Goblin Slayer, Vol. 5 Read online

  “It would be inconvenient for the goblins to discover we were adventurers,” Goblin Slayer said. “Whatever else we do, we must change what we’re wearing.”

  “Pfah,” Dwarf Shaman said with a cackle, his breath stinking of alcohol. “If you don’t mind ’em well used, I’ve got a few outfits.”

  “Oh-ho. You are a dwarf of many talents, master spell caster.”

  “Good food and wine, good music and song, and something beautiful to wear. If you’ve got all that plus the company of a fine woman, you’ve got everything you need to enjoy life.” He settled back with another cup of the mead in hand and closed his eyes. “I can handle cooking, music, song, and sewing on my own. As for a woman, there’s always the courtesans in town.”

  “Goodness. You’ve no wife, then?” Lizard Priest looked rather surprised, but Dwarf Shaman answered, “Indeed I don’t. I thought I’d spend another hundred years or so enjoying bachelorhood, playing the bon viveur.”

  Lizard Priest chuckled, sticking his tongue out and sipping happily at his drink. “Master spell caster, how very young you seem. It’s enough to make an old lizard jealous.”

  “Ah, but I do believe I’m older than you.” He held out the wine jar invitingly; Lizard Priest nodded and held up his cup.

  Goblin Slayer was next. He grunted, “Mm,” and simply held up his cup. Alcohol sloshed into it.

  “You all just make sure to enjoy your lives,” the shaman said, adding, “Be it with goblins or gods or what have you.” Then he settled back to appreciate his wine.

  His gaze settled on the two chattering young women.

  “Laugh, cry, rage, enjoy—the long-eared girl is good at those, isn’t she?”

  “…”

  Goblin Slayer looked into his cup, saying nothing. A cheap-looking helmet stared back at him from the wine, tinged with the orangish color of the lamps. He raised the cup to that helmet and drained it in one gulp. His throat and stomach felt like they were burning.

  He let out a breath. Just like he did when he was on a long path, looking behind, looking ahead, and continuing on.

  “It is never so simple,” he said.

  “No, I don’t suppose it is,” the dwarf responded.

  “Is it not?” asked Lizard Priest. “I guess you’re right.”

  The three men laughed without making a sound.

  It was only then that the girls noticed them, looking at them with puzzlement.

  “What’s up?” asked High Elf Archer.

  “Is something wrong?” said Priestess.

  Dwarf Shaman waved away their questions, and after giving things a moment to settle down, Goblin Slayer said:

  “Now. About the goblins.”

  “Ah-ha! So we come to it, Beard-cutter.” Dwarf Shaman shook the droplets off his beard and shifted in his seat. “I s’pose this paladin-like fellow is their leader. That’s if he really exists, of course.”

  “Yes.” Goblin Slayer nodded. “I’ve never fought such a goblin, either.”

  “The question is, just how smart is he?”

  “He was able to imitate my devices, at least.” Goblin Slayer took the arrowhead out of his bag, rolling it around in his hand. It was stained with High Elf Archer’s blood. It gave him a dark feeling. “And if we can destroy thirty-six of them in one expedition, it means our foe is many.”

  “So, mean little brains and lots of ’em? Sounds like another day’s work with goblins,” Dwarf Shaman said.

  Things at the harvest festival had somehow gone in their favor, but that was because they knew the terrain and had made preparations. Even if there were no more enemies than there had been at the farm, the adventurers numbered only five. Fighting in hostile territory seemed rather unmanageable.

  Lizard Priest, who had been listening quietly, made a rumble in his throat, then said seriously, “And there is one more problem.” He struck the floor with his tail, stretched out his arms, and tapped the claw on the newer mark Goblin Slayer had made on the map. “Specifically, if we should be so fortunate as to get into the enemy’s fortifications, what do we do from there?”

  “Ah, about that,” Goblin Slayer said. “If we do manage to get in—”

  Criiiick.

  No sooner had he spoken than there was a sound of creaking wood. Immediately, the adventurers all reached for their weapons.

  They held their collective breath. The innkeeper had retired much earlier.

  Slowly, the creaking became quiet footsteps. Someone came down the stairs, then exhaled.

  “Goblins…?”

  The voice was strained, almost like a sigh. It came from Noble Fencer, who stood clutching the railing of the staircase, swaying unsteadily. She wore tattered armor over her light bedclothes, and in her hand a silver dagger glittered in the light.

  Mithril…? No, the color’s too light. A magical item of some sort, perhaps…?

  Dwarf Shaman found himself squinting at the gleam. To think that it should be something that he, a friend of metal, had never seen.

  “……Then… I’m coming, too.”

  “No way!” High Elf Archer was the first to respond. “We came to rescue you because of the quest your parents posted.” She looked into Noble Fencer’s eyes with characteristic elven directness. Those eyes were deep and dark, like the bottom of a well—or so they seemed to her.

  The mention of her parents didn’t seem to stir so much as a ripple in Noble Fencer.

  There was an intake of breath, ever so slight.

  “Before you put your life in danger again, don’t you think you should at least go home and talk to them?” High Elf Archer said.

  “……No. I can’t do that.” Noble Fencer shook her head, her honey-colored hair shaking. “……I have to get it back.”

  Lizard Priest put his hands together in a strange shape, resting his chin atop them. With his eyes closed, he appeared half as if in prayer, half as if enduring some pain. Quietly, he asked:

  “And what might it be?”

  “Everything,” Noble Fencer answered firmly. “Everything I’ve lost.”

  Dreams. Hopes. Futures. Chastity. Friends. Comrades. Equipment. A sword.

  All that the goblins stole from her and took away into the depths of their gloomy hole.

  “I cannot say I do not understand,” Lizard Priest said after a moment, his breath hissing. Noble Fencer was talking about pride, about a way of life. Lizard Priest brought his palms together in a strange gesture. “A naga has his pride precisely because he is a naga. If he has no pride, he is no longer a naga.”

  “Ju-just a second…!” High Elf Archer said. Lizard Priest was so calm and collected—although, come to think of it, he did seem to like combat. The elf’s ears had drooped with pity, but now they sprang back up. “Dwarf! Say something!”

  “Why shouldn’t we let her do as she wishes?” the shaman said.

  “Guh?!”

  Yet another un-elf-like sound (she seemed to have an ever-increasing repertoire) came from High Elf Archer’s throat.

  Dwarf Shaman paid her no mind but, shaking the last drop out of the bottle of mead, said, “Our quest was to rescue her. It’s up to her what she does after that.”

  “Et tu, dwarf?! What if she dies, huh?! What then?”

  “You might die, yourself. Or me. Or any of us.” He drained that final cup and wiped his mouth. “Every living thing dies one day. You elves should know that better than anybody.”

  “Well… Well yeah, but…”

  Droop went the ears again. High Elf Archer looked around with an expression like a lost child who didn’t know what to do next.

  Priestess met her eyes, and it almost prevented the girl from saying what she said next. She looked at the ground, bit her lip, quietly drank the last of the wine in her cup. If she hadn’t, Priestess didn’t think she could have gotten the words out. “Let’s… Let’s take her along.”

  If she didn’t say them, no one else would.

  “If… If we don’t…”

  Sh
e can’t be saved.

  Without a doubt, there will be no salvation for her.

  Priestess herself had been that way, once.

  And—she suspected—so had he.

  “I…,” he—Goblin Slayer—began, picking his words very carefully, “…am not your parents, nor am I a friend.”

  Noble Fencer said nothing.

  “You know what should be done when you have a quest in mind.”

  “I do.”

  “Hey!”

  But almost before High Elf Archer had gotten the word out of her mouth, there was an unpleasant tearing sound.

  The golden hair went flying through the air.

  “………Your reward. I’m paying in advance.”

  She took a lock of the hair she had just cut off. She cut another lock with her dagger—another tearing sound—and set it on the table. The two tails of her hair, once tied with ribbon, were now cruelly lost.

  “………I’m going, too.”

  Her hair was brutally short now, her lips drawn back in determination—the very image of someone bent on vengeance.

  Priestess heard a soft grunt from inside Goblin Slayer’s helmet.

  “Goblin Slayer…sir…?”

  “What can you do?”

  He ignored Priestess’s look, instead flinging this question at Noble Fencer.

  Without hesitation, the girl responded, “I can use the sword. And a spell. Lightning.”

  The helmet turned, looked at Dwarf Shaman.

  “Summoning thunder,” he said disinterestedly. “Very powerful stuff, like a cannon.”

  “…Very well,” Goblin Slayer said softly. Then he asked, “You don’t mind?”

  The helmet turned toward High Elf Archer, who was looking at him beseechingly. Now, she averted her eyes; she clutched her cup with both hands and looked at the floor. Finally, she rubbed the outer corners of her eyes with her arms and looked up piteously. She said only: “If you’re all right with it, Orcbolg.”

  “Good.” Goblin Slayer rolled up the map and stood.

  It was clear what had to be done.

  It was the same thing that always had to be done.

  Always and everywhere.

  No matter what.

  It was what he had done for the past ten years.

  “Then let us go goblin slaying.”

  “Yikes! Cold! It’s cold!” Despite her yelp, Cow Girl looked quite happy as she pushed open the door of the Guild. “There’s even snow falling!”

  It’s winter, all right! With those words, she came into the Guild’s waiting area, brushing the white powder off her clothes. The few adventurers inside were sitting on the long bench, warming themselves by the fire in the hearth. The small number was partly down to the time of day—and partly to the simple fact that not too many people wanted to go adventuring in winter.

  It was cold, it wasn’t easy to camp out, there was snow, it was dangerous—and, oh yes: it was cold.

  Stories spoke of barbarians from far beyond the northern mountains who were not the least bothered by cold like this, who claimed that this was the season when weak civilized peoples clung to what was warm.

  As Cow Girl walked through the balmy room, she let out a breath. Most adventurers, eager for money as they were, saved up from spring through fall so that they could pass the winter without working.

  That didn’t necessarily mean, though, that the adventurers here now were just bad at saving. Adventurers might rest in the winter, but Non-Praying Characters didn’t: goblins, fallen spirits, and monsters were still abroad.

  Then, too, there were ruins whose gates opened only in the season of snows, and hidden treasures to find. Those undergoing harsh training, explorers, or adventurers of races not susceptible to the cold didn’t stop their work simply because it was winter.

  In fact, a dearth of adventurers meant more quests to go around during the winter—something of which we’ve spoken before.

  “It certainly is winter, indeed,” said Cow Girl’s friend Guild Girl, picking up on the words the farmer had muttered to herself.

  Cow Girl made a sound of puzzlement to see her friend looking out the window with a melancholy gaze, her chin on her hands. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Someone passed her a menu as she spoke.

  “Nothing,” Guild Girl said with an enigmatic smile. “I was just…watching the snow come down.”

  “Oh…”

  Drawn by the remark, Cow Girl looked out the window as well. It might be easy to miss if you were out in the middle of the swirling stuff yourself, but from inside this room it was genuinely beautiful.

  Soon, the fluffy flakes would cover the town in white.

  “I hope he’s okay…”

  Guild Girl was only whispering to herself; she didn’t say who she hoped would be okay, or what he was doing that put him in danger.

  It didn’t stop Cow Girl from putting a hand to her ample bosom and whispering, “He’ll be fine.” Then she added, “I think he’s been to the snowy mountain before.”

  “Oh really?” Guild Girl said, blinking at this unexpected new information. “I didn’t know that. So he’s been there before…”

  “He never did tell me what he was doing there, though.”

  Everyone has certain things they don’t want to talk about. He was always taciturn, and although it sometimes made her feel a little lonely, Cow Girl was willing to live with it.

  After all, there are things I haven’t told him, either.

  She returned the menu with a word of thanks and tucked away her feelings into that expansive chest of hers.

  “Ugh! Cold, cold, cold! That freeze is enough to hurt! I know that guy was only using his fists, but…!”

  “He was…the descendent…of Frost Giants, wasn’t he?”

  “That fight was too long and altogether too painful.”

  The door of the Guild opened, two familiar faces entering along with a gust of wind.

  One of the adventurers was a handsome man with a spear leaning on his shoulder; the other a witch whose outfit left little of her generous figure to the imagination.

  They shook off the snow in the doorway, then Spearman—his hair carefully coiffed—breezily approached Guild Girl.

  “Ahh. You always get back before he does,” Guild Girl said, sighs mingling with her pasted-on smile. “I’m glad you’re safe, of course.”

  Cow Girl got to her feet. “Good luck with work.”

  “Thanks. I’ll work my hardest.” There was a pause, then, “I don’t hate him, you know?”

  “He’s just not my favorite,” she whispered, and Cow Girl smiled at her.

  “I think everything will work out fine.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He’ll be back before we celebrate the passing of the year.”

  I’m sure of it.

  “I did not agree to this!”

  “Ah… Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha…”

  The next morning, High Elf Archer was traveling down the mountain path…enclosed in a wooden cage. Priestess was beside her, smiling awkwardly. Both of them were dressed in rags.

  The elf’s long ears were twitching angrily; she grabbed the bars of the cage and gave them a rattle.

  The pole that ran through the top of the cage so that it could be carried was, like their outfits, all part and parcel of making the “prisoners” look realistic.

  “Why do we have to be the spoils of battle?!”

  “Because I and the others never would be.”

  With the men as captives, the act would no longer be convincing. Goblin Slayer offered no harbor in this storm.

  He had dyed his always-grimy armor black from head to toe; it was a very strange sight. He could have passed for the spirit of some dead soldier recently back from the grave.

  “Ho! Oh! The foolish lady adventurers begin to rail again!” said an evil-looking dwarf who was carrying the cage from the front. “Master monk, perhaps we should teach them a lesson…”

  “Heh-heh-heh! Fine offerings
they will make to the god of external knowledge. I shall let you do what you wish with them.” The response came from a dark lizard monk who walked ahead, smiling maliciously. He had been quite enthusiastic ever since his disguise had been prepared and he had painted his face and scales, using pigment to cover them in uncanny patterns.

  High Elf Archer bit her lip with a growl and changed targets.

  “Hey, you know it’s okay to be a little angrier!!”

  “Oh, I think…I’ve sort of gotten used to this kind of thing…” Priestess, sitting in one corner of the cage hugging her knees, smiled in defeat. The expression, combined with her willowy body and delicate beauty, made her look the very picture of a prisoner. A fine performance. Of course, the real problem was that it wasn’t a performance at all.

  “…”

  The cage had one other inhabitant, someone who hadn’t said a word. It was Noble Fencer.

  She, too, sat in a corner of the cage with her legs drawn up to her chest—whence she stared into space and didn’t move a muscle.

  Her fair skin, however, had lost its luster; her rose-tinted lips had turned blue.

  Priestess came over to her slowly, moving on all fours.

  “Um, aren’t you cold…?”

  “……I’m fine,” Noble Fencer said simply.

  Normally, that might have been enough to deter Priestess, but this time she only giggled a little bit.

  It was a better response than Sure or I see or Is that so? or All right, then.

  She thought back to how he had been when they first met; he wouldn’t have offered more than one of those.

  “Me, I’m cold… So I’m going to keep close to you, okay?”

  “……Do what you want.”

  Noble Fencer looked away pointedly. Priestess nodded, even though the fighter couldn’t see her, then drew her knees up like the other girl.

  The snowy path seemed very long. The cage swayed back and forth in the blizzard.

  They were marching toward the fortress that towered upon the snowy mountain. It was not something that would be easy or pleasant for the women to reach on foot.

  So…were they trying to be kind by making us play prisoners?