by Kumo Kagyu
The king lifted his head just enough to glare at her from lidded eyes, but made no further retort. This was how she was going to needle him for ignoring the goblin incident. The ability to accept resentment of his policies cordially was, he supposed, the mark of a king. Let them call him incompetent if they wished.
“This is certainly more dangerous than goblins. But it’s nothing compared to the Demon Gods.”
“True, indeed.”
“It seems some necromancer to the south has found an ancient tomb.” The king leaned far back in his chair, almost as if to say the topic bored him. The chair gave a creak. “An army of the dead! It doesn’t leave me much luxury to deal with goblins or one lone tower.”
“Heh-heh. How very tired you must be.” As she spoke, the woman let her thighs peek past the hem of her dress as if putting them on display.
“Status is a difficult thing,” the king muttered. “I can’t even meet my friends without a pretext.”
“Such is position,” the woman whispered. “Everything changes—what you can see, and what you can’t.”
“I’ve lost the ability to say that my companions and I should simply deal with it with our swords, as we did in the old days.” The king sighed, seeming to chew over a memory of times past. “I can’t help feeling things were easier back when I was a single lord challenging labyrinths by myself.”
“Ah, yes, you cut such a dashing figure, fleeing after your beating by that bushwhacker.”
“I seem to recall a party that suffered a terrible fate when attacked by slimes.”
The bantering tone gave way to a more scathing one. Sword Maiden let out a quiet breath. “There are times when I, too, wish to quit my position and go back to just being a girl.”
“Does even the archbishop of the Supreme God feel so?”
“Yes.” The blind cleric’s cheeks tinged a pale rose, and her lips formed a generous smile. She put her hand to her ample bosom to keep it from quaking, and in a voice as sultry as if she were confessing her love, she said, “Lately, very much so.”
“Things have not gone the way either of us expected. But that’s what makes life interesting.” With that whisper, the king made a show of rising from his chair. “It is about time I took my leave. After all, I did only come to borrow a few war priests.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I am happy we had the chance to speak.”
“I wonder.” The king gave a light smile that encompassed at once the bitter and the familiar. “You sounded like you had someone else on your mind besides me.”
§
“Sorry, can’t do it.”
Heavy Warrior looked at the quest form and shook his head firmly—even though it was signed by the king himself.
“Is it too difficult?”
“Nah, but my party’s under the weather right now. Otherwise we would’ve taken it.”
“Well, this is a tight spot,” Guild Girl muttered again, furrowing her brow at the grim-looking Heavy Warrior.
In her hand she held a request to investigate the ruins tentatively called the “Demon’s Tower.”
Recently, it had become more and more common for ruins and labyrinths to appear suddenly. Ever since the defeat of the Demon Lord, his remaining partisans had been doing their dark work far and wide. While the military licked its wounds, evil spell casters and the like grew less reluctant to be seen by people.
As part of the Guild, it would be untrue to say Guild Girl did not wish to assign all the available quests. But even with a reward of dozens of gold pieces per request, there were a hundred or two hundred to be dealt with. She realized the national treasury was essentially unlimited and could think of nothing more indulgent than this.
“We’d be up against demons, right?”
Whether or not he could hear the sigh from her well-formed chest, Heavy Warrior took another look at the quest sheet. With a finger wrapped in a simple glove, he slowly traced the letters dancing on the page, then brought his fist down.
“Without at least one spell caster and a scout… Silver-ranked ones, at that.”
“A party of three?”
“That would be the minimum. If possible, I’d specifically like both a wizard and cleric with me and two others on the front row, and that scout. Six altogether.”
Hm, hm, hm. Guild Girl thought this over with a serious expression on her face, the papers in her hand rustling as she flipped carelessly through them.
Adventure Sheets.
They recorded how each adventurer’s abilities had grown on each adventure they had been through. It would not be an exaggeration to say that in a sense, this sheaf of paper was those adventurers’ very lives. The pile contained scads of novices—wizards and clerics and scouts and warriors. But when it came to those who had made it to the upper ranks, the number dropped dramatically. One of their problems was that there were so few mid-rank veterans.
We don’t have anyone who fits that bill neatly.
Guild Girl glanced out at the adventurers who made the building so lively. Of course they had to be capable, but they also had to be decent people. After all, the quest giver this time was the king himself. The Guild didn’t need someone who was just out to prove something. They could be a bit self-interested, or ambitious, but they had to understand what was really at stake…
“If only there was someone who had all those qualities, and could balance magic use and battle…”
“You got it! I’m right here!”
It was like a dream. Her wish had just happened to slip out, but someone responded enthusiastically.
He came dashing up to the counter gleefully, carrying his spear, as if he’d been waiting for this moment all his life. As soon as Guild Girl realized who it was, she said, “Ah!” and pasted a smile on her face. “Come to think of it, I recall you learned a bit of magic.”
“An adventurer has to be ready for every possible situation!” Spearman was nodding eagerly and confidently, and he didn’t seem to notice Heavy Warrior exclaiming, “Aggh” and slapping his forehead—a gesture that was easy enough to read.
Regardless, Guild Girl knew full well that Spearman worked with Witch.
“Ahem, is your…party all right with this?”
“Oh, sure. We just got back from one of our ‘dates.’ Think I’ll let her rest.”
…Is he sure about this?
Guild Girl glanced over Spearman’s shoulder and saw Witch behind him, lounging on the bench. Witch offered her an elusive smile.
That’s the most problematic attitude of all.
Fiddling with her braids with one hand, Guild Girl let out a faint, troubled sigh. From Witch’s perspective, Guild Girl was a romantic rival. But this was business…right?
Hrm. I can’t let my personal life get mixed up with my work.
“All right, so for the time being, the two of you—is that right?”
“Sure, I don’t mind. I can trust…well, I have confidence in this guy.” Even though he seemed to muddle his words a bit, Heavy Warrior nodded. “But it’s still not enough.”
Spearman snatched the quest paper from Heavy Warrior with a “Lemme see that,” and cocked his head. “How are we not enough?” he said.
“I want a scout, at least.”
“Not a lot of talented scouts out there. What about that kid in your group?”
“I don’t want to drag him off to fight some demons,” Heavy Warrior said gravely. “I couldn’t take the responsibility.” He glared at Spearman. “I don’t necessarily need someone of good alignment, but I want at least neutral.”
With alignment, “good” and “evil” did not quite have their literal meanings, but rather described whether one was other-centered or self-centered, whether they preferred fighting or not. Scouts and thieves were often out for themselves and willing to take action. It was something worth thinking about if you didn’t want to have to worry whether your compatriot would act against character when the crucial moment came.
“So what you need is…”<
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Someone who was a scout and could stand on the front row. Able, as well as respectable. Someone who could keep their business and personal lives separate. Whose alignment was, if not good, at least neutral. And someone who would be likely to take this quest…
“Yes! I can think of one!”
When Guild Girl clapped her hands and jumped out of her seat, Spearman gave her a dubious look. The brief moment that look scanned her chest was not lost on Guild Girl, but at the moment she didn’t care.
“Huh? Is there really someone like that?”
“I can guarantee he’s skilled, anyway.” She went so far as to give him a smile and a wink, then marched off in high spirits. She looked impressive, her shoes clacking as she walked with the paper clutched to her chest. She was headed for the bench in a corner of the Guild waiting area. The place he always sat. She found she got a little thrill of happiness just to see the steel helmet turn toward her when he noticed her coming.
And then he asked, in a low, dispassionate voice:
“…Goblins?”
§
“Gotta say, I never thought you’d accept.”
“Because there were no goblin-slaying quests.”
Thus the three adventurers found themselves in front of the tower. Spearman and Goblin Slayer, with Heavy Warrior the leader.
A party made of one male human warrior, a second male human warrior, and a third male human warrior. It would bring a dry smile to anyone’s face. Although these kinds of parties were not uncommon, through sheer necessity.
“And I needed money.”
“Mostly for goblin slaying, I assume?” Spearman chuckled.
But Goblin Slayer replied, “No,” and shook his head. “Not for that. But it’s urgent.”
“Depending how much you need, I could loan you some,” Heavy Warrior said, never taking his eyes off the tower in front of them. “I figure you wouldn’t die on me.”
“I appreciate it, but no, thank you.”
“Your call.” Heavy Warrior responded with a nod, and Goblin Slayer began to dig in his item pouch. The first thing his rummaging produced was a bundle of pitons and a small mallet.
“And I already have a debt to repay.”
“Debt? Whatever!” Spearman frowned and gave an annoyed click of his tongue. “We’re adventurers! We finish this quest, consider that debt erased.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, you literally only treated me to a single drink after that. You still owe me!”
“That’s the opposite of what you just said,” Heavy Warrior said with exasperation, only half-listening to the two of them.
Goblin Slayer brought out a coil of rope and put it around his shoulder.
“I promised to treat you to a drink. And I did.”
“Hrrrgh!” Spearman had no reply to Goblin Slayer’s pointed comeback. Heavy Warrior had to struggle to hold back a smile.
Angrily muttering, “Hrmph, hrmph,” and clicking his tongue, Spearman gave the wall a couple of experimental taps. “…A-anyway, this wall looks awfully solid. Sure you’ll be able to set your climbing equipment in it?”
There was some sleight of hand at work, but the other two were not going to be drawn in, either. The tower had been created in a night or two. It was obviously not made of normal materials.
“Here, let me have those.”
“Sure.” Goblin Slayer passed the pitons and mallet to the outstretched hand.
Heavy Warrior took them, giving one of the anchors a good smack with the mallet, then he groaned.
“Yeah. That’s pretty tough.”
The gleaming tower wall was not even scratched.
Suddenly, Heavy Warrior began removing his gloves and bracers. He shoved the equipment into his backpack and traded it for a bottle filled with a red liquid. He pulled out the stopper and gulped it down. Probably a strength potion. He put away the empty bottle, then took out a single-handed sword and a ring with a shining ruby.
“Huh! A ring with a physical-boost enchantment?” Spearman said with interest.
It wasn’t surprising that Heavy Warrior had a magical sword. Magical weapons were rare, but a Silver rank could be expected to have at least one of them.
“Normally I use my Bracers of Exceptional Swordsmanship and my magic gloves, so I don’t need this too often.” Heavy Warrior put the sword at his waist and held the piton in the hand with the ring on it. This time he grunted, “Hmph!” and drove it easily into the wall.
“Have a look, Goblin Slayer. That is first-class adventuring equipment for you.”
Why are you the one bragging? Heavy Warrior seemed to want to ask.
Spearman ignored him. “Why don’t you keep an enchanted sword or two around? Don’t you want to look cool?”
“I have no interest in magical swords, but I do have a ring.”
“Oh yeah?”
“It allows underwater breathing,” Goblin Slayer said briefly. “Even if the goblins stole it, it would do no harm.”
“What would they even want it for? Wait a second—you just assume it’ll get stolen?”
Spearman was pressing on his temples, but the steel helmet nodded and said, “Of course. It wouldn’t fit on a goblin finger.”
“You oughtta learn it doesn’t matter what you say to that guy—it’s all useless.” Heavy Warrior was fighting back a smile as he grabbed the piton and pulled himself up. “Hey, you both pay me for the potion, right? We split the reward three ways, minus the cost.”
And then, holding himself in place with just one arm, he took out another piton and continued climbing. He wasn’t exactly zipping along, but he looked pretty good. He was, after all, in full armor and carrying a broadsword across his back. It required no mean physical strength.
“No problem.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Goblin Slayer responded with alacrity, and Spearman voiced no particular objection. Most adventurers knew to keep any disputes about the reward in the tavern. It didn’t matter how valuable an item was, if you kept it at the cost of your life.
Goblin Slayer grabbed the pitons and started up after Heavy Warrior, while behind him Spearman gave a click of his tongue. “So I’m the caboose, huh?”
Goblin Slayer stopped in midclimb, glancing back with one hand still on the piton.
“Would you rather go ahead of me?”
“Tank first, scout second. All good, so come on, keep climbing.”
“I see.”
He grabbed on, pulled himself up, grabbed the next piton, put his foot on the previous one, and then he was another level higher. What remained was simply to repeat the process. Not looking up, not looking down. Watching cautiously only to the left and right.
All of them were relatively experienced adventurers, and they had handholds and footholds. If they had been so much as worried about the wind, which grew stronger the farther up they went, they couldn’t have contemplated climbing the outer wall.
The problem was, the wind wasn’t the only thing that could hurt them.
Goblin Slayer, checking left and right as their scout, called out, “Hey.” He went on, “To the west. Three of them. Winged. Not goblins.”
“So they found us… What color are they?”
“Gray.”
“I knew it,” Heavy Warrior said, nodding at the answer. “Those’ll be gargoyles, no question.”
“Gargoyles… Hmm,” Goblin Slayer breathed. “So that’s what they look like.”
“There’s a chance they’re stone demons. But eighty or ninety percent, yeah.”
They were winged demons as dark as the ash in the corner of a fireplace.
Or so one might think at a glance. Such were the stone monsters, gargoyles. Once intended to watch over sacred places, gargoyles, too, were now Non-Prayers. Perhaps it was their terrible, twisted bodies that had, over the course of years, driven them to Chaos.
One wouldn’t think that a little bit of flapping could keep a statue in the air, but these creatures could fly.
Yet they were made of stone, making them fearsome enemies.
“You’ve really never seen one? They show up in ruins sometimes.”
“A few times.” Goblin Slayer slowly turned his head from one side to the other. “But I didn’t know they were gargoyles.”
“Whatever, they go down quick.” Spearman’s smile was as fierce as a shark’s. The monsters now flew—literally—into his field of view.
They had been making lazy corkscrews around the top of the tower, probably keeping watch. Now they came down in a panic—chances were they hadn’t expected anyone to try climbing the wall. They weren’t far away, but the adventurers didn’t seem very frightened or show any sign of becoming so.
“It ain’t true what they say, that gargoyles can’t stand sunlight.” Spearman glared up at them, adjusting his feet to find his balance on the pitons. “If they get ahold of you, you’re in for a fight.”
Holding himself steady with his shielded left arm, Goblin Slayer drew his sword in a reverse grip. “If you can get it under you, you won’t die even if you fall to the ground. Although you would be away from the battle at that point.”
“Maybe, if you could cast Control on ’em. And that’s if they don’t go down in one hit, right?” Heavy Warrior pulled out his one-handed sword, which gave off a faint white glow—the aura of magic. He held the decorative string that hung from the hilt in his mouth, then fastened it securely around his wrist. “I don’t know about you, but I’m fine with just one hand.”
“They say the clash of spells comes before the clash of arms. Arrgh. These muscle-brains.” Spearman narrowed his eyes and touched his earring—a magical catalyst—with one hand. Goblin Slayer glanced down at what Spearman was doing, then shook his head.
“I am thinking of something.”
“Me, too,” said Heavy Warrior.
“Shut up, I get it! I can’t concentrate down here!”
“GARGLEGARGLEGARGLE!!”
With an indistinct bellow not unlike gargling, the demon-like monsters came flying at them. But Spearman, without hurry or fuss, spoke a few words of true power with the ability to reshape the very laws of reality.