Goblin Slayer, Vol. 15

“Even dwarves and lizardmen usually freak out when they see something they think is a Living Armor,” High Elf Archer said, kicking her legs in amusement and squinting like a cat. “But you can even stare down a high elf. Truly, a fearless centaur warrior.”

“Hrmph,” grunted Baturu, sticking out her lip at the elf’s gentle teasing. She glared at the adventurer. “I’m told that your kind trick people into getting lost in the forest, then ambush them with a hail of stones from the treetops. They say you can’t be too careful around elves.”

“Sure they weren’t talking about some other sort of faerie?” High Elf Archer guffawed and waved the story away, despite the exasperated look on her face. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. There’s going to be a formal quest, and we’ve accepted it. Now you can just leave it to the adventurers!”

“I’m not saying I trust you,” the centaur said with a pout. “I’m going, too.”

“That is
not
a demand the inheritor of our family’s estate gets to make,” Centaur Waitress said. There was a
gong!
as she smacked Baturu on the head; Baturu clutched her brow and exclaimed, “Ow!” Centaur Waitress snorted and glared at her, but her expression quickly softened. Her personality, along with her experience, must have been what enabled her to switch between domestic scolding and external politeness so quickly. “Unfortunately, I know that once this girl says she’s going to do something, she won’t listen to reason, so if you don’t mind…” She bowed her head respectfully.

“Mm, mm,” Lizard Priest said with a broad wave—a sign of acceptance. Sometimes such a deferential attitude was part of responding appropriately to another person’s feelings. Centaur Waitress would have only grown more anxious if the adventurers about to take her little sister away had acted too humble or lacking in confidence. “We shall do whatsoever is within our power. You may set your mind at ease.”

“Thank you. I’m worried about the princess, too. I hope you all can find out what’s going on,” Centaur Waitress said. “C’mon, you too,” she added in the direction of Baturu, who dipped her head reluctantly.

“Thank you for your help,” she said, failing to successfully hide the displeasure in her voice. An argument broke out between the sisters: the elder exclaiming, “Be nice!” and the younger retorting, “I said it, didn’t I?!” Their disagreement was noisy, but Goblin Slayer was silent as he watched the sisters jabber at each other. He said nothing, nor even began to say anything. He didn’t even grunt softly, as he usually did. No one in the party could guess what expression he was making under that metal helmet.

“How about it, Beard-cutter? What d’you plan to do?” Dwarf Shaman asked, judging the most natural timing.

“Hrm…,” Goblin Slayer muttered, as if only now registering the presence of others. His helmet moved. “What do I plan to do about what?”

“I mean, what’re you going to do next?”

“Ah…”

Surely he’d at least been considering it, but Goblin Slayer crossed his arms as if in thought.

A missing princess. An adventurer who might have kidnapped her. Located in the water town.

No communication since the princess’s disappearance—it would have taken a few days before this centaur girl decided to act. Long enough that if the princess was in mortal danger, they should assume it was now too late.

But what if it wasn’t?

“We need to hurry, but it’ll be quicker to catch tomorrow’s first carriage than to walk,” he said.

“Good point. We won’t be needin’ provisions, but have you got that letter of introduction to the water town office?” Dwarf Shaman asked.

“Mm.” Goblin Slayer nodded. “And I have acquaintances in that city. We’ll manage.”

“You mean Lady Archbishop,” Dwarf Shaman said. “And that young woman. I hear she’s doing quite well for herself in the world of commerce.”

Priestess picked up the thread: “She’s been at the king’s palace pretty much all the time lately!” She sounded as pleased as if she was talking about herself.

“Sounds like she’s keeping busy,” High Elf Archer said with a twitch of her ears. “Why do you humans like to collect money so much? It’s just round pieces of metal.”

“It lets you have good wine and good food, even if you can’t make ’em yourself. That’s the power of cash.” Dwarf Shaman nodded knowingly and took a swig of fire wine from the gourd flask at his hip. “Money helps you manage what you can’t do on your own. It’s pretty convenient once you grasp the principle.”

“Huh. Is that how it works?”

“
You’ve
got money,” Dwarf Shaman said, scowling at the elf. “That’s why you can blow it playing around!”

“Sure, sure… Wait, I’m not blowing it!” The elf tried waving away the hurtful words with an indeterminate gesture; the remark seemed to hurt even her long ears.

“…You speak of
jiaochao
, yes?” Baturu said with a serious expression, her hooves clapping on the floor. She seemed to feel this was the perfect excuse to escape her sister’s lecture. “It appears you are going to help us, much as I might wish it were not so. I am more than willing to compensate you.” (Then again, perhaps it was her older sister’s presence that made her try to act as mature as possible.) Ignoring Centaur Waitress’s slight smile, Baturu reached into her baggage and pulled out a pouch. “How much will it be? Will this be enough?”

She held it up proudly. Dwarf Shaman took it in his fingers, his eyes going wide. “I can’t believe this…”

It was a bill. A paper bill, made from some sort of grass (“Mulberry skins,” High Elf Archer commented). It was a sight to behold, covered in letters and elaborate patterns in ink.

But that was all it was. High Elf Archer might not have realized it, but Priestess did; she said, “Er,
ahem
,” and looked uncomfortable.

Baturu flicked her tail in annoyance at the uneasy looks from all and sundry. “What, you need more?”

“We need currency we can use!” Dwarf Shaman said. “I mean, sure, good paper has its value—but paper’s not gold or silver.” He held the bill near a lantern so the light shone through it, and he shook his head.

“…You barbarians,” Baturu spat and snatched the bill back.

Centaur Waitress—who had certainly seen this coming—was about to offer a sisterly word of exasperation, but then Goblin Slayer said, “It makes no difference to me. A reward has already been promised, and I don’t seek more than that.”

“…Are you sure, sir?” Centaur Waitress asked.

“I meant what I said,” Goblin Slayer replied. Before Centaur Waitress or Baturu could speak up again, he cast a look around at everyone in the room and said, “Come what may, we leave tomorrow. You should all go get ready.”

§

Who talks like that? It was almost as if I was…their leader
, Goblin Slayer mused, chastising himself. He was on the way home, and the gore-red light of the setting sun turned the town orange and shimmered over the path to the farm. He walked nonchalantly, weaving among the people around him, making his way through a scene he’d experienced many times before.

Knowing there was some part of him that was pleased was deeply discomforting.

An adventurer… Didn’t it make him nervous to be seen as one?

I fear I’ll cease to pay attention to where I’m going.

He must never begin thinking that he was somehow special. He must simply remember that he had done all he could do and that this was where it had led him. That was the simple fact; he was neither contemptuous nor envious of anyone else.

And yet, it bothered him that no one had pushed back against the words he had spoken earlier.

Were their perceptions changing with time, leaving him behind? Was what they were seeing really
him
? Could it be that after years of pulling the wool over their eyes, he was going to be seen through at a stroke? Realize that he had his hands full simply handling whatever was in front of him—that that was the most he could manage?

Hmm.

Did that mean he wished to be thought of as someone important? Someone special?

What a ridiculous idea. Truly and profoundly stupid.

The very fact that he was even expending any energy thinking about this was the height of foolishness.

“…It’s very difficult,” he said slowly. A quest searching for a centaur princess was the last thing he was suited for. And when he thought about it, he realized:

Quests like that seem to have become my bread and butter lately.
From running the dungeon exploration contest to surveying the northern reaches—even, going back a bit, the exploration of the underground city.
When this is over
, he thought,
I’ll focus on goblin hunting for a while
.

Goblin hunting was certainly no picnic (nor was any adventure). But everyone had specific strengths and weaknesses, just like how Heavy Warrior said he wasn’t suited to urban adventuring. From that perspective, goblin hunting was good. There were fewer things you didn’t know, fewer things to worry about—like what was where or what would happen in the next instant. Goblin nests were familiar places to Goblin Slayer. They almost felt like home.

Now that I think about it…

It occurred to him that he had now spent longer in goblin nests than he had in his own village. At the realization, he felt his lips tighten, tensing into a warped smile beneath his helmet.

That was living; that was all it was. It didn’t always go the way you wanted.

“…You’re back?”

He halted, surprised by the voice that came at him from the dusk. A figure stood outlined by the brackish sunlight—the owner of the farm.

“Yes,” he answered after a moment’s thought. Then he added in a respectful tone, “I was thinking about what I would do on my next adventure.” It sounded like an excuse. The owner hadn’t asked him about that.

The man was swinging a farm implement listlessly through some hay. In the middle of fieldwork, perhaps. He sighed and hefted his pitchfork onto his shoulder with a motion that suggested it was a great effort. “Another goblin hunt?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Goblin Slayer replied. After a moment of thought, he
shook his head. “It doesn’t seem to be.” Then he even added that he had been asked to find someone.

He said nothing further—he couldn’t. He didn’t know how to explain it. How to tell the other man that he had been asked to find a centaur princess, just as if he was a halfway decent adventurer. He accepted that some people might laugh in his face if they heard it, not that he thought this man to whom he owed so much would necessarily do so.

“That right…?” The owner almost looked relieved. Although Goblin Slayer didn’t understand why he would feel that way. “Tough job?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know yet.”

He refrained from mentioning that it would depend on the circumstances. That the most optimistic scenario was that the centaur princess had simply forgotten to send her letter after she left home and was now an adventurer in the water town. That was still not outside the realm of possibility, so he would have to investigate before he could say anything for sure.

Baturu was adamant that the princess wouldn’t have been so neglectful of her commitments, but…

I’m not so sure.

They would get nowhere except by testing each possibility, one thing at a time.

“She doesn’t appear to be in this area, however,” Goblin Slayer continued. “I think I’ll end up going to the water town.”

“I see…”

The owner and Goblin Slayer started walking side by side. It wasn’t far to the main house. The owner was probably on his way to put his tools in the shed (not the one Goblin Slayer was using). Goblin Slayer didn’t expect the conversation to last terribly long.

“Things’ll get busier by the end of summer,” the owner said. “If you were back by then, it’d be a help.”

“Yes, sir.”

He shuffled along beside the man, feeling like a child whose parents were asking him to help out. He found it hard to claim that he was particularly good at farmwork, especially with this seasoned professional right next to him, but he’d picked up the basics.

Moving his body without having to think was relaxing for him. He would never keep up with people if he constantly had to be using his wits. He was convinced he was more suited for work that didn’t require such mental exertion.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said.

He wasn’t sure what the old farmer thought about that, but the man said, “Ah… I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean you have to hurry your work…”

The door to the main house was before them, but Cow Girl, whose cooking was presumably the source of the smoke drifting from the chimney, wouldn’t be able to hear them from here. The farm owner stopped and looked at Goblin Slayer’s metal helmet. Finally, he said slowly, “Work is work. Someone asked you to do it, and you accepted, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then make sure you do it right.”

From behind his visor, Goblin Slayer looked at the farmer. The farmer gazed back, straight at him, as if his armor wasn’t there.

“They’ll know if you cut corners,” the man said.

“…Yes, sir.”

Thick hands covered in dirt and scratches gave Goblin Slayer’s leather armor a gentle pat. Goblin Slayer watched the old man as he walked away toward the storehouse. He let his own fingers brush the dust where the farmer’s hand had touched his shoulder.

He was convinced his own hands would never be like that.

§

“So you’re leaving again?”

“Seems like it.”

She knew he must be nodding his helmeted head from his place at the table behind her. Cow Girl always loved these quiet moments when the two of them were alone together as she got dinner ready.

I guess Uncle is nice enough to leave us alone…

The thought made her feel embarrassed, or maybe a little shy, so she determined not to think about it.

A pot of stew, rich with milk, was heating on the stove; she stirred it idly from time to time. The smoke from the stove and the steam from the pot combined to feel warm and friendly. The dishes and tableware had been polished with cleaning sand until they gleamed; it was as if they were eagerly waiting for their turn to serve.

She couldn’t wait, either. This was one of the moments she loved most of all.

He liked stew very much—and she liked serving it to him. Besides, a farmer’s dinner was supposed to be stew; it was practically a cliché. Only in the city did you get to have rich, elaborate fare for every meal. A city like…

“The water town, say?”

“Mm.”

She’d almost been talking to herself, but he responded nonetheless.

Cow Girl smiled happily, just as glad that her back was to him.

“I don’t know how long it will take, though.”

“No?”

“I’ll be looking for someone,” he said. “It won’t be over until I find them.”

“Sounds tough…,” she said, although she didn’t have any idea how tough it might actually be. Once, she had visited an elf village (ah, that had been like a dream!). And not long before, she had been attacked by goblins in an abandoned village in winter (ah, that had been like a nightmare!). But this alone didn’t give her any understanding of the difficulties of real adventure, let alone doing something someone had requested you to do. That, she knew only from what he’d told her.

“But I’d like to try to finish the quest and be back before the end of summer,” he added.

“Sure.” She nodded, giving the stew a stir. It wasn’t that big a deal. She thought she understood, more or less, what he was trying to say. But rather than point it out, she often liked to wait silently. She kept one eye on him as she glanced at the meal or opened and closed the cupboard to no real purpose.

Still wearing his metal helmet as he always did, her childhood friend continued slowly. “So I’ll be away again starting tomorrow.”

He stopped there and fell into something of a sullen silence. It did
not signal the end of the conversation—that much she had learned long ago. So she simply looked down into the pot, considering what she would say, how she would answer…

“I’ll be back,” he said finally.

“Have a good trip,” she replied. She hoped her voice hadn’t scratched as she spoke. She wasn’t sure. His own voice had been tenser than usual; he seemed to speak all in a single rushing breath.

“…”

At last, Cow Girl couldn’t stand just stealing sidelong glances and turned to face him. She rested on the edge of the stove, almost sitting on it (not very polite of her), and looked at him. He was sitting silently at the table, looking straight back at her.

She peered behind his visor. She knew the expression that must be on his face, as if she could see it with her own eyes.

The canary chirped faintly from a corner of the house.

Cow Girl was the first to speak at the sound, unable to hold it in any longer. “…I guess this isn’t exactly the time for this conversation, huh?” she said, giggling.

“Mm,” he replied and nodded very seriously. “Although I wasn’t sure how else to say it.”

“Me neither!” Now laughing out loud, she turned back toward the stew. Her uncle would be coming in for dinner soon. It would be the last time they ate together as a family for a while.

Maybe I should have made something fancier
, she thought.

But he liked stew, and she liked to make it for him. It would be a while until she got to do that again, too—and the thought made her feel that “the usual” was best tonight.

A pleasant aroma wafted from the stew; it would taste wonderful and be hearty in their stomachs.

He’ll have to go without this for a while…

That was part of what made adventuring so tough, she figured. That struck her as less than modest, and she started laughing again.

Would it have been too ordinary to tell him to be careful?
Do your best!
meanwhile, seemed somehow irresponsible. Wasn’t he always doing the best he could?

Cow Girl let her imagination range as she spooned the stew into
their bowls. She thought about how she would spend the time until he got back; she wondered whether her uncle already knew about this trip.

The water town: She’d been there once before. It was a big city. He had gone a number of times, by her recollection.

Oh yeah!
Even as she chatted with him, Cow Girl’s mind didn’t stop working. There were things she had to do. Such as, say…

“You’re welcome to bring me a souvenir—but no animals this time, okay?”

“…” He grunted softly, then tilted his head, perplexed. “I don’t think I bring you animals that often.”

Just doing what had to be done each day as she waited for him would be work enough.

§

“…I will
not
ride in any vehicle pulled by horses!”

Well, they probably should have seen that coming.

It was the next morning, and they were at the carriage station on the outskirts of the frontier town. Warm sunlight shone down on people heading east to the capital and those going even farther west, toward the pioneer settlements. Some of the travelers appeared to be farming families with their lives on their backs, while others were mountaineers carrying digging equipment.

Merchants with loads of cargo, preachers with holy books, and a circuit-rider woman were all there, too. As, of course, were the adventurers in their panoply of equipment who served as bodyguards to all these. Boots, hooves, and of course carriage wheels clattered over the flagstones. There was a lively burble of conversation.

The place was small for a station, but it was still the most crowded spot in town. And standing there, making an unwavering declaration about her willingness (or not) to ride in a wagon, was the young centaur woman Baturu. She stared with astonishment at the horses hitched to the wagon, who were taller than she was.

“T’ain’t going to get there by walking,” said Dwarf Shaman, who
had worked his proverbial magic to arrange the ride. In fact, he cut quite a dashing figure sitting in the driver’s seat, holding the reins.

“Wow, you rented this for us?” Priestess asked him.

“Figured it’d be a lot more convenient than sharing a ride.”

To Priestess, the horse looked in excellent shape, its legs large and strong, its mane shiny, its eyes glittering. She patted its nose, and it gave her palm a friendly nuzzle. Priestess smiled at it.

“It looks very smart and very strong… It would probably be fit for riding,” she said.

The wagon Dwarf Shaman had procured was just as magnificent, a large vehicle with a cover. It seemed like maybe it was intended to carry cargo rather than passengers—but the wheels looked a little elaborate for that…

“It’s for transporting wine,” Dwarf Shaman explained when he saw Priestess looking at the wheels. “And shaking is the enemy of good wine.” He grinned mischievously. “After what happened with the early harvest and the sacred drink, I thought the wine merchant might be open to negotiating. Let’s just say I borrowed this thing.”

“Ahhh…”

Priestess was surprised to realize that she now looked back almost fondly on the events to which he was referring. The commotion surrounding the sacred wine—some things about it had been unpleasant, but as adventures went, everything had ended more or less happily. She remembered Sister Grape had been quite close with the young merchant.

I guess those are important connections, too.
Who knew when they might come in handy on an adventure? She nodded to herself: She would have to remember that.

“I don’t need this!” Baturu declared, otherwise ignoring the conversation between Dwarf Shaman and Priestess. She was scuffing the ground angrily, as if to communicate that she wanted to leave
right now
. The stone felt so different under her hooves than the grass of the field, and that only made her more upset. “I’m perfectly capable of walking the distance to the water town or wherever it is. Unlike you humans.”

“Why make things harder when you can make them easier?” said High Elf Archer, peering out from under the wagon cover, into which she had slithered almost without their noticing. She’d already staked out her spot, tossing her baggage down and kicking back.

She must have caught some provocation from Dwarf Shaman on the driver’s seat, because her ears went flat; she pulled her head back under the cover and shouted, “I can hear you, dwarf!” after which she reemerged. “That’s one human philosophy I think we can learn from,” she said before adding, “because humans are experts at being lazy!” Even the way she cackled sounded like a tinkling bell.

“I don’t think it’s laziness…,” Priestess offered, but all she could do was smile.

She tried finding an angle where she could meet Baturu’s eyes, just like she had the day before, but unlike when the other girl had been sitting down, she now had a head’s height on Priestess. Stretch and stand on her tiptoes how she might, Priestess couldn’t look Baturu in the eyes; she finally resorted to climbing on a wooden crate.

When Baturu saw that, her head drooped slightly, although Priestess didn’t look much happier. “I suppose it’s…not impossible. Horses are horses. They’re not Pray-ers…”

It was much like how a human felt no particular discomfort watching a monkey being made to perform. (Although in fairness, the idea that humans and monkeys shared some kind of blood relationship was just one of those absurd things the lizardmen were given to saying…)

“However, is it not the height of folly to entrust oneself to another’s back?” Baturu asked.

“There is indeed something compelling to that logic,” Lizard Priest said, slithering down to look under the wagon. His trained warrior’s eyes would not miss anything that had gone unprepared. He and Goblin Slayer appeared satisfied with their inspection of the vehicle. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust the wine merchant or, for that matter, Dwarf Shaman, but there was always the possibility of problems that no one had even thought of.

“For example, I was veritably freezing during our battle in the water,” Lizard Priest went on. His blood, he informed them, had quite slowed down! He sounded like he was making some kind of joke, but
lizardman humor could be hard to fathom. It must have been uncomfortable, though, knowing that his entire fate rested in the hands of others.

“All the more reason for me to walk…!” Baturu said.

“But it won’t do you any good to waste your stamina,” Goblin Slayer replied as he dusted off his gloves, evidently finding the state of the wagon acceptable. “A human can cover a hundred kilometers by walking two nights through, but we use horses.”

“Hrm…” Baturu looked like she wanted to say something to that but couldn’t think up a comeback; all she could do was grumble. Could centaurs not manage that speed, then? For that matter, could humans?

Priestess looked from Baturu to Goblin Slayer and back, then finally just asked the question: “…Is that true?”

“A human can match a horse for speed—at least over a long distance like that,” Goblin Slayer answered.

In short sprints, a horse or a centaur could use their explosive power—literal horsepower—to be much faster than a human. Across long distances, meanwhile, a human could prevail using their most ordinary trait: almost inexhaustible stamina. In the Four-Cornered World, humans were, after all, recognized as the most tenacious people, those who were the worst at knowing when to give up.

“That, however, is assuming one kept nothing in reserve. If you want to be ready for a fight, then you must conserve what you’re able,” Goblin Slayer said.

Right.

Priestess gripped her sounding staff firmly with both hands and nodded. “If you can win by doing something reckless or outrageous, then it makes things easier… Like you always say!”

Goblin Slayer was silent. High Elf Archer was on the wagon’s luggage rack, grinning like a cat. Baturu, unsure what that was supposed to mean, simply looked confused.

Goblin Slayer grunted quietly, and then before Priestess or anyone else could say anything, he continued in a quick, low tone. “…There is also the rain and the wind to consider. And neither you nor I wish to remove our armor, yes?”

Here, too, Baturu seemed to have no answer.

Priestess could only imagine a life of running free around grassy fields—but she was familiar with the elements, for she had encountered them many a time on her adventures. Not just wind and rain—she had found herself faced with snow and storms as well. Older and more experienced adventurers had warned her not to be cavalier about even a passing shower. Someone might say to themselves that it was only a little rain, and the next town was close, and they would just get wet as they walked there—only to collapse by the road and die. Yes, it could happen in the rain, not just in blizzards. One never knew what Fate and Chance held in store.

Baturu must have been well acquainted with the cruelties of nature.

“………Fine,” she said at last. “Yes, I understand.” She puffed out her cheeks like a young woman scolded by her parents or teacher. “I am not enough of a child to keep griping.”

She trotted over to the wagon (
clop, clop
), where she reared up and put her front legs on the cart. High Elf Archer quickly reached out and took her hand to help her, but even for a high elf, a centaur was heavy. Priestess quickly moved to support Baturu’s rear end—but then realized she wasn’t sure how to help.

“Uh, m-may I touch you here…?” she asked.

“…Yes, that’s fine.”

So with some hesitation, Priestess pushed on Baturu’s shapely buttocks. It wouldn’t have bothered her to do this to a horse, but she was dealing with a centaur—with a toned young woman, at that. She looked at the ground to hide the flush in her cheeks; the velvety feeling under her hands gave her the sense that she was doing something wrong. She couldn’t see Baturu’s face, but maybe that was for the better.

“And…hup!” Baturu said.

The sight of a centaur clambering into a wagon must have been a strange one indeed, for many passersby at the station turned and gawked. A glare from Lizard Priest, however, persuaded them to go about their business.

Thankfully, Baturu was able to make her way onto the wagon readily enough, if not quite gracefully. However, even the relatively
spacious vehicle felt a little cramped with a centaur the size of a young horse in it. It didn’t help that, though she ducked to fit under the cover, she remained standing. High Elf Archer looked perplexed, but Lizard Priest stuck his head under the wagon cover and said, “I was unsure what the centaurs do in such situations, you see. Shall I bring straw for you?”

“…I’m not a horse,” the young centaur lady replied brusquely, making no effort to hide the annoyance on her face. She nonetheless didn’t completely abandon her civility, seeing as Lizard Priest did behave as if he was dealing with nobility. Humans had a tendency to view lizardmen and centaurs (to say nothing of frontierspeople) as simple barbarians, yet here they were.

“Forgetting your manners when the other person could kill you at any moment would be to take your life in your hands,”
Lizard Priest had said. And yet, Priestess sometimes found herself thinking that his lack of hesitation as he said this perhaps showed that he was the more civilized.

“We lay a
khivs
on the floor of our
ger
for rugs,” Baturu said. “But…since there is no
khivs
here, straw will do.”

“Splendid,” Lizard Priest said.

“I’ll go get some!” Priestess offered, and then she set off, pattering along like a small bird. There must have been some straw close by a station like this.

Goblin Slayer watched her go, full of vim and vigor and downright excitement at the idea of an adventure. Then he hefted the bag she’d left onto the luggage rack. He studied Baturu closely from behind his visor (she made a small “erk”) and headed for the driver’s bench. As the scout charged with keeping an eye out for enemies as they made their way across the open plain, it would be best for him to be somewhere with a wide, open field of view. It was always Goblin Slayer’s role to switch off with High Elf Archer, each of them keeping their eyes peeled in turn.

Using the step, he swung himself up beside Dwarf Shaman, looking accustomed to the act if not quite graceful.

“Ho, Beard-cutter. This is shaping up to be quite an adventure.”

“An adventure…”

“Sure! Finding a lost princess! Though I’ve got to say…you don’t
hear much about centaurs in the sagas.” He grinned and offered a sip of fire wine to Goblin Slayer, who silently declined. “No?” Dwarf Shaman asked, but he accompanied it with a great guffaw, not upset in the least. He took a dramatic swig himself.

Finally, wiping the droplets off his beard with his sleeve and lighting up his red face with a smile, he said, “…Disappointed it’s not goblins?”

“No,” was all Goblin Slayer told him.

Goblin Slayer shook his head and looked around at the mass of people going by. They chatted amiably under the bright sunlight; boots smacked against flagstones, almost as if pushing their owners forward through town. Some of them were leaving the Adventurers Guild, checking their equipment, chatting with their party members, clad in every manner of gear as they headed out. They belonged to every race and age and job and gender, those who walked by, and not one of them doubted where their road was leading.

Not one of them went forward assuming they would fail on their next adventure.

If one wanted only to earn money to survive, one could just as easily be a farmer or, for that matter, a prostitute. There were plenty of options. If one wanted only to achieve victory and earn glory, one could be a knight, a mercenary, or a sword fighter.

There was something else. Something those vocations didn’t have. That was what drove people to risk themselves on adventures. That was what made them adventurers. If they didn’t seek that thing, they wouldn’t be adventurers.

“…” The One Who Slays Goblins sighed. “I think…perhaps it might be good to try something else.”

“Well, you
were
personally asked. Got every reason to hold your chest high and do it.”

“That’s easy enough to say.”

Dwarf Shaman didn’t reply but waited patiently for Goblin Slayer’s next words. High Elf Archer, under the cover, could probably hear what they were saying, but she chose not to interject. What about Lizard Priest? One couldn’t be sure, but in any case, he busied himself dealing with Baturu.

Goblin Slayer was painfully grateful for his party members’ decorum.

He sighed. How, he wondered, could he repay them for that?

“…But it is difficult,” he eventually said.

“Ah, there ain’t an easy adventure around,” Dwarf Shaman agreed. And he was right.

Priestess came jogging back with an armful of straw, her brow glistening with sweat. “Thanks for waiting!” she said.

Goblin Slayer nodded, contemplated what he ought to say, and then spoke it:

“Very well. Let’s go.”