Goblin Slayer, Vol. 5 Page 16

  “It feels good to be the one with the hostage for once.”

  Goblin Slayer glanced back at Priestess and Noble Fencer, then turned to securing a path.

  “Here we go. Keep low.”

  “Oh—yes, sir! Should I use Protection…?”

  “No,” Goblin Slayer said. “Save it.”

  Priestess had only one miracle left. And it never paid to misjudge when one should use one’s spells or miracles.

  Priestess nodded obediently, but her smile was somehow mischievous. “All right,” she said, then, after a beat: “But if it gets dangerous, I’m using it.”

  “I’ll trust your judgment.”

  The words set her heart dancing: He trusts my judgment!

  It made her so happy to hear that one word, trust, from Goblin Slayer.

  “Yes, sir!” she said earnestly. Goblin Slayer nodded at her, then looked at Noble Fencer.

  “Can you run?”

  “………Probably.” It was the honest answer. The girl was rubbing at the reddened corners of her eyes. All the emotions she had been holding back had come bursting out, and maybe she was feeling differently now. Her expression was still transparently frozen, but now the glass beads of her eyes had a light in them.

  “All right.” Goblin Slayer pulled a torch out of his bag, struck a flint, and lit it. He thrust it at Noble Fencer. She took it in a firm grip, blinking at the bright flame.

  “You’re our rear guard. Keep us safe.”

  “……Okay.” She nodded with a serious expression. Something soft embraced her left hand. She looked up in surprise, to see—

  “It’s going to be fine.”

  —Priestess, smiling like an open flower in front of her.

  “We’ve come this far. Do you think we’re going to let ourselves be defeated now?”

  “…Mm.”

  Noble Fencer squeezed Priestess’s hand. Then they set off running, and the battle began.

  Whether or not the enemy realized it, the arrowheads on all the goblins’ arrows were loose. Nor were the tips covered in poison. Maybe this was an effect of the earlier battle, or perhaps they just held a grudge. But in Goblin Slayer’s opinion, they were simply trying to ape him, and doing a poor job of it.

  The device of the loose arrowheads caused the arrows to shake, lowering their accuracy. What were the goblins thinking, trying to fire such bolts from a distance? Long-range shooting was already difficult for goblins, weak as they were. Now they were using missiles whose tips would break off when they hit anything. An unprepared amateur might be vulnerable to such tactics, but the arrows would hardly even damage anyone with halfway decent armor.

  Still, it was convenient for him. The goal of his group was to buy time. To be the bait. They were supporting their allies. Every goblin they could get to pay attention to them was one step closer to victory.

  That, of course, was assuming that Lizard Priest and the others could pull off their part of the plan.

  “This is going to get harder and harder to handle alone.”

  “Goblin Slayer, sir! They’re coming! Six—no, seven!”

  Priestess sounded a warning as if to confirm the mutter that escaped him.

  Ahead of them: a group of goblins was running along the fortress walls toward them, golden eyes glittering in the dark. They held clubs and spears and axes with which to beat the adventurers, trample them, tear them apart, violate them.

  “Hmph.”

  What Goblin Slayer did was simple.

  He drew his sword as he ran, then flung it.

  “GAROAB?!”

  One goblin suddenly found himself with a sword through his neck; he clutched his throat as if drowning as he tumbled from the battlements, disappearing into the blackness.

  The remaining goblins were not, of course, especially intimidated by this.

  Look. That stupid adventurer just threw away his weapon. Attack! Kill! Tear them to pieces!

  But that was their mistake.

  “First, one. Next, two.”

  “GARARA?!”

  The shield in his left hand came up, shattering the skull of the goblin in front. The shield’s honed edge was a weapon in itself, and it did its job brilliantly.

  Warding off the gruesome spray of his enemy’s blood, Goblin Slayer picked up the creature’s stone ax.

  “Three!”

  So long as goblins attacked him, Goblin Slayer would not be without a weapon.

  The merciless stone ax came flying at the heads of the third and fourth creatures, splitting them open just like their companion earlier.

  “ORAG?!”

  A fourth. A fifth. A sixth. Trading one weapon for another and then another, he slaughtered goblins with each breath.

  The goblins were unable to use their numbers to their advantage on the narrow battlements, something the little monsters had yet to understand.

  The adventurers pushed ahead against the goblins, who crashed against them like a hideous tide.

  Of course, Goblin Slayer didn’t deal with them all single-handedly.

  “GRARAB!”

  One creature used its small size to dodge to one side, making for the women.

  “Take this!”

  “GARO?!”

  But Priestess rebuffed him firmly with a swing of her sounding staff. The damage it did was minimal, but it was more than enough to stun him.

  “Why, youuu!”

  “ORARAG?!”

  And a stunned goblin was easy prey for Noble Fencer. She swung the torch like a burning club and sent the creature tumbling from the walls.

  Her shoulders heaved, but her eyes were looking into the darkness.

  “They’re coming from behind, too!”

  “How many?”

  “…I’m not sure.” She bit her lip. “But it’s a lot!”

  “All right.”

  Goblin Slayer casually withdrew a bottle from his bag and launched it behind him. It flew over Priestess’s and Noble Fencer’s heads with the sound of a passing breeze, landing directly in front of the oncoming goblins.

  There was a clatter as the ceramic jar broke; the viscous liquid inside went everywhere. Noble Fencer had probably never seen or heard of this liquid, but Priestess remembered it.

  It had many names: Medea’s Oil, petroleum…and gasoline.

  “GARARARA?!”

  “ORAG?!”

  There were other ways to kill an enemy besides personally cutting them down. The goblins slipped and slid on the slick stuff, falling from the ramparts. With all the creatures shoved together on the top of the wall, this was only to be expected.

  Still, goblins would be goblins. They trampled over their fallen comrades and got past the gasoline, throwing themselves at the adventurers even if their numbers had been somewhat reduced.

  “GRARAM!”

  “…Hi-yaah!”

  Noble Fencer swung at them energetically. The torch looked like a great red brush, showering sparks as she painted the night with it.

  One goblin took a blow and fell off the wall. The second came leaping at her. She met it with a strike from the torch. The third was already upon her, threatening to sneak past to one side.

  “Leave him to me…!”

  It was Priestess. Noble Fencer had no time to answer as she dealt with the fourth goblin, whom she beat repeatedly until he stopped moving.

  Yes, but now the fifth, and the sixth were—

  I can’t keep up…!

  Her arm as she wielded the torch grew heavy, her movement slow; her breath became strained and her vision clouded.

  She could hear the sound of her own breathing, her own blood pulsing. There was a ringing in her ears, making it hard to hear.

  Noble Fencer glanced over her shoulder, seeking help. But Priestess was whipping her sounding staff around as fast as she could, trying to drive back the mass of oncoming creatures.

  “Curse you…!” she was saying. “There’s…always so many of them…!”

  Goblin Slayer was just
beyond her, and it would be no use hoping for help from him.

  Noble Fencer could feel rancid goblin breath on her pale cheek; they were getting very close.

  “Oh…”

  The humiliation and hopelessness she had experienced on the snowy mountain returned vividly to her memory. The awful reek of the goblins. The implacable hands. The unrelenting violence and cruel greed. The simpleminded grins.

  The thought made her body go stiff, her throat constricting with terror. Strength came into her hands.

  But in her left hand was an unmistakable warmth; in her right, an unremitting light burned.

  A scene flashed before her eyes, of Goblin Slayer in the basement prison, fighting his fight.

  “…Ah…ahhhh!”

  There was an instant where her body moved faster than thought, flinging the torch at the goblins.

  “GAROARAARA?!”

  Unfortunately—or perhaps somewhat fortunately?—her target was one of the goblins who had already crossed the gasoline. Flame billowed across his skin instantaneously, and he fell off the battlements still writhing in agony.

  “GROOOB!! GRAAB!!”

  Always, however, goblins trust to their numbers. Another simply surged forward and filled the gap.

  “Hrrraah…!”

  Noble Fencer brought her fist around in a backhand. In her hand she had concealed the aluminum dagger, with which she stabbed the creature.

  “GAROARAO?!”

  “D-damn you…!”

  The dagger buried under the monster’s clavicle was enough to end his life; she kicked the corpse away, pulled out her blade, and looked up again.

  Suddenly, she found the tide had broken. This was the pause, the few precious seconds before the next wave rolled in. Noble Fencer inhaled deeply, steadying her breathing.

  She was sure she could never have done this a few minutes ago. Spurred on by anger, weapon in hand, throwing herself at the horde of goblins without a thought for either the past or the future. And…

  “Huff…puff…huff…”

  But then there was Priestess. Even as she gulped air, she refused to let go of Noble Fencer’s hand. Her fingers were slim and pretty, and yet—and yet, warm.

  “……”

  Noble Fencer regarded the hand silently. The urge to wade in among the goblins was not enough to make her extricate herself from Priestess’s grip. After all, Goblin Slayer, who had rescued Noble Fencer, had entrusted her to Priestess.

  “Thirteen… Well done.”

  The man himself spoke without so much as a glance in her direction and tossed her a new torch. She just managed to catch it, using the moment’s peace between onslaughts of goblins to light the thing and get a good grip on it.

  She looked briefly at Priestess’s face; sweat was running down her forehead and her features were stiff with nervousness, but still she gave Noble Fencer a smile. Noble Fencer reflected that she probably looked much the same herself.

  She knew that, for better and for worse, people could change dramatically in the space of a single moment.

  §

  “How’s it looking up top?”

  High Elf Archer casually shot another goblin, then glanced back at her friends.

  There were goblins inside the fortress. Not as many as on the walls, but enough to make combat unavoidable. The sounds of fighting reaching the elf’s ears intensified, but she took comfort in the fact that she didn’t hear any human screams.

  “Ah-ha! You’re worried about Beard-cutter, aren’t you, Long-Ears?”

  Dwarf Shaman chuckled, pulling out a wineskin and taking a swig. With his lips wetted, he wiped a few drops away and smirked at his companion. “Wish you were up there yourself, do you?”

  “Not especially. I’m not worried about Orcbolg at all.” She sniffed as if the subject bored her, then drew another arrow from her quiver. “It’s the other two I’m concerned about.”

  “Concerned the new girl is going to take him from you is what you are! Awfully childish.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about!” Her ears stood up straight and she glared at the dwarf. Perhaps she realized she had come on a little strong, because her next words were much more gentle, almost shy. “…They’re my friends. Is it wrong to worry about them?”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

  “Huh?” High Elf Archer blinked, taken aback to hear the dwarf agree with her so readily.

  “You’re an elf. A big, important friend!”

  So he was just teasing her after all. But then, he was praising her, too, or so it seemed. She wanted to get angry but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. And yet, she couldn’t just roll over and take this, either. She settled for a growl and a glare in the dwarf’s direction, but he ignored her and took another mouthful of wine.

  “Ha-ha-ha! Now, if milord Goblin Slayer were here, there would be no need to argue.” Lizard Priest watched the two of them with a jolly expression, his tongue slipping out of his mouth with a hiss.

  He was actually the youngest among the three of them, but he never tired of watching the elf, who acted so much younger than she was.

  “Now, then. It will avail us nothing to chat and chatter here. How much farther?”

  “Not far to the room we’re looking for,” Dwarf Shaman said, wiping his beard with a gauntleted hand. He put the cap back on the wineskin and tapped on the wall. “Frankly, it’s going to be a bigger job getting back to the prison once we’re done there.”

  “Oh,” said High Elf Archer, sensing an opening, “I thought dwarves were as brave as they were fat. Not so?”

  “Watch it.” Dwarf Shaman’s movements were somber, his shake of his head serious. “I look as good as I do because I’m so brave. Unlike you. I can hear your knees knocking from here!”

  “Why, you…! Dwarf! Wine barrel!”

  “What’s that, anvil?”

  “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

  Now, of course, the three of them might be bantering, but they weren’t standing around wasting time. Fewer enemies for them meant more were assaulting their friends. They had no time, and half their usual fighting strength. A single wrong move born of panic could render everything for naught.

  The fact they could be so alert and yet make no mistake was testament to who they were. It was why they had no time for unnecessary anxiety. Yes, sometimes it was possible to succeed despite nervousness. But it was crucial to keep chatting, stay relaxed, do the job as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.

  In fact, not a single goblin they’d encountered had escaped. Between High Elf Archer’s arrows and Lizard Priest’s claws and fangs and tail, none of their enemies were breathing any longer. On top of that, Dwarf Shaman’s guidance was true; he found them the shortest, quickest routes.

  “This’ll be it.” They had arrived at another great, thick dwarven door. Dwarf Shaman was sniffing the air as if checking something, then he nodded and turned back to High Elf Archer. “All right, switch off.”

  “Yeah, sure. Let me at it.” She tapped him on the shoulder and switched places, then pressed herself up against the door. She took out her needle-branch and quickly checked the keyhole, searched for traps, and set about the business of picking the lock.

  As she did so, Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest busied themselves keeping an eye out for enemies. Each of them was holding his favorite weapon—a Swordclaw for one, a sling for the other—and scanning the area vigilantly.

  There was no sign of goblins yet. They could be grateful for the way the dice were falling.

  “Hey,” High Elf Archer said with a twitch of her ears. She was working her needle industriously, finally producing a click from the lock. “Are you sure this is gonna work? Not that I’m doubting you, but it’s already failed once…”

  “Got to admit, I’ve been worried about the same thing. What do you say, Scaly?”

  “One failure does not mean the plan has no merit.” Lizard Priest stepped forward as High Elf Archer slid nimbly back from the door. Anyo
ne would be pleased to have such a stalwart companion as Lizard Priest among them, especially when assaulting a fortress full of goblins.

  “It has always been the way of those attacking castles to flood the place, but there is another possibility.” He kicked the door in and looked around, then opened his jaws and smiled like a naga. A nearby barrel was filled to the brim with something—chunks of what appeared to be smashed-together ants.

  “And that is to starve the enemy.”

  §

  Fwoosh. It was at that moment that a gout of flame went up from one corner of the ruined castle.

  “ORARAGA?!”

  “GROAB!!”

  Even the cruel goblins, loyal chiefly to their own greed, were surprised at this, making sounds of confusion.

  The deathmatch with the second wave was over; they were on to the third wave now. Around them, fifteen or sixteen goblins stopped cold as they saw their provisions go up in flames.

  “Good.”

  Goblin Slayer was not one to waste such an opportunity. He was already diving out of the way along the castle wall, barking orders. “The torch—throw it forward! Now!”

  Noble Fencer gripped the torch that was her weapon, looking at the ground for just an instant. And then, this time decisively rather than reactively, she flung the little handheld flame.

  By now, even she knew what she was aiming at. The torch fell in an arc, and tongues of flame began licking up along the path. The gasoline Goblin Slayer had thrown down earlier became a wall of flame, blocking the goblins entirely.

  “GROAA?!”

  One unfortunate creature caught in the blast was turned into a living torch; he thrashed on the ground for a moment before lying still.

  Confronted with his terrible death, the goblins were not about to try to jump through the flames, however angry they might be. Some stories tell of courage that fears not even death—but this is the furthest thing from the mind of goblins.

  “Twenty-nine. It’s about time.” Goblin Slayer threw away his brain-smeared club and took the sword from the goblin corpse at his feet. He gripped it, tried a few moves, then nodded. “We withdraw. Get ready to—”

  “Goblin Slayer, sir!” Priestess shouted a warning. Without it, his adventure would likely have ended there. He whipped the sword back instinctively, and it went flying out of his hands in a shower of sparks. A white line traced itself across his sternum, between his helmet and his armor.