Goblin Slayer, Vol. 14

“GOBGOB!”

“GRG! GOBG!!”

The horde of goblins came on, armed with a motley assortment of weapons. The bridge began to shake violently; even with its redoubtable metal construction, it wasn’t built to be a battlefield.

The monsters’ footsteps rumbled, the bridge groaned, and the adventurers’ shields and claws added to the cacophony.

“GRROGOB?!”

“GROB?!”

“Feh!” Goblin Slayer clucked his tongue, confronted by one goblin torn clean in two by claws and another with its throat crushed. Maybe he’d been a little too enthusiastic with his rusted sword, for the blade gave up the ghost, cracking under the assault. An ugly hit.

I didn’t think I was that attached to it.

Without hesitation, he flicked the hilt, the sword rotating to an ice-pick grip, and slammed the shortened blade directly down.

“GGOBGRGG?!”

Even a broken sword could take a life when driven with sufficient force.

Goblin Slayer left the weapon lodged in the monster’s throat, crushed the monster’s fingers with his foot, and took his club instead.

“Shaaa!”

“GOROOGBB?!”

It was Lizard Priest’s whirling tail that protected him at that moment, flying overhead. The mass of muscle and bone became a fearsome whip, slamming a goblin in the sternum so hard, it burst the monster’s internal organs and sent him flying backward.

“GOBOBRG?!”

“GRRG! GOBRO!!”

The object of Lizard Priest’s aggression was already dead, and the momentum of his corpse now made it a weapon in its own right. Spewing guts and filth, the goblin went tumbling off the bridge, taking
several of his erstwhile companions with him. And it is the way of goblins, when someone interferes with them, to take their eye off their goal and abuse the interloper instead.

“Ha-ha-ha! And have you become more careful with your weapons, milord Goblin Slayer?”

“Even I don’t
constantly
throw my possessions away.”

“GBBORGB?!”

Goblin Slayer flung the club with a casual motion, adding another obstacle—read:
corpse
—for the pursuers.

“Only when necessary.”

“Most enlightening.” Lizard Priest laughed so hard, his fangs showed. Goblin Slayer’s helmet nodded up and down. It was time.

The two adventurers fled from the goblins who had packed themselves onto the bridge. At the exact same moment…

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

A prayer rang out, working its way from the depths of the earth up toward the heavens—and a radiant light scattered the forces of Chaos.

Priestess hadn’t needed anyone’s permission; she’d seen that this was the moment, and she hadn’t hesitated. The light granted by the Earth Mother shone from her sounding staff, pouring down equally upon all the goblins.

“GOBOB?!”

“GBGRR?!?!”

The goblins hid their faces from the light, yelling and writhing. Filthy tears flowed from their eyes—a pitiful sight, yet not one deserving of pity.

The moment a hand stretched out in the direction of one of the goblins, everyone there knew that his head would be crushed by a stone.

The goblins had been drawn along, held in place, and then blinded by Holy Light in the middle of the bridge.

“Right where I want ’em…!!”

When Dwarf Shaman saw that his companions were safely off the bridge, he gave it an almighty whack with the palm of his hand. The metal span, which must have been built in the days of his ancient forebears, creaked loudly.

“Come out, you gnomes, and let it go! Here it comes—look out below! Turn those buckets upside down—empty all upon the ground!”

The screws popped. The metal buckled. The chains stretched—and then, with a cracking sound, they gave way. One of the most powerful forces in the Four-Cornered World—gravity—grabbed hold of the bridge, goblins and all.

“GOBRG?!”

“GOBOBROR?!?!”

They could panic, but it wouldn’t save them. Would it have been better for them had this still been the time when a great stream of glittering molten metal heaved below? The goblins were dragged into the abyss in the blink of an eye; even their screams didn’t last long. For their collective death rattle was drowned out by the sound of the dwarven bridge annihilating its old enemies.

The roar as the bridge collapsed against the dark, frozen metal below was like a thunderclap. The floor shook, and pebbles danced, and dust even came raining down from the ceiling far above.

“Eep!” Priestess exclaimed without meaning to and huddled down; even High Elf Archer covered her ears and curled up. Lizard Priest and Goblin Slayer, meanwhile, were busy receiving Dwarf Shaman, who sniffed proudly.

“‘I am a servant of the Secret Fire,’ as they say. Startin’ to think maybe I should’ve gone into the world-creation business!”

“…Gosh, you almost sound like an elf,” High Elf Archer said.

“Quiet, yeh…”

High Elf Archer mumbled that the shaman would invite a punishment from the smithy god, but he only laughed. Dwarf Shaman seemed downright impressed with the grand ending of the great bridge his ancestors had built.

He shook a ninepin bottle, made from a plant from the east, and there was a simple
splish
of liquid. Dwarf Shaman undid the stopper, turned toward the bridge that now ran across the floor of the valley, and scattered the alcohol in a spray.

“Doesn’t matter if it’s mead, cider, or the potato stuff… If yeh don’t have the water of life, ye’ve got nothing at all.” With those words, he drank down the remaining mouthful of alcohol. It wasn’t exactly drowning his sorrows in drink—more like an excellent excuse. Priestess let out a breath.

Nothing to worry about, then. Drinking wine was what dwarves did; a dwarf who didn’t drink wine was hardly a dwarf at all.

“Is there still a way home?” Priestess asked. “I hope we didn’t need that bridge.”

“They say it takes one to know one—well, this place was made by dwarves, and I’m a dwarf!” Dwarf Shaman said, wine dribbling into his beard. If he said so, then there was nothing to fear. Priestess would have been in serious trouble if she’d been tossed in here all alone—but thankfully, she had friends.

And as one of them, she would watch for enemies, judge when to use her miracle, and keep everyone safe. Priestess nodded to herself, counting off on her fingers one at a time; she seemed to have acknowledged something in her heart…

“All right!” She made a fist—recognizing, first of all, that she had done her job. She didn’t notice Lizard Priest watching her, his eyes narrowed in a smile at this habit she’d recently adopted. He didn’t say anything about it, either, for if she realized he had seen her, she would probably have shrunk into herself with embarrassment.

Instead, he stuck out his tongue merrily at Goblin Slayer. “I suppose this means the road home will be rather more circuitous.”

“It makes no difference to me,” was Goblin Slayer’s brief but unambiguous answer. “Going there and back again isn’t such an urgent journey.”

He then added under his breath, “It isn’t as if
my
possessions are
going to be sold off.” Priestess heard him, but she didn’t understand what he meant.

§

It was only now that Priestess truly appreciated how light could be bright enough to bring tears to one’s eyes. As they emerged from the underground dwarven city, at first all she could see was white. She didn’t know if the glow was that of the morning sun or of twilight; it was as if a shard of ice had gotten stuck in her eye.

She covered her face with her arms to protect her stinging, bleary eyes and blinked several times. For some reason, she saw a strange, hazy rainbow wavering in front of her, and even after the focus returned to her vision, it was difficult to make anything out.

If any of those goblins had still been alive…

Things could have been very bad indeed—she cursed her own carelessness, and finally, the outside world began to come into view…

“Is this light…from the snow?”

As far as she could see, the world was a silvery white, glittering like the sparks of flames. Even Goblin Slayer could be heard to grunt “Hrm”—maybe he hadn’t expected this, either.

“Goodness gracious,” said Lizard Priest, who had closed his second eyelid and was now holding himself and shivering. It couldn’t have been pleasant for him. “This is quite something. Cold that pierces to the bone, yet a light that shines as if we were in the desert…”

“Heh!” High Elf Archer scoffed and took out what appeared to be a leather bandage with small slits cut in it. She tied it with a string around her head, being mindful of her long ears, then turned proudly to Priestess. “What do you think of my snow goggles?”

“When exactly did you buy those…?”

“A friend told me about them before we left. Looks like their moment has come! Neat, huh?” She puffed out her modest chest—but did a high elf really need such a device?

It sure seems like it would constrict your field of vision…

Then again, Goblin Slayer’s helmet had a very constricted field of vision, as she remembered from when she had tried on its cousin once. So then maybe there was no problem… But then again, it really
didn’t
seem like a high elf needed such a thing.
Maybe it’s those kinds of purchases
, Priestess thought,
that leave her room in such a state…

At least she looks like she’s having fun, I guess.
There was no need to be condescending about it. Besides, Priestess was interested in them, too.

“Could I try them later?” she asked.

“Sure! I think they might constrict a human’s field of vision, though…”

Goblin Slayer, with just a glance at the bantering girls, grunted quietly. “Do you smell fire?”

“Hrm?” Dwarf Shaman was using his sleeve to wipe wine out of his beard before it froze. “Sure your nose isn’t playing tricks on you? We did just come out of those ruins.”

“…Perhaps,” Goblin Slayer said. “You.”

“Yeah? What?” High Elf Archer bounded across the field so lightly, she didn’t leave footprints in the snow. “Need me to check for enemies?” She flicked her ears, thoroughly pleased to realize that Orcbolg couldn’t see for the brightness, either, and then peered into the distance. In spite of the fact that she was wearing snow goggles already, she put a hand to her forehead to shade her eyes. Priestess wondered if there was really any point to that.

At least she looks like she’s having fun, I guess
, she thought again. She nodded to herself. She was definitely going to try those shades.

“Something’s burning.”

High Elf Archer’s report made Priestess abandon her lighthearted thoughts in an instant. The elf, still squinting into the distance and obviously listening carefully, continued calmly but sharply: “I don’t know if humans would be able to see it, but there’s smoke. And the sounds of battle.”

“Goblins?” Priestess asked.

“N—” High Elf Archer began, but then she looked over at Priestess through her goggles and sighed. “No, it’s not goblins. I don’t think.”

“So it’s not goblins.” Goblin Slayer glanced back at the iron door set into the rock face, a massive construction considering the size of the dwarves who had built it. Was this somehow connected to the goblins who milled about under the earth? In this world, there was nothing trivial. The flap of a butterfly’s wings could cause a storm elsewhere, and from a village burned for amusement, there might arise a hero.

Hmph.
They were his own thoughts, yet he felt them hardly accurate. Well, he didn’t plan to rely on them anyway. Do or do not. In this world, that was everything.

“Let’s go.” Goblin Slayer took the sword, presumably of dwarven make, that he had picked up after dropping his club (without hesitation, of course) and put it into his scabbard. Dwarven swords were likely to seem a strange length for a blade to most humans, but Goblin Slayer was quite accustomed to weapons of this size.

“…?”

Speaking of size… This weapon looked like it must have been commissioned long ago by someone who lived in the north. Goblin Slayer had picked up a very thick, very long, very heavy blade, practically a greatsword. Priestess found it somewhat—indeed,
very
—strange, but Goblin Slayer voiced no complaint, only stashed it at his hip. Without really thinking about it, she cocked her head and blinked at him, and who could blame her?

“From the position of the sun and the shape of the mountain,” Lizard Priest said, sticking out his tongue, “I believe the village we’re after should be nearby.”

“Yeah, but I bet it’ll all be over by the time we get there.” High Elf Archer pushed the snow goggles up to her forehead.

“Whatever the case,” Goblin Slayer said decisively, “not going is not an option.”

None of the adventurers argued otherwise. They nodded to one another, then set off with a hush of snow under their boots, angling across the field. As they ran along at full tilt, Priestess realized it was evening, and the burning shimmer was the glow of twilight.

She followed closely in High Elf Archer’s footprints (well, figuratively; the high elf didn’t leave footprints in the snow), her breath fogging in front of her. She kept one eye on Goblin Slayer, who jogged along silently, and watched vigilantly to her right and left, as well as behind, where Lizard Priest was trying to keep up the rear.

As they went along, they reached a point where even Priestess could make out several pillars of smoke. They were coming from…a town. A city built hard against the mountain they were now descending, surrounded by snow and trees and sea.

A port.

This was the first time in her life Priestess had seen such a thing. It was nothing like the water town or any fishing villages she had seen. There was a great stone hall built on a small swell of a hill and houses with triangular roofs, looking like overturned boats. A wooden quay extended into the bay, with several long wooden sailing ships, the likes of which Priestess had also never seen, at rest around it.

Unfortunately, Priestess didn’t have the time to be taken by the exotic scenery. In addition to the long ships sitting calmly at port were several more vessels jammed haphazardly among them, disgorging warriors in gear the likes of which—yes—Priestess had never seen. They were attacking the town. They wielded axes and swords; they stole barrels and chests, and some of them could be seen heading back to their boats with young women slung over their shoulders.

“They’re kidnapping those people…!” Priestess said, and then blinked. This was theft, plain and simple. She’d seen goblins do it. She knew what it looked like.

And yet… And yet, she’d never seen women shout and cling to the necks of their kidnappers, almost as if they were excited by it. She’d never imagined they would blush, a color visible even against the twilight.

“Wha…? Wha…? Whaaaaaat?!” Despite the confusion and embarrassment that colored her cheeks, she didn’t stop running—that much, perhaps, was praiseworthy.

As the town got closer, they could hear the triumphant yawps of the kidnappers, the pained shouting of the men, and the yelling of the women.

“…The heck is that? Do those women sound, like, really, really
happy
to you?” High Elf Archer asked.

Yes. Yes, they do.

High Elf Archer’s face said
I don’t understand
better than any words ever could have.

The women were yammering ecstatically and holding fast to the men who were kidnapping them, obviously transported with joy. What the kidnappers were doing was so obviously barbaric—and yet, it seemed to be entirely different from when goblins did it.

“Ahhh… They are taking wives for themselves, I believe.” Lizard Priest stretched his long neck, his voice made profoundly languorous by the cold.

“Wives?” Priestess asked, a question mark practically hovering over her head. Maybe her voice scratched a little as she said the word. Then again, maybe it didn’t.

She could barely follow what she was learning of the situation. Taking wives. Wives? So was this a wedding ceremony?

“Such a tradition existed in our village as well—when a woman was abducted, she was perforce recognized as married.”

“‘Perforce’…?”

High Elf Archer shot Lizard Priest a deeply exasperated look, but he simply nodded and replied, “Indeed. For it is proof that they have the intelligence, goodwill, and martial valor to steal themselves a bride. Could there be anything to inspire greater confidence?”

“In other words,” High Elf Archer said, her tone tart, “your wives are all abductees?”

“Not all, no. But it only goes to show how desired a bride is—so most couples are harmonious.”

“Talk about yer cultural differences…” Dwarf Shaman couldn’t help laughing aloud at the way High Elf Archer hung her head.

Priestess, unsure what to do, looked desperately at Goblin Slayer. It
was… How to put this? She’d been anxious, then managed to relax, then suddenly grown anxious again… And now this.

I know they say adventures can run the gamut of emotions, but this is ridiculous…!
She had no idea whether to treat this situation as grim or carefree.

“What should we do…?” she asked.

“…We’ll have to talk to them,” Goblin Slayer said after a few seconds’ silence.

“No matter what’s going on?”

“No matter what’s going on.”

They worked their way down the mountain, and just as High Elf Archer had predicted, everything was over by the time they arrived at the foot. The vessels were drifting away from the port, and the people left behind appeared rueful but not particularly bereaved. Their attitude felt out of place among the flames, blood, and hovering smell of battle, the smashed houses and hewn limbs everywhere.

Priestess felt something akin to drunkenness threaten to overtake her, and she took several breaths to steady herself. They weren’t the only ones who had noticed something, after all. The people of the town had spotted the unfamiliar group coming down the slope during the battle. A motley crew consisting of a warrior in grimy armor, a priestess of a foreign religion, an elf, a dwarf, and a lizardman.

Muscle-bound men dressed in pelts and carrying axes stared Priestess down; she felt their gazes piercing her small body.

My rank tag…

That wouldn’t help. There were no Adventurers Guilds in this part of the world yet. Adventurers were just drifters; no one knew who they were or if they might be trustworthy. Priestess felt anxiety very much like she remembered from the desert, and her hand clenched by her chest. Even that slight motion earned her looks of suspicion.

So the armed populace and the five outlanders faced each other. Nobody knew what might send everything spiraling off in the wrong direction. The gods, quite rightly, swallowed anxiously as they rolled the dice.

Fate and Chance are inscrutable to all—as are the consequences of the wills and choices of Pray-er Characters.

High Elf Archer asked sotto voce what they should do. Lizard Priest held his peace, and Dwarf Shaman only shrugged.

It was Goblin Slayer who, after a long moment, snuffed out the fuse: “……We have come from the kingdom to the south.” That was all he said at first, as if he thought this single sentence was a perfectly sufficient explanation—then he hesitated for a beat before adding, “We are adventurers.”

There was no answer. The men, still redolent with the excitement of battle, began murmuring to one another, creating a low buzz.

Priestess slid her hands along her sounding staff, holding it tight. She wanted to be ready to react, whatever happened. She couldn’t spare a second to look to either side, but she knew her party members were doing the same.

After another long moment, there was a clank as of metal against metal, and the crowd parted, revealing a young woman. She wore beautiful black mail that went down to her knees and carried a shield as well as a spear with a broad metal tip. None of this concealed the generous lines of her chest and hips, around which ran a tightly bound belt. The belt bore a bunch of keys that jangled as she moved—it seemed these were the true emblem of her office.

Her face, slim and paler than the snow, was the finishing touch on this statuesque body. Her braided hair seemed to shine gold, but Priestess thought it was probably in fact a very light brown. The woman’s eyes were deep green like the depths of a lake. One of them was covered by a cloth bandage—but it did nothing to detract from her beauty.

Priestess swallowed the “wow” that almost came to her lips. One could say she was quite smitten. After all, she hadn’t seen anyone this beautiful (other than a high elf) since meeting the Archbishop of the Supreme God. She looked the very picture of the Valkyrie, the goddess of battle, though perhaps in slightly different equipment. The tiara that could be glimpsed in her hair showed that she must be a person of no mean status.

This lovely woman looked at the party, and her rose-colored lips softened. Priestess swallowed hard and straightened up, trying to look proper.

“From fair far you’ve come, hale, hardy ones, and many a trial endured. I urge, beg, and invite you to please repose yourselves in our halls.”

“…What?”

This time, Priestess was too late to swallow the word.