Goblin Slayer, Vol. 14

“To long days and pleasant nights!”

“To the trials and tribulations and great deeds granted us by the Night Mother!”

“To peace!”

Priestess joined in with a cry of, “T-to peace!”

Then there was a great clatter of the draining of drinking horns, and the
drekka
got underway.

§

There was nothing of particular note to record about the feast—and yet, countless things about the feast should be recorded.

It was quite lively; one could say that much.

The first problem Priestess had was
how
to eat the food. There were only plates on the table; she didn’t see any utensils. Just as she was wondering whether they were supposed to eat with their hands, everyone around her pulled out their daggers and began spearing food with them— Ah.

Never leave home without it: She had the small knife from the Adventurer’s Toolkit, which served nicely at this moment.

When she tried them, she discovered that not just the flatbread but the roast boar and the fish, too, were all more robust than she had imagined and very delicious. Even if the smell of the soup, loaded as it was with onions and herbs, did take her somewhat aback. (The northerners made their living as traders, so they were said to have herbs both medicinal and fragrant from all over the world.)

Priestess was by now familiar with how dwarves drank wine, but the northerners, for their part, were duly impressed. There were
exclamations and cheers as Dwarf Shaman was served horns full of alcohol, only to drink them down as if they were water, one after the next.

Lizard Priest, caught up in the excitement, opened his great jaws and sang a song of battle passed down from his forefathers. It spoke of a black-scaled hero who defeated a giant, killed a dragon, and took to wife a woman poet with a cursed sword. Priestess remembered this story being told with a dance in the desert country, and she’d heard a similar tale in High Elf Archer’s village as well.

But the story, as they say, changes with the teller. The birdfolk dancer had portrayed it as a poignant romance, told from the perspective of the poet. In Lizard Priest’s jaws, it was a war song of the victory of a ferocious lizardman who walked the world with his great metal staff in hand. He charged toward every monster he saw, intent on doing deeds worthy of the songs of his lady love. It had a certain purity, like a dragon’s breath, and perhaps that made it a romance in its own way.

Whatever the case, it must certainly have been a strange and unusual story to the northerners. Just as their story of their own hero had been unfamiliar to Priestess.

Perhaps it was only natural when one of the men called out to Goblin Slayer, “Say, haven’t you got any stories of your own heroics?”

“I’ve done no heroics,” he replied, gulping down cider, and then, before Priestess could interject, he nodded. “I’ve hunted goblins, though.”

“Orcs, you mean? Numbers they have, but no guts.”

“Filthy, rotten cheaters, they are.”

“I agree.” The helmeted head nodded up and down.

“And fighting them with this many people is no picnic, either.”

“Absolutely.” Another nod.

“So how many have you killed?”

“…” Goblin Slayer fell silent and stared into the distance. He seemed to be thinking very seriously. “I have, on occasion, taken on perhaps a hundred of them at once.”

The northerners dissolved into gales of laughter. They meant no harm by it; it was a joyous sound.

Huh, I’ve never heard that story
, Priestess thought. Maybe she would
have a chance to ask sometime. She wondered if he would tell her. Perhaps she should ask now. As she thought, she brought the drinking horn to her lips, sipping delicately at the contents. The
skyr
had a sour, unusual taste, but she thought it probably qualified as pleasant. She almost thought she could understand why Lizard Priest might beat his tail on the ground and cry, “Sweet nectar!”

Her thoughts were interrupted by the
goði
, in high spirits, who said, “Do you know what they say of my wife in the capital?”

Priestess, realizing she had missed her chance, looked around and discovered the northerners all looked vaguely amused. Their expressions seemed to say,
Here we go again
.

“They call her the One-Eyed Bear! Can you believe it?”

“Er, oh…”

The chieftain brought his fist down on the table, drinking horn and all; Priestess could only nod along. She’d heard people in the cold reaches liked strong wine—but the
goði
’s face was red, and his eyes were watery. “They can only say that because they’ve never been here!”

Maybe it was the way of this land that nobody spoke against him for acting as if he were one of them.

“She may have been trapped up here in the north, but my bride is the sweetest in the Four-Cornered World…!”

Ah. It’s just that they like him personally…

Even Priestess felt a flush rise in her cheeks at the chieftain’s unabashed declaration of love.

“Ha-ha-ha! Our
goði
! Even he can’t steal honey from this wife, though!”

This drew a surprised look from High Elf Archer, whose face was red for a completely different reason from Priestess’s. How many horns of mead was she on anyway? She certainly seemed to be enjoying it, given how she was constantly sipping at her drink.

“Just so! During the Dwelling, the
goði
fought a demon like a giant bee.”

“Dwelling?” Priestess asked.

“’Tis when a man lives at his bride’s house before the
bruðsvelja
, the wedding.”

“So he wrestles with the thing and plucks the creature’s leg off!”

The chieftain smiled ruefully as his companions told the tale with relish, but he shrugged easily. “My opponent had no sword. If I brought my weapon, it would have made things too easy.”

“Huh! That’s really something!” High Elf Archer said, laughing uproariously. (How much of the story did she actually understand?)

Then again, maybe it really is an incredible story…?
Priestess, perplexed by a variety of words she didn’t recognize, nonetheless drained her drinking horn. She set it on the table and rose from her seat, saying, “Please pardon me a moment.” She was a little worried about the
húsfreya
, who had left her place before all the storytelling had started…

§

“Phew…!” Priestess let out a breath as she departed the
skáli
, putting the hubbub of the banquet behind her, released from the press of people. The cold wind that gusted outside was a tremendous relief, overheated as she felt simply from having so many people in one place.

I see…

She thought maybe she understood what it was like to drink wine. She went walking along over the crunching snow, feeling that things were somehow cheerful and bright despite the night darkness. Was it the stars or perhaps the twin moons? In any case, it turned out not to be too hard to find the
húsfreya
: All the footprints, presumably of people coming to the banquet, led up to the longhouse, but just one set went away.

Don’t have to be a ranger to follow this trail.

Even she could do it. Priestess could tell whether the distinct prints belonged to a goblin or not.

She was behind the longhouse, on the edge of the village, but not so far away that the light and the chattering voices didn’t carry to her. The
húsfreya
, surrounded by the twinkling, dancing snowflakes, turned when she heard Priestess’s footsteps, her one good eye squinting as she smiled. “Gracious, heading to bed already?”

“No.” Priestess smiled back, shaking her head. “Just getting some
air.” Priestess stood beside her and exhaled again, white fog drifting from her mouth. “Thank you so much for today. I can’t believe there’s boar and everything, even though you just had a battle…”

“A
drekka
is always like this! And how can we fail to show hospitality to our visitors?”

She added that even if one’s mortal enemy came to one’s home, if they came as a traveler, then it was only generous to welcome them in. She really did sound as if she considered it perfectly natural.

“That’s amazing,” Priestess said, unable to come up with anything more articulate or incisive. And so long as you took your foe into your home, they would know they were also your guest, even if they were your enemy. Two sworn foes, not forgiving each other but testing the limits of each other’s magnanimity… It was astonishing.

While Priestess was still busy looking impressed, the
húsfreya
shook her head as if she could see it all. “I suppose that my
husbondi
has begun his usual diatribe?”

“Ah—ah-ha-ha…”

“The fool,” the
húsfreya
murmured; Priestess pretended not to hear her. Nor to notice that her face was red.

What should she say? She knew what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t quite put it into words.

But… Well.

In fact, what she wanted to say could be summed up quite simply.

“…He’s a wonderful husband, isn’t he?”

“Mm…” The
húsfreya
nodded but didn’t say anything more, not immediately. Her hand brushed the bundle of keys at her hip. The girlish gesture made Priestess wonder if in fact the
húsfreya
was not much older than she was. “With this face, not a one would have blamed him had he broken off the engagement in disgust.”

“I think it’s lovely.”

“Then you don’t speak the truth.”

“I mean it!” Priestess giggled, her laughter likewise fogging in the air. “In the water town… Well, in a big city near where I live, there’s a bishop like you.”
Her eyes.
Priestess motioned at her face, then said
firmly to the
húsfreya
, “But she’s a wonderful person… And I think you must be wonderful, too.”

“………Is that the case?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Is it indeed…?” The
húsfreya
let out a long breath. The white fog mingled with that of Priestess’s exhalation, and they danced off into the sky together. “…The Four-Cornered World,” the
húsfreya
said after another moment. “Is it not a very large place?”

“Yes… It’s vast.”

It really is.

Priestess had thought that this was the edge of the world. That if she went beyond the mountains looming in the distance, a place she had never been, that that would be as far away as it was possible to go.

But of course, it was no such thing. The people who lived here interacted with people who lived even farther north. The encounters between these people were brutal in a way that Priestess couldn’t imagine. Beyond the eastern desert, too, there must yet have been a great deal of the world. And there was even more she had never seen past the forest to the south. For that matter, though she lived on the western frontier, she didn’t know what might lie even farther to the west.

Worlds, people, everything: How many tales there were of vanished peoples and forgotten realms. Just as Priestess hadn’t known that story of the hero.

It was impossible to say,
It must be like this
, to assign a definitive value to something. It simply wasn’t possible for anyone. And this revealed that whatever was in question must be something infinitely valuable.

Huh… I see
, Priestess thought, finally comprehending the true nature of the dark mist that had seemed to cloud her heart. She realized it had been there since before they’d left on this journey, since the time of the dungeon exploration contest. She simply hadn’t grasped it.

For
him
, for Goblin Slayer, to show an expression like that—to show any emotion at all. To Priestess, he was an object of respect, perfect, decisive; he had trod the path ahead of her and was complete. He
hardly ever showed anger. He was impeccably calm and collected, or so she had imagined him.

But that was wrong.

He had wanted to come to this land for reasons Priestess didn’t know. He’d had a boyish dream of the place, a wish in his heart. He’d had hopes for the journey and was enjoying himself.

Ah! What a thing this was. There was more to the slayer of goblins than slaying goblins!

“Hee… Hee-hee-hee!”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes… Everything’s fine.” Priestess wiped at the tears that had formed at the corners of her eyes as she laughed, the night breeze catching her golden hair. “I was just thinking, there are so many things I don’t know. I can’t forget to keep learning.”

“Very true… Ah, say!” the
húsfreya
called abruptly.

“What is it?” Priestess asked, turning toward her.

The other woman’s skin, paler than the snow, was flushed rose-red, and she was grinning with unmistakable mischief. “The
rrr…rrrain…
” She took a deep breath. “The rain, I explained, stays—” She cleared her throat. “The rain, I explained, stays mainly in the plain!”

“Wow…!” Priestess clapped her hands.

It was a little stumbling and spotty, somewhat juvenile and not terribly proficient—ah, but still.

“You said it…! And so perfectly!”

“I did it…!” The
húsfreya
was so cute the way she proudly clenched her fist that Priestess had taken her hand before she knew what she was doing. It was small and scarred, rough and angular…

It’s a wonderful hand
, she thought, clasping it; the
húsfreya
looked away shyly. “
Ahem.
I am not yet anywhere near it,” she said. “You’ll not mention it to my
husbondi
, will you?”

“You’ve been practicing?!”

“My
husbondi
, he has his heart set on taking me to the capital,” she said, adding that she could hardly have him become a laughingstock.
It was clear she felt the exact same way as the chieftain—and the exact opposite way. Priestess was sure the young northern ruler thought of the
húsfreya
as his fair lady.

“I really do think you’re wonderful. I mean, both you and your husband.”

“Mn…”

Then the
húsfreya
invited Priestess to the bath. It was “washing day,” she said, and it was the custom to bathe, even if it was immediately after a battle.

The
bathstúva
was a steam bath, a familiar arrangement: Water was poured over a stone statue of the Deity of the Basin that was heated on the hearth. What was unusual was the bubbling water that they used to clean themselves, which elicited a little shriek of surprise from Priestess.

The
húsfreya
giggled at her, but she herself regarded Priestess’s mail with open curiosity. Then again, she’d brought her obviously important bundle of keys into the bath with her, so she was hardly in a position to judge. Priestess had observed that all the women at the banquet had had keys at their hips, and she was starting to understand what they meant.

On the
húsfreya
’s bare skin, illuminated by the faint but uncanny light, there was an almost translucent pattern. It ran from the eye usually covered by a bandage, extending toward her heart as well as down one arm. It was a white tree.

Yes, that was it: It looked like a great tree spreading its branches. It hardly seemed to be the work of human hands. Without quite meaning to, Priestess found herself studying it, and the
húsfreya
showed her the scar as if revealing something deeply important.

“A blessing from the gods, this is,” she said. A holy scar of the sadistic god, bestowed in her youth. The heavenly fire had scorched her body, scarring her and taking her eye. It must have involved a pain Priestess could barely imagine. Yet, at the same time…

It’s what enabled her to meet the kindest of people.

Be it Fate or be it Chance, the gods in heaven rolled their dice and wove their stories. It was up to people’s free will how to walk their
paths. If the man the
húsfreya
had met hadn’t been willing to be together with her, she wouldn’t be here in this place at this moment. Just as Priestess wouldn’t be, if the man she had met hadn’t decided to save a rookie in a goblin nest.

Truly, truly, the Four-Cornered World burst with things even the gods couldn’t imagine.

“I know that it is because of the pain in our lives that the joys are precious,” the
húsfreya
said.

“Is that…the teaching of the sadistic goddess?”

“Sooth.”

No doubt it was Priestess’s status as an outsider that allowed her to think this land wonderful. They had held a feast for her. Everyone she met was kind to her, or at least accepting. The culture here demanded the welcome of travelers, so that food was prepared for them, lodging was given to them, and they were surrounded by warmth.

And yet—and so—actually living here would be something else again. Here in this beshadowed country where it was cold and frozen, and the sea was rough, and there was battle, and the days were dark. How hard must one struggle to earn one’s daily bread amid the falling snow and hard ground and cruel waves? The people were as rough as the landscape, blood was a daily sight, and battle was something to be joined at a moment’s notice.

But still…

Still, she thought it was a good place. She thought these were wonderful people. She absolutely, sincerely believed it.

“Behold.”

“Oh…!”

The
húsfreya
pointed outside the window of the bath at the night sky beyond. Rainbow lights glittered in the sky like a canopy.