Goblin Slayer, Vol. 7

by Kumo Kagyu

  High Elf Archer, however, gave him a merciless jab with her elbow and said with lidded eyes, “Now, brother, don’t fish for compliments.”

  “Erk…”

  “I don’t care how busy you were, I’ll bet this took months.”

  She sniffed and then jumped clear over the moss and into one of the chairs.

  “Dibs on this one!” she exclaimed, landing on the mushroom cushion of the seat with the best view of the window.

  High Elf Archer looked like she might kick up her feet right then and there. “Most uncouth,” her cousin frowned. “If she were to see this, I think you would get a piece of her mind.”

  “Did you hear that? Not even married yet, and he’s already saying ‘she this’ and ‘she that’ like she’s his wife!” She chortled with a sound like a ringing bell, completely ignoring her cousin’s rebuke. “So. What’s next?”

  “Hrm. You’re no doubt tired from your long journey, so we’ve readied a bath and laid out a midday meal for you.”

  The elf with the shining helmet rubbed his brow as if fighting a headache but retained his people’s natural dignity. Maybe he was used to being nettled by his sister-in-law-to-be like this. They had, after all, spent two thousand years together before she left.

  “What would you like to do?” he asked.

  “I will unload the luggage,” Goblin Slayer answered immediately. “Goblins may yet come.”

  By this time, we need hardly record the reactions of his companions to this remark.

  The elf with the shining headpiece found himself staring in some amazement. High Elf Archer pressed one hand to her cheek and waved with the other. “I’ll stay here, too, then. You never know when Big Sis might drop by.” She gave a bit of a resigned laugh, which the others were used to. Hence, they all nodded together.

  “I think I’ll get m’self some food while the ladies make their toilette.”

  “I believe I agree with that plan.”

  “Are—are you sure?” Guild Girl asked, blinking. For as often as she took care of adventurers, there had been few opportunities for adventurers to show care for her. An ambiguous expression came over her face at this unaccustomed situation, and she nodded hesitantly. “If you’re quite sure it’s all right for us to go first…”

  “We shall be going first in our own way. Should women not be given priority in attending to their appearance?”

  “Well then, thank you very much. I’ll be happy to go wash off the dust and sweat.” Guild Girl nodded once more, this time apologetically, but she had no actual objection.

  Priestess had gotten off her mushroom chair and now pattered over to Goblin Slayer.

  “What is it?” the helmet asked, turning to her. She fixed it with a pale finger.

  “Goblin Slayer, sir, you have to be sure to eat and bathe, okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t sound very happy about it, but Priestess was satisfied. She puffed out her little chest triumphantly.

  Cow Girl smiled helplessly. “Hey, don’t go grabbing us girls’ stuff, especially the changes of clothes.” She conscientiously made the point. So long as she warned him, she knew he would be careful, but if she didn’t say anything, well, he was capable of being totally clueless.

  “…Which are those?” He sounded a bit concerned now.

  Cow Girl nodded. “We’ll grab some clothes for after our bath, so try to remember which bags we get them from.”

  “Okay.”

  “But don’t look in them!”

  “…Perhaps someone other than me should handle those bags.”

  “What?” came High Elf Archer’s voice, her ears flapping and a smile crossing her face. She was thoroughly confident that letting Orcbolg handle all the luggage would be vastly more entertaining than having anyone else do it.

  “I suppose if two thousand years didn’t change you, a few more weren’t going to do it,” the male elf said with a sigh. He felt someone slap him on the back, although strangely low down.

  He turned to see Dwarf Shaman’s bearded face, with a very knowing look on it.

  “Well, lead on, Sir Groom,” the dwarf said. “I’m sure the ladies are eager for their bath.” He gave the elf another encouraging smack and laughed uproariously. “Unlike the elves, we mere mortals can’t linger over every little thing.”

  §

  “You want to know why we elves do not eat meat?”

  “’Sright. I just want to understand why I’m being fed nothing but leaves and fruit.”

  “It’s a question of balance, O friend who dwells in the earth.”

  “You mean an issue of numbers, then, of the creatures that live in the forest? …Oh-ho, this banana is delicious.”

  “Taste then this drink as well, Honored Scaled Priest. It uses tapioca.”

  “Ah, the cassava root. My people have been known to boil and eat it. Perhaps this is the truth behind those grilled candies.”

  “Now, then. For one animal to grow to adulthood takes many years, but for fruit to ripen on the tree takes a year at most, and the supply is plentiful.”

  “Hmm… Well, I suppose it must be nice not having to worry about your food supply.”

  “What is more, we need not fear being eaten by the animals, nor need we leave the forest.”

  “You mean the ecosystem would be threatened if you had to hunt for your daily sustenance. Aha! Indeed, indeed.”

  “Yes, hence we help ourselves only to grasses, fruits, and berries. Do you see now, dwarf?”

  “I get it, but I don’t have to like it.”

  Dwarf Shaman looked at the plate of mushrooms in front of him, blowing out his cheeks with something less than tact.

  The great hall built under the sprawling roots of a towering tree doubled as the elves’ dining area. In place of lamps, several closed buds full of sea sparkles hung around the room, and the tables were piled with food.

  There were grapes and bananas, tapioca, and salads featuring a medley of herbs and vegetables, along with grape wine and a drink also made from tapioca. When it came to elegance and atmosphere, and both quality and quantity of food, even Dwarf Shaman could find nothing to complain about.

  And yet…

  “I just can’t ever envision m’self eating bugs…”

  “They’re quick to reproduce, and there are a great many varieties of them. And to top it all off, they’re delicious.”

  On the huge plate in front of the dwarf was a pile of large beetles, stripped of their shells and boiled. He pulled a leg off one and dipped it in sauce; when he bit down, he found it crunchy and responsive in the mouth.

  He had to admit, it was good.

  For dwarves, food was no less important and no less to be honored than gems and jewels. And as a dwarf, Dwarf Shaman, by his beard, would not deny when something was delicious.

  But—but still.

  “They’re still bugs, aren’t they?”

  “I myself find them delectable.”

  “Hrmph! A jungle cousin of this lot, you are…!” Dwarf Shaman glared at Lizard Priest, who was smacking his lips as he crunched down on an insect, shell and all.

  Maybe they could keep the things from looking like bugs. Or at least add a little salt.

  The dish had a light flavor of good ingredients, but it was so obvious that one was eating insects. That was enough to make even Dwarf Shaman lose his appetite.

  “Oh, fine! I guess this leaves me with the grilled sweets.”

  “Oh, not eating yours? I suppose then, ahem, I might just help myself to one of these legs…”

  “You fool,” he said, slapping away the scaly, outstretched hand. “A dwarf never shares his meal with another!” He began ferrying the grilled sweets to his mouth.

  The treat’s moist center had a distinct sweetness; it was said to be the elves’ secret recipe. Perhaps there was honey worked into it; in any case, it was nourishing, and he never seemed to tire of it no matter how much he ate.

  Dwarf Shaman had been stuffing foo
d into his mouth, crumbs flying into his beard, for some time when he froze, suddenly having had a thought.

  “Don’t tell me. Do these treats have bugs in them, too…?”

  “We shall leave that to your honored imagination,” the elf with the shining headpiece said, at which an expression difficult to describe passed over Dwarf Shaman’s face. He looked at the half-eaten sweet in his hand then tossed it into his mouth as if to say ah, well, and swallowed it noisily.

  As Lizard Priest watched the dwarf, he somberly touched the tip of his nose with his tongue and opened his jaws.

  “So long as we reside at your fortress—er, is that word appropriate in the case of the elves?”

  “This is not a place prepared against battle, but insofar as the chieftain lives here, you aren’t wrong.”

  “Then I should certainly wish to greet your chieftain.”

  This caused a faint smile to play over the lips of the elf with the shining headpiece. “An audience is already planned for you. Indeed, all who visit this forest are as if they were already before the chieftain.”

  “………Ahh.”

  Lizard Priest squinted and craned his neck. The ceiling, which was in fact the bottom of the massive tree above them, was far away, illuminated by the gentle glow of the sea sparkles.

  There was a quiet rustling of the leaves in the wind, accompanied by the sound of water flowing by the roots.

  So long as an elf was not killed and did not wish for death themselves, they would go on living.

  So what, then, happened if one did desire death…?

  “I see.”

  All was part of the forest. Part of nature. Part of the cycle. One simply faded away and joined all that was already here.

  The chieftain lived here. This very place was the chieftain.

  Looking up in wonderment, Lizard Priest put his palms together in a strange gesture. Though they envisioned it differently, the lizardmen also saw returning to the circle as one kind of ideal death.

  “I offer my most heartfelt thanks that we have been granted to touch even the hem of the dress of the one who oversees this great forest.”

  “Your thanks is accepted,” the elf said, glancing over at Dwarf Shaman, who had puffed out his cheeks as if to ask what all the fuss was about. “To know there is one from beyond our wood who understands this is a joy unlooked for. May I ask—what do you think of this place?”

  “Oh, my brief look around suggests how busy everyone is.”

  And indeed they were.

  The great hall was decorated with many weavings in preparation for the wedding, along with harps strung with spider’s silk. But with the exception of a few serving girls, there was no sign of anyone there at all, let alone any entertainers.

  “Has it all to do with the wedding?”

  “Not all of it,” the elf responded, taking a sip from his tapioca drink as if to join his words together. The cup he drank from was the polished horn of a deer, and nothing more, yet it was a work of art. “There have been many whispers in the woods of late. Many have gone to see.”

  “To see the One That Stops the Waters, you mean?”

  “So there’re things in the forest that even the elves don’t understand,” Dwarf Shaman said with a nasty grin.

  Never letting his elegant smile slip, the elf replied, “Then let me ask you, O dwarf: do you know all things that sleep in the depths of the earth?”

  “…I take your point,” Dwarf Shaman grunted. “You have me there.”

  “Heh-heh-heh! Milord Goblin Slayer would surely ask whether those things were the work of goblins,” Lizard Priest said, chuckling merrily and grabbing another insect leg. He let slip the thought that he would have no complaint if there were some cheese around.

  “On that point,” the elf said.

  Lizard Priest nodded soberly. “Mm. Cheese is the milk of a cow or a sheep or the like, fermented, as they say—”

  “That is not what I meant… Is he really the famous Orcbolg, the Goblin Slayer? The kindest man on the frontier?”

  “Indeed, he is.”

  “He very little looks it.”

  Lizard Priest rolled his eyes in his head. “I know he can appear rather unimpressive at first glance. But what makes you say that?”

  “My cousin seems to have taken a liking to him,” the elf said wryly, sounding like an older brother concerned about his little sister. “She has a rather…unique personality, much like someone else I know… Erm, I suppose there’s no need to hide it from you. I should say, much like me.”

  “Ho! That’s just it, er, eh, Sir Groom,” Dwarf Shaman said, sounding revived as he grabbed a horn cup. The wine was weak, but alcohol was alcohol. It was still good for stirring up a dwarf. “Is there nothing you can do to rein her in a bit?”

  “We did attempt to instruct her in the more womanly arts. Weaving, music, song, and more besides.”

  “And did it work?”

  “………We spent two thousand years on the project.”

  “I see…” And this is what they’ve got to show for it. The three of them looked at one another and sighed in unison.

  “I still say, though, that she isn’t a bad young woman.”

  “Yes, I know that.” Dwarf Shaman’s answer was brief, and then he reached out and grabbed a leg off his beetle. He demanded salt even as he chewed on it, sauce flying everywhere as he feasted on the meat.

  He burped diligently then swigged more wine, then another burp.

  “I admit her inability to be ladylike displeases me, and I do wish sometimes that she would calm down and act her age,” the elf said.

  Lizard Priest squinted. “Hmph,” Dwarf Shaman snorted, as if to say he wasn’t entirely happy with this assessment. “As long as she doesn’t slow us down, dear Groom, we’ll be happy enough to have her.”

  §

  A pounding could be heard, as of falling water, and a white spray seen.

  A waterfall? Yes, there was one.

  But it was not such as those that fall upon the surface of the earth. Not the kind that are shone upon by the sun.

  This was a river that ran in the hollows of the earth, up its waterfall, up the great trunk and onward to heaven.

  Go through the great hall and down a flight of stairs, and there was another vast chamber.

  It was a great stone cavern carved out by water over many thousands of years, worked into just this shape. The rock had been worked by the unceasing flow into a spectacular limestone cavern. It was startling to see a rain forest that also had stalagmites rising up from the ground, and stalactites dangling like leaves from above.

  It was a stone forest. A river flowed through it, complete with waterfall and a deep, dark lake.

  That lake gave off a faint emerald glitter.

  The water itself, however, was not the source; it was the moss.

  The moss, which packed the lake bed, was shimmering.

  “Oh… Wow…”

  So this was what it meant to be speechless.

  Cow Girl trembled at the otherworldly scenery, unable to say anything. The damp but cool underground air blew across her naked, suntanned body wrapped in a towel.

  She glanced behind to see the elf serving girl withdrawing with the clothes Cow Girl had taken off.

  Cow Girl looked dubiously at Guild Girl, who stood beside her.

  “D-do you really think it’s okay for us to get in this?”

  “They said this place is for washing, so I think it’s fine.”

  Maybe she was used to this sort of thing, because she seemed to have no hesitation about exposing her polished beauty.

  Guild Girl took a quick look around then dipped a toe into the water. That special chill of underground spring water sent a shock through her. She gave an involuntary yelp, causing Priestess to giggle.

  “It’s warmer than the water we used for washing back at the Temple,” she said. She slid her delicate legs into the pool, closing her eyes as if savoring the sensation.

 
“You clerics always seem to be so good at this sort of thing,” Guild Girl muttered with something like resentment, after which she slid slowly into the lake.

  Cow Girl, loath to be the only one left on shore, screwed up her courage and then all but charged into the water.

  “Eee… Y-yikes…!”

  She felt the soft moss under her feet. She thought she was about to slip on it but almost immediately found that it held her weight firmly. The water was cold at first, but she soon grew used to it and even found it felt pleasant.

  She thought she was going to be okay here.

  That encouraged her to submerge herself up to her shoulders; the water supported her, and she swayed gently back and forth in its embrace.

  “Ahh…” Cow Girl found herself letting out an easy, relaxed sound, her face turning red. She glanced at the other two girls, whose expressions were much like hers. That helped her relax.

  “You’re right, it’s warmer than well water,” she said. “I wonder why.”

  “I heard a story once that said there’s a river of fire that flows beneath the earth,” Priestess said. She cocked her head. I wonder if that’s why. Maybe High Elf Archer or Dwarf Shaman could tell them.

  “You adventurers are really something,” Cow Girl said. “Always going to places like this.”

  “Not always,” Priestess replied with an ambiguous smile.

  Cavern, ruins, ruins, ruins, cavern, cavern, ruins, cavern…

  When she thought back over her adventures, she realized that most of them had taken place in caves or ruins. And most of the ruins she had gone to had ended up burned to the ground, or blown up, or inundated with toxic gas…

  “…Well, still, not always.”

  She would have to talk to Goblin Slayer about evaluating his actions a little more carefully.

  “Lots of people become adventurers hoping to find hidden treasures,” Guild Girl offered. She held her hair with one hand to keep it out of the water while she listened to the other girls’ conversation. “The trust afforded to some homeless ruins-raider and that accorded an established adventurer is very different.”