by Kumo Kagyu
He didn’t have time to waste.
“Well, then,” Goblin Slayer muttered. He spun his blade around in his hand, dropped into a low stance, and raised his shield. The goblin paladin recognized this posture; he gave a hideous smirk. No doubt he remembered their earlier battle. Goblin Slayer’s round shield was facing him, edge out.
“ORAGARARARA!!”
He uttered a terrible war cry and set upon Goblin Slayer. His aluminum sword was at the ready. It would pierce this half-hearted defense easily.
Behold! Yes, see the sword tip bury itself in Goblin Slayer’s shield. See how easily it passes through this confection of leather and wood and cloth!
It goes through the shield, tearing the arm, piercing the gauntlet, stabbing flesh. Blood runs down the edge of the blade, dribbling onto the snow and turning it pink.
The aluminum sword struck true, even tearing into Goblin Slayer’s shoulder.
The goblin paladin heard the soft groan of someone trying to suppress pain. He smirked, thinking he had won.
“You fell for it.”
But in fact, it was the end for him.
The aluminum blade went no farther. He put all his strength into it, but he couldn’t make it move.
It was the hilt. The hilt of his sword, heavy enough to double as a war hammer, had become lodged in Goblin Slayer’s shield.
“Hr—grr!”
“ORAGA?!”
And in a simple contest of strength, no goblin could hope to overcome a human. Goblin Slayer pulled the sword-pierced shield back, practically taking the goblin’s arm with it.
It would be more correct to call it the shield he had allowed to be pierced. Otherwise—otherwise, why would he have deliberately revealed his best killing move to the goblin paladin? Why would he have attempted to intercept and attack with his shield even after his own sword was broken?
“Goblins are stupid, but they are not fools.”
For the first time, the goblin paladin saw his opponent’s face. Deep in the darkness within that steel helmet, he saw an eye glowing red.
“But you are a fool.”
“AGARARARARA!!”
Goblin Slayer twisted his fang sword, ruthlessly tearing out the paladin’s throat.
There was an eruption of vile goblin blood, polluting the silver world. Goblin Slayer, who had twisted his body to protect the aluminum sword, was drenched in the gore.
“GORA, U…?!”
“GROB! GROB?!”
He stared at the goblins, who stood frozen with fear there in the valley.
There was no better moment than this. This was precisely the time he had been waiting and hoping for.
“Fire!” he yelled.
“Tonitrus…oriens…,” Noble Fencer responded. And then: “…iacta!”
Lightning flashed out.
The mountain shook.
The air expanded as electricity shot through it, but the lightning did not fall on the goblins. Everyone followed the spidering bolt with their eyes, up and up.
The lightning struck the summit of the mountain.
There was a rumble and a great shaking.
That could only mean one thing.
“H-hey, that’s a mite dangerous, isn’t it?” Dwarf Shaman said with a frown.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” High Elf Archer added, long ears twitching nervously.
They surely understood: this would well and truly do in the goblins.
“Mm,” Lizard Priest nodded knowingly. “It seems it has come.”
A violent noise like the drums of war, or like the hoofbeats of an approaching army, was coming toward them. And indeed, death, clad in white, was stampeding down into the valley.
It was an avalanche.
“…!”
The voiceless sound of surprise, and the scream, might have belonged to either High Elf Archer or Noble Fencer. The one who exclaimed “Oh, for crying out loud!” was probably High Elf Archer.
“GARAOROB?!”
“ORARAGURA?!”
Uttering unbearable howls, the goblins were swallowed up by the onrushing snow. There was nothing they could do, no chance to run; they left not even footprints.
In the midst of this chaos, one person jumped forward, acting faster than any other: it was Priestess.
Now. The word came into her mind like a revelation.
There was no hesitation, no reluctance. She clutched her sounding staff and offered up the soul-shredding prayer to the gods.
“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, by the power of the land grant safety to we who are weak!”
The white tsunami smashed against an invisible barrier, parting neatly to either side.
From within the miraculous protection granted by the Earth Mother, she looked at him.
He was so far away. One man, alone, among the goblin army, outside of the Earth Mother’s miracle.
She wanted to raise her voice, raise her hand, even though she knew they wouldn’t reach him…
“Goblin Slayer, sir!”
Then the white wiped out everything; all vanished from view.
§
“…Is—is he—?!”
She was the first to get up when it was all over: Noble Fencer.
Now that Protection had faded, she had to shake the snow off as she rose.
Everything was white. The snow had obliterated every trace of the fighting and killing that she and the others had wrought. Not so much as a whisker of the goblins remained; they were vanished utterly, as if she had only dreamed them.
“…Where is he? Where’s Goblin Slayer…?”
She looked around, looked behind herself. There was no hint of that distinctive armored form. Instead she saw Priestess, holding onto her staff, her breath heaving. She saw her comrades.
Priestess tapped a frozen but thoughtful finger to her lips and looked at the foot of the avalanche. “I guess he must be underneath it all, having been swept up by the snow.”
Goblin arms and legs could be seen poking like dead branches out of the snow that had slid into the valley.
“Probably,” High Elf Archer said with a nod and a frown. Her ears twitched slightly, once, twice. “Snow is still sliding around in the distance. We’d better not talk too loud.”
“In that case, we’d best go walk to meet him, I would say,” Lizard Priest said, clearing the white powder off his body with one great shake. He checked that his party, along with the former prisoners and the Dragontooth Warrior who was holding them, were uninjured, then he made a strange palms-together gesture.
Thanks be to my forebears. All the more so as he had heard that it was a great cold that had buried them.
“As the avalanche was not so large, I don’t imagine he has gone far,” he said.
“……You aren’t…worried about him?” Noble Fencer asked.
“Of course we are,” Dwarf Shaman replied easily. “He’s our friend.”
He stroked his beard, pulled a wineskin out of his bag, and took a gulp. Fire and spirits were the way to warm the body. Then he gave a pointed wink.
“But… Well, you understand by now, don’t you?”
“This is Goblin Slayer we’re talking about,” Priestess said, a helpless smile crossing her face.
Even with this testimony, Noble Fencer found she couldn’t accept this.
Step by unsteady step, the party worked their way down the mountain, searching as they went. It was quiet now, much the opposite of their fighting retreat shortly before, but the path they were taking was enough to make one faint. With every step she took, Noble Fencer felt an oppressive weight settle on her.
If I hadn’t said that I wanted my sword back…maybe he wouldn’t have felt the need to do that.
It’s my fault.
My fault.
All of it… All of it my fault.
“…ngh…”
Now that everything was over—or rather, now that she was thrown into this circumstance so suddenly—she began to appreciate the full import
of what she had done. Her arrogant strategy. The deaths of her friends. The attack on the village. The delay in rescuing the prisoners. And Goblin Slayer.
She should have been able to do better than this. Even just slightly. Things shouldn’t have ended in this abject failure.
Go back to the beginning: if she hadn’t become an adventurer at all…
Her eyes, staring at the ground, began to blur; it grew hard to see.
And yet, she just made out something moving.
“Oh…!” She didn’t mean to make a noise; she clapped her hand over her mouth.
Something was crawling on all fours through the snow. It must have noticed them coming, because it responded abruptly—by shaking off the snow and rising to its feet. It was a man.
“I made a mistake,” he said.
He was wearing grimy leather armor. A cheap-looking steel helmet. He had no sword at his hip, and the shield on his arm was shattered.
“I should have been more worried about the impact than about suffocating.”
Mistake or no, however, Goblin Slayer appeared perfectly calm.
“…G-Goblin…Slayer…?” Noble Fencer could hardly be blamed for the note of disbelief in her voice.
“Yes. You need something?”
“Is that all you’ve got to say?” High Elf Archer asked in exasperation.
“Hmm… So you’re safe.”
“That’s my line… I’ve got to admit, I thought it was weird that you just happened to bring along rings for breathing.” The elf pressed her brow as if fighting a headache. But her ears bobbed happily.
Suddenly it made sense to Noble Fencer. She looked at her hand. A magical ring, its effect long since expired, peeked out from among her bandages.
The Breathe ring.
Snow was just water, so… So…
“…Did you know all of this would happen, all along?”
“To an extent.”
“Goblin Slayer, sir,” put in Priestess, “I’m used to the fact that you are who you are, but…” She concluded in a mutter, “You could have at least let us in on the plan,” and looked at him reproachfully. “I know you said you wouldn’t do anything outrageous, but I was still pretty surprised.”
“Don’t be silly.” Goblin Slayer was on all fours again, digging in the snow as he spoke. “Our enemy was an intelligent goblin. What if someone had let something slip, undermining the plan?”
“Who cares about what-ifs? We were worried about you!”
“Hrk…”
“Will you please tell us what you’re going to do, starting next time?”
After a pause, he said, “I understand.” That was his whole answer. The rough voice readily suggested a sour expression beneath the helmet.
Quite suddenly, Lizard Priest let out a happy hiss, a smile spreading across his jaws. “Goodness, milord Goblin Slayer, it seems your famous strategies don’t work on our dear cleric.”
“You said it, Scaly! Even your nagas aren’t as scary as a woman scorned!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Even so! Even so. You speak true, master spell caster.”
The dwarf and the lizard laughed together. They were tired, but their faces were cheerful.
High Elf Archer only shook her head, looking away from them and into the distance. Noble Fencer followed her gaze to find a clear blue sky and a sun so bright it was hard to look at.
“There’s about a million things I’d like to chew him out for,” High Elf Archer said, a smile just touching her lips. “But this is the way an adventure has to be.”
Adventure.
The word cut Noble Fencer to the quick.
Go on an adventure—sneak into a monster nest—work your way through a maze…
The friends with whom she had first attempted such things were gone, and she had only just met the friends she was with now.
I see… So this was an adventure…
“Hey.”
“…!?”
Surprised, Noble Fencer spun to look at the source of the unexpected voice.
“I found it.” Goblin Slayer stood up again, holding something he had pulled out of the snow.
The scabbard gleamed brightly in the sunlight.
With a nonchalant motion, he pulled the aluminum sword out of his shield where it had become lodged. He shook it to clean off the blood—his own blood—then wiped it gently with a rag.
Finally, he put it into the scabbard he had found with a click.
“I was able to hold on to the sword, but the sheath was carried away with the goblin paladin, who still had it at his hip.”
“……Oh…oh……”
“I think an avalanche was a mistake.”
“…oh…sniff…”
Noble Fencer took the proffered sword in both hands; she could feel the weight of it. Her vision blurred even further; she blinked several times to clear it. Then she rubbed her eyes furiously, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t stop herself. She wiped her nose, but that didn’t help, either.
Droplets of water began to fall on the sword, bouncing away.
Goblin Slayer watched Noble Fencer very seriously as she stood weeping. Dispassionately, almost mechanically, he said, “You do cry a lot.”
Noble Fencer clung to the sword and wept with all her might.
Is it over? Could it be over?
Illusion and Truth finally take their eyes off the board, look slowly up at each other.
They look at the board again, then at each other, then at the board one more time, before slowly starting to smile.
There’s a clap as they high-five each other.
Illusion is beaming, and Truth has his arms proudly crossed, looking quite satisfied.
One must not think that the gods desire to torment adventurers or people or monsters.
The gods sometimes fail, or the dice turn against them, and they may fume and rage.
But even so, an adventurer, confronted with a villain, is quick to assail them.
No doubt the feeling is mutual.
Now—the adventure is over. A resounding success!
They will speak of the deeds of the adventurers. They will praise the hearty fighting of the monsters.
They will admire how terrible the traps were and how clever the adventurers who escaped them.
With Truth and Illusion so joyful, the other gods assemble around them.
Chaos is there, and Order. Fear and Time, even Death and Void!
It’s a celebration, a great commotion, a blessing.
No one knows if it is Fate or Chance who decide how the dice fall.
There are good results as well as bad.
Those that inspire joy as well as sadness.
Some results give victory to the adventurers, some to the monsters.
Though one may struggle and strive to discover a treasure chest, sometimes the result means one fails to open it.
Such is life.
Cry or laugh, the number of pips on the dice won’t change.
All the more reason to adventure.
And is there anything more wonderful than that?
“All riiiiight! We made it another year without dying!” It was near dawn, and Guild Girl’s excited voice rang through the crowded tavern. “To thank the gods of fate and chance, order and chaos—let’s have lots of fun today!”
“Haaaaaappy New Year!” the adventurers cried with a great shout; they raised their cups and toasted and drank.
Truly an inspiring sight.
All the adventurers in town were gathered at the Guild tavern, practically overflowing from the place. Today, the long winter was finally over, and the new year was beginning, moving all and sundry to raise their voices.
“I’m telling you, I did all kinds of things this past year!”
“So, you did.”
Spearman was busy enumerating his many brave deeds, muttering into his drink. Beside him, the voluptuous Witch gave a sensuous smile.
“I beat the crap out of stuff with my spear, I slayed a bu
nch of monsters, even got some experience with magic.”
“I am, most aware.”
“And that’s why you shouldn’t compare me to some weirdo with a goblin fixation!”
“Sure, sure. You did indeed, work hard.”
Over at the next table, Heavy Warrior’s party teased their leaders about their budding romance.
“And so it’s all, You oughta settle down yourself!”
“Y-yeah. Wait. Are you talking about the letter your mother sent you the other day?”
“‘How can you call yourself a good child, leaving your parents home and worried about you?’ she says!”
“Er, y-you know my parents are gone.”
“…Hey, are you listening to me?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure we are. Will somebody do something about this drunk?”
“You’re our leader’s bride. Come on, do something already.”
“Seconded!”
“Hurry up and take responsibility. The rest of us can’t handle him.”
“I will not forsake my vow as a righteous paladin of Order!”
“Damn it all, ain’t anybody know how to listen around here?!”
At length, somebody with a talent for stringed instruments was moved to pluck out a tune. Everyone in the room began to hum along to the endlessly carefree requiem.
O adventurer,
what tragedy that you should die.
Scant space there is on a tombstone.
O adventurer, your name I do not know,
but though you have not left it to us,
O adventurer, if you call me friend—
O my friend,
what tragedy that you should die.
People claim there are many hedonists among adventurers. Those who pay no mind to tomorrow, heeding neither the future nor the past.
But that isn’t precisely true.
Many adventurers who have survived for very long are realists. They recognize that one may chase one’s dream, may use every means available, yet may die without reaching it.
How foolish, then, to regret anything: be it small mistakes, a failed adventure, or the death of one’s friends.
If one cannot meet these things with a smile and move on, then what hope is there?
“You humans do love a ruckus, don’t you?” High Elf Archer eyed the celebration from her spot at a corner table. “End of the year, start of the year, middle of the year… Give you half a chance and you’ll be drinking and shouting. You’re worse than the dwarves.”