Goblin Slayer - Volume 16 - Chapter 1.5

Interlude - They're The Ones Who Will Die

“What in the world are you thinking, Your Majesty?!”

There was a smack of an open palm hitting the tabletop, and the various members of the royal council frowned at one another as if to say: This again? The expression was out of place on the faces of clerics who were administering a tournament held in offering to the many and great deities.

The one who had raised his voice was a handsome knight of the Supreme God’s halls, his neck bedecked with the symbol of his deity.

This youth had been full of fervor for the running of the tournament, and no one necessarily resented him for it. Young men ought to burn with passion for their ideals. If he was striving to overcome challenges and obstacles, for that matter, why not help him?

But this was going too far.

“Using Sense Lie upon our visitors from the underground empire? That’s discrimination against dark elves!”

How many times was this now?

Not just how many times across the course of the council’s meetings, although there was that. This was the fifth time today.

He was testing the patience of the various representatives who had come on behalf of their temples. Only the young king showed no sign of fatigue in the face of the stalled meeting. He merely replied, “I’m not saying dark elves are evil. Only that there’s a possibility of spies coming from the underground empire.”

“Please don’t try to talk past this, sir!”

You’re the one talking past things! thought King’s Sister, who for reasons mysterious to her had been made the representative from the Temple of the Earth Mother. She fought back a yawn.

Dark elves weren’t evil? Sure, anyone with a bit of education knew that. Ever since the legendary dark elf ranger had first blazed the path, decent dark elves had been plentiful in the Four-Cornered World. But that had no bearing on the threat posed by the dark elves’ underground empire. They were biding their time, looking for any chance to strike.

Thus it was the underground empire that was dangerous, not dark elves. Even a child could understand that.

“I must say, you seem to be suggesting that we shouldn’t allow dark elves in the tournament at all,” King said.

“Only because at this moment, it would be as good as putting them in the stocks for public ridicule! It would be discourteous to allow them to appear on the grounds under the circumstances!”

Wouldn’t that be exactly the opposite of what you’re actually saying, then? King’s Sister thought disinterestedly. She uttered, “Hrmf” as she only half managed to stifle the next yawn. They say dark elves are just as gorgeous as other elves…

For better or for worse, she had yet to meet one herself. She’d only ever seen them in picture books. They had skin as dark as night and lithe bodies that reminded her of predatory animals.

During some unpleasant events that she mostly preferred not to remember, King’s Sister had gained a friend from among the ancient high elves. She seemed as lovely and delicate as a fairy, her beauty at once like and deeply unlike that of the dark elves.

Oh, but…

She seemed to remember a female elf in the frontier town, the one where the dungeoneering contest had been held, who had been hard-edged and lean. She’d caught a glimpse of her arguing with a female wizard about something.

That was what it came down to. Your race was just something you were born with, another starting stat. She could obviously agree that dark elves weren’t inherently evil. That was a laudable thing to think.

But at the rate he’s going, this knight is going to end up arguing that the underground empire itself isn’t even evil!

Dark elves aren’t evil, so their underground empire can’t possibly be, the argument would go. Not that dark elves themselves would probably give a flying fig what humans made of their history. They were undying people who hailed from the Age of the Gods. They were different from short-lived humans in every way.

“We need to join hands with the dark elves and live in harmony. You must understand that!” the knight was saying.

“I do, and I have no objection to that statement,” King replied.

Despite the vast gulf between humans and dark elves, this young paladin insisted on getting into a shouting match over every little point. “This is wrong, that has to be corrected”—always in the name of justice. It started to wear very thin after a while.

King’s Sister was growing tired of just sitting and listening. Besides, at this point, the meeting would never be over. So she marshaled her resolve and, in an attempt to get a word in edgewise amid the tirade taking place under the guise of reasonable argument, said, “Um…”

The paladin rounded on her, his eyes still blazing with righteous indignation.

“Erk!” King’s Sister said. But she couldn’t let herself be silenced now.

I’m not scared of him.

At least, he wasn’t any more frightening than the goblins in the Dungeon of the Dead or the lumps of flesh she’d encountered beneath the frontier town. All right, so maybe it wasn’t very “polite” to compare him to those things!

“There’s something I’d like to ask on behalf of several of the temples here.” Yes, something to ask. She coughed sweetly, then screwed up her courage and said, “Why do you feel the images of the Earth Mother need to have their wings covered?”

“The Earth Mother is our god, not that of the birdfolk. It’s disrespectful to them to put wings on her.”

“It’s what?” King’s Sister blurted out before she could stop herself.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that…

Fair enough; maybe there were people who didn’t like it. But then there were also plenty of birdfolk who followed the Earth Mother. The paladin said “our,” apparently meaning humans, but the Earth Mother didn’t belong to humans alone. King’s Sister was so confused she felt like there must have been a question mark floating over her head.

“If it’s a matter of respect,” she said, “I should think hiding or painting over the wings is far more disrespectful…”

“May I take it, then, that the Temple of the Earth Mother has no interest in being considerate of the birdfolk?”

“No, you may not.” She was about to add that wasn’t the issue, but she swallowed the words.

Now the paladin appeared to take this as agreement (how convenient). He gesticulated vigorously, as if delivering a real lecture, and continued loudly: “The clergy are altogether too unmindful! Consider the disgraceful outfits worn for the performance at the opening ceremony!”

“You dare refer to our deity’s battle vestments as disgraceful…?! Unbelievable!”

This cry came from a young half-elf woman, a cleric of the Valkyrie. She wore armor that looked more like underwear beneath an outer garment of sheer silk, and she was present on behalf of the chief cleric of the Valkyrie’s temple. Word was that she used to be an adventurer, or perhaps still was, and that some of those standing guard outside the room she counted among her friends.

King’s Sister heaved a sigh, having at least escaped the paladin’s immediate attention. She leaned back in her chair. She was sweating and so, so tired.

“They show a lack of respect toward women. Are they not the outfits of gladiators? Truly, a symbol of barbarity.”

“They are a sign that anyone can rise to sit with our god, even if they began as a slave!”

However, the paladin (was he really a servant of the Supreme God? King’s Sister couldn’t believe it) continued to expound. “The whole problem is that we have so many stories lauding slaves! Take the barbarian king in the north…”

Oops! Good thing she’s not here, King’s Sister thought. The letter she’d received from her friend recently had been full of praise for the warriors of the north.

“The saga of a man who kills and rapes and conquers territory, all in order to become king? Such base material should be thrown out like the trash it is.”

“That’s ridiculous!” A slow sigh came from the young woman present on behalf of the temple of the God of Knowledge. “Is that how you see those heroic tales? As nothing but praise of murder and violation?”

“It’s wrong to disseminate materials so readily susceptible to such interpretations…”

“Those stories were born in a land that worships the Smithy God and the sadistic god. They come from a worldview with a completely different outlook on violence from ours.”

At the calm young woman’s feet, King’s Sister caught glimpses of a strange white creature. It met her gaze, and of all things, it winked and pressed its forepaws to its mouth.

Don’t worry… I won’t say anything.

It seemed all too clear that if she did, it would only set the paladin off afresh.

“Say what you will, but their land is an ally of our kingdom now. They’re going to have to reform their thinking.”

“So you place limits on knowledge and culture and go back in history to pass judgment on the past? You must be a far greater being than I can even imagine. How hopeless.” The young woman, beloved of the God of Knowledge, shook her head, and King’s Sister nodded along. She couldn’t have agreed more, from the bottom of her heart.

“Perhaps I might offer a word?” came a firm voice from the cleric of the Trade God, who had been watching silently until that moment. A silver-haired woman with eyes like ice, she raised her hand to speak with a glance around the table. “There are, in fact, many words I would like to offer, but I shall start with one.”

King’s Sister caught sight of her brother, who smirked and nodded.

Does he know her?

It was possible. The woman was absolutely lovely, but King’s Sister couldn’t seem to recall having seen her before. She almost felt like the wind, as if she might slip past and disappear as easily as she came.

“You said that we should cease paying salaries to the padfoots, because this is not a zoo, did you not?”

“I did indeed!” the paladin said, bursting with fresh zeal. “Observe the costumes servers wear in the gambling dens—modeled after harefolk! If that’s not exploitation, I don’t know what is!”

“Many enjoy dressing that way. It makes things livelier, and it keeps the silver flowing. Which I certainly appreciate.”

The paladin’s expression took on a contemptuous cast. The young woman’s even smile never faltered, however, as she continued: “And what do you propose to do about all the padfoots your policy would put out of a job?”

“They can find any kind of work they like! Such is freedom!”

“You seem to think that money and employment are things that arise like clouds or mist.” The woman snorted, a sound of derision. “But you know, even the wind does not come from nothing.”

Ignoring the paladin’s nonplussed look, the cleric of the Trade God adjusted her spot in her chair. Somehow, she made it look elegant. Then she held out an open palm as if to say, Please, continue. The paladin of the Supreme God growled.

If King’s Sister had been in his place, she would have been very nearly lost for words. Such, however, was not this man’s problem. “Race itself—race itself is a bizarre idea. Are we not all people alike? All should be treated as humans and—”

Oops. Here it comes.

“At this rate, I feel like you’re going to say I should be succeeded by a woman.”

“Erk…”

The paladin almost choked at the unexpected remark from behind him, delivered in a low, silky murmur. He glanced back to find a man standing like a shadow, a man of vigilant mien wearing a tuxedo whose every line and angle seemed to fit him precisely. One might describe him as like a butler, but no butler had the shocking self-possession of the figure standing there.

To King’s Sister, who knew who he was and what he did, it all seemed a little much.

“…Aren’t you looking a bit too nice for the occasion?” she said.

“I’m good enough to get away with dressing like this.”

The silver-haired woman seated behind King gave the man a sharp look that seemed to contain a warning: Don’t bait the king’s younger sister. Of course, this woman had a less-than-expressive face, but even King’s Sister could read what she was thinking from time to time.

“Oops, the boss is angry. And here I just rushed back from the water town as fast as I could.”

“Your efforts are appreciated, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t even sleep on the job!”

No doubt he’d started at least one fight big enough to fuel a good story or three.

With a motion so smooth nobody noticed it start—well, perhaps the cleric of the Trade God did?—the flashy man stepped forward, most likely to report to King.

King’s Sister didn’t have to think to know who this man was, whose face was different each and every time they met.

“…Ahhh…”

At the umpteenth sense that she was going to yawn, she finally decided to let it out. She was so very tired. Her body was heavy and her head felt dull. She was hot all the way through, until she suddenly got cold.

I’m exhausted…

Yes, that had to be it. How could she not be, with the discussion going in circles around her for so long?

So King’s Sister dismissed the fatigue she was feeling and forgot about it. She had no idea how much longer the attendees at this meeting were going to continue their little dance.

She thought, though, that she caught a smell—a terrible odor of ash.