Goblin Slayer, Vol. 6

The rhea girl looked nervous enough; behind her stood the rest of her party, practically trembling. She sized up Goblin Slayer’s party and then, for some inexplicable reason, seemed to decide Lizard Priest would be the easiest to talk to.

“Um, what…? What are you doing?”

“Hmm.” Lizard Priest narrowed his eyes in what he probably intended as a show of friendliness. The rhea girl shook a little harder. “We are preparing potions,” he said. He picked up one of the bottles with a scaly hand. Liquid splashed audibly inside. A healing potion. “They are being marked so we do not confuse one for another if we must use one in a hurry.”

“Marked…”

“There are no guarantees that there will be time to look at which potion is which when we need it.”

The idea seemed to sink in with the girl; she nodded admiringly.

“I will warn you,” Goblin Slayer said, not so much as looking up at the young adventurer, “if you try to mark everything in your pouch, you’ll never remember what’s what.”

“Oh—uh, o-obviously. I’d never do that… Ha-ha.” The girl’s face froze. It was probably exactly what she had been planning to do. High Elf Archer laughed, clear as a bell, causing the girl to blush and look at the ground.

“Only mark things you may need in a hurry. And—”

Goblin Slayer finished the last batch of potions. He tucked them carefully in his bag, making sure they were well protected.

“—be careful of goblins. Start by slaying rats or something.”

“Oh, uh, right! S-sure thing!”

The rhea girl bowed her head several times and then hurried back to her group. They immediately formed a circle and started whispering together; it looked like they had already started to get along. They were even coordinated enough to split up into two groups, one to affix string to their items and another to look for a quest.

“Great sheep who walked the chalk path, guide these to be some small part of your battle which is ever spoken of.” Lizard Priest made a mysterious gesture, praying for the adventurers’ success, brave deeds, and glorious deaths.

True, some adventurers preferred to gossip and ridicule, but others strived to absorb the knowledge they would need to survive. One was not better than the other; one was not right and the other wrong. Being attentive to advice was no guarantee of success, nor did refusing to heed the words of others inevitably assure failure.

And yet, still—indeed.

“I do hope they survive.”

“…Who can say?” The words seemed to be squeezed out of Goblin Slayer.

Every person’s time would come when it came, even against giant rats. And if they survived, the quests would only grow more fearsome as they rose through one rank and then the next, and then the next.

If adventuring were a safe occupation, it wouldn’t be called adventuring.

Goblin Slayer finished putting away the potions he had prepared, then he slowly rose from his seat.

“Oh, Goblin Slayer, sir, your money.” Priestess sprang up after him, hastily fishing through her pouch for some coins.

“…Right.” Goblin Slayer traded her for the sheaf of quest papers in his hand, saying, “I accepted these jobs.”

“Wow…” From the thickness of the bundle, Priestess guessed that he must have taken on all the remaining goblin quests. She fought back the smile trying to work its way to her lips, forcing herself to focus on the words on the page.

‘Start by slaying rats or something,’ indeed!

There wouldn’t be any goblin-slaying quests left even if those kids wanted one. Priestess had no idea whether this was intentional on his part. For goodness’ sake!

“Well?”

In this context, that meant, I’m going. What about the rest of you?

She had come to accept that this was one habit of Goblin Slayer’s that seemed unlikely ever to change. Priestess gave a melodramatic sigh and shook her head. “Well, yourself. You know I’m going—that’s why I’m here.”

“Hrk…”

“You would just go by yourself if we let you,” Priestess added. “And we won’t let you.”

“There’s such a thing as not caring enough about what other people think, Orcbolg,” High Elf Archer said, sniffing in annoyance. “Doesn’t it bother you, everyone gabbing about you like that?”

“Not to speak of,” Goblin Slayer said shortly. He gave a gentle shake of his helmeted head. “I don’t really understand what they expect of me.”

“That’s my boy, Beard-cutter. Goblins it is!”

“No question of that,” Lizard Priest said, giving Goblin Slayer a jolly pat on the back with his great tail. Dwarf Shaman let out a huge, carrying laugh.

Now it was obvious how alone High Elf Archer was in her opinion. “Fine, who cares?” she said, turning around and beginning to pout.

“There, there,” Priestess said comfortingly, and then she turned her attention to a quick check of her equipment.

Gear, check. Items, check. Provisions, check. Not forgetting the Adventurer’s Toolkit. And a change of clothes.

“All right. I think I’m ready to go.”

“Let’s go, then.”

A human warrior, an elf ranger, a dwarf spell caster, a human cleric, and a lizardman monk.

The five adventurers, differing in race, class, and gender, put the Guild behind them.

An adventuring party are also traveling companions.

As the words flitted through Priestess’s mind, she slackened her pace just a little. Even just walking through the brush, she felt a strange affinity for these people.

“Hey! Keep outta my way if you don’t wanna get hurt!!”

“Eek?!”

A boy came charging past them, practically shoving Priestess aside. His cape fluttered open, revealing a large staff in his hand—he must have been a wizard.

Priestess, reeling from the encounter, felt Goblin Slayer’s hand catch her.

“Th-thanks. Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

Priestess straightened her cap. Goblin Slayer started walking away as if the scene held no more interest for him. Dwarf Shaman, however, was less temperate, shaking his fist and shouting at the boy, “Hey, watch where you’re going, why don’t you!”

“Piss off! It’s her fault for dawdling in the middle of the road! Next time I’ll let my Fireball do the talking!” The boy didn’t stop racing toward the Guild even as he shouted back. The way he carved a line directly toward his destination did sort of resemble a Fireball.

“Grr… Kids these days,” Dwarf Shaman growled.

“Finally feeling your age, Gramps?” High Elf Archer asked.

“Says the one person here older than me!” The shaman narrowed his eyes and glared at the archer. More precisely, he glared directly at her flat chest, clad in hunter’s garb. “Don’t you think you should wear something more age-appropriate, Anvil?”

“Wh-why— J-just you— Barrel!” High Elf Archer’s face went red and her ears laid flat against her head.

The familiar sniping back and forth brought a smile to Priestess’s face. But…

She glanced behind her toward the Adventurers Guild. The massive building was still clearly visible despite the crowd outside.

“Well, with enough newcomers, there’s bound to be a few rash individuals.” Lizard Priest leaned down to look at Priestess. “Is anything the matter?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Priestess said, waving a hand to dismiss the notion. “Nothing.” Then she faced forward again.

Keep walking. Follow your companions. Stay with your party.

She hurried along behind the others, but she couldn’t quite get the image of the red-haired spell caster out of her mind.

Maybe I’m just imagining things, but…he looked really familiar.

§

“ORAGARARA?!”

“Seven goblins ahead of us! Actually—six now!” A clear voice echoed through the cavern, underlined by a goblin scream. High Elf Archer had loosed an arrow even as they rushed down the narrow, dank passageway.

The party members each vaulted the goblin corpse, over the arrow sprouting from its eye, and kept going.

“Good,” Goblin Slayer muttered. As he led them along, he flipped the blade in his right hand into a reverse grip then flung it forward in a single motion.

“GRAB?!”

“GRROB! GRARB!!”

The sword caught a goblin in the throat, causing the creature to begin choking on his own blood. Beside him, one of his companions holding a rusty sword cackled: What a foolish adventurer. Throwing away their own weapon!

The goblin’s sword glinted in the light from Goblin Slayer’s torch. The monster gave a shout and jumped forward.

“GRAARBROOR!!”

“Hmph.”

Goblin Slayer blocked the goblin’s sword with his shield. He quickly transferred the torch to his right hand and clubbed the monster with it.

“GRAB?!”

A cry rang out. The pain of a shattered nose being shoved back into the brain, the agony of a face scorched with fire. The goblin died in the grip of suffering far less acute than what he had inflicted throughout his hideous life.

“Two, three.”

Kick the new corpse aside, take up its blade, move on.

Four left. Or rather—

“KREEEEYYAAAHHH!!”

From beside Goblin Slayer came Lizard Priest’s bellow and his prayer. Even as he shouted, he swung a Swordclaw with immense strength, shattering the goblins before him. No goblin could survive a slash directly across the windpipe.

“GROAROROB?!”

“Four. Three left.”

Goblin Slayer left Lizard Priest to finish off that one; he had already found the other enemies. Far in the darkness at the end of the tunnel, something dully reflected the light of his torch. Without hesitation, Goblin Slayer raised his shield in front of his face.

A series of flat twangs reverberated, and some objects flew through the dark air. Almost simultaneously, Goblin Slayer felt a shock run through his left arm as though it had been struck. He clicked his tongue.

“GRORB!”

“GRAROROBR!”

He didn’t have to look to know what it was: an arrow had lodged itself in his shield. Of the other two bolts, one had flown over the heads of the party, while Lizard Priest had deflected the third. It was too obvious that there were goblin archers hiding in the dark.

Enemies armed with crossbows were to be feared, but luckily, these creatures carried only regular bows.

“Tsk…” Goblin Slayer clicked his tongue at having noticed so late. Then he casually took the arrow, shaft and all, and pulled it out. He didn’t seem concerned that extracting the hooked end meant doing damage to his own equipment. Instead, he was focused on the dark, ominous liquid that drenched the arrowhead.

“Poison!” he announced then threw the arrow away.

An answer came shooting back: “Leave it to me!” High Elf Archer was already drawing back her bow. The sound of the string was almost musical as she loosed her shot, piercing a goblin archer through the throat. Challenging an elf to a contest of archery was sheer folly. That made five.

“Six!”

Goblin Slayer was already rushing down the tunnel, making contact with the enemy. He easily lodged a sword in the neck of a howling goblin. He kicked the corpse away, freeing the blade, then raised his shield to defend as he backed away from the other advancing foes.

“Hrroooooh!!” Lizard Priest leaped in with his sword, slicing at the creatures until seven goblins lay dead on the ground.

For a brief moment, the only sound in the dim, smelly tunnel was the heightened breathing of the five party members.

“I-is that a-all of—of them?” Priestess asked, struggling to get her breath under control.

“Most likely,” Goblin Slayer said, tossing away his torch. It had burned down to a nub, perhaps in part due to his rough treatment of it.

Three of the party members were perfectly capable of seeing in the dark, but that didn’t mean they could go without a source of light.

“Oh, Goblin Slayer, sir, here…” When Priestess saw him quickly pulling a new torch out of his pouch, she was swift to ready some flint.

“Thanks.”

“Not at all,” Priestess replied with a hint of a smile. She made some sparks with the flint, letting out a soft sigh of relief when the torch caught.

She took the opportunity for a fresh look around. The stone cavern offered tight quarters, and the stench of blood and gore joined with the reek of rot that was so characteristic of goblin nests.

“Ugh…”

She had grown used to it, yes, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. High Elf Archer wrinkled her nose and grimaced. Even so, she kept her bow in one hand, and her long ears listened to everything around them.

“I know we went quite a ways down, but are we still not at the surface yet?”

“What are we going to do? The numbers just keep increasing…”

Their voices carried a distinct note of fatigue. Priestess offered a water skin to High Elf Archer, who accepted it gratefully and took a long swig.

They had entered a cave on the banks of a river near the village. They were already working their way out, yet they had no real feeling that they were making any progress.

The answer to High Elf Archer’s question was already drawing nearer.

“GROORORB!”

“GRAARB! GROB! GRORRB!!”

Hideous voices echoed in the earth. The cave was like an anthill; it was an abyss, a labyrinth, a maze. The seemingly inexhaustible supply of goblins would have been enough on its own to break the spirits of any novice adventurers.

The party had gone practically without rest for several hours now. The six or seven kills they had recently counted off were only the number of goblins in this most recent group they had stumbled across. How many goblins had they exterminated in total? Dozens. Many dozens.

“…There’s more coming.” Priestess’s naturally pale skin turned even paler as the blood drained from her face; she bit her lip. Her hands, wrapped around her sounding staff, shook slightly, just enough that it could almost be mistaken as an excess of strength.

“Can you fight?” Goblin Slayer asked calmly.

“Y…yes,” Priestess responded, nodding as firmly as she could. Even if she had answered No, I can’t, nothing would have changed… Still, it was comforting to her that he had been considerate enough to ask.

She sucked in a breath and let it out again. Her fingers almost didn’t feel like they belonged to her as she loosened them and readjusted her grip.

“It is well that we were the ones who took on this quest,” Lizard Priest remarked, eyeing Priestess as he shook the blood from his Swordclaw.

The disorderly, undisciplined footsteps of the goblins came closer. The sound echoed from the dark, narrow side tunnels, as if to envelop the adventurers.

“And how many of the enemy face we this time?”

“No more than thirty would be my guess,” High Elf Archer said, twitching her ears. “But no fewer than ten.”

“Let us consider it twenty, then,” Lizard Priest said. “Goblin slaying is seen as a newcomer’s pursuit, but numbers would surely prevail in this instance.”

And yet, they had only five people. Lizard Priest made a grumbling sound deep in his throat, craning his neck to see down the tunnel. He slapped his tail against the ground. To summon a Dragontooth Warrior or not? To consume a spell or not? It was a matter of considerable concern.

“Hrm. Well, this could be a bit of a handful,” Dwarf Shaman growled, setting down the load on his back. It was a young woman, dirty, covered in scrapes, not even conscious. He leaned her against the wall as he said, “We have to make sure she stays safe, too, after all.”

This was, in fact, how things usually went. But for all its commonness, it was something that easily destroyed people’s lives.

This, essentially, was what had happened: Some goblins had taken up residence near the village. The young people had been cautious, but some young woman—gathering medicinal herbs or tending sheep—had been kidnapped. And the village desperately wanted the goblins slain.

Go to any of the four corners of the world, and you would hear the same story ad nauseam. Goblins were a problem always and everywhere.

As it happened, in the case of the little riverside settlement Goblin Slayer had headed to first, the victim had been a boatman’s daughter. It was hard to say if she was lucky or not: Using a long pole to guide the boat back and forth across the river every day, she had become far physically tougher than many a hapless man. Hence, she had the strength to endure the brutality and abuse of the goblins. She had even retained her sanity. How she would live her life after this, after what she had been through, the adventurers didn’t know. Their duty was to get her out alive.

“If they multiply any further, they could begin raiding the surface all too easily.” Goblin Slayer’s judgment was decisive: “We’re going to kill all the goblins.”

What other response could there be?

Yes, all this was perfectly ordinary.

At least, it was for Goblin Slayer.

“What’s your opinion of the situation?”

“If we meet them in a narrow tunnel, it will largely neutralize the number disadvantage,” Lizard Priest said thoughtfully. “But…” He scratched a claw along the wall of the tunnel. The earth was soft. It was packed tightly enough that a collapse was unlikely, but it would be easy enough to dig through. “If the little devils were to burst out of the walls around us, we might find ourselves hard-pressed. I believe a change of locale is in order.”

“That settles it, then,” Goblin Slayer said, checking over his weapon. “We have spells remaining, yes?”

“Oh, yes.” Priestess was the first to answer. “It looked like this was going to be a long fight, so I’ve saved all three of my miracles.”

“As for me, I only just used a Swordclaw.” That meant three left. Goblin Slayer nodded. It would be enough.

“M’self, I’ve got four shots,” Dwarf Shaman said, counting on his fingers. He opened his bag and looked into it, frowning. “But as I recall, you said there were about ten hot spots in all, didn’t you?”

“Kinda crazy, huh?”

Ignoring High Elf Archer’s little jab, Goblin Slayer shook his head. “We can take time to rest.”

“Not the problem.”

Cleric or mage, miracles or spells, rewriting the very logic of the world was a taxing endeavor. Each could only do it so many times per day. If you weren’t a Platinum-ranked magic user, perhaps that was the best you could hope for. Hence, it was a basic tenet of adventuring to give your magic users ample rest. Those who ignored this law could be putting themselves in mortal peril (although everyone died when their time came, regardless of how refreshed a spell caster was).

Lizard Priest, standing next to Goblin Slayer, understood what the dwarf was getting at. “It’s a matter of catalysts, isn’t it?”

“’Sright. I offer what I can, but magical items are pretty—you know.”

“Very well.” Goblin Slayer retrieved a gore-covered blade and wiped it down quickly with a goblin’s loincloth. If he could use it to kill one or two more enemies, that would be enough. His own foes would bring weapons to him, after all. There was nothing to worry about.

“Use Tunnel, then. That doesn’t require a catalyst.”

“True enough. But why use—ahh, is that what you’re thinking?” Dwarf Shaman gave his beard half a stroke, but he hardly had to think to understand what Goblin Slayer wanted. His face folded into a smile.

“For better or for worse, Beard-cutter, I think you’re rubbing off on me. Hey, Scaly, gimme a hand—er, a shoulder.”

“Ha-ha. Yes, it makes sense. Here. Will my back be enough?”

Dwarf Shaman sighed deeply then scrambled up Lizard Priest’s proffered back. He pulled a black jar and a brush out of his bag and began drawing a pattern on the ceiling in a fluid hand.

High Elf Archer had not yet managed to put the pieces together. She gave her ears a suspicious shake and grunted as she watched Dwarf Shaman draw.

It was incomprehensible. “Does this make sense to you?” she asked Priestess, but the other girl replied, “Not really,” and looked a little embarrassed.

“Hey, Orcbolg, what’s the story?” she asked. “Tell us what’s going on!”

In the face of this pointed demand, Goblin Slayer’s response was as mechanical and gruff as ever. “I will warn you,” he said.

“About what?”

“This is an emergency escape route.”

“What is?”

“We rescued the hostage. There’s no more problem.”

That was all he said, then he tossed something to High Elf Archer. Even in the dim light, she could see what it was; she caught it out of the air.

“I will show you the way to use…well.”

High Elf Archer continued to look perplexed, but Priestess said, “Oh,” as if a bit disappointed. “I thought it might come to that,” she added.

In the archer’s hand was an underwater breathing ring.

§

It was a perfectly ordinary thing for the goblins, too: adventurers. The obnoxious creatures were always barging into the goblins’ homes right when they were trying to relax.

Five of them this time. And what luck: two were women. Both young, and one an elf.

For some reason, they didn’t smell quite right, but one look was enough to arouse the goblins’ lust.

“GRAORB!”

“ORGA!”

In their dank hole, the goblins laughed their dark laughs and relished their dark desires.

How very lucky we are! Two women. We can have all the fun we want and grow our family to boot.

In the wars among those who had words, men were the most valuable captives and hostages. That, of course, was because they were the best laborers. In a proper war, prisoners could be put to proper work.

For the goblins, however, things were different. Men were dangerous; they were quick to anger and violent, making the goblins justly frightened of them. They could cut off a man’s limbs and throw him in a cell, but after that, it was simply a question of whether to eat him or make sport of him. A lot of work for very little reward.

In that regard, women—females—were quite a different proposition. Impregnating them was enough to keep them from fleeing. You could have your way with them as you pleased; a woman without hands and feet was still useful.

And above all, they were fun. That counted for a lot. And they could make more goblins. All this value rolled into just one human.

If you got tired of them, or if they died on you, then you could eat them. Vastly more versatile creatures than men.

“GROB! GROAR!”

“GROORB!”

The goblins jabbered together as they hacked their way through the soft earth with a panoply of crude tools and a great deal of ill will.

Give the smaller girl two or three good pokes and she would surely grow obedient. The elf looked like a bit of a firebrand. Start by breaking a leg, maybe…

No, no. Shatter her fingers so she can’t use her bow again. That would be best.

The fat one, the dwarf. He looked like he could be food for days. Nice, rich belly meat.

Pull the scales off the lizardman. Put a string through them and they make good armor. His bones and claws and fangs would be perfect for spears as well.

And then there was the armored one. Everything he carried, his sword and his shield and all his equipment, seemed tailor-made for goblins.

What fools these adventurers were!

Not for an instant did it cross any of the goblins’ minds that they might be defeated.

Goblins had no strength, except in their numbers. They understood that instinctively; it was what made them goblins. If they had been given the slightest degree of wit, there was no question that they would long ago have been driven to extinction.

At last, the feeling of the earthen wall began to change. They listened closely; they could hear faint voices.

This was the place.

The goblins looked at one another and nodded. Ugly smiles split their faces.

All of them had weapons in their hands—the same items used to dig through the earth. Most were made of bones or stones or branches, although here and there was a shovel they had managed to steal.

Strategy played no role at this point. While their companions were being killed, they would strike a lucky blow and slaughter their foes.

Those idiotic adventurers seemed to be planning something, but the goblins would never let them get away with it. The creatures had conveniently forgotten what they had done to the boat captain’s daughter. They thought only of the rage they felt for their twenty murdered companions.

They’ll pay for marching in here and turning our house upside down!

Kill! Rape! Steal!

“GOROROB!!”

“GRAB! ORGRAAROB!!”

With a chorus of shouts, the goblin horde burst through the wall and leaped into space. A wave of goblins rushed toward the adventurers.

“Fools.”

At that instant, a scroll was unleashed, and an actual wave came crashing toward the goblins and swallowed them up.

§

A tremendous rumble came from underground, and a white pillar spewed into the field.

No—the whiff of salt that came along with the scent of early spring made it clear that this was seawater, summoned from the unthinkable depths of the ocean.

The spout of water rose up through the tunnel toward the surface—and, of course, carried the adventurers along with it.

“Ahhhh?! I hate this!! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!!”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Goodness gracious me, this is truly something!”

High Elf Archer’s shrill scream could hardly have been further removed from Lizard Priest’s jovial laughter. Her ears were straight back, and her eyes were squeezed shut; the customary dignity of a High Elf had completely abandoned her. In fact, one could say it had been squeezed right out of her…

“I suppose it is understandable.”

“How can you be so calm?!”

“My people teach that we are distant relatives of the birds,” Lizard Priest replied.

Having said that—breathing was one thing, but coming down after being flung up in the air? Damage was assured. If the Earth Mother was indeed merciful, it might not be critical.

“We—we’re falling! I’m falling! Hurry, please…!” Priestess begged from the bottom of her heart, even as she tried desperately to keep her skirt from being blown up by the wind.

If only we had a miracle that would make the earth nice and soft—it’s no fair!

This somewhat inappropriate thought passed through her head, but she was met with only the rushing wind, carrying the tears away from her eyes.

“Right, then! Leave it t’me!”

Good thing I knew this might be coming.

Dwarf Shaman, seemingly unruffled and with the captive girl still on his back, began a complicated incantation even as he hung in midair.

“Come out, you gnomes, and let it go! Here it comes, look out below! Turn those buckets upside-down—empty all upon the ground!”

And the adventurers, who had so recently looked like they were going to slam straight into the unforgiving earth, floated toward the surface as gently as feathers. Priestess heaved a sigh, relieved to have avoided becoming a bloody smear on the ground.