Goblin Slayer - Volume 4 - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – Of A Perfectly Ordinary Goblin Nest

For this goblin, everything was just the worst, the worst, the worst. 

They were deep in a claustrophobic little hole that could not be called comfortable by any stretch of the imagination. And he had been posted in front of a door that reeked with a raw stench. 

“No! D-don’t, stoppit— St-stoooagh!” 

He peeked in through the crack left by the ill-fitting wooden door to find his companion smack in the middle of his business. He had no desire to see another goblin’s dirty little behind, but the behind of the female who was presently being held down, kicking at the sky—that he did want to see. 

“…? GROB! GBROOB!” 

But the other goblin noticed him watching and screeched at him, whereupon he quickly turned back around. 

This was how it always was. You’re the sentry, so stand guard , they would say, and he would be left to wait for his turn. They could at least let him watch. 

Those were the thoughts that ran through his head as he scrutinized the spear he was holding. It had a metal tip and an oak wood shaft, but the shaft had been viciously snapped halfway down. 

It was the goblin who had broken it. He had felt it was too long and too heavy to use, and if he broke it, then he would have two spears. 

The weapon had been practically shiny when he got it, but now point and shaft were covered in a crimson grime. 

He had been happy when he had received the job of sentry along with the spear they had taken from this woman, but… 

“GBBORB…” 

He didn’t have the slightest idea how he was supposed to get this stain off. Now that he thought about it, maybe the nice, neat belt that other goblin had gotten would have been better. That goblin had such a fine belt yet had the gall to steal glances at this spear. 

He could barely stand it. That belt suited him more than that other goblin! Yeah. No belt would fit that lout. 

He’s part of my family, so if he died, I could have it. 

In a horde, almost everyone was related by blood, but that didn’t cross his mind. His shortsighted little brain begin fuming at the thought of something he couldn’t have. 

“E-eeeeyaaaaaghh!” 

Like the female. 

Each time he saw the others enjoying themselves, doing as they pleased with her, jealousy burned in his heart. 

He had been left in the nest on the justification that he was the sentry, and he had never gotten to have one of their catches to himself. He had been part of a group on several occasions, but had never sampled the unique pleasure of being alone. 

The woman in that room was typical: struggling and fighting and refusing to give up, no matter how long it went on. Of course, the goblins were doing what they typically did in the face of such a show of contempt—hurt her, break her. 

There was one who seemed to have given up, curling into a little ball and waiting for the storm to pass. But then she had died as they had fun trying to find out just what it would take to make her scream. 

There were others who apologized profusely to the goblins, kowtowing and scraping their heads against the ground and thrusting their behinds out. 

And once, because goblins would do anything, they had cut off someone’s arms and legs one by one, boiled, and eaten them. 

Now, that was tasty. 

He couldn’t quite remember when or where that had been, but he licked his chops. 

That was, ultimately, the relationship between goblins and other races. If the latter were strong, the former had no choice but to cringe and obey them. But if a creature was dying before them—be it an ogre or a demon—they would be upon it en masse and devour it in every sense of the word. That was how goblins were. 

“GOBRBOB…” 

“GBORB?!” 

His companion, having finished his business, opened the door and came out. Maybe it had given him some nerve, because on the way by he gave a mocking snigger. 

This companion thought “guard duty” just meant walking around the nest, and here he was laughing at the sentry. It made the sentry so angry that he gave the other goblin a jab in the butt with the shaft of his spear. 

“GOBORB?!” 

The sentry guffawed as the other goblin jumped into the air. His victim came at him with fists raised, so he turned the spear around and offered the point. 

“GROB! GBOOROBO!!” 

In other words, this was his post, so if the other goblin had no more business there, he should be on his way. 

The other goblin had no comeback to the authority of a job assigned. As he walked away grumbling, the sentry spat out, Serves you right , and smirked. 

Now for the fun part. 

The sentry glanced left and right, making sure no one could see him, then snuck in through the rotting door. 

“GBOB…?” 

The female stared upward, offering only a weak “ahh” or “ugh” even when he kicked her. You could barely tell whether she was alive or not. The goblin gave her a gentle jab with his spear, and she immediately cried out, “Gaaah!” He followed up a couple of times more, and she produced some interesting “yaaargh” type sounds. 

Bah. Without perks like this, it would be impossible to put up with the difficult sentry work. It was annoying, though, that they warned him not to let her die. 

They would be angry with him if she were to die when they still wanted more fun with her. But a little anger in exchange for someone like this? It would be worth the trouble. 

“Give it… Give it back…!” 

“GRRORB!” 

The goblin cocked his head at the woman, who had finally begun to sniffle and sob. 

Hmm, this spear did belong to this female, didn’t it? 

The spear, like the woman, would not last very long. He found the thought oddly funny and let slip a chuckle. 

He had his fun with the female until she could no longer make a sound, and then he wandered out into the nest. 

He had made sure she was still alive—still twitching, at least—and even taken care of toilet duty. 

And it would soon be “morning.” Adventurers only came at “night.” 

No one can get on my case for anything. 

Goblins always take things in the way that looks best for them. 

“GOROB! GOOBORROB!!” 

“GBBROBOG!!” 

He had been walking around the nest for a while when he heard high-spirited cackling. 

It was the scouts. 

Two or three of them were sitting together, drinking wine from a chipped bowl. 

They were the ones who searched the roads or the village outskirts for unwitting prey, venturing out in ones or twos. So it was only natural that they got plenty of fringe benefits. 

It was not uncommon for them to fall back early to a place the goblins believed was safe, to enjoy themselves. They were always gleefully pocketing the items they had stolen from whoever they’d found. But their job was easy, ganging up to attack their prey. The sentry worked so hard all the time, and these guys…! 

What about guard work?! he thought, indignant at being ignored. He tried to show them the blunt end of his spear, but they only glared at him. 

“GOBOR…?” 

“GOROBOR!” 

They hadn’t done anything to him, and all the spear-waving in the world wouldn’t change that. He dodged the scout who made to give him a blow with the bowl, slunk away. 

Pfah. They were disgustingly violent creatures. They should just go ahead and die. 

Still wracked with bitterness, he arrived at the side path that extended from near the entrance. It was an ambush route the goblins had dug, familiar as they were with earth and soil. Adventurers, or whatever they called themselves, never seemed to think they might be attacked from behind. 

There were, of course, rocks nearby to hide behind, and it was one of those that the sentry now approached. 

All of it, everyone. 

He hated, hated, hated everything. 

He hated sentry work. 

He hated that he got nothing but a spear. 

He hated the scouts for intimidating him. 

He even hated their half-witted chief, who had nothing but his size to recommend him. He himself would make a better chief than that idiot! 

He could have all the adventurers and village females he wanted, all to himself. 

He could make the guards and the scouts do all the unpleasant, annoying things. He would just bellow orders deep in the hole and gorge himself on food and females. 

Hrm. Chief sounded like a pretty good job. 

He became completely absorbed in what to him seemed a realistic possibility, when objectively it was pure fantasy. 

How would he assassinate the chief who had united the horde? How would the lowly triumph over the high? 

He conceived a plan that he had no doubt would succeed. Then he slowly raised himself from the shadow of his rock. 

But… 

“GORB…?” 

Suddenly his none-too-sharp ears picked up the sound of bold footsteps. 

They were quickly approaching. He hurriedly concealed himself behind the rock, then carefully peeked out, just his eyes showing. 

An adventurer! 

There was no mistake. Only an adventurer would walk through their nest with a torch in hand. 

And all alone, no less. The smell was hard to figure out. He hoped it was a female. But even if it was a male, they could still eat it. 

The goblin licked his chops, slavering horribly, not bothering to hide the greed welling up in him. 

He would attack, drag the adventurer down, tear at it, have his way with it. Damned adventurer. Damned adventurer! 

But as he hid, ready to leap out with his spear in hand, a modicum of judgment remained to him. 

His prey was alone. But even so, goblins were weak. Adventurers were stupid, but they were strong. Even if the goblin ambushed the adventurer here and now, it would mean nothing if he himself were killed. 

He could call out to summon his companions, but he would still be the first to die. 

He could sneak back quietly to tell them, but there were scouts along the way. They would get all the credit. 

What to do? 

The goblin stood there, spear in hand, thinking as hard as he could. 

He didn’t want to die. He wanted to get something out of this. What to do, what to do? 

Maybe I should run. 

He quickly shook his head. No, that wouldn’t work. If the adventurer found he had run, it would beat him to a pulp. And if his companions won the day, the one who had fled would get nothing. Not mating, not food. He would only be able to watch as everyone else enjoyed themselves in front of him. 

He couldn’t stand that. So he decided to wait for his moment. 

He held his breath, careful not to make a sound, as he trailed the adventurer slowly, oh so slowly. 

Finally, his moment came. 

“GOROBOR!!” 

“GROB! GROBORB!!” 

The adventurer arrived where the scouts were having their wine. 

The instant he did, he pitched the torch in his left hand directly into the middle of the party. 

“GORB?!” 

“GRBBBROG?! GROBOOBR!” 

Wine splattered, and fire spread. Feeding on the alcohol, the torch flame reached a white heat. 

Goblins were certainly capable of seeing in the dark, but their vision was still hampered by smoke. 

One screamed, one panicked, and one simply did not know what was going on. Each of the three scouts had a different reaction, but all of them were still trying to grasp the situation when the adventurer acted. 

“GROB?!” 

A body blow with a small shield. 

The target, who had unfortunately had his back turned, stumbled face-first into the fire. 

“Four,” the adventurer muttered, stepping squarely on top of the goblin as he writhed with the agony of the burns. 

“GRBBBR…” 

“GROBROB!!” 

The remaining two caught their breath. Even so, they picked up weapons to strike the rampaging invader. 

But they were too late. 

The adventurer’s right hand flashed as he flung his sword; it crushed the teeth of one scout as it pierced him through the mouth. 

“GOOBR?!” 

“Five.” 

The adventurer did not even look at the kneeling, twitching goblin with brains dribbling out the back of his head. 

Instead, the adventurer shifted his weight onto the goblin under his foot, breaking its spine and lunging forward as his left arm approached the final scout. 

“GBBOORB?!” 

The sharpened edge of the shield gouged the goblin’s face. A spray of blood painted the wall. 

The goblin threw aside his weapon to press his hands to his shattered nose and eye socket, but… 

“That’s six.” 

The adventurer picked up the scout’s hand spear, which had tumbled to his feet, and pierced the creature’s heart with it. 

The last scout soon ceased to do anything but twitch and was nothing more than a bag of blood dribbling innards onto the ground. 

The adventurer tossed the spear aside as if it were so much garbage and exhaled. 

Then he nonchalantly approached the body, stepped on it, and grasped the sword protruding from its throat. 

They were fools. 

If this goblin had not been waiting behind, watching for his chance, he would never have known, either. 

Three against one. True, the scouts had been drunk. But he could see what happened. 

That was why his way was better. 

The scout hacked blood, giving a death rattle. In his heart, the sentry was overjoyed at the sight. 

That’ll show you, you barbaric dolts. 

There was no hint of compassion in him for the scouts who had been turned into such avatars of suffering. 

But be that as it may, he was angry at the one who would come into his very nest and murder goblins. 

That was why this was the moment, when the adventurer, tired from battle, had its back turned. 

Now! 

His companions would soon arrive, drawn by the commotion. When they saw him holding the adventurer down after attacking it from behind, they would praise him. He might even be able to boast of having stood and fought while his companions were killed. 

With his heart full of self-interest and greed, he took a giant leap. He brought his spear down, holding it in a reverse grip. 

The belly or chest would do, if that was the best he could get, but the arm or the leg was ideal. If it turned out to be a man, all they could do was eat it. 

“—?!” 

That was when it happened. 

He didn’t know what had occurred. All he knew was that his attack was supposed to have been an ambush from behind, but the adventurer was gripping his spear with both hands. 

The armored adventurer moved too quickly to see. 

And in the instant the goblin was trying to decide whether to let go of the spear or do something else, he found himself rammed, spear and all, into the ground. 

“GROB?!” 

He hadn’t considered this possibility. 

His mind went blank; he was at a complete loss what to do. 

“GBBOROBO?!” 

He could not make a proper response in the midst of his confusion. 

He felt a terrific pain from the blow to his back, his flesh and bones cried out, and most of all, he found it hard to breathe. 

He opened and closed his mouth, and the spear fell from his hand. 

There was nothing else left to him. The adventurer had drawn a sword. 

The goblin stood with a wobble and began running for the entrance of the cave as fast as he could— 

“This will make seven.” 

Along with the ruthless pronouncement came a shock that ran from his back to his chest, and his consciousness slipped away. 

It never came back. 

§ 

“Hrm.” 

After finishing off seven goblins, Goblin Slayer finally got to take a breath. 

You can notice a tail when an extra set of footsteps comes pattering after you. 

He drew out his blade and wiped off the blood on the goblin’s rags, then checked the edge and returned the sword to its scabbard. It could still be used. 

He traced the point of the spear he had taken from the goblin with his fingertip and examined the broken shaft. 

Goblin Slayer clicked his tongue, then added it to his belt. 

Then he kicked the scouts’ hands, breaking their fingers and freeing the swords that the corpses still grasped. 

There happened to be three of them. He took the one in the best condition and added it to his belt. This would do. 

He scrabbled through his item pouch, grabbing his canteen and pulling out the stopper, then gulping down the contents. 

The canteen was made from a sheep’s stomach, turned inside out and dried, and it contained a mixture of well water and grape wine. 

The cold liquid slid through the visor of Goblin Slayer’s helmet, then between his lips, flowing down his throat and into his stomach. 

It would do no good to become drunk on wine, but a little bit warmed the body and helped alertness. 

“…Didn’t see any totems,” Goblin Slayer muttered to himself as he plugged the stopper and returned the canteen to his item pouch. 

He shook his head gently when he realized there was no answer. 

Priestess and his other companions—he shook his head again to realize he thought of them that way—were not there. 

They had their plans. They had their health to worry about. They could not always be all together. 

Goblin Slayer turned his back to the wall and pushed his visor down. He quieted his breath. He didn’t hear anything like footsteps. 

Instead, he heard the snarfing sound of a meal being devoured. He could feel little shock waves in his back. It was clear what was going on. 

His light source—the torch—still twinkled among the remains of the scouts’ revelries. Good. 

Goblin Slayer quickly withdrew a bottle from his item pack and flung it in roughly the right place. 

The clay container and the wall both exploded at about the same instant. 

“GBRROBORRBBBG!!” 

Goblins. 

A horde of them, a roiling tide. 

But the first several who jumped eagerly forward unexpectedly tumbled over. 

They must have tripped on the grease all over the floor. The somersaults were just a bit of added humiliation. 

“GOROB?!” 

“GOB?! GBOROOBOGOBG?!” 

They screamed, finding themselves kicked and trodden by their compatriots, who came one after another from behind them. 

Worse, they had fallen into the burning torch and were enveloped in roaring flames. 

“GOROOOBOGOROOBO?!?!” 

“Eight, nine…ten.” 

The burning creatures accounted for two of these. The other was one who had been trampled until he fell still. 

“Seven left. One spear, one sword, one ax, four clubs. Good.” 

Heedless of the immolation of their nestmates, the other goblins surged forth, anger and greed shining in their eyes. 

Having taken stock of his enemies, Goblin Slayer readied his sword and met them head on. 

“GBBRBGGB!!” 

The first to come at him was the goblin holding a spear—the literal spearhead of the operation. 

“Eleven.” 

Goblin Slayer nonchalantly threw his sword at the creature. It whooshed through the cavern’s stagnant air and buried itself in the goblin’s forehead with a thwack , piercing his brain. 

“GGBGGO?!” 

As the goblin stumbled and fell under the impact, Goblin Slayer snatched the weapon from his hand. 

A longer weapon was not bad. You wouldn’t be surrounded. The first thing was to take out whoever had the most firepower. 

Had a big one been present, the priority would have been to reduce their numbers, but at the moment he wanted to avoid being rendered immobile on account of a single blow. 

That meant his next step was clear. 

Goblin Slayer, still gripping the spear, dashed for the depths of the cave. 

“GOROOB! GOROOBORG!!” 

“GROOB!!” 

The goblins, six of them, followed him with pathetic-sounding footsteps. Goblin Slayer glanced back to fix his aim, then hefted his spear. 

“This is twelve.” 

The spear flew, drawing a bow-shaped arc. 

It passed over the goblin who had been shoved to the front and slammed into the one holding an ax. 

“GOOROBOG?!” 

Perhaps it had been pierced through the stomach; an inarticulate scream echoed around the cave. 

Five left. Goblin Slayer threw the scout’s sword from his belt. He was running out of time, and it was risky to go in deeper. It was time to engage the enemy. 

“GOROBB!!” 

“GBOR!” 

The goblin with the sword self-importantly dispensed orders to the four with clubs. 

Of course, this was no show of courage, nor was it a burning desire for revenge. 

They were displeased at having seen their companions killed, and they wanted to pound this triumphant adversary. Most of all, the goblins enjoyed beating down adventurers and stealing their gear more than anything else. 

“Hmph.” 

Goblin Slayer took a step backward, then stomped down the first club that swung at him. 

“GBOROB?!” 

While that monster was trying to free his weapon, Goblin Slayer thrust his sword at the one that leaped at him from the right. 

The blade slid in through the creature’s jaw, piercing the head at an angle. But it could not bear the weight of the goblin and broke. 

“GOOROBOOBO?!” 

“Four more.” 

As he adjusted his grip on the hilt of the sword, he met a club blow from the monster in front with his shield. His left arm tingled. In the same motion, he made a sweeping gesture with the shield and slammed the opponent into the goblin on the left. 

“GBOR?!” 

“GOROBO?!” 

“Next.” 

While the two goblins were still writhing with the impact, he brandished the hilt of the sword at a creature in front of him. The panicked goblin dropped his club and tried to run, but it was too late. 

“GOBOOROGOBOGOB?!” 

One blow. The hilt and guard of the sword sank into the back of the goblin’s head, caving in its skull, and the monster screamed. 

It wasn’t a critical wound, but that didn’t matter. He could simply beat the life out of the goblin. 

Goblin Slayer pounded the creature with his bladeless sword as if it were a hammer. 

“GOROB?! GOROOG?! GOOROBOG?!” 

Dull thumps and thwacks rang out until finally blood and brains sprayed from the shattered skull. 

Goblin Slayer gave a click of his tongue and let go of the sword, then moved his feet to pick up the club he’d been standing on. 

“That makes ten and four. Three left…!” 

The two other goblins had scrambled to their feet and were coming at him together. 

Goblin Slayer dealt with one of them using his round shield, cracking the monster’s head beyond the reach of the other one’s club. 

“Two left.” 

The difference in body size meant a certain difference in reach. And in a one-on-one fight, there was no way he could lose to a goblin. 

A moment later, the death rattle of the next creature echoed in the cave. 

“GOROOBOROB?!” 

“GOROBOGR!!” 

The last remaining goblin, the one with the sword, lost no time in giving a great cry and running away. 

Luckily for the goblin, his enemy was heading deeper into the cave. If he ran for the outside, he would probably not be followed. The hateful brightness out there looked to him like salvation. 

The goblin felt no guilt at abandoning his companions. It was their fault he was in danger to begin with. 

He trod over the still-smoldering remains of the other creatures, running, running, running… 

“Hrmph.” 

Goblin Slayer nonchalantly let go of the brain-soaked club, approaching the corpse that was impaled with a spear. 

The ax was still in its hand. He picked it up with a flourish and flung it. 

The fleeing goblin died believing to the last instant that he alone would be saved. 

The ax tore through his skull from behind, decimating his brain. He pitched forward and fell. 

“Seventeen.” 

Goblin Slayer took a new torch from his item pouch, lighting it from the embers of the one that lay among the remains of the party. 

Then he turned back for a moment, even bolder than before, and searched the corpse of the goblin he had killed with the ax. 

He was looking for the sword. When he found it, he put it into his scabbard. 

“Three on reconnaissance, one chance encounter, three scouts, ten by ambush. Seventeen total. There are prisoners. No totems. No poison,” he muttered to himself 

How to interpret this? Of course, he heard no answer. Goblin Slayer started to think. 

The nest was on a small scale. There probably weren’t too many more goblins. And he hadn’t taken their leader yet. 

“Perhaps a hob is their chieftain.” 

And yet, he had no sense that a hobgoblin was coming. 

Goblin Slayer soon determined what this would mean. 

“It’s the sort of thing a goblin would think of.” 

He quickly took stock of all his equipment. Helmet, armor, shield, weapon, all good. 

He held the torch in his left hand and walked into the cave with his bold, nonchalant stride. 

The nest was large enough to house ten creatures or so. It had some branches, but there was a limit to them. 

But more than anything, it was the unpleasant odor prickling in his nose that told Goblin Slayer where to go. 

He made several turns in the winding path and soon arrived at a rotting door. 

“Ah—ouch! That— That hurts—?!” 

“GGGOROOOBB!!” 

What emerged was a massive goblin pulling a woman by the hair. 

The woman gave a cry of pain, but judging from the state of her body, she was in no condition to resist anymore. 

Several strands of hair came loose, taking bits of her scalp with them, but it was all she could do to raise a cry. 

As it taunted her, the hobgoblin realized there was someone blocking his way. He looked up. 

“GOROBB……” 

The hobgoblin grumbled something, hauled the woman up, and held her in front of him. 

An awful stench wafted from every part of her; blood and waste mingled together and dribbled down her body. 

The hob pushed her in front of himself as if to catch Goblin Slayer’s attention with her glassy eyes—presumably he saw her as a meat shield. 

“Fool,” Goblin Slayer spat. “It won’t change anything.” 

The hob’s thinking was clear. Actually, any goblin would probably have thought the same in that situation. 

As long as he survived, that was all that mattered. 

The creature had meant to sacrifice his nestmates and escape with the female. 

It was just the sort of thing a goblin would think of. 

“GROBO! GOBOOROGB!!” 

“…” 

He assumed it was telling him to drop his weapon, or let it by, or something similar. 

The hobgoblin grinned horribly at him, brandishing the hatchet in its right hand. 

Goblin Slayer looked at the woman that the creature was using as a shield. He gazed into her eyes. And then he gave a single, small nod. 

“Very well.” 

He drew the sword at his hip and dropped it. The hob’s eyes followed the motion. 

Goblin Slayer leaped forward instantly, kicking the creature mercilessly in the crotch. 

“GGROOOOROOBOROOB?!?!” 

The monster gave an unbearable scream at the damage between its legs. Goblin Slayer had, indeed, felt something burst under his toes. 

Goblins were always so cocksure. Even though he had never had the slightest intention of quietly letting himself be killed. 

“Erg—ahh!” 

“GBBRGO?! GOROOBOGOROGOB?!?!” 

The hobgoblin threw the woman aside in his convulsions. The steel helmet looked down at him impassively. 

Then Goblin Slayer picked up his sword, held it in a reverse grip, braced himself against the goblin’s shoulder, and drove the blade home. 

“GOOBOR?!” 

There was just one incoherent bellow. The sword stood upright in the back of the creature’s skull. Goblin Slayer gave it a great twist. 

The sword cut the spine with a crack, and the hob gave one tremendous shake and then stopped moving. 

“Eighteen… Are you alive?” 

The discarded woman trembled. Faintly, lips trembling, she breathed an “eh” and “ss.” 

“I see.” 

Goblin Slayer rifled through his item pouch, pulling out a bundled up overcoat. He spread it over the woman, and once it was covering her scum-drenched body, he hefted her like cargo. 

The woman murmured something weakly, to which Goblin Slayer said, “I see,” and nodded. 

“I picked up the spear,” he said. “The shaft is broken, but the point remains.” 

Goblin Slayer walked quietly out of the cave. 

A weak, desperate weeping weighed heavily on his back.