Goblin Slayer, Vol. 14

The northerners moved with astonishing alacrity. If their enemies had been draugs or a sea monster, that would have been terrifying—but goblins inspired something less than fear. If the
goði
said this was their battle, though, then so it was.

Loot may be lost, a family may fall,

and my own life will wither in time,

but great deeds

wrought by mine own hand,

precious are they,

for they never fail nor fade.

Fires were lit, and the warriors shouted and cheered in time with the incantation of the shrine maiden—that is, the
húsfreya
. If they killed the foe in battle, if they overmastered life in pain, then the Fields of Joy awaited them. For the Vikings, battle itself was a holy rite. For all were given one life equally and would be questioned as to the fruits of their days in this world, and battle was one of the great affairs therein.

Priestess had half given up on understanding it, simply accepting
that this was the way things were. But there in the middle of all that commotion…

“Huh? Goblin Slayer, sir, you aren’t going to use that sword?”

They were in the lodgings they had been granted, getting their equipment ready, and Goblin Slayer was gazing at the sword. He sat on the bench with the dwarven blade laid across his knees, studying it. It was wide, and thick, and sharp. Nothing remotely like the strange-length swords he usually used. This sword was nameless and not enchanted, but even the untrained eye could see that it was a very fine piece of work.

“No,” Goblin Slayer said, letting his fingers brush the clear surface of the blade. “I don’t intend to.” He set the bare weapon carefully on the bench beside him. The black metal gleamed like starlight in the reflection of the hearth fire. Goblin Slayer gazed at it a moment longer, then grasped the hilt again, holding it up toward the skylight to see it.

“Yeah, that thing’s too long for you, Orcbolg.” High Elf Archer, her giggle like the ringing of a bell, was already set to go. Looking like a myth in motion, she tugged her hat tight and spun in place as she waited for everyone else. “I wonder if they even make swords at the weird length you like around here. Have you tried asking for one?”

“The
goði
lent me something from the armory,” Goblin Slayer responded, still looking at the dwarven sword. He didn’t sound particularly interested.

Indeed, a barbarian shortsword was settled safely in the scabbard at his hip. Priestess had heard that in this land, it was typical to fight with the sword in both hands, although she didn’t know exactly how it worked.

I guess it’s not that different from fighting with a sword and a shield, one in each hand.

Her friend Female Merchant had once mentioned fighting with a rapier and dagger, too. And she had another thought…

“You’re able to use pretty much any weapon, aren’t you, Goblin
Slayer?” Very much unlike herself, who had struggled even practicing the flail for the holy ritual.

“It’s a personal style I developed,” came the answer from under the helmet. “I have no special mastery of anything. And the way I use weapons is somewhat idiosyncratic.”

“Well, I cannot imagine this is a place where losing a longsword or two would do you much harm.” A muffled voice came from beneath a lump of down feathers. The scaly tail sticking out behind it was the only hint that this was Lizard Priest’s cloak.

Priestess grinned a little and gave the soft feathers a quick pat. They were so soft that if she could have, she would have liked to give them a big hug—but this was hardly the moment.

“I believe I will have to hold out for the underwater breathing ring until we are aboard ships.” They would be on a sea of ice. The thought revealed that Lizard Priest’s caution was eminently justified.

They had been out on the sea once, just briefly. (Were those gillmen doing all right?) But even so.

“I wonder if my mail’s going to be okay…” Priestess was quite concerned about her own equipment. If she should tumble into the water, the weight of the mail would drag her down. And although an underwater breathing ring might save her from drowning immediately, it wasn’t all-powerful. “I know some northerners will be coming with us, so it shouldn’t be that much of a problem, but…”

“Yeah, ’cause they’re all front-rowers!” High Elf Archer tugged her hat down, stuffing her ears inside. She seemed to like the hat, but it looked a little tight—maybe that was part of the fun. “I’ve always wondered. You and Orcbolg both—isn’t that stuff ever unpleasant?”

“You mean the mail?”

“Uh-huh.” High Elf Archer nodded, and indeed, other than her cold-weather gear, Priestess was dressed in her usual light armor.

As a matter of fact, in this party, only the two humans really wore proper armor. There was High Elf Archer, of course, and Dwarf Shaman was a spell caster, while Lizard Priest had his precepts. For that
matter, not everyone would smile on even Priestess’s modest use of fighting wear.

“It felt really heavy at first,” she said, rolling up the hem of her cleric’s vestments and patting the mail beneath. The oiled metal felt even cooler than usual to the touch. “But I found that if I cinched it around my waist with a belt, that helped. And I’m used to it now.”

“And you don’t get cold in that?”

“Eh, I manage…” Priestess smiled noncommittally.

“I can hardly believe it,” High Elf Archer said with the slightest of smiles. “I mean, you humans. The whole idea that you would even try to live in a place like this…”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this place practically screams,
Don’t live here!
So don’t! Most people would just give up.” Instead of building houses, making thick clothes, putting up with the cold, and otherwise adapting. “I can hardly believe it,” the high elf murmured again, almost as if praising their ingenuity.

“Humans are sometimes called ‘the common folk’—perhaps it’s because one finds them everywhere!” Lizard Priest said, evidently as impressed as High Elf Archer, even though he was supposedly a much stronger kind of creature than any human. Even in his thoroughly feathered state, he couldn’t have lived in this land. It wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to describe this as a sort of defeat for him. “That name is no exaggeration. Even if they do have the arrogance to declare themselves the apex of creation,” he went on.

“Ha-ha…” Even after these years together, Priestess didn’t always grasp Lizard Priest’s humor. He didn’t seem to be genuinely insulting humans, though, so no worries.

“I’ll need a scabbard,” Goblin Slayer muttered to himself, quite apart from the chatter of his colleagues. After seemingly endless inspection, he had laid the dwarven sword back down on the bench. He seemed sorry to leave it, though, and for a moment, it looked like he might simply pick it up again. Priestess was at a loss as to why the weapon seemed to mean so much to him.

“When we get back, yeh should find some smith to take care of it for you,” remarked Dwarf Shaman, finally speaking after having worked silently to organize his bag until that moment. A veritable shop’s worth of items had appeared and disappeared as he rearranged his bag of catalysts.

“Gee, take your time, why don’t you?” High Elf Archer said, pursing her lips, but the fact that she hadn’t actually bothered him was a show of consideration in its own way. Then again, perhaps it was only natural: a spell caster’s spells could determine the destiny of a party.

“……” Goblin Slayer, however, fell silent at Dwarf Shaman’s suggestion.

“What’s th’ matter?”

Was he…
surprised
? Priestess couldn’t see the expression on the face behind the visor, but that was the sense she got.

“…Yes,” he said after a moment, nodding. “That’s good.” Then he nodded again. “…I’ll do that.”

§

The fleet of ships cut through the water, leaving a white wake behind them in the ash-gray sea. The northerners’ boats hardly ever sank in this water; they literally seemed to glide over the surface. They wound their way among the lapping waves like a snake among the hills.

“Wah—pbbt!”

This mode of travel, however, encouraged the waves to come crashing up over the side of the boat, and one of them temporarily stunned Priestess. The spray from the water that came flying off the brave-looking dragon head at the prow soaked her as thoroughly as a rainstorm.

“You will be careful not to fall, yes?”

“Y-yes…!” Priestess nodded as best she could, clasping the side of the ship as the
húsfreya
supported her from behind. The
húsfreya
was dressed much as she had been when they first met, in raiment of battle that almost seemed to impart an air of holiness to her. The fact that
even here and now, she still had the bundle of black keys hanging from her hip, as if they were of utmost importance to her, warmed Priestess’s heart.

Every glimpse she got of the ocean, though, seemed to be of a black slate, and she understood why they claimed that hell lurked just below the surface. Strangely, though, Priestess didn’t feel fear. Countless oars pushed through the water smoothly, in perfect rhythm, propelling the boat forcefully along.

The source of that strength lay in the arms of the brave warriors seated along either side of the vessel. Each one looked like an army unto himself, and they rowed in perfect time. The gunwales were rounded to protect the rowers, the sign of a ship of war.

Supposedly, the oars could be retracted into the boat, although Priestess couldn’t imagine it. This, she was told, was what they did when relying exclusively on their sails—and when she looked up, she saw a sail of woolen material above her. It inspired confidence to see the sheet full of wind, and it granted the ship more speed yet.

These Viking ships were moved by the clever use of both oar and sail. Observing all of this around her, she found, banished the fear and replaced it with…

Wait… Why do I feel downright…excited?

Clutching her cap to her head, Priestess stood unsteadily on the deck among the rowers. Every ship rocks, but this one rocked less than she had expected—testament, perhaps, to the Vikings’ skill. Then she looked to either side and saw several more ships accompanying them across the sea, the fleet forming a wedge shape. They traveled almost in a straight line, and her ship was at the head—in other words, in the vanguard. That meant they dealt with the worst of the waves, and Priestess exclaimed, “Eep!” again as another blast of water soaked her.

“Yes, because the
goði
always is first into battle,” the
húsfreya
said, giggling as she gave Priestess her hand and helped her along the deck. Priestess noticed a profusion of rocks at their feet—stones for ballast, perhaps—as they headed to the middle of the ship. A tent was set up by the mast, serving as the
helskip
’s cabin.

“So we know where we’re going.”

“Of course. To exactly the destination you dragged out of that prisoner.”

There among piles of equipment, the
goði
was holding a council of war with the party. Priestess entered the tent and bowed, the grimy helmet answering her with a silent nod. She continued bowing as she approached the barrels surrounding the table.

“I think we can assume there’s something in the waters from which our ships didn’t return,” the
goði
said.

“And if there isn’t, then we should proceed directly to searching for the goblin nest.”

“Mm.” The chieftain nodded. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, but he was already in battle array. His equipment, of which mail was a prominent part, made him look every inch the native northerner. The only difference, perhaps, was that he had no beard… (
“I did wish he would wear one, and I asked him to once,”
the
húsfreya
had confessed shyly to Priestess.)

“Goblins don’t possess the art of navigation on the sea, do they?”

“They don’t,” Goblin Slayer declared. When it came to anything involving goblins, he showed scant hesitation.

But it’s true…
, Priestess thought, straining not to miss a single word over the sound of the waves. They had, in fact, encountered goblins on boats in the sewers below the water town, but they had merely been riding the vessels, not piloting them. She suspected it was impossible for goblins to row together to work with—or fight—the wind and the tides the way the warriors of the north did.

“The secret of mounted riding the goblins have stolen, but as for long-distance travel by sea, I believe even if they possessed the knowledge, their character wouldn’t let them do anything with it. They couldn’t stand a journey like that.”

“If they simply floated here on the wind and the tides, then I can take a guess at their location…”
Hmm.
The chieftain stroked his chin, then asked a question that seemed to simply occur to him, almost carelessly: “What do the goblins mean to do about getting home?”

“They haven’t thought about it,” Goblin Slayer said brusquely. “They only ever imagine things going well for them.”

That was how goblins always were. And they thought themselves very smart. It was what made them so ugly to deal with—arrogant and cruel. They might be the weakest monsters in the Four-Cornered World, but they were still monsters. And if one could not prevail against goblins…

“Then, too, even we aren’t sure how to deal with the sea monster,” the chieftain said with a bitter smile, looking out toward the northern sea, which frothed and tossed—in other words, just like it always did.

The board they were on was beyond human ken; it must be home to a great many things that defied the imagination. They hardly knew what was beneath their feet, and discovering what was beyond the ocean was a true challenge. Even if one sailed with the “wiki” of the Vikings, it would hardly result in a comprehensive encyclopedia.

“You may find thinking about it bears little fruit,” Lizard Priest said, taking a big bite of cheese to fill his stomach before battle. With his long tongue, he licked up some crumbs that got down onto his chin, but nonetheless he sounded quite important. “If you have the data, you can kill it.
How
to do so is a question that can be answered later.”

“Pure dumb chance, is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying that it’s essential to maintain the flexibility to respond to a situation as it develops.” In-very-deed.

The chieftain looked at Goblin Slayer, somewhat befuddled. Goblin Slayer nodded. “This is how adventures go, or so I have heard,” he said.

“In-very-deed!”

The chieftain might find these words confusing, but they were cheerful in their own way. Goblin Slayer looked to the horizon. Even one living as a northerner found that there were limits to human sight on board a boat. However…

“Shouldn’t you be able to see it soon?” A high elf atop the sails, now descending like a fluttering leaf (
shwip!
), was another matter. She
stretched out like a cat, then tested the string of her greatbow with a twang. “An ugly boat. Maybe about…twenty, I guess? All goblins.”

“Sounds to me like we’d better get spells ready.” Dwarf Shaman, who had been huddled up to conserve his stamina, stood. For spell casters and clerics to conserve their strength was something of an ironclad rule, be it on an adventure or in battle. “I assume you have wind masters on the other ships as well. A little bout of Tail Wind won’t throw off your formation, will it?”

“Oh, I-I’ll help…!”

Priestess, eager to show that she was there, too, gripped her sounding staff tightly. Whatever those around her might think, she felt she hadn’t yet properly proven herself. She had lost all her games, even if the
húsfreya
, the
goði
, and the other Vikings had praised her performance. It was, in fact, understandable if she felt she had to put on an especially good show here.

“…No.” The
húsfreya
smiled at Priestess, who was giving her a questioning look. (She didn’t even notice the chieftain, who was watching her with a smile as if thinking that if he had a daughter, she might look like this.) “First come the stones.”

§

The goblin found it all thoroughly distasteful. Hateful, even. As he always did.

He always ended up losing out, while those other cheating bastards got all the goods. And now, just when he had thought a little luck had come his way, it was the others who were having all the fun with it.

For example—yes, the humans around here. They went everywhere in these big vehicles (boats or ships or something, they called them), strutting around like they owned the place. Even though without their boats, they would have been nothing, would have had nothing to brag about.

One day…

One day, the goblin would drag that arrogant young woman to the ground and hurt her as much as he liked. True, he’d only seen her at
a distance, but he was sure that clear-eyed look on her face was arrogance. Just imagine her face if he jammed something in that eye of hers! Either the remaining eye or the damaged one—perhaps he would start with the damaged one. That seemed to promise a more protracted and enjoyable infliction of pain.

Even as he entertained these fantasies (for which even the word
ridiculous
was too generous), the goblin grumbled about the unfairness of his situation. He hadn’t made any special effort to change things—but nonetheless, he was quite certain it was everyone else’s fault that nothing had changed.

Except that, not long ago, something had. One day, something had come washing up on the shore near their nest. Yes: boats. Boat after boat, sideways on the sand like toys a child had tired of. They had holes in them, broken timbers—all very annoying, but they would do. The goblins didn’t even question the fact that there were no sailors aboard. They were well aware how stupid humans could be; it didn’t surprise the goblins that some humans had simply thrown away their boats.

Anyway, now that was all over. Boats! Boats! Boats!

The days when those sons of bitches got to lord it over everyone else were over. With boats at their disposal, now it was the goblins who would show they were the strongest.

And indeed, it went well chasing away the fools who had no boats. They fled to the south (not that the goblins knew that word)—fools that they were. There were only mountains there. They would starve and die soon enough.

When it came to the orders of the chief of the horde, though (the stupid, overbearing, unfit chief!), well, there was hardly anything more aggravating. He wanted them to push the boats out of the harbor, out to sea—in this cold! The goblin yowled and complained, but he did it—but it was others who got to actually ride on the boat.

Those who went beyond the sea didn’t return.

Bunch of trash! They must be living it up somewhere, for sure…

Thanks to those louts, the goblins’ fleet of boats had gotten smaller
and smaller, until this was the last of them. And it had certainly left
him
waiting a long time for his chance to ride on one…

“E-eyagh! Ahhh, i-it hurts…!”

The goblin decided to let the weeping and shouting of the writhing girl before him, pinned on his spear, soothe his anger. It had been such a good idea to cart her along on the boat, although he’d now been enjoying her for so long that her voice was growing weak.

She was a padfoot—a member of the dormouse people, not that the goblin knew or cared.

When the weather started to let up a little, walking around stabbing your spear randomly into snowdrifts was a great way to pass the time—because every once in a while, you might be rewarded with a cry of “Yeeek?!” Then it would be time to get the polearms and the hooks and drag those snowbank-snoozing idiots out into the cold for a little fun.

And once she stops moving, I can eat her.

“GOORGB!!”

“Ahhh… Hrngh…?!”

“GBBOG! GGGBBOROGB!”

“N-no… Nooo, stop! St— Hrgh!”

He looked around; there were several other playthings on the deck, buried under his companions. A few of them had ropes around their necks and were hanging from the big stick (none of the goblins quite knew what it was for) in the center of the boat.

As for this goblin, he was intensely envious of his companions. He didn’t need this half-dead toy—he wanted something that still had a little spirit left. After all, the others had only taken them by playing a nasty little trick.

Sometimes, a goblin died when he was attacked by a bear, but that happened only to the stupid ones.
This
goblin was not like that—he had never made such a mistake!

“
Hhh… Hhhh…
N-no more…”

Still, couldn’t she pipe down just a little bit? The boat kept shaking, covering him with vile, salty water. He hated it. He knew whoever
was controlling the boat was to blame, even if he didn’t know who that was or how they were doing it. If
he
were the chief of the horde, he would do a much better job of making the boat go. All brawn, no brains, that was the idiot’s problem.

If I pitched her into the water, maybe it would be a little quieter around here…

“Argh… Ahhh! Hngh—no! N-no…”

The goblin grabbed the girl by the hair and tugged violently, getting a clump of it out of her head and a scream out of her throat. He dragged her toward the side of the boat. She fought and flailed, and in his anger, he kicked her.

Quite pleased with the quiet sniffling of his plaything, he leaned out over the side, preparing to heave her overboard headfirst.

At that moment, though, he saw something in the distance. Was that…a boat? A human boat? A whole horde of boats!

“GBBB…!”

A smile spread across the goblin’s face. The humans thought they would win simply because they had boats, but they were wrong, wrong, wrong. Maybe they had the one-eyed girl with them. But if they didn’t, that was fine, too. If he played his cards right, he could become the chief of the boat.

To do that, though—he hated it!—they would have to get their boat closer. He turned and was about to shout to his useless fellows.

“GOROGB…?”

That was when a wave of stones came crashing in.

§

“Tyrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!”

Crying praise to the Valkyrie, the northern warriors fired rocks at their enemies. Stones flew from the battle line of ships, followed by a hail of arrows and then of spears. Priestess watched them, guessing that they were trying to raise the draft in order to speed up the vessel. In battle, heavy stones were just that—deadweight. It was only logical.

What really astonished her, though, was the Viking warriors’ skill.
She had seen with her own eyes what a fine slinger Goblin Slayer was, but still they amazed her. When she saw a warrior with a spear in each hand, she’d wondered what he was going to do with them—and then he had flung them in sequence, first the right, then the left!

Even as she stood with her staff at the ready on the raging seas, it was enough to make her catch her breath.

Nonetheless, Priestess’s full attention was on the enemy force ahead.

“GRB! GROORGB!!”

“GROOROGB!!”

“GORG! GGGBB!”

They’re terrifying…

Priestess shook with fear—not cold—in spite of herself. For those things the goblins rode aboard, one hesitated to call them ships.

Yes, they resembled the seafaring vessels of the northerners. But they were full of holes; the masts were broken and the sails tattered. And where the sculpted prow should have jutted proudly out were tied the bodies of those who have words. All the equipment that should have been maintained and cared for was filthy, with hardly any evidence of its former beauty.

The oars slapped the water haphazardly, like the legs of a flailing bug. They didn’t ride the wind, nor the waves, but were simply carried along. That was no ship. Not anymore. It was the skeleton of a ship. A seagoer’s rotting corpse.

Yet, even at a distance, it could be seen that the goblins were sure that they controlled the north wind and commanded the seas. In the way they brandished equipment, had their way with women, and cackled horribly, there was no bravery, no pride. There was only a fathomless cruelty, only a pale, superficial imitation of what they imagined themselves.

Although it had been only a short while, although there was so much she still didn’t understand, Priestess had been exposed to the northerners’ culture. And that was why she understood so clearly:
This is blasphemy.

That ship—that thing—was a floating goblin nest. Nothing more.

“GOROGGB! GRGGB!!”

“…!” High Elf Archer, wielding her greatbow, called out faster than Priestess’s eyes could widen: “Counterattack incoming!”

Precisely because they were merely imitating, the goblins had no sense of range—they simply assumed they could do whatever the humans could do. They flung spears, arrows, and rocks, and when those weren’t available, they simply tore up the boards of the deck and threw those. The vast majority of these projectiles, of course, merely plopped into the sea between the two ships, disappearing into the expanse with only a ripple to mark their passing. Even the shots that made it across largely broke up against the hull. The goblin attack was only a crude copy of the human one, much like the arrowhead attack Priestess’s party had suffered back on the snowy mountain.

If that had been all that Priestess was observing, she might have maintained her detachment. But amid all the filthy green flesh, she could see glimpses of pale skin, too: women. And she could see one of them being grabbed, to be thrown mercilessly over the side of the ship into the black waters…

“Ah—!”

Oh no…

It happened at the moment she was having that thought.

The pips of the dice are completely evenhanded to all, adventurers and monsters alike.

One of the goblins flung a stone ax, and with what must have been a miraculous roll, it arced through the air, groaning as it went. It described a great peak, and then, despite its height and speed and steepness, it dropped straight down.

Priestess looked up and saw it. It filled her vision, the blade coming directly toward her.

She had no chance to scream or do any other such useless thing. She simply threw herself to the ground, curling up into a ball as best she could…

“Hmph.”

Whack.
A hand wearing a grimy leather glove reached out and
caught the ax in midair. Almost before the grunt was out of his mouth, the warrior in the cheap-looking metal helmet had launched the ax back in the direction of the enemy force. It was like the weapon was moving in reverse—except this time, it was spinning in little circles, and its arc was even steeper.

“GOBBB?!?!” There was a death cry, accompanied by a general hubbub.

“That’s the first one.”

“Thank you so much…!” Priestess got to her feet, pressing her cap to her head. Her cheeks felt a bit hot. She was embarrassed by her mistake, but she was tickled by the looks of astonishment on the faces of the Viking warriors, almost as happy as if they had been amazed by her own deeds. She put a hand gently to her modest chest, protected by her mail, and said, “We have to help her…!”

“A captive,” Goblin Slayer observed. From across the waves, the voice of one who had words could be heard, barely. Goblin Slayer was decisive as ever: “We’ll need to jump across.”

“Classic maneuver. We’ll come up alongside for boarding as fast as we can…”

Almost before the chieftain could finish, though, Goblin Slayer was shaking his head. “We need that thing again,” he said. “Water Walk!”

“Comin’ right up!” Dwarf Shaman said, and then he cried out to the stormy sea:
“Nymphs and sylphs, together spin, earth and sea are nearly kin, so dance away—just don’t fall in!”

At the same moment, Goblin Slayer kicked off the side of the ship, launching himself into the sea with a spray of water. The sea was very nearly frozen; that cold would stiffen your muscles and make it all but impossible to breathe, let alone swim. But the sprites supported Goblin Slayer’s weight for the instant before he kicked off again, bouncing from wave to wave, leaping through the froth. He looked like he was running through a cloud of butterflies, and he showed just as much hesitation.

And on his hand was Spark, the ring of breathing.

“Ahhh…” To the young woman, tormented by goblins and then
thrown into the sea, it must have looked like a flash of hope. Summoning the last of her depleted strength, the dormouse girl grabbed hold of the filthy leather armor and clung on. Goblin Slayer, in turn, hugged the girl to his chest. So that he could turn away from the goblins, of course.

“GOROOGGBB!”

“GBBB! GOROOGBB!!”

And if it is the way of goblins to be willing to shoot someone in the back after he’s been foolish enough to throw himself into the sea…

“I wish you’d tell me when you’re about to go charging into action!”

…then it is the way of a party to support a friend without hesitation and without question.

Even as she shouted, High Elf Archer danced through the air, her wooden arrows piercing sky and sea. One goblin unlucky enough to have aimed into the air found himself pierced from skull to jaw, his bow twanging and the arrow falling uselessly away. By the time he was tumbling into the ocean without even a scream, High Elf Archer was kicking off the mast of the ship.

On the next beat, she leaped up, her great yew bow raining arrows and death onto the goblins below.

“If yeh play around too much, you’ll drop bow and arrows and all right into the water!” Dwarf Shaman snapped.

High Elf Archer laughed, although this hardly seemed the time. “As if I’d do anything that stupid!” she called, landing right back where she had begun. She exhaled slowly, brushing aside some hair that had fallen over her forehead, as if to say a high elf could do anything. “Even a weak little bow like this would feel bad if it got laughed at by goblins.”

“I guess
most
bows are like little girls’ toys by elf standards,” Dwarf Shaman said, shaking his head with an annoyed huff. He hated to compliment the long-eared lass; it always went straight to her head.

But instead, he turned away from his familiar verbal sparring partner and spoke to Lizard Priest, who was still wearing his down cloak.
“I’m not expecting much here, Scaly, but I thought I’d better ask…” He smirked, because he knew what answer was coming. “You want Water Walk yerself?”

“I will get in that ocean after the town has turned to dust, good sir,” Lizard Priest said. He heaved himself to his feet, raising the huge Viking shield he was carrying. Then with a “Many pardons,” he pushed past some warriors to the side of the ship, where he draped his tail over the side, toward the water.

The warriors could only watch in confusion…until Goblin Slayer grabbed hold of the tail, and Lizard Priest pulled him up like a fish out of the sea.

“Sorry. That’s a help.”

“Think nothing of it…!”

The dormouse girl in Goblin Slayer’s arms had reached the limits of her strength and lay limp on the deck when he set her down.

“How is she?”

“Let me have a look…!” Priestess said, already hurrying over to the pitiful child before Goblin Slayer had finished his question. Protected by Lizard Priest’s shield, Priestess checked the girl over quickly, getting a sense of her situation.

Priestess served the Earth Mother, abounding in mercy—if not as devoutly as the shrine maiden of the sadistic gods served her deity. Protect, Heal, Save. Priestess had been granted more than miracles to help her achieve those ends—that was what made her a cleric. The girl’s actual physical wounds were light. The starvation, hypothermia, fatigue, emaciation, and lack of sleep were far more serious, potentially fatal.

“But she’s all right now…!” Priestess said.
I’m sure she’ll live.

Priestess cleansed the girl’s body promptly, then wrapped her in a blanket and cloak. She needed some first aid for her wounds, as well, but right now, the top priority was to keep her warm.

“Think some wine’d help?”

“Start with just a little, please. We have to make sure she doesn’t
choke on it,” Priestess said, deliberate but not hesitant, grateful for Dwarf Shaman’s offer of assistance. “It will help bring her around. But wine alone will leave her without enough water in her body…”

“Mm. Don’t worry—I’ve got that in mind.”

Dwarf Shaman took the girl, who seemed as frail as a withered branch, in his arms and laid her down amidships. It was the safest possible location, where she would be protected from the waves, the wind, and the rain of arrows. Dwarf Shaman poured a bit of fire wine into her mouth; Goblin Slayer kept one eye on them and grunted.

“What do you think?”

“One supposes there are more captives. And breath rings or no, Water Walk remains essential.”

The ships were getting closer, and more projectiles than before could be heard bouncing off Lizard Priest’s upraised shield. He, however, paid no heed to the
thwack, whack, bump
but only bared his fangs in his great jaws. “I think it may be high time we boarded the enemy ship.”

“I agree,” Goblin Slayer said with a nod. “Bring the ships together. We’re going to fight our way across.”

“…” The chieftain, neither amazed nor unduly impressed by this, simply smiled. He, too, agreed; this was stupendous.

The way these people worked with one another, it was much like how accomplished Viking warriors worked—although with its own subtle differences. At this moment, they were witnessing the “adventure” of which adventurers always spoke. Something was spreading among the northern warriors observing this, who knew they were seeing something unusual and precious.

It was all worth it
, the chieftain thought.

“I suppose this means we need an adventurers’ organizational up here as well. Think so, dear wife?”

“Oh, please, do not be silly,” the
húsfreya
replied, her prim, sharp profile turning a bit sullen. “We have not been bested yet.” What sweet expression would the woman make when her loving husband realized she was pouting? Even there in the middle of battle, Priestess couldn’t help a giggle as she imagined it.

Naturally, the
húsfreya
had taken notice of her new friends’ actions with her one good eye—how could she not? The faraway princess muttered, “Don’t tease me,” then took a deep breath. The adventurers had shown their mettle. Now it was her turn.

Taking a deep breath of the freezing air and turning in to the waves, the shrine maiden of the sadistic god called out:
“When the wind blows, let us cut timber; when the sun shines, let us go to sea. O maidens, cleave to the darkness and shun the eye of day!”

Now—now it was the Vikings’ time.

§

“
Fylking
! Battle formation!”

“GOROGGB?!”

“GOG! GOBBG!!”

The vessels collided with a crash, hooks biting into the enemy ship to ensure it couldn’t escape. The goblins panicked—belatedly—and tried to shove the hooks away. Those who failed found themselves kicked and shoved out of the way, but it was too little, too late.

“Chaaaaarge!!”

“Hrrrahhh!!”

With one word from the
goði
, who stood at their head, the northerners came piling onto the enemy ship.

The goblins watched as their companions who had been unfortunate enough to be first in line turned into showers of blood. They swung their own weapons: rusted swords, half-broken spears, and crude clubs. But it was a useless show of defiance in the face of the greatshields the northerners carried. The boat rocked on the waves, but the Vikings kept their footing, a wall of shields, the very image of the
skjaldborg
.

“Puuuush!”

“Hoooo!”

“GOROGGB?!”

The wall absorbed the goblin attack and shoved forward, bashing
with their shields. The stunned goblins stumbled backward, wobbled, and then fell into the sea. Some backed away in terror, others tripped and fell, while still others howled in sheer incomprehension of the circumstances. The one thing that was true of all of them was that the sea gave no refuge, no place to run.

The goblins began pushing and shoving one another, caught between fighting and fleeing, rocking the boat violently.

“No mercy!” The chieftain grinned, baring his fangs, and kicked a goblin head that lay at his feet. “Press the advantage!”

“Hrrraaahhhh!”

Spears cracked, axes howled, swords cried out, and six-sided clubs roared. The goblins’ resistance was futile and easily crushed, death rattles escaping them as readily as their filthy blood. Those who attempted to use the captives as shields were forcibly separated from their hostages, their skulls soon split by black steel blades. The northerners confiscated the chest representing the goblins’ meager loot, and the monsters who clung to it they kicked into the icy waters. They could not be prevailed upon, could not be begged for mercy. To kill, to take the women and loot, and to sing songs of victory was their joy.

“
Gygax
! Praise the gods!”

“Gygax! Gygax! Gygax!!”

“O Arneson, Master of the Black Moor, behold my deeds!”

“
Jackson
—praise all the gods! Glory be to Livingstone, King of Traps!”

Hack and slash! The stuff of Vikings! The Vikings!

Yes, out in the open field, or in a cave, or in a dungeon, goblins might take one unawares and strike a fatal blow. But here on the northern sea, with a song of ice and fire rumbling across the waves with their great battleships…

“We would never be bested by any orcs!”

The Vikings, the People of the Bay, were utterly at home on the water.

“Guess there’s not much for us to do now that the battle’s started,” High Elf Archer remarked.

“I think you’re right,” Priestess said.

But despite the friendly exchange, they were hardly letting their guard down. The fight to board the goblin vessel might have been successful, but freed captives were pouring back onto the Viking ship, and there were wounded to tend to as well. It was the adventurers’ role to protect and treat them, though they hadn’t nearly enough hands to do it.

In the center of the ship, the
húsfreya
looked after those with especially grievous wounds, working her deeds tirelessly. Alcohol or vinegar would be used to clean out injuries—these tended to be especially common on the right side of the body, the side that wasn’t protected by the shield—which would then be stitched up and wrapped in hempen cloth.

The
húsfreya
probed wounds with tools Priestess couldn’t have distinguished from torture instruments, removing arrowheads and shards of sword. The way she even occasionally closed off blood vessels, brilliantly stanching the flow of blood, left Priestess wide-eyed. In the temple
she’d
been raised in, they had only been allowed to use miracles at times like this, and yet…

The northern warriors might have been Vikings, but they were still human. The probing of the wounds sometimes provoked screams and cries. But the
húsfreya
would snap, “What are you, a child? Even an infant wouldn’t yowl on account of the likes of this!” She only very rarely administered painkillers—poppy or henbane.

“These people are all right now…!” Priestess said.

“And I thank you! Very well, now these…”

“Right…!”

She’s incredible.

And here Priestess was, actually fighting alongside her. It inspired a sense of pride in Priestess as she pattered this way and that around the boat, carrying bandages.

And then there was Lizard Priest, his massive form casting a shadow over the women he was protecting. “Gracious, I fear I’ve not been of much use…”

“Then just keep on keeping everyone safe…!” High Elf Archer said as she flashed by his elbow, kicking off the gunwale and firing another arrow. Her bowstring twanged like a zither, each note portending the piercing of a goblin skull. She might be on a rocking ship, aiming at targets on another rocking ship, but it didn’t matter: Elves shoot not with the eye or with their own skill but with the heart. The northern warriors were fine archers in their own right, but even they could hardly hope to match a high elf.

If a contest of spells was to begin at this moment, admittedly, that would change the face of the battle again. But…

“Looks like they’ve got no spell casters, from what I can tell,” Dwarf Shaman observed, seeing that at present, he didn’t appear to be needed.

In battle, it’s ultimately the commander’s leadership that determines the course of events, and
their
leader was on the front lines. The way he slashed with his sword, shouting and yelling, leading the Vikings ahead—yes, he was the chieftain indeed. A foreigner he might have been, but it seemed he had earned his position, that he was seen as far more than simply prince consort.

A glance at the
húsfreya
revealed her smiling with a hint of pride—vicariously sharing in her husband’s deeds, no doubt.

Well, every land has its own heroes
, Dwarf Shaman thought. To insist on stealing the spotlight always and everywhere would be sheer arrogance. Even the great Hero, who plunged into battles for the fate of the world, wouldn’t horn in on someone else’s goblin hunt.

This place had its own tales, as Dwarf Shaman’s homeland had theirs. These never-ending stories were not one single heroic narrative but a continuing cycle, a saga.

“How does it look?” The unexpected question was posed to Dwarf Shaman by, of course, Goblin Slayer. After rescuing the hostages and further reducing the goblin numbers with his slinging (“Ten, eleven”), he was stepping back for a view of the battlefield.

In a pitched battle like this, adventurers became limited in what they
could do. They might want to help fight the good fight, but if outsiders joined that unflappable formation, they were more likely to be a liability than an asset. And of course, Goblin Slayer was not going to simply be a liability.

“Hoh. Asking me, are we?” A smirk came across Dwarf Shaman’s bearded face. “Well, if nothing else, I think we know who their leader is.”

He was referring to a goblin on the wreckage who was large enough to loom over his companions and was obviously giving the orders. Like Goblin Slayer, he was holding back from joining the battle proper, but unlike Goblin Slayer, he was squawking and shouting.

“GOOROOGGBB!!”

The goblin ostentatiously wore a rotting bear pelt; he was large even by the standards of the northern goblins, who tended to be bigger than southern ones. Still, the word
hob
didn’t quite fit him, and one hesitated to call him a champion.

It was the
húsfreya
who declared: “Some nerve he has, pretending to be a berserker…!”

The man she loved, her people, could never be outdone by the likes of goblins.

“I agree,” Goblin Slayer said with a nod. “Whatever he pretends to, he’s still just a goblin.”

§

There was an invader there, a very silent presence, unnoticed by anyone.

From the deepest depths, he hunted his prey and ate, guided only by light and sound.

For him, it was like a drumbeat he heard while dozing; the days were pleasant.

Then again, perhaps to call them
days
wasn’t quite right, for never once had he been concerned with the march of the sun or moon.

He had never even wondered where he was at any given moment.

For him, the entirety of the four corners consisted of his own hunger and the question of where his next meal was located.

He existed to eat, and so long as he existed, he
would
eat.

It mattered not when this place was, nor where this moment: When he sensed commotion above him, he knew that this was the time.

Hence, he reached out his hand.

It was the only thing that seemed real to him in his ephemeral, death-transcending sleep.

Thus, by the time they realized that he was approaching, that he had been drawn to them…

It was all too late.

§

Whoosh
: The sea exploded. A geyser of froth shot upward, lifting the boats beneath it as easily as if they were twigs. The vessels broke up in midair and came cascading down in pieces that sent humans and goblins alike running for cover.

The party’s ship was still safely on the water, but a massive wave shook it violently, and those aboard tumbled to the ground with a sensation like they were flying through the air. One of them exclaimed, “Wha—?!” although it wasn’t clear who. They supported themselves as best they could by grabbing onto the gunwales, falling to all fours, or, if they were Lizard Priest, bracing with their claws and tail.

Even the northerners were taken aback (so we need hardly mention the goblins’ amazement). They looked up, wide-eyed; then they saw it.

Or, wait…
Did
they see it? Beyond the geyser of spray, there was nothing. For what was there was only the atrocity that attacked indiscriminately from the black depths of the sea. If they could assign what they were seeing any significance, it might look to them like a mouth. A great maw lined with fangs that existed only to consume.

The only thing they could comprehend was that the jaws had emerged from the depths, writhing, moaning, squirming. Those who
hadn’t managed to land in the water, sadly, found themselves chewed to pieces and swallowed by those jaws. Seawater came down like a storm, mixed with pink mist and gore and sundered limbs. It was enough to make a person doubt their sanity—at times, even to rob them of words.

When the great wave had them in its grasp, it was the only sound they could hear, for it drowned out all others.

“Ahhh… Wh-what was that thing…?!” Priestess, clinging as hard as she could to her staff, got unsteadily to her feet. “Was it a Sea Serpent?! But it was nothing like the one we saw before…!” This creature seemed to have nothing in common with the sea monster they had encountered some time ago. That creature had been frightening, to be sure, but nowhere near as terrible as this.

“My very goodness! I wonder if it might not be related to mine own ancestors…!”

“It’s coming from below!” High Elf Archer cried, clinging to Lizard Priest, her ears flicking furiously. She even forgot to draw her bow. “And it’s coming back!”

She was right:
Whoosh!
There was another great eruption of the sea. Swallowed up by the pillar of water this time was the ship right beside the one the adventurers were on. The warriors, who had been in the midst of fighting the goblins, disappeared into the waters, looking as if they couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Ah… Ahhh?!” the
húsfreya
cried. Was it for the loss of her comrades or because the ship shook so badly that it threatened to capsize? Or—was it from the fear that the ship her
goði
had boarded might be the next one to be attacked?

“A beast! A beast comes!”

“Damnable draug…!” The northerners couldn’t restrain their yells and cries.

What held terror for those without fear? The devil of the sea. The unknown master of the abyss.

Although naturally, this was hardly enough to put them at a disadvantage against some goblins…

“GOROGGB! GOOBBG!!”

The goblins, who understood nothing of the situation, took this to mean that the enemy had been weakened through the goblins’ own strength. Or perhaps they felt that the humans were fools to be afraid of such a thing and that
they
were different. Freshly invigorated, the goblins made to strike the northerners before they could shore up their lines.

“So the roll was…
snake eyes
.” Dwarf Shaman scowled. He took a gulp of his wine, of which he had spilled not a drop despite the tossing of the boat. “The wheel of karma turns. It might turn us right over at this rate…!”

The situation was bad. The music of battle crescendoed, the shouting of warriors mingling with their death cries, and then there was the ocean, boiling up again.

This was not a battle anymore. An attack by an unknown monster did not call for soldiers. Who could be expected to leap straight into this whirlpool of chaos?

Who else? Adventurers.

“All right…,” Goblin Slayer said softly. “What’s next?”

He could tell one thing: That was no goblin.