Goblin Slayer, Vol. 15

“You learn anything?” High Elf Archer asked as she let the breeze blow pleasantly through her hair after it had made its journey across the field. The sky was clear and blue, except for a few white clouds that floated like dandelion fluff.

The adventurers were just outside the main gate of the water town, where they had reconvened after a night of gathering information.

“In the matter of this lanista,” Lizard Priest said, his tail curling as he leaned toward High Elf Archer, “it seems he was rather in need of finances.”

“Could be a rich vein of inquiry,” Dwarf Shaman said—truly, a fitting turn of phrase for a dwarf. “But it don’t mean quite what Scaly’s implying. Seems our man was living beyond his means.”

“Hmm?”

“Yeh
do
know that you can’t grow a money tree by planting a coin in the ground, don’t you?”

The elf’s ears laid back:
How rude!
It would be uncouth at this point to go on about high elves’ sense of economics.

Priestess, who was all too familiar with the elf’s spending habits, could only offer a hollow chuckle. “So the question is where he was getting his money from, right?” she said, meanwhile glancing at Goblin Slayer, who remained steadfastly silent. “I suppose it would tabulate if he had some kind of side business…”

Based on her visit to the
ludus
, she had to say it didn’t look like very easy work, although it seemed like the lanistas were being paid reasonably…

“If he
still
wasn’t able to keep up with his own lifestyle, he must have really been living large,” agreed High Elf Archer, who tended to buy toys and leave them in her room. She was smiling as if the grass beneath her feet was the most wonderful thing in the world; she looked like a delighted child as she walked around, kicking her feet through the field.

Such freedom, beauty so striking it could be a painting, was the special prerogative of the elves. There was no question but that this young woman was at her most lovely when she was out in nature, Priestess thought as she whispered to High Elf Archer, “How’d it go last night?”

“It went, I guess. We just chatted a bit,” she replied, giggling in a way that made her long ears flutter.

She cast a significant look in the direction of Baturu, who was making the most of the open field. She no longer looked depressed the way she had the previous day, but her expression was still hard. The young centaur’s lips were drawn, and she was gazing straight ahead—seemingly at the back of the grimy adventurer who went silently at the head of the group. Only the equine ears on her head, turned outward so that she would miss nothing, betrayed that she was listening to their conversation.

“…You think he sold my princess to get himself out of his money troubles?” she demanded.

“Only person who could tell us that for sure wound up with his head split open,” Dwarf Shaman said. “Even if they’d brought a necromancer along, it wouldn’t have helped much!” He laughed.

Then, too, good necromancers helped the souls of the dead return to the great cycle. The idea that resolving disputes in the mortal world helped spirits get over their attachment to their lives was just something the living told themselves.

“Here I thought Beard-cutter was taking us out to inspect the scene, but maybe not…”

“No,” said the man who had brought them all out here and then
hadn’t spoken a word until this moment. “I’m looking for any sign of goblins.”

The adventurers exchanged glances. One can imagine expressions that said,
Good grief
or
I knew it
. A feeling they all shared, a combination of exasperation, familiarity, affection, and fatigue.

Baturu, the one person who wasn’t in on this reaction, gripped the hilt of her katana and veritably yelled, “But the quest is to find out where the princess went!”

“Exactly,” Goblin Slayer said, his response brief and so sharp, it was almost painful. “The coachman, the motivation of the lanista’s murderer—I don’t believe these things are connected to what happened to Silver Blaze.”

One might contend that that was a rather outrageous opinion. The adventurers looked at one another again; even Baturu seemed lost for what to say to this. Finally, High Elf Archer spoke up on behalf of them all, sounding prickly. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I mean what I said.”

“We don’t know what you meant by what you said; that’s why we’re asking!”

“Hmph.” Goblin Slayer snorted quietly, then attempted to give new voice to his thoughts. “If nothing else, I don’t believe that the fact that the centaur princess was abducted is connected to her disappearance from this town.”

“It certainly would be quite roundabout,” Lizard Priest said helpfully. He began to crook the fingers on his scaly hand, counting off: “First one tricks her into leaving her herd and sells her into competition, then kills her lanista and abducts her again.”

When he put it that way, it did sound unlikely. Dwarf Shaman took a swig of wine to get his wits working, and then with alcohol-laden breath he said, “Even if you did want to negotiate for her twice, there must be a better way.” Even that alleged dwarven sage would have figured out that much—although to be fair, that was just a story, and dwarves hated the way everybody thought they were all like him.

Priestess put a finger to her lips and, synthesizing what everyone else had said, remarked, “If you’re going to make a plan, the simpler
it is, the more likely it will work.” She was a clever girl. Inexperienced, perhaps, but always ready to learn from those farther along the path. “If she had run away, she would have gone somewhere in the city or she would have returned to her people. Since she did neither, we know she was kidnapped…” That was the gift of education, that ability to think calmly through an idea—and find the answer. “I see. Yes, it’s definitely goblins, then.”

“Oh gods…,” High Elf Archer groaned, looking incredulous.

Baturu pawed the grass angrily. “What are you saying?! My princess—!”

“A girl, alone, disappears outside of town. There are wandering goblins in the area,” Goblin Slayer said, relentlessly laying out the facts. He concluded, “One may assume she was kidnapped by them.”

§

The scene of the crime was so unremarkable that they would never have known where it was if they hadn’t been told. Grass, mud: The rain had had its way with everything, and there was no longer any trace of the murder or the kidnapping.

That didn’t stop Goblin Slayer from getting down on all fours and plunging a hand into the undergrowth. “If the archbishop is unaware of any goblins, I doubt the Adventurers Guild would have more information.” The visits to the coliseum and the
ludus
had been invaluable in establishing the identity of Silver Blaze as the centaur princess, but for the purposes of his search, they held absolutely no more necessity than that. “That’s why I tried the underworld. They had nothing to tell me about goblins, but I did hear about a suspicious sorcerer.”

“A sorcerer, you say?” Dwarf Shaman asked.

“Yes,” Goblin Slayer replied. “An immortal one, allegedly, who comes back to life no matter how many times he’s killed. This person has shown up on the western frontier recently, or so they say.”

“Immortal.” Dwarf Shaman sniffed with no evident interest. “My eye.”

There had never been an example of actual immortality in the whole history of the Four-Cornered World. Even the high elves
eventually died. Neither was resurrection a simple matter. It was told of in one of the sagas, which claimed that a great hero had been resurrected by a miracle of the gods—a true miracle. But that was all. Immortality—such a thing didn’t, couldn’t exist. Those who claimed the undead were immortal were fools. The undead, after all, had risen again precisely because they were dead first.

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve encountered goblins serving the likes of them.”

If nothing else, a wandering tribe of goblins had appeared suddenly on the western frontier—and a girl had been abducted near a town. Someone else might have looked closer, investigated further, observed more before making a deduction. But for this man, everything came back to goblins.

“It’s settled,” Goblin Slayer said with conviction.

“…Is this really an urban adventure?” Priestess asked.

“Yeah, I don’t think this counts anymore…,” High Elf Archer said, covering her face and hoping to correct any misunderstanding Priestess might have about the nature of urban adventuring. She doubted it would help much, though. The girl was being progressively poisoned.

Freaking goblins! Again!

A pox upon Fate and Chance! (Far be it from a high elf to mutter anything so uncouth as
gygax!
)

“You don’t even have any proof!” she retorted.

“Here it is,” Goblin Slayer said, presenting his findings from the underbrush: He was holding up some animal droppings. Specifically, wolf dung—or even more precisely, those of a warg.

High Elf Archer frowned furiously, offering a very short and probably not terribly polite remark in the elegant language of her people. Priestess had no idea what she’d said; as far as she was concerned, it sounded as pretty as a song or a poem.

“…Why did no one notice this before?” Baturu demanded, trotting up and peering at the dung.

“Presumably because they were looking for a centaur’s hoof marks or a person’s footprints, not goblins.”

“Then the princess really was kidnapped by goblins?”

“I don’t know.”

Even Baturu recognized the warg dung. So maybe this man, this scruffy man, wasn’t simply blowing smoke. If he was—well, a high elf and this priestess would never have followed such a person.

“That’s why I’m trying to find out. And then eventually, I will kill all the goblins.”

Baturu had never seen the eyes hidden deep behind the visor of the metal helmet, couldn’t imagine what they might look like—but she saw High Elf Archer intertwine her arms behind her head, accepting this declaration (with a certain amount of annoyance). And she saw Priestess grip her sounding staff firmly, gazing ahead to the horizon. Those things she understood.

“Is there a problem with that?” Goblin Slayer asked.

Baturu’s response: “…No.”

§

So it was that the adventurers found themselves in the field once more—on foot, with their packs on their backs. No cart or carriage would be flexible enough for their needs when they were wandering about the open plain, uncertain where they were going, so instead they found themselves using this most classic mode of transportation, their own two (or in Baturu’s case, four) feet. A tradition among adventurers since they first put on their shining mail and began to explore.

The party went, advancing over the grid and hexes of the Four-Cornered World.

“…Where exactly are we going?”

“We’re looking for goblins.”

The exchange between Baturu and Goblin Slayer was not so much one of frustration met with displeasure as simply a question met with an answer.

The sunlight that poured down uninterrupted upon the field was almost as brutal as that in the desert. At least they didn’t have the reflected heat of the sand.

Brutal it might be, but for adventurers, it was not hard going. Elves, dwarves, and even lizardmen were not really built for walking long
distances—the fact that they could make their way across the grass, vigilant all the while, was one of the gifts of their long experience.

In a situation like this, it was humans who held the overwhelming advantage. They might sweat, they might breathe hard, but they could walk along silently. In terms of pure speed or strength, they might not compare to other people, but—

“They say humans never give up. But I guess maybe they take a break every once in a while,” High Elf Archer said, a bit exasperated.

But she chuckled, watching Priestess from behind as the young woman worked forward in front of her. She looked so delicate and fragile, yet here she was. It made High Elf Archer happy and sad at the same time. At least Priestess was starting to understand her “older sister’s” word of warning.

“…You okay?” Priestess asked, trying to cover for herself by turning to Baturu beside her.

“No problem…at all…,” the centaur said through gritted teeth. She came from a nomadic people; a bit of walking was nothing new to her—but a steady march of almost ten
li
was something else again. The handful of brief breaks they’d taken along the way weren’t enough to outweigh the mounting fatigue.

“Well, best we not overdo it. Gotta be ready to fight if we need to.” The real work was yet to come, as Dwarf Shaman well knew. He held something out to Baturu—a dried apricot, sitting in his weathered palm. Now, where had he gotten that?

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it!”

Baturu’s gaze, prickly to begin with, had softened over their days of working together. Or maybe she really was feeling just that weak—whatever the case, she took the fruit gratefully.

“Ooh! Me too, me too!” High Elf Archer exclaimed.

“What are ya, a kid?” Dwarf Shaman snapped.

The elf objected that there was no reason to object, and he obligingly gave her some apricot, while he himself took a swig of his wine.

The sun would soon pass over their heads and begin its descent toward the horizon. Lizard Priest, who had been studying its path
through the sky, called out to their van, “Milord Goblin Slayer, I daresay collapsing from exhaustion here will do us no good!”

“Mm,” said Goblin Slayer, coming to a halt.

Priestess pulled up short beside him, her staff jangling in her hands. “Are we going to make camp?”

“It seems to be the time.”

Priestess had become more accustomed to travel than she would ever have imagined during her days at the temple. The water town, the royal capital, the snowy mountain, the village of the elves, the desert, the northern sea, and many a dungeon and ancient ruin—she had been to them all. But among those experiences…

I hardly ever just walk through the open field!

What a strange thought. She smiled; what an odd thing to realize at this moment. And yet, despite this lack of experience with the field proper, somewhere along the line she’d picked up the instinct to start pitching camp before it got dark.

What about him?
she wondered. Had Goblin Slayer experienced many adventures like this?

Still not knowing the answer, a mumble escaped Priestess: “We never did find the goblins.”

“It will work out,” Goblin Slayer said, looking across the sea of green, to each of the four corners in turn. He said quietly, “Eventually, they will come to us.”

§

In due course, night came. The moons rose in the sky, shimmering red and green, while on the ground, light came from the crackling bonfire. Each of the adventurers did what they thought was best, resting themselves or keeping watch. The spell casters slept while the warrior and the ranger were charged with standing guard. High Elf Archer took the first watch, saying she wanted to be able to sleep once she turned in, rather than being woken up in the middle of the night.

It was another phase of another adventure, a perfectly ordinary occurrence repeated many a time across the Four-Cornered World. It was an unfamiliar situation, however, for those who were not
adventurers. Baturu, with her horselike body, shifted uncomfortably on top of the blanket that had been laid out in place of a bed for her.

It was natural, therefore, that
she
would approach the kneeling centaur. “Can’t sleep?” Priestess asked, quietly so as not to disturb her friend on guard.

“………” There was a very long silence, after which Baturu finally replied, “No… Among my
ulus
, my people, we always put up tents under which we would sleep.”

“I think tents would be a little much for us to carry…”

“I don’t mean of the kind adventurers use. Our
gers
are our houses.” Baturu smiled ever so slightly. She explained that a post was erected in the center of the tent, a roof constructed, the entire thing surrounded with a frame and then covered in cloth. “It has a proper roof and a proper door. Furniture too. Even a stove.”

“A stove…!” Priestess found herself blinking. She’d never seen a tent like that. They must be very large. And how could you carry a stove around? She couldn’t imagine it.

Baturu smiled again at Priestess’s childlike amazement and looked up at the sky. “That’s why I find it…difficult to relax under the stars.”

“Me too. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding the first time.” Priestess drew her knees into her chest, edging closer to Baturu.

When had her first time camping out been? Maybe about when they had all gone to the ancient ruins?

The wind across the plain was cold, and the chill was only deepened by the gleam of the moons and stars. But the centaur’s body was warm, Priestess thought, letting out a contented breath. Then she finally remembered that she had brought over the waterskin. “Would you like a drink?”

“Mn… Yes, please.”

Baturu’s ears drooped, and she took the canteen with surprising willingness. Before she put any of it into her mouth, she poured a few drops on the middle finger of her right hand. She flung the droplets to the sky, to the earth, and only then did she drink lustily.

“What’s that?” Priestess asked. She’d seen Baturu make a similar gesture before they started eating.

“Hmm,” Baturu replied and thought for a second. “An act of
gratitude, I suppose you could say. To the heavens and the earth.” She smiled shyly, as if struggling a little to come up with a good summary. “It’s a custom of ours. Easier to do than to explain.”

“Ah…”

So it was for Baturu like prayer was for her, Priestess reflected with a nod. Ultimately, that was how faith was. Not having it would be like not breathing—she wouldn’t be able to think, wouldn’t even survive.

At least, that’s the ideal
, Priestess thought. Not that she’d gotten anywhere near it.

“Mm…,” Baturu grunted, holding the waterskin out to Priestess.

“Oh, um,” Priestess began, then managed, “thank you very…much?” as she accepted the canteen.

“I don’t think you have to thank me. It’s yours.”

“… That’s right.”

Baturu chuckled—Priestess was hopeless!—and Priestess scratched her cheek with embarrassment. For some reason, though, she didn’t find herself too upset at having her little gaffe pointed out.

She took a swallow of the water, which was mixed with some wine.
Glug, glug.
Baturu studied Priestess’s face in the light from the moons, stars, and fire. “Why did you become an adventurer?” she asked, her question coming neatly in between crackles from the fire.

“Why…?”

“It doesn’t make sense to me. Not why my older sister would leave, nor why a princess would go to a city.”

They were the words of one who had been left behind. Priestess had never heard anything quite like them.

“If it’s fighting she wants, there are battles. We have our wars. There’s glory to be won!” She had friends; she had a family. She had her daily work and her joys and sorrows. They might move frequently from place to place, yet where she
lived
had never changed. “The plain is a good place,” Baturu said, looking out at the dark ocean of grass that extended endlessly under the night sky. Whenever the wind blew, a wave would pass through it, accompanied by a susurration like the whispering of the sea. “This is my homeland. Was it not enough for her?”

“Well…”

“Last night, I heard that even your elf princess left her home.” Baturu was posing a question to Priestess, and yet, it was almost more like she was talking to herself. “Is it…really that bad?”

“I’m…not sure,” Priestess said softly, pressing her cheek into her knees. “I’m no princess, and I’m not your sister.”

“…You’re right. Of course not.”

Baturu’s voice seemed a touch gentler. Maybe it was because Priestess hadn’t said it was because she wasn’t a centaur. Or perhaps because she hadn’t expressed some misplaced sympathy or fellow feeling. Even Priestess couldn’t be sure.

“But the reason we are continuing this adventure is because…”

Because we understand?

Could she say that? Priestess hugged her knees and whispered the words. She wasn’t an accomplished enough adventurer to claim she understood. There were others more experienced than she. Everyone who made up her party.

What about Goblin Slayer?

What about him? Why had he chosen this path he had walked, this road that had brought him to this point? She didn’t know.

She knew why he kept killing goblins. He believed it was what he had to do.

Priestess believed the same.

Protect, heal, save. The teachings of the Earth Mother, which had been inculcated into her since she was little, and which stood as guideposts for her life.

Why was she an adventurer, then?

There was one answer.

It had to be—

“Because I want to go on adventures.”

That was the only reason.

“You want to go on…?” Now it was Baturu’s turn to blink in surprise.

Priestess was sure her long-eared friend, standing guard, must be able to hear them, and that was a little embarrassing—but there was no hesitation when she spoke. “I mean, you never have any idea what’s going to happen!”

She had never even dreamed she might fight a dragon. Never thought she might make friends with a
húsfreya
on the northern sea. Or that she would meet precious friends like High Elf Archer, or Female Merchant, or King’s Sister (even if she had gotten awfully annoyed at the royal sibling the first time they’d met).

It wasn’t all good things—there had been many things that were bad, even heartbreaking. Where would she be now if she’d been able to keep traveling with her very first party? Even now, the question caused a hot prickle in her chest every time it crossed her mind. And yet, if she’d stopped adventuring then…

“I wouldn’t be talking with a centaur princess, would I?”

“…I am not a princess,” Baturu said after a moment.

“To me, you look every bit as noble as one.”

She was a young lady from a good martial family of the centaur people. In human terms, that would make her something like the distinguished daughter of a knight’s lineage.

That’s princess enough for me, certainly
, Priestess thought. How different from herself, raised in a temple orphanage, never so much as knowing her parents’ faces. Although to be fair, only when she was extremely young had she ever believed her situation unfortunate.

The fact that someone like her was here, with so many friends and acquaintances, was thanks to adventures.

“Please don’t tease me,” Baturu said, her ears laying back on her head. Her lips were pursed, but maybe the red in her cheeks was from the reflection of the fire?

“Hee-hee! I’m not teasing you.”

“You are! I’m sure you are…! I can see it in your face,” Baturu asserted, glowering.

Priestess only giggled. “I promise I’m not.”

They should really get some sleep, but here she was, chatting the night away with a friend. Some might deride this as lack of vigilance or arrogance—but an adventure that didn’t have at least one moment like this was hardly an adventure at all. A simple, innocent chat, that’s what this was.

But there were those in the Four-Cornered World who would not permit even such simple indulgences.

High Elf Archer was the first to notice them. “Mn…,” she grunted, her ears twitching; then she quickly reached for her bow.

Their approach could never fail to escape Goblin Slayer. “…Goblins?” he asked, getting to his feet with a movement that was not particularly agile but was very practiced.

High Elf Archer nodded to Goblin Slayer as he checked to make sure the hasps of his equipment were tight. “Well, this sucks.”

“All right.”

“No, it’s all
wrong
!”

“I agree.”

High Elf Archer snorted. The worst part was that he meant it.

Priestess, who had already grasped the situation, was busy waking up the spell casters.

“Hrm…?” Dwarf Shaman grunted as she shook him out of a dream.

“I think there are enemies…!” she said.

“Well! Well now!” Lizard Priest exclaimed, catching the whiff of battle. The way his whole great body shook as he arose was like a dragon getting to its feet. “My goodness, but the plain does get cold at night. Have you anything to warm the blood?”

“If by that you mean wine, yes, I have some,” Priestess said with a giggle, smiling with only a hint of anxiety.

Even in battle, it was always good to have a little something in reserve—at least enough for some friendly banter. Maybe she couldn’t do what her knight friend had done, but she could at least try to imitate her.

“How many of ’em, Long Ears?”

“The wargs’ howling is making it tough to tell…” Dwarf Shaman was digging through his bag of catalysts even as he stood up, while High Elf Archer flicked her ears and tried answering the question he’d pelted to her over the grass. “More than three of them, I think? And definitely less than ten.”

“Can’t yeh even count that high?” Dwarf Shaman said.

This was followed by a “shut up, dwarf!” But understandably, both of them spoke in hushed tones.

The stink of beasts came to them on the wind, a combination of filth and dirt.

“I suppose you knew this would happen,” Lizard Priest said, squeezing some wine out of the canteen.

“I suspected,” Goblin Slayer replied with a nod. Behind his visor, his eye shone across the field, across the ocean of grass, a fiery shimmer like the gaze of a wild animal.

To the enemy, they must have looked like nothing more than idiots stupid enough to camp out in the open field.

“These are foolish enough to attack a wagon in broad daylight,” Goblin Slayer noted. “They would never have missed a campfire burning at night.”

“I can’t believe you,” High Elf Archer said with a scowl. “You mean we were the
bait
?”

“Yes.”

“Unbelievable…”

“But there is good news,” Goblin Slayer said. “They don’t appear to have enough yet.”

Whether they were looking for living sacrifices, workers, or
amusements
, one centaur evidently wasn’t enough to fill their needs. If the enemy hadn’t yet achieved their objective, it meant there was a chance Silver Blaze was still alive. And since that chance wasn’t zero, it had become more than one. Good news.

“…What should I do?” Baturu asked. She was in her full armor, her sword in her hand. She might not be accustomed to adventures, but she knew how to fight. She was nervous, but not scared.

“Save your strength,” said Goblin Slayer, who had drawn his own sword of a strange length. “There’s something I’ll need you to do.”

“And what’s that…?”

“I’ll tell you when the time comes.”

With that, the conversation ceased. It wasn’t that they had sensed any aura, or murderous intent, or whatever you wanted to call it—but long experience had given them a feeling for what would happen and when.

There was an instant as the goblins closed the distance to their prey. The adventurers stood at the ready, one on each side of the fire. From the darkness came a powerful stench. A rustling of the grass.
The rustling was not caused by the wind. It was someone, something. Priestess swallowed, just a little, and then the enemy was upon them.

“GROORGB!!!!”

Wild goblins came leaping out of the tall grass.

§

“WAROOGB?!”

It’s easy enough to respond to something you’ve completely anticipated. Goblin Slayer dove underneath the leaping warg, piercing it through the heart. His blade, stabbing between its bones, might have killed the creature, but it didn’t kill its momentum. He allowed the undiminished speed of the animal’s body, tumbling behind him, to enable him to draw out his sword.

“That’s one…!”

“GBBROG?!”

He jumped atop the goblin, who tumbled off the dead warg, driving his sword backhanded into the monster’s eyeball. The goblin gave a few pathetic spasms, but his soul was no longer in this world.

“How many?” Goblin Slayer asked.

“I’d say eight more!” High Elf Archer called even as she pulled back the arrow in her bow. It went scudding across the ground, but just as it vanished into the darkness of some undergrowth, it bounced upward.

“WARG?!”

“GBBOG?!?!”

Two screams. The single shot had pierced the mount and its rider directly through their chins. High Elf Archer licked her lips. “I would say sixteen altogether, fourteen left!”

“All right…!”

The adventurers surrounded the camp on all four sides, with Priestess and Baturu in the middle, by the fire. As far as the goblins were concerned, however, they still vastly outnumbered the foe. They would overwhelm and crush them. It was the only idea they had.

Thus, they were not at all coordinated. Each was desperate to be the first, plunging ahead, leaving his stupider comrades behind. Or
they might let their idiotic companions push forward, using them as cannon fodder while they, the smart ones, held back to grab the spoils.

The goblins came flying at the adventurers, usually with one of these two self-centered thoughts in their heads.

“I’m holding off on miracles for now!” Priestess said, casting a look in each of the four directions and grasping her staff as she stood ready beside the fire. It was agonizing not to be able to see in the dark, but adventures were all about differing roles. At that moment, holding station with Baturu was the right thing to do.

“If they get too close, I’ll be counting on you,” Priestess said.

“…Right,” responded the centaur, nodding with a hint of tension. “Just leave it to me.”

“I’m doing everything I can to roll out the welcome mat with my arrows,” High Elf Archer said, unleashing a literal hail of bolts even as she spoke. “But riders are the worst if they get past you!” She scowled.

“Mayhap it’s time for a little spell, then?” Dwarf Shaman said. He reached into his bag and came up with a small jar of oil. Without a second thought, he flung it on the field.
“Fairies, fairies, never tarry—what you forgot, I give back fairly! I don’t need cash, but make me merry!”

No sooner had he intoned the incantation than behold! Oil flowed endlessly from the jar. Soon the fragrant stuff was everywhere around the field, a greasy flicker in the dark.

“GOROGGB?!?!”

“WAGGRG?!”

The goblins came charging heedlessly on, only to be unhorsed—er, undogged. The unlucky ones fell headfirst, dying as their necks bent in unnatural directions. The relatively fortunate goblins tried to get their feet under them but without much success as they slipped and slid on the oily ground.

“They claim that’s supposed to be healing oil,” Dwarf Shaman said, flipping a coin toward the jar to stop the oil from flowing. The instant the coin hit the ground, amazingly, the flow of oil dried up.

“I wish I could set fire to it,” said Goblin Slayer.

“Oh,
please
don’t!” High Elf Archer groaned.

As the goblins flopped around as if they were drowning, they were pierced by Goblin Slayer’s dagger or High Elf Archer’s arrows.

There were a few lucky ones, however, who managed to get across the sea of oil or simply to avoid it entirely—or was it the intelligence of their wargs at work? The one thing that seemed certain was that it was not the bequest of any special goblin skill.

One warg was very unlucky: He had the misfortune to leap at Lizard Priest.

“I must applaud your spirit!”

“WARGGGGG…?!”

The creature’s fangs went for his throat, but they didn’t close. Instead, they found themselves caught by two scaly hands and wrenched apart, teeth and all.

“GBBB…?! GOROGBB?!?!”

The goblin in the saddle took a few jabs with a rusty spear, but it was nothing close to enough to bother Lizard Priest, who cried, “Eeeeyaahhh!” and tore the warg in two before it could make another sound. Fur and flesh were rent with a spray of blood, internal organs scattering everywhere.

“GROOGB! GOBBGRGBB!!” The goblin who went tumbling through the middle of all this howled uncomprehendingly, 80 percent out of anger at his warg, 20 percent in mockery of the adventurer who had failed to kill him.

“You’re mine!”

“GOROGB?!?!”

Thus he left himself open to something that was neither of them: Baturu, splitting his skull like firewood with her katana. Brains and blood poured out of his head as Baturu resumed a ready posture. From her lips could be heard a murmur: “Truly astonishing…”

“Ha-ha-ha! Do you mean my strength? Or perhaps our shaman’s little tricks?”

“Both!”

“Ha-ha-ha!” Lizard Priest’s jolly laughter echoed across the dark field. It sounded like the roaring of a dragon and was enough to frighten the wargs—but not the goblins. The wargs had never thought of the goblins as their masters and were indeed smarter than they were.

“WARG! WWAAAAAARG!!”

“WARGGGGG!!!”

Without hesitation, they shook off their riders and literally turned tail and ran across the open field. That left only a handful of goblins in the grass. And half of them were flopping around in the oil.

“…Hrmph,” Goblin Slayer grunted as he calmly stabbed one of the floppers to death. “I never thought a battle with goblins in an open field would be this easy.”

“What did you expect? There’s not many of them,” High Elf Archer said.

It felt like a waste to use her arrows on them now. Instead, she drew an obsidian dagger and went about slitting their throats, though she frowned as she did so. No matter how often she did it, she never got used to this businesslike way of killing. At least this time, it was the result of a proper battle.

“GOORGB…!!”

The battle might have been over, but that didn’t mean she would miss it as one of the oily goblins managed to clamber to his feet.

These goblins! They don’t know when to give up…!

High Elf Archer gave an unladylike “tsk” and quickly swapped her dagger for her bow.

“Don’t kill him,” Goblin Slayer said sharply. “Aim for a nonvital point.”

“What?” High Elf Archer cried disbelievingly as she loosed the arrow—but even so, the shot went right where she wanted it to.

“GOBG?!?!”

The creature yowled and fell to the ground with an arrow in his shoulder, then immediately got up and began to run. The high elf’s archery was so sublime that it could have passed for a magic spell.

It would never cross the goblin’s mind that he had been
allowed
to live. No, the stupid elf had missed her shot! It was of some annoyance to High Elf Archer that he would be alive to gloat.

“I think I remember you saying something like that once before, Orcbolg…”

Before.
Funny thing to hear a high elf say, Priestess thought with a smile. Baturu looked at her questioningly, whereupon she coughed and said, “Nothing.” Then she began making sure that all the goblins
around them were really finished—she’d been surprised once by a goblin merely playing dead—but she found time to ask, “Going to pursue him?”

“Yes. I expect he’ll run straight to his nest for help. He won’t think about anything else.” Goblin Slayer nodded, then turned to High Elf Archer and Baturu. “I want the two of you to go after him. But don’t let him notice you.”

High Elf Archer blinked, and with one long, pale finger, she pointed to herself and then to the centaur. “Two of us?” she asked.

“A lookout and a messenger. A high elf should be able to see in the dark. A centaur can run quickly.” The cheap metal helmet turned to look at Baturu, and to the centaur, it seemed he was saying:
You can do that, yes?
“I want you to find out where they’re hiding. Silver Blaze may be there.”

“…!” With a sharp intake of breath, Baturu bit her lip hard and nodded. “All right…!”

“Okay, let’s go!” High Elf Archer gently smacked Baturu on what amounted to her flank—and then the two of them were off, as quick as the wind, racing after the goblin.

Needless to say, a centaur’s speed is without equal. Even a high elf can’t keep up with one on open ground. But if the centaur is going slowly enough to avoid raising hoofbeats, that’s another matter—or if she’s deliberately going at the elf’s pace.

It was certainly the latter, Priestess figured as she watched them disappear.

“If nothing else, we’ve confirmed the foe is here,” Lizard Priest said, slapping the ground with his tail to shake off some of the blood that had spattered on him. “Enough that one centaur is not going to satisfy them. The little monsters must be starving and thirsty.”

“Yes.” Goblin Slayer’s helmet nodded slowly up and down. That was how goblins were.

He’d expected that a battle against goblins in the open field would be more difficult. He didn’t think he would lose, but he’d thought it would take more time. It was exceptionally good fortune that they had cleaned up these creatures as quickly as they had.

“However, we did use up a spell. We should rest until the girls come back.”

“Don’t think she’ll just go charging in?” Dwarf Shaman said, but his tone made it clear that he didn’t believe she would. He collected the jar he’d thrown down, carefully wiping it off before placing it back in his pouch. Strangely enough, the coin he’d tossed was nowhere to be seen.

“She won’t,” Goblin Slayer said.

“Fair enough. I s’pose she does have Long Ears with ’er.”

“Mm.” The metal helmet nodded, and above his beard, the dwarf’s eyes twinkled. It was something of an open secret that as disinterested as this man could seem, he put a surprising amount of faith in his comrades. The fact that he had begun to show it outwardly, even this tiny bit…

If that tomboy knew about it, she’d only get on her high horse.

So Dwarf Shaman decided to keep quiet about it and savor it as a side dish to his wine. Speaking of which, he grabbed the drink he kept at his hip and drank lustily in honor of their triumph in battle. Surprising? Between a dwarf who hasn’t had a drink and one who has, the second is far more likely to prevail in combat.

“What’s more,” Goblin Slayer said, “doesn’t it feel bad to not be entrusted with anything?”

Priestess blinked. The words seemed to be directed at her. They invoked something she’d said to him long ago, on a mountain in winter.

“Yes!” she replied, puffing out her flat chest and grinning. “That’s right!”

§

It was nearly dawn when Goblin Slayer caught the sound of hooves.

“How does it look?” he asked.

The spell casters were busy resting, notably Dwarf Shaman, who sat meditating in a lotus posture. The man who crouched, watching over them, could have been taken for a dilapidated suit of armor. It was hard even to tell whether he was awake or asleep—until the armor spoke.

Baturu goggled at the scene for a second as she arrived—or perhaps
it was a look of tension at the battle that must be coming. “We found them,” she said in a hard voice. “I’ll take you to them. This way.”

It wasn’t far. With Baturu leading, the party moved quickly over the field in the gray light of dawn. Waves of purplish light rolled by, accompanied by the whispering of the grass as they moved.

They did not use torches. Nighttime might be the goblins’ friend, but there was no need to deliberately give away their position. After all, the open field was not the inside of a cave.

Yaaawwwn.

How could a yawn escape Priestess at a time like this? She’d had a good rest…albeit a short one. Dwarf Shaman looked unbothered—maybe it was a difference in how much they had trained. As for Lizard Priest—well, she didn’t exactly know what he looked like when he was tired.

Suddenly, Priestess found herself looking at the man in the grimy leather armor following silently behind Baturu. He hadn’t slept at all, yet his movements seemed as sharp as ever. “…Are you all right?” she asked.

“It’s no problem,” he said. “I can sleep with one eye open.”

Priestess wasn’t even sure if he was joking or not.

“Pick up the pace, Orcbolg,” High Elf Archer called suddenly from among the sea of grass.

“Ah,” he said.

Maybe it was true that the elves were close to the rheas, who were said to be spirits of the grass and fields, for Priestess could barely pick High Elf Archer out on the plain. She blended that well into the overgrowth.

“Sorry. I thought I was leading us fairly quickly…” Baturu was despondent, her ears drooping.

“I didn’t mean you,” High Elf Archer said with a slight smile. Her eyes never left the distance.

“Where are they?” Goblin Slayer asked.

“You can see it.”

As dawn began to break over the horizon, they could see it rising before them: a dark, triangular shape. It made Priestess think of the ancient tomb of the king spoken of in the desert country. Whatever it
was, it didn’t look natural—but who would build something like that in an open field like this? It was made of countless rocks piled atop one another so that it seemed like a tiny mountain.

“What is that?” she asked.

“An
obo
,” Baturu replied. “A sacred heap of stones. Passersby pile stones as they go, praying for a safe journey. Over hundreds or thousands of years, the pile grows.”

“Thousands of years…”

“Proof that centaurs have been here.”

Priestess blinked, then took a fresh, close look at the heap. Maybe it had been a small hill to begin with—or a monolith. Whatever it was, people crossing this plain had stopped there. The pile of stones, placed one by one on top of each other, was like a pile of the passing centaurs’ thoughts and hopes.

“We sometimes call them tobacco stones,” Baturu said with a smile. “Because they resemble the tobacco the rheas smoke.”

But at the moment, the pile was nothing so innocent. Hideous creatures of Chaos could be seen all around it. Creatures with green skin and golden eyes that looked spitefully up at the incoming sun.

Goblins.

They were there. At least ten or twenty, surrounding the stones. The way the shadows shifted suggested there must be more among the rocks.

With a sound of battle lust that rumbled from within his great jaws, Lizard Priest smiled, baring his fangs. “Gracious me, but these little devils know no respect, do they?”

“Or the spell caster controllin’ ’em is a blasphemer, more like,” Dwarf Shaman said angrily, upset that they were trying to pollute the wind, which was the gift of the Trade God, the patron saint of travelers. “So, Long Ears. You know where this alleged immortal sorcerer or whoever is?”

“On the highest point, I suspect. The very top of the mountain.” The elf’s ears twitched, bobbing up and down. “Can’t you hear it? Some sort of weird voice or…singing.”

Priestess tried to listen. She could just make out something on the wind, a faint hum, difficult to describe and of uncertain meaning.
Words that cursed the gods, cursed the world, and wished for catastrophe upon all the four corners.

Priestess felt something cold pierce the very center of her being, her small form seeming to freeze. It was the same way she felt when she saw the goblins with their hideous laughter. This was the archetypal prayer of beings who thought only and ever of themselves. In other words…

“…It’s a ritual, isn’t it?” Priestess said.

“It means we’re not too late,” was Goblin Slayer’s brusque assessment.

He had no interest at all in what kind of ritual this undying sorcerer or whoever might be conducting. What mattered to him was that this person was using goblins. And the fact that if the ritual was still ongoing, then the sacrifice would still be alive.

Very well: His thoughts moved on to the next step.

How to kill them.

He crouched in the underbrush, studying the goblins in the morning light. “Can you snipe them?” he asked.

“If my arrows can reach them,” High Elf Archer said, shrugging. The elves shot their bows not with skill, nor with the eye, but with the spirit. She was indicating that hitting a distant target as such was no challenge at all. Not the wind, nor the distance, nor the difference in height could forestall a high elf’s arrow. But that didn’t mean there would be no problems here. “That princess or whoever is supposed to be around, right? I’m a little concerned they might try to use her as a shield.”

Or consider the possibility that the targets might be wearing missile-deflection charms.

If one didn’t fear the results of a critical fumble, then it was no adventure. But an adventurer who didn’t consider the possible consequences of such a failure would not live long. Fate and Chance ever attended these endeavors.

Goblin Slayer grunted softly. “What do you think?”

“Terrain that is easy to defend and difficult to attack,” said Lizard Priest. If one were to ask which people was the most versed in tactics and strategy in the Four-Cornered World, the answer would have to
be the lizardmen. Though a monk, Lizard Priest was still one of their number, and his eye upon the tobacco rock was perceptive. “However, I believe their actual defensive measures are rather scant.”

“You think so?” Priestess asked, cocking her head.

“For one thing, there don’t appear to be any fortifications,” Lizard Priest replied, nodding. With one sharp claw, he began to scratch a simple diagram in the earth, a large circle, surrounded by a panoply of little dots on each side. “If one had, say, twenty soldiers and divided them evenly, it would be five to a side. In terms of fighting strength…”

“It’s about even,” Priestess concluded, nodding seriously.

It was like a game of hnefatafl. During her games, Priestess had been charged with the defending side, and she knew how difficult it had been to hold off the attackers and allow her king to escape.

Right now, the enemy’s objective was to perform a ritual atop the tobacco stone. In other words, if they could cause the defenders to even think about fleeing, it would mean the enemy’s objective had been neutralized. And that meant…

“This situation might just be a little better for us than I’d realized.” Clearly, Priestess had soaked up experience like a sponge, one thing after another. Lizard Priest felt that within this young, weak, modest girl, he had spotted a dragon—and there was no more wonderful thing than that.

“If we press forward, it will be easy enough to get out. The only question is how to climb the hill with the greatest rapidity.”

“Hrm…” came the soft grunt from under the helmet. “How are your spells?”

“Just fine,” replied Dwarf Shaman, who had had more than enough rest to get back the one spell he’d used. He patted the bag at his side. “Plenty of catalysts, too.”

So they were well supplied with magical resources. The enemies were goblins. Standard stuff. Much as he disliked fighting in the open field.

Still, it is better than having to fight alone.

“I can consider you part of our number, yes?” Goblin Slayer asked in the middle of his considerations. He was speaking to Baturu.

She grasped the scabbard of her katana and pursed her lips. “
Now

you ask?” It almost sounded like bravado, somewhere between acting tough and putting on a show. Yet there was no doubt in her eyes; she held the grimy metal helmet fast in her gaze. “I’ve come this far to rescue the princess.”

Goblin Slayer nodded. Good. That was fine, then.

“Prepare a Dragontooth Warrior. Will need all the help we can get,” he said.

“Of course. Very good!” Lizard Priest responded immediately. He dug out several dragon fangs, sharp and terrible, from his bag and cast them up on the ground.
“O horns and claws of our father, iguanodon, thy four limbs, become two legs to walk upon the earth!”

The fangs began to bubble and swell, puffing up as they knitted into bones until a warrior stood upon the ground before them.

“Well…well, now!” Baturu said, her eyes widening at the power of the nagas. “That’s amazing.”

“Hee-hee!” For some reason, High Elf Archer chuckled, puffing out her modest chest. “Cool, right?”

“What’re yeh so pleased about, y’anvil?” Dwarf Shaman grumbled, sending the archer from the heights of satisfaction directly to “what’d you say?!”

They were off and running. They kept their voices down, but the argument proceeded as usual. Priestess could only giggle at Baturu’s evident confusion. It was okay. This actually meant there was no problem. If you could conduct yourself this way, it meant the adventure would go well.

“All right, Goblin Slayer, sir. Shall we get started?” Priestess asked.

“Yes. At the moment, it is their twilight. The guard will be more lax than in the middle of the night.” He added: “Also, even an immortal sorcerer will die if you push them from a high enough hill.”

§

“Hmph.”

Speaking of that sorcerer, he sensed something; it felt like a fly had darted past his face. On a whim, he looked up at the dawn sky, the color of dried blood.

Well, maybe it wasn’t quite accurate to say “he” looked up. Ultimate beings had no need of such things as gender.

A fly was of little concern to the ritual that would take him to that point. Still, accidents happened sometimes—a single fly could cause a complicated Gate spell to go awry. The whole fact that the sorcerer paid even the slightest attention to it was a sign of his seriousness, his commitment.

“…What is it?” he said, taking a breath to bring his consciousness back from the depths of meditation.

From the sacred hill known as a tobacco stone, he rose and looked out. Among the irregular arrangement of the rocks, shadows writhed and squirmed chaotically, all the way to the foot of the mountain. The goblin horde, with whom the sorcerer had joined forces in contravention of every human moral, was beneath the sorcerer’s contempt. Stupid and ignorant—yet proud and arrogant. Useless, incompetent fools. Everything the sorcerer disdained was there before him. For that reason, he could not have cared less what happened to the goblins who served him. It simply held no interest for him. Much as the sorcerer himself held scant interest for anyone else in the Four-Cornered World.

“……How dare she look at me that way?”

There was only one thing that displeased the sorcerer: the girl, currently placed as the offering in the middle of the magical diagram the sorcerer had carved.

She was a centaur. Her clothes had been violently ripped away so that now every inch of her naked skin was exposed to the wind.

And yet, the goblins’ taunts, their cruel stares, couldn’t humiliate this young woman. For her lovely curves and her womanliness were not the only things she had. Somewhere within, beneath the ripples that swept across her body with each breath, was a source of life that they could not snuff out. Her eyes were as bright and clear as a porcelain doll’s, and her chestnut hair was so rich that it seemed to glow gold even in the misty predawn light.

Above all, there was the silver comet that streaked through her hair.

Anyone would have done
, the sorcerer thought.

And yet, only she would do. If he could take the radiance of her life in his hands, then all would go well.

He didn’t know her name, nor who she was—but she was not looking at the sorcerer. Her eyes were pointed in his direction, true—but they did not perceive him.

“Do you, too, mock me?” the sorcerer—the one who had achieved immortality—grumbled darkly.

“
”

There was no answer. Perhaps the centaur girl didn’t wish to answer.

He gave her another good glare, then harrumphed. He spared her a little snort. “Well, it matters not. Eventually you will live within me, and you will understand, whether you wish to or not.”

Before, when he had said he would live a hundred, a thousand years, everyone had laughed at him—but they were all in the ground now. None was left who remembered the name of the boy who had been ridiculed at the Sages Academy.

Then there were the adventurers who had come to kill him, claiming that there was no such thing as eternal life. Their names were forgotten, too, and had been for a very long time. They became merely one more part of
his
story, one more thing he had dealt with in his long and terrible career. Nearly unworthy of his notice—but even so, he felt some pleasure at the outcome. It was always nice to know that his value was rising.

It didn’t matter what happened to anyone else. For example, who cared if the goblins were screaming and yammering at that moment?

“Hoh…”

He had been right: There was a fly. He picked up his staff and gazed down at the clamoring goblins. They gibbered uselessly, grabbing their weapons and running around. One particular corner of the rocky hill seemed to be the source of the commotion.

Damnable fools.

That was the sorcerer’s estimation of any assassin who would come to try to take his life. There were so many who had sought to forestall his attempts at eternal life, out of jealousy or perhaps ignorance. No doubt more such had come, he figured. What fools these adventurers were!

Well, let the goblins tear them apart and eat their innards. The women might find their wombs defiled first, but in the long run, they
would meet the same fate as the men, in a goblin stewpot. It was no real loss. Everyone got snake eyes eventually—it just hadn’t happened on the first roll for them.

And I, I will use all of it to ascend ever higher
, the sorcerer thought.

“Have at me, adventurers!”

Clutching his staff, he stood imperiously above the repugnant intruders, looking down at them. The wind that blew through the predawn air carried the stench of death. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with it, and, not caring that there was no one to hear his pronouncement, said: “I think I’ll entertain myself with you for a while!”

He didn’t know yet that the adventurers were coming from behind him.

§

“ARGOOOOOOOO!!!” the Dragontooth Warrior howled as it leaped upon the goblins.

Meanwhile, the adventurers worked their way quickly around the other side of the tobacco stone. “For the little devils are like a school of fish, you see,” Lizard Priest said, crouching so low that he was almost on all fours as he sped along. It was the only way he could hope to even remotely hide his huge frame in the underbrush. “Toss them a morsel and they go rushing to it.”

Even if there was some grander individual present, they could take control but not command.

And indeed, the goblins were busy flocking to the morsel—the enemy—that had been provided to them.

“GOROGB?!?!”

“GOROG! GBBROBGBGR!!”

It was unclear whether they were driven by fear of the goblins who were shouting importantly or simple self-interest.

“Not all of them,” Goblin Slayer said. He concluded, however, that it didn’t matter. “I am going to kill all the goblins.”

It made no special difference to him why that particular goblin happened to be around the back of the tobacco stone. The monster was
lolling there with a rusty spear in his hand, even letting out a yawn. A bud-tipped bolt through the brain put an end to his boredom.

“Go—I’ll cover you!” High Elf Archer called as the goblin toppled to the ground without a sound.

Goblin Slayer and Lizard Priest didn’t respond—sometimes it was better to let their actions speak for them. Sticking close to the wall of the tobacco stone, they forged ahead, and in no time at all they were up another level. The
obo
was roughly like a staircase; they simply had to keep climbing it.

“One…!”

“GBOOB?!”

One goblin who noticed the intruders below him found his throat slashed and died drowning in his own blood. Another who turned at the sound of his companion’s death rattle was smashed by Lizard Priest’s tail.

“GOOBGBBG?!?!”

“I believe they have noticed us!” Lizard Priest said.

“As if I care,” Goblin Slayer replied. “It makes no difference to what I’ll do.”

They moved their pawns, as it were, up to the next level, working in perfect synchronicity. Dwarf Shaman’s small frame could be seen gaining the newly secured level behind them. “I don’t know about making the spell caster go first!” he groused.

“No choice. You’re the slowest and clumsiest!” High Elf Archer said, and she was right. If they simply wanted to get to the top level, she would be the fastest. It would be difficult for an archer to secure fresh ground. Not that goblins were any match for a high elf, but it was a simple matter of their respective fortes. In every era and at all times, there has always been a place for the ax-wielding infantry soldier.

“C’mon, you too!” the elf called.

“Right…! Hup!”

Priestess clung to the rocks, working her way up behind Dwarf Shaman. Delicate, small, and—despite having bulked up a bit—not very well muscled, she was not very large or powerful. Still, she’d spent several years now adventuring like this, and she had started to get used
to it. Her movements were hardly refined, but she ascended the rocks without difficulty.

“Oh…” And then she looked back. She should have realized.

“Hrk… Hrnn…!”

Behind her, Baturu was struggling along the rocks, trying to drag her equine body up the hill. Priestess saw it was the same problem they’d had with the wagon.

She didn’t hesitate. “Here!” she said, holding out the bottom of her sounding staff.

Baturu looked from the staff to Priestess (who herself looked quite serious). Finally she said, “…Thank you… It’s a help!” Then she grabbed the staff and heaved herself up the rocks.

Of course, Priestess alone couldn’t support the centaur’s weight. “A’right, there!” It was all the muscle packed into Dwarf Shaman’s small body that made the difference. An uninformed observer probably wouldn’t have known that it was muscle and not wine that had given his body the swells that it had.

“Hey, who knew dwarves could actually be useful?” High Elf Archer quipped.

“Less talking, more climbing!” Dwarf Shaman shouted at the guffawing elf.

High Elf Archer, for her part, hopped up the rocky hillside as easily as if she was bounding across flat river stones. Even as she went, she readied and loosed another shot.

“GOBBG! GOBBGB!!”

“GORGBGORRG!!”

Maybe these goblins hadn’t noticed what was happening out front, or perhaps they thought these adventurers would make easier prey than the Dragontooth Warrior. Or perhaps the aroma of three young women simply drew the goblins like flies to honey.

Bein’ an anvil’s not enough to keep ’em away
, Dwarf Shaman reflected as he grabbed the battle-ax at his hip and got ready to fight. “Don’t worry about us down here, Beard-cutter!” he called.

Goblin Slayer, naturally, didn’t reply. It was troublesome to have to worry about things other than himself. It was helpful to be able to let other people take care of them.

“GRG?!”

“Three…and four!” He met the goblin swinging a club from his left with his shield, bashing the creature to death; with his right hand, he swept out with his sword.

“GOOGBBG?!?!”

No need to strike a vital point in this situation. The goblin tumbled, his shin slashed, howling as he bounced down the steps. Even if he survived the fall, he wouldn’t be crawling back up. Goblin Slayer begrudged even the time to glance back and see if the creature was dead. As he grasped the rock with his left hand and began to pull himself up, he thrust out with the sword in his right.

“GOBBB?!?!”

“Five!”

A goblin who had been trying to knock the stone free found his crotch savaged by the blade and collapsed, writhing. Goblin Slayer let go of his sword, giving the monster over to the fall. He had plenty more weapons.

“Six…!”

“GOB! GOBGRGB?!?!”

Goblin Slayer unhesitatingly picked up a rock and smashed it into a goblin’s face. Crush the nose and it would pierce back into the brain. Even if it didn’t go quite far enough, the creature certainly wouldn’t be standing up again.

He cast aside the rock, which trailed threads of blood, and grabbed the goblin’s club instead. Then once more without a moment’s hesitation, he kicked the squirming goblin over the edge of the stairs.

“Hrah!” Lizard Priest’s great form could be seen rushing across the stone steps he had secured, the claws on his hands and feet scoring the stone, limbs like logs holding him steady as he went. In the space of a blink, he was on the next level; it was a simple matter.

“GOBBGB!”

“GRGB! GGBOORGB!!”

Goblins rushed at him, one from the right side, one from the left, each crowing that they would do more than just watch him. Each of them thought the same thing: that the stupid one would die but the smart one (the thinker himself, naturally) would use that moment of opportunity to finish off the lizardman!

“Shaaaa!”

Do you suppose the goblins even had time to realize how naive they’d been?

One found his throat torn out; the other was slammed against the rock by a swipe from Lizard Priest’s massive tail.

“GOBBGB…?!”

“Hmph!” Lizard Priest gave a great shake of his large head, then let the writhing goblin go. The creature tumbled through space, blood accompanying it as it came out of Lizard Priest’s jaws. “One wishes one could wash the taste out of one’s mouth!” he declared.

“There’s cheese waiting for you when we get home!” High Elf Archer called. She had scrambled up on the rocks—or really, it looked as if the rocks had carried her up.

“Ah, now that is a reward worth fighting for!” Lizard Priest said, his tail wriggling.

High Elf Archer unleashed a hail of covering fire, up, down, and all around, opening a path for the two on the front row. Not to suggest that the three in the back were simply relaxing in the meantime.

“They’re coming up from below!” The ax whistled. “And more of ’em every minute!” Dwarf Shaman cracked a goblin’s skull open, then kicked him away, keeping the girls safe.

Priestess was trying to watch everywhere at once as she helped Baturu with the climb. Right, left, below—she left the area above to the others, but she wanted to know what was happening on the battlefield. Thankfully, the light of dawn had reached them here, the sun shedding its sacred rays on their position.

“At least they can’t ride their wargs up here,” Priestess said.

“Those things don’t have enough limbs for it!” Baturu grinned. Was that a centaur joke?

Priestess smiled, too. She didn’t quite understand, but whoever could smile during an adventure was winning.

Besides…

She was glad Baturu wasn’t suffering too much as they focused on the climb.

Too often on adventures, she’d felt she wasn’t able to be of any use.
But everyone had their strengths and weaknesses; that was just the way of the world. Priestess liked to think she understood that. And so…

“Watch out—they’re coming from up top!”

…and so even when she heard High Elf Archer’s shout, presaging the shadows that flew overhead, Priestess wasn’t afraid.

“Goblin Slayer, sir,” she said.

“Mrm…!” The man who had just smashed a goblin with a club responded by turning toward her.

The huge shadows that threatened to swallow up the adventurers came from an armful or two of large rocks. Maybe the goblins had dropped them, or maybe it was the work of that immortal sorcerer or whoever it was up there. It didn’t really matter; the adventurers had to do something about it or they would “go to 14”—namely their deaths.

Even as he was still thinking, his arm was in motion, swinging mechanically, throwing the club.

“GBBOR?!?!”

A goblin who now had a club buried in his face fell backward, his arms and legs flailing. His death cry was drowned out by the rumbling of the stones, and Priestess didn’t hear it. Instead, she heard a single sentence, nonchalant, almost mechanical: “I’ll leave this to you.”

“Right…!” She gripped her sounding staff and raised it high, focused her spirit, and raised her voice so that it might reach the gods in the heavens.
“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, by the power of the land grant safety to we who are weak!”

The miracle was granted unto her. An invisible barrier that sprang from the very gracious heart of the Earth Mother herself soundlessly intercepted the stones. The deity had heard and granted the prayer of her pious young follower.

Diverted by the wall of light, the stones went flying in every direction. Goblins caught up in the chaos fell as they tried to escape or were crushed.

“Okay, let’s go!” Priestess said with fresh resolve, holding out her staff to Baturu again.

“Right,” Baturu said with a quick nod as she grabbed the staff and began scrambling up the rocks. “I must…
Ahem
, I have to say,” she
went on, picking her words, “that was…a most impressive display you put on.”

“It wasn’t me.” Priestess puffed out her modest chest proudly. “It was all my friends—and the Earth Mother!”

§

“Blasted insects…!”

Was he referring to the adventurers or the goblins? Even the sorcerer wasn’t sure. The chaos on and around the tobacco stone was already well beyond what he could allow. The goblins were jabbering ceaselessly, and the clanging of weapons was getting on his nerves. But what the immortal sorcerer found more unendurable than anything else was the centaur woman’s stare, the way she just kept looking at him, completely silent.

“
”

It didn’t matter that she was stuck on top of a mountain, with the burgeoning sunlight exposing her nakedness and humiliation for all to see. Still she stared straight through him with her clear eyes, as if he wasn’t even there.

“What is it? Think you have something to say, girl?”

But the “girl” didn’t answer. Even when the sorcerer walked over, grabbed her by the chin, and forced her to look up at him. She seemed as lifeless as a centaur-shaped doll—but he felt her warmth in his palm. The burning conflagration of a centaur’s life force, far hotter than any human’s. He found it deeply unpleasant, like touching grime or filth.

“Hmph!” He shoved her head aside like he was casting away a handful of mud. She fell prostrate, although her size and strength were far beyond his. Had she begun wasting away? Her skin seemed drained of blood, looking pale even under the dawn light.

A thought drifted through the sorcerer’s mind—a memory of the tales of the white knights. Twelve knights with scales upheld had ended the summer of the dead. But it was the necromancer’s pride that had proven the decisive move: Believing he was assured of victory, he had found the tables turned on him by the power of the scales
at the last gasp. In a panic, he sought to borrow power from a demon, only to lose his soul.

What does she think, that I’m the same?

It wasn’t possible. It wouldn’t happen to him. Hadn’t that necromancer, really, destroyed himself? This sorcerer was different. He wasn’t like the others.

For if I was…

Then he would be just like those who had mocked and ridiculed him, and that was simply unimaginable.

The staff the sorcerer clutched in his hand creaked audibly. “…Never send goblins to do a man’s job,” he grumbled, sighing as he listened to the monsters howl and die. “I will go deal with this myself—and I’ll do it quickly.”

As he left, muttering to himself, the girl with the comet on her forehead watched him closely. Doing nothing. Saying nothing. As if he wasn’t even there.

§

“There he is, above!” Lizard Priest called.

“Good,” Goblin Slayer said with a nod as he kicked his sixteenth goblin off the rocks.

Compared with the “ladder mountain” and the Chief of Boulders that his master had forced him to free solo, this ascent was simple. Even he could do it, thankfully.

It’s pleasing to know there’s something even I can accomplish.

“Do you think he’s noticed us?” Goblin Slayer asked.

“With the racket we’ve set up, I would be very much surprised if he hasn’t,” Lizard Priest said from the next rock up, climbing along with his tail curled.

“Fair enough.” Goblin Slayer riffled through his item pouch for a stamina potion and pulled the stopper. “The problem is the goblins. And whether or not Silver Blaze is up there.”

“I know that milord Goblin Slayer considers no time wasted if it is spent killing goblins!” Lizard Priest joked, and then, almost as an afterthought, he tossed a dagger down to Goblin Slayer. It was rusty
and chipped but still very usable. “Goblin equipment—but perhaps worth your while?”

Goblin Slayer grabbed the dagger, checked the blade, and nodded. “It’s a help,” he said, stashing the weapon in his sheath. “It comes from this
obo
. Not bad.”

One mouthful, two. He swigged a potion through the slats of his visor, seeking to restore his lost stamina. It was strange, how readily it helped the blood flow to his arms and legs. “The only other question is whether this Silver Blaze is in fact the centaur princess.”

“Whoever Silver Blaze is, she’s up there… Although so is that sorcerer everyone keeps talking about,” High Elf Archer said, hopping up beside him like a leaf blown by the wind. Spotting an elf in a natural environment was famously difficult—even here on a pile of rocks. If nothing else, nobody doubted her abilities as a ranger. She grabbed another bud-tipped arrow from her quiver, her ears twitching. “No goblins up there with him. He’s saying something, but I think he’s just bellyaching. What do you think he’s talking about?”

“I don’t care.”

“Aw, humor me.” High Elf Archer grinned, but it was obvious she had no special interest, either. What she was focused on wasn’t the sorcerer but someone else. As she checked her bowstring with the utmost seriousness, she said quietly, “We’ve gotta help the girl. That’s what this adventure’s about, right?”

“Adventure…” For a second, it sounded as if it was the first time Goblin Slayer had heard the word. “Yes, I suppose that’s what this is.”

“Sorry…to keep you waiting…,” puffed Priestess, arriving belatedly on the rock shelf.

Baturu, holding on to Priestess’s staff and assisted by Dwarf Shaman from behind, appeared after. The young centaur paid no heed to her own fatigue but said between gasping breaths, “Is the princess there?!”

“We don’t know if it’s your princess or not—but I think the woman called Silver Blaze is up there.” High Elf Archer drew a line from her forehead to her nose with her pointer finger. “She’s got chestnut hair except for a place right here that looks like a white falling star. She’s very pretty—startlingly so.”

“That’s her! I’m sure of it!”

Baturu seemed about to fly to her princess, but Priestess held her back. It occurred to her to wonder whether what she was doing was rude to the centaur—not a very pertinent thought.

“You need to calm down,” she said. “We have to think of a plan to rescue her first.” She knew from her experiences hunting goblins just how dangerous a hostage could be. Baturu might be snorting and raring to go, but Priestess, standing beside her, tapped her lips with a thoughtful “hmm” and considered. “Maybe we could put them to sleep.”

“Yeh understand that our opponent is a high-level spell caster, don’cha?” said Dwarf Shaman, who had finally gained the rock shelf with them. He took a theatrical swig of his wine and groaned. “We could try casting Stupor on him, but chances are he’d resist it.”

“You used that spell on a dragon and you can’t make it work on a little sorcerer?”

“Anvils can’t talk, Long Ears!” Dwarf Shaman snapped.

The fact that he had no actual counterargument, though, meant he was admitting there was simply too much of a difference in strength. Anyway, before, they had been in a place of sand and earth, so the sand spirits had been particularly powerful.

High Elf Archer chuckled triumphantly. She looked up at the top of the hill, with the rocks to her back. “Well, assuming he doesn’t have any arrow-deflection barriers, I can definitely hit him from here.”

“…I’ve sometimes confronted sorcerers like that,” came a quiet voice from inside the helmet.

“Ha!” the sharp-eared elf said, giving him a look and a nudge of her elbow. “You mean the quest you went on without mentioning it to us.”

“There was no need to mention.”

“It’s common courtesy to let your friends know what you’re up to!”

I see.
There was a short nod, but that seemed to be all the more concern Goblin Slayer had for the subject. He began, “There are a number of possible moves. Gag him, blind him. Finish him off before he can intone a spell.”

It was just like facing a goblin shaman.

“I see what you mean,” Priestess said, nodding. In that case, it was clear what she had to do. “We’ll go together, then.”

“Guess I’ll hang back,” Dwarf Shaman said. Everything would not be decided with the first move. It was a sign of how serious this was that he even put the stopper back in his wine. “We might need Falling Control—if the anvil comes tumbling down.”

“Careful, or
you
might need it,” High Elf Archer shot back, glaring at him, but they had bigger things on their minds than a little argument right then.

That broke the tension. All that was left was the battle. An arrow sat loosely in High Elf Archer’s bow.

Lizard Priest counted off on one clawed finger at a time, the gesture oddly somber: “Stifle the five senses, finish the foe in one fell swoop, rescue the princess.” His reptilian eyes spun, taking in each member of the party in turn. “For these tasks, one wishes for a warrior who can close distances in a single bound.”

“I’ll do it,” Baturu volunteered without hesitation. She got a firm grip on her katana, closed her eyes, and took a single deep breath. Letting her heightened emotions run all throughout her body, she repeated, “I will do it. To rescue the princess—that’s why I came here.”

“Then it’s settled,” Goblin Slayer said with a nod. He was still holding the empty bottle. “Let’s go.”

§

A whoosh of air signaled the start of the battle.

“Hrm!” The sorcerer turned, almost reflexively pointing his staff in the direction of the sound—but he saw no enemy. Instead, what came bouncing along the rocks was… “An empty bottle?”

“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, grant us peace to accept all things!”

Thus it took him a move, a moment, to realize what was really going on—a critical delay. For the moment the words of the prayer were intoned, all sound was stolen away.

Dog of the gods of Order! Accursed bitch!

The words of his curse, however, never took form. Instead, something pierced the sorcerer’s right arm.

“Ngh…!”

He inhaled sharply; there was a shooting pain and a spasm of the physical muscles of his arm. As he tried to regain his grip on his staff, he discovered what appeared to be a branch growing from his arm.

No—it was an elven arrow. Where was the archer? No, no—there were more important things…

The way he opened his eyes wide, searching for the enemy, could not be called a miscalculation.

What entered his vision was an absolutely pathetic-looking adventurer. Cheap metal helmet, grimy leather armor. A small, round shield in his left hand. And in his right…

A stone?!

The sorcerer was about to bat away the projectile with his staff when suddenly there was a billow of thick black smoke. If there had been any sound in this space, one would certainly have heard the sorcerer’s groaning shout. For the pain was intense and—so long as he had a flesh body with eyes and a nose—unavoidable. He flailed as if someone had stuck a sword in his eye.

Damn you…!

The sorcerer drew a figure in the air with the fingers of his left hand. There was a flash, a True Word—a word of true power—activating, rewriting the very logic of the four corners…

“Hooooaaarrrghhh!”

The scream rent the air, accompanied by the pounding of hoofbeats, originating from outside the silence. Or perhaps it was the shaking of the mountain that made him think there must be a noise—the centaur girl was running just that hard.

She poured everything into this moment, this second, this stroke of the blade. Her hooves split the rock beneath her feet, her legs like the wind. Her unsheathed blade as she raised it caught the ascending sun, glistening like gold. Though the sorcerer had never in his life felt such things were beautiful.

“…?!”

Therefore, as he uttered his voiceless cry, he felt only anger and resentment and hatred. When the sword sliced him in half, the blood splattered across the girl’s beautiful face, defiling it.
Serves you right!
said the look on his face, to the bitter end, even as his body collapsed like a rag doll.

Baturu didn’t spare the corpse even a glance but rushed forward. “Princess!” she cried, sound returning with another gust of the wind. Her voice was audible as she hurried forward.

Too much grander than she to be called a friend; too distant to be called an older sister.
Loyalty
was too cold a word,
love
too trivial. But when she called that precious name, there was an answering sound, an “ah” like the gentle noise of a lute being plucked.

The silver star shifted. The eyes were looking at the girl. Seeing her.

“Ah… You came. I see. Yes, you came… You came for me.”

Silver Blaze gently embraced the girl who rushed to her, fell to her knees, and clung to her. How long must these recent days and months have seemed to Baturu?

“Gracious… So many tears. What am I going to do with you? I’m the one who’s apparently being rescued.” Pale fingers reached out, gently wiping the girl’s eyes.

Baturu’s head snapped up. She rubbed her red eyes and said, “I’m so glad you’re safe. So, so glad…”

“Don’t worry.” Silver Blaze—or perhaps we should say the former princess of the centaurs—smiled shyly. “I was so focused on the next race that it didn’t even bother me.”

§

“I’m sorry. Could you lend me something to put over my shoulders?” Silver Blaze asked. It had grown quite chilly, and she was starting to shiver.

They were on the hilltop at dawn. It was probably the pouring sunlight and the high body temperature of a centaur that had allowed her to endure.

Baturu looked around, but the only thing she could find was the dead sorcerer’s cloak. She could hardly make the princess wear
that
. She was just trying to decide what to do when—