by Kumo Kagyu
Perhaps it had been pierced through the stomach; an inarticulate scream echoed around the cave.
Five left. Goblin Slayer threw the scout’s sword from his belt. He was running out of time, and it was risky to go in deeper. It was time to engage the enemy.
“GOROBB!!”
“GBOR!”
The goblin with the sword self-importantly dispensed orders to the four with clubs.
Of course, this was no show of courage, nor was it a burning desire for revenge.
They were displeased at having seen their companions killed, and they wanted to pound this triumphant adversary. Most of all, the goblins enjoyed beating down adventurers and stealing their gear more than anything else.
“Hmph.”
Goblin Slayer took a step backward, then stomped down the first club that swung at him.
“GBOROB?!”
While that monster was trying to free his weapon, Goblin Slayer thrust his sword at the one that leaped at him from the right.
The blade slid in through the creature’s jaw, piercing the head at an angle. But it could not bear the weight of the goblin and broke.
“GOOROBOOBO?!”
“Four more.”
As he adjusted his grip on the hilt of the sword, he met a club blow from the monster in front with his shield. His left arm tingled. In the same motion, he made a sweeping gesture with the shield and slammed the opponent into the goblin on the left.
“GBOR?!”
“GOROBO?!”
“Next.”
While the two goblins were still writhing with the impact, he brandished the hilt of the sword at a creature in front of him. The panicked goblin dropped his club and tried to run, but it was too late.
“GOBOOROGOBOGOB?!”
One blow. The hilt and guard of the sword sank into the back of the goblin’s head, caving in its skull, and the monster screamed.
It wasn’t a critical wound, but that didn’t matter. He could simply beat the life out of the goblin.
Goblin Slayer pounded the creature with his bladeless sword as if it were a hammer.
“GOROB?! GOROOG?! GOOROBOG?!”
Dull thumps and thwacks rang out until finally blood and brains sprayed from the shattered skull.
Goblin Slayer gave a click of his tongue and let go of the sword, then moved his feet to pick up the club he’d been standing on.
“That makes ten and four. Three left…!”
The two other goblins had scrambled to their feet and were coming at him together.
Goblin Slayer dealt with one of them using his round shield, cracking the monster’s head beyond the reach of the other one’s club.
“Two left.”
The difference in body size meant a certain difference in reach. And in a one-on-one fight, there was no way he could lose to a goblin.
A moment later, the death rattle of the next creature echoed in the cave.
“GOROOBOROB?!”
“GOROBOGR!!”
The last remaining goblin, the one with the sword, lost no time in giving a great cry and running away.
Luckily for the goblin, his enemy was heading deeper into the cave. If he ran for the outside, he would probably not be followed. The hateful brightness out there looked to him like salvation.
The goblin felt no guilt at abandoning his companions. It was their fault he was in danger to begin with.
He trod over the still-smoldering remains of the other creatures, running, running, running…
“Hrmph.”
Goblin Slayer nonchalantly let go of the brain-soaked club, approaching the corpse that was impaled with a spear.
The ax was still in its hand. He picked it up with a flourish and flung it.
The fleeing goblin died believing to the last instant that he alone would be saved.
The ax tore through his skull from behind, decimating his brain. He pitched forward and fell.
“Seventeen.”
Goblin Slayer took a new torch from his item pouch, lighting it from the embers of the one that lay among the remains of the party.
Then he turned back for a moment, even bolder than before, and searched the corpse of the goblin he had killed with the ax.
He was looking for the sword. When he found it, he put it into his scabbard.
“Three on reconnaissance, one chance encounter, three scouts, ten by ambush. Seventeen total. There are prisoners. No totems. No poison,” he muttered to himself
How to interpret this? Of course, he heard no answer. Goblin Slayer started to think.
The nest was on a small scale. There probably weren’t too many more goblins. And he hadn’t taken their leader yet.
“Perhaps a hob is their chieftain.”
And yet, he had no sense that a hobgoblin was coming.
Goblin Slayer soon determined what this would mean.
“It’s the sort of thing a goblin would think of.”
He quickly took stock of all his equipment. Helmet, armor, shield, weapon, all good.
He held the torch in his left hand and walked into the cave with his bold, nonchalant stride.
The nest was large enough to house ten creatures or so. It had some branches, but there was a limit to them.
But more than anything, it was the unpleasant odor prickling in his nose that told Goblin Slayer where to go.
He made several turns in the winding path and soon arrived at a rotting door.
“Ah—ouch! That— That hurts—?!”
“GGGOROOOBB!!”
What emerged was a massive goblin pulling a woman by the hair.
The woman gave a cry of pain, but judging from the state of her body, she was in no condition to resist anymore.
Several strands of hair came loose, taking bits of her scalp with them, but it was all she could do to raise a cry.
As it taunted her, the hobgoblin realized there was someone blocking his way. He looked up.
“GOROBB……”
The hobgoblin grumbled something, hauled the woman up, and held her in front of him.
An awful stench wafted from every part of her; blood and waste mingled together and dribbled down her body.
The hob pushed her in front of himself as if to catch Goblin Slayer’s attention with her glassy eyes—presumably he saw her as a meat shield.
“Fool,” Goblin Slayer spat. “It won’t change anything.”
The hob’s thinking was clear. Actually, any goblin would probably have thought the same in that situation.
As long as he survived, that was all that mattered.
The creature had meant to sacrifice his nestmates and escape with the female.
It was just the sort of thing a goblin would think of.
“GROBO! GOBOOROGB!!”
“…”
He assumed it was telling him to drop his weapon, or let it by, or something similar.
The hobgoblin grinned horribly at him, brandishing the hatchet in its right hand.
Goblin Slayer looked at the woman that the creature was using as a shield. He gazed into her eyes. And then he gave a single, small nod.
“Very well.”
He drew the sword at his hip and dropped it. The hob’s eyes followed the motion.
Goblin Slayer leaped forward instantly, kicking the creature mercilessly in the crotch.
“GGROOOOROOBOROOB?!?!”
The monster gave an unbearable scream at the damage between its legs. Goblin Slayer had, indeed, felt something burst under his toes.
Goblins were always so cocksure. Even though he had never had the slightest intention of quietly letting himself be killed.
“Erg—ahh!”
“GBBRGO?! GOROOBOGOROGOB?!?!”
The hobgoblin threw the woman aside in his convulsions. The steel helmet looked down at him impassively.
Then Goblin Slayer picked up his sword, held it in a reverse grip, braced himself against the goblin’s shoulder, and drove the blade home.
“GOOBOR?!”
&nbs
p; There was just one incoherent bellow. The sword stood upright in the back of the creature’s skull. Goblin Slayer gave it a great twist.
The sword cut the spine with a crack, and the hob gave one tremendous shake and then stopped moving.
“Eighteen… Are you alive?”
The discarded woman trembled. Faintly, lips trembling, she breathed an “eh” and “ss.”
“I see.”
Goblin Slayer rifled through his item pouch, pulling out a bundled up overcoat. He spread it over the woman, and once it was covering her scum-drenched body, he hefted her like cargo.
The woman murmured something weakly, to which Goblin Slayer said, “I see,” and nodded.
“I picked up the spear,” he said. “The shaft is broken, but the point remains.”
Goblin Slayer walked quietly out of the cave.
A weak, desperate weeping weighed heavily on his back.
“Mrm…ooh…hha…”
Just after dawn, cool air prickled her skin; she tossed and turned in her blankets with little noises.
Normally she would have expected to hear them by now—but today there was no sign of any footsteps drawing near.
“…Oooh…?”
She was not the kind to have trouble getting out of bed, but without the sounds she was accustomed to, she found it hard to open her eyes.
When she had finally crawled out of her straw bed, she rubbed her heavy, sleepy eyelids and gave a big yawn.
Midday was still warm, but night and morning had taken on a chill.
With many a shake and shimmy, she pulled her undergarments over her healthily plump body, just like always.
“M-mm…just a bit…too tight, maybe?”
Had she put on some weight? Or just grown a bit? Whichever it was, she did not welcome it. It was unfair to her uncle to constantly be buying new clothes and undergarments.
But then, it’s no good to use stuff that doesn’t fit, either.
Maybe she would make some alterations to the clothes.
With those thoughts in her mind, she opened the window, and the fresh morning breeze gusted into her room.
Smiling in pleasure, she leaned out, resting her voluptuous chest on the windowsill.
It was a scene she knew and liked.
The spreading farm fields. The lowing of cows in the distance. The clucking of chickens. Smoke rising from the far-off town. The world.
“…Oh, that’s right,” Cow Girl murmured absently, as she basked in the golden sunlight. “He isn’t here today.”
§
“How about you go into town?”
“Say what?”
Cow Girl turned only her head to look at her uncle. Breakfast was over, and she was piling the dishes by the sink.
There wasn’t much to wash when he wasn’t there. That made things easier, and that was good, in its way.
“I said, how about you go into town?”
She looked at him again. His expression was simple and frank, and he was gazing somberly at her.
“Hm?” she said questioningly, glancing back at him as she took up the plates and dried them. “Doesn’t really matter to me. But I wouldn’t have much to do there.”
“Now, that can’t be true.” Her uncle was always so serious. He went on without a pause, “Your friends are there, aren’t they?”
“Friends, right…”
Cow Girl smiled vaguely. She took some sand from a bucket next to her and rubbed it into the surface of one of the dishes, scritch-scratch.
“I guess you could call that person a friend, if you wanted. But I think she’s really more like a companion who shares the same values, maybe.”
“You should get out and have fun sometimes.”
“Hmm…”
Cow Girl made a sound that was neither agreement nor denial.
Checking that the sand had scrubbed all the stains off the plate, she washed it again with water.
Finally she wiped the dish gently to dry it and returned it to the tableware shelf.
“But there’s the livestock to look after, the harvest, the stone wall and fence to check on, deliveries to make, and then we have to get ready for tomorrow…”
She counted off the tasks on her fingers—there really was a lot of work. So many things had to get done. Things that had to be done today. Things that ought to be done today. All kinds of things that could be taken care of rather than put off.
Right, Cow Girl nodded, causing her chest to jiggle. “I don’t have time to play around. It’s a good thing that we have work to do!”
“I am telling you to go have fun.” His voice brooked no argument.
She looked at him, taken aback by his sharp tone.
Her uncle was unmoving. When he got like this, his opinion was no more likely to change than a mountain stone. He had spent ten years raising her, and she understood this without his saying anything.
“Huh? But… Um…”
“You’re still a tender age. How old are you? I want to hear you say it.”
“Um, I’m…eighteen…” She nodded assiduously. “Almost nineteen.”
“Then it’s not your duty to work from dawn till dusk every day.”
Cow Girl racked her brain for some response.
…Huh? Why am I so against going out?
The thought flashed across her mind and vanished. This wasn’t the time.
“B-but, what about the money…”
“Fortunately, we’re no serfs. Our lives aren’t dictated by a lack of resources.”
“Well, true, but…”
It was no use. Her feeble resistance summarily subdued, Cow Girl was at a loss for words.
Well, now what? The dishes were cleaned, and she had no other cards to play.
She puttered about the kitchen for a while before finally slumping into a seat across from her uncle.
“You don’t have to worry about me.” He was kind as ever, as though he were speaking to a small child.
Cow Girl pursed her lips—he didn’t have to talk to her that way—but she didn’t say anything. Maybe that was itself childish. In that case…
“Go and have some fun.” As he watched her, his craggy face suddenly softened and relaxed. “A young girl working every waking minute on the farm? Surely there’s some girlish thing or other you want to do.”
“I wonder…”
Cow Girl didn’t really know.
Girlish things?
What would that be? Getting dressed up? Eating sweets? All of her ideas seemed airy and vague.
Compared to this, tomorrow’s weather seemed concrete…
“…All right,” she said after a moment, still not sure whether she understood anything or not. “I’ll go out for a bit, then.”
“Yes, you do that.”
“…Right.”
Seeing her uncle’s relief, all she could do was nod.
§
She had no cart, and he wasn’t there—it was just her by herself.
She found her pace unsteady even though she was only going to town on a road she knew well.
How did she normally walk on this road? She ended up feeling awfully puzzled.
And then, weaving her way between adventurers and merchants as they came and went, she passed through the great gate and into town.
Cow Girl smiled wryly as her feet began carrying her toward the Adventurers Guild, normally the first place she would go. Consciously overriding her subconscious, she went straight instead, into town, toward the plaza.
There was chatter in the air, merchants’ voices, children playing, mothers calling, adventurers chatting with one another. Burying herself in the sounds, Cow Girl sat vacantly on a random curb. She watched a boy and a girl, perhaps about ten years old, run by. She followed them with her eyes and exhaled.
Now that I think about it… “Do I have any friends…?”
There was no one left whom she’d known since she was young. She had moved ten years ago, and for five of those years she had been absorb
ed in only what was before her eyes.
It’s a little late to go down memory lane now.
The way she’d been back then, she was lucky he had called out to her as he shuffled along.
There had still been horns on his steel helmet then, and her hair had been considerably longer.
For the five years after that, her head had been full of him. She had been altogether unable to just have fun.
“Oh, but…”
She shook her head, thinking of the receptionist and the waitress she saw nearly every day. They might count as friends—but there were only two of them. Well, two friends could be enough.
Plenty of people couldn’t make any friends.
“…I’m pretty well off.”
A fat lot of good that thought did her. She smiled feebly and continued to gaze out at the people who came and went across the square.
They wore an infinite variety of expressions. Some seemed to be enjoying themselves, others looked sad. Some seemed lonely, others happy. But all of them walked without hesitation, with some kind of goal in mind. Work, or a meal, or a place to go home to, or a place to have fun, or, or…
Not like her.
Cow Girl sat on the curb, pulling her knees in against her chest.
This is a serious problem.
In the end, I don’t have a single connection to anything except the farm…
“—? Is something wrong?”
She thought she recognized the voice above her.
She looked up and saw a golden-haired girl gazing at her with a hint of confusion. She had an elegant, slim frame, and was wearing modest hempen clothes, plain and unassuming.
Cow Girl blinked, trying to remember who this was, and then clapped her hands.
“H-hey, you’re that priestess…”
“Oh, yes. And you’re from the farm, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Cow Girl nodded and stood, dusting off her round backside. “What’s with your clothes?”
Rather than her usual vestments, Priestess was dressed in street clothes; in fact, her garments could have belonged to a girl in a farming village.
“I stayed behind this time, so I thought…I might as well go out.” She scratched her cheek with a slim finger in a gesture of awkward embarrassment. “But I don’t have any idea what to do.”
“Yeah, me too. I know exactly what you mean. Normally I just have to do whatever needs doing on the farm.”