Goblin Slayer, Vol. 5 Page 7

  “Hey—hey, you all right, Long-Ears?!”

  “Hrr—r—yeah. I’m—I’m fine. I’m sorry. I failed.”

  “I’ll tend to you right away,” Priestess said. “Is it poisoned?”

  “Here,” Lizard Priest’s gravelly voice said. “First, we must remove the arrow.”

  High Elf Archer’s face was pale, but she was trying to act brave; she kept her hands on the wound as she murmured, “Okay.”

  Normally, Goblin Slayer might have gone straight over to his comrade. But this was still enemy territory. They needed to be alert for any possible ambush.

  From what Goblin Slayer could see, the wound was not fatal—and anyway, there was something he wanted to check. He went over to the corpse of the last goblin archer he had killed and gave it a nonchalant kick.

  “Hrm.”

  The body rolled, exposing the shoulder. There, he saw a scar, from an arrow wound that had since healed. He remembered this goblin.

  “…Wha?!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  At that moment, Goblin Slayer heard voices of surprise coming from behind him and turned around. He strode over to where High Elf Archer was cowering. Priestess looked up at him from beside her.

  “G-Goblin Slayer, sir… Look at this.”

  With a shaking hand stained with High Elf Archer’s blood, she held up the shaft of an arrow. Yes—just the shaft, no arrowhead.

  It had been carved from a branch, crudely enough to suggest a goblin’s work; it even had some ugly little feathers stuck on the end. The head, however, had not been well secured. Or… Perhaps that had been done deliberately. Maybe the arrowhead was intended to break off and remain inside High Elf Archer’s body.

  He had been careless.

  No—the contemplation, and the remorse, would have to wait.

  Immediately, Goblin Slayer knelt by High Elf Archer’s side.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “I-I-I’m just fine, r-really… Orcbolg, you w-worry too much…”

  It looked like it hurt just to move. Blood was flowing from High Elf Archer’s leg, and she was groaning.

  “Keep pressure on the wound. It will help stem the blood. Although it isn’t much.”

  “R-right, I’ll… I’ll do that.” No doubt she was trying to sound strong, but her voice was much softer than usual.

  Goblin Slayer switched to asking Priestess questions.

  “Any kind of poison?”

  “For the moment, I don’t think so. But…” As she spoke, Priestess looked with concern at High Elf Archer’s injury. Even with the elf squeezing as hard as she could, blood was leaking out between her fingers. “With the arrowhead still lodged in there, there wouldn’t be any point in closing the wound up with a healing miracle…”

  A cleric’s miracles might come from the gods, but their effects were limited by physical reality. Using Minor Heal while a foreign object remained in the body was a difficult situation.

  Goblin Slayer glanced at Lizard Priest, but he shook his head, too.

  “Refresh is capable only of enhancing the body’s native healing abilities.”

  That made the conclusion simple. Dwarf Shaman reached into his pouch as he spoke. “Can’t just leave it there, can we? Beard-cutter, lend me a hand, will you?”

  “Sure.” He and the dwarf looked at each other and quickly got to work. Priestess, who had some idea of what they were going to do, looked rather distraught; High Elf Archer, who didn’t, merely seemed uneasy.

  Goblin Slayer drew a dagger—his own, not one he had stolen from a goblin—and checked the blade.

  “I’ll do it. Give me fire.”

  “Sure thing. Dancing flame, salamander’s fame. Grant us a share of the very same.” Dwarf Shaman removed a flint from among his catalysts, striking it as he spoke. A little ghost-flame sprung up in midair, shining on Goblin Slayer’s dagger.

  Goblin Slayer heated the blade carefully and then snuffed the flame out with a quick motion. Almost at the same time, he pulled a cloth from his own bag and tossed it at High Elf Archer.

  “Hold that in your mouth.”

  “Wh-what are you planning?”

  “I’m going to dig out the arrowhead.”

  High Elf Archer’s long ears stood straight up.

  “I—I don’t want you to do that! After we get home, we can—!”

  Still sitting on her behind, she scrambled backward. Dwarf Shaman let out a sigh.

  “No whining, now, Long-Ears. Beard-cutter has the right of it. You want that leg to rot and fall off?”

  From beside them, Lizard Priest spoke coolly and with the conviction of a rock falling from the sky. “There would certainly be no reattaching it then.”

  “Ooh… Ohhh…”

  “Come on, everyone, you’re scaring her.” Priestess, unable to sit by any longer, scolded the men of the party—but she made no effort to stop what they were doing.

  She herself had an arrow pulled out of her by force once. She knew the fear, and the pain—and just how much worse it could get if they left it alone.

  “…At least, try to do it in the least painful way possible.”

  “What else would I do?” Goblin Slayer was waiting for the red-hot blade to cool to the right temperature. A traveling doctor had taught him that doing this would get rid of any poison on the blade.

  “Show me the wound.”

  “Errgh… Ohh… You really won’t make it hurt, will you…?” Very slowly, her face completely bloodless, High Elf Archer moved her hand.

  Goblin Slayer didn’t respond but inspected the injury, from which blood was still dripping.

  “Wine.”

  “Right ’ere.” Dwarf Shaman took a mouthful of fire wine and spat it out, as if he were casting Stupor. Tears leaped to High Elf Archer’s eyes as the alcoholic spirits burned in the wound.

  “Hrr…rrgh…”

  “Bite down on the cloth. So you don’t bite your tongue.”

  “Just… Just asking again, but… You won’t make it hurt, will you…?”

  “I can’t promise anything,” Goblin Slayer said with a shake of his head. “But I’ll try.”

  High Elf Archer, appearing resigned, bit down on the cloth and squeezed her eyes shut. Priestess clasped her hand. And then Goblin Slayer plunged the dagger into the elf’s thigh, widening the wound, digging deeper.

  “Hrrrrrgh—Gah! Gaggghhh…!”

  High Elf Archer’s lithe body flopped like a fish that had washed up on the shore. Lizard Priest pressed down on her shoulders to hold her steady, and Priestess continued to hold her hand. Goblin Slayer didn’t pause in his work; his hand was cruel but sure.

  The removal of the arrowhead took only a matter of seconds, although High Elf Archer might have sworn that hours had passed.

  “Done.”

  “Hooo…hooo…” She let out long breaths of relief.

  Lizard Priest placed a scaled hand on High Elf Archer’s thigh and recited, “Gorgosaurus, beautiful though wounded, may I partake in the healing in your body!” He was granted a gift: Refresh. The power of the fearsome nagas made the archer’s wound better before their very eyes. Flesh joined itself, and skin built itself up, the wound seeming to boil away. A true miracle.

  “Can you move?” he asked.

  “Y-yeah,” High Elf Archer said unsteadily, tears still at the edges of her eyes. She moved her leg back and forth, checking that it worked. Her ears drooped pitifully. “H-human first aid is awfully violent. I can still feel it.”

  “A-are you okay?” Priestess asked, offering her shoulder to support High Elf Archer as she stood up.

  “I think so…”

  “Can you shoot your bow?” Goblin Slayer asked.

  “Of course I can,” the elf replied, perhaps a little more hotly than necessary.

  She wasn’t bragging, exactly. But even if she could still shoot, her mobility was impaired. At least for the remainder of the day.

  “We ought to make a tactical retreat—” Goblin Slayer
shook his head. “—but we can’t do that yet.”

  “I am not confident in the number of our spells and miracles remaining,” Lizard Priest announced calmly.

  Even so, the helmet turned slowly from side to side. “There are still more of them deeper in. We have to investigate.” Goblin Slayer checked his armor, helmet, shield, and weapon. Satisfied, he turned to his companions. “I can remain by myself if you prefer.”

  The wounded High Elf Archer was the first to respond. “Don’t try to be funny. We’re coming with you. Right?”

  “Indeed! We certainly are,” Priestess said with an energetic nod.

  “Mm,” Goblin Slayer grunted. Lizard Priest laughed and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I suppose that means all of us are going, then.”

  “Pfah! Long-Ears, never thinking of how tired the rest of us are,” Dwarf Shaman said with a smile and an exaggerated shrug.

  High Elf Archer fixed him with a glare. “Hey, Orcbolg’s the one who wants to—”

  And they were off and running.

  Goblin Slayer, ignoring the customary ruckus of their argument, took another look around the living area. Although outmatched, the goblins had shown no sign of trying to run away.

  So there was a goblin who had copied his little trick. One who had received first aid for his arrow wound. And one who commanded him.

  “I don’t like it,” he muttered.

  He didn’t like it at all.

  §

  “Hmph.”

  Goblin Slayer gave the rotted old door a kick, bringing it crashing down. At almost the same moment, the adventurers piled into the room, taking up positions, with Priestess in the center of their formation, holding a torch.

  “Hrm…”

  They had expected a warehouse or an armory or, perhaps, a toilet. But the room the light shone on was none of those.

  Much like the living area from earlier, this was another large room dug out of the earth. There were several mounds of dirt that might have passed for chairs. Farther into the room was an oblong stone that might have been brought from elsewhere.

  It was unmistakably an altar.

  This was a chapel—so was this cave a temple? If so, this altar would be where they offered their sacrifices…

  “Oh…!” Priestess was the first to notice, as was often the case. She rushed over. The memory of a trap they had encountered in the sewers flashed through her mind, but that was no reason to hesitate. She would be vigilant—but she would not refrain from helping.

  A woman lay atop the cold stone as if she had been simply tossed there; she wore not a scrap of clothing. Her exposed body was dirty, and the way her eyelids were squeezed shut spoke to her exhaustion. Her matted hair was a gold the color of honey.

  “She’s breathing…!” Priestess said happily, gently cradling the woman.

  Her ample chest rose and fell gently: the proof of life.

  “Quest accomplished, huh?” High Elf Archer muttered, obviously believing no such thing.

  There was never any sense of satisfaction or closure in slaying goblins. She pursed her lips and looked around the chapel. It was a primitive place of worship. To a high elf like her, it didn’t seem like it would be possible to sense the presence of the gods in a place like this.

  “…I wonder if a priest of the Evil Sect was here.”

  “Or perhaps these are vestiges of some ancient ruin,” Lizard Priest said, looking around. The elf could hear him scraping away at the dust as he examined the place. “Though I cannot quite imagine what god could be worshiped in such a vulgar place…”

  “Wait just a bloody moment,” Dwarf Shaman said, running his finger along the wall. “This earth is fresh. This was dug out recently.”

  “Goblins?” Goblin Slayer asked.

  “Probably,” Dwarf Shaman nodded.

  Were goblins fallen rheas? Or elves or dwarves? Or did they come from the green moon? No one knew. But as creatures that made their homes underground, they had estimable digging skills. No matter how remote the place, goblins could dig a hole and start living in it before anyone knew what was happening.

  They could pop out and surprise a group of adventurers as easily as they could eat breakfast. One didn’t have to be Goblin Slayer to know this. On her first adventure, Priestess had—

  “Um… Look here…!”

  At the distressed exclamation from Priestess, he looked once more at the captive adventurer. Priestess was holding up the woman’s hair, not afraid to get her own hands dirty. She was pointing to the nape of the woman’s neck.

  High Elf Archer couldn’t hold back a mutter of “That’s awful,” and it was hard to blame her. The unconscious woman’s neck bore a brand, which stood out painfully. The ugly red-and-black impression besmirched her otherwise beautiful skin.

  “Hrm…”

  Goblin Slayer picked up the metal brand, which lay on the floor nearby. It looked like a stray horseshoe or some such thing had been worked into a complicated shape.

  “Is that what they used?” Lizard Priest asked.

  “So it appears.”

  It seemed to be a sort of circle, in the middle of which was something that looked like an eye. Goblin Slayer took a torch and examined the brand carefully, fixing it in his memory. Was it the mark of a noble tribe or clan? There remained many mysteries about goblins.

  “However… It doesn’t appear to be a goblin totem.”

  Goblins had little notion of creating things themselves. They would simply steal what they needed; that was enough for them. This brand, though—even if it was constructed from a combination of found items—represented an act of creation.

  “I think it’s…the green moon,” a shaking voice said. It was Priestess, gently stroking the woman’s neck. “It’s the sign of a god. The deity of external knowledge…the God of Wisdom.”

  —Many gods gathered around this board, to watch over it. They included, of course, the God of Knowledge, who ruled over the knowing of things and found many faithful among scholars and officials. The light of the God of Knowledge was said to shine among all who ventured into the unknown, seeking the truth and the ways of the world.

  Yes: what the God of Knowledge granted was not knowledge itself but guideposts, a path leading to the truth. For adversity itself was an important kind of knowledge.

  The God of Wisdom, who was the deity of the knowledge of things outside, dealt with something subtly different. The God of Wisdom did not lead supplicants to knowledge but gave wisdom to all who asked. What this would do to the world, the board, was probably of no interest to the deity.

  Consider, for example, a young man who, confronted with the niggling unhappinesses of daily life, mutters, “Maybe the world will just end…” Normally, such words would be mere silliness, an innocent expression of dissatisfaction. But when the eye of the God of Wisdom falls upon such a person—what then?

  In an instant, some terrible way of ending the world enters the young man’s mind, and he begins to take action. More than a few believe in this god, thanks to unaccountable bursts of insight. But…

  “Geez. Now my head hurts almost as much as my leg,” High Elf Archer said, frowning as if she indeed had a headache. “I’ll keep watch. You guys go on.”

  “Hey,” Dwarf Shaman said with a touch of annoyance. “It’s all well and good you’re keeping guard, but you can at least listen to what we’re saying.”

  “Yeah, sure…” She didn’t sound very enthusiastic. She thumbed the string of her bow, an arrow held loosely at the ready. She kept shifting her legs restlessly; perhaps the pain was bothering her. Her ears flicked a little as she listened carefully.

  Goblin Slayer glanced in her direction but then looked once again at the brand.

  “The green moon, you said?”

  “Yes, sir. I learned just a little bit about it during my time at the Temple.” Priestess didn’t sound like she quite believed it herself. Her time as an apprentice seemed so far away already.

  “You
mean the one the goblins come from?” Goblin Slayer murmured, picking up the metal brand. “If so, then there’s no doubt that our enemies are goblins.”

  He spoke without a hint of hesitation. “One of those goblins showed signs of having been healed.”

  But who would go so far as to use a miracle to help a goblin?

  “An agent of chaos just overflowing with mercy and compassion?” Lizard Priest scoffed. “I doubt it.”

  “Then it must have been a goblin, right?” Priestess said. “But… How could they…?” She blinked, as if she didn’t want to believe it.

  The god who gave knowledge from outside was a mercurial one; it would not have been a great surprise if the deity had spoken to a goblin.

  It wouldn’t have been strange, yet a desperate doubt remained in Priestess’s heart. Even so, if the goblins were able to complete a ritual… That would be far worse than occasionally hearing the voice of God.

  “Are you sure it isn’t some high-ranked evil priest, a dark elf or something?” she asked.

  “What? I don’t think so,” a high, clear voice said in response to Priestess’s suggestion.

  Dwarf Shaman sighed again and stroked his beard with more than a little annoyance. “You can keep watch or you can chat. Pick one.”

  “You’re the one who told me to listen to you guys. If I’m listening, I have the right to contribute, don’t I?” High Elf Archer chuckled quietly.

  “Mm,” Lizard Priest said, nodding in agreement. “And mistress ranger. What would you like to contribute?”

  “I mean—” She spun her pointer finger in a circle. “If you’ve got a bunch of goblins, and you only use them to do some looting… That doesn’t make you much smarter than a goblin, does it?”

  “Well hell, Long-Ears, maybe a bunch of bandits found religion and thought they were supposed to worship the goblins!”

  “You’re just upset that you can’t believe in your own explanation anymore.”

  “Hrm, well.”

  “Heh.” Lizard Priest gave a sort of snort, crossed his arms, and then began counting off on his fingers. “It thinks like a goblin, controls goblins, heals goblins, attacks people, and is a follower of evil.”

  Priestess put a finger to her lips, thinking through the possibilities. “A goblin priest? A warrior-priest?”