by Kumo Kagyu
“No.” Goblin Slayer cut her off coldly. “I’ll go alone.”
“What?!” Priestess raised her voice at Goblin Slayer’s calm words.
Every eye still in the hall turned toward them at her near-scream. Some muttered, “Oh, it’s Goblin Slayer,” and looked away again.
But Priestess stared straight at him, flinging her words. He would not go alone. She didn’t care if he always came back. He would not.
“At least—at least you could talk to me before you decide—”
Goblin Slayer cocked his head in an expression of complete bafflement.
“Aren’t I?”
Priestess blinked.
“I…I guess we’re talking, yes…”
“I believe we are.”
“Ahh…” Who could blame her for the sigh that escaped her at that moment?
“But it hardly means anything if I don’t have any choice in the matter, anyway.”
“It doesn’t?”
He’s really hopeless.
“I’m going with you.” She declared it bravely, without hesitation.
From the other side of his visor, Goblin Slayer looked at her. His dirty, battered helmet was reflected in her stare.
“I can’t leave you,” she said.
Their eyes met. Both were silent for a long moment.
“…Do what you want.” Finally, Goblin Slayer heaved a sigh. He sounded a bit annoyed.
But Priestess held her staff with both hands. Her smile was like a blossoming flower.
“Thank you, I will.”
“Then go collect your reward first.”
“Right! Just wait here a moment… Hey, what about our report?”
“We can do it later.”
“All right!”
Goblin Slayer stood by the door and waited as Priestess ran off. From the landing, uncommon faces watched her. High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest all looked at one another. Someone let out a tiny sigh.
“Even we can see what’s going on here. That girl’s got promise.” The dwarf was the first to come down the stairs, stroking his beard.
“Far be it from me to propose a quest and refuse to offer myself in pursuing it.” The lizardman came next with a stern nod, joining his hands toward the elf. He descended the stairs a step at a time, his tail swishing back and forth.
The archer was silent, lost for words.
Orcbolg, the goblin-slaying adventurer, was here before her eyes, yet he was nothing like she’d imagined. She couldn’t comprehend his way of life. He was alien to her.
What, are you going to let a little shock stop you now?
The elf laughed. Hadn’t she left the forest looking for exactly this?
She checked her bow and then secured it across her shoulder.
“Grief, don’t you think you should respect your elders?”
So saying, she stepped lightly down the stairs.
You see, parties are often formed in just such unexpected ways.
Hmm? An interview…? Goblin slaying? What a strange thing to ask about.
Some goblins attack a village. The villagers come to us. Please get rid of the nest. Help us! We beg you, O heroes! So we get our weapons, go in there, kill a few goblins, and get our money. What’s to talk about? Your basic hack and slash.
It’s quick work. I won’t deny we were lucky, too, but… Well. You get some experience in tracking and fighting, and the Guild gives you a surprising amount of credit for helping out. I mean, I understand. My hometown was attacked by goblins not long ago. And it’s true, some adventurers came to help out.
It’s just… How do I say this? There are three types of people who hunt goblins: People who beat them easily. People who take their lumps and learn from them. And people who underestimate the goblins and get wiped.
Which are we? We beat them easily! Well…anyway, we do now. We took our licks before. We brought a lantern in with us, but our scout fell and broke it. Then everything was pitch-dark. We found out later the goblins had planted a trip wire. A trap. Goblins set a trap!
The light and the noise gave away our position, and once things went dark, there were goblins everywhere.
The kid—our magic user—got a little worried and tried a spell. “Don’t do it,” I says. “Save it for something big. You’ve only got one. Don’t waste it on some shrimp monster.” After that, all hell broke loose.
Goblins all around us. We’re fighting as hard as we can, slice, slice, slice. Death. Screams. You don’t know if you’re hitting rocks or cutting flesh. You’ve been cut, too. You’re just wearing cheap armor. When I found myself trying to swing a broadsword in a tunnel, that’s when I thought I was going to die.
Hey, what are you smiling at, dammit? The greatest warriors started out risking their lives against goblins. You want to be a paladin, don’t you laugh.
Sorry about that. That lady—that knight—is in my party. I’m the leader, though, all right?
Where was I? There was a big one leading them. My sword got caught on something. He had an ax, and he’s swinging it everywhere. I thought for sure I was gonna die. Then wham, a Firebolt fries him.
Our knight had some miracles; we had money, got equipment and antidotes and everything. It practically cost more to get ready than we got for doing the quest…but it saved me. It saved all of us.
That’s why I always say, as long as you’re prepared, goblins ain’t nothing.
But say you knew you could win ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Who’s to say this isn’t the hundredth time? There’s no guarantees. You’re just playing the odds.
If you’re gonna die because of a bad roll, you might as well do it fighting a dragon.
And we’re Silver-ranked now. Grunt work like goblins won’t keep our party equipped.
Anyway, goblins are the weakest monsters, right? So why not let beginners handle ’em? Sure, not all of them make it, but…they’ve got better chances than against a dragon, right?
Still…it’s only a chance.
Three days passed in the blink of an eye.
Beneath the stars and the two moons, in a field that seemed to go on forever, five adventurers sat in a circle. A long, thin trail of smoke drifted into the air from their campfire. Far behind them, the forest where the elves lived rose up in the darkness.
“Come to think of it, why did all of you become adventurers?”
“For the fine dining, obviously! What about you, long-ears?”
“Of course you wanted food. Me…I wanted to learn about the outside world.”
“As for myself, I seek to raise my status by rooting out heresy, that I may become a naga.”
“Say what?”
“I seek to raise my status by rooting out heresy, that I may become a naga.”
“Uh… Sure. I can understand that, I guess. I’m religious, too.”
“I wanted to slay…”
“Yeah, somehow I think I’ve got you figured out, thanks.”
“Don’t interrupt the man, long-ears!” The dwarf gave a cluck as he wove blades of dry grass together.
The fire did not burn very high. The elves hated fire and set wards to keep what burns at bay. Even as far from the forest as they were, the effects were still noticeable.
Priestess and the lizardman had prepared this, the last dinner they would eat before they reached the nest.
“Mmm, that is delicious! What is this?” The well-marbled meat had been finished with spices as soon as it began to roast. The dwarf, delighted by the fragrant, crunchy result, took two or three skewers.
“I am pleased you find it satisfying.” The lizardman replied to the dwarf’s praises with a gratified smile, which for him meant baring his long teeth. “It is the dried flesh of a swamp creature. The spices include ingredients not found in this place, hence why your palate may find them remarkable.”
“This is why no one likes dwarves. They’re gluttons and carnivores to boot,” the elf scoffed.
“Bah! How could a would-be
rabbit like you appreciate the virtues of a meal like this? Hand me another!”
“Ick…”
The dwarf licked the fat from his fingers and took another large mouthful of meat as if to underscore his point. The elf groaned from watching him consume so vigorously something she couldn’t even contemplate eating.
“Um, maybe you would like some soup? It’s not much, with only a campfire to cook over, but…”
“Yes, please!”
Priestess made a soup of dried beans with a practiced hand. The elf hadn’t had any of the meat, so the suggestion of something she could eat was enough to make her ears bounce for joy.
The brimming bowlful of soup Priestess passed her had a mild flavor that was undeniably delicious.
“Hmm. I’ve got to give you something for this…” The elf took small, thin wafers of bread wrapped in leaves from her pack and broke off a piece. The smell of it was faintly sweet, but it had no fruit or sugar in it.
“This…isn’t dried bread, is it? And it’s not a biscuit…”
“It’s a preserved food the elves make. Actually, we almost never share it with anyone else. But today is an exception.”
“This is delicious!” No sooner had she taken a bite than the striking taste brought words of appreciation from Priestess’s lips.
A little surprise was hidden in the food. The crispy outside gave way to a soft, moist center.
“Oh? That’s good.” The elf affected disinterest, but the way she closed her eyes slightly made her look quite pleased.
“Hrm! Well, now that the elf is showing off, I can hardly let the dwarves go unrepresented, can I?” Thus Dwarf Shaman produced a large, tightly sealed clay jar. There was a sound of liquid sloshing within. When he pulled out the stopper and poured some into a cup, the pungent scent of alcohol drifted around the camp.
“Heh-heh. Say hello to our specialty, made deep in our cellars—fire wine!”
“Fire…wine?” The elf looked with interest into the cup the dwarf held out.
“Nothing less! Tell me this isn’t your first tipple, long-ears.”
“O-of course not, cave dweller!” So saying, she snatched the cup out of his hand.
She cast a doubtful look into the seemingly ordinary cup. “It’s clear. Isn’t wine made from grapes? I’ve had it before, you know. I’m not that young.” She threw back her head and drank the entire cup.
There followed a fit of uncontrollable coughing, brought on by the drink’s stinging dryness.
“A-are you all right? H-here, have some w-water!” Priestess hurriedly offered a canteen to the gasping elf, whose eyes were bulging.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Maybe it’s a bit too much for a delicate lass like yourself!”
“Please be temperate. A drunken ranger will avail us little.”
“I know that, Scaly! I won’t let her have too much.”
The dwarf laughed merrily at the women while the lizardman hissed reprovingly.
“Ho there, Beard-cutter! Fancy a sip?”
Goblin Slayer said nothing but took the proffered cup and drank it with alacrity.
He had not spoken a word all through dinner, merely lifting food into his visor. Soon after, he became absorbed in his own work. He polished his sword, shield, and dagger; checked the sharpness of the blades; and returned them to their sheaths. He oiled his leather and mail armor.
“Hrm…” The elf made a dissatisfied noise at the sight of Goblin Slayer at his tasks. Her face was as red as a boiled tomato.
“…What?”
“…You don’t even take that helmet off when you’re eating. What’s with you?”
“If I were to be struck in the head by a surprise attack, I might lose consciousness.”
“…And y’ jus ead, ead, eat. Why dun you cook sumtheng for us arready?”
The elf delivered this non sequitur with a heavy tongue, slurring her words. She pointed accusingly at the large rock next to Goblin Slayer.
He did not respond, even when the drunken elf glared at him and issued another “Hrrmm?”
“Ooh,” the dwarf whispered. “Her eyes are glazing…”
Watching the scene, Priestess sucked in her cheeks slightly.
He’s thinking. She still couldn’t see his face, but she knew that much.
After a time, Goblin Slayer sought out his pack with a hint of exasperation. He rolled out a dry, hard round of cheese.
“Will this do?”
Oh-ho. The lizardman licked the tip of his nose with his tongue. He craned his neck toward the cheese as though he had never seen it before.
“What manner of thing is this?”
“It’s cheese. It’s made by churning the milk of a cow or a sheep.”
“You’ve got to be joking, Scaly,” the dwarf said. “Never seen cheese before?”
“I am most earnest. This is quite new to me.”
“Do lizardmen not raise livestock?” Priestess asked. He nodded.
“In our society, animals are for hunting. Not for nurturing.”
“Give it ’ere. I’ll cut it.” The elf swiped the cheese from Goblin Slayer and, almost faster than the eye could see, sliced it into five pieces with a knife she had sharpened on a rock.
“I bet a little grilling would do wonders here. Now, where’s a good stick?”
At the dwarf’s suggestion, Priestess said, “I have skewers if you like.” She took several long metal rods from her bag.
“Ah, lass, you know how to pack for a trip! Unlike some people I know.”
“If you’ve got someone in mind, come out and say it.” Anger seemed to put the clarity back in the elf’s voice.
“Why don’t you ask your heart?” The dwarf chuckled, stroking his beard. “Your anvil-shaped heart.” Then he said, “Anyhow, let me handle this. Fire is the purview of my people!” And he stuck the cheese on the skewers and put them over the fire. He roasted them with quick, sure movements like a wizard casting a spell. A sweet scent mixed with the rising smoke.
Before they knew it, the cheese began to melt and run. The dwarf passed the skewers to his fellow adventurers, and they each brought it to their mouths.
“It is sweet, like nectar!”
Lizard Priest gave an ecstatic shout and thumped his tail on the ground. “Like nectar, it is!”
“Glad the first cheese of your life didn’t disappoint,” the dwarf said, taking a big bite of his own slice and washing it down with a gulp of fire wine. “Ahh, fire wine and cheese, there’s a fine pairing!”
He dabbed at the wine that he dribbled into his beard and gave a contented sigh. The elf frowned. Seeming quite back to her normal, haughty self, she took dainty bites of her cheese.
“Hmm. It’s kind of sour but…sweet,” she said. “Sort of like a banana.” Her long ears made a wide motion up and down. Then her eyes narrowed like a cat’s when coughing up a hairball.
“Is this from that farm?” Priestess asked with a bright smile, halfway through her own piece of cheese.
“It is.”
“It’s delicious!”
“Is it?”
Goblin Slayer nodded quietly and calmly put a piece of cheese into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, took a mouthful of fire wine, and then pulled his bag closer. The next day they would enter the goblins’ nest. He had to double-check his gear.
The bag was packed with a variety of bottles, ropes, chains, and unidentifiable items. The elf, whose stupor had been cleared away by the sharp, sweet cheese, looked at the collection with interest.
Goblin Slayer was examining a scroll that was tied shut in a peculiar way. The elf reached out just as, seemingly satisfied with the knots, Goblin Slayer was putting the scroll back into his bag.
“Don’t touch that,” he said flatly. The elf drew her hand back hastily. “It’s dangerous.”
“I-I wasn’t going to touch it. I was just looking.”
“Don’t look at it. It’s dangerous.”
The elf gave a little sneer in his direction. Goblin Slayer
was unperturbed.
Unwilling to take no for an answer, the elf glanced at the scroll out of the corner of her eye. “Isn’t that a magic scroll?” she asked. “I’ve never seen one before.”
At her words, not just Priestess but the dwarf and the lizardman leaned in for a look.
A magic scroll. An item sometimes found in ancient ruins, albeit very rarely. Unroll it, and even an infant could cast the spell written there. The knowledge of how to make them was long lost, even to the oldest of the high elves. Magical items were rare enough, but such scrolls were among the rarest of all.
But for all that, they were surprisingly inconvenient items for adventurers. Any of an infinite variety of spells might be written on them, from the most useful to the most mundane, and they could be used only once, anyway. Many adventurers simply sold them—for a tidy sum—to researchers or collectors of curio. A wizard in the party was magic enough for them. They needed money more than scrolls.
Goblin Slayer was one of the few who had kept his scroll. Even Priestess hadn’t known he had it.
“All right, all right. I won’t touch, I won’t even look, but will you at least tell us what spell is written on it?”
“No.” He didn’t so much as look at her. “If you were captured and told the goblins, then what? You’ll know what it is when I use it.”
“…You don’t like me, do you?”
“I’m not particular.”
“Isn’t that just a way of saying you don’t care?”
“I mean no more than I said.”
The elf gritted her teeth, and her ears flapped angrily.
“Give it up, long-ears. He’s stubborner than I am.” The dwarf laughed happily. “He’s Beard-cutter, after all.”
“You mean Orcbolg.”
“I am Goblin Slayer,” he muttered.
The elf frowned at this, and the dwarf stroked his beard in amusement.
“Um, excuse me,” Priestess broke in, “but what does Orcbolg mean, exactly?”
“It’s the name of a sword that appears in our legends,” the elf said. She held up a finger proudly like a teacher instructing her pupils. “It was a goblin-slaying blade that would glow blue when an orc—a goblin—was near.”