Goblin Slayer, Vol. 6

I shoulda listened when that elf suggested circling around the other way…!

But it was too late for regrets now.

This was a trap. One designed to catch adventurers who were advancing room by room.

By the time he realized this, the spell-less young man had only one course of action left.

He licked his dry lips. He took a deep breath and put it all into shouting:

“Stay back! It’s a trap—!”

This would be the boy’s final action.

An instant later, a hand ax came flying, an arrow whistled through the air, and a Swordclaw flashed.

“GRBRR?!” Screaming and shouting, the goblins collapsed like wheat under the scythe.

“There are twenty of them. Seventeen left.”

The voice was as calm as a wind blowing under the ground, and with it, Goblin Slayer leaped into the fray. His empty right hand moved as precisely as a machine, drawing out his dagger and transitioning instantly to a strike at the neck of a confused goblin.

“GROORORB!!”

“Hmph… Four. Sixteen left.”

The rusty blade, unable to withstand the force of the impact, shattered and went flying, but it was enough to deal a critical blow to the goblin’s spine.

Goblin Slayer gave a click of his tongue and tossed the hilt aside, grabbing instead the sword carried by the collapsing goblin. He drew it by giving the monster a careless kick as it died. He rotated his wrist, taking up a vigilant fighting posture.

“Alive?”

Wizard Boy nodded repeatedly. “Uh, y-yeah… I’m—”

“Not you,” Goblin Slayer said coldly, cutting him off.

“I believe he’s curious about the young lady over there,” Lizard Priest said, scuttling over and taking up a defensive position in front of the relieved boy.

“Yeah!” the boy exclaimed, swallowing heavily. “She’s alive! Of course she is!”

“I see,” Goblin Slayer said, and from behind his visor, he fixed a reproving gaze on the boy. Not that Wizard Boy was actually sure quite where the man was looking behind his metal helmet. But he thought he felt it. He closed his eyes and tried to offer an excuse.

“I just… I wanted to help her as soon as I could—”

“There are women on our side as well,” Goblin Slayer said, his voice sharp and cold. “Two of them.”

This caused the boy to draw a sharp breath and look in the women’s direction.

“Ugh. This is why I hate goblins…”

“…Hrk…”

High Elf Archer was pale from the sight of the torture chamber, but she let off one arrow after another to keep the troll at bay.

Beside her, Priestess could only offer a sort of stricken gasp; the hands that clutched her staff trembled gently.

“But…!” The boy was about to offer a rebuttal, but Dwarf Shaman came bounding up and shouted angrily, “This is no time to chat, boy! Grab the girl, chair and all, and let’s get out of here!”

The two warriors and the ranger carved a path, and the shaman and the priestess followed it.

“We’re outta time!”

And indeed they were.

“GROROB! GROB! GROORB!!”

“OOOORLLLLT!!”

Their escape route was gone.

Sixteen goblins. One troll. It wasn’t precisely a multitude, but the adventurers were surrounded.

Slowly but surely, the monsters advanced, wicked smiles appearing on their faces as they grew ever more sure of victory.

The adventurers circled up to protect the boy, the acolyte who had been taken captive, and Priestess.

“But how are we supposed to carry her…?” The boy hesitantly put a hand to the chair; several indecipherable moans came from the woman’s mouth. His hand came away covered in slick, sticky blood. It was enough to make the boy’s stomach twist; he felt as if he might vomit then and there.

Lizard Priest, observing him, rolled his eyes in his head, a wide field of vision being a special trait of his people. His tongue slid out of his mouth.

“Don’t forget the fingers. If all goes well, we may be able to heal her.”

“Oh…!”

The boy tossed himself to the ground, searching quickly through the red liquid.

The rusty ax had cruelly hewn off flesh and bone together. But he didn’t have time; no time. The fingers would’ve been so easy to overlook, but he made sure he found them, counted them, and wrapped them in a cloth.

He tried to wipe away the sweat on his forehead with a grimy, bloodstained hand. He bit his lip hard.

“I’ve got ’em!”

“Excellent! You, take that side—yes, that one!” Lizard Priest commanded.

There was a clatter as the chair was picked up, mingling with the woman’s moans.

High Elf Archer kept them behind her, shielding them, her bow drawn and her ears flapping.

“They’re still coming from deeper in!” She glanced at Priestess. “What do we do?!”

“Oh—ah—!”

Priestess found herself unable to speak immediately. Her hands froze on her staff, which she gripped so hard that her hands hurt and her knuckles turned white.

What to do? What was the right thing to do? Fight them here? Or try to break through?

She had to come up with an answer, right away. Yes, and yet—but—

We’ve fallen into a goblin trap.

Not just fallen into it, run into it.

It was she who had said, Let’s follow him!

There was no regret. Of course not. But it was enough to make her legs feel unsteady.

She could see Female Wizard, the poison dagger buried in her.

Fighter, being torn to shreds by the little devils.

Female Monk, trapped, beaten mercilessly, violated in the most awful ways.

Calm down. Each time she tried to push away a memory, she simply found the next one waiting for her.

The time the goblin champion nearly crushed her—the terror, the pain, the despair.

The spot on her neck where she had been bitten throbbed.

“Uh… Um…um…!”

The goblins, closing in. That gigantic troll.

Priestess was dying to speak, yet her tongue refused to move.

Tears began to well up at the edges of her eyes; her teeth wouldn’t stay still, setting up a terrible chatter.

And all this when she know as well as anyone that this was absolutely not the time for such things…!

“Milord Goblin Slayer!”

Her salvation came in the form of Lizard Priest, who quickly sized up the situation and then called out.

“Right,” Goblin Slayer answered dispassionately. “May we?”

Even now he looked for her consent. Priestess nodded weakly. She didn’t know what else she could possibly do.

Goblin Slayer’s instructions were swift and curt. “Use Holy Light. We push through to the inside. I’ll leave the front line to the rest of you. I’ll take rear guard and deal with that giant, growling thing.”

“Excellent!” Lizard Priest answered promptly.

“R-right!” Priestess, on the other hand, fought to push down her sense of how pathetic she was.

Wizard Boy, working hard to bring the chair along, was agog. He would deal with it?!

“You’re a warrior, right?! That thing’s a troll!”

“Dummy,” High Elf Archer said, puffing out her small chest knowingly. “It’s times like this that Orcbolg is at his best.”

Lizard Priest chuckled. This man was not going to be defeated by goblins.

Priestess, however, did not laugh. If she could do nothing else, she would at least perform the duty she had been entrusted with.

She gripped her staff in both hands. Raised her consciousness, appealing directly to the gods in heaven.

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, grant your sacred light to we who are lost in darkness!”

And just so, she was granted a miracle.

“GGRORRRROOB?!”

“TOOLR?! OORTT?!”

There was a flash of blue-white light, like an exploding sun. It seared the eyes of the goblins and the troll.

Priestess, her small chest heaving with the exertion of this soul-shearing supplication, shouted, as much to inspire herself as anyone else, “Let’s go!”

As she started running, her staff held high, Lizard Priest appeared alongside her.

Goblins poured out from the burial chambers, filling the path, filling their vision. Lizard Priest lashed out with claws, claws, fangs, tail, sweeping them mercilessly aside.

Following behind him along the path he carved were Dwarf Shaman and Wizard Boy, carrying the prisoner along with them. They had no leeway to cast spells.

High Elf Archer had her arrows constantly at the ready, peppering the road ahead with covering fire even as she ran.

And then—

“A troll?” muttered Goblin Slayer, left behind at the rear. “Not a goblin, then.”

“OOOORLLT!!”

The spikes in the monster’s club glinted as he brought it down. But blinded as he was, his strength availed him little. Without a hint of panic or even hurry, Goblin Slayer jumped back. He searched through his item pouch and pulled out a small bottle.

When the container smashed against the troll’s skin, sending shards everywhere, it did the creature no harm at all.

Of course, it didn’t have to.

The important thing was what was inside the bottle.

“TOORL?! TOORRL?!”

An unidentifiable viscous black liquid clung to the troll’s giant body. The stuff gave off a nose-prickling smell. The troll flailed about, desperately trying to wipe away the clinging substance, splashing it around.

The monsters had no idea that the stuff was Medea’s Oil, petroleum-based gasoline.

“Good-bye.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Goblin Slayer pitched his torch at the creature, turning around in the same motion.

“TOOOOROOOOROOOOOORRRT?!?!”

“GROROOB?!”

Howls and bellows came from the troll, totally enveloped in licking flames, and the goblins whom he was catching up in the conflagration.

Goblin Slayer was already running the other direction; as he went, he grabbed a weapon from one of the dead goblins his companions had left behind. It was a hand spear. He held his sword in his left hand and the spear in his right, crouching low as he barreled along.

“That caught perhaps half of them. Meaning…”

The spear went flying. It slammed straight through the stomach of a goblin who had braved the flames, doing him in.

“GGRORR?!”

“That makes fifteen.”

Goblin Slayer spun neatly, setting off after his friends once again.

There was no mistaking the route. Doors were left hanging open; goblin corpses were scattered everywhere. He had only to follow the sounds of battle. His real problem was the goblins who continued to pop out from side doors.

“GBGOR?!”

“GRORB! GORORRB?!”

Arrows came flying from afar, cutting them down. That was three more. Eighteen.

Goblin Slayer ran onward, jumping over the bodies that thumped to the ground in front of him.

Soon he spotted High Elf Archer, her braided hair bouncing behind her like a tail.

“Orcbolg, what’s going on? I heard some kind of fwoosh from back there!”

“It was an emergency situation.”

“You could at least give us a little warning!”

“I hadn’t thought that far.” As he ran, Goblin Slayer turned, as if springing an ambush from midstride. “Nineteen.”

The goblin, who had finally caught up with him, was caught off guard by the half turn. A sword was buried ruthlessly in his throat. When it twisted, the goblin frothed blood and died. A kick to the monster’s chest freed the blade again.

“How is it up ahead?”

“Just the usual! Yargh! Blargh! All kinds of craziness.” High Elf Archer fired off two or three more arrows as she spoke, trusting to luck to land a hit. Three goblins collapsed to the ground, writhing, bolts sprouting from their eye sockets. Twenty-two.

“So do you have a plan?” the ranger asked.

“Of course.” Goblin Slayer had completed a change of direction in the time it took the elf to kill those three monsters; now he was jogging alongside her. “I always do.”

§

There was only one door in the burial chamber to which the adventurers had fled. The other three sides of the room were just walls. All that remained there was the scattered detritus of goblin life.

The room was entirely extraneous to the goblins, who thought about nothing except how to take advantage of exactly what they had on hand at any given moment.

As they set down the woman, still tied to the chair, Wizard Boy suddenly exclaimed, “We’ve just let ’em corner us—!”

“Oh, that is not necessarily the case,” said Lizard Priest beside the entranceway, fully on guard. He held a Swordclaw, which he had already honed with Sharp Tooth. He was bleeding: he had literally bought their escape with his blood.

“But where are Goblin Slayer and—?” Priestess, for her part, was braced against the innermost wall, breathing heavily. Maintaining the Holy Light miracle, even as they rushed through the maze, was a lot to ask of such a physically frail young woman. Her face was pale, bloodless with exhaustion.

Dwarf Shaman rubbed his bloody hands together then found a potion in his item pouch.

“I’m sure Long-Ears and Beard-cutter will catch up with us soon enough. Here.”

“Thank you…”

Holding the potion in both hands, Priestess opened the bottle and drank it slowly, letting each sip moisten her lips. Each time she swallowed, she felt a bit of warmth return to her body. It was not as restorative as a miracle of the gods, but the salutary effects of a potion were nothing to sneeze at.

She closed her eyes and let out a breath. Yes, she felt a little better now. Priestess adjusted her grip on her staff.

“…We have to tend to this woman, right away…,” she said, but as she was on the verge of casting Minor Heal, Dwarf Shaman stopped her.

“Take it easy. You need your rest. She’s not going to die of these injuries anytime soon.”

The petite cleric wobbled a bit then slid down the wall and onto the floor with a dull thud.

“Thank you,” Priestess breathed again, but Dwarf Shaman waved her off with a “Think nothing of it.”

Whatever else, Priestess would find it very difficult to reattach the severed fingers at her level of skill. Meaning it would be vastly better to save the miracle.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, no prob…!”

“Good,” Dwarf Shaman said flatly. No doubt he could see right through the boy’s show of bravado. His eyes narrowed. “Just a word of advice,” he added. “No one’s going to be able to help even if you wind up in a pinch later, because you’re too exhausted.”

“…I am not exhausted!”

Unlike that girl over there, he seemed to imply—but even this boy couldn’t bring himself to say as much aloud.

He, too, went over and leaned against the wall, although he kept his distance from Priestess. He dropped his eyes to his hands. The blood had dried on them in crimson splotches; he rubbed his hands together to try to take off the stains.

Clerics should huddle in the back row and say their prayers.

Now he realized what idiotic things he had said. She had given orders, held her staff high to give them light, and run as hard as any of them.

He glanced to the side, where he could see Priestess, still breathing hard and downing her potion. Even Wizard Boy could understand that she was trying to restore her vitality so as to be ready for the next fight.

His lips opened partway then closed. His tongue felt too large for his mouth. He swallowed some saliva and tried again.

“I’m…sor—”

“They’re here!” The sharp voice of Lizard Priest cut him off.

Wizard Boy blinked several times, turning to stare into the darkness of the hall they had come by. He quickly discerned the light of a torch coming nearer to them.

“Dammit, Orcbolg—it’s still alive!”

“It does seem to have been more resilient than I expected.”

High Elf Archer came bounding into the room, as elegant as a deer. Goblin Slayer ran in after her.

And behind them…

“OOOLRTTTTR!!”

The giant troll was puffing smoke and swinging its club.

Simple weight gave the adventurers an advantage in speed. But if either of them lost their footing and fell, that would be the end of it.

Goblin Slayer and High Elf Archer ran as only those could who heard a massive club smashing into the walls and floor immediately behind them.

“I’m so tired of this!” High Elf Archer exclaimed as she burst into the burial chamber. “The heck is that thing?! I’m sick of this! I wanna fight a cool monster for once!”

“I think the cool ones are all even stronger than this,” Dwarf Shaman added.

“Myself, I would well prefer a dragon,” offered Lizard Priest.

Dwarf Shaman knew, however, that as long as they were bantering or complaining, there was really nothing to worry about. He let out a breath. “So. What do we do, Beard-cutter?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Goblin Slayer said, looking around the room at his party.

Lizard Priest, Dwarf Shaman, and the red-haired boy all looked fine. High Elf Archer was breathing hard, and Priestess was fatigued.

Goblin Slayer reached into his item bag and took out two bottles by feel alone, passing them to the girls.

“Drink these.”

“Wha…? Ah…”

“A Stamina potion, eh? Thanks.”

Priestess seemed a little confused, but High Elf Archer gladly uncorked the bottle and downed the contents.

They each had their own supply of these potions, but at that moment, there was no time to quibble about what belonged to whom.

“O-okay, then… Thank you…” Priestess hesitated far more than High Elf Archer had but eventually brought the bottle to her lips. This was her second Stamina potion. The increasingly healthy glow of her cheeks contrasted with the dark expression still on her face.

“Good, we’re all ready,” Goblin Slayer said, catching the change in her out of the corner of his eye. “I want water. Can you produce it with a spell?”

Although the question hadn’t been directed at him specifically, Wizard Boy made an uncomfortable noise. Fireball was the only spell he knew, and he had already used all the magic he could that day. He somehow found it deeply humiliating that this man knew all that.

“There’d be no point, learning a spell like that…” the boy found himself saying, almost pouting.

“Is that so?” Goblin Slayer responded.

Taking in the situation, Dwarf Shaman quickly interjected, “Water? Well, if rain is good enough for you, we can do that. It’ll be a bit weak, though, there bein’ a ceiling here and all.”

The roaring and rumbling of the troll was getting closer. “Ready,” Lizard Priest whispered.

“But listen, Beard-cutter. You can’t just play one of your usual tricks now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Goblin Slayer said brusquely. “A shower will be enough.”

“Right, then.”

“And we will need Holy Light again. Can you do it?”

“I…” Priestess’s voice was trembling, and she had to bite her lip to get the words to come out. “Yes, I… I can. I will!”

“Good.” That settles it. No sooner had Goblin Slayer made this pronouncement than their enemy was upon them.

“OLTROOOR!!”

The rooms and passages of the mausoleum were large enough for a troll to move about easily. Who had the builders imagined was going to visit this place?

“Eeyah!”

“Look ou—”

Priestess was just a hair too late in crouching out of the way, and High Elf Archer jumped to cover her.

The metal spikes of the club grazed her hair, slicing through the ribbons she had used to tie it back.

“Are you all right?!” Priestess asked.

“Don’t worry about me!” High Elf Archer shouted, her hair in disarray. “Just do it!”

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, grant your sacred light to we who are lost in darkness!”

She raised her staff as high as she could from where she had been shoved to the ground, offering supplication to the merciful goddess. And of course, far be it from the Earth Mother on high to deny the soul-enervating request of her devoted follower.

“RRLLRTTOOR?!”

There was an explosion of light like the sun. The flash filled the chamber, flooding it with irresistible illumination.

The troll stumbled back, and immediately, Goblin Slayer could be heard to shout, “Water!”

“On it! Go now, kelpie, it’s time to get busy! Earth to river and sea to sky, turn all a-tizzy!” Dwarf Shaman intoned, clasping a tiny horse figurine he pulled from his bag of catalysts. No sooner had he spoken than there was a high-pitched whinny, and a wet wind galloped through, quickly turning to a drizzling rain.

As Dwarf Shaman had said, the act of summoning a kelpie to produce precipitation was nothing more than Call Rain.

“All yours, Beard-cutter!”

“Next… This.” As he spoke, Goblin Slayer took a leather pouch from his item pouch and tossed it at the troll.

“ORLTLRRLR?!”

The monster immediately began bellowing. Its lumpy gray skin began to crack and shatter even as they watched, starting with the scorched parts.

When someone is attempting to clear some land and needs to get rid of a huge boulder, sometimes the rock will be heated very hot, and then cold water will be applied to it. This causes the stone to crack, after which it can easily be broken down with a hammer.

And what about the troll? It was made of rock, said to turn to stone if exposed to the daylight. And it was just like that hypothetical boulder.

“TLRORL?!”

The troll, however, did not understand what had happened. To think mist should descend upon it just because it had been splashed with a little water!

“TTLLOOTTTTTL?!”

“Simple, but surprisingly effective,” Goblin Slayer remarked, observing the troll as it clutched its face and thrashed around.

It wasn’t entirely clear that even Goblin Slayer understood the science behind what he had done. But what mattered was the outcome of his actions.

The fire powder—what the alchemists called saltpeter—absorbed the water and the heat of the troll, accelerating the cooling process.

“…Where in the world did he learn to do that?” High Elf Archer asked with a touch of annoyance.

“…Oh!” Priestess found herself thinking back to their visit to the water town.

I do remember him asking how to make ice treats…

“ORLT?! TOORLRLOT?!”

Perhaps this was evidence that healing powers or no, being shock-cooled immediately after being superheated was too much to take. The troll, distressed that its wounds showed no signs of regenerating, began flailing about madly with its club.

With a hissing chuckle, Lizard Priest twisted his jaws into a beastly smile. “Most unbecoming, that. Shall we put him out of his misery?” He jumped at the monster, followed quickly by a bolt from High Elf Archer.

“Whatever that large creature is,” Goblin Slayer said, flinging his weapon away but immediately picking up another sword from among the detritus. “Once we finish it off, we will go kill all the goblins.”

The fate of the troll was always going to bear closely on what happened to the remaining goblins. Amid all this, though, the young boy, chased to the back row, was watching Goblin Slayer with absolute intensity.

I see now. He’s right—what I said to that girl was terrible.

But who was this man, who seemed to regard a troll as little more than a nuisance yet was so eager to hunt down goblins?

Yes, the young man had been careless. He had acted like the rookie he was. He had a share in the responsibility and the blame.

But I just can’t admit that this man of all people was so right…!

§

“Oh, come on. If a dwarf doesn’t give the toast now, when will it ever happen?”

“Right, very well then. Here’s to our safe return—to that acolyte’s future—and to a whole hell of a lot of dead monsters!”

Hear, hear! Their voices rang out, followed quickly by the clatter of cups and the splashing of wine.

There’s a reason adventurers and alcohol both start with the same letter; they’re inextricably linked.

Many parties were relaxing at the Guild tavern after another day’s work.

Goodness, but the foe that day was tough. Well now, who would use this enchanted sword they’d found? Gracious, that village girl was pretty.

The worst part was when you missed with that attack. But then there was that finishing blow. Lots of chances to use spells.

A celebration of their victory had to come first. Then, a careful consideration of what could have gone better. They laughed off their companions’ mistakes and showered their successes with praise.

They divided up the loot they had gotten, conferred about whether to sell or to use any equipment they had obtained, and spoke excitedly of their next adventure.

By convention, adventurers didn’t argue or complain about fairness during the adventure itself. No one wanted to have a falling-out in the middle of a dungeon. Such details were reserved for the “after session,” the time after an adventure was over. During this phase, the party let it all hang out, so that nothing would be left unsaid, so that, if they should die the next time out, they could do so without regrets.

Goblin Slayer’s party was very much part of this tradition.

“What’s wrong with you, Orcbolg? I know you’re not much for talk, but you could at least come up with something at a time like this!”

“Is that so?”

“It sure is!”

Even though High Elf Archer was only sipping her own watered-down wine, she was more than happy to pour for others as they drained their cups. It was less out of a sense of service than personal amusement—not, perhaps, the best side of her personality; but then again, perhaps the drink was already going to her head.

In contrast, Goblin Slayer quietly poured the wine through the slats of his visor, just as always.

“Pardon me very much, milady server, but could I trouble you for some sausage?”

“Sure thing, master lizard! The usual?” Padfoot Waitress came working her way through the crowd of adventurers, weaving between seats and tables. “And cheese on top, right?”

“Ah, sweet nectar! Yes, indubitably!” And then Lizard Priest, having ordered a snack to go with his drink, slapped his tail on the floor. All this was just as usual, but…

“Ahh, come now, your cup is getting lonely! Drink up!”

“Right…”

Priestess, for one, did not look herself, sitting with her shoulders slumped.

In fact, it was normally she who assiduously attended to everyone, making sure all the cups stayed full. Otherwise, High Elf Archer could be expected to be altogether intemperate with both her food and her drink.

“I just… You know, today…” Priestess sounded like she might break into tears at any moment. Her gloomy look was not best suited for a cleric, let alone for a celebration like this.

Then again, it was hard to blame her. It was her first experience of leading a party, and it had been going reasonably well—until she fumbled it. It worked out, because one of her other party members had been able to take over. But if he hadn’t, they would certainly all have been wiped out.

Just like her first adventure.

“Aww, c’mon! We’re all still here, aren’t we? So don’t sweat it!” Elves, who lived for two thousand years, were not inclined to be worried about such trivial details. “What, did you expect to jump in and be able to manage things perfectly?” High Elf Archer’s tone and expression (witness the great twitch of her ears) made it clear how silly she thought this was. “That’s beyond even an elf. If you meet an elf who can do that, tug on their ears, because I guarantee they’re stuck on.”

“For once you’re making real sense, Long-Ears!”

“Pfft! I always make sense!” she replied, puffing out her small chest.

But it only lasted a moment. Her eyes drifted half-shut, and she turned her red face to the other side of the table.

“Anyway, what about you?”

In addition to Goblin Slayer and Priestess, there was one more person at the table who wasn’t saying much. It was the young man, who was resting his chin on one hand sulkily and pushing a piece of sausage around his plate with his fork.

It made a certain sense: this had been his first adventure, and he had almost nothing to be proud of. He had rushed ahead in a surfeit of valor and run straight into a trap. His magic had been the ace up his sleeve, and he had used it at the wrong time.

His experience seemed almost the polar opposite of the glamorous adventure that so many dreamed of.

Well, I guess that’s reality for you. High Elf Archer heaved a sigh then went back to nursing her drink as if she had lost interest.

“There is no need for such consternation,” Lizard Priest said. “You returned safely from your first adventure, and that is reason enough to celebrate.”

“He’s got that right, boyo. Not everyone runs into a troll the first time out.” For better or for worse. Dwarf Shaman pounded the pouting boy on the back and took a gulp of wine.

“If that stupid troll hadn’t been there,” the boy said, “then even I wouldn’t have had any trouble with those goblins…”

“Only one thing to do, in any case,” the dwarf said, pouring liberally into the boy’s cup. “Drink up! This is some decent wine.”

The boy eyeballed the glass as if it might bite him then swallowed it in a single gulp.

“Guh?! Cough! Hack! Ugh!” The boy choked on the throat-searing alcohol.

“There now, see? Ain’t a lot as goes right the very first time you try it!” Dwarf Shaman’s laugh was both a little bit mean and a little bit encouraging. The boy shot him a resentful look and opened his mouth as if to say something.

Before he could speak, however, he found his mouth full of sausage, pulled off a heaping plate of the stuff.

“Come, now, soothe your tongue with a taste of my cheese-covered sausage.”

The meat, so warm it was steaming, was partially buried in gooey, melted cheese. Lizard Priest happily grabbed some of his own portion (noticeably larger than the others’) and stuffed it into his mouth. The skin of the sausage crackled as he chewed; his mouth filled with rich juices. The saltiness of the condiments brought out the sweetness of the cheese, a perfect combination.

“Nectar!” he exclaimed, bringing his hands together as if in worship. Then he offered a plate to Priestess. “Have some. Delectable, I assure you. And auspicious, besides. After all, a delicious meal is the most heartening thing after a difficult experience.”

“I guess you’re right…” With much hesitation, Priestess brought her fork toward the sausage. She speared a piece and brought it to her mouth, which opened just enough to take a little nibble.

“I also…wanted to do better back there.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” Lizard Priest laughed jovially. Priestess glanced up at him. He was standing; he claimed his tail got in the way when he tried to sit in a chair. It only served to emphasize how tall he was.

Priestess puffed out her cheeks just a little bit, earning an approving nod from the lizardman.

“That fire in the heart is a good thing. If you have no desire to do a thing, then you never shall do it. What is progress but the attempt to move ever forward?” One scaly finger pointed up, drawing a circle in the air. “The nagas, my fearsome ancestors, first crawled in the swamps before walking on the land with four legs, whence they became nagas.”

This was a lizardman myth. Priestess wasn’t familiar with it.

Detritus in the sea became fish, then the fish emerged onto the land, trod upon the soil, stood up, and finally became the nagas that ruled over all.

It was the lizardman way of speaking of progress, or perhaps evolution; their culture encouraged them to always be moving forward.

Although all this was quite interesting, Priestess wasn’t entirely sure what it meant for her, and she ended up smiling ambiguously.

I can at least understand that he’s trying to encourage me.

“Hey, by the way,” High Elf Archer said, breaking in just as Priestess was taking a mouthful of sausage so she didn’t have to say anything committal. No doubt the elf hadn’t intended to help the girl out; she just had a tendency to jump to whatever subject came into her head. “What about that, you know—the acolyte girl? What happened to her? Will she be all right?”

“Oh, yes,” Priestess said, nodding quickly and wiping the fingers that had been at her mouth. “They managed to reattach her fingers. Once she’s rested, they’ll think about what to do next.”

“That’s great to hear. I mean—I know it’s still rough, but as long as you’re alive, there’s always something else you can do.”

For High Elf Archer, it was just a passing comment. So it was all the more surprising when an answer came back at her.

“Sometimes you’re alive and there still ain’t shit you can do!”

It was the boy.

He was staring at High Elf Archer as intensely as if he could destroy her with the power of his glare.

“She was defeated by goblins, wasn’t she? She’ll never live that down. No way.”

“Wh-what’s your problem?” the elf girl said, pursing her lips and looking slightly cowed. “I don’t think it’s as sure a thing as—”

“Well it sure was for my big sister!” the boy shouted, pounding the circular table with his hand.

High Elf Archer sat back in shock, her ears wilting against her head.

The dishes rattled, the food spilled, and the wine overflowed when the boy struck the table. Lizard Priest quickly started picking up the biggest plates, Dwarf Shaman helping him. They seemed to have appointed themselves guardians of the drunken young man.

Eh, the young’uns are so often this way with a bit of wine in ’em.

This was better than keeping his feelings inside. That, at least, was the dwarf’s appraisal.

“She lost to the goblins! The things they did to her—!”

“Older sister?” a voice said, very quietly.

Reflexively, the gaze of all the adventurers seated at the table turned to the speaker. It was Goblin Slayer, who until that moment had been quietly drinking his wine.

“You have an older sister?”

“I had an older sister!” the boy shouted. The alcohol had stirred up his emotions, and now the words came in a torrent. “And I’d still have her, if she hadn’t died after a goblin stabbed her with a poisoned blade!!”

“Huh…?”

No one quite seemed to notice the blood drain from Priestess’s face at that remark.

Her thoughts were a dizzying mixture of Of course and It can’t be…

Her hands quivered ever so slightly. Her throat trembled as she swallowed some saliva; it sounded terribly loud to her.

A poisoned blade. Killed by a goblin. Red hair. A spell caster.

How could she ever forget?

“My sis was amazing! If those goblins hadn’t used poison, she woulda beaten ’em!” the boy said with a sort of half groan. Then he threw his cup as hard as he could.

Oop. Lizard Priest grabbed it with his tail.

“But those bastards from the Academy, they just…!”

“They can all go straight to hell.”

With these last words, almost a whisper, the boy slumped down on the table.

Did the voices of the other adventurers in the tavern only seem to subside for a moment? Or had they heard the boy yelling? Was anyone else in the room looking at him?

Well, even if they had been, they wouldn’t have said anything.

Becoming an adventurer was all about being responsible for oneself. Everyone had some burden they bore or some hope they embraced. They sought riches, or fame, or martial renown, or discipline, or money, or dreams, or ideals, or faith.

Though no two were alike, the weight of what was in their hearts was all the same.

How could you compare the desire to put food on the table for another day, and the desire to plumb the depths of unknown ruins? What difference was there between a beginner fighting giant rats in the sewers for all they were worth, and an old hand going toe-to-toe with a dragon?

That was why nobody said anything.

The exception—the only exception—was the man who, despite being an experienced adventurer, continued to hunt goblins.

“Is that so…?” Goblin Slayer muttered quietly, his own voice a groan much like the wizard’s.

He picked up his own cup and took a swig.

Then there was a clatter as he stood up from the table.

“I’m going back. Find him a room. It doesn’t matter where.”

There was a quiet click of his tongue. The boy had not yet gotten a room at any inn.

The adventurer pulled a single gold coin from the pouch at his hip and tossed it on the table.

“This should cover the expense.”

“Sure, we’ll take care of it.” Dwarf Shaman nodded but didn’t say anything else. He picked up the coin with his thick fingers.

“Oh…” Priestess seemed like she was maybe, perhaps, about to say something to the man as he walked by. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out except, in a very small voice, his name. “Goblin Slayer, sir…”

“Get some rest.”

She found a crude leather glove placed on her delicate shoulder.

By the time she moved to place her own small hand over his, he was already gone.

She looked this way and that for him; she saw him heading for the doorway with his usual nonchalant stride.

“Hold on, Orcbolg!” High Elf Archer shouted, her voice cutting through the hubbub of the tavern. “What about tomorrow? Are we taking a break?”

The answer was short and cold. “I don’t know.”

Just as he was pushing through the swinging door of the Guild, Goblin Slayer ran into another adventurer coming in.

“Yikes! If it ain’t Goblin Slayer!” a handsome but tough-looking man exclaimed. It was the spear-wielding adventurer.

Maybe he had just finished an adventure himself. He was covered in dirt and dust, and smelled faintly of blood.

“Don’t just jump out at me like that, man, you scared the sh—”

Whatever he had been about to say, he swallowed it. Instead, he looked intently at Goblin Slayer’s cheap-looking helmet.

“…What’s wrong?” he asked. “Something happen?”

“Nothing.”

Goblin Slayer practically shoved Spearman aside as he left the Guild.

Spearman stood there in the doorway, looking after him as if he couldn’t believe what he had seen.

He had never known Goblin Slayer to shove anyone before.

§

There’s nothing adventurers like more than good drunken reveling.

The carousing from inside the Guild came through the walls and windows to lend an air of jollity to the night.

If an adventurer were to be curled up in some back alley, somewhere so dark even the light of the twin moons didn’t reach it, who would notice?

Cheap-looking leather armor and a grimy helmet. Even a freshly minted newcomer would have fancier equipment.

It was perfectly common: a new adventurer, awash in the relief of surviving an adventure, proceeds to get dizzyingly drunk.

“…An older sister, he says?” the adventurer growled, throwing aside his helmet.

Had he thought he had been able to accomplish even one thing?

Had he thought he had succeeded at doing even one thing right?

“…Idiot.”

He ground his teeth and clenched his fists, but it did nothing to alleviate the feeling that there was a lead weight in his stomach.

Unable to resist the wave of nausea, he vomited in the alleyway.