by Kumo Kagyu
Nearby, Dwarf Shaman stroked his beard, trying not to laugh at her resigned tone.
“It would be a problem for you, wouldn’t it? With all that exercise, you’d never plumpen up, and you’ll be an anvil forever!”
“Look who’s talking. As if you couldn’t stand to lose a few pounds.”
“Don’t be silly. Dwarves are the very picture of an excellent physique!”
Lizard Priest shrugged happily and rolled his eyes in his head; Priestess put a hand to her mouth and giggled.
Even High Elf Archer found herself drawn to chuckle, and Dwarf Shaman’s booming laugh followed her.
Goblin Slayer didn’t laugh, but…
“…
“Phew…” With a breath, he sheathed the sword he had been holding in his right hand until that moment.
The tense atmosphere that had dominated their explorations melted away, giving way to a surprising feeling of comfort.
They had won.
“Now, then… This is most intriguing.”
The last laugh had echoed away in the dim chapel.
Lizard Priest pointed quietly to the thing that still hung above the altar: a gigantic full-length mirror. The surface of it trembled like water, weird ripples spreading across it.
The mirror and the beguiling, intricate metalwork surrounding it had not been so much as scuffed by the explosion. It couldn’t be more obvious that this was not a normal looking glass.
“Could it be…an object of worship?” Priestess leaned forward slightly, approaching the altar.
“You might best refrain from touching it carelessly.”
“Yes, but… We can’t not investigate it, can we?”
“We are short a scout or a thief in this party,” Dwarf Shaman said.
Priestess reached out with one pale finger and gently touched the surface of the mirror.
Ploop. Her finger sank into it.
“…?!”
She instinctively pulled her hand back, and the surface of the mirror rippled like a pond. Tiny waves ran out from where she had touched it, rolling across the entire surface.
“Oh! Uh, this…”
“Get in formation,” Goblin Slayer ordered, replacing Priestess near the mirror as she hurriedly drew back.
Each of the party members drew their weapons and readied for battle as the mirror kept shifting. The rippling surface twisted and turned crazily and, after a time, began to shine with a strange light.
They saw a wilderness, they knew not where; it was covered in peculiar green sand. A sun glinted in the disturbingly dead twilight sky.
But what drew their attention most of all was a massive, bizarre mechanical device. Small human silhouettes struggled to push it along; as it moved, it wobbled slowly, like a round mortar in a track.
No—they weren’t humans. Goblin Slayer knew what they were.
“…Goblins.”
It was a gang of cruel-faced imps. Another goblin with a whip in his hand and his mouth open wide—shouting in rage, no doubt—tried to hurry their labor. What were they doing and to what purpose? It was fearful even to imagine.
For the machine and its huge gears were unmistakably made of human bones.
“What in the world…?”
“The home of the goblins, I suppose.”
Beside a shuddering Priestess, Lizard Priest nodded slowly. He came forward at a leisurely pace and touched the mirror again with the claw of one scaled hand…
Suddenly, the image in the mirror twisted.
It folded in on itself, ran to one side, spun, and began to dissipate as though it had been caught up in a sandstorm.
“Oh…!”
High Elf Archer exclaimed at the scene barely visible in the swirling picture. Her long ears flicked, and she pointed with her gorgeous hand and cried, “Look at that!” Everyone looked. “Just now I saw—I saw the ruins in that jungle! Where we were the other day!”
“In the jungle?” Goblin Slayer muttered. “The one with the unusually well-equipped goblins?”
“Is that all you remember about it? But yes. That’s the one.” High Elf Archer nodded at Goblin Slayer, her ears fluttering with excitement. “What do you think the chances are that the ones there were sent from here?”
“You think this is an ancient relic that can produce a Gate?” Dwarf Shaman whispered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
He had good reason not to. Gate, a spell that could link two places, had been lost long ago.
Scrolls like the one Goblin Slayer had used were about the only places one encountered the spell anymore. And even those were expensive items that had to be fished out of old ruins first.
The idea of a magical item that could invoke that elusive spell at any time was boggling. The adventurers, of course, didn’t know exactly how to use it, but if they could figure it out…
Just imagine the price it would bring. More than they could count.
“So somebody was summoning goblins with this thing—”
High Elf Archer backed slowly away from the mirror as if it might attack her.
“—gave them weapons and made them live down here—”
Dwarf Shaman picked up the thought, closing one eye and grimacing at the looking glass.
“—and then that foul beast was guarding it.”
Lizard Priest finished with a slap of his tail.
“What do we do, Goblin Slayer, sir…?”
Priestess looked at him in distress.
Goblin Slayer didn’t answer.
“No…” He slowly shook his head side to side, then walked off with a bold, decisive stride.
He rolled the corpse of the Giant Eye over with his foot, pulling out a sodden cloth that could just be seen beneath it.
It had probably been carried there by the blast. It was singed, covered in soot, and filthy, but when he uncrumpled it, a hideous war banner was revealed. It bore a crude drawing in the blackish-red pigment of dried blood.
A single eye.
The picture was childish, but what it signified was frighteningly clear.
The crest meant that they would have retribution for the stolen eye. It was the goblins’ symbol, proof that the adventurers had found their citadel.
“I knew it was goblins,” Goblin Slayer muttered.
As if in response, howling voices came from the depths of the earth.
Voices of immense hatred. Voices of jealousy and lust. Voices that sought to steal, to rape, to kill. Cruel shouts rife with greed.
From the farthest reaches of that dirty hole, the noises came up out of a darkness that seemed the province of nightmares.
“…Ee…”
Priestess squeezed her staff with both hands and trembled. She knew those sounds, knew them in a way that sickened her. Those voices—those goblins—!
“Ah-ha… Our blast will have echoed down to them.” Lizard Priest sucked in a sharp breath, craning his neck.
The voices seemed to come from everywhere at once, from each of a number of corridors that led out of the chapel. Footsteps and echoes from the clanking of weapons and equipment played over one another, coming closer.
They didn’t have much time.
“If this is where the little devils are coming from, then we cannot ignore it.”
“So, you’re sayin’…”
Dwarf Shaman pulled out his bottle of fire wine and took a great swig.
His face stiffened and turned slightly red, then burst into a strange smile as if to ward off his dismay.
“…they’re comin’ to take this place back?”
“Hey… Oh, man… Can’t we catch a break?” High Elf Archer sat down weakly. Her ears drooped pitifully, all her energy of moments ago gone. Her delicate face fell, and it looked as if she might cry.
Priestess came up next to her, wearing much the same expression. With fearful, trembling, stiff hands, she gripped her sounding staff so tightly her skin began to turn white, and her eyes were quavering.
But she looked at Gobli
n Slayer, though not beseechingly nor in desperation. She only gazed directly at him.
“Goblin Slayer, sir.”
Her slight whisper caused all of them to focus on him. Just as they had with the ogre, just as they had with the goblin lord, so they did now. In their most dire moments, this was the man who would manage something. It might have looked like they were giving up, but they weren’t—not quite.
For if they did, who would turn to Goblin Slayer as a leader?
In the broadest terms, it was a sort of trust.
“……”
Goblin Slayer silently scanned the entire room.
The crumbling chapel. The mirror containing the awesome power of Gate. The goblins closing in from every direction. The four exhausted adventurers.
They had been backed completely into a corner—or had they?
“What have I got in my pocket…?”
He wasn’t looking for an answer, only talking to himself. It was a riddle he had never understood. Even now, he wasn’t sure he grasped it.
There was nothing there—except his hand.
A hand that might hold nothing. Or everything.
Didn’t it always?
And if it did, then…
“…”
He looked at High Elf Archer, who made no move to flee despite her evident fear.
At Dwarf Shaman, fortifying his courage with wine.
At Lizard Priest, who was spoiling for the coming battle.
And Priestess, who was looking squarely at him.
Then he nodded, and said quietly:
“Don’t worry.”
It was impossible to make out his expression behind that steel helm.
But to Priestess—no, to all of these, his only companions in the world—
“It won’t be a problem.”
—it seemed that, ever so softly, he was laughing.
If Death has footsteps, this must be the sound.
Battle drums rumbled from the depths of hell. Weapons and armor rattled on the advancing monsters, and their reeking breath profaned the air of the ruins; their spittle slickened the stone floors.
They were full of disorderly murmuring and growling. Every sound was rich with greed and overweening rage. They debated how best to tear apart the impertinent adventurers, how to dance on their broken bodies, to debase them.
Whumph. At the head of their group came the footsteps of that mammoth goblin, the champion.
First, he would take an eye for an eye—from each of them. That was where it would start, before any murder, any devouring, any debasing…
“Ohh…”
High Elf Archer’s sensitive ears picked up all of this easily. Her voice slipped out as she trembled, and the blood drained from her face.
She tightened the spider-silk string on her bow with a twang, checked her supply of arrows, and took a deep breath.
“Can you do it?”
“…Of course!”
At Goblin Slayer’s question, dispassionate as always, she answered stoutly.
She would feign pleasantness as much as she could. The more awful things got, the more she talked. If she couldn’t joke, she would surely die.
“Just try to avoid getting us almost blown up this time.”
“That is my intention.”
She narrowed her eyes, but he only nodded, taciturn as ever.
He had lit four torches and set one at each point of the compass; now he was examining the sanctuary by their light. In addition to the way they had come into the room, several other corridors led to who knew where.
“Can you tell where they’re coming from?”
“Everywhere,” High Elf Archer said with a shrug. “Don’t ask how many.”
“Milord Goblin Slayer, I have prepared a barrier.”
The other adventurers, of course, had not been idle.
Lizard Priest had piled up pieces of debris from the explosion around the altar. An entrenchment, even a simple one, often made the difference between victory and defeat in a defensive battle. The enemy would be vulnerable while trying to get past it, and it would slow them down, as well.
Dwarf Shaman, who had been directing the effort, wiped the dust from his hands and said, “Best we could do on short notice, but don’t expect much from it.”
“It will do. What about you?”
“Yes, sir, I’m ready!” Priestess answered bravely.
She had scrambled up on top of the altar with her small frame. It was her job to collect slinging stones, arrows, and usable short swords from the ground nearby. It was important that a new weapon be near to be handed over anytime they might need one.
“All right.” Goblin Slayer nodded.
He, too, could now hear the goblin army clearly.
There was to be no more waiting. No time for lengthy explanations. Goblin Slayer did not flinch.
“How many spells do you have left?”
“I have, um…” Priestess put a finger to her lips and thought.
How many more times could her soul endure supplicating to the gods above?
Experience suggested to her…
“I failed once and succeeded once, so…one more.”
“Save it,” Goblin Slayer said shortly. “We’ll need it later.”
“Yes, sir!”
Those were his instructions, and Priestess nodded unhesitatingly. She gripped her staff firmly in both hands, and from atop the altar, she peered into the darkness. If she was not going to be using her miracle, she would be responsible for keeping track of the big picture.
It was a great deal to bear alone—but she was not alone. They were all together.
“I’ll do my best…!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! My, our humble temple maiden has grown quite valiant.”
Beside the altar, Lizard Priest swished his tail and touched his tongue jovially to his nose.
“Wh-who, me?”
He turned toward Priestess, who seemed a bit embarrassed, holding his catalyst, a fang.
“Two remain for me. Though if I refrain from summoning a Dragontooth Warrior now, it will be three. I don’t suppose I should wait?” Lizard Priest gave his peculiarly intense smile, baring his teeth.
“Do it,” Goblin Slayer responded immediately. “Have it hold a shield.” He jerked his chin in the direction of Priestess. “I want it to protect her.”
“Very well, very well. And shall I attend to the mirror?”
“Yes.”
Lizard Priest responded with a slow shake of his head from side to side and joined his hands in a strange gesture. He ascended the altar, then quickly pitched his fang onto the floor and focused his concentration.
It was said there was no tribe in this world more accomplished in battle than the lizardmen. Thoughtful as he was, the priest probably already had an inkling of what Goblin Slayer had in mind.
“O horns and claws of our father, Iguanodon, thy four limbs, become two legs to walk upon the earth.”
Dwarf Shaman glanced at the praying Lizard Priest and the warrior he created, running a finger along his beard.
“I set up that Spirit Wall earlier and used Stupor… I’d say two more.”
“Hold on to them. They’ll be our trump cards.”
“Oh-ho! Quite the important role I get. Until we need them, then, shall I help you, Beard-cutter?”
Dwarf Shaman gave a slap of his belly, already in his usual spirits. Without him, the party might have found it much harder to turn their mood around. High Elf Archer’s giggle was like a bell.
“We’re really blessed, aren’t we? To have three spell casters.”
“What’s this? Didn’t realize you knew how to be polite, long-ears.”
“Oh, please! I’m always polite.”
Someone laughed. Then all of them. They nodded to one another. That was enough.
They could see the goblins’ glittering eyes now and hear the howling voice of the champion.
High Elf Archer closed one eye, her ears fluttering as she judg
ed the distance to the enemy.
“…And? What do you want me to do?”
“Distract them, then kill them. Reduce their numbers, draw off as many as possible.”
“Why do I get the feeling this is completely crazy?”
“Do you?”
Goblin Slayer took a sling in his free right hand and set a stone in it. At the same time, he passed another sling from his bag to Dwarf Shaman, intent on preparing the next barrage.
High Elf Archer gave a “hmph,” set an arrow against her bowstring, and pulled it back.
“Ready? Here I go.”
She let out a stiff but somehow lovely laugh. But at the same moment—
“GOROORORRRRRB!!”
It was the war cry of the goblin champion.
The one-eyed monster shook his staff and roared, trying to rile up the goblins under his command.
His troops carried spears and clubs and axes and rusty daggers.
Even as the mob shuffled forward, one of the creatures in front—
“One.”
“GROB?!”
—fell victim to an unerring stone from Goblin Slayer’s sling.
Throughout the history of this world, humans had always been most suited to throwing things. Not even a dragon could toss an object farther than a human.
Goblins lacked the strength, elves loved their bows too much, and dwarves and rheas found throwing a simple pastime. Humans alone could launch a stone faster than a speeding horse straight at their target.
“GOROB?!”
“GROOORRB?!”
And as long as there were stones on the ground, a sling would never run out of ammunition.
“Ho! You barely have to aim around here! I like it!”
Dwarf Shaman’s fat fingers flashed like magic, loading one rock after another into his sling and flinging them at the goblins.
“Fire away, Beard-cutter! No bad shots here!”
“That is my plan… That makes three.”
A stone whistled through the air, cracking open another goblin skull. Two in a row, three. Goblin Slayer might as well have been shooting goblins in a barrel.
The little monsters trod over the corpses of their fallen, stone-crowned brothers.
“GROB! GOOOROBB!!”
