Goblin Slayer - Volume 8 - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – City Adventure

After they had passed through three separate massive portcullises, the party emerged into a dizzying bustle. 

The first thing they saw was crop fields, probably dating from before the building of the castle walls. A lengthy aqueduct connected to a large building puffing smoke. 

The idyllic scene, though, contrasted sharply with the milling crowds of people. 

The path soon changed to flagstone and was swallowed up by the ancient town. People hurried down the path like a flood. Whispering voices and the scuff of sandals on stone combined until they sounded almost musical. 

“A-are you sure there isn’t a festival…?” Priestess asked, her eyes nearly spinning. 

High Elf Archer giggled and flicked her ears. “This is about how it usually is,” she said. “Human cities are always so busy, I’m pretty used to it by now.” Then she flinched uncomfortably. “I have to admit, though… This place does seem a little more cramped than a lot of other towns.” 

She was right about that. There were at least as many people inside the gate as outside. People pushed their way along the streets; dressed in the latest fashions, they made each road look like a river of color. 

Standing on either side of the flagstone street were buildings, both those that had been there since antiquity and those recently, or sometimes repeatedly, refurbished. The capital had no ceiling, but the mess of pathways winding around the castle town made it feel a bit like a dungeon. Perhaps a city that was thousands of years old wasn’t so different from one of those ancient ruins. 

“Say, milords an’ ladies. How about a little help finding your way around?” A man, hunched over with age, approached them with an old lantern in hand. 

Many large cities had guides like him. The students learning magic helped light the city’s streetlights, but many smaller pathways remained pitch black. 

“We do not have trouble seeing in the dark,” Goblin Slayer replied before Priestess could say anything. 

The man blinked but then took in the elf, dwarf, and lizardman. “No, I s’pose not,” he said with a laugh. “Pardon me very much. If you should need me, call anytime…” 

Then, still smiling pleasantly, the old man shuffled away into the dark. 

“Awful inconvenient being a human, huh? You can’t even see in dark places,” High Elf Archer opined as she watched him go. “I wonder what happens when he can’t get customers.” 

“Turns tour guide, I’ll bet,” Dwarf Shaman said knowingly, looking on with great interest. “Doesn’t help to see in the dark if you don’t know where you’re going.” 

Lizard Priest looked around, taking in the millennia-old town as he ran the carriage along a series of wheel ruts. “Well then, milady archbishop. What do you intend to do now?” 

“That’s a good question,” Sword Maiden said with curiosity from inside the carriage. “I’d like to ask you to take me to the temple, but have you been to the capital before?” 

“To my grave shame, I must admit this is my first time.” Lizard Priest rolled his eyes in his head and opened his jaws happily. “As it is, I might suspect, for everyone in our party.” 

“Then, would you be so kind as to direct the carriage where I tell you?” She sounded almost happy. 

From beside her, her acolyte said reprovingly, “Milady archbishop, you need not lower yourself to personally providing—” 

Sword Maiden’s luscious lips relaxed into a smile. “Many of the streets around here have names, but so few have signs to tell you what they are.” This place wasn’t built with travelers in mind. She giggled. The sound came from somewhere deep in her throat. “I can at least serve as our guide—so that’s something.” 

The adventurers walked casually alongside the carriage as it rumbled along the rutted streets. It seemed they would never get lost following the instructions of the blind Sword Maiden. 

It was twilight, the sky starting to turn purple, and the crowding of the capital was especially intense. Being with the carriage allowed them to walk down the middle of the road, but otherwise, they would have been crushed in the crowd. Residents of the capital walked around like they owned the place—which was fair enough—but travelers showed no special regard for other people, either. 

The glut of buildings and surrounding fortified walls made the air turgid, and the sun hardly reached street level. It felt as if, were you to get lost in the dark, you would never find your way again. That much was true. 

But… 

As they looked around, they saw the smoke of cookfires drifting from houses here and there; they smelled dinner being readied. They saw men leaving work and heading for places of drink and merriment. Women trying to attract the men to their various establishments. 

Some old men, who had the time to get into their cups early, were sitting by a building on stools, having a competition of some kind. Metal figures of swordsmen were placed on a board with square spaces, and they then moved them about by playing cards. 

Some kids noticed them playing, and set up by the roadside with their own little game that they shouted and cheered over. They drew a small circle with spaces in the dirt for a board, using stones for tanks. They moved the stones based on the numbers on their cards; there were occasional shouts of “Long live the King!” at which everyone was apparently required to cheer. 

But time is as time does. Mothers called to their sons and daughters, and children answered with “Aww!” but headed home. 

The old men watched the kids go, grinned to themselves, and started another game. 

By taking five pawns, they could get someone to treat them to a drink—so each of them was bent on winning. 

A hawker, meanwhile, held polished, round farsight crystals, claiming they were from another country. 

The onset of twilight brought men out to go drinking, and his metal helmet followed them closely. 

“…” 

Priestess scrunched up her eyes, happy for some reason. She liked the scent of people going about their business. The aroma that permeated the air in these few minutes between when the sun began to sink and when it was gone entirely. Be it in village or town, or even in the capital itself, it was always the same. 

In her heart, she recited a scripture passage by way of a prayer to the Earth Mother; her steps were light as they headed toward the temple. 

It was the first time in her life she had been to the capital. She wasn’t immediately enamored, but she certainly didn’t dislike it, either. 

And then, as she looked around here and there, she found her attention seized by one thing in particular: the students, holding long staves and dressed in black cloaks as they went about the city lighting the lanterns. 

Priestess blinked and bit her lip then rushed after the others. 

§ 

The temple—the worship hall of the Supreme God, who governed Order and Chaos—stood in the same quarter of the city as the rest of the houses of worship. It was certainly more elaborate than the Earth Mother’s temple in the frontier town, but it couldn’t compare with that of the Supreme God in the water town. 

It was certainly big, and there were a great many visitors, a crowd of people going in to seek justice despite the hour. And yet it had almost no decorations. Just white walls, a pointed roof, and the sign of the sword and scales…and that was it. A spirit of simplicity in architecture sounded very good, but in practice it turned out rather plain. 

“In the capital, it’s just one temple out of many,” Sword Maiden informed them. 

“Is that the story?” High Elf Archer muttered. “I was sure the Great Hero’s god would get an especially nice temple.” 

“Well, even my own residence is in the water town.” 

The carriage came to a stop, and Sword Maiden’s attendant helped her mistress onto the flagstone street. Even though she used the sword and scales like a staff, it was still impressive that she dismounted without so much as a wobble. 

“Milady archbishop!” 

“You’ve done well to come here, milady—welcome to our temple!” 

A couple of acolytes, presumably brought out by the sound of the carriage, emerged from the temple. One was a boy and one a girl, but both their eyes were sparkling as if they were meeting their hero. 

“Thank you,” Sword Maiden said, smiling back at them. 

Lizard Priest handed the reins to the acolytes as he clambered down from the driver’s bench. “Now, to get the luggage… I wonder what we shall do about lodging.” 

“If you’ve nowhere to stay, then by all means, please lodge at the temple.” 

Sword Maiden’s attendant was already pulling the luggage down, huffing under the weight. Lizard Priest took the cargo from her easily and lowered it gently to the ground. 

“Well!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide, but then she squinted them again and said, “Thank you very much.” 

“We have several rooms. Please, I insist.” 

“Hmm. Far be it for me to turn down hospitality. Yes indeed.” 

Priestess was exchanging greetings with the acolytes. High Elf Archer hopped gracefully down from the top of the carriage. “I’m in. If we’re not getting the royal suite anywhere, then it hardly matters where we stay.” 

“Call it a type of reward. Fine by me—but what do you think, Beard-cutter?” Dwarf Shaman stroked his white beard and glanced at the setting sun. “You can see it’s getting late. My guess is most of the inns around here are full.” 

“I don’t mind,” Goblin Slayer said shortly. Then he added, “I have no reason to object.” 

Sword Maiden clasped the sword and scales tighter to her chest. Only her attendant noticed, and she sighed with a combination of exasperation and amusement. 

“There is, however, something I wish to investigate. Do you have a library or the like?” 

“We do,” Sword Maiden said, almost in a gasp. She spoke as soon as he said a library or the like. “I’ll show you there immediately. My own authority should be more than enough to allow you access to—” 

“Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘pleasure before business’? Let’s put our bags down and get something to eat!” Dwarf Shaman waved a stubby hand. 

“But you just had a meal!” High Elf Archer put in. 

“Well, rheas make me look temperate,” Dwarf Shaman said with a shrug. “How about you, Scaly?” 

“I believe it is just about time for me to get a nice, bloodied hunk of meat,” Lizard Priest replied, working his jaws and pointedly rubbing his belly with one scaly hand. “If it were to have cheese on it, so much the more fearsome.” 

“I don’t mind,” Goblin Slayer said shortly. Then he added, “I have no reason to object.” 

Sword Maiden clasped the sword and scales tighter to her chest. Only her attendant noticed, and she sighed with a combination of exasperation and amusement. 

“…Let it be after you return, then.” 

“That’s what we’ll do. Yes, let’s,” she said under her breath, as if confirming it for herself. 

Goblin Slayer said only, “Yes please,” and then his metal helmet turned toward Priestess. “Is that all right with you?” 

“Oh yes, uh…” Finished talking with the acolytes, who were about her age, Priestess held her sounding staff in both hands and looked around uncertainly. “Th-there’s somewhere I’d like to go…” 

“Well now, that’s odd,” Dwarf Shaman said, his eyes widening beneath his brows. It was strange for this girl, who often seemed so young, yet was so serious, to say such a thing. “You know the way?” 

“I do. The address… Well, the way there…they just told me.” Her voice trailed off as she looked in the direction of the acolytes, who had already disappeared. “…If you won’t let me, I’ll understand.” 

Goblin Slayer’s rough-hewn, grimy helmet was impassive in the face of Priestess’s beseeching gaze. There was a grunt from inside his expressionless headwear. “Walking solo is dangerous.” 

High Elf Archer gave an exasperated shrug; he made it sound like she was walking into a dungeon. 

“I’ll go with her, then,” High Elf Archer said. “We should be fine together, right?” 

Lizard Priest nodded at the elf as she raised her hand. “We shall split into groups of three and two, then.” 

“That settles it. Sound good, Beard-cutter?” 

Goblin Slayer took in Priestess, still looking at him, and High Elf Archer, with her small chest puffed out. “I don’t mind,” he said shortly. Then he added, “I have no reason to object.” 

“I’ve heard about enough of that,” Dwarf Shaman grumbled, but then he rubbed his hands together and smiled. “So, milady archbishop. Any especially delicious restaurants you can recommend?” 

Sword Maiden clasped the sword and scales tighter to her chest. 

§ 

They ended up at The Golden Knight, a tavern that had been around since before the founding of the Adventurers Guild. 

In the capital, though, the word tavern encompassed a number of different types of establishments. There were tea bars and taverns proper, food courts and cantinas. 

The Golden Knight outdid them all for sheer revelry. 

Once through the door, the visitors were assaulted by a wave of sound. A ranger girl and a warrior in heavy armor were arguing about something; an Eastern-style fighter and a thief girl were watching them. 

In another corner, a boy spell caster—he looked like a rookie—took a swig of wine as his party members gathered around and teased him. 

One party centered around a human warrior monk but also included a padfoot warrior, a rhea spell caster, and a beautiful ranger. 

A female wizard was enjoying a meal with some adventurers who appeared to be her pupils; they showered her with admiring cries of “Teacher, teacher!” 

There was a table with a pudgy mage and a medicine woman. They were joined by a knight in armor and helmet and a female fighter; the two latecomers raised their glasses when they arrived… 

No doubt such scenes had repeated themselves endlessly, everywhere in the world, ever since people called adventurers had begun to appear. One would expect no less from an establishment that traced its history with adventurers back to the very moment the first Guild was founded. 

The number of people seeking adventure had increased dramatically, but all this time later, this remained a place of meetings and partings. 

The walls were covered with posts from people seeking parties, as well as parties looking to fill out members they needed. 

Over at a table in the corner was a young man, a rookie most likely, his face a mixture of expectation and excitement and apprehension. He must have been nursing dreams of a fateful encounter or an adventure out of legend. 

His dreams, though, would not come true. 

His brand-new armor and sword, both sparkling; his helmet-less head: all marked him out as a novice warrior. If he knew some magic, that might be one thing, but otherwise, he was likely to just sit on his hands all day. 

He would have to give in and approach someone himself, or decide to go solo… 

Whichever he chose, it would be on him to make the first move. And if he didn’t have it in him to make that move, well, he wasn’t going to survive very long as an adventurer. 

In the opposite corner, some tables were set up, and some of the tavern’s more shiftless residents were alternately cheering and groaning at a game of dice. This wasn’t like the games that the elderly and the children had been playing by the roadside; this was serious: money was at stake. 

On the wall nearby, the pieces of a broken die were skewered like a criminal’s body; it seemed there had been a lead weight inside, and it was being displayed for all to see. 

“Ahh, that’s a schoolboy cheat,” Dwarf Shaman said as he settled into a comfortable seat near the hearth. “Professionals use quicksilver. Lets them pick which way the dice’ll fall.” He rubbed his stubby fingers together, luxuriating in the aroma drifting from the food in front of him. 

Perhaps it was out of recognition that presentation was everything. Perhaps he simply meant to get the most out of all his senses. 

There was a boiled egg that had been cooked by being buried in the ashes of a fire, and a sauce of egg yolk, oil, and lemon. There was a stew cooked in a great pot, cream with plenty of cabbage and bacon. As for the entrée, there was a porridge of red snapper fish sauce mixed with giblets. And finally, cooked goose, in the same sauce of yolk, oil, and lemon. 

To cleanse the palate, there were honeyed grapes, plums, and apples… 

Dwarf Shaman’s eyes wandered happily over the feast. He could hardly decide where to look. 

“Point is, it’s fixed. Bah, leave it to a rhea to go to all that trouble for some measly dice.” 

“And then there are followers of the god of trade, who use the Luck spell to change the outcome,” Lizard Priest said, licking the tip of his nose. “But a roll is a roll. Neither Fate nor Chance has any more to say once the dice are still.” His gaze was fixed on a piece of goat cheese. 

Dwarf Shaman watched his scaly friend and laughed. “They say not even the gods can change a roll once made.” 

Four people cheered: a healer and a spell caster, a paladin and a thief. Apparently celebrating the defeat of a demon and the successful conclusion of an adventure. Dwarf Shaman raised a cup in their direction then drained it in acknowledgment of their achievement. 

“Got to say, I’m impressed our lovely archbishop knows about a place like this.” 

“She was herself an adventurer once, or so I hear,” Lizard Priest said somberly, inspecting the cheese as carefully as if he was checking the condition of his equipment. “At the time, it seems the owner had relocated from the capital to the northern reaches.” 

“Huh,” Dwarf Shaman said, stroking his white beard. “I suppose that would have been about ten years ago, then.” 

“Even so,” Lizard Priest replied with a slow nod. His long neck made it seem as if he were almost gazing into the past. 

Let’s see… How old is Scaly, again? 

If it was hard to guess Dwarf Shaman’s age from his appearance, it was no easier with Lizard Priest. But if he knew about the battle a decade ago… 

At that moment, though, Dwarf Shaman’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice. 

“Evening, sirs. Where might you be from?” 

They looked up to see a man with a stringed instrument in hand—a bard or entertainer of some kind—standing and smiling pleasantly at them. Lizard Priest made a strange hands-together gesture toward the man, who showed no sign of consternation at the sight of the lizardman. 

“We are from the western frontier,” he said. 

“I see—the west. Very good, that, very good.” 

Then the entertainer, who appeared to have something in mind, disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the tavern… 

Forever shall her name endure: 

Sword Maiden, whom the gods adore 

Six Golds, one holy maiden, she: 

Just scales, sharp sword, in her hand be 

All word-havers love her so 

Her prayers give rise to miracles 

Among six Golds, she ranged herself 

To fight the Demon Lord himself 

And now the beast is on his pyre 

Guards she the law with equal fire 

Forever shall her name endure: 

Sword Maiden, whom the gods adore… 

The powerful recitation cut through the chatter of the tavern. It told the story of the many adventurers who had beaten back the storm of Death that had come blowing down from the north ten years before. A great many hardened veterans had gathered at the northern fortress to challenge the dungeon there, but it had swallowed them up; they disappeared forever. 

Just six people succeeded in attaining this long-sought goal. Some people even referred to them as the Six Heroes, or simply the All-Stars… 

Whatever one called them, they were not legends, but true heroes who had appeared in actual history. 

“I see. He hopes travelers will be more likely to pay for ballads from home.” 

“Clever,” Lizard Priest murmured and put some change on the table for the bard to collect the next time he came by. 

“…So you’re saying that after the fighting calmed down, The Golden Knight came back here to the capital, too.” 

Meaning the keeper of this place must know our archbishop as well as we do, or better. 

Dwarf Shaman spared an interested glance in the direction of the barkeep then burped, his breath smelling of alcohol. 

“And you, Beard-cutter—you look worried about something.” 

“…” Goblin Slayer didn’t answer immediately. He took a hearty helping of stew, mixing it around with his spoon before sliding it through his visor. 

Cabbage and bacon simmered in cream. Goblin Slayer tilted his head curiously. 

It did not taste like the stew he ate at home. 

“You can tell?” he asked. 

“Or close enough,” Dwarf Shaman snorted, pouring himself plenty of wine. “It’s been a year since this party formed. If humans live an average of fifty years, we’ve been working together for one-fiftieth of your life.” 

“That’s nothing to sneeze at.” Dwarf Shaman underscored the point by taking a gulp of wine. He wiped some droplets from his mustache then went after the goose’s thigh, taking a big bite. 

Goblin Slayer watched the dwarf closely as he drank and ate in turn. 

“…We have not been focused on goblin slaying lately.” 

“A seabound adventure, then bodyguard work—although we did have that ambush. You are correct,” Lizard Priest said, nodding as he gleefully reached out for the cheese. 

Dwarf Shaman laughed and waved a hand; so rather than cut just a single piece of cheese, Lizard Priest simply gathered the entire wheel to himself. “Sweet nectar!” he exclaimed, pounding his tail on the floor. 

Dwarf Shaman sucked the bones clean, licked his fingers, wiped his mouth, and went for his next helping of meat. 

“It was fun.” 

Both of them stopped. 

Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest set down their respective meals and looked at each other. 

They shared a glance, nodded, then both shook their heads before they looked back at the cheap metal helmet glimmering in the firelight. 

“But in both cases, the shadow of goblins was near at hand,” Goblin Slayer said softly, a cupful of wine in his hand. He drained the contents in a single gulp then said with a sort of groan, “And if so, then perhaps that is not my duty.” 

“Duty?” 

“Yes,” Goblin Slayer nodded at Dwarf Shaman. “I am Goblin Slayer.” 

There was a noisy crackling of the fire, audible even over the sound of the crowd. A strange silence pervaded, as if they and they alone had been cut out of a picture. In the background, the bard had switched at some point to a ballad about the frontier hero Goblin Slayer assaulting a frozen mountain. 

“Hmm.” Dwarf Shaman stroked his beard and looked up at the ceiling. He wondered how long, how many centuries, it had been there, to grow so blackened with wine and blood and smoke. Was it the sea he saw there, or the stars? Whichever, it was something much older than any one human life. 

After a long moment, Dwarf Shaman smiled as if he were about to reveal the secret to a magic trick. “D’you know how smiths temper a sword?” 

“…No,” Goblin Slayer said after a moment’s thought. “I don’t.” 

“All right, well, let me tell you.” Dwarf Shaman began counting off on his rough, small fingers. “They heat it. They pound on it. They chill it. And then they heat it again.” 

“…Heat, pound, chill, heat,” Goblin Slayer parroted quietly. 

“S’right.” Dwarf Shaman crossed his arms. “The process requires each and every step. Whatever else you do to it, you have to do those four things.” 

“It seems most labor-intensive,” Lizard Priest offered. 

“Doesn’t it, though?” Dwarf Shaman grinned, as satisfied as if he had done the work himself. “A soft sword is supple but doesn’t fight well. A hard one can cut but will break before long. So what’s a good sword?” Dwarf Shaman was murmuring almost as if he were reciting a spell, but his voice carried as he took a sip of wine to wet his lips. “Cut with a sword and the blade starts to chip. But polish it up, and you’ve less steel to wield. And all steel’s just a speck of history’s dew. So what’s a good sword?” 

“…” Goblin Slayer listened silently. He looked like a child, sitting by the fire and listening to his grandfather tell tales. So when he finally spoke, the directness of what he said was surprising. “I don’t know.” 

“Of course you don’t. And it’s fine to live without knowing.” Dwarf Shaman squinted his eyes, running his thick fingers along his belly. “The secrets of steel are many, and complex.” 

The fire crackled loudly again. A log could be heard to split, and the attentive barkeep came over a moment later. He stirred the flame with a poker; Lizard Priest watched him closely until he left. Then he opened his jaws and let out a laugh that came from deep in his throat. “Heh-heh, master spell caster, you sound like a monk yourself.” 

“How about a word of guidance from a professional, then? For poor, lost Beard-cutter here.” 

“Hmm, yes, well, that will be most difficult.” Lizard Priest’s eyes rolled in his head, and he held up a metal skewer. He took some cheese he had sliced off with his claws, stuck it on the end of the skewer, and put it in the fire. “Few are the things that are incumbent upon all people to do.” 

Turn, turn. He twisted the metal skewer. The cheese was still solid enough to retain its shape. 

“To live, and to die with all one’s attention, that is what one must do. And that is more than difficult enough.” 

The lump of cheese was beginning to grill up, but it was still hard. It wasn’t ready yet. 

“Even the beasts of the field cannot live precisely the way they wish. How much less those who have words.” 

At last the cheese had reached its limit. It threatened to drip off the skewer. It was time. 

“To worry and to feel lost are well and good. I believe those very things are life itself.” 

Lizard Priest whisked the skewer out of the fire and stuffed the food, still hot, into his mouth. 

“Ahh, sweet nectar!” It was the same tone he used when praising his ancestors. A full-throated cry of joy. 

“Hmph.” Dwarf Shaman snorted, and then he reached for the goose again. “Sounds like what I was saying.” 

“Which means that it may indeed be close to truth.” 

Goblin Slayer suddenly remembered hearing something of the sort long ago. It was when he had been kicked into an icy river, his hands tied behind him. 

“Sink down deep! Then kick!” the rhea yowled, gesturing madly with his dagger. “Do that, and you’ll be able to float! Then do it again and again! Otherwise, all that awaits you is death!” 

He had been right. 

If Goblin Slayer hadn’t kicked then, he wouldn’t be here now. 

“…I see.” 

Then this probably was indeed close to truth. 

“I much agree,” Lizard Priest said with a nod. 

“That’s how it is,” Dwarf Shaman added. 

“You are…right.” 

Goblin Slayer brought some of the cabbage and bacon to his mouth. 

It didn’t taste bad at all. 

§ 

Stones stood in quiet rows there, like islands floating in a sea of fallen leaves that persisted no matter how carefully they were cleaned. It felt as if there was nothing to do in that place but kick one’s way through red and gold waves, relying on the numbers etched upon those markers to guide one. 

They were graves. 

The markers stood, organized by the careful numerology of the clerics of the God of Knowledge. 

Deep in the graveyard, Priestess stood by a new tombstone—well, not so new; it had been there for at least a year. 

The name carved on the stone was one she held dear, though she had only heard it for a single day in her life. 

Even though each of the stones was carved to a specific and identical size, this one seemed so…like her. Even if Priestess found her image fuzzy when she closed her eyes and tried to picture her. 

“…I’m sorry it took me so long,” she whispered in a trembling voice. She sank to her knees, heedless of the dirt, then brushed her palm along the tombstone. “…I’m sorry.” 

In spite of it all, that young wizard girl had been one of Priestess’s first party members. 

It was a story of ifs. 

If they had decided to hunt rats and not goblins for that first quest, what would have happened? 

Would everyone have survived? Would she and the young man and the women still be adventuring together? 

Would they have grown to care for one another? To know one another’s likes, dislikes, and interests? 

Perhaps. But now all of that was lost. 

All of it had been stolen from her. 

All those many days and months that should have been had been wiped away, and now, instead, Priestess was here. 

Priestess, who adventured with High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, Lizard Priest, and him. 

She could hardly think of it as good luck. Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t imagine considering it ill fortune, either. 

Fortune and misfortune, she realized, were inseparable, like milk mixed into tea. 

“I’ll keep hunting the goblins. Still.” Priestess’s lips softened as she spoke. “I’ll do it even if I tremble the whole time, the way you scolded me for.” 

That was right. Priestess must have looked ridiculous to this girl, who had been so ready, so into it. She suddenly found herself remembering the girl’s squinted eyes and drawn mouth as she shouted. 

No doubt she had had other expressions, but Priestess hadn’t gotten to see them. 

“I met your younger brother, you know… I actually became the teacher, believe it or not.” 

“Don’t be mad, okay?” Priestess whispered. I may not know much, but I taught him what I could. 

In the end, Priestess hadn’t brought flowers or fruit or anything else as an offering. She realized she didn’t know what the young woman liked or didn’t like. But she did know she seemed like the type who would be upset if a person picked some random item to leave at her grave. 

Thus Priestess simply whispered, “I’ll visit again,” and stood gingerly. 

“…Who’s in there?” High Elf Archer asked, her ears twitching. She stood a short distance away in the shade of a tree, her arms crossed. 

“An old—” Priestess started, but she had to close her mouth once and open it again before she could come up with “—party member.” 

“Huh,” High Elf Archer said quietly. She came over, her footsteps light, asking, “What was she like?” 

“…I’ve often wondered that myself,” Priestess said, sounding a bit detached, an ambiguous expression on her face. 

There was a gust of cool night breeze that made the leaves dance in the trees, and she reached up to keep her cap and hair from blowing everywhere. 

“I never even had the time to find out.” 

“That happens sometimes,” High Elf Archer said, squinting with pleasure as she felt the cool breeze on her cheek. She lifted her face up as if sniffing the wind, exposing her pale, slim neck. “The ties that bind us can be really strange. Sometimes it’s for a long time, others, just a short while.” 

“…You’re right.” 

“So they’re all gone now?” 

For a second, Priestess didn’t quite understand; she cocked her head in perplexity. Then, however, she grasped what High Elf Archer was asking. “No,” she replied with a bitter smile that somehow made her uncomfortable. “One of them is left. But…” 

“But what?” 

“…I just can’t work up the courage to see her.” 

Priestess’s voice grew smaller and smaller as she spoke, until it faded into the rustling of the trees. 

There was nothing an elf’s ears couldn’t hear, though, and now High Elf Archer’s wiggled. “I’ll bet you don’t need to worry about it as much as you think.” The elf whispered, “Not like it’s all your fault, I’m sure.” 

“…I don’t want to blame everyone else for it.” 

“Always so earnest.” High Elf Archer sniffed disinterestedly at Priestess’s awkward smile. She was starting to think she had an idea why the girl was so infatuated with “Goblin Slayer, sir.” 

She didn’t know if the reason was good or bad and had no intention of giving it any thought. 

“…Okay, well, let’s go stop being serious!” She dragged Priestess away by the hand, laughing aloud at the girl’s astonished expression. 

§ 

“W-wow…” 

Priestess had spent most of her time since arriving in the capital being shocked, but, well, there were a great many things she had never seen before. 

Now they were in a spacious, cool lobby, with a ceiling that vaulted high above them. The skylight let in the illumination of the stars and the moons; combined with the candles below, it was perfectly easy to see inside the room. 

A stream of people in comfortable clothes came and went, relaxing and enjoying themselves. Some sat on benches, reading books; others were working out, holding heavy stones in their hands; still others were drinking to their hearts’ content… 

Some people had spread cards on a table in the corner and were fighting the Black Death as it spread across a game board. 

Someone else was looking at a fresco of an armored warrior the likes of which Priestess had never seen, accompanied by the letters SPELLJAMMER. In a corner of the picture was the name of a theater and a date, and she realized it must be promoting a play. 

She didn’t see any kind of fireplace, yet the room was surprisingly warm. 

“There are pipes in the walls to bring in warm air,” a staff member told the goggling Priestess with a chuckle. Priestess quickly bowed her head toward the employee, who was wrapped in pure white cloth. 

“S-sorry, it’s just very unusual…” 

“I’d heard about the baths, but I didn’t realize how much else there was here,” High Elf Archer said with an intrigued wiggle of her ears. She was the one who had dragged Priestess here. 

Looks like she likes it here already, Priestess thought, giggling to herself. 

Elves always washed in cold water; they had little experience of deliberately using steam or heating water as part of the bathing process. This friend of Priestess’s, despite being so much older than her, always followed that same custom, with the exception of the hot spring the one time. 

The building attached to the aqueduct, which had drawn Priestess’s attention the moment she reached the capital, turned out to be a huge bathing facility. And it was, she suspected, much better to enjoy oneself at a bath than to sit and mourn in a graveyard. 

“There sure is. The workout area is open, and we also offer massage, as well as light refreshments.” 

“I’m sorry, but how much—?” Priestess was concerned: she mustn’t waste her money. But the employee simply smiled. 

“It’s all included with your entrance fee. Please, relax and enjoy yourself.” 

Priestess nodded eagerly, reflecting once more that the capital was truly an amazing place. She paid the handful of bronze coins then took a fresh look around to discover that indeed, very few people appeared to be using money. 

Well, with one exception. 

It appeared to be a massive bottle of water, set as if being offered up by a statue of a deity with the face of both a man and a woman. Carved on the statue was the inscription D ONATIONS FOR THE D EITY OF THE B ASIN, and there was a wooden box with a slot for offerings. 

Children shouted and dropped coins into the box; when they did so, water poured from the bottle all by itself. 

“That’s awesome!” 

Naturally, one of the girls went flying over to it—namely, High Elf Archer. Her ears stood straight up, and her eyes sparkled, and she got to the statue as quickly as if she were running through the woods. 

“Hey, how’s this work?” 

“What, you don’t know?” A boy hardly ten years of age sassed an elf of more than two thousand. “You put in your money, then something happens inside, and then the lid opens and the water comes out!” 

“Cool…!” 

The boy was flippant, and his explanation was really no explanation at all, but High Elf Archer was already loosening the strings of her purse. 

Priestess let her shoulders relax as she listened to the coin clink into the box. The weight she had felt in her small chest until just earlier seemed almost halfway gone. 

I know they say people never feel the same way for an entire hour… 

Now she felt like living proof. It made her part lonely and part relieved. 

And all of it was because she had a friend to drag her around like this. 

“…Hee-hee.” 

That was what made room in her heart for a chuckle to well up from within. 

Priestess looked around, planning to just take everything in until High Elf Archer got bored. 

There was a path leading to a changing room, a washroom, the exercise area—she assumed the baths were past the changing room. They couldn’t keep the others waiting forever while they played, but maybe they could have a little meal. And after a dip in the baths, she’d at least like a nice cold drink… 

Hmm. She tapped a slim, pale finger to her chin in thought, but then suddenly she blinked. 

Am I being watched? 

She detected an intense, almost piercing gaze on her. It was just a feeling, a sensation she probably wouldn’t even have noticed a year earlier. 

Priestess kept herself turned in the direction of High Elf Archer, who was standing in front of the water bottle yammering, and carefully moved only her eyes. 

…A soldier, maybe? 

The owner of the gaze was sitting on a bench; the person looked rather military. The touch of grime on them—maybe they were fresh off duty—suggested why they had come to the baths. 

But did I do anything wrong…? 

She didn’t think she had done anything to warrant the attention of a soldier, not since coming to the capital and certainly not since coming into the bathhouse. Increasingly uncomfortable, though, Priestess slid closer to High Elf Archer and tugged on her elbow. 

“Um…” 

“Hmm? Hang on a second. Just one more time…!” 

“No, I think we should get going, okay?” A thought flashed through Priestess’s mind: She’s hopeless. It was a bit like the thought she often had about him, although not quite the same, and it made her smile. “We need time for a bath, and…you’ll use up all your money.” 

The two of them only headed for the changing room, though, after High Elf Archer had offered three more donations. 

They followed the path running by the female face of the twin-sexed deity and soon found the women’s changing room. They found a small cold bath, the walls to either side of which had stools and several rows of cubbyholes. 

It was already evening, and they weren’t the first guests; Priestess and High Elf Archer soon undressed. There were plenty of humans in the capital, of course, but there were also dwarves and rheas about, so there was no particular need to be self-conscious. It was also surprisingly warm (the pipes, no doubt, as had been explained to them), so they weren’t concerned about catching cold. 

“Okay, here…” Priestess, looking at the other cubbies for her cues, folded her vestments and put them in a basket. Her slim frame had become noticeably more muscular over a year of adventuring, but she was still willowy. Beside her, High Elf Archer practically tore off her clothes and flung them in a basket. 

“They’ll get wrinkled if you don’t fold them properly,” Priestess chided her. 

“Aw, I don’t care,” High Elf Archer said, seeming genuinely indifferent as she waved a hand and her ears at the same time. “Hey. Come to think of it, did you bring any perfume oil?” 

“Uh-huh. I asked our receptionist for advice about it once, and, uh, well, the one I got was slightly expensive, but…” 

Her uncertain tone seemed to seek approval for this small luxury, and High Elf Archer giggled. “That’s fine. It’s not like you’re wearing it just to show off. I don’t think the gods are going to mind.” 

“…I think maybe you should pay a little more attention to what the gods will and won’t mind.” 

“Ooh, a scolding! You should learn to have more respect for your elders.” 

“Huh?! Hey, stop that—Ooh…!” 

High Elf Archer had reached out to poke Priestess with a finger, and the girls fell to shouting and giggling. 

Then, the elf’s sharp eyes settled on Priestess’s basket of clothes. 

“Are you still using that?” 

“Huh?” 

Priestess followed High Elf Archer’s gaze to the suit of mail. She had repaired it wherever it had been cut or slashed or stabbed, leaving little seams between the old and new chains. She kept it diligently oiled, and anyone could see at a glance how careful she was with it. 

“Oh yes, I am. It’s…very important to me.” 

“You make it sound like it’s some legendary armor or something.” High Elf Archer looked at Priestess from lidded eyes, and the younger girl scratched her cheek shyly. 

She’s definitely spent too much time around Orcbolg. 

That was very bad for this young (certainly young from an elf’s perspective) girl’s education, wasn’t it? 

Almost as soon as the thought crossed the elf’s mind, though, she dismissed it with a smile and a flick of her ears. 

I guess it’s a little late for that. 

Goblin hunting itself was bound to be bad for one’s upbringing. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.” High Elf Archer waved a hand at Priestess then suddenly smiled as a new thought came to her. “Since we’re here, how about we wash each other’s backs?” 

“Sure!” 

§ 

So the two of them chattered noisily as they washed, perfumed themselves, rinsed off, and set off for the baths. 

The bathing area was equally warm, thanks to the pipe system; there was one large hot bath and, across from it, a cold tub. Farther in, there was a sauna where it was even hotter. 

“I’ll be right back!” High Elf Archer said and jogged away, leaving Priestess by herself. 

She slid into the water with a quiet splash, stretched out her arms and legs, and let out a luxurious breath. It mingled with the warm air and drifted up to the domed ceiling. 

Gee, I could almost just fall asleep here… 

She felt like the heated water might soak through her whole body, and she might just melt away. She stretched out a pale arm, not thinking much of it, and noticed that there was some muscle there, even if not much. And she could see scars, whiter even than her skin, running along a few places. 

Experience was not normally so visible to the naked eye, but these scars were certainly part of hers. 

When she thought about it, it had been two solid years of running around, the occasional day off notwithstanding. 

That first adventure, her first party, the goblin nest, her party members dying, and then him. 

Again, she felt a welter of emotions she still didn’t fully understand welling up in her chest. 

But… 

Priestess glanced in the direction of the sauna High Elf Archer had run into and squinted. 

I really should be grateful. 

“…Hey.” 

“Huh?!” 

The unexpected voice interrupting her reverie nearly sent Priestess jumping clear out of the water. She rushed to cover her chest and turned around, and she found a girl looking at her wide-eyed. 

She had golden hair that went down to her shoulders, blue eyes, and she was fifteen—no, maybe sixteen—years old. 

Priestess, however, could only blink at her. Something felt…off. The girl in front of her seemed to feel the same way. 

“Oh,” Priestess said, looking into the girl’s startled eyes. 

It was a face she rarely saw except perhaps in the Temple’s reflecting pool, but there it was. The other girl seemed to have more lustrous hair. Her skin was prettier, though she was puffier. Tall, too. But… 

We do look similar. 

Yes, the other girl was obviously superior. But there was a similarity. 

Priestess, growing embarrassed, slid back down into the bath. The other girl was like an improved version of herself. 

“Can I…help you?” 

“You’re an adventurer, right?” The words came down like a judgment from above—which maybe only made sense, since the girl was standing up. 

When Priestess nodded in the affirmative, the girl said, “Thought so,” nodded with self-assurance, and sat down. Her breasts made water splash aside as she climbed in; Priestess glanced down at the sight. The gods were so unfair. 

“Hey, what’s your class?” 

“I’m a servant of the Earth Mother.” 

“A priest, huh?” Not bad. 

Priestess looked curiously at the mumbling girl. “If you’re hoping to find someone to join your group, I’m afraid I’ve already got a party…” 

“Huh?” the other girl said, surprised, but then she said, “Oh, no, no. Not what I was thinking.” 

Then what, I wonder? 

Not being able to guess what the other person wanted left Priestess suspicious and worried. She doubted she was in real physical danger here, but she also didn’t have a scrap of clothing to defend her. She stiffened slightly, still keeping her chest hidden. She didn’t get any bad vibes from this girl, yet… 

“I wanted to ask, just for my reference—what kind of equipment do you use? What’s your rank?” 

“Uh, I’m Steel-ranked. And…my equipment?” 

Priestess focused more closely on the other girl, who had suddenly slid much closer. Priestess was a far cry from a warrior, but she thought the other girl didn’t look much more physically hardened herself. A wizard—or cleric, perhaps? An adventurer hopeful? That possibility struck her as the most likely as soon as it crossed her mind. 

…I wonder if I should try to stop her. 

It was only a possibility. But all her own experiences flashed through her mind. 

Then again, though, everything that had happened to her since that time, she had gotten from adventuring. She couldn’t deny that—nor should she. 

“I wear clerical vestments and carry a sounding staff, and I use mail.” 

“Hmm,” the other girl said. “Do they have, y’know, holy power or a blessing on them or something?” 

“No, they’re just…a normal staff and mail, really.” 

Still, she had first bought the armor because of the advice he had given her. Thinking about it, she realized that even in the battle in the sewer, the mail had saved her life. 

The other girl watched Priestess brush her own shoulder with her palm and grumbled, “Eh, guess that’s the best you can hope for as an eighth-rank.” 

Priestess pursed her lips at the girl’s condescending tone. “You don’t like it?” 

“Huh? Don’t like what?” 

She looked so thoroughly perplexed that Priestess spared her any follow-up. A moment later, the girl jumped up out of the bath. “Anyway, thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

“Uh, sure…” 

Should I say something to her…? 

Was it just a grandmotherly busybody-ness that motivated her—or was it a handout from the gods? The moment of anxiety and indecision set off an alarm in her heart: Don’t let her go like that. You have to offer her something. But what? 

Even the gods couldn’t say what the dice would do when they fell. 

Priestess swallowed heavily; when she spoke, she found her voice shaking unaccountably. 

“…Um, if you’re going to become an adventurer, you should prepare… I mean, make sure to do your shopping and such, okay?” 

“Wha?” Again, that uncomprehending expression. The girl thought for a moment then nodded. “You’re right, shopping is—it’s important.” 

Then the girl set off at a brisk clip, all but kicking up the water from the pool. Priestess trailed her shapely form with her eyes then sank into the bath up to her nose. She blew listless bubbles in the water. 

“Phew! Ooh, just got a rush of blood to the head, I think. It’s wild in there.” 

At that moment, High Elf Archer came back, slapping her cherry-red cheeks with her hands. Moving the long ears that were a trademark of her people, she looked after the girl Priestess had just been talking to. 

“Who was that just now?” 

“Er… No idea.” That was all Priestess could say. That was all there was to say. 

High Elf Archer looked a bit suspicious but then exclaimed, “Ah well,” and plopped into the water. “So, whatcha wanna do? Want to check out the back there? I’m just gonna hang out here for a few minutes.” 

“No…” Priestess thought for a moment then slowly shook her head. “…Let’s head out.” 

§ 

When they got back to the changing room, they were surprised to discover how refreshed they felt despite the warm air. They toweled themselves off, perfumed themselves again, and dabbed off the sweat before heading to change. 

“I wish I brought a fresh set of clothes to change into,” Priestess remarked. 

“That’s the way it goes,” High Elf Archer said. “We weren’t planning on this. You can change when we get back, right?” 

They walked along, their bare feet pattering on the stones, when… 

“Huh?” Priestess piped up suddenly, rubbing her eyes. Her basket was gone. She knew where it should be; it had been right next to the one in which High Elf Archer had casually tossed her hunting garb. 

“That’s weird,” High Elf Archer said. “Wonder if somebody moved it.” 

“But I’m sure it was right here…” 

In place of her vestments, she found what seemed to be a soldier’s outfit, dirty and sweaty, stuffed into the basket. Priestess looked around to make sure her possessions hadn’t simply been misplaced somewhere. “What…? What?” 

She didn’t see them anywhere. 

Her voice grew more and more plaintive, and tears began to brim at the corners of her eyes. It felt like she was on the edge of a precipice. 

“Stay calm. You’re sure you put them here?” 

“Yes…” 

“Those aren’t the kind of clothes anyone would just take by mistake…” 

A priestess’s vestments, a sounding staff, a cap, and mail. Not easy to mistake for something else. 

What was she going to do, what was she going to do? Priestess, feeling as if she might burst into tears, conducted a nervous but futile search of the other baskets. 

“Is there a problem?” a white-clothed employee asked, coming over. Priestess’s distress must have been obvious. She opened her mouth to say something, but somehow she couldn’t quite get the words out. 

“Ah, um, m-my, my clothes…!” 

“Yes?” the employee responded suspiciously. 

“We can’t find her clothes,” High Elf Archer offered. “She’s a priestess of the Earth Mother, see? I don’t think anyone would grab her stuff by accident…” 

“…Just a moment, please. I’ll check with the guard,” the staff member said briefly and then left even more quickly than she had arrived. 

High Elf Archer held Priestess’s hand as they waited; the girl was pale and restless. 

“It’s okay. I’m sure they’ll find your stuff soon.” 

“I know. Erm, but… But what if…?” 

The employee did soon return. “I’m very sorry,” she said, her face seriousness itself. “…I’m informed that someone wearing vestments of the Earth Mother did indeed leave here earlier. It’s possible that—” 

“They were stolen?!” High Elf Archer exclaimed in spite of herself. Priestess felt her mind go blank. 

“Ex-excuse me…!” She pushed away High Elf Archer’s hand, flying over to the soldier’s clothes and pawing through them. 

The soldier in the changing room. The young woman who had spoken to her. The “shopping.” 

Soon she saw more or less what she had expected. 

There was the leather pouch she always used as her purse. Sparkling on top of it were several brilliantly polished gems. They were unmistakably fine stones, and their meaning was equally clear. 

They were payment for her clothes. 

“Oh—urk—m-my—my…!” 

The hat she could bear to lose, and the vestments, too. Her rank tag could be reissued. Her sounding staff, as much care as she had given it, could be replaced. And her most important possessions were all back at their rooms, as was a change of clothes. All of that was manageable, as far these things went. 

But—her mail was gone. 

The item she had saved up for, using the rewards from her first few adventures, the very first armor she had bought for herself, was nowhere to be found. 

She had worn it during the battle with the ogre. In the sewers, on the snowy mountain, at her promotion test, and in the rain forest, it had been with her. 

It had saved her life. She had repaired it, patched it, taken extensive care of it. 

And all for just one reason. 

“It was the f-first…thing he ever p-praised me for…!” 

The loss of it finally broke Priestess completely. The strength to stand abandoned her, and she all but tumbled to the stone floor. 

“M— My— Myyy…! She took it…!” 

“…Geez, I… I’m sorry. I wish I’d never thought of coming here,” High Elf Archer mumbled softly from beside her friend, who was weeping and choking like a little girl. 

“Oooh,” Priestess said—not words, exactly—and shook her head vigorously from side to side. 

High Elf Archer knelt down and gently, oh so gently, rubbed the back of the first friend she had made in two thousand years. 

“…We’ll get it back. I promise.” 

§ 

The candle in the stand was the only source of light in the dim room, through which echoed an intermittent sound of scraping metal. 

There was a bed beside the window. Sitting on the bed was a man in pitiful equipment; he was the source of the sound. 

Goblin Slayer worked the whetstone along the blade in a way that was less sharpening and more scraping away the metal. Maybe that was because the weapon was simply a generic item—but no, this man would have treated a legendary sword in exactly the same way. 

The polishing stopped for a moment, and the sword, with its strange length, was held up to the light. 

Those who had learned just a tiny bit of adventuring from tales and songs might smirk and say knowingly that a sword is actually an expensive club, but they would be wrong. 

A sword is for tearing skin, cutting flesh, and shattering bone. Otherwise, why make swords at all? 

Only the massive two-handed blades of knights could cut, pierce, smash, and club all at once. They were like a sword, spear, hammer, and pickax all in one. 

The weapon Goblin Slayer was holding at that moment, though, was nothing of the sort. It was for piercing the throats of goblins, cutting out their hearts, lopping off their heads. Nothing more and nothing less. 

“………” 

It had been a little less than an hour since Priestess had come home sniffling. High Elf Archer, her ears drooping unhappily, had been desperately trying to comfort her but didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. 

What’s more, Priestess hadn’t been wearing her vestments, but a dirty soldier’s outfit that didn’t quite fit her. When he asked what had happened, High Elf Archer had replied despondently, “Stolen.” 

This was neither the frontier town nor the water town. It was the biggest city in the nation. It was full of people, not all of them good-hearted. 

Lizard Priest had been transparently furious, as if he might start breathing sulfur and flame at any moment; Dwarf Shaman had merely looked sour. 

“Perhaps we can try taking our grievance to the castle t’morrow,” he’d suggested, but Priestess hadn’t answered, just shook her head. 

Goblin Slayer had stood up from his seat, gone back to his room, and had been passing the time since then like this. 

He didn’t say anything at all. 

“………” 

Goblin Slayer’s hand stopped again, and he held the sword against the light. He brushed a finger along the edge and nodded. 

He put the sword in its scabbard; next, he took out his southern-style bent-cross throwing knife. 

“You aren’t going to be with her in this difficult moment?” The unexpected voice was sultry, yet pointed, with something of the sound of a pouting child. 

“No.” Goblin Slayer didn’t even turn his helmet in the direction of the woman who had come in without so much as the sound of the door opening. 

“I see,” Sword Maiden said, her lips pursed. She slunk toward the bed. 

Then she sat down, her soft, fleshy body contorting as if she were about to kneel before the man on the bed. 

“A crying girl wants to be comforted, you understand?” 

“Is that so?” 

“Believe me, I know,” Sword Maiden said. She cast her gaze down at her hands, which brushed along her legs. “………Because I’m just the same.” 

“I see.” 

There was a noisy scraping as Goblin Slayer began to hone the bent-knife blade. Sword Maiden’s sightless eyes drank him in as he worked at the evil-looking blade. Her cheeks slowly went from puffed in annoyance to soft, turning up at the edges. 

The shadow of his helmet on her face slid and danced with each flicker of the candle flame. 

“You mustn’t make a girl cry.” 

“I know.” 

Goblin Slayer’s words were harsh, almost violent in their brevity; for an instant, Sword Maiden was shocked. If she hadn’t had a cover over her eyes, they might have appeared wide—but he ignored her and kept polishing. 

“I learned that long ago.” 

“I… I see.” Sword Maiden didn’t quite know what to say. “I brought you a book.” So instead she fell back on the nominal reason she was there. 

She placed on the table the book she had been holding, a volume about belief in the Dark Gods and its associated symbols. 

“I was afraid we wouldn’t have time for me to show you to the library personally anymore…” 

“I see.” 

The answer was brief—and not elaborated. 

Sword Maiden stood there for a long moment, until finally, she gave a little snort. She turned around and was about to leave the room, when— 

“All things become lost,” Goblin Slayer said with particular softness. This was a man who rarely spoke loudly to begin with. 

“You’re right,” Sword Maiden said just as quietly. 

“When I was a boy, my father promised to give me his dagger after I grew up.” The hands stopped working, and Goblin Slayer held the blade up to the light, inspecting it, before running a finger along it. “It was a very good dagger, I believe, with a hawk’s head carved on the grip.” 

He tossed the whetstone away. It landed on the floor with a heavy thump. 

“I don’t know where it is now.” 

Then he shoved the throwing knife back in his item bag and fell silent again. 

Sword Maiden used the shadow of his helmet to hide the slight change in her expression, whispering only, “I didn’t know.” She brushed Goblin Slayer’s knee with her pale, shapely fingers. She let them keep going until she was caressing his leg, as if she was touching something very dear to her. “Tomorrow, I’ll be going to the castle. I have a council with His Majesty the king.” 

Like I told you at the beginning. Sword Maiden giggled like a child. 

“His Majesty and I have a long history together… When I see him, I’ll try to bring it up with him.” 

Goblin Slayer’s head turned slowly toward her. It was the first time the helmet had faced her. 

“…” He appeared to be struggling to find the words, until finally he said, “I see.” He was silent for another moment before adding simply, “Please do.” 

On Sword Maiden’s face, a flower blossomed. “I will—just leave it to me.” A wide smile appeared on her full lips, and she stood excitedly. She struck the floor once with the sword and scales she used in place of a staff, causing the scales dangling from the hilt to jangle. “I’ll put everything I can into it… Tell me, will that be enough for you?” 

The sweet, inviting whisper. Goblin Slayer said, “Yes,” and nodded. “Pardon the trouble—but please do.” 

“?!” Sword Maiden didn’t answer but walked away almost as if she were floating. She opened the door, again silently, went out—but then looked back in briefly. “Er, ahem…” 

“……” 

“Good night, and…sweet dreams.” 

“Yes,” Goblin Slayer said with a nod. “You as well.” 

Her face flushed like an adolescent girl’s, and she closed the door. 

With the door shut behind her, Sword Maiden put a hand to her face and fell on her bum—not that Goblin Slayer was aware of any of this. He had instead picked up the whetstone he’d cast onto the floor earlier, rolling it around in his hands. 

He silently polished the rest of his daggers, checked the state of his equipment, and made sure his item pouch was organized. 

Then he opened the book Sword Maiden had brought him, comparing it with the shred of goblin skin, which he had produced from his bag. 

It was a very strange symbol. It looked something like a hand drawn in red pigment, but there was no entry for anything like it. 

That thief, he thought, was like a goblin. Perhaps it had been a goblin. 

One must be prepared at all times. 

Such was the conclusion he reached, and he spent the rest of the night readying his equipment, until, as the first rays of dawn came through the window, he napped a little. 

This was not his farm. There was no need to patrol. But if goblins appeared, he intended to kill them. 

There was nowhere in this world without goblins, as he well knew. 

That was simply the way things were.