by Kumo Kagyu
The bodies were perhaps 40 percent goblin; the rest were the rotting remains of adventurers.
And there, up ahead where the waterway split into countless branches, loomed a mysterious shadow.
“No… There’s something else.”
High Elf Archer was not one to miss something like that. As she spoke, she set another arrow into her bow. Her ears flicked up and down; then, with a faint hiss, she pulled back the spider’s silk bowstring and let it go.
With a twang like a fine lute, the arrow sliced through the air.
It arced, turning the corner as if it had a life of its own. A moment later there was a high-pitched “Gyaa!” and then a soft noise of something hitting the water.
“That’s the last of them.”
“Phew… Nice shot.”
At High Elf Archer’s exultant exclamation, Priestess, who had been clutching her sounding staff, let out a sigh.
She kept her spirit continually heightened, so she could invoke a miracle at any time. She was glad, though, that she hadn’t needed to use one—could save it for later.
“But…to find so many goblins right under the town…”
“This is what I expected.”
Goblin Slayer nonchalantly propped up the body of an adventurer. A bit of rotten flesh tumbled to the ground.
The corpse had been so well chewed by rats that it was no longer possible to tell whether it was male or female, but he didn’t hesitate.
Chain mail darkened with dried blood. A broken helmet. This was probably a warrior once. Their item bag had already been torn to shreds. Goblin Slayer looked through everything the goblins hadn’t already stolen and took a longsword, scabbard and all, from the body’s hip.
He drew the blade and found a cutting edge with no rust at all. Perhaps it had been well-oiled?
“They must have been ambushed.” One blow to the head most likely. Not even a chance to draw their weapons.
The sword was too heavy for a goblin and longer than Goblin Slayer liked, but it wasn’t a bad weapon.
“All right.” Goblin Slayer nodded, sheathing the sword again. Priestess let out a breath.
“It’s not ‘all right.’ May I?”
“Go ahead.”
Goblin Slayer pushed the adventurer’s corpse back on its side.
Priestess knelt near the body, her expression dark. She paid no attention to the filthy water that lapped at her white vestments.
“O Earth Mother, abounding in mercy, please, by your revered hand, guide the soul of one who has left this world…”
Holding her staff, her eyes closed, whispering in a rhythm almost musical, she prayed, chanted, implored.
Prayed that the souls of the adventurers and the goblins who had died here might be saved by the gods who resided in heaven.
“Would that we could leave you in the soil rather than below it…”
Lizard Priest, following Priestess’s lead, put his palms together in an odd gesture, praying for the rebirth of those souls.
“But we take comfort that, by feeding the rats and bugs, you will return to the earth in time.”
The Earth Mother and the fearsome naga. Their gods were different; thus, so also were their doctrines.
But in wishing for the happiness of the souls of the dead, they were the same. They knew not where their prayers went, only that there was salvation.
Priestess and Lizard Priest looked at each other, knowing they had each discharged their duty.
“Hmm, there.”
Keeping half an eye on the two of them, High Elf Archer pulled an arrow from a goblin’s corpse.
She checked the bud at the tip and, satisfied that it wasn’t damaged, returned the bolt to her quiver.
“Just so you know, I’m not going to do like you, Orcbolg.” She fixed her eyes briefly on the armored adventurer with the inscrutable expression. Vwip went her ears, as if to show her mood. “It looks like this could be a long fight. And I don’t want to use goblin arrows. They’re so crude,” she grumbled.
Goblin Slayer’s eyes flitted to her. “Are they?”
“Yeah, they are.”
“I see.”
“Gracious me,” Dwarf Shaman sighed, stroking his beard.
He had had his hand in his bag of catalysts, ready with a spell, but…
He was looking far away, into the black beyond the light of the torch. As dwellers underground, they could see well in the dark.
“Makes you wonder just how many there are.”
But even his sharp eyes didn’t catch sight of any goblins.
It had been three days since they’d begun their exploration of the sewers, and this was the fifth time they’d been attacked today alone.
The sewers of the water town had been completely transformed into a goblin nest. Adventurers who entered the place soon found themselves attacked by the little demons.
The winding network of waterways—effectively a maze—was the goblins’ ally.
The party was attacked repeatedly at irregular intervals, and the search went on and on; they could never let down their guard.
“I am told that this is business as usual for adventurers of a labyrinth city.”
The normally stoic lizardman’s complaints were evidence of the toll fatigue had taken on them.
Battle alone would not have done this to them, nor simply walking through a cave. It was the constant vigilance that wore on their nerves.
“…”
Anxiety was clear on Priestess’s face, as well. Even her footsteps seemed somehow uncertain.
“Stay calm.”
Goblin Slayer, examining every inch of their route closely, was as blunt as usual.
He had taken a fresh torch out of his knapsack and lit it and was now tapping insistently on the walls.
“This is a stone wall. It’s unlikely they’ll ambush us through it.”
“Please don’t bring back bad memories.” Priestess frowned and shivered. The terror of that first adventure still haunted her.
“…I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” was all she said in response to Goblin Slayer’s quiet murmur.
Perhaps Dwarf Shaman sensed what was going on between them, because he chuckled quietly and said, “At least with this much garbage around, we don’t have to bother to hide our scents.”
“Please don’t bring back bad memories,” High Elf Archer said with a weary wave of her hand.
She stuck out her arm and took a sniff of her hunter’s outfit.
In the past, on another dive into underground ruins, Goblin Slayer had forced her to slather herself with goblin guts, alleging it would cover her scent. She had been able to wash her clothes and clean her body, but she had never really forgiven him.
“I’m warning you, Orcbolg, if you ever make me do that again, you’re in for it.”
Goblin Slayer was silent. He moved his head slightly from side to side.
Maybe he was checking the smell of the area. After a long moment, he answered.
“True, there’s no need this time.”
“Hrk.”
High Elf Archer’s ears went back.
The half-opened eye of a sniper fixed on Goblin Slayer.
“Hey, I just remembered.”
“What?”
“Orcbolg. You never apologized to me.”
“Because it was necessary.”
His answer could not have been more direct. High Elf Archer pouted with a “grrr” and fell into a sulk.
“…Hmm?”
Suddenly her ears bounced up and down, and she looked at the ceiling.
“What is it, long-ears?” asked Dwarf Shaman.
“Something feels strange… And I hear the sound of water. Above us?”
Just then, a droplet fell into the waterway—splish.
Ripples ran through the sewage. One, two, three.
“Hrm…”
Lizard Priest stuck out his tongue doubtfully and licked his nose.
Ploop! Ploop! Mor
e droplets fell.
Soon they were coming down nonstop.
“Is this…rain?” Priestess frowned, looking at the faraway ceiling. The surface of the riverine waterway was full of tiny waves.
High Elf Archer raised her hand uselessly to shield herself from the drops.
“How can it be raining underground?” she asked in confusion.
“The rain’s probably up above. It’s coming down here through the grates or the river,” said Dwarf Shaman, stroking his beard. He looked at Goblin Slayer.
“What do you say, Beard-cutter?”
“If we lose our light, it will be a problem.” Goblin Slayer was holding his shield above the freshly lit torch to protect it.
Useless torch, that it could go out so easily. In this respect, lanterns were better. Well, there were pros and cons to everything. Goblin Slayer clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“Footing will be more treacherous, too.”
“The rain will chill our bodies,” Lizard Priest added with a grim nod and look at the party. “I propose a brief rest. Opinions?”
The rain prevented them from either moving forward or going back. There were no objections.
Once they had decided, the adventurers acted quickly. Since the rain had only just started, surfaces were still relatively dry, but if they dawdled, they would end up sitting somewhere wet, and they would only get colder.
They hadn’t brought some canopy with them, but any adventurer worth their salt had rain gear in their kit. Once they had all put on their worsted overcoats, they sat in a circle together.
Then, Priestess transferred the flame from their torch to a covered lantern and set it in the middle of their circle.
It didn’t warm them much, but it was better than nothing.
“…Hey, Orcbolg. Why don’t you like lanterns?” High Elf Archer poked at the light in perplexity, then brushed at it as if to wipe away some soot. “You can just hang them from your belt. You don’t need to use a whole hand to hold them.”
“A torch can be a weapon,” Goblin Slayer said. “A lantern is useless if it breaks.”
“Huh.”
High Elf Archer seemed disappointed by his answer. She pulled her knees up to her chest.
Goblin Slayer looked at the waterway, ignoring the droplets that dripped from his helmet.
Priestess gave him a compassionate look.
“You should probably at least take off your helmet…don’t you think?”
“You never know when or where the enemy will attack.”
“You know, Beard-cutter, I’ve always thought you were a little rough on your equipment. You ought to repair them.”
“Yes.”
Dwarf Shaman, sitting cross-legged, pulled a wine jar from his bag of catalysts. Breaking the seal, he poured cups of clear fire wine, then quickly handed them to the rest of the party.
The damp smell of the air mixed with the wafting aroma of wine.
“Drink up now. Can’t do aught with a frozen body.”
“But I…”
“I know. Just take a sip, one mouthful. I know that’s all you can manage. I won’t hold it against you.”
High Elf Archer took the cup reluctantly—indeed, fearfully. She took a dainty sip, wincing as it burned her throat.
“Ohh…”
“Still a young’un when it comes to drink, aren’t you?”
“Are you all right?” Priestess asked.
“Y-yeah… But a drunken ranger won’t do anyone any good.”
High Elf Archer nodded at Priestess, who urged her not to force herself.
Then again, Priestess herself was rather unaccustomed to fire wine. She just pretended the potent wine was medicine and took a quiet sip.
The powerful flavor burned on her tongue. Her eyes darted around desperately.
“Well, I shall have a cup, too, then,” said Lizard Priest.
“Of course! Drink up!”
In contrast to the others, Lizard Priest, tail wrapped around his feet, took the brimming cup Dwarf Shaman handed him and poured it all at once into his massive jaws.
“Truly a surpassing flavor. I could drink a barrelful of it.”
“Even with my tricks, I can’t bring a barrel along. Have a splash, Beard-cutter.”
“…”
Goblin Slayer drank the wine through the opening in his visor, never taking his gaze off the waterway.
The rainfall changed from steady to downpour, and the sewage water churned, bubbling violently.
After a while, each of them lapsed into silence.
The patter of raindrops on their overcoats, the slosh of wine being drunk, their own shallow breathing—there was sound everywhere, yet the place seemed strangely hushed.
“We should put something in our stomachs,” Goblin Slayer said shortly, in a quiet voice. “A partially empty stomach keeps the blood from pooling. But too empty and we’ll slow down.”
“Well, if something simple will do…”
Priestess dug in her bag and came up with something wrapped in oil paper.
“Oh-ho!” Dwarf Shaman was tickled having sensed food coming on and gave High Elf Archer a grin and a poke with his elbow. “I knew it. Long-ears, see how your skills are lacking in certain areas?”
“Y-y-you—!”
But she had no comeback.
“…Maybe I’ll learn to cook,” she muttered, at which Priestess offered to teach her and smiled.
Their meal was hard-cooked bread and a bottle of watered-down grape wine.
It was made to keep a long time, but it was flavorless and cold. These were simply field rations, meant to fill their bellies and moisten their throats.
The adventurers chewed on the bread without pleasure, but also without complaint.
“I was hoping I could make something a little less tough, but…,” Priestess said apologetically, shifting as she wiped a bread crumb from her cheek and put it in her mouth. “I don’t think anyone feels much like eating anything too elaborate right here, anyway…”
“True enough…” High Elf Archer shrugged and made a show of holding her nose.
Full of waves churned up by the rain, the filthy waterway had become more of a filthy river. The sense of smell plays a large role in how something tastes, and here the aroma of grape wine was overwhelmed by moss, mold, and any number of other odors.
“I guess I just don’t understand why anyone would want to eat underground,” High Elf Archer said.
“Oh-ho. Just hang on there, lass.”
You’ll regret it when we get back up above, thought the dwarf as he stared at her with narrowed eyes, but High Elf Archer showed no sign of noticing.
“When we have borne this trial, then let us get something delicious for our stomachs.”
Lizard Priest, who had been drinking grape wine and fire wine in equal measures, jumped into the conversation.
Priestess agreed quietly, cradling her cupful of wine in both hands.
“Now that you mention it, what is good to eat around here?”
“Hmm. Indeed. Let’s see…” Dwarf Shaman stroked his beard. “Around here…”
“Fried river fish, veal liver, and grape wine,” Goblin Slayer said without taking his eyes off the water.
Everyone looked at him.
“And I have heard the grain around here is unpolished, so the batter is quite good.”
Dwarf Shaman, with nothing else to add, gave an exaggerated shrug. “You heard the man.”
“I see you are quite knowledgeable, milord Goblin Slayer.”
“One of my acquaintances is.”
Lizard Priest had leaned in with great interest, but Goblin Slayer’s response was brief.
“When I said I was coming here, they told me about the food.”
An acquaintance?
Priestess went over the possibilities in her mind: Guild Girl, Cow Girl, or Witch. Maybe Spearman or Heavy Warrior…
She realized how many more acquaintances he had now than when she had joined h
im a few months earlier and giggled under her breath.
Thus, their short respite from their adventure passed amicably.
But every adventure is rife with danger; in the field, no place is really safe.
It happened about the time the wine was working its way through their bodies, warming their limbs.
“…Hmm?”
Goblin Slayer suddenly made a sound. He immediately rose to one knee and stared intently at the water.
“Something wrong, Goblin Slayer, sir…?”
“No,” he muttered. “…But be on your guard.”
Priestess nodded at his vague answer.
He must have sensed something. Priestess quickly began to pack her bag, but with one eye to her surroundings. Even if there was nothing there, it was about time for them to be moving on.
“I will help you. Milord spell caster, your blanket.”
“Right here.”
No one had to tell them what to do. The veteran adventurers moved quickly and efficiently.
High Elf Archer, stooped like Goblin Slayer, kept a hand on her quiver, listening. Her long ears bouncing up and down were the sharpest in the party.
“…Something’s coming.”
Each of them immediately readied their weapons. Goblin Slayer took out the longsword he had just collected, Lizard Priest a fang-sword. Priestess held her staff anxiously; Dwarf Shaman had his sling; and High Elf Archer drew an arrow from her quiver.
“Beard-cutter!”
“Right.”
Goblin Slayer grabbed Dwarf Shaman’s lantern with his left hand, the one tied to his shield. There was no time to light a torch. Should he hold the light in his hand?
No. He hung it by his hip instead.
All of them looked past the rain to the far side of the waterway, where the low-hanging mist had dispersed into a fine haze.
This time, all of them could clearly hear the sound of splashing water.
It wasn’t the waves. Something was coming through the water toward them.
Without hesitation, Goblin Slayer shined the light of the lantern on the mist-cloaked shape. They could just discern a crude water vessel, like a raft, fashioned of driftwood.
“Goblins!”
The next instant, the monsters on the raft let loose with their handmade bows. Their shots lacked precision, but in the narrow space, they fell like the rain already pelting them.
