Goblin Slayer

Ignoring the look on her face, Goblin Slayer spoke slowly and seriously, picking his words carefully: “I would like to replace them for you, but I don’t know much about such items.” He had to tread carefully here. “As far as picking them out—”

“Let’s do it together, by all means!” Guild Girl said, almost jumping out of her seat. Adventurers, quest givers, and employees nearby looked in her direction. She blushed furiously, sat back down, and cleared her throat gently, a process Inspector watched with a barely restrained grin. “…I’d like to ask you to look for the replacements with me. If you’d be so kind.”

“That was my intention, if it’s all right with you.”

“…Certainly.”

“I see.”

So my lessons have borne fruit.
Goblin Slayer nodded. There seemed to be no problem. He had improved. In the past, this had been an area of painful failure for him. He was very glad he had avoided simply giving Guild Girl money.

He let out a breath. There, that was a good start. Time to turn to the next order of business, then.

“However, first I must start with goblins.”

“Of course,” Guild Girl said with a smile. “Yes, I understand completely.”

Looking in almost impossibly good spirits, she went into the back room for a moment, nearly dancing as she returned with a sheaf of papers in her hands. Her steps were light, her movements quick and agile. Goblin Slayer thanked her and took the papers.

There was a quest from a remote pioneer village—the usual fare. An emaciated goblin had appeared, and they had chased it off, but they were worried and wanted someone to investigate or hunt the creature down.

The festival and its attendant pleasures notwithstanding, winter was still coming, and it was only natural people would worry about their provisions being stolen. He couldn’t be sure he’d managed to kill all the goblins underground, either. Some may have escaped, and he couldn’t let them live.

Then again, even if this monster wasn’t a survivor of his battle, goblins still had to be killed. And he was the one who killed them—it was his role.

Festivals were well and good, but when they were over, one returned to ordinary daily life. That was the way of the world. Nothing to be upset about. To him, festival days and ordinary days both meant just one thing: killing goblins. Goblins hated days when people were enjoying themselves most of all.

First, I’ll have to restock the items in my bag.

When his old friend had seen his torn item bag, she’d exclaimed,
“Just leave it to me!”
full of confidence, and had set about mending it. He was sure he could trust her to do the job well. And he would be careful not to make the mistake of letting it get torn again.

If there was one thing that concerned him, it was whether he’d be able to buy another of those Southern-style throwing knives right away. He also wondered if he should talk to his friends (his thoughts caught on that word for a second). If he should invite them to go goblin hunting again…

“I know what that is,” a voice said unexpectedly from somewhere above him. “A goblin-hunting quest, right?” The voice was beautiful as a ringing bell. It was the high elf, all but dangling from the second-floor railing. On her face (quite upside down) was a smile, and her long ears were twitching. “Geez, Orcbolg, that’s all it ever is with you.”

“I see.”

He suspected she was right. He couldn’t deny it.

High Elf Archer laughed out loud, seemingly amused by the slow nod of the helmeted head. “Gosh. You really are hopeless, to borrow a phrase.” She whispered, so softly it almost seemed only her lips formed the words: “
If I didn’t invite you on other quests, you’d never do anything else.
”

Then one of her fingers, so pale and beautiful it almost seemed otherworldly, was pointed directly at him. “We’re going on an adventure—a real adventure! The minute that goblin hunt is over!”

“Yes,” he replied, thoroughly uncertain whether he was saying the right thing. “Let’s go on an adventure.”