayer dipped his head. Priestess wanted to say something, but she couldn’t form the words, and in the end, she stayed silent. As for him , he swept the room with another motion of his helmet, then turned once more to the owner of the farm. “Thank you. You’ve been a help to me.” 

“That so…?” His tone was ambiguous, admitting no exact emotion as he set his cup on the table. “Be glad if it were…” 

“Yes, sir… This has been informative. Very.” And with that, Goblin Slayer strode boldly out of the room without so much as a backward glance. He opened the door of the main house, then shut it noisily. 

“………” 

“Ha-ha…” 

Priestess and Cow Girl looked at the door, then at each other, and then they both shrugged, sharing a tired expression. 

§ 

Their target is the farm , Goblin Slayer concluded, but then he quickly shook his head. And most likely, it’s just a means to an end. 

The wind rustled through the grass at his feet, then blew past the stone wall and down the road. Goblin Slayer turned his head, watching it go, then looked up at the sky. He could see birds flying through the brilliant blue, high above. He squinted against the light that came in through his visor. 

Everything seemed to swirl around him, to pull him in and draw him after it. He had never found his current situation disagreeable. How could he? It was just… 

Fighting goblins in the confines of a cave was simpler. He found himself having the thought more frequently. Maybe, in the end, he really wasn’t cut out for this. 

He sniffed at that superficial idea. Everything was a matter of do or do not do— Can or cannot had no part in this. That was all. 

He fought to retain his typical vigilance as he started out toward the pasture and a nonchalant stride. As he walked along, lost in thought, the cows wandered over to the familiar armored figure. Giving them each a pat on the nose, he found a decent spot and sat down. Just mulling the whole problem over wasn’t getting anywhere, so it was time to organize what he knew. Goblin Slayer picked up a convenient stick and began scratching in the dirt. 

They were after the farm. Why was that? 

He drew a line, then a circle at the end of it, and then added a smaller circle beside that one. He drew the town and the byway, the farm, and then lines representing the stone wall and the fence, as best he could remember them all. 

Destroy the fence, dismantle the stone wall, flatten the pastures—it would leave the farm naked. But to what end? 

Their target is the farm. 

Of that much, at least, he was sure. It was clear that this was some kind of stratagem for that purpose. Perhaps it seemed a little paranoid, but sometimes one needed a little paranoia. Many a rogue could have told you how an excess of caution had saved their lives. 

But Goblin Slayer grunted softly. He couldn’t elaborate his diagram any further. 

It wouldn’t end if he protected the farm. It wouldn’t end if he killed the goblins. It wouldn’t even end if he destroyed the nest. 

Adventuring is…quite difficult. 

“Well, if it isn’t Goblin Slayer. Having a nice little conversation with yourself?” 

The cool, clear voice came at him from over his head. Hrk , he grunted and looked up to discover the dauntless grin of Female Knight. Behind her was Heavy Warrior, looking put out, along with their other party members, Scout Boy, Druid Girl, and Half-Elf Light Warrior. That had to mean… 

“An adventure?” 

“Er, nah, just heading to the water town. The others’ll meet us, and we’ll all link up.” 

Goblin Slayer searched his recollections and concluded that “the others” must be Spearman and Witch. 

“So what’s got you so worked up anyway? Hey…what’s this?” 

“A map,” he said as Female Knight craned her neck to see. He poked one of the small circles with the stick in his hand. “I don’t understand why the enemy would attack here,” he grunted. “Even though it has happened before.” 

“Well, obviously, because it’s a branch castle.” She said it like it was so simple. Female Knight puffed out her armor-covered chest proudly, as if to say, You don’t even know that? 

“A branch castle.” 

“Uh-huh. They’re sometimes called supporting castles, but the point is, it’s a fortification that helps protect the main castle. Sometimes they’ll build simple ones during castle sieges.” 

“Hmm.” Goblin Slayer made a sound of gratitude for this perspective from an unlooked-for place. Branch castle —it was a fascinating term. An expression from a field he knew nothing of. He focused his concentration. 

Female Knight, however, didn’t appear to notice as she continued to expound. “You can’t just ignore the branch and attack the main fortifications. But at the same time, when you try to attack the supporting castle, you find yourself under siege from the main castle, too.” 

“A dangerous proposition.” 

“Mm.” Female Knight nodded. “So a lot of strategies account for the best way to get rid of any supporting bastions.” 

For example, you might offer peace in exchange for the dismantling of branch castles… 

She spoke fluently of military engagements, of stories drawn from actual battles—the sorts of things a knight might be expected to know. He did not know anything about her past, but an itinerant knight or knight errant was still a knight. 

“I see” was all Goblin Slayer said as he nodded and tried to force all this into his head. He didn’t have the intelligence to remember it all at once. But he could always make the effort to try to remember. 

“…Naw, I know what this is—it’s a map of this farm, ain’t it?” 

“Hrgh?!” Female Knight almost choked as she found her lecture interrupted by Heavy Warrior, peering over her shoulder. She fixed him with a glare as she said, still imperiously, “Wha—? But— Hey! What I said made sense, didn’t it?! It made so much sense!” 

“Listen, don’t get excited…” 

“No,” Goblin Slayer said. He felt sincere respect, and he endeavored to take a polite tone. “It’s a fact… This was helpful. I appreciate it.” 

“There, see!” Female Knight sniffed victoriously at this show of support, while Heavy Warrior only sighed. He appeared to feel that this was an ongoing problem with knights—or perhaps with this particular knight. 

Goblin Slayer regarded the two of them and their party, and then—maybe he felt it was the right thing to do—bowed his head. “Pardon me. I didn’t mean to take your time while you were getting on your way.” 

“Aw, don’t mention it.” Heavy Warrior waved a gloved hand and grinned. “Trying to save time by acting like you don’t have any, that’s when you lose the most of all.” 

“Is that the case?” 

“Sure is. Depending on the time and the situation, ’course.” 

“I see.” 

And then, after this brief conversation, Heavy Warrior and his party set out on the road once again. 

The journey to the water town. The number of days it would take to go there and back again. What would be done there—Goblin Slayer thought about all of it. 

What should he do? How should he act? 

Heavy Warrior had said once—when was it?—that he wished he were king. Indeed, Goblin Slayer could see now what a difficult position that would be. It was not something that could be handled simply by destroying the goblins in front of you. You had to see more, know more, think more, and make firm decisions. 

“…Adventuring is hard.” As Goblin Slayer strode away at his bold pace, he thought about what was in his pocket. 

His hand was there. Always. And with his hand, he could enact a plan. 

At the moment, most of his plans were not very adventurer-ish. 

So what should he do? 

Be roguelike—that was the answer.