by Kumo Kagyu
“GOOBOGR?!”
“GGO?! GOROG?!”
The goblins, though, had no way of knowing that. They didn’t even have a moment to contemplate what had happened.
They would never have conceived that the water had come spewing out of the scroll held by the man in front of them.
The goblins screamed, their bodies torn apart by a rush of high-pressure seawater. Resistance was simply futile.
Goblin Slayer was confident that the water would fill the tower from top to bottom.
The plan he had thought of when Witch had told him about Gate scrolls worked beautifully. She had been in high spirits when he asked her for help, dubbing him “Most interesting.”
“I agree,” Goblin Slayer muttered, tossing aside the scroll as a supernatural flame consumed it and sitting down. “This is most interesting indeed.”
§
He was greeted with a bizarre sight.
Goblin Slayer had never seen anything like it before; it looked like something that shouldn’t exist in this world.
A four-sided crystal twisted in upon itself, writhing and projecting rays like tentacles. It appeared like a chaotic roil of bubbles, and when he looked directly at it, he couldn’t pin down its shape—something phantasmal.
This was the six-hundred polychoron, as Arc Mage had called it. He didn’t particularly understand the expression.
He did, however, understand that the door had been unlocked and opened, and that was all he needed to know.
“You do know how to pull a crazy stunt, don’t you?” Arc Mage said as they pushed open the ebony door and began to climb slowly up a long golden spiral staircase. “A water attack? I wonder what you planned to do if the tower collapsed. Same question goes for a cave. You’d be buried alive.”
“It was the first time I’ve tried it,” he said defensively. “It was effective, but it wouldn’t be versatile.”
“No kidding.” Arc Mage didn’t sound very happy. “Can’t go betting your life on an unreliable trump card.”
One step, two steps, three. She almost seemed like she was about to start skipping up the stairs; she turned to face him in a spin that was nearly a twirl. The smell of cider drifted to him, and he stopped walking.
A finger was pointed directly at the visor of his helmet.
“By hook or by crook, if you can win, then it’s never a chore.”
“Yes.” Goblin Slayer nodded. “I will be careful.”
“Good.” Arc Mage puffed out her chest, pleased, and nodded like an instructor. The two of them resumed walking.
The stairs seemed to go on forever—forever and ever. The only sounds were their footsteps and their breathing, and the lack of windows meant the dark inner wall wound upward, on and on.
They had no idea how high they were, nor what time it was. Most likely, dawn would be breaking soon. But now they were probably still in the last watches of the night. Goblin Slayer considered the matter idly. He couldn’t say why he thought this. He just did.
Arc Mage and Goblin Slayer were both at the limits of their endurance. Their steps were unsteady, their vision wavered. Their breath came in short gasps. Their feet dragged like stones.
But for one reason or another, they took no rest. They only acknowledged the fact of their fatigue; the desire to take a break didn’t enter into their minds.
They continued climbing the stairs, silently.
They kept climbing, so why did it feel as if they were traveling down the center of the spiral? Suddenly, Goblin Slayer thought he caught a heart-aching aroma of stew.
It had to be his imagination. A product of the exhaustion.
With that, he cast aside all his doubts.
And thus—not, perhaps, because of this, but all the same—the next thing he knew, there were no more steps to climb.
They had arrived at a landing, at the very top of the spiral staircase. In front of them was—of course—an ebony door.
“…” Arc Mage brushed her hand along it, almost a caress. It was designed like a double door, but there was no seam. “…I’m gonna open it, okay?”
Goblin Slayer nodded. Arc Mage placed her trembling palm against the door.
She didn’t push very hard; the door seemed to open of its own accord, beckoning them inward. And then…
Fwoo. There was a breath of wind.
It was the sky.
Dark blue, then red, then white, the clear night sky.
Clouds drifted by, a pale blue color, a whole train of little wisps carried by the wind.
This very landing was the edge of the world. And so what was beyond must be that which was completely beyond.
Arc Mage looked at the door, the door to empty space, as if she might burst into tears at any moment…and smiled.
Ahh, so this is it. Or perhaps, I finally made it.
The difference between the two emotions was subtle, and Goblin Slayer couldn’t decide which it was.
“Satisfied?”
“Yes, no.” She blinked several times, then gently rubbed the corners of her eyes. “It’s not quite over.”
“I see.”
“The place I want to go, it’s past here. So I have to go on.”
“I see,” Goblin Slayer said again, then nodded and looked at the sky.
He had once climbed a snowy mountain with his master, and the view from the summit had looked much like this.
He remembered his master humming some sort of song. He didn’t much understand poems or songs, so he had forgotten it—but now he wondered if it might have been good to remember it.
“Ahh, now I see… So that’s the story.” Arc Mage spoke suddenly, her voice small. She put a hand to her ample chest, took in a deep breath, and let it out. Spark glittered on her finger as it rose and fell in time with her breathing.
Then she looked at him with a smile as clear and soft as the sky itself.
She looked at him, under his helmet, hidden behind his visor.
“I’m sorry about all this. It looks like I’ve dragged you into my own scenario.”
She had said the same thing to him before. So he answered the same way he had then.
“It’s a goblin-hunting scenario, isn’t it?”
So it is. And it had been, from the very beginning to the bitter end.
Goblin Slayer said calmly, “You talk too much, but you tell me what’s important. There is no problem.”
Arc Mage looked at him in surprise, then pursed her lips a little almost as if pouting. “You… You are truly a strange man.”
“Is that so?”
“I should certainly think so.”
“I see.”
He nodded, and she let out a chuckle rather like the one she’d given when they first met, but somehow different.
“Say,” Arc Mage said, looking at him curiously. “Do you know that old legend…the one about the giant who spent an eternity trying to scoop out the ocean with a shell?”
Goblin Slayer thought a moment before he answered. “No, I don’t know it.”
He had a vague sense he might have heard it once from his sister but found he couldn’t quite remember.
There were so many things he had forgotten or didn’t know. About his sister. About his master.
“What about it?”
“…The giant scooped all the way down to the bottom of the sea, where he found a rare treasure, a jewel beneath the waves. Or so they say.”
“I see.”
“That’s why I won’t laugh.”
“…”
“I won’t laugh if you become Goblin Slayer.”
Goblin Slayer didn’t say anything.
Arc Mage squinted as if she was satisfied with that, then reached out her hand to the sky, though she knew it couldn’t touch what she desired.
On her finger, the ring flickered.
“I told you once. Your knowledge is a spark.”
Sometimes a person goes through life without ever striking a spark.
Sometimes they go on
some adventure, die in some deep, dark place, and that’s the end for them.
The words seemed to pile up on her outstretched hand.
“But still, there’s a spark.” Just like so many of those who dare to become adventurers… “You have one, too.”
So I won’t laugh.
Goblin Slayer didn’t immediately respond to her. He moved his helmet, looked at the sky. The sky, just streaked with the first hints of golden daybreak.
He didn’t know what he ought to say, nor what he ought to do.
“…And what about yours?”
“My…?” When he finally produced a question, Arc Mage squinted against the brilliance of the sun and answered, “I don’t know. That’s what I’m going to find out.” Then she slowly removed the Spark ring and held it out to Goblin Slayer. “On the way home… No, on the way forward, you’ll need this, won’t you?
“I’m leaving the rest up to you,” she said, then winked awkwardly.
“Think of it as…your reward. In advance.”
“My reward,” Goblin Slayer murmured, eliciting a quiet “Uh-huh” from Arc Mage.
“For everything I’ve asked of you on this quest, and beyond.”
“…”
“Ask the receptionist to fill you in on the details. You two are close, right?”
Were they? Goblin Slayer didn’t know.
Was he, in fact, close to anyone?
Thus, he thought for a moment, then decided to ask about the only thing he needed to know.
“…Will it help me hunt goblins?”
“Personally, I hope so.”
I see. Goblin Slayer nodded. Then he took the ring.
She said the Spark ring had the power of Breath. If he was going to keep drowning enemies—for that matter, even if he wasn’t—it couldn’t hurt to have it.
Whether anything would be of help, or not, was entirely his responsibility. That was what his master had taught him.
So he would make it useful. He decided on that then and there.
When she saw Goblin Slayer nod, she brushed his helmet with her now ringless hand.
“Well, see you.”
And with those few words, she stepped out into the sky as casually as if she were walking out her front door.
Then she disappeared from Goblin Slayer’s vision.
He waited and watched for a moment, but saw no sign that she would return.
He didn’t know where she had gone, nor did he care. He assumed that no matter how carefully it was explained to him, he would never have understood.
She was not a party member. Nor had they adventured together.
If someone asked what she was to him, the answer was that they were quest giver and adventurer. Not friends, or anything else.
But perhaps, if pressed, he might have admitted that they had been what she had once called them.
Traveling companions.
Goblin Slayer looked in his hand. The ring glowed faintly. The shimmer of the Spark was fading as if it had never existed.
It was nothing more than a Breath ring now.
He stuffed it into his item pouch, then slowly started walking. He could hear the door close behind him, but he didn’t even think of looking back.
When he began to attempt the long climb down the stairs, he found that the height was not so great, and he moved from floor to floor in almost no time at all.
But water had pooled here and there, goblin corpses floating in it.
Ah: indeed, he did need the ring.
He put it on his finger, and without hesitation, he dove into the water. He walked as if he were swimming, until he reached dry land, then he went under again and repeated the process.
In the blink of an eye, he had descended to the first floor. And when he emerged and looked back, the tower was vanishing like a shadow. The dawn sky seemed to go on forever as the sun emerged over the ridge of the mountains.
He squinted into the golden light and found he had a mysterious certainty that he would not see her again.
He went back to town, back to the Guild, and reported the quest complete, then stopped by the tavern. He ordered a mug of apple cider, which the chef silently handed to him, and which he drank in a single gulp before going back outside.
Beyond the crowded street, he could see the great, wide sky. He squinted behind his visor, holding the ring he’d received up to the light.
He could see there no glow of any spark.
She had said that one aspires to the summit because they want that place, they want the view, or they want whatever is beyond it. In that case…she must have wanted whatever was beyond this sky, whatever was past it.
He had no idea what might be out beyond the “board.” No idea what she could have been seeking there.
A playing piece could hardly imagine the province of the players in heaven.
So maybe she had gone to uncover the truth of it all.
Maybe her aspiration had been to become a player herself.
That was as far as Goblin Slayer thought before slowly shaking his head back and forth.
It was far too presumptuous a thing for him to imagine. That had been her scenario, not his. He had been only a traveling companion, and in no position to judge the fruit of her labor.
Whatever trials they had overcome, whatever benefit they had received—it was all hers.
His stride was less certain now. Exhaustion weighed on every inch of him, and the cider had started to reach his brain.
Even so, his heart felt clear as the sky.
There was just one thing he could say with confidence.
She achieved what she wanted.
“Ngggaahhh!!”
Spearman tumbled away from the beak, letting out a sound that wasn’t quite a scream but wasn’t exactly a battle cry, either.
Rocks could be heard skittering across the pockmarked floor of the cave.
In front of Spearman as he regained his feet was a creature with a cruel glint in its eyes: a chicken.
But it had the wings of a bat, and the tail of a lizard. This was no ordinary creature.
“It’s…a…cockatrice.”
“Nobody told me about any bat-lizard-chickens…!”
Witch frowned in sympathy, but Spearman’s exclamation was entirely understandable.
This was supposed to be an easy job—something one could practically do alone, never mind with a partner.
Needless to say, they’d made short work of the warlock when he’d shuffled out of his cave come nightfall. Witch had cast a spell of silence, preventing their opponent from uttering the words of his magic, and Spearman had given him one good stab through the heart.
When they pulled back his hood, they discovered that he was indeed one of the Non-Prayers. The seal of the evil sect hung at his chest.
And that had been that. All that remained was to search the cave, and then it was quest complete. Not without risk, but still, a one-night job. That was the idea anyway.
“When they told me ‘easy work’ always means ‘dangerous work,’ I should’ve listened…!”
Spearman, thinking back on some old lesson, heaped abuse on his past self. It had never crossed his mind that the warlock might be keeping a cockatrice as a guard dog.
“Just imagine if they started mass-producing these things… It’d be a nightmare…!”
He wanted to give the what for to himself for having come rushing headlong into this cave.
“…My spells… I have just, one more,” Witch said from behind him, her voice low and calm.
It would have been much better to try this after they had rested for a night—not in any suggestive sense, mind you, but purely to restore Witch’s magic.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought, but no matter how much he upbraided himself, the situation didn’t change. Spearman glared at the cockatrice as it scratched the ground violently, then he dropped into a deep stance.
“If it keeps its distance, I think we can manage somehow. But i
f it comes charging in, we’re done for…”
“…” He could hear Witch gulp behind him. “…You, think, you…can, manage?”
“If it doesn’t charge. That’s the trick.”
“I’ll try,” Witch said nervously. Spearman trusted her. He was loath to run, even if it cost him his life.
Gotta look good for the lady, after all!
“Zrrraaahhhh!!” The cockatrice made a birdlike yet unearthly noise, and Spearman responded by dropping his body even lower.
Witch’s delicate lips spoke out words as if in a melody. “Aranea…facio…ligator! Spider, come and bind!”
It was the work of an instant.
Spearman charged. The cockatrice kicked the ground and attempted to take flight, but its leg was trapped.
Caught in a spiderweb.
Spearman hadn’t seen it, hadn’t even really thought about it; he just knew it intuitively.
A sticky, milky something was wrapped around the monster’s feet.
Perfect!
All he needed now was one turn to finish things. He hefted his spear and drove it into the cockatrice’s heart with all his strength.
Killing an immobilized chicken is easier than shooting fish in a barrel.
“Excellent, and now to find the loot!”
“Yes, indeed…” Witch nodded, appearing detached as usual, but her eyes glinted with curiosity.
Such was the spice of adventuring. Hack your way in, slash your way out. And when it came to a warlock’s base of operations, you could expect to find a considerable reward.
It didn’t take them long to find a treasure chest. They spent a moment looking it over, trying to ascertain whether it was booby-trapped and wishing they had a scout.
“…Okay, here goes.”
“…Mn.”
He saw Witch nod, then had her back away from the chest—just in case—and broke the seal.
Inside was a long, thin pole apparently made from some kind of wood. There was a decorated metal tip on one end, and it glittered with magical power.
“Ohh…!” Spearman’s eyes opened wide, and in an excess of joy he grabbed the item. “A spear…!”
A magical weapon. Any warrior worth his salt would lust after one. There were all kinds, from those that just boasted a little extra cutting power, or never rusted, to the weapons of legend. There was no one, from the most rustic country runaway to the most experienced knight, who didn’t occasionally dream of them.