Goblin Slayer, Vol. 5 Page 15

  Priestess felt a rush of relief at that. The thin mail she wore under her vestments was important to her.

  I know it’s a consumable, but still.

  “It takes a good deal of time to prepare, but is useful at times like this,” Lizard Priest explained to her, swishing his tail as if he was rather pleased with himself. “Ahem. So we have freed the prisoners down below and destroyed our foes’ equipment. I believe everything has gone to plan so far, has it not, milord Goblin Slayer?”

  “Yes,” Goblin Slayer said, nodding slowly. He took a waterskin out of his item bag, uncorked it, and drank between the slats of his helmet. “However, we must not let down our guard. There’s no telling what may happen.”

  That, of course, was something all the adventurers here were fully aware of. No one in this world knew whether it was fate or chance that controlled the dice the gods rolled.

  The possibility of the unexpected was precisely what made it an adventure.

  The creaking and groaning of the rusty horn was violent to the ears but could be heard clearly all throughout the fortress. Given that a goblin was blowing into the pipe as hard as he could, it made sense that the resultant noise would be both loud and hideous. Or perhaps the goblins considered it to sound gallant.

  They were dressed in a mismatched array of rags, many of which they had produced by tearing up the clothing they stole from the village women. They carried drums of skin and bone, which made a hollow sound when they beat them.

  One after another, the goblins flooded into the central courtyard of the fortress.

  “ORARAG!”

  “GORRB!!”

  “GROOOB!!”

  They raised their fists and howled, flecks of dark spittle flying from their lips.

  It was obvious enough what their excited voices meant. They were shouting out taunts, or invective, or giving voice to their resentment, jealousy, and greed. The collective hatred was turned upon all those who had what they did not.

  To the goblins, it was also as if they were hailing their hero. The one who took their wishes upon himself, the one who slaughtered the foolish humans.

  Goblins actually have a strong feeling of solidarity, but at the same time, they hate to take the initiative to do anything themselves. Instead, they leave everything to a chief, or shaman, or lord. That leaves them free to chase anything that glitters—literally or proverbially—be it food or drink, or women, or gear. Free to drag down those who have what they do not and cut them to pieces.

  No goblin wants to die. If his brother dies, he gets angry and feels he must take revenge.

  And goblins hold all this at once, feeling no contradiction.

  “GORARARARAUB!!!!”

  At last, an even louder voice asserted itself, and the goblin behind it appeared, his stride full of menace.

  He wore a grimy steel helmet; a patchwork of metal armor covered his body. A crimson cloak—he had torn down a curtain from someplace—served as a further covering. At his hip he carried a shining silver sword so striking that to the goblins, it seemed nearly sacred.

  “ORARAG! ORRUG!” The goblin paladin. At his great and somber voice, the goblins knelt as one.

  Together, they bowed their heads, and a path opened among them like the parting of a sea. The goblin paladin began to walk among them, regally, his cape fluttering.

  The tip of the scabbard in which his silver sword rested scraped along the ground, but he seemed to pay it no mind.

  He advanced toward a huge throne, built of junk and corpses. His hideously twisted face seemed to suggest an element of pride. He could almost have looked humorous, like a caricature of a human being—but one infinitely depraved and cruel.

  §

  “We’ve miscalculated.”

  The party had just left the armory. Goblin Slayer was looking out into the central courtyard from the hallway, clicking his tongue and not sounding very happy.

  High Elf Archer gave him a quizzical look. “How so? Isn’t that the enemy boss? I could pick him off from here…”

  “That you mustn’t do,” Lizard Priest said gently. “That would leave us with only a headless army of goblins, and there is no telling what they might do.” The quick-tempered archer already had a bud-tipped arrow in her bow. “But I believe that is not all, is it, milord Goblin Slayer?”

  “No,” he said. Then, quietly, he added, “Can you not see it?”

  “…They’re just goblins, aren’t they?”

  “That’s right.”

  This caused High Elf Archer to twitch her long ears, perplexed. This wasn’t making sense to her, nor was she sure what they had miscalculated. Yes, there had been some hiccups in the plan, but she felt it had gone pretty well overall…

  “That goblin is the master of this fortress.”

  “…?”

  “This is a ceremony. They’re going to present ranks or awards.”

  “Oh!” It was not High Elf Archer, but Priestess, who exclaimed. She clapped a hand over her own mouth, then peeked at the courtyard from the hall. Thankfully, none of the goblins seemed to have noticed over the grating sounds their ugly little band was making.

  Priestess put a hand to her chest in relief, and then with all seriousness, she gave the answer.

  “There’s always a priest at ceremonies like this…!”

  Indeed. If this ceremony followed typical goblin style, the priest would be called forward.

  Whether or not the priest was involved, that was still the goblin paladin before them, the creature who had apparently received a handout from the god of external knowledge.

  But as far as that goblin priest went…

  “…………Oh.”

  A tiny, shaking voice escaped Noble Fencer’s lips. Her lovely face went slightly pale. She clenched her fists, her arms still wrapped in bandages. What had those hands of hers done? What had she done with them? On a whim? In the caprice of a moment?

  Her eyes wavering, she looked from one member of the party to another.

  “Well, he’s not far away,” Dwarf Shaman said as if nothing much were going on. “But he’s permanently indisposed.” He stroked his beard with one hand, reaching into his bag of catalysts with the other; his expression was seriousness itself. “I suppose this might be a bit of a problem.”

  No one could say anything in response to his whisper.

  They all understood the situation they were in.

  Even a cursory glance at the goblins in the courtyard suggested there were more than fifty monsters there. And the adventurers were right there with them. What would happen when the goblins discovered their presence?

  Goblin slaying is as old as time; it has been taking place since the world was born. And whenever it does, the goblins have always outnumbered the adventurers.

  Those heroes who are unprepared, who challenge the goblins blindly, are killed. All the more so when they try to give battle in the very heart of the nest.

  Goblin Slayer was no exception to this rule.

  How was this odd adventurer with his strange ways going to make up for the difference in numbers? They had been adventuring together for close to a year. There was no way she wouldn’t know.

  Then it happened.

  “…O-ow…!” Noble Fencer, her hands still clenched, went stiff and grunted in pain.

  “Wh-what’s wrong?” Priestess approached her almost automatically, checking for injuries, but she saw no obvious wounds. But…

  “Hrr-rrr-ghh…gah…”

  “Sh-she’s so hot…!”

  Noble Fencer’s skin was hot to the touch, seemingly almost enough to burn.

  “What’s going on?” Goblin Slayer asked.

  “I—I don’t know. But this…”

  Remember. Think back. Priestess desperately searched her memory.

  There were no external injuries, and it wasn’t likely to be poison. Heat in the body. Almost as if a spell had been cast on her.

  A spell? No. This was no simple magic. And there were no totems h
ere. A paladin. A cleric.

  Divine punishment… A curse. A curse?

  “Oh…!”

  Priestess looked down at where Noble Fencer’s recently shortened hair revealed the nape of her neck. The cruel brand burned into the skin there, the eye of the green moon, was shining brightly, as if aflame.

  “It’s…!”

  “Haah… Hrrrgh… Arrgh…”

  Noble Fencer writhed, sinking her teeth into her own arm in hopes of suppressing her groans of pain. Priestess held on to the warrior’s burning body for dear life, looking up at Lizard Priest. He was Silver-ranked, the most experienced cleric there. Now he let out a hissing breath.

  “A curse from the evil gods! I must dispel it. No, we’ve no time…!”

  They had been careless. They had considered the brand to be nothing more than another example of the goblins’ vile cruelty.

  Now they understood: it was because of the curse that even a healing miracle had not been able to erase the scar.

  “O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, lay your revered hand upon this child’s wounds!”

  Even so, there was no time to dawdle. Priestess implored the Earth Mother to give them healing. The merciful goddess brushed the girl’s neck with her finger, pitting herself against the curse that resided there. But…

  “GORUB?!”

  “ORARARAGU?!”

  All at once, a hubbub began to spread among the goblins in the courtyard.

  The adventurers saw that the ceremony was proceeding apace; now the monsters were only waiting for their priest and his sacrifice.

  But he didn’t appear. He did not come.

  After a moment, the goblin paladin muttered, “ORG,” and sent a lackey scurrying off.

  He was no doubt headed for the basement prison. He would find the priest’s body, along with the freed prisoners—it was only a matter of time.

  “ORARARAGAGA!!” the goblins shouted, the collective noise growing in strength.

  The goblin paladin jumped up and howled out what seemed like a bizarre prayer. “IRAGARAU!”

  “Hrraaaaaaahhh!” Noble Fencer bellowed, no longer able to fight the pain.

  Then everything happened at once.

  Looking into the courtyard, Goblin Slayer grabbed his sword. The goblin paladin was looking right at him.

  Their eyes met. One gaze hidden by a steel helmet, the other a pair of golden pupils. And then—

  “ORAGARAGARAGARA!!!!”

  “Get down!”

  At the goblin paladin’s command, archers turned and let loose a volley of arrows with sickening agility. At the same moment, Goblin Slayer dove to the side, catching the two girls as he went.

  “Eek!”

  “…?!”

  Priestess exclaimed; Noble Fencer made no sound but was obviously startled. Goblin Slayer ignored them, raising his shield.

  Thop, thop, thop. A limp sound rang out as the arrows showered against it. Goblins are not strong creatures to begin with; when they had to fire upward, the fact was only magnified.

  Goblin Slayer picked up one of the arrows; he found the head was only loosely attached. And yet, the little monsters were trying to make the arrows work over a long distance.

  “A poor imitation.”

  A hollow sound of metal accompanied the continuing rain of arrows. Goblin Slayer grunted, throwing away the bolt in his hand as if it interested him not at all. Then he looked back at Priestess and Noble Fencer, keeping his shield up to protect them as he spoke.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, uh, y-yes. Thank you.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  “……”

  Noble Fencer said nothing, averting her eyes from where she lay under Goblin Slayer’s chest, but she nodded.

  “Good.”

  That was enough. He looked next at where their companions were located some distance away.

  “What about you?”

  “Fine, somehow!” High Elf Archer said.

  “In danger of getting crushed, though,” Dwarf Shaman said with a wave.

  Lizard Priest had spread-eagled himself and leaned back over the elf and the dwarf to cover them.

  “Well, now, this has become a fine thing, hasn’t it?” he said, narrowing his eyes happily despite the hail of arrows around him.

  To the lizardmen, such crises were considered trials, and trials were to be undertaken with joy.

  “We’ll split into two groups,” Goblin Slayer said.

  “Excellent idea,” Lizard Priest said quickly. “Three and three: a warrior, a spell caster, and a priestess. Then a priest, a ranger, and a spell caster. Yes?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Which shall be the bait?”

  “I’ll do it,” Goblin Slayer said. “A tank is most suited to that job.”

  “And my physical strength most appropriate for carrying the former prisoners out of the basement. Understood!”

  “Good.”

  Their quick, quiet conference over, the strategy was set. There was no one who could best Goblin Slayer at slaying goblins. Nor could any race outdo the lizards when it came to the arts of war.

  “Then let us put this plan into motion. Mistress ranger, master spell caster—will you be able to come with me?”

  “Yeah, sure,” High Elf Archer said. “But—gosh! Look at the form they use shooting those arrows! It just ticks me off!”

  “Save it,” Dwarf Shaman advised her. Then the three of them began to creep down the hallway, using Lizard Priest and his mighty scales as a shield.

  Goblin Slayer nodded. Now all he had to do was make himself noticeable.

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  “Oh—yes…!”

  “…!”

  But Noble Fencer stood silently, not moving. Or rather, she couldn’t move.

  The pain was part of it, the feeling that her neck was burning. She was curled up and sniffling quietly.

  But that wasn’t all of it. The fingernails of the fists she had closed so tightly had broken through her bandages, and now blood was flowing.

  “You… You mustn’t do that, okay?” Priestess approached, gently placing her hand over the fencer’s. The two willowy, delicate hands went together naturally, entwined with each other.

  Noble Fencer shook slightly.

  “………I…”

  The thinnest of voices escaped her.

  “…know… I……know that. I kn……ow.”

  She shook her head, waves rippling through her honey-colored hair, as if to drive something away.

  “But………” She couldn’t seem to get out more than that; the rest wouldn’t come. “…But…!”

  Then the dam broke, words and tears spilling out in equal measure.

  The regret. The regret. The pain. The sadness. Why had it all happened to her? It wasn’t…

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. All of them—impulsive. Laughing at her.

  Making fun. And yet… She was wretched. Unable to do anything. Pathetic.

  It was her fault again. Her fault that things…had ended like this.

  The sword. She had to get it back. She had to. Give it back. Give it back.

  I want to go home.

  Father… Mother…

  “I can’t… I can’t stand this anymore…!”

  “…”

  Goblin Slayer and Priestess were silent. The string of words made scant sense to them.

  Noble Fencer was sniffling and snuffling like a child coming down from a temper tantrum. Goblin Slayer listened carefully as she desperately strung words together. From inside his metal helmet, he looked intently at her tearful, snotty face.

  And then he thought:

  Out of all that the goblins steal, how much can really be gotten back?

  “Is that so?” he said then. “I understand.”

  “…Huh?”

  Noble Fencer looked up at him, uncomprehending. She looked at Priestess, beside her.

  “…Gosh,” Priestess s
aid. “You really are hopeless, aren’t you?” Sigh. She didn’t rise from where she crouched between Goblin Slayer and Noble Fencer.

  “—is what I cannot say.”

  Now it came out. Again. But he did understand, didn’t he?

  “Goblin Slayer, sir, I’ve told you, you can’t just answer everything with, ‘Is that so?’!”

  “Is that so?”

  “See? You did it again.”

  “………Is that so…?”

  Priestess’s smile was like a blooming flower; he pointedly averted his gaze.

  “I will get back your sword.” Then he stood up, his shield still at the ready. The storm of arrows continued to bounce off it. “And I will kill that goblin paladin. Along with the other goblins.”

  He drew the sword at his hip. It was a strange length. “I don’t mean one or two of them. I don’t mean an entire nest. I don’t mean even this entire fortress.”

  The grimy helmet. The cheap-looking armor. The adventurer who wore them.

  “I will slay all the goblins.”

  So do not cry.

  At these words from Goblin Slayer, Noble Fencer sniffed mightily, then gave a small nod.

  §

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

  That great light broke upon the goblins like the dawning of the sun.

  It was Holy Light, granted by Priestess’s soul-enervating prayer.

  At this distance, it wouldn’t be enough to blind the targets, but—

  “ORARAGA!”

  “GROAAB!!”

  —it was more than enough to get the goblins focused on one group of adventurers while another snuck into the fortress.

  The goblin paladin spat out an order, along with several dark flecks of spittle, and the goblins began to move. The arrows continued to come down, while a unit of goblins marched out of the courtyard. Presumably, the plan was to pin down the enemy with arrows while advancing their own troops. That much was clear enough.

  “While we have their sacrifice, however, they can’t afford to act too aggressively,” Goblin Slayer said, holding up his round shield to protect the young woman behind him from the incoming bolts.

  The arrows bounced off the shield and scattered on the ground nearby. He stepped on and destroyed them mercilessly.