Goblin Slayer, Vol. 3 Page 4

  She wasn’t sure she ought to give voice to her thought now, but it was only words, right?

  “I just… I was hoping to see the festival with you, too. That’s all.”

  “Were you?”

  “Yeah.”

  She nodded, then they fell silent again.

  Before they knew it, the flagstones had given way to a dirt road, and they walked out through the great main gate.

  In the spring, this hill filled with daisies. It was where the adventurers had done battle with the goblins. Now, with winter approaching, all that remained was the grazing grass and their own crunching footsteps.

  When he listened closely, he could hear the faint liii, liii of some insect, and his old friend’s breathing beside him.

  It had grown colder, but not so much that their breath fogged.

  “…Hey.”

  “What?”

  “What time’s your date?”

  “Noon.”

  The farm’s twinkling lights were appearing in the distance.

  Goblin Slayer kept his eyes—his helmet, rather—forward as he answered quietly.

  “Oh,” Cow Girl whispered, drawing her trembling hand to her chest. “Then… Could I ask for your morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wha?”

  She had been about to retract such a forward request, and now all she could do was stare.

  The grimy helmet blended with the darkness so well she could barely tell where the steel ended and the night began.

  Just like how she couldn’t quite tell whether he was being truthful.

  He was easy enough to understand, but—wasn’t she projecting her own desires onto his words?

  Cow Girl gulped. She wished her voice wouldn’t shake.

  “R-really?”

  “Why should I lie?”

  There was no hitch in his voice.

  Of course he wasn’t the kind of man to tell such a foolish lie. She knew that.

  “But it’s… You’re sure…?”

  “That is not the question.” He dismissed her anxious inquiry easily. “You asked me to.”

  “Oh… Then…if you’re okay with it?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Hooray!”

  Cow Girl could hardly be blamed for her excited whoop after his matter-of-fact response.

  She jumped in the air, her generous chest bouncing, and spun around in front of him.

  “All right, it’s a date! The morning of the festival.”

  “Yes.” Overwhelmed, Goblin Slayer cocked his head in puzzlement. “Does it make you that happy?”

  “What a question!”

  Cow Girl reminded him of what he should have already known with a huge smile.

  “It’s been almost ten years since I went to a festival with you!”

  “Has it?”

  “Sure has.”

  “…I see.” Goblin Slayer shook his head with the utmost seriousness. “I didn’t realize.”

  They could just barely catch the scent of boiling cream. Cow Girl had left the dairy cooking when she thought it was about ready, going to meet him under the pretext of an errand.

  Now the house was right in front of them.

  Oh, heavens.

  It’s wonderful to see you sleeping well and showing a healthy glow of late.

  But I do wish you’d act a little more grown-up.

  Your bedding is all messed up…

  How old are you? It’s unbecoming.

  Oh, don’t pout.

  You are hopeless…!

  Isn’t revered archbishop a very important position?

  You can’t just drop by a festival anytime you like.

  And there’s so much to do—cleaning up after the incident with the Evil Sect, solving those riddles…

  What in the world were those explosions near town recently? Two of them, no less!

  All that noise, how distracting… What is this world coming to?

  This is why we so dearly need the power of the Supreme God. Act grown-up, for our sakes.

  All right, wash your face, comb your hair, put your makeup on. Make yourself presentable.

  Some very important guests are coming today, and we must look our best.

  That man whose help you requested recently was certainly devoted to his work, wasn’t he?

  It’s so important to be dedicated to our duties…

  …Ah, there’s that grown-up look.

  Hee-hee. Ahh, yes, this is good.

  If you have something on your mind, perhaps you could send a letter. I’ll gladly pen one down for you.

  Here, fragrant traditional paper and brand-new ink.

  Yes, yes, that’s the spirit. A little fun makes us all the more ready to work.

  Now, our guests today are… Well, there are three of them.

  You know the ritual taking place during the festival?

  It seems they hope you’ll write them a recommendation letter to view the ritual of the Earth Mother.

  …Oh, no! I said, don’t pout! You’ll ruin your makeup…

  Gracious me! And to think, this is the famous Sword Maiden!

  Goblin Slayer’s day started early.

  He woke before daybreak, donned his equipment, and patrolled the farm.

  The predawn hours made for good night vision practice.

  Particularly once summer was over and fall had begun, the mornings became dark and cold. A time well suited to him—and to goblins.

  In those chilly minutes before the horizon became visible in the distance, he devoted himself to training and vigilance.

  Eyes on the ground ahead, weapon in hand, he took one careful step at a time.

  If a goblin appeared at that very moment, he would have calmly and quietly dealt with it.

  That was how thorough he was—how thorough he wanted to be.

  “Morning! It’s a little nippy today, huh?”

  Once the sun came up, his old friend rose to the crowing of roosters.

  She complained about the temperature, largely because she wore nothing but her underwear and a bedsheet.

  She leaned out the window, happily exposing her ample bosom. It was no wonder she was freezing.

  “You’ll catch a cold.” Goblin Slayer hardly looked at her, dispassionately sheathing his naked sword.

  “Aw, I’m used to it. I’ll be fine. Breakfast will be ready in a few, okay?”

  “No…” He cocked his head as if listening for something, seemingly thinking to himself. Finally, he slowly shook his head. “There’s something I have to do first.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Please, go ahead and eat. And…” He considered for a moment, but when he spoke, it was in the same tone as always. “I will probably be late tonight.”

  “…Sure. Okay.” Cow Girl pursed her lips with a touch of disappointment, but soon she was smiling again. “Be sure to put away your utensils when you’re done eating.”

  “I will.”

  With a wave, she disappeared from the window. He turned away from her, his gaze settling on the barn.

  Well, really just the unused storehouse he happened to be renting.

  He opened the door with a creak and went in.

  The floor was cluttered with unidentifiable equipment and items. He shoved things to one side or the other to make space.

  He sat down in the open area he had haphazardly created, removed the sword from his hip, and took out a whetstone.

  In the thin light, Goblin Slayer could see that the blade was starting to warp, chipped and rusting.

  It was often said that a single sword could not cut down more than five people before it dulled with blood and fat. It was true.

  But how many times did a world-class chef, standing in the kitchen all day, whet his knife?

  For an outstanding swordsman, to kill a hundred people was essentially the same thing. For what was a sword, really, but a knife for cutting meat?

  In the heat of battle, it was a different story. Doubly so f
or crude swords stolen from goblins.

  To him, weapons and armor were consumables. They could be taken from the enemy if need be.

  “…”

  But that was no reason to neglect the care of one’s equipment.

  Goblin Slayer started polishing his sword.

  He scoured off the rust, beat the blade straight again, and used the whetstone to grind flat the chipped places.

  In general, people believed that a sword that could bend without breaking was a good piece.

  But the only thing good about this weapon was the skill of the Guild manufacturer who made it. It was clearly a simple work of mass production, not some famous blade. The way it was, he could throw it away without hesitation.

  “Next.”

  He put the sword back in its scabbard and moved on to the next piece of equipment.

  For better or for worse, he had entirely replaced his shield, armor, and helmet during the events in the water town. He didn’t particularly mean to use them forever, but he was grateful for them, all the same.

  As a result, all they needed was a gentle polish and a quick inspection. His boots demanded considerably more attention, though.

  They, too, were nothing special, the kind that could be found anywhere. That being said, they were important for walking and running through caves and across plains, kicking and crushing enemies. He could hardly stand being mired in normal tracts of mud, let alone a Snare trap.

  He checked the treads of the boots, scraping off any encrusted earth and polishing them.

  He checked the laces, and if they were fraying, he replaced them with new ones.

  This alone reduced the chance of taking an unfortunate stumble—and that was reason enough to do it.

  Next were his socks. Their importance could not be underestimated. They were crucial for preventing blisters and foot problems on long treks over bad terrain or through swamps.

  His master had had little use for footwear, but that was because his master had been a rhea. The small-statured race normally went barefoot, which was to say that their own limbs were the best “shoes.”

  If you could go anywhere without making a sound, without ever slipping, you had nothing to fear. Goblin Slayer had always thought this was a skill worth learning.

  “Now.”

  Having given his equipment a once-over, he stood slowly.

  A helmet with dark crimson stains seemed to have fallen from a shelf.

  It was a piece of old equipment. Goblin Slayer picked it up and put it back in its place.

  Now his store of items was nicely arranged. It was time to get some farm equipment, too.

  Letting the whetstone lie where it was, he was about to leave the shed when he saw a figure in the doorway.

  “…You’re a hard worker.”

  “…Yes, sir.”

  He caught the barest wisp of tobacco smoke in the crisp morning air.

  The farm’s owner was leaning against the wall, puffing on his pipe.

  He wore a somber expression, and Goblin Slayer bowed his helmet ever so slightly.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “Morning,” the owner said with the bluntness of a club. “I hear you promised to go to the festival with my girl.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “…As her adoptive father, I’m not sure if I should be angry about that.”

  He spoke with a sour look. Their eyes met. But then he smiled.

  Goblin Slayer had entirely forgotten what the man’s smile looked like, he realized.

  The owner scrunched up his face, lowered his head, and scratched at his thinning hair.

  “Not to butt into your business, but…,” he murmured to no one in particular. “I know you don’t mean to lead her on. But, well…don’t lead her on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve heard you’ve got a fair number of women around you… I know, I know. You’re not the type to be too affected by that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She probably knows that, too… But spare a thought for her feelings once in a while.”

  “…Yes, sir.”

  The owner observed Goblin Slayer’s firm nod, and that unreadable expression returned to his face.

  “As long as you understand. Or…” He cut himself off and cast a dubious glance at the helmet. “Do you understand?”

  “I believe I do,” Goblin Slayer answered. “Though I’m not confident.”

  At that, the owner rubbed the bridge of his nose with a finger.

  “…What do you plan to do, after this?”

  “After I finish maintenance on the farm equipment, I thought I might go to town to do some shopping.”

  “Will you, now…?”

  The owner chewed gracelessly on the end of his pipe and closed his eyes. He seemed unsure what to say next.

  When he finally spoke, it was in a strained voice.

  “…At least wait until after breakfast.”

  “…”

  “That girl made it for you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ve got a day off for once. Take it easy.”

  “Yes, sir. However…” He stopped for a moment, almost lost. “Time off is something I don’t understand very well.”

  Goblin Slayer did not forget to clean up after breakfast.

  §

  It was underwear.

  Or more accurately, it was armor that strongly resembled underwear.

  The set included a chest covering, gloves, and a little something for the lower body. Categorically speaking, it might be called light armor.

  In terms of mobility, it easily outperformed a full set of plate mail.

  The armor itself was beautifully curved, elaborate, and solid.

  The problem was it just didn’t cover enough surface area.

  It was just chest armor—really, breast armor—and panties.

  There were shoulder pads, true, but that wasn’t really the issue. One good hit to the abdomen and an adventurer’s innards would be sunning themselves. It provided no defense against a stab to the back, either, a wound that could easily be critical.

  Well, in that case, at least the armor provided easy access for the administration of first aid. Or maybe it was supposed to help its wearer focus on not getting hit.

  But at the end of the day, was anyone really prepared to wear nothing but this over their bare skin?

  Surely it needed a supplement—a chain-mail shirt, some kind of under-armor? It might at least stop a fist.

  “No, no, no, that’d never work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Covering yourself up would hide exactly what makes a woman attrac—”

  Female Knight stopped and cast a sideways glance at the grimy warrior standing next to her.

  “Ugh. Goblin Slayer?!”

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  They were in the equipment shop at the Adventurers Guild.

  There were piles of items all around. In the workshop near the back, the master and his apprentice pounded away with their hammers.

  Goblin Slayer frequently came to order new items, but this was the first time he had seen Female Knight there. Partly, this was because a knight’s equipment—from their beloved plate armor to their swords and shields—did not need replacing often.

  How could someone like her, who needed serious protection to survive her role in the vanguard, even consider armor like this?

  “Are you planning to switch to light armor?”

  “Huh? Me? Oh, no, I just…” Her usual firm manner vanished as she trailed off and stared at Goblin Slayer out of the corner of her eye. “Frankly, seeing you makes me want to give up wearing leather armor.”

  “Does it?”

  Goblin Slayer cocked his head. He was the very picture of scruffy.

  Chain mail and dingy leather armor, topped by a cheap-looking helmet that hid his face.

  Of course, the toughness of wax-treated leather armor was not to be sneered at. It was certainly lighter th
an metal armor, but if well made, it allowed the wearer to remain agile. Helmets were out of favor with young and up-and-coming adventurers, but they did protect against a sneak attack to the head. In combination with the chain-mail undershirt, it was perfect for fighting goblins in tight, dark spaces.

  “Couldn’t you, you know—” Female Knight observed him from top to bottom, trying to find the right words. “—polish it a little?”

  Maybe just take those mysterious crimson stains off it.

  “This is deliberate.” Goblin Slayer spoke with the same dispassion as always, yet there was a hint of self-satisfaction at his own knowledge. “It keeps goblins from noticing my scent.”

  “…At least keep your body clean.”

  “Yes.” Goblin Slayer nodded, grave. “Or people will get angry at me.”

  Female Knight presumed he was being serious. She raised her eyes to the ceiling as though praying to the gods.

  She wasn’t looking for an oracle or handout, of course. It was just something she did in the heat of the moment.

  I think I’ll quit asking questions while I’m ahead.

  “…So. What are you buying today?”

  “Stakes, and two coils of rope. I also need wire and wood. I must replace my shovel, as well.”

  “………” Female Knight gave an involuntary groan. “Come again?”

  “Stakes, and two coils of rope. I also need wire and wood. I must replace my shovel, as well.”

  “What kind of adventure do you need all of that for?”

  “It’s not for an adventure.” Goblin Slayer shook his head. “It’s for slaying goblins.”

  Female Knight heaved a sigh. Of course.

  But Goblin Slayer was oblivious to her reaction, instead studying the armor with great interest.

  It looked to him like a two-piece set of underwear, something he would hesitate to call armor.

  “What is this? Piecemeal armor?”

  “In a sense, I guess,” Female Knight said, but Goblin Slayer didn’t really understand what she meant. To all appearances, it was considerably more than “piecemeal armor,” but considerably less than “armor.” No one in their right mind would wear this on any adventure where they might run into monsters.

  Well, maybe certain talented fighters could pull it off. Or perhaps someone in the rear lines—a wizard or thief, or even a monk.

  Having come to this conclusion, Goblin Slayer shook his head gently.