by Kumo Kagyu
Ahead, down the dark tunnel, their companions waited for them.
The armory was not far away now.
§
Even goblins are smart enough to lock a door. Including the huge metal one they found in one corner of the stone labyrinth. There was even a step stool placed nearby, the knob being out of reach of the diminutive goblins.
“Right, time to switch,” Dwarf Shaman said.
High Elf Archer stepped up to try herself against the door. “Sure, just leave it to me…is what I’d like to say, but I’m not sure I’m that confident…”
First, she scraped the surface of the door with a bud-tipped arrow she drew from her quiver. Confirming that there was nothing there, she perked up her big ears, listening for any sound inside the room.
She didn’t hear anything moving. Given how dank and polluted this goblin hideout was, it was surprising not to hear so much as a rat scurrying around. Goblins no doubt found rodents to be good snacks—a subject she didn’t want to think about, although she had to admit she was grateful for the fact.
“I’m pretty sure there’s nothing inside… I think,” she said.
“Open it,” Goblin Slayer instructed. “Destroy the door if you need to.”
“In the worst case, we might,” Lizard Priest said. He brought his hands together in a strange gesture, then took out a dragon fang that could act as a catalyst. “We wouldn’t want any goblins sneaking up behind, so we shall act as guards.”
“Right you are,” Dwarf Shaman responded, and the three men circled up around the women.
High Elf Archer pulled a branch as thin as a needle from somewhere in her outfit and began looking for the keyhole. Her movements were small but fairly clumsy. She was a ranger, not by any means a thief or a scout. An adventurer in town had taught her simple trap disarmament and how to pick a lock—along with a touch of gambling. Granted, all of these had been very useful in satisfying her own curiosity…
“Careful now, okay?” She glanced to the side as she worked, clicking her tongue. “If you stand right next to me like that, you might get caught by any trap that goes off.”
“But I’ll also be able to give you first aid right away,” Priestess said with a cheerful smile. She had sat smack on the ground right next to High Elf Archer. She had a firm grip on her sounding staff so that she could start praying at a moment’s notice.
“Honestly, I wish I had the Precog or Luck miracles.”
Her concern for her friend High Elf Archer was only half the reason. The other half was disappointment about her own powerlessness.
“Well, it’s not your fault. It’s the deity who decides which miracles you get, right?”
It was kind of High Elf Archer to point this out, but not being able to do anything to help still stung.
Maybe the elf had a sense of what was going through Priestess’s mind, because with a trickle of nervous sweat, she said, “We really could use an actual scout here…”
“Mm,” Priestess said, “but you’re so kind as to seek out traps and pick locks for us anyway…”
We’re counting on you, okay?
At that, High Elf Archer’s ears flicked modestly.
Now, she was going to have to concentrate. Goblins might not be smart enough to build very subtle traps, but a dwarf fortress left over from the Age of the Gods might be home to more tricks than what the little devils had put there themselves.
A keyhole that sprayed poison gas, or a doorknob that grew unbearably hot were the best things they could hope for. Some doors would erase the memory of anyone who used them without intoning the proper spell.
And whether such brutal fates awaited them or not, the goblins’ cruelty was a matter of some renown…
“……”
High Elf Archer glanced back over her shoulder. Noble Fencer was staring vacantly into space.
Is she really okay?
No, of course she wasn’t okay. High Elf Archer knew she couldn’t imagine what awful things that girl had been through. It was a miracle she had kept her sanity.
Ahh, no time for that now. Concentrate, concentrate!
She bit her lip, focusing on her fingers as they checked the keyhole.
After a few minutes, she felt something give, and the lock unlatched with a clack.
“…Phew. Got it.”
“Good work” were the only words Goblin Slayer said. Even as the elf chuckled and puffed out her chest, he raised up his leg and gave the door a solid kick.
There was no reaction.
“Seems safe enough.” Lizard Priest all but slithered his way to the front of the group. Kicking the door open just in case there was anything inside was a tactic as old as time.
“Well, of course it’s safe. I checked it, didn’t I?”
“You told us yourself that you didn’t know what you were doing,” Dwarf Shaman growled, following after the triumphant High Elf Archer.
Goblin Slayer, who had continued to watch the hallway after breaking in the door, nodded at Priestess.
“Oh, light,” she said. “Coming right up.”
“Thank you.”
She grabbed a torch out of her bag and lit it as she had done so many times before.
A goblin fortress. Deep at night, a blizzard howling all around; not even the light of the stars reached them. Goblins could see well in the dark, so these conditions didn’t bother them, but not so humans. At the very least, they would need fire while they explored the storehouses…
“There, got it.”
“……”
Priestess let out a breath, a red flame dancing on the torch in her hand. It wavered as her exhalation passed over it.
Then she turned and walked up to Noble Fencer, who was looking at her intently.
“Hold on to this, okay?”
“Hold on to…what…?”
Noble Fencer was surprised to find herself spoken to; she didn’t seem to think Priestess could possibly mean her. But Priestess insisted, calmly and quietly, “The torch. Look after it, okay?”
“……”
Noble Fencer didn’t say anything, just stared at the proffered light, but Priestess took her hand and wrapped it around the base of the torch.
Noble Fencer shuddered to see a flame before her very eyes. As she looked around hesitantly, Priestess thought she saw, at the same time, a frightened little girl.
“……”
The young woman opened her mouth; a little sound escaped her as if she were trying to say something, and then she held the torch with both hands, looking into the flame.
“………I understand.”
That was all she said, in a whisper, and then she scuttled into the storeroom.
The hallway fell dark once more. Priestess, however, could feel a smile creeping across her face.
Goblin Slayer walked up beside her at his usual, almost violent pace.
“Why did you ask her to hold it?”
“Just…a hunch.”
The question was rather sharp, but Priestess’s answer was gentle. By now she could tell from his voice that he wasn’t angry.
“I thought she must be feeling…well, bored, and I didn’t want that.”
“Is that so?”
I assume you’ve got a plan anyway…
So much Priestess thought but didn’t say.
To be suddenly thrown into somewhere new, scurrying from place to place. To stand around staring vacantly, not sure what you’re supposed to do. That—that was something Priestess understood all too well. She was an orphan who had been raised in the Temple, after all. An abandoned child.
“Didn’t you notice?”
“Notice what?”
“When I gave her that torch, she was a little embarrassed.”
“Is that so…?”
With that mutter, Goblin Slayer and Priestess headed into the storehouse.
A moldy smell made their noses prickle, and dust threatened to make them sneeze. They closed the door behind them. Immediately, Dwarf S
haman jumped toward the hinges, pounding the pins into place.
“Normally, I’d leave it open,” he said with a shrug, replacing the peg and hammer in his bag. “But we wouldn’t want any nasty little monsters sneaking up behind us, now, would we?”
“Truly spoken, but now if the enemy should appear in front of us, our escape will be blocked behind.”
Someone let up a great guffaw then, but whether it was Lizard Priest or Dwarf Shaman, no one was quite sure.
“Stop it already.” High Elf Archer frowned, but Priestess joined in the chorus of laughter.
Only Goblin Slayer and Noble Fencer were silent. The young woman still held the torch, raising it slowly above her head. Every movement of the flame produced dancing shadows. In the unsteady light, Goblin Slayer examined the equipment in the storehouse.
“For an armory…” As he spoke, he casually reached into a nearby barrel and pulled something out. It was a crude pickax, cheap-looking, covered in mud and rust, obviously well used. A glance also revealed spades scattered about, and other tools good for moving earth. “…there isn’t much in the way of arms or armor.”
“You don’t think they’re just digging holes? They’re goblins, after all.” High Elf Archer sounded totally disinterested. She couldn’t have cared less about arms or armor. Instead, she had her ears up, listening carefully for footsteps from outside.
“Or perhaps they are digging for something, mining.” Lizard Priest reached out, a lazy sweep of his tail stirring the air. He picked up a spear that had fallen carelessly among the pickaxes and said, “If this so-called goblin paladin exists, I assume he has more in mind than simply enlarging his nest.”
“Makes good sense to me,” Dwarf Shaman said, looking around, but he didn’t sound happy about it. The place might have been dirty, but the stonework still boasted the delicate touch of the dwarves; no average person could have imitated it. “This is a dwarven fortress. There must at least be ore deposits around.”
“But,” Goblin Slayer said, “do goblins know how to forge swords?”
What could they possibly be digging for? Nobody had an answer.
The shadow of the goblin paladin, the enemy whose face they did not yet know, loomed over all of them.
Even Goblin Slayer was at a loss for an answer here. Who else would be able to fathom what he couldn’t?
“Whatever the case…,” Priestess murmured, grasping her sounding staff as if to push back the oppressive atmosphere. When she found she could get those first few words out of her mouth, the courage to continue welled up. “Whatever the case, if these goblins are planning something, we can’t just leave them here.”
Her resolute words produced nods of agreement from the other adventurers.
“We have to do something about these weapons and equipment, too…”
“Ahh, leave that to me,” Lizard Priest said. “I’ve a little spell for moments like these.”
He scattered some dragon fangs and made a strange hand gesture, bringing his palms together.
“Well, t’aint to be helped,” Dwarf Shaman whispered at this. “Mm. You, girl.”
“…! …?”
Noble Fencer, who had been entirely focused on carrying the torch, jumped and made a half-voiced sound in answer. She looked at Dwarf Shaman’s beard, which he stroked; he gave a small grunt and then indicated the nearby equipment with a jerk of his chin.
“Lend me a hand. We’re gonna bring out some of those weapons.” Then, as if he already knew exactly what he was looking for, Dwarf Shaman reached into the pile of mismatched equipment and pulled out a sword. “Beard-cutter ain’t exactly kind to his toys. And you’ll never get by with just that dagger.”
There was a grunt—from Goblin Slayer, of course. “I believe I use my equipment appropriately.”
“Heh-heh!” It would have been possible to take the quiet chuckle for annoyance, but in fact it was just High Elf Archer laughing.
For her part, Noble Fencer took a second to register that she had been asked to help. But when it sank in, she quickly started gathering up equipment. A sword, a spear, a club… This was all goblin equipment. But even so, she was not a large person. She might have been a warrior, but there was a limit to how much she could carry. And on top of that…
“I don’t think a goblin chest plate is going to fit you,” Dwarf Shaman declared.
Noble Fencer’s generous bust was more than could be contained by the found chest armor.
Looking on from one side, High Elf Archer gave a little snort and suggested peevishly, “Just give it a good push, why don’t you? Squeeze it in there.”
“Y’long-eared lout! A girl with an anvil for a chest might not know it, but armor that doesn’t fit is more liability than help!”
Dwarf Shaman ignored High Elf Archer’s reply of Who’s an anvil?!, instead staring at Noble Fencer.
She could use both a blade and magic, and she was wearing light armor that allowed her to make the most of both. At the moment, the only weapon she had was a dagger. Not the sort of thing that would make someone a company’s main source of firepower.
“Best start with a sword, then…”
“…!”
Noble Fencer frowned noticeably at this and backed away from Dwarf Shaman.
“Hmm?”
“……I don’t……”
Her voice was so soft. Dwarf Shaman looked at her curiously; she glared at his beard.
“……I don’t need……”
“……”
“…I don’t need…a weapon…!”
Her voice was still quiet, but there was an unmistakable note of anger. Her otherwise expressionless face began to crumple.
“Hmm.” Dwarf Shaman, perhaps a bit taken aback, blinked and fingered his beard. Then he smiled broadly, as if he had just eaten a delicious meal. “I see, I see! So you’re not interested in gear. Excellent! Now that’s the beginning of a friendship!”
“……”
Now it was Noble Fencer’s turn to be lost for words.
As she stood there blinking at him, Dwarf Shaman went on as if it were the most obvious thing in the world: “How are you going to get along, not being able to say the things you want to say? Hmm?
“At least outerwear, then,” he muttered, pawing through the contents of the storehouse.
It might have all been goblin light armor there, but it was also mostly stolen. Everything was covered in dirt and grime, but it could all stand up to practical use.
A leather overgarment. Steel-reinforced gloves. Maybe a little something metal to protect the head…
“…? …?!”
Noble Fencer was totally flummoxed to find herself swept along, Dwarf Shaman equipping her with first one thing and then another. No race could outdo the dwarves when it came to evaluating the quality of weapons and armor.
This, then that, first one thing, then another. Equipment on, equipment off, new equipment, until her head was spinning.
“Hey now, take it easy, okay? Don’t do everything at once…” Priestess offered this half-hearted attempt to save Noble Fencer, but she didn’t sound very hopeful.
She somehow came across like an older sister… Or maybe more precisely, someone who was trying very hard to act like one. She put her hands on her hips and wagged her finger, repeating, “Come on, stop.” She was trying to sound severe but not doing a very good job. “You’re only causing trouble for her.”
“Hrm…” Dwarf Shaman grunted, then looked into Noble Fencer’s face. “Am I causing you trouble?”
For a long while, Noble Fencer didn’t say anything, trying to look anywhere but at the dwarf. Silence. Then more silence. Then finally: “…………A little.”
“See?” Priestess said, trying to conceal a smile.
“Well, goodness gracious, pardon me,” Dwarf Shaman said, also trying not to grin. The way his mouth curved up a little anyway was rather charming.
He gathered the equipment together and hefted it on his back quite nimbly desp
ite his small size. Then he glanced at the young woman.
“I’m not done saying my piece yet, though. Beard-cutter there, he’s something else, you understand?”
“Not counting his weird streak,” High Elf Archer said with a giggle she couldn’t hold in. “Orcbolg never says anything but ‘Is that so?’ and ‘That’s right’ and ‘Goblins.’”
She glanced at Goblin Slayer, who was leaning against the wall in a sullen silence, and gave a catlike smile.
Priestess offered another one of her It’s hopeless looks and said, “He is who he is.”
Finally, Goblin Slayer couldn’t restrain himself from saying, “Is that so?”
It was no bad thing for a group of adventurers like this, deep in the heart of danger, to find the ability to laugh—even if such was not one of the precepts Goblin Slayer commonly articulated.
If being serious is the way to win, he’ll be serious, Priestess thought. But if it’s not, well…it would be better if he could relax a bit…
“I’m sure milord Goblin Slayer is quite acquainted with his own habits. Now, then.” That was Lizard Priest, his hissing breath bringing the impromptu roast to a close at just the right moment. He slapped his tail once on the floor, then looked around at the group. “Is all in readiness?”
“I suppose we can save the gibes for later. All set, Scaly.”
“Mm.” The lizard nodded somberly, then made his strange hand gesture.
“O my forebears who sleep under layers of rock, with all the time that has piled upon you, guide these objects.”
No sooner had he spoken than the dragon fangs scattered on the floor began to boil away.
And then, behold: the weapons and equipment began to rust and deteriorate before their very eyes, starting with whatever was exposed to the air.
“W-wow…” Priestess had heard tell of this ability, but it was considered to be an evil miracle and so not often seen. “Is this the Rust miracle…?”
“Ah, you know it?” Lizard Priest seemed both surprised and interested by her question. “Indeed it is. Destroying objects with Weathering takes rather too long.”
“I’ve never actually seen it myself. What about our items?”
“It won’t affect us. Though this isn’t a prayer I would often call upon in battle.”