Goblin Slayer Side Story: Year One, Vol. 2

by Kumo Kagyu

  At the beginning, stabbing the heads of the dead men had made the women clamor and shout, which had been quite a lot of fun. But their responses got less emphatic every day, and now they were in danger of becoming downright boring.

  Even showing them the heads—thoroughly rotted by now—provoked only a dull “ugh” or “ahh.”

  But listening to her now, they had to be doing something interesting.

  The thought caused the goblin to stamp his feet, making it impossible to stay where he was.

  Maybe he could just let guard duty take care of itself?

  The goblin nodded; a fine idea, if he did say so himself. No one would notice if he quietly sneaked in to join them. The others should be pulling some guard duty anyway.

  Yes, that was what he would do. The goblin threw aside his spear, adjusted his loincloth (it didn’t cover much), and turned back.

  The next second, he found something wrapped around his mouth, like a snake, and then a sharp blade ran across his throat. The goblin heard the whistling gurgle of his own blood, instants before he began to choke on it.

  A moment after that, he was unable to move, and then he was dead.

  No one mourned him.

  §

  “One.”

  The adventurer kept the twitching goblin’s mouth covered until he was sure the creature was no longer breathing, then he slowly rolled the corpse over. He gave his sword a shake to get the blood off, then shoved it back in its scabbard. In its place, he inspected the dropped short spear, then added it to his belt.

  There was a limit to how much he could carry, but so long as they didn’t become a hindrance, one could never have too many weapons.

  Then he silently surveyed the area before kicking the goblin’s body into the shadows. Just to be sure.

  He took the torch in his left hand and sent it rolling across the floor so that both his hands were empty. Well in the distance, he could hear the unmistakable sounds of goblin revelry.

  Slowly, carefully, he brought his heel down, tensing his abdominal muscles so as to be as quiet as possible while he crept along. Trying to sneak along on one’s tiptoes used too much energy, and it brought the heaviest part of the body down too quickly. How was anyone supposed to sneak around if they were practically falling all over the place? It was a question his master had posed to him amid a flurry of angry blows.

  He spotted a light source, but goblins didn’t need light to see by. It was either for warmth, or for fun.

  The latter, perhaps.

  He was exactly right.

  “Ahhh?! Aggghh!”

  “GOROBOGO! GOROBOGOGOG!!”

  A woman screamed inarticulately, followed by the cackling of goblins. They were taking a metal pole resting in the fire at the center of the room and pressing it to the woman’s skin. Each time, she would thrash about trying to escape in a hideous perversion of a dance.

  He couldn’t tell immediately whether she was an adventurer or a village girl. Terrified and screaming, weeping as she desperately tried to run away, begging for forgiveness, she could have been any girl anywhere. But then there was the jangling of the rank tag around her neck.

  She was so thoroughly broken that he couldn’t tell who she was, even though they’d given him information prior to the quest. He didn’t think about what must have happened to make her this way. He already knew.

  And in her own way, she was still better off than the others.

  Amid discarded skeletons, he had found several other young women consigned to the blood and muck. Their clouded eyes had lost their light, their bodies were missing things they should have had, and they constantly muttered gibberish to themselves.

  Presumably, the remaining prisoners were now in the goblins’ stomachs.

  Which was the better fate? He didn’t bother with the question. He had other things to worry about.

  I count four enemies. At least one sword, ax, and club each. No archers. One looks like a hob.

  “GOROOBOG! GOROBG!!”

  “GBRRG…”

  One especially muscular goblin grabbed some meat from a plate (not crafted by the goblins, surely) and took a big bite. Then he gestured with a tug of his chin at another of the goblins, gave the creature a shove, and stole the wine cup from his hand.

  Around the big monster’s neck sparkled several rank tags he must have taken from adventurers.

  This was their leader—it had to be. A hobgoblin.

  The adventurer mulled over things for a moment, then slipped into the room. He stuck his fingers into a crack in the stone wall. There was moss inside, but it would do for a handhold. He began to pull himself up one bit at a time.

  Once he was high enough, he began looking for footholds, then he felt for the next place to put his hands and started climbing again. He wasn’t exactly nimble, but compared to the tree he had climbed as a boy, this was easy.

  Was that tree still there? Or was it gone now?

  “Errggyahh… St…op…”

  “GROBG! GRROROGB!!”

  He ignored the sudden flash of memory, focusing his attention on the goblins. Fortunately (as fortunate as anything could be in this place), they didn’t seem to have noticed him yet. His enemies’ revelry didn’t mean he was free to make noise, but a small amount of sound could go unnoticed.

  The adventurer stopped where he was and steadied his breathing, then climbed just a little higher.

  He checked his distance, then kicked off the wall as hard as he could.

  He had no superhuman jumping capability. In his armor and helmet, all he could really do was drop like a stone.

  But he only needed enough speed to crush a goblin underfoot. This would do nicely.

  “GBOROB?!” One goblin shouted when something suddenly landed on him. The adventurer ignored him except to step on his neck. Two.

  “GGB?! GOBOGORB!!”

  “GRBG!!”

  The ambushed goblins now yammered and got to their feet, but of course, he had been expecting that. He didn’t waste a moment: he already had a dagger in each hand.

  “GROOGBG?!”

  “GORRG?!”

  One goblin found a tossed knife protruding from his windpipe; he flailed his arms like he was drowning and then collapsed. Three.

  Rather than bothering to watch the monster die, the adventurer pulled the spear from his belt in a reverse grip and thrust it behind him.

  “GOBOOOGOB?!”

  The goblin, slow to react because he had been so engrossed in jabbing the woman, thrashed as he was stabbed through the back. Four.

  The captive shrieked as a geyser of blood came down on her head, but that didn’t matter right now.

  “GOOOROGOB!!”

  The companions of the dead goblins were waving clubs that appeared to be made of wood. Taking the leader in an ambush was always best, but there were no guarantees. If he’d failed, it would have been a five-on-one fight, and he had wanted to avoid that.

  He had chosen to even the odds a little first. Then the fight could really start.

  “GOROBG! GGBGOROGB!!”

  “Hrrr—ah!”

  The club slammed down on what looked like the remains of a meal, scattering bits of it everywhere.

  He jumped back to dodge it, drawing his strange-length sword with his right hand.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Ahh… Ugh…”

  Immediately to his side was the woman the goblins had been torturing until a moment before. He spoke to her, but the response was faint and slow.

  It would be difficult to do this without involving her. He couldn’t retreat. The hobgoblin was closing in. The adventurer clicked his tongue.

  “Hmph.”

  “GOROG?!” The great monster tried to continue his attack, but then cried out. It was because the adventurer had flung the red-hot pole rolling on the ground nearby with his foot.

  The creature shouted and flailed, entirely missing the parallel between the current predicament and what they had been doing
to the young woman a few minutes before.

  The armored man, not about to miss such a ripe chance, raised his round shield and charged into his enemy.

  “GROGORO!!”

  “Hrrgh…!”

  The club came at him again; he did his best to catch the attack early in the swing and divert it. He felt his left hand tingle from the impact.

  But it was no longer a problem. He felt the sword in his right hand sink into the hobgoblin’s gut, then he twisted it.

  “GOROGOBOGOBOGOROBG?!” With a great howl, the hobgoblin dropped his club.

  This would make five…

  “GGBGRO!!”

  “Hagh…?!”

  But the next instant, he felt a massive fist connect with his head, and he went tumbling through the air. He landed in a corner of the hall, falling among the bones and scraps—no, rolling.

  He had to if he wanted to avoid the fist that came crashing down the very next second.

  The girls screamed—they had become numb to their surroundings but still retained instinctive fear—while he got to his feet, shaking his head.

  It didn’t die immediately?

  He hadn’t struck the hobgoblin in a vital place. Wait—he had more important things to do now.

  He felt around near his feet, fighting against his wobbly, unsteady vision until he found something.

  “GBOORGB?!”

  A scream. The sound of shattering bones. He didn’t know where he had hit it, but he’d hit it nonetheless.

  “Ah… Hrah!”

  “GOROGB?! GBRRG?! GOBOG?! GBBGB?!”

  He closed the distance, raised his weapon, brought it down. Again. Once more. And then again.

  Soon the hobgoblin’s screams ceased, and the room was filled only with a watery smacking sound.

  He finally let out a breath and looked at the implement in his hand.

  It emitted a faint smoke; this was the shard of timber the goblins had been using to keep a fire going.

  “…I see.” He tossed it behind himself again, then braced a foot against the hobgoblin’s stomach and pulled out his sword. It was followed by a pile of entrails, but he jabbed and slashed the creature again, just to be sure.

  Stabbing it in the stomach hadn’t killed it. Even a monster with a caved-in face could potentially stand again.

  Finally, he wiped the blood off on a goblin’s loincloth, returned the sword to his scabbard, and murmured, “Five… It wasn’t supposed to be a small brood, though.”

  Most likely, the adventurers who had come to explore this place had thinned out the goblins’ numbers. It was also likely that’s how they got wiped out.

  He considered that fact, accepted it, then shook his head.

  It wouldn’t do for him to misunderstand. It was a common story, but not inevitable, not even frequent. It was simply that there were always unlucky people, at all times and in all places. Maybe they were novices who lacked the knowledge or experience, or maybe they had tripped up in the middle of battle…

  That was all it was, and nothing more.

  All the more reason he shouldn’t imagine that he was better than anyone else merely because he’d survived. His master had taught him that more than once, and here again he found himself keenly aware of the truth of that lesson.

  After all, it was goblins who unequivocally believed they were always the best and most important things in the world.

  He reminded himself of these things as he gathered the young women, the hapless survivors, picking them up and setting them down like so much luggage. He found the most presentable blankets from his own bags as well as from among the goblins’ looted goods and used them to cover the women.

  He did so in part because he didn’t know their physical state, and partially because they must be exhausted.

  All any of them could do was weep; when he saw that none of them was in a fit state to talk, he calmly gave them just the facts. “You’ll be able to go home soon,” he said, and then after a moment’s thought, he added, “Just wait a little while.”

  No other comfort I might offer would have any meaning.

  Now ignoring the wailing women behind him, he began rifling through the goblins’ instruments of battle with a nonchalant hand. It hadn’t been very long since the initial kidnapping this time, but he had seen goblin children before.

  They might be hiding. He had learned that goblins were quick to reproduce.

  Plus, he wanted to at least bring back the rank tags of the dead adventurers.

  “……?”

  In the muck, his hand brushed against something hard. He pulled it out and found a small ring set with a gemstone.

  A ring of Mapping, perhaps?

  No, it’s not that.

  He wiped off the grime and looked at the shimmering stone. He had never seen anything quite like it before, not that he was especially familiar with such things.

  The inside almost seemed to be aflame, burning and burning without end.

  “Hmm.”

  He tossed it nonchalantly into his bag and out of his mind.

  He had other things to think about.

  The goblin corpses. The kidnapped women. Getting everyone home safely and making his report.

  After that, there was collecting his reward, preparing his equipment, finding the next quest, and killing goblins.

  He wore grimy leather armor and a steel helmet with a broken horn on it. He carried a sword of a strange length at his hip and a small round shield on his arm.

  For Goblin Slayer, as for the goblins, this was an ordinary day, just as terrible and ugly as all the others.

  §

  “Ahh, what fantastic weather!”

  The sun and blue sky hanging overhead, Cow Girl flung white sheets over the clothesline. They gave an audible snap as they fluttered open.

  She put the laundry in a washbasin with some ash, trod it clean, let it dry, and then gathered it together. The process took time and effort, but to her own surprise, once she got started, she enjoyed it, so much that she started openly chuckling to herself.

  As for him, he had gotten to the point where he actually slept in the main house instead of in the shed. That meant more laundry—but maybe that was part of why she enjoyed it.

  “”

  Cow Girl hummed a little tune as she grabbed the next item: a shirt—his shirt. She had quietly gone into the shed and collected it while he was out. It was caked with dust, dirt, sweat, and what she thought was probably blood.

  She could hardly just leave it that way. She was taken aback to see how thickly the water ran with grime as she worked the shirt with her feet. But then she gave it a firm flap to get the wrinkles out and nodded at it in satisfaction.

  “Mm, excellent!”

  There were still a few defiant stains, but the worst of the stuff had come off. That would do nicely. He did talk to her, a girl, almost every day. Surely it wasn’t wrong to expect him to pay just the slightest bit of attention to his appearance.

  “Then there’s that armor of his…”

  She put her chin in her hand and had a hard think. It was definitely dirty—at least, that was what she figured—but somehow it didn’t seem likely he would clean it for her. And something in her hesitated to take it upon herself to shine the thing up. It was part of his work, his job, and that wasn’t something she should intrude on.

  His work…

  Cow Girl briefly paused in her own labors and looked up at the sky.

  Adventure. Adventurers.

  She felt so close to those words, and yet so far away.

  He ensconced himself in his armor and helmet and delved caves or old ruins where he did battle with monsters.

  The way she remembered him was from five years before, on the day of their fight… And then that boy she remembered reappeared before her as an adventurer.

  On one level, she understood that one of those boys had become the other.

  Yet on another, she couldn’t for the life of her imagine that they were the sam
e person.

  “…This is a tough one.” She ran a hand over her bangs, so much lighter after her escapade with some scissors. Her field of vision seemed wider now, too; she felt as if she could see things a little differently now, and yet, she still couldn’t quite accept it all.

  “Well, I guess it’s not really anything to worry about… I think?”

  Hmm? Cow Girl cocked her head in surprise. She had reached for the next piece of laundry, but her hand only grabbed empty air. When she looked over, she found there was nothing left in the washbasin.

  Hmm. So she had cleaned it all up without even realizing it.

  What to do?

  She put her hand to her face instead, shading her eyes as she stared up at the sun. It was still high in the sky, too early to be done with work. There were the cows and pigs and chickens to attend to, of course, but they didn’t need constant care. And though she tried to help out around the farm any way she could, her uncle rarely let her do anything too physical. She understood that he was concerned for her, knowing how she had been until very recently, but it still left her a bit dejected.

  “Hmm…… Oh, got it!” She snapped her fingers awkwardly. She would make dinner. That would be good.

  Nothing special motivated her; it was just an innocent, passing thought. To Cow Girl, though, it seemed like an excellent idea, and she started skipping toward the house—

  “Whoops, hold on, hold on.”

  She grabbed the washbasin she had nearly forgotten, pouring out the water so the tub could dry. Then she jogged back to the house.

  What to make? What did they even have? What could she cook well? She was familiar with her uncle’s favorites, but…

  “I wonder if he’ll like them…?” she murmured, running a finger along her lips.

  The possibility made her very happy. She pumped her arm, excited and ready to go.

  §

  “Sorry, can’t buy it from ya.”

  “I see.”

  The stubborn old man dropped the ring on the counter, fixing the adventurer in front of him with a suspicious glare. “How’d y’come by the likes of this anyway?”

  “I picked it up,” Goblin Slayer replied. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “In some ruins. They had been turned into a goblin nest.”