Goblin Slayer, Vol. 1

by Kumo Kagyu

  “Hrrgh! Did you think a parlor trick like that would stop me?” The ogre staggered slightly under the repeated impacts. But no more. The man-eater swept the stones away with his hand and resumed his advance on the adventurers.

  Goblin Slayer opposed him alone.

  As he danced out, shield on his arm, he made a quick swipe at the monster’s legs with his sword.

  His movement was small, quick, precise, and as ruthless as ever—

  “Hrk…!”

  —and it bounced off the ogre with a metallic sound. The monster’s skin, even on his legs, was as hard as stone.

  “Such impertinence!”

  “Hah…?!”

  The war hammer swept up and struck the reeling warrior. His armor crumpled, and Goblin Slayer flew through the air, landing in a heap on the ground.

  “Orcbolg!!”

  “Goblin Slayer, sir!” Priestess and the elf both called out, their faces equally pale.

  “I am no mere goblin!” the ogre yelled, ripping the arrow out of his eye and throwing it away. The eye should have been ruined, but instead it bubbled and healed itself and soon shone with malice once more.

  So ogres weren’t just immensely strong but capable of healing themselves. The elf’s teeth began to chatter.

  “You stopped my spell. You destroyed my eye. I will take my price for these humiliations!” He raised his hammer again, aiming for Goblin Slayer. “First, I’ll tear off your limbs. Then I’ll have my sport with your elf and your little Priestess while you watch!”

  “Were it so easy, man-eater!” Goblin Slayer’s salvation came in the form of the Dragontooth Warrior the lizardman had summoned. The skeletal servant dragged Goblin Slayer away from the blow in the nick of time.

  “Goblin Slayer, sir…!!” With wobbling steps, Priestess made her way where the warrior had been evacuated.

  “Take care of him, milady Priestess!” The lizardman and the others moved to intercept the advancing ogre.

  “Out of my way, you slithering swamp dweller!” The monster brought his hammer down, but the lizardman neatly swept it aside with his tail.

  “Master dwarf, milady Ranger—your help, please!”

  “Cast a spell, dwarf!”

  “I’m on it!”

  Running across the shattered floor, the elf fired her arrows in a flood. One branch and then another flew through the air, piercing the ogre’s pale flesh.

  “You are as irritating as a fly, girl!”

  “Wha—? Huh?!”

  But that was all they did. The ogre showed no sign of injury, slamming his war hammer into a wall. The elf lost her footing on the quaking floor and was thrown into the air.

  A creature without wings is immobile in the air, and this ogre was not one to miss such a chance. He stepped in with a swing of his weapon.

  “Whaaat?!”

  But neither was the elf one to miss an opportunity. She had curled her body like an acrobat’s and slipped past the oncoming hammer.

  The ogre’s move, however, wasn’t meant only to take out the elf. As if to fulfill the monster’s vow of vengeance, the ceiling rained rubble from the impact.

  “Hrgh!”

  “Whoa!”

  The lizardman crawled out of the way, and the dwarf rolled to avoid the debris. But the fleshless Dragontooth Warrior was unable to move quickly enough to escape. The stone rained down on it, followed closely by the war hammer. The Dragontooth Warrior shattered, no more than what he had been before, a pile of bones.

  He had certainly served his purpose as an extra target, and yet…

  “This will not do!” the lizardman cried.

  “Did you think to stop me with bones and branches and rocks?!” the ogre howled, breaking off the arrows that riddled his body with a great sweep of his hammer. The elf scrambled away from the pile of debris the previous blow had brought down, eager to avoid a repeat performance.

  “At this rate, we’re done for!” she shouted, even as she leaped through the air, readying and then loosing another shaft. She had no other option, although the hits seemed to do no damage—and she had only so many arrows.

  “This is the last of my spells, too!” the dwarf said, letting off another Stone Blast. The volley of pebbles caused the ogre to flinch but otherwise left him unharmed.

  “Is that the best you can do, faeries?!”

  “Hrmph, I knew I should’ve learned Firebolt instead!” The dwarf shook his empty hand with a frown and a cluck. “Or maybe I should’ve stuck with Stupor.”

  “The time for such worries is past,” the lizardman said lightly, his eyes rolling. “Shall we flee?”

  “Wouldn’t think of it,” the dwarf said merrily. “My grandpappy’d tear out my beard!”

  “Agreed. A naga does not run.”

  As they bantered, the indefatigable Lizard Priest readied his short sword, and the dwarf drew out a sling.

  “Ha-ha-ha-ha-haaa! Run out of tricks, adventurers?” The room shook with yet another slam of the monster’s hammer. The blow crushed several goblin corpses, sending bits flying into the air. A fragment of goblin landed next to Goblin Slayer, spattering him. He groaned and shifted.

  “Goblin Slayer, sir…!” Priestess called to him with tears in her eyes, supporting his head with her hands. With her help, he raised his head at last.

  “I can’t…quite see… What is happen…ing…?”

  “Everyone is still fighting…!”

  “I see… Give me a Healing potion. A Stamina potion, too,” Goblin Slayer said calmly, inspecting their supplies at a glance. He sat up stiffly.

  Part of his shield and the leather armor over his chest were crushed. His head felt funny somehow, and when he reached up to touch it, he realized there was a dent in his helmet. His whole body ached; every time he drew a breath, pain pierced him…

  But pain was a sign he was still alive. Fine.

  He had certainly sustained not-insubstantial injuries. But this cheap armor had saved his life.

  “Right!”

  “Thanks.”

  Priestess found the bottles in their bags, popped the stoppers, and held them out to him. Goblin Slayer took them stoically and drank down one, then the other. He tossed the bottles aside; they left new scores on the blackened stone floor as they shattered.

  Unlike a miracle of the gods, potions like these had relatively minor effects. Goblin Slayer’s pain eased a little, but his body still felt like it was made of lead. But he could move. Fine.

  “Here we go.” Goblin Slayer supported himself with his broken sword as he stood. “Where…is my bag?”

  “Um, here it is…”

  Her exhausted limbs shook as badly as his hands. But she did not let on or complain. She only pulled the gear close.

  “…All right.”

  Goblin Slayer tore through the contents of his bag, finally coming up with the scroll.

  Priestess paled. She looked at Goblin Slayer; to her eyes, he was blurred by tears. “You can’t…”

  “If it will win this fight, I certainly can.” He shook his head gently. “And if this works…things won’t be so bad, anyway.” He pushed her hand away and stood, then stepped forth.

  He heard dripping as blood from some wound stained the floor red under his feet. So long as it didn’t cause him to slip, he didn’t care.

  “Orcbolg!” High Elf Archer shouted as she saw him.

  “I have a plan. Here goes.”

  “Sure thing! Do it!” High Elf Archer didn’t ask what the plan was, only loosed another arrow from her bow.

  “Right, Beard-cutter! I’ve faith in you!”

  “Regrettably, we are most hard put here.”

  Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest nodded to each other, then leaped out of the fray under the cover of the elf’s arrows.

  But…

  “Oh…!” High Elf Archer bit her lip.

  Goblin Slayer stepped out in front of them, raised his broken shield, and took a deep stance. His wounds were obviously severe. One more hit c
ould sunder his flesh and bones, could kill him.

  No, wait… High Elf Archer shook her head. He’s looking for his chance… He would do something. If there was anything to be done, he would find it. So let me do my part, too…

  The dwarf grabbed rubble from the ground and fired them from his sling. The lizardman dashed toward the ogre, slashing with his claws. And of course, the elf’s arrows fell like rain.

  “You insects! You aggravating little bugs!”

  The ogre, arrows lodged all over his body, was infuriated. His war hammer flew this way and that with a sound like a storm. Every blow brought down more rubble and caused the corpses to dance on the ground.

  Through it all, Goblin Slayer kept his distance, never flinching.

  The ogre looked down with disgust at the half-dead warrior, and then, twisting his face hideously, he laughed.

  “Come to think of it, as I recall, your tiny friend was all out of miracles…out of strength…” He thrust out his giant palm. “Carbunculus… Crescunt…” The familiar white ball of flame began forming in his palm as he intoned the words.

  Someone gulped.

  “Ah… Oh!” Priestess tried to stand but tumbled back to the ground. Her sounding staff fell from her shaking hands.

  “Don’t worry. If perchance she survives this, I promise not to kill her…right away.”

  The fire in the ogre’s hand shone white, then finally blue, threatening to scorch the adventurers. There was no way to stop it.

  “I have food, after all. What I need is someone to help me rebuild the ranks of my goblins.”

  At that moment, Goblin Slayer leaped true as an arrow at the expanding ball of flame.

  The ogre snorted. What could this warrior do to him? This dying adventurer?

  “Let me grant your wish, boy! I will burn you until not even ashes remain!” The last of the words of power, the words that could alter the very way of the world, spilled out of him and into the roiling flame.

  “Iacta!”

  The fireball flew from the ogre’s palm. It seemed to set the very air aflame.

  Death raced toward them.

  Priestess—or was it High Elf Archer?—screamed.

  Lizard Priest and Dwarf Shaman moved to protect the women.

  And then:

  “Fool.”

  The lone, calm word of a man meeting his foe.

  A roar.

  A flash.

  And finally, silence.

  “Hmm… Hrr?” The ogre could not understand what had happened.

  He felt himself floating. And then his massive body was slammed into a pile of rubble.

  Perhaps he had made the fireball too powerful and been a bit stunned by the kickback. Or was this a ploy of his little opponents?

  In fact, it was neither.

  “Hrgh…?!” The ogre lost his breath with the impact. He could see his own legs.

  Only they weren’t attached to him anymore.

  Goblin Slayer walked toward the ogre, smoke rising from him. It finally dawned on the ogre that he had been cut in half.

  “Grr… Hrrrghh!” When he opened his mouth to speak, he immediately began to retch blood. At the same moment, his nose filled with the smell of iron and another odd scent.

  Salt.

  The chamber was flooding with seawater.

  The water was red with blood: the ogre’s, Goblin Slayer’s.

  Why?! What happened?! What…what did you do to me?!

  As the ogre writhed in pain, his insides spilling into the open air, a cool voice answered him:

  “The scroll contained the spell Gate.”

  Goblin Slayer undid the knot and revealed the magical scroll being burned away by a supernatural flame. The fire continued to lick at the page even as it was inundated with water until finally the scroll vanished without a trace.

  “It opens onto the bottom of the sea.” As Goblin Slayer spoke, the elf—indeed, everyone—was lost for words.

  Scrolls fetch a good price, but every once in a great while, there is an adventurer who does not wish to part with one.

  An ancient artifact, this scroll had contained the lost spell Gate. Write the destination on it with the words of power, and it would open a door to that place. For an adventurer, it could be a powerful weapon or a life-saving escape route. But the chances of such an item showing up in a marketplace were next to nil. If you wanted one, you had to scour deep dungeons and ancient ruins for yourself…

  …and even then, you needed a Platinum tag or a lot of luck to find one. Goblin Slayer had used his scroll without hesitation—and then not even to escape, but to attack. After he had paid Witch at the Adventurers Guild a pretty penny to connect the scroll to the bottom of the sea.

  The pent-up seawater had come flying out with such force that it instantly extinguished the fireball and cut the ogre in two.

  “Hrg! Yarr! Graaaa!!”

  The ogre dumbly watched his legs fall to the floor. He flailed in the pool of water, sputtering and coughing blood. He showed no sign of healing himself. Ogres have great powers of regeneration, but even they can’t pull themselves back from the brink of death.

  I’m going to…die? Me? Die?!

  “Grrrrawwwwooooohhhh!!”

  Perhaps it was the lack of blood to his brain, but the ogre was seized with an inarticulate terror. He gave a great, pathetic wail.

  He couldn’t understand it.

  “Now…what did you say you were?” The man strode toward the ogre and stood above him.

  Not a goblin, was it?

  The words rolled around the ogre’s head like an echo.

  That meant… That meant…

  He had prepared that spell…just to kill some goblins!

  “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  The ogre made to speak—whether to beg for his life or to taunt them one last time, he himself didn’t know. But his last words never made it out of his mouth. Goblin Slayer crushed the ogre’s throat under his heel. The ogre gave a final voiceless gasp, looking vacantly up at the pitiless steel helmet.

  “You are nowhere near as frightening…”

  The man raised his sword. This was it. The end. The ogre saw cold eyes shining from the darkness inside that helm.

  “…as the goblins I’ve faced.”

  The ogre’s consciousness was consumed with pain and humiliation, fear and despair; then it was submerged in darkness; then it was extinguished.

  When they emerged from the ruins, they found an elven carriage waiting for them. The Dragontooth Warrior had successfully escorted the prisoner home, and her people had hurriedly sent a party to the ruins. The warriors who accompanied the carriage carried, to an elf, pristine gear. All of it made only from the bounty of the earth: wood and leather and stone.

  “Well met! What lies in these ruins? Are the goblins—?”

  But the adventurers climbed straight into the carriage. Even the dwarf, who might normally have had some choice words for elves, said nothing.

  They were all completely drained.

  “…At any rate, we shall search within,” one of the warriors said gruffly. “Please have a pleasant ride to town.” And with that, they disappeared into the ruins.

  The coachman gave a shout to the horses, and the carriage began rolling with a clatter of hooves.

  The sun set without the party even noticing, and the moons ran their course. Soon the sun was rising again. The light of dawn shone in the pale sky from across the horizon. It must have taken all night to reach town.

  The traveling companions left their weapons wrapped in coverings. Each was at their ease; no one moved. Well, almost no one.

  High Elf Archer shifted until her mouth was near Priestess’s ear.

  “Hey…,” she said.

  “Yes…?” Priestess looked up idly. She was bone-tired, spent from her soul-effacing prayers, and yet she wore a brave smile.

  “Is he always like that? I mean, does he always pull that sort of stunt?” The elf looked no better than
Priestess, black and red with gore and barely able to keep her eyes open. She indicated Goblin Slayer, slumped against a wooden box.

  He still wore his dented armor and held his cracked sword…but he was finally asleep. Every trace of his wounds had been wiped away by Lizard Priest’s Refresh spell. It was no surprise that it was so much more powerful than Priestess’s Minor Heal. That was simply the difference between a Porcelain and a Silver rank.

  The problem…, he mused, swishing his tail, the problem is accumulated fatigue.

  After finishing off the ogre, Goblin Slayer had wanted to make a sweep for any surviving goblins. Even though it had been clear he was the most exhausted member of a drained party. And he was trying so hard not to show it…

  “Yes…,” Priestess said with a strained expression. “He’s always like this.”

  “Hmm…”

  “But you’d be…surprised how much he cares for those around him.” She touched his armor with her slender finger. He didn’t stir. She stroked the dirty leather gently. “He doesn’t have to help us. Or teach us. But he does.”

  “Hmm,” the elf murmured again.

  She was angry.

  She couldn’t reconcile herself to what had happened. That was no adventure. How could anyone call it that?

  “I can’t help it. I can’t stand Orcbolg.”

  And that was that.

  I thought adventures were supposed to be fun.

  This was no adventure.

  It didn’t have the excitement or gratification of discovering new things, the joy of experiencing the unknown.

  She was left with only an empty weariness.

  So there were people out there who did nothing but hunt goblins, never finding a single pleasure in their “adventures.”

  To her, it was unforgivable.

  She was an adventurer. She had left the forest because she loved adventure.

  The elf nodded with conviction. Yes. Someday she would show him. Maybe not right away, perhaps, but someday.

  “I’ll show him what a real adventure is.”

  For if she didn’t, he—and all of them—might be lost…

  Heyo! I slew some goblins! I’ve come to make my report.

  Huh? Why’re you so surprised? I know I’m alone. Can’t one person normally handle some goblins?