Goblin Slayer Side Story: Year One, Vol. 2

by Kumo Kagyu

  Now that was a critical hit.

  “Hup… Ah… Man, that was a close one…!” Martial Artist landed unsteadily on her feet, putting a relieved hand to her ample bust.

  Young Warrior let out a deep breath, said, “Good,” and again set upon the goblins in front of him.

  “GOBORG?!”

  “GRG?! GOOBG?!”

  There were just three of them left, and their leader was dead.

  We can do without a description of the rest; the party finished off the monsters, every last one.

  Now, then.

  With the fight over, what remained was to go through the goblins’ possessions.

  “Ahem, let’s see here. It’s not like I’m expecting goblins to have anything worthwhile on them, but…”

  It was, of course, Dwarf Scout who reached out, grinning, toward the corpses. Young Warrior was staggered by how nimble her large fingers were. But he had other things to worry about.

  He searched in the baggage for the water pouch. When he found it, he looked over at the padfoot wizard.

  “Go ahead, both of you,” the old beast replied. “I don’t mind. Beauty before age!”

  “Thanks.”

  The young man headed slightly down the tunnel to where the girl was sitting in a corner. As he drew near, she looked up at him with a cheerful but strained expression; she seemed hesitant.

  “…Here.” Instead of pointing any of this out, he sat down next to her and offered her the water.

  “…Thanks, I’ll have some.”

  The martial artist girl tried to take the skin, but her hands were trembling too badly. Was it nerves? Terror?

  “Gosh, uh… Adventuring, it’s… It’s a lot…”

  “A lot scarier than you thought, right?”

  “…I thought I was going to die there,” she whispered. Then she managed two swigs before closing the pouch.

  “Yeah, it was bad.” Young Warrior nodded, letting the waterskin she passed him roll around in his hands. “I was scared, too. But, well, I guess that’s better than not being scared.”

  “…Is it?”

  “If you weren’t scared, I think you’d pretty much be on your way to dying.”

  Of course, sometimes you die even if you are scared.

  The little addendum provoked a “What the heck?” from Martial Artist. Her smile was forced, but it was there.

  “Scared of a bunch of goblins. There go my bragging rights, huh?” There was a note of disappointment, even disgust, in her voice. “And here I told Momma and Poppa that I was gonna go out into the world and make my fortune.”

  “You think being scared shitless by a Rock Eater’s any better?”

  “A rock what?” She tilted her head in perplexity, her silver hair cascading down. Never mind, he gestured with a half smile and a shake of his head.

  It was so completely different. Different from her. Different from his last party.

  “Anyway, not everything goes right the first time. Long as you’re alive, you’ll get another chance.”

  “…Right.”

  Because things had been so different, he wasn’t sure if the words would be any real comfort to her. Maybe they were simply what he wished somebody had said to him.

  The girl gave a nod, short but determined, and to his own surprise, that made him…happy.

  “Hey, this hob’s got a letter! Not that I can read it!”

  “Ah, dwarves, as smart as you are tall. Give it here… Hmph, I thought so. So that’s the story.”

  “If I can’t read it, there’s no way you can—is there?!”

  Over by the hobgoblin, the elf and the dwarf were quarreling noisily. The old wizard, a pained smile on his face, worked his way between them. When he had retrieved the grimy sheet of paper, he nodded knowingly and said, “Ahh. These aren’t letters so much as pictographs. Most likely they mean something akin to Wait for orders.”

  “Pictographs… So goblins can’t read?”

  “Not necessarily. Judging by the style here, I would say it was a warlock who wrote this, perhaps…”

  He didn’t sound personally concerned about it. Considering the size of the mine, they had to be nearly through with their expedition.

  Young Warrior, watching the whole scene distractedly, suddenly asked, “Hey, can you read and write?”

  “Not a word!” the dwarf girl answered, puffing out her ample chest with something suspiciously like pride.

  Young Warrior smiled. “Well, maybe you can learn when you get a chance. You and me both, together.”

  “Sure!”

  Gotta keep going, a little longer.

  That’s what he would say to that bald-headed monk when the man got back to town. Maybe over drinks.

  His choice made, Young Warrior got slowly to his feet.

  “Mn… Ergh… Ooh?”

  Cow Girl opened her eyes at what seemed to be a soft sound and the sensation of something moving.

  Her body was stiff and hot; her throat burned, and her head hurt.

  Did I fall asleep?

  She was lying on the table, and when she sat up, she felt a blanket flutter to the floor. Her uncle must have put it on her.

  The sky was already bright outside, but the air had a chill that tickled her skin.

  Cow Girl rubbed her eyes, looking around a room illuminated by the pale light of dawn.

  “—?!”

  She jerked upright when she saw a shadow huddling in the corner. She let out a squeak, but she quickly relaxed again when she realized what it was.

  “Oh, it’s just you…”

  “So you are awake.” There was a clunk as he placed what seemed to be a leather pouch on the table.

  The looming shape of the armored form, covered in gruesome stains, was just visible in the dimness. That was bad for the heart.

  Cow Girl let out a relieved sigh, putting a hand to her chest to calm her racing pulse.

  “Hey… How about you take that stuff off when you come home?” Her tone was confused, troubled.

  “I can’t let down my guard,” he replied—softly, shortly. Cow Girl didn’t really understand what he meant.

  “Well, okay,” she said, setting aside her confusion and starting to get to her feet. “How about I make some breakf—?”

  “Don’t need it,” he said before she could finish. Cow Girl was speechless.

  “I’ll be out again soon,” he continued. “Goblin hunting.”

  “Uh, but…”

  Confused again, Cow Girl didn’t quite know what to do with her eyes. They wandered around, taking in a kitchen that she knew very well. And in it, something resembling a person.

  She swallowed. Her voice trembled the slightest bit as she asked, “But you…you just got home, didn’t you…?”

  “I was taking care of something else today.” His voice was terribly quiet, nonchalant. She suspected that was how he talked to everyone, not just her. Somehow, it reminded her of the breeze blowing through a field on a dark night. “But now, I’m going to work.”

  Then he walked past her, barging through, and put his hand to the doorknob.

  “But— Your room— I cleaned your room and washed the sheets…”

  “I see.”

  That was all he said. Then he opened the door and closed it behind him, and then she was alone.

  She hadn’t even been able to tell him that maybe he ought to sleep, or at least eat.

  Hargh. She sighed and slumped down in the chair again. She found herself flopping toward the ground.

  “I just don’t get it…”

  She had decided to do her best. Decided not to mope or whine. So what should she do now?

  Cow Girl had no idea what the answer to that question was. She leaned her forehead against the table, still warm with her own body heat.

  There he goes again… Talk about single-minded!

  He had work to do, so maybe it was inevitable, but she felt like he spent more time away from home than at it.

  Could it be�
��like that?

  But her thoughts were hazy, and no matter how she tried, nothing quite came together for her.

  Until five years before, her father and mother had always been at home with her. And then after that, her uncle had always been here. But how would it be for a child whose parents had been tradespeople? She realized that such a person might not remember their names—maybe not even their faces.

  “Agh…” Cow Girl sighed again, deep and long. Suddenly, she heard a creaking sound.

  “Sighing so deep so early in the morning?”

  “Uncle…” Cow Girl heaved herself upright and said “Good morning” in a voice that sounded pitiful even to her.

  Her uncle, just woken up, stretched his stiff body and muttered in something that sounded like annoyance. “You’ll catch cold, sleeping there.”

  “I know. You’re right, but…”

  She found she couldn’t say I was waiting for him. Instead, she slowly got to her feet.

  “Breakfast… I’ll take care of it. It’ll just be last night’s soup, though.”

  “Much obliged.”

  Now it was her uncle who sat in a chair in the dining room, while Cow Girl shuffled off to the kitchen. She tossed on an apron and peered into the stove. The stove had gone completely cold, nothing but a pile of chill ashes and a small, lidded clay pot inside.

  Cow Girl began by scraping the ashes together, carefully putting them into a jar, making sure none fell on the floor. Ash was precious, good for cleaning the stewpot or doing the laundry. It would be a waste to let any get away.

  Once the inside of the stove was clean, she piled in some kindling and grasses to get the fire started. Then she pulled the pot out and used a pair of bellows to blow on yesterday’s embers.

  Happily, the fire caught, and the stove soon began burning.

  “That’ll do,” Cow Girl said, clapping her hands gently to dust them off as she stood up.

  “…Hmm?” Meanwhile, her uncle seemed to have noticed the leather pouch on the table.

  Cow Girl peeked in from the other room. “Oh, he left that here, I think.”

  “Hrm, he’s back?”

  “And gone again.”

  Heh-heh, she chuckled shyly, or perhaps bitterly. Cow Girl went back to her work, feeling uncomfortable.

  She thumped the stewpot down, then decided to skewer some bread and cook it.

  “…Rent, eh?” There was a metallic jangling. Her uncle had opened the pouch and found money inside.

  Cow Girl glanced into the other room again. Only bronze and silver coins filled the pouch, but there were quite a few of them.

  “Wow,” she breathed, causing her uncle to look in her direction and sigh.

  “Awfully conscientious of him, considering he hardly even sleeps here.”

  “I guess maybe he’s busy?” Cow Girl aimlessly—well, there was an aim, but still—stirred the pot. “Although, I have to admit…that isn’t really how I pictured adventurers.”

  “Maybe so. I don’t have a lot of experience with their kind, myself.”

  “Huh” was the only response Cow Girl gave to this.

  Perhaps they would gain a bit of experience, then, as they went along. Then one day they might figure it out.

  They might find out, for example, what an adventurer’s life was like, how they could help. That sort of thing…

  As Cow Girl knelt down to check the fire, she heard her uncle muse, “Or perhaps he has a lover somewhere.”

  “!”

  For reasons even she couldn’t begin to comprehend, Cow Girl felt a shock jolt through her body and jumped to her feet.

  Her eyes met those of her startled uncle, who had glanced over. “A-are you all right…?”

  “I’m f-fine, it’s nothing…”

  But then, but still, it couldn’t be. Her head felt like a whirlpool, spinning round and round.

  “A lover… Y-you don’t really mean that…do you?”

  What was going on? Why was her voice scratching like that?

  “I suppose not,” her uncle said. “You’d think a man in love would pay more attention to how he looked.”

  “Y-yeah, exactly!”

  Cow Girl breathed a sigh of deep relief.

  “A man of his age, though. He’s got a bit of money now. I suppose finding companionship among the whores wouldn’t be out of the—”

  “You’re disgusting, Uncle!!”

  His continued ruminations brought something welling up from deep within her heart, flushing her face bright red and spilling out her mouth. She tore off her apron and stormed out of the house.

  Her uncle caught the apron and was left sitting there, holding it in his hand and looking astonished. Taken aback, he looked from the apron to the wide-open door.

  “…”

  He fiddled with the apron for a moment, unsure what to do with it; then he looked up at the ceiling and muttered in despair, “…I just can’t understand it.”

  It just didn’t make any sense. A girl her age—Ah, that’s it. She’s at that age, too.

  “…I suppose prostitutes weren’t the wisest topic to bring up.”

  His bones creaked almost as much as the chair as he rose to his feet and went to the kitchen his niece had just vacated. He checked the fire, then the stew she had been stirring. It was the meal from last night.

  “Still…”

  That young man belonged on the list of things he didn’t understand, too.

  He wasn’t exactly an unknown. The older man did have a vague memory of having seen him when the boy was young.

  And the boy had lived. Become an adventurer. And the old man’s niece had some kind of feelings for the boy. All that was well and good.

  The problem was…

  “…‘Goblin Slayer’…?”

  The one who killed goblins. The slayer of goblins.

  Her uncle had gathered that this was what people were calling the young man now, that he even sometimes used the name himself. He was aware that adventurers frequently gave themselves colorful sobriquets like this in order to promote themselves and their services, but at the same time…

  “I hope nothing…odd happens to her…”

  The words were out of his mouth before he realized he had spoken. They sounded to him like a father who was afraid his daughter was being seduced by some questionable man, and he frowned. The thought seemed disrespectful to his younger sister and her husband.

  §

  Goblin Slayer paid for apple cider at the tavern in the Guild building, then hurried down the path, the morning sun shining on him.

  “It’s already late today,” Arc Mage had said. “Come back tomorrow morning.”

  He regretted that he hadn’t asked for a specific time. When exactly was “morning”?

  After some thought, he decided to go first thing. If he was too early, he could simply wait there.

  He was aided by the happy fact that the tavern, which had to serve even the earliest rising of adventurers, was already up and running by that time. The rhea chef was more than pleased to sell him the cider, which now dangled at his hip.

  Walking along silently, Goblin Slayer soon arrived at the riverbank. There was the hovel, in the same place it had been the day before.

  Despite the ample sunlight, the place felt oddly the same as it had yesterday. The creaking waterwheel was still turning; smoke was still drifting from the chimney. Just a little house. Almost as if it, and it alone, had been clipped out of a bigger picture.

  He considered to himself for a second, then walked up to the door and gave several loud, nonchalant raps with the brass knocker.

  A voice came from within: “Oh, it’s open. Just come in.”

  Goblin Slayer opened the door and entered to find the place still dim inside. He weaved his way among the piles of junk and the towers of books that blocked the windows.

  And there she was: Arc Mage, deep inside, playing with her cards.

  “I try not to pile them like that. The humidity from
those windows is so bad for the books, you see.” Her words had the ring of an excuse. Then she chuckled and turned her chair around. “Does it look like I’m just playing around?” Now facing Goblin Slayer, she fanned the cards out with a flourish. “Such a fine line between sages and idlers! But this is part of my research—I’m compiling a magical treatise.”

  Arc Mage piled the cards back together, forming a deck. “Now, then.” She smiled, cutting the cards. “You’re here about your reward. I know I said morning, but I didn’t expect you quite so early.”

  “Should I wait?” Goblin Slayer asked, to which she replied, “Nah,” with a shake of her head. “Time never stops flowing, after all. For moving things along, early is best.”

  But—information on goblins? She couldn’t restrain more chortles, tears forming in her eyes. “For a newly minted male adventurer all by himself, I might say seventy percent of them say body…”

  Goblin Slayer watched as her shoulders began to shake and waited for another one of her fits of laughter to start. She had soon wiped away the tears with her pale fingers, but even so, her lip quivered with amusement.

  She gave a great stretch, as if to show herself off, straining against her clothes, making the shape of her body abundantly clear. It was less that she paid no heed to her appearance and more that she didn’t need to.

  “Speaking of that, that was the one thing I had confidence in as a woman.”

  “I see.”

  “As far as the remainder, twenty percent say magical items. And the rest say my knowledge.”

  “I see.”

  “…You’re an odd one, aren’t you?”

  “I see.”

  Goblin Slayer, unsure what to say, simply repeated the same thing each time. Frankly discussing the relations that occurred between men and women no longer flustered him by now, but it did leave him at a loss for how to respond.

  Finally, he gave a soft grunt and remained silent. In other words, he decided to do what he always did.

  Arc Mage put her chin in her hands, letting out a troubled breath as she shifted her weight. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I mean, talking about bodies like this?”