Goblin Slayer - Volume 2 - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 – City Ruins And Magical Traps

If Death has footsteps, this must be the sound. 

Battle drums rumbled from the depths of hell. Weapons and armor rattled on the advancing monsters, and their reeking breath profaned the air of the ruins; their spittle slickened the stone floors. 

They were full of disorderly murmuring and growling. Every sound was rich with greed and overweening rage. They debated how best to tear apart the impertinent adventurers, how to dance on their broken bodies, to debase them. 

Whumph. At the head of their group came the footsteps of that mammoth goblin, the champion. 

First, he would take an eye for an eye—from each of them. That was where it would start, before any murder, any devouring, any debasing… 

“Ohh…” 

High Elf Archer’s sensitive ears picked up all of this easily. Her voice slipped out as she trembled, and the blood drained from her face. 

She tightened the spider-silk string on her bow with a twang, checked her supply of arrows, and took a deep breath. 

“Can you do it?” 

“…Of course!” 

At Goblin Slayer’s question, dispassionate as always, she answered stoutly. 

She would feign pleasantness as much as she could. The more awful things got, the more she talked. If she couldn’t joke, she would surely die. 

“Just try to avoid getting us almost blown up this time.” 

“That is my intention.” 

She narrowed her eyes, but he only nodded, taciturn as ever. 

He had lit four torches and set one at each point of the compass; now he was examining the sanctuary by their light. In addition to the way they had come into the room, several other corridors led to who knew where. 

“Can you tell where they’re coming from?” 

“Everywhere,” High Elf Archer said with a shrug. “Don’t ask how many.” 

“Milord Goblin Slayer, I have prepared a barrier.” 

The other adventurers, of course, had not been idle. 

Lizard Priest had piled up pieces of debris from the explosion around the altar. An entrenchment, even a simple one, often made the difference between victory and defeat in a defensive battle. The enemy would be vulnerable while trying to get past it, and it would slow them down, as well. 

Dwarf Shaman, who had been directing the effort, wiped the dust from his hands and said, “Best we could do on short notice, but don’t expect much from it.” 

“It will do. What about you?” 

“Yes, sir, I’m ready!” Priestess answered bravely. 

She had scrambled up on top of the altar with her small frame. It was her job to collect slinging stones, arrows, and usable short swords from the ground nearby. It was important that a new weapon be near to be handed over anytime they might need one. 

“All right.” Goblin Slayer nodded. 

He, too, could now hear the goblin army clearly. 

There was to be no more waiting. No time for lengthy explanations. Goblin Slayer did not flinch. 

“How many spells do you have left?” 

“I have, um…” Priestess put a finger to her lips and thought. 

How many more times could her soul endure supplicating to the gods above? 

Experience suggested to her… 

“I failed once and succeeded once, so…one more.” 

“Save it,” Goblin Slayer said shortly. “We’ll need it later.” 

“Yes, sir!” 

Those were his instructions, and Priestess nodded unhesitatingly. She gripped her staff firmly in both hands, and from atop the altar, she peered into the darkness. If she was not going to be using her miracle, she would be responsible for keeping track of the big picture. 

It was a great deal to bear alone—but she was not alone. They were all together. 

“I’ll do my best…!” 

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! My, our humble temple maiden has grown quite valiant.” 

Beside the altar, Lizard Priest swished his tail and touched his tongue jovially to his nose. 

“Wh-who, me?” 

He turned toward Priestess, who seemed a bit embarrassed, holding his catalyst, a fang. 

“Two remain for me. Though if I refrain from summoning a Dragontooth Warrior now, it will be three. I don’t suppose I should wait?” Lizard Priest gave his peculiarly intense smile, baring his teeth. 

“Do it,” Goblin Slayer responded immediately. “Have it hold a shield.” He jerked his chin in the direction of Priestess. “I want it to protect her.” 

“Very well, very well. And shall I attend to the mirror?” 

“Yes.” 

Lizard Priest responded with a slow shake of his head from side to side and joined his hands in a strange gesture. He ascended the altar, then quickly pitched his fang onto the floor and focused his concentration. 

It was said there was no tribe in this world more accomplished in battle than the lizardmen. Thoughtful as he was, the priest probably already had an inkling of what Goblin Slayer had in mind. 

“O horns and claws of our father, Iguanodon, thy four limbs, become two legs to walk upon the earth.” 

Dwarf Shaman glanced at the praying Lizard Priest and the warrior he created, running a finger along his beard. 

“I set up that Spirit Wall earlier and used Stupor… I’d say two more.” 

“Hold on to them. They’ll be our trump cards.” 

“Oh-ho! Quite the important role I get. Until we need them, then, shall I help you, Beard-cutter?” 

Dwarf Shaman gave a slap of his belly, already in his usual spirits. Without him, the party might have found it much harder to turn their mood around. High Elf Archer’s giggle was like a bell. 

“We’re really blessed, aren’t we? To have three spell casters.” 

“What’s this? Didn’t realize you knew how to be polite, long-ears.” 

“Oh, please! I’m always polite.” 

Someone laughed. Then all of them. They nodded to one another. That was enough. 

They could see the goblins’ glittering eyes now and hear the howling voice of the champion. 

High Elf Archer closed one eye, her ears fluttering as she judged the distance to the enemy. 

“…And? What do you want me to do?” 

“Distract them, then kill them. Reduce their numbers, draw off as many as possible.” 

“Why do I get the feeling this is completely crazy?” 

“Do you?” 

Goblin Slayer took a sling in his free right hand and set a stone in it. At the same time, he passed another sling from his bag to Dwarf Shaman, intent on preparing the next barrage. 

High Elf Archer gave a “hmph,” set an arrow against her bowstring, and pulled it back. 

“Ready? Here I go.” 

She let out a stiff but somehow lovely laugh. But at the same moment— 

“GOROORORRRRRB!!” 

It was the war cry of the goblin champion. 

The one-eyed monster shook his staff and roared, trying to rile up the goblins under his command. 

His troops carried spears and clubs and axes and rusty daggers. 

Even as the mob shuffled forward, one of the creatures in front— 

“One.” 

“GROB?!” 

—fell victim to an unerring stone from Goblin Slayer’s sling. 

Throughout the history of this world, humans had always been most suited to throwing things. Not even a dragon could toss an object farther than a human. 

Goblins lacked the strength, elves loved their bows too much, and dwarves and rheas found throwing a simple pastime. Humans alone could launch a stone faster than a speeding horse straight at their target. 

“GOROB?!” 

“GROOORRB?!” 

And as long as there were stones on the ground, a sling would never run out of ammunition. 

“Ho! You barely have to aim around here! I like it!” 

Dwarf Shaman’s fat fingers flashed like magic, loading one rock after another into his sling and flinging them at the goblins. 

“Fire away, Beard-cutter! No bad shots here!” 

“That is my plan… That makes three.” 

A stone whistled through the air, cracking open another goblin skull. Two in a row, three. Goblin Slayer might as well have been shooting goblins in a barrel. 

The little monsters trod over the corpses of their fallen, stone-crowned brothers. 

“GROB! GOOOROBB!!” 

The goblins never thought for a second that they were attacking the adventurers. 

It was they who were under attack. Goblins saw themselves as the victims in all things, and so it was everyone else’s fault if the goblins fought back. The deaths of their comrades only stoked a vengeful anger in them. What was a little wall of debris? 

Their beady eyes fixed on the one the adventurers were defending, the girl atop the altar… 

“Incoming, right side!” 

“Got it!” 

The girls’ voices cried past each other, and an instant later, the encroaching goblins were full of arrows. 

Priestess looked around, sweat beading up on her forehead, and wherever she indicated, High Elf Archer would fire in that direction. 

Bounce, bounce. Each flick of her ears was accompanied by a deadly shaft that rode along the underground wind. 

No goblin could escape her. 

“Sure are a lot of them, though…!” 

“Three on the left! Four in front!” 

“Yeah, I’m on it.” 

High Elf Archer danced from one side of the altar to the other, loosing her arrows as fast as she could load them. 

It wasn’t fatigue that caused her to sweat; it was nervousness and tension. She had long since tired of firing one arrow at once; now she grabbed anything nearby, three bolts at a time. Of course, her quiver was empty; she was supplying herself with whatever could be found on the floor. 

And so long as that supply remained, the goblins would not get near her, but only add to the growing pile of corpses. 

“GOROROROB! GROB! GOORB!” 

So this was no time to be grumbling about the situation. 

The goblin champion gave an order and took the lid off a jar carefully cradled in the arms of one of his lackeys. 

The goblins with their wicked little minds had invented a sticky, poisonous liquid. 

The archers in the goblin ranks carried crude bows and dipped the stone tips of their arrows in the poison before they fired. 

“GOORB?!” 

They had, however, a habit of shooting entirely from the hip, resulting in several goblins sustaining poisoned arrows to the back. 

Even when the injuries were not critical, the victims would thrash and froth at the mouth and finally die. 

What mattered, though, was that some reach the elf in the back row who was shooting at them and the human girl giving directions. 

If they could only hit those two targets, the poison would do the rest. If it only paralyzed them, that would be fine. Or they might die. The goblins would enjoy it either way. 

“?” 

But one could not forget about the loyal Dragontooth Warrior. The skeletal soldier held up the shield it had been given, silently deflecting the arrows that flew at the young women. Now and then, an arrow struck it, but without flesh and blood the poison was no threat. 

“Huh.” High Elf Archer wiped the sweat from her brow and grabbed an arrow at her feet, then gave the warrior a pat on the back. “This thing’s pretty cute.” 

“Y-you think so?” Priestess frowned and ducked to avoid an arrow. She held desperately on to her cap, trying to control her breathing. She wiped some sweat before it ran into her eyes, then peered into the darkness. 

Next to her, Lizard Priest had positioned his great body imposingly in front of the mirror. 

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Delighted as I am to receive your most welcome praise…” 

The sacred mirror had been set in the stone wall with some ancient technique. Lizard Priest scratched one sharp claw along the worked frame that surrounded the rippling surface. 

“…I must say I am most perplexed how this mirror is attached here!” 

He gave a hissing breath, and the scales on his arms bulged as his muscles strained. 

“O proud and strange brontosaurus, grant me the strength of ten thousand!” 

It was the miracle of Partial Dragon, which invoked the blessing of his great ancestor spirit, the fearsome naga. 

His enlarged muscles now boasted the strength of the terrible lizard that had walked the land so long ago. Now his claw cracked the stone, the rift widening without harming the mirror. 

But this would require more than a scratch. There was no time. 

“GOROOOOBB! GOOROOROB!!” 

The distant barrier was breached in a single blow, the debris returning to dust. With a crashing step forward, the one-eyed goblin champion raised his club high and began his assault. 

“GORRB!” 

“GORB! GOORB!!” 

The shrieks of the goblins made their pleasure plain. 

They had a hero with them, a champion, and that gave them the faith that they could prevail. In that respect, they were no different from people. 

Priestess shivered as their hideous voices rang in her ears. She bit her lip, gripped her staff, and said as loudly as she could: 

“The big one, he’s coming…!” 

“I’ll handle him.” Goblin Slayer didn’t hesitate. In the next instant, he snatched a dagger from the floor and put one hand down, leaping over the barrier. 

“Stay by the altar!” 

“Yes, indeed!” Dwarf Shaman said, catching the sling Goblin Slayer tossed to him and lobbing a stone. 

With Dwarf Shaman’s support, Goblin Slayer flew like an arrow at—and then through—his enemies. 

Three goblins stood before him, weapons in hand. But what of them? 

“Eighteen, nineteen…twenty!” 

“GROOB?!” 

With the sword in his right hand, he delivered a critical hit, rending the throat of the goblin that stood just in front of him. 

The creature frothed blood; Goblin Slayer kicked him away, freeing his sword, which he then used to crack the skull of the creature coming in from his right. 

The monster on his left he could not deal with himself, so he used his shield to shove it around behind him. No sooner had he done so than one of Dwarf Shaman’s stones came flying. 

“GOR?!” 

The goblin stumbled as the stone struck him square in the chest, and Goblin Slayer stabbed him dead without a second thought. He caught the monster in the throat; the goblin fell to the ground without so much as a twitch. Goblin Slayer let go of his sword and allowed it to fall with the body. 

“GOROOB!!” 

“Twenty-one…!” 

He flung the dagger at his waist to protect his rear. It struck home in the throat of a goblin that had been making to charge him. As the creature clawed at the air, Goblin Slayer jumped over to him and grabbed his weapon. 

A club. Probably the first weapon humans had ever wielded. Not bad. 

“Twenty-two…three.” 

A blow from the blunt instrument pulverized another goblin skull, then Goblin Slayer fixed on an archer in the rear and sent the club flying toward him. 

“GORARA?!” 

It wasn’t enough for a critical hit, of course. It was a shot from High Elf Archer that finished off the goblin bowman. 

“Got him!” High Elf Archer exclaimed. Goblin Slayer didn’t have to look at her to know her ears were bouncing up and down. “Orcbolg, arrows!” 

“Hmm…!” 

Even if the party was not exactly psychic, they were never out of step. 

Goblin Slayer kicked goblins out of the way as he ran across the battlefield to grab an enemy archer’s quiver. Then he spun, trusting to centrifugal force to carry the bundle to High Elf Archer. 

But the load was heavy and he only had a second to spin, so it could hardly have reached her. 

“On it!” 

Dwarf Shaman jumped out to collect the quiver, tossing it to the rear. 

“Done!” he shouted. 

“…Eep!” 

Priestess caught the quiver in her arms and passed it on to High Elf Archer, returning the elf to her element. 

A hail of arrows ensued. The firepower of an elf with a good bow and arrows wants nothing compared to a spell caster. As she often said, a sufficiently developed technology (aided by skill) was indistinguishable from magic. 

There were certain fools, though, who—as Dwarf Shaman might have put it—felt that “spell casters just throw lightning bolts.” 

“GROORB!!” 

Several goblins were looking to make Dwarf Shaman their punching bag, now that he had come out from behind the barrier. 

“How’s it going, Scaly? Not done yet?” 

They were too close for ranged attacks. Dwarf Shaman tossed aside his sling and drew his ax. 

Dwarves were built as tough as the rocks, after all. Swinging his stubby arms and legs wildly, Dwarf Shaman all but rolled into the enemy formation, striking and kicking out this way and that. 

“Just…a bit…long…er!” 

The altar Lizard Priest had braced himself against began to crack under the claws of his feet, some debris crumbling away. 

Lizardmen don’t sweat, but a human in his position would have been soaked. 

The mirror was slowly pulling away from the wall with an audible sound, but clearly Lizard Priest would need more time. 

“…! I’ll help…!” 

“My…thanks!” 

Priestess took a quick look around, then came over and knelt near Lizard Priest. 

They were completely outnumbered. 

Numbers are goblins’ greatest strength and adventurers’ greatest weakness. 

The monsters pushed slowly closer to the altar, the size of the horde only growing. Priestess had decided that time was more precious than a bird’s-eye view of the battle. But was there anything her willowy arms could do? There had to be. 

In one quick motion she jammed her sounding staff in between the mirror and the wall and began to use it as a lever. 

“Hr…aahh…” 

“…Still need more time, do they?” Goblin Slayer muttered, having entrusted things to his comrades. 

He and he alone was the frontline defense now. 

As a mob of goblins collapsed around him, Goblin Slayer took a sword from one of them. It was a stick mounted with a stone blade; it could barely be called a sword. 

But Goblin Slayer had never been picky about his weapons. 

“GORARAB…!” 

“Hmph.” 

Then, a massive form loomed up before him—the one-eyed goblin champion. 

The hideous empty socket. The one forbidding eye that burned like a will-o’-the-wisp. His awful smile. His rage. 

“GORARARABOOBOBORIIIIN!!” 

The next moment, Goblin Slayer jumped backward almost as if he were falling. 

“GORAB?!” 

He ignored the shout of the goblin he’d taken with him, catching himself and rolling back up to one knee. 

From there, he watched as the floundering goblin took the devastating blow from the champion’s club. 

“GORARARAB!!” 

The roaring goblin champion was focused entirely on Goblin Slayer. Its club cracked the stone floor, raising a cloud of dust and a great noise. 

“Too strong for your own good,” Goblin Slayer spat, and it was only instants before the next blow came. 

The champion’s strength was not less even than the ogre (not that Goblin Slayer remembered that word) they had faced before. 

Goblin Slayer wanted to avoid both critical hits and fumbles. He kept his shield raised, shoving through the crowd of goblins. 

“GORAB?!” 

Screams and cries mingled with the sounds of rending flesh and breaking bone; filthy geysers of blood spewed everywhere. 

All caused by the goblin champion and his club. 

He swung the weapon this way and that, determined to smash Goblin Slayer, but catching only his own allies. The unlucky monsters became Goblin Slayer’s shield, sadly giving their lives in the process. 

“Idiot.” 

“GORAB?!” 

Goblin Slayer buried his sword in the cranium of a cowering creature, letting go of the hilt to trade his weapon for the monster’s. 

It was a rusty blade that had probably been stolen from an adventurer; now, many days later, it had been returned to one. 

Goblin Slayer sliced through the throat of a nearby goblin, almost as if to test the blade, provoking a spray of blood. The creature gagged like it was drowning. With his victim still skewered on its own weapon, Goblin Slayer spun and kicked it backward. 

“GOORORORB!!” 

The goblin champion put an end to its subordinate with a smash. It was probably a better death than choking on its own blood. 

“A goblin should be so lucky to have such an end.” 

“GORARARAB!! GORARARA!!” 

Strike—a goblin broken. Dust rained from the ceiling. 

Strike—a goblin thrown into the air. Dust from the ceiling. 

Strike. Strike. Strike. Each time, Goblin Slayer slipped away. 

Self-reflection was not in the goblin vocabulary. 

Yes, the champion kept killing his own troops, but that was their own fault, or at least that of the human using them as a shield. 

What an awful human! It would not be enough to tear out his eye, nor to shatter his limbs, nor even to kill his friends as he watched! 

The enraged champion conveniently forgot that he had been known to use his allies as shields himself. He was frustrated that the adventurer would not stand and fight, glossing over the goblins’ own use of poison gas. 

Goblins are stupid, Goblin Slayer repeated to himself, but they’re not foolish. 

In other words, they weren’t foolish, but they weren’t thoughtful. And a thoughtless person waving a sword around is easy to take advantage of. 

After all, they would be failing to use their greatest weapon. 

So Goblin Slayer drove straight across the battlefield, the champion following behind him. 

“If Orcbolg is drawing it away…!” 

High Elf Archer was not just standing by and watching. 

She climbed onto the altar, kicking her way there through goblins with her long, beautiful legs. She gave a click of her tongue. 

How she hated to use goblin arrows. 

“Geez, I can’t believe this!” she said, half in anger. Her ears twitched as she read the wind and sent her arrows flying. 

She was not, of course, aiming for the champion, but for the goblin rabble. 

“GROB?! GOORB?!” 

Even a crude arrow can pierce a body, take a life. Goblins fell like rain in a storm, but their numbers were immense. 

Dwarf Shaman buried his ax in the head of another one, his beloved beard covered in spatters of blood. 

“Ho, long-ears! Can’t y’shoot any more than that?” 

“Quiet, dwarf! You want results, get me better arrows!” 

“Can I interest you in some nice rocks?” 

“Forget it!” 

And on they argued. Was this their usual banter, or were they doing it on purpose? When they could no longer take verbal jabs at each other, then that would truly be the end. So it was with most adventurers. 

Even Priestess, her face bright red as she strained against her staff. 

“Hn… Hnnnn…!” 

Her arms quavered and she bit her lip as she threw all her body weight into her battle with the mirror. It was all the little human girl with her delicate frame could do. 

The dauntless lizardman, for his part, spared not an ounce of strength in his gallant endeavor. 

“Come…on…just one more…push…!” 

Still imbued with the blessing of his ancestor, the fearsome naga, his efforts were at a fever pitch. Breath hissing between his bared fangs, every inch of him from his claws to his tail had become power itself. 

Screeeeeeyyyeeeechhh! 

With a tremendous noise, the sacred mirror finally succumbed to sheer strength. 

The great thing rested in Lizard Priest’s hands, along with a chunk of the wall. 

“Goblin…Slayer…sir!” 

Priestess called out to him. Her breath came in ragged gasps; her voice was weak and exhausted. 

Goblin Slayer glanced back, gave the onrushing champion a kick, and dashed off. 

“Set down the mirror faceup! Then get under it!” 

“Understood!” 

With a grunt, Lizard Priest slid the mirror over the top of the altar like a roof. He knew everything hinged on this moment. 

He got on one knee and braced his shoulder against the mirror, without so much as a tremble. 

“He comes!” 

Supporting the other side was the loyal Dragontooth Warrior. 

“ORARARAG!!” 

The goblin champion gave a single mighty blow. 

Though the goblins could not be expected to understand exactly what was going on, it was clear that something was happening. 

The champion’s club connected with several goblins, who didn’t have so much as a second to dodge, splattering their brains around the room. 

Jumping backward, Goblin Slayer lashed out with a hand spear he had taken from a foe. The blade sent several of the champion’s fingers spinning into the air, prompting a resounding roar. 

“GARAOR?!” 

“Stone Blast! A big one, upward!” 

“Upward?!—On it!” 

There was an instant of surprise on Dwarf Shaman’s part, but he knew better than to hesitate. 

He grabbed a handful of clay from his bag. Breathing on it as he rolled it together, he gave a shout. 

“Come out, you gnomes, it’s time to work, now don’t you dare your duty shirk—a bit of dust may cause no shock, but a thousand make a lovely rock!” 

He flung the ball of dirt into the air as hard as he could, and it became a massive boulder before their very eyes… 

“Light!” 

“Right!” 

Not distracted for a moment by the sight, Priestess responded immediately—to his words, to his trust. 

She knew this was the reason she was here, and it made her so proud she thought her small chest might burst. 

She poured her all into the prayer that connected her soul to the gods in heaven. 

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

It was a pure prayer, offered up by a frail damsel at the cost of the energy of her own soul. 

How could the all-compassionate Earth Mother do otherwise than to grant Holy Light? 

“GORORB?!” 

An explosion of sun! 

From Priestess’s staff (fresh from its turn as a lever), a searing light filled the space. It was probably more light than the insides of these ruins had seen in all their eons of existence. 

The goblins shrieked as if they had been burned, clutching their faces and stumbling backward. Their retinas had been burned. And Goblin Slayer, though he had covered his face immediately, had suffered the same. 

“…Hr…” 

“Orcbolg, this way!” 

But nonetheless, he could hear a clear voice despite the white darkness. 

High Elf Archer—she who possessed skills beyond those of any ranger—reached out for his hand. 

“Sorry.” 

“Never mind! Not that I have any idea what you’re thinking.” 

With her guidance, he took the last one, two, three steps. 

She jumped gracefully, and Goblin Slayer scrambled up onto the altar. 

Lizard Priest’s tail reached out, pulling Goblin Slayer safely under the mirror. 

Goblin Slayer shouted, “Falling Control—bring it down!” 

“Hrrf, ’course! Come out, you gnomes, and let it go! Here it comes, look out below! Turn those buckets upside down—empty all upon the ground!” 

“…That makes…,” Goblin Slayer muttered. He turned around, supported by Lizard Priest’s tail. 

With his right hand, he took firm hold of Priestess. Her hand was trembling gently. 

High Elf Archer still gripped his left hand, hard enough to hurt through his leather gauntlet. 

Dwarf Shaman gave him a hearty slap on the back. Even now, with his spirit drained, he was as jolly as ever. 

Goblin Slayer took in the sight of the goblins through his light-scorched eyes. They shouted in confusion, fear, pain, greed, and hatred; they floundered uselessly. 

“GO?! GROB?!” 

“GRAROORORORORB?!” 

No sooner had Dwarf Shaman completed his complicated invocations than the boulder slammed into the ceiling. 

The ceiling that had been rattled by the explosion, struck by the eyeball monster, and shaken by the goblin champion’s roar. 

The ceiling whose stones had been held up for countless ages by tree roots. 

But none could best time. 

And here, time had a little help from mass and weight and the power of the spirits. 

The gnomes, rulers of earth, directed all their power directly downward. 

First, a little fracture ran along the ceiling. Then, it cracked, and then a bit of it, too heavy for the roots to support, gave way. 

And then… 

“…Fifty, and…three.” 

An instant later, the howling face of the goblin champion was buried beneath an avalanche of dirt and vanished. 

That was the end. 

It was not long before it all seemed over, like everything had died. 

This place where a fine brown dust rose into the air—had it really been a chapel just moments earlier? 

Now, any sign of what it had been was covered in dirt and rubble and rocks and debris. Where the ceiling should have been, there was only a nest of twisting roots. Faint sunlight—or, now, the light of the moon and stars—filtered through them. 

It was nighttime, early summer. The stars that shimmered above were said to be the eyes of the gods watching from the high heavens. They watched over this place, but now there was nothing that testified to its former inhabitants. 

Except perhaps—just perhaps—the terrible goblin bodies that could be glimpsed amid the debris. 

…No. 

There was the mirror. 

In the middle of the devastated shrine was a mountain of rubble where an altar might once have been. At its peak sat a huge mirror, reflecting the light of the stars back into the sky. 

Then, there was a crash. 

“Pfah!” 

A sweet voice sounded, and the mountain of rubble crumbled ever so slightly. 

A rock was shoved aside, and making a narrow tunnel through the dirt came…an elf girl. 

It was High Elf Archer, her face grimy with dust. 

“G-good gods, Orc—Orcbolg! What were you thinking?!” 

She squirmed like a cat that had fallen in water, her ears laid back. A thin layer of dust seemed to be the worst she’d come off with. Priestess, who crawled out after her, gave a soft sigh. She coughed several times, spitting dirt out of her mouth. 

“Th-that was surprising…” 

“Surprising? That’s what you call it?” 

“I guess I’m kind of…used to it by now.” 

“Oh, for—!” 

High Elf Archer reached out to help Priestess up, still fuming. 

Lizard Priest’s eyes rolled in his head at the scene as he crawled out; then, he sat down heavily. “Heavens above… Such is our good luck to have a Gate mirror at the right moment.” 

As he heaved a sigh, the Dragontooth Warrior next to him shook its head, too, in a clever touch of artistry. 

The altar still stood. That was why they were all still alive… But there was one strange thing. 

Dirt and dust were piled all around them, but the altar in the center of it all was clear. 

The reason was the mirror, which the Dragontooth Warrior was now supporting by itself. Held up by the warrior and Lizard Priest, it had transported the falling debris through its Gate. If it hadn’t, the adventurers would have been as dead as the goblins all around them. 

“It absorbed all the rubble. It’s only a shame it’s so heavy,” Lizard Priest said. 

“Well, you did most of the work, Scaly.” Dwarf Shaman clambered out next and thumped down next to Lizard Priest with a cackle. “Guess it’s a bit big for a shield, isn’t it!” 

He could finally drink without interruption. He lost no time in pulling out his wineskin and taking a swig. His cheeks were pale from the drain his spells had put on his spirit, but quaffing some alcoholic spirits quickly restored a healthy flush. 

“Got to say, though, I feel a wee bit bad for the ones on the other side.” 

Only the ancients knew exactly how to use this equally ancient artifact. It was impossible to say who had brought the thing here, but surely this was a misuse of the Gate. 

The mirror connected a goblin nest with the underground of the water town—why did it lead to those ruins? 

“Maybe this is how people got around back then. Eh, Beard-cutter?” 

“Not interested.” 

There was Goblin Slayer. 

The last to emerge from the mountain of rubble, he showed no sign of fatigue, speaking calmly and dispassionately. He was covered in dust and spatters of blood, but his cheap-looking steel helmet and grimy leather armor were just the same as always. 

Priestess, who had finally gotten to her feet with the aid of her staff, pursed her lips at the sight of him. 

“We are very lucky we weren’t underneath the town.” 

“If we had been, I would have thought of something else.” 

She puffed out her cheeks with a groan. He was, of course, unmoved. 

Goblin Slayer’s steel helmet turned this way and that, surveying the area. 

He took in Priestess’s look of exasperation, the jovial-looking Lizard Priest, and Dwarf Shaman, who glowed redder and redder as he drank. 

And finally, he came to High Elf Archer, who was glaring daggers—or perhaps arrows—at him through slitted eyes. 

“Hey,” he said. 

“…What?” 

“No fire, no water, no poison, no explosion.” 

He sounded a touch impressed with himself. 

In the moonlight, a smile came over High Elf Archer’s face. A smile as translucent and beautiful as if it were made of glass. 

“Orcbolg?” 

“What?” 

“You’re an idiot.” And she gave him a kick that sent Goblin Slayer sprawling backward into the rubble.