Goblin Slayer, Vol. 14

In Priestess’s eyes, he looked like a stag with golden antlers. Yes: like the horns of the great god that every child imagined on the helmets of the fearsome Vikings.

The lightning ran onto the chieftain’s sword, swelling its size, making it ever larger. The chieftain grinned and brought the sword back toward his shoulder, preparing to swing.

It is pain that gives life its joy.

It is the searing heat followed by the shock of cold that tempers steel.

A god of steel wreathed in lightning. A true miracle, bestowed by the blessing of the husband-and-wife gods.

This, this was the all-cleaving blade known only to those who had uncovered the deepest secrets of steel.

“Hoh, adventurers!” the chieftain shouted, taking aim at his mortal foe. “On my mark!”

§

“Goblin Slayer, sir!” It was Priestess who acted before anyone else, raising her sounding staff, with Spark on her hand.

The furious sea. The ship that threatened to break apart beneath their feet. The massive sea devil. The horde of goblins. The fight they were still in the middle of. The journey north. Adventure.

Precious moments, all. Inspiration came like a dawning light in the back of Goblin Slayer’s mind.

“Tail Wind, now!”

“You got it!”

Even though he had just fished a gigantic monster out of the ocean, Dwarf Shaman didn’t look tired, and he acted without a moment’s hesitation. He understood well that at times like this, this man, Goblin Slayer, would always come up with something.

“O sylphs, thou windy maidens fair, grant to me your kiss most rare—bless our ship with breezes fair…!”

Even as the sylphs of the northern sea sang and danced, they reached out a hand to their friend. The wind began to batter the ship—which was really just some rotting wood barely holding the shape of a boat. The gust was powerful enough to catch even High Elf Archer off guard and send her stumbling. She glanced in Priestess’s direction. Her cherished but much younger friend was standing at the prow of the ship, her staff held high, praying for all she was worth.

Boy, she’s really become something to be proud of.

Priestess herself was probably the only one who didn’t realize it. Humans were quick. That made the elf a little jealous and also a little bit sad.

“Oh, for… It
always
turns out like this, doesn’t it?” High Elf Archer said with studied cheerfulness, pounding Lizard Priest on the back. “One more stand. Let’s not go falling down now…!”

“Mm, I quite agree.”

High Elf Archer raced across the deck, giggling at the way his tail tickled as it brushed past her legs. Whatever Orcbolg was up to, it would bring down that sea monster. And if the high elf’s arrows could hit it at all, they would whittle away the creature’s hit points.

Although granted, she did grumble “Ugh” when she saw Orcbolg pull out the bottle full of greasy liquid. “I thought I told you to stop acting like a Hylar dwarf.”

“This is a different plan,” Goblin Slayer said calmly. “Get ready.”

“Ha-ha-ha…”

I’m so going to kick his ass when we get home.

But even that thought was somehow reassuring. High Elf Archer kicked off the gunwale, pulling back on her bow and loosing an arrow.

“OOCCCTAAAAAAAAAAAALLUUUUUUUUUUUSSS!!!!!!!”

Then fire glowed in Goblin Slayer’s hand. The black liquid in the bottle was beginning a conflagration, and he flung it—down through a hole in the deck.

This was Medea’s fire, petroleum, or Iranistan’s oil. Whatever you called it, it was…

“Fire water.”

Boom.
There was a great roar, accompanied by an eruption of flames. Immediately, the fire began to lick at the whole ship, charring everything black, shining all around…

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, please, by your revered hand, cleanse us of our corruption.”

From the midst of this, how could the gods fail to hear the plea of a young girl?

Her soul-shearingly pure prayer reached the Earth Mother—who must have smiled a little when she thought of where this prayer was going. But still she granted it, her delicate, invisible fingers brushing across the corrupted goblin ship, purifying it.

There might be flames all around, but this was unmistakably a holy wind blowing past them. Although, since the fire was sucking up all the oxygen, it would have been tricky to breathe without their breathing rings.

The fire devoured the speed of the ship, sucked in the wind behind it, growing stronger as it consumed.

“I knew this ring would be necessary if we used this much fire,” said Goblin Slayer, who had checked his facts ahead of time. Then he took the battle-ax bequeathed to him by the northern warrior and put it in the belt at his hip. He gave a disinterested “Hmph” regarding the goblin arm lying at his feet and kicked it out of the way.

There was no turning back now. There was only one thing to do.

“Release the spell!” Goblin Slayer shouted. “We’re jumping!”

“You’re on, Scaly!”

“Understood…!”

“Heek?!”

“Your ass is gonna get
so kicked
!”

Goblin Slayer grabbed up Priestess, while Lizard Priest put Dwarf Shaman on his back, and High Elf Archer flew merrily through the air.

Then the adventurers put an end to their adventure.

§

The goblin grinned to himself, grateful to his own good luck. He was covered in wounds, he had been stabbed in the belly, and the stump of his arm had been inundated with saltwater, agonizing it. But despite it all, the goblin was alive. Even if only just.

He’d clung to the side of the rolling ship, and that had saved him. The foolish adventurers had foolishly overlooked him, like the fools they were. One day, he would make them regret it.

He had done nothing wrong, and yet, look how he had been treated. Surely he was entitled to do the same to them.

Struggling with his single remaining arm, the goblin managed to crawl across the deck.

His head just wouldn’t stop spinning, though.

“GOROGB…?”

Suddenly, he noticed there was fire everywhere. It should have been too hot to bear—so why did he barely feel warm?

The air, however, was deeply unpleasant. It made him want to retch.

The goblin cursed everything he could think of, but he was in fact rather satisfied with his current situation. The ship seemed to be speeding along for some reason. That would help him. And he had survived. Thus, he could always come back. And then he would find those adventurers, and someday, he vowed, he would kill them…

“GORRGGB?!?!”

The last thing the goblin saw as he looked up was the vast, black emptiness within the yawning jaws.

§

Up on the surface, the roar of the lightning dragon resounded. The blade of electricity struck true, slamming into the sea devil, and
meanwhile, the burning ship became a flaming spear piercing the monster.

“OOCCCTAAAAAAAAAAAALLUUUUUUUUUUUSSS?!?!?!”

The monster bellowed and reared back. The lightning-shrouded sword and the burning ship were both terrible weapons—and yet, they were not enough. Neither could land a final, critical hit.

What shocked the creature more than anything else was the great sacred flare, the likes of which it had never experienced before. The weight of the “holy ship,” carrying the blessing of the Earth Mother, overwhelmed the sea devil.

And then the effect of Water Walk wore off.

Monster and ship both hit the water with an enormous spray of foam and sank. Down they went, then farther down. The great mass of them, which had been supported by the water sprites until that moment, slammed into the sea.

They sucked a massive flow of saltwater down with them—which then rebounded. It caught up the abandoned hulks floating on the battlefield, the surviving goblin, and the northerners in a single tremendous wave.

“Hold steaaadddyyyyy!”

But the Vikings, the People of the Bay, ate massive waves for breakfast. They weren’t worried about the goblins or about the sea devil—for they were with the people they lived and fought with every day. At a single order, without panic and without hesitation, they grabbed their oars and began rowing.

Even the least of the northerners was a formidable warrior and an unimpeachable sailor.

“GORGGB?!”

“GORBBGG?!?!”

And the goblins, needless to say, were not.

The goblins, without the least sense for ships or the sea, could hardly even struggle. They were simply swallowed up. Consumed. No goblin would emerge from these waters alive.

Nature in the Four-Cornered World was absolutely fair to all. It
bestowed its blessings upon those who could adapt—and upon those who couldn’t, destruction.

Perhaps it would be most accurate to say that the northern sea settled everything with its own hand.

§

“Good gods, but you do the wildest things,” the chieftain said with an exasperated smile. The sky had changed completely and was now bright and sunny.

The adventurers had jumped from the flaming ship, passing the sea devil and the lightning sword. They were hale and healthy as they stood on the deck, watching the sea gradually regain its calm.

“Is that so?” Goblin Slayer asked, cocking his head, seawater dripping from his helmet. “I only did what I always do.”

High Elf Archer gave him a good, sound kick, sending him sprawling. She pointed and laughed, but Priestess hurried up to her. “I-it was my idea, so…!”

At that, High Elf Archer looked up at the heavens and covered her face. But whatever she was wishing for at that moment, the Earth Mother—averting her eyes herself—probably didn’t hear it.

Lizard Priest, observing the three of them, rolled his eyes merrily in his head, while Dwarf Shaman grabbed the wine at his hip with some resignation. “Do yeh really think that killed it? I mean, something that big? Not entirely confident m’self…”

“Hmmmm.” Lizard Priest sighed heavily. “Even if it did, I very much doubt whether that thing was the last of its kind.”

“Aw, who cares?” At his friend’s joke at the spell caster who had done more than anybody else this time out, he glugged down some wine.

“If it ever comes back…it just means another
drekka
!” The
goði
looked at the northerners, who gave a great bellow of victory up to the heavens. The rescued prisoners wept and embraced one another, argued with the other northerners, and generally made a lot of noise.

The chieftain, listening happily to the hubbub, smiled. “Was I as heroic as you’d hoped of me, my dear—?” And then he spoke the
húsfreya
’s name.

She chuckled and said, “Oh, my dear
husbondi
. Your accent is showing again.”

“Oops!” The chieftain scratched his cheek in embarrassment. He still had a lot to learn. “
Ahem…
Dear wife. I do thank you always,” he said, making sure to sound like one of the northerners.

The
húsfreya
leaned toward him: Under his helmet, his lips were undefended. She brushed them gently. In perfect common speech, she said: “I do adore you, my prince.”

“——”

“Hmm?”

“Once more! Dear wife, I beg you!”

“Heavens, I couldn’t!” she said mischievously, slipping back into her accustomed style of speech and dancing away from the chieftain with a smile. The black-steel keys clinked on her hip; she brushed them with her fingers, looking endlessly happy.

“Please return these for me. Later, when there’s a chance.” Goblin Slayer, who had finally gotten to his feet again and was watching the two of them, spoke to a nearby northerner—the warrior with the wounded face. He had more wounds now—and Goblin Slayer handed him two weapons. The northern sword that had been at his hip until this moment and the enchanted battle-ax.

“Are you quite certain?”

“They’re good weapons,” Goblin Slayer replied. And then he added, “They’re wasted on me.”

Hmm.
The scar-faced warrior let out a quiet breath, but at length he said, “I understand,” and took the items reverently.

Among the Vikings, it was said that if you offered something to someone, be it as humble as a hunting knife, you ought to receive something in return. This was a land where fighting never ceased. That was exactly what made it a land so rich in the knowledge of how to avoid fights and traditions that promoted peace.

But receive something? He had received so much already.

The young lovers—the husband and wife—their joyous faces were things of such profound value here in the north.

“What really matters is this: It was a fine fight,” the northerner said.

“Hrm?”

“I speak of your reward.” The warrior with the wounds on his face made sure he had a firm, respectful grip on the sword and ax. “You adventurers are not thieves, are you? Mercenaries, perhaps?”

“No.” Goblin Slayer shook his head. It was almost a reflexive movement; thus, it took him several seconds of silence to find the words. “No…,” he repeated. “Adventurers are those who go on adventures.”

Adventurers were those who risked danger. They traveled the world, delved into dungeons, and faced dragons for riches, honor, renown, or the sake of the people. That was how it was supposed to be—how he wanted to believe that it was. How he wanted to be.

“I am Goblin Slayer,” he said. There was nothing he hated more than having goblins stand in his way. But there was also nothing more painful than having goblins stand in his way. “For a reward… I ask that in the future, when adventurers visit this land, you treat them as adventurers.”

“Is that indeed enough?”

“Yes.”

Priestess, listening at a distance, thought for a moment she had misheard, her eyes widening. Because otherwise, if she hadn’t… Well, it might be the first time she had ever heard such a thing. And yet, she didn’t feel the tremble of discomfort that had run through her in the past.

Because—well, hadn’t he done it? Perhaps it had the groaning quality of a rusty hinge, but he—he had laughed out loud.

“Yes, that is enough,” he said. And then, as if it was a matter of utmost importance, Goblin Slayer added, “Also, if you could provide a scabbard for me.”