Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings (Part I)
Chapter Text
In the dim, rain-soaked frontier town, the air inside the Adventurers' Guild felt stifling. Seventeen-year-old Goblin Slayer stood before the counter, his breath measured but heavy. He stared ahead, his expression hidden beneath the crude helmet he never removed, his gloved fingers tightening on the hilt of his sword. Guild Girl sat behind the counter, her brows furrowed, papers in her hands trembling slightly as she spoke the words he had been dreading.
"I'm sorry," she began, her voice a soft murmur. "I regret to inform you that your application has been rejected."
His heart pounded in his chest, but on the outside, he remained motionless. ‘Rejected?’ The word echoed in his mind like a blow, and for a moment, all he could feel was the rising heat of anger, a bitter, gnawing frustration that threatened to spill over.
“… What do you mean it’s been rejected?” Goblin Slayer asked in his low, gravely voice— doing his best to maintain a calm demeanor, though somewhat failing, as he could tell from the way the brown-haired woman’s face became visibly uneasy.
Guild Girl's voice, quieter this time, broke through his internal haze. "You failed to pass the mental assessment. My boss, she’s… Concerned, with your responses.”
‘Concerned?’ He repeated back silently to himself— the absurdity of what she had said beginning to claw at him even more than it already was. ‘Concerned about what? About me wanting to kill goblins? Isn’t that the point of the guild— to kill monsters?!’
His eyes, though unseen beneath the helmet, bore into her. He had expected this. From the start, he knew they would reject him—not because he wasn’t strong enough or skilled enough—but because they couldn’t understand.
They hadn’t seen what he had seen. They hadn’t lost what he had lost. How could they know the depth of his hatred? How could they comprehend the all-consuming need to wipe out every last goblin?
Though visibly beginning to lose his patience, through the way his fingers were tightening on the edge of the wooden counter separating him from her, Goblin tried to keep control of himself as he argued with her. “This… This has to be a mistake— if I can maybe retake the evaluation-”
“-“High-risk liability”— that’s the reason why the guild can’t have someone like you be apart of us, Mr. Ashta,” Guild Girl explained as though she were tearing a bandaid off— interrupting the armored teen, and pausing as she saw the way he froze into place. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through to harbor such hatred towards goblins, but… To wage war on an entire race— even the majority of goblins who aren’t inherently evil— that’s… “Madness,” as my boss put it.”
“I didn’t come here for your boss’ opinion of my life choices— I came here to put this sword to good use,” Goblin Slayer argued once more— rebuking her reasoning, by gesturing toward the handle of his cheaply-crafted short sword, that was sheathed on his hip.
Although she was still visibly uncomfortable with the teenager’s insistence on joining the Adventurers’ Guild, it was through his defiance did Guild Girl catch a glimpse of who Goblin Slayer was— underneath the armor, he was a hurt person, who was trying his damndest to retake what had been taken from him.
“You… You need help, Mr. Ashta— more than you need to put that sword to good use,” Guild Girl’s words were gentle, almost pitying— striking him like daggers.
‘Help?’ He thought to himself— nearly laughing, though the sound died in his throat. “The only help I need right now is being shown where the nearest goblin nest is at,” he retorted in his usual calm, yet now irritated voice, as he reached further than past the pumble of his blade to instinctively wrap his fingers around the handle of his weapon.
Already shooting cautious glances at the nearby adventurers who had been spectating the disagreement from nearby, Guild Girl remained steadfast in her boss’ decision, as she shook her head firmly before saying, “I’m sorry, but you’re not going to find that sort of help here— not now, at least.”
He clenched his fist tighter around his sword, the leather of his gloves creaking. ‘I should have expected this from the moment I stepped foot in here. They sit here in safety, making rules, drawing lines— playing at being heroes, while goblins are roaming the wild, unchecked, preying on villages. On families,’ Ren thought resentfully to himself— his frustration finally beginning to get the better of him, as his thoughts strayed back to his sister.
‘They’ll never understand. None of them will.’
"I’m… I’m here to kill goblins," He growled— his voice low, filled with a quiet, simmering fury. "Why do my reasons for being here even matter?"
Guild Girl winced, but held his gaze. "It matters because being an adventurer isn’t just about killing monsters— despite what preconceived notion you had of us. It’s about... It’s about knowing your limits, working with others. Following rules."
The words were spoken carefully, but they felt like hollow excuses to him. ‘Rules. What good are those meaningless rules, if most of the people they approve to be adventurers end up dead early on?!’
He didn’t care about limits or teamwork. He didn’t care about anything other than wiping out every last goblin that dared draw breath.
The silence between them stretched, growing heavier, suffocating. Finally, something inside him snapped. Without another word, he turned sharply, his cape swirling around him as he headed for the door. The weight of their judgment pressed down on him, but his resolve was sharper than ever.
"Wait!" Guild Girl’s voice was frantic now, her footsteps echoing as she took a step toward him. "Please, you don’t have to leave like this! There are still other options! We can reassess in a few months, maybe-"
"-No." His voice was flat, the word cutting through her plea. He stopped briefly at the door, his hand on the worn wood. "I don’t need your guild— I don’t need any of you."
Guild Girl’s eyes widened, but before she could respond, he continued, the words spilling out with cold, clear conviction. "I’ll make my own guild; one that actually makes sense,” Ren declared in a vindictive tone, as he looked over his shoulder to stare at the stunned brunette over the counter. “I’ll slay every last goblin on Earth… And anything, or anyone else for that matter, that stands in my way."
He then turned forward and shoved the door open— the sudden slam reverberating through the lobby of the crowded building. The cool evening air, damp with mist and the threat of rain, greeted him as he stormed out into the streets.
‘“High-risk liability…” What a load of utter bullshit,’ Goblin Slayer scoffed to himself, as droplets of the hazy weather began to accumulate over his leather set of armor. ‘It doesn’t matter now— what’s done is done.’
His breath came fast, his chest tight with rage and something darker, something deeper that he had buried long ago. ‘I’ll figure it out, just like how I’ve always done. I’ll find others—people who understand what needs to be done— and have the means necessary to arm them for war. No bureaucracy. No tests. Just results.’ The idea lodged itself firmly in his mind, like a seed planted in the dark.
Behind him, Guild Girl stood at the entrance, her heart racing as she watched him disappear into the fog. "Please… You’re making a mistake," She whispered, though the words barely reached her own ears. She wanted to call him back, to find some way to make him understand—but she knew it was too late.
As the door shut far behind him, Goblin Slayer was too far away to hear it close. ‘I’ll build an army if I have to. I’ll slay the last of their kind, by any means necessary,’ he vowed silently, the thought wrapping around him like the weathered armor he wore. ‘And I won’t stop until the world is rid of their filth.’
His path seemed more clear now than it ever had been. The guild didn’t want him, and the way he saw it, nor did they attempt to even try to understand him. So he would build something better, something efficient: a guild where no one would stand in his way.
A guild made for one purpose: obliterating goblins.
Upon the following morning, a pale light filtered through the dense canopy of trees— casting long, jagged shadows over the forest floor. Beneath the Earth. deep within the belly of a cave, all was still. The stench of rot and filth permeated the air— hanging heavy like a sickly fog.
Faint groans and the sound of labored breathing echoed from the back of the cavern, where women—of various races—laid bound and broken— their bodies bruised and battered, awaiting another nightmare at the hands of their savage captors.
The goblins slept, sprawled out across the cold stone floor in a tangle of grotesque limbs. Their snoring filled the cave, a symphony of rasping breaths and guttural snores.
At the entrance of the cave, crouched in the shadows, Goblin Slayer waited. His breathing was slow, measured, but his pulse pounded in his ears, a drumbeat that echoed the cold rage in his chest.
‘Cretans. All of them.’
He adjusted his grip on the short sword in his right hand— the blade sharp and dull at the same time, a weapon forged for work, not glory. In his left hand, he held a crude torch, its flame flickering, casting dancing shadows across the walls.
Strapped to his forearm was the iron buckler, a small, worn shield that came with the equipment he purchased the other day. It had dents and scratches, evidence of its previous owner, but it would serve him well enough.
‘Weapons. Supplies. I’m going to need what they’ve collected from their raids.’
He moved without hesitation, his footfalls soundless on the stone. His body, covered in a patchwork of dented armor and worn leather, moved with the fluidity of a predator.
The goblins were unprepared. They always were. Arrogant in their small victories, they believed themselves safe in their nests, protected by the darkness.
The first goblin never saw him coming. Goblin Slayer descended upon it with brutal efficiency, driving the tip of his short sword into the base of its skull. There was no sound, no cry of alarm—just a brief spasm of limbs as the creature's body went limp. He pulled the blade free, a quick, fluid motion, wiping it on the ragged fur that covered the goblin’s corpse.
‘One.’
He moved to the next— a hobgoblin, slumped against the wall, and a club resting by its side. Before it could even stir, he brought the edge of the iron buckler down on its throat, crushing its windpipe with a sickening crunch. The goblin’s eyes bulged in terror as it choked on its own blood. Without hesitation, Goblin Slayer drove his sword into its chest— silencing it for good.
‘Two.’
He could hear the shuffling of other goblins now, the sound of them stirring as they sensed something was wrong. He moved quickly, a blur in the shadows. He extinguished the torch by plunging it into the nearest pool of stagnant water. Darkness enveloped him, but he had learned to see through it long ago.
‘They won’t escape— I won’t allow it.’
A goblin near the back of the cave groaned, blinking its beady eyes as it woke. Goblin Slayer was on it before it could rise, grabbing its head with one hand and slamming it into the rock wall. The goblin let out a shriek, but the sound was cut short as his short sword found its mark, piercing the goblin’s temple. Blood splattered across his armor, warm and thick.
‘Three.’
A hiss of movement behind him—another goblin had woken, and this one was faster, smarter. It lunged at him with a rusted dagger, snarling in fury. Goblin Slayer twisted, raising his shield to deflect the blow.
The dagger glanced off the iron with a loud clang, and before the goblin could react, Goblin Slayer slammed the edge of the shield into its face. Teeth shattered, blood sprayed, and the creature staggered backward with a howl of pain. Goblin Slayer followed up with a swift, precise stab to its gut, twisting the blade as he withdrew it. The goblin collapsed in a heap, its life leaking out onto the cold stone.
‘Four.’
More goblins were awake now— their eyes wild with panic. They began scrambling, reaching for crude weapons, all while screeching in confusion and anger. They weren’t used to being attacked in their own den. They weren’t used to a hunter who was not afraid of their numbers.
‘Good. Let them panic. Let them feel fear.’
One goblin—a larger one, perhaps the chief—grabbed a crude spear and charged at him. Goblin Slayer stood his ground, eyes narrowing as the goblin closed the distance. At the last moment, he sidestepped, slashing downward with his sword. The blade caught the goblin’s arm, severing it cleanly at the elbow. The goblin howled in agony, dropping the spear as it clutched the bleeding stump.
"Monsters," Goblin Slayer hissed under his breath, his voice a low growl. He kicked the goblin to the ground and drove his sword through its throat— taking sadistic pleasure from the way he heard it gurgle pathetically while blood pooled from underneath it.
‘Five.’
Another goblin, smaller but more nimble, darted toward him with a jagged knife, aiming for his legs. Goblin Slayer anticipated the move, blocking the knife with his shield and swinging his sword in a vicious arc, slicing the goblin's head clean off its shoulders. The head rolled across the cave floor, its expression frozen in shock.
‘Six.’
One by one, they fell. Some tried to flee, but the narrow cave left them no escape. Goblin Slayer hunted them down with relentless precision, cutting through them as though they were nothing. Each strike was calculated, each kill efficient. There was no hesitation, no mercy.
When the last goblin fell, Goblin Slayer stood amidst the carnage— breathing heavily, his armor splattered with blood. The cave was silent now, save for the whimpers of the captives in the back. He glanced at them briefly, but his focus remained on the task at hand. He had what he needed.
Goblin Slayer knelt by the bodies, stripping them of their weapons—spears, daggers, crude clubs—and gathering anything of use. The goblins’ tools were primitive, but they would serve a purpose.
Unable to carry his freshly looted haul with him just yet, he took a final glance at the pile of dead goblins, before herding the women up toward the cave entrance— disappearing into the morning light with them under his watchful eye.
Chapter 2: Humble Beginnings (Part II)
Chapter Text
After delivering the captives to the nearest guard station, Goblin Slayer returned to the forest, his steps heavy but steady. The women had been broken, scarred by the goblins' cruelty, but they were safe now—at least safer than they had been. He had done what he could for them, but the moment they were out of his hands, they were no longer his concern. His mind was already elsewhere, focused on the next task.
The fortress.
He had spotted it earlier that morning, as he moved through the woods— a massive stone structure looming above the trees like a forgotten relic. Its fortified walls were high and imposing, weathered with age but still strong. A water mill churned slowly along the banks of a river that wound its way along the fortress’s side, the wheel creaking with each slow turn.
It was perfect.
Goblin Slayer’s eyes narrowed beneath his helmet as he moved closer to the fortress. He had been watching it for days, studying the movements of the bandits who had taken it over.
Though a majority of them were human, he knew better than to go in with a naive mindset, as nothing but raiders, thieves, and worse awaited him within the confines of those looming walls. He had heard the rumors of their crimes, of how they preyed on villages.
‘Just like goblins,’ he told himself, repeating the thought like a mantra. ‘They’re no different.’
His plan was simple: take the fortress, clear out the bandits, and use it as a base of future operations.
He made his way toward the fortress, keeping low as he approached the sewer gate at the base of the wall. It was rusted and worn, a weak point in their defenses. Goblin Slayer examined it briefly before wedging his short sword between the bars, using his strength to pry them open. The metal groaned in protest, but it gave way with little resistance. He then slipped inside.
The air inside the tunnel was rank— thick with the stench of sewage and decay. Goblin Slayer moved quickly, his footfalls silent as he made his way through the dark, narrow passage. The tunnel led him deep beneath the fortress, past the main walls and into its heart.
He emerged in the lower levels of the fortress, where the bandits were least likely to expect an intruder. From his hidden position, Goblin Slayer could see into the courtyard. The bandits were scattered, lounging around a roaring fire— drinking and laughing, unaware of the danger creeping toward them.
His hand tightened on the hilt of his short sword. He hesitated, just for a moment. ‘Am I.., Am I really going to take the lives of them?’ He thought dreadfully to himself, as his resolve began faltering.
It was then that clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away. ‘No. No, they’re not people — not anymore, they’re not,’ Goblin Slayer reinforced to himself, as he felt the same righteous flame in his chest reignite into a full inferno once more. ‘They take, they kill, they prey on the weak. They’re no better than goblins, and for that each of them deserve the same fate as one.’
His breath slowed, his heart steadying. The hesitation faded. He had made his decision.
Goblin Slayer emerged silently from his hiding spot— sneaking up behind one of the bandits who had strayed far from the others. Without a sound, he thrust his sword into the man’s back— piercing his heart. The bandit choked, his body stiffening before slumping to the ground, as Goblin Slayer did his best to avoid looking down at him.
‘… That’s one.’
He moved quickly, staying in the shadows underneath the barracks of the roaring walls, as he approached the next target. Another bandit sat with his back turned, oblivious to the danger. Goblin Slayer grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back— slicing his throat open with a quick, clean motion. Blood sprayed onto the ground as the bandit gurgled, his hands clawing at his neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.
‘… Two.’
Each kill from that point on became easier— the thought that they were humans, not goblins, drifted further and further from his mind. ‘They’re no different,’ he reminded himself again, his focus sharpening. ‘They’re vile, they’re goblins.’
He moved through the courtyard like a shadow, striking down bandits before they could react. A sentry by the gate barely had time to register his presence before Goblin Slayer’s sword was buried in his chest. He ripped the blade free with a swift motion, the bandit collapsing in a heap.
‘Three.’
In the center of the courtyard, a larger bandit than the rest finally noticed his movement. He grabbed a rusted axe and charged at Goblin Slayer, roaring in fury.
Goblin Slayer didn’t flinch. He raised his buckler to deflect the blow, the axe slamming into the iron with a deafening clang. The force of the impact sent vibrations through his arm, but he didn’t falter. Before the bandit could recover, Goblin Slayer drove his sword into his stomach, twisting the blade as he pulled it free. The bandit dropped to his knees, blood spilling from his mouth as he collapsed.
‘Four.’
Another bandit, smaller but faster, lunged at him with a dagger. Goblin Slayer sidestepped, bringing the edge of his buckler down onto the bandit’s head with brutal force. The man crumpled, his skull shattered.
‘Five.’
The remaining bandits scattered, their bravado replaced with fear as they realized they were being hunted. But there was no escape. Goblin Slayer moved through them like a reaper, cutting them down one by one. His strikes were precise, merciless. He showed no hesitation, no remorse.
By the time he finished, the courtyard was littered with bodies. Blood pooled on the stone, staining the ground red. The fortress was silent, save for the creak of the water mill turning slowly in the distance.
Goblin Slayer stood amidst the carnage, breathing heavily, his armor splattered with blood.
‘It’s done.’
But his task was far from over. He still had to dispose of the bodies, to clean the fortress and make it his own.
He moved quickly, dragging the corpses into a pile near the riverbank. One by one, he dumped them into the cold water, watching as the current swept them away.
Once the bodies were gone, he began scrubbing the blood from the stone— his movements mechanical, driven by the same focus that had carried him through the fight. It was tedious work, but necessary. This fortress was his now, and it had to be ready for the next step.
When the blood was finally gone, and the courtyard cleaned, Goblin Slayer paused to survey the fortress. It still needed repairs—reinforcements on the walls, work on the interior—but it was his.
‘It’ll will only grow from here,’ he thought, his eyes cold beneath his helmet. ‘Speaking of which… I should probably start working on coming up with a name for the guild.’
Goblin Slayer returned to the fortress for the last time that day, his arms laden with the final haul from the goblin cave. The crude weapons clattered together in the sacks slung across his back, a mixture of rusted swords, jagged knives, and poorly made spears.
His footsteps echoed through the dim halls of the fortress, and the weight of the supplies pressed down on his shoulders, but his pace never faltered. The underground armory was small but sturdy, and with each trip, he had begun stocking it with everything he’d need.
‘It’s coming together,’ he thought, dropping the last of the weapons into a pile. ‘Piece by piece.’
He turned, about to head back to the main hall and into the courtyard. It was then that the air around him shifted. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his short sword, but before he could draw it, a shadow fell over him, followed by a cold, clear voice.
"Hold."
Goblin Slayer spun around, his eyes narrowing beneath his helmet. Standing before him was a man dressed in a dark, ornate kimono with crimson plated armor— his stance relaxed but coiled with a deadly readiness.
The samurai’s hand rested on the hilt of a gleaming katana, and his gaze was sharp, piercing through Goblin Slayer like he had already sized him up and found him wanting.
"I assumed there would be more of your kind here— searching for you has been troublesome," the samurai said, his voice cold and level. "But that ends here, bandit. The Adventurers’ Guild sent me to deal with you, and wherever the rest of your cowardly colleagues went to hide.”
Goblin Slayer’s hand tightened on his sword. "I’m not a bandit," he replied, his tone flat, unyielding. "I cleared this place of them; you won’t find them here— not anymore, at least."
The samurai tilted his head slightly, a thin smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So you say." His fingers twitched, and the katana slid halfway out of its sheath with a metallic whisper. "You’re a fool to assume I’d fall for that lie— considering the recently charred remains of the village near here says otherwise.”
Goblin Slayer stepped back, sword raised, shield ready. "I’m not lying," he said, voice steady. "I killed the bandits here not more than an hour ago— this is merely a misunderstanding."
"There’s no misunderstanding— I’m not here to entertain you, I’m here to kill you," the samurai snapped, drawing his katana fully in a single, fluid motion. His movements were impossibly fast, the blade gleaming in the dim light of the armory. "But you already knew that from the moment you felt my presence… Didn’t you?"
In an instant, Captain closed the distance between them, his katana flashing toward Goblin Slayer in a deadly arc. Goblin Slayer barely had time to raise his buckler, deflecting the strike at the last second. The force behind it was staggering, sending a jarring shock up his arm.
Goblin Slayer countered with a quick thrust of his short sword, aiming for Captain’s midsection, but the samurai twisted out of the way with ease, his movements fluid and controlled. "Is that all you can do?" Captain taunted, his voice calm despite the intensity of the battle. "I expected more from someone who supposedly cleared this entire fortress on their own."
Goblin Slayer gritted his teeth, stepping back to regain his footing. He wasn’t used to fighting someone so fast—so experienced. He was used to goblins, creatures driven by crude instinct, not this.
‘He’s not backing down… Which means neither can I.’
He lunged again— slashing at Captain’s legs— but the samurai effortlessly sidestepped, his katana coming down in a diagonal slash. Goblin Slayer raised his buckler just in time, the blade scraping against the metal with a deafening screech. He pushed forward, trying to throw Captain off balance, but the samurai danced back with practiced ease.
"You’re slow," Captain said, eyes narrowing. "And sloppy."
Goblin Slayer said nothing, and instead focused on his next move. He knew he was outmatched— Captain was faster, stronger, and more skilled. But Goblin Slayer had faced impossible odds before. He feinted to the left, then quickly pivoted— aiming for Captain’s exposed side. The strike was precise, aimed to wound, not kill. But Captain saw it coming, and spun on his heel and delivered a punishing kick to Goblin Slayer’s chest.
The force sent Goblin Slayer staggering back, crashing against the stone wall. His breath left him in a painful gasp, but he managed to keep his grip on his sword and shield.
Captain advanced, his katana gleaming with deadly intent. "You were dead the moment I followed you down here," he said, voice colder than before. "Accept your fate, and I’ll make it quick."
Goblin Slayer forced himself to his feet, blood pounding in his ears. "I-I’ll n-n-never, a-accept f-f-fate…!”
With a growl, he charged forward, swinging his sword in a wild, desperate arc. Captain parried with ease, knocking Goblin Slayer’s sword aside and delivering a vicious slash across his chest. The sharp pain blossomed immediately, but Goblin Slayer barely registered it. He was too focused on surviving.
He swung again, but Captain moved like water, slipping through his defenses and delivering another brutal strike to his side. Goblin Slayer fell to one knee, his breath ragged. He could feel the blood seeping through his armor, staining the ground beneath him.
Captain stood over him— katana raised for the finishing blow. “If you won’t accept your fate, then you’ll just have to perish in denial."
Goblin Slayer clenched his teeth— bracing himself for what he saw as his imminent demise.
Before Captain could strike, a calm, clear voice echoed through the courtyard. "Captain, stop."
The samurai froze, his katana inches from Goblin Slayer’s neck. Both men turned to see a woman standing at the entrance of the courtyard, dressed in a flowing white robe. Her pale face was serene, though obscured by an elongated blindfold tied around her head from behind.
"I found the bodies of the bandits by the river," she said, stepping forward. "Just as he claimed. They were disposed of, carefully. This man is no bandit."
Captain’s eyes flicked between Goblin Slayer and Female Bishop, his grip on his katana loosening slightly. "Bishop… Are you sure?"
Female Bishop nodded, her gaze steady. "Yes. He’s not a bandit— at least not part of their group, he’s not."
There was a moment of silence before Captain let out a slow breath, sheathing his katana with a quiet click. "So I see." He looked down at Goblin Slayer, his expression unreadable. "I was wrong."
Goblin Slayer said nothing, his body still tense, even as the samurai extended a hand toward him. "My apologies," Captain said, his voice devoid of its earlier hostility. "I misjudged you."
Goblin Slayer didn’t take the offered hand, but he allowed himself to relax slightly. Female Bishop stepped forward, her hands glowing with a soft, golden light. "Let me heal you," she said gently.
Goblin Slayer hesitated, but eventually nodded, allowing the healing magic to wash over him. The pain in his chest and side faded, replaced with a warm, soothing sensation.
As the magic worked, Captain stood by, his expression stoic. "As I said: I, along with my party, were sent by the guild to clear out this area. I thought you were part of the problem. I see now that you’re not."
Goblin Slayer finally spoke, his voice low but steady. "On the contrary, I… I’m hoping to be the solution— not the problem."
Captain raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press the matter. "I’ll report back to the guild. For now, we’ll leave this place to you— do with it what you see fit.”
It was then that Goblin Slayer watched Captain and Female Bishop turn to leave— his body still tense despite the healing. He had survived, but he knew this was just the beginning. There would be more battles to come.
And he and his guild would have to be ready for them.
Chapter 3: Sticks and Stones
Chapter Text
The fortress stood silent as Goblin Slayer gazed out from the highest tower— his armored form casting a shadow over the stone floor. His eyes traced the river flowing beside the fortress— the creaking water mill working steadily, the endless stretch of the Evergreen Forest in the distance. Far beyond, the jagged peaks of the Iron Flower Mountains rose against the evening sky— their sharp edges cutting into the clouds like swords.
He leaned against the stone window frame, letting the cool air brush through the openings of his helmet. For the first time since he took the fortress, a strange feeling settled over him—something he wasn’t used to. It wasn’t the satisfaction of victory. It wasn’t the grim determination that usually followed battle.
It was doubt.
He frowned beneath his helmet. ‘What now?’ He wondered to himself— the question gnawing at him, as he continued to stare out through the stone fixture.
He’d fought, killed, and won. He’d carved out a space for his guild, a place where he could begin his crusade. But now that he stood here, overlooking the vastness of the world— the enormity of what lay ahead hit him harder than any enemy he’d faced.
‘Where am I supposed to go from here?’ He asked himself silently— having no idea what came next. ‘Running a guild isn’t going to be anything like killing goblins. That’s simple—I’ve already spent years perfecting that. But… Managing people, organizing resources, leading others? I’ve never done that… Am I even capable of doing any of that?’
His hands tightened around the window ledge. Guild Girl’s words echoed in his mind, soft but unwavering. "You… You need help, Mr. Ashta— more than you need to put that sword to good use.”
‘Maybe… Maybe she was right? Maybe this really was all just a mistake.’ The thought cut deep, as he began thinking to himself, ‘What if there was some truth to that psychological evaluation after all? Am I actually on track of accomplishing anything, or am I merely reaching for the unobtainable?’
His breath slowed, and for a brief moment, he felt the weight of it all crashing down—his ambitions, his vengeance, his responsibility.
‘Is this… Is this all just in vain?’
It was then that his troubled mind drifted back to the village. His sister. The warmth of her smile, the sound of her voice. He hadn’t thought about her in a long time. ‘What would you think of me, Vivi, if you saw me like this? Standing in this fortress, covered in the blood of goblins and bandits alike…’
‘… Would you see the same thing that the Guild Girl saw in me? Someone driven by revenge… Someone who's too broken to move on?’
He clenched his jaw, pushing those thoughts aside. ‘Not that any of that matters… You may not be here anymore, but the goblins still are. And right now, they’re breeding, raiding, destroying lives. And no one else is going to stop them. Not the Guild. Not the adventurers chasing fame and gold…’
‘… Which is why have to do this— even if I know I can’t. My goal may be in vain, but I won’t let your death be.’ The memory of her face steadied him, as he came to that conclusion. His grip then loosened on the window ledge, as he straightened his posture. ‘That girl was right about something though… I do need help— now it’s just a matter of finding that help.’
With his thoughts more clear than they had been, it was then that Goblin Slayer took a look at the scenic environment through a different perspective. Specifically, toward the Iron Flower Mountains in the distance— their peaks looming like jagged teeth against the darkening sky.
Beyond them lay the capital of the kingdom. A place full of people who understood power, politics, and strategy.
‘Crossbell… I need to find help in Crossbell,’ the armored teenager thought determinedly to himself— his resolve burning brighter than ever, as turned away from the window, with the last remnants of doubt fading from his mind.
Goblin Slayer moved quietly through the Evergreen Forest, his senses sharp and his hand always near the hilt of his short sword. The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows between the towering trees. The day had been long, but his determination pushed him forward.
‘Three days, ’ he thought, as that would be the time it would take to reach Crossbell through the Iron Flower Mountains. With enough gathered supplies from the goblin cave earlier that day, his pack felt heavier than usual as he trotted through the thickets— his leather bag filled with iron-grade weapons and tools, though he welcomed the weight.
Soon enough he found himself passing by a familiar part of the forest— the cave where he had slaughtered goblins hours ago loomed in the distance. A dark maw of stone, now silent. The teen’s hand rested on his sword’s grip as he pressed on— his eyes constantly scanning the trees and undergrowth for any sign of movement.
A loud clash ahead snapped him out of his thoughts. Steel against stone. His body tensed, instincts kicking in as he advanced cautiously. Pushing through the thick brush, Goblin Slayer discovered the source of the noise—a large figure, green-skinned and hulking, locked in battle with a massive rock monster.
His mind raced. ‘A goblin? A hobgoblin? No... They’re too big to be either… I think?’ He second guessed him, while watching as the figure swung a greatsword— her muscles straining, as she fought to fend off the creature’s relentless blows.
Despite her impressive size, she was struggling— her movements growing sluggish as Goblin Slayer watched on, as the rock monster pressed its advantage. It wasn’t long until one of its stone fists struck her side— sending her crashing into the dirt with a loud thud.
Goblin Slayer’s first instinct was to let it happen. If she was a goblin, her death meant one less threat in the world. But then that’s when an intrusive thought suddenly popped into his head.
‘But what if they’re not a goblin?’
And before he could stop himself, he began moving out from his hiding spot— drawing his short sword and charging toward the monster.
His blade struck hard, slicing into the rock monster’s leg. The creature let out a deep, rumbling roar, stumbling back slightly as it tried to refocus its attention. Goblin Slayer rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a swing from its massive arm. His mind worked quickly, searching for weaknesses. The joints, the cracks in its stone form—indicating to him where he needed to strike.
As he moved in for another attack, the creature swung its fist with unexpected speed. Goblin Slayer’s shield took the brunt of the blow, but a second strike came too fast. The rock monster’s fist collided with his head, sending him crashing to the ground. His helmet, cheap and worn, cracked under the impact— splitting in two and falling from his head.
Dazed but still conscious, Goblin Slayer rolled to his feet, blood trickling down his face. ‘That was too close of a call— that could have just killed me,’ he thought to himself— clutching his sword tighter, as the daunting words of Captain echoed in his head.
“Is that all you can do?”
Aiming for the cracks between the monster’s abdominal armor, Goblin Slayer lunged forward with a quick thrust of short sword— managing to get his mark, but unable to pierce through the monster’s thick hide beneath its rocky exoskeleton.
Attempting to retract his sword from between the cracks of its armor, Goblin Slayer felt his heart skip a beat the moment he saw the monster’s massive arm swinging towards him like a warhammer.
“You’re slow… And sloppy.”
Forced to abandon his short sword, Goblin Slayer dropped to the ground— landing on his back, where he saw the rocky monster lifting its bulky, short leg up as its jagged-armored arm swung sideways where his head had been.
Rolling backwards just in time to avoid having his groin stomped into a bloody pulp by the heavy monster, the teenager kicked his legs up with the momentum to stumble back onto his feet— his hands immediately reaching for the small daggers he kept on the outside of his backpack.
Rotating the iron daggers upside down— so that the ends of their leather-bound handles were facing upwards to the tree canopies— Goblin Slayer tightened his fingers around his weapons out of defiance against the eyeless monster looming over him— it’s maw opening up to reveal pointed teeth, as it growled intimidatingly at what it saw as its prey.
‘These aren’t going to work against whatever this thing is… If my sword didn’t cut it, then these pieces-of-shit aren’t going to either,’ Goblin Slayer thought grimly to himself, as he lowered his stance with his right foot sliding backwards. ‘There’s no winning against this thing— this isn’t anything like a goblin. I’m out of my league.’
“If you won’t accept your fate, then you’ll just have to perish in denial.”
‘But… Even so…’ Goblin Slayer’s determined thoughts pressed on, as he clenched his jaw while expelling a breath through his nostrils. ‘Even so, I won’t accept it— I refuse to be in vain.’
Timing the rock monster’s next move, Goblin Slayer feinted as though he were gonna leap upwards to drive the daggers downward— tricking the twelve foot monsters to preemptively strike upward with both arms.
‘Now,’ Goblin Slayer told himself, as he took the opportunity to pounce forward with his back horizontal— moving beneath the rock monster’s bulky arms, while cocking the handles of his daggers back along his hips.
Knowing that the time to strike was either then or never, Goblin Slayer proceeded to put all of his weight into his attack— slamming the ends of his daggers’ handles against the pumble of his short sword.
The deep, low roar emitting from the monster’s open maw as it stumbled backwards was more than enough to ensure that his strategy had been a success. Having learned the hard way just how fast his large opponent could be, Goblin Slayer didn’t hesitate to throw himself backwards once more— safely landing on his elbows and rear, while looking up at the frenzied beast as it wildly swung its jagged arms towards where it last sensed him.
The green-skinned figure, now back on her feet, took immediate advantage of the distraction Goblin Slayer had inadvertently created. With a ferocious cry, she sprinted toward with her greatsword raised above her shoulder— swinging its dark blade into the rock monster’s side, and splitting its stone armor with a loud crack.
The creature let out one final groan as its upper midsection landed onto the feet by the teenager’s boots— causing Goblin Slayer to immediately crawl backwards away from its flailing arms.
With his breath hitching upon seeing seeing the panicked monster beginning to rapidly drag itself towards him, the gray-haired teenager felt himself flinching just as the woman’s greatsword swung downward one last time— splitting the rock monster’s cranium clean in half, and exposing its gray matter and bone, as it finally laid motionless in a pool of its own blood.
Frozen while propped up on his elbows and heels, Goblin Slayer remained staring wide-eyed at the remains of the slain monster— his chest rising and falling heavily, as the adrenaline from the battle faded.
‘I… They… She… She saved me,’ his racing mind scrambled to articulate, as his eyes darted upwards toward the sight of the muscular woman that was still hunched over beside the freshly slain monster— her exposed, bulging biceps and face glistening with a thick coat of sweat, while she too appeared somewhat shaken from her own respective close call.
Catching her breath before letting out a deep sigh while recomposing herself, the green-skinned woman turned toward him— straightening her posture, while reaching up with her left arm to wipe sweat from her brow. Her expression was a mix of frustration and disbelief. “… What were you THINKING?!?" She barked, her voice deep and rough. “Attacking a golem with that junk you’re carrying…! You could have gotten yourself killed, human!”
Still finding himself intrigued by her appearance, Goblin Slayer continued to remain silent— staring at the small tusks protruding from her lower lip, before taking notice of her short greasy black hair that was styled into a jaw-length messy bob. ‘Still can’t tell… Though, I can’t recall a goblin ever being able to speak Common before… Or have breasts,’ he thought idly to himself, while unintentionally testing the patience of the woman who stood nearly twice his height.
“Oi! Human, I’m talking to you! What, are you deaf, or some shit?!” The muscular woman demanded in an irritated manner— extending her left hand down toward him, before shaking it as she proceeded to shout at him, “Well, come on— get up before I leave your mute ass for the wolves!”
Pulling himself out of his dwelling thoughts, Goblin Slayer regained control of his senses while realizing what the muscular woman in sleeveless armor was doing. Though the gesture was admirable, the teenager refused to take her hand— choosing to instead ask her bluntly, “Are you a goblin?”
Upon hearing his sudden question, her eyes widened in outrage as she retracted her hand away from him. “Goblin?! You think I’m a goblin?! A FUCKING GOBLIN?!?” She shouted out loud, before pointing to herself, with an incredulous expression forming across her sweaty face.
“Look human: I know your kind tends to be stupid, but surely some sensible part of you can recognize that I’m an orc! I mean, do I look like a puny, filthy goblin to you?!” She asked rhetorically, and though seemed ready to continue her tirade but paused, frowning at the confusion in his crimson eyes.
“From where I’m at, yes,” Goblin Slayer replied bluntly, while silently glossing over the unfamiliar word lingering in his mind. “Orcs… I don’t know what those are. Are they related to goblins?” His tone was laced with skepticism, as if he was still deciding whether to trust her or not.
Grusha rolled her eyes, clearly irritated by his lack of understanding. “What?! No! Orcs are nothing like goblins, dumbass!” She shouted back, before pointing a thumb at herself for emphasis. “We’re bigger, stronger, smarter. We have a society, a culture. Goblins are... Vermin. Filthy, sneaky, and they don’t think beyond their next meal. We actually know how to live without being mindless, cowardly pests.”
Goblin Slayer mentally noted Grusha’s frustration, but kept his response short as replied, “Oh… I see,” before growing silent— his mind processing the new information, even as the orc woman gave him a scowl.
Wordlessly rising up to his feet, Goblin Slayer glanced at the remains of the rock monster, then back at her. Exchanging silent thoughts to one another, the orc woman soon bristled after noticing his pupils gesturing toward the slain monster— her face flushing slightly as she looked away.
“J-Just so we’re clear: I didn’t actually need your help— I had it all under control,” she muttered stubbornly, though the embarrassment was clear in her voice. She turned back to him, still clearly frustrated but softening. “And even though you needed me to bail your ass out of whatever stunt you tried pulling… I… I’m grateful for the effort you showed, so… Thanks, I guess.” She shifted awkwardly, trying to maintain her pride despite the fact that she had been saved.
“S-Sure,” he said with a slight head rush that made him reach up toward his wound, so as to wipe the blood from his forehead— his vision beginning to blur slightly, as he then lowered to inspect the blood on his fingers.
The orc’s eyes flicked to him, then to the blood on his forehead. She frowned, noticing the extent of his wound. “Hey, uh… Are you alright there, human?” She asked— her tone more concerned than before. “You look… Kinda like shit.”
“I’ll… I’ll be fine,” Goblin Slayer said dismissively, before wiping the blood off onto the leather armor around his thigh. “What about you? What were you doing out here?” He asked, while trying to shift focus away from his injury.
The orc woman huffed, clearly trying to maintain her tough exterior. “I volunteered to hunt down this wretched thing— alone, so I could prove to myself and others what I'm capable of,” she said, nodding toward the pile of rubble. “Not that any of that matters now, though— seeing as you decided to butt in.”
Goblin Slayer remained impassive. “I see,” he said, shifting the topic. “I’ll… I’ll be heading north now— I’ve got a long journey ahead of me.”
Her eyes flickered with recognition, and she raised an eyebrow. “Through the Iron Flower Mountains? You must be heading to Crossbell then?”
“Yes,” Goblin Slayer flatly replied, as he lowered his head— his eyes darting from piece to piece of his broken helmet, that laid across the blades of grass within his immediate vicinity.
Packing the pieces of helmet into his pack, Goblin Slayer’s mind began buzzing with a growing migraine— causing him to wince. The orc woman stood nearby, watching him closely as he finished picked up his damaged sword before sheathing it.
She crossed her arms, a mixture of curiosity and annoyance written across her face. “Hey, what’s your name, anyway?” She asked— her voice gruff, but edged with impatience.
Goblin Slayer glanced at her. “Goblin Slayer,” he replied, his tone flat and dismissive.
The orc woman blinked, clearly not satisfied with his short response. “That’s it? Just... Goblin Slayer? No real name?”
“That’s all that matters,” he replied curtly.
The orc sighed, rubbing her temple as though he was the one giving her a headache. “Great,” she muttered. “Of course, you had to be a weirdo.” She shook her head before saying, “Grusha Forgehart. That’s my name. I’m from the Forgehart Clan, and we’re nothing like those goblins whom you APPARENTLY seem to think look— indistinguishably, might I add— like orcs.”
Still reeling from the pulsating pain in his head, Goblin Slayer had raised his hand back up to nurse his migraine— his other hand still close to the handle of his short sword, as he gave the orc woman a subtle nod before simply replying back with, “I see.”
Unimpressed with his two-word response, Grusha let out a small, exasperated growl. “You don’t… You don’t talk much, do you?”
He shook his head slightly. “No.”
Grusha sighed again, visibly annoyed. “Fuckin’ thing must have hit your head harder than I thought,” she muttered under her breath. Then, louder, she continued, “Look… My clan’s stronghold is nearby, at the base of those mountains. We’ve got supplies, food, and, well... Someone who can actually treat that injury of yours.”
Goblin Slayer tensed at the thought of following an orc to her stronghold. It wasn’t trust that held him back—he trusted no one easily—it was caution. He’d only just met her, and his instincts screamed at him to remain vigilant. But the migraine pulsing in his skull was growing worse, and he knew he needed rest before continuing his journey. With a slight frown, he finally relented. “That’ll… That’ll be fine— yes.”
Grusha raised an eyebrow at his reluctance but didn’t comment further. Instead, she nodded and started walking, motioning for him to follow. “Come on then. It’s not far.”
And as they walked, Grusha glanced back at him occasionally— clearly still curious about the silent warrior behind her.
After a while, she broke the silence. “So... What’s with the whole goblin obsession?”
He didn’t answer right away, his hand brushing against the hilt of his sword as they passed a thick patch of trees. “It’s not an obsession,” he finally said, his voice low and matter-of-fact. “It's a purpose.”
Grusha frowned. “Right, but... Still, why? What exactly is the reason behind such a purpose?”
For a moment, Goblin Slayer considered telling her the truth. The village, his sister, the horrors the goblins had inflicted on his life. But he kept those thoughts locked away, his eyes fixed ahead as they walked. “They all need to die— it’s as simple as that.”
Grusha seemed unsatisfied with his answer but didn’t press further. Instead, she changed the subject. “So, about that helmet of yours... You might want to get that fixed before your head takes another hit.”
Goblin Slayer glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. “Unless I’m backtracking to Maggiore, that’s going to have to wait until I reach the town of Matterhorn.”
“Well that’s where you’re wrong— turns out that you’re in luck!” Grusha revealed, with a cocky smirk across her plump lips. “My uncle’s a blacksmith. He’s good— damn good— but he doesn’t do favors for free. You’ll need to give him something in return.”
Goblin Slayer nodded slowly, considering her words. “I’m carrying loot from the goblins I’ve slain,” he said, his voice as flat as ever. “Think he’ll accept that as payment enough?”
Grusha laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Goblin loot, huh? Not sure if that’s gonna cut it— best that’ll come out of that low-grade crap is recycled material,” the orc woman mused, before shrugging her large shoulders, and adding, “Who the hell knows though?! Maybe my uncle is feeling generous towards humans today— but honestly, I fuckin’ doubt it!”
And as they continued through the forest, the trees began to thin— the distant peaks of the Iron Flower Mountains looming large across the horizon. The sun had long since descended over the horizon— the stars beginning to twinkle with the moon rising, as the pale purple and blue hues of the twilight sky was on its way of transitioning to night
Grusha led him down a narrow path, her movements more relaxed now that they were closer to her home. “You’ll like the stronghold,” she said, glancing back at him. “It’s built into the mountains— real sturdy, and you’ll be able to sleep well knowing you’ve got company of over one hundred orcs strong keeping you and everyone else safe.”
Goblin Slayer remained quiet, his mind racing with even more caution upon hearing the sheer size of the stronghold’s guard. ‘One-hundred orcs… If they were goblins, it would still be difficult, but I’d have a chance of defending myself. But if even just one of those guards are as capable as she is, then… I can’t imagine myself being able to do much against them in a fight…’
‘… But on the other hand, perhaps having a neighboring army of that size is a blessing,’ Goblin Slayer thought to himself, while being able to make out the silver lining of the situation. ‘Perhaps they could be allies of my guild, in the near future? I’ll have to bring that up when I get to Crossbell.’
Soon, the path opened up to a wide clearing, and there, nestled against the base of the mountains, stood the stronghold in all of its mighty glory. Built from dark stone and reinforced with thick wooden beams, the structure of the walls surrounding the tall, iron-plated homes on the inside was imposing, yet surprisingly well-crafted. Smoke billowed from the chimneys sticking out of the flat roofs of the four-story buildings— the faint sound of metal striking metal echoed from within.
Grusha stopped and turned to face him. “Welcome to Forgehart Stronghold,” she said, her tone half-prideful, half-mocking. “Let’s get you inside before you collapse from that head wound— you've been kind of walking funny for the past half-an-hour, human…!”
Chapter 4: Forgehart Stronghold
Chapter Text
As the moon began to rise fully, its light bathed Forgehart Stronghold in a silvery glow. Goblin Slayer and Grusha walked side-by-side— the rhythmic sound of their boots on the dark brick road echoing softly in the stillness of the evening. The scent of burning coal mixed with the mountain air, tinged with pine from the nearby Evergreen Forest. Twilight had faded, and now the stars glimmered above, casting a serene atmosphere over the fortress.
They passed the high stone walls of the stronghold, lined with orc sentries. The crossbows they held gleamed in the moonlight, while ballistas stood ready at key positions along the wall. Goblin Slayer’s eyes constantly scanned their surroundings— his still hand near the hilt of his short sword.
Grusha noticed his tense posture, and let out a soft sigh. “Would it kill you to take it easy every once in a while? Besides, you’re with me— no one is gonna mess with you, I swear.”
Goblin Slayer didn’t answer right away. His gaze shifted to the buildings within the stronghold—dark, geometric structures with flat roofs and reinforced walls.
The roads were paved with dark brick, flanked by iron lamp posts that lit the streets in a soft, orange glow. It was clear the orcs here were craftsmen of the highest order, everything built with precision and care.
“… Hey! Were you even listening to me?!” Grusha pressed, glancing at him with an annoyed glare. “I wasn’t yapping for the sake of hearing my own voice, you know…!”
Goblin Slayer grunted, his grip tightening slightly on his sword. “I heard you.”
Grusha rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth growing toward him— despite him being extremely on guard.
‘Damn, you’re rough around the edges— that’s for sure! Buuuuut,’ Grusha thought to herself, as she kept walking forward while still staring at him from her peripheral vision. ‘There’s something about your single-mindedness that’s… Intriguing. Heh! And not to mention you’re not exactly bad-looking, either!’
“So... Like seriously though: do you ever, like… Actually relax?” She asked, half-teasingly as she felt her cheeks warming up while flicking her eyes forward.
“No,” Goblin Slayer replied flatly, not even sparing her a glance.
Grusha couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking her head. “Yeah, I figured.”
They continued walking in silence— the crackle of torches and distant clang of metal echoing through the streets. The stronghold was a living, breathing thing—filled with orcs going about their tasks. Some were sharpening tools and practicing their craft, while others hauled crates of supplies. The sounds of a bustling community at work filled the air.
Grusha broke the silence again, her voice softer this time. “I know I gave you some shit about not knowing what orcs were, but… It’s nice to know you’ve got a fresh perspective on my kind— instead of coming in, with any sort of crappy prejudices towards us.”
“For twelve generations now, my clan’s built this place from the ground up— a joint effort between orcs, and the clan of dwarves who used to occupy this area, back in the day,” Grusha explained pridefully, as she felt a sense of invigoration flowing through her large chest. “Everything you see before you is proof that orcs are more than barbaric warriors who know how to pillage and destroy— we’re sophisticated, we’re builders.”
Goblin Slayer’s eyes followed a group of orcs passing by, their armor and weapons gleaming, clearly well-maintained. “I see,” he murmured.
Grusha raised an eyebrow, giving him a sideways look. “Sheesh! You sure love saying that, don’t ya?”
He gave her a slight nod. “I do.”
She laughed softly. "I could tell!”
Soon enough, they approached a large, enclosed forge— its windows glowing with the light of a roaring fire inside. The clang of hammer on metal was louder here, and the smell of burning coal hung thick in the air. Grusha gestured toward the building. “This is it. If anyone can fix that helmet of yours, it’s my uncle.”
Goblin Slayer remained silent, but his hand instinctively went to his pack where he’d stored the broken pieces of his helmet. ‘I hope her uncle’s as helpful as she’s been to me; I won’t get very far, if all it’ll take to put me down is an arrow to the head.’
Grusha then opened the door— the warmth of the forge spilling out into the cool night air. She motioned for him to enter first. “Come on, let’s get this over with. Uncle’s not the friendliest guy, but he’s good at what he does.”
Inside, the forge was filled with tools, anvils, and racks of weapons, all gleaming in the firelight. In the center of it all stood an older orc with broad shoulders and arms thick from years of hammering steel. His tusks were slightly longer than Grusha’s, and his green skin had a darker hue, marked with scars that told stories of battles long past.
“Uncle Torug,” Grusha called out, her voice firm but respectful.
Torug paused mid-strike, lifting his hammer and turning toward the two of them. His eyes narrowed as they landed on Goblin Slayer, sizing him up with a grunt. “A human in my forge— with my eldest niece, nonetheless? Hmph! Never thought I’d see the day.”
Grusha rolled her eyes but stepped forward, placing a hand on her hip. “Relax, Uncle. He’s not just any human— he helped me take down that golem today.”
Torug’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before he snorted, crossing his arms. “The one who’s been plaguing the miners?” He shook his head with a grunt of disbelief. “An orc needing to be saved by a puny human? Our ancestors are probably rolling in their graves now…!”
Grusha’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she shot a glance at Goblin Slayer, who stood stoically beside her, his expression unreadable. “First of all, I didn’t NEED to be SAVED, Uncle! If anything, I was the one who saved him— not the other way around!” Grusha argued, and trailed into an embarrassed silence— her uncle still staring expectantly at her, as though he knew there was more to it than that. “And, uh…! He might have d-distracted the golem, while I was… C-Catching my breath…!”
“… Rolling in their graves,” Torug grumbled under his breath, before eyeing Goblin Slayer more closely. “And as for you… Helping an orc? Doesn’t seem like a valorous act that your kind would approve of, human.”
Goblin Slayer met his gaze evenly. “I don’t seek anyone’s approval.”
Torug raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a slight smirk. “So you say…! But let’s move onto business, shall we? I can’t imagine you came all this way to be buddy-buddy with the best blacksmith on this side of the mountains.”
Grusha nudged Goblin Slayer. “Show him the helmet.”
Without a word, Goblin Slayer reached into his pack and pulled out the broken pieces of his helmet, laying them on the forge table. Torug picked them up, examining the metal with a practiced eye.
“Hmph! Shoddy work, this. Surprised it didn’t break sooner,” he muttered, turning the pieces over in his hands.
“It served its purpose,” Goblin Slayer said simply.
Torug grunted, tossing the fragments back on the table. “I can take care of your problem, but it won’t be free.”
Grusha stepped in, her arms crossed. “We know, Uncle. What’s it gonna cost him?”
Torug scratched his chin, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Well, normally I’d ask for a lump sum of Pendragon’s lackluster currency— so I could recycle them into raw material,” he mused, before lowering his hand from his face as his eyes stared unimpressed at the teenager. “But judging by your even more lackluster gear, I think it’s fair to assume that you’re broke as hell; with that being said, I can put you to work if you’re serious about getting that helmet repaired.”
Goblin Slayer didn’t flinch, his mind already calculating what needed to be done. “That’s fine,” he said.
Grusha raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “That’s it? You don’t even want to know what kind of work Ihe's got in store for you?”
“I need a helmet,” Goblin Slayer replied, his tone flat.
Torug let out a low chuckle. “I like him, Grusha. No nonsense, straight to the point— if only more humans were like him.”
Grusha glanced at her uncle, then back at Goblin Slayer, her lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah, if only, huh?”
Goblin Slayer, oblivious to her gaze, simply nodded. “How long will it take?”
“Normally, it would take less than an hour for me to weld an iron helmet back together,” Torug said, already picking up a hammer and inspecting the metal.
“But the alloy used in this piece of crap has already long since oxidized— It’s more rust than iron, at this point,” Torug explained with a shrug, before placing down his hammer to begin shifting the pieces of Goblin Slayer’s broken helmet into place. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m going to have to forge you another one; that’ll take me about a day— if I start tonight, that is.”
Grusha turned to Goblin Slayer, her expression softening slightly. “In the meantime, you can stay with me in my quarters. It’s... Well, it’s the least I can do for ya.”
Goblin Slayer hesitated for a moment, feeling the dull throb of his earlier head injury. ‘It’s not like I’m in any reasonable condition to reject their offers… Besides, if I’m going to make it to Crossbell, I’ll need a helmet to get me through the journey— one that’ll ideally survive more than one blow.’
“That's... That’s fine,” he said, finally agreeing.
As they turned to leave the forge, Grusha shot one last glance at her uncle, who was already deep in his work. “Thanks, Uncle.”
Torug waved a hand dismissively. “Just don’t get yourself into any more trouble, Grusha.”
She rolled her eyes and walked out of the forge, Goblin Slayer following behind. The night air was cool and crisp as they stepped back onto the dark brick road. The scent of pine and coal mixed in the air, creating a strange but comforting blend.
As they walked, Grusha glanced over at Goblin Slayer, her eyes lingering on him longer than they should. She bit her lip, then quickly looked away, her cheeks warming slightly. There was something about him, something she couldn’t quite figure out. But whatever it was, she found herself liking it more than she’d expected.
“Thanks,” she said quietly after a long silence.
Goblin Slayer glanced at her, confused. “For what?”
“For... H-Helping me,” she admitted, though her voice was hesitant. “I know I haven't really addressed it much, but I… I probably wouldn’t have made it out of that fight in one-piece, if it weren't for you.”
He didn’t respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was as flat as ever. “I didn’t do it for thanks.”
Grusha smirked, though there was a hint of warmth in her eyes. “Of course you didn’t! You just wanted to have me for yourself, didn’t ya?”
“Only if you were a goblin,” Goblin Slayer replied, his focus already shifting back to the task ahead.
Grusha, however, couldn’t help but steal another glance at him, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn’t quite suppress.
Goblin Slayer continued to walk beside Grusha through the lamp-post lit paved streets of her clan’s home— her presence calm but energized, as she guided him through the stronghold’s maze of geometric buildings. The sounds of a feast reached their ears as they neared the Chieftain’s long-hut, a grand structure of iron, brick, and wood.
As they approached, Goblin Slayer’s sharp eyes took in the building’s features—the mounted heads of exotic monsters, ancient weapons, and artifacts decorating the exterior. The torches outside flickered in the growing darkness, casting long shadows that seemed to dance in the mountain air. The stronghold was a testament to the craftsmanship and strength of the Forgehart Clan, as Grusha had mentioned before.
Inside, the atmosphere was alive—boisterous laughter, clinking mugs, the thrum of lively conversation. Orcs, dressed in various armor and casual attire, filled the long tables, feasting on roasted meat and drinking heavy ale. Goblin Slayer could feel their eyes on him, curious but not hostile. He’d been in crowded rooms before, but this felt different—more grounded, more unified.
Grusha glanced over at him with a slight smile. "Nothing cures an injury like stuffing your face full of roasted vegetables and veal! Think you’re up for it, or do I need to take you to an actual healer?"
"This’ll do," he replied, his eyes scanning the room for potential threats or exit points, his instincts never fully at ease.
Grusha poured him a mug of ale, though Goblin Slayer merely held it, still on guard. He noticed the orcs around him—many of them strong and well-built, warriors with experience in their eyes. ‘Everyone seems like a tight-knit group— like soldiers who’d fought many battles together… They would make for fine recruits.’
"If you say so," Grusha said, leaning back in her chair. “But seriously, if you need it, just say so! You’ve already been vouched for— you’re practically on our way to being one of us, you know!" The orc woman said jovially, as she kicked up her feet onto the edge of the table— mug in hand, as she shouted to have a few buttered-rolls thrown their way.
Goblin Slayer didn’t reply, but he appreciated the sentiment— even if he wasn’t used to such camaraderie. His attention drifted across the room, taking in the scene— until something else caught his eye. At the far end of the table, a small figure, perhaps no older than ten, sat quietly, observing him. She was different from the others, her braided hair hanging loosely down her back, her eyes wide with interest.
Grusha noticed his gaze and chuckled softly. "That’s Sofia," she said, keeping her voice low. "The Chieftain’s youngest daughter. She’s giving you those bedroom eyes now, isn’t she~?”
Goblin Slayer frowned slightly. "She’s a child."
"Yeah, well, orc kids aren’t like human children," Grusha said with a grin. “Besides, can you really blame her? You’re the prettiest thing that’s ever stepped foot into this stronghold for a while now— it’s kinda hard for a girl her age to NOT stare at someone like you!”
He didn’t know what to make of it, but Sofia’s gaze was unwavering, her young eyes filled with fascination. He wasn’t used to being looked at like that, and it stirred something unfamiliar in him.
"If we’re talking real shit, I’d even go as far as to say that you and her have a lot in common," Grusha continued, a bit more thoughtfully now. "Like for instance: she’s not much of a talker either, Goblin Slayer— I think that alone makes her an eligible bachelorette for ya!”
Goblin Slayer’s gaze lingered on the child for a moment longer before he returned his attention to the table. "You said she’s the Chieftain’s daughter?"
"Yeppers— I sure did," Grusha replied, taking a long drink from her mug. "And that means she’s important. Even right now, she has a say in how things are run around here; might be worth getting on her good side— especially with that up and coming guild of yours in the works.”
‘She's right. I could establish an alliance with the Forgehart Clan through that girl— it would be my best way of getting a better foothold in these parts,’ He thought to himself— the idea feeling calculated, almost cold, but Goblin Slayer was nothing, if not pragmatic.
"You’re thinking about something," Grusha noted, her sharp eyes catching his pensive expression.
"Nothing important," he replied.
She raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing him, but didn’t push the matter. Instead, she leaned back even more in her chair— taking a bite out of a roll, while watching Sofia for a moment before speaking again. "If… If your guild endeavors end up not going the way you wanted them to, you… You could always find a place here— you’d fit right in."
He glanced at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It won’t come to that."
Grusha shrugged. "Suit yourself. But if you ever change your mind, it’s not a bad idea to stick around and drop in whenever you can. Especially with everything you’ve got planned." She looked at him meaningfully, as if she knew more than she let on.
He didn’t respond, but the idea of allies weighed on his mind. The Forgehart Clan was powerful—strong walls, skilled warriors, and most importantly, resources. They were also fiercely loyal to their own. If he could gain their trust, it might be a step toward building something greater than he’d imagined.
Sofia’s eyes were still on him when he met her gaze. Instead of averting her eyes away from him, or showing any signs of chagrin from having been caught staring, the ten year old boldly doubled down on her own thoughts by puckering her lips at him before kissing the air— nodding her head slightly, as a way to convey her confidence and her intentions to him.
‘Besides, it… It wouldn’t take much to get close to her— from the looks of it, that is,’ Goblin Slayer thought to himself, before feeling his cheeks growing warm as he felt something unfamiliar stirring with him.
"You should eat," Grusha interrupted his thoughts, nudging a plate toward him. "That headache of yours isn’t gonna go away if you don’t."
He nodded and took a bite, though his mind was still elsewhere. Grusha’s words about alliances, Sofia’s gaze, and the growing realization that this stronghold might hold more for him than just a place to rest—it all swirled in his thoughts.
When the two had their fill, the orc woman spent an hour after eating to show off her new human companion to her peers— each time she told them how they had met, she would always emphasize how she had been the one to save him, and not the other way around. Eventually, she said her goodbyes before taking the silver-haired teen with her out of the Chieftain's long hut— the two of them more than ready to retire for the night.
When Goblin Slayer finished climbing up the flight of stairs behind her, he was met with a shocking surprise. Despite being a warrior, Grusha’s fifth-story apartment was cozy for a woman of her stature. And as she led Goblin Slayer out of the apartment hallway and into the inside of her living room, she closed the heavy wooden door behind them and slid the lock into place. The click echoed softly in the quiet room. Her apartment was unlike anything Goblin Slayer had seen before, a mix of rustic charm and something more refined.
Tapestries draped across the walls, each one depicting scenes of orcish history, battles, and celebrations. Mounted weapons—axes, swords, and hammers—decorated the remaining spaces, and shelves lined with books filled the room.
Grusha caught him glancing at the shelves. "What?" she said with a half-smile. "Even orcs like to unwind with a good book. We’re not all about fighting, you know."
Goblin Slayer didn’t respond, his eyes trailing over the details of the room as he moved toward the large living room window. The heavy curtains hung down, blocking his view of the stronghold below. He hesitated briefly before looking over at her.
"Can I?" he asked, motioning to the curtains.
Grusha shrugged. "Go ahead."
He pulled the curtains aside, revealing a view that took him by surprise. The night sky stretched above them, clear and full of stars, with the moon hanging low and bright, casting its silver glow over the stronghold. Below, the streets were lit by torches and small lamps, their lights twinkling like fireflies in the darkness. It was quiet out there, the distant sound of voices and the occasional clang of metal faint in the cool mountain air.
Goblin Slayer stood there for a moment, taking it all in. "One day, I want my fortress to be like this," he said quietly, as if speaking to himself. "Just as successful. Just as strong."
Grusha stepped up beside him, her arms crossed as she looked out at the same view. "And you can make it happen," she said with a firm nod. "So long you keep your mind open to more than just goblin killing, that is! I mean, eventually that is, you’re gonna run out of goblins in the area to kill. And then what?"
He didn’t respond right away, his mind already turning over her words. ‘No goblins left to kill? That would be an ideal predicament to be in… But even so, she has a point: I don’t think my guild will to get very far— not unless I'm willing to think outside the box, that is…’
Sensing that he was deep in thought, the orc woman reached up to pat him shoulder. "You’ll get there soon, Goblin Slayer," Grusha added, her tone softer now. "I think you have what it takes. For now, let’s just focus on getting you prepped and ready for making it to Crossbell."
He gave a slow nod, acknowledging her words but saying nothing more— his thoughts were still tangled up in the future, in what it would take to make that dream real.
After a brief pause, Grusha glanced over at him, her eyes narrowing playfully. "But first, I’m gonna have to ask that you get out of that armor."
Goblin Slayer turned to her, brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"
Grusha rolled her eyes with a chuckle. "You can’t walk around my apartment in dirty leather armor. I don’t want that grime all over the sheets of my guest bed."
He stood there, unsure. "Where should I take it off?"
A grin spread across Grusha’s face, smug and teasing. "Follow me," she said, turning on her heel and walking toward a door on the other side of the room. "I’ll show you."
Curious and slightly wary, Goblin Slayer followed her.
She led him into a small, neatly kept room—a “bathroom,” she called it— though the word meant little to him.
Inside, the space was lit by soft candlelight, their flames flickering on a counter near a polished sink. The air smelled faintly of pine and soap, an unusual scent in the otherwise rugged stronghold.
Grusha pointed to the sink with a proud smile. "My clan’s chief engineer invented this thing called “indoor plumbing”," she said, puffing her chest out as if it were her personal achievement. "You definitely won’t see this anywhere else. Not yet, anyway."
Goblin Slayer stared at the sink, unsure what to make of it. It had smooth curves, polished metal fittings, and strange handles. It looked nothing like the crude wash basins he was used to seeing in villages.
"Watch this," Grusha said, turning one of the handles. Water poured from the faucet in a steady stream, splashing into the sink below.
Goblin Slayer’s eyes widened beneath his helmet, his mind struggling to grasp the practicality of it. ‘Running water? Inside a home? It feels... Excessive. But practical,’ he admitted silently to himself. "That’s... useful," he muttered, still staring at the stream of water.
Grusha laughed, clearly amused by his reaction. "Useful? You’ve barely seen the best part."
She gestured to a stall on the far side of the room, a strange contraption with pipes and handles. "This is called a "shower"," she explained. "You step inside, turn it on, and wash yourself. It’s like standing in the rain, but warmer." She turned one of the handles on the shower, and water began to spray from above.
Goblin Slayer stared, still mystified. In all his travels, he’d never seen anything like this.
"You should wash yourself," Grusha said, stepping back toward the door. "Trust me, you’ll feel better afterward." She paused before closing the door behind her, adding, "I’ll go get you a towel."
As the door clicked shut, Goblin Slayer stood there— still processing everything. His mind raced, jumping from one thought to the next. He looked down at the strange porcelain structure in the corner— Grusha had called it a “toilet”.
‘It looks like something out of a different world…’ Goblin Slayer thought to himself, before his attention soon turned back to the shower.
He stripped down to nothing— feeling the cool air from the air vent blowing down against his skin— as he stepped into the stall. The water was warm, washing away the dirt, the sweat, the blood.
In that moment, he felt a strange sensation— one he hadn’t experienced in a long time: he felt clean. The water, the warmth, it brought a kind of clarity to his thoughts, a pause in the constant churn of his mind.
Outside, Grusha leaned against the wall, tapping her fingers against the doorframe. She grinned to herself, knowing she’d gotten the better of him with her smug bathroom introduction. But as she thought about it, a part of her couldn’t help but feel something else—something warmer toward the man who was now standing under her shower, probably still confused but going along with it.
Chapter 5: Orcs love a Man in Shinning Armor
Chapter Text
The next morning came with the crisp mountain air and the faint smell of burning coal that Goblin Slayer was becoming familiar with. Rising early from the comfort of the guest bed, the teenager’s mind was still buzzing with thoughts from the previous day, as he began getting himself ready for the day— strapping on what remained of his armor, before meeting Grusha in the living room, where she was nose-deep in a book.
After exchanging pleasantries of how one another slept, they made their way to the Chieftain's long-hut— the same massive iron and wood structure looming over them like a fortress within a fortress from the night prior.
Inside, the long-hut was bustling with orcs, warriors, and workers alike, all gathered for breakfast. It smelled of cooked meat, freshly baked bread, and strong ale. Grusha led him to a long table where plates of food were already set. They sat side by side, the noise of conversation filling the space around them.
As they ate, Grusha spoke between bites, casually pointing out the various members of her clan. "Over there, that’s Chief Forgehart’s eldest son. He’s next in line to lead the clan. And that’s my cousin, Harka—she’s one of the best archers we’ve got." She nodded toward a group of orcs nearby, her voice light and teasing. "But don’t worry, none of them are interested in you like Sofia was last night~!”
Goblin Slayer grunted, keeping his attention on his food. "I wasn’t worried."
Grusha chuckled, leaning back in her seat. "Sure you weren’t!" She then took a swig of ale and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You’ll be mining today, right? You ready for that kind of work?"
Goblin Slayer nodded, his expression focused. "I’ll manage."
"Good. Mining's tough, but it's honest work. If you need help, just ask one of the others— they already know the ropes."
After they finished their meal, the two of them parted ways. Grusha was off to join her patrol— her greatsword slung over her shoulder, as she joined a group of other orcish warriors. Goblin Slayer, meanwhile, made his way toward a group of miners waiting near the entrance of the stronghold. The group greeted him with gruff nods and silent approval, and together they began their trek up the steep trail leading deeper into the Iron Flower Mountains.
The trail was rugged, winding through rocky terrain and dense patches of forest. The scent of pine hung heavy in the air as the group climbed higher, the sounds of wildlife gradually fading away as the landscape turned more barren and cold.
After what felt like hours of walking, they reached their destination: the Shiver Rose Mine. The entrance was carved into the side of the mountain, a massive arch of stone that looked like it had been hewn by giants. The inside was dark, lit only by the occasional lantern hung on wooden beams.
The mine’s overseer, a broad-shouldered orc with a thick beard, approached Goblin Slayer and handed him a pickaxe. "You’ve got a quota," the overseer grunted. "Two-hundred kilos of metal by the end of the day. It’ll be delivered to Torug, as payment for your helmet."
Goblin Slayer gave a sharp nod and hefted the pickaxe over his shoulder, following the other miners into the depths of the mine.
The work was grueling. The rhythmic sound of pickaxes striking stone echoed through the tunnels, the air thick with dust and the stifling heat of the enclosed space. Goblin Slayer worked tirelessly, the hours blending together as he chipped away at the stone, sweat dripping from his brow and soaking his clothes beneath his leather pieces of weathered armor.
His muscles burned with every swing of the pickaxe, but he pressed on, determined to meet the quota. The thought of the new helmet, forged by Torug’s skilled hands, drove him forward.
After over twelve hours of hard labor, the group finally called it a day. They had met their quota, and Goblin Slayer could barely stand from the exhaustion. His body ached, his hands raw from gripping the pickaxe for so long. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
The miners trudged back down the trail toward Forgehart Stronghold, their pace slower than before. The sun had long since set, and the night air was cool against Goblin Slayer’s sweat-soaked skin.
By the time he reached the stronghold, Goblin Slayer was nearly stumbling with exhaustion. His mind was foggy, his body screaming for rest. But before he could collapse, he knew he needed to clean up. Dragging his feet behind him, the gray-haired teenager made his way to Grusha’s apartment— using the wall as support to carry himself up five-flights of stairs, before finally knocking on her door with what little strength he had left.
After a moment, the door opened, and Grusha stood there, still in her scaled, sleeveless-armor, but clearly more relaxed after her patrol. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of him, drenched in sweat and dirt. "Rough day?"
Goblin Slayer nodded, not trusting his voice.
"Come on in," she said, stepping aside to let him inside.
The warmth of her apartment enveloped him as he stepped through the door. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting a soft glow over the tapestries and weapons that lined the walls. Grusha closed the door behind him and locked it, giving him a small, sympathetic smile. "You look like you could use a bath."
Goblin Slayer didn’t argue. He was too tired to do anything but agree. "Where’s the bathroom again?" he asked, his voice hoarse from the long day.
Grusha smirked. "Past the kitchen, on your left— I’ll go get you another towel."
She headed toward a small cabinet as Goblin Slayer trudged toward the bathroom— his legs feeling like lead.
As he entered the bathroom, he glanced at the sink and the shower, still marveling at the ingenuity of it all. He turned on the shower, the sound of water filling the small room as he stripped out of his filthy clothes.
A few moments later, Grusha knocked on the bathroom door. "Towel’s here," she said through the door, and he heard the soft thud of her placing it down.
"Thanks," he muttered, stepping into the shower.
As the warm water washed over him, Goblin Slayer felt the tension in his muscles slowly begin to ease. The dust and grime of the mine sluiced away, leaving him feeling refreshed for what else the night had in store for him.
Grusha eyed Goblin Slayer, as he stepped out of the bathroom— towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping from his hair. A playful grin tugged at the corner of her lips. "You clean up well," she teased, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "So... Ready to eat?"
Goblin Slayer raised an eyebrow, still feeling the fatigue from the day, but hunger gnawed at him more than exhaustion. "Yeah. I could eat."
"Good," she said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Let’s head to the long-hut. They’ll have plenty of meat from today’s hunt waiting."
Soon enough, they were walking down the paved streets of Forgehart Stronghold, the night air cool and crisp, with the moon hanging high above— illuminating the streets in pale light.
Once inside, the sight was much the same as it had been that morning, though the crowd was larger. The long-hut was lively, filled with orcs of all shapes and sizes— warriors, workers, and even younglings, all gathered to feast. The massive hall, with its high ceilings and walls decorated with mounted monster heads and historical weapons, seemed even grander at night— lit by roaring fires and glowing lanterns.
Grusha led Goblin Slayer to a long table near the center of the room, where large platters of roasted meats, bread, and jugs of ale were already set out. The aroma was overwhelming, and Goblin Slayer wasted no time tearing into the food alongside the others.
As they ate, Grusha pointed out various members of her clan with subtle glances and whispers. But it was when Goblin Slayer was focused on a slice of meat that he felt a presence beside him. A small hand placed itself firmly on the edge of the table. He glanced over to see Sofia— the Chieftain's youngest daughter— standing beside him— her gaze sharp and unwavering.
She was small compared to the rest of the orcs, but her posture radiated authority, even for someone her age. Her dark hair was tied back neatly, and her green skin was a few shades lighter than Grusha’s. Despite her youth, there was something serious about her.
"You're the outsider," Sofia said, not bothering with any formal greetings. Her voice was direct, almost commanding.
Goblin Slayer stopped eating, glancing at her before replying back, "I am."
Sofia crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she studied him closely. "Tell me about yourself. I want to know who you are."
Grusha, sitting beside Goblin Slayer, hid a smirk behind her hand, clearly amused by the child’s boldness. "Careful," she teased softly. "Sofia doesn't ask for pleasantries; she demands them."
Sofia shot her a glance but didn’t say anything in response. She kept her focus on Goblin Slayer, clearly expecting him to answer.
He paused, unsure of what exactly to say to someone so young and yet so serious. After a brief moment, he gave a slight nod, meeting her gaze. "I kill goblins," he said simply.
Sofia’s expression didn’t change. "Is that all there is to you?"
"For now, yes," Goblin Slayer replied, his voice calm.
Sofia seemed to consider his words for a moment before she nodded, almost as if she were judging whether or not that was good enough for her. "Phenomenal," she said finally, her tone as no-nonsense as ever. "The clan could use someone who knows how to deal with vermin."
Grusha couldn’t hold back her laughter this time, and Goblin Slayer glanced at her, slightly confused. ‘Is she…? Is she talking about goblins, or… Or is she talking about ACTUAL vermin? Like rats?’ He wondered to himself, to which the orc woman seemed to understand as though she were a mind reader.
"Goblins! She was talking about goblins," Grusha said between chuckles. "Vermin. Goblins. Same difference, really."
Sofia, still standing firm, leaned in a little closer to Goblin Slayer, her voice dropping slightly as she asked, "And what us? Other than earning yourself a new piece of headgear, is there something else you’re seeking from my clan?"
Goblin Slayer hesitated. "I… I was hoping for an alliance one day," he admitted. "I’m making my own guild, and I could use your clan’s help."
Sofia studied him for a moment longer before she nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Then you'll have to prove yourself to us." With that, she turned sharply and walked back toward the table where her family sat, leaving Goblin Slayer to his thoughts.
Grusha leaned back in her seat, watching Sofia walk away. "Well," she said, nudging him with her elbow, "looks like you’ve caught more than just the attention of the Chief’s daughter— she actually took the time to talk with ya! That’s pretty impressive, Goblin Slayer!"
After the feast and Sofia's unexpected interrogation, Grusha led Goblin Slayer to her uncle’s forge. The air outside was crisp, the moon and stars blanketed across the sky still looming over the tall walls of Forgehart Stronghold. The sounds of metal striking metal rang out, mixing with the ever-present scent of coal and iron.
The sight of Torug’s forge was one that had been lost on Goblin Slayer, since his initial encounter with Grusha’s uncle. Now that he had felt more comfortable with his new environment, the gray-haired teenager was able to have a better appreciation for Torug's forge— the sight of massive bellows puffed out clouds of steam, and warmth of the heat from the furnace could be felt from outside the workshop. Inside, the walls were lined with tools, ingots of various metals, and partially completed weapons hanging from racks. It was a place of craft and pride— a testament to the Forgehart Clan’s expertise.
Torug stood at his workbench when he heard the door to his business opening up, all while in the midst of carefully inspecting a gleaming helmet. He turned at the sound of footsteps and grinned broadly when he saw Grusha and Goblin Slayer approach.
"Ah, there he is," Torug said, his deep voice booming. He held up the helmet, its surface gleaming under the forge’s light. "I’ve been waiting to hand this over."
Goblin Slayer stepped closer, eyeing the helmet. It was crafted with precision, the dark, metallic hue of the alloy giving it an almost ethereal quality. From what he could tell, it felt far more durable than the shoddy iron helmet he had worn before, and the design was simple but refined, with enough detail to show Torug’s craftsmanship without being overly ornate.
Torug handed it over with pride. "This here is made from orichalcum. Stronger than steel by far, and lighter too. Not many blacksmiths can work with it, but in the Forgehart Clan, it’s a tradition. You won’t find anything more durable on the side of the mountains— especially not for fighting those goblins you seem so fond of slaying."
Goblin Slayer held the helmet, feeling its weight and running his fingers along the smooth edges. He could tell it was designed to be both practical and protective, with minimal embellishment to ensure it wouldn’t hinder his movements. The visor was narrow enough to protect his eyes without sacrificing visibility, and the ventilation would allow him to breathe easily even in the thick of battle.
"You've done good work," Goblin Slayer said, placing the helmet on his head— fitting perfectly over his head full of voluminous gray hair.
Torug grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. "That’s just the start, lad. You should consider coming back. Let me make you a full set of orichalcum armor. With that, nothing will touch you— not goblins, not monsters, not even Pendragon’s damned soldier-boys that he’s so fond of sending out here."
Goblin Slayer gave the offer some thought. ‘Having a full set of that sort of armor would be invaluable, but it would be at the cost of whatever element of stealth I’ve still got left. I already know that the goblins are going to be wary of my presence— once they catch a whiff of this freshly forged new helmet, that is.’
"I’ll… I’ll consider it," he said after a pause, his voice steady beneath the helmet.
Torug nodded, clearly pleased with the response. "Good. I’ll be here when you’re ready."
Grusha stepped forward, giving her uncle a brief hug. "Thanks, Uncle; you’ve really outdone yourself!"
Torug chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "Just doing what I do best, lass. Now, you two get out of here, before I put you both to work!”
With that, Grusha guided Goblin Slayer out of the forge, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder as they walked. The helmet gleamed under the morning light, and Goblin Slayer felt a small sense of relief knowing he was better protected than before.
And as they made their way back through the stronghold’s busy streets, Grusha glanced at him with a smile. "You know, Uncle Torug doesn’t make offers like that to just anyone. He must like you."
Goblin Slayer tilted his head slightly. "I’ll keep that in mind."
Grusha smirked and let the conversation drop as they made their way back to her apartment.
Once they reached her building, Grusha opened the door to her apartment and let Goblin Slayer step inside. She locked the door behind them, just as she had the previous night, and motioned for him to make himself comfortable.
"One more night before you head out," she said, her tone more casual but with a hint of something playful. "You’ve got a lot ahead of you— might as well enjoy some comfort, while you can."
Goblin Slayer nodded, setting his helmet down on the table before glancing out the window— feeling safe enough to do so. The view was the same as before— starry skies, the stronghold's lights below, and the towering mountains on the horizon. But for a brief moment, he felt at ease— a rare feeling that he allowed himself to experience, if only for a short while.
Grusha moved to her kitchen, pouring them both a drink from the small keg of ale she kept on the counter. "Here," she said, handing him a mug. “Let’s end the night on a high note— have a drink with me."
Goblin Slayer took the mug but said nothing. As he took a sip, he could feel the warmth of the stronghold, both in the literal sense from the fire burning in the hearth and the more subtle sense of belonging he hadn't quite expected.
Grusha watched him for a moment before sitting beside him. She didn’t say much, but the comfortable silence between them spoke volumes.
When morning came, Goblin Slayer and Grusha sat together in the Chieftain's long-hut— sharing their last meal before he set off once more. The long-hut was lively, as it always was during breakfast— with orcs laughing, clinking mugs, and enjoying hearty plates of meat, eggs, and bread. The warm atmosphere was in contrast to the unspoken tension between Grusha and Goblin Slayer as they ate side by side.
Grusha kept her tone casual, her green skin flush with the heat from the fire and perhaps a little from something else. She nudged him playfully as they finished their meal. "You know, now that you got a little taste of the good life, you’re hella gonna miss this place. The food, the safety, the running water... M-Me, maybe?"
Goblin Slayer glanced at her, his expression hidden beneath his helmet, though his voice held a hint of something softer than usual. "H… How could I not?"
She chuckled, though it was slightly forced. Grusha was clearly trying to keep things light, but there was something else in her tone. After a few more moments of silence, she finally admitted, "Yeah… And, uh… As cheesy as it sounds, I… I think I really am gonna miss you. Like, I’m not even bullshitting right now when I say that I really, really, don’t want you to go."
Goblin Slayer paused, considering her words. He wasn’t used to people being so straightforward with their feelings. ‘This… This has probably been the nicest anyone’s ever been to me, since… Since Vivi was still alive,’ the gray haired teenager realized silently— the revelation being bittersweet, as not only did it remind him of his deceased older sibling, but it served to remind him as well of what everyone else had thought of him, up until that point.
"I… I know, but… I’ll return," he said, his voice calm and steady. "And… You’re right: I’m going to miss this… Going to miss you too, Grusha."
Her eyes softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. That reassurance seemed to ease her, and she nodded, her hand resting on his for just a moment before she pulled it away. "So then don’t keep me waiting, Goblin Slayer."
After breakfast, Goblin Slayer walked alone through the paved streets of the stronghold. The sky above the Iron Flower Mountains was clear, the morning sun casting a golden glow on the dark brick roads. Orcs were busy with their daily tasks, the clang of hammers and the hum of industry filling the air.
As he made his way toward the stronghold's gates, two guards in full orichalcum armor stepped in front of him. At first, Goblin Slayer’s instincts kicked in, his hand subtly moving toward his short sword, but the guards showed no signs of aggression.
One of them then stepped forward, presenting a finely crafted wooden box. "A gift," the guard said, his voice gruff yet respectful. "From Lady Sofia."
Goblin Slayer blinked beneath his helmet, momentarily surprised. ‘A present? From that child? Why? We only spoke briefly, and even then… Didn’t she say that I had to prove myself first? Whatever the hell that meant? Why would she bother giving me something like this?’
Brushing off the confusion that those thoughts brought, the gray-haired teenager gingerly opened the box to find a sleek, lightweight tomahawk. Its handle was smooth, and the blade gleamed with a dark sheen of— appearing expertly crafted, and balanced for one-handed use. ‘Looks like something Torug would forge… Come to I think of it, he probably did make this thing.’
"She wanted to make sure you came back safely," the guard added. "So you’ll return to her."
Goblin Slayer studied the tomahawk for a moment before hooking it onto his belt, opposite his short blade. "I’ll make sure it’s put to good use; tell her I said thank you."
The guard nodded, and with that, they stepped aside, allowing Goblin Slayer to continue on his way. As he neared the gates of Forgehart Stronghold, the tall walls and towers loomed overhead. He glanced back at the stronghold one last time, thinking about his time spent here.
Grusha, with her fiery spirit and unspoken affection. Sofia, who had shown him kindness in her own quiet way. And the Forgehart Clan, who had taken him in, if only for a short while.
Stepping onto the “Fallen Pedal Trail,” Goblin Slayer began his trek through the Iron Flower Mountains. The path wound through craggy cliffs and thick pines, the air cool and fresh with the scent of snow from the higher peaks. As he walked, he reflected on what he had learned at the stronghold. He specifically thought of Grusha’s words— her belief in his potential to lead his own guild.
"So long you keep your mind open to more than just goblin killing, that is! I mean, eventually you’re gonna run out of goblins in the area to kill…"
“… You’ll get there soon, Goblin Slayer… I think you have what it takes.”
He wasn’t entirely sure what the future held, but for the first time in a long while, he felt the faint stirrings of hope.
“I… I can do this… I can do this,” Goblin Slayer murmured to himself beneath the visor of his brand new helmet— as though he were whispering a mantra.
Chapter 6: The Fallen Pedal Trail
Chapter Text
Goblin Slayer walked steadily along the rugged Fallen Pedal Trail as the sun dipped lower— the chill in the air subtly passing through the layers of warmth that light armor provided. The trees had become long since sparse— giving way to jagged rock formations and a terrain that grew steadily more hostile. His breath came out in visible puffs, the temperature dropping as the trail wound higher into the mountains. He kept one hand near the hilt of his short sword, alert to any potential threat, though his thoughts drifted to Forgehart Stronghold and his time spent there.
‘I don’t understand what negative connotations could exist about orcs— they were nothing but hospitable to me… Perhaps I’m just an exception though? After all, most of them were rather wary of me being there— it’s not like they were exactly subtle about their own prejudices against huma-?’
Suddenly, the sound of clinking metal boots snapped him back to the present. A group of soldiers, thirty of them, marched in formation, their steel-plated armor gleaming in the dying light. The Pendragon family crest was emblazoned on their shields, unmistakable. Goblin Slayer instinctively tensed, his hand gripping his sword.
At the front of the formation, a tall woman with ginger hair and a stern expression stepped forward. Her short, bobbed hair framed her sharp features—angular jaw, strong cheekbones, and a no-nonsense demeanor. Despite her masculine features, her well-fitted armor accentuated her curves and muscular build, leaving little doubt about her strength, and the voluptuous body she had beneath her heavy suit of steel armor.
She stopped before him, her stance commanding. "Halt," she said, her voice authoritative but not hostile. "State your business. What brings you along this trail?"
Goblin Slayer met her gaze through the slits of his helmet, his voice flat as always. "Heading to Crossbell. Business."
The woman’s sharp eyes swept over him, lingering on his armor, particularly his helmet. She narrowed her gaze slightly, her voice turning more curious than suspicious. "That helmet. It’s orichalcum, isn’t it?"
Goblin Slayer gave a curt nod. "It is."
The captain studied him a moment longer, clearly interested in the origin of his equipment. "Orichalcum is rare. I’ve dealt with the orcs in these mountains before. They don’t usually hand over their craftsmanship to outsiders." She folded her arms, still watching him closely. "What’s your association with them?"
Goblin Slayer didn’t hesitate. "Forgehart Clan."
Her expression shifted, suspicion tightening her features. "Forgehart Clan?" She repeated— her voice now edged with wariness. "That explains the helmet, but it doesn’t explain why you’d be traveling alone through these mountains with it. Especially if you're not one of them."
There was a brief pause before she spoke again, the formality of her words setting the tone. "I’m Captain D’Arce of the 51st Battalion, Emperor Pendragon’s Royal Army. We patrol these mountains, and keep the peace. Your connection to the orcs doesn’t sit right with me; not while there’s an active dispute over territory.”
Goblin Slayer didn’t move, his voice remaining even. "I’m Goblin Slayer. I passed through Forgehart Stronghold. They helped with repairs. Nothing more."
D’Arce eyed him for a long moment, clearly weighing his words. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken questions, though Goblin Slayer didn’t elaborate. He didn’t offer more than was necessary.
"You’ve got guts, walking around in orichalcum armor with no real explanation," D’Arce finally said, her tone somewhere between impressed and cautious. "The orcs don’t just hand that out to anyone, especially not a human."
Goblin Slayer met her gaze, unaffected by her probing. "I earned it through hard labor. That's all there is to it."
D’Arce didn’t seem convinced, but she wasn’t about to start a fight with a lone adventurer in the middle of the trail. "So you’re just passing through, then? Nothing more?"
"Just heading to Crossbell," Goblin Slayer repeated— his voice steady.
The captain took a step back, her soldiers shifting uneasily behind her, watching the exchange. D’Arce’s eyes flicked over him one last time before she gave a sharp nod. "Fine. You can go, but keep in mind—any trouble between the orcs and the emperor's forces, and you'll be watched closely. We don’t take kindly to outsiders getting too involved with them."
Goblin Slayer considered her words, then nodded. "Understood."
She motioned for her soldiers to stand down, but there was still a lingering tension in the air. Before Goblin Slayer turned to leave, D’Arce added, "You should make for the town of Matterhorn before night falls. It’s not safe to be out here after dark. Especially alone."
Goblin Slayer acknowledged her with a brief nod, saying nothing more as he continued on the path, his thoughts turning inward. ‘I’m surprised to see so many of them out here in the frontier; I don’t recall seeing any other military personnel while in the outpost. Maybe it has something to do with securing whatever border they’re arguing over? It would explain why Grusha and the others were patrolling.’
And as Goblin Slayer trudged forward on the Fallen Pedal Trail, the air grew colder with every step he took. The rocky terrain of the Iron Flower Mountains had become treacherous, with trees becoming nonexistent, and patches of snow now blanketing the ground. His breath became mist in the chilly air, as the temperature continued to drop. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, attempting to stave off the cold, but it was futile. The light snowfall turned heavier, dusting his armor as the surrounding clouds thickened.
He glanced up at the darkening sky, the sun long gone and twilight fading. D’Arce’s warning echoed in his mind: “It’s not safe to be out here after dark. Especially alone.”
The deeper into the mountains he went, the harsher the conditions became. A biting wind blew across the barren slopes, and now, he could see his own breath through what little light of the moon could piece through the overcast skies. The snow crunched beneath his boots, and the chill began to seep into his bones.
As he trudged on, a low rumble in the distance made him stop in his tracks. The ground trembled slightly beneath his feet, and he quickly crouched, hand gripping the handle of his short sword. His gaze darted around, scanning the landscape for the source of the disturbance.
Then, he saw her.
A colossal figure emerged from behind a crag, towering at least seven meters tall. An ice giantess, her skin a pale blue like the glaciers that surrounded her, her flowing white hair billowing in the wind. Her facial features were brutish and sharp, her eyes cold and calculating. Her body was covered in thick furs, draped over her muscular form, and beside her lumbered a massive wooly mammoth, its tusks curling menacingly.
The giantess spotted him immediately. Her icy blue eyes narrowed as she let out a low growl, her massive hand gripping the rough wooden log she wielded as a club. The mammoth beside her stomped its foot, snorting loudly, the ground trembling beneath its weight.
Goblin Slayer stood still, assessing the situation. The giantess began to move toward him, her heavy footsteps making the ground quake. She swung her club in his direction, a clear warning to back away.
His hand instinctively went to the tomahawk Sofia had gifted him, but as he considered his options, the reality of the situation became clear. Fighting a seven-meter-tall giantess and a mammoth alone at his fighting level wasn’t just reckless— it was suicidal.
He turned and bolted toward the nearest slope— his boots kicking up snow as he ran. Behind him, the giantess let out a deafening roar— her footsteps pounding the earth as she gave chase. Goblin Slayer’s eyes scanned the jagged rock face for a way to escape, and his gaze landed on a steep slope that might give him enough height to avoid her swings.
Without hesitation, he pulled the orichalcum tomahawk from his belt and plunged it into the rock. Using it as an ice pick, he scaled the slope quickly, the cold biting at his fingers, as the snow almost immediately seeped through the thin material of his gloves.
But the giantess was faster than he anticipated, and without any hesitation she tossed her makeshift club to the side before beginning to climb after him. Soon, her enormous hand reached up and grabbed hold of his legs, her grip like iron.
Goblin Slayer felt the icy fingers tightening around him, pulling him downward. In a desperate move, he swung the tomahawk— severing two of her thick fingers. The giantess howled in pain, dropping him as she stumbled back. Her agonized scream echoed through the mountains, reverberating off the rocky cliffs.
The snow beneath him began to tremble, then shifted. A rumbling sound grew louder as the slope collapsed into an avalanche.
Goblin Slayer’s eyes widened as the wall of snow surged toward him. He tried to scramble up the slope, but the avalanche was too fast. Within moments, the force of the snow swept him off his feet and dragged him down the mountain. He tumbled helplessly, his body battered by the rush of ice and snow, before slamming into the ground— right on top of the fallen giantess.
The impact knocked the wind out of him. As more snow piled on top of him, he was pinned, his body sinking into the cold, suffocating mass. Darkness overtook him.
The snow fell gently from the sky, blanketing the quiet countryside in a thick layer of white. The air was cold but crisp, with the kind of chill that made the world feel peaceful and still. Vivine stood in the yard, cradling a warm cup of coffee in her hands. Her breath came out in small clouds as she watched her younger brother eagerly rolling a snowball across the snow-covered ground. His face was lit up with joy, a rare smile stretching from ear to ear.
"Vivi! Look, it's getting huge!" he shouted, his voice full of excitement. His small hands were red from the cold, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Vivine smiled warmly, taking a sip from her cup. "You're doing great! That's going to be the best snowman we've ever built."
The boy puffed out his chest, feeling proud of himself. "I think this one's going to be even bigger than the one we made last year! But you have to help with the head, okay? It’s too heavy for me to lift."
"Of course," Vivine chuckled, watching him struggle with the oversized snowball. She walked over to him, her boots crunching softly in the snow. "But first, you should take a break. Your hands must be freezing by now."
He shook his head defiantly, brushing his damp hands on his coat. "I'm fine, Vivi! I want to finish it before the snow stops."
Vivine laughed softly. "The snow isn’t going to stop anytime soon. But how about we compromise? You keep working on the snowman’s body, and I’ll start getting things ready for the face. Deal?"
He thought about it for a second, then nodded enthusiastically. "Deal!"
Vivine crouched down beside him, setting her coffee cup in the snow for a moment. Together, they shaped the snowman’s body, the boy’s smaller hands carefully smoothing out the surface while Vivine helped him with the trickier parts. The air was filled with the soft sounds of snow being packed together and the occasional giggle when cold snow slipped through his gloves.
"Remember last time how we used those pebbles for the eyes?" Vivine asked as she stood up, brushing the snow from her gloves.
"Yeah!" He said— his face lighting up again at the memory. "And the carrot for the nose. We should do that again!"
Vivine smiled, reaching for her cup. "I think we still have a carrot in the kitchen. Want me to grab it?"
"Yes! And we need something for the hat. Snowmen need hats, right?"
"Right," Vivine agreed, her eyes sparkling with affection. "I’ll see what I can find. You keep working on that head, Ren. I’ll be right back."
As Vivine headed toward the house, the boy stood in the snow, looking up at the half-finished snowman. He could hear the wind rustling softly through the trees and the faint clink of Vivine’s coffee cup as she disappeared inside. For a moment, the world seemed perfect—just him, his sister, and the snowy afternoon.
When Goblin Slayer regained consciousness, he was completely numb, buried beneath layers of snow. He could barely move, his limbs stiff and frozen. His vision was blurred, and for a moment, he struggled to comprehend where he was. Then, he saw flickering lights in the distance—torches cutting through the stormy night.
Voices shouted, and soon, hands were digging through the snow, pulling him free. The icy grip of the avalanche released him, and as his face was cleared, he looked up to see a familiar figure.
D’Arce stood over him, her expression a mix of suspicion and irritation. She crossed her arms, her torch illuminating her stern face. “I warned you,” she said, her voice cold as the mountain air. “Didn’t I?”
Goblin Slayer, still shivering, didn’t respond immediately. He could barely feel his body, let alone speak. Two of her soldiers hauled him to his feet, their faces grim beneath their steel helmets.
D’Arce stared at him, her gaze scanning his battered form, before shaking her head. “You’re lucky we found you.” She gestured to the mountain, where the remnants of the avalanche still loomed. “That giantess would’ve been the least of your worries, had my men and I not been nearby.”
Goblin Slayer coughed, spitting out snow as he tried to regain his balance. His body was stiff and aching, but he managed a nod. “I’ll… take that under advisement,” he muttered.
D’Arce’s lips quirked into a smirk, though her eyes remained sharp. “Next time, stay away from trouble.” She waved her hand, and her soldiers began moving back down the trail. “Now, come on. We’ll take you to the next post. The storm’s only going to get worse from here.”
Goblin Slayer glanced back at the mountain and the fallen giantess, now buried beneath the snow. Silently reflecting on the vague memories he had of the dream he had while buried beneath the snow, the gray-haired teen let out a melancholic sigh before turning away to begin following D’Arce and her men down the trail— his movements stiff, as he limped as fast as he could to keep up with them.
As they trudged along the snow-covered trail, the wind howling through the "Iron Flower Mountains," D’Arce walked beside Goblin Slayer— her gaze shifting between him and the path ahead. The warmth of the torches provided some comfort against the cold, but the air was still biting. The snowfall had lightened, but the chill in the air lingered.
After a few moments of silence, D’Arce glanced at him again, her breath visible in the frigid air. “So, why Crossbell?” She asked, her tone inquisitive but cautious. “What drove you to make such a treacherous journey alone?”
Goblin Slayer kept his eyes forward, his voice low and measured, while his teeth clattered from the cold. “I… I was r-rejected by t-the Adventurers’ Guild,” he admitted— his words sharp with the sting of memory. “I’ve b-b-been w-working t-t-toward establishing m-my own g-guild… I n-need h-help f-figuring out h-how t-t-to start it… I f-figured t-that C-Crossbell w-would… W-Would be a g-good place t-to s-start…”
D’Arce raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting to one of curiosity. “Your own guild? That’s quite the ambition. Not something you hear every day.”
Goblin Slayer nodded. “I-I already h-have the f-foundation… A f-fortress, deep in the "E-Evergreen F-F-Forest"… T-The structure is there, b-but I n-need t-recruits… A n-name… And d-direction… I-I want to l-locate goblin n-nests… A-All across the c-c-continent.” He paused for a moment, his tone growing more intense as his whole body continued shivering violently.
D’Arce’s eyes widened slightly, impressed by his determination. “That’s no small feat,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “But you might be biting off more than you can chew— at least at the start. You’re talking about a continent-wide hunt. Have you cleared out the forest around your fortress?”
Goblin Slayer’s silence answered her question.
D’Arce sighed, her voice tinged with amusement. “You need to focus on one area at a time. It’s called divide and conquer. Clear out the Evergreen Forest first. Establish your base of operations. Then move onto the next region. If you spread yourself too thin, you won’t make any progress—and worse, you’ll get overwhelmed.”
Her words hung in the air, and Goblin Slayer considered them. He’d been so focused on exterminating goblins on a massive scale that he had underestimated the importance of military strategy. Dividing and conquering… it made sense, but he cursed himself silently for not thinking of it sooner.
“D-Divide and c-c-conquer,” he repeated, almost to himself. He glanced over at her, his voice quieter now, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his tone. “W-Would you… C-Consider j-j-joining m-my g-guild…?”
D’Arce chuckled, shaking her head as they continued walking. “I appreciate the offer,” she said, her voice genuine, “but I have to decline. My duties lie with the Royal Army.” Her smile faded slightly, replaced with a more thoughtful expression. “But I might know someone who could point you in the right direction.”
Goblin Slayer’s gaze sharpened. “W-Who…?”
D’Arce’s eyes lit up with pride as she spoke. “"Zachariah Xavniik". He was my mentor—a half-elf veteran general. Decades before Arthur Pendragon’s coronation, Zachariah led Uthur Pendragon’s forces. He’s a brilliant strategist, the kind of person who could help you find exactly what you need. If anyone knows how to organize a large-scale operation, it’s him.”
Goblin Slayer processed this information, his thoughts racing. “W-Where c-can I f-find h-him…?”
D’Arce grinned, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “You’re in luck. He’s retired now and living in Crossbell. He runs a coffee shop called “Mythical Mornings” in the uptown area. Not exactly the battlefield, but I hear he’s still sharp as ever.”
Goblin Slayer nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over him that would have brought him peace, had he still had feeling in his fingers and toes. “T-Thank you… C-Can I h-have a p-piece of p-paper, a-and a… An i-ink p-p-pen…?”
D’Arce smirked, pulling her journal from a satchel at her waist. “In your condition, I doubt your fingers could hold a pen properly.” She flipped through the pages before jotting down the information for him. “Here. Everything you need to know about where to find him.”
“I-I a-appreciate t-this,” he stuttered out simply.
D’Arce gave a curt nod, her expression softening slightly. “Just make sure you don’t get yourself killed before you make it there. I didn’t dig you out of that avalanche for nothing.” She then wrote the information on Zachariah Xavniik and carefully tore the page from her journal. Without breaking stride, D'Arce folded it and reached over, sliding the paper into his small satchel.
“Here. Keep that safe,” she said, her voice firm, but a touch of softness in her actions as her fingers brushed against his belt.
Goblin Slayer gave her a nod of appreciation, though his mind was elsewhere. His body ached from the cold, the frostbite creeping through him. Every step felt heavier— his fingers and toes unable to even move, much less feel blood flow. To distract himself from the pain, he asked, “W-What’s your s-s-story…?”
D’Arce glanced at him, surprised by the question. She then smiled slightly and shrugged— as if it were no big deal— though the weight of her words said otherwise.
“I was born into this life,” she began, her voice carrying over the howling wind. “My family has served the throne for generations. Ever since the Pendragon Royal Army was just a small militia, the D’Arce family has fought for Avaloria. My father was an officer, his father before him. I suppose you could say it’s in my blood.”
She looked ahead, her gaze distant as if she were seeing the past play out before her. “I didn’t have much of a choice, not that I ever wanted a different path. I trained with the sword as soon as I was able to hold one. My entire childhood was spent learning strategy, tactics, and the code of knighthood. By the time I was twelve, I could outfight grown men. I was raised for one thing: to serve.”
Goblin Slayer’s eyes remained fixed on the trail, the snow growing thicker beneath his feet. His breath was shallow, every step feeling like a battle, but he forced himself to focus. “D-Do you… E-Enjoy i-it…?”
There was a subtle shift in his tone, almost as if he were talking more than usual, anything to stay anchored in the present. The pain from the frostbite gnawed at him, but talking kept his mind off it.
D’Arce’s lips curled into a small, thoughtful smile, though there was a hint of something else in her expression— ambiguity, perhaps. “Enjoy? Maybe. It’s hard to say. I don’t know anything else, really.” She paused for a moment— her eyes catching his invisible gaze, before looking ahead again. “Sometimes, I wonder what more there is to life than just… this.”
She let out a long breath, the cold air swirling in front of her. “I’ve seen the world, but never really lived in it, if that makes sense.”
Goblin Slayer considered her words. For a moment, it reminded him of his own life, how he had spent every waking moment thinking about one thing: killing goblins.
“W… W-Would you ever l-leave…?” Goblin Slayer asked in a quiet voice, while unable to realize that he was asking the question more so to himself than to the knight beside him.
D’Arce shook her head, her expression hardening, but not unkindly. “I have a duty to Avaloria. To its people. I was born into this, and I’ll die in it.” There was a quiet conviction in her voice, a certainty that she had accepted long ago. “The Royal Army is my life.”
Her words struck a chord with him. Goblin Slayer didn’t know much about duty beyond the desire to kill goblins, but he understood the weight of responsibility. Yet, her words stirred something deeper within him.
‘Do I have a duty, beyond goblins? Am I even capable of being more than this? Is this all that I can be? All that I’ll ever be?’ As they walked in silence for a while, Goblin Slayer found himself reflecting on the possibilities.
D’Arce glanced over at him, her gaze softening for a moment. “You remind me of myself, you know,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “Focused. Determined. You seem like the sort of man who knows his purpose in life, and is content with that— I can respect that.”
Goblin Slayer didn’t respond immediately, but her words stayed with him as they pressed on through the cold, the snow falling heavier now as the shadows of the mountains stretched longer across the trail.
As they reached the peak of the trail, the world below was obscured by the swirling snowstorm. What should have been a breathtaking view of “Stardust Valley” was now hidden beneath a thick curtain of wind and snow, the distant landscape barely visible.
Goblin Slayer squinted into the storm, trying to make sense of the shifting shadows, but the cold gnawed at his senses, making it difficult to focus.
D’Arce, sensing his struggle, glanced over at him. His condition had worsened; his breathing was shallow, and his movements sluggish. She stepped closer, her armor clinking as she sheathed her longsword at her hip. “We’re less than thirty minutes away from Matterhorn,” she reassured him, her voice loud enough to cut through the howling wind. “It’s all downhill from here— easier going than the climb.”
Without warning, she wrapped an arm behind his shoulders, pulling him in close to her armored body. The contrast between them was stark; she stood taller than him, her broad frame and heavy armor dwarfing his form. Goblin Slayer couldn’t help but notice how her hips flared beneath her armor, the curves of her body pressed against him.
For a fleeting moment, a thought crossed his mind, but he quickly pushed it away, focusing instead on the icy wind biting at every inch of his covered body.
D’Arce supported him as they walked, her grip steady and firm. “We’ll make it,” she said, her voice calmer now that she had him secured beside her. But just as they began their descent, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
A volley of arrows rained down from above the slopes, striking the soldiers behind them. Ten men fell almost instantly, their cries of pain swallowed by the wind. D’Arce reacted swiftly by pulling Goblin Slayer closer to her— her shield raised high to deflect the arrows. "Defensive positions!" She commanded, her voice sharp and authoritative. Her men closed in, shields raised toward the direction of the hidden archers.
The arrows kept coming, relentlessly. D’Arce quickly assessed the situation and raised her shield-carrying hand— chanting words of power. In an instant, a protective bubble of yellow magic surrounded them, shimmering in the storm as the arrows bounced harmlessly off the magical barrier.
"Collect the wounded!" D’Arce ordered— her voice rising over the chaos. Her soldiers moved swiftly, carrying the injured men as the protective bubble shielded them from the onslaught. The bombardment continued— arrows, and now explosives, rattled the shield, testing its strength.
Goblin Slayer, still numb from the cold, watched in awe as D’Arce took full control of the situation. She was commanding, precise, and unshaken by the chaos. Her mind worked quickly, and with a sharp command, she ordered six of her men to switch to their crossbows.
“Enchant your bolts,” she commanded. The soldiers quickly complied, their crossbow bolts glowing faintly as they were imbued with a spell. “Aim for the base of the slope. FIRE!!!”
The men unleashed their bolts, and D’Arce wasted no time. Before Goblin Slayer could process what was happening, she grabbed him with one arm, lifting him effortlessly onto her shoulder. “Double time!” She commanded, ordering her men to advance down the trail as quickly as possible.
Goblin Slayer, bewildered by the sudden movement, was carried like a sack over her shoulder. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but as the ground beneath them began to tremble, he realized what D’Arce had done.
The explosions at the base of the slope triggered an avalanche, the deafening roar of snow and rock cascading down the mountain.
The avalanche thundered down, sweeping away any archers who had taken position on the slopes. D’Arce didn’t stop, moving quickly down the trail with Goblin Slayer still slung over her shoulder, her men following in tight formation.
When the avalanche finally settled, leaving a path of destruction in its wake, D’Arce slowed her pace. “Circle back,” she ordered— her voice commanding but calm. “Search for survivors. We need them alive for questioning.”
Her men spread out, methodically searching the aftermath of the avalanche. D’Arce— still holding Goblin Slayer as if he weighed nothing— scanned the snowy slopes for any signs of movement. She showed no sign of fatigue, carrying him with ease, her sharp eyes focused on the task ahead.
Goblin Slayer, though exhausted and in pain, couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration for D’Arce. ‘She carries herself with authoritative confidence— professional, and her voice alone demands respect. She’s a leader… I need to be like that.’
As they moved forward, his thoughts briefly shifted away from the cold and the pain. With D’Arce’s protective hold around him remained firm, and the knowledge that they were so close to reaching the town of Matterhorn, Goblin Slayer finally allowed himself to relax— as much as he could, while being as close to a frozen death as he was.
And as fatigue finally began creeping in alongside the chilling cold coursing through his constricted veins, Goblin Slayer jolted awake just as his heavy eyelids were about the shut close— an earthy aroma entered through his nostrils, one that he recognized an instant.
‘… Coffee?’
Chapter 7: Matterhorny
Chapter Text
Goblin Slayer’s eyes cracked open— his body stiff and sore. Awakening feeling groggy— his intuitive senses gazed in a cloud of vertigo— the gray-hair teenager stared absentmindedly at his surroundings.
‘... What is this place?’ Goblin Slayer thought to himself— his mental articulation increasing with each passing second that the fog in his head began clearing up.
The room was warm, far warmer than the frozen wasteland he'd trudged through the night before. His limbs felt heavy, wrapped tightly with bandages. His mind was slow to adjust to the quiet, while the ache in his muscles helped him piece together what had led him there in the first place.
‘That knight… Captain D’Arce, I think?’ He began stringing together, while squinting his eyelids as his mind began painting an image of the short-haired ginger woman— his subconscious, for reasons beyond his understanding, made sure to emphasize her voluptuous curves that he had noticed beneath her bulky suit of steel armor.
‘Ah, that’s right… There was that giant thing, and… Hairy elephant? I wonder what happened to that weird thing— I don’t recall it really giving chase, now that I think about it,’ the gray-haired teenager couldn’t help but to wonder to himself, as his mind retraced the events that led to the ambush.
He shifted, glancing around the room. Wooden walls, sturdy and unadorned save for a few colorful tapestries. The place felt rustic, comfortable in a way that made him uneasy. Not a battlefield, not the harsh wilds, but something in between. The air was thick with the smell of wood and something faintly sweet— like spiced bread. A fire crackled in a hearth across the room, its warmth barely reaching him.
‘… I’m assuming after her men rounded up the surviving assailants, she took me here… Which means this must be some sort of hospital, or a small clinic,’ the gray-haired teenager concluded, as he stared fixated at the flames dancing within the maw of the cobblestone hearth.
Before he could further dwell on his situation, the door suddenly creaked open. He tensed, and his hand instinctively moved beneath the covers toward his hip. Grasping at where he was used to the handle of his short sword being, Goblin Slayer couldn’t help but to feel embarrassed at himself.
‘Right… Hospital, or clinic-thing— I can’t believe I just forgot about that,’ the teenager thought exasperatingly to himself, before letting out a sigh as he laid eyes upon the large woman emerging from the opened door— her figure tall, curvy, her dark skin glowing in the dim light.
She wore a nurse’s outfit—if it could be called that. The white fabric clung tightly to her body, hugging her hips and chest— the neckline dipping low enough to reveal the swell of her plump, brown breasts. The white apron tied around her waist only seemed to emphasize the fullness of her figure. Her black hair was tied up loosely, strands falling across her face as she smiled at him.
“Well, look who’s awake.” Her voice was low, playful, the kind of tone that made it clear she was used to getting attention. “You gave us quite the scare last night.”
Goblin Slayer didn’t respond at first— his eyes flicking to the steaming cup of coffee she held in one hand. He could smell it from where he laid in bed—the rich and dark aroma emitting from the ceramic cup, as the heat from it curled through the air as it rose toward the wooden ceiling.
“D… D-Djedat roast,” the gray-haired teenager uttered out in a hollow voice— his crimson eyes widening, as he felt bittersweet nostalgia piercing its blade deep into his heart. ‘… That was Vivi’s favorite kind of coffee.’
“You gonna stare all day, or you want this coffee?” She teased, while stepping closer— her wide hips swaying just a little more than necessary, as Goblin Slayer slowly broke out of his unexpected trance.
“R… Right,” he whispered out in a distracted tone— the vivid dream of his older sister watching him build a snowman imprinting itself in his mind, as reached for the cup with his hand trembling slightly as he took it from her.
The warmth seeped into his fingers, and he held it for a moment, just feeling it— the rising steam caressing his pale face, as he stared down into the surface of the creamy-brown brewed beverage.
“Drink up,” the dark-skinned nurse urged— her voice dipping lower. “It’s gonna warm whatever part of you that my hands couldn’t reach, sweetheart.”
Registering what she had just said to him, the mental image of his older sister broke— causing whatever water was threatening to leak out of the teenager’s eyelids to immediately retract into his tear ducts.
“I… I see,” Goblin Slayer muttered in response, while lifting his eyes up from the piping hot coffee to meet the nurse’s brown, amorous gaze— awkwardly bringing the cup to his lips, and inhaling the rich aroma before taking a ginger sip.
The heat spread through his chest, chasing away some of the lingering chill that clung to his bones. It was good. “Strong, with a hint of sweetness,” the gray-haired teenager commented with a subtle hint of approval in his flat voice— momentarily forgetting how close the nurse was to him, until suddenly feeling her finger trailing down his exposed collar.
“You’re lucky,” she said, her voice soft but teasing— her finger brushing its way down to his shoulder, before she pretended to adjust his blanket. “Frostbite like that could’ve cost you a lot more than a little discomfort. Around here, people lose fingers. Toes. Worse. Earth Mother must have sent a guardian angel to protect you!”
And like that, for the first time that he could remember, Goblin Slayer actually let out a dry, sarcastic laugh. “If she did send a “guardian angel,” then they’re about five years too late,” the gray-haired teenager scoffed bitterly— his detestment of Earth Mother causing the jovial and flirtatious nurse to grow quiet briefly, before suddenly letting out an amused laugh.
“Haha, ah! So you’re a comedian too then, huh?!” The dark-skinned woman asked with a promiscuous smirk spreading across her red lipstick-painted lips. “Didn’t take you for one— and you know what they say about handsome guys who have a sense of humor~!”
“No, I don’t,” Goblin Slayer said dryly— taking another sip of the coffee instead, and unintentionally eliciting another loud belly-laugh from the nurse by his bedside. “Tastes good,” the gray-haired teenager complimented, as he lowered the rim of the cup from his lips— the feeling of the nurse’s soft hand running along the back of his bare shoulders becoming less-and-less conflicting to him, as he looked up from his coffee to notice just how close she was leaning in towards him.
With how close her face was to his cheek, the older woman leaned in— closer now— her breath warm against his ear as she whispered to him in a sultry voice, “If you like brown things, baby, then that’s not the only sweet thing I can give you~…!”
As unperceptive towards innuendos as ever, Goblin Slayer turned his head up towards the plump dark-skinned woman— their lips mere inches apart, and his eyes staring up into her lustful eyes as he opened his mouth to ask softly, “Like more coffee…?”
“Hmhmm~! Yeah… Yeah, “more coffee”— I can give you all the mocha your body desires,” the mature nurse cooed flirtatiously with a wink— her full figure towering over him, while keeping close enough to the teenager’s face to have the rising steam of his cup begin dancing underneath her face as well.
Feeling the mattress sink as the large woman raised her leg up to sit half-ways down on the edge of his bed, Goblin Slayer couldn’t help but to feel a strange sensation radiating from his groin, as the blood began flowing down into his twitching member.
‘… Why is my heart racing right now? I don’t feel afraid, and yet… This feeling, it’s… Oddly satisfying— enticing, like the promise of a reward just beyond reach,’ the gray-haired teenager thought prolifically to himself— his inexperienced mind trying to scrape together a reason, while the heavy-set woman, who was more than twice age, scooted closer to him before stretching her curvaceous legs down alongside his.
With one arm wrapped behind his entire upper back, the dark-skinned nurse sat up beside him on the bed— his pillows propped up under her lower back, as she twisted her torso towards him.
“That’s it, baby— ain’t no shame in feeling what you’re feeling…! Just like all that blood do its thing inside you, suga,” the busty nurse cooed in a low, sultry voice— her plump cleavage lightly enveloping his shaded cheeks with the warmth radiating of her body, while the neckline of her outfit lower, as she used her free hand to begin applying light pressure onto his bandages.
“Just holla at me if any of this is hurting you, sweetheart— that’s the last thing I wanna make you feel,” she murmured, her voice almost a purr now. “Your skin feels as it should: warm, and soft— but not too soft… Can you take a deep breath for me, baby— just for me?”
Having been immersed in the oddity for him that was getting felt up by a grown woman, the sudden shift-changing question momentarily broke the sensual immersion the soothed teenager felt. “O… Okay?” He replied with a mildly inquisitive voice, before complying with her request as he felt her hand resting on the left side of his bandage-wrapped chest.
Giving him an approving glance, the dark-skinned nurse began shushing him affectionately— her caressing fingers gently traveling up his back, and feeling every curve of his spine along the way. “Mmmm, that feels good, don’t it babe…?” The nurse cooed, while beginning to sport a more methodical expression, as she slowly traced her fingers up towards the back of his head.
Taking in a sharp breath from the way she made the hairs the back of his neck, upon realizing that she was gently pushing his face closer to her ample cleavage was when Goblin Slayer’s crimson eyes widened in utter shock— his mind becoming scrambled with confusion and stirring emotions.
“W-What are you- mmph?!” The flustered teenager tried uttering out, before becoming muffed as his lips began pressing into the tops of the woman’s chocolate-colored breasts— shushing him affectionately once more, as she reassuringly rubbed the back of his head while keeping his face buried in her spilled-out cleavage.
Her smile widened, and she leaned back slightly while keeping her palm still on his rapidly shifting chest. “Lungs and heart seem all good… Let’s check your motor functions, honey,” the plump nurse said in a promiscuous, yet focused voice— slowly moving her hand down, and wrapping hers around the gray-haired teenager’s bandage-wrapped arm.
Although he could feel her fingers intertwining with his, Goblin Slayer was too engrossed with his sensual predicament to pay much mind to it; each warm, breath he took was of the older woman’s perspired skin— the pores of her boobs excreting her humid aroma.
‘Tastes… Salty, and earthy… Tastes like caramel,’ Goblin Slayer struggled to string together— finding the words through the hazy fog that had made its way back into his head. ‘I… I want to bite her— get a mouthful of her, and suck on the skin… Would she notice? Would that invoke a negative reaction? I suppose there’s only one way to find out.’
“Aight babe, go ahead and squeeze my ha- O-Ohhh?!” The nurse yelped aloud before she could finish giving out her instruction— her cheeks lighting up in an even deeper shade than she was already sporting, as she glanced over from their intertwined hands to look down at the top of the teenager’s head.
“Oooo, mmmph…! I- Ah…! For a moment there, I- mhhphh, f-fuck- I-I wasn’t sure you were gonna actually r-reciprocate any of that,” the sultry nurse admitted through low, soft moans— biting her bottom lip and sucking on it, and closing her eyelids shut.
Now being the one to break the lustful woman’s concentration, Goblin Slayer focused intently on the task at hand; breathing in her boob sweat through his nose, the hormone-fueled teenager sink his teeth lightly into her brown skin— his tongue running up-and-down the plump mouthful of her juicy fat-tit that he was sucking on slowly.
‘This is so crass— so unnecessary… And yet, I can’t deny the carnal pleasure this is giving me,’ Goblin Slayer thought methodically to himself, while letting out a low, gravely moan that reverberated the nurse’s breast— causing her breath to hitch loudly, as he felt her entire body tense up momentarily with excitement. ‘… What the hell am I even doing right now?’
“Ahhh, mmphh…! I…! I can’t blame you sug, really— l-like I said- uwah, oooh- I-I just wasn’t e-expecting- mmmph- f-for you to take a bite was all,” the curvetous nurse manage to stutter out, before taking a shaky breath while attempting to visibly get a control of the situation.
“Just… J-Just squeeze my hand as tight as you can, okay baby? I think that it’s safe to say that… That you got healthy circulation in your blood,” she observed with a slight bit of sarcasm in her voice— her eyes shifting form the top of his head, over to where she could see the outline of his erection throbbing beneath the sheet she had over his legs.
Though he was practically stuck in a hypnotic state of what he didn’t understand to be lust, some part that was left of the gray-haired teenager’s consciousness was able to follow through with her request. Squeezing his fingers tightly around hers, Goblin Slayer did the same with his teeth— causing the dark-skinned woman to let out a guttural gasp, and making her lower back arch against the pillows as his mouth began making a loud sucking sound.
Completely red in the face, and having for the first time ever allowed himself to let loose while under the influence of his abrupt release of hormones, Goblin Slayer was in total bliss— which made it all the more jarring for him, as all of sudden the part of her tit that was in his mouth was yanked away from his lips.
“Aaaaand I’d say that about wraps about your physical— seeing as your legs don’t have an issue with kicking of that poor comforter,” the nurse said with a mischievous, and amused tone— gesturing to the bewildered teenager to the blanket at the end of his mattress, that was more on the floor than it was on his bed.
Experiencing mental whiplash as the weight of the mattress was lifted upon the plus-size nurse getting up off it, the rush of dopamine began fading from his mind— leaving Goblin Slayer utterly lost, as he stared up at her with a perplexed look.
“W… W-What?” Was all that he could think to say— immediately making him feel embarrassed, as he watched as the dark-skinned woman began pulling up on her low-cut shirt.
Raising a teasing brow down at him, the nurse let out a muffled chuckle as she reached down to pat him on the head. “Oh honey, most of that was just an act! I’ve got sixty other patients who probably aren’t gonna be as lucky as you were,” she mused, seemingly detached from the feelings she had stirred up within the teen.
“The whole “sexy nurse” schtick is just meant to get my patient’s circulation and vitals to get a jump-start in the morning!” She explained sassily, while gesturing at her tight-fitting outfit before then shrugging her shoulders. “Plus, it distracts the less fortunate ones from the horror of realizing that they ain’t all in one-piece anymore— which makes it helluva lot easier to do my evaluations, without them screaming like a banshee!”
‘A… A schtick?’ Goblin Slayer repeated silently to himself, as the embarrassment he felt in that moment began giving way to disappointment. ‘All of that was just a trick? None of it was… I… I was played like a fool! What was I thinking?! I should have suspected that something was amiss— all of that was too good to be true!’
“I… I see,” Goblin Slayer muttered beneath his breath— doing his best to mask his frustration, as he awkwardly pulled his knees closer to his chest. “Well… It worked.”
“It almost always does,” she said, as she made her way down his bed to pull the thick blanket up and over his lower-half. “Try to think of it this way, young man: because of what I did, I just saved you an entire day of laying down all day in a godforsaken hospital bed! If that ain’t worth a little teasing, then I don’t know what is!”
He glanced up at her, his voice quiet but firm. “Thanks.”
She chuckled, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she stood up straight again— her body casting a shadow over him. “Well, just try to make sure you don’t end up back here anytime soon; this gimmick usually doesn’t work a second time.”
Goblin Slayer met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Noted.”
The nurse smiled one last time, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary before she turned to leave the room. As she walked away, her hips swayed, and Goblin Slayer leaned his head back slowly— letting out an exasperated sigh, as he stared uncomfortably up at the wood-paneled ceiling.
‘… At least it was enjoyable enough while it lasted.’
Goblin Slayer left the clinic, his body wrapped in his worn leather armor and the new orichalcum helmet snug against his head. The early morning light filtered through the thick clouds above, casting a pale glow over the town. His eyes swept across the streets of Matterhorn, taking in the details of the mountain town with a discerning gaze.
The architecture was unmistakably robust, designed to withstand harsh winters and snow. Buildings were made of sturdy timber, with steep, gabled roofs to let the snow slide off easily. Many of the homes had intricate carvings on their wooden doors and window frames, depicting animals and warriors, much like the old traditions of his world’s north. Heavy shutters on the windows remained slightly ajar, letting in the cold breeze. Smoke billowed from stone chimneys, filling the air with the scent of burning wood and pine. The cobblestone streets were lined with merchants setting up shop, their stalls offering thick woolen clothes, tools, and provisions for the long winters ahead.
Goblin Slayer noted how the townsfolk went about their day, bundled in furs and cloaks to shield themselves from the cold. Men in heavy boots hauled crates of firewood, women carried baskets of freshly baked bread and salted meat, and children played in the snowy streets, their laughter echoing in the crisp air. There was a sense of community here, each person knowing their role, each home blending with the next in this mountain haven.
The chill in the air had grown sharper as he walked, his breath visible in short, rhythmic puffs. His body still felt sore from the frostbite and the battle, but the warmth of his orichalcum helmet insulated him somewhat from the worst of it. Even so, Goblin Slayer couldn’t help but take note of how much damage his leather armor had taken. Each scar and tear from his countless encounters with goblins and other creatures told a story, but now, it was more a hindrance than a shield. He could feel the cold seep through the cracks, biting at his skin.
He looked down at the tattered armor, running his gloved fingers over the seams. ‘… I don’t think sewing it back together is going to cut it this time. Either a trip to a tailor, or a trip to an armor shop is in order… Once I get some coin in my pocket— I doubt merchants do things here like they do in the Forgeheart Clan,’ Goblin Slayer thought to himself, as his mind began wandering back to Torug’s parting offer.
“Let me make you a full set of orichalcum armor. With that, nothing will touch you— not goblins, not monsters, not even Pendragon’s soldier-boys that he's so fond of sending out here.”
‘Might have to actually take him up on that, when I get back from Crossbell… If I get there at this rate, that is; I can’t believe I actually thought I was going to make the journey in three-days— how naive I was…!’
Eventually, Goblin Slayer made his way into a nearby tavern, and was immediately enveloped by the warmth and inviting aromas that wafted through the air— savory stews bubbling in the hearth and the smell of freshly baked bread mingling with the scent of roasted meats.
The tavern was lively, with patrons laughing and sharing stories around sturdy wooden tables. He approached the bar, where an older woman in her fifties stood, her barmaid outfit hugging her curves in a way that was both flattering and practical. Her hair was tied back neatly, though a few rebellious strands escaped to frame her face, giving her a welcoming appearance.
“What can I get you, dear?” she asked, her voice smooth and warm as she polished a tankard with a cloth. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she took in Goblin Slayer’s worn leather armor and the heavy helmet at his side.
Goblin Slayer cleared his throat, feeling a hint of nervousness creeping in. “Goblins… I’m looking for goblins to kill,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
The barmaid raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Goblins, huh?” She repeated with a partially amused expression— momentarily eyeing the armored teen up, before her lips spread into a friendly grin. “Welp, can’t say I’ve heard of any goblin activity taking place around Matterhorn! But I have heard whispers from the soldiers that they’re searching for a rebel camp somewhere in the mountains— maybe an adventurer such as yourself might be interested?”
‘No goblins? Impossible. Not unless, well… Unless someone else got to them first— in which case, that’s more than fine with me,’ he thought to himself— the feeling of fading disappointment soon giving way to embarrassment.
“I’m… I’m not a member of the Adventurers’ Guild,” he admitted, shifting his weight awkwardly. “But I’m the leader of a guild, so… I’d like to know more about it.”
“A guild leader, are ya?” she said, a smirk dancing on her lips. “That’s quite ambitious. But if you’re serious about this, you’d be better off heading to the town’s barracks. Captain D’Arce is in charge of the search. She could use every able-bodied person she can get.”
Goblin Slayer felt a mix of pride and determination swell within him. ‘This would be my guild’s first quest— and from a captain of the Royal Army, nonetheless! It may not be goblin-related, and I may be the only member of my guild, but even so, it’s still a milestone in of itself— that’s something, isn’t it?’
“I… I see,” he said in a low voice, while still shaking off the sense of pride that was lingering about in his mind. “Where is she?”
“Just head down the main road and look for the largest building— it’s hard to miss. She’s been quite the topic around here lately,” the barmaid replied, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “By the way… What brings you to Matterhorn anyway…?”
“Heading to Crossbell,” he said, his voice softening as he reflected on his ambitions. “My guild, it’s still in its early stages— trying to grow it.”
Her expression shifted to one of genuine interest. “Early stages, you say? Sounds like quite the undertaking. What kind of guild are you hoping to create?”
“One that will eradicate goblins, everywhere,” he said, the words slipping out more confidently. “I need guidance on how to divide and conquer— starting with Evergreen.”
“Fighting goblins, huh?” She mused, leaning back against the bar. “All of that sounds like the most ambitious, yet unambitious goal I’ve ever heard before in my life! Seriously, why not dedicate yourself to something cooler? Like slaying demons? You could call yourself “Demon Slayer”!”
He nodded, though completely in disagreement with her words. “I see,” Goblin Slayer said dismissively, and caught a glance of the mature woman’s mildly hurt expression when he began turning around to leave.
Pausing momentarily, the teenager lowered his gaze ever so slightly— Grusha's words coming to mind, ones that stuck with him more than he ever thought they would.
"You don't… You don't talk much, do you?"
'No... No, I don't... But that doesn't mean I can't.'
Taking in a soft, elongated breath, Goblin Slayer slowly turned back around toward the visibly surprised barmaid. “… But what about you? How did you end up here in Matterhorn?” He asked, as he leaned up on the bar counter, with his forearms resting against its round edge.
“Oh?! Me?” She asked, with a noticeable bounce in her step as her aged lips curled into an giddy grin. “Well, I’ve been here for years, you see,” she replied, a hint of nostalgia in her tone. “Came here as a young woman, looking for adventure. Instead, I found this tavern and settled into a quieter life. Still, I enjoy the stories that come through the door. Every new face brings a new tale.”
Although part of his more impatient side was annoyed at himself for choosing to entertain the mature barmaid’s ramblings, the more human side of Goblin Slayer showed intrigue in her words— relaxing his posture ever so slightly, while still remaining ever vigilant to his surroundings.
“I see. And do you ever miss that sense of adventure?” The teenager asked— making an effort to convey his thoughts more, instead of merely speaking in short-direct sentences.
“Sometimes,” she admitted— her eyes glinting with memories. “But then again, I find excitement in serving a good drink and listening to the tales of brave souls like you. It keeps the spirit alive.”
He offered a small smile, appreciating her perspective— though he knew she couldn’t see his lips. “You’ve probably seen quite a bit, then.”
“More than you can imagine, dear,” she said with a wink. “But enough about me. If you’re really serious about this rebel camp, you best be on your way. The longer you wait, the more dangerous it could get. And I’d hate for you to end up like one of those poor souls who thought they could brave the mountains without proper backup.”
“Right, I’ll head to the barracks,” he replied, his resolve strengthening. “Thank you… For your help and advice.”
“Anytime, sweetheart. And don’t forget, if you need a drink to celebrate your victory, I’ll be here,” she called after him as he finally turned to leave— a playful glimmer in her eyes, as she watched him making his way out through the door of her cozy tavern.
Chapter 8: Fear and Misery
Chapter Text
The heavy iron door of the interrogation room creaked open, revealing a cold and dimly lit chamber deep within the barracks of Matterhorn. At the center of the room, chained to a metal chair, sat a dark elf archer. His pale, ash-colored skin was marred with bruises, and blood dripped from his swollen lips and cracked mouth. His wrists were bound tightly in the iron shackles, and his body trembled from a mix of exhaustion and pain.
Across from him stood D’Arce, her expression as cold and calculating as the stone walls surrounding them. Her armor gleamed faintly in the flickering torchlight, though her longsword remained sheathed. In her gloved hand, she held a pair of pliers, the metal slick with blood. The dark elf’s molar, freshly torn from his mouth, hung between the jaws of the tool.
His scream echoed through the chamber, a sound of raw agony as his head jerked back, rattling the chains. His entire body convulsed, but the bindings held him fast. He slumped forward, chest heaving, his breath shallow and punctuated with pained whimpers. Blood dribbled from the gap where his tooth had been. Tears streaked down his dirt-smeared face, mixing with the blood that stained his chin.
D’Arce watched him, her gaze devoid of emotion— the pliers still gripped in her hand, as she allowed the molar to drop to the floor, along with the other teeth she’d pulled. The captain then leaned forward slowly, while pressing the cold metal of the pliers against his busted lip. The dark elf flinched, his remaining teeth gritted against the pain.
“Are you ready to talk now?” D’Arce’s voice was a low, emotionless whisper, devoid of sympathy or warmth.
The dark elf’s breath hitched, fear flickering in his eyes, but he shook his head defiantly, though the motion was weak and shaky. His lips quivered, and his voice, though pained and broken, was filled with bitter resolve.
“I…! I-I w-will n-never betray my k-kin,” he spat, blood splattering the ground as his words came out in a ragged cry. “W-We…! W-We will n-never bow to y-your kind…!”
D’Arce’s eyes narrowed, but she remained calm. She stepped back, turning to place the pliers on a nearby table where an array of torture implements lay neatly arranged. Without a word, she reached for a small silver shaker— a salt shaker. She calmly poured a pile of salt into her gloved palm, her movements deliberate.
“You don’t say,” she mused flatly— her tone unchanged. She lifted the salt to eye level, examining it as if she were merely preparing seasoning for a meal. “Why is that?”
The dark elf glared at her with unbridled hatred. His bruised face twisted into a snarl as he gathered the strength to speak, his words bursting out between gasps of pain.
“Humans stole our land,” he seethed, his voice filled with venom. “Z-Zemuria...! She's always belonged to the elves— a-always has. You… Your kind… H-Humans...! Y-You slaughtered our people— DEFILED our children and women! ERASED our culture, and STOLE our HOME!!!” The dark elf shrieked in unadulterated rage— his chest rising and falling rapidly, as his black scleras twinkled with hate. “You lot…! You all think you’re so bloody righteous, but you’re all nothing more than thieves… Murderers, and RAPISTS!!!”
His chest heaved with emotion, his eyes burning with rage even through the tears. “The other elves… They have forgiven your sins… But we won’t… We won’t forgive you…! We’ll slay every last one of you— take back what’s rightfully ours!”
D’Arce didn’t flinch at his tirade. She let him speak, let the words bounce off her like stones against a fortress wall. The moment he finished, she moved swiftly. Without hesitation, she threw the entire handful of salt into his cut-up mouth, her palm slamming over his bloodied lips to seal it in.
The dark elf’s eyes bulged in horror as the salt hit his open wounds, the intense sting driving him into a state of primal agony. He thrashed violently, his screams muffled beneath her hand, his body convulsing as the salt seeped into his torn flesh, intensifying the pain tenfold. His muscles spasmed, and his voice came out as muffled, guttural shrieks, echoing faintly through the small chamber.
D’Arce watched him impassively, her hand still pressed against his mouth as he squirmed beneath her grip. She didn’t blink, didn’t waver. She simply held him in place, ensuring he absorbed every ounce of the torture she inflicted. His body jerked uncontrollably, and blood streamed from the corners of his mouth, mixing with the salt to form a sickeningly red paste that dripped onto the floor.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally removed her hand, allowing the dark elf to gasp for breath. He coughed violently, spitting out blood and salt, his face a twisted mask of anguish and torment. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, his spirit clearly broken, though his hatred still flickered behind his eyes.
D’Arce stepped back, her expression unchanged. She calmly dusted the remaining salt from her glove, as though the entire ordeal had been nothing more than a routine task. Her eyes remained fixed on him, cold and calculating, as if waiting to see if he would break, if his will would shatter under the weight of her methods.
The dark elf archer sagged in his bindings, his defiant glare now weaker, filled more with pain than fury.
D’Arce stood silently, her cold eyes fixed on the dark elf archer, whose defiance had slowly crumbled into a pitiful display of agony. Blood and tears smeared his bruised face, his breathing ragged and uneven. For a brief moment, she felt an inexplicable pause— a flicker of something like pity, though it was buried so deeply beneath her calculated exterior that it barely registered.
The dark elf let out a pitiful shriek the moment she took a step forward. D’Arce, without saying a word, leaned down and wiped the blood and saliva from her gloved hand onto his chest, the smearing of his own filth against his skin a degrading act that caused him to whimper more pathetically. His body trembled, his spirit visibly shattered, yet he clung to what little resolve he had left.
Straightening herself, D’Arce gazed down at him with a look devoid of any warmth or mercy.
“I’ll be back after a short break,” she said coldly, her voice cutting through the tense air like a blade. “Perhaps by then, you'll come around to tell me the location of your allies. Unless…” Her lips curled into the faintest hint of a cruel smile. “You’d prefer I rip something else off you.”
The dark elf’s eyes widened in horror, but he said nothing, his voice seemingly strangled by his fear.
With that, D’Arce turned on her heel and left the interrogation room, the heavy door creaking shut behind her. She walked down the dim corridor, her tall, imposing figure casting long shadows that stretched across the floor like a specter of death. The remaining dark elf prisoners, huddled together in their cells, watched her approach with wide, terrified eyes. Their black and red irises flickered with desperation and dread, their breaths shallow, their bodies trembling.
D’Arce’s cold gaze flicked briefly toward them. The moment her eyes met theirs, they immediately averted their gaze, cowering in silence, huddling closer for the faintest shred of comfort in a place where hope had long since withered.
As she passed by them, their fear was palpable, like a suffocating fog that clung to the air.
Reaching the end of the corridor, D’Arce entered the offices of the barracks, her armored boots echoing softly on the stone floor. The room was a hub of activity, soldiers and clerks bustling about, reports being filed, and orders being handed down. But her presence was commanding, and the room seemed to still ever so slightly as she passed through.
Before she could enter the door leading to her private quarters, a lieutenant knight approached her, bowing his head respectfully. His tone was measured, though there was an underlying urgency in his voice.
"Captain," he said, his voice formal. "The kid with the orichalcum... he's back. He’s asking for you in the lobby.”
D’Arce stopped, her hand resting on the handle of her door. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a brief flicker of intrigue passing through her usually steely expression.
"The boy," she murmured to herself. She turned toward the lieutenant, her face returning to its usual unreadable stoicism.
In the cozy lit lobby, Goblin Slayer stood in his usual silence, surveying the space. His armor, worn and beaten from his recent ordeals, felt heavier than usual. His helmet obscured his face, but his eyes, from beneath the visor, were fixed on the odd creature before him.
A three-foot tall, chubby rat wearing sunglasses, a backwards red ball cap, and a gold chain danced idly in place. Its pudgy frame bobbed from side to side in an oddly rhythmic fashion, despite the complete absence of any music.
“And I’m tellin’ ya, man,” the rat said, his deep voice full of conviction, “this thing was, like, crazy! I hit a button, and BOOM!!! Music starts playin’ outta nowhere! The whole place filled with sound, like a magic concert was goin’ on in my head, ya know? B-But not just in my head, but around me!” The rat gestured wildly with his tiny paws— struggling to convey the concept. “I-I don’t know what kinda magic it is, but it was loud, and it had this deep beat to it— ain’t ever heard anything like it!”
Goblin Slayer listening with silent skepticism, tilted his head slightly. Still, there was something about the fat rat's enthusiasm that made him entertain the conversation, if only out of curiosity.
“How did you come across it?” The teenager asked— his voice low and gruff, but with an edge of genuine interest.
“Oh, that’s easy!” The rat shrugged, adjusting his sunglasses with a cool gesture. “I was visitin’ my aunt’s borrow— y’know, deep underground, where us rats live. Took a wrong turn in one of the tunnels, found myself in this crazy old chamber. Dust everywhere, real ancient feelin’, but there it was! Just sittin’ there. Looked like a box, but not just any box. It was shiny, metallic, and had these buttons and dials on it. Kinda hard to describe, but once I touched it? Man, that’s when the funk took over.”
Goblin Slayer’s skepticism deepened— his thoughts racing, as he tried to imagine what the rat was describing. “I find all of that hard to believe,” he muttered— his tone flat but not entirely dismissive.
The rat let out an exasperated sigh, his little hands dropping to his sides in frustration. “L-Look, man, I get it. It sounds dumb as hell, but you gotta understand— I can’t be a funky rat without my funk! I need my beats to stay alive, y’know?” He puffed out his chest, trying to reclaim some dignity. “Without that magic box, I’m just… I’m just a fat rat!”
Goblin Slayer, without missing a beat, replied dryly, “You’d still be a fat rat— with, or without your magic music box.”
The rat blinked behind his sunglasses, momentarily taken aback by the sarcastic remark. “Yeah, okay— fair enough,” he admitted, looking down at his pudgy belly. “But still, that’s not the point!”
Before the rat could continue, the door beside the receptionist counter creaked open, and D’Arce stepped into the lobby. Her presence immediately changed the atmosphere— her imposing figure and no-nonsense demeanor commanding attention. She scanned the room briefly before her gaze landed on Goblin Slayer.
“You,” she called, her tone sharp but not unkind, “come with me.”
Goblin Slayer gave a small nod, turning toward the rat.
“Good luck with that guild thing, man,” the rat said, giving him a small salute with his paw. “Hope it works out.”
“Thanks,” Goblin Slayer replied, his tone neutral as he stepped toward D’Arce.
Together, he followed her through the door, leaving the fat rat to continue his dance— waiting for the return of his elusive, funky beats.
The door clicked shut behind them, and before Goblin Slayer could register his surroundings, he felt a vice-like grip seize his shoulder. D'Arce’s gloved hand clamped down hard, and with startling strength, she yanked him forward, nearly causing him to stumble over his own feet. It was the kind of rough, unrelenting pull that an angry mother might use on a disobedient child.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Goblin Slayer asked, confused and off-balance as D'Arce dragged him through the office. Her grip was iron, her pace unforgiving.
Her response was immediate, sharp. "I didn’t know you were a minor." Her voice, low but furious, cut through the air like a blade. “Had I known, I would never have let you gone off alone like that.”
Her words caught him off-guard. What did she mean by that? Before he could voice his confusion, she abruptly stopped in her tracks, releasing her hold on his shoulder. She stood still, her tall figure towering over him, her back straight. Goblin Slayer felt the weight of her stare even before he saw her expression. Slowly, she turned to face him, eyes narrowed in what seemed to be both suspicion and concern.
"How old are you, exactly?" she asked, her voice eerily calm now, but there was an edge to it— an intensity that made the question feel more like a command.
Goblin Slayer blinked, unsure of why she suddenly cared about something like that. But he had no reason to lie. He answered as plainly as ever, "Fifteen."
D'Arce’s expression barely shifted, but something in her eyes changed. His words hit her like a physical blow, though she remained composed. Underneath her stoic exterior, Goblin Slayer could sense a sudden tension. She muttered his age under her breath, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
“… Fifteen?" she repeated, her tone now dangerously quiet.
Goblin Slayer, feeling a flicker of unease, nodded once. "Fifteen."
An oppressive silence filled the room. The kind that made the air feel heavy. He could feel the stares of the soldiers and clerks around them—watching, waiting. It was as if everyone held their breath, sensing the brewing storm in D’Arce’s demeanor. The tension was unbearable, and for a brief moment, it seemed like time itself had frozen.
Then, breaking the stillness, D’Arce's voice cut through. “Take off your helmet.”
Goblin Slayer hesitated. “What?”
"Take. Off. Your. Helmet." Her tone was harsher this time, commanding, leaving no room for argument.
He opened his mouth to protest, to tell her that wasn’t necessary, but she cut him off, repeating herself, even more sternly. “Now.”
Another uncomfortable silence followed, as the weight of her demand hung between them. Reluctantly, and with no real choice, Goblin Slayer reached up— his gauntleted fingers gripping the edge of his weathered helmet. Slowly, he removed it, revealing his young face.
Without warning, D’Arce’s open hand came crashing down across his cheek. The force of the backhand was shocking, sending him flying backward. He hit a desk with a loud crash, and the wood splintered beneath him as the world spun. His vision blurred, and for a moment, all he could see were stars dancing across the ceiling. The sharp, stinging pain across his face radiated through his entire skull.
‘What… What just happened?’
Dazed, Goblin Slayer groaned softly— struggling to regain his bearings. Before he could fully comprehend what had just occurred, D’Arce was on him again. In one swift motion, she reached down and grabbed the front of his armor— hoisting him up like he weighed nothing. She held him there, dangling from her grasp like a scolded cat— her cold eyes locked on his.
“We’re going to my office,” she said icily— her voice devoid of any warmth.
Goblin Slayer, still disoriented, could barely process her words. His head was spinning, his body aching from the impact, but there was no time to react. She stormed toward her private quarters, dragging him along effortlessly. The door slammed behind them with a resounding thud, leaving the stunned onlookers in a shocked silence.
Soldiers and clerks exchanged nervous glances, none daring to speak. The room remained frozen in disbelief, as if everyone had just witnessed something they shouldn’t have.
D’Arce dragged Goblin Slayer into her private office and dropped him unceremoniously into a chair across from her large, beautiful mahogany desk. He landed hard, his head still spinning from the slap and the rough handling. His disorientation lingered as he blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings.
The room was well-furnished, with shelves lined with thick, well-worn books and scrolls. The walls were covered in charted maps of the surrounding region, marked with colored pins and scribbled notes— military strategies, as far as the teenager’s disorientation vision could tell.
Goblin Slayer’s gaze darted between the maps, the books, and D’Arce as she strode around her desk, taking her seat behind it with a cold, unyielding expression. The imposing presence of the room only added to his growing anxiety.
"Don’t move an inch," she ordered as she sat down, her eyes never leaving him.
Goblin Slayer straightened in the chair, his hands gripping the armrests as he tried to get his bearings. His head still buzzed from the impact of the slap, but D’Arce’s unwavering stare kept him alert.
For a moment, there was only silence between them, tense and thick. Then, D’Arce’s voice cut through it like a blade. "You're too young to be doing whatever it is you're hoping to accomplish out here."
Goblin Slayer, still a little disoriented, frowned. “There’s no age limit to joining the Adventurers’ Guild,” he muttered defensively. “Why should it matter for me?”
D’Arce wasted no time in shutting down his argument. “The concept of the Adventurers’ Guild is from a bygone era,” she snapped. “It’ll one day be phased out entirely, in favor of a military expansion that’ll replace it. As far as the law is concerned, the age of independence is eighteen, and that’s the age one should be before charging off into a dangerous world on their own.”
Her tone was sharp and unrelenting, and the teenager could feel the sting of her words even through the haze in his mind.
‘Eighteen? Why should that even matter? Just because a group of rich-assholes say so?’ Goblin Slayer thought bitterly to himself, while his hands clenched tighter around the armrests of the chair, as his frustration mounted.
“Times are changing,” D’Arce continued coldly. “Impotus gobelinus have been on the steady decline since the Pendragon Empire took power.”
Goblin Slayer’s attention snapped to her at the mention of goblins. He narrowed his eyes. “W… What did you just say?”
"“Impotus gobelinus”: it’s one of the four genera of goblins who exist— it means “Imp Goblin,” in Old Common,” D’Arce explained factually, without seemingly having to think hard to recall it. “They’re the ones most commonly associated with the word “goblin”; the smallest population out of the four genus, yet are the most infamous. The ones you're undoubtedly vindictive of.”
‘… Imp Goblins? Out of four gener- what the hell even is a “genera”?!’ Goblin Slayer struggled to grasp, as the concept of there being more than just one goblin type was one that seemed pointless, as it was frustrating to him.
“Not all goblins are like the ones associated with pillaging and raping," she added, her voice matter-of-fact. "Most goblins are law-abiding subjects who live peacefully within the boundaries of our society. They have the same rights as you and I."
Her words struck him like a blow. Goblin Slayer's mind raced, and a knot formed in his stomach. The memory of Guild Girl’s warning echoed in his thoughts— taunting him, as his mind slipped further and further into despair.
““High-risk liability”— that’s the reason why the guild can’t have someone like you be apart of us, Mr. Ashta.”
“No… N-No, that doesn’t matter— they’re all vermin,” Goblin Slayer muttered through gritted teeth, his mind replaying Sofia’s words. “It doesn’t matter how many genera there are; every single goblin needs to be annihilated.”
D’Arce’s gaze darkened. "The only thing that needs to be annihilated," she said coldly, "is your delusional beliefs."
The tension in the room grew unbearable. Goblin Slayer’s hands trembled slightly as the weight of her words hung over him. D’Arce, however, remained unmoved, her icy demeanor unshaken by the charged atmosphere.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, D’Arce spoke again, her tone softer but still firm. "I won’t ask what tragedy may have befallen you, as I am already more than familiar with the common testaments given by survivors of goblin raids. But what I will say is this: whatever happened to you doesn’t justify your desire for genocide.”
The word genocide hit him like a punch to the gut. Goblin Slayer flinched, his breath catching in his throat as he stared down at the floor. The harsh reality of her words echoed in his head, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through to harbor such hatred towards goblins, but… To wage war on an entire race— even the majority of goblins who aren’t inherently evil— that’s… “Madness,” as my boss put it.”
‘Madness? Of course it’s madness— why the hell would anyone willingly put themselves through this if they weren’t mad?!’
“You… You need help, Mr. Ashta— more than you need to put that sword to good use.”
‘Then help me! Why isn’t anyone helping me?!’ Goblin Slayer argued with the voice of Guild Girl in his head— unaware of the way he was manically fidgeting in his seat, much to D’Arce’s concern.
‘What use is telling someone they need help, and leaving them to fend for themselves?!’
‘To fend…!’
‘F… Fend…’
‘…’
“No matter what happens, stay under here… I love you, Ren. I always will.”
“N-No…!"
"Excuse me?" D'Arce asked, while still observing his jittering movements from across the desk.
"No! No, they’re all evil— every single one of them needs to die!” Goblin Slayer raised voice— his desperation reminding the captain of the dark elves' own cries.
“You know, there’s many fine soldiers in the Royal Army who I know personally, that happened to be goblins themselves. So I know what I’m talking about,” She argued— part of her hoping to plant a seed of reason in the troubled teenager’s head. One that she saw immediately cast aside, as he sharply shook his head at her.
“N-No, that’s… That’s not real…! Y-You’re wrong…!”
“It’s as real as the current state of the world i-.”
“-Then it’s the world that’s WRONG!!!” Goblin Slayer interrupted her with a loud shout— his left eye flashing an eerie crimson light.
Stunned at first by the strange anomaly, it didn’t take long for D’Arce’s hand to soon reach for the handle of her sheathed blade— her knees bent and her stance ready, as she waited to strike.
But as quickly as it came, the light in his eye fizzled out— leaving behind a distraught, and lost gaze in its place, and the short-haired knight silently intrigued.
His shoulders slumped, and he hung his head low, unable to meet D’Arce’s gaze. “You… You weren’t there… You… Y-You didn’t see what I saw,” the gray-haired teen whispered, as he shut his eyelids closed— the haunting image of his sister’s defiled corpse causing him to shrink into his seat.
D’Arce watched him in silence, her eyes softening as she observed the young man before her, so lost in his pain and anger. She let out a small, sympathetic sigh, rising from her chair. Her tall figure loomed over him, casting a long shadow across the desk.
Without warning, her voice rang out with authority. "You’re under arrest."
Goblin Slayer’s head shot up, confusion flooding his features.
“I’m having you sent to Crossbell, along with the other detainees who will have complied,” D’Arce continued, her expression resolute. “Once there, you’ll be evaluated before being processed into the foster care system— in due time, you’ll be housed and be enrolled into an academy, where you’ll learn a trade.”
Wide-eyed, with an expression of subtle panic, Goblin Slayer opened his mouth to speak— struggling to articulate his refusal. “I… I-I-”
“-I’m sorry,” D’Arce interrupted, with her cold demeanor shifting into a more sympathetic tone. “But it has to be this way.”
Her words were final, her decision absolute. Goblin Slayer sat there, stunned, as the weight of what she said settled in. His entire world seemed to shift beneath him, the walls closing in tighter than ever before.
Author’s note: This chapter was rather bleak, hence why I felt the need to add the fat funky rat bit. Also, just for those who haven’t caught on yet, this story does take place during Year One.
Chapter 9: The Muhati Desert (Part I)
Chapter Text
The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the caged wagon— its rays slipping through the iron bars, casting thin lines of light across the battered interior. Goblin Slayer sat slumped on the wooden bench, his wrists and ankles locked in heavy-duty cuffs. The cool metal over his wrists and ankles felt impossibly heavy with runes etched into the chains gleaming faintly, holding him securely to the wagon floor. His cheek still throbbed with a dull ache from D’Arce’s strike the day before— the sting serving more as a reminder than an actual painful sensation.
His gray hair fell in front of his face— hiding his crimson eyes that stared listlessly at the floor. He couldn’t shake the weight of it all— the failure, the uncertainty, the overwhelming sense of being completely lost.
‘How…? How could I have allowed this to happen? I knew something was off about her— I should have seen this coming,’ the disgruntled teen thought bitterly to himself, as his fingers curled tightly into fists.
Across from him sat the only other prisoner in the wagon— a young dark elf girl, who as far as he could assume was the only one out of the ambush team who was allowed to live.
Her long white hair hung limply over her face, matted with sweat and blood. Her body was a mess of bruises and cuts, remnants of D’Arce’s interrogation. The same runed cuffs bound her wrists and ankles, chains clinking faintly with every jolt of the wagon as they trudged along the dirt road. She sat with her shoulders hunched, head down, trembling faintly with every passing second.
Goblin Slayer lifted his head slightly— eyes flickering toward her. From what he could tell, she was barely older than him, yet her spirit seemed shattered beyond repair— even more than his spirit felt, at that moment. The teenager wasn’t even sure what compelled him to speak— whether it was guilt, pity, or something else entirely— but the words came out before he could stop them.
"Are you... Alright?"
His voice was rough— hoarse from the lack of use— and the moment the words left his mouth, he saw her flinch. Her entire body stiffened, and she let out a small, pitiful whimper, curling in on herself even more. She didn’t look at him, didn’t meet his perplexed gaze— it was as if his very presence terrified her.
Goblin Slayer felt a pang in his chest, but he didn’t push. He had seen the aftermath of D’Arce’s methods while locked behind bars at the barracks overnight, and even if they were supposed to be enemies, the gray-haired teenager couldn’t help but feel something for the broken figure in front of him.
The wagon creaked beneath them as they continued down the final stretch of the Fallen Pedal Trail. Beyond the path, the flatlands were vast, sparse with cacti and stretching sand dunes as far as the eye could see.
Air in the “Muhati Desert” was dry, hot, and unforgiving— and on top of that, within the confines of the cage everything felt heavy and stifling.
Two armed soldiers sat at the back of the wagon, their eyes ever watchful— their large steel maces resting across their laps. The maces shimmered in the sunlight, each swing of the wagon catching the glint of deadly metal. Goblin Slayer caught their intimidating gazes occasionally, but the soldiers said nothing.
They were there to guard, not to question.
With every passing mile, Goblin Slayer sank further into himself— the hopelessness settling in like a lead weight. He thought back to everything— D’Arce, the words she had thrown at him like daggers, Guild Girl’s warnings, and the relentless pursuit of goblins that had led him here, to this moment.
‘What am I even trying to prove at this point? That I’m stubborn?’ The frustrated teen couldn’t help but wonder to himself— his brows furrowing, as he dwelled more and more in his streak of shortcomings.
And time passed on the dirt road to Crossbell, the dry heat of the desert was beginning to take its toll on them. The sun hung high in the sky, relentless, with not a cloud in sight to offer even a shred of mercy.
Goblin Slayer could feel the sweat beading on his skin, trickling down his neck and soaking into his black turtleneck shirt that he had been given before being shipped off from Matterhorn. His throat was parched, and every breath felt like it was scraping against sandpaper. The intense heat pressed down on him— making him lightheaded. And though he tried to focus, all he could think about was water.
His gaze drifted to the two guards sitting across the wagon. They seemed unfazed by the heat, and were casually drinking from their canteens; the cool water glistening in the sunlight as they took long, indulgent gulps.
Goblin Slayer could hear the faint slosh of the water inside, and it felt like a cruel taunt, each sip only emphasizing the dryness in his own mouth. His tongue felt heavy, like it was swelling, and he forced himself to swallow despite the lack of moisture.
The dark elf girl across from him remained silent, her head still down, but he could see the faint rise and fall of her chest, the shallow breaths she was taking. ‘If I’m this parched, then I could only imagine what she’s feeling right now. She’s in worse shape than I am— more reason for her to stay hydrated.’
Goblin Slayer then hesitated— glancing between her and the guards— before finally speaking up.
"Water... For both of us," he rasped, his voice cracking from the dryness in his throat.
The guards didn’t respond immediately. One of them looked at him, then glanced at his companion, a smirk forming on his lips. Slowly, one of them unscrewed the cap of his canteen and held it out— the water tantalizingly close.
For a brief moment, Goblin Slayer felt a flicker of hope. But just as he reached out, the guard's hand slipped, and the canteen fell to the floor with a clatter, spilling its contents onto the dirty wooden boards of the wagon.
The two guards chuckled under their breath, their low laughter carrying a cruel edge. Goblin Slayer stared at the puddle of water being absorbed by the dirt— the droplets soaking into the worn floorboards, as if fate itself were mocking him.
He could feel the last remnants of hope drain away with that water, leaving behind only frustration and bitterness.
With a sigh, Goblin Slayer leaned back against the iron bars— turning his gaze away from the guards and their smug faces. He looked past the dark elf girl, out through the bars, his eyes tracing the endless stretch of desert that lay ahead.
The landscape was barren, with only sparse cacti breaking up the monotony of sand dunes that stretched as far as he could see. It was a desolate place, much like how he felt inside.
He tried to distract himself, to push away the frustration gnawing at him. ‘Positives. I’ve got to focus on the positives— silver linings, and all,’ the teenager silently repeated to himself— attempting to salvage hope from an otherwise miserable experience, as he softly closed his eyelids over his dried eyes.
‘They’re taking me to where I need to go anyway, and it’s not like I have to comply with their demands for long— I just have to fake it, until I make it. I won’t fail whatever evaluation’s waiting for me,’ he thought determinedly to himself, before suddenly letting out a humorless chuckle, as he thought back to Guild Girl. ‘Who knows? I might be able to find that “help” that she was talking about while I’m there— maybe then I’ll stop being such a “high-risk liability”!’
The thought made the disgruntled teenager smirk bitterly to himself. ‘Help,’ he thought again, the word leaving a sour taste in his mouth. ‘As if there’s any help that could fix what was wrong with me. I can’t believe she said that, as though someone could just reach into his mind and pull out all the trauma I’ve accumulated, and replace them with shapely thoughts! What am I supposed to do—forget everything?! Just let it all go, like it never happened?!’
As more and more time passed, Goblin Slayer’s infuriated thoughts began to dissipate. The sound of the wheels rolling beneath the caged wagon, the rhythmic clop of hooves, and the dry creak of old wood swaying with the motion of the horses began to lull him into a half-asleep trance.
The teen’s head hung low— sweat still trickling down his face from the unrelenting desert heat. He forced himself to try to rest, but his instincts kept him from fully drifting off.
The world around him blurred— the line between wakefulness and sleep beginning to fade. But then, something stirred in his peripheral vision— something dark in the sky.
At first, he thought it was a raven, its wings catching the last of the daylight. But as it moved closer, growing larger with each passing second, Goblin Slayer’s eyes snapped open, the heavy chains clinking as he instinctively tried to move.
He jolted upright, his heart hammering in his chest. ‘That’s…! That’s no raven! That’s not even a bird, it’s…?! Something else! Something fast!’
"L-Look!" he barked, his voice hoarse, but urgent enough to snap the guards out of their idle banter. "Up there!"
The two guards proceeded to look up— their eyes narrowing as they squinted toward the sky. The gray-haired teen could see it in their faces, the moment they realized something was terribly wrong. One guard’s jaw dropped in horror, the other’s face contorted in disbelief.
Goblin Slayer's own gaze darted back up just in time to see a beam of brilliant pink light shooting toward them like a blazing star.
For a split second, he froze, his mind racing. There was no way to move— no way to escape. His hands were bound, his body locked in chains. He couldn't fight, couldn't even brace himself for what was coming.
The two guards, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate. They bolted for the rear doors of the cage wagon, throwing them open and diving out onto the dirt road, rolling to safety just as the beam of energy slammed into the wagon.
The explosion was deafening. A violent blast of kinetic force shattered the wooden wagon in an instant, the impact sending splinters and debris flying in every direction. Goblin Slayer felt himself hurled backward— his body slamming into the cage bars before being flung like a rag doll. He barely registered the sharp pieces of wood embedding into his legs before the wave of heat and dirt engulfed him— his world spinning into chaos.
He hit the ground hard— a searing pain ripping through his abdomen as the force of the blast ripped the air from his lungs. Disoriented, he tried to breathe, but the dust choked him— filling his mouth and nostrils.
The teenanger’s vision was blurry— the world around him a dizzying blur of shattered wood, blood, and dust. Through the ringing in his ears, he could make out the faint screams of the horses and of the wagon driver— their desperate cries cut short by the horror that had descended upon them.
Lying on his side, gasping for air, Goblin Slayer forced his eyes open, barely able to focus. His entire body screamed in pain, every inch of him aching, his limbs heavy as lead. Through the haze, he could just make out the massive figure that had landed in the wake of the explosion.
‘W… What in the hell is that thing?!’
A dragon. Not just any dragon, though. The creature was sleek— its metal scales reflecting the harsh sunlight with an otherworldly gleam. Lines of cyan energy pulsed between its plates, glowing with an eerie, mechanical light. The beast's wingspan cast a monstrous shadow over the battlefield— its presence both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Goblin Slayer could barely move— pinned down by the weight of his injuries, the sharp, white-hot pain through his abdomen clouding his thoughts. He winced, trying to shift, but agony shot through his legs where the shards of wood were embedded. All he could do was watch as the dragon’s gaze shifted toward the two guards, who had managed to escape its initial assault.
The guards wasted no time. One raised his mace— the heavy steel head crackling with magic. He shouted something to his companion, and together, they charged at the dragon with fierce determination.
The first swung his mace with all his might— the weapon connecting with a sickening crunch against the dragon’s metallic hide. Sparks flew as the impact reverberated through the air, but the dragon barely flinched.
The second guard raised his hand, summoning a bolt of destructive magic— a brilliant orb of energy swirling in his palm before he hurled it at the dragon’s chest. The blast struck true— exploding in a flash of light that sent shockwaves rippling through the sand. For a brief moment, Goblin Slayer thought the attack had worked.
But the dragon, undeterred, let out a guttural roar— its razor-sharp maw opening wide, as it lunged forward. Before the first guard could react, the dragon's jaws clamped down around him— biting him clean in half with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed across the sand, and the soldier’s legs crumpled as his upper body disappeared into the beast’s throat.
The second guard, horrified, tried to back away— his hands shaking as he readied another spell. But the dragon moved too quickly— its chest glowing with the same cyan light that coursed through its body.
In the blink of an eye, it unleashed a blast of pink plasma, the energy scorching across the battlefield— engulfing the guard in a blinding explosion. Goblin Slayer felt the heat of the blast wash over him, even from his broken position on the ground. He winced as the force of the explosion rattled his battered body.
The guard’s scream was cut short as his body was incinerated, turned to ash in a fraction of a second. The dragon stood over the destruction it had wrought— its blackened eyes scanning the area, as if searching for any other threats.
Goblin Slayer lay still, his mind racing despite the pain. ‘Move,’ he told himself. ‘Get up.’ But his body refused to obey. Every nerve was on fire, and the heavy shackles binding his wrists and ankles seemed to anchor him to the ground.
Through the blur of pain and dust, he stared up at the towering dragon— the creature's glowing red pupils locking onto him for a moment that felt like an eternity.
As Goblin Slayer lay battered and broken on the ground, his blurry vision locked onto the towering dragon. His heart pounded in his chest, as the beast's cyan glow seemed to intensify.
But then the unexpected happened.
The dragon’s form began to dissolve, evaporating into countless particles of glowing cyan light. Slowly, its monstrous shape dissipated into the air, leaving behind a figure.
A slender, curvaceous figure, wrapped head to toe in white bandages, stood where the dragon once loomed. A maroon cloak draped over her form, the hood raised to shadow her bandage-wrapped face face. Two pitch-black voids peered out from where her eyes should have been, adding to her eerie, enigmatic presence.
Goblin Slayer, barely conscious and racked with pain, could do nothing but watch as the figure calmly approached him. The world around him seemed to fade, the clamor of the battle replaced by an oppressive silence. Each step she took was deliberate, soundless, as though she was gliding rather than walking. Her shadow fell over him, long and cold, her presence suffocating in its mysteriousness.
She stopped before him, staring down at him with that unreadable, masked face— the twin voids in her bandages seemingly piercing through him. Without a word, she crouched down, bringing herself closer, her maroon cloak brushing the dust of the battlefield. When she finally spoke, her voice was smooth, sadistic, but disturbingly educated— each word enunciated with a chilling elegance.
"Ah, misfortune— its web, tangled and wide, ensnares the fool and the brave alike. But despair... Despair is different,” she said elegantly, with the same cadence as though she were reciting poetry. “It’s a gift, you see— not born of failure, but realization. Realization that your struggle was never a contest, but a foregone conclusion. Despair is the clarity of knowing the universe has long since decided your fate, and yet we persist... Why do you think that is?"
Her voice lingered in the air, almost mocking in its sophistication. She tilted her head slightly as if expecting a response, but when none came, she rose back to her feet with effortless grace. Wordlessly, she turned her back to him— walking toward the crater where the initial blast had struck.
Goblin Slayer, unable to move from where he laid, watched as the figure knelt at the edge of the crater. With a slow, deliberate motion, she levitated— rising gracefully from the pit with the unconscious dark elf girl cradled in her arms. She carried the dark elf bridal style, as though she weighed nothing at all.
Before his eyes, the figure transformed once more. The cloak billowed out, limbs elongating and twisting into sleek, metallic scales. The white bandages melted into the shimmering armor of the dragon once more— the creature’s massive wings unfurling as the transformation completed in an instant.
With a deafening roar, the dragon launched itself into the sky— the sheer force of its ascent creating a sonic boom that tore through the desert air. Goblin Slayer’s body was flung backward from the shockwave its accession created in its wake— causing him to tumble and roll across the scorched ground, with pain ripping through him with every violent collision.
When he finally came to a skidding stop, his vision was spinning— the sky and earth blending together in a nauseating blur. Groaning, he struggled to gather his bearings— trying to process what had just happened. Every inch of his body ached, and his limbs felt as if they were made of lead.
He noticed a long, crimson trail behind him— his own blood. It marked the path his body had taken, streaks of red standing out against the sand.
A sudden sharp, excruciating pain shot through him, causing him to gasp in agony. Slowly, trembling, he looked down. That was when he saw it.
A piece of iron bar, jagged and rusted, had lodged itself deep in his abdomen. It had pierced him clean through, sticking out of both sides of his torso like a twisted skewer. The sight of it made his vision swim, the intense pain almost unbearable.
For a long moment, all he could do was stare at the wound in disbelief, his mind struggling to keep up with the reality of it all.
His hands, sticky with blood, pressed against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. The pain was excruciating, and the world around him began to fade.
In his mind, despair whispered. Despite all his efforts— despite the blood, sweat, and determination that had brought him to this point— it seemed to have all been in vain. Everything he had fought for seemed pointless in that fleeting moment— like a fading dream.
His thoughts raced, spiraling deeper into the pit of hopelessness. ‘Is this… Is this how my life comes to its end? Not dying in battle, living my last moments doing what I wrote to Vivi that I would do, but… Broken, and alone? In a godforsaken desert? Have I always been destined for this? To have such a meaningless demise?!’
But then, amidst the fog of doubt and pain, something stirred inside him— a memory, an unshakable truth that ignited a spark in the darkness. He remembered standing in the window of his fortress, gazing over the Evergreen Forest, lost in thought.
‘No… No, it’s not— I refuse to allow this to be the end,’ Goblin Slayer swore to himself— feeling a growing sense of vigor coursing through his fractured bones, as his body began to tense up and shake violently. ‘My life’s meaningless— that much I know for certain… But that doesn’t mean hers was!’
A surge of determination welled up within him. ‘No. I can’t die here. I won’t die here.’
With a grunt, Goblin Slayer’s fingers gripped the sand as he began to lift himself up. The pain was unbearable— his muscles screamed in protest, and every inch of his body felt like it was on fire. He gasped for air, rapid breaths escaping him, as if his lungs could hardly keep up with the pain. Sweat poured down his brow, mixing with blood as it dripped onto the dirt.
But he embraced it. ‘I need to stay awake— I need to keep moving!’
Slowly, shakily, he shuffled in his shackles toward the scattered debris of the wagon. His vision swam, but he forced himself to stay focused, scanning the wreckage until something caught his eye.
A steam chest. Goblin Slayer stumbled toward it, the broken iron bar still protruding from his abdomen like a cruel reminder of his fragility. When he reached the chest, his hands fumbled with the lock.
‘… It’s sealed tight— no way that I’m capable of breaking it right now,’ Goblin Slayer assessed silently— the chains with their glowing runes rattling, as he squeezed his trembling fingers on the chest’s lock before his eyes drifted to his metal cuffs around his wrists.
‘… I don’t recall there being two keys on those guards… It should be able to open both locks,’ the teenager thought to himself, before slowly turning himself toward the direction of the bisected guard’s lowered remains in the near vicinity.
‘… At least it didn’t eat him whole,’ he thought to himself, before letting out a trembling breath as he began dragging himself toward the first guard’s lower-half— the sickly smell of copper fresh in the air growing stronger the closer he limped toward the bloodied remains.
Shaking uncontrollably, he knelt down beside what was left of the corpse/- nearly collapsing from the effort, as he picked the key from the guard’s blood-soaked belt. His fingers, numb from the shock and blood loss, struggled to turn it, but he refused to give up.
Finally, with a satisfying click, the chains on his wrists and ankles fell away. His hands were free.
His movements were sluggish, his vision dimming, but he crawled back to the steamer chest— his mind racing against time as vultures began circling above. Unlocking it, he pried open the lid and found his gear— his weathered leather armor, the orichalcum tomahawk that Sofia had gifted him, his helmet, buckler shield, short sword, daggers, and his backpack. He reached first for his pack, and desperately searched for the one thing that could save him: a healing potion.
Shards of glass pricked his fingers as his hand touched the remnants of the bottle.
It had shattered.
Despair threatened to overwhelm him again, but he clenched his teeth— refusing to let it win. He then lifted the bag over his head— pressing his lips to the bottom where the potion had spilled, and sucked in the last remnants of the healing liquid.
Agony shot through him as the potion began to work. He felt his body convulse, the iron bar slowly being pushed out of his abdomen as the potion worked its magic, followed by large splinters of wood that began dropping out of his bloodied thighs and shins like raindrops.
Goblin Slayer let out a pained groan, his vision dimming from the sheer intensity of the healing process. The metal bar clanged to the ground beside him as his flesh knitted itself back together, leaving only a fresh, angry scar in its place.
He then immediately collapsed to his knees, panting heavily— the pain finally catching up to him. His heart raced, his head throbbed, and panic welled up inside him. His chest felt tight as if he were being crushed by the weight of everything.
He was still alive— but just barely.
The vultures were landing now— their black beady eyes watching him closely, waiting. He could feel their patience. They knew death when they saw it.
Goblin Slayer steadied his breathing— turning his dread-filled eyes away from the gathered flock of scavengers, in favor of what was inside the steamer chest.
With trembling hands, he reached for his armor, strapping the leather pieces back onto his body, each motion labored. His gauntlets followed, their weight oddly comforting in his weakened state. Lastly, he slid his helmet over his head, the familiar weight grounding him, reminding him of who he was— what he had promised to do.
"I… can do it," he whispered to himself, repeating the same mantra as before. "I can do it… I can do it."
He took a step forward, and then another, his body barely holding him upright as he began shambling down the road. Every step was agony, every breath a struggle, but his mind was focused on one thing.
He would survive.
If not for himself, then for her.
Chapter 10: The Muhati Desert (Part II)
Chapter Text
The relentless desert sun bore down on Goblin Slayer— radiating through his layers of protection, as he limped down the desolate dirt road.
The flatlands stretched out in every direction— barren sand, dry patches of yellowed grass, and scattered cacti were the only signs of life. His throat was dry as parchment, his lips cracked and bleeding. Every breath was a laborious rasp, and his entire body felt feverish. Though he was drenched in sweat, chills ran down his spine.
His abdomen still ached where the iron bar had skewered him, and despite the potion’s magic, the wound throbbed— serving as a constant reminder of how close he had been to death. The teen clutched the area with one hand— hoping to quell the pain that gnawed at his insides.
‘Am I bleeding on the inside? Have I lost too much blood?’ Goblin Slayer asked himself, though he already was aware that there was no way of him knowing. And though his mind continued to race with many questions, his body simply moved forward— driven by stubborn willpower that outshone the dread he felt in his bruised bones.
The vultures kept a safe distance behind him— their black eyes glinting with anticipation. They could sense how close he was to succumbing, as they hopped along the sand on their thin feet.
The weight of his armor was growing more and more unbearable— his backpack like an anchor. His tomahawk felt heavy at his side, and his once sturdy iron buckler was chipped and damaged, barely functional.
His steps grew heavier, and his vision began blurring slightly as exhaustion took further hold of him. The gray-haired teen couldn’t help but to wonder what was keeping him alive at all, as the thought of being alive on will power alone seemed ridiculous to him.
‘Maybe I’m not as injured as I feel? Yeah, yeah… Actually… No, nevermind— that’s just wishful thinking. It’s probably just my body pumping all the adrenaline I’ve got through my veins— that's a more probable explanation.’
Just as his thoughts began to drift, something snapped him back to reality— the sand shifted beneath his boots, causing him to freeze.
A violent quake then rippled through the ground— the desert floor trembling. Goblin Slayer’s heart raced, as the vultures suddenly fled— taking to the sky in a flurry of wings. His hand instinctively moved to the tomahawk at his belt. A low rumble echoed from below, and without warning, the sand burst upward around him in a shower of dirt and rock.
Five enormous scorpions erupted from the ground— their massive brown armored shells glinting in the harsh sunlight. Each one was at least ten feet long, with giant pincers that snapped the air menacingly and tails curled high, ending in deadly stingers dripping with venom.
Goblin Slayer's heart pounded in his chest as he raised his iron buckler— the trembling in his hands betraying how weak he had become. ‘Out of all the times to be ambushed, it had to be now?!’
His vision swam, and his body begged for rest, but there was no time for that now. He tightened his grip on his tomahawk, raising it despite the shaking of his limbs. His breath was shallow, his strength nearly gone, but he would fight.
‘It doesn’t matter how many of these hellspawns crawl out of the Earth! I won’t falter here— not now, not ever!’
The first scorpion lunged with terrifying speed— its massive claws reaching out to crush him. Goblin Slayer sidestepped, stumbling as he swung his tomahawk, the blade biting into the armored claw with a sickening crunch. The scorpion screeched and recoiled, but a second one was already upon him— its tail whipping toward his chest. He barely raised his buckler in time, the stinger bouncing off the metal with a loud clang. The force of the impact sent him skidding back, his boots digging into the sand.
He was outnumbered and outmatched— one wrong move would mean instant death.
A third scorpion rushed at him from behind, and Goblin Slayer spun on instinct— his tomahawk carving a deep gash into its tail as it reared back to strike. The beast hissed in pain— its tail flailing wildly, spraying venom across the sand. Before he could catch his breath, the first scorpion came again, pincers snapping at his legs. Goblin Slayer leaped, but not fast enough— one claw caught his ankle, sending a jolt of pain up his leg. He grunted and swung down with all his might, the tomahawk severing the claw clean off.
The scorpion shrieked, thrashing as its severed limb fell to the ground, but Goblin Slayer couldn’t stop. He stumbled forward, breathing hard— his movements erratic but filled with brutal determination. The remaining scorpions circled him, their pincers clicking in unison as if planning their attack.
His body screamed in protest, his lungs burning with every breath. His vision was fading, but he couldn’t stop.
‘Not now… Not yet, not yet!’
With a roar, he charged at the nearest scorpion— his tomahawk glinting in the sun as he swung with all his remaining strength. The blade cleaved into its armor, shattering the shell, and Goblin Slayer twisted the weapon, ripping it free as a fountain of blood sprayed from the wound. The scorpion collapsed in a heap, twitching in the sand.
‘That’s one.’
The remaining scorpions, undeterred by their fallen kin, attacked in unison. Goblin Slayer raised his buckler, but it was too damaged— one stinger pierced the shield, grazing his left arm, and sending a fresh wave of agony through his body. He cried out, barely able to hold the tomahawk steady as another scorpion lunged for his legs.
He spun again, the tomahawk slashing through the air— severing another claw. The beast screeched, recoiling as Goblin Slayer hacked and slashed at it— his strikes becoming more desperate and wild. His limbs were heavy, his body sluggish, but he fought on, driven by sheer willpower and fury.
‘Two.’
‘Three.’
‘Four.’
‘F… Five.’
In a flurry of brutal strikes, Goblin Slayer finished dismembered the remaining scorpions— their bodies falling to the sand in a grotesque pile of twitching limbs.
He stood amidst the carnage, covered in their blood, his breath ragged and uneven. His muscles burned, and his mind felt numb from exhaustion, but he had done it.
He had survived.
The scorpions lay in pieces around him, their once terrifying forms now reduced to lifeless chunks strewn across the sand. Goblin Slayer dropped to his knees, panting heavily. His hands shook violently, barely able to grip his tomahawk anymore.
Panting heavily, the teen could feel his body crying out for rest— his muscles burned with exhaustion, and his injuries throbbed. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, then unclasped what remained of his iron buckler— letting it drop with a dull thud into the blood-streaked sand. The iron short sword, chipped and barely usable, followed suit.
‘Lighten the load… I’m not going to get far, if I don’t lighten the load.’
With a grunt of pain, he reached up and loosened the leather armor covering his left arm. The scorpion's stinger had grazed it earlier, leaving the leather shredded and soaked in his own blood. The armor fell away, revealing the torn flesh underneath. He hunched over, unable to stand straight, every movement sending sharp pain through his battered body.
Covered in insect blood, with his abdomen sore and his vision still blurry from the battle, he continued his slow, agonizing journey down the dirt road. The vultures, ever patient, swooped down behind him— descending upon the mutilated scorpion corpses to feast. The sight filled him with a sense of grim irony— he wasn't far from becoming their next meal.
The sun continued to beat down mercilessly on the Muhati Desert, the flat, barren landscape stretching endlessly before him. Every step was a struggle, his boots dragging through the sand as his body began to betray him. He could feel his strength ebbing away, but he refused to stop.
Suddenly, the rhythmic clopping of hooves reached his ears. He paused, barely able to lift his head, his vision blurry. Up ahead, a group of ten riders appeared on the horizon.
As they drew closer, he saw that they were desert marauders— rough-looking men with muscular builds, their dirty, light armor stained with sand and blood. They carried steel weapons, swords and axes gleaming in the harsh sunlight, and their eyes were filled with the promise of violence.
‘… I should have just waited to retake that psych exam.’’
The teenager’s instincts screamed at him to run or hide, but there was nowhere to go. The flatlands offered no cover, and his body could barely move, much less escape. He stood still— frozen not by fear, but by sheer exhaustion. One of the marauders, riding at the front of the group, drew a bow and nocked an arrow.
Goblin Slayer, with what little strength he had left, tried to time the shot. He waited until the archer let the arrow fly, then twisted his body. He almost dodged it—but the arrow still lodged itself into his shoulder armor with a dull thunk— sending him tumbling to the ground. Pain shot through his body as he hit the dirt, and for a moment, he lay still— barely breathing.
The marauders circled around him, dismounting from their horses with cruel grins— convinced they had him. Goblin Slayer, gritting his teeth, played dead— his body limp and motionless, his breaths shallow. His heart pounded in his ears, and his grip tightened around the handle of his tomahawk.
As the first marauder approached, nudging him with the tip of his boot, Goblin Slayer sprang up like a feral beast. His tomahawk flashed in the sunlight, the blade biting deep into the man's leg, severing muscle and bone in a single strike. The marauder screamed as he fell, blood gushing from the wound. The berserking teen didn’t wait— he tore the tomahawk free, spinning to face the others.
‘One,’ he counted, as he stomped down on the fallen marauder’s skull— splattering his brains in the sand, as he turned to face his next opponent.
Another marauder lunged at him with a sword. Goblin Slayer raised his weapon to parry the blow— with the force sending him staggering back. He then followed up his parry with a wild swing of his tomahawk— catching the man across the chest. The blade cleaved through armor, flesh, and bone, sending a spray of blood into the air as the marauder crumpled.
‘Two.’
The rest of the group descended on him, their swords and axes flashing in a whirlwind of steel. Goblin Slayer fought like a cornered animal, grunting and gasping in pain as his tomahawk cut through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency. Every movement sent sharp pains through his already battered body, but he pushed through it, using his agony as fuel.
One marauder managed to land a heavy blow on his side, the sword slicing through his armor and into his flesh. Goblin Slayer howled in pain but didn’t falter— he drove the tomahawk into the man’s neck, twisting the blade as he ripped it free. Blood spurted from the wound, drenching his hands and face.
‘Three.’
Another marauder swung at his head, and Goblin Slayer ducked just in time, the blade whistling over him. He retaliated with a savage upward strike, splitting the man’s jaw in two. Blood poured from the gaping wound as the marauder collapsed, choking on his own blood.
‘Four.’
His vision blurred with sweat and blood, and his body trembled from exhaustion, but Goblin Slayer continued to fight. He took hits— several of them. A sword grazed his ribs, and an axe clipped his leg, but he remained standing. One by one, the marauders fell, their bodies littering the ground in a grotesque display of blood and gore.
‘Five.’
‘Six.’
‘Seven.’
‘Eight.’
‘Nine.’
The last marauder, realizing his doom, tried to flee. But Goblin Slayer, despite his injuries, hurled his tomahawk with deadly accuracy. The blade buried itself in the man’s back, and he crumpled to the ground in a heap.
‘… And that’s ten.’
Silence fell over the battlefield, save for Goblin Slayer’s ragged breathing. He stood there, drenched in blood— some of it his, most of it theirs. His body continued screaming for relief— his vision swimming as he struggled to stay on his feet. His limbs felt like they were filled with lead, and every breath was agony.
With a groan, he limped over to the nearest last marauder’s corpse— leaning down with exasperated breaths, as he gripped the handle of his tomahawk before dislodging from the back of the corpse’s skull. Wiping its blade clean of brain matter and skull fragments along the back of the marauder's dirty armor, Goblin Slayer slid Sofia’s gift in between his belt and hip before searching through their belongings for any form of first aid.
After shifting their filthy belongings and picking their corpses, Goblin Slayer could only find a few flasks full of putrid alcohol— all of foul, to the point that it was unfit to consume, let alone disinfect his wounds.
‘Worthless shit— all of it,’ the exhausted teenager thought to himself out of frustration, before beginning to drag his uncooperative foot behind him. His entire body trembled as he hoisted himself into the saddle, gasping from the effort. The pain was almost unbearable, but he forced himself to breathe, to hold on just a little longer.
‘I can do it,’ he repeated in his mind. ‘I can do it.’
He gripped the reins, his body sagging in the saddle as the vultures circled above, now feasting on the marauders' remains. Goblin Slayer pressed on, forcing the horse forward, determined to survive— despite the overwhelming amount of odds that were stacking more and more against him by the passing minute.
Goblin Slayer’s vision blurred as he slumped over the saddle, barely able to keep his eyes open. His gloved fingers— slick with sweat and blood— gripped the reins as tightly as they could, though his strength was waning. Every part of his body throbbed, his wounds pulsing with dull, lingering pain. His mind, overwhelmed by exhaustion and dehydration, began to slip.
The barren desert faded away, and in its place, horrific images crept into his mind.
The air was thick with smoke and the distant screams of their neighbors. The once peaceful village was now under siege, the night sky illuminated by the burning homes. Inside the small house, the boy stood frozen as Vivine frantically worked, nailing wooden planks over the windows, her hands shaking. Each hammer strike echoed like a warning of the inevitable.
“Ren, listen to me,” Vivine said, her voice calm but her eyes betraying her fear. “I need you to hide. Under the floorboards, like we practiced.”
The boy didn’t move. His legs felt heavy, as if rooted to the floor. “Vivi, what’s happening? Why-?”
“Ren, please.” She knelt in front of him, grabbing his hands. Her grip was firm but trembling. She forced a smile, soft and sweet, the same one she always wore when she wanted to make him feel safe. “It’s going to be okay, alright? Just stay quiet. I’ll be right here.”
He could see through the mask she wore—behind the soft facade was pure terror. But he couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight, and all he could do was nod. Vivine smiled again, brushing the hair from his face before moving quickly, guiding him toward the hidden hatch beneath the floor. Her hands were shaking now, her voice strained as she lifted the boards.
“No matter what happens, stay under here…” she whispered, her voice cracking just slightly. “I love you.”
The boy climbed down, his heart pounding in his chest. As he crouched in the cramped, dark space, Vivine lowered the boards back over him, sealing him in. Through the small gaps between the wooden slats, he could still see her moving about the room, trying to fortify the door. He wanted to say something, to beg her to hide with him, but the words stuck in his throat.
The door shuddered violently. Then again. The boy’s breath hitched as he heard guttural laughter from the other side—the sound of claws scraping against wood. Vivine stepped back, her eyes fixed on the door as it splintered and buckled under the force.
A moment later, the goblins were inside. The door was smashed open, the vile creatures spilling into the room, their twisted faces full of malice. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, their sharp teeth glistening as they snarled and chattered in their foul language. They moved with a grotesque eagerness, clawed hands already reaching for Vivine as they tore the planks from the windows, the boards falling to the floor with loud cracks.
Vivine stood her ground, clutching a kitchen knife in trembling hands, but the boy could see it was useless. Her brave face faltered as the goblins surrounded her, their hands clawing at her dress. One of them grabbed her by the arm and pulled, tearing the fabric.
“No…!” The boy whispered, his small body trembling as he pressed himself deeper into the darkness.
Vivine’s screams began, high-pitched and desperate, as more goblins swarmed her. They ripped at her clothes, their claws cutting into her skin, drawing blood. The knife she held clattered to the ground as they overwhelmed her, their hands groping, pulling her down to the floor.
The boy’s eyes widened in horror as they tore at her dress— shredding the fabric as they pinned her down. Her voice was hoarse now, pleading for them to stop, but the goblins only laughed— their foul, screeching voices echoing in the room.
Through the cracks in the floor, he could see them tearing into her flesh. One of them bit down on her arm, ripping away a chunk of skin. Another slashed at her legs, leaving deep, bloody gashes. Her once-beautiful face twisted in agony as the goblins ravaged her— their claws and teeth turning her body into a mass of torn flesh and blood, while others in their band began forcibly penetrating her orifices.
She let out a blood curdling shriek.
But the boy couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything but watch in helpless horror as they dismembered and violated her— tearing her apart piece by piece, while relentlessly thrusting in-and-out of her holes. Blood soaked the wooden floor— pooling beneath her as the goblins descended into a frenzy of violence and lust.
Her body twitched, then went still, her eyes wide and unseeing. The boy bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, his hands trembling uncontrollably as tears streamed down his face. He tried to close his eyes, tried to shut out the nightmare unfolding before him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
The sister who had loved him, who had kept him safe, was gone— consumed in a storm of brutality and blood.
He blinked, and the scene shifted to another dark memory.
The air in the cave was cold and damp, the kind of chill that sunk into your bones. Darkness pressed in from all sides, suffocating in its weight. The boy stood alone, his back straight, fists clenched at his sides. His heart hammered in his chest, and though he tried to control his breathing, each exhale came out in shaky bursts. The stench of mildew and rot clung to the air, making his stomach churn.
Somewhere in the shadows, his mentor lurked.
A faint, rasping laugh echoed from the depths of the cave, the sound bouncing off the jagged walls. "You’re trembling, boy. Can’t even keep your hands steady." The voice was low and mocking, filled with malice. "Do you think goblins care if you’re scared? Think they’ll show you mercy, just because your heart’s about to beat out of your chest?"
The boy swallowed hard, his throat dry. He kept his eyes forward, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement, but it was impossible to see anything in the thick darkness. His body was tense, every muscle coiled, ready for whatever was coming. But it was hard to think, hard to focus with those words gnawing at the back of his mind.
"You were useless then, and you're useless now," the voice sneered. "Couldn't save your precious sister, could you? They tore her apart while you cowered like a worm!"
The boy’s breath caught in his throat, panic surging up inside him. He gritted his teeth, his nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. ‘Stay calm, stay calm,’ he tried telling himself, but his mind was spiraling— the images of that night flashing before his eyes. The screams, the blood, the way they had ripped her to pieces.
He couldn’t save her.
"And she deserved it," the voice hissed, cruel and sharp. "Deserved to be taken by goblins, to be ruined and slaughtered…”
”… It should have been you too, shouldn’t it have?"
The boy's chest tightened, and his vision blurred with rage and grief. He knew it was a trap, knew the Rhea was trying to break him, but the words hit too close to the truth he already feared. His lips trembled, but he said nothing, standing there frozen in place.
From above, a sudden movement. Too fast to react to.
A dagger sliced through the air— whistling as it fell. He barely had time to look up before it buried itself into his shoulder, the blade sinking deep into flesh and muscle. Pain exploded through him, sharp and blinding, and he gasped, stumbling back. His hand shot up to the wound, blood seeping between his fingers as he struggled to stay on his feet.
A cruel laugh echoed again, this time closer, as Burglar dropped down from the ceiling, landing just out of reach. The Rhea's twisted grin was illuminated by the dim light, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He was small, hunched, but there was a menace to the way he moved, each step calculated, predatory.
"You can’t even dodge that?" Burglar mocked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Pathetic. You're lucky I’m the one training you. You wouldn’t survive a second out there on your own."
The boy staggered, gritting his teeth against the pain, trying to stay upright. His vision swam, the edges of the cave seeming to tilt, but he forced himself to stay standing. Blood dripped from the wound, warm and sticky against his skin, but he didn’t dare pull the dagger out.
Burglar moved closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You think you’ll survive long enough to kill goblins? If you can’t even handle a knife, you might as well just stand still and let me finish you off. It’d be a mercy killing." He leaned in, his breath hot and foul. "Better to die by my hand than to end up like her— torn apart piece by piece, because just like her, you’re nothing but a sniveling, worthless piece of SHIT!!!"
The boy’s chest heaved, his breath ragged, the pain and panic twisting together inside him. His vision blurred again, but this time with tears that he refused to let fall. The horror of that night, his helplessness, it all pressed down on him, suffocating. He could feel himself shaking, the weight of the dagger pulling at his shoulder, his legs threatening to give out beneath him.
Burglar cackled, stepping back into the shadows, watching him like a predator stalking its prey. "Go on, fall. Give up. It’d save us both some time. Or stand there and let me kill you— it’s the only thing you’re good for: dying."
Goblin Slayer’s breath quickened, his chest tightening as those words fused with the gruesome images of his sister’s death. His body ached, his mind fractured.
“You… You need help, Mr. Ashta— more than you need to put that sword to good use…”
Suddenly, the horse beneath him neighed loudly— rearing up on its hind legs, startled by something unseen. Goblin Slayer, too weak to hold on, felt himself slipping.
His grip on the reins faltered, and before he could react, the world tilted. He fell backward with a hard thud— the impact knocking the wind out of him as he crashed into the ground.
The horse galloped away, its frantic hooves kicking up sand as it abandoned him. Goblin Slayer lay there, gasping for air, his chest heaving as he scrambled to regain his bearings. But the ground beneath him wasn’t solid anymore.
He felt the sand shifting, pulling him toward something enormous.
He twisted his neck and saw it— rising from the ground, a massive mammoth scarab. Sand and rocks cascaded from its enormous shell as its six thick legs surfaced, towering over him like a living nightmare. The creature was easily thirty feet long, its mandibles clicking menacingly as it eyed him with ancient, soulless hunger.
Half-awake, half-delirious, Goblin Slayer felt a twisted sense of déjà vu. The words of the hooded, bandaged woman who had spoken to him earlier echoed in his head.
“Ah, misfortune— its web, tangled and wide, ensnares the fool and the brave alike. But despair... Despair is different…”
“… It’s a gift, you see— not born of failure, but realization. Realization that your struggle was never a contest, but a foregone conclusion…”
“… Despair is the clarity of knowing the universe has long since decided your fate, and yet we persist…”
“… Why do you think that is?”
‘That couldn’t have been a coincidence… She must know what I’ve been through— it had to be that… It had to.’
His mind screamed at him to flee, but his body refused to listen. Instead, he stood, gripping his tomahawk— feeling the weight of his exhaustion dragging him down. His legs wobbled, and he coughed as dust and sand filled his lungs, but his resolve remained unbroken.
‘Misfortune… My whole life’s been nothing but misfortunate— even before she was taken from me, things were already hard on me. On us… She always knew how to make it better though— despite circumstances.’
The mammoth scarab lunged at him, its massive mandibles snapping as it charged. Goblin Slayer sidestepped, barely avoiding the creature’s attack as his tomahawk swung up and bit into its armored horn that was protruding from its face. The blade skidded across the tough exoskeleton, and with the dwindling amount of stamina he had, Goblin Slayer leaped up onto the monster’s massive head— using the tomahawk to frantically scale up its head, until he climbed over and onto its neck.
With each strike, he pondered the question more and more— dwelling on it, as though the hooded woman was somehow able to read his own unhinged thoughts.
‘The universe has long since decided my fate, she said…’
‘Was that all it was? Were the tragedies of my life truly all just predestined? Is this my fate? Was I born, just to suffer?’
‘And if so… Why? What have I done to deserve that? To deserve any of this?’
His tomahawk slammed into the scarab’s neck again, each swing more desperate than the last. The creature roared, rearing back as his weapon finally pierced its thick hide. Blood, thick and dark, spilled onto the sand, but Goblin Slayer kept chopping— kept fighting— through the haze of pain and madness that consumed him.
The scarab thrashed, trying to shake him off, but he clung to its neck with a death grip, his tomahawk buried deep in its flesh.
Again and again, he hacked at the monster, every swing fueled by the memories of his sister, the endless pain, the hopelessness of his life. He struck with fury, until finally, with a sickening crunch, the scarab’s neck gave way, and its head fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
The rest of its massive body collapsed— its legs twitching as it went still.
Goblin Slayer, barely conscious, fell with it. He tumbled from the creature’s corpse, crashing twelve feet to the ground below. The impact knocked the wind out of him again, and he lay there, his chest heaving as he stared up at the blinding sun.
His body was limp, his limbs unresponsive, his breath shallow. Every part of him throbbed in agony.
Goblin Slayer groaned as he tried to roll onto his back— his body feeling like dead weight. The moment his chest hit the ground, a sharp, searing pain tore through him, making him gasp.
He clenched his teeth, suppressing a scream as every breath sent a spike of agony up his ribs. It felt as though they were broken, fractured from the fall. His lungs, punctured by fragments of his own body, strained with every shallow breath.
Each inhalation felt like breathing through a pinhole— dust and sand scraped at the raw tissue inside his chest, filling him with a constant sense of suffocation. He coughed, sputtering as the air never seemed to reach his lungs. It was asphyxiation—slow, brutal suffocation. No matter how hard he tried to pull in air, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges of his sight.
With sheer force of will, Goblin Slayer pressed his palms into the hot sand. His arms shook as he dragged his mutilated body forward. His left arm, torn and blistered from the battle, barely responded. The skin was beginning to bubble under the relentless heat of the sun, and his fingers twitched uselessly.
Time lost all meaning as he crawled through the desert. His belly scraped across the hot sand, the rough grit grinding against his armor and torn flesh. His legs were numb; he had lost feeling in them hours ago. He wasn't even sure if he was still moving. The world around him was fading into a blur of heat and pain, the horizon warping in the distance as the day dragged on.
The sky above began to turn orange, the first sign that the sun was setting. But to him, it was just another color— another blur in the haze of his suffering. He kept his eyes half-open, though his mind was barely aware of the world around him. The vultures that had been trailing him for so long were no longer just circling. He felt the weight of their talons on his back as they landed on him, prodding at his limp body.
One of the vultures pecked at his arm— its sharp beak tearing at the blistered skin. Goblin Slayer barely reacted.
He couldn’t feel it anymore.
His senses were numb, his nerves dulled by the endless agony. All that remained was the faint sensation of movement, the vultures feasting on his still-living body as if he were already dead.
His vision flickered, the horizon swimming before him, but something caught his attention— a faint smell. Smoke. He could taste it too, acrid and bitter, burning the back of his throat. Slowly, painfully, he craned his neck to see. Over the horizon, he saw a distant stack of black smoke rising into the sky, a dark column twisting in the orange light of the setting sun.
He stared at it, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as the vultures continued to tear at his flesh. His hearing began to fade, the sound of the birds' squawking turning into distant, hollow echoes. His vision blurred, darkening around the edges.
And as the world faded into black, his last thoughts were of his older sister— vivid memories of when he was cradling the head of her decapitated corpse, before being forced to abandon her scattered remains.
Chapter 11: Why, Hello There, Old Sport
Chapter Text
Goblin Slayer stirred, his body heavy and numb, every inch of him aching with a dull, persistent pain. His muscles were so fatigued that even attempting to shift felt like a monumental task. His eyelids fluttered weakly— refusing to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time, before the darkness reclaimed him.
For brief moments between consciousness, he caught glimpses of his surroundings: a room, larger than most, with palm wood walls and a ceiling overhead. The space was adorned with beaded curtains and rugs hung like tapestries— a style foreign to the places he'd known. Soft hues of beige and turquoise filled the room, giving it a calm, almost bohemian feel, though none of it seemed to register fully in his mind.
When he finally woke, more alert this time, his eyes opened to see something that immediately sent a pulse of adrenaline through his veins.
The sight of it filled him with instant, murderous rage. His muscles tensed, or at least tried to, but his body was too weak, too stiff to respond. His heart hammered in his chest, and he gritted his teeth as his crimson eyes locked onto her— glaring with the fury of a man who had spent years slaughtering her kind.
Yet, something was different. This goblin wasn’t like the others he’d come across.
‘Wait… That’s impossible— this can’t be?! That’s…?! That’s?!’ The mortified teenager’s mind spiraled, as his crimson eyes traced more of the dark green-skinned monster’s features— the unmistakable curves in their breasts and hips making it hard to deny what he was looking at.
She was short, as goblins were, but she had long, brown hair that flowed down her back, rather than the greasy matted mess he'd come to expect. Her flat nose— was nothing like the hooked, grotesque features of the goblins he was used to killing.
Her large, round eyes were yellow with soft, human-like scleras instead of the beady, goat-like black voids. And her face was almost pristine— showing signs of hygiene that were polar opposite to the wart-infested skin conditions of the other goblins he had come across.
‘No, this thing…! It can’t be a goblin— that wouldn’t make sense! Not unless…?!’ the shaken teen’s mind trailed off, as his thoughts momentarily shifted back to what D’Arce had told him— before she had him arrested, and unintentionally almost sent him to what should have been his doom.
"“Impotus gobelinus”: it’s one of the four genera of goblins who exist— it means “Imp Goblin,” in Old Common…”
“… They’re the ones most commonly associated with the word “goblin”; the smallest population out of the four genus, yet are the most infamous. The ones you're undoubtedly vindictive of…”
‘Then… Then, that means… That must mean that she was telling the truth…’
“… Not all goblins are like the ones associated with pillaging and raping… Most goblins are law-abiding subjects who live peacefully within the boundaries of our society…”
“… They have the same rights as you and I."
‘No… No! No, that part can’t be true— I won’t allow it to be,’ he shook his head as much as his stiff neck would allow him to— rejecting the mere idea of there existing a peaceful goblin, after witnessing the atrocities committed by them.
‘Male or female, a goblin’s still a goblin! If anything else, the existence of females means that their kind as a whole is even more problematic than I thought!’ His thoughts spiraled, as the mere idea of goblins not needing captives to multiply themselves made the teenager’s hate-filled eyes widened with dread.
She smiled at him— an expression that faltered under his deadly glare. It wasn’t the grotesque sneer of a marauding goblin, but a nervous, uneasy smile. She clutched a clay cup of water close to her chest, clearly trying to appear harmless. Yet, all Goblin Slayer could think of was how much he wanted to rip her apart, despite his body betraying him, leaving him paralyzed on the couch.
The goblin woman swallowed nervously, her eyes darting away from his furious gaze. "E-Excuse me, please," she stammered in fluent Common— her voice softer than the grating screeches of the monsters he'd fought. She set the cup down on the small table beside the couch, and Goblin Slayer’s eyes followed her every move, calculating, assessing— waiting for the moment when he’d have the strength to kill her.
As she stepped back, he noticed her attire— a light beige sleeveless shirt and a brown skirt. She wore turquoise jewelry, bracelets clinking softly as she moved. On her feet were simple sandals. There was something unsettlingly human about her, yet he could never mistake her for anything other than what she was.
A goblin.
She hurried out of the room— her sandals slapping softly against the wooden floor, as she power-walked out of what he now realized was a bedroom. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts— and his seething rage.
Every fiber of his being screamed to attack. To end her. His fingers twitched, but his body wouldn’t respond. He was too stiff, too injured. His muscles burned with fatigue, the effort of even moving his hand sending jolts of pain through his chest and abdomen. His mind raced, a torrent of memories flashing before him.
He thought back to every goblin he had ever slain— their filthy, snarling faces; their beady, soulless eyes; their cackling laughter as they butchered and defiled. He remembered the horrific scenes they had left behind, the carnage, the suffering.
‘Mimicking kindness, and civility… It’s a trick— all of it is,’ his mind screamed. ‘It has to be! Goblins all the same— just vile, disgusting vermin who deserve to burn in hell, where they belong!’
His hatred swirled like a storm, but it was trapped inside his mind, imprisoned by his broken body.
The image of the pristine face of the goblin girl lingered in his thoughts— taunting him with its unfamiliarity, stirring confusion and doubt in a mind trained to think of only one solution: to kill them all.
But his body wouldn’t let him. He was helpless, laying there on the couch, filled with murderous intent but unable to act on it. His muscles were twitching, his mind spinning, as he tried to make sense of the incongruity before him.
A goblin had helped him— possibly more than just her.
He wanted nothing more than to destroy it. Yet, for now, all he could do was wait— his fury boiling like molten iron beneath his skin. His blood pressure surged— veins pulsing at his temples as he tried again to rise from the couch, only to end up wiggling helplessly against the soft cushions.
His fingers twitched— curling into fists that gripped nothing but air. His mind screamed for action, but his body— weak and broken from the endless gauntlet of trials— refused to obey.
With a growl of frustration, Goblin Slayer slumped back into the couch. His breath came in sharp, angry bursts, his chest heaving as he tried to control the overwhelming wave of rage coursing through him. Begrudgingly, he forced his mind to assess his current condition.
Most of his body was wrapped in white, clean bandages, wound tight around his torso, arms, and legs. As his eyes scanned the bandages, he noticed braces around his legs and left arm— carefully and professionally applied, the craftsmanship of the bindings surprisingly good, as though a trained medical professional had done the work. He could barely comprehend the skill it must have taken to dress his injuries so efficiently.
The thought only fueled his anger further.
‘Goblin hands.’
The idea that those filthy creatures had touched him, had helped him, made him grind his teeth in frustration. He still couldn’t see through his murderous rage, still unable to comprehend why they had done this— why they hadn’t finished him off when they had the chance.
A low, guttural growl escaped his throat, and he shifted his glare to the copper fireplace in the corner of the room. It flickered with a dull, warm glow, the polished metal giving off a soft reflection.
His mind spiraled in fury, but the sound of the door opening startled him. It slammed against the wall, hitting with a loud thud, as someone stepped inside— a new figure, unlike any he had seen before.
‘Is…?! Is that a woman?!’
The person looked carefree, almost casual, and utterly out of place in such a strange environment. They had long, pastel-blue hair that swayed gently with their movements, and light skin that paired well with their light hair. Their face was adorned with a pair of dark sunglasses that reflected the room back at Goblin Slayer, as they approached with an air of indifference. A closed-lip, lazy smile hung on their face, exuding a lackadaisical carelessness.
Strapped to their back was something that Goblin Slayer didn’t recognize— an exotic, foreign object, long and oddly shaped with curved edges and strings. It had the appearance of some kind of weapon, but it lacked the immediate lethality of a sword. Yet, the way it was carried, strapped diagonally across the figure's back, made it seem important. The figure also carried a guard-less katana sheathed at their slender hip, which felt far more familiar and dangerous.
Goblin Slayer’s brow furrowed. ‘What’s that thing on her back? Some kind of axe?’
It looked too delicate to be of any practical use, but he couldn’t be sure. Everything about this person was strange and unnerving.
As they approached his bedside, a small group of older goblins followed, each of them dressed in clean, human clothing. They looked groomed— better groomed than most people he’s seen. Each of them carried something unfamiliar to him, clipboards and medical bags. The goblins shifted nervously, clearly uneasy, but kept their distance as the blue-haired figure came closer.
Goblin Slayer’s mind reeled, trying to make sense of what was happening. ‘I think it’s a woman— looks like one, at least. But that doesn’t matter. Why are… Whatever they are, walking freely among goblins? They don’t seem scared or threatened by their presence, but why?’
He had killed so many goblins, seen so much carnage and cruelty at their hands, and now the person moved among them as if they were harmless.
The figure coolly lowered their sunglasses, revealing a pair of glowing yellow irises that twinkled with amusement. Their expression never faltered from that relaxed smile. Despite the oddness of the scene, there was something disarming about the figure’s calm demeanor— something almost mocking, yet not malicious.
With a slight tilt of their head, they greeted him in a relaxed voice that was neither feminine or masculine.
“Why, hello there, Old Sport.”
‘Old… Sport…?’ The gray-haired teen repeated bewilderingly to himself— caught off guard by not only the ambiguity of the entity’s voice before him, but by the odd nickname they had just called him.
Quickly shaking off the distracting confusion, Goblin Slayer— with his throat dry, and his voice weak from exhaustion— vocalized his rage, as he forced the words out through his parched lips.
"Who... Who are you?" he rasped, glaring daggers up at the figure. "And are you... Are you conspiring with these…?! These WRETCHED THINGS…?!?" His body ached, and his vision wavered, but his hatred was sharp as ever, refusing to be dulled by pain or injury.
The stranger, seemingly unbothered by his murderous glare, casually pushed their sunglasses back up the bridge of their small nose with one finger, an amused smirk tugging at their lips. "You talking about conspiring with these goblins? What’s there to conspire against?"
They then slid their hands lazily into the pockets of their black pants, their posture loose and completely unthreatened by the killing intent radiating from Goblin Slayer. "Nah, these nerds are just part of my fan club, Old Sport— not members of whatever crackpot theory you’ve got formulating in that twisted noggin’ of yours,” they added, playfully, clearly not taking his flurry of emotions seriously.
With a cocky little shrug, the blue-haired figure introduced themselves as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Name’s Remi Kasugai, by the way— or “Storm Lord,” around these parts."
Goblin Slayer blinked, too furious to even process the absurd title. His hands twitched against the couch, but he was too weak to rise, his body wrapped tight in bandages, his limbs still too stiff and broken to obey. But his mind was clear enough to stay focused on what mattered. "Where…?! Where are the other captives…?!" he demanded, ignoring their self-important name.
Remi’s laugh was light, almost like they were sharing a joke with an old friend— as if the whole situation was some grand cosmic prank only they were in on. “They’re up your ass, and around the corner— each and everyone of them,” they chortled, still wearing that same relaxed, closed-lip smile. “I’d be more than happy to reached down there and go looking for you, but only if you ask reeeeaal nicely first.”
Gritting his teeth at them, the enraged teenager experienced the impossible: he was growing more irritated with something else, other than goblins. “Is this…?! Is this all some sort of a JOKE to you…?!”
"Yeah, it is,” Remi replied bluntly— visibly taking enjoyment from the effect he was having on him. “But like for real though: these guys around here don’t do captives— not unless you get all philosophical and shit about how “we’re all just captives, in the eyes of the Supreme God”," they said in an exaggerated, playful voice.
The teen’s crimson eyes narrowed, his glare burning hotter, but his limbs remained useless. “Enough with the lies…! Your attempts to deceive me are futile…!” He choked out through his raspy voice, which made Remi’s smug smirk widden ever so slightly.
“You talk some big shit, for someone with such soft, kissable lips,” they said teasingly; the out of pocket comment only adding fuel to the burning inferno inside of Goblin Slayer’s eyes. Instead of further aggravating the teenager in a full-body cast before him, Remi simply waved off his anger with a dismissive hand— their sunglasses sliding down their nose, to once again reveal a pair of glowing yellow irises.
“Besides, you’re probably thinking of the wrong kind of goblins,” they explained, their voice carrying the same casual nonchalance as before— like they were explaining a trivial misunderstanding.
“These ones here? They’re “Hill Goblins”. Different breed entirely from those rascally “Imp Goblins”.” Remi explained, while still completely unfazed by the deadly rage in his eyes— their demeanor still cool, laid back, as if none of this was serious at all.
"Hill Goblins," they continued, sliding their hands out from their pockets. "A bit more civilized than your average, rapey, and sadistic Imp Goblins. They’ve got manners. Some even wear clothes, see? Nice ones, too." They gestured vaguely at the older goblins behind them, who shifted nervously but remained silent. “They don’t go around raiding villages, or shoving their willies into peeps— quite the contrary. These ones are more into the nerd stuff, like artificing, and other technological mumbo-jumbo.”
Goblin Slayer’s mistrust and fury only deepened. His heart pounded in his chest, every fiber of his being wanted to lash out, to tear into the goblins behind Remi and this bizarre, carefree figure standing before him. But he was still helpless, still stuck on the couch, his body wrapped in bandages, his muscles stiff and aching.
"You... Expect me to believe... That?!" Goblin Slayer growled, his voice little more than a rasp. But Remi only shrugged again, that infuriating smile never leaving their face.
"I don’t give a shit what you believe in; you’ll figure it out soon enough on your own." Remi pushed their sunglasses back up again, the faint glow of their yellow eyes disappearing behind the dark lenses. "But hey, might as well lighten up. You’re alive, aren’t you? You should be thanking them— not acting like a dick to them."
Goblin Slayer’s fists clenched weakly at his sides, every inch of his body shaking with barely-contained rage, but there was nothing he could do— at least not yet.
Remi then casually pulled the strap of their guitar over their head— letting it slide off effortlessly. With a cocky grin, they glanced at the group of goblins— their nervous eyes darting between Goblin Slayer’s murderous glare and the chill stranger standing beside him.
“Alright nerds, you’re all good to go— have at ‘em,” Remi said in a nonchalant tone, strumming a few random chords before making their way over to the end table near Goblin Slayer’s head.
As Remi started tuning their guitar, plucking at the strings with a playful flick of his wrist, Goblin Slayer’s crimson eyes snapped over to the goblins. His angered glare bored into them— a silent promise of violence if they dared come any closer.
One of them, a male goblin with black-rimmed glasses, black-and-gray hair, and a thin goatee, stepped forward nervously. He cleared his throat, clutching a clipboard close to his chest.
“G-Good evening, sir,” the goblin stammered, adjusting his glasses as if that might protect him from the man’s murderous intent. “I’m Dr. Mokagnuk, and today my team and I will be conducting an examination on your progress— all standard procedure, I assure you. This will involve removing your bandages… With your consent, of course.” He spoke quickly, his words tumbling over each other in his nervous rush.
Goblin Slayer remained silent, his jaw clenching so hard that his teeth might have cracked. His body screamed at him to move, to fight, but his muscles refused to obey. Instead, he lay there, seething in his own frustration, his eyes never leaving the goblins.
He could practically feel the hate boiling in his veins.
Remi, still plucking at the strings of their guitar, grinned without looking up. “Oh, and Old Sport,” they said casually, “if you do somehow manage to get your busted-ass off of that couch, and you try to go all “murder-hobo” on any of these goblins, then I’ll have no issue with killing you myself.” Their tone was so nonchalant, so casual, it was as if they were commenting on the weather. “Just a friendly little warning, is all.”
Goblin Slayer’s silence remained, though his nostrils flared, his lips twisting into a deeper scowl.
Dr. Mokagnuk, looking between Remi and Goblin Slayer with wide eyes, cleared his throat again nervously. “R-Right then. We’ll, uh… We’ll take that as consent.”
“Damn straight,” Remi muttered, his grin widening as he started strumming a real tune, something rhythmic and smooth, though his eyes never left Goblin Slayer. “He’s ready for his prostate exam when you are, doc.”
Dr. Mokagnuk gave Remi a long, exasperated look before sighing heavily. “We… W-We won’t be doing any of… That,” he reassured Goblin Slayer, who continued to glare silently, his fury almost palpable.
The goblins around him hesitated, but at a nod from Dr. Mokagnuk, they began to move. Carefully, nervously, they approached the gray-haired teen, removing his bandages with steady hands.
The room was tense, each goblin on edge as if expecting him to lash out at any second.
And as they peeled away the layers of bandages, revealing the scarred, bruised flesh beneath, Goblin Slayer’s mind raced. His hatred for goblins clouded his thoughts, every instinct shouting at him to attack. But his body was too weak, too stiff.
Remi, ever the picture of chill, casually turned their attention back to Goblin Slayer, still strumming. “So, Old Sport, do you have an actual name? Or are you the more “mysterious stranger” kind of loser?” They asked, as if this were the most casual of conversations.
Goblin Slayer’s eyes burned with rage, but he said nothing. His silence spoke volumes, his gaze never wavering from the group of goblins attending to him.
Remi raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Eh, no worries— real names are overrated anyway,” they said with a shrug— their tone light and carefree. “I’ll just call you... “Sportsy”— “Old Sport,” for short. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Goblin Slayer’s only response was a deeper scowl.
“Yeah, I think so too,” Remi said while being undeterred by the teen’s silence— their fingers moving smoothly over the strings of their instrument. “Tell you what though, Sportsy,” he said, a playful grin spreading across their face, “How about I show you what I’ve been cooking up in the studio? That sounds pretty cool, doesn’t it?” They didn’t wait for a response. “I’ll take that as a “hell yeah, it does”!”
With that, Remi launched into a melody— their fingers dancing along the guitar strings with surprising skill. The tune was soft yet rhythmic, a smooth, almost hypnotic sound that filled the room. As the melody drifted through the air, Remi’s voice followed, singing in a relaxed, almost lazy tone.
“It's full moon again— crazy how time flies. One might wonder if my path is in the right direction.”
“But I do believe, things come to light by accident. When it remains on, sounds like it's meant to be.”
At first, Goblin Slayer resisted, his mind still full of violent thoughts. But as the song continued, something strange began to happen. His anger, it didn’t fade, exactly, but it dulled.
The murderous rage that had been boiling inside him like a furnace started to simmer down, becoming something more distant. His body, still aching and sore, began to relax slightly, as if some invisible weight was being lifted.
The goblins worked quickly, removing the bandages and applying fresh treatments to his wounds. But Goblin Slayer barely noticed. His mind was clouded, a strange sense of calm washing over him, despite the overwhelming confusion and mistrust gnawing at the back of his skull.
He shot a glare at Remi, suspicion flickering in his crimson eyes. ‘This isn’t right. Why am I feeling… Calm?’
Remi’s grin widened as if he could feel Goblin Slayer’s confusion. “Good shit, right?” They asked with a chuckle while still playing the upbeat, jazzy notes— their voice carrying that same relaxed energy, as when they were singing. “Glad to hear you say that, Sportsy; I figured you'd appreciate a little bit of magic to take some of that edgy-edge off.”
Goblin Slayer’s eyes narrowed at the mention of magic. His fists clenched, the familiar rage bubbling back up, but it was weaker now— still dulled by the soothing sound of their music.
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Remi said, not missing a beat. “It’s not the BAD kind of magic. Think of it more as… A musical sedative. Makes it easier for the doc and his pals to patch you up, without you going full “autismo mode” on them.”
Goblin Slayer growled low in his throat, his crimson eyes flicking toward the group of goblins tending to him, then back to Remi.
They continued playing— their grin never faltering. “And trust me, Sportsy,” he said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone for just a moment, “you’re gonna want to sit tight for this— cause they’re the ones keeping you alive right now— not me.”
Goblin Slayer gritted his teeth, but he didn’t argue. The stranger’s words— annoying as they were— made a disturbing amount of sense. Still, his eyes remained fixed on the goblins, his mistrust and hatred for their kind simmering beneath the surface. Even now, he couldn’t let go of the rage.
Remi, seeing the look on Goblin Slayer’s face, chuckled to himself. “Oh, don’t worry, Sportsy. You’ll be back to killing shit in no time— as a matter of fact, I’ve got a little something for ya later to let all that rage out on. But for now… Just relax. Enjoy the show.” And with that, Remi launched into the last verse of the song— their voice and guitar filling the room with an oddly soothing calm, yet upbeat tune.
“Some-times it's the journey itself that teaches a lot about the destination; not aware of no matter how far— no matter how far!”
“How you go— how you go, how you go!”
“How long it may last— carpe diem, no time to waste!”
“Venture life— you gotta venture life, go get it!”
“Burn, your, dread…!”
For the first time in what felt like years, Goblin Slayer’s body began to loosen, his mind slowly drifting from the rage that had gripped him for so long. Even if only for a moment, the music— infused with magic or not— was a strange, unwelcomed relief.
Author’s note: I absolutely did make a bard/warlock/fighter hybrid class OC companion that’s essentially just Rimuru Tempest with the personality of Dave Miller from Dayshift at Freddy’s.
Chapter 12: Just the Two of Us
Chapter Text
As Goblin Slayer drifted off into sleep, the last soothing notes of Remi’s song echoed in the back of his mind. His body, sore and bruised, seemed to finally relent under the calming influence of the magic-laced melody. The goblins around him, tense but focused, worked with delicate precision as they finished reapplying fresh bandages and casts. They slathered a thick layer of biogel over his battered skin, its cooling touch easing some of the worst of his pain.
Soon, Goblin Slayer was lost in the deep, dreamless void of sleep.
Morning arrived quietly, sunlight seeping through the cracks in the palm wood walls. Goblin Slayer stirred, his body still feeling tender but significantly better than it had the night before. He blinked a few times, getting his bearings, and winced as the hunger pains gnawed at his stomach.
Just as he was about to move, a crass voice rang out from beside him. “Well, we’ll, wel; look who’s awake! How’d you sleep, Old Sport? You were purring all night— just like a horny little kitten.”
‘Oh no. Not this imbecile again.’
Goblin Slayer flinched, his eyes shooting to the source of the voice. There, lounging on a large, unkempt bed, like a lazy cat themselves, was Remi— shirtless, in a pair of ladybug-patterned panties. Their pale, slender, toned body stretched out like they were posing for some lewd portrait— their head propped up on one hand, while the hand was lazily scratching their flat chest.
Goblin Slayer scowled, glaring at them. “What are you even doing here?”
Remi’s smirk widened, eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. “Oh, you know. Just enjoying the view— in the comfort of my own bedroom that I’m sharing with you. You’re welcome, by the way,” they said sassily, and let out a quiet chortle before nodding softly at him, “Hey, did you know you snore when you sleep? It’s kinda cute, actually.”
Goblin Slayer growled, pushing himself to sit up. His body protested, but the pain was bearable. “I’m leaving.”
Remi rolled onto their back— stretching their arms above his head, then laughed softly. “Oh, sure, sure. Go ahead and leave. Right after breakfast. I mean, there’s no point in getting yourself killed out there for a second time, Sportsy— not on an empty stomach, that is.”
Goblin Slayer shot them a look that could kill— eyes burning with frustration. “I don’t need your food.”
“Pfft! Yeah, you do,” Remi chuckled— completely unbothered by Goblin Slayer’s glare. He sat up, pulling his legs beneath him with a graceful bounce. “You’re already half-dead as it is, my guy. Walking out of here without food? That’s not badass— it’s just stupid. But hey, if you wanna die again like a dumbass, then be my guest.”
Goblin Slayer pushed himself off the couch, wobbling slightly as he stood. His muscles were stiff, and the bandages pulled against his bruised skin, but he forced himself upright, jaw clenched. “I’m going. Now.”
Remi didn’t move from the floor, just grinned wider. “Oh, really? Gonna hobble out of here on those shaky legs? That eager to die then, are we?” They asked tauntingly— watching through their shades, as the teenager limped his way toward the closed door. “Come on now Sportsy, is that all you’re really good for? Getting yourself killed?”
Goblin Slayer’s jaw clenched, the irritation building. Without thinking, he spat out, “Fuck. You.”
Remi cackled like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard— rolling on their mattress, as they clutched their stomach. “Fuck me?! Oh, man, is that an offer?! ‘Cause now’s a great time to follow through on that, big boy!” They laughed out loud, as they wiped a tear from underneath their sunglasses— still chuckling.
Goblin Slayer grimaced, forcing himself to limp toward the door. “Shut up.”
“Oh, c’mon, Old Sport. Don’t be shy,” Remi teased, rolling onto their side and resting their cheek on one hand— still smirking. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie— I’m flattered. Most people at least buy me dinner first, but hey, we can skip the formalities if you’re really that desperate.”
Goblin Slayer ignored him— reaching instead for the door handle, with shaking fingers. He soon found his grip to be too weak— the pain shooting up his arm, making him groan in frustration.
“Need a hand there, sweetheart?” Remi called after him— still snickering to themselves.
Goblin Slayer’s head snapped toward him— eyes filled with fury. “Just open the damn door.”
Remi stood up, still smirking, as they sauntered over— hips swaying dramatically, as they exaggerated their walk. When they got close enough, they leaned forward to reach past Goblin Slayer— their breath teasingly close to the back of his ear, as they whispered, “See? All you had to do was ask nicely, Sportsy.” They then turned the handle and pushed the door open with ease— stepping back with a mockingly formal bow. “After you, princess.”
oblin Slayer scowled, stepping through the door without a word. He limped down the candle-lit corridor, each step making his muscles scream, but he kept moving. He wouldn’t give Remi the satisfaction of watching him struggle.
But, of course, Remi followed— footsteps soft and graceful behind him. “Y’know, I’m kind of impressed you’re even standing. After the shitshow you went through, most people would’ve been dead by now. But not you, Mr. Tough Guy. You’re gonna go out there and... What? Get your ass kicked by the desert again?”
Goblin Slayer grunted— his pace slow but steady. “I’ll be fine.”
Remi snickered. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Totally fine. ‘Cause walking through a desert by yourself worked so well the first time.”
Goblin Slayer shot him another deadly glare. “Do you ever shut up?”
Remi gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’re hurting my feelings, Sportsy! I’m just trying to have a conversation with you. I mean, we’re practically best friends at this point, right?” They retorted sarcastically, before giving the gray-haired teen a flirtatious wink.
“I can even cook you breakfast! You’d love it. I make a killer sausage. And I mean that in more ways than one— if you catch my drift.”
Goblin Slayer groaned internally. “Not interested.”
Remi pouted, his lips curling into a mock frown. “Aw, come on! Don’t be so cold. I’m offering you a free meal and good time. That’s a rare combo. Most people pay good money for that kind of experience.”
“I said I’m leaving,” Goblin Slayer growled— his patience long since thin.
“Yeah, I know,” Remi said, casually adjusting the waistband of their ladybug panties. “But just so you know, I’m following. Can’t let you out of my sight, after all. Gotta make sure you don’t try anything funny. Guardian duty, and all that.”
Goblin Slayer stopped, glancing back over his shoulder with an exhausted, annoyed look. “Guardian duty?”
“Yup,” Remi said, popping the ‘p’ with a grin. “I’m the big, badass protector of this lovely little goblin village. In exchange for keeping them safe from all the nasty shit outside, they let me live rent-free. And I get to lounge around in my undies all day. Pretty sweet gig, huh?”
“So you’re doing all this... For food and shelter?” The teenager asked— doing his best to make sense of the strange situation, despite wanting to punch the androgynous being in their smug face.
Remi shrugged, nonchalant as ever. “Hey, I’m a simple gal. Or, guy, I guess. I’m still trying to figure that one out myself,” they mused aloud in a somewhat serious manner, flashing that same mischievous smirk. “But yeah, the deal works. They give me whatever I want, I make sure that no one like you tries to fuck them over. It’s a win-win.”
Goblin Slayer reached the door at the end of the hall, gripping the handle again, but this time he couldn’t even twist it. His hands shook too much, his strength failing him. He gritted his teeth, frustration boiling over.
‘Goddamnit.’
Remi sauntered up behind him— smirk never leaving their face. “Oh, baby. If you wanted me to open all your doors, you could’ve just said so from the start.” They teased, before once again reaching past Goblin Slayer again— slowly turning the handle and pulling the door open. “There you go, Sportsy. Easy peasy. You’re welcome again, by the way.”
Goblin Slayer stepped through, but Remi couldn’t resist one more jab. “If you die out there while I’m escorting you around, could you at least try to make it funny? You owe me that much.”
Goblin Slayer growled under his breath, limping forward as Remi’s laughter echoed behind him.
Remi then stepped forward and swung the front door open with a theatrical flourish— sunlight flooding through the doorway in a sudden, blinding burst. The gray-haired teen flinched— raising his hand to shield his crimson eyes from the harsh morning light.
“Oh no, Old Sport! Don’t tell me your pale-ass is afraid of a little sun,” Remi teased— voice dripping with mock concern.
Then, with zero hesitation, they gave Goblin Slayer a sharp smack on the backside.
Goblin Slayer froze mid-step, eyes narrowing dangerously as he slowly turned around to glare at Remi, who was leaning on the doorframe, grinning ear to ear.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he growled.
Remi wiggled their eyebrows. “Or what, big boy? Gonna spank me back? Please, make my day. But we both know you can’t do shit.”
Goblin Slayer’s scowl deepened. He gave Remi the cold shoulder, stepping outside to put some distance between himself and the grinning menace. As soon as he did, his eyes were drawn to the village below.
The scene that greeted him made his stomach turn.
The village was sprawling across the rocky terrain, the buildings made of crumbling sandstone bricks and scrap iron, pieced together in a way that gave the whole place a ramshackle, yet lived-in feel. The architecture was crude, uneven, like it could barely hold up against a strong wind, but it had a strange charm to it. The streets below teemed with goblins— hundreds of them— going about their day.
Families, friends, children, all of them moving in and out of their homes or gathered in groups, laughing, chatting. There were goblin mothers holding babies, goblin fathers playing games with their kids. Some carried baskets of goods, others were sitting outside, chatting to one another— all seeming completely at ease.
The sight made Goblin Slayer’s blood boil. Every instinct screamed at him to draw his blade— if he had one— and purge the filth before him.
‘How could they live so... Normally?’
His heart pounded, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white beneath his bandages.
Just as his rage was about to reach its peak, Remi’s finger tapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his murderous trance.
“Easy there, Sportsy,” they said in a sing-song voice. “I can feel your murder boner from here, and trust me, it’s not the kind of stiffy I like. You try anything, and I will kill you. Not that it’d take much effort, given your current state.”
Goblin Slayer’s crimson eyes burned into Remi, barely suppressing his rage. “You don’t even have a weapon.”
Remi snickered, brushing a hand through their messy hair. “Sweetie, I don’t need a weapon. I have over a hundred different ways to end your sorry ass at my disposal, and not a single one requires anything sharp. Like for instance, I could just push down these steps, and that’ll do the trick,” they said in a matter of fact tone, while gesturing with a nod down the nearly twenty-meter rocky descent down below. “So how about you behave, yeah?”
Goblin Slayer’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding together. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, but a part of him knew— whether or not Remi was bluffing wasn’t worth finding out.
Remi must have sensed his internal struggle because they suddenly gave him a gentle shake on the shoulder. “Tell you what, instead of murder, why don’t we grab some breakfast? My treat. There’s this little spot I love— “Sandy Planets”. Their breakfast gyros are to die for. I mean, you might actually die getting there, but it’ll still be worth it.”
“I’m not interested,” Goblin Slayer grunted, already exhausted by the conversation.
“Huuuh, weird… I don’t remember asking,” Remi shot back, slapping their hand against Goblin Slayer’s back, making him stumble slightly. “Nah, that wasn’t a question. We’re going. You need something in that belly of yours before you go back out there and get yourself killed again.”
Goblin Slayer groaned audibly, wincing as the pain from his injuries flared up. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, and you’re a moron too,” Remi shot back, smirking. “But here we are. Now quit bitching. Let’s go.”
Goblin Slayer tried to argue, his annoyance palpable. “I’m not-”
Remi threw an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close like they were best friends. “-Sportsy, you really don’t have a choice here. You’re stuck with me until I decide otherwise. And I say we’re getting food. Now, c’mon. I’ve been craving this gyro since you started snoring last night.”
“I don’t snore,” Goblin Slayer muttered, though he was clearly struggling to keep up.
“Oh, you snore,” Remi replied, guiding him down the narrow stone steps carved into the hill their home was perched upon. “Loudly. Like, I’m talking “shake-the-walls” level. I half-expected the ceiling to cave in on us.”
Goblin Slayer gritted his teeth, his responses clipped as they descended the steps. “Why are you like this?”
Remi, of course, kept rambling, their voice bouncing between sarcastic and downright vulgar. “Hey, I’m just saying. You might wanna look into that. Maybe get a little goblin to slap one of those strips on your nose. Could help. Or... I dunno, just stop breathing entirely? That’d solve the problem for both of us.”
“Shut. Up.”
Remi chuckled, unfazed. “Man, you’re a riot! But hey, I know what’ll cheer you up— breakfast and some fresh air. Maybe we’ll even get lucky and catch a dust storm! Nothing like choking on sand while you try to eat. It’s really an experience— you’ll love it.”
“I hate you,” Goblin Slayer muttered as they reached the bottom of the steps, the goblin village now sprawled out before them.
“Yeah, well,” Remi said with a grin, patting his shoulder. “You can hate me all you want, Sportsy— breakfast awaits either way.”
Chapter 13: Sandy Planets
Chapter Text
Goblin Slayer sat stiffly at the outdoor patio table, the midday sun casting odd shadows through the makeshift iron umbrella sticking up from the center. In front of him sat a steaming gyro stuffed with scrambled eggs, black beans, and vegetables, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it.
His stomach growled in rebellion, demanding food, but his mind kept turning over the possibility of poison. He’d learned not to trust easily, and certainly not here.
Across from him, Remi lounged back, their posture casual, borderline lazy, as they cradled their own gyro. Without warning, they shoved the entire thing into their mouth, not even bothering to take a bite. The gyro disappeared, and Goblin Slayer stared— unsure whether to be disgusted or impressed.
"You, uh... Planning to eat that, Old Sport?" Remi asked, wiping their mouth with the back of their forearm, before washing it down with a hefty gulp of coffee. The boiling liquid didn’t seem to faze them in the slightest.
The gray-haired teen’s frown deepened. "How did you even fit that all in your mouth?"
Remi gave him a wicked grin. "Talent, Sportsy. Lots of practice. Why, you jealous?"
"No." Goblin Slayer glared down at his untouched food, clearly suspicious.
"Could’ve fooled me." Remi chuckled, leaning forward and resting their elbows on the table. "You’ve been staring at that gyro like it’s gonna sprout legs and attack you."
"It could be poisoned," Goblin Slayer replied flatly, his eyes never leaving the meal.
Remi let out a barking laugh. "Oh, right. Sure. Those nerds last night absolutely wasted those medical supplies on your ungrateful ass, just to have you killed anyway,” they teased sarcastically, and paused to savor the annoyed look on the teen’s face, before jokingly adding, “You did say I was conspiring with them, after all— congratulations on catching onto that early.”
Goblin Slayer’s gaze snapped up, his posture tensing. "Tell me… Why did they help me— why did they choose to rescue me?"
Remi leaned back in their chair, sighing as they stretched out their arms. "The goblins here, in Derivakat? They’re what you’d classify “good samaritans”; the sort of folk who’ve got morals and ethics, or whatever,” they said dismissively with a wave of their hand— seemingly rolling their eyes behind the blackened lenses of their shades. “I don’t know; maybe you don’t understand those social concepts— I sure as hell don’t.”
The notion hung in the air between them, sharp and unsettling. Goblin Slayer’s mind churned, trying to process what Remi was telling him. ‘Good samaritans? Goblins? Those two words have no right being in the same sentence, but yet… But yet, here I am. Alive… It doesn’t make sense— none of this does.’
Seeing his confusion, Remi shrugged. "Hey Sportsy, try not to overthink it. Trust me, I’m just as baffled as you are."
Goblin Slayer, feeling the weight of Remi’s eyes on him, hesitated, then picked up the gyro. His stomach growled again, pushing him past his reluctance. He took a tentative bite, half-expecting the taste of rot or poison. Instead, the food was surprisingly flavorful— delicious, even.
Remi’s smirk returned as they watched him chew. "Knew you’d like it. Seriously, though, are you always that paranoid?"
Goblin Slayer swallowed before responding, his voice low. "I have to be."
"You don’t say?” Remi mused somewhat sarcastically, before leaning back again in their seat— looking up at the sky as if searching for the right words. “You know, Old Sport… You reminded me a lot of myself when I first came here,” they reminisced, as they stared up at the underside of the dirty umbrella above them.
“A little backstory first though: way before I came here, the Pendragon Empire one day decided to transform “Pathway” into “Crossbell”. Uthur had the natives of the land booted so he could begin work on his kingdom’s capital; and with these guys pulling the short straw, they got the pleasure of being stuck in the middle of Muhati Desert,” they explained, while Goblin Slayer quietly listened intently— feeling silently surprised that Remi was capable of speaking words that weren’t insulting or infuriating to him.
“Anyways Sportsy, things were rough for them since they got here. As I’m sure you know by now, things out here aren’t always the most hospitable. These hill goblins were constantly targeted by raiders and predators alike, and thus had to live underground— just to not get themselves wiped off the map,” Remi explained, before letting out a muffled chuckle as they raised their hand up to push their sunglasses up with a single finger.
“Fun fact I learned while living with these little green guys: hill goblins are the only kind of goblins that AREN’T nocturnal. I’m sure then you could imagine just how difficult it was for them navigating through monster-infested caverns when they had to use torches, just to see where they were going,” Remi mused with a seemingly uncaring attitude towards their suffering twinkling in their glowing yellow eyes— perplexing Goblin Slayer.
‘Why are they so… Apathetic towards them? I understand their disposition towards me— or lack thereof— but to feel so unsympathetic towards those who care for their needs— goblins, or not— that just… That just… I… I don’t understand.’
And while the gray-haired teen was racking their brains for some sort of probable reason behind their indifference towards the goblins’ past suffering, Remi continued on. “Back to me though… You see, when I first encountered these guys, I was a lot like how you were, Sportsy: down on my luck, and one foot in the grave…”
“… And despite not having anything to give them in return, the scouts who came across me— just like how they did with you— invited me to their reserve for nourishment, even though they had every reason not to,” Remi recalled, before trailing off into a brief pause— pushing their sunglasses up their nose, while silently letting out a humorless laugh.
“It’s funny… ‘Cause when they brought me to their underground village… I remember planning on betraying them while they were still taking care of me… I still could do it— it’d be easier now than it was back then.”
Goblin Slayer’s jaw tightened with slight excitement, as to him, that had been the only thing that had come out Remi’s mouth that he agreed upon. "Then enact those plans. It’s not too late for that; they’re all just disgusting monsters."
"Are they really, though?" Remi’s eyes narrowed, a strange gleam in them now, equal parts anger and sadness. “Take a good, hard look at us, Sportsy: you want to murder an entire village of goody-two shoes, who’ve probably shown you more kindness than anyone of your kind has, and I wanted to do the same thing at one point. Hell, that’s still a viable option on the table for me if shit goes South.”
Goblin Slayer took another bite of his food, chewing slowly. "Then why not help me?"
Remi laughed, the sound bitter and sharp. "I already told you once, did I?" They leaned in, eyes flickering with something darker. "We have an agreement, Sportsy: I get free shit, they get to live another day with peace of mind. It’s just business; that’s all it is to me— no matter how much they look up to me, or see me as their savior.”
Challenging that, Goblin Slayer crossed his bandage-wrapped arms over his just as equally bandaged-up chest. “And yet, you keep my hand from their throats.”
That’s when Remi leaned over the table— their face only a foot away from the teenager’s, as he saw his own cautious gaze within the tinted reflection of their shades. “Let me be perfectly clear about that, Sportsy: if it weren’t for that arrangement, I personally wouldn’t care if every last goblin in this village died at your hands. Women, children, all of them can go to hell— at least as far as I could care."
Goblin Slayer stared at Remi, taken slightly aback by their words. "I see… Then… You truly wouldn’t care if I ended them?"
"No. No, I wouldn’t." Remi’s grin was gone now, their voice hollow as they leaned back and plopped back down on their seat. "And that’s what pisses me off the most, Old Sport: I know I should care, but I don’t. I can’t find myself caring about anything, really— not even a little. And I can’t figure out why that is."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the soft sound of Remi tapping their fingers against their cup. Goblin Slayer watched them closely, something in his chest tightening, though he couldn’t say why.
Finally, Remi spoke again, quieter this time. "I’ve gotten pretty good at looking like a human, acting like one. But the emotions? The complicated stuff? That’s still... Beyond me." They gave a bitter laugh. "Music helps, though. It’s the only thing that gets me close to feeling something real— other than joy and hate. Those are easy."
Goblin Slayer’s voice was low, almost cautious. “… What are you trying to say?"
Remi hesitated, their gaze flicking toward him, before they smiled—this time, a smile without warmth. "Let me show you what I mean, Old Sport."
Without warning, Remi reached up and grabbed their own head. Before Goblin Slayer could react, they tore it clean off— holding it in their hands. The bewildered teen’s coffee cup slipped from his fingers— shattering on the sandy ground.
Instead of blood, a translucent cyan liquid oozed slowly from their neck, a surreal, almost gelatinous substance. Remi’s head, still cradled in their hands, looked up at him with a dry smirk.
"Beneath the surface, I’m really just a slime monster; I only look human," they said, their voice unnervingly calm. “It’s… Pathetic, really: I’ve gotten so good at faking it, that I even fool myself sometimes. In fact, I’ve gone this long trying to be something that I’m not, that I’ve actually forgotten why I even started doing it in the first place."
Goblin Slayer stared in shock, watching as Remi casually reattached their head. The liquid from their neck sealed the skin back together, as if nothing had happened. “Tell you the truth, Sportsy? These days, I don’t even know why I get out of bed anymore.”
When Goblin Slayer finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "Does it... Hurt?"
Remi let out a long, tired sigh. “… Only if I let it."
They sat in silence again, each lost in their own thoughts. Remi, normally so sarcastic, seemed weighed down by something darker, something broken. Goblin Slayer, meanwhile, couldn’t shake the strange feeling of pity that had settled in his chest.
Then, Remi broke the silence with a pointed question. "So... What’s your deal anyway? Why the hatred for goblins in general? Something must’ve happened, right?”
Goblin Slayer stiffened, his hand clenching the edge of the table. He didn’t answer immediately.
"You… You already know what imp goblins are infamous for," he said after a long pause.
Remi’s expression shifted, their eyes darkening with understanding. "Who did you lose?"
Goblin Slayer’s voice was barely a whisper. "My sister."
The two sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Remi spoke, their voice quiet but seemingly sincere. "I’m sorry for your loss."
Goblin Slayer’s lips twitched beneath his helmet, but it wasn’t quite a smile. "I thought you couldn’t feel those kinds of emotions."
Remi chuckled, though the sound was hollow. "You’re right. I can’t. But if I could, I would."
Another silence settled over them, heavy and lingering.
Remi leaned back and sighed, a bittersweet expression crossing their face. "You know, there’s this old story I heard once, about the moon, you see,” they said, as their lips began cracking into an amused smirk.
“Oh… I see,” Goblin Slayer uttered back with a curious, albeit distracted voice— his brain still reeling from the odd interaction they had over breakfast.
Pushing their ceramic cup toward the teenager’s side of the table, Remi put their elbow down on their edge of the table— resting their chin on their upturned palm, before proceeding to speak while he drank what was left of their coffee.
“So the story goes that a long, long, long time ago, there was this old man who descended from the moon itself, and came into contact with four sentient animals: a monkey, an otter, a jackal, and a rabbit.”
“The old man apparently looked like a beggar, ‘cause these three animals took pity on him and thought he was starving.”
“The monkey gathered bananas from the trees, and offered them to the old man. The otter did what otters apparently do: they caught some fish, and offered all of that to that geezer.”
“And then the jackal— being the lazy piece of shit that he was— simply gave that old guy the first things he came across: a lizard he caught, and some water he found. Bare minimum level effort on his part, you see.”
“But then there’s the rabbit, who didn’t know what to fetch for the freeloader. Because the rabbit only had access to grass that he knew that the old man couldn’t eat, he decided to make the ultimate sacrifice by offering himself up as meal— just like the suicidal dumbass he was.”
“So this rabbit makes a big-ass fire, and tries killing himself by hopping inside of it. But then— surprise, surprise— no harm comes to little rodent. It’s then that the old man reveals himself to be none other than the Supreme God Himself.”
“Touched by the rabbit’s virtue and selflessness, the Supreme God supposedly rewarded the little shit by drawing his likeness on the surface of the moon itself— so that all who gaze upon it will remember the rabbit’s kindness, and strive to be just like him.”
Although he didn’t much care for Remi, and he especially despised being forced to be peaceful amongst a village full of goblins, Goblin Slayer had been enthralled with the story spoken to him— having sipped the remainder of the slime beast’s coffee, until the cup had run empty.
“That’s… Quite the tale,” the teenager said in a quiet tone, while silently dissecting it and the reason behind why Remi had bothered to tell it in the first place.
Without missing a beat, the pastel-haired slime monster said aloud in a low, spiteful voice, “I hate that story,” catching Goblin Slayer off guard.
“W… Why?”
“‘Cause I fuckin’ hate rabbits.”
Remi let out a short, humorless laugh— one that was filled with misunderstood sadness and frustration. And though their joyless laugh was one that would have made anyone else feel uncomfortable listening to, for Goblin Slayer, it was nothing short of infectious.
Feeling the corners of his lips tighten and curl upwards, the teenager closed his eyelids softly— starting off with silent, quickened breaths, before slowly escalating them into a fit of muffled snickers.
He knew he wasn’t happy, and from what he could tell, neither was Remi. And yet there they were, with Goblin Slayer haunched over the table— his red-face buried in his arms, cackling to himself while the slime monster across the table from him started to howl with laughter.
The wind picked up, carrying sand through the narrow streets as Goblin Slayer and Remi left the Sandy Planet café. They walked side by side in silence for a moment, the sound of their footsteps crunching against the dirt. Remi, ever restless, broke the quiet first.
“So,” Remi chimed out, as they tossed a sideways glance at him— the corner of their mouth twitching in amusement. “Ever gotten laid before?”
“No,” he replied flat— his voice low and rough, like gravel grinding together. “But… One time I laid my lips upon the breasts of an endowed nurse.”
Remi barked out a laugh. “Hah! No shit, Sportsy?! You actually got some action in your life?! Heh! And here I was: under the impression that you were celibate…!”
Goblin Slayer didn’t dignify that with a response.
The sand stung his exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the awkwardness of walking through a goblin-inhabited village with Remi keeping a close eye on him.
It wasn’t the watchfulness that bothered him—he was used to being watched— but there was something different about Remi. They were a paradox— always keeping him on edge with their sarcasm, but never quite crossing the line into hostility.
“You know,” Remi started again, their tone conversational, “I bet if I hadn’t been watching over you, you would’ve gutted a few of the villagers by now. Probably would have enjoyed the shit out of it too, huh?.”
“Yes.”
Remi raised an eyebrow at Goblin Slayer, all while still smirking— the sounds of their feet hitting the ground filled the momentary silence. “… Would you ever fuck a goblin, Old Sport?”
Goblin Slayer stopped just short of rolling his eyes.
They eventually began walking up the rocky steps to Remi’s home, with the wind being none the gentler. When they reached the top, Remi pulled open the door and gestured for him to enter.
“Look at that,” they said with mock enthusiasm, “I’m being hospitable. I think I deserve to suck on some nurse’s tiddy too, for that.”
Goblin Slayer stepped inside without a word, but he gave a slight nod— the closest thing to a “thank you” Remi would ever get from him. Inside, he followed Remi to their bedroom, where they crouched beside the bed and pulled out a trunk from underneath.
“Alright, here’s your stuff,” Remi said, standing up as they opened the chest. “Armor’s patched. Shirt’s stitched. Didn’t touch the tomahawk, though. Thought you’d be weird about it.”
Goblin Slayer inspected his gear in silence, methodically pulling on the repaired black turtleneck shirt and securing the leather armor over it. The quiet felt different now— not hostile, not tense, just natural.
Remi grabbed a black crop-top from a nearby pile of clothes. “I’ve got to say, Sportsy, you’re way more chatty than I thought you were going to be,” they said, pulling the shirt over their head. “Guess all you needed was a good night’s rest, and some grub.”
“Those things… Helped,” Goblin Slayer replied, buckling his armor straps. “I… I try not to say more than what’s needed.”
“Is that so,” Remi muttered, zipping up a pastel-blue jacket with a fur-lined hood. “They say “loose lips sink ships”. Is that what happened to you? Did you get yourself into some sort of trouble from yappin’ to the wrong person?”
“… Yes.”
“Don’t worry, Sportsy; I’ve got a pair of loose lips myself. Play your cards right, and you might get well acquainted with them before you go.”
Remi finished adjusting their jacket and grabbed their guardless katana, sliding it smoothly into the sheath at their hip before equipping their guitar from its stand. Goblin Slayer secured his tomahawk to his belt in near-perfect synchrony— the two of them moving with an unspoken rhythm.
They both reached for their headgear at the same time— Goblin Slayer for his helmet, Remi for a different pair of sunglasses.
Once they were dressed, Remi leaned against the doorframe of the small kitchen as Goblin Slayer packed a few supplies. The pantry was sparse, but there were dried meats, some jerky, and a canteen of water— enough for a quick resupply.
“Still don’t get why these guys wanted me to spare you,” Remi mused aloud, watching him with a curious expression. “It’s not like they didn’t catch onto how much you hate them.”
Goblin Slayer stuffed the last of the jerky into his pouch and glanced over. “They trust you to do the right thing.”
“Yeah, well, I personally wouldn’t trust me,” Remi said, smirking. “But hey, I guess everyone’s got their blind spots.”
Goblin Slayer didn’t reply, but there was a hint of something in the air between them— a mutual, if grudging, respect. He slung the canteen over his shoulder, and together they headed for the door.
Outside, the sun was lower in the sky, casting long shadows across Delrivkat. The goblins moved about, going through the routines of their day, but their eyes lingered on Goblin Slayer— always cautious, always wary. Remi walked beside him— their posture relaxed but their gaze sharp, as if ready to step in at a moment’s notice.
“You really think you’re gonna make it out there by yourself?” Remi teased, grinning as they adjusted their sunglasses. “Or should I expect to see your pasty-ass back here by the end of the night?”
“Don’t bet on it.”
“Sure, Sportsy,” Remi said with exaggerated disbelief, “Let’s just hope that this’ll be the last we see each other’s mugs.”
They continued down the dirt road— their banter light but not without a sense of something deeper. By now, Goblin Slayer had gotten used to Remi’s sharp tongue, and though he wouldn’t admit it, he found it easier to tolerate.
The sandstone walls of Delrivkat loomed behind them— fading into the hazy distance as Goblin Slayer and Remi walked in silence. They had gone far enough that the goblin archers stationed on top of the battlements had a clear shot on him, if he decided to turn back.
The wind was relentless— stirring the sand into small, with erratic cyclones that kicked against their boots. Remi adjusted the strap of the guitar slung across their back, keeping their face unreadable behind the sunglasses, but their mouth twitched slightly— betraying some internal conflict.
“Well, Old Sport,” Remi began, voice casual, but with an undercurrent of something more. “This is where we part ways. Try not to die, alright? Not that I care or anything. It’s just that the elder would be insufferable if any of her scouts came across your corpse.”
“I see.” Goblin Slayer, already a few steps ahead, stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "I’ll keep an eye out for any rabbits for you."
Remi gave a half-hearted laugh, waving him off. “Yeah, sure, rabbits… You do that.”
Goblin Slayer nodded slightly, offering nothing more before turning his back to the village once again and walking toward the desert’s endless horizon.
Remi stared at his retreating form, their lips tightening into a thin line. They took a few steps forward, back toward the gates of Delrivkat, but stopped abruptly. Something gnawed at them— something unfamiliar, unsettling. Their hand clenched involuntarily at the strap of their guitar.
‘What the hell is this feeling? Why am I still thinking about him? I did my part— whatever happens to him is on him!’ They scowled, shaking their head, and then with a loud, frustrated sigh, spun around.
’Fuck it.’
“H… H-Hey, Sportsy!” Remi shouted, waving their arms frantically to get his attention. “Hold your horses!”
Goblin Slayer paused, turning slowly— his vented visor catching the fading sunlight. His posture remained steady, but there was a slight tilt to his head— as if perplexed by Remi’s sudden urgency.
With a cloud of dust kicked up from the speed of their feet, Remi sprinted toward him— skidding to a stop just in front of him, their breath quick, but controlled. They tried to appear nonchalant, smoothing their jacket and adjusting the guitar strap as if nothing unusual had just happened.
“Say… Remember what I said the other night?” Remi started, tone light but edged with something uncertain. “About having something you might be interested in?”
Goblin Slayer remained still, his curiosity piqued. “Okay,” he said, waiting for Remi to continue.
Remi cleared their throat, trying to keep the façade of indifference, but the sharp edge of worry hadn’t entirely left their voice. “So... There’s this outpost a few kilometers North of here— not sure if you’ve seen it or not.”
The gray-haired teenager nodded, and said in his usual deep voice, “I see.”
“Well anyways,” Remi went on, scratching the back of their neck, “it’s gone. Burned to the ground. Scouting parties found it yesterday before they came across you being eaten by some birds. While you were unconscious, the elder asked me to look over the reports with her. Anywhoozle, the reports included sightings of desert marauders and imp goblins that were all leaving the destroyed outpost in different directions— all of them having stolen loot and captives rounded up with them.”
Goblin Slayer's grip on his belt tightened at the mention of imp goblins, his eyes narrowing beneath the helmet. “… Goblins?”
“Yeah Sportsy, the fucking bad kind of goblins,” Remi continued, watching him closely, “That’s not all: without that outpost, Delrivkat’s pretty much screwed at this rate. They were the village’s main source of trade— food, materials, you name it. The goblins can’t survive out here alone, and…”
“… Well, even though I couldn’t give two shits about what happens to them, the truth of the matter is Sportsy is that if a bunch of ‘em die under my watch, it’ll ruin my street cred, you know?” Remi’s voice faltered, a rare crack in their usual bravado. “Can’t be called “Storm Lord” anymore, if my fan club doesn’t think that I can’t bring on the thunder!”
Goblin Slayer’s silence weighed on the air between them. He knew what Remi was asking, even if they couldn’t bring themselves to say it outright. His gaze stayed steady on them as Remi shifted awkwardly on their feet.
“L-Look,” Remi finally blurted out, trying to regain their casual tone, “I could use the company, and you could use my protection. I mean, it’s only a matter of time before you get yourself killed again anyway, so why not do some good before that happens?”
Goblin Slayer could see through the flimsy façade— the sarcasm, the bravado. It was a defense mechanism, something to hide behind. He didn’t call them out on it, though. Instead, he nodded, his voice calm and deliberate.
“I’ll join you. But only if I get to deal with that goblin army.”
Remi grinned, the tension easing from their face for a moment. “Outta boy, Sportsy! That’s the genocidal spirit!” They cheered somewhat sarcastically, before eagerly reaching into their pocket to pull out folded parchment paper. “We don’t even gotta waste time tracking them down; the nerds back home already did the hard work for us!”
Goblin Slayer didn’t respond immediately, but something shifted in his posture, a subtle acknowledgment of the unspoken understanding between them. He turned toward the horizon again, glancing briefly over his shoulder.
“That’s fine… Take me to the goblins, and then we’ll deal with those marauders,” Goblin Slayer commanded, while Remi began unfolding the charter map that Delrivkat’s team of cartographers gave them.
Chapter 14: Blood Meridian (Part I)
Chapter Text
The twilight sky stretched endlessly over the desert, painted in deep purples and dusky pinks that bled into the approaching night. The first stars blinked into existence, dotting the heavens like scattered jewels, their light reflected in the sweeping dunes. The vast expanse of the desert was mesmerizing, a world bathed in muted shadows and soft hues that softened the harshness of the sand.
In the distance, the colossal structure of the Nyusyree Pyramid loomed like a forgotten giant, its ancient stone blocks etched with centuries of time. Each tier of the pyramid held goblins and hobgoblins, posted like sentinels along the stone ledges.
Over a hundred goblins and hobgoblins patrolled its ledges, their movements twitchy and erratic. They held a clumsy mix of shoddy wooden bows and newly acquired steel spring crossbows, the latter looking far too advanced for their crude hands.
Hidden behind a not too distant sand dune, Remi sat cross-legged— hunched over their guitar, twisting the tuning pegs with focused intent. Goblin Slayer knelt nearby, his gaze fixed on the pyramid— muscles tense, eyes sharp beneath his helmet. Every now and then, he’d glance back at Remi, the quiet frustration in him barely contained.
“How long is this going to take?” Goblin Slayer asked, his voice low but edged with impatience.
Remi didn’t look up, plucking a string and grimacing slightly. “You can’t rush perfection, Sportsy; if ain’t D minor, then it’s gonna be a shitshow on our part.”
“We’re not here for a performance,” Goblin Slayer growled. “We’re here to kill goblins.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Remi waved him off dismissively, plucking another string and adjusting the tuning. “Trust me, this is important. You wouldn’t understand, but the vibe’s gotta be right.”
Goblin Slayer’s brow furrowed behind his helmet. “The... Vibe? We’re sneaking into a goblin-infested pyramid, not playing a concert.”
Remi grinned, flicking their eyes up at him from behind their sunglasses. “Says the guy who’s probably never been to a concert. You should try expanding your emotional palette sometime— maybe you wouldn’t be so uptight.”
Goblin Slayer’s grip tightened on the hilt of his tomahawk. “What would you know about emotions?”
Remi chortled to themselves— still focused on the guitar. “Touché, Old Sport. But even so, we psychos still gotta appreciate the little things. Like this sky— look at that.” Remi gestured upwards with the neck of their guitar, the strings vibrating softly as they did. “Purple, pink, stars popping out like they’re showing up for a cosmic gig. Majestic as fuck.”
Goblin Slayer didn’t even glance up. “The goblins aren’t going to care what the sky looks like.”
“And that’s why they’re goblins,” Remi retorted, giving a final twist of the peg before strumming a slow, mellow chord. The sound reverberated through the cooling desert air, unexpectedly harmonious. Remi gave a satisfied nod, finally looking up at Goblin Slayer. “There. Ready.”
“Finally,” Goblin Slayer said flatly. “Do whatever it is you need to do, then we’ll have to sneak through-.”
Remi strummed a lazy chord, the sound somehow carrying through the desert air. “-Sneaking’s for the fucking birds, Sportsy. You really wanna do it all quiet-like, when we can go in with a bang ?”
Goblin Slayer clenched his fists. “We’re outnumbered. If they spot us—”
“-Then they’ll die pissing themselves in fear,” Remi interrupted with a grin, adjusting their sunglasses. “Look, Sportsy, I get it. You have a cemented method when it comes to mass murder. But have a little faith. I know what I’m doing.”
Goblin Slayer opened his mouth to protest, but before he could get a word out, Remi began to play in earnest. Their fingers danced across the strings, the guitar’s notes rippling through the air with a strange, hypnotic quality.
“The tiiiiime has come to an end! Yeaaah— this is what nature plaaaaanned!”
At first, Goblin Slayer felt his blood begin to boil with frustration, but then something else took hold. His body tingled as the music wrapped around him, and red lightning began to crackle around his armor. Sparks of energy flickered at the edges of his vision, surging through him like a battle cry.
“What... the hell?” Goblin Slayer muttered, feeling his muscles tense with newfound power.
Remi smirked, watching the magical aura take hold.
“Being tracked by a starving beast... Looking for its daily feast…”
Overhead, storm clouds gathered unnaturally fast. Thunder rumbled in the distance, growing louder with each strum of the guitar. The goblins on the pyramid stopped dead in their tracks, startled by the sudden roar of the storm. They looked up, confused and jittery, their beady eyes flicking between their crude weapons and the sky. Some struggled to hold their newly acquired crossbows, the steel springs creaking under their inexperienced fingers.
“A predator on the verge of death; close to its last breeeeath…!”
The goblins began to scatter, panic spreading as lightning crackled through the clouds. A few of them fumbled with their crossbows, sending bolts haphazardly into the sky. Others drew their flimsy wooden bows, eyes darting around in fear as the storm raged above them.
“Getting close to its last breaeaaa-a-a-th!”
Goblin Slayer felt the raw energy coursing through him, and despite his instincts screaming at him to keep things quiet, he couldn’t deny the thrill of the power surging through his body. He raised his tomahawk, electricity sparking along its edge.
Remi grinned wider, strumming harder, the music growing louder as the storm intensified.
“RULES OF NATURE!!!”
The sky cracked open with an explosion of thunder and lightning, purple hues flashing through the clouds like veins of energy. Goblin Slayer’s body hummed with raw power, red lightning dancing across his armor, coursing through his veins, and amplifying his every sense.
The teen’s left eye glowed bright red beneath the visor of his helmet, burning with an intensity that made everything around him feel sharper, clearer, alive.
‘My heart. It’s beating fast. Hands shaking— brain accelerating.’
He felt euphoric. Manic. His pulse throbbed in his ears as the magic surged through him. Every sound— the twang of goblin crossbows, the shuffle of their feet, the rattling of their ragged armor— pulsed in rhythm with his own heartbeat. His movements were no longer slow or methodical; they were effortless, precise. He was the storm now, a force of nature.
‘One.’
The teen’s tomahawk carved through a goblin's throat— severing its head cleanly. The red lightning that licked off the blade sent a wave of heat into the air, scorching the flesh and cauterizing the wound. The goblin crumpled into a smoldering heap, its head rolling across the stone floor.
Behind him, Remi stood on the dune, strumming their guitar in a frenzied rhythm, the notes raw and heavy. Thunder responded to their riffs like a percussion to their melody, and Goblin Slayer could feel the vibrations of each chord rattling in his bones. Remi’s eyes gleamed as they watched the massacre unfold— their lips twisted in a half-crazed grin.
“And they run when the sun comes up! With their lives on the lineeeee!”
“ALIVEEEE!!!”
“For a while— No CHOICE!!!”
Goblin Slayer barely heard them. Another goblin lunged at him, its steel spring crossbow aimed shakily, but Goblin Slayer was already moving. His body blurred, red lightning crackling around him, his reflexes heightened to superhuman levels.
He sidestepped the bolt effortlessly, watching it sail by as if in slow motion. His tomahawk arced down, slicing the goblin in half before it could even register it was dead.
‘Two.’
His heart pounded harder— the thrill of it all consuming him. The teen slashed at the air— feeling the red lightning respond, forming into a crescent shockwave that ripped through the bodies of three more goblins at once. The wave of energy sliced and burned through them like butter, leaving only a pile of bloodied and charred limbs in its wake.
‘Five.’
Remi laughed from the dune, head banging along to the deafening thunder and the heavy riffs they conjured.
“Gotta follow the laws of the wild!”
“ALIVEEEE!!!”
“With their lives on the lines— no CHOICEEE!!!”
More hobgoblins rushed down the stone tiers, their oversized, clumsy crossbows aimed at him. Goblin Slayer watched them, his glowing red eye scanning each movement, each shift in their weight.
The world around him slowed, and he could see every twitch, every breath they took. They fired, but he was already moving again, his tomahawk flashing in rapid arcs. He parried bolt after bolt, sending them spinning harmlessly into the air.
The hobgoblins hesitated. He could feel their fear, smell it in the acrid sweat that poured off their bodies. Goblin Slayer grinned beneath his helmet— exhilarated by their helplessness. He slashed the air again, sending another red lightning shockwave that carved through them. Their bodies were reduced to burned husks, limbs scattered across the pyramid like broken toys.
‘Ten.’
Remi’s guitar roared louder, the sky erupting with lightning and thunder in a chaotic, beautiful symphony. They let out a wild cheer, their voice barely audible over the storm.
“Only the strong SURVIVE!!!”
Goblin Slayer’s body surged with even more power. His veins felt like they were on fire, but it wasn’t pain. It was bliss. He sprinted up the stone steps of the pyramid, charging straight at the largest hobgoblin, its face contorted in terror as it fumbled to reload its weapon.
Before it could even raise its crossbow, Goblin Slayer was on it, his tomahawk tearing through its shoulder and embedding deep into its chest.
‘Fourteen.’
The hobgoblin gasped, its eyes wide with horror. But the teen wasn’t done.
‘Not yet, not yet!’
His gauntleted hand shot forward, plunging into the creature’s abdomen with a sickening crunch. He could feel its spine beneath his fingers, slick and warm with blood. With a savage yank, he ripped its spine clean out of its body, the hobgoblin’s head still attached, dangling like a grotesque trophy.
The body collapsed onto the stone bricks, twitching as Goblin Slayer stood over it, the hobgoblin’s spine and head gripped in his bloody hand. Lightning crackled in the sky above him, thunder booming as if the heavens themselves were applauding his carnage.
‘Fifteen.’
He stood there, breathing heavily, the spine still in his hand. The power thrummed through him, the magic from Remi’s spell making him feel more alive than he had in years. His left eye glowed brighter, burning crimson as he stared down at the mutilated remains of his enemies.
“This,” he muttered to himself, voice low and almost awed, “this is power.”
The storm intensified above— lightning striking like an orchestra conductor's baton, in sync with Remi's guitar riffs. Goblin Slayer’s senses were on fire— red lightning licking his armor and skin, fusing with the blood that splattered across him in waves.
His pulse thundered in his ears, the power coursing through him as raw and violent as the storm itself. His tomahawk gleamed, covered in fresh gore, and his body moved faster than his thoughts, as if possessed by the sheer thrill of the slaughter.
He couldn’t stop counting. It was a rhythm, like the beat of Remi’s music, like the pounding of his heart. The goblins, hobgoblins— it didn’t matter.
They were all the same to him. Just bodies to be torn apart, bones to be crushed— undeserving lives to be snuffed out in agony.
The hobgoblins clutched their crude crossbows, fumbling to reload, their eyes wide with terror. Goblin Slayer could see every twitch in their faces, every quiver in their limbs.
‘They’re nothing. Weak. Insignificant.’
"Look at me."
He felt a manic grin spread under his helmet, though his lips barely moved. His tomahawk spun in his hand, the weapon alive with the same red lightning that crackled in the sky above. With a swift motion, he threw the tomahawk at one hobgoblin's head. It buried itself deep into its skull with a wet crack, sending the creature staggering back before it collapsed, twitching in the dirt.
‘One-hundred and three.’
Before another goblin could react, Goblin Slayer was already moving. He dashed forward, grabbed his tomahawk from the hobgoblin's skull with a sickening pull, and spun on his heel. A goblin screamed as he slashed the creature’s legs clean off, the thing toppling forward, desperately clawing at the dirt before Goblin Slayer brought his weapon down on its neck.
‘One-hundred and four.’
Blood sprayed across the stone steps of the pyramid, painting them red. The goblins were in disarray, stumbling over each other as they tried to retreat, but there was nowhere to go. The red lightning made him faster, stronger, almost invincible. He dodged their arrows with ease, the bolts whizzing past him as if moving through molasses.
"I’m unreachable.”
His left eye burned brighter as his adrenaline soared on overdrive.
Another hobgoblin came at him with a jagged sword, but Goblin Slayer was already moving, spinning the tomahawk in his hand and parrying the blow. The force sent a shockwave of red energy through the hobgoblin’s body, and its chest exploded outward in a gory burst of blood and bone.
‘One-hundred and six.’
Remi’s guitar wailed from atop the dune, the melody pushing Goblin Slayer further, driving him deeper into the bloodlust. Remi's voice broke through the chaos, wild and manic, matching the energy of the storm.
“What’s done is done; survived to see another day!”
“The dance of life— the hunter and the agile prey!”
“No guarantee!”
“Which of them will succeed!”
“Strong or weak?!”
The goblins kept coming, their faces twisted with terror, their weapons shaking in their hands.
He could smell their fear, feel their desperation. It filled him with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
“RULES OF NATURE!!!”
“RULES OF NATURRRRE!!!”
A goblin lunged at him with a crude spear, but Goblin Slayer sidestepped effortlessly, spinning on his heel and bringing his tomahawk down in an arc, cleaving the goblin’s head clean off. Its body slumped to the ground, blood pooling at his feet.
‘One-hundred and seven.’
His thoughts became jumbled, a mix of euphoria and madness. Another goblin rushed him, firing its crossbow. The bolt zipped toward his face, but Goblin Slayer leaned slightly, watching it pass by his helmet’s visor. His tomahawk lashed out, embedding itself into the goblin’s chest. With a yank, he tore it out, taking chunks of flesh with it.
‘One-hundred and eight.’
The storm raged harder— lightning illuminating the dark sky in violent flashes, casting shadows of the battle below. The manic teen cut through them like they were nothing. With every slash, every severed limb, every scream, his heart raced faster. His body burned with power, the red lightning scorching the air around him, leaving trails of energy wherever he moved.
A hobgoblin grabbed him from behind, but Goblin Slayer didn’t even turn. He reached back, his gloved hand seizing its arm, and with a sickening crack, he tore it free. The hobgoblin shrieked, stumbling back as blood spurted from the ragged stump.
Goblin Slayer whipped around, and with a guttural growl, plunged his tomahawk into its throat. The creature gurgled, choking on its own blood as it slumped forward, dead.
‘One-hundred and nine.’
The goblins were panicking now— their numbers dwindled to unprecedented numbers. The air smelled of their filth and fear. Goblin Slayer charged up the steps, cleaving through them as they tried to scatter, limbs flying, blood painting the stone in a thick coat of crimson.
‘One-hundred and eleven.’
‘One-hundred and twelve.’
He was breathing hard now, but it wasn’t exhaustion.
"It was exhilaration."
Another goblin ran, but he was on it before it could take two steps. He grabbed its head, slamming it into the stone, crushing its skull with a sickening crack.
‘One-hundred and thirteen.’
Up and up, higher, until he was at the very peak of the pyramid. Only one hobgoblin remained. It stood there, trembling, its crossbow half-raised but useless in its hands. Goblin Slayer stalked forward, red lightning trailing behind him like a storm incarnate.
The hobgoblin tried to back away, but there was nowhere to run. With a grunt, Goblin Slayer grabbed it by the throat and lifted it off the ground. It thrashed in his grip, clawing at his hand, its eyes wide with terror. The teen smiled beneath his helmet— savoring the moment.
Without a word, he squeezed. The hobgoblin's eyes bulged, and with a sickening crunch, its skull caved in under the pressure. Goblin Slayer crushed the head in his hand, feeling the bone crack and splinter beneath his fingers. Blood and brain matter spilled between his fingers, dripping onto the stone.
‘One-hundred and twenty-two.’
He tossed the body aside, watching it tumble down the steps like a discarded ragdoll. The storm raged on above him, thunder rolling across the desert, lightning splitting the sky in violent streaks. He stood at the top of the pyramid, blood dripping from his hands, his heart racing with adrenaline.
“This,” he muttered to himself, voice low and filled with a dark satisfaction, “this is perfection.”
The goblins had been powerless. Just like so many others before them— the sense of righteous justice the teenager felt in that moment was nothing short of euphoric.
A voice called from below. “Why, hello there, Old Sport!”
Remi was climbing up the steps, their guitar slung over their back, their eyes gleaming with excitement. Blood still stained their lips from the flesh they had torn into moments before. They reached the top, standing beside Goblin Slayer, grinning as they looked over the massacre.
“How was that for a fucking performance?! Pretty electrifying, am I right?!” Remi asked, their voice filled with shared bloodlust and thrill. “Told ya I needed to play that shit in D minor… Outta boy, by the way— real proud of that hustle out there, Sportsy!”
Goblin Slayer didn’t respond immediately, his glowing eye still fixed on the blood-soaked pyramid below. The red lightning still crackled around his body, though dimming now. “This feels... Right,” he finally said, his voice distant, detached.
Remi knelt down beside the last hobgoblin’s corpse, casually tearing a chunk of flesh from its mutilated body. “You know,” they said, chewing thoughtfully, “casting buff spells takes a lot of mana. Luckily for me...” They tore off another piece of meat, their eyes gleaming as they scarfed it down. “Slimes like me regenerate mana and our health by eating meat— with kebabs being my favorite.”
Goblin Slayer barely blinked, too high on the power, too lost in the bloodlust to care. He looked at the battlefield below, the countless bodies sprawled out, mangled and lifeless. “There’ll be a feast then.”
Remi grinned, blood still staining their lips as they licked them clean. “Good.”
The goblins and hobgoblins lined the narrow passageway, their eyes darting back and forth between the fortified door and the descending stone corridor behind them. The walls of the Nyusyree Pyramid were smooth and cold, suffocating in the stillness, the silence broken only by the faint clinking of metal as the creatures adjusted their makeshift iron shields and grasped tightly onto steel weapons, pilfered and crude alike. The air was thick with tension, a collective breath held, the kind of quiet that came before the most violent storms.
They knew something was coming.
Outside, the storm raged. Lightning flashed through the cracks of the pyramid door, casting ghostly, flickering shadows across the stone floor. The goblins’ grip tightened on their bows, some clutching crossbows awkwardly, their trembling hands betraying their fear. A few hobgoblins positioned themselves at the front with massive shields, the weight of them causing their arms to shake under the strain. Their yellow eyes stared at the two-ton sandstone door with the unease of prey cornered in a trap.
The door shuddered once. A low, groaning creak echoed through the passageway. The goblins shifted, anxious, their breaths quickening.
Then the door exploded.
A cacophony of stone shattering echoed through the corridor as chunks of the enchanted sandstone door blasted inward, sending fragments slicing through the air, cutting down the goblins too slow to react. Blood splattered against the walls. The hall was instantly bathed in a chaotic display of cyan and crimson lightning, bolts crackling and tearing through the debris, lighting up the stunned faces of the remaining goblins and hobgoblins.
Standing amidst the smoke and the wreckage, silhouetted against the violent storm outside, were Goblin Slayer and Remi.
Goblin Slayer’s body was charged with red lightning, arcing across his armor and along his tomahawk, which dripped with the fresh blood of the goblins they'd slain before. His left eye glowed a burning, malevolent red from beneath his helmet, the same crimson sparks flashing from his body.
Beside him, Remi stood still for a moment, a wicked grin spread across their face. Cyan lightning coursed over their form, crackling up their arms and legs. They reached up, almost casually, and tossed aside their sunglasses and jacket in one smooth motion, letting them flutter down behind them.
The goblins froze. Their fear palpable as Remi’s glowing yellow eyes locked onto them.
“Showtime…” Remi whispered, their voice full of bloodlust and excitement.
From their lower back, beneath the cropped shirt, four massive, cyan gelatinous tendrils erupted outward with a sickening squelch. They whipped through the air, electric with power, each one twitching and ready, anticipating the carnage to come.
The goblins and hobgoblins stood petrified, staring at the inhuman spectacle in front of them. The air crackled with energy, the storm above roaring in tune with the lightning that arced through the hallway.
Remi slowly raised their guardless katana in one hand, cyan lightning crackling along the blade. Goblin Slayer, now low to the ground, gripped his bloodstained tomahawk tighter, his muscles coiled and ready to spring.
Neither the goblins and hobgoblins had time to scream before the slaughter began.
Chapter 15: Blood Meridian (Part II)
Chapter Text
Remi surged forward, a blur of cyan lightning and tendrils, their body twisting and contorting through the air like a nightmare made flesh. Their four tendrils shot out from their back, latching onto the stone walls, dragging their body forward in an unnatural, spider-like gait, far faster than the goblins could comprehend.
The air crackled with electricity as their katana, now glowing with blinding cyan energy, charged up to the point of overflowing.
In one fluid motion, Remi slashed their blade out in front of them, unleashing a torrent of cyan lightning that split the air with a deafening crack. The energy arced forward, exploding into the first line of goblins with an earth-shattering roar.
Twenty goblins were instantly vaporized— bodies torn asunder in an eruption of blood, ash, and gore, their limbs and organs scattering across the sandstone floor like grotesque confetti.
The lightning leapt from corpse to corpse, racing through the ranks, sending goblins and hobgoblins alike flying in every direction. The corridor lit up like a violent storm, each arc of electricity striking with devastating power, leaving behind nothing but charred, mangled remains.
Panic set in. The goblins screamed in terror, scrambling over each other, trying to flee, but the lightning coursing through their ranks made any sense of order impossible.
Those not struck directly were hit by flying body parts or slammed into walls as the chaos spread. Hobgoblins, normally towering and imposing, crumbled under the onslaught, their crude weapons falling from their hands as they tried to shield themselves from the oncoming slaughter.
Amidst the chaos, a hidden trap activated— poisonous darts shot out from the walls, aiming directly at Remi. They hissed through the air and struck true, embedding themselves into their skin.
But instead of falling, Remi laughed— a crazed, unhinged sound. The darts dissolved upon contact with their slime anatomy, the poison and metal tips alike melting into nothingness. The remains of the darts clattered uselessly to the sandstone floor, little more than empty shells.
"Your little toys won’t save you!" Remi sneered, their voice dripping with sadistic glee. “Fight me, you fuckin’ cowards!”
The fear in the goblins' eyes was palpable, and it only made Remi’s grin widen. They darted forward again, their tendrils whipping out like lethal snakes. The two front tendrils plunged into a cluster of goblins, impaling them with horrifying ease.
Blood spurted from their pierced bodies, staining the stone floor as the tendrils twisted and turned, tearing through organs and snapping bones with sickening cracks. The goblins writhed on the ends of the tendrils like broken marionettes, their screams choked off as Remi hoisted them up into the air, relishing their agony.
With a single flick, Remi flung the corpses aside, their lifeless bodies slamming into the walls with wet thuds, leaving streaks of blood and entrails in their wake.
“Die, die, die— DIE FOR ME, HAHA, HA HA!!!” Remi taunted as they maneuvered through the horde with terrifying speed. The tendrils lifted them above the scrambling goblins, allowing them to dart from wall to wall, each movement punctuated by slashes of their katana and bursts of cyan lightning.
Every strike was precise, every attack leaving more goblins in pieces, their heads rolling across the ground, limbs severed and tossed into the air.
The cyan lightning never ceased. It sparked from Remi’s blade, each arc hitting clusters of goblins with surgical precision. Organs exploded from their bodies, their skin charred and burning as the bolts found their marks, sending showers of blood into the air.
Remi’s laughter echoed through the stone corridor, a deranged and gleeful sound that only added to the nightmarish scene unfolding around them.
One goblin, barely clinging to life, tried to crawl away, dragging itself through the pools of blood and flesh. Remi’s tendril shot out, piercing through its back with a sickening squelch. They lifted the goblin high into the air, watching as its eyes bulged with terror before tightening their grip. The goblin’s body twitched violently before bursting apart— viscera and entrails spraying across the walls in a shower of gore.
"Juicy!" Remi laughed, licking their lips as they spun their katana, flicking off the blood. Their tendrils writhed and lashed around them, searching for more victims as the goblins' formation crumbled completely.
The remaining hobgoblins tried to hold their ground, their shields raised, but Remi was relentless. The tendrils whipped out again, knocking shields aside, allowing their katana to strike with blinding speed.
One hobgoblin, clutching a steel sword, swung desperately, but Remi sidestepped effortlessly, their tendril wrapping around the creature's throat and lifting it off the ground. They grinned as they twisted their katana, sending a bolt of cyan lightning straight through the hobgoblin’s chest, watching as it convulsed violently before its body exploded into charred pieces.
Remi’s yellow eyes gleamed with unhinged joy as they danced through the carnage, their tendrils slashing and stabbing with savage precision. Each kill brought a fresh spray of blood, each attack leaving behind mutilated, broken bodies. The corridor had become a slaughterhouse, and Remi was the butcher, their sadistic glee palpable in every movement.
This wasn’t just a battle for them. It was ecstasy.
Goblin Slayer leaped out from behind them— his tomahawk raised as Remi’s tendrils cleared a gruesome path for him, skewering goblins and throwing their mangled bodies aside like ragdolls.
The two cyan tendrils then shot up and shielded the teen from a volley of arrows— the metallic tips clinking harmlessly against Remi’s slime anatomy, dissolving upon contact.
When the tendrils pulled away, Goblin Slayer shot forward, crimson lightning trailing behind him, his left eye glowing with a manic intensity that flashed like a strobe.
His body surged with raw power, enhanced by the magic running through his veins. And his heart raced, and every nerve in his body felt alive, humming with energy as he dove headfirst into the chaos.
"Two-hundred and three," he muttered under his breath as his tomahawk cleaved through the first hobgoblin, the weapon cutting through the steel shield like butter, shattering bone and armor alike. The hobgoblin’s torso split open, smoldering as the crimson lightning singed the edges of the wound. Goblin Slayer wrenched the tomahawk free, splattering blood as he kicked the dismembered body aside.
With one clean swing, he slashed the air horizontally, sending out a crescent shockwave of crackling crimson energy. The wave tore through the ranks of retreating goblins and hobgoblins, slicing them in half mid-scream. Bodies hit the floor in blood-soaked heaps, limbs and heads severed from torsos, blood spilling across the stone as the retreat turned into a massacre.
Rows upon rows of goblins trampled over one another, their fear palpable, but it didn’t matter. Goblin Slayer’s tomahawk carved through them like a farmer harvesting wheat, each strike measured, each kill deliberate.
"Two-hundred and forty," Goblin Slayer whispered, his left eye glowing brighter, pulsing with each life he ended. His senses were heightened beyond anything he’d experienced before—he could feel every movement, every breath of his enemies.
Time seemed to slow as he sidestepped incoming attacks, dodging with pinpoint accuracy. His tomahawk was an extension of his body, cleaving through goblin after goblin, their shields useless against the power coursing through him.
Remi was right beside him, their tendrils impaling goblins left and right, sending bursts of cyan lightning through the chaos. The two of them moved in sync, as if they had been fighting together for years. Goblin Slayer felt the surge of battle-hardened rhythm, the perfect balance between them as they tore through the goblin defenses.
Another wave of hobgoblins charged forward, their steel weapons glinting in the flickering lightning storm. Goblin Slayer slashed the air again, sending out another crescent wave of energy, bisecting them at the waist before they even had a chance to raise their swords. Blood sprayed across the stone walls as the bodies collapsed, twitching, torn apart by the sheer force of the strike.
"Two-hundred and sixty-five," he grunted, satisfaction creeping into his voice.
They reached a fork in the hallway, the pyramid's narrow corridors stretching before them. One path ascended upward toward the peak, the other descended into the bowels of the pyramid, where the ancient structures hid their darkest secrets. Goblin Slayer’s eyes darted between the two, his blood still surging with the urge to kill, his body vibrating with the energy that pulsed through his veins.
“Split up,” Goblin Slayer commanded, his voice sharp and focused. “You take the lower levels. I’ll clear out the top.”
Remi gave him a twisted grin, cyan lightning crackling at the edges of their mouth. "See you, Space Cowboy," they said, licking their lips as they disappeared down the descending hallway, tendrils snaking behind them.
Goblin Slayer didn’t wait. He turned and charged up the ascending hallway, the walls narrowing as they spiraled upward toward the pyramid's peak. The air was thick with dust and the smell of blood, but his heart was racing in overdrive. Every step felt lighter, faster. He could feel the weight of the crimson lightning coursing through his muscles, pushing him to his limit but never letting him falter.
The goblins above sensed his approach, but they were already doomed.
The ascension hallway was a choke-hold—a perfect place for slaughter. Goblin Slayer slashed the air in front of him, sending another arc of crimson lightning upward. The shockwave cut through the first wave of goblins, bodies exploding into burning fragments as their organs were seared by the sheer heat. His count jumped with each wave, his glowing red eye catching every movement, every twitch of their frightened faces.
"Two-hundred and ninety..." Goblin Slayer whispered to himself, leaping up the narrow walls, bouncing from side to side. He dodged arrows as they zipped past him, every movement fluid, every dodge effortless. The hobgoblins barely had time to raise their weapons before his tomahawk was buried in their skulls, cracking bone and slicing through their brains.
He stomped down on a goblin’s skull, the force of the blow caving it in with a wet crunch, blood and grey matter splattering up the walls as his count climbed higher.
"Three-hundred and twenty," he muttered, feeling the euphoric rush of power as he swung his tomahawk in a wide arc, decapitating two goblins at once. Their heads bounced down the steps, rolling into the chaos below.
The hallway was steep, but it didn’t slow him down. Goblin Slayer’s heart beat like a war drum, adrenaline mixing with the magic that surged through his veins. He felt invincible, his body propelled by pure, unadulterated power.
He bounced off the walls again, his tomahawk finding purchase in the skull of a hobgoblin trying to shield itself with a steel shield. The blade cleaved through both, splitting the hobgoblin in half as Goblin Slayer kicked its bisected body down the steps, sending it tumbling into the mass of goblins below.
"Three-hundred and sixty," he hissed, his voice a low growl.
By the time he reached the top of the ascension hallway, the ground beneath him was slick with blood, the walls painted with the remnants of the creatures he had slaughtered. His tomahawk was dripping with gore, his armor stained with crimson, and his glowing red eye scanned the top level.
Standing atop the pyramid, Goblin Slayer reached down and grabbed the head of the final hobgoblin—a massive creature that had tried and failed to stand against him. He lifted it high, his left eye glowing with a hellish crimson light as he crushed the skull in his grip. Bone splintered, blood gushed, and the hobgoblin’s face caved in under the pressure.
He tossed the remains aside, his body still sparking with red lightning, and turned to the empty sky.
“Four-hundred and twelve,” he muttered, a sadistic smirk forming under his helmet.
Goblin Slayer slowed his pace as he entered the grand gallery, the air thick with the weight of history. The sandstone walls were adorned with intricate hieroglyphics, telling stories of long-forgotten dynasties and gods, their figures twisted in ancient rites.
Tattered Muhattian tapestries hung loosely from the walls, faded but still regal in their depiction of battles and victories, the threads gleaming faintly in the low light of the flickering torches.
Ebony and gold urns were meticulously arranged on ivory pedestals, their craftsmanship impeccable, each one worth more than the entire any rewards he would have gotten from the Adventurers' Guild.
Pedestals of solid gold, stacked with bars of treasure, glimmered under the ambient torchlight, casting a warm glow that danced over the vast riches of the room. Goblin Slayer’s eyes flicked over the treasure briefly, calculating their worth.
‘Enough to build a stronghold... A well-funded guild,’ he thought— his fingers trailing the lip of a gold urn. The weight of the fortune in this room could fund a lifetime of expeditions.
One urn rattled as he lifted the lid. A terrified goblin, eyes wide and bloodshot, scrambled within, desperately hoping to escape his notice. Goblin Slayer didn’t hesitate— he gripped the creature’s neck, twisting with casual indifference until he felt the snap of bone.
‘Four-hundred and fourteen.’
The goblin’s body went limp in his hands, and he tossed it aside like refuse, already focused on the next urn. The death was a chore, an afterthought. His mind was elsewhere.
‘Remi…’ He mused, sliding another urn open and finding more riches beneath the lid. He had never considered anyone more than a passing ally, but Remi— Remi was different.
A companion of unmatched power, their abilities were not just useful but essential. With them providing buffs, Goblin Slayer could clear entire armies with the same ease he was slaughtering these goblins now.
Another urn. Another terrified goblin.
Snap. Toss.
‘Four-hundred and fifteen.’
Barely worth the effort to look at them. His thoughts remained on the guild.
He approached the final urn and paused. The goblin inside was whimpering, its small body quivering as it rose shakily to its feet, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “Mercy,” it choked out in broken Common, “Please... Mercy...”
Goblin Slayer tilted his head, staring at the creature with cold detachment. But the moment stretched too long. The goblin’s fear twisted into desperation, and it lunged forward with a poisoned dagger, aiming directly at his throat.
Goblin Slayer caught the creature’s wrist mid-strike, his grip tightening with a crack. The goblin screeched, but the sound was cut short as Goblin Slayer ripped the arm clean off in one brutal motion, blood spraying the urn and the floor. He watched the creature writhe, throwing it onto a pile of discarded bodies without another thought.
He took a few steps back, steadying himself. Then, with a quick inhale, he surged forward, kicking the goblin’s head clean off its shoulders. Blood erupted in all directions, and the severed head rocketed across the room, smashing against the sandstone wall with a sickening thud.
Goblin Slayer’s body crackled with crimson lightning, his eye blazing brightly as he moved onward, his tomahawk still gripped tightly in his hand. Each step he took left faint scorch marks on the sandstone, the magic coursing through him like an electric storm barely contained beneath his armor.
‘Four-hundred and sixteen.’
The next chamber he entered was even grander than the last. It was well-lit, ancient candelabras and golden chandeliers casting a radiant glow over piles of riches that lined the room. Mountains of gold coins spilled across the floor, jeweled scepters and crowns half-buried among the wealth. At the far end, perched on a raised dais, stood a massive golden sarcophagus, adorned with inscriptions and symbols Goblin Slayer didn’t care to read.
As his armored boots clinked against the golden floor, his instincts flared. He crouched low, his muscles tensing just as the sarcophagus exploded in a cloud of gold and debris. Shards of the enchanted stone flew at him, but he rolled to the side with practiced precision, dodging the deadly shrapnel as it embedded itself into the walls.
When the dust settled, a figure floated where the sarcophagus once stood. She was wrapped tightly in ancient bandages, her shapely form barely concealed beneath the layers of linen. Her eyes glowed an eerie emerald green, burning with an unnatural fire.
Black and purple flames formed a swirling circle around her— licking at the air as she rose a few feet above the floor, her gaze locked onto Goblin Slayer.
"I am Pharaoh," she said, her voice carrying the weight of eons, each syllable dripping with authority and an ancient accent. "You dare intrude upon my sanctum, defiler."
Goblin Slayer rose up to his feet— his tomahawk in hand, the crimson lightning sparking violently around his body. He eyed the floating mummy with cold, calculating precision, taking in every detail— the fire, the levitation, the glowing eyes.
“… You’re in my way," he said flatly, his voice devoid of fear or respect, his left eye glowing brighter beneath his helmet.
The tension in the chamber thickened as Goblin Slayer and the Pharaoh stood locked in place, like two duelists waiting for the signal to strike.
The Pharaoh, her levitating form wrapped in age-old bandages, held her twin khopesh blades, each flickering with dark-burning flames.
The teen’s grip tightened on his tomahawk— his crimson eye burning beneath his helmet, the lightning around him crackling as his heightened senses scanned her every move.
In the blink of an eye, her glowing emerald eyes flashed— a telltale sign of her attack. Time seemed to slow for Goblin Slayer as his newly acquired abilities kicked in, granting him a full 360-degree perception.
The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning— his awareness extended far beyond the scope of his normal vision, an eerie clarity washing over him. His body moved before his mind had even registered it, leaping upward at an impossible angle toward the ten-meter-high ceiling.
The floor below erupted in a tower of black flames, the heat searing the air as the Pharaoh attempted to catch him off guard. Goblin Slayer narrowly dodged the inferno— his spatial awareness guiding him as he flipped mid-air, using the ceiling to propel himself forward.
But the Pharaoh was fast— faster than he had anticipated. Black flames surged from her bandaged feet as she flew up toward him, her eyes burning brighter than ever. Her twin khopesh blades slashed out, the arcs of her swings leaving trails of dark fire in the air.
Goblin Slayer raised his tomahawk just in time, catching her blade with a parry, but the impact sent him flying across the chamber— slamming into the sandstone wall with bone-rattling force.
His body ached from the collision, but he pushed the pain aside, rolling down the wall and landing back on his feet. Just in time— another blast of shadow fire surged from the Pharaoh’s blades, aimed to incinerate him.
He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the blast as it scorched the ground where he once stood.
The Pharaoh hovered above him— her emerald eyes gleaming with malevolent intent. From above, she rained down a barrage of black fire— each beam like a dark sunbeam cutting through the chamber.
Goblin Slayer sprinted across the chamber— his boots kicking up dust and debris, the blackened flames trailing dangerously close behind him.
His mind raced. He gripped his tomahawk tighter, focusing his energy, feeling the lightning inside him surge with fury. Timing his move, he leapt high over a sweeping beam of fire and, in mid-air, slashed the space before him.
A crimson crescent-shaped shockwave launched from his tomahawk— cutting through the air with deadly precision, heading straight for the Pharaoh.
Just as he thought he had her, she vanished— teleporting away in a flash of shadow fire. The projectile smashed into the golden chandeliers overhead, causing them to explode into molten shrapnel, which rained down over the treasure-laden room.
Goblin Slayer spun on his heel just as the Pharaoh reappeared behind him— her dark flames burning brighter. She came at him with a flurry of strikes, her khopesh blades cutting the air with deadly force.
He barely dodged each one— his enhanced perception allowing him to side-step her attacks with lightning speed. But every time he moved, she teleported again, striking from a different angle— each strike faster than the last.
He could feel her closing in, the random teleportation patterns making it impossible to predict where she’d land next.
One wrong move, and she'd have him.
Goblin Slayer’s mind raced. He had to act— now. His eyes flicked to the next incoming strike, and he twisted his tomahawk, hooking the back of her right khopesh blade with the head of his weapon.
The dark flames seared through the orichalum metal, and Goblin Slayer gritted his teeth as his hand burned from the heat— the pain shooting up his arm like molten lava. But his defense buff held. The crimson lightning surrounding his body burned brighter, intensifying as he pulled the blade from her hand.
In one fluid motion, Goblin Slayer swung the stolen khopesh toward her— the searing shadow flames leaving a trail in the air. The Pharaoh met the strike with her remaining blade, and the collision of shadow fire caused a violent explosion between them.
The force sent Goblin Slayer skidding back, his armor smoking, but he remained focused— he knew her next move.
As the blast cleared, the teen leapt upward— coated in black fire and crimson lightning, anticipating the Pharaoh's next move. His eye blazed with crimson light as he arced through the air— his tomahawk raised high. He saw her appear just as he predicted, her form shimmering into existence in a burst of shadow fire.
With a savage swing, his tomahawk connected with her chest, the force of the strike sending her wide-eyed as he tackled her upward, using all of his momentum to drive her toward the ceiling. The Pharaoh let out an ethereal scream, her glowing emerald eyes filled with shock and pain.
Goblin Slayer’s tomahawk blurred as he slashed again and again— each strike carving deep into her chest, the dark flames of her body splintering with every hit. His movements were a frenzy of violence, rapid and precise— tearing through her ancient bandages and flesh like they were paper. Her body shook violently under the relentless assault, the black fire around her flickering with each strike.
By the final swing, the Pharaoh let out a scream that echoed through the chamber— her entire body glowing with a brilliant emerald light. With one last desperate surge of power, she exploded into a cloud of dust— her ancient bandages shredding into ribbons that floated down like beige confetti.
Goblin Slayer landed on one knee, rolling forward and extinguishing the lingering shadow flames that still clung to his armor. His breath was heavy, his heart pounding in his chest as the remains of the Pharaoh drifted down around him. Torn bandages and the ashy remains of her form settled onto the golden floor, the room now silent except for the crackle of dying flames.
He slowly rose to his feet, his tomahawk still in hand, crimson lightning flickering faintly around him. The Pharaoh was gone, reduced to nothing but dust and memories.
‘Four-hundred and seventeen.’
The echo of footsteps broke the heavy silence in the chamber as Remi strolled in from the entrance, their cyan tendrils disintegrating behind them, vanishing into nothingness. Their body was drenched in gore— blood spattered across their face, chunks of brain matter smeared on their arms, and viscera clinging to their cropped shirt like trophies.
Despite the carnage coating them, Remi's yellow eyes gleamed with an almost casual glow, and their face was fixed in a relaxed, nonchalant expression. In their hand dangled a limbless goblin, twitching and whimpering weakly.
Remi's voice cut through the still air. "What'd I miss, Old Sport?" they asked with a lazy smirk before lifting the goblin to their mouth. Without hesitation, they sank their sharp teeth into its face.
The goblin's screams were short-lived as its skin melted under the acidic touch of Remi’s saliva. Their teeth bit through flesh and bone alike, the skull cracking audibly as Remi tore off its face with ease. Brains spilled from the gaping wound, leaking down their wrist, the tongue flopping lifelessly from the half-torn jaw.
To Remi, it was just another bite, as casual as if they were eating an apple. The goblin’s twitching stopped as they took another savage bite, slurping up the remaining brain matter before casually tossing the mangled corpse aside. They licked their lips, satisfied, the blood still warm on their skin.
'Four-hundred and eighteen...'
Goblin Slayer stared, wordlessly, the crimson lightning beginning to dissipate from his form, sizzling away as his body cooled down. His left eye, still faintly glowing as the light slowly dimmed away— his stare fixated on Remi, as they took another slow bite, completely at ease in the grotesque scene.
“Any captives?” Goblin Slayer finally asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.
Remi, still chewing, gave a thumbs up with a grin, pointing proudly to themselves. "Already freed them," they said, licking the last remnants of the goblin’s face from their lips. "Double-checked every inch of this place too. Nothing left but scraps."
Goblin Slayer nodded, but then asked, “How many goblins did you kill?”
Remi shrugged with a nonchalant grin. "A lot. Wasn’t keeping count, though." They flicked their wrist, blood splattering off.
The response caused Goblin Slayer’s brow to twitch in mild annoyance, but he was too relaxed, too content from the raid to let it bother him. He let out a small breath of satisfaction, the weight of their victory settling in. His hands lifted slowly to his helmet, and with a quiet metallic scrape, he began to pull it off, revealing disheveled hair slicked with sweat— his features, worn and rugged, and were flushed slightly red.
Remi, intrigued, raised a brow and asked with a teasing tone, "Are we about to have a tender moment or something?"
Goblin Slayer hesitated, his fingers tapping nervously against the side of his helmet. "I...I’m planning on heading to Crossbell soon. I’m going there to get guidance on how to run my own guild," he started, his words coming out slowly, awkwardly, as if rehearsed. Then, with a deep, anxious breath, his face flushed a deeper red, and he muttered, “And… I-I want you... To be part of that.”
Remi grinned, their eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh? Are you asking me to go steady?” Their voice was dripping with teasing mischief, their grin widening.
Goblin Slayer’s face grew even redder. “Y-yes,” he stammered, awkwardly avoiding their gaze. “I... Need you.”
For a moment, Remi stood there, arms crossed over their chest, pretending to give it thought. They tapped their finger against their chin, their bloodied lips quirking upward. Finally, they shrugged their slender shoulders casually.
"Sure," they said, already grinning as if they’d known the answer from the start. “I’ll be your second in command. Highest position, of course.”
Goblin Slayer let out a rare smile, soft and full of relief. He lowered his head slightly, whispering, "Thank you."
Remi gave him a playful punch on the arm. "You're welcome." They started heading toward the exit, throwing a casual wave over their shoulder. "And hey," they called back with a mischievous smirk. "Guess that means we're gay now, huh Sportsy?"
Goblin Slayer, helmet back in place, chuckled under his breath. The chamber, now littered with the remains of their enemies, echoed with their victory as they headed out together— bound by bloodshed and an unspoken understanding.
Chapter 16: Blood Meridian (Part III)
Chapter Text
The full moon hung high above the desert, casting its cold, pale light across the landscape. The night sky was painted in shades of violet and pink— the eerie beauty of it in stark contrast to the horror unfolding below.
The ruined fortress stood like a skeleton of ancient glory— its crumbling walls draped in shadow. The place had become the stronghold for a marauding army of desert bandits— large men with sunburnt, cracked skin, their light armor stained with blood, sand, and the dirt of countless raids. They filled the once-hallowed grounds with their unruly presence— a feral mass of drunken debauchery and violence.
Fires blazed in the center of the courtyard, the largest of which was surrounded by a raucous crowd of marauders. Hot alcohol, served in filthy, chipped mugs, were passed around as they shouted and brawled, while fistfights erupted between the men with sickening cracks of bone and roars of fury.
Their faces were twisted in wild expressions of lust and anger— their eyes bloodshot and wide with intoxication. Broken teeth flashed in cruel smiles as they reveled in their brutality— smashing bottles over one another’s heads or throwing punches just for the sheer pleasure of it.
Around the fire, scattered among the men like discarded toys, were their captives— women, human and elven alike, stripped of all dignity and clothes. They huddled in terror, their bodies bruised and marked by fresh cuts and scars, the cold night air biting against their exposed skin.
Their eyes were wide with fear, tear-streaked and vacant, as they trembled in the dirt. Some were dragged by their hair, others forced into degrading acts while the men laughed and cheered— their orifices violated by the filthy genitals of their rapists. Cries of agony and whispered prayers for mercy were swallowed by the roaring flames and the laughter of their tormentors.
One elf, her delicate face bloodied, her silver hair matted with sweat and dirt, stared blankly into the fire, her lips trembling as she clutched her knees to her chest. Another human woman tried to shield her friend, but the marauder holding them only pulled her away with a sick grin, his filthy fingers digging into her skin. Their screams— echoing into the night— were drowned by the relentless cheer of the marauders, who continued to feast on their pain like vultures.
Above the courtyard, in the tower’s highest chamber, the dark elf sat— watching the moon through a narrow, broken window. His skin was a deep obsidian, his long white hair falling in silky strands around his broad, muscular shoulders.
He was tall and imposing, dressed in black leather armor adorned with silver buckles and studs, his arms marked with swirling tattoos that gleamed faintly in the dim light of the chamber. Around him, treasures from the marauders' latest haul were carelessly piled— gold coins, gemstones, and ornate weapons glinted in the flickering candlelight. Despite the luxury, the room felt suffocating, filled with the heavy, oppressive stench of sweat, blood, and despair.
The dark elf, however, paid no attention to the treasures or the women cowering in chains at the far end of the room. They sat in the corner, their wrists and ankles bound, naked and covered in bruises. Their eyes were hollow, dark circles beneath them speaking of nights spent in fear. Some had fresh cuts, blood still trickling from shallow wounds on their arms and legs, while others had older scars that told of their prolonged suffering. They whimpered quietly, shivering from the cold and the pain, but the dark elf gave them no more notice than one might give a flickering candle.
His gaze was fixed on the moon— his lips quietly mumbling prayers in his native tongue.
It reflected in his eyes, the cold glow of the lunar light casting his sharp features in a ghostly hue. There was a strange calmness about him, a stillness that seemed out of place in the chaos below.
He seemed almost lost in thought, his gaze unblinking as he watched the sky. His long fingers tapped rhythmically on the hilt of a curved blade resting across his lap, but his mind was far away. The cries from the women shackled in his chamber might as well have been the rustling of leaves to him— background noise to the symphony of despair that he had grown so accustomed to.
One of the women, emboldened by desperation, dared to crawl toward him. Her body trembled with every inch she gained, her face a mixture of terror and pitiful hope. “Please…” she whispered, her voice hoarse, her hands stretched out toward him in a pleading gesture. “Please… We’ve told you everything we know… F-Free us…”
The dark elf didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His eyes remained locked on the moon, as if her words never reached his ears. Her outstretched hand faltered, and the last shred of hope that had kept her crawling crumbled. She collapsed onto the cold floor, curling in on herself, her sobs drowned out by the wind that whistled through the cracks in the stone.
Outside, the marauders roared louder, and the fires burned higher. Their shadows danced on the walls, grotesque and mocking. The fortress, once a place of order, was now a desecrated ruin— a graveyard for the living, and a hell from which there seemed no escape.
And above it all, the dark elf watched the moon, indifferent to the suffering that churned beneath him.
The sky above the ruined fortress began to churn, storm clouds gathering from all directions like dark omens rolling over the desert. The once clear, star-filled sky turned black, a swirling vortex of impending chaos. Thunder rumbled in the distance, deep and ominous, and the faint smell of rain and electricity filled the air.
The dark elf stood at the broken window, his fingers gripping the crumbling stone of the windowsill, the sharp edges cutting into his palm but drawing no pain from his expression. His eyes, red and black, glimmered with anticipation. His gaze pierced the thickening storm clouds, as if he could see beyond the darkness. His lips barely moved as he whispered under his breath, voice low and cryptic, "So… You’ve finally arrived."
He let out a long sigh, his breath escaping him slowly as if he were about to enter a calm meditation. But then, his eyes widened— a sudden manic light flooding into them, his pupils dilating until they were almost devoured by the dark void surrounding the red irises. His mouth twisted into a sharp, psychotic grin, his lips pulling back to reveal a set of jagged, razor-sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light of the chamber.
A low chuckle bubbled up from his chest, growing louder and more deranged until it became a full-blown hysterical cackle. His shoulders shook with the force of it, his laughter echoing through the tower as he turned away from the window.
The women chained to the wall, already broken by fear and pain, scrambled away from him, their chains rattling as they cowered. One whimpered, her hand covering her mouth, as the dark elf strode past them without even a glance, his unhinged laughter still ringing in their ears.
He approached the corner of the room where his weapon rested against the post of the bed— a monstrous claymore over three meters long, its deep blue metal gleaming faintly. The blade was massive, jagged along its edges, its design resembling a crescent moon. It looked impossibly heavy, far beyond the capacity of any ordinary man to wield, yet the dark elf effortlessly lifted it with one hand— swinging it over his broad shoulder like it was weightless.
The women shrank further into their chains as he walked by, his grin still wide, his eyes wild with murderous glee. Without a word, he descended the spiral staircase— each step echoing in the hollow stone tower. The storm outside had grown closer now, the air thick with the promise of violence, and the dark elf welcomed it with his horrific smile, eager for the bloodshed to come.
At the fortress's front entrance, the storm had fully arrived. The massive wooden gates shuddered before they exploded inward, the blast sending splinters and dust scattering into the night. In the midst of the debris stood Remi, their cyan tendrils already extended and slithering across the ground like deadly serpents. Sparks of cyan lightning crackled around them, illuminating their bloodied face and glowing yellow eyes. With their guardless katana drawn, they moved swiftly on their tendrils, each motion fluid and precise, like a spider hunting its prey.
Beside them, Goblin Slayer stepped forward— his body encased in an aura of crimson lightning, and his left eye glowing intensely, pulsing with every step he took. The air around him shimmered with power, the static in the air rising as he gripped his tomahawk tightly, the metal edge glowing faintly with a dangerous heat.
The twenty marauders stationed as sentries barely had time to react before death descended upon them.
The first marauder screamed as Remi’s tendrils pierced through his chest and neck, lifting him off the ground as blood sprayed from his mouth. His eyes bulged in horror as cyan lightning coursed through his body, making his skin blister and crack before he was flung aside, his body left twitching and smoking in the dirt.
A second marauder lunged at Remi, only to be met with a slash from their lightning-infused katana, the blade cutting through his abdomen like butter. His body split in half, entrails spilling onto the ground with a wet squelch, while his dying scream became swallowed by the sound of crackling energy.
Goblin Slayer moved like a blur beside them— his tomahawk cleaving through the chest of a marauder, the force of his strike sending blood and bone flying. His body count began ticking upward in his head as he decapitated another— his tomahawk moving in a wide arc that severed the man’s head clean from his shoulders. The severed head hit the ground with a dull thud, eyes still wide in shock.
One marauder, terrified by the slaughter, tried to flee but was stopped by Remi’s tendrils wrapping around his legs. He screamed, thrashing in vain as they yanked him back into the fray. Remi’s katana struck him across the back— severing his spine, before they casually tossed him aside like a broken toy, with his body hitting the ground with a lifeless thud.
Goblin Slayer’s glowing left eye flashed as a group of three marauders charged him, spears in hand. With a low growl, he leapt forward— his tomahawk igniting with crimson lightning. In a single, powerful swing, he cleaved through all three men— their bodies exploding in a spray of blood and gore. Limbs flew, their spears falling uselessly to the ground as their broken bodies crumpled into a pile of flesh.
Remi let out a delighted laugh as they skewered another marauder— twisting their tendrils in his gut before ripping him apart in a shower of blood and viscera. "You’ll have to try harder than that…!" They taunted— their voice full of sadistic amusement as they effortlessly dodged another attacker’s blade, slicing him across the throat in response.
The sentries were no match for the combined force of Remi and Goblin Slayer. One by one, they fell, their bodies torn apart in a violent storm of lightning, blood, and screams.
The stench of alcohol, sweat, and blood filled the air as Goblin Slayer and Remi pushed onward through the broken gates— stepping into the ruined courtyard in the wake of their massacre.
The marauders' camp sprawled out before them like a grotesque, living nightmare. Hundreds of desert marauders, drunk and distracted, littered the area around a massive bonfire that burned in the center, casting flickering shadows across the scene. Their loud laughter, lewd jeers, and brutal raping of the shackled women and elven captives created a cacophony of chaos— the air thick with debauchery.
But the moment Remi and Goblin Slayer stepped into the courtyard, all that noise began to shift, turning from rowdy revelry into disordered panic.
The marauders, drunk and sluggish, scrambled to their feet, tripping over each other in their haste to grab their weapons. Some were too far gone— their movements sluggish and clumsy, others were still preoccupied with the horrors they had been inflicting on the captives, leaving the women to lie chained and bruised on the ground.
The bonfire’s heat burned hot on their faces, the orange light throwing long, sharp shadows across the chaotic scene. The marauders finally noticed their presence— two figures standing in the glow of the flames, their silhouettes wreathed in lightning and death.
Remi was the first to move.
A wave of cyan lightning surged down their tendrils— crackling through the air as they launched forward with their katana drawn. Their blade glinted in the firelight as it sliced clean through the first marauder’s neck— sending his head spiraling into the bonfire, where it exploded in a burst of flame and blood.
Another marauder, reaching for his sword, had no chance to react as Remi’s tendrils shot through his chest— lifting him off his feet before hurling him into the fire as well. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Goblin Slayer followed close behind— his tomahawk glowing with crimson lightning.
His first strike cleaved through a marauder’s arm, sending a spurt of blood into the night air. Before the man could even scream, Goblin Slayer followed up with a powerful swing that cut the marauder in half, his body crumpling to the ground in a pool of blood.
Another marauder came at him with a spear, but the teen twisted on his heel— swinging his tomahawk in a wide arc. The blade connected with the marauder’s face, splitting his skull open with a sickening crunch. Blood and brains splattered the ground as the body fell lifeless at his feet.
The camp exploded more into chaos. Marauders screamed as they stumbled over each other— some too drunk to hold their weapons properly. They trampled their own as they tried to rally, but Goblin Slayer and Remi moved through them like a storm of death.
Remi’s tendrils lashed out in every direction— piercing through the torsos and skulls of the marauders with brutal efficiency. One tendril wrapped around the neck of a fleeing man, and yanked him backward before slamming him headfirst into the ground— his skull cracking open like a ripe fruit.
Cyan lightning arced through their tendrils as they electrocuted another group of marauders, their bodies convulsing violently before collapsing in a heap of charred flesh.
A marauder swung his sword at Remi, but they ducked under the blow— their katana flashing as they severed his leg at the knee. The man fell, screaming, only to be silenced as Remi drove their blade through his heart— twisting it as blood poured from the wound.
Goblin Slayer was a blur of crimson energy— his tomahawk cleaving through flesh and bone with terrifying speed. He swung his weapon in wide arcs, creating crimson crescent-shaped projectiles that sliced through the ranks of marauders— dismembering them where they stood. Limbs flew, blood sprayed in fountains, and the marauders’ screams filled the night.
One marauder tried to rush Goblin Slayer with a club, but the feen sidestepped— bringing his tomahawk down onto the man’s shoulder. The blade bit deep into the flesh, cutting through muscle and bone, leaving the man hanging in two jagged halves.
Goblin Slayer pulled his weapon free, blood pouring down its length, and threw it toward another group of marauders. The tomahawk spun through the air, slicing through the necks of two men before embedding itself in the skull of a third.
As Remi continued to fight, their movements were like a dance: graceful yet violent. They leapt into the air, using their tendrils to propel themselves above the marauders, before sending a bolt of cyan lightning crashing down onto the group below. The lightning arced through their bodies— leaving them convulsing and smoking as they collapsed to the ground.
One marauder, thinking he had the drop on Remi, raised his sword to strike, but their tendrils coiled around his throat, and lifted him off the ground. With a flick of their gelatinous extremity, they snapped his neck— his body falling limp as they tossed him aside like a broken doll.
Nearby, the captive women were regaining their composure. Despite their bruises and torn clothes, their eyes glinted with determination. Some reached for fallen weapons, others grabbed the chains that once bound them.
One woman, an elf with a deep gash across her cheek and blood running down her inner thighs, whispered an incantation. A glowing sphere of light formed in her palm, before exploding outward— blasting a group of marauders backward, their bodies hitting the ground with sickening thuds.
Another woman, her hands still shackled, swung a chain around her head before hurling it toward a marauder. The chain wrapped around his throat, and with a sharp pull, she yanked him off his feet, his head slamming into the ground with a wet crunch. She let out a shout of defiance, rallying the other captives as they began to join the fight, using whatever they could find to bring down their captors.
Goblin Slayer, seeing the women join the fray, let out a grunt of approval. He swung his tomahawk in a wide arc— sending another crimson projectile toward a group of marauders attempting to flee. The projectile cut through them, their bodies collapsing in a shower of blood and severed limbs.
The marauders were overwhelmed, their numbers dwindling as Goblin Slayer and Remi continued their relentless slaughter. The bonfire roared higher, fueled by the bodies thrown into it, the flames casting an eerie glow over the battlefield.
Remi, covered in blood and viscera, laughed as they skewered another marauder on their katana, before throwing him into the fire. “Nothing like a late-night barbecue, eh Sportsy?!" They taunted— their voice filled with sadistic glee, as their mouth began to salivate at the thought of their next feast.
Goblin Slayer said nothing— his focus unwavering as he dismembered another marauder, as his tomahawk flashed in the firelight. His body count continued to rise, as the ground beneath his feet became even more slick with blood.
‘They're worse than the bandits in Evergreen… These monsters are indistinguishable from those goblins… Imp goblins,’ the gray-haired teen thought to himself, while momentarily thinking back to the villagers of Delrivkat, just as the blade of his tomahawk cleaved its way up through the jaw of a marauder— blood trickling down the handle of his gifted weapon.
‘Hill goblins… Maybe… Maybe they’re not actually goblins? That would explain why they’re so civil— so kind,’ Goblin Slayer considered to himself— his brain trying to overcome his own bias, as he pulled his weapon out of the convulsing marauder’s skull with a sickening wet crunch.
‘Yes… Yes, that has to be it: they’re simply mislabeled as goblins. In reality, they’re like the orcs: just born with the misfortune of being green-skinned, and sharing characteristics of those foul monsters…’
‘Goblins are goblins… No matter what form they take. Some even pass for humans— like these unforgivable degenerates…’
‘…’
‘I see… It’s all starting to make sense to me now.’
After the slaughter, Remi’s tendrils coiled around the charred corpses near the bonfire— dragging them closer with ease as they crouched over the blackened remains of the marauders. Without hesitation, their teeth tore into the scorched flesh— peeling it from the bones with grotesque efficiency. The sound of cracking bones and seared muscle being ripped apart filled the air— their acidic saliva hissing as it dissolved what was left of the marauders' charred skin.
They chewed noisily, enjoying the macabre feast as though it were a casual snack, their yellow eyes gleaming with feral delight. Their mouth worked at the remnants of a torso, blackened ribs jutting from the burned flesh as they gnawed— tearing off chunks of muscle. Charred skin sloughed off under their grip, and blood— thickened from the heat— dripped from their fingers as they devoured the remains with monstrous appetite.
Goblin Slayer, meanwhile, moved efficiently through the courtyard— his tomahawk flashing in the dim light as he cut through the chains binding the captive women. Each slice was precise, clean, and methodical, the chains falling to the ground with metallic clinks. His attention never wavered from the task, his mind focused on freeing the women and restoring order in the aftermath of their brutal raid.
When he finished cutting the last of the chains, he looked at the women who had gathered, trembling but standing strong. “Are there any more captives?” He asked, his voice low but steady.
From the group, a tall, muscular woman stepped forward. Her dark skin was marred with scars and fresh bruises, her black dreadlocks tangled with blood and dirt. Her face was swollen from recent beatings, and the remnants of torn clothing barely clung to her battered body. Despite this, her posture was strong, her voice firm and filled with authority.
“Second Lieutenant Na’kara Othundi, Royal Army,” she introduced herself, standing tall despite the pain she must have been enduring. “On behalf of my comrades, we thank you for your intervention. Both of you,” she added, glancing cautiously toward Remi, who was still crouched by the fire, chewing on a burnt leg like it was a drumstick.
Goblin Slayer nodded once. “Are there more prisoners?” He asked— repeating himself, while speaking only as much as he needed to.
Na’kara hesitated for a moment— her gaze hardening as she seemed to relive the trauma. “There… There are still Royal Army Knights trapped in Suliven’s tower. Those who haven’t been…” Her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath before continuing. “The ones who haven’t been… Dealt with yet.”
Goblin Slayer’s eyes narrowed at the weight of her words. “Who is Suliven?” He asked— the question simple but charged with an undercurrent of menace.
At the mention of Suliven’s name, Remi, who had been tearing charred flesh from bone without a care in the world, paused mid-bite. Their head turned, and their yellow eyes sparkled with interest. “Ol’ Suliven, eh?” They said, a smirk forming on their bloodied lips as they took another bite of the burnt leg. “I know who he is, Old Sport. He’s just some asshole big shot who’s part of this group called the “Blackwatch”. Big and scary to most, but wasn’t ever big or scary enough to ever square up with me at Delrivkat.”
Na’kara’s lips pressed into a thin line as she addressed Remi directly, her tone filled with disdain. “S-Storm Lord,” she said stiffly, clearly uncomfortable, but there was a reluctant respect in her voice. Her eyes flicked uneasily toward the leg Remi was chewing on, and the gruesome sight seemed to unsettle her further. “W… Why are you here?”
Remi’s lips curled into a wider grin as they casually tossed aside the half-eaten leg, licking their fingers clean of blood and ash. “‘Cause I didn’t want to fuckin’ cook at home, that’s why.” They stretched their arms, standing lazily as if the aftermath of the battle was little more than an inconvenience. “Don’t worry why I’m here, Lieutenant— worry about redevousing with the rest of your tax-draining leeches, and leave the rest to Old Sport and I.”
Na’kara visibly tensed at Remi’s cavalier attitude, her fists clenching as she addressed Goblin Slayer instead. “Suliven… H-He’s is an executive member of Blackwatch,” she clarified— keeping her voice steady despite the anxiety creeping into her features. “He… He led the invasion of Sahara Outpost, after… After Albion destroyed it.”
As she spoke, Remi, still relaxed and smirking, leaned against the side of the crumbling wall. “Albion, eh? So that’s what happened to the outpost then… Makes sense: considering the whole fuckin’ thing burned down, from what the reports read.”
Goblin Slayer’s expression remained impassive, but his mind flashed back to the bandaged woman who had attacked the caged wagon. ‘That woman in bandages... When she was that… Thing, she was capable of burning that guard into ash… Does that mean she was the one who did it? Did I arrive, just after she burned down that outpost?’
Na’kara’s face, however, paled as she continued, her voice trembling slightly. “Suliven… He came with these marauders, and with an entire army of goblins… They… They killed the men, and rounded up the women and children… With him taking the highest in command for himself to be…” She stopped, visibly shaking now. “He’s… He’s done horrible things to the knights he’s taken. We need to stop him before he- before he does more.”
Remi rolled their eyes— biting into the remnants of their snack. “He ain’t shit.”
Na’kara’s fear was palpable, and she shot Remi a sharp glare. “Y-You don’t understand, Storm Lord! Suliven is a monster. He’s…! H-He’s a sadist…!”
Remi shrugged, brushing off her words as if they were of no consequence. “So am I, Lieutenant— but you don’t see me bragging about it.” They tossed the remaining bones aside and stretched lazily. “Like I said: Sportsy and I will take it from here; so you’re relieved of your fuckin’ duty.”
Goblin Slayer watched the exchange in silence, his eyes flicking from Na’kara’s anxious face to Remi’s confident smirk. His gaze shifted toward the dark tower looming ahead. Something dangerous awaited them inside, and he could feel the malevolence seeping from its very stones.
Remi, seemingly unbothered by the weight of the situation, turned to Goblin Slayer with a grin. “So, Sportsy, how about we stop jerkin’ off and go commit one last murder— to the end the night on a high note?” They cracked their knuckles, still grinning wickedly. “Besides, I got beef with this dark-elf fuck: the amount of times I’ve had to put on pants to deal with his goons trying to invade Delrivkat are unforgivable.”
Goblin Slayer nodded, his mind already calculating the next steps. “That’s fine.”
Na’kara’s voice broke through, filled with determination despite her fear. “I’ll help however I can, but be careful. Suliven isn’t just any terrorist. He’s-” She tried explaining, before her voice hitched as the air around them seemed to change.
A sudden chill swept through the courtyard, and the women who had been freed tensed, their expressions shifting from relief to stark terror.
Na’kara froze in mid-sentence, her eyes wide and locked on a figure that appeared in the shadows just beyond the courtyard’s edge. The remaining captives, who had been huddling together, also went deathly silent.
The oppressive atmosphere deepened as the figure stepped forward into the flickering light of the bonfire— Suliven.
He was tall, with sharp, angular features and eyes like burning coals, black sclera with deep red irises that pierced through the dark. His long, white hair swayed gently in the growing wind, and his calm, predatory gaze immediately fell on Remi.
Suliven’s presence was ominous, commanding, as if the very air around him recoiled.
For a long moment, he simply stared at Remi— his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his eyes turned upward toward the raging storm above, the thick clouds swirling and darkening as if drawn to him. He spoke in a low, smooth voice, reciting a chilling hymn that echoed through the courtyard.
“Azura, the Moon Goddess… She loved the Earth once, with all the tenderness of a mother, as Earth Mother does now. But mankind, wretched and vile, broke her heart. Their wars, their cruelty, drove her away. And now, she can only love from afar— watching as the Earth withers beneath the weight of mankind’s sins…”
Suliven closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as if savoring the storm above. He let out a soft sigh, his lips curling into a calm smile as he turned back to Remi.
“Storm Lord…” He greeted them in a soft, almost reverent tone, his eyes flashing with predatory delight. “Guardian of Delrivkat… This battle has been a long time in the making— for years I’ve stayed put, yearning for Azura to bestow upon me the opportunity to be the one to end your miserable existence.”
Remi, wiping the blood from their lips after devouring their gruesome meal, stepped forward with a cocky grin. “You’ve had plenty of chances to duel me, Suliven. Instead, here you are: trying to fuckin’ shove your religious beliefs down my throat, without even asking first.” Their tone was mocking, brimming with arrogance. “But I guess consent wasn’t ever your thing, was it?”
Suliven chuckled, a low, condescending sound that echoed in the courtyard. “Your bravado in the face of death is just as legendarily annoying as the rumors say it to be.” He shook his head slowly, almost pityingly. “You’re flanderized, Storm Lord: a caricature of self fulfillment, and of meaningless existence… You’re the way of Azura’s divine plan for us to take back Zemuria from these… Wretched humans.”
He cast a disdainful glance around the camp, at the charred bodies of marauders scattered across the courtyard. “Like these marauders,” he spat the word with disgust, “All of them— filthy scum. I had every intention of slaughtering them myself. You merely saved me the trouble; your only contribution to something greater than your own selfish ego.”
Remi crossed their arms, unfazed by Suliven’s taunts. “Well then, glad I could be of service,” they sneered. “If only I knew you’re this much of a dick-rider, I would’ve came here sooner with lube, not a sword.”
Suliven remained unfazed by Remi’s remark, his smile unwavering. The tension in the air grew thick, the storm above raging, lightning flickering in the distance.
While Suliven and Remi exchanged words, Goblin Slayer moved quietly among the captives, pulling Na’kara and the others into a huddle. He spoke in a low, urgent voice. “Take the others and leave. Now. Head for the first dune you see and take cover behind it. We’ll find you.”
Na’kara hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Suliven, then to Remi. “What about-?”
“-Go,” Goblin Slayer cut her off, his voice firm but quiet.
Na’kara nodded, gathering the women quickly. They moved in groups, fleeing through the ruins with quiet haste. Suliven watched them flee for a moment, his gaze detached, indifferent to their fear.
“You. You were the one commanding those goblins— the one who were using that pyramid as their nest?” Goblin Slayer asked, stepping up to stand beside Remi, his body crackling with crimson lightning.
Suliven tilted his head slightly, his gaze shifting lazily to Goblin Slayer. “Why is your concubine speaking to me, Storm Lord?” he asked with a sneer, his voice mocking. “Do you have no reign on it, or is the power dynamic reversed?”
Remi barked a laugh, their cyan tendrils sparking with energy. “That’s just Old Sport— he’s gonna help me clobber ya to smitherins, you moon-worshipin’ FUCK.”
Suliven chuckled softly, the amusement clear in his eyes. “How adorable— you grew attached to it enough to give it a name…”
“If that’s the case then… Let's see if you’re still smiling by the time I fucking gut it in front of you .”
A tense silence fell over the courtyard, the air thick with the crackle of electricity and the howling wind. Remi’s body crackled with cyan lightning, the tendrils around them twitching in anticipation.
Goblin Slayer’s crimson lightning sizzled around him, his red eye glowing like a burning ember beneath his helmet. The calm before the storm hung in the air, heavy and oppressive.
Then, without warning, Suliven’s calm demeanor shattered. His face twisted into a psychotic grin, his sharp teeth bared in a terrifying display of madness. His eyes burned with a blinding white light, the black and red irises disappearing into the radiant glow.
He swung his massive claymore over his shoulder— its jagged edges gleaming in the firelight.
“I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS!!!” He roared, his voice booming across the ruins. The ground beneath him trembled as white beams of moonlight pierced through the storm clouds above— shining down on him like a divine spotlight.
The air around him crackled with raw power as glowing white runes appeared beneath his feet— etched into the earth by ancient magic. Rocks and debris began to levitate around him, pulled upward by the sheer force of his power.
The white light enveloped Suliven’s entire body— his form radiating with an otherworldly glow. His muscles bulged, veins pulsing with energy as his entire body surged with power. The very storm itself seemed to answer his call, the winds howling and lightning flashing violently across the sky.
Remi’s eyes narrowed, their grin widening in anticipation. “It’s going down now,” they muttered, cyan lightning sparking around their tendrils.
Goblin Slayer gripped his tomahawk tightly, his red eye burning fiercely beneath the visor. "Get ready."
Chapter 17: Blood Meridian (Part IV)
Chapter Text
Suliven's eyes locked onto Goblin Slayer— his expression shifting into a psychotic grin. With a mighty roar, he lunged forward in a flash, with the Earth trembling beneath his feet. A massive fissure split the ground where he had stood— uprooted by the sheer force of his acceleration.
Goblin Slayer’s instincts screamed at him as the dark elf closed the ten-meter gap in an instant— his massive claymore already in motion for a sideways swing.
The teen barely managed to register how fast Suliven was moving before he dove into a roll— narrowly avoiding the lethal strike. The ground where he had just been standing erupted into rubble as Suliven's claymore tore through it— sending debris flying.
The dark elf immediately followed up with another strike, this time aimed downward, cratering the earth with a violent shockwave that knocked Goblin Slayer back, skidding across the ground on his back as the force of the blow rattled his bones.
Sliding back, the teen could hear Suliven’s enraged battle cry echo through the night. He glanced up just in time to see his shadow looming over him— the dark elf launching himself into the air, claymore raised high, ready to bring it down in a devastating overhead strike that would shatter the Earth.
Goblin Slayer with it.
Thinking quickly, the gray-haired teenager slammed his tomahawk into the ground, the blade biting deep into the dirt. He used the weapon as leverage, shifting his momentum and hurling himself to the side just as Suliven’s claymore came crashing down.
The force of the impact split the earth, sending chunks of rock and dirt flying in all directions. A few of them clipped Goblin Slayer as he rolled away, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain.
Before Suliven could capitalize on his assault, a brilliant bolt of cyan lightning struck him from behind, crackling with power and making him stagger.
Snarling, the dark elf spun around, only to see Remi speeding towards him, their front two tendrils flinging them through the air with such force that they broke the sound barrier.
Remi landed on Suliven’s chest— teeth bared in a monstrous snarl, as they bit into his neck with savage fury. Their katana stabbed into his gut repeatedly, while their tendrils coiled around him like snakes— sending surges of lightning coursing through his body to prevent him from prying them off.
Suliven roared in fury, with the glow from his body intensifying as the light burst outwards in a violent explosion of power. Chunks of Remi’s tendrils tore apart from the force— bits of their artificial gel flesh splattering across the ground.
Despite the damage, Remi didn’t flinch. Skidding back on their heels, they shot a bolt of cyan lightning from the blade of their katana directly at Suliven’s chest. But the dark elf was quick— he swung his claymore in a wide arc— parrying the lightning bolt with the flat of his blade and sending it spiraling off into the sky.
With another bloodthirsty roar, Suliven rushed at Remi, the ground crumbling beneath his feet as his acceleration uprooted the very earth itself. The two clashed, the slime beast’s katana meeting the dark elf’s claymore with a resounding clang that echoed through the battlefield.
Suliven’s fighting style was berserk, overwhelming in its raw, brute strength, while Remi was swift, precise, but still struggling to keep up with his relentless assault.
Remi parried and dodged as best they could, but Suliven’s power was immense. With a final, brutal slash, the dark elf broke through Remi’s defense— his claymore slicing through their midsection with sickening force.
Cyan gel sprayed from the wound, splattering across the ground like blood.
Remi staggered— their mutilated tendrils flailing, as Suliven followed up with a powerful strike that sent them hurtling backward at Mach speed, and crashing into a ruined brick building. The impact caused the structure to collapse, with a thick cloud of dust and debris billowing out from the ruins.
Suliven’s grin widened in victory, but before he could celebrate, Goblin Slayer leaped onto his back. Wrapping a chain around Suliven’s thick neck, the teen pulled with all his might, choking the dark elf. "I’m going to break you," he growled into the dark elf’s long ear— his voice cold and threatening.
Suliven’s rage exploded. With a snarl, he flailed, trying to pry Goblin Slayer off. But before he could, the teen buried his tomahawk into the back of his head— the blade sinking deep into flesh.
Suliven let out an enraged roar— the white light from his glowing body bursting outwards once again in a shockwave of energy. The chain around his neck snapped, and Goblin Slayer was flung back as his tomahawk was torn from his grip and sent flying out of reach.
Snarling, Suliven rushed at Goblin Slayer. The armored warrior rolled to the side to avoid the charge, but the dark elf was faster— his foot connected with his abdomen in a brutal kick, with the force of it causing the teen to feel his organs shift painfully inside him.
Before he could react, Suliven’s massive hand wrapped around his head, lifting him off the ground with ease. Goblin Slayer’s orichalum helmet held strong against the crushing force, but his eyes went wide with pain as the dark elf drove the top spike of his claymore through his abdomen— gutting him.
With a savage spin, Suliven hurled Goblin Slayer’s body across the battlefield— the warrior’s armor streaked with blood as he flew through the air and crashed near the rubble where Remi lay.
Seeing the teen’s bloodied form, the slime monster’s eyes flared with rage. Their topaz irises glowed brighter, with acid leaking from their gritted teeth as they let out a primal snarl. Their tendrils flickered with electricity as they launched themselves back into the fray— their katana clashing against Suliven’s claymore once more.
This time, Remi fought with even more ferocity, their strikes faster and harder, but Suliven met them blow for blow.
As the two titans dueled, Goblin Slayer lay on his side— one hand pressed against his abdomen to keep his ruptured organs from spilling out. His vision blurred, his body growing cold as blood continued to pour from the wound. Trembling, he reached for his backpack, dragging it in front of him. With weakening fingers, he spilled its contents across the sand, grasping desperately for several broken vials that rolled free.
Meanwhile, Remi let out a growl of effort as they slashed upward— sending Suliven flying into the air. With their katana raised high, cyan lightning crackling around their body, Remi began to charge a powerful spell. Above them, Suliven’s body glowed brighter— a blinding white light radiating from him as he gathered his own power. The very air trembled from the force of their combined magic, rocks and debris flying back as the battlefield seemed to warp under the pressure.
For a brief moment, there was a stillness— a calm before the storm. Time seemed to slow, the world holding its breath.
And then, the two unleashed their spells.
A massive bolt of cyan lightning erupted from Remi’s katana— engulfing Suliven in an overwhelming surge of energy. The lightning crackled upward into the sky, powerful enough to tear through the storm clouds, and clearing the night sky in an instant.
But Suliven, in what seemed to be his final act, casted his own spell.
A beam of blinding white lunar energy shot down from the heavens, enveloping Remi. The blast was so powerful that Remi’s head was disintegrated into ash— their katana and raised arm obliterated in the same instant. The ground beneath them exploded in a cloud of dust and debris, with the shockwave tearing apart the Earth around them.
As the dust and debris from the cataclysmic explosion began to settle, the once lively courtyard had been reduced to a massive crater— scorched and ravaged by the combined power of Remi and Suliven’s final spells. The ground was blackened, charred beyond recognition, and bits of cyan gel littered the battlefield like bloodstains against the cracked earth.
From the edge of the crater, Suliven crawled out— his body trembling from the exertion. His once bright white aura flickered— barely holding together as he dragged himself upright, coated in grisly injuries. His skin was scorched, his armor cracked and broken in several places, but he was still in one piece— still alive. He stood at the edge of the crater, breathing deep, rapid breaths as he overlooked the destruction below.
Staring down into the abyss, he saw the remains of Remi— bits of their cyan gel scattered across the blackened sand. A triumphant grin spread across his cracked lips as he uttered, "I did it… Storm Lord is no more… The Muhati Desert can now finally be- Tch?!”
But then, his breath hitched. His eyes, glowing white with the remnants of his lunar magic, flicked up, locking onto a figure standing on the opposite side of the crater. They stood ominously with crimson lightning still surging through and around their armored body— their single glowing red eye glaring back at Suliven through the visor of his helmet.
Suliven’s face twisted in disbelief. "You... You should be dead!" He snarled, fury lacing his words. “Hear me?! DEAD!!!”
Goblin Slayer’s voice was steady, calm, and lethal. "So should you."
Suliven’s fury exploded. With a guttural roar, he leaped across the crater, the earth where he had been standing uprooted from the force of his movement. His massive claymore was raised high above his head, prepared to cleave Goblin Slayer in half.
But as Suliven descended like a force of nature, the gray-haired teenager stood unarmed, with crimson lightning still crackling around him. From underneath his helmet, a daring smile formed on his lips.
At the last moment, Goblin Slayer ducked beneath Suliven’s attack, narrowly avoiding the deadly swing of the claymore. Suliven’s momentum carried him forward, and before he could recover, the agile teen sidestepped and delivered a powerful uppercut into Suliven’s abdomen.
The blow landed with the force of a battering ram, sending a ripple of shock through the dark elf’s body— his breath leaving him in a grunt of pain.
Suliven snarled, enraged by the hit, and swung his claymore wildly. But Goblin Slayer was faster, his reflexes sharpened by the lingering effects of his buff spell. He weaved in and out of Suliven’s relentless attacks, dodging each swing of the claymore with precise movements. His body moved with calculated efficiency, and every time he dodged, he countered with devastating punches and kicks, striking the dark elf in weak points with brutal accuracy.
Suliven roared in frustration, each missed attack fueling his anger. His claymore cleaved through the air, but Goblin Slayer remained untouchable, his movements swift and fluid. He ducked under another swing and delivered a crushing elbow to his ribs, followed by a swift kick to his knee, forcing the dark elf to stumble.
Enraged beyond reason, Suliven planted his feet and began to charge up his lunar magic once more. The ground trembled as rocks and debris around them levitated, drawn up by the immense energy building inside him. His body glowed with the familiar blinding white light, the runes of power forming in the air around him.
But just as Suliven prepared to unleash his devastating burst spell, Goblin Slayer sprang his trap.
Instead of retreating, the teen rushed forward and grabbed Suliven’s claymore with both hands, catching the dark elf off guard as he pulled it free from his grasp. Suliven’s eyes widened in shock, but before he could react, Goblin Slayer swung the massive weapon with all his strength.
The blade sliced cleanly through Suliven’s midsection— cleaving him in half from the waist. Suliven’s glowing white aura flickered violently as his body was torn apart, blood spraying across the battlefield. His expression twisted in horror, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
But Goblin Slayer wasn’t finished.
With a grunt of effort, Goblin Slayer swung the claymore upward— carving deep through Suliven’s torso, and splitting his skull in half. The sheer force of the blow obliterated the dark elf’s upper half— leaving his mutilated remains dangling in midair for a split second.
With one final move, Goblin Slayer delivered a powerful downward-horizontal slash— sending Suliven’s upper body into the crater with bone-splitting force.
Without another moment to waste, the dove to the ground— hitting the deck, just as Suliven’s charged-up lunar burst spell detonated.
The explosion rocked the battlefield, a blinding white light consuming everything around the crater. The ground shook violently as debris flew in all directions, rocks and dirt pelting the area as the destructive force of Suliven’s spell was unleashed.
The explosion sent shockwaves across the desert, but Goblin Slayer held firm, lying prone as the storm of magic raged above him— blinking the dust out of his eyes, and trying to regain his bearings. The silence that followed felt deafening, broken only by the teen’s ragged breaths.
But then, a slow, sickening sound began to emerge from the edge of the crater— a wet, dragging noise, like something scraping across the ground. The teen’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes shot toward the sound. From the edge of the crater, something began to move.
It was Suliven, or at least what was left of him.
The once mighty figure was now a grotesque mockery of his former self. His body was moon-scorched, and his flesh was charred and split wide open. His chest cavity gaped horrifically, showing the jagged remains of his ribs and a pulsating, exposed heart, barely hanging on.
His face was mutilated beyond recognition— his lower jaw dislocated and hanging loosely, the skin peeled back in places, revealing muscle and bone underneath. One of his eyes had burst, leaving a gaping, bloodied socket, while the other, still glowing with eerie white light, locked onto him.
Goblin Slayer’s breath hitched, and panic surged through him. Scrambling on his back, he used his elbows to push himself away, tucking his legs beneath him, trying to create distance. But Suliven’s upper half began to crawl— his arms dragging his ruined body forward with unnatural strength.
Suliven’s mutilated face twisted into a sickening grin, his voice distorted and gargled as he let out a victorious, wet-sounding laugh. “Y… Y-You… TTTThink… T-This issss… O-Over..?” He rasped— his voice bubbling from the blood in his throat. His hand shot out and clamped down on Goblin Slayer’s ankle with a force that made bone snap.
The teen screamed in pain, his left ankle mangled under Suliven’s death grip. The dark elf let out another sickening laugh as his upper half lunged forward, pulling Goblin Slayer closer to the crater. His eyes glowed with insane triumph as he dragged the teen toward the edge of the crater— intending to pull him into the searing flames within.
Suliven’s mutilated body continued its relentless crawl—each pull dragging Goblin Slayer closer to the pit of fire and molten earth. Writhing in agony, the teen rolled onto his stomach and kicked at Suliven’s hand with his free leg— trying to dislodge the death grip. His mind raced, panic setting in as he realized he was being dragged toward certain death.
He fought with every ounce of strength he had left, but Suliven’s grip tightened, the bones in Goblin Slayer’s ankle grinding against each other with sickening cracks. The pain was overwhelming, but he still fought through it— kicking and screaming as the dark elf dragged him closer, inch by inch, toward the pit’s edge.
Then, just as all hope seemed lost, a sudden, eerie presence loomed behind Suliven. Two translucent tendrils, made from the familiar cyan gel, rose ominously from the darkness. They hovered for a moment, their presence menacing as they cracked through the air like whips. The air seemed to grow colder around them as they descended on him.
Without warning, one tendril darted forward, plunging into the dark elf’s screaming mouth. His mutilated jaw cracked open even wider as the tendril forced its way down his throat, bulging his neck grotesquely as it traveled deeper into his body. His body convulsed violently as the tendril pushed further, visible through his torn chest cavity, snaking its way down toward his exposed organs.
Suliven’s screams were garbled, distorted by the tendril now lodged in his throat. His eyes, one wide with terror and the other an empty socket, bulged as his body began to shake uncontrollably. The other tendril wrapped itself around his torso, coiling like a snake as it squeezed, pulling him toward the pit.
Goblin Slayer, freed from the dark elf’s grip, panted for breath in pain and horror— watched in disbelief as Suliven’s upper half convulsed, as his mouth stretched wide by the cyan tendril. He caught a glimpse through the dark elf’s open chest cavity as the tendril wormed its way through his insides, before the dark elf was dragged into the pit, his upper half disappearing into the flames below.
The sickening sounds of Suliven’s body being consumed by the flames filled the air. For a long moment, Goblin Slayer just lay there— his chest heaving, his eyes wide as the crimson lightning faded from his body. The glowing red of his left eye dimmed beneath the visor of his helmet, and the battlefield grew quiet once more.
Just when the silence seemed too thick to bear, Goblin Slayer’s gaze snapped toward the edge of the crater. A small, pale hand was clutching the blackened earth, struggling to find purchase.
They were trying to pull themselves up, but their strength was failing them. Their once fearsome form was reduced to a weakened, naked body, cyan gel slowly regenerating across their torso. Despite the situation, a grin spread across their bloodied lips as they glanced up at him.
“Why, hello there, Old Sport,” they cheerfully said, while struggling to pull themselves higher, “Mind giving me something to tug on?”
Goblin Slayer stared, still in shock, muttering their name under his breath. “Remi…”
But the pain shot through his body, snapping him out of his stupor. His broken ankle throbbed with every heartbeat, and his abdomen ached from the earlier blows. He let out a slow, trembling breath, fighting through the pain as he dragged himself toward the crater’s edge, using his hands to crawl over the scorched earth.
Reaching out, Goblin Slayer grabbed Remi’s hand and began to pull them up, groaning from the effort. Slowly but surely, Remi’s form emerged from the crater, their body still regenerating but entirely devoid of clothing.
Once they were safely out of the crater, Goblin Slayer collapsed beside them, breathing hard, the pain in his body overwhelming but the relief of survival washing over him. Remi, now lying on their back, chuckled weakly, their voice still carrying that cocky, playful edge.
“Told you he ain’t shit,” they said, still grinning. "When we’re done stargazing together, we outta go free them broads up in fuckin’ Rapunzel’s crack-tower over there— see if ol Suliven’s left us some cool shit up while we’re at it.”
Still trying to catch his breath, while focusing on anything other than the excruciating pain in his mangled ankle and pulsating organs, all Goblin Slayer could afford to offer the slime monster was a shaky thumbs up— one that he held up briefly, before letting his arm fall back down to his side.
“Outta boy, Sportsy! That’s the kind of “can do attitude” that I like to see!” Remi replied enthusiastically, despite showing no signs of getting up off of the floor— seemingly content with just lying naked beside the gray-haired teenager, and listening to his heavy breaths while staring up at the full moon above.
Author’s notes: And there concludes the most violent arc to this story as of yet! Some thoughts to jot down is that the Muhati Desert was a fun setting to have Goblin Slayer muck around, and definitely gave him his first actual companion, funding, new perspective on what qualifies as a goblin and what doesn’t, and overall he had some good character development there.
I also got to introduce the major factions of the story: Pendragon Empire, and Blackwatch. Both are evil in their own ways, and are looking to serve as good antagonists for Goblin Slayer, when he’s not slaying goblins and other enemies.
I’m liking the way the world is coming out within the story, and the way Goblin Slayer’s character development is. He started out as narrow-minded, being full of anger, and growing seemingly more unhinged as failure after failure begin to weigh down on him, but then now he’s starting to reconsider what he thinks is a goblin, is starting to a light at the end of the tunnel, and is becoming slowly but surely more open-minded which will only become more apparent as time goes on— especially with Remi at his side, forcing him to step out of his comfort zone.
I’m itching for more slice-of-life moments, before the next violent arc filled with bloodshed and mutilation.
After Goblin Slayer wraps up in Delrivkat and gets stuffed prepared for his return from Crossbell, I’m going to have him and Remi travel out of the Muhati Desert, and get out of the frontiers— finding their way back to civilization, where it’ll be safer and they’ll have actual money to buy shit and enjoy their time.
So without giving away too much, here’s how it’s gonna go: Delrivkat, a populated town away from the frontier, a steamboat trip across a body of water, and then Crossbell.
Also, thank you to those who’ve shown support and feedback, even if sometimes it’s not necessarily constructive feedback, I still get excited whenever I get a new review.
I usually try not to write too many author’s notes, but since this final chapter of the Blood Meridian arc was relatively short, I figured this would be a good time to touch bases with you guys.
So thank you again, and I hope the next chapter brings you enjoyment!
Chapter 18: Best Friends
Chapter Text
The house was dark, lit only by the faint moonlight streaming in through cracks in the boarded windows. Hell breaking loose outside, and a fire raging on the inside. The boy, his ten-year-old self, crouched beneath the floorboards, peeking through the slats as the door was smashed apart. His heart pounded in his ears, his body trembling as the first goblin crawled through the shattered frame, its claws scraping against the wooden floor.
Vivine was there, standing in the center of the room, her back straight but her hands trembling. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts, the knife in her hand quivering as she held it up, a poor defense against the swarm now flooding the room.
“I love you,” she whispered, her voice soft, trembling. The boy saw her lips move, though he barely heard her over the rising sound of growls and cackles from the goblins as they closed in on her.
But then, everything shifted.
He was no longer watching from under the floorboards. He was standing in the center of the room, next to Vivine. Except he wasn’t ten anymore. He was fifteen— older, stronger— and his breath came in short, ragged bursts. His chest rose and fell with a fury he could barely contain.
The goblins were everywhere, circling her, their eyes glinting with savage delight. One of them lunged forward, claws outstretched toward her.
‘No.’
‘Not again.’
‘Not this time.’
‘Not ever.’
Without thinking, he moved. His body surged forward with a speed that didn’t feel human. His hand shot out, grabbing the goblin by the throat before it reached his sister. He squeezed, his fingers crushing bone and flesh like paper. The creature's eyes bulged as its throat collapsed under the pressure, and with a violent twist, he threw its lifeless body to the ground.
Vivine gasped, stepping back as the remaining goblins snarled in confusion— their eyes darting between her and him. Blood roared in his ears, his heart hammering against his ribs. His left eye burned, glowing bright red, and with each pulse of rage, crimson lightning crackled around his body.
The goblins charged. He moved faster.
He slammed his fist into the nearest goblin’s skull— shattering bone with a single blow. Blood sprayed across the room as he grabbed another by the arm and ripped it from its socket— the creature howling in agony as it fell to the ground.
He didn’t stop. His vision blurred with fury, his body moving with an unnatural speed as he tore through them, his hands tearing, crushing, and ripping the goblins apart. Their blood coated his skin, splattered against the walls, the floor, and his sister.
One goblin tried to retreat, scurrying back toward the broken door. He didn’t give it the chance. He crossed the room in a blur, his hand plunging through the creature’s chest, fingers closing around its heart. With a vicious twist, he ripped it free, watching as the goblin collapsed, lifeless.
The room fell silent.
The last of them were dead. The floor was soaked in their blood, bodies piled at his feet, limbs and entrails strewn across the room in a chaotic mess of gore. He stood there, breathing hard, his fists clenched, his body trembling with the last remnants of his bloodlust.
Slowly, he turned toward Vivine.
She stood frozen, her back pressed against the wall, her wide eyes fixed on him. Her body trembled, her face pale, covered in blood. She stared at him as though she didn’t recognize him— as though she was seeing him for the first time. He took a step toward her, his chest tight, his heart breaking as he saw the fear in her eyes.
“It’s me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath. “Vivi...”
Tears welled up in his eyes as he reached out for her, his arms aching for the embrace that had once made him feel safe. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing the air between them.
But before he could touch her, something cold plunged into his abdomen.
His eyes went wide. He stumbled back, gasping as pain ripped through him, his blood running hot and thick from the wound. His hand instinctively reached down, clutching at the hilt of the knife now embedded in his stomach.
Vivine stood before him, her hand gripping the handle of the knife, her body trembling violently. Tears streamed down her face as she glared at him, her eyes filled with anguish, her lips quivering as she spoke.
“Y-You’re not my brother,” she sobbed. “N-Not anymore, you’re not…!”
He couldn’t breathe. He stared at her, his vision blurring, his heart shattering as her words tore through him.
“If…! I-if I had known…! If I had known you would turn into this…! T-This m-monster…!” Her voice broke, and she choked on her own tears. “I… I-I would s-should have let them kill you…! I-I would have saved myself instead…!”
He stumbled back, the knife pulling free from his body as he fell to the floor. His innards spilled out, wet and slimy, plopping onto the blood-soaked ground. He gasped, the air escaping him in shallow, ragged breaths as he looked down at his mutilated stomach.
Blood poured from the wound, mixing with the gore on the floor.
He looked up at Vivine, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. She just stood there, crying, her face twisted in pain and disgust. “You’re not my brother anymore,” she whispered. “Y-You’re just like them: a murderer…!”
His heart pounded in his ears, and he looked around him. The blood, the bodies— the goblins— they weren’t goblins anymore.
They were people.
Naked, mutilated bodies of men, women, and children littered the floor, their blood pooling at his feet. His breath caught in his throat as he recognized them— people from his village, people he had known. Their eyes stared up at him, lifeless, their limbs twisted and broken, their faces frozen in terror.
“No…” He whispered, his voice shaking. “I-I had to…! T-They were-”
“LIAR!!!” Vivine screamed at him, her voice full of hatred and betrayal, “YOU WENT OUT OF YOUR WAY TO KILL THEM— ALL OF THEM ARE DEAD, BECAUSE OF YOU!!!” Her banshee voice nearly drowned out the sound of his own heartbeat, as it grew louder, faster.
Overwhelmed with confliction and shame, the teenager reached up and grabbed fistfuls of his hair— pulling hard, trying to block it all out.
“MURDERER!!!”
“PSYCHOPATH!!!”
“EVIL!!!”
Then, suddenly, Burglar appeared from the shadows, cackling as he leaped onto Goblin Slayer’s back. The Rhea drove a dagger into his flesh, again and again, each stab sending shockwaves of pain through his body.
“Worthless!” Burglar spat, his voice full of venom. “You’re nothing but a failure! A disgrace! You couldn’t save her, and now you’re just like one of them— a godless monster!”
Goblin Slayer screamed— a guttural, primal sound of agony and despair, as Burglar’s knife sank deeper and deeper into his back. Vivine’s voice rose above it all, her hateful words piercing him like knives, her sobs cutting deeper than any blade.
“I HATE YOU!!!”
“I’VE ALWAYS HATED YOU!!!”
“YOU WERE WHY THEY CAME FOR US!!!”
“YOU’RE WHY I'M DEAD!!!”
The house around him erupted into flames, black smoke filling the air, choking him as he bled out on the floor. He could feel the heat of the fire searing his skin, the smoke burning his lungs, but all he could do was scream as the nightmare consumed him.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
Goblin Slayer awoke with a start, his heart pounding, his body drenched in cold sweat. His mind was still tangled in the remnants of a nightmare— heartbreaking and mortifying.
The nightmare clung to him, his chest heaving as he shook, tears streaming down his face without permission. He wiped at them furiously— not wanting to acknowledge their presence. His breath came in ragged gasps, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe— as though the weight of his older sister’s nightmarish words still had him pinned beneath their clawed hand.
He pressed a hand to his forehead— trying to ease the pounding in his skull, and was still trembling from the experience. It took several long, painful moments for him to start calming down— his heart still racing as he forced himself to take deep, steady breaths. His body felt sluggish, drained from the intensity of it all.
When he finally peeled his eyes open, the room came into focus. He blinked, squinting against the dim light filtering through the hanging beads. Palm wood walls. Rugs and tapestries adorned the space in soft, Earth tones. The scent of incense hung faintly in the air, familiar and calming.
‘Remi’s bedroom… I’m in Remi’s bedroom.’
The realization hit him, grounding him as his breath began to steady. Remi’s presence lingered here, the familiarity of it providing a sense of comfort and safety he hadn't expected. He wasn’t in the nightmare anymore— he was somewhere safe.
That brief relief was soon replaced by a sharp tension when the door creaked open. Goblin Slayer’s senses snapped to attention— his body rigid as his hand instinctively reached for a weapon that wasn’t there. He forced himself to relax when he saw who entered.
‘… It’s her again.’
The same goblin girl from before. She hesitated in the doorway, her large round eyes widening at the sight of him.. Her long brown hair framed her flat nose and round face, her expression one of clear concern.
She didn’t speak right away. She seemed uncertain, but there was no malice in her gaze— just worry. She held a clay cup of water, cradling it close to her small chest as if to offer some peace. Her breath caught when she saw the tears on his face, the way he trembled, and she took a small step forward— careful not to startle him further.
“Are you... Alright?” Her voice was soft, hesitant, as though unsure if she should speak.
Goblin Slayer sat up slightly, wiping his face again, trying to regain control. “I… I’m… I-I’m fine,” he rasped, his voice strained. “Just… A really, really bad dream.”
She lingered near the door for a moment longer, still wary, but then stepped fully into the room— her eyes never leaving him. “You don’t look fine,” she murmured gently, though she approached cautiously. “Poor thing— you’re shaking…”
Goblin Slayer tensed, his instinctive distrust battling with his need for decorum. The memory of how he had treated her before tugged at him. He forced himself to relax, his gaze softening despite his racing heart. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I… I don’t want to worry you— I’ll be okay, really…”
She nodded slightly, her wariness still there, but she was trying to mask it. “I… I brought you some water.” She extended the clay cup toward him, her hands trembling slightly as she offered it. “Just like yesterday, huh? Heh…”
Goblin Slayer hesitated, then gingerly reached out, his fingers brushing against hers as he took the cup. Her breath hitched, and she quickly looked away— her yellow eyes flickering with uncertainty. He brought the rim of the cup to his lips, taking a long, slow drink, letting the cool liquid soothe his dry throat.
It felt good, grounding, even as his body still shook faintly from the remnants of the nightmare.
After another sip, he set the cup down on the bedside table. His gaze remained downcast, his thoughts swirling. “What’s… What’s your name?”
The goblin girl blinked, surprised by the question. She hesitated before answering, her voice almost too quiet. “It’s… Talli.”
“Talli,” he repeated softly, committing the name to memory. He stared at the floor for a long moment, wrestling with himself, with the deep-rooted hatred and the guilt gnawing at him. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke again. “I’m… I’m sorry. For the way I treated you the other day.”
Talli fidgeted, clearly unsure how to respond to the unexpected apology. She took a cautious step closer, her voice soft. “It’s okay. I-”
“-No,” Goblin Slayer interrupted, shaking his head. “No, it’s not. I… I was wrong.” He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m just… Working through some… S-Stuff,” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “But even so… That doesn’t excuse how I treated you or the others yesterday.”
Talli looked at him for a long moment, her expression softening with understanding. She stepped a little closer, her small hand hovering over his arm before she placed it there gently. “It’s not entirely your fault,” she said quietly. “We know what people think of us. The imp goblins... They’ve given the rest of us all a bad name. It’s hard to see us differently. But… Maybe one day Zemuria will see us all in a better light again. The only thing we can really do is hold our heads high, and carry on— striving to be the change we want to see.”
Goblin Slayer flinched at the touch, but he didn’t pull away. He met her gaze, struggling to reconcile the images in his mind— the nightmares, the hatred, the memories— with the reality in front of him.
Talli withdrew her hand after a moment, changing the subject. “The Storm Lord… They’ve been keeping us all busy while you’ve been recovering. They’ve ordered us to pack everything up. We’re getting ready to stage a move.”
“Move?” Goblin Slayer’s brow furrowed. “Move where?”
“To your fortress,” she said with a small smile. “In the Evergreen Forest! Storm Lord said we’ll have a new home to call our own, and all new jobs under you soon.”
The words hit him like a punch. He sat up straighter, ignoring the ache in his body. “W… W-What?”
She nodded, looking more excited now. “They gave the order last night. The entire village is preparing to join your guild.”
Goblin Slayer’s mind reeled. The thought of a village full of goblins joining his guild felt impossible, absurd even. But as the initial shock settled, he began to piece it together. Delrivkat couldn’t survive without the Sahara Outpost, and the bandaged woman had destroyed that. Remi must’ve known that staying here wasn’t an option.
Still, the idea of goblins in his guild was quite overwhelming to grasp.
He forced himself to stay composed, though the thought bothered him deeply. “I… I see,” he said after a long pause. “Thank you… Thank you for everything you and your colleagues have done for me.”
Talli gave him a soft smile, sensing his unease but saying nothing about it. “Would you… Would you like me to help you get an outfit for you? I can take you to see the Storm Lord when you’re ready.”
Goblin Slayer hesitated, but then nodded, gratitude lacing his tone. “That would be… Helpful. Thank you, again.”
As Talli gathered some clothes for him, Goblin Slayer’s mind lingered on the nightmare, the weight of it still clinging to his bones.
Remi stood at the edge of the courtyard, basking in the warmth of the morning sun as it rose over the palm wood rooftops of Delrivkat. They were dressed in their usual laid-back style— a white crop-top shirt that left their toned midriff exposed, paired with beige jungle shorts that cut off just above the knee, and a pair of worn, sturdy leather boots. Sunglasses gleamed on their face, catching the sunlight, and their v-shaped guitar was slung over their back.
They took a slow, deliberate sip from the iced bottle of pink soda in their hand— the condensation running down its sides as they savored the sweetness of the drink. Their lips curled into a relaxed smile as they surveyed the bustling courtyard below, where goblins hurried back and forth, preparing for the impending exodus.
It was a far cry from the chaos of the previous night’s raids on Muhati’s worst offenders.
Remi’s moment of peace was interrupted by the soft padding of footsteps. A goblin woman with long, blond hair tied in a loose ponytail, wearing red-rimmed glasses that perched precariously on her small nose, approached. She held a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other, her expression professional and composed as she greeted Remi with a respectful nod.
"Storm Lord," she began, her tone formal. "I’ve come to give you an update on the captives you and Old Sport rescued last night."
Remi didn’t turn immediately, taking another long sip of their soda before addressing her, "Go on, Dr. Alorine."
Dr. Alorine adjusted her glasses, flipping through the notes on her clipboard. "They’ve been treated for their injuries and dehydration. They should be fit for transport. We can have them moved onto an ambulance wagon if you give the order."
Remi finally glanced her way, flashing a laid-back smile. "Glad to hear it. But keep them in the medical bay for a little longer. Keep them monitored until we’re ready to leave. Once Sportsy comes back from Crossbell, we’ll drop them all off in Matterhorn— we'll let Pendragon’s goons deal with them."
Dr. Alorine nodded curtly, scribbling down the instructions with swift efficiency. "Understood, Storm Lord. I’ll see to it personally."
She turned to leave, only to be replaced by another goblin who stepped up just as she walked away. He was much older, with deep wrinkles around his large eyes, and a pair of safety goggles perched on his brow. His salvaged iron hard hat had seen better days, dented and scratched, but it gave him an air of authority. He flipped through the pages of his clipboard as he approached Remi.
"Morning, Storm Lord," he said with a gravelly voice. "I’m here with the latest on logistics."
Remi took another long sip from their soda, looking at the old goblin over the rim of the bottle. "Hit me with it, Gota."
The old goblin gave a grunt and flipped to the right page on his clipboard. "We’ve packed the crates full of gold bars, coins, artifacts, and jewelry, just like you asked. Also got food, water, medicine, and some of the more valuable supplies— iron scraps and lithium ores all ready to load onto the wagons."
Remi snapped their fingers with a bit of sass, stopping Gota mid-report. "Ditch the iron, Gota."
Gota blinked, his wrinkled brow furrowing. "But-"
"-Trust me," Remi said coolly, giving him a playful smile. "We’ll be able to mine for all the iron we need, once we arrive at Evergreen. No need to waste valuable wagon space with all of that rusty shit weighing us down."
The older goblin scratched his head, then gave a curt nod. "You got it, Storm Lord. I’ll have the team swap ‘em out for something more useful."
Remi gave a satisfied nod, their smile never faltering. "Good call. And tell the crew that those horses were a gift from ol Suliven— they’re gonna make the trip a whole lot easier."
Gota chuckled dryly, flipping his clipboard closed. "Will do. Thanks again for your help." He gave a respectful nod before walking off to relay the new instructions to his team.
Remi watched him go, taking another long sip of their pink soda and letting out a contented sigh. The day was unfolding smoothly, despite the chaos from the night before. The courtyard was alive with goblins preparing for their departure, and everything seemed to be falling into place.
That was, until they glanced over their shoulder and spotted Goblin Slayer approaching.
He was dressed in a sleeveless black turtleneck shirt that hugged his athletic frame, black cargo pants, and his usual sturdy leather boots. His face, as always, was stoic, but there was something uneasy about his expression— something that didn’t sit right with Remi. The sunglasses didn’t hide the way they narrowed their eyes, instantly picking up on his mood.
But that didn’t stop Remi from greeting him with their usual playful energy.
"Why, hello there, Old Sport," Remi said with a flirtatious grin, raising their bottle of soda as though to toast him. "Looking good, but a little tense. Didn’t sleep too well without me there, I take it?"
Goblin Slayer’s expression remained stone-faced, but his eyes flicked to Remi with a mix of wariness and uncertainty. He approached slowly, his tone as steady as ever, but the tension in his voice was unmistakable. "R… Remi."
Remi’s smile faded slightly, their playful demeanor slipping as they caught the subtle shift in his mood. "Something on your mind, Old Sport?"
Goblin Slayer shifted uncomfortably, his eyes briefly darting to the courtyard below. "I… I heard you’re moving the entire village to our fortress."
Remi chuckled softly, though they kept it light, sensing his unease. "Yeah. Figured it was time for a change of scenery. Delrivkat can’t exactly thrive without the outpost, and… Well, somebody’s gotta do all the bitch-work, and it sure as shit ain’t gonna be us."
Goblin Slayer frowned, clearly still conflicted, but he said nothing for a long moment. Remi, sensing the weight of his thoughts, sipped their soda again, this time more thoughtfully.
"I’ll go over the details with you later— just know it’s in all our best interests, Sportsy," they said finally, their voice more serious now, though still laced with their usual charm. "You look like you’ve got something to say, and I ain’t exactly a patient person, so… Spit it out already, Old Sport."
Goblin Slayer didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he remained silent as a creeping unease settled in his chest— gnawing at his insides. He could feel the nausea building up, his breaths shallow and uneven. He hesitated, staring at the ground before finally letting out a shaking breath, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Remi… Are we… Are we friends…?”
Remi’s sunglasses gleamed as they titled their head at him— raising an eyebrow in surprise before breaking into a playful grin. “Well, if committing mass murder together doesn’t make two people friends, I don’t know what does, Old Sport.”
The word “murder” hit Goblin Slayer like a punch to the gut. He flinched visibly, his entire body tensing up— the nauseating feeling returning in full force.
Remi, noticing the reaction, softened their grin into something gentler. Their usual laid-back attitude shifted— becoming more subtle, more sincere. They sighed, then extended the icy bottle of pink soda in their hand toward him. “Here, Sportsy. Drink up; you look like you need it more than I do.”
Goblin Slayer blinked, his confusion momentarily cutting through his anxiety as he accepted the glass bottle. He stared at the pink liquid inside, carbonated bubbles rising slowly to the surface. Turning the bottle in his hand, he read the label aloud: "Sharky Pop: Manta Melon."
“What… What is this?” The teen asked— his voice still carrying an edge of nervousness.
Remi chuckled lightly. “It’s an imported sugary drink from the Great Barrier Sea, Old Sport. Expensive, but worth every silver coin. Since this morning, I’ve been trying to finish off the ones I’ve accumulated from the Sahara Outpost before they go flat— I figured with all the elevation changes along the Fallen Pedal Trail, all the fizz wouldn’t hold up. So go ahead. Have at it.”
Goblin Slayer stared at the bottle for a moment longer before bringing it cautiously to his lips. The first sip hit him like a shock— overwhelmingly sweet, with a fizzy sharpness that made his nose twitch. He immediately recoiled, barely keeping from spitting it out.
Remi laughed at his reaction, grinning wide. “Yeah, it’s an acquired taste. You gotta keep drinking it to really appreciate it. Come on, keep sipping, Sportsy— shit’s expensive.”
Still uncertain but determined to push through, the teen raised the bottle again and took another sip. This time, while the sweetness still jarred him, it wasn’t as unbearable. Slowly, sip by sip, the drink started to grow on him, refreshing and oddly satisfying. Before he realized it, he had finished the bottle, staring down at it in surprise.
Remi, watching with an amused smile, tilted their head. “See? Not bad, right?”
Goblin Slayer nodded quietly. “It’s… It’s cool and crisp— I like it a lot.”
“Good,” Remi said, giving him a playful nudge. “I’ll send you off with a couple more bottles for the road. You’ll thank me later.”
The mention of leaving made Goblin Slayer’s heart drop again, the anxiety creeping back. His voice wavered as he asked, “Y… You’re not coming with me… A-Are you…?”
Remi’s playful tone took on a begrudging note as they shook their head. “Nope. Gotta stay here in Delrivkat. Someone has to keep the supplies and our future workforce safe, you know? It’s my responsibility— to our guild, and to you.”
Goblin Slayer felt a twinge of guilt and gratitude mix inside him. “I… I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Remi. When I first started out wanting to make a guild… I honestly didn’t think I could do it.”
Remi let out a small chuckle. “What, never had any self-confidence in ya, eh Sportsy?”
But their grin faded when Goblin Slayer’s expression didn’t match the joke. Instead, he offered a sad, small smile, shaking his head. “N… No; no one’s ever truly ever had confidence in me. Except for a few orcs I met on my way to Matterhorn. There’s one in particular— Grusha… She said I could do it. She believed in me. But… Part of me doubted her too— doubted myself, just like everyone else had.”
He paused, looking down at the empty bottle in his hand before glancing back at Remi. “But you… You don’t just tell me I can do it. You prove to me that it’s possible. That it’s not just some lie I’ve been telling myself.” He then paused, and let out a soft sigh as swallowed the lump in his throat. “T… Thank you… Thank you for everything, Remi.”
Remi didn’t speak for a moment, processing the weight of Goblin Slayer’s words. Their usual cool demeanor softened even more as they placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “Don’t mention it, Old Sport. What else are best friends for, eh?”
Goblin Slayer’s eyes widened, his cheeks tingling with the faintest shade of red. “Best… Friends?” He muttered, almost as if the concept was foreign to him. “I… I haven’t been anyone’s best friend in… In quite some time.”
Remi grinned again, though this time it was less teasing and more genuine. “Well, I’ve never really considered anyone a friend before— let alone a best friend— so that’s how you know it’s a big deal. You’re a big deal to me, Old Sport— never forget that while you’re away from me.”
For a moment, they stood in the quiet of the morning, sharing the moment between them. But as the teen’s smile slowly faded— the weight of his worries returned.
“I… I’m nervous… To go back out on the road,” he admitted, his voice quiet again. “Without you, I feel… I feel vulnerable.”
Remi patted his shoulder again, their smile widening as they leaned in closer. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve already thought of something. I’m gonna teach you how to cast that buff spell I used on you last night! I call it: “Destroy Mode”— the fuckin’ name is still a work in progress.”
Goblin Slayer furrowed his brow, the name sounding foreign to him. “Destroy Mode?”
“Yeah,” Remi said, nodding confidently. “When you were in that mode, you didn’t feel any moral conundrums or hesitation when it came to killing, right? No fatigue either. I’ll feel a whole lot fuckin’ better knowing you’ve got that on your side— especially with how prone you are to getting your shit rocked, Sportsy.”
Goblin Slayer nodded slowly, recalling the violent frenzy he had fallen into— the ruthless efficiency with which he had dispatched enemies. The memories somewhat unsettled him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the nightmare he’d had was connected to it.
But he shook the thought away, focusing on the slime monster’s words.
“The spell feeds off your emotions,” Remi continued, their voice taking on a more serious tone. “And trust me, you’ve got plenty of hatred in you to make it more effective than I ever thought was possible.”
Goblin Slayer grew contemplative, thinking back to that night. The rage, the power— it was almost too much. But there was a twisted appeal to it, something that made him wonder how much further he could push himself under its influence.
He nodded, resolute. “We shouldn’t wait then.”
Remi’s grin returned, full of mischief and excitement. “Oh, I fucking agree, Old Sport! And I know just the place to train ya…!”
Chapter 19: (NSFW) Remi Kasugai
Chapter Text
The next thing Goblin Slayer knew, he was lying completely flushed and beet-red under the covers of Remi’s bed— doing his best to cover his bare body. His eyes were wide, heart pounding, and he was filled with a mix of confusion and overwhelming embarrassment.
At the bedside, Remi was whistling a carefree tune, completely unfazed, as they undressed with a casual excitement. Piece by piece, they tossed their clothes aside— not a care in the world.
Goblin Slayer, feeling the tension mount, his cheeks growing redder by the second, stammered out, "Wh-What… What does ANY of this have to do with teaching me that spell?!"
Remi spun around, still whistling, now fully undressed, and faced him with an amused grin— their fully erected cock bouncing up-and-down with excitement, as a glistening bead of cyan gel trickled out of its tip.
Goblin Slayer’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, and in a desperate attempt to shield himself from the mortifying sight, he yanked the covers even higher up— practically hiding his entire face beneath them. His pulse was racing so hard, he could feel it in his throat.
Nonchalantly, Remi shrugged. "Well Sportsy, it would take at least a year to teach you the basic fundamentals of unlocking your chakra— JUST to even tap into your inner mana reserves." They paused dramatically, raising a brow, before adding, "And ain't nobody got time for that."
Goblin Slayer gulped, trying to process what Remi was saying. His mind was spinning, but before he could say another word, Remi climbed onto the bed with a casual fluidity, leaning over Goblin Slayer with a mischievous grin plastered across their face.
“We’re gonna perform something called a “Mana-Transfer,”” Remi explained, as they climbed over on top of the teenager’s lap. Their tone, however, had a sultry edge that made his stomach do flips.
“Basically, I’m gonna transfer a chunk of my mana reserves into your body. And then-” Remi paused, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively, “-into your soul. Once it’s done, you’ll be able to cast Destroy Mode with a little practice— along with casting spells in general.”
Goblin Slayer was sweating bullets— his entire body stiff and rigid beneath the sheets. He couldn’t tell if his heart was pounding out of anxiety, embarrassment, or the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. “Is… Is any of this absolutely necessary…?!” He croaked out, barely able to find his voice.
Remi, grinning wickedly, leaned even closer, their lips inches from Goblin Slayer’s ear. "Old Sport," they whispered, their breath warm against his skin. "This is ABSO-FUCKIN’-LUTELY necessary…!" They chuckled before adding with a smirk, "Besides, it's not like you’re not into this either…!"
Without any hesitation or breaking eye contact, the slender slime monster reached down with their left hand— their yellow eyes lighting up with lustful amusement, as their fingers wrapped around the teenager’s throbbing erection through the material of the bedsheet. “Nice dick by the way, Old Sport— can’t wait to have it inside me…!”
Goblin Slayer’s face turned an even deeper shade of crimson, and just as he was about to protest, Remi gently grabbed him by the chin with their other hand— tilting his head upwards with a playful gleam in their eyes, while slowly loosening their grip and beginning to rub their palm up and down the length of his pulsating bulge.
"Now then," Remi purred, their grin widening as they stared into his eyes, "pucker up them lips for me, Sportsy…~!"
Goblin Slayer’s mind became even more panicked— scrambling to articulate a single coherent word out in response. All he could do was watch with ragged breaths, as the slime monster straddling him leaned in closer and closer— their smiling lips pursing together.
As soon as Remi pressed their mouth against Goblin Slayer’s, his eyes shot wide open— every muscle in his body going stiff. Before he could fully comprehend what was unfolding, the slime monster’s gummy lips parted— unveiling a warm, slippery muscle that slid intrusively into the teen’s mouth.
Goblin Slayer’s heart pounded wildly in his chest, panic rising as he felt Remi’s long, slimy tongue exploring his mouth with a deliberate slowness— all while their open palm continued to massage the length of his throbbing cock.
The overwhelmed teen could feel the slime monster’s tongue running along the inside of his cheek— teasingly curling against his teeth, all while Remi softly chuckled through their nose, as their warm breath tickled his skin.
He clenched the sheets in his fists, his entire body tense under the covers— fighting the urge to recoil but also too frozen to move. His face burned hotter than ever, and he felt like he was going to pass out from sheer embarrassment.
Remi, completely unfazed, pulled away just slightly, enough to whisper against his lips, with their inhumanly long tongue still filling up the space in his mouth. "Relax, Old Sport. I’m only gonna fuck your brains out— just relax, and let me take care of ya…!" Their voice was teasing, yet there was a hint of sincerity in their tone.
Without wasting another second, the slime monster pressed their saliva-coated lips up against the red-faced teenager’s own— a low moan reverberating inside his tongue-filled mouth, as Remi lowered his hand down from his blushing cheek.
Tightening their fingers on the sheet Goblin Slayer had been using to conceal his body from them, Remi let out a low, muffled laugh into their partner’s mouth. Grabbing a handful of the quilted fabric, the slime monster tore the blanket away from the gray-haired teen’s hands— causing him to flinch, as the cool air swept over his bare body.
Instead of continuing to fondle and stroke the teenager’s throbbing dick with their other hand, Remi began trailed exposing his sculpted abdomen— tracing their fingertips along the crevasses of his defined six-pack, as they made their over to his slender hip to grab a hold of him.
With Remi’s other hand reaching past his shoulder, Goblin Slayer shivered as he felt their gelatinous tongue pushing past his uvula— causing him to gag and recoil, as the rest of the slime monster’s thirteen inch tongue slithered down into his throat.
The teenager’s initial instincts screamed at him to pull away, but Remi then grabbed a handful of his gray hair— keeping his head in place, as they drooled profusely into the inside of his throat.
Gurgling from just how much of Remi’s saliva was pooling up in his throat, the thought of possible asphyxiation entered Goblin Slayer’s hazy mind— causing him to think quickly for a solution, as each breath became harder and harder for him to take.
Struggling to keep his eyelids held open while Remi’s soft, but powerful thighs kept him from accidentally kicking them off, Goblin Slayer felt a sense of degradation and sensual excitement coursing through his burning lungs— the muscles in his throat shifting, as he started to swallow their spit.
Practically having to drink Remi’s saliva to keep his airway clear, the teenager couldn’t help but to notice the faint taste of melon in their thick spit.
Feeling the slime monster letting out a moan of approval into his stuffed mouth, Goblin Slayer felt Remi squeezing tighter on his bare hip— wordlessly encouraging him to loosen up, as the slime monster’s hand momentarily opened up to grab an even larger handful of his hair.
Just when he thought he couldn’t keep up with swallowing the slime monster’s warm, gelatinous juices, Goblin Slayer’s eyes shot open wide once more upon feeling the tongue suddenly retracting.
Like the line of a fishing pole being reeled back, all thirteen inches of Remi’s tongue vacated the back of his throat— leaving several thick bridges of spot bridging the gap between their lips, as the horny slime monster pulled their face away from his.
Gasping for air and feeling the room spinning around him, Goblin Slayer’s fluttering eyelids struggled to stay open long enough to focus on the slender monster straddling him— his mind drowning in sea of dopamine, and his teeth shuddering as the sudden shift in sensation was enough to take the very breath from his lungs.
Still holding on tightly to the back of his head, Remi’s glowing yellow eyes glistened with a domineering satisfaction, as they stared proudly at their handiwork. “Stay with me, Sportsy— we’re just getting started…!” They puffed out half-jokingly— taking pleasure from the fact that they knew their partner was too overwhelmed with pleasure to really understand what they had just said.
Eager to further dominate the teenager, Remi pulled Goblin Slayer’s head closer to their face. Sticking all thirteen inches of their translucent cyan-colored tongue out, the slime monster pressed their oral muscle against his face— savoring the flavors of his salty sweat and traces of their mixed saliva, as they slowly licked up and down his face.
Had Goblin Slayer been coherent enough to register Remi’s facial expression when they pulled away again, he would have seen the sadistic expression of lust written across their soft face— their yellow irises glowing brightly, as they eyed his bare body, as though they were predator and he was their prey.
Beginning to feel their more primal instincts taking over, Remi let out a low guttural growl and tightened their grip on Goblin Slayer’s body— eliciting a confused gasp from the sex-drunk teen, as they pinned him down flat against the mattress.
“Mine…! You’re mine! Mine, mine, mine, MINE!!!” Remi shouted out with a perverted, cheshire-grin spreading across their face— their saliva-coated lips spreading apart to reveal their glistening white teeth.
Finally releasing their hold of the teenager’s hip, and leaving behind a red hand-mark in its place, the slime monster’s breathing became more shallow and rapid, as they reached down to grab a hold of their own slime-coated cock.
Lowering their hips down while their knees pressed against the teenager’s toned thighs, Remi arched their back— letting out a sharp gasp alongside Goblin Slayer, as he pressed their pulsating members against one another, within their hand.
Enclosing their fingers around their cocks to create a firm hole for both of them to fuck, Remi began thrusting their hips down— their hairless testacles slapping against Goblin Slayer’s inner thigh with each downward thrust, as the slime leaking out from their cock glazed his.
Staring down at the teen’s crimson eyes rolling into the back of his head while his saliva-coated lips were agaped— listening into his hot ragged breaths, that hitched each time they thrusted — Remi’s predatory gaze became more intense, as the wet friction between their coats grew more and more louder.
“M-Mine…! Mineeee…!” Unable to hold themselves back, Remi opened their jaw before suddenly burying their face into Goblin Slayer’s collar— their teeth sinking into his skin, and causing the teenager’s body to shudder under their lips.
Hearing the sex-intoxicated boy’s breath sharpen only motivated the lustful slime monster to suck as hard as they could— their lips creating a vacuum seal on the teen’s skin, while they hungrily slurped and licked his flesh.
The instinct to breed took a hold of Remi’s mind even further— prompting their artificial cock to begin reverting to a shapeless, gelentious form that began molding itself around the teenager’s twitching cock.
Taking in another sharp breath and hearing Goblin Slayer letting out a low, cooing moan, Remi tensed up— the raw sensation of feeling absorbing the teen’s cock into their groin sent thunderous waves of sexual pleasure throughout their very being.
Without warning, Remi’s four gelentious tendrils shot out violently from their lower back— cracking the air as they flailed above them, before curling inward towards Goblin Slayer.
Ready to strike, as static electricity began filling the humid, hot air.
All at once, the slime monster entangled their tendrils around the teenager’s wrists and ankles— forcibly spreading Goblin Slayer’s thighs wide open, and raising their hips up for them. Pinning his wrists up and over his head and against the wooden headboard of their messy bed, Remi let out a deep, sultry growl.
Convulsing and entrapped in the slime monster’s hold on him, Goblin Slayer’s low moans grew more incoherent and intense, as he felt their hips slamming repeatedly against his— the inner workings of their slime anatomy tightening around his throbbing member, and squeezing around his girth, as he felt a warm goo trickling down his groin.
Drowning out the loud, rapid squeaks of the mattress with their combined moans of intoxicated passion, Goblin Slayer was faintly able to make out the sound of wet-sloppy plopping through the pounding in his eardrums— the crackling of cyan-lightning filling the room going almost entirely unnoticed, as he reeled and arched his back the moment Remi’s teeth released their hold of his collar.
Too out of their mind to even marvel at the dark hickey they had left on the his body, Remi quickly lowered their head to move onto his chest— sinking their teeth repeatedly on Goblin Slayer’s defined pectorals, and slobbering all over his glistening skin as they lustfully marked what their sex-driven mind saw as their territory to claim.
Too clouded in carnal pleasure to give the strange knot forming in the pit of his abdomen any thought, Goblin Slayer melted like warm butter, as Remi’s moans turned into deep, feral grunts— the gelentious hold around his leaking member tightening, as his entire world felt drowned out in growing euphoria.
That’s when he felt his cock begin to swell up inside of Remi— an exciting sign of what was to come.
‘I… I…!’
In a flash of explosive cyan-light, Goblin Slayer’s entire body and Remi’s tensed up tightly— their lower backs arching in unison, as they let out uncontrollable cries of unadulterated pleasure.
Remi’s yellow eyes glowing bright, as Goblin Slayer’s left eye matched its intensity as it illuminated brightly in a crimson glow— encasing one another in their bright aura, as the teenager shot load-after-load of his white-hot cum, deep inside the slime monster.
Milking the teenager for every drip of fertile semen they could drain from him, Remi’s sex drive had them try their hardest to continue thrusting— resulting only in the overstimulated slime monster shuddering, before all at once their tendrils disintegrated into a cloud of cyan particles that dissipated in the hot, steamy air engulfing them.
Collapsing onto Goblin Slayer’s hyperventilating chest, Remi’s slime-ridden body convulsed as the two of them came spiraling down from their explosive climax. It wasn’t long afterward until the slime monster unintentionally rolled off onto the spot on the bed beside the teenager.
Goblin Slayer’s body trembled, muscles aching, as he lay sprawled out on his back. His skin, slick with sweat, was coated in with a thick layer of gelatinous slime that clung to him— not a single drop of his seed had leaked out of Remi.
The scent of their passion hung heavily, a mixture of musk and something distinctly inhuman— wild, intoxicating, almost suffocating in its potency.
Both of them continued gasping for breath— their chests rising and falling rapidly. Goblin Slayer’s mind swirled in a hazy mix of exhaustion and disbelief— the aftermath of euphoria clashing with his internal confusion. He laid there, eyes half-lidded— staring blankly at the ceiling as he struggled to piece together what had just happened.
‘Did I… Did I just do it? Is that what having sex is supposed to feel like?’
Beside him, Remi was still lying on their side— a wide, intoxicated grin plastered across their face. They looked completely and utterly satisfied, their energy both relaxed and charged, as though they had tapped into something primal and had come out victorious.
“Ah, ah…! W-Well, I’ll be damned…!” Remi chuckled breathlessly, wiping their forehead. “I’ve never slept with a man before, but… Hands down, that was the best sex I’ve ever had…! K-Kudos for the good dick, Old Sport…!”
Goblin Slayer barely registered the words, still struggling to make sense of what had just transpired. His entire body felt like it had been through a battle— every nerve buzzing, every muscle weak. His mind reeled with the strange sensation of feeling drained, yet completely alive at the same time. Euphoria clung to him like a second skin, making it hard to think straight.
Remi, noticing his dazed state, propped their head up with one hand while their other trailed playfully up the teenager’s sweaty chest. Their fingers danced lightly over his skin, tracing invisible patterns. “So Sportsy… How does it feel…?” Remi purred, leaning in closer with a teasing glint in their yellow eyes. “To have your cherry popped by yours truly?”
Goblin Slayer’s face flushed deeper than it ever had. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out— just a soft, stunned exhale. His mind was still spinning from the intensity of it all, and the weight of the question seemed almost too surreal to grasp. He blinked rapidly, his lips trembling as he tried to process everything.
Remi, sensing his struggle, grinned even wider, pressing their body slightly closer to him, as if to savor the moment. “That’ll do, Old Sport— that’ll do…” They whispered, their voice both playful and affectionate— laying contently beside their partner, and watching as his chest rose and fell with a twinkle of amorous light in their glowing, yellow eyes.
Author’s notes; Achievement unlocked: Slime Fucker.
And there we have it: Goblin Slayer is no longer a virgin, and now has unlocked the same buff that makes him able to take on actual opponents, instead of having to rely completely on others. Granted, he still won’t be able to use it as effectively as he would if Remi was the one buffing him, but at least now the story can continue without relying on Remi— makes having more companions feasible.
Now onward, and upward. Goblin Slayer still has plenty left to do before wrapping up his journey. Without giving any spoilers, all I’m saying is to expect to see someone from the main series within the next chapter or so— someone who’s been highly requested.
Chapter 20: On the Road Again
Chapter Text
Goblin Slayer trudged down the dirt road within the Muhati Desert, his boots kicking up dry, sunbaked dust. The air was sweltering, and the relentless desert sun hung high, burning his skin. He felt the heat rise off the sands beneath his feet, but the weight of his orichalcum helmet tucked beneath his left arm didn’t seem as oppressive today. He held an ice-cold bottle of cyan-blue Sharky Pop in his right hand— condensation beading on the glass.
With a satisfied sigh, he lifted the bottle to his lips, letting the cold, sweet taste of “Passionfruit Pacific” rush over his tongue. The sweetness was almost indulgent, cooling him from the inside out, a brief oasis amidst the heat. He smiled gently, the rare expression softening his usual stony features.
The future felt solid now, something tangible. For the first time in a long while, Goblin Slayer allowed himself to genuine hope.
Delrivkat was prepared; Remi had seen to that. All he had to do was finish his business in Crossbell and return to the foundation they had built together. He could hunt the goblins— or those he considered goblins— in his own way, and that thought filled him with a sense of ambitious pride and excitement for the future.
His gaze shifted to the horizon, and there it was: the familiar silhouette of the pyramid, now a symbol of triumph. He and Remi had cleared it of goblins just the other night, an achievement that felt monumental. His lips twitched upward again as he recalled the battle, the way they had moved together, fighting in sync, pushing back the tide of filth that had overrun the sacred ground.
The memory fueled him, his pride swelling as he passed the ruins of the desert marauder camp. There, too, he had triumphed. The broken weapons, shattered tents, and scorched earth were all that remained of the marauders. They had fallen to him and Remi— just like the goblins before.
And then there was Suliven— the executive of Blackwatch stationed in the Muhati Desert, and a foe beyond anything Goblin Slayer had ever faced before.
The memory of that battle came back in flashes. The way Suliven had stood, shrouded in dark magic, his power palpable. Goblin Slayer had faced monsters before, but nothing like what he was.
Yet, against all odds, he had emerged victorious. He wouldn’t have dared dream of such a victory once, but now, he had done it.
He had slain an executive of the Blackwatch— a being of terrible strength, and lived to tell the tale. He couldn’t have done it without Remi, of course. But the fact that he had stood toe to toe with such a powerful enemy— no, defeated such an enemy— filled him with a deep, quiet amazement at himself.
His thoughts grew more somber as he continued down the road and came upon the remnants of the Sahara Outpost. The buildings, once tall and proud, were now nothing more than blackened ruins.
The smell of ash still lingered in the air, and the bones of the settlement stood scorched and skeletal against the sky. Only the charred skeletons of structures and scattered piles of ash remained. It was a stark reminder of the destruction that always followed in the wake of the enemies he fought.
The sight dampened his mood, but only for a moment. It was a reminder, after all, of why he needed his guild— why his mission was so vital. He thought of the people he could protect, the lives he could save. The idea of his own funding, his own resources, and the autonomy to rid the world of goblins his way gave him the resolve to press forward.
Looking back at the desert path behind him, the teenager felt the weight of the task ahead, but for the first time, he also felt the strength to bear it. With a final sip of Sharky Pop, he tossed the empty bottle into the sands and continued on his way.
Goblin Slayer reached into his pack— immediately pulling out another Sharky Pop filled with a carbonated red soda. The label with a cartoon depiction of a shark girl with sunglasses on it read: "Tropical Punch."
The bottle felt cool in his hands, condensation clinging to the surface from the day's lingering heat. He gripped his orichalcum tomahawk, positioning the sharp edge beneath the bottle cap. With a swift motion, the cap flew off— clattering to the dirt road.
The teen then brought the bottleneck rim to his lips and took a long drink. The flavor hit him immediately— an intense blend of tangy citrus and sweet, almost candy-like, tropical fruit. The bubbles fizzed pleasantly in his mouth, and he let out a satisfied sigh— savoring the refreshing burst of sweetness.
‘Dear God— what a superb taste! Remi and I’ve got to find ourselves a new supplier— this is the stuff of legends!’
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, the once-blistering heat softened, casting long shadows across the land. The flat desert terrain gradually gave way to rocky, barren stretches, the sparse desert trees growing fewer and farther between.
The sky shifted from a glaring blue to a brilliant gradient of oranges and purples. Goblin Slayer took in the view as he walked— the coolness of the desert evening beginning to settle over him, the day transitioning to night with each step.
By then, the last of the Sharky Pop had been finished, with the empty bottle lying far behind him— collecting sand, somewhere along the road. Pulling out his map, the teen unfolded it in front of him.
It was getting darker, and to better read the fading text, he activated the buff spell— forcing his left eye to glow a dull red. The light cast an eerie hue over the parchment as he scanned for his location. ‘Should be coming up to a settlement soon,’ he thought to himself— tracing a finger along the lines on the map.
The town's name, “Stonehall”, stood out— marking his destination.
He thought about stopping there for the night, something he never used to consider. In his early days, Goblin Slayer would have just found a quiet place in the wilderness to rest— too poor to afford a roof over his head. But things had changed. The purse full of gold coins and diamonds he carried— wealth amassed from the loot Remi had their scouts gathered from the pyramid and Suliven’s tower, was more than enough to afford any accommodation he needed.
It felt strange, having money for once. He still wasn’t used to it, and part of him wondered if he ever would be.
Twilight began to creeping into the orange sky, as stars flickered to life over the horizon.
The terrain had shifted from barren desert to green, fertile land, the rocky flats replaced by grasslands and the occasional grove of trees. The dirt road beneath his feet became cobblestone as he neared civilization.
His instincts kicked in when he heard the distant clatter of armor and the synchronized steps of many feet marching in unison. Without a second thought, Goblin Slayer ducked behind a nearby bush— his keen eyes watching as a platoon of knights and soldiers from the Royal Army made their way down the road.
The insignia of the Pendragon Empire was held high, fluttering in the evening breeze as the knights marched in perfect formation. Their armor gleamed in the fading light, polished to a shine that reflected the last vestiges of the sun’s rays.
The most decorated of the knights led the platoon, each bearing weapons of distinct craftsmanship— swords, spears, and axes that Goblin Slayer could only assume were enchanted or otherwise special.
Their presence was imposing, their disciplined march a clear display of their power. He studied them carefully, noting their movements and the insignia emblazoned on their shields, before silently deciding it was best to avoid them.
Once the Royal Army had passed by and the sound of their marching faded into the distance, Goblin Slayer emerged from his hiding spot.
Twilight had fully descended, and the sky was deepening into a darker shade of blue. The air was cooler, and the world seemed quieter. He continued walking down the cobblestone road, approaching the town of Stonehall.
The cobblestone walls of the town rose up in the distance, imposing and sturdy, lit by torches and lanterns that flickered in the growing darkness. Guards stood posted on the battlements— watching the road, while others manned the gate below.
As he neared the gate, Goblin Slayer mentally prepared himself, reminding himself to keep his answers brief. He folded the map and tucked it back into a leather pouch on his belt. ‘Don’t tell them anything more than they need to know,’ he thought to himself— steeling his resolve, as he approached the town’s entrance.
Goblin Slayer walked through the paved streets of Stonehall, his boots making a soft clinking sound against the cobblestone. He noted the lampposts lining the sidewalks— each casting a warm, steady glow on the closed storefronts. The town had an active but orderly energy, even at night.
The occasional horse-drawn wagon clattered by, forcing Goblin Slayer to step up onto the sidewalk to make way. ‘Traffic is here night and day, compared to how clear and underdeveloped the roads are back in the Maggiore… Wonder if the Evergreen forest will become urbanized, like this place is? Maybe I could help with that someday.’
As he continued down the street, his eyes caught the presence of the Royal Army soldiers mingling with the local town guard. The guards were outfitted in chain mail, wielding traditional bows, arrows, swords, and shields.
In contrast, the soldiers of the Royal Army stood out, their steel-plated armor gleaming under the lamplight. Their helmets were fully enclosed, and they carried repeating crossbows, bolts hanging from their hips, halberds slung across their backs, and steel-graced longswords paired with bucklers strapped to their forearms.
The difference in gear was striking, but Goblin Slayer remained quiet, keeping his observations to himself.
Every now and then, a few knights led patrols of soldiers— their advanced weaponry catching Goblin Slayer's eye. Though unfamiliar, he recognized the efficiency and craftsmanship in the designs.
Spell-infused firearms and other high-grade melee weapons were carried with authority by these knights. Some knights moved with such confidence they didn't bother wearing helmets at all. Their colorful hair and uniquely colored eyes stood out, marking them as more than ordinary soldiers. Goblin Slayer mused that these knights were likely skilled enough to forgo the protection of a helmet.
After navigating the busy streets, Goblin Slayer spotted a restaurant that was still open— its warm lights and the soft hum of conversation drawing him in. He figured it would be better to save his rations and enjoy a hot meal instead.
Plus, a good meal would prepare him for the journey ahead.
The sign above the door read “The Serpent's Delight”, and appeared to be an upscale establishment, from the look of it. With a sigh of contender, he decided this would be a fine place to stop before finding a place to stay for the night.
As he stepped inside, the scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filled the air. The decor was elegant, with dark wood accents and candle-lit booths— each one providing a sense of privacy. Patrons of all races filled the room, many clad in various types of armor, carrying weapons of differing qualities.
He quickly surmised that most of them were adventurers, and for a moment, he felt a wave of disappointment. It made him wonder how things would have turned out if he'd been accepted into the Adventurers' Guild.
But that was quickly replaced by a sense of contentment. ‘No… No, I made the right choice. This is the path for me.’
A lamia greeted him from behind the podium— her curvy frame and pink hair making her stand out in the dim light. Her light skin shimmered slightly under the glow of the candles, and her smile was warm and welcoming.
"Good evening, young man! Do you have a party with you tonight?" she asked— her voice carrying a melodic quality.
Goblin Slayer shook his head. "No, I don’t. I've never eaten at a restaurant like this before."
The lamia blushed at his words, mistaking his honesty for a compliment. She giggled softly. "Well, I'm honored! Let me find you a good seat." She grabbed a menu from beneath the podium and slithered out from behind it— motioning for him to follow. She led him to a secluded, candle-lit booth near a barred window.
"Here you go! A waitress will be with you shortly," she reassured him, her voice still tinged with a soft giggle. With a smile, she left him to settle in.
Goblin Slayer surveyed the patrons as she slithered away. Each person seemed engrossed in their meals or conversations, and there was a sense of camaraderie among the adventurers. He carefully calculated the risk of taking his helmet off, weighing whether it was worth it. The clientele appeared trustworthy enough, and besides, he had become adept at reading body language— no one here seemed dangerous or suspicious.
With a soft sigh, he decided it was safe.
Slowly, he reached up and removed his orichalcum helmet, placing it on the edge of the table closest to the barred window. With one elbow propped on the table, he rested his chin in his hand, his eyes drifting out through the window.
He watched the street outside, observing as people walked about their lives. Guards patrolled, soldiers and knights moved in formation, adventurers talked loudly as they made their way down the street, and residents went about their nightly routines. The soft glow of the lampposts illuminated the cobblestone road, casting long shadows across the path.
For a moment, Goblin Slayer felt at peace, the quiet hum of life around him calming his mind as he waited for his meal.
Goblin Slayer carefully removed his gauntlets, setting them beside his helmet with a soft metallic clink. The candlelight flickered across the wooden table as he picked up the menu, eyes scanning the offerings written on the parchment attached to a finely carved wooden board. His gaze hovered over the prices for a moment, and a familiar feeling of anxiety tugged at him.
The dishes were far more expensive than anything he had ever seen before, far beyond the humble meals he had once been able to afford. But then he remembered— he wasn’t poor anymore. The gold and diamonds he had collected from his recent spoils were a reminder that he could afford to splurge on himself— a reality that seemed hard to grasp.
His stomach growled faintly as he continued to browse, trying to make sense of the fancy names. After a moment of indecision, he settled on something simple: bruschetta. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but from its short description, it sounded small enough for a start.
Just then, the soft sound of scales brushing the wooden floor caught his attention. A lamia waitress slithered toward him, her pale skin contrasting sharply with the sleek black scales coiled beneath her.
She wore a gothic-style barmaid’s dress that added to her unusual but composed appearance, her straight black hair falling just past her shoulders. As she arrived at his table, she placed a glass wine cup in front of him, filled with ice cubes, water, and garnished with a lemon slice on the rim.
"Good evening," she greeted in a smooth, monotone voice. "My name is Xanthe, and I’ll be your server tonight. Is there anything you’d like to start with?"
Goblin Slayer hesitated, staring at the menu in his hand. The word he had chosen was unfamiliar to him, and he struggled to pronounce it. "I’ll have the, uh... Bruh-sheh... Bruh-shetta?"
Xanthe’s lips curled into a subtle smirk at his attempt. "You mean bruschetta?" she corrected, her tone gentle yet amused.
Goblin Slayer nodded, a little embarrassed. "Yes. That."
"Very well," Xanthe replied, her smirk fading back into her usual calm demeanor. "And would you like something to drink?"
Goblin Slayer thought for a moment, his eyes briefly scanning the menu again, but nothing caught his attention. Instead, he recalled something Remi had mentioned earlier that day. "Do you have Sharky Pop?"
Xanthe blinked, a hint of curiosity crossing her otherwise impassive face. "Sharky Pop?" she repeated.
"It’s a fizzy drink," Goblin Slayer explained, repeating what Remi had told him. "Imported from the Great Barrier Sea. It’s crisp, and refreshing."
The lamia waitress raised an eyebrow, her tail subtly shifting beneath her. "Ah, I see. Unfortunately, we don’t carry Sharky Pop, but I’ll be sure to mention it to the executive chef. Perhaps it’s something we could consider adding to the menu."
Goblin Slayer gave a small nod, appreciating her effort to entertain the idea. "Thank you. If not that, then I’ll have... Some tea, please."
"Of course." Xanthe gave him a polite bow. "I’ll bring your bruschetta and tea shortly. Take your time before ordering an entrée."
As she slithered away, Goblin Slayer stared after her, feeling slightly perplexed. ‘What’s an entrée? Am I supposed to order more food than just the bruschetta?’
He contemplate the question more while finding his gaze wandering back to the window— watching the cobblestone streets outside, illuminated by the warm glow of lampposts. He could see the bustling activity of soldiers and adventurers alike, their movements quick and purposeful as they patrolled the streets or made their way to the taverns.
There was a certain charm to the town of Stonehall, with its quiet hum of activity and the cool evening air filtering through the barred windows. It wasn’t like the outposts he was used to, like the Maggiore Outpost near Evergreen, where things were slower and simpler.
As he gazed outside, the door of the restaurant opened, and the faint sound of boots and slithering scales filled the air. The lamia hostess greeted three new patrons, leading them toward a booth directly behind Goblin Slayer. Their voices drifted into his ears, distinct but unfamiliar.
"Long Ears, ye ain’t gettin’ any free drinks with that anvil chest o’ yours," came a gruff, teasing voice. Goblin Slayer noted the rough accent— had he been a more worldly person, he would have identified the voice as belonging to a dwarf. The voice followed with a thick, rough and boisterous laughter— making it hard for the teenager to ignore.
"Shut up, you stone-headed idiot!" Snapped another voice, sharp and high-pitched. It belonged to an elf, judging by the tone. "And stop making fun of my chest! I’ll shoot you right here if you don’t shut up."
"Peace, my friends," a third voice chimed in, deep and calm. This one was more composed, almost reptilian in tone. "We are here to dine, not bicker over such trivial matters."
Goblin Slayer tensed slightly, his mind running through possibilities. He didn’t recognize the voices, but the conversation hinted at a group of adventurers.
He continued to focus on the window, not yet ready to engage with anyone else, preferring to keep to himself, and to his plate full of delicious bruschetta.
High Elf Archer rolled her eyes at Dwarf Shaman’s loud laughter— already exasperated as she sat down in the booth. She picked up the menu and scanned it briefly before letting out a frustrated groan. With a huff, she slammed the menu back down on the table, loud enough to turn a few heads in the restaurant.
"Goddamn it," she muttered irritably, crossing her arms. "Everything’s so expensive here…! We should’ve just gone hunting for the night instead! Would’ve been cheaper, and at least I wouldn’t have to deal with this nonsense…!"
Dwarf Shaman chuckled, leaning back in the booth with a smug grin. "Aye, lass, but ye cannae hunt brandy in the wild, now can ye?" He gave her a knowing wink as he reached for the menu— his tone laced with amusement.
High Elf Archer glared at him, her sharp green eyes narrowing. "Raging alcoholic," she shot back— voice dripping with disdain.
Dwarf Shaman only laughed louder, unbothered by the insult. "Aye, lass! Guilty as charged!" He waved it off— the chuckle still rumbling in his chest, as he looked over the menu without a care in the world.
Lizard Priest, sitting with his usual calm and composed demeanor, added his voice to the conversation. "Indeed, we cannot hunt cheese wheels either, as they are not living creatures," he remarked sagely, as if that solved the dilemma. His tail gently tapped the floor beneath him as he considered his point of wisdom.
High Elf Archer, already agitated, threw her hands up in frustration. "You two are impossible!" she snapped, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Inconsiderate assholes— both of you…! And who always gets stuck paying the tab?! ME!!! That’s who!" She grumbled under her breath, glaring at the table in front of her.
Dwarf Shaman, without missing a beat, grinned mischievously and pulled a bottle of fire brandy out from underneath his white kimono. "Och, now don’t be whinin’, Princess. Ain’t ye royals supposed to be rich?" He teased, poking at her with a smirk.
High Elf Archer growled at him, her ears twitching in irritation. "For the last time, I’m not THAT kind of princess!" She barked. "My tribe’s been paying reparations to the Pendragon Empire for the last two hundred years. We live in huts in trees, crying out loud! How rich do you think we are?!" She snapped— her frustration bubbling over.
Dwarf Shaman shrugged, completely unfazed by her growing annoyance. "Sounds like a broke mindset to me, lass. That’s why yer poor," he said with a smirk, taking a swig from his brandy bottle.
High Elf Archer's patience finally snapped. "Broke mindset?! I’m broke all the time because of YOU!!!" she shouted, her face flushing with anger as she leaned across the table toward him. "We barely complete any quests because you’re too busy drinking, and then some other party always swoops in and beats us to it!"
Dwarf Shaman let out another hearty laugh, clearly enjoying himself at her expense. Lizard Priest, sensing the rising tension, lifted his clawed hand gently— his voice calm and measured. "True wealth is not measured in gold or silver, but in the peace of one’s mind and the balance of one’s soul," he said in his usual profound manner— looking from High Elf Archer to Dwarf Shaman with a wise gaze.
After a brief pause, Lizard Priest glanced down at the menu again and, without missing a beat, added, “… Though, on a more practical note, how do you two feel about dining and dashing?"
High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman exchanged a quick glance. Then, without hesitation, both nodded nonchalantly, as if it were the most reasonable suggestion they had heard all evening.
"Great idea," High Elf Archer muttered, picking up her menu again, her earlier frustration replaced by a calm determination.
Dwarf Shaman smirked as he leaned back in the booth, already flipping through the menu to find the most expensive item he could order. "Aye, let’s make it worth it, then," he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
High Elf Archer soon found herself eyeing the filet mignon on the menu, accompanied by a baked potato and garlic-roasted vegetables. The thought of it made her stomach rumble audibly, causing her to grimace in embarrassment.
Both Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest turned to her with raised brows, their silent looks enough to make her flush.
She cleared her throat awkwardly, trying to deflect the attention. "Anyway, look at all the other adventurers here tonight," she said, casting a glance around the restaurant. "You think any of them are here for our goblin quest?"
The word "goblin" had barely left her lips when she noticed both Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest staring beyond her— their expressions suddenly alert. Confused, she turned around in her seat, only to find a figure looming over the back of her booth. His piercing crimson eyes met hers, and she was taken aback by the intensity of his stare.
“… What the hell do you think you’re doing?" High Elf Archer snapped, glaring up at him.
"I heard you mention goblins,” the teenager responded in a straight-forward fashion. “Hill, or imp?”
High Elf Archer's face twisted into a look of bewilderment. She turned back to Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest, wordlessly gesturing at Goblin Slayer as if to say, “Can one of you deal with this?”
Dwarf Shaman, assuming Goblin Slayer to be some local kid, decided to entertain him. "Aye, lad, ye heard right. We’re adventurers from the guild," he explained, his tone polite yet dismissive. "Here to deal with the goblins that’ve been killin’ livestock and stealin’ goats."
Goblin Slayer’s response was immediate and direct. "Where’s their nest?" He asked, his words clipped. Without waiting for an answer, he reached down into his belt and produced a folded map and pen— offering them over the top of the booth, his arm hanging just above High Elf Archer’s head. "Mark it for me. I’ll deal with them now."
Dwarf Shaman blinked in confusion, glancing at the map hanging over their booth. "Hold on, lad. Ye shouldn’t be worrying yourself with this," he said, trying to be gentle. "That’s what the Adventurers’ Guild is for."
Lizard Priest, ever observant, leaned in closer. "He wears leather armor," he pointed out, his eyes studying Goblin Slayer’s gear. "Perhaps he’s a guild member himself."
This struck a nerve with High Elf Archer. Her patience thin, she swatted the map and pen out of Goblin Slayer’s hand— the items landing on the polished floor with a light clatter. She turned fully around, standing up to meet him at eye level, her face mere inches from his.
"Listen here, brat," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "I don’t know who you are, or why you thought any of us wanted to talk to you, but let me make it clear that none of us are, or ever were, interested in listening to your dumbass talk about goblins!”
Dwarf Shaman scolded her. "Now Long Ears, that’s no way to talk to a child!"
High Elf Archer, already furious, snapped back at him. “Listen, Stone-Head, we can’t afford to be nice anymore: hell, we CAN’T afford to NOT turn in this quest!" She shouted, her frustration boiling over. "Our registration renewals are coming up soon, and if we can’t pay those fees, then we can’t be adventurers anymore! Then you’re really going to see what it’s like being dirt-ass poor!”
Goblin Slayer, uncomfortable with the rising tension, cleared his throat and clarified. "I’m not an adventurer. I have my own guild. We deal with goblins of all shapes, colors, and sizes."
The claim left the trio skeptical. Lizard Priest tilted his head curiously. "Your own guild? What’s it called?"
Goblin Slayer faltered, unsure of how to answer. "We… We don’t have a name yet… B-But it’s a work in progress."
High Elf Archer snorted in disbelief. "Bull-SHIT," she snapped. "Face it: you’re just some lying spoiled brat pretending to be one of us! So why don’t you turn around and mind your own business, before I beat the crap out of you?!"
Goblin Slayer, though visibly uncomfortable, stood his ground. "If that’s true," he said quietly, but firmly, "then it won’t matter if you show me where the nest is."
Out of patience, High Elf Archer huffed angrily. "Fine!" She barked, storming out of the booth and bending down to pick up the map and pen. She aggressively unfolded the map and slammed it on the table in front of Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest— her movements sharp and irritated.
She circled the approximate location of the goblin nest, then crumpled the map and threw it at Goblin Slayer’s face. The pen followed, but Goblin Slayer ducked just in time to avoid it.
"There," she snarled. "Now leave us alone!" She plopped back down into her seat with a scowl, her cheeks flushed red with anger as she muttered curses in Elvish under her breath.
Goblin Slayer, now holding the crumpled map, turned and walked back to his own table, focused and unshaken. He uncrumpled the map and spread it out across the table, pulling out another pen from his belt. As he started marking up the map with notes near the circle High Elf Archer had drawn, he absentmindedly grabbed a bruschetta from his plate and began to chew.
Moments later, the lamia waitress returned, her expression concerned. "Is everything alright, young man?" She asked— eyeing the tense atmosphere.
"Yes," Goblin Slayer replied curtly, still focused on his map. "But I need to go."
The lamia nodded understandingly. "Would you like to order an entrée to go, then?"
Goblin Slayer thought for a moment before replying, "Spaghetti Bolo-Go-Niece." He butchered the pronunciation of the word, but his mind was too focused on planning his next raid to care about the awkwardness of the exchange.
The waitress blinked, slightly baffled by his intense focus, but smiled politely. "Of course. I’ll have that prepared for you right away."
Author’s note: Unintentional headcanon: Goblin Slayer loves drinking ice-cold soda.
Chapter 21: Lady and the Priestess
Chapter Text
In the stench-filled darkness of the cavern, the vile goblins were reveling in their sickening chaos. Around the perimeter of the cave, a large, panicked cow was pinned down by filthy goblin claws— its eyes wide and rolling in fear. With every painful moo, their jagged cleavers sank deeper into its flesh, splattering blood on the rocky floor.
The goblins howled in delight as chunks of meat and bone flew. One particularly enthusiastic goblin cleaved off a chunk of its haunch, laughing as the beast let out another tortured cry, its final breaths rasping through torn lungs.
Nearby, a group of goblins were gathered around a lifeless horse— the poor creature's body covered in blunt-force trauma. They beat it relentlessly with thick wooden sticks, with their high-pitched cackling growing louder with each blow. One goblin screeched out a twisted joke in their guttural tongue, and the others erupted into even more frenzied laughter— as if the act of desecrating the dead creature was the height of their entertainment.
In another corner, the true horrors of their depravity played out. A group of goblins was engaged in a grotesque display, fornicating with stolen sheep. Their crude cheers and jeers echoed off the cave walls, some of the goblins watching the act with disgusting eagerness— egging on their brethren with shrill whistles and grunts, with many of them masturbating to the debauchery.
But the most bizarre of the group was a goblin crouched near a pig. With a twisted sense of care, it was adjusting a crooked top hat atop the pig’s head— ensuring the brim sat just right. It was meticulously dressing the animal, admiring its work with darkened eyes.
The goblin took a step back to appraise the "dapper" pig, a satisfied smirk crossing its lips. Then, without warning, it let out a shriek of laughter and swung a wooden club into the pig's face— the sound of bone cracking drowned out by the goblin's unhinged cackling.
The pig convulsed violently before another goblin set it on fire for no reason at all. The others cheered as flames engulfed the helpless animal— the scent of burning flesh adding to the already unbearable stench of the cave.
Suddenly, the goblins froze. A shift in the air, faint at first, had them sniffing wildly, their grotesque nostrils flaring. They could smell it— the metallic tang of orichalcum.
As one, they paused their sick games, ears twitching, their bodies suddenly on edge as a static charge filled the air. The cavern was filled with an ominous crackling, and the goblins’ filthy hairs stood on end.
All at once, their beady eyes turned toward the entrance to the cave, the one corridor that led in and out of their den. A low, pulsating crimson light began to flood the corridor— the ground trembling beneath their feet. Panic set in as their primitive minds registered only one thing: danger.
Without warning, a mutilated hobgoblin’s body hurtled through the air, slamming into the cave wall with such force that its body exploded into a mess of gore and chunky viscera. Blood and entrails splattered against the rocky walls, painting the cavern red in an instant. The sight sent the goblins into a frenzied panic.
All at once, they let out an ungodly screech— scrambling over each other in their frantic rush for weapons.
But it was already too late.
Goblin Slayer came charging through the corridor, a terrifying force of nature. Crimson lightning crackled and surged around his body, his left eye glowing like a molten ember. His tomahawk was gripped tightly in his hand, crackling with electrical energy as he raised it high.
He slashed the air with a vicious swing— sending a crescent-shaped wave of energy forward that bisected the nearest goblins with surgical precision. The goblins closest to the sheep were torn apart instantly— their bodies severed cleanly in half.
Blood sprayed like fountains as their organs spilled onto the floor.
Goblin Slayer did not stop. He was a force of death, moving with brutal efficiency through the goblin horde. He swung his tomahawk in a wide arc, cleaving through several goblins at once, their heads flying off their bodies in a shower of crimson mist.
The goblins screamed and scrambled to escape, but the teen was relentless. He drove his boot into the chest of a goblin that had fallen to the floor, crushing its ribs with a sickening crunch before burying his tomahawk into its skull.
Another goblin leapt at him from behind, wielding a rusty knife, but Goblin Slayer moved with inhuman speed. He grabbed the creature mid-air by the throat, snapping its neck with a single twist of his wrist, then threw its limp body at another group of goblins— knocking them down like bowling pins.
The goblins howled in fear, but Goblin Slayer's onslaught was far from over. He tore a goblin’s arm off with his bare hands, using the severed limb to beat another goblin to death— each strike accompanied by the sickening sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing. His tomahawk continued to hum with crimson lightning as he hurled it like a missile into a fleeing goblin's back, the force sending the creature crashing into the cavern wall, pinned like a grotesque insect.
A cluster of goblins armed with crude spears rushed him all at once. Goblin Slayer dashed over to the weapon before they could even get near him. Picking up his orichalum tomahawk, the teenager parried their clumsy attacks with ease, before cutting them down in a single, fluid motion.
Blood sprayed across the cave walls, staining the floor beneath his feet.
One of the larger hobgoblins tried to rally the others, but Goblin Slayer was on it in an instant. He grabbed the hobgoblin by the head— his gauntleted fingers digging into its eye sockets, and crushed its skull with terrifying force. The hobgoblin's body twitched violently as its brain matter splattered across the ground.
Goblin Slayer continued his rampage, systematically exterminating each goblin in the most efficient— and gruesome— way possible.
He grabbed one goblin by the jaw and ripped it clean off its face, the goblin gurgling and choking on its own blood before collapsing to the floor. Another goblin tried to flee, but Goblin Slayer threw a fallen dagger that lodged deep in its spine— paralyzing it, before he walked over and stomped its head into the ground.
With the last goblin’s death rattle fading, Goblin Slayer stood in the center of the carnage, the crimson lightning still crackling around him. He hadn’t broken a sweat. His glowing red eye surveyed the cavern, taking in the slaughter he had wrought. The cow lay in a pool of its own blood, the sheep dead, but the goblins— every last one of them— were obliterated.
Goblin Slayer stared at his handiwork, his body still thrumming with energy, and let out a slow, controlled breath. He sheathed his blood-soaked tomahawk and turned around, back towards the way he had stormed through.
The teenager knelt beside the riverbank, the steady flow of water reflecting the morning light. His leather armor and helmet lay beside him, streaked with dried blood and gore from his latest raid. He scrubbed vigorously at the shoulder pad in his hands, letting out an exasperated sigh as pieces of goblin flesh floated downstream.
Finally satisfied with the clean leather, he inspected the pad closely, running his fingers over the now spotless surface before setting it with the other cleaned armor pieces.
Next, he grabbed his left shin pad, dunking it into the water and scrubbing it just as thoroughly— grimacing as the dried blood resisted at first. With each motion, the memories of the goblin den— its slaughtered livestock, its filth, and the shrieks of the dying creatures— faded from his mind. The cleansing routine brought him focus, clearing his thoughts in a way few things could.
Once the armor was cleaned to his satisfaction, Goblin Slayer methodically strapped each piece back on, his movements precise and practiced. The leather armor fit snugly over his muscular frame.
Lastly, he grabbed his helmet, pausing briefly before sliding it over his head. He adjusted it slightly, the comforting weight settling into place as he stood and left the river behind him.
In the dimly lit back lounge of the grand hotel, its pluml manager stood with her arms crossed— watching a little blond girl mop the lobby floor. The young girl, no older than nine, had her head down, focusing intently as she worked, but the older woman’s sharp eyes noticed the streaks of soap left behind with every swipe of the mop.
With a sigh, the woman stepped forward, her heeled shoes clicking against the polished marble floor. “Juliet,” she said, her voice calm yet laced with annoyance. “You’re using cold water again, aren’t you?”
The little blond girl froze, looking up with wide, teary eyes. “I… I know, Lady Eleanor,” she stammered, her small hands gripping the mop tighter. “W… W-What’s wrong with using cold water?”
Eleanor placed a hand on her wide hip— her irritation tempered by her need to remain graceful. She wasn’t one to lose her composure, even when things weren’t going perfectly. “Hot water dries faster, dear,” she explained, sighing softly. “And it prevents the soap from leaving streaks…. Like that,” she pointed toward the floor where the light revealed the telltale smudges.
Juliet’s face crumpled, her lower lip trembling. “I-I’m sorry, Lady E-Eleanor,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “I-I didn’t mean to ruin your floors! P-Please! D-Don’t fire me!”
Eleanor groaned inwardly, feeling a pang of pity for the child. With a long sigh, she waved a hand, her annoyance fading. “It’s fine, Juliet. Don’t cry, dear,” she said, her tone softening. “Just… Go to the kitchen and boil some water. I’ll show you how to mop properly when you return.”
The little girl sniffled but managed a nod, clearly grateful for Eleanor’s patience. “T-Thank you,” she whispered, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her apron before hurrying off through the grand dining hall toward the kitchen.
The woman watched her go, guilt settling in her chest. ‘Oh Juliet, I didn’t mean to upset you…! You were just doing her best.’ The manager rubbed her temple, sighing again as she turned back toward the lobby, only to be interrupted by the soft ding of the bell above the front double doors.
Startled from her thoughts, she straightened her posture and walked with practiced poise toward the reception desk. As she rounded the corner, she saw a figure standing in front of her workspace— an armored man, short in stature compared to her, with a sleek metal helmet that contrasted with his stitched-together leather armor.
“Good evening,” she greeted him, her voice smooth and professional as she approached the desk. She took in the sight of him, noting the modest and worn appearance of his armor.
‘Clearly, he’s an adventurer, and by the look of things, not a wealthy one, at that.’
“I’m Lady Eleanor,” she introduced herself with a polished smile, brushing back a loose strand of hair. “Manager of this fine establishment. How may I assist you this evening?”
“I need a room for the night,” Goblin Slayer said, his voice flat and to the point.
Lady Eleanor’s smile didn’t waver, but inwardly she was already calculating. Judging by his rough appearance and the dullness of his armor, she doubted he could afford the luxury of her establishment. “Of course,” she said, maintaining her gracious tone. “One moment, please.”
She opened her logbook, glancing down the list of rooms available. “It seems we only have one room left: the honeymoon suite. It’s nine-hundred gold coins a night.” She paused, her smile faltering slightly as she added, “I understand if that’s outside your price range. Most adventurers don’t tend to have that kind of-”
Her words trailed off as Goblin Slayer pulled off his backpack and set it on the counter. Without a word, he loosened the ties and reached inside. To Eleanor’s utter astonishment, he pulled out a sparkling diamond, large and pristine, setting it on the desk between them.
“Will this cover it?” he asked, his voice as casual as if he were offering a few silver coins.
Eleanor stared, completely taken aback. For a moment, she couldn’t find her voice. Her eyes flickered from the diamond to Goblin Slayer’s face, her mind racing. The sheer wealth of that gem was beyond anything she could have imagined from someone like him.
She quickly regained her composure, nodding repeatedly, her voice stumbling over her words. “Y-Yes, yes, of course, sir! More than enough,” she said, her hands trembling slightly as she snatched up the diamond. She discreetly tucked it into her bra, her mind already swirling with possibilities.
Eager to please, she handed Goblin Slayer the key to the honeymoon suite, her tone almost breathless with excitement. “Room six-oh-one,” she said, “and I’ll send someone up shortly to ensure everything is to your satisfaction.”
Goblin Slayer nodded once, taking the key from her hand before heading toward the grand staircase. Lady Eleanor watched him go, still marveling at the diamond now nestled securely against her chest, a satisfied smile creeping onto her lips.
As soon as Goblin Slayer had disappeared up the grand staircase, Lady Eleanor allowed herself a brief moment of giddiness. She adjusted her tight-fitting, scarlet evening gown, the luxurious fabric clinging to her curves. The neckline dipped low, revealing ample cleavage that she adjusted with a quick tug of her bra.
Despite being in her late fifties, she maintained an air of elegance and allure, even though her figure was on the more plum, and voluptuous side. Her brown hair, streaked with only the faintest hints of silver, was pulled into a high ponytail, and her sharp features were softened by the expert application of makeup that gave her skin a youthful glow.
Smiling to herself, she hurried through the hotel, her heels clicking against the marble floors. Her destination: the kitchen. The grand dining hall she passed along the way was empty now, but the scents of the day's cooking still lingered in the air.
She made her way through the swinging doors into the bustling kitchen, where pots and pans hung from the ceiling, and the warmth of the ovens mixed with the scent of simmering broths.
Near the cauldron of water, a little blonde girl stood wiping her tears with the sleeve of her too-large apron. The fire beneath the cauldron crackled softly as the water heated, preparing for her task of mopping the lobby. The girl’s eyes were red, her cheeks flushed from crying.
"Juliet!" Lady Eleanor called out cheerfully, her mood still lifted by the encounter with Goblin Slayer. "No need to mop the lobby anymore. I have a much more important assignment for you tonight."
Juliet looked up from her task, with her small hands gripping the edges of the mop handle as she warily watched Lady Eleanor adjust her large bra— pushing it back into place beneath her gown.
“What do you need me to do?” Juliet asked cautiously— her voice soft, still thick from holding back tears.
Lady Eleanor smiled, walking closer, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "There’s a guest in room six-oh-one— the honeymoon suite. I want you to butter him up a bit."
Juliet’s eyes widened in surprise. "S-Someone rented out the honeymoon suite?" She asked, astonished. “Big spender…!”
"Yes, precisely dear," Lady Eleanor replied, the excitement bubbling in her voice. "I suspect he might be of nobility— hiding in plain sight as a wandering adventurer for his own amusement."
Juliet blinked, confused by the notion. “What do you want me to do exactly?”
Lady Eleanor leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I want you to be sweet to him, make him comfortable, and see if you can find out whether he’s single. If he is, we may have an opportunity to… Expand our business."
Juliet frowned, trying to piece it together. "Why do you want to know if he’s single?"
Lady Eleanor let out a small, exasperated sigh, patting Juliet’s head in a condescendingly gentle manner. “If I can charm him, and get him wrapped around my finger, he could fund my ambitions. I could open up more locations, not just in Stonehall, but across all of Zemuria. He has the wealth to make it happen. All I need is the right leverage.”
Juliet still looked confused, her small brow furrowed as she struggled to understand her employer’s motives. To her, the plan sounded strange, but she wasn’t in any position to question it.
Seeing the girl’s hesitation, Lady Eleanor sighed again, this time more deeply. “Just act cute, darling. Smile, be polite, and get whatever the man in the honeymoon suite asks for. That’s all.”
Before Juliet could say anything more, Lady Eleanor ushered her out of the kitchen, pushing her toward the hallway that led to the grand staircase. “Off you go now! And don’t dawdle!” She called after her, her fingers once again adjusting the neckline of her dress as she went back to adjusting her bra.
Juliet cast one last glance back at the kitchen, her face reflecting her wariness, before starting the slow walk toward the staircase— dreading what was to come.
The honeymoon suite was nothing short of breathtaking. The luxurious space had an air of grand opulence, a setting fit for royalty. The walls were lined with dark mahogany bookshelves, each filled with gilded volumes and leather-bound tomes, giving the room the atmosphere of a private library.
A grand lounging area sat next to a roaring heart-shaped fireplace— its intricate mantel carved from ivory, casting a warm and flickering glow throughout the room. The plush velvet sofas were deep burgundy, adorned with gold tassels and cushions that invited one to sink into their embrace.
Above, a grand baby piano gleamed beneath the sparkle of a crystal chandelier that hung delicately from the high ceiling. The chandelier's intricate designs reflected and refracted the light in dazzling patterns across the suite— illuminating an artificial hot spring pool nestled in a marble alcove on the first floor. The hot spring, an architectural marvel of ivory and stone, steamed softly, its waters gently bubbling, and casting a serene mist over the space.
To the side, an expansive family kitchen opened up— its countertops made of polished marble, with a fully stocked pantry. A bar island, sleek and shimmering under the light, stood near the mini pool of saltwater. Crystal glasses and decanters of fine spirits sparkled— ready for use.
A grand staircase, made of crystal and gold, spiraled up to the second floor where the studio balcony bedroom overlooked the entire suite.
The bed was a masterpiece of fine craftsmanship, its posts tall and carved with intricate designs, the mattress framed in gold, its headboard a grand display of velvet and silken fabric. The curtains, rich in deep reds and adorned with delicate lace, gave the entire bed a regal presence.
Beyond the balcony doors, the night sky opened up, stars glittering like diamonds on black velvet. In the near distance, the capital of Crossbell shone like a beacon— its lights reflected in the dark waters of the Avalon Sea that surrounded it like a natural fortress. The moon's silver light shimmered down on the water, adding a surreal, almost otherworldly beauty to the horizon.
Goblin Slayer, having shed his armor and clothes, stood by the golden balcony railing. His white turtleneck shirt clung loosely to his frame, the cool night breeze brushing against his bare legs, exposed by the black boxers he wore.
His tomahawk, normally a constant companion, lay abandoned on the suite's drawers— a sign of the security he felt in this grand place. His eyes were focused on the glowing capital in the distance, and his mind wandered.
The end of his journey felt so close— a new beginning not only for himself but for all of Zemuria. He allowed himself a rare moment of contemplation, of imagining what a life without constant battle might look like.
There the teen laid on the soft grass— the cool blades tickling his skin as he stared up at the sky, which stretched endlessly above him, a serene blue dotted with lazy, drifting clouds. A gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh water from the nearby river, its current whispering softly as it flowed along the banks— blending harmoniously with the gentle hum of nature around him.
The world was calm, quiet, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt at peace.
His head rested comfortably in the lap of Remi— their thighs cradling him like the softest pillow he’d ever known. He could feel the coolness of their artificial skin against his cheek, and every now and then, their fingers grazed his hair absentmindedly— as if reassuring him that everything was fine.
Their free hand tuned the strings of a guitar— the metallic twang of each adjustment ringing lightly in the air. They sat there, relaxed, their usual chill smile playing on their lips— sunglasses glinting under the bright sun.
The slime monster glanced down at him from time to time, with their grin widening slightly as they caught him staring up at the clouds or taking a sip from his bottle of Sharky Pop— the fizzy drink cold against his tongue. The bubbles popped lightly in his mouth, refreshing and sweet.
On his chest lay an open book, its pages pressed down against his skin, forgotten for the moment as he allowed himself to just be. His hand lazily curled around the bottle, his thumb occasionally brushing the condensation that had formed around it. Everything felt soft— safe. The world around them shimmered in the golden glow of the sun, not too hot, not too cold, just perfect.
Heavenly, even.
Remi softly strummed a few chords, the sound delicate and soothing, like the flow of the river beside them. The music blended into the rustling of the trees and the distant birdsong, creating a melody that made him feel as though time had slowed, like the worries of his past and the uncertainties of his future couldn’t reach him here.
They hummed quietly, their sunglasses reflecting the sunlight as they looked down at him. "You good, Sportsy?" They asked, their voice soft but full of that familiar ease.
The teenager smiled faintly, his eyes half-closed as he let out a small sigh of contentment. He wasn’t used to moments like this— so much calm, so much light— but here, with his slime monster, it felt right.
"Yeah," he murmured, closing his eyes as the sun warmed his face. "I’m good."
His dreamy fantasy was then interrupted by a hesitant knock at the door. Goblin Slayer’s senses sharpened immediately, his body tensing as he assessed the situation. He glanced at the tomahawk, but with the guards and royal army patrolling the streets below, he reassured himself that there was little threat.
Still, he remained cautious. He moved down the grand staircase— his bare feet making soft sounds against the smooth marble floor. As he passed the hot spring, the steamy aroma filled his nose, a reminder of the luxury he was immersed in. The fire in the grand lounging area crackled as he moved past— its warmth brushing against him as he made his way to the door.
Peering through the peephole, he expected to see a maid or butler, perhaps sent by Lady Eleanor. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of a young, petite girl. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her pretty blue eyes were filled with hesitation. She was dressed in a simple, cute maid's outfit, and though she was trying to appear composed, Goblin Slayer could see the unease in her stance.
‘Oh… She must have been the one who that woman sent to check up on me. Must be some sort of courtesy check; I can’t think of anything that this room needs though, on top of everything else it already has.’
Curious, Goblin Slayer opened the door. "Evening," he said, offering her a patient smile.
He didn’t expect the reaction that followed. The moment her eyes met his, Juliet's entire demeanor shifted. Her blue eyes widened in awe, and her pale cheeks flushed bright red. Her lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, she seemed unable to speak, staring up at him as if he were something more than just a guest.
Goblin Slayer blinked, taken aback by her reaction. He stood silently as she remained frozen, her gaze locked onto him, her face a mix of admiration and nervousness. The air between them grew slightly awkward as he waited for her to say something, while Juliet seemed utterly starstruck.
Finally, after a long, quiet moment, Goblin Slayer spoke, his voice calm but slightly puzzled. “Yes?”
The little girl stood in the doorway, her breath catching in her throat as she took in Goblin Slayer's features. His gray hair, tousled and slightly damp from the night air, had an almost roguish charm to it. It framed his angular face in a way that made him look both rugged and refined.
His eyes, a striking red, were the most alluring thing she had ever seen— sharp yet calm, with a depth that made her feel like he could see right through her.
And his face to her was angelic, with a strong jawline and soft, almost serene expression— like a prince from the stories she dreamed about. He wasn't overly muscular from what she could tell, but his build was slender and athletic— perfectly balanced, like some kind of storybook hero.
A Prince Charming, in the flesh.
Her heart raced as she continued to stare— a goofy smile spreading across her face. She could feel her fingers nervously tapping against the sides of her pastel blue skirt, completely unaware of how obvious she was being.
Goblin Slayer, on the other hand, stood awkwardly— watching her with a mixture of confusion and discomfort. She hadn’t spoken a word, just kept smiling at him in a daze. After a moment, he cleared his throat, taking a step back while still holding the ivory door open. "Do you… Want to come inside?" he asked, his voice calm and even, though a little uncertain.
Juliet blinked, suddenly jolted back into reality. Her face flushed a deep red as embarrassment washed over her. "Oh! Y-Yes! Sorry, I-" She nodded her head rapidly, nearly stumbling over her words as she scurried inside, her heart pounding as she moved past him and into the suite.
The grandeur of the room barely registered with her as she struggled to regain her composure, mentally berating herself for gawking at him like a fool.
Trying her best to compose herself, Juliet cleared her throat, though her voice still wavered as she attempted to break the silence. "S-So... What do you think of the honeymoon suite?" she asked, forcing a smile, her eyes glancing up at him, still clearly flustered.
Goblin Slayer, standing near the door with his arms crossed, looked around briefly before responding. "It's… Nice."
His simple, matter-of-fact reply made Juliet flinch, her head tilting slightly as if she had been physically struck by his indifference. She frowned, biting her lip before asking hesitantly, "Is... Is there something wrong with it?"
Goblin Slayer shook his head gently, sensing her disappointment. "No," he said, his tone softening a bit. "It's luxurious." He paused, glancing around the room again, as if searching for the right words. "It's very... Accommodating. Welcoming, even. But..." He paused again, shifting his weight slightly, “… To be surrounded with such frivolous things… It must be an acquired taste."
Juliet's heart skipped a beat as she listened to him, realizing that she loved the sound of his voice. It was deep and calm, like a gentle rumble, and yet it carried a quiet strength that made her feel oddly safe.
She could feel her face getting hotter again, her cheeks burning as she stared up at him, completely flustered. She tried to respond but found herself at a loss for words, her mind racing.
Goblin Slayer noticed her flushed expression and raised an eyebrow, his gaze perplexed. "Are you... Alright?"
The little girl quickly nodded, stammering as she spoke. "Y-Yes! I'm fine! Totally fine!" She waved her hands dismissively, though her cheeks were still glowing red. Desperate to move the conversation along and stop herself from melting into a puddle of embarrassment, she blurted out, "It’s just... You don’t seem too impressed by the room. Most guests are overwhelmed by how extravagant it is."
Goblin Slayer shrugged lightly, his eyes wandering over the opulent decor. "It is impressive," he admitted, his voice low and thoughtful. "But... Not what I’m used to." He paused again, as if searching for the right words. "This... Sort of luxury— it’s otherworldly to me. Never thought I’d experience this."
Juliet found herself hanging on every word he said, his deep voice making her heart flutter. "I... I see," she replied softly, her nervousness beginning to fade as she became more comfortable with the conversation. "It must be hard to... Adjust, I mean."
Goblin Slayer nodded. "It is. But... It's also peaceful." He glanced at the fireplace, the warm light flickering in his eyes. "Quiet. I like quiet."
Juliet smiled, feeling a strange sense of connection with him, despite barely knowing him. "That’s... Good, right?" She asked, her voice soft. "Everyone deserves a bit of peace."
He didn’t respond immediately, instead taking a long moment to look at her. His red eyes, intense but not unkind, met her gaze. "Maybe," he said after a moment, his tone contemplative. "But I’m not used to peace either."
Juliet nodded, understanding the weight behind his words even if she couldn’t fully grasp what his life had been like. "Well... I hope this place helps you find comfort, even if you’re still getting used to it." She gave him a shy smile— her earlier fluster now replaced by a genuine warmth.
Goblin Slayer, still not used to such kindness, simply nodded. "Thanks," he said, his voice softer than usual.
The silence that followed felt less awkward now, more like a quiet understanding between the two. Juliet looked down at her feet, then back up at him, her face still a little flushed, but her nerves calmed.
The blond girl swallowed the lump in her throat, pushing down her nerves before breaking into a fit of giggles. After composing herself, she gracefully curtsied, holding out the sides of her pastel blue skirt with her hands. "My name is Juliet," she introduced herself, her voice soft but formal, "Juliet Edelweiss."
Rising from her bow, she looked up at Goblin Slayer with her wide, blue eyes, her curiosity evident as she asked, "And... What’s your name?"
Without giving it much thought, the teenager flatly replied, "Old Sport."
Juliet blinked, momentarily confused, as she noticed his stoic demeanor shift dramatically. His red eyes widened, and his lips tightened in a way that made him look uncharacteristically awkward. His cheeks flushed slightly as if the name had triggered something deep within him, a memory that came flooding back.
“You’re a big deal to me, Old Sport— never forget that while you’re away from me.”
‘Oh no.’
“Relax, Old Sport. I’m only gonna fuck your brains out— just relax, and let me take care of ya…!”
‘Oh. No.’
And with the image of the smiling slime monster and their sunglasses in mind, the teenager began blushing and squirming in such a peculiar way, that it made Juliet raise a brow— her lips curling into a soft, amused smile. She giggled quietly, finding the whole situation unexpectedly cute. "Old Sport? Is that... Really your name?"
The teen’s face turned a deeper shade of red as he shook his head profusely, clearly flustered. "N-No," he corrected himself quickly, voice strained with embarrassment. "M-My name is Goblin Slayer…! Old Sport is just... A nickname that my, uhhhh…! T-That my b-best friend came up with…!" The teenager explained, while getting even redder in the face.
“Mine…! You’re mine! Mine, mine, mine, MINE!!!”
‘-Stop it, stop it, stop it— stop thinking about, stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it-!’
Juliet repeated the name "Goblin Slayer" to herself quietly, her expression shifting from confusion to a small frown. After a beat, her smile returned, and she said with a teasing tone, "I think I like “Old Sport” better. It’s less scary-sounding."
Goblin Slayer, now thoroughly embarrassed, face-palmed with a groan— trying to hide his crimson face from Juliet's amused gaze. He couldn’t believe how a single memory could lead to him being thrown off his usual composure— a domino effect, caused by hormones that he had much opportunity to explore before.
Juliet, for her part, giggled again, clearly enjoying the sight of the stoic adventurer reduced to this bashful state. "You're a funny guy," she complimented— a hint of admiration in her voice.
Goblin Slayer sighed deeply, thinking to himself how he was never going to be able to live that nickname down. He took a breath, attempting to recompose himself, before speaking as calmly as he could manage. "I don’t… I don’t think I need anything at the moment," he began, his voice regaining its steadiness. "I was actually planning on going to bed."
Before he could finish, Juliet interrupted him, her expression lighting up as she suddenly remembered the question Lady Eleanor had tasked her with. "Oh! Wait, I almost forgot," she said hurriedly, "Are you single?"
The question left the teenager momentarily stunned. He blinked, his stoic expression cracking into one of sheer bafflement. "What?" He asked, his voice betraying his surprise. "Why?"
Juliet’s cheeks flushed as she twirled a lock of her blonde hair nervously. "My boss, Lady Eleanor, she... She wants to know," she explained innocently, though it was clear even to her that the question felt strange. "Something about wanting to be business partners with you, or... Fingers in you…? Ah, s-something like that…" Her voice trailed off, as she realized she couldn’t fully remember the reasoning behind the odd request.
Goblin Slayer’s brows furrowed as he processed this, then he replied flatly, "Oh." He hesitated for a moment, not entirely sure how to respond to such a question. "I don’t really know if I’m... Single or not," he admitted awkwardly.
Juliet’s eyes sparkled at his response, clearly finding his answer charming in a strange way. "I’ll just tell Lady Eleanor “maybe”," she said sweetly, her voice bright with enthusiasm.
Taking a breath, she mustered up the courage to ask her next question, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. "Would it be alright if I stayed with you while you, um, wind down for the night?" Juliet asked, her blue eyes sparkling as she insistently added, “No one really rents this room out, so I don’t have a lot of chances to come up here— it’s my favorite room to play in… Y-You wouldn’t even notice I’m here, Old Sport— I promise!”
Goblin Slayer stared at her for a long moment, contemplating how to respond. He was tempted to say no, wanting to enjoy some peace and quiet, but when he noticed how Juliet tensed up at his hesitation, her nervousness palpable, he sighed quietly. "I mean…. I guess you could stay," he said finally, his voice resigned but gentle. "Just try not to get yourself in trouble."
Juliet’s face lit up with pure joy, her eyes sparkling as she practically bounced with excitement. "Thank you, I’ll only be here for a little bit!" she exclaimed, beaming at him.
Goblin Slayer sighed again, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself.
This was not how he had expected his evening to go.
Author's notes: I love being able to have moments where Goblin Slayer actually acts his age, and is able to let loose a bit— something that he wouldn't have done, earlier on in the story. And yes, Juliet is Priestess lol.
Chapter 22: The Opulence of Avalon
Chapter Text
The cavern reeked of blood and death— a grim reminder of the massacre that had taken place the night before. High Elf Archer walked ahead of the group with her iron lantern swinging lightly, as it illuminated the narrow path. Her face was red with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. Behind her, Dwarf Shaman took slow, casual sips from his leather-canteen filled with fire brandy— a mischievous grin constantly playing at the corners of his mouth.
Lizard Priest, with his usual calm demeanor, was busy rummaging through the remains of the goblins and hobgoblins— occasionally picking at discarded weapons and armor, but finding nothing of true value.
High Elf Archer came to a stop, staring at the mutilated bodies scattered throughout the cavern. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she finally spoke— her voice brimming with indignation. "I can’t believe that little SHIT actually did it…! He actually found the goddamn nest… The exact location too! Even when I just gave him a general direction! How the hell did he do that?!"
Dwarf Shaman, grinning from ear to ear, casually leaned against a rock. "Aye, lass. It’s mighty impressive if ye ask me. A wee lad causin' this much chaos all on his lonesome?" He took a hearty swig of his fire brandy and exhaled a small cloud of flame. "Maybe we should've offered him a spot in our party instead of drivin' him away." His eyes glinted with amusement— making it clear that he was subtly jabbing at High Elf Archer.
She whipped around, pointing a finger at him, her cheeks flushed with even more anger. "How was I supposed to know that he’d actually go out and do it?!" Her tone was both incredulous and defensive— as if she couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or pissed off.
Lizard Priest, not picking up on the rhetorical nature of her outburst, straightened up and folded his arms. His tail gently flicked against the floor as he spoke wisely, "The human child did, in fact, state that he would slay the goblins. His words were clear and straightforward."
High Elf Archer let out a frustrated grunt— rolling her eyes as she turned back around and stormed deeper into the cave. "Yeah, well, I should’ve kicked that brat’s ass while I had the chance," she muttered under her breath.
Dwarf Shaman snorted. "Hindsight’s a funny thing, eh?" He took another swig, his grin never fading, before nonchalantly adding, "Ye know, the boy did mention he wasn’t part of the Adventurers’ Guild."
He capped his leather-canteen and stowed it under his white kimono. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he suggested, "So, what say we head over to the Stonehall office, aye? Turn in the quest ourselves."
High Elf Archer stopped dead in her tracks— her brows furrowing as she slowly turned back to face him. "Are you seriously suggesting we lie…?! That we pretend WE’RE the ones who cleared this nest?!" Her voice dripped with disbelief and anger— her pride taking a massive hit at the mere suggestion.
Dwarf Shaman shrugged, completely unbothered. "Aye." He shot her a cheeky grin. "Easy coin, lass. Besides, it ain’t much different than walking out on a tab, now innit?"
High Elf Archer's face reddened further— her lips tightening into a thin line, as she tried to keep her temper in check. "You’re…! Y-You’re talking about FRAUD— and last night was different! Those prices were a crime!” She argued with a wide-eyed look of anger— pointing a gloved finger against the amused dwarf’s chest. “If we tell the guild that we’re the ones who did this, then we’d have to live with ourselves knowing we rode the coattails of a freaking child— a HUMAN CHILD, at that!"
Lizard Priest, having just tossed an iron dagger he’d mistaken for silver over his shoulder, approached the group. "One cannot live off pride alone, Artemis," he said sagely. "It is wise to remember that you were the one who mentioned that we could not afford to neglect this quest. We need the reward... To pay for our renewal fees."
The elf opened her mouth, ready to shoot back with some argument, but instead, she stuttered out incoherent words as her frustration mounted. "But-! We can’t just-! I mean-!"
Seeing her flustered state, Dwarf Shaman raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of her struggling for words. He casually leaned against the cavern wall, looking altogether too relaxed. "So, what now, lass? Ye want to give up the reward, so you can start a new quest in job huntin’, or did ye’ want to swallow ye’ pride, and get bloody paid?"
High Elf Archer’s frustration boiled over, her face turning an alarming shade of red as her temper finally snapped. "T-THIS IS ALL THAT LITTLE SHIT’S FAULT- GRAAAHHH!!!" She screamed at the top of her lungs— her voice echoing off the cavern walls. Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest both jumped— startled by the sudden outburst.
The silence that followed was almost comical. Dwarf Shaman looked at Lizard Priest, who simply blinked in mild surprise. After a moment, the dwarf rubbed his beard and spoke with a chuckle. "Seems like ye got a wee bit of unresolved anger, lass. Maybe ye should’ve just gone ahead and kicked his arse like ye said."
Lizard Priest, ever the wise and composed one, nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. It would have been a more direct approach."
High Elf Archer let out a guttural growl, and turned away from them as she stomped forward through the cavern. "I swear, if I ever see him again, I’ll... I’ll..." She trailed off, unable to articulate exactly what she wanted to do to fifteen year-old— but was certain that it would involve violence.
Dwarf Shaman, still grinning, walked alongside her. "Well, if ye ask me, the lad did a bang-up job. Maybe ye should thank him for clearin' the nest for us, eh?"
High Elf Archer shot him a deadly glare. "Thank him?! I’d rather-"
"-kick his arse, we know," Dwarf Shaman interrupted with a laugh. "But maybe a little gratitude wouldn't hurt, aye?"
Her face flushed with anger again as she spun around and stormed off deeper into the cave— leaving Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest to exchange amused glances.
"This is far more entertaining than I anticipated," Lizard Priest said quietly— a small smirk playing on his scaly lips, as he resumed his search for any salvageable items amidst the carnage.
"Aye," Dwarf Shaman agreed with a chuckle, while watching High Elf Archer march off. "This lad's causin' quite the stir, ain't he?"
As they followed her through the desecrated cavern, the only thing echoing louder than their footsteps was the distant laughter of a dwarf and the frustrated grumbles of an elf determined not to admit defeat.
The honeymoon suite of “The Opulence of Avalon” was bathed in the gentle glow of the morning sun. Golden rays slipped through the elegant double glass doors that led to the western balcony, casting soft light across the spacious studio balcony bedroom. The luxurious king-sized bed behind them stood as the centerpiece, draped in plush, velvet covers with gold-embroidered edges. The floor beneath was polished marble, reflecting the sun's warmth, while the ornate chandelier above glimmered with the faint remains of the morning’s dew.
Goblin Slayer stood in front of the bed— his arms awkwardly stretched out to his sides and his legs spread apart as Juliet, focused and meticulous, fussed around him with a measuring tape. His expression was one of exasperation. It wasn't the first time he'd felt out of place since stepping foot into the grand hotel, but now, with his limbs extended like a mannequin, he couldn’t help but feel ridiculous.
He sighed heavily, inwardly groaning as Juliet hummed— crouching down to measure the length of his legs. "Is any of this... Necessary?" He finally asked— his deep voice tinged with discomfort.
Juliet, short and petite with her long blonde hair tied into a neat ponytail, glanced up briefly before muttering, “Twenty-four inches.” She jotted it down on her small notepad that lay on the floor beside her, then straightened up. "Lady Eleanor said it’s very important that you, um, “fit in” with the other clientele." She emphasized the phrase as if quoting something she’d memorized.
Goblin Slayer furrowed his brow slightly. "Fit in?"
"Yeah," Juliet said, her voice bright and serious. She picked up the measuring tape again, standing on her tiptoes to measure the width of his chest. "The grand dining hall’s going to be filled with nobles and merchants, y’know? Important people. And... Wearing your armor during breakfast might make them, uh… uncomfortable."
Goblin Slayer raised an eyebrow. "Uncomfortable?"
Juliet shrugged— taking a step back and pulling the tape to check the measurement. "That’s just what Lady Eleanor said, I think," she repeated as she jotted down the number on her notepad. Then, with a bit more confidence, she added, "Honestly, it might gross some of them out. I mean, your leather armor... It's probably, um... Unhygienic?"
Goblin Slayer frowned slightly at that, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "I washed my armor last night," he said, a little too quickly.
Juliet tilted her head, her lips pursing as she glanced up at him. "Cold water?" She asked knowingly— tapping her pen against her chin.
Goblin Slayer blinked, taken aback. "Well... Yes."
She nodded like a teacher giving a gentle correction. "Cold water doesn’t really get gross stuff out of fabrics or leather. You need hot water for that. It loosens the... Y'know, yucky things. Makes it cleaner."
There was a pause as Goblin Slayer stood there, before he muttered quietly— almost as though he were talking to himself, "It… It got most of the bad stuff off..."
Juliet, blissfully unaware of the graphic details lurking in his words, tapped her pen against the notepad and smiled brightly. "I bet it did! But maybe Lady Eleanor’s just trying to avoid any... Misunderstandings at breakfast," she said cheerfully— trying to soften the blow of her earlier suggestion.
Goblin Slayer let out another sigh— this time sounding more resigned than annoyed. "I suppose..."
He continued standing there with his arms still awkwardly outstretched— his mind elsewhere as Juliet finished up the measurements. She scribbled down a few more numbers on her notepad, then paused and glanced up at him with innocent curiosity shining in her eyes.
"So," she began, her tone light and casual, "What do you do for a living? I mean... You must have a lot of money to be staying in such a fancy place like this. If you don't mind me asking, of course!"
Goblin Slayer looked at her for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I’m... A guild leader."
Juliet’s eyes widened in surprise and admiration. "A guild leader? Wow! What kind of guild?"
Goblin Slayer shifted slightly— trying to be as vague as possible. "A guild that’s focused on... Hunting down bad goblins." He kept his voice steady, leaving out any of the darker details.
Juliet beamed up at him, clearly fascinated by his answer. "I guess that explains your name, huh?!” She mused with intrigue, before asking him, “Does that mean you’ve been all over Zemuria?"
"Not exactly, no," Goblin Slayer replied— his tone measured. "I grew up in the Highwind Plains. It’s a rural farming area, on the Eastern front of the Iron Flower Mountains. Spent most of my life there." His gaze drifted toward the sunlight streaming in through the balcony doors. "Recently though, I’ve spent the last four years in the Evergreen Forest— training with my mentor. He is an old Rhea, named “Burglar”. He taught me how to survive. How to… Slay goblins."
Juliet blinked, her curiosity deepening. "Was he nice to you?"
For a split second, Goblin Slayer’s usually stoic expression cracked. The question cut deeper than he expected. He forced a sad smile and turned his head— avoiding her gaze. "N… No… No, he wasn’t."
Juliet noticed the shift in his mood— her face softening with sympathy. "I… I’m so sorry to hear that," she said quietly— her voice tinged with genuine regret. She returned to her work, finishing up the last of the measurements before setting the tape measure down beside her.
For a moment, there was silence between them, the room bathed in morning light, before the little girl spoke up again. "I... I know what it’s like— to be hurt by those who you’re supposed to depend on," she said, almost absentmindedly, as she wrote something in her notepad.
"I… I’ve been an orphan all my life. My mom had a… well, she had a sad life, from what I understand." She hesitated, glancing up from her notepad to look at Goblin Slayer for reassurance, before continuing. "She was, um… S-She was a prostitute her whole life, up until she gave birth to me, and… I… I don’t know much about her, but maybe that’s for the best."
Goblin Slayer’s eyes flickered slightly. He understood more than she did about the weight of her words, though it seemed she didn’t fully grasp what her mother’s life had been like. His gaze softened.
Juliet continued, unaware of the gravity of her confession. "I was raised in a brothel— I was considered property by the keeper, the moment I was born. The women there were all really, really mean to me; they made me clean up all the gross stuff, and if I didn’t do a good enough job, they’d hit me." She shrugged lightly, as if it were just another fact of life.
A surge of anger welled up inside Goblin Slayer. His fists clenched involuntarily, though he kept his voice calm. "That… That wasn’t right of them," he said firmly. "You didn’t deserve that— no one does."
Juliet nodded, her expression growing uncomfortable. "Yeah, it was pretty bad... The brothel owner was going to sell me to this nasty old merchant. He wanted me to be his “play thing” when I turned five.”
Goblin Slayer’s blood boiled at her words, but before he could say anything, Juliet smiled, her mood lifting. "But then… That’s when Lady Eleanor rescued me…! She convinced the mayor of Silverkeep to shut down the brothel. She used her connections and even blackmailed him to make it happen."
Her smile brightened further as she continued. "Lady Eleanor said she did that because one of her clients told her about seeing me working there. She couldn’t allow it, so she did everything in her power to help me. I’ll never forget the day she came all the way to Silverkeep— just to take me away from it all.”
Juliet’s expression turned bittersweet as she clutched her notepad close to her chest. "When I asked why she did that, why she went through so much trouble on my part… Lady Eleanor told me that when she was young, she had a hard life too. She said she was forced to do awful things with even more awful men as a child. But… Unlike me…”
“… There was no one there to save her from them.”
Goblin Slayer listened quietly— his heart heavy with the weight of Juliet’s story.
The little girl sighed softly, but there was a small, genuine smile on her lips as she looked up at him. "I really do owe her everything; Lady Eleanor’s an amazing person! I get fed, clothed, I go to school during the weekdays, and I even get paid the same wage as everyone else for helping around here!"
Goblin Slayer nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I’m glad you have someone like her," he said, his voice low and sincere.
Juliet beamed up at him, her earlier sadness replaced with warmth. "Yeah... Me too."
Once the little girl had taken her measurements and left momentarily to fetch an outfit from the hotel’s dressing room, Goblin Slayer found himself standing in front of the ornate mirror— feeling completely out of place.
The white collared shirt, black formal vest, black necktie, black slacks, and polished black dress shoes felt more like a trap than clothing. He glanced down at his attire, doing his best to hide the frown forming on his face.
‘Too exposed,’ he thought. ‘I’m not protected in these... What if something happens?’
Before he could dwell on it any longer, Juliet stepped in front of him— her wide, blue eyes sparkling as she gave him an appreciative look. "You look so cute!" She exclaimed— her voice full of genuine admiration.
Goblin Slayer felt his face heat up— a light blush creeping up his neck. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the compliment, not out of annoyance, but because he didn’t know how to react. "T-Thanks," he mumbled— his voice a little bashful.
Juliet, however, wasn’t paying attention to his awkwardness. She grabbed the sides of her pastel blue skirt and performed a formal bow in front of him— her movements graceful and poised. When she straightened up, she offered him her arm— a smile lighting up her face.
Goblin Slayer stared at her in confusion— his brow furrowing. He didn’t understand what she was doing or why she was holding out her arm. Seeing the look on his face, Juliet giggled softly. "It’s proper for a man to escort his lady to breakfast," she explained, with her tone being cheerful.
His eyes widened in response, and the blush on his face deepened. He averted his gaze slightly— clearly embarrassed. "W-What are you doing now…?!" He murmured— his voice almost too soft to hear.
Juliet didn’t miss a beat. "I’m teaching you manners!" She announced proudly. "I want you to feel comfortable while at breakfast, and I figured you could use a little lesson in proper etiquette."
Goblin Slayer found himself fighting off an amused smirk. He couldn’t help it— her enthusiasm was contagious. As he looked down at her, meeting her sparkling blue gaze, he felt something unfamiliar— something that made his chest feel a little lighter.
He let out a small, stiff chuckle, unable to fully suppress it. ‘Manners, huh?’ He mentally gave in, sighing quietly before he reached down to take her arm.
But before he could, Juliet playfully stepped away— raising a teasing finger. "Ah, lesson number two!" She declared, her grin widening. "Always return a bow, especially when you're with a proper lady!"
Goblin Slayer blinked, looking down at his slacks in confusion. ‘Return a bow?’ He hesitated for a moment, before awkwardly mimicking her earlier gesture— pinching the sides of his slacks and crouching down halfway at the knees, his movements stiff and mechanical.
Juliet’s eyes widened in disbelief, and then she burst into giggles— covering her mouth with one hand as she tried to suppress her laughter.
Goblin Slayer straightened up, frowning in confusion. "Did I… Did I do it wrong?" He asked— his voice as deadpan as ever, though there was a hint of curiosity and embarrassment behind the question.
Juliet, still giggling, waved her hand. "No, no! It’s just... It’s adorable." She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, while still smiling brightly. "You don’t have to crouch like that— you just need a simple, graceful bow. Like this."
She demonstrated again, giving him a short, elegant bow, her movements fluid and practiced. Goblin Slayer watched intently, then gave a slight nod— doing his best to follow her lead. This time, he copied her more carefully— managing a bow that, while still a bit stiff, was much closer to what she’d shown him.
"That’s better!" Juliet praised, her smile widening. "You’re getting the hang of it."
The teenager straightened up— feeling a strange sense of accomplishment despite how out of his element he was. "T… Thanks," he muttered again— though this time with a small, awkward smile.
Juliet linked her arm with his, finally satisfied, and beamed up at him. "Now, let’s go have breakfast. You’ll do just fine."
Goblin Slayer looked down at her, feeling a mixture of bewilderment and something akin to warmth. He wasn’t used to this kind of interaction— lighthearted, casual, and strangely wholesome. But despite how unfamiliar it all was, he couldn’t help but feel a little more at ease— even in clothes that made him feel exposed, and a little bit like a prissy boy.
The teen descended the grand staircase with the little girl’s arm tucked snugly in his. She barely came up past his chest, the top of her head standing more than two feet below his shoulder. It felt a little ridiculous to him— walking arm in arm like this when the height difference was so drastic— but he tolerated it for Juliet’s sake. She, on the other hand, seemed to take great pride in the situation— her face beaming with happiness.
Her grin stretched from ear to ear— cheeks flushed with a soft pink, as she leaned into Goblin Slayer’s arm. Her head rested contentedly against him, her heart fluttering as they made their way toward the lobby. Her light steps bounced with every step they took, clearly thrilled to be walking with him.
As they passed the front desk, an anthropomorphic raccoon girl with luscious black hair, tied back into a neat ponytail, looked up from the book she was reading. Her heavy eyeliner accentuated her sharp amber eyes— giving her an intense, almost mischievous look. She wore a semi-formal blouse, tight around her slim waist, paired with a black skirt that hugged her curvy figure. A silver nameplate glistened on the desk that read “Lina.”
She then glanced up from her book— taking immediate notice of Juliet’s radiant smile and the way she clung to Goblin Slayer’s arm. With a teasing smirk, she said, “Well, well, looks like someone’s scored herself a good-looking man!”
The little girl let out a nervous laugh, quickly glancing up at the teen before turning back to Lina— flustered. “Oh, um, h-his name’s actually G-Goblin Slayer,” she said quickly— her voice tinged with embarrassment. “She’s just joking by the way— d-don’t worry…!”
Lina leaned forward on the desk, while wiggling her brows at Juliet with a playful grin. “Sure, sure. Just teasing, love.” She gave Goblin Slayer an exaggerated wink before settling back in her chair and returning to her book.
The little giggled shyly and tugged the gray-haired teen’s arm— guiding him away from the front desk and towards the grand dining hall.
The scent of food hit them before they even entered the hall— savory meats, potatoes, eggs, freshly baked bread, pastries, and the rich, warm aroma of fresh coffee. As they stepped into the grand dining hall, Goblin Slayer took in the scene: banquet tables filled with catering platters and bowls, filled to the brim with all manner of breakfast foods. The warm light of the morning sun streamed in through the grand windows, casting a soft glow across the hall, aided by the roaring fire in the stone fireplace and the two large chandeliers hanging overhead.
The hall was adorned with beautiful portraits— some of them finely detailed paintings of noblemen and women, others depicting epic landscapes and historic battles. But what stood out to him the most was the grand table in the center of the room, nearly filled by over sixty people. They were all dressed in expensive clothes, many accompanied by adventurers equipped with well-maintained armor and weapons, which made him assume they were hired for protection.
Juliet pulled him gently along— her face still glowing with excitement. “Come on, I’ll help you figure out what’s what,” she said, cheerfully guiding him through the banquet stations. She pointed out each dish to him— her eyes lighting up as she recited the options. “Those are scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon... Ooh, and grab me a Danish, please!” She instructed, while balancing a silver tray in her small hands.
Goblin Slayer followed her lead— serving her plate with care. Her tray was soon filled with scrambled eggs, hash browns, crispy bacon, and a flaky Danish. As they moved along, the teen’s own plate became piled high with steak, eggs, and scones smothered in a house-made jam. At the drink station, he hesitated, eyeing a strange drink he didn’t recognize.
Juliet leaned over with a knowing smile. “That’s a salted caramel macchiato with vanilla cream. You should try it— it’s really good!”
Goblin Slayer blinked, still confused about what all those words meant, but shrugged and poured himself a cup. The aroma was sweet, but he’d have to wait until he sat down to decide if he liked it.
The little girl then led him over to the grand dining table— weaving between the seats until they found a spot. As they sat down, Goblin Slayer couldn’t help but notice the ample elbow room. The sheer size of the table was massive, dwarfing anything he had ever seen before.
Just as he reached for his fork, ready to dig in, he felt a soft smack on his hand. He looked up, perplexed, only to find Juliet giving him a disapproving, yet adorable, frown. “You can’t just start eating!” she scolded, her voice teasing but stern. “Lesson number three—before every meal, it’s important to give grace to Earth Mother and the hands that made it.”
Goblin Slayer blinked at her, caught off guard by her sudden seriousness, but he nevertheless found it cute. Her attempt to maintain a straight face only made it more endearing. He smirked softly— doing his best to hide his amusement. “Ah... Apologies then,” he muttered— raising his hands near his forehead, mimicking her posture.
Juliet smiled, pleased with his response, and closed her eyes as she began to pray. “Earth Mother, we thank you for this meal, for the food that nourishes us, and for the hands that have prepared it. Please bless it, and bless those who partake in it.”
Goblin Slayer remained quiet, his eyes flickering between her and the room as she finished the prayer. When she opened her eyes again, she gave him a nod— her face glowing with satisfaction. “Now, we can eat.”
The teen then picked up his fork— his lips twitching into a soft grin as he dug into his steak. The entire morning had been a whirlwind of unfamiliar customs and etiquette, but he couldn’t deny the small comfort that came from going along with it— especially seeing Juliet so happy.
Lady Eleanor was a picture of elegance, as she strolled down the bustling streets of Stonehall. Dressed in a pale morning gown that accentuated her ample figure, she carried herself with an air of grace and refinement. Her wide-brimmed sun hat, adorned with delicate lace, shielded her from the crisp, cool morning sun. The brim cast a soft shadow over her porcelain face, but not enough to conceal her soft curls of auburn hair and the faintest hint of rouge on her cheeks. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, darted from one side of the street to the other— keenly observing her surroundings.
In her hands, she carried a woven basket filled with gifts—a bundle of gourmet chocolates wrapped in gold foil, a luxurious waterproof ink pen with a silver nib, a small leather-bound journal, and a compact atlas booklet of Zemuria. Each item was thoughtfully chosen, meant to impress and endear. She weaved through the busy streets with purpose, but even she had to be cautious of where she stepped.
Stonehall was crowded today, horse-drawn carriages rattling along the cobblestone roads, while guards and soldiers marched in formation, led by knights clad in gleaming armor. The sidewalks were packed with merchants, townsfolk, and children running between stalls, making it difficult for even someone as poised as Eleanor to navigate without faltering.
The city itself was a hive of activity. Shouts of vendors selling fresh produce and trinkets blended with the clattering hooves of horses and the distant hum of conversation. Guards patrolled the streets, their stern faces and polished weapons a constant reminder of the tensions simmering beneath the surface.
Lady Eleanor couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease as she continued on her way, stepping carefully to avoid bumping into passersby.
Eventually, her path led her to the town square. The sight that greeted her was not one of the typical marketplace, but something far more sinister.
In the center of the square stood a crude wooden stage, raised just high enough for all to see. A hooded executioner loomed beside a blood-soaked chopping block— his massive hands gripping a bloodied axe. At the base of the stage, a large bucket overflowed with the severed heads of dark elves— each one lifeless, their expressions frozen in agony.
Eleanor’s stomach churned at the sight. Her basket felt heavier in her hands as she forced herself to take it all in— her heart pounding against her ribcage. Her eyes were drawn to the shackled line of dark elves waiting at the edge of the stage.
They were practically naked, bloodied, bruised, and trembling. Soldiers roughly shoved them forward, barking orders and brandishing crossbows as they herded their captives toward the chopping block. The line was made up of the elderly and children— frail, innocent souls who clearly had no part in the conflict that had led them here.
Some of the older elves, the grandfathers and grandmothers, whispered soft words of comfort to the children clinging to their legs. The children, their faces streaked with dirt and tears, could do nothing but shake and quietly sob— too terrified to speak. The scene was unbearable, and Eleanor felt the bile rising in her throat as she watched in horror.
Then, it happened.
A dark elf girl, no older than Juliet, was shoved forward by the butt of a soldier’s crossbow. Her small body stumbled toward the chopping block— her legs trembling so violently she could barely stand. The old dark elf behind her, his eyes hollow and grief-stricken, fell to his knees, his body racked with sobs.
“P-Please— P-PLEASE!!!” He cried out— his voice cracked and broken. “Please spare her! She had nothing to do with Blackwatch! She’s innocent— she’s just a child, please! H-Have mercy, for Azura’s sa-!”
The soldier snarled as he swung the butt of his crossbow hard into the old man’s face. There was a sickening thud, and the elder crumpled to the ground— convulsing violently, as blood pooled from his mouth. His body twitched and seized, his cries cut short by the brutal blow.
The little girl, horrified, turned and shrieked for her grandfather— her voice piercing through the chaotic noise of the square. “G-GRANDPA!!! GRANDPAAAA-AA!!!”
Before she could take a step, the executioner grabbed her by the hair before yanking her backward with brutal force. She screamed, but the sound was short-lived. The executioner slammed her down onto the chopping block— his heavy boot pressing into the small of her back to keep her still.
Eleanor’s breath hitched in her throat— her vision blurring with tears as she watched the axe rise above the executioner’s head.
She couldn't watch anymore. She turned away, her entire body trembling, her breath coming in shallow gasps as tears spilled down her cheeks. Her basket slipped from her hands— landing softly on the ground as she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
The little girl’s screams were cut short with a sharp thud, followed by an eerie silence. The square was still bustling, but Eleanor’s world had narrowed to the horror she had just witnessed. Her heart pounded in her chest, her vision clouded by the image of that helpless child, her small body discarded like waste.
Eleanor stood frozen, her tears falling freely as she quietly hyperventilated, her mind numb with the horror of it all.
Chapter 23: Proposals and Expansion
Chapter Text
Lady Eleanor’s office exuded refinement, with its soft pastel blues and gold trim adorning the walls and furniture. An elegant gold-and-white desk sat at the center— its polished surface gleaming under the soft light filtering through the sheer curtains. Goblin Slayer sat across from her with a large basket of fine gifts set out in front of him, as he methodically sorted through its contents. Beside him, Juliet perched on a small, velvet stool— her bright blue eyes wide with curiosity.
The hotel manager reclined in her plush chair— her hands folded gracefully in her lap as she watched him. Her smile, poised and elegant, only barely concealed the turmoil she felt beneath. The morning’s public execution played in the back of her mind, the screams of the dark elf girl echoing in her thoughts.
“I… I certainly do hope everything is to your liking,” she offered, her voice steady, though her heart ached.
Goblin Slayer, dressed in his white dress shirt, black tie, and formal vest, nodded, his movements precise. “It is,” he replied plainly.
He then opened a box of chocolate truffles before placing them between himself and Juliet, and gently pushing them toward her. The little girl’s blue eyes lit up, and she eagerly reached for a piece, nibbling on it with visible delight. Goblin Slayer’s lips curled into a faint smile, with his gaze softening as he watched her.
Next, he picked up a sleek ink pen, admiring the fine silver nib. He flipped open a leather journal— its fresh pages crisp beneath his fingers. He tested the pen on the first page, writing with clean, deliberate strokes: “Ren Ashta”.
Satisfied, he set both the pen and journal aside and began leafing through a small, pocket-sized atlas. The detailed maps within earned his silent approval. He closed it with a snap and placed it neatly atop the journal.
His crimson eyes darted up to Lady Eleanor, locking onto her with an intensity that made her shift slightly in her seat. “You’re quiet,” he remarked.
Lady Eleanor let out a soft, humorless chuckle, and sighed before replying, “You’ll have to forgive me, Goblin Slayer. I’m afraid I’m still lamenting over a rather horrid sight I stumbled upon this morning.”
The teen acknowledged her with a single nod, and picked up a large, elegant mug full of vanilla caramel macchiato. After taking a satisfying sip from it, he sat it down and looked back at her— curiosity flickering behind his calm demeanor. “What happened?” He finally asked.
Lady Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated as her eyes shifted toward Juliet. The sight of the young girl enjoying the chocolates was both heartwarming and bittersweet. Lady Eleanor winced inwardly— her mind replaying the awful moment when the dark elf girl’s head had been severed.
With a heavy sigh, she recomposed herself and smiled at Juliet. The girl, cheeks puffed with chocolate, glanced up at her— her expression turning sheepish. She quickly chewed and swallowed before giving a small, apologetic nod.
“Juliet,” Lady Eleanor said gently, “would you mind watering the indoor plants?”
Juliet perked up, her embarrassment fading. “Of course, Lady Eleanor.” She hopped off the stool, before turning to bowing politely to Goblin Slayer. “Thank you for allowing me to spend time with you, Old Sport; I hope you’ll visit again.”
The teen then rose from his seat, before returning her bow with the same measured grace. “When I come back from Crossbell, I’ll be sure to stop by to say hello.”
Juliet’s face lit up with a sweet smile. “I’ll look forward to it.” She then excused herself— leaving Goblin Slayer and Lady Eleanor alone.
As he sat back down, Lady Eleanor’s gaze followed Juliet until she disappeared from view. “She’s such a sweet girl,” she remarked, with a faint trace of melancholy in her voice.
Goblin Slayer nodded in agreement. “She is.”
The atmosphere in the room grew heavier. The mask Lady Eleanor had worn in front of Juliet faltered— her composed expression slipping into something more troubled. She cleared her throat, her voice quieter now. “The Royal Army must have gone on a raid last night while we were all asleep. ”
Goblin Slayer’s brows knitted together slightly. “What makes you say that?”
Lady Eleanor sighed, folding her hands tightly in her lap. “There was a public execution in the center of town. The soldiers you see, they had an executioner with a rather large, grizzly axe on stage. He was… Taking the heads off of some captured dark elves… But they were all children and the elderly.” Her words were flat— tinged with a hollow sadness.
Goblin Slayer felt a chill creep over him. “I… I-I see.”
The room fell into silence— the weight of the information sinking in.
After a moment, he broke the stillness. “Why?”
Lady Eleanor paused, visibly struggling to make sense of it herself. “Perhaps… To demoralize Blackwatch, and or anyone else who has it in their heads to challenge the crown,” the woman proposed, before lowering her gaze as another dark thought popped in her head. “You see young man, I’d they were nust executing adults— anyone who would resemble a rebell— people might see them as prisoners of war— and as barbaric as it sounds— they would have martyrs’ death… It would rally the enemies of the Pendragon Empire, not dissuade them.”
Goblin Slayer remained quiet, his mind now elsewhere. Her next words hit close to home— resonating in the silence.
“It’s one thing to put your own life at risk,” she said, her voice soft, “but to put the lives of those who are already vulnerable as is? Children, and the elderly? No one in their right mind would risk putting their loved ones in harm's way…”
Her words sent Goblin Slayer spiraling into his own thoughts. He thought of Remi, of how he would cope if they were to die in the line of duty— if their death were his fault.
A chill ran down his spine, as he remembered the moment he thought Remi had died while they were fighting Suliven. ‘I can’t believe that I was fine with them dying— if I had felt the way I do now about them, then… Then I don’t think I would have been able to handle myself so well… Would I have?’
Seeing the contemplative look on his face, Lady Eleanor drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “With all due respect,” she said gently, “I’d appreciate it if we could change the subject. I still wish to discuss potential business ventures.”
Goblin Slayer blinked, the weight of the earlier conversation still hanging over him, but he nodded. “… What are you proposing?"
Lady Eleanor straightened— the tension in her shoulders easing, as she delved into the new subject. "You mentioned your headquarters will be located within the Evergreen Forest," she began, with her voice taking on a businesslike tone. "It would be in your best interests to establish branch offices across the various regions of Zemuria. Unlike the Adventurers’ Guild, your guild could offer more services to its members— rooms for your fellow “Goblin Slayers” to sleep in, laundry, food, and we could collaborate with merchants to sell and purchase goods at our locations."
Goblin Slayer considered her words, his gaze growing thoughtful. “Accommodating, and effective… I’m interested.”
Her eyes lit up, excitement flickering in them. "Marvelous, dear!" she exclaimed, pulling a notepad from her desk and uncapping her gold pen. "Now, let’s get into the numbers. What are your guild’s coin reserves?"
Goblin Slayer frowned, while appearing slightly confused. "Coin reserves?"
"Yes, coin reserves," she repeated, but quickly clarified, "I mean— how much money does your guild have?"
He shrugged. "A lot."
Lady Eleanor deadpanned, blinking at him in disbelief, before slowly easing into an amused smile. “Ah, I see! You’re quite the comedian, aren’t you?! How delightful— I needed a laugh,” she mused with a soft chuckle, as her chubby cheeks began to darkened beneath her caked on make-up.
Goblin Slayer shrugged. “I wasn’t joking. I really don’t know how much money my guild has,” he said— his response flat and matter-of-fact. "I just know that it’s a lot.”
This stumped Lady Eleanor, who fell into a moment of contemplative silence— twirling her pen between her fingers, as her smile faltered. After a few beats, her eyes suddenly brightened, an idea forming in her mind. "Well then," she said, her voice carrying a note of inspiration, "why don’t I come with you to your fortress? I could act as your treasurer, and help run your operations from there!"
Goblin Slayer raised a brow. "Who’s going to look after your hotel?"
"I’ll make the arrangements, darling— don’t worry your handsome head over that," she said confidently, waving a dismissive hand.
He pondered her offer for a moment before a thought struck him. An embarrassed smile tugged at his lips as he asked, "C… Can Juliet come too?"
Lady Eleanor blinked in surprise, visibly conflicted. "J-Juliet? Why would you want Juliet to come?”
"She’d be safer there," Goblin Slayer explained. "And you wouldn’t have to worry about her seeing a public execution. She would be away from… Whatever the Royal Army is doing."
The suggestion hit Lady Eleanor deeply. She stared at him, emotions warring behind her graceful demeanor. "Forgive me for feeling the inclination to question your safety measurements, but… How exactly safe would she be?" She asked hesitantly.
"She’d be protected by the Guardian of Delrivkat themselves: Storm Lord," he said, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “They’re an army of one.”
Lady Eleanor’s eyes widened, repeating the name in awe. "Storm Lord?" She composed herself quickly, though her eyes still glimmered with a mix of surprise and admiration. "I’ve heard of them before— stories from some of my clients who’ve traveled through the Muhati Desert… How close are you to them, might I ask?"
“W-We’re best friends,” Goblin Slayer replied, while confusing the manager even more than she already was, by the way his cheeks started to turn a light shade of pink.
“Is that so, now…?” She murmured, while thinking over the proposition carefully— weighing it in her mind. Finally, she sighed as her resolve softened. "Very well. I’ll allow Juliet to come, but only on one condition: you’ll need to find her an educator while you’re conducting your business in Crossbell. I’ll only accept a reputable woman."
Goblin Slayer nodded without hesitation. "I’ll get her the best female scholar I can find."
Satisfied with his answer, Lady Eleanor rose from her cushy chair, prompting Goblin Slayer to stand as well. "Then we have a deal," she said, extending her hand toward him.
But then the teen merely stared at her outstretched hand— clearly unsure of what to do. Instead of shaking it, he bowed at the waist— prompting Lady Eleanor to blink in confusion. She quickly recovered, suppressing a smile, and returned the gesture with a proper— graceful bow of her own.
When they straightened, Lady Eleanor fluttered her eyelashes, her demeanor shifting into something more alluring. She let her voice drop to a sultry tone, her lips curving into a seductive smile. "Now carry on, love: it’s not proper for a man to keep his lady waiting for long…!”
The gray-haired teenager, oblivious to her suggestive tone, simply nodded as he replied, "I’ll make haste then."
Just like he had said, Goblin Slayer moved swiftly as he left Stonehall through its western gate— his pack restocked with potions, rations, camping supplies, and a newly purchased small shield, its center adorned with a menacing spike.
The sun hung high in the sky— casting its warm light on the rolling hills and short, vibrant grass. The landscape was dotted with maple trees, with their golden leaves fluttering in the breeze, while wild squash vines grew abundantly across the ground. Yet, the natural beauty of the land was marred by the grim scene unfolding before him.
Hundreds of monsters and demi-humans toiled under the watchful eyes of the Royal Army. Armed with crossbows and maces, the soldiers barked orders, their armored figures standing rigid among the laborers.
The slaves, all shackled with heavy chains etched with mana-suppressing runes, wore matching coveralls— each bearing the Pendragon family insignia stitched onto their backs. They worked tirelessly, sweat dripping from their brows, and their faces hollow and exhausted.
Goblin Slayer kept to the edge of the cobblestone road— his crimson eyes flicking between the few carriages and wagons traveling to and from Stonehall. As he walked, he observed the scene before him with detached interest. The slaves were being forced to dig into the ground, carving deep trenches into the terrain with rusted tools. Their movements were slow and strained, but relentless under the threat of the soldiers’ weapons.
Alongside the slaves, human men in clean, well-tailored architecture garb stood tall, directing the construction. The men who they were directing were also different from the slaves— being well-fed, well-kept, and clearly respected, and equipped with what looked to be mechanical tools powered by steam generators, that sat on top of horse-drawn wagons.
The construction team oversaw the creation of long, sturdy walls— their angular designs precise and purposeful. It didn’t take Goblin Slayer long to understand that these skilled laborers were entrusted with the more intricate and important aspects of the construction; unlike the slaves, who were treated as little more than beasts of burden.
The teen’s gaze followed the lines of the walls, noting the sharp angles and fortifications being laid into place. A thought crossed his mind.
‘Is this project a response to what happened to Sahara Outpost? That makes sense, doesn’t it? The timing seemed too coincidental. The Pendragon Empire suffered a significant blow, and so now they’re shoring up their defenses— perhaps preparing for further conflict with Blackwatch.’
His thoughts drifted as he continued his walk along the road— the oppressive atmosphere clinging to the air, despite the pleasant scenery.
And while walking further West bound the road, he came across a wooden post at an intersection— its weathered sign reading “Marigold Road” in faded lettering. It was the first time he knew the road’s name, though it mattered little.
He continued onward— eyes sharp, noting the increase in long, heavily-guarded wagons making their way toward Stonehall.
The wagons were flanked by knights on horseback, with their shining, gallant armor gleaming in the sunlight. Each knight held long, sleek weapons made of brass and polished wood— lever-action rifles with mounted scopes and glowing attachments cradled in their arms, along with identical breech-action sidearms with glowing modules as well, that were holstered at their hips.
On foot, soldiers marched alongside— carrying long spears, shields that clinked as they walked. They wore armor that looked thick and cumbersome, pieces of metal strapped over their torsos and shoulders. Stationed on top of the wooden barrels and crates within the wagons were arquebusiers— sharpshooters of the Royal Army, equipped with mass produced matchlock rifles and equally mass produced munition armor.
One knight in particularly ornate armor took notice of the teen, raising their odd weapon and aiming the barrel directly at him. The knight’s voice was harsh and commanding, as he ordered out loud, “Clear the path!”
Goblin Slayer hesitated for a moment, but stepped to the side reluctantly, while feeling the cold, watchful gaze of the barrel still trained on him. The soldiers marching alongside followed the knight's lead, all of them pointing their arquebuses at him while they passed by. Even as they continued their march, the tension didn’t ease until the last wagon rolled past— with the three knights who were bringing up the rear lowering their scoped-rifles at last.
As the convoy disappeared from sight, Goblin Slayer's mind lingered on the contents of the long wagons. Barrels and crates stacked high in the back. Weapons and supplies, he thought. The Pendragon Empire was likely transforming Stonehall into a military outpost to replace the fallen Sahara Outpost. It made sense—the increase in patrols, the convoys. Stonehall was no longer just a quaint, upscale town. It was becoming a fortress.
He walked further down Marigold Road, his pace steady, though he had to step aside numerous times as Royal Army patrols and convoys passed. Time and again, he found a barrel pointed at his chest, losing count of how many times it had happened.
It was clear the Pendragon Empire wasn’t affording themselves many chances.
As the day wore on, with the sun still hanging high in the sky, Goblin Slayer moved through a more secluded stretch of road, when he suddenly spotted familiar figures.
Standing just ahead were High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest. They all stopped in their tracks, just as surprised to see him as he was to see them.
For a moment, they simply stared— confusion and surprise written across their faces. Then, High Elf Archer's expression twisted— her eyes narrowing. She stepped forward, her voice sharp and low. “You…! You stole our quest,” she accused— venom in her tone. “You cost us our rightful reward!”
Goblin Slayer’s response was direct, as always. “I was never interested in the reward.”
Her eyes narrowed further. “Then why bother in the first place?!” she snapped— mistaking his words for condescension.
Goblin Slayer met her gaze, unflinching. “I don’t slay goblins for money. I do it to make the world a better place.”
High Elf Archer’s scowl deepened, her sharp, emerald eyes never leaving Goblin Slayer. She barely registered the weight of Dwarf Shaman’s hand on her shoulder as he tried to calm her down.
“Easy, lass,” he said, his voice carrying that gruff yet warm burr. “Don’t go doin’ somethin’ ye’ll regret.”
“Not now,” she snapped— shrugging his hand off roughly as she took a determined step toward Goblin Slayer.
The teen might have been standing perfectly still and outwardly calm, but behind his vented visor, he grew uncomfortable. He watched her march toward him— her long strides bringing her within a foot of him. She was just slightly taller, but they stood nearly eye-level, and her anger radiated like heat.
“So what is it then?!” She demanded, venom dripping from her voice. “You think you’re better than us?! That it?!”
“I never said that,” Goblin Slayer responded evenly— though inside, her anger made him tense.
“Then why did you clear out that goblin nest?!” She pressed, eyes narrowing. “And don’t even THINK about giving me a bullshit answer!”
“I told you: I did it to make the world a better place,” Goblin Slayer replied, his voice flat, factual. “It had to be done.”
“Had to be done?!” She stared at him incredulously, as if he’d just grown a second head. “What, you think you’re some kind of hero— doing this for charity?!”
Goblin Slayer tilted his head slightly. “If you’re only interested in the reward, then why don’t you just take it?”
High Elf Archer’s face twisted in fury, mistaking his words as condescension. “What. Did. You. Just. Say?” Her voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone. “Did you just… Did you just imply I’m only doing this for the money?! As if my honor’s worth a measly forty silver pieces?!”
Before Goblin Slayer could answer, she furrowed her brow, recalling something he’d mentioned earlier. “Wait… What the hell do you even do for money then?” She shot him a suspicious glare.
Dwarf Shaman, stroking his beard thoughtfully, chimed in with a chuckle. “He did mention runnin’ his own guild, remember? Ye didnae believe him when he said it.”
“Yeah, and I still don’t believe him!” She snapped back, glaring over her shoulder at the dwarf. She turned back to Goblin Slayer, with her voice dripping with sarcasm. “So, what now?! Are you gonna hire us, after putting us out of a job?!”
Goblin Slayer, ever practical, brought his hand up to his helmet’s chin as if in deep thought. “If you want,” he said after a pause. “I could give you three a job. If you come with me to Crossbell, and then to the Evergreen Forest, I could make it worth your while.”
High Elf Archer blinked, her mouth opening in disbelief. She hadn’t expected that. “A… A-Are you serious?!”
Lizard Priest, ever the calm voice of reason, raised a clawed hand thoughtfully. “It is said, “Better a good deed done for all, than one done for gold.” Yet, even virtuous paths may require material support.” He then glanced at Goblin Slayer, before asking, “Would the pay be worth the journey?”
Goblin Slayer thought for a moment before looking at them with genuine curiosity. “That depends. How poor are you three?”
High Elf Archer’s face turned crimson with rage— the question breaking whatever thin thread of patience she had left. “… Why, you ARROGANT, son-of-a-BITCH!!!” She roared out while lunging at him— tackling him to the ground with surprising force. Straddling his hips, the enraged elf grabbed his helmet before trying to slam the back of his head against the cobblestones beneath them.
Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest scrambled to pull her off— the white-bearded man cursing under his breath, as he grabbed her arm. “Ach, calm down, lass! Ye’re gonna kill the poor lad!”
“L-LET GO!!!” she shouted, still trying to wrestle free. “I NEED TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT HIM,HORSE HE RODE IN ON!!!”
Goblin Slayer, dazed but still composed, murmured beneath the tussle, “I don’t even know how to ride a horse…”
Dwarf Shaman grunted as he pulled her back, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Sorry aboot this, lad. Long Ears here gets a wee bit cranky when she’s hungry.”
“Yes, that hunger burns fierce,” Lizard Priest added, his voice low and sagely. “As it is said, “An empty stomach is a cruel master.” For you see, we haven’t eaten since we… Since we walked out on our tab.”
“Aye,” Dwarf Shaman added, throwing a thumb toward the distant convoy of soldiers. “And with the Empire’s patrols everywhere, we’re not keen on showin’ our faces back in Stonehall. Too many eyes, ye know?”
Goblin Slayer stared at them with growing sympathy. “If you’re stealing food, then you all truly must be poor.”
High Elf Archer growled, still struggling against the hold of her companions. “Amal pukta norna tyar…! YEAH!!! No thanks to you, you bastard!” The green-haired elf hissed, after having called the teenager a “motherfucker” in her native tongue. “You stole our ques-”
Goblin Slayer, his voice still calm, cut in. “-And I apologize for that.” He stood up, dusting himself off. “Here’s my proposal: I’ll pay you whatever’s left in my purse by the time we reach my fortress, after I use what I’ve got to fund the rest of the journey.”
Dwarf Shaman raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “And lad, how much coin would we be talkin’?”
Without a word, Goblin Slayer slid his arm out of his backpack’s strap, flipped it around, and unlatched it. He pulled out a large, melon-sized purse and loosened its strings— opening it to reveal a pile of gleaming gold coins and precious gems.
All three of them— High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest— stared in wide-eyed shock. Their jaws dropped, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze around them.
Dwarf Shaman, his voice shaky, managed to speak first. “B-By the Paragon’s beard, lad! Ye carry yer whole fortune on ye?!”
Goblin Slayer shook his head. “No. This is just a small fraction of what my guild has. I’ve got about sixty-two wagons full of treasure and gold.”
The trio gasped loudly— their expressions almost comically exaggerated as they tried to process what they had just heard. Lizard Priest, his eyes rolling back, fainted on the spot— his massive frame crashing backward and landing directly on top of High Elf Archer, pinning her to the ground.
“G-GET YOUR ASS OFF ME, JAREE!!!” she screamed, flailing beneath Lizard Priest’s weight. “I swear to the gods…! I’M GONNA LOSE MY SHIT!!!”
Dwarf Shaman, still stroking his beard, looked over at Goblin Slayer with an incredulous grin. “Lad, what are the chances we could… Switch careers, aye? I think yer guild might be the better option.” He nodded toward the unconscious Lizard Priest. “An’ I reckon we’ve had enough of running out on tabs.”
Goblin Slayer looked thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t really have many members yet. Just one… My second-in-command. So if you want to join, you’d be the first official recruits.”
Dwarf Shaman grinned even wider, clapping his hands together. “Deal, lad. Aye, deal!”
He reached for the gold coins, but Goblin Slayer quickly tightened the strings of his purse before pulling it out of reach.
“You’ll get paid,” Goblin Slayer said firmly, “After we reach the Evergreen Forest. With all the security measures the Royal Army’s putting in place, I’d be a fool not to take precautions myself.”
Dwarf Shaman sighed in disappointment but nodded in agreement. “Aye, fair enough. No sense gettin’ ahead of myself.”
Meanwhile, High Elf Archer, still pinned beneath Lizard Priest’s unconscious body, continued to scream. “GRAAAAHHH!!! AMIN DELOTHA LLEEEEEEE!!!”
Chapter 24: Central County
Chapter Text
The sky was painted with shades of orange and pink as the sun descended, casting long shadows over the grassy field. In the dimming light, a platoon of Royal Army soldiers stood ready— their shining armor gleaming in the fading sun, with the Pendragon insignia emblazoned on their shields and breastplates.
At their forefront was a knight, her long pink hair flowing behind her as she led the charge. Her green eyes blazed with focus, with the sharp red eyeliner accentuating the intensity in her gaze. Her gold and black armor bore the rank of commander— her presence exuding authority and experience. In her left hand, strapped to her forearm, she wielded a shield, and in her right, a glowing red claymore that pulsed with raw power. A large revolver rested in her left hand, with its barrel gleaming as the evening light caught its polished surface.
"Archers, lay down suppressing fire! Pikemen, ON ME!!!" She barked— her voice cutting through the growing tension like a blade through flesh.
The command echoed across the field as her soldiers sprang into action. Archers with bows drawn and pikemen with gleaming spears surged forward— their weapons glowing faintly from the magical buff bestowed upon them by the lieutenant standing nearby.
The bearded cleric raised his hands— a large golden cross emblazoned on both his back and chest armor. His voice was a steady murmur of prayers, with the passive spell coursing through the men around him— charging their weapons with kinetic energy that crackled with power.
From the Earth below, the ground heaved and trembled as thirty rock serpents emerged.
Massive, armored creatures, their bodies made of stone and dirt, each one towering above the soldiers. Their eyes gleamed red like coals, and their mouths were filled with jagged stone teeth that could crush steel. The serpents swarmed out of the ground, with their rocky hides reflecting the setting sun like shields of iron.
Without hesitation, the archers loosed their arrows— each shot glowing with kinetic energy. The arrows pierced through the rock serpents' thick armor, and drove deep into their bodies, shattering stone and sinew with every hit.
Pikemen followed suit, their spears glowing with the same energy, as they stabbed their sharpened into the exposed flesh between the creatures' rocky plates— piercing with supernatural ease.
In the distance, the arquebusiers and spearmen held the perimeter— their eyes scanning for any breaches in the line. Merchants with horse-drawn wagons stood behind them, watching with wide eyes, while trackers and other onlookers murmured in awe— none daring to step beyond the defense line.
The pink-haired knight was unstoppable. Her claymore swung with brutal efficiency— cleaving through the rock serpents like a heated blade through butter. With each strike, molten stone and ichor sprayed across the battlefield— drenching the ground in a mixture of blood and shattered rock.
She leaped from one serpent to the next— her movements precise and graceful despite the carnage around her. With one fluid motion, she fired her revolver, with each shot echoing like thunder.
A nearby rock serpent caught three bullets to the head in rapid succession— each one blowing chunks of its rocky skull apart until nothing remained but a shattered stump. The beast collapsed onto the grass with a heavy thud, and its body twitched as it died.
Another serpent lunged at her from the side— its mouth wide open, ready to devour her whole. She sidestepped at the last second, with her pink hair trailing behind her like a comet’s tail. As the beast roared in frustration, her pikemen rushed forward to stab the tips of their enchanted weapons into its gaping leech-like maw. The creature screeched, with its mouth held wide open by the pikes lodged deep within its flesh.
The knight twirled on her heel, with her claymore glowing a deeper red as she brought her revolver up— taking aim at the back of the serpent’s throat. With a smirk, she pulled the trigger— sending an explosive round into its gullet.
The shot detonated with a sickening crack, and sent shards of its skull flying in all directions. The inside of its mouth was reduced to a blood-soaked ruin— spraying her pikemen with gore and pieces of its splattered tongue.
“Push forward!” She shouted, her voice tinged with exhilaration, as the men surged ahead. The field was a cacophony of violence— steel puncturing flesh, serpents screeching, and the steady thrum of arrows shattering rock.
Grinning as she stood amid the carnage, she fired her revolver into the ground at her feet. The explosion beneath her sent fire and dirt flying into the air— engulfing her armored legs in flames as she rocketed toward another serpent that had begun to burrow back into the earth.
She landed on its back with a tremendous crash, with the force of her impact splitting its rocky armor. Her glowing claymore came down like a hammer, and liquefied the serpent’s insides with a single blow.
She slammed her blade into the serpent’s corpse— standing atop the dying creature as its insides spilled out in a grotesque display of blood, molten stone, and tissue. Her breath came in heavy pants, with sweat dripping down her brow and she freed her right hand. Opening the chamber of her revolver, she purposefully let the spent casings fall into the serpent’s still-warm remains.
Her green eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she then reached into the leather satchel on her thigh and pulled out five fresh rounds. One by one, she placed the bullets into the chamber, with her fingers moving with practiced ease. With a swift flick of her wrist, she snapped the revolver shut with a satisfied click.
Turning to her men, she raised the revolver high before letting out a triumphant cheer. The soldiers erupted in a roar of celebration, with their voices ringing out across the field— drowning out the dying groans of the last serpents. Blood and fire coated the battlefield, and the air was thick with the stench of death and victory.
The fading light of sunset bathed the grassy field in a warm golden glow, and the battle that had just raged now drew to a close. The pink-haired knight led her platoon, now victorious, back toward the direction of the Marigold Road. Her crimson claymore glowed faintly, still hot from the heat of combat, and the soldiers who had secured the perimeter began shouting dismissively at the crowd of onlookers.
"Show's over, move along! Get back on the road before sundown!" One of the perimeter guards yelled, waving off the bystanders.
Among the gathered onlookers, Goblin Slayer, High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest stood quietly— rubbernecking with the rest.
High Elf Archer rubbed her chin, eyes half-closed while staring contemplatively at the knight striding confidently across the field. Her expression was sharp, but distant, as if she was deep in thought.
“I… I swear I’ve seen her before,” High Elf Archer mused aloud, her voice thoughtful. “That red eyeliner and pink hair— all unmistakable.”
The four of them began walking toward the Marigold Road along with the rest of the crowd— the sound of footsteps on the grass joining the murmur of conversation around them. Goblin Slayer glanced back toward the direction of the far away knight— his helmet hiding an impressed expression. “You could see that from here?”
High Elf Archer shot him a sideways look, half-annoyed. “Of course I can. Not everyone has the crappy eyesight of a human, you know,” she said— her tone dripping with sass.
Dwarf Shaman chuckled beside them, playfully elbowing Goblin Slayer in the ribs. “Ach, don’t pay her any mind, lad. She’s just hangry.”
High Elf Archer didn’t bother to acknowledge the jab, flipping him off without even breaking her stride. Dwarf Shaman laughed heartily, as his broad grin spread even wider. Even High Elf Archer’s lips curled into a reluctant smirk— betraying her amusement.
Goblin Slayer tilted his head slightly, still walking as he turned his attention to Dwarf Shaman. “What does hangry mean?”
Lizard Priest, walking beside them with his usual measured gait, recited, ““Hangry: a state of anger, annoyance, and hostility caused by a lack of food,”” He sighed, his long tail flicking behind him. “I, too, fear I may fall upon such grumpiness, if I do not eat soon.”
Goblin Slayer murmured, “I see,” his voice quiet.
As they walked, he began loosening the strap on his leather backpack and swung it around to rest against his chest. While the teen began rifling through it, High Elf Archer turned on her heel to begin walking backward. She eyed Dwarf Shaman, who was pulling out a leather canteen from beneath his white kimono.
“Anyway,” she began, picking up where she left off, “about what I was saying. That pink hair, red eyeliner... Does any of that sound familiar to you?”
Dwarf Shaman uncapped his canteen with a flick of his thumb, lifting it to his lips and taking a hearty swig. He let out a satisfied sigh, the smell of strong liquor wafting out, which made High Elf Archer wrinkle her nose in disgust.
Dwarf Shaman then began stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Hmm... I reckon we’ve probbaly seen her around the Adventurers’ Guild. Aye, can’t remember her name though. But with the Pendragon Empire recruiting, it wouldn't be any surprise if that were the case.”
The white-man dwarf then took another swig of his wine, before continuing on. “Empire’s been offerin’ officer positions to gold and platinum adventurers. Silver and steel ranks are gettin’ soldier posts, startin’ at a higher pay than your regular recruits.”
High Elf Archer’s expression flattened as she walked backward, eyes narrowing in thought. “And how do you know all of this?”
Dwarf Shaman shrugged nonchalantly, still grinning as he took another swig. “I read a pamphlet, lass. Back in Tanglefield, ye’ see.”
“I didn’t see anything like that,” High Elf Archer murmured, sounding unconvinced.
“They had ’em in the guild’s branch office,” Dwarf Shaman replied. His grin widened mischievously, and High Elf Archer’s face immediately darkened in preemptive annoyance— knowing exactly where he was going.
“For all your long ears and sharp eyes, ye still manage to miss what’s right under yer nose,” Dwarf Shaman teased.
High Elf Archer scoffed, a grin tugging at her lips as she shot back, “At least I can pass a sobriety test at any given moment.”
Dwarf Shaman nearly choked on his drink, coughing through a burst of laughter. “Aye, fair enough, lass,” he conceded— wiping a tear from his eye. His laughter was infectious, lightening the mood.
Just then, Goblin Slayer’s voice cut through, steady as ever. “We’re only a few kilometers from reaching Central County.” He held open the atlas booklet that Lady Eleanor had bought him, pointing to a page. “It says Grekok is the closest city from the East gate.”
High Elf Archer scoffed, turning to face forward. “Duh, everyone knows where Grekok is— it’s the agriculture center of the world, for gods’ sakes.”
Goblin Slayer paused for a second, then simply said, “Okay,” before adding, “I’ll pay for dinner, once we somewhere to sleep night.”
His offer of generosity caught High Elf Archer off guard, and she flinched— her face flushing with guilt. Dwarf Shaman smirked knowingly at her, causing her embarrassment to deepen.
Lizard Priest, ever the peacemaker, spoke up. “I’ve never been to Grekok before, but I’ve read about it in a book. It’s renowned for being a melting pot of cultures.” He said, before reciting to them, ““The mingling of differences is the essence of life’s beauty”,” before licking his scaly lips in anticipation. “That means the food will be diverse— plenty to try!”
High Elf Archer turned around again, this time walking forward with a heavy sigh. The sun had begun to sink lower— casting long shadows ahead of them, as they approached the silhouette of Crossbell in the far distance.
Goblin Slayer, still holding the atlas, glanced at Lizard Priest. “There’s information about the Grekok’s eateries in here. Would you like to see?”
Lizard Priest smiled, taking the atlas with reverence. “Thank you, my friend.” He then quoted, “Sharing bread is sharing trust. A meal together strengthens the bond between souls.”
Hearing that only deepened High Elf Archer’s guilt. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she muttered, “Thanks, by the way,” her face still flushed.
She didn’t turn to meet Goblin Slayer’s gaze, but the weight of her emotions was clear as they continued their walk, the horizon ahead glowing with the promise of rest and food.
As the sky above them deepened from warm oranges to rich pinks, the subtle purples of twilight began to creep in— painting the horizon in gorgeous purple hues.
The long journey on the Marigold Road was nearly at its end, and the looming silhouette of Central County’s towering walls drew closer. The inner circle of Zemuria, renowned for its massive fortifications and impressive defenses, felt intimidating, even to him. But it wasn’t the walls themselves that unsettled him. It was the strange electric hum that filled the air, emanating from the large street lamps now flickering to life along the roadside.
“What’s inside the glass?” Goblin Slayer muttered under his breath— his helmeted gaze fixed on the nearest lamp. Its glow wasn’t magical, not like the torches or lanterns he was used to seeing. The light was steady, almost too perfect, too controlled. Magic had a certain unpredictability to it; this did not.
High Elf Archer, walking just ahead, glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “Electricity,” she answered, as if that explained everything. “It’s a human thing. Try not to break your neck staring.”
The road grew more congested as they neared the city. It was clear now they were approaching a major urban center.
Towering guard shacks stood on both sides of the road, flanked by watchtowers equipped with search lamps that swept over the fields beyond. Goblin Slayer noticed the guards posted in the towers, their silhouettes unmistakable— musketeers, armed with firearms that gleamed in the fading light. Some of the rifles had scopes, suggesting these sentries could pick off any threat from a distance.
“More of those fancy guns,” Dwarf Shaman commented, nodding toward the musketeers. He took a swig from his ever-present flask, sighing afterward. “Can’t say I’m fond of ‘em.”
The teenager didn’t respond immediately. He understood what Dwarf Shaman meant, but found himself wondering, ‘How effective would those contraptions be against goblins?’
“As the elders say,” Lizard Priest began in his deep, contemplative tone, “Progress is like a blade. It cuts both ways.”
The Marigold Road was almost at a standstill by the time the sun had disappeared completely— choked with people, wagons, and soldiers.
Knights in gleaming armor led patrols up and down the highway— their commanding presence a stark contrast to the local guards who were more concerned with maintaining order than intimidating the populace. Civilians, merchants, and travelers alike had come to a near halt— forming a sea of people.
In the distance, the towering fifty-meter walls of Central County loomed— casting long shadows over the landscape that blended with the dark skies. The walls, built to withstand sieges from any known force, seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions— circling the entirety of Zemuria’s most protected territory.
Goblin Slayer’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene. Through the gaps in the crowds and wagons ahead, he could make out guards calling people forward to be inspected before entry.
“We’re close,” he muttered, with his voice barely audible beneath his helmet. His party walked in silence, each of them keeping their eyes on the horizon, where the massive protected gate stood as a near impassable barrier.
As they neared what appeared to be a structured base camp separating the crowd from getting access through the large gate, a guard motioned toward them. “You there,” the guard called, his voice loud and authoritative, “head over to that line— it’s less crowded.”
Without a word, High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest began to peel off their shoes and open their bags, already anticipating the security check. Goblin Slayer, however, remained still, his gaze shifting from his companions to the guard.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice flat.
High Elf Archer rolled her eyes, her hands already busy with her boots. “What do you think we’re doing?!” She snapped, sounding exasperated. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been through a checkpoint before…!”
Goblin Slayer hesitated. He didn’t like the idea of taking off his gear in such a crowded area— especially his helmet.
But before he could voice his reluctance, a guard standing near a wooden table waved him over. The table was set beside a conveyor belt that ran through a strange brass archway, bulky and unfamiliar. Everything about it screamed foreign technology to Goblin Slayer.
“Step forward,” the guard ordered, his tone clipped. “Put your helmet and boots on the table, and open your bag.”
Goblin Slayer remained where he was, his hand reflexively tightening around the strap of his backpack. “Why?” He asked, his tone neutral but firm.
The guard sighed heavily, as though he had been asked this question far too many times. “By order of Emperor Arthur Pendragon II,” the guard began, his voice dripping with boredom, “all travelers seeking entry into the Central County must undergo security screening.”
His eyes glazed over slightly as he continued, clearly reciting a well-worn script. “Registered members of the Royal Army or the Adventurers’ Guild are permitted to carry arms. All others with proof of identity will have their weapons confiscated and be fitted with anti-mana bracelets during their stay. Legal possessions will be returned to you, upon departure.”
Goblin Slayer frowned behind his visor. The idea of having his weapons taken— or worse, being forced to wear some magic-inhibiting device— did not sit well with him.
“And… And if someone doesn’t have proof of identity?” Goblin Slayer asked— his voice steady but betraying a sliver of unease.
The guard groaned again, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Then you’ll be sent to an inquisitor for further investigation,” he replied, his tone flat. “They’ll conduct a background check. If you pass, you’ll be issued a new identity card— for a fee, of course. If you don’t... Well, you don’t want to piss off an inquisitor.” The guard’s voice dropped— adding a weight to the last part of his warning.
Goblin Slayer felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The word “inquisitor” lingered in his mindaa conjuring images of robed figures, prying questions, and intrusive magic. He didn’t like it, not one bit. But he had no other choice.
Slowly, he bent down to remove his boots, placing them and his helmet on the table alongside his shield and tomahawk.
The guard glanced at him, unimpressed, before resuming his search of Goblin Slayer’s bag. “Just follow the rules, and you’ll be fine,” he muttered, though there was little conviction in his voice. “Now go ahead and show me your proof of identity,” the guard muttered, hardly looking at him as he began marking down the teen’s possessions on a clipboard he had on hand.
Goblin Slayer stood there, silent for a moment. The guard’s pen scratched across the parchment, the noise grating on his nerves. “I told you that I don’t have any proof of identification,” he finally said— his voice level but holding a quiet undercurrent of tension.
The guard's hand stopped mid-motion, and he finally looked up, his expression incredulous. “You mean to tell me that wasn’t just a stupid hypothetical question?!” He sighed heavily, muttering to himself as if this was the last thing he wanted to deal with. “Great, just great. Now I’ve got to fill out an incident report. Fantastic.”
He motioned with a hand toward the line, a signal for someone else. "Stay right there," the guard grumbled, shooting Goblin Slayer an irritated glare as if the entire situation were a personal inconvenience. “You’ve just made my day, you know that?”
Before Goblin Slayer could respond, the heavy thudding of boots filled the air. He glanced to his left and saw them: two hulking figures in black and gold armor, standing out even among the other soldiers patrolling the checkpoint. They towered over everyone around them, easily over ten feet tall, their presence alone causing the crowds nearby to quiet in reverence— or fear.
The armor they wore was bulky— the kind designed not just for protection, but intimidation. Thick black plates covered every inch of their bodies, with intricate gold detailing along the edges, almost ceremonial in their design, but there was no mistaking their lethality.
On their backs, Goblin Slayer noticed packs that hissed and radiated thin wisps of steam— the soft mechanical hum of motors cutting through the air. The armor wasn’t just heavy—it was alive with technology, powered by something far beyond what Goblin Slayer was accustomed to.
Every step they took was loud and mechanical, each movement accompanied by a sharp hiss of air escaping from vents, as though the suits themselves breathed.
The two figures closed in on him— their large bulky rifles slung across their chest plates. Their firearms were massive, constructed of gleaming brass and steel, and Goblin Slayer’s trained eye caught the large rotary magazine mounted on the top, with a faint whirring noise coming from a small motor near the firing mechanism.
These weren’t standard firearms— they were something else entirely, far beyond the simple matchbox guns and crossbows he had seen. They were just like the ones he had seen on the knights— complex, and intricate in their complex design.
Their helmets were the most unnerving. Blackened eye visors gave no indication of who or what was behind them, and perched just above the visors were headlamps that cast an eerie glow, illuminating their surroundings but keeping their own eyes hidden. They were faceless giants, their presence a deliberate show of power and control.
“You,” one of the armored figures said, his voice a low, mechanical growl that echoed unnaturally from the helmet. “You’re coming with us.”
Goblin Slayer tensed. His hand instinctively belt, but he forced himself to remain calm. “W… What’s this about?” He asked, while trying to keep his voice steady.
“No proof of identity,” the guard who had been searching his bag chimed in with a shrug, clearly done with the situation. “Means you’re getting sent to an inquisitor. Hope you enjoy the visit.”
The first armored figure stepped forward, hi— sheer size forcing Goblin Slayer to look up. The soft whine of the servos in his suit grew louder as the giant bent slightly forward, pointing a thick, gloved finger toward the direction they wanted him to go. “Double time,” he barked, with his voice crackling through the modulator in his helmet.
Goblin Slayer felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. The command wasn’t just firm— it was an order that brooked no argument. He was no stranger to commands, but the implications here were clear: resist, and it would not go well.
Reluctantly, the teen began walking, his pace faster now, keeping just ahead of the two massive figures. Their heavy, mechanical footsteps followed him— each step pounding into the ground with a rhythmic precision.
The path they walked took them away from the main lines and the bustling crowds. They passed beyond the normal checkpoints, moving toward the massive archway that led into the center of Zemuria itself.
The arch loomed ahead— a towering structure of stone and steel, with bright electric lights illuminating the tunnel beyond. The road leading through the arch was wide and well-lit, lined with outdoor offices— temporary structures manned by guards and clerks who processed those seeking entry.
Goblin Slayer could feel eyes on him as they passed by the other travelers and soldiers. Many turned to stare, their expressions a mix of confusion and fear. He glanced over his shoulder, back toward his party. High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest stood in the line, their faces a mixture of confusion and mild worry.
High Elf Archer's brow furrowed in concern, and Dwarf Shaman had paused mid-swig, lowering his flask as he watched Goblin Slayer being led away.
Before Goblin Slayer could take a second glance, one of the armored giants behind him shoved him forward. “Eyes front,” the second soldier ordered, his tone devoid of emotion. The shove wasn’t hard, but the force of it was enough to nearly make him stumble. The threat was clear— there would be no room for hesitation or defiance here.
Goblin Slayer gritted his teeth but complied, turning his gaze back ahead. The situation was far from ideal.
Inquisitors. The word rang ominously in his mind. He didn’t know much about the Pendragon Empire, but inquisitors were a universal constant— agents of the state, trained in interrogation, investigation, and worse. If they deemed him a threat or an imposter, things could go downhill quickly.
His thoughts raced as they approached one of the larger outdoor offices, its walls made of thick, reinforced wood and metal. A large, brass placard on the front bore the insignia of the Pendragon Empire, with the words "Inquisitor Tamriel’s Office" etched in bold lettering.
There were a few soldiers stationed outside, their armor gleaming in the light of the electric lamps overhead. Goblin Slayer felt the weight of his unease deepen as they stepped closer.
"Go," one of the armored giants ordered— gesturing toward the door. The hiss of their steam-powered suits and the low hum of their mechanical parts filled the air— an ever-present reminder of their superiority in both size and technology.
Goblin Slayer didn’t argue. He stepped forward and pushed open the door— the weight of it heavier than expected. Inside, the room was dimly lit, with a large desk in the center and shelves lined with scrolls, ledgers, and documents. A man sat behind the desk, his face obscured by a hooded cloak. He looked up slowly as Goblin Slayer entered— his eyes cold and calculating.
“So,” the man began, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable authority. “You’re the next unfortunate soul who’s tried crossing into Central Country without any identity.” His lips curled into a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s see what we can find out about you, shall we?”
The tension in the room was palpable. Goblin Slayer stood still, his muscles coiled beneath his armor. The inquisitor’s gaze felt like it could cut through steel. The hooded man tapped the end of his golden pen against the desk in a slow, deliberate rhythm— an unspoken reminder of who held the power in the room.
Goblin Slayer sat still, his mind racing but his face unreadable, his posture rigid as he waited for the man to speak.
“Are you literate?” The inquisitor asked— his voice smooth and casual, though laced with an undertone of superiority. His eyes didn’t leave Goblin Slayer’s face, as he watched him for any flicker of reaction.
“Yes,” Goblin Slayer replied, being curt and to the point.
The inquisitor raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting more, but when no further explanation came, he leaned back in his chair, lips curling into a thin smile.
“Splendid,” the inquisitor said softly, while opening a cabinet beneath his desk. The sound of wood scraping against wood was grating. He pulled out a printed forum— placing it neatly in front of Goblin Slayer, along with a cheap, ink-stained pen. “Fill this out.”
Without a word, Goblin Slayer reached into his belt to produce a different pen: the sleek, expensive one with a silver nib that had been from Lady Eleanor. He uncapped it, ignoring the cheap one the inquisitor had offered.
The hooded man watched with amusement— one corner of his mouth lifting as the teenager’s subtle act of defiance registered.
“Ah, a Montablac series— how exquisite,” the inquisitor remarked, his tone laced with dry amusement. “I’m a collector of finer goods myself— I know that model must’ve cost you at least fifty gold coins, in and of itself. From the way you're dressed, I wouldn’t have assumed you could afford such luxuries.”
Goblin Slayer said nothing, instead focusing on the form in front of him. He wrote his name— his hand hesitated slightly as he filled out the section for his place of birth. The teen could feel the inquisitor’s eyes on him, like a predator sizing up its prey, but he kept his focus on the task. Every stroke of the pen felt heavy, as though writing it down cemented something he’d rather leave forgotten.
Once finished, he slid the form back across the desk. The inquisitor picked it up, his eyes skimming over the details.
“Ren Ashta,” the inquisitor said aloud, the sound of his name leaving the man’s lips sending an odd shiver down Goblin Slayer’s spine. “Riverwood Village… Highwind Plains.”
The teen clenched his jaw as the inquisitor reached for a large logbook from a nearby shelf— flipping through its pages with an almost methodical precision. His fingers moved across the entries, muttering to himself as he cross-referenced the details. “Let’s see here... Date of birth... Just fifteen years old, are you?”
The inquisitor’s tone was quiet, but there was something mocking in it, like he found the whole situation vaguely amusing. He flipped to another page, running a finger down the list of names and places.
“Ah, here you are,” he announced with a touch of satisfaction. “Ren Ashta. Well, well, well… A miracle you know how to read at all, coming from a place like that!” The inquisitor chuckled to himself. “Riverwood: a backwater settlement, in middle of nowhere— barely a dot on the map.”
Goblin Slayer remained still, though he could feel his heartbeat quickening. His fingers flexed slightly— resting on the armrests of the chair.
“Oh, this is rich,” the inquisitor went on, his grin widening as he read further. “According to a report filed five years ago, Riverwood was destroyed in a goblin raid. Brutal, I imagine.” His eyes flicked up to the teen— taking a sadistic pleasure in the way his face tensed. “No one even cared enough to investigate further. Just another drop in the bucket, really. I’m sure you understand, though— expansion must go on, and small villages like that? Expendable as they are replaceable.”
The teen’s hands tightened into fists, his knuckles turning white. He didn’t respond, but the inquisitor saw the flicker of anger in his eyes and relished it.
“You do realize the purpose of those settlements and the Adventures’ Guild isn’t to build a strong, thriving community in the less savory parts of Zemuria, yes?” The inquisitor asked rhetorically— already knowing Goblin Slayer’s answer, and not waiting for an answer before continuing.
“They’re all there to be footholds for our Empire— to collect resources that merchants travel to purchase from your backwater villages at a cheap price, and then sell said resources to manufacturers within Crossbell— where we can develop ourselves, and strengthen our armies to properly conquer the rest of the continent,” the hooded man explained snuggly— his voice filled with graceful arrogance, as he smirked from the way he saw the teen’s eyelids narrow.
“That’s what you, and every other star-eyed bumpkin are in the eyes of the Empire: disposable means to an end,” he said in a low, sadistic voice, before pausing as his dark demeanor suddenly fell apart.
“Relax, boy,” the inquisitor chuckled, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. “No need to get all worked up. For what it’s worth, that method of expanding at our own pace is no longer viable; ever since Blackwatch recently became a formidable force, I’m afraid that the days of sending adventurers to the frontlines isn’t enough anymore— asymmetric warfare requires more out of all of us, you see.”
The inquisitor then reached into a drawer, and pulled out a small notepad. “Or perhaps you don’t see that— I digress,” he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Tell me, Ashta, were you the only one who survived that goblin raid? Back when Riverwood was around?”
Goblin Slayer’s voice was low but steady. “… Yes.”
The inquisitor let out a soft, sadistic chortle, as he jotted down a quick note. “Sole survivor,” he murmured to himself, as if savoring the words. He tapped his pen against the desk again, before moving on. “And what brings you to the Central Kingdom? You must have a reason for coming all this way.”
Without missing a beat, the teen formulated a lie, with his face betraying no emotion. “The frontier is too dangerous. I want to start a new life.”
The inquisitor smirked, leaning forward. “A new life, you say? Can’t say I blame you. Life on the frontier isn’t exactly for the faint-hearted. And I’d say that your reason for coming here is completely justified…”
There was a sudden, eerie pause. The inquisitor’s hand moved under the desk— flicking a hidden switch. Silence hung between them for a beat too long. The inquisitor’s eyes gleamed with something sinister. “… If any of what you just said were true, of course.”
Before Goblin Slayer could react, the door burst open. The two hulking armored guards from before stormed in, their heavy rifles aimed directly at the back of his head. The mechanical hum of their suits filled the room, a constant reminder of their power.
The teen jumped, as his hand instinctively twitched toward his side. His heart raced, but he forced himself to stay calm. The inquisitor, meanwhile, was thoroughly amused.
“Lying to a government official,” the inquisitor drawled, wagging his finger mockingly. “That’s called perjury, you know. A very serious offense. Eight years in prison, at minimum… If you survive the intense interrogation sessions, that is.”
The inquisitor leaned back, placing his hands behind his head as he began to reminisce about his favorite pastime. “We inquisitors start with the small stuff. Breaking fingers. Burning flesh. But the real fun begins when we get creative. Hooks. Barbed wire. The rack…” His eyes glinted, watching for any sign of weakness in Goblin Slayer. “I would take my time with you, boy. But since you’re just a filthy, sister-fucking, hillbilly— and a just moronic child at that— I suppose I can show a bit of mercy. Just this once though.”
Goblin Slayer’s muscles were coiled tight, but he didn’t flinch.
The inquisitor waved the guards off. “Go fetch me his belongings,” he ordered. The armored giants nodded and left, leaving Goblin Slayer alone with the hooded man once more. The silence that followed was suffocating, filled only by the soft tapping of the older man’s pen.
He hummed softly to himself as he swiveled around in his chair— opening a small compartment behind his desk. “All of this must truly be a culture shock to you, isn’t it? I mean, templars are quite terrifying— undoubtedly. But there’s more to advancing technology than just using it for the sake of securing dominion,” he mused pridefully, as he took out a strange device— mechanical and brass, with intricate details.
Goblin Slayer didn’t answer, but the inquisitor didn’t seem to care. “This is called a gramophone. It can play recorded music on mediums called “vinyl records”. Completely alien to someone who lives in the dark ages like yourself, but soon enough appliances such as these will be in households of every subject in Zemuria.”
He screwed a brass horn onto the device— his movements slow and deliberate, enjoying the power he held over the moment. “Between you and I, it’s a wonder that you’ve got all your teeth still, honestly. Tooth decay’s rampant among those living on the Eastern Frontier, now isn’t it?”
Goblin Slayer continued to sit in silence— his crimson eyes locked on the inquisitor, but betraying nothing.
The inquisitor rifled through a collection of vinyl records before selecting one and placing it onto the player. A few moments later, the sound of soft, melodic jazz began to fill the room. The hooded man then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, so as to savor the music as it washed over him.
“Ah, “In the Mood”…! Sir Miller, you truly are a musical genius, aren’t you…?” He murmured to himself, naming the song with a contented sigh.
The jazz, smooth and soothing, filled the tense air— an eerie contrast to the situation.
The inquisitor then turned back to his desk— the smile returning to his face as he picked up his pen again. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on the desk— fixing Goblin Slayer with a wide, predatory grin.
“Get cozy, Ashta,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “We’re going to be here for a while.”
Author’s note: Thanks to Abraxas365 for giving me inspiration to make another creativity liberty of the Goblin Slayer lore, by having the Pendragon Empire be a bit more than just a typical fantasy empire. Now they’re actually a force to be reckoned with, lol.
Chapter 25: Five Nights at Chester’s
Chapter Text
The night was alive with the hum of voices— the soft clinks of glasses, and the occasional low whistle of a passing train as it slid down its iron tracks.
Downtown Grekok felt as if it were trapped in a perpetual twilight, where the shops never closed and the streets never slept. Lanterns hung high on wrought iron posts— casting a warm amber light over cobblestone streets that glistened faintly in the night air, polished by countless footsteps. In the distance, the sound of gentle music floated from a nearby café that mingled with the low murmurs of the crowd. It gave the entire place a strange, comforting ambiance— cozy, yet not without the faint undercurrent of tension that came with city life, especially how late at night it was.
Massive, fortress-like walls surrounded the horizon where the towering fifty meters stood high— their surfaces embedded with brass pipes that vented occasional puffs of steam into the cool night air. Above, on the rooftops and along battlements built into the walls, sentries stood vigilant— musket-bearing soldiers with tall hats and archers with sleek, silver bows.
Their figures were silhouetted by the gaslight flickering from reinforced watchtowers. Every now and then, the glow of their lanterns would reveal enormous artillery cannons stationed at intervals— humming faintly with mechanical energy, their gleaming barrels pointed out over the horizon.
On the streets below, people of all kinds bustled about— some haggling with vendors, others lingering near the doors of pubs and shops, their conversations merging into a steady background hum. Pedestrians in fine coats, wide hats, and intricate gowns moved beside laborers hauling crates and goods. The wares on display in the windows were strange and intricate: brass telescopes, copper-lined devices with endless gears, and other contraptions that twinkled in the lamplight, hinting at their mysterious and complex functions.
The place felt almost magical— like stepping into a dream of both the future and the past.
In the midst of this scene, Lizard Priest, Dwarf Shaman, and High Elf Archer sat waiting on an iron bench— tucked beneath a wide arch near the grand entrance to the train station. The station itself rose high above the courtyard, with its towering staircases lined with brass railings and shimmering glass, and illuminated by clockwork chandeliers that hung from massive chains overhead. And as the train departed, the sound of its metal wheels rolling down the tracks blended into the background noise.
Lizard Priest’s eyes moved slowly over the pages of the atlas Goblin Slayer had left with him— his long fingers turning the pages with delicate care. Beside him, Dwarf Shaman leaned back lazily on the bench— his legs barely reaching the ground, a half-empty wine flask resting on his rounded belly.
The dwarf’s cheeks were slightly flushed from drink, and he gave a contented sigh, with his gaze wandering across the busy courtyard. The faint strains of a piano drifted over from a nearby tavern, where a pianist plinked out a cheerful tune— creating a strange contrast to the faint tension in the air.
High Elf Archer, however, was far from relaxed.
She sat at the edge of the bench, her green eyes trained hungrily on a food vendor stationed near the grand staircase— specifically, on the enormous turkey legs sizzling on the vendor’s grill. She could almost taste the smoky, savory flavor, with her mouth watering as she leaned forward slightly, and her thoughts utterly consumed by the sight and smell of the roasting meat.
Suddenly, she blinked— snapping back to reality. Her stomach growled, and with a groan, she glanced up at the large mechanical clock hanging above the nearest shop. The hands slowly ticked toward midnight, with the minute hand creeping closer to the number twelve.
“Where is… Uh… You know…?” She mumbled, running a hand through her silver hair. “That guy… Goblin-Slasher, or something like that…?”
Dwarf Shaman let out a low chuckle, sipping from his flask before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Beard Cutter," he corrected, the words rolling off his tongue in his thick, dwarven accent. “That’s his name, lass.”
High Elf Archer blinked, turning to the dwarf with a look of confusion and mild disbelief. ““Beard Cutter?” That wasn’t his name, is it?!”
"Aye, it is." Dwarf Shaman grinned smugly, settling deeper into the bench— clearly enjoying the bewilderment on her face. "In Dwarvish, “Goblin Slayer” translates to “Beard Cutter.” It’s what we call a knife we use for slicing goblins’ throats. Very famous among our kind, ye see."
The elf stared at him, mouth slightly agape— trying to process what he was saying. "That’s… That’s the most esoteric bullcrap I’ve ever heard," she finally retorted, while shaking her head. Her eyes narrowed slightly in disbelief as she leaned back on the bench, while crossing her arms over her flat chest.
Dwarf Shaman let out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing off the cobblestones. "Ah, ye just don’t understand the subtleties of Dwarvish, lass!" He leaned in closer, grinning from ear to ear. "From now on, I’m callin’ him Beard Cutter. That’s final."
High Elf Archer groaned, rolling her eyes. "Neither of us even speak Dwarvish! That’s like if I called him Orcbolg!" Her tone was sharp, but there was a hint of amusement as she threw the word out— knowing full well it wouldn’t make sense to the dwarf.
Dwarf Shaman’s laughter slowed, and he raised an eyebrow. "Orcbolg? And what does that mean?"
"It’s Elvish for “Goblin Slayer”," she retorted, smirking. "At least it makes sense to call him that! It doesn’t require you to know an inside joke, just to understand it in a different language!"
Lizard Priest, who had been quietly following the exchange, lifted his head from the atlas and closed the book with a thoughtful hum. “An interesting debate,” he said in his slow, measured voice. “But does anyone here know his true name?”
His question hung in the air for a moment— creating a pause in the conversation. High Elf Archer’s smug expression faded as she frowned, with her thinking hard. The crowd around them seemed to drift by unnoticed as each of them considered the question. Dwarf Shaman rubbed his beard thoughtfully, and even Lizard Priest looked inward, as if searching for an answer.
After a moment, Lizard Priest spoke again, his tone taking on a poetic quality. “Are we not all strangers, even among friends? Perhaps names, like faces, are things we should share— by dinner time, at least.”
High Elf Archer scoffed, arms still crossed. "If he ever shows up to pay for dinner, like how he said he would," she muttered, glancing back at the clock. It was nearing half-past eleven, and her patience was wearing thin. "For all we know, he’s getting tortured by inquisitors as we speak."
Dwarf Shaman shot her a disapproving look, shaking his head. “Now, don’t ye go saying things like that. It’s bad luck.”
She opened her mouth to fire back, but the dwarf’s stern tone made her hesitate. She bit her lip— her earlier bravado shrinking away as she glanced around nervously. "W-Whatever," she mumbled, though the thought of inquisitors lurking in the shadows made her shudder.
For a moment, they sat in silence— each lost in their thoughts. The cozy music continued to play, mixing with the sounds of the bustling city, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere. But just as the tension began to settle, High Elf Archer’s ears twitched. She perked up, her eyes locking onto the crowd emerging from the Eastern Gate tunnel.
"There he is," she announced under her breath, while leaning forward as she pointed. Her voice, once laced with frustration, now carried a note of relief.
Dwarf Shaman followed her gaze and grinned widely. "Aye, there’s Beard Cutter now!" He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "Oi! Beard Cutter! Over here!"
High Elf Archer shot him a look, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. "Orcbolg!" She called, waving her arms enthusiastically. "This way!"
Lizard Priest stood, raising one hand in a calm, measured greeting. “It seems our friend has returned,” he said, his voice barely carrying over the noise.
Goblin Slayer emerged from the dense crowd spilling out of the Eastern Gate tunnel, his presence barely noticeable at first among the stream of people, but as he pushed forward, his movements sharp and deliberate, it was clear that something was off. The usual calm in his gait was replaced by an almost mechanical stiffness.
The others noticed it immediately.
"There he is— it’s him," High Elf Archer said, half relieved, half annoyed. She even got up off the bench to preemptively speak to him, but her attempt at a cheerful greeting was met with nothing.
He didn’t even glance in her direction.
Goblin Slayer came to a halt in front of them with his posture tense beneath his stitched leather armor. His visor tilted slightly downward, his tone curt, almost as though every syllable grated on his nerves. “Chosen a place?” He asked without preamble— his words clipped, cold.
High Elf Archer’s arm dropped, her initial wave turning into a frustrated huff. "Nice to see you too— you little asshole," she muttered, sarcasm heavy in her voice, but thenteen’s attention was already elsewhere.
Dwarf Shaman, still seated, sighed as he leaned in and whispered, “Give the lad a break. He’s not in the mood for yer sass.”
Goblin Slayer stood motionless, the tension in his body palpable. The weight of his nearly two-hour interrogation still lingered over him like a dark cloud; his jaw clenched beneath the helmet as he stared blankly at the nearby buildings, as the festive lights and cheerful music did nothing to lighten his mood.
Lizard Priest, always the most upbeat of the group, opened the atlas with a flourish— grinning as he pointed eagerly to a page marked with a hand-drawn star. “Look! I found the perfect place,” he said, his forked tongue flicking with excitement. ““Chester's Cheddar Kingdom!” They have all kinds of cheese dishes— baked, grilled, melted… I asked the local youth, and they say Chef Pee Pee’s cuisine is to die for!” He leaned closer to Goblin Slayer, beaming. “Doesn’t that sound delightful?!”
Without a word, Goblin Slayer snatched the atlas from Lizard Priest’s hands— his armored fingers gripping it tighter than necessary. He brought it up to his visor, scanned the page for barely a moment, then shoved it back into Lizard Priest’s hands with a force that made the priest stumble slightly.
Still silent, Goblin Slayer turned on his heel and began walking toward the street beyond the courtyard garden, his pace brisk, and his helmet fixed forward as if the crowd and his companions didn’t exist.
Lizard Priest blinked in confusion, glancing between the others, with the atlas still clutched awkwardly to his chest. “He must be even more excited than I am for cheese,” he said, his voice full of earnest optimism. “I didn’t think such a thing was even possible!”
High Elf Archer rolled her eyes, as she watched Goblin Slayer push through the crowd— his irritation practically radiating off him in waves. "What crawled up his ass and died…?" She muttered bitterly.
Dwarf Shaman sighed, tucking his leather canteen back into his robe. “I’ve a feelin’ it’s the work of an inquisitor,” he said quietly, standing up from the bench and motioning for her to follow as they trailed behind Goblin Slayer and Lizard Priest.
High Elf Archer’s eyes widened slightly, her brow furrowing in surprise. “Shit…! I-I was kidding when I said he might’ve been tortured…! Do you really think…?”
“Nah, lass, not like that.” Dwarf Shaman shook his head, while adjusting the straps of his pack as he began walking beside her. “He’s walkin’ too well for that. All his parts intact, no limp, no blood… If an inquisitor had gone that far, he wouldn’t be marchin’ off like this.”
High Elf Archer frowned, with her eyes narrowing as she looked ahead at Goblin Slayer again. He was shoving past people now— not even bothering to offer a word of apology as he roughly maneuvered through the crowd. Lizard Priest, trailing in his wake, was left apologizing to anyone that the enraged teen had pushed aside— cheerfully offering reassurances like, “He’s just hangry for cheese!”
The elf’s frown deepened as she turned back to Dwarf Shaman. “Then what do you think happened to him?”
Dwarf Shaman’s face darkened as memories crept in, his eyes taking on a distant look. “Reminds me of the time I first came to Crossbell,” he began slowly, his voice heavy with experience. “Was barely forty years old— fresh-faced and eager to join the adventurers. But they told me I had to apply for subject status from the Census Headquarters.” He chuckled darkly, though there was no humor in the sound. “That’s when they pulled me aside for a background check… By an inquisitor, no less.”
High Elf Archer glanced at him, her curiosity piqued as she noticed the way his fingers curled into fists, the knuckles whitening as they clutched the straps of his pack. “What happened?”
“They try to get under yer skin,” Dwarf Shaman continued, his voice low, as if speaking the words summoned the memory back in sharper detail. “They use everything they know about ye— everything yer past can offer— to prod at yer insecurities. Ye can’t tell if they’re doin’ it to piss ye off, or if they’re just good at their job. They do it, so they can test ye’— see if ye’ pose a danger to the ones lucky enough to be born with a silver-spoon in their mouths.”
He took a deep breath, with his eyes narrowing as he recalled the cold, clinical way the inquisitor had spoken to him all those years ago. “That bastard brought up my father’s record… He said that he died like a worthless fat ass in the Zemuria Conquest. Called him a better pincushion for arrows than he was a man.”
High Elf Archer’s steps slowed as she listened— her eyes widening as she noticed the shift in Dwarf Shaman’s tone. His usually jovial, easy going demeanor was now marred by something darker— something old and bitter.
“And then the sod had the gull to insult my own mother,” Dwarf Shaman continued, his voice tightening. “Told me how he was going to send a platoon of recruits to visit ‘er with the address I gave ‘em… Said he would have them shag her— show ‘er what real cock feels like.”
High Elf Archer’s face flushed with anger on his behalf. "Fuck the Empire," she muttered through clenched teeth, her voice low. “They’re all just a bunch of jackasses who-Glurk?!”
Before she could finish, Dwarf Shaman uncapped his wine bottle and shoved it against her lips— causing her to splutter as the sudden influx of liquid hit her throat. She choked and coughed violently as she wiped the spilled wine from her chin— glaring at him between ragged breaths.
Dwarf Shaman calmly recapped the canteen, a small, apologetic smile on his face. “I’m sorry, lass, but remember— the Emperor’s ears are everywhere here. Last thing we need is an inquisitor visitin’ us personally.”
High Elf Archer coughed one last time— rubbing her throat as she shot him a dirty look, but the weight of his words settled over her. She glanced at Goblin Slayer, who was still stomping ahead— the crowd parting before him as he moved with purpose.
"Gods," she muttered, her voice now hoarse from the wine. "What did they say to him…?!"
The restaurant was a chaotic wonderland, like something out of a child's dream but filtered through the grimy lens of a fantasy world struggling to keep up with its own technological advancements.
The brick-lined walls hummed with gears and steam pipes that hissed overhead— powering the lights and the brass fixtures scattered around the room. “Chester's Cheddar Kingdom” was alive with the sound of children laughing, screaming, and chattering in delight. An enormous midway arcade stretched along one wall, filled with flashing lights and the mechanical clunking of games.
At one corner, a strength tester glowed— its mechanical mallet swinging down as a tiny orc girl slammed it with all her might. The meter shot up to "Mighty Champion!" with a loud clang, and she jumped up and down, while her tusks glistened as she cheered. “I did it! Look, mom! Dad!” She squealed with her parents clapping behind her— their tusks flashing in proud grins.
Across from her, a group of goblin children crowded around a basketball machine— their sharp little claws gripping the rubber balls, as they threw them towards a hoop that hovered just a bit too high for their height. A mechanical scoreboard clattered noisily above them, counting each miss and score with unforgiving precision.
Nearby, an elf girl with short brown hair focused intently on a shooting gallery game. She and other non-human children gripped wooden flintlock pistols— aiming at interactive targets of bouncing clowns popping up from behind wooden barrels. Each hit caused a little mechanical jester to fall over— cackling as they went down.
In the midst of it all, Chester Entertainment Cheddar— an anthropomorphic rat nearly seven feet tall, with fur matted from years of grease and pizza crumbs— strolled through his restaurant, with a fat cigar clamped between his lips. His ratty red vest clung to his broad frame, and in one hand he effortlessly balanced a tower of boxed pizzas. In the other, he held a polished dress cane— tapping it against the floor as he limped along.
The copper tokens the children clutched bore his face, their edges worn from countless hands exchanging them for prizes and games. He made his way to the party room at the back of the restaurant— a cloud of cigar smoke trailing behind him. He paused in the doorway, glanced up at the ceiling, and blew a slow— a deliberate puff of smoke spiraled lazily upward, disappearing into the dim lighting. His expression was a mixture of boredom and exhaustion, as though he'd lived too many years in the same godforsaken pizza joint.
“Here’s yer fuckin’ pizzas,” he grumbled in a rough accent, as he flicked the boxes onto the table where Goblin Slayer, High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest sat. Without waiting for a thank you or even acknowledging their presence further, Chester limped away— the cane clicking on the floor as he vanished into the throng of children.
Despite the grimy conditions of the establishment, the party table they were seated at held a feast filled with a large basket of Buffalo wings dripping with sauce, garlic breadsticks fresh from the oven, and two pitchers of microbrew beer that foamed at the top. A basket of fries sat next to a pitcher of Sharky Cola— the local sugary beverage that sparkled darkly under the dim lights.
Goblin Slayer sat at the head of the table—his orichalcum helmet set aside, revealing his pale face. His crimson eyes stared darkly at the pizza in front of him, but it wasn’t the food he saw— it was something darker, something that lingered in the back of his mind, like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
He muttered to himself between long, steady gulps of Sharky Cola— the liquid disappearing down his throat as if it were some form of cheap liquor he was trying to drown his demons in.
"What kind of freaking restaurant did you pick, Jaree…?!" High Elf Archer muttered, leaning back in her chair— her eyes wide in disbelief at the circus of lights and noise that surrounded them. The sight of children with rat-faced tokens, the mechanical noises from the arcade, and the unsettling owner himself was almost too much.
Lizard Priest clapped his hands together excitedly— the child-sized party hat atop his head wobbling slightly. It was too small for his head, yet he wore it proudly. “A very good restaurant!” He declared, while opening one of the pizza boxes— steam rising from the gooey, five-cheese masterpiece within.
His forked tongue flicked out eagerly— tasting the air before he grabbed a slice, holding it reverently before taking a massive bite. His eyes widened as tears of pure joy welled up in the corners. “This… This is the best food I’ve ever had,” he whispered, before shoving the rest of the slice into his mouth and chewing happily.
High Elf Archer stared at him in disbelief— her arms crossed as she scowled at the absurdity of it all. “Seriously? This place is like a nightmare.”
Lizard Priest didn’t seem to hear her, as he was too enraptured by the sheer joy of his meal. His forked tongue flicked out again, tasting the air before diving in for another slice— his hands working quickly as he devoured it with unabashed glee. "The cheese... It’s perfect," he mumbled between mouthfuls— wiping another tear from his eye.
Meanwhile, Goblin Slayer remained silent— his crimson gaze focused on nothing, as he continued to mutter darker and more incoherently with each sip of Sharky Cola. His hand gripped the plastic cup tightly— the crack of the cheap material barely noticeable amidst the cacophony around them.
Dwarf Shaman leaned back in his seat, staring at the tension brewing across the table as he took a deep, contemplative chug of his beer. His mind was racing, trying to figure out how to ease the situation, but the weight of Goblin Slayer’s brooding mood hung over them all like a bad omen.
With a reluctant sigh, the white-haired dwarf reached for the unopened box of pepperoni pizza— opening it slowly as if it were a delicate task. The smell of greasy cheese and spice wafted up, making his stomach rumble despite the tension. He plucked a slice, still dripping with hot grease, and set it on a ceramic plate before pushing it toward Goblin Slayer.
"Here, lad," Dwarf Shaman said uneasily, extending the plate like it might bite back. "You should have a slice. Ain't no shame in eating a little comfort food, eh? Hell, might even help ye feel better. You know, they say goblins are terrified of pepperoni. Can’t stand the sight of it. Too spicy for their little taste buds.”
Goblin Slayer didn’t respond. His crimson eyes remained cold as he stared at Dwarf Shaman— wordless and unblinking, as if the simple act of offering food was a personal insult.
Without a word, he grabbed the handle of the glass pitcher filled with Sharky Cola and aggressively dumped the sugary soda into his empty cup— spilling some onto the table. He returned to muttering under his breathaa his voice low and filled with seething hatred, as though replaying some dark memory over and over in his mind.
Dwarf Shaman flinched slightly, as he awkwardly pulled the plate of pizza back toward himself. He chuckled nervously, trying to shake off the cold shoulder. “Ah, well, maybe you’re just more of a wings man, eh? No worries, lad, no worries.”
But the joke didn’t land either.
High Elf Archer, who had been silently watching the whole exchange with growing frustration, finally had enough. With an exasperated growl, she stood up from her seat— the legs of her chair scraping loudly against the checkered floor.
Leaning over the table, she glared down at Goblin Slayer, her sharp elven eyes narrowing. “Alright, I’ve had it!” She snapped, her voice rising above the noise of the restaurant. “It’s two in the goddamn morning, and this?! This little “bitch-fit” you’re throwing?! I’m done— I’m done with it!”
The party room fell into a stunned silence, all the other patrons and kids freezing mid-chew, mid-laugh. Even Chester Entertainment Cheddar’s band on stage faltered— the furry creatures exchanging awkward glances as their instruments continued to play out of sync with the moment.
High Elf Archer jabbed a finger toward Goblin Slayer, her voice sharp with irritation. “We’ve tried everything! We’ve given you space, we’ve tried to talk to you, ask you if you’re okay. Hell, we played those stupid arcade games with you, and we even sang along to that godforsaken band of furries on stage! What more do you want?!”
Dwarf Shaman started to interject, raising a hand to calm her down. “Lass, maybe now's not the-”
“-Don’t you DARE baby him again!” she shouted, cutting him off without even looking his way. Her focus was solely on Goblin Slayer now. Her voice dripped with anger and hurt as she grabbed his collar, yanking him toward her so that they were face-to-face, her knuckles white with frustration. “Either grow up and move on, or just tell us what’s is wrong already, so we can all be done with this stupid crap!”
Her grip loosened, and she shoved him back into his chair, glaring at him. "Look. We don’t have to be friends, but we’re sure as hell not going to be your punching bags! So either you drop your bad attitude, or we’re dropping you. It’s not fair for us to be treated like shit, and I’m not gonna allow it.”
The entire restaurant had fallen dead quiet, the air thick with tension. Murmurs erupted among the customers— whispers spreading like wildfire. Even the band on stage looked more uncomfortable than before— their awkward, jerky movements continuing to play out their tune as they cast nervous glances toward the party room.
Goblin Slayer didn’t react for what felt like an eternity. The two of them locked in an intense stare, the whole restaurant watching like an audience at a gladiator match. His crimson eyes burned under the dim lighting— his expression unreadable beneath the grim shadow of his thoughts. Finally, after what seemed like an unbearable silence, he muttered a single word under his breath.
“Fine.”
Without another word, he slammed his backpack onto the table— startling everyone. He began aggressively sorting through it, with his companions watching with wide-eyed confusion as he pulled out a leather-bound journal. His hands were rigid, almost shaking as he flipped it open to the first blank page and dropped it onto the table with a loud thud.
Reaching into his belt satchel, he retrieved his fancy pen— polished silver with intricate engravings— and began scribbling furiously across the paper.
High Elf Archer blinked, taken aback by his sudden shift. "W… What do you think you’re doing?" She asked— her voice sharp but now tinged with uncertainty.
Goblin Slayer didn’t look up— his pen scratching angrily against the page. “What you wanted,” he spat bitterly. “Moving on.”
His writing was fast and forceful— the ink bleeding into the paper with every word. He was venting, with his emotions spilling out onto the page in dark, jagged letters. The room was so silent now that the only sound was the furious scraping of his pen against the parchment.
High Elf Archer exchanged a look with Dwarf Shaman, who shook his head disapprovingly as he took another swig of beer. She scoffed while shaking her head as she sank back down into her seat— clearly not satisfied but not willing to push any further.
Lizard Priest, who had been quietly holding his fourth slice of pizza, was visibly uncomfortable. The undersized party hat still perched crookedly on his head only made him look more out of place.
He lowered his eyes, his voice small and awkward as he spoke into the uncomfortable silence. “This... Is making me feel more uncomfortable than the rat was.”
His words broke the tension just enough, but the mood remained heavy as Goblin Slayer continued to scribble down his thoughts, while the rest of the table sat in uneasy silence.
Chapter 26: Incompetence
Chapter Text
Goblin Slayer sat motionless in the shadowed confines of the inquisitor’s office— a heavy tension draping the room like a suffocating fog. The dim light from the brass lamps on the walls barely reached the corners of the room— casting long, dark shadows over the inquisitor's polished mahogany desk.
The faint hum of jazz music played from an old gramophone in the background— a haunting counterpoint to the growing unease within the teen’s heart.
Across from him, the inquisitor reclined in his chair, the hood of his cloak shrouding most of his face, leaving only a thin-lipped smile visible. His smile, twisted with something akin to sadistic pleasure, gleamed faintly as he held up an ancient tome bound in cracking leather— the village records of Riverwood, Goblin Slayer's home.
His fingers glided over the pages with an almost reverent touch as though the very weight of the past, soaked in pain and loss, was something to be savored.
"Ah," the inquisitor sighed, his voice smooth and richly layered, like the insidious whisper of a serpent. “Your sister, Vivine Ashta. According to this account, had hair as dark as walnut and eyes of the deepest brown. Yet, here you are— gray of hair and red of eye. Most peculiar, wouldn’t you agree?”
Goblin Slayer’s fists tightened in his lap, his knuckles white beneath the gauntlets. Yet, he said nothing.
The inquisitor’s smile widened, slow and deliberate, as though savoring each passing second of silence. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a more intimate, conspiratorial tone. “Tell me, boy. Did it never strike you as strange that you looked nothing like her? That, perhaps, your very existence was an anomaly in her world? More than likely, you were adopted. A stray, taken in by an unfortunate soul tethered to you by circumstance, not blood.”
Goblin Slayer's eyes flickered, but still, he remained silent. His breath was shallow, his mind racing, yet outwardly, he clung to the silence like a shield.
The inquisitor leaned back again, folding his hands over his chest, his posture one of supreme arrogance. "But let us, for the sake of argument, entertain this notion of “family” you so desperately cling to. What is family, if not a reflection of one's desires? You claim she was your sister... your kin, but is she not, in truth, nothing more than a construct? An ideal—an embodiment of your need for absolution, a saintly figure onto whom you project your guilt and grief?"
The words cut deep, like invisible blades, chipping away at the walls Goblin Slayer had built over years of suffering. His silence began to falter.
“And yet, if this imagined bond were as unbreakable as you claim, why, I wonder, do the records tell a different story? They speak of her, yes, but not with the affection you cling to. No, they speak of her weariness. Her resentment. Do you know what such things do to a person?” His voice softened, almost tender, but with a cruel edge that sent a shiver down Goblin Slayer’s spine.
“What a heavy burden you must have been. Did she ever tell you that? How you shackled her to a life she never wanted?”
“Y-You’re not my brother…! N-Not anymore, you’re not…!”
Goblin Slayer’s breathing grew heavier, his fists trembling. The inquisitor had finally struck at something raw, something buried deep within.
"You waste my time," Goblin Slayer finally snapped, his voice strained— the words almost a growl. "This has nothing to do with a background check."
The inquisitor’s eyes gleamed with triumph behind the hood, sensing victory close at hand. “On the contrary,” he said smoothly, “it has everything to do with it. You see, the Empire requires stability in those it allows entry. A man broken by the weight of his past... a man whose mind fractures under the pressure of reality... is a danger, a risk. I must be sure you are not a threat to the public.”
““High-risk liability”— that’s the reason why the guild can’t have someone like you be apart of us, Mr. Ashta…”
Goblin Slayer’s eyes widened, his composure crumbling as the implication of the words sank in. His chest tightened, and a cold sweat broke out across his brow. The inquisitor had peeled back the final layer of defense, exposing the fragile core beneath.
“Ahh,” the inquisitor cooed softly, his voice a velvet blade. “There it is. The truth—bare, raw, and trembling. You fear the past more than anything, don’t you?”
The inquisitor’s hand drifted to the side of the desk, pulling open a drawer with slow deliberation. From within, he withdrew a piece of parchment, worn and crumpled from many hands. He set it on the desk, then slid it toward Goblin Slayer with a slow, deliberate push.
“Does this look familiar?” The hooded man asked, with his tone rich with amusement.
The teen reluctantly glanced down, and his stomach twisted.
“… You… You need help, Mr. Ashta— more than you need to put that sword to good use.”
It was his rejected application to the Adventurers’ Guild.
“You see,” the inquisitor continued, folding his hands again, “even the Guild, desperate as they are for fodder, deemed you unsuitable. They saw what I now see. And if the Guild had no confidence in you, what possible reason would the Empire have to trust you?”
Goblin Slayer’s hands trembled in his lap, his gaze fixed on the paper. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a dull thud of despair.
The inquisitor’s smile was razor-sharp now, his tone mockingly gentle. “But perhaps the Guild was wrong. Perhaps their test—outdated, flawed— failed to capture the depth of your true character. After all, their methods are crude, uninspired, wouldn’t you agree?”
Goblin Slayer hesitated, his voice barely a whisper. “You... Really think so…?”
The inquisitor nodded, his expression one of false empathy. “Oh, certainly. I’ve read their psychological evaluations. Laughably antiquated. I can’t imagine they’d be able to see beyond the surface.”
For a moment, a flicker of hope ignited in Goblin Slayer’s heart. But it was swiftly extinguished when the inquisitor’s hand shot forward, releasing a pulse of energy— a ball of shimmering light that struck the teenager directly in the forehead.
His body tensed violently, his muscles seizing up as the world around him warped and blurred. His mind swam in chaos— the boundaries between past and present dissolving in an instant. His breath came in ragged gasps as the room spun out of focus, leaving only the inquisitor’s smug face and the suffocating darkness of his own memories.
“W-What did you do to me…?!” Goblin Slayer’s voice was strained, panic lacing his words.
The inquisitor said nothing at first— merely observing with cold amusement. Then, leaning forward ever so slightly, he whispered, “I am simply going to review your past. With you... As my witness.”
The air between them shimmered, and Goblin Slayer’s vision blurred as a cloud of shadow and light began to form.
Slowly, like a film reel unraveling, his memories projected onto the cloud, vivid and cruel. He had expected to be forced to relive that awful night— the night the goblins came— but instead, what he saw shook him to his core.
He saw himself as a young boy— six years old, fragile and small. His sister Vivine towered over him, her face twisted with fury, her eyes wild with frustration. She struck him again and again, her hand flying across his face, the blows heavy with pent-up rage. He cowered, trying to make himself as small as possible, his body trembling with fear as her words lashed out like knives.
“Why did they have to die?!”
“W-Why couldn’t it have JUST been you?!”
The scene shifted, showing him as a slightly older child, around nine. This time, the memory was darker, more painful. Goblin Slayer stood frozen in the doorway of his sister’s room, watching in horror as she sat on the edge of her bed, silently sobbing as she dragged a blade across her wrists.
“I HATE YOU!!!”
Blood trickled down her arms, pooling onto the sheets, her back turned to him, as though his presence meant nothing.
The inquisitor’s voice slithered into the scene, his words dripping with venom. “You were never a source of comfort to her. You were her burden. Can you truly claim to love someone who despised the very sight of you?”
“I’VE ALWAYS HATED YOU!!!”
Goblin Slayer’s breath came in ragged gasps as the memories twisted and morphed again. The final memory played before his eyes, and it shattered him completely.
Vivine was not defending herself against the goblins. No, her face was calm— too calm. She knelt over him, hiding him beneath the floorboards. And then, in one swift, fluid motion, she drew a knife across her throat.
“YOU WERE WHY THEY CAME FOR US!!!”
The sound of her blood gurgling in her throat, her body collapsing forward as life drained from her, was a noise that would forever haunt him.
The image of his sister’s lifeless body, lying in a pool of her own blood, filled Goblin Slayer’s mind as the haunting memory continued to play out before him, vivid and inescapable. He could hear the distant, guttural snarls of goblins as they poured into the room, their filthy hands pawing at Vivine’s corpse.
“YOU’RE WHY I'M DEAD!!!”
Her body lay sprawled, motionless, as they desecrated her with horrifying ease— laughing as they tore away what little dignity remained in death. The sharp crackling of the floorboards, the rustle of her clothes, the stench of blood and rot— everything was seared into his mind, more real than any nightmare could ever be.
Goblin Slayer’s young face, peering up through the narrow gap in the floorboards, was twisted in silent terror. His small body trembled uncontrollably beneath the crawl space as he pressed his hands against his ears— trying to block out the sounds of what was happening above him.
But no matter how tightly he pressed, no matter how much he wanted to close his eyes and vanish into the darkness, the horrific scene unfolded before him like a grotesque theater.
Vivine’s final words echoed in his mind— the memory of her true, callused words she used as their final goodbye. Words that lacked any indication of love, or even hope.
“Goodnight, Ren.”
The goblins, uncaring and ignorant of the young boy hidden beneath the floorboards, continued their vile work. Their laughter was shrill and cruel, mocking the finality of death.
And through it all, Goblin Slayer’s young heart shattered. The safety he had once known, the bond he had cherished with his sister, had been a lie. Her death had not been a heroic last stand, but an act of surrender.
As the memory lingered, the inquisitor’s voice seeped back into his awareness, smooth and cold. “Look at her,” he said softly, almost tenderly, as though he were guiding Goblin Slayer through some macabre lesson. “Does this look like the actions of a saint? A martyr? No, this is the ultimate cowardice— an escape, leaving you behind as nothing more than a remnant of her suffering. She didn’t die for you; she died because of you.”
Goblin Slayer trembled violently, his body locking up as the memory played in vivid detail. The inquisitor’s words were sharp and cutting, pressing deeper into his fractured psyche.
“And this...” The inquisitor said, gesturing toward the scene, “this is your truth. Not the noble sacrifice you’ve concocted in your mind to shield yourself from the unbearable reality. Your sister— your precious Vivine— was a child herself, broken by despair. She loathed giving her future up for you, and thus hated the weight of your existence. In the end, she chose death over saving the both of you.”
The young boy, barely old enough to comprehend what was happening, curled into a tighter ball in the crawlspace. His fingers clutched at the floor— nails digging into the wood as silent tears streamed down his dirt-streaked face. He could feel every ounce of her abandonment, every word she’d hurled at him over the years. He had always been a burden to her. The truth, now laid bare, twisted inside him like a knife.
But as if that wasn’t enough, the inquisitor leaned closer, his voice now an insidious whisper. “You’ve lived your entire life believing that you were somehow responsible for her death— that you needed to avenge her. But now, you see, it wasn’t the goblins who killed her, Ashta; it was your existence that did that— long before those little monsters ever first stepped foot into Riverwood.”
The inquisitor's voice grew quieter, more dangerous. "You didn't survive that night because of her sacrifice. No, you lived because she couldn't bear the burden of you any longer. She left you, Ashta. Left you to face the world, to face the goblins— alone."
The images shifted again, showing the goblins scattering after their desecration— leaving behind only a ruined body and a broken child. Goblin Slayer’s young self remained hidden beneath the floorboards, trembling in the shadows. And there, in the silence that followed, as the goblins left the village in flames, the boy was truly alone.
In the memory, the young boy crawled out slowly from the crawlspace, his bare feet sticky with blood, his small hands trembling as they reached out toward his sister's lifeless form.
Her eyes were still open, staring blankly at the ceiling— her face forever frozen in an expression of finality. He stood over her, the reality of it all pressing down on his small, fragile shoulders.
He had no words, no tears left to shed, only the hollow ache of loss and confusion gnawing at his insides, as he reached down with small, trembling arms to embrace the only intact part of her massacred corpse: her severed head.
‘She died for me.’
The weight of that thought had lived with him ever since, festering in the darkest corners of his mind, shaping him into the man he had become— the man who lived only to slay goblins, to rid the world of the creatures that had taken everything from him. But now, as the inquisitor’s words echoed in his mind, a new thought took root, even more poisonous than the last.
‘She didn’t die for me. She died to escape me.’
Goblin Slayer’s adult form, sitting in the inquisitor’s office, trembled violently— his hands gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles were white.
His breathing was ragged, his vision blurred with tears he didn’t want to acknowledge. He couldn’t look at the memory any longer, but it played on, relentlessly, as though the inquisitor had seized control of his very mind.
“Tell me,” the inquisitor whispered, his voice slithering through the air like a serpent, “do you still believe she was your savior? Your protector? Or has the truth finally sunk in?”
Goblin Slayer said nothing, unable to speak. His chest felt tight, as though a great weight was pressing down on him, suffocating him. He wanted to scream, to rage, to strike out at the man before him— but he was trapped, paralyzed by the flood of emotions surging through him.
The final memory began to fade, the image of Vivine’s lifeless body slowly dissolving into mist. But the inquisitor wasn’t finished.
“Ah, one more thing,” he added with a mocking smile. “You see, I wasn’t entirely truthful with you earlier.” His tone grew lighter, almost cheerful, as if he were sharing some grand joke.
“I falsified the information of you always having gray hair, and those red eyes of yours. I’m afraid that’s not quite accurate… According to the record, you used to have dark hair, with brown eyes. What you’re experiencing is something known as “Canities subita,” sometimes called “Marie Antoinette Syndrome”,” The inquisitor’s words dripped with amusement, as though explaining something trivial.
“It’s a rare phenomenon— hair turning white from trauma, from prolonged stress. But it doesn’t happen overnight, as the legends would have you believe. No, it’s a slow, agonizing process. Your hair... It turned gray not from age or even genetics, but from fear. From despair. From living through the hell you brought upon yourself, and your sister— day after day.”
He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over the teenager’s ear. “Your sister’s death... It didn’t just mark the end of her life. It marked the death of your humanity. You are not the boy who survived a massacre. You’re not even the boy who lost everything… You’re just broken— your misery will one day end you, just like it did to your dear, precious Vivine.”
Goblin Slayer’s vision blurred as the final memory snapped back into place— the last, haunting image of his sister’s body lying crumpled on the floor, her blood pooling around her. The goblins had left long ago, but the devastation remained.
The loss, the loneliness— it had become the core of who he was.
Trembling uncontrollably, the teen could no longer hold back the wave of emotion crashing through him. He grabbed his head with both hands— his fingers digging into his scalp as though trying to tear the memories from his mind.
The inquisitor leaned back, his smile wide and triumphant. “There it is,” he whispered, watching as the fifteen year-old broke down before him. “The truth. You’ve always been alone, haven’t you? Even when you had her, you were alone.”
Goblin Slayer’s breath came in ragged gasps as he shook his head, his voice a broken whisper. “N… N-No, that’s not…! S-She wasn’t…!”
But the inquisitor’s laughter filled the room, drowning out any hope of denial. He leaned in one last time, his voice low and dripping with malice. “Your sister died like a coward, Ashta. She took her own life... Just to escape the fate your existence brought onto her…”
“… And quite frankly, from the looks of it… You’ll inevitably die the same way as her: by your own hand.”
The room was silent, save for the faint hum of machinery outside— a soft, metallic whirr that came from the steampunk structures scattered around the agricultural complex. The dark sky beyond the window glowed faintly, illuminated by the flickering of wind turbines— their spinning blades casting long, skeletal shadows against the glass.
Inside, the bedroom was a mix of rustic charm and mechanical elegance— vines clinging to iron pipes, gears embedded into wooden beams, and wall-mounted lamps with brass fittings that gave off a warm, golden light.
At Goblin Slayer’s bedside, a glowing mechanical clock flickered softly— casting a dim green hue across the room.
The time read 3:00 a.m.
The teenager was sitting upright on the bed— his back pressed against the iron-wrought headrest, knees pulled tightly to his chest, and his face buried in his hands.
He wore only his black turtleneck, with the rest of him hidden beneath the blankets draped loosely around his legs. His breathing was heavy, though controlled, each inhale labored as if he was fighting to suppress the memories swirling through his mind.
‘Die… I just want it to die… All of it… Just let it all die…’
On his lap rested his leather journal— its pages open, revealing erratic scribbles that mirrored his inner turmoil. The ink bled across the page in elegant yet unhinged patterns, as though an artist and a madman had collaborated. The first page was especially haunting, the script wild yet strangely beautiful— an intricate mess of thoughts, all compiled into one single message.
He stared at it, hands trembling as they hovered over the leather edges.
“You didn't survive that night because of her sacrifice. No, you lived because she couldn't bear the burden of you any longer. She left you, Ashta. Left you to face the world, to face the goblins, alone.”
The inquisitor’s words haunted him— left him questioning all that he had known about himself, and of his older sister.
‘What I saw in there… Was any of that even real? Was I actually seeing through the truth of my past, or… Or was the intention of that bastard’s spell? To confuse me, or even just to show me some sort of twisted interpretation of what I’m feeling? It could even be a manifestation of those nightmares I’ve been having…’
‘… Or am I just lying to myself again?’ He grimaced, as he reluctantly began addressing the possibility that had sent him spiraling earlier. ‘What if… What if Vivine wasn’t as kind as I remember her to be? What if what we had wasn’t as I thought it was? What if… What if she really did resent me, for having to look after me instead of focusing on herself? If she didn’t have to look at me, she could have left Riverwood…’
‘… But does any of that even still matter?’ He asked himself— bitter, cynical feelings seeping into his mind. But before the bitterness could take root, another voice— his own— responded immediately.
‘Yes… Yes, it does. All of it matters— it always has.’
He squeezed his eyes shut, holding onto that thought— grounding himself in its truth. ‘I… I can’t continue pretending as though the pain doesn’t exist. I have to take action before it grows unbearable.’
With that thought, something solidified within him. A fragment of stability in the chaos. Goblin Slayer took in a deep breath, his chest rising as his crimson eyes flicked to the other side of the room. High Elf Archer lay curled beneath her own blankets, her figure barely visible save for the faint outline of her face in the dim light. She was sleeping soundly, unaware of his internal struggle.
He looked at her for a long moment, a soft exhale slipping from his lips. His pain wasn’t his alone anymore, not with them around. His suffering affected others now— another truth that anchored him, as painful as it was to admit.
Slowly, his gaze drifted back to the journal on his lap, his fingers tightening around the edges of the worn leather. ‘There are so many things going on inside my head… I don’t think… I would even know where to begin to process them… Where do I even start?’
The silence pressed in on him, and his thoughts lingered back to what the slime monster had once told him.
"I’ve gotten pretty good at looking like a human, acting like one. But the emotions? The complicated stuff? That’s still... Beyond me."
"Music helps, though. It’s the only thing that gets me close to feeling something real— other than joy and hate. Those are easy."
‘But… I’m not like Remi. I don’t understand music— I can’t read it, much less write it. I don’t think music is a viable medium for me.’ The teen thought intialt reasoned to himself, before furrowing his brow as a thought crept into his exasperated head. ‘But what if… What if I just start writing whatever I want down? The words don’t even have to make sense to anyone, other than myself.’
A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips— faint and fleeting. ‘Yeah… After all, I’ve read plenty of books— free style writing shouldn’t be out of my competency,’ Goblin Slayer reassured himself, while growing somewhat nostalgic, as he began remembering his childhood love for literature.
He had always been fascinated by stories of heroes and adventures, dreaming of the day he’d become one of them— an adventurer.
But as the smile faltered, his head lowered, a familiar thought returning to gnaw at him. ‘Was all of that just entertainment for me? Or… Or were those stories merely an escape from my reality?’
He lingered on that thought, the silence stretching out, before he finally let out a long, heavy sigh. His fingers moved slowly, turning to the second page of the journal, with his mind still trapped in the mire of his own doubts.
The teen’s body shifted slightly, as he reached over to adjust the dim brass lamp on the wall beside his bed— his fingers fumbling with the knob. It was a simple mechanism, yet he still struggled with it.
Satisfied with the dimmest setting, he sat back while letting the soft light fall over his journal. With deliberate care, he reached for his silver-nubbed ink pen— the cool metal familiar in his grip. He began to write, slowly, methodically, pausing between each word, as though testing the weight of his thoughts before committing them to paper.
The sentences he wrote weren’t just statements, they were poetry— fragments of his soul laid bare, each word more painful than the last. His grip tightened on the pen as he continued— his hand shaking with the effort of forcing his emotions onto the page.
The room seemed to spin around him, with the weight of his thoughts overwhelming, suffocating. Sweat trickled down his forehead, as his heart pounded in his chest, as if trying to break free from the agony that consumed him. His breathing grew ragged, with each inhalation becoming a struggle, as he closed the journal with trembling hands— the words too much to bear.
With shaking hands, he placed the journal on his bedside table— his entire body aching as he slid deeper into the blankets. Curling up into a tight ball, his knees pressed against his chest, the teenager closed his eyes.
Silent tears trickled down his face, slipping from the corners of his closed eyelids and soaking into the pillow beneath him.
As the clock struck four, Goblin Slayer had finally succumbed to sleep— his body exhausted from the emotional turmoil. He didn’t stir as High Elf Archer silently crept across the room— her bare feet barely making a sound against the wooden floor. Dressed in a simple white shirt and black shorts, she moved with the lightness of an elf, with her sharp emerald eyes focused on his bedside.
She stared at him cautiously while watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. Biting her lip, she carefully reached out— her fingers deftly stealing the journal from its place. With the leather-bound book clutched to her chest, she silently made her way toward the private bathroom connected to their shared room.
The dim light flickered on as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her heart pounded in her chest— a mix of excitement and guilt swirling inside her— as she read the name written on the backside of the front cover.
‘Ah, there we are! So, Orcbolg! Your real name must be “Ren Ashta”, huh? How oddly befitting,’ she thought mischievously, though the thrill quickly faded the moment she opened the journal to its first page.
Her breath caught in her throat, eyes widening as she took in the chaotic scribbles, the madness of the words etched into the page. One word, circled over and over, burned into her mind:
DIE.
A chill ran down her spine, her fingers almost dropping the journal as she stared at the haunting phrase. Her heart sank, with guilt flooding her chest as the bathroom seemed to spin around her. She stood frozen, her eyes glued to the page, and her mind racing.
‘Die?! What the hell is that even supposed to insinuate?!’ Her mind scrambled, as she continued to stare bewilderingly at the ominous word. ‘What’s supposed to die? Goblins? The inquisitor?! Us?!’
The knot in her stomach tightened, her foot tapping anxiously against the cold tile floor, as a sudden thought creeped into her worried head. ‘… Himself?’
Flinching inward, High Elf Archer felt a shiver running down her petite body, as she nervously swallowed the lump in the back of her throat. ‘I… I could just put his journal back— pretend I didn’t see any of it… Or I could keep reading… Push forward and see if my… Suspicions are true…’
‘… Besides… I’m already this far in,’ she added, her resolve hardening, as she flipped to the second page. ‘Fuck… Don’t let this be a suicide note.’
But as she read the next page, the shift in handwriting was stark— the elegant chaos replaced by something more controlled, more deliberate.
Take me back and we’ll start again.
The dream of back then, leaves no time to say that we lived so freely until that day.
Where a hand once held mine and the laughter, soft as breath.
Smiles on our faces— we both lie.
Drink deep until the colors become faded; until the blood rainbow above grows shaded.
If I fall, will you reach for me? The shadows engulfing what we both used to be.
All I’ve ever known is this lonely, emptiness inside me.
We laugh until the scorn begins to undo— so hear our cries, for love that’s shattered and died.
And every wish I’ve made, I’ve made them for you. Using words that I hope one day will reach you.
Cry out, knowing what we’ve had has died— flames of heartache will set our memories alight.
Let’s say goodnight.
It was poetry, of sorts, and though it wasn’t the confession she had feared, its meaning still eluded her. Frustration gnawed at her as she read it again— trying to find some hidden truth, some connection.
But nothing came.
She sighed heavily, with her grip on the journal tightening. What she had read was unsettling, but it wasn’t a cry for help— not that she could tell.
‘Maybe it’s supposed to be symbolic of something happening in his past?’ She thought to herself. ‘There’s more to it than these words will show… But either way, there’s one thing for certain: I can’t let Orcbolg, or anyone else know, that I’ve read this. Not yet.’
Closing the journal, High Elf Archer leaned against the bathroom wall— her brow furrowed in thought. ‘I’ll just have to keep this to myself, for now. I’ll wait, watch, and see if anything more comes to light.’
Annoyance flickered within her, as she thought frustratingly to herself, ‘Why does any of this even matter to me to begin with?! We’re not even friends— he’s no different than a quest giver, that’s all.’
Muttering under her breath, she flicked off the bathroom light and quietly returned the journal to its place beside his bed. As she stood over him one last time, her eyes softened. "Little shit," she whispered, before slipping back into her bed— the room once again swallowed by the quiet hum of the machinery outside.
Chapter 27: Caravan Palace
Chapter Text
The morning sun filtered through the windows of the hotel dining hall— casting a warm, golden hue over the space. The air was rich with the scent of savory breakfast meats, Earthy and spiced, and blending seamlessly with the sweetness of freshly baked pastries that filled the room. The fragrance of rich, buttery bread, warm honey, and cinnamon clung to the air— mingling with the more robust aroma of roasted vegetables and eggs cooked to perfection.
The dining hall itself was a blend of old-world charm and mechanical ingenuity. Polished wooden beams lined the ceiling, their surfaces worn smooth by time, while intricate brass piping wove through the walls like veins. Large, riveted cogs adorned the far end of the room, turning slowly, not for function but for form— creating an ambient hum.
Long tables, carved from dark, solid wood, were set with heavy iron chairs, with their backs adorned with delicate, gear-shaped etchings. A soft metallic sheen flickered from the candle-like bulbs that hung overhead in glass globes— suspended from intricately coiled copper wiring.
Along one side of the hall, five grand banquet tables stood in a row, with their surfaces laden with an assortment of delicacies. Each table was lined with catering trays of polished steel, with the food within being kept warm by small orange flames flickering beneath them. The flames emerged from circular devices, glowing with a controlled intensity, with their heat radiating just enough to keep the dishes steaming gently.
The soft hiss of the warming flames was almost drowned out by the quiet clinking of cutlery, and the murmur of early risers seated at the long tables, with their plates already filled with an array of offerings. The trays brimmed with roasted root vegetables, crisped bacon strips, plump sausages, and golden-fried eggs that glistened under the soft lighting. Beside them, pastries were piled high— flaky croissants, sticky buns drizzled in syrup, and bread rolls dusted with powdered sugar.
The atmosphere was one of warmth and simplicity, yet there was something more— an underlying pulse of machinery, subtle but ever-present, serving as a reminder of the intricate world outside the rustic walls.
The dining hall was alive with the muted clatter of cutlery and the gentle hum of conversation from patrons seated at the surrounding tables. The room’s ambiance was steeped in a curious blend of old-fashioned charm and modern ingenuity. Polished wood beams framed the space, but the delicate copper piping that adorned the walls and the subtle mechanical hum hinted at an underlying, more advanced framework. Warm, soft light emanated from brass sconces— their glow highlighting the simple elegance of the room.
Goblin Slayer sat at a large circular table draped in a pristine white cloth. His plate, sparsely filled, remained mostly untouched as he cradled a white mug in both hands. His attire, surprisingly formal, caught the morning light— the crisp white collar of his shirt standing in contrast to the black tie and the dark, tailored vest that he wore over it.
His black slacks were perfectly creased, and the final touch was the unwanted, large black bracelet wrapped around his left wrist. It was an intricate piece of craftsmanship, with copper and brass accents that gleamed subtly, while small vents along an armored module glowed a faint yellow.
“Registered members of the Royal Army or the Adventurers’ Guild are permitted to carry arms. All others with proof of identity will have their weapons confiscated and be fitted with anti-mana bracelets during their stay. Legal possessions will be returned to you, upon departure.”
He inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of the coffee in his mug, while lamenting on the guard’s recited words—the rich bitterness softened by the sweet hints of cream, sugar, and s’mores syrup he’d added.
It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
He took a long, deliberate sip, tilting the mug slightly higher than needed, while avoiding the contemplative stare High Elf Archer was giving him from beside him. Her delicate fingers held a teacup as she took a methodical sip, but her gaze never left him, with her emerald eyes being watchful as they were curious.
The teenager finally lowered the mug from his lips, but he kept it close— his crimson eyes focused on the swirling coffee within as if searching for answers in its dark depths. High Elf Archer’s suspicion confirmed— he was avoiding them, retreating into himself. She continued to sip her tea, her patience unwavering, though a flicker of concern crossed her face.
Across the table, Lizard Priest sat with his maw stuffed with mozzarella sticks, and spoonfuls of yogurt— a peculiar combination that didn’t seem to bother him in the least. He was completely oblivious to the tension in the air.
Beside him, Dwarf Shaman was humming quietly to himself as he unscrewed the cap of a small flask— pouring a generous splash of alcohol into his coffee before taking a hearty gulp.
The clinking of forks and the murmur of other guests filled the space— the mood light yet underscored by an unspoken weight hanging over the table. High Elf Archer broke the silence with a casual, almost teasing comment, her voice lilting with an attempt to lift the mood.
“I’ve got to say, Orcbolg, I’m surprised you’re dressed so fancy this morning. Didn’t even think you owned anything like that.” Her lips curled into a small smile— hoping to coax more than a few words from him.
The teen, in response, flicked his eyes up at her for the briefest of moments— acknowledging her remark before retreating back into his mug, his voice low and flat. “It’s proper etiquette.”
He took another slow sip of coffee, leaving High Elf Archer disappointed.
Lizard Priest, however, was entirely unaware of the delicate dance of conversation playing out. With his maw full of food, he swallowed in one exaggerated gulp and grinned sheepishly— wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I must admit, I feel a bit embarrassed,” he said, with his gravelly voice muffled as he spoke around the last of his mozzarella stick. “Had I known we were to dine in our finest attire, I would’ve brought my ceremonial vestments.”
Dwarf Shaman let out a hearty chuckle, as he sat his mug down with a clink. “Vestments, eh? What you’ve got on now isn’t ceremonial enough for you, eh, Scales?” His voice was gruff but good-natured as he raised an eyebrow in amusement.
Lizard Priest scoffed at the suggestion, shaking his head with exaggerated indignation. “Do not be ridiculous, friend; these are merely my work clothes— there’s nothing sacred about them.” He reached for another yogurt cup, his tail flicking in light amusement.
Dwarf Shaman laughed heartily at that, while leaning back in his chair as he downed another gulp of his alcohol-laced coffee. High Elf Archer’s lips twitched into a smirk— a few quiet snickers escaping her, though her eyes kept darting back to the gray-haired teen, whose expression remained distant.
His crimson eyes, despite their intensity, were clouded with sadness, though his stoic face made an effort to conceal the depth of it. She could tell—he was lost in thought.
Tapping her fingers lightly against the rim of her teacup, High Elf Archer watched him for a long moment, her expression softening before she broke the silence once more. “Speaking of proper etiquette, we never did get to introduce ourselves properly to you, did we?” Her tone was more serious now, but there was an underlying warmth in her words.
Dwarf Shaman caught her meaning almost instantly, exchanging a knowing glance with her over the rim of his mug. He chuckled softly, before setting it down once more. “Aye, that’s true. We didn’t, did we?”
Lizard Priest, wide-eyed, nearly choked on his yogurt as realization dawned on him. He slammed the cup down on the table, and looked mortified. “By the Ancient One’s scales…! You’re right! Blinded by the sultry temptations of Chester Cheddar’s offerings, I was!” His voice was both wise and absurd— a comical sage-like tone that made the others stifle their laughter.
Dwarf Shaman, ever the comforter, leaned forward slightly. “Better late than never, eh? No need to fret, Scales.” His tone was reassuring, while a glint of amusement was still in his eyes.
Lizard Priest nodded solemnly, and visibly took solace in the words. “You’re right, friend! As always. My thanks.” He then bowed his head slightly, though the gesture was more dramatic than necessary.
The table’s quiet amusement floated in the air, but High Elf Archer’s attention drifted back to Goblin Slayer, who remained silent— his shoulders tense as if the lighthearted banter had barely touched him.
She could see it— the deep ache beneath his calm facade. His pain, his sorrow— it was all still there, simmering just beneath the surface.
High Elf Archer adjusted her brown short-shorts with the cushion creaking slightly, as she stood up from her chair. For a moment, she stared down at the teenager— his attention still fixed on the swirling contents of his coffee mug. She let out a quiet breath before gesturing to herself with a gloved hand.
“I am Princess Artemis Meliamne,” she began, with a subtle regal edge to her tone. “I’m two thousand and twenty-six years old, and I joined the Adventurers' Guild to financially support my kingdom, “Oakglades”.” She paused, waiting for any flicker of acknowledgment from Goblin Slayer, but his eyes remained locked on the mug. Her shoulders dropped ever so slightly as she sighed and returned to her seat, glancing at Dwarf Shaman and mouthing, “Your turn.”
Dwarf Shaman nodded, finishing off his coffee with a swift gulp. Rising from his seat, he wiped his lips and beard with a napkin before adjusting his white kimono. He turned to Goblin Slayer with a friendly grin, while trying to lighten the mood. “Malachy Bhaston, one-hundred and seven years young. From "Deepbridge," "Tekkadan Island"— East of Zemuria’s coast.”
The teen’s gaze didn’t waver from his cup, but Dwarf Shaman pressed on— his tone light. “I joined the Adventurers' Guild to get subject status, figured I’d buy a house in Crossbell. Stuck with adventuring though— living in Crossbell means you’ve gotta work for a livin’.” He mused jokingly, and let out a chuckle while hoping for some reaction.
But Goblin Slayer remained still, his eyes still focused on his coffee. Dwarf Shaman sighed— his good-natured attempt falling flat. He plopped back down into his chair before giving a soft smile to Lizard Priest. “You’re up next, Scales.”
Lizard Priest enthusiastically picked up his plate and scarfed down the last of his remaining food— earning chuckles from both Dwarf Shaman and High Elf Archer. Even she, despite the tension in the air, couldn’t help but find his eating habits amusingly jarring.
With a final gulp of water, Lizard Priest wiped his face with exaggerated elegance. Adjusting his feathered headdress, he rose from his seat while almost knocking his chair over in the process. Catching it deftly, he turned to Goblin Slayer and bowed awkwardly.
“I am Oungan Jaree Adnoartina,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest. Then, almost immediately, he added with a rambling tone, “Well, “Oungan” is a title, so really my name’s just Jaree Adnoartina.” He then straightened up, grinning wide. “I’m twenty years of age, from the tropical saltmarshes of "Santamavus," down in Southern Zemuria.”
Lizard Priest’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he continued. “I joined the Adventurers’ Guild to support my eating habits, of course,” he chuckled, “and practice my craft. With enough food, I hope one day to grow into a dragon! Imagine it— taking to the skies on glorious wings-!”
His enthusiasm was lost on Goblin Slayer, though. The quiet warrior’s crimson eyes widened ever so slightly at the mention of a dragon, though he tried to hide his reaction behind the rim of his mug.
“Ah, misfortune— its web, tangled and wide, ensnares the fool and the brave alike. But despair... Despair is different…”
“… It’s a gift, you see— not born of failure, but realization. Realization that your struggle was never a contest, but a foregone conclusion…”
“… Despair is the clarity of knowing the universe has long since decided your fate, and yet we persist…”
“… Why do you think that is?”
High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman exchanged confused glances, noticing the teen’s subtle shift, but Lizard Priest rambled on while being oblivious.
But before he could drone on for long, Dwarf Shaman then raised a hand— cutting off Lizard Priest mid-fantasy. “Hold on there, Scales. You alright, Beard-Cutter?”
But the teen didn’t reply— forcing himself to instead push aside the words of the bandaged woman that had stirred in his mind. He let out a soft breath and lowered his mug to the table, with the empty cup clinking against the white cloth.
An uncomfortable silence followed, tension thick in the air until High Elf Archer cleared her throat, while trying to shift the mood once again. “Y-Your turn, Orcbolg,” she said gently, though there was a slight unease in her voice.
For a moment, Goblin Slayer said nothing. He took another methodical sip from his mug, then stood up slowly; his posture stiff and deliberate, and the cup still in hand. In his usual quiet tone, he began to introduce himself.
“Goblin Slayer,” he said, his voice as steady as ever. “I’m fifteen years old. From the Highwind Plains.” He paused, his eyes momentarily flicking up toward the others before lowering once more. “I… I didn’t get accepted into the Adventurers’ Guild.”
With that, he sat back down— the words falling heavy over the table.
Lizard Priest, ever innocent, leaned forward, a puzzled expression on his face. “Wait, is “Goblin Slayer” the name your parents gave you?” He asked curiously.
Goblin Slayer’s voice dropped even softer. “No,” he replied, while avoiding the question with his eyes locked on the bottom of his mug once again.
High Elf Archer squirmed uncomfortably in her seat— guilt welling up inside her. She bit her lip, trying to hide her feelings, while Dwarf Shaman noticed her unease but said nothing as he took a slow sip from his drink.
Lizard Priest, oblivious to the tension, nodded to himself thoughtfully. “Ah, so you named yourself,” he concluded with a sense of satisfaction, as if it all made perfect sense now. He then leaned forward, his curiosity undeterred. “But why didn’t the Adventurers’ Guild let you join?”
Upon hearing that, Dwarf Shaman nearly choked on his coffee— the alcohol burning slightly as he swallowed too quickly. High Elf Archer flinched, as her hands tensed on the table as she braced for the response.
Goblin Slayer took a deep, quiet breath— exhaling slowly before setting his empty mug down. He closed his eyes for a moment, then softly uttered, “I’m… Unwanted.”
His words hung in the air— heavy and laden with pain. High Elf Archer’s heart ached as she felt a surge of guilt wash over her, while Dwarf Shaman sighed deeply, as he raised a hand to his forehead— leaning his elbow on the table as he took another quiet drink from his mug.
Lizard Priest, still not grasping the full implication of the teen’s response, grew mildly outraged on his behalf. “What?! That’s absurd! You’re the most generous and kind-hearted person I’ve ever met— you are the opposite of “unwanted,” my friend,” he declared passionately, his voice rising with emotion. “Even though we’ve only known each other for a short time, you’ve had more of an impact on me than most people I’ve known for years.”
Lizard Priest’s heartfelt words drew a soft, fake smile from the gray-haired teen. He opened his eyes halfway, his expression unreadable as he quietly said, “Thank you.”
Long past the end of their breakfast, the party of four eventually found themselves back on the road— this time, within the comfort of the brass-and-copper vehicle Dwarf Shaman managed to hail.
Its wheels rattled smoothly along the highway, a steady hum and rhythmic hiss of pressurized steam keeping pace with the churning pistons beneath the hood. Lizard Priest had his head out the passenger window, his snout stretched wide in excitement as the wind flapped his scales. His forked tongue lolled out as he enjoyed the breeze.
Beside him sat the driver; a wiry rat in a weathered newsboy cap, perched behind the wheel with an ease that suggested this was his domain. His claws tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel— keeping time with the upbeat music streaming from the dash-mounted stereo.
The road stretched ahead, a polished ribbon of smooth asphalt flanked by wide, grassy fields. On either side of the highway, colossal steel towers held up sprawling webs of electric cables, crisscrossing the sky like spider threads. Telephone poles lined the road, and the occasional farmhouse, distant and lonely, broke the monotony of the green expanse.
Cars— metallic and bulky, their frames adorned with copper pipes and smokestacks— roared past them, with some towing massive trailers filled with cargo. Beyond the fields, in the far distance, a gargantuan dam stood tall, like a sentinel guarding the land— its concrete face holding back a shimmering body of water that spilled over into a glittering waterfall.
In the backseat, Dwarf Shaman was half-hidden behind a broadsheet newspaper— his thick fingers turning the page with an expression of deep interest. He sat directly behind the driver, while occasionally chuckling to himself as he read.
Goblin Slayer, silent as ever, sat in the middle seat— his battered leather armor creaking with every bump in the road. His orichalcum helmet obscured his face entirely— its cold, unfeeling gaze staring straight ahead between the front seats, taking in the bizarre world around him.
Everything was strange— alien, even. The sights, the sounds, the metal contraption they were riding in. His silence wasn’t just his usual stoicism. It was something deeper— a quiet observation, trying to piece together this new, unfamiliar reality.
Beside Goblin Slayer, High Elf Archer sat with her back half-turned toward him, while her elbow was propped on the door and her cheek resting against her knuckles. Her emerald eyes, sharp and curious, flickered toward him. “So…” She said slowly— her voice carrying that teasing edge she always seemed to have when addressing him. “What’s the plan when we get to Crossbell?”
Goblin Slayer didn’t answer right away. His gloved hand drifted down to his belt pouch— the buckles of his gear clinking softly as he fished out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it slowly, his gauntlet-clad fingers moving with the deliberate care of someone who valued every scrap of information. “I need to see him,” he said simply, before handing the paper to High Elf Archer.
She raised an eyebrow but took it. As she unfolded the note, her eyes skimmed the contents— whatever curiosity she’d had faded quickly, replaced by a grim frown. Her lips curled in disdain as she practically spat the name out. “Zachariah Xavniik...?!”
Her fingers gripped the paper tightly, with her knuckles whitening as her voice turned bitter. “Of course…! OF COURSE you’d want to talk THAT asshole…!” She snapped the paper shut with an angry flick of her wrist, nearly crumpling it as she handed it back to Goblin Slayer— her teeth gritted.
Dwarf Shaman lowered his paper just enough to peek over the top, a chuckle rumbling in his throat. “Ach, don’t take it so hard, lass. You’ve always been a wee bit sour when it comes to that one, eh?” He then jabbed Goblin Slayer playfully in the elbow. “She’s just pissed she lost to him a couple hundred years ago. She’ll get over it. Eventually.”
High Elf Archer whipped her head around— glaring daggers at him. “Shut it, Stone-Head!” Her voice rose, sharp and biting. “Because of Xavniik’s “tactics,” my homeland’s forests never recovered! He burned them down— our homes, our trees, everything! Even my parents were executed because of him!”
Her voice shook, anger boiling over now. “If it hadn’t been for my sister surrendering, we’d have kept fighting. Maybe we could’ve stopped him. Maybe we could’ve kept Oakglade from-” Her words caught in her throat— the weight of old grief surfacing.
Dwarf Shaman shifted awkwardly in his seat, his jovial expression softening. “I’m sorry, lass. I didn’t mean to stir up the past.”
High Elf Archer huffed while turning her face away from him, all while staring out the window as the vehicle rumbled on. “It’s fine… I forgive you, I guess,” she muttered, though her voice still trembled with the remnants of her frustration.
The rat driver, who had been silent up to this point, glanced over with his small, beady eyes— his whiskers twitching as he spoke in his nasally, streetwise voice. “Yeah, I get it too, lady. Xavniik’s a real piece of work. You think yer people got it bad? You shoulda seen what he did to us rats in Remsen Town.”
Dwarf Shaman looked up from his paper, his curiosity piqued. “Oh aye? What happened in Remsen Town?”
The rat shrugged, his grip on the wheel loose and casual. “Back when he was some hotshot general for Urthur’s Royal Army, he rounded up a platoon of necos— catfolk, and trained ‘em to hunt down us rats. They stormed the town, set up traps, and poisoned the food supply. Typical dirty tactics.”
He scratched his chin with a claw, still focused on the road. “Our alpha at the time? Big fella, made all the rules. Kept everyone in line. Xavniik decided to make an example outta him. Had the necos pin him down in the square and… Well, they ripped him open and ate his guts while he was still alive— gobbled his insides out, like a big ol’ pot of spaghetti. Made the survivors watch, too— messy, real messy.”
The cab fell silent, the music from the stereo feeling strangely out of place after the rat’s brutal story. High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman exchanged wide-eyed glances, while Lizard Priest, undeterred by the gruesome tale, stuck his head further out the window— his long tongue flapping in the breeze.
The rat shrugged, almost dismissively. “Eh, allegedly, anyway. I wasn’t around to see it for myself. This was like two-hundred years ago. My great-great-great-grandma told me the story. Supreme God rest her bitter-ass soul.”
Without missing a beat, he casually turned his attention back to the road— steering around a pothole as though he hadn’t just described the grisly death of his people’s leader.
The electro-swing music filling the car was a sharp contrast to the heavy atmosphere. The jaunty beat tapped out through the speakers, its energy almost infectious despite the tension. High Elf Archer, still simmering, crossed her arms and glanced sidelong at the rat. “Well… That’s horrific.”
Dwarf Shaman chuckled while shaking his head. “Aye, lad’s got a way with words…!”
Lizard Priest, ever unfazed, pulled his head back inside— his reptilian eyes fixating on the shimmering cityscape growing on the horizon. Crossbell— perched atop the great mesa like a crown jewel— gleamed in the sunlight. Its towers were crafted from smooth ivory stone, laced with veins of shimmering brass. Gears and pistons spun lazily on the rooftops, while ships glided across the glistening waters of the Avalon Sea far below. The city, bathed in golden light, looked almost otherworldly— its grandeur a stark contrast to the raw, industrial sprawl that surrounded it.
Goblin Slayer, finally breaking his silence, spoke up, his voice steady and calm. “What’s playing that music?”
The rat driver raised an eyebrow, his whiskers twitching in surprise. “You mean, you don’t know what a radio is?”
Goblin Slayer’s helmet tilted ever so slightly. “No.”
The rat stifled a laugh, while shaking his head in disbelief. “Kid, where you been living, under a rock?! This here’s a radio! Plays music— news, sometimes. Entertainment. Right now, you’re listenin’ to Armada Château. Good stuff, huh?”
Goblin Slayer stared blankly at the dashboard— his understanding of the world expanding just a fraction. “Yes.”
As the rat turned back to the road, still smug about his concert plans, High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman exchanged amused looks. Goblin Slayer, however, remained focused. Reaching down, he pulled his worn backpack out from under the seat before setting it on his lap. He opened it with care, taking out a small, leather-bound journal.
High Elf Archer raised an eyebrow, watching him intently. “What are you up to now…?” She muttered, leaning slightly in his direction— her curiosity piqued.
Goblin Slayer placed the backpack back beneath Lizard Priest’s seat and clicked his pen, before bending over the journal. His gloved hand moved in deliberate strokes across the paper—his focus entirely on the words forming beneath his fingertips.
Dwarf Shaman, who had been quietly observing, shook his head with a knowing grin. He crinkled his newspaper loudly, and cleared his throat to get High Elf Archer’s attention. She quickly pulled back, straightening up in her seat.
“Ye ought to leave him be, lass. Let the lad write his thoughts.”
She huffed, before crossing her arms again, but kept her eyes on Goblin Slayer’s bouncing knee. The tempo matched the rhythm of the music playing from the radio.
Goblin Slayer paused in his writing, his pen hovering over the page. He then looked up at the rat driver, before asking him, “How do you spell “Château”?”
Without looking back, the rat then casually spelled out, “"C-H-A-T-E-A-U". Draw a little wiggle above the first "A".”
Goblin Slayer nodded, satisfied. “Thank you.”
He returned to his writing, the steady scratch of his pen blending with the music, as he went back to bouncing his knee to the beat of the music. High Elf Archer watched him with a soft smile, with her earlier anger finally ebbing away, replaced by a quiet sense of peace.
Chapter 28: Beyond the Eastern Avalon Sea
Chapter Text
The bustling sound of the harbor hit their ears before they even stepped out of the taxi. The air was thick with the smell of saltwater, coal smoke, and oil. Towering steel cranes creaked and groaned as they lifted cargo off massive, brass-plated ships— their smokestacks puffing out steady trails of steam.
The docks stretched wide and far, and resembled an enormous mechanical beast sprawling along the shoreline, covered in gears and cables that crisscrossed the ground like veins. Cargo containers, stacked five high, formed towering walls around the harbor, with small, squat office buildings sitting in between— all humming with the clatter of machinery and the shouts of workers.
In front of the terminal, the streets were a chaotic tangle of bumper-to-bumper vehicles. Brass and copper automobiles, some sleek and fast, others bulky and boxy, belched steam into the already foggy air. The taxis— most painted in vibrant shades of green or yellow— lined up in droves— fighting for space with cargo trucks and buses. Their chimneys puffed rhythmically, spewing plumes of smoke that seemed to get swallowed by the hazy sky. Horns blared, drivers shouted, and the occasional hiss of hydraulics released steam into the crowded lanes.
Further out, on the shimmering surface of the Avalon Sea, massive cargo ships glided to and from Crossbell— their hulls a patchwork of steel and copper, glinting under the weak sunlight. Larger ferries, carrying passengers between the city and the mainland, churned steadily through the water, with their huge, paddle-like propellers stirring up waves that splashed against the weathered docks.
Goblin Slayer was the last to step out of the taxi. As he exited, his hand instinctively clutched his backpack to his chest while his gaze swept over the urbanized sprawl of the harbor. ‘Incredible… This reminds me of how Forgehart looked… I wonder if with enough passing time and innovation, their stronghold will eventually look similar to all of this.’ He thought to himself, while taking in the buildings of iron and stone that stretched as far as the eye could see— people and machines moving in constant, synchronized chaos.
With his grip on his backpack tightening, he fished into it carefully, before pulling out his large, worn purse. Opening it, he took a small handful of gold coins— the soft clink of metal catching the attention of his companions.
Dwarf Shaman, High Elf Archer, and Lizard Priest exchanged looks of dismay and jealousy. The glint of gold in the teen’s palm had a mesmerizing quality to it.
He then turned around and offered the coins to the rat driver, whose whiskers twitched as he caught sight of the shining bounty. His eyes widened in disbelief.
"Keep the change," Goblin Slayer said flatly. "And make sure you spoil your wife and kids at the Armada Château concert."
The rat stared at the coins in his hand— unable to speak for a moment. His mouth opened, but no words came out. After a second, he swallowed hard, with tears beginning to well up in his beady eyes. His breath came out shaky as he smiled, looking up at Goblin Slayer with a mix of gratitude and awe. "K-Kid…! You’re a good one, y'know that?! T-Thank you, I-" His voice wavered— choking up, before he could finish. "I-I’ll n-never forget this… You got no idea what this means to me…! N-Never gonna forget ya, pal!"
The teen simply nodded, and turned away without another word, as he slid his purse back into his backpack. The rat waved them off— regaining some composure but still clearly emotional as he called out after them, "Good luck out there, huh?! Stay safe!"
As Goblin Slayer moved forward, threading through the crowded pier, his companions followed, each still processing the scene. The streets and sidewalks were thick with people— humans, dwarves, elves, lizardfolk, and all manner of creatures. Vendors shouted from stalls— hawking wares ranging from fresh fish to mechanical trinkets. The steady hum of voices merged with the clatter of hooves and wheels against cobblestone, creating an overwhelming cacophony.
Dwarf Shaman let out a nervous laugh as they maneuvered through the throng— his gaze flickering to the bustling activity around them. "Ye best be careful with our money there, Beard-Cutter! Can't be throwin' it around for every wee act of kindness, eh?" He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "We gotta get paid too, ye know?"
Without breaking stride, the teen glanced over his shoulder— his voice as flat as ever. "You’ll get whatever’s left in the purse.” The disdain in his tone was subtle, but clear enough to make High Elf Archer frown slightly. He continued, "Like we agreed."
Dwarf Shaman sighed but didn’t push the issue further. Goblin Slayer shifted his backpack from his chest to his back and fastened the straps tight before pulling out a small atlas booklet. As they walked, he flipped through its pages, finding the section that displayed a detailed map of the East Avalon Sea Harbor, spanning four full pages. His eyes flicked from the map on the left to the list of locations on the right. After a moment, he spoke up.
"... We’re going to “Radio Head”."
High Elf Archer, walking just behind him, furrowed her brow in confusion. "Radio Head? I thought we were heading to Mythical Morning, to meet that prick: Xavniik."
Goblin Slayer’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t stop. His voice carried a hint of resentment now. "It doesn’t matter. You’re all accompanying me to get paid— not because any of you care about my guild’s future. Let alone myself."
The words hung in the air like a heavy fog— hitting all three of his companions like a punch. High Elf Archer’s eyes widened, as her lips parted in shock, as she quickened her pace before grabbing him by the shoulder from behind.
"Hey! What did I say about running your mouth like that?!" She snapped, her voice tight with anger.
Goblin Slayer shrugged her hand off, his pace unchanging. His voice dropped to a low, bitter tone. "None of you are my friends— you said that yourself, remember?"
He picked up his pace, weaving through the crowd with practiced precision— being careful not to bump into anyone. High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest were left standing there, stunned and silent, while watching him storm off ahead. Guilt flickered in their eyes as they glanced at one another, the weight of his words sinking in.
Without a word, they turned and hurried to catch up with him— the crowds of the bustling harbor swallowing them whole.
The heavy doors of Radio Head slid open with a low hiss, and Goblin Slayer stepped into a cavernous space filled with sound and unfamiliar sights. Instruments stretched from floor to ceiling— guitars of every shape and size, their glossy bodies hanging on hooks, gleaming under the soft, warm glow of brass lamps. Brass pipes lined the ceiling, hissing softly with steam— adding an almost industrial hum to the store’s natural ambiance. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood, leather, and the faint metallic tinge of amplifier buzz.
Goblin Slayer stepped away from the entrance without a word, and distanced himself from the others. High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest lingered by the door— their voices hushed and cautious. Every now and then, they glanced in his direction, and were unsure if they should follow or let him be.
The gray-haired teenager, unaware or perhaps uncaring of their concern, walked down an aisle of guitars. His gloved fingers brushed against the strings of a few, the unfamiliar twang of sound startling him, though his face remained hidden under his helmet— betraying nothing.
“Hey,” a voice cut through the ambient noise, soft yet striking.
He turned slightly to see a draconian woman with black, choppy hair falling over one eye. She had a few facial piercings glinting under the light and wore a tattered band t-shirt and jeans. Her heavy eyeliner only accentuated the bored, yet mildly curious look she gave him. A lanyard with Radio Head stitched across it dangled from her neck, ending in a laminated badge.
“So, what kinda music you into?” She asked, swinging her arms in that lazy, quirky way— like she didn’t really care about the answer but was asking out of habit.
The teenager stared at her for a moment, before shaking his head. “I don’t… Play.”
She blinked, smirking slightly. “Huh. So, are we perusing the menagerie for the sake of getting a gift then?”
His fingers tapped against his belt before he answered. “Yes. For my best friend. I… I don’t know much about music.”
She tilted her head, with her smirk growing just a bit. “Awwww! That’s pretty sweet of you,” she said, leaning against a nearby amp. “So, what kinda music does your friend play?”
Goblin Slayer hesitated, with his shoulders stiffening slightly beneath his armor. “I… Don’t know.”
Her grin widened, as a soft laugh escaped her. “Haha, ah! Oh, wow! You really don’t know anything about music, huh?!”
Beneath his helmet, Goblin Slayer felt a wave of awkwardness, though he kept his voice steady as he replied, “No.”
The draconian woman clapped her hands together— the sound light and encouraging. “Hey, no worries. We’ve got some recording booths in the back— the good shit. I can play you a few different genres, and help you figure it out. You know, get a feel for it.”
A strange sense of excitement flickered in Goblin Slayer’s chest. “That… Would be helpful.”
And as they then began walking toward the back of the store, the teenager paused for a moment, almost sheepishly. “Is it… Alright if I take notes?”
The draconian girl grinned, with her sharp teeth flashing. “Go for it, man.”
They then disappeared toward the recording booths in the back— leaving the rest of the party behind near the entrance.
High Elf Archer stood quietly, with her arms crossed as her eyes roamed the store. Instruments lined every shelf, wall, and aisle— guitars, keyboards, drums, all glistening like treasures. She chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. “Hey. Do you two know how to play anything?”
Dwarf Shaman scratched his beard— his thoughts elsewhere. “Aye… I can play the sitar. Haven’t touched one in decades, though. Probably a bit rusty.”
High Elf Archer smiled faintly. “That’s more than I can say. I never learned how to play anything.” She shook her head slightly, a little embarrassed. “Not even once in over two-thousand years. Pretty shameful, huh?”
Dwarf Shaman laughed softly, though it lacked his usual spark. “... That is a bit lame, innit?”
There was a brief silence between them before High Elf Archer turned to Lizard Priest, who was seated cross-legged on the floor in quiet meditation. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow and deep— as if he were somewhere far away.
“Oi, Jaree. What about you? Any instrume-”
Before she could finish her sentence, Lizard Priest opened his eyes and spoke softly, his voice steady but laden with sorrow. “-I no longer desire the reward.”
High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman exchanged uneasy glances. The tension hung heavy in the air.
“W… What do ye mean, Scales?” Dwarf Shaman asked— his tone a mix of confusion and unease.
Lizard Priest’s tail shifted slightly as he exhaled. He slowly rose to his feet, towering over the two of them, yet his presence felt almost delicate in its vulnerability. His yellow eyes, once so calm, were now filled with a deep sadness.
“Gold and riches pale in comparison to the weight of what we have witnessed,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a quiet wisdom. “Since we met him… Since that first day in Stonehall, I have felt something within Goblin Slayer— a pain so vast, so consuming, and it’s has only grown darker since then. Optimism alone serves just as a distraction for him— I’ve learned.”
High Elf Archer’s breath caught in her throat, and Dwarf Shaman frowned deeply— both unsure of where this was going.
Lizard Priest’s voice cracked as he continued. “I… I have traveled many lands, met many souls, but never have I encountered one who carries such a burden. His pain is… B-Beyond words, beyond comprehension… A sorrow so deep, it’s as if it has no end.”
His eyes welled with tears, his voice growing thick with emotion. “H… H-How… How could someone bear so much, and still be so kind…? How can s-someone who hates himself so much continue to fight, to endure, to… To go on living…?! It’s not fair.” His tears began to fall, one by one— staining his scaly cheeks. “N-No one should feel as alone as he does…! N-No one with so much love in their heart should ever be allowed to feel such despair…!”
The weight of his words pressed heavily on them. High Elf Archer’s hands trembled, as she pressed her thumb and fingers to her eyes— trying to stem the tears that had started to fall without permission. Her face reddened with frustration, and her chest tight as she struggled to hold it together.
Dwarf Shaman nodded slowly, his usual joviality gone. “Aye… You’re right.” His voice was low, barely audible, as he fumbled with the canteen of fire wine under his kimono. He unscrewed the top and took a long, steadying drink— his mind racing with thoughts of their companion.
High Elf Archer wiped her tears away angrily, as though the act of crying itself offended her. But no matter how hard she tried, the tears kept coming. Images of Goblin Slayer’s journal flashed in her mind, his silent pain laid bare on those pages, and her heart ached.
Take me back and we’ll start again.
The dream of back then, leaves no time to say that we lived so freely until that day.
Where a hand once held mine and the laughter, soft as breath.
Smiles on our faces— we both lie.
Drink deep until the colors become faded; until the blood rainbow above grows shaded.
If I fall, will you reach for me? The shadows engulfing what we both used to be.
All I’ve ever known is this lonely, emptiness inside me.
We laugh until the scorn begins to undo— so hear our cries, for love that’s shattered and died.
And every wish I’ve made, I’ve made them for you. Using words that I hope one day will reach you.
Cry out, knowing what we’ve had has died— flames of heartache will set our memories alight.
Let’s say goodnight.
Goblin Slayer shifted on the stool, trying to get comfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings of the recording studio. He couldn’t help but feel out of place, being surrounded by the gleaming brass and copper gadgets of the massive control board in front of him— all humming softly. The room had a polished, mechanical charm to it, with wires snaking down from the ceiling and intricate dials flashing at every turn.
On the other side of the soundproof glass, the recording room was filled with instruments— guitars, drums, brass horns— all lined up on stands like soldiers. The long poles descending from the ceiling hovered over them like something foreign, and the walls were plastered with thick, soundproof padding.
Beside him, the draconian employee with spiked black hair was rummaging through a crate of records. Her scales were a bright, ivory white, which contrasted sharply against her tight band tee and ripped jeans. Her arms, adorned with bracelets and tattoos, moved swiftly as she sifted through the vinyl— her black-painted nails clicking against the cases.
She gave off the vibe of someone who didn’t care much for what others thought— but there was something genuinely warm about her, even with the edgy look.
Goblin Slayer’s gaze wandered to her name badge again. He hesitated, before addressing her. "Z… Zylithia?"
She gave him a nod while raising an eyebrow— still fixated on her task. “S’up, dude?”
He pointed toward the long poles hanging from the ceiling in the recording room. "What are those?"
She momentarily glanced over at him before flicking her eyes toward where he was pointing at. It was then that she grinned— the sharpness of her teeth flashing briefly as she leaned back. “Oh, those? Electric microphones. They’re kinda new tech. We used to record everything with acoustic methods, which, you know, was fine… But this?” She gestured to the room beyond the glass. “This is some next-level shit!”
“Electric microphones…” The teen muttered— the unfamiliar term rolling awkwardly in his mouth.
“Yup,” she said, now setting a small stack of vinyls beside the console. “With acoustic recording, you’d have to rely on the natural acoustics of the room, and let’s just say it wasn’t always… Clear. But electric mics? They pick up everything. Even the faintest whisper. That’s why all the big bands use electric microphones exclusively. Like Armada Château, for example.”
He nodded, still not fully grasping the intricacies of what she was saying, but still understanding enough. “I see. That’s what I want then. Anything that sounds like them.”
Zylithia’s lips curled into a sly smile— her dark, heavily-lined eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’ve got good taste! Electro-swing and alt music, huh? Not bad for someone who’s just getting into it.” She shuffled through more records. “I’ll show you a few other artists in that vibe, but… I’m also gonna throw in some of my personal faves too. Might surprise you!”
Goblin Slayer looked down at his leather journal— tapping the pen against its cover. "I’m ready to take notes," he said, albeit a bit awkwardly.
She chuckled softly, and found his seriousness endearing. “Oh man, you’re really into this, huh?! Alright then! Let’s get started.” She then slipped the first vinyl out of its sleeve— her sharp teeth showing again in an excited grin. “Let’s fucking rock…!”
The room filled with the crackle of the record coming to life— followed by the deep rumble of bass and the soaring wail of electric guitars. The armored teen leaned forward, while listening intently as the music enveloped him. The sound was overwhelming but strangely captivating.
“This one’s “Arcadian Flame”,” Zylithia said, while adjusting the volume. “They’re kind of a mix of electro-swing and metal. Thought it’d be a good start.”
Goblin Slayer nodded, scribbling down something in his journal, though much of it was disjointed. "It’s... Loud."
Zylithia laughed softly— a genuine sound that seemed at odds with her tough exterior. “Yeah, metal can be intense! But there’s a rhythm to it. It’s chaos with a purpose.”
He thought about that for a moment, then said, “It’s interesting. Different.”
She flashed him an approving smile. “Good. You’ll get the hang of it.” She leaned forward, before placing the next record on the turntable. “Wanna try something more upbeat?”
“Sure.”
As the next song began, its rhythm more vibrant and energetic, Goblin Slayer found himself relaxing slightly— tapping his foot to the beat. It was fun. Not just loud, but alive.
Zylithia glanced at his foot and grinned. “This one’s “Skyward Serenade”. They’ve got that Armada Château feel you like. Swing, with a lot of punch.”
“Remi would like this,” Goblin Slayer said softly, almost to himself.
Zylithia’s ears perked up. “Remi? Is that who you mentioned getting a guitar for?”
Goblin Slayer nodded, a small, rare smile hidden beneath his helmet. “Yeah. Remi… They’re… Energetic, yet very mellow. Their sarcastic dry attitude can be off-putting, and they really know how to get under your goddamn skin— like, it’s actually amazing how skilled they are at being annoying sometimes.”
His voice grew soft, and for a moment, the ever-serious demeanor he usually carried slipped. “And yet… Underneath that irritating exterior… They’re a lot like me, I think— at least that’s what I feels like, whenever I’m with them… I don’t have to pretend to be this way when I’m with them— they make me feel wanted… L… L-Loved, even…”
Zylithia watched him closely, a soft smile forming on her lips. “That’s really sweet, dude. Remi sounds like someone pretty special. You must really care about them.”
He nodded earnestly, a rare vulnerability in his voice. “I do, but… Part of me wonders if they’re capable of reciprocating those sorts of feelings,” the teenager admitted with a twinge of vulnerability in his low voice, as he felt his chest tighten. “I… I know I don’t look like I do, but… I have a tendency to… Cling onto a perfected image of those who I care about… Even if… Even if that’s not necessarily the truth.”
Zylithia’s grin faltered after hearing that, with her usual sarcastic edge fading away. “Hey, dude, don’t be too hard on yourself, okay? Those lines of what’s real and what’s imaginary tend to blur when we think the world about someone… But deep down? We know what’s real, and what’s fuckin’ fake…!”
There came a heavy tension in the air, and in its Zylithia appeared more perturbed after her rant than she seemingly intended to. But as quickly as she lost it, her cool demeanor returned to her pale-scaly face.
“... But hey, you’re a good kid, and it seems like you got a good head on your shoulders— I think you’ll figure it all out one day, man,” she said reassuingly— giving the gray-haired teen a friendly pat on the back, before retracting her slender arm from behind him.
Goblin Slayer shifted slightly, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of embarrassment and discomfort. He wasn’t used to talking like this— opening up. Especially not about Remi.
She then leaned back, crossing her arms. “Anyway… I think they’ll love whatever you pick out for them. And honestly, it’s not just about the gift. It’s about the thought behind it. And you? You’ve got heart.”
Goblin Slayer glanced down at his journal again, the tapping of his pen slowing. He felt lighter, somehow, like the weight he always carried had lifted just a bit. He wasn’t used to compliments or encouragement, but it felt nice.
Zylithia then slid the next vinyl into place, before turning back toward him with a mischievous smile. “Alright— enough of the sappy shit. Ready to blow your mind with the next one?”
He nodded, more resolute this time. “Let’s do it.”
As the music began to play once more, Goblin Slayer sat back— letting the sounds wash over him. He still didn’t understand everything about this strange world of music, but for the first time, he felt like he was part of it. And for the first time in a while, he felt a sense of calm.
Zylithia leaned closer, her voice playful but sincere. “You know, for what it’s worth… If Remi’s anything like how you described, then you two would hella make a cute couple!”
The teen then looked away— his cheeks growing warm, as the visor of his helmet served to conceal his growing smile. “Y… Y-You really think so…?”
“Fuck yeah, I do!” Zylithia replied with a lackadaisical tone, as she swapped the vinyl with a dramatic flourish— her many bracelets jangling as she moved.
She then shot Goblin Slayer a look over her shoulder, the neon lights of the studio reflecting in her dark, heavy eyeliner. “Alright! Now, let’s class this shit up. I’m guessing you ever heard classical music either?”
Goblin Slayer— who was still processing the influx of stirred emotions inside of himself— needed a moment to register what she said, before finally glancing over at her to respond. “... Classical? Uh… N-No. No, I don’t.”
Her face lit up, fangs gleaming beneath a sly grin as she adjusted her black band shirt. “Oh, you’re about to get educated! Classical is like… The start of all modern music. It’s where all the complicated shit comes from. You’ll love it. Or hate it. Doesn’t matter. You’ll feel something though— that’s for sure.” She then tossed her black hair over her shoulder, while her piercings caught the light.
She then proceeded to start the record, and the room was filled with the sound of a grand orchestra— strings swelling, woodwinds weaving, all in perfect harmony. The room felt larger somehow, all filled with the weight of history. The teenager listened carefully— his helmet tilting slightly as he tried to comprehend the layers of sound coming at him from every direction.
“It’s… Powerful,” he said quietly, while his hand moved to jot down a note in his journal.
“Hell yeah, it is,” Zylithia replied, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. “Classical is all about drama, man. It’s the epic soundtracks before soundtracks were even a thing. These dudes were writing symphonies hundreds of years ago, and they still slap harder than most shit today.”
Goblin Slayer nodded, deep in thought. “It feels… Big. Like it’s meant to tell a story without words.”
Zylithia’s face lit up as she then pointed a finger at him. “Exactly! It’s like reading a book with your ears! See? You’re getting it.” She said, while gesturing wildly with her arms— as if she was conducting an invisible orchestra. "This is the kinda music that hits you in the chest. Makes you feel alive!”
‘Makes you feel alive?’ Goblin Slayer repeated to himself, while scratching more notes into his journal. “I see… I understand why it’s lasted so long.”
Zylithia leaned back against the console, while watching him with a satisfied grin. “Damn straight! Classical is timeless. But let’s mix things up before you get too comfortable, yeah?”
She then slid another record from its sleeve— the cover art depicting serene mountains and traditional Dwarvish characters. “Now for something totally different— Gagaku. Ancient Tekkedan court music. This shit’s from a whole different world.”
As the first notes of Gagaku played, the teen froze. The music was slow, deliberate, and almost otherworldly. The flutes and strings carried an eerie calm that seeped into the room, making it feel heavier. His helmeted gaze stayed locked on the instruments behind the glass— though they didn’t match the sound flooding the room, as far as he knew.
“This…” Goblin Slayer started, struggling to find words. “It’s… It’s strange.”
Zylithia nodded emphatically, while waving her hands in front of her. “Yeah, Gagaku’s weird as hell, but in a good way. It’s ancient. It’s like listening to ghosts or something. Gives you chills, right?” She mimicked a shiver, with her spiked bracelets clinking together.
“It does,” Goblin Slayer admitted, while glancing down at his journal again. He scribbled something and then looked back at her. “It’s calming, but… Unsettling at the same time.”
“That’s the beauty of it!” She enthused, while excitedly punching the air. “It’s like a freaky dream! You don’t know where it’s taking you, but you’re in it for the ride. It’s all about that atmosphere.”
He continued to listen closely— noting the strange harmonies and haunting tones. "It’s... Complex."
"Yup!" Zylithia grinned. "You’re nailing it. Now, for something completely different." She reached for another vinyl, before holding it up as if it were a prized relic. “You ready for country music?”
The gray-haired teen blinked behind his helmet— clearly confused. “... Country? Is it… Is it really just called “country”?”
Zylithia chuckled darkly, while slapping the record onto the player. “Oh, trust me. You’re not getting outta here without hearing a little yeehaw. Don’t knock it ‘til you hear it, alright?”
The studio filled with the twang of guitars, a soft harmonica, and the unmistakable drawl of a country singer crooning about lost love and endless roads. Goblin Slayer sat rigid, clearly thrown by the sudden shift in tone.
“It’s… Very different from the others,” he said after a moment, while unsure of how to process it.
Zylithia laughed, a sharp, full sound. “Yeah, no shit, right? Country’s got a bad rep ‘cause it’s simple, but that’s kinda the point. It’s storytelling, but in the chillest, most straightforward way. Some of it’s corny, but some of it? Man, it hits you right in the feels.”
Goblin Slayer hesitated, before nodding his head. “I can see that. It’s… Honest.”
“Damn, you’re good at this,” Zylithia mused, folding her arms and leaning against the console. “Yeah, it’s honest. Country doesn’t hide behind fancy shit. It’s like “here’s my life, here’s my pain,” and they just sing it like it is.”
Goblin Slayer looked down at his notes, considering. “It’s not my favorite, but I think I understand it.”
Zylithia smirked. “That’s all I ask, man. You don’t have to like it, but it’s cool that you’re giving it a shot.” She twirled one of her bracelets and shot him a look. “Now, let’s get back to something a little more... You. I’m talking about rock n’ roll!”
She dropped the needle on a rock track, and the room came alive with the pounding of drums— the steady hum of bass, and electrifying guitar riffs that seemed to set the air on fire. Goblin Slayer’s head tilted again, the rhythm catching him immediately.
"This one," he said, his voice a little more confident, "I like."
Zylithia grinned wide, and her sharp teeth flashing. “Knew it! Rock’s got that perfect balance— energy, emotion, and a little bit of edge. It’s music you feel in your bones.”
Goblin Slayer’s fingers tapped the pen against his journal. “It feels... Powerful, but not overwhelming.”
"That’s ‘cause rock is about control," Zylithia explained, her hands raising up exceedingly. “It’s like walking a tightrope between chaos and order. You got the noise, but you also got the focus behind it.”
Goblin Slayer nodded, writing that down.
After a long pause and as the track faded out, Zylithia crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly. “So, now that I’ve taken you on this magical fucking tour, what’s your favorite?”
Goblin Slayer looked over his notes, pausing before answering. “I liked metal, jazz, swing, rock, classical, and... Gagaku.”
Zylithia snorted, clearly impressed. “Dude, you basically liked all of it.”
“Yes,” he agreed simply, then hesitated before asking, “Do you have something I could take with me? So I could play that music for myself?”
Zylithia’s smirk returned, and she raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “That depends. How much are you willing to drop?”
He thought back to the earlier conversation with his companions. Their casual remarks about gold and reward still stung. He had been holding back for too long, letting them treat him like a tool. With renewed resolve, he replied, “A lot.”
Zylithia grinned wide, while flicking her hair back and standing up— her tail swaying behind her as she moved toward the doors leading back into the store. “Now that’s what I like to hear! Lemme grab some shit for ya.”
Goblin Slayer stood at the checkout lane, and was watching as his purchases were rung up by Zylithia. The lane had a polished brass conveyor belt that softly hummed as it moved his items along, intricate gears and steam valves quietly hissing from within. The cashier’s station gleamed with an almost industrial elegance— a blend of high-tech and hand-forged aesthetics. Overhead, copper pipes intertwined with glowing tubes that pulsed faintly as the transactions processed.
One by one, the teenager placed his items on the belt.
A brand-new, leather-bound guitar case, followed by a stunning red Flying V guitar with sharp white accents, that looked like it could cut through the air.
Next came packs of guitar picks and strings, followed by a vintage-style suitcase gramophone with built-in speakers— its brass accents shining under the warm lights.
He added an entire box set of hand-selected vinyl records, a vacuum tube amplifier that gave off a faint, mechanical hum, a sleek lithium-mana battery pack, and lastly, a dolly with bungee cords to hold everything down for transport.
Zylithia scanned the items with a wry grin— her black-tipped nails tapping against the cash register as she worked. Her chains clinked with every subtle movement, and her spiked bracelets caught the light as she handled each piece with a practiced ease.
"Alright, Rockstar," she said, flicking a strand of her long black hair back. "Your grand total’s five platinum coins, or five-hundred gold coins, plus tax." Her voice carried a sarcastic edge, like she was amused by how much he was buying. "Big spender, huh?"
Goblin Slayer silently opened his large purse, and pulled out a collection of precious gems he had acquired over time— diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, each glinting under the shop lights. He handed them over without a word.
Zylithia’s eyes widened slightly as she whistled low. “Damn, look at you.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a small appraisal chart, glancing between the gems and the guide with a discerning eye. After a moment, she nodded and placed the gems into a secure deposit box, before sliding it back beneath the counter. Then, with a mechanical clink, she opened the register and handed him two platinum coins as his change.
"Good doing business with ya," she said, flashing a sharp grin, with her fangs glinting beneath the dim light. "And even cooler fuckin’ around in the back with all that music. You’re not bad for a guy in full armor."
Goblin Slayer took the coins, placing them in his pouch before nodding. “Thank you for your help,” he said, his voice sincere. “I had more fun than I expected.”
Zylithia stepped around the register, casually drumming her fingers on the countertop. “Hold up, I’ll get you a tarp. No way you’re letting all this get dirty on the way out. Free of charge, for a fellow music lover.”
And true to her word, she returned with a large tarp— handing it to him before helping secure all of his purchases onto the dolly. The red Flying V was strapped down on top of the gramophone and the box of records, with the amplifier and accessories packed neatly beneath them. Zylithia expertly tightened the bungee cords, her hands moving with quick, practiced ease.
When they were done, she stood back, looking satisfied. “There, all set. Should hold through anything short of a storm.”
Goblin Slayer glanced at the neatly packed dolly, then back at her. “Thank you. It was… Cool, meeting you too.”
Zylithia smirked, crossing her arms as she watched him with that mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Likewise, man. You’re alright. Try not to blow out your eardrums with that amp, okay?”
With a small nod, the teen turned and began pushing the dolly toward the front of the store. The brass gears of the wheels hummed softly as they moved over the polished floor, with the tarp rustling with each step.
As he approached the entrance, he glanced around, half-expecting to see High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, or Lizard Priest waiting for him. But the shop’s interior was quiet.
They weren’t there.
A pang of guilt coursed through him. He sighed, feeling a wave of melancholy settle over him. ‘They must’ve left me,’ he thought bitterly, ‘but it was bound to happen eventually.’ He chuckled humorlessly under his breath, a resigned sort of sound. ‘There’s a reason I’m unwanted.’
But before he could sink deeper into the thought, he was suddenly blindsided by a firm, almost crushing embrace. Lizard Priest wrapped his long, scaled arms around him— lifting his slender frame off the ground with a booming laugh.
Goblin Slayer’s first instinct was to fight back, but the familiar scent of incense and spices hit his nose, and he stopped struggling. His gaze fell on High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman, walking over to him with four small boxed containers in hand. The smell of something savory— grilled meats, rice, and warm spices— filled the air, and cut through the haze of his previous thoughts.
High Elf Archer smirked at him as she sauntered over, her ears twitching slightly. “What the hell were you doing in there for two hours? We thought you were getting lost in a music dungeon or something,” she teased, giving him a playful wink.
Goblin Slayer, still dangling in Lizard Priest’s grasp, frowned behind his helmet. “... Two hours?”
Dwarf Shaman chuckled, his belly bouncing slightly as he held out one of the boxes. “Aye, lad. We figured it was close to lunchtime, so we went to grab some food. Thought you’d be out sooner, but, well…” He gestured to the dolly. “Looks like you made quite the haul.”
Goblin Slayer glanced at his stacked purchases, then back to them, a small sense of relief washing over him. “I didn’t realize so much time had passed.”
High Elf Archer rolled her eyes, though her smile softened. “Yeah, well, we figured you might be in there a while. Music can do that to you.” She then held out the food box in front of him. “Here. It’s street tacos and some rice. Didn’t think you’d eat if we didn’t bring something back.”
Lizard Priest finally set Goblin Slayer down, chuckling deeply. “Indeed, it is easy to lose oneself when enthralled by a new experience.” His deep, resonant voice was calm, understanding. “But as your friends, we will always return to you— even when you may not want us to!”
Goblin Slayer stared at the boxes they were offering, taking in the comforting smell of the warm food. After a moment, he reached out and accepted one. “Thank you,” he said quietly, the weight of their kindness sinking in.
And they stood together outside the store eating their lunch, the soft rumble of gears and steam around them, the teenager couldn’t help but feel a little lighter.
‘Maybe I’m not as alone as I thought.’
Author's Notes: Apologies if there's plenty of slices of life happening, but there's a good reason for that. After Goblin Slayer goes to Crossbell and does when it he needs to do, the remainder of this story is going to escalate into its climax.
Chapter 29: Welcome to Crossbell
Chapter Text
The ferry boat glided across the shimmering waters of the Avalon Sea, with its hull cutting through the glassy surface with a gentle lurch. Sunlight bounced off the sea, making it look like a thousand diamonds scattered beneath the boat. The crisp scent of saltwater mingled with the faint odor of oil and metal— a mixture that spoke of both nature and the industrious world.
All around them, other ships traversed the waters— sleek vessels ferrying passengers to and from the Eastern Avalon Sea Harbor, while others sailed toward the colossal mesa that towered in the distance: Supreme Mesa.
Resting at the top of the mesa, Crossbell itself was a dazzling sight. The massive white megacity sprawled out like a heavenly kingdom— its towering walls scaling the sky, looking like an impenetrable fortress from below. Skyscrapers rose up like needles, with some piercing through the clouds themselves, and shining in the midday sun with reflective glass and shimmering metal. The whole city felt alive, brimming with technology and industry, but with a mystic undertone, as though ancient forces intertwined with its modern structures.
Goblin Slayer stood at the front of the upper deck, with his forearms resting atop the safety rail, and his orichalcum helmet catching the sunlight. His stitched leather armor, worn from years of service, held firm against the gusts of wind that swept across the deck. High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest stood beside him, all leaning against the rail as they took in the same sights.
The ferry was crowded, but not overly so. Most of the passengers were finely dressed, and were composed of wealthy humans in tailored coats with brass buttons, and with sleek top hats adorned with complex clockwork designs. Their attire hinted at wealth and power, but also at an affinity for the mechanical wonders of the world— their clothes seemingly in harmony with the modern aesthetic of the city they approached.
Adventurers were scattered among them— clad in leather and steel, with weapons slung over their shoulders, exchanging tales of previous exploits in hushed tones.
Strategically posted at various points around the ship were the Royal Guardsmen, standing like statues with a quiet intensity. They wore armored robes— their flowing white garments embroidered with the golden insignia of the Pendragon Empire.
Each of them carried a long metal staff, the ends of which glowed faintly, as though elemental energy was contained within small crystal modules affixed to the tips. Their helmets featured blackened visors, completely obscuring their faces— adding to their air of mystery and authority.
Goblin Slayer eyed them cautiously. Their disciplined stances and aura of control made them worrisome, though he reminded himself that as long as he didn’t cause too much trouble, there would be no reason to cross paths with the Royal Army.
He returned his gaze to the pier ahead, which grew larger as they neared it.
“They say Crossbell is the highest point in the world’s civilization— built upon the island of “Avalon”, where Urthur supposedly pulled a magical sword that was embedded into the top of Supreme Mesa itself,” High Elf Archer said, breaking the silence between them. She leaned on the rail, her long ears twitching slightly in the breeze.
“Not sure how that is true, but it was the mythos behind that sword, Excalibur, that rallied his cause to restore order in Zemuria,” She squinted up at the city, her lips curving into a smirk. “But part is for sure definitely bullshit… Anyway, I bet the view from up there is insane. Don’t you think, Orcbolg?”
Goblin Slayer nodded, though his eyes stayed focused ahead. “Yeah, I’d say so,” he said, more to himself than to her.
Dwarf Shaman grunted, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Aye, but ye’ can imagine that no one in their fancy towers are gonna be lining up to roll out the red carpet for ye’ on that one,” he lamented with a half-cocked grin, before shrugging. “Aye, but do I know? Maybe they’ll let you up there. Can’t hurt to ask, lad.”
“Ah, but do not forget the pleasures that await below the towering constructs of glass and iron,” Lizard Priest rumbled, his long tail swaying behind him as he observed the city. “Here, in places like this, one can find wisdom, art, and the refinement of the soul. Such cities are bastions of knowledge, ancient and new.”
“Knowledge, eh?” High Elf Archer chuckled. “I think you’re just excited to sample their food…!”
Lizard Priest’s tongue flicked out— tasting the air. “Ah, yes, one must not overlook the culinary delights available to Zemuria’s highest echelon!”
Goblin Slayer remained quiet, while absorbing their banter as the ferry drew closer to the harbor. The hum of machinery from the engine below deck vibrated through the floor— a rhythmic pulse that matched the waves. He glanced again at the Royal Guards— their stiff postures and the slight gleam of magic from their staves.
“So, what’s the plan once we dock?” Dwarf Shaman asked, while adjusting the strap of his satchel. “We headin’ straight to the guild or takin’ in the sights?”
The teen thought for a moment, before looking back down at the tarp-covered dolly by his side. “We’ll find lodging first. We need somewhere to store our belongings. I don’t want to talk to Xavniik while lugging around all these gifts.”
High Elf Archer shrugged, her green eyes glittering with amusement. “Whatever you think is the best move to make, Orcblog. But after that, I’m dragging you to the fashion district! They’ve got stuff you wouldn’t believe! Jewelry, glasses, hella cute shoes, and stylish outfits! The whole shabang!”
“Sure,” Goblin Slayer replied, while the corner of his mouth twitched under his helmet. “But only AFTER we stop by Mythical Morning to talk to Xavniik.”
She pouted, before rolling her emerald green eyes and sighing loudly. “Tch! Don’t remind me…”
Dwarf Shaman let out a bark of laughter. “Let’s not pretend that ye’ weren’t plantin’ arrow after arrow in his men, back in the good ol’ day, lass!”
Hearing that made High Elf Archer chuckle sinisterly, as the corners of her lips tightened up. “Heh, damn right I was..,! My only regret back then was not shooting even more of those bastar-”
Goblin Slayer’s grip tightened slightly on the rail, as he cleared his voice conspicuously enough to garnish their attention.
“Let’s… Talk about something else.” He proposed with a cautious tone, before subtly gesturing with a nod over towards the nearest royal guard. that was stationed on the starboard side of the front— their black visor catching the sunlight, as they kept armored helmets ominously pointed in their direction, before slowly straightening their head.
And as the ferry boat drew ever closer to the dock, the sounds of the bustling harbor grew louder— voices calling out in various tongues, the clang of metal and machinery, the hiss of steam from the ships’ engines. Goblin Slayer watched as the pier loomed ahead, the great walls of Crossbell stretching high above them— as if daring anyone to breach their mighty defenses.
Goblin Slayer pulled the dolly full of his new acquisitions behind him, the squeak of the wheels nearly drowned out by the busy harbor’s symphony of sounds. The leather-bound guitar case, the bright red Flying V guitar, gramophone, vacuum tube amplifier, and box of vinyl records were strapped down securely under a tarp with bungee cords. He followed closely behind High Elf Archer, who had her nose buried in an open atlas booklet, her green eyes darting over the pages as she practically skipped forward in excitement.
The Eastern Crossbell Harbor was alive with movement. Passengers disembarked from ferries as others waited to board, the dock bustling with activity. Yet, amidst the throngs of travelers, there wasn’t a single cargo ship in sight. This part of the harbor was dedicated solely to those who walked on two legs, exclusive to passengers, an air of sophistication and precision to its design. Goblin Slayer didn’t dwell on it for long. His focus kept shifting as they moved deeper into the harbor.
High Elf Archer, too energized to stand still, turned back toward them— her voice bright as she rallied the group. "Come on, you guys! We’re almost there!" She called, her face alight with enthusiasm. "It’s been like, over a hundred years since I’ve been here! I bet there’s a bunch of cool new crap to see!"
Goblin Slayer kept his grip firm on the dolly, with his pace steady. Behind him, Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest followed at a more leisurely gait— each taking in the surroundings with their own reserved interest.
The harbor was heavily guarded. Towering figures clad in black and gold armor patrolled every corner, their mechanical joints whirring with each precise movement. These were the Templars— guards dressed in armor so thick and advanced, it felt more like moving fortresses than men. The plates of their power armor gleamed in the sun— intricate mechanisms whirring beneath the surface.
The teen was more than familiar with them, from when he had escorted him to the Inquisitor’s office— their rifles menacing and weighty, resembling the heavy-duty rivet rifles he now saw strapped to every Templar on the dock. A cold shudder ran down his spine as he watched squads of Royal Guards march past in perfect formation, nine to a group— their presence overwhelming.
They weren’t just ordinary guards; they were a force— armed, disciplined, and always watching.
His gaze flicked to the massive stone walls lining the sides of the towering mesa— where even more artillery was mounted: massive cannons and rotating gatling guns, their bronze and copper surfaces gleaming under the sun, primed and ready.
The engineering and power behind them were unmistakable, yet there was an elegance to their design. The air smelled faintly of steam and oil, mixed with the saltiness of the sea— a world that thrived on the balance between the magical and the mechanical.
And as they climbed the winding steps of the harbor, the crowd surged forward— funneling them toward the train station built into the mesa itself. The station clung to the cliffside, overlooking the sparkling waters below. They could see the distant horizon where the sea met the sky— the sunlight dancing across the waves in brilliant golds and blues.
High Elf Archer didn’t slow down, even as they reached the platform. She beckoned them forward, practically vibrating with excitement.
They joined the line of residents and visitors alike— all waiting to board the majestic train that sat waiting at the station. It was a sight to behold, with its polished bronze exterior catching the light, and the train’s steam engine puffing quietly as if readying itself for the journey ahead. The train itself seemed both ancient and advanced— its design intricate and full of details that spoke of craftsmanship and power.
Goblin Slayer said nothing, though his eyes traced the train’s contours— noting the wheels and pistons, the elegant design of the passenger cars.
After a few moments of waiting, they finally boarded the train together, and were eventually settling into a single cushioned bench that faced forward. The gray-haired teen sat near the window— the view of the shoreline beyond catching his attention. From where he was seated, the mainland seemed so far, yet the harbor below remained alive with movement.
A chime rang through the speakers as the Train Conductor’s voice crackled to life, cheerful and full of energy. “Welcome aboard the Canterlot Express, travelers! We are thrilled to have you with us on this beautiful day. Please keep your hands and belongings inside the vehicle at all times, and remain seated until the ride has come to a complete stop. We thank you for choosing Crossbell as your destination, and we hope you enjoy the views as we ascend to the city atop the mesa that Supreme God Himself blessed!”
As the conductor’s speech ended, a gentle hum filled the train. Soft classical music began playing through the speakers, setting a serene, almost whimsical tone.
With a loud whistle, the train jolted slightly before it began to chug along the track— pulling forward with a rhythmic clanking of its wheels. Goblin Slayer’s breath caught as he looked down. The front wheels of the steam engine appeared to glide perilously close to the edge of the platform, but then— suddenly— they lit up.
Glowing trails of ember-like light formed beneath the wheels, as if magic itself was creating the tracks for them. The fiery trails spread out in a brilliant cascade— stretching outward as the train moved forward, and carving a path into the air itself.
The wheels, now encased in this magical light, carried the train effortlessly into the sky, and were slowly ascending in a wide spiral around the circumference of the mesa. Goblin Slayer’s heart pounded as he stared out at the spectacle.
Below, the mainland and the sea became smaller and smaller, the expanse of land shrinking as the train climbed higher. The view was phantasmic, otherworldly— the deep blue of the ocean meeting the horizon, the mainland’s coastline curving in and out of sight. The shimmering water now appeared like a vast tapestry of light, stretching as far as the eye could see.
He was awestruck, the sheer scale of the world below suddenly feeling both infinite and fragile.
“This… Is incredible,” He muttered, with his voice low but filled with an awe that he rarely allowed himself to express.
High Elf Archer leaned over, her grin wide. “Told you’d see some cool crap! You don’t see this kind of magic every day.”
Lizard Priest, sitting calmly beside them, added, “A magnificent blend of the arcane and the mechanical. Such wonders remind us of the endless possibilities the world holds.”
Dwarf Shaman snorted but smiled, with his eyes also glued to the window. “Aye, I’ll give it to ‘em— this is somethin’ else. But I’m more concerned about what kind o’ booze they’ve got waitin’ at the top.”
Goblin Slayer only half-listened. His attention was focused on the glowing tracks beneath the train and the breathtaking world outside.
The train continued to rumble gently as it ascended— the rhythmic chugging of its wheels now muted by the ethereal hum of the magical tracks glowing beneath. He could feel the subtle vibrations through the cushioned seat— a steady pulse that matched the train's steady climb up the mesa.
The soft classical music playing through the speakers melded perfectly with the ambiance— a serene symphony of strings that complemented the majestic view unfolding outside.
The train wound its way upward along the edge of the Supreme Mesa— spiraling higher and higher, and giving the teenager and his companions an ever-changing view of the world below. The sea shimmered in the sunlight, vast and seemingly endless, its surface painted with streaks of gold and silver.
The mainland stretched out like a living map, its rivers and forests mere streaks of color from this height. Tiny specks, which he knew were ships, dotted the waters, ferrying passengers and goods back and forth from the bustling harbors. It was a world in motion, a world that, for a brief moment, felt so far beneath him.
High Elf Archer had her face nearly pressed to the glass as she leaned over the teenager’s lap— her excitement evident in her bright eyes. "Look at that! You can see the entirety of Central County from here!" She exclaimed, pointing downward. “We were just there!”
Goblin Slayer then followed her gesture, with his own gaze tracing the harbor’s busy piers. From this height, the Eastern Crossbell Harbor appeared as an intricate puzzle of stonework, docks, and winding staircases, bustling with travelers but still orderly. The Templars, with their towering frames and gleaming armor, looked like tiny sentinels patrolling the bustling crowds. The large artillery cannons and gatling guns lining the walls, once imposing, now appeared as mere details in the grand tapestry of the port.
He inhaled deeply. The air was fresh here, carrying the crisp scent of saltwater mixed with a faint hint of the magical energy emanating from the tracks. It was a strange, metallic tang that lingered in the back of his throat but wasn’t unpleasant— more like the hum of something ancient and powerful. The wind brushed past him, cool and clean, stirring his cloak as he gazed out at the shrinking world below.
Lizard Priest, sitting beside him, was composed as always, his reptilian eyes scanning the scenery with quiet reverence. "Such innovations must have taken to transform this dream into a reality," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Though, it is important to remember that not all of that ingenuity was taken from the well of human knowledge."
Dwarf Shaman leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “Aye, Scales! I could name about forty dwarven-made designs, just from what I saw in the harbor alone!.”
Goblin Slayer’s focus still remained outside— his gaze following the train's glowing tracks as they continued to form ahead of the engine. The light seemed to stretch endlessly— a radiant path of embers that curved and twisted as they climbed higher around the mesa’s edge.
Occasionally, the train would dip slightly, as if it were testing the boundaries of gravity itself, only for the magical tracks to surge into existence beneath it— steadying their ascent.
The train conductor’s voice chimed in over the intercom again, a chipper reminder to "sit back and enjoy the ride, and don't forget to admire the scenery!" The classical music swelled; violins and woodwinds creating a calming, almost hypnotic atmosphere that contrasted with the mechanical magic propelling them forward.
As they climbed higher, the city of Crossbell slowly began to reveal itself above them. The towering white walls encircling the mesa's peak came into view first, their immense height dwarfing the cliffs they rested on.
The walls themselves were pristine, shining in the sunlight, adorned with intricate designs that reflected both elegance and strength. Above them, the towering skyscrapers reached toward the heavens, their metallic spires glinting like spears aimed at the sky. Some even appeared to pierce the clouds— as if trying to touch the very stars themselves.
“It’s like something out of a dream, isn’t it?” High Elf Archer whispered, her voice softer now as the grandeur of the city began to sink in. "As much as I don’t like the Pendragon Empire, there’s… Nothing else like this out there, Orcbolg."
Goblin Slayer nodded, his mind unable to form words. It was a city that seemed to defy the laws of the world he knew— a fusion of the natural and the fantastical. The shimmering glass of the skyscrapers, the ornate bridges connecting them, and the ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from the city itself— it all felt otherworldly, as if they were approaching the gates of some mythical kingdom.
As they neared the top of the mesa, the train slowed slightly, giving them more time to absorb the breathtaking view. Goblin Slayer, usually so grounded and focused, found himself momentarily lost in the sheer wonder of it all. He could see the entire Avalon Sea stretching out to the horizon now, the blue expanse meeting the sky in a seamless, shimmering line. The mainland had become a distant memory, a speck on the horizon.
For the first time in a long while, Goblin Slayer allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. He gripped the safety rail beside him, watching the last stretch of the journey as they neared the gates of Crossbell. The train curved gently one final time, and then, with a low whistle and a hiss of steam, it began to glide into the station atop the mesa.
The music in the speakers faded softly, replaced by the quiet rumble of the train coming to a halt. The teen exhaled, the sensation of awe still lingering in his chest as the doors hissed open.
"Welcome to Crossbell," the conductor's voice echoed warmly. "We hope you enjoy your stay."
Goblin Slayer and his companions stepped into their new hotel suite, with the air inside cool and serene. The sliding paper doors behind them whispered shut— muffling the sounds of the bustling city outside. The room was bathed in soft light, filtered through the delicate shoji screens that lined the walls— casting a peaceful glow on the polished wooden floors. Tatami mats were carefully arranged throughout the living area, and a low table, surrounded by cushiony floor seats, invited them to sit and relax.
Dwarf Shaman breathed in deeply, with his shoulders sagging in contentment as his eyes roamed the room. The craftsmanship of the hotel was impeccable—the intricate carvings in the wooden beams, the clean lines of the minimalist furniture, and the way everything seemed to be in harmony with nature. The traditional Tekkadanese style brought an instant smile to his face.
“Ahh, this takes me back,” he said with a chuckle, running a hand through his thick beard. “Reminds me of home. My old man would’ve loved this place. Every year, he'd drag us to the “Moonlight Festival” for our holidays, saying it was “good for the soul”. Strict, the both of them were, mind you— Mother would tan my hide if I didn’t take my shoes off at the door."
As if on cue, Dwarf Shaman shrugged off his kimono and set it on a nearby coat rack, before bending down to remove his sandals and place them neatly by the entrance. His laugh boomed warmly. "She'd be wringing both ye’ necks, if she saw you two prancing around the living room with them dirty boots on."
High Elf Archer, still standing in the center of the room, gave the decor a wide-eyed, mystified look. “You don’t say,” she murmured, her voice tinged with curiosity. She moved cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the quiet harmony of the space.
Behind her, Lizard Priest chuckled softly. “Ah, you’ll be glad to know I’m already one step ahead.” He gestured to his bare feet, before then glanced down at the trail of dirt he’d unwittingly dragged in from outside.
He paused, his reptilian eyes widening slightly. "Ah... Apologies to your mother, friend," he muttered, and with surprising grace, made his way to the bathroom. The sound of water splashing into the basin soon followed, along with the awkward sight of him lifting one leg to wash his foot, muttering more apologies under his breath.
High Elf Archer shrugged, watching him with mild amusement before turning her attention back to the sliding paper door of the bedroom where Goblin Slayer had disappeared. “Whatever. There’s no point in taking off our boots— we’re only going to be here for a minute," she said nonchalantly, while unfastening her bow and quiver before leaning them by the door. Her brown cloak followed suit, as she carefully laid it over the back of a nearby chair.
Dwarf Shaman chuckled and waved a hand. "Fair enough, lass. Just don’t tell me mother, aye?" He joked, before beginning to undo the knots behind his black leather cuirass— switching it out for his simple white kimono. As he adjusted the folds of the robe, his expression grew more thoughtful, and his tone softened. "You… You gonna be alright, lass?"
High Elf Archer froze, her back still turned to him. Her shoulders tensed as if bracing for something. “… What do you mean?” She asked, with her voice a little too casual, and her fingers plucking at the fabric of the couch as she sat down.
Dwarf Shaman let out a dry chuckle. "Come now, Long Ears! Don’t bullshit a bullshitter! What I meant…" He hesitated, his smile faltering as the weight of his words settled in. “What I meant was if you want to stay behind, I don’t think Beard-Cutter would be crossed.”
Her posture stiffened as a mix of anger and unease flashed across her face. She tried to regulate herself, shaking her head with a half-hearted scoff. "I’m not scared of Xavniik," She snapped— the irritation in her voice was unmistakable, but the undercurrent of anxiety was just as clear.
Dwarf Shaman raised his hands, palms out, a peace offering. "I didn’t mean it that way, lass. I know you’re not scared.” He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Just didn’t want you puttin’ yourself through unnecessary stress, that's all. No sense puttin’ your pretty head through that."
High Elf Archer's lip twitched— her pride warring with the more understanding part of her. She glanced at him, lips pursed tightly together. "If I don't go, then who's gonna convince Orcbolg to hit the fashion district?" She retorted— deflecting with humor as she averted her eyes toward the sliding door of the bedroom.
Dwarf Shaman let out a concerned chuckle, his brow furrowing as he stroked his beard. "Aye, fair point," he said, his voice a bit softer now. “But still-”
Before he could finish, High Elf Archer threw her head back slightly and shouted toward the bedroom, "-Hear that, Orcbolg?! You’re taking me out on a date tonight!"
The response was immediate. The sliding door whispered open, and Goblin Slayer stepped out, but not in his usual battle-worn armor. Instead, he wore a crisp white dress shirt, a black tie perfectly knotted at his collar, and a neatly buttoned vest over his slim frame. His slacks were clean, his leather boots polished. Around his wrist, the faint orange glow of the mana-suppressing bracelet flickered softly.
High Elf Archer blinked, her bravado slipping into surprise. She let out a soft chuckle, half amused, half taken aback. “Hey, haha…! I-I was only kidding about the date, you know…!”
The gray-haired teen smiled, but just barely. "I figured," he replied— his voice quiet but steady.
Dwarf Shaman, standing back with his hands folded across his stomach, squinted at Goblin Slayer in confusion. "What's with the church getup, lad? You’ve only ever worn those when we’re eatin’ somewhere fancy."
The teen’s smile faltered, replaced by something softer, almost wistful. “Just for today,” he said, his tone barely above a whisper, "I’m not going to be “Goblin Slayer”."
High Elf Archer’s mouth parted in silent shock, while Dwarf Shaman's expression shifted from playful to bewildered.
"Aye? Bit hard to play pretend, when you have to have your ID on ye, innit?" He mused, trying to lighten the moment.
Goblin Slayer's eyes softened— his expression bittersweet. "I know, and that won’t be an issue... Because today, I want to be Ren Ashta. Just for one last time."
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. High Elf Archer’s breath hitched as something twisted deep inside her— panic, guilt, and a thousand unspoken emotions flooding her chest.
Dwarf Shaman’s jovial demeanor slipped further into concern, his brows knitting together as he murmured, “So that's your real name, eh? “Ren Ashta”…”
Goblin Slayer turned away— walking toward the sliding door, and revealing the familiar shape of his leather backpack strapped across his shoulders.
Dwarf Shaman watched him intently, his voice growing more cautious. "The way you said “for one last time” makes it sound like you're planning on dying, lad.”
'DIE.'
Goblin Slayer paused, offering him a sad, knowing smile. "It does sound that way, doesn't it?" He agreed quietly, before exhaling a long breath, as though expelling something far deeper than mere air. “… Is everyone ready to go?"
Lizard Priest reappeared from the bathroom, hopping on one foot as he dried the last of his toes with a towel. "Ready," he announced proudly, his voice carrying a subtle wisdom. "Shall we, Mr. Ashta?"
The sound of his real name, spoken so casually by Lizard Priest, twisted the metaphorical dagger deeper into High Elf Archer’s chest. Dwarf Shaman let out a low sigh, sharing an unreadable look with the others as Goblin Slayer, still feigning a bright smile, clapped his hands together.
"Good," Goblin Slayer said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Coffee’s on me."
He took a deep breath, his gaze distant for a moment as flashes of pain and memory flickered behind his eyes. He held it all in, a lifetime of trauma, loss, and regret locked behind a facade of composure, before finally exhaling and making his way toward the door. "Let’s have a word with Xavniik."
High Elf Archer stood from the sofa, while biting the inside of her cheek to keep the rising turmoil at bay. Lizard Priest finished drying his feet and tossed the towel back into the bathroom. One by one, they followed Goblin Slayer toward the suite’s front door— stepping into the dimly lit hallway beyond.
As Goblin Slayer walked ahead, Dwarf Shaman closed the door behind them before hurrying forward to catch up— draping a heavy arm around his shoulders in a gesture of brotherly affection. “You’ll be alright, lad,” he muttered softly, giving him a firm, reassuring pat before reluctantly letting him go.
Goblin Slayer, or Ren, glanced at him with that same sad, haunted smile— offering no more words.
Author's Note: Final stretch before the final climax of this story! This is easily one of the most emotional stories I've written, hands down lol. I was thinking about having this story go on-and-on, but I really wanted it to have a start, and an ending, and by the time this story comes to a closure it'll be around forty or so chapters. On a brighter note, there'll still be plenty of stories to write once Goblin Slayer finally builds his guild— if nothing else, this story in particular is a good foundation to expand from. My plan is to write a sequel, and have it be less of an epic like this one, and more so quest-based episodic series, that has an encompassing plot involving the Pendragon Empire and Blackwatch— with the latter being the main antagonists of that story. Thank you to those who've shown feedback and support thus far! Writing this has been the most fun I've ever had tbh— I don't even play videogames anymore because of this fic— nothing else really compares to writing this for me.
Chapter 30: Monochrome Rainbow
Chapter Text
The double glass doors of Mythical Morning swung open— releasing a wave of rich, warm air that wrapped around them like a comforting embrace. Inside, the aroma of freshly ground coffee, cinnamon, and honey filled the air— mingling with the soft hum of voices and the clink of ceramic cups. Goblin Slayer paused at the threshold, with his gaze sweeping over the spacious café, as he took in the scene with a quiet, deliberate slowness.
The place was vast, yet intimate. The high ceilings were lined with dark wood beams, and the walls told stories of battles fought and won. Posters and framed memorabilia from the Pendragon Conquest of Zemuria adorned the walls— pieces of history captured in faded photographs, showing proud soldiers standing victorious over their spoils.
Worn banners from long-forgotten campaigns hung alongside old helmets and tattered flags— relics of a time when war had carved deep marks into the world. Despite its heavy past, the café held a warmth that invited people to forget the battles, even if just for a moment.
Goblin Slayer breathed in the scent of coffee deeply, savoring it. His lips curled into a soft smile, but there was a quiet restraint to it, like an actor stepping into a role. “My sister… She used to love coffee; she’d drink at least one or two cups every morning, if we had some in our cabinets,” he said, his tone gentle, almost wistful. “We couldn’t grow the beans ourselves, which made being able to buy them a luxury for us… Guess that’s where my fondness for it comes from.”
The words lingered in the air, as though he were trying them out— like a line in a script that didn’t quite belong to him. His companions exchanged brief glances, sensing the shift in his demeanor, but said nothing for the moment.
Dwarf Shaman chuckled, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “Huh. I had you pegged for a coffee lover— I’ve been seein’ you gulpin’ them down, each time ye had the chance,” he mused aloud, before voicing some of his confusion.
Goblin Slayer gave the dwarf an amused smirk, as they made their way at the start of the line— with his gaze wandering over the café. The warm glow of the amber lights cast everything in a golden hue— the tables filled with a mix of adventurers and soldiers, all taking a rare moment of respite. The low murmur of voices, the clatter of cups, and the hiss of steam from the machines formed a comforting rhythm— a lull that felt foreign to him, yet somehow he slipped into it.
‘To have a life like this… So peacefully ordinary… If only such a life could be mine,’ the teenager thought to himself— a melancholic breath escaping past his parted lips, as he did his best to shake the feeling of longing off.
High Elf Archer, despite how relaxed Goblin Slayer was, seemed to be on edge. Her fingers tugged at her cloak, while her eyes darted around the room. Her usual confidence was tempered with an undercurrent of unease. She shifted nervously, with her shoulders tense as though bracing for something.
While his eyes were tracing the decorative contours of the café’s wall-pieces, Goblin Slayer soon took notice of High Elf Archer’s mildly distressed body language. “Artemis? Is there… Is there something wrong?”
She blinked, startled, as if pulled from her thoughts. “What? Oh, no… No, I-I’m fine— really.” Her smile was thin— an attempt to brush off the question. “Just… Taking it all in strides, you know?”
Goblin Slayer’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he said softly, but there was a weight to his words— an understanding that ran deeper than he let on.
Dwarf Shaman finished observing the twos’ interaction, before subtly nudging Lizard Priest— casting another glance at Goblin Slayer, while the teen’s back was turned towards them. “Doesn’t it feel strange…? Seein’ him like this…? So… Relaxed…?”
Lizard Priest hummed in agreement, his claws tapping thoughtfully on the counter. “A curious sight indeed… But perhaps it is a reminder that even the hardest stone can soften…? That there is peace to be found, even in fleeting moments…?”
The teenager let out a soft laugh, surprising the two as he turned his head over his shoulder to smile back at him. “It’s not that strange,” he said, his voice lighter than usual. “This? This is how I would be all the time, if I could.” His tone was casual, almost playful, but beneath it, there was a sharpness— a bitter edge he couldn’t quite smooth out. “Being this way? It makes me feel… Happy.”
Dwarf Shaman chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. “Aye, lad— if ye’ say so. Just don’t be forgetting who ye’ are entirely, ye’ hear me?”
The gray-haired teen’s smile wavered, just for a second, before he forced it back into place. “I couldn’t, even if I tried,” he said simply, as if that was all there was to it.
He and his companions eventually approached the counter, once it was their turn to be called up— stepping into a soft golden light that seemed to wash over the scene. The café had that rare, almost mythic, charm— the kind of place where time moved a little slower, and even the hum of conversation felt musical.
Goblin Slayer, ever aware, noticed that the woman behind the counter was different from the teenagers bustling around her. She was striking— mid-thirties, by his guess. Her short blond hair framed a face softened by years of something beyond the battles the memorabilia suggested. Her eyes, a deep, alluring green, fixed on him with an intensity that felt out of place for a café. Dark-rimmed glasses sat on her nose, and her barista uniform was worn with an elegance that the others couldn’t quite mimic.
“Good Mythical Morning!” She said, her voice rich and enthusiastic— breaking the spell of his observation. She grinned, wide and welcoming, and leaned forward on the counter, tilting her head just slightly as she introduced herself. “I’m Veronica O’Neil. You folks must be tourists, right?”
Her tone was bright, but not overbearing, like someone genuinely pleased to see them. The teenager responded with a smile, one that seemed almost real, though beneath it, he felt the weight of each muscle pulling into place.
“We here for this place in specific,” he said— his voice soft and calm. “But I’ve bean looking forward to a good cup of coffee since our ferry boat landed.” The pun slipped out so naturally that even he was surprised.
Veronica blinked, her smile deepening as her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh-ho! A man after my own heart,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “I suppose I can espresso how much I like that joke!”
The teen then let out a soft laugh, genuine this time— the sound surprising Dwarf Shaman and High Elf Archer, who both looked at him like they didn’t know what to make of this version of him.
Veronica, still smiling, looked Goblin Slayer up and down with intrigue. “So, coffee jokes aside, what brings you folks here? Can’t just be our famous brews.”
It was then that his expression shifted, the mask slipping back into place. “Actually,” he said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket, “I came from the Evergreen Forest to speak with Zachariah Xavniik. Captain D’Arce, stationed at Matterhorn, sent me.” He handed the paper over to her, careful, and polite. The weight of the journey hung in his words— though he spoke with his usual calmness.
Veronica’s eyes gleamed with curiosity as she took the paper, slipping it into her apron pocket with practiced ease. “From the Evergreen Forest, huh? That’s quite the journey.” She paused, musing aloud. “Must be something important if you came all this way.”
Goblin Slayer nodded. “I wouldn’t have traveled that far if it weren’t.” His voice was steady, betraying nothing, yet a flicker of something deeper— something like purpose— danced in his eyes. “I’m interested in building a guild. A guild that will protect the people of the frontier, from goblins of all shapes, sizes, and species.”
Veronica raised an eyebrow, smirking as she leaned back. “Goblins of all shapes and sizes, huh?” She seemed intrigued, but not fully convinced. “That sounds ambitious. Altruistic, even.” She eyed him carefully as she spoke— clearly weighing the teenager before her.
Goblin Slayer’s gaze was unwavering, though there was a flicker of subtle weariness in the depths of his eyes. “It’s… It’s necessary.”
Veronica smiled, pocketing the folded paper. “Well, I’ll have a word with the boss. But before I do that, you’ll need to buy something.”
Goblin Slayer blinked, genuinely confused. “I need to buy something?” He repeated slowly, his mind running through the unexpected shift in the conversation.
Veronica stifled a laugh, noticing his confusion. “Yeah, the boss doesn’t usually talk to people unless they’re paying customers. You’re not the first one to come looking for him, and he usually sends most of them on their way.” She shrugged, her smile playful. “It’s kind of a thing around here.”
Goblin Slayer’s brow furrowed for a moment as he processed her words. “I see,” he finally said, then paused. “How… How often does he turn them away?”
Veronica chortled, clearly entertained by his question. “Almost everyone who comes here seeking for his help gets turned away. The famous Hero General doesn’t just speak to anyone.” But then she winked— her tone playful yet reassuring as she tapped her apron pocket, where she’d tucked the note.
“You’ve got one thing that the forty other people who got turned away didn’t— you were sent by one of his protégés.” She smiled knowingly, her eyes flicking back to Goblin Slayer’s. “In my ten years working for Xavniik, I’ve never seen him turn away someone who was invited to see him by a protégé.”
Goblin Slayer’s posture relaxed slightly, his expression softening. “T… Thank you,” he said, with a genuine note of gratitude in his voice. He turned his attention to the chalkboard menu above the counter— squinting slightly at the endless options written in intricate script.
High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman exchanged uneasy glances— the overwhelming array of choices clearly leaving them at a loss.Her emerald green eyes began darting nervously over the menu, her fingers twitching at the edge of her cloak.
Dwarf Shaman scratched his head, muttering something under his breath about too many choices.
Goblin Slayer, however, seemed unfazed. “I’ll take a vanilla iced macchiato with double ristretto, triple shot, caramel drizzle, a splash of oat milk, and light foam,” he ordered— his tone casual, as though the absurd complexity of the order didn’t even register.
High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman stared at him, dumbfounded, and completely at a loss for words.
Veronica raised an eyebrow, impressed, and quietly murmured his order to herself as she scribbled it down on her notepad. She then turned to Lizard Priest, grinning as she playfully pointed her pen at him. “And what’ll you have?”
Lizard Priest, ever methodical, smiled politely. “I’d like an iced bubble tea, please. Extra tapioca, almond milk, and a hint of honey.”
He paused, turning to Goblin Slayer. “May I also indulge in some pastries?” He asked— his tone reverent as if asking permission for a great honor.
The teen smiled back at him, a warmth in his eyes that seemed real, if only for a moment. “One of every sweet,” he said, turning toward Veronica. “Add that to the order, please.”
Veronica’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly intrigued by his generosity. She repeated the phrase “one of every sweet” to herself, jotting it down. Lizard Priest, meanwhile, turned to Goblin Slayer with an uneasy smile.
“T-Thank you, my friend,” Lizard Priest said, his voice soft with gratitude. “But I don’t want to be a burden. The last thing I want is to take advantage of your kindness.”
Goblin Slayer shook his head, his smile barely faltering. “It’s fine. I insist.”
Lizard Priest hesitated. “A-Are you certain…?”
“I am,” He replied simply— his tone firm, yet gentle.
Suddenly, Lizard Priest’s face lit up with excitement, and before anyone could react, he grabbed Goblin Slayer, lifting him into a tight embrace. “You truly are a good friend!” He shouted, twirling the gray-haired teenager around in a joyous hug.
Goblin Slayer, at first stiff and uncomfortable, slowly relaxed in Lizard Priest’s arms— a small smile creeping onto his face. “Hey… What else are friends for?” He mused softly—the words tinged with a quiet sincerity.
Lizard Priest then set him down gently, beaming, as Veronica watched them with an amused smile. She then turned her attention to High Elf Archer, who was still staring at the menu in bewilderment.
“And you?” Veronica asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’ll you have?”
High Elf Archer glanced at the menu again, clearly overwhelmed. Without missing a beat, she pointed a gloved hand toward Goblin Slayer. “I-’ll have what he’s having,” she stammered out— trying to maintain her usual cool demeanor, though it came off more flustered than anything.
Veronica stifled a laugh, seeing through her facade as she scribbled down the same complicated macchiato order again, adding a quick “times two” beside it. She then turned to Dwarf Shaman, grinning. “Let me guess… A Gaelic Car Bomb?”
Dwarf Shaman’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “What in the blazes is that?” He asked, intrigued.
“It’s whiskey and Gaelic Cream poured into an espresso,” Veronica explained, with her voice low and playful.
Dwarf Shaman’s eyes widened with delight, and he grinned. “Och, now that’s a drink! You’ve got me sold!” He leaned in, his expression sly. “But tell me, lass… How’d you know I was a wee bit of a drinker…?”
Veronica mimicked his wry look, leaning over the counter toward him. In a hushed voice, half-joking, she said, “I could smell the fire wine on your breath…”
Dwarf Shaman’s face flushed with embarrassment, and then he burst into hearty laughter. Veronica scribbled down the Gaelic Car Bomb order, tearing the page from her notepad with a flourish. “Find yourselves a cozy spot,” she said, her voice teasing and full of promise. “I’ll bring your orders— and Xavniik— when they’re both ready.”
The fire roared beside them— its heat filling the circular lounging area with a cozy warmth that contrasted the intensity of the dancing flames. Goblin Slayer sat in a worn leather chair, casually immersed in a book titled “Monochrome Rainbow”. His right hand held the book open, while his left occasionally brought an iced vanilla caramel macchiato to his lips, sipping quietly as he read.
"Her beauty was flawless, captivating in every way. Yet beneath that surface, there was nothing but emptiness. She existed, but did not live. Her smile could dazzle the world, but inside, her heart was silent, hollow— a barren desert hidden behind a painted mask. No one noticed the quiet desolation in her eyes, the way her soul seemed to drift, untethered from the brightness she presented. Beauty had become her prison, and she a prisoner of her own reflection."
Goblin Slayer blinked as he re-read the last line, lingering on the words. He shifted in his chair, taking another sip of his drink. There was a familiarity in those sentences, though he wasn’t sure why. He closed the book with a soft sigh, setting it on his lap as his gaze flicked to the others.
Lizard Priest was seated on the couch, and was hunched over the coffee table, while working his way through an impressive assortment of pastries. His eyes gleamed with childlike joy as he savored each bite— the variety of sweets laid out before him like an offering. He was remarkably polite, despite the sheer volume he was consuming— methodically selecting each treat as though participating in a sacred ritual.
Dwarf Shaman, on the other hand, was eagerly chugging his Gaelic Car Bomb— his eyes squinting at the comic section of the newspaper he held. The little comic strips seemed to amuse him greatly, and between gulps, he would chuckle to himself— his laughter rumbling over the sound of the crackling fire.
Meanwhile, High Elf Archer sat beside Goblin Slayer, her body tense. Her hands, wrapped in her gloved fingers, held onto her iced macchiato as if it were the only thing grounding her. She sat close to him, their hips barely touching, but her attention was elsewhere— fixated on the flames that danced before them. The warmth of the fire crept across her skin, but rather than providing comfort, it filled her with a growing sense of dread.
Oakglade had once been a peaceful kingdom, nestled deep within the forest, its wooden structures seamlessly blending with the trees and the land itself. Tall, ancient trees formed a natural canopy above the village, their branches woven together as if protecting the inhabitants below. Moss clung to the stone paths, and ivy crawled up the sides of the wooden cottages. It was a place where nature and civilization coexisted in harmony, a serene and timeless beauty that could lull one into a sense of eternal peace.
Until the Royal Army came, and brought the horror of war to the kingdom of the high-elves.
The once-green forest was covered in ash— its leaves now gray and lifeless as flames devoured everything. The air was thick with smoke, with the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh permeating everything. Bodies of high elves littered the forest floor— their silver armor charred and broken. Their eyes, once full of life, now stared blankly at the darkened sky.
Amongst the carnage, arquebusiers, bowmen, and knights stormed the dirt roads of Oakglade. They moved with ruthless precision— their armor clanking as they advanced through the town.
High Elf Archer could still hear the crack of gunfire— the screams of her people as they fell one by one. The men were shot down without hesitation, their bodies riddled with bullets. But the women and children weren’t given such a swift end.
She remembered the arquebusiers rushing at the half-elves who had fled from their burning homes, the men pushing them down— tearing at their clothes as they sobbed and screamed for mercy. High Elf Archer had watched and listened in horror— unable to do anything but run with her own younger sibling close by her side.
Further up the hill, the castle— a wooden marvel that had stood for centuries— was also under siege. High-elf archers stood on the battlements, and were trying desperately to defend their home, but the knights were relentless. They raised shimmering magic barriers, protecting themselves from the rain of arrows while the arquebusiers shot through the barrier, and killed the defenders with brutal efficiency.
Explosive spells were cast at the castle, sending parts of the structure flying into the air— the high-elves who had been inside the windows obliterated in an instant.
High Elf Archer and her younger brother eventually found themselves in the throne room— huddled amongst the few remaining defenders. The room was crowded with non-combatants— women, children, the elderly— who had sought refuge when the town began to burn. She could hear the barricaded doors creaking under the weight of the enemy’s assault, with the wood groaning as the knights pushed against it.
Her hands trembled violently as she tried to steady her bow, but it was no use.
She was shaking too hard, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. Her body was covered in cuts, and several bolts were embedded in her back and shoulder, each one sending a fresh wave of pain through her with every movement. The weight of despair pressed down on her chest as she realized how hopeless the situation was.
Her younger brother sat nearby, crumpled against the wall, his body trembling as the blood from his bullet wound trickled down his abdomen. His light green hair, so much like hers, was matted with blood— his pale skin turned ghostly white. A deep slash ran across his chest, a mortal wound that had bled through his tunic. His green eyes, once full of mischief and life, now flickered weakly as he clung to consciousness.
“A-Arthemis… I… I-I’m scared,” he whimpered, his voice barely audible above the chaos outside.
High Elf Archer’s heart broke at the sight of him— her mind numb with the realization that she could do nothing. Her hands shook as she tried to reach out to him, but the pain in her back kept her still. She wanted to scream, to cry, to run, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t save him. She couldn’t save anyone.
She couldn’t even save herself.
Suddenly, a gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she flinched— her breath catching in her throat. She looked up and saw her older sister— strong, calm, even in the face of certain death. Her sister’s eyes, though weary, still held that unyielding determination.
“Shh… It’s alright,” her sister whispered, wiping the tears from High Elf Archer’s dirt-streaked face. “No matter what happens, I’ll always love you two.”
Her sister gave her a sad smile and kissed her forehead, before rising to face the barricaded door— her petite hand trembling, as she reached up to reluctantly unveil each of her breast from the confines of her dress. High Elf Archer felt a deep, painful sob rising in her throat as she watched her sister stand tall, ready to face what was coming.
And then, the door burst open.
High Elf Archer gasped as reality came crashing back. The warmth of the fire pulled her from the nightmare— her heart still pounding as she blinked, trying to calm herself. She was on the verge of a panic attack, her breathing ragged, when a sudden voice snapped through the room.
“ATTENTION ON DECK!!!” One of the knights shouted, his voice sharp and commanding.
High Elf Archer nearly dropped her drink— her body jerking in surprise. The café fell into an eerie silence as every soldier and knight in the room snapped to attention— their bodies rigid, their eyes focused on the door to the kitchen.
Emerging from the back, a figure strode confidently toward them. His dark hair was spiky, and his muscular frame was defined even beneath the sleeveless turtleneck he wore. His eyes gleamed with confidence, and his smirk was almost playful as he waved his hand dismissively at the knights and soldiers.
“At ease,” he said with a casual, almost sarcastic tone. The soldiers relaxed, resuming their seats as the handsome half-elf made his way toward the teen— Veronica trailing behind him with a knowing smile. "You must be the unlucky bastard who I get to talk to today," the blue-eyed man said with an amused grin. "I hear you’ve come a long way to see me."
Goblin Slayer, feeling the weight of anticipation and eagerness settle over him, stood up, extending his hand. "X-Xanviik," he said, his voice steady yet alive with a quiet enthusiasm. "I… I… I wanted to ask you for your help. Captain D-D’Arce, she… She said you could help me."
Xavniik’s grin widened as he clasped Goblin Slayer's hand firmly. “You need but ask, then! D’Arce wouldn’t waste my time, if she didn’t have faith in someone like… What was your name again?”
Goblin Slayer couldn’t suppress the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, a rare expression of something that almost felt like hope. “R… Ren… Ren Ashta.”
Xavniik raised a brow, intrigued. "Ah, I see. Well then Ren, you came to the right place!"
Goblin Slayer nodded. "That’s what I was hoping you’d say…!"
For a moment, it seemed as though time stood still, the weight of the conversation sinking in. Xavniik's smirk softened into something more genuine as he looked at Goblin Slayer, a knowing glint in his eyes.
"Well then," Xavniik said, leaning forward slightly, "let's see just how ready you are then, kid."
The atmosphere in Xavniik's office was thick with tension. The dim light from the desk lamp barely illuminated the space, casting eerie shadows along the walls. The half-elf sat behind his desk— legs crossed and an air of calm surrounding him. Veronica stood beside him, sipping her coffee, her gaze attentive but relaxed.
Across from them sat Goblin Slayer, whose facial expression conveyed a sense of nervous anticipation. To his left, Dwarf Shaman stood with his arms crossed, and a frown creasing his weathered face, while Lizard Priest stood on the other side of the teenager— completely relaxed.
High Elf Archer, however, lingered near the door. She had one foot propped up against the wall, arms folded tightly over her chest. Her head was bowed, her green hair shielding her face, but the tension radiating from her was palpable.
She refused to look anywhere near Xavniik.
It was then that the half-elf’s sharp eyes darted toward her, and he smirked— though there was no joy behind it. He sighed heavily, turning his attention back to Goblin Slayer. “So,” he began, with his voice low, “what is it exactly that you hope to accomplish by running your own guild?”
Goblin Slayer’s response was direct, his voice flat and determined. “I want to establish a safe zone within the Evergreen Forest first. Clear out the goblins. Then expand, little by little. Push them back until there are none left.”
Xavniik raised an eyebrow. “Planning to divide and conquer, I take it?” he asked, his voice holding a hint of amusement.
“Precisely— Captain D’Arce said that was the best way to go about doing it,” Goblin Slayer explained, while his tone darkened. “Those who take, hurt, and murder the innocent. They have no place in this world.”
A small smile tugged at Xavniik’s lips. “That includes humans too, I take it?”
Goblin Slayer’s voice hardened, a note of bitter malice creeping in. “... Once someone decides to take what isn’t theirs— to violate, to kill— they forfeit their humanity. They lose their right to live.”
Xavniik chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Quite the philosophy,” he mused, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. “But tell me, what about the Royal Army?”
Goblin Slayer frowned, uncertainty creeping in. “T… T-The Royal Army?” he asked cautiously.
Xavniik raised his hands in a nonchalant gesture. “Oh, come on now. Everyone knows that the Royal Army didn’t conquer Zemuria by asking nicely.” His gaze momentarily shifted to High Elf Archer, and he watched as she flinched visibly— her body tensing. His voice then softened, darkened.
“... There’s a reason Blackwatch is even a thing.”
Goblin Slayer, feeling the tension rise, began to half-stand— his instincts on edge. Xavniik chuckled softly, raising a hand. “Relax, Ren. There’s no one watching us. I’m not with the Royal Army anymore, so chill.”
Dwarf Shaman shifted uncomfortably— his thick accent adding a rugged edge to his words. “Aye, but why would someone like yerself— a hero, they call ye— talk like this about the army ye’ served in? Aren’t ye afraid of what might come of it?”
Xavniik let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Afraid?” He leaned back, folding his hands over his chest. “I’ve done enough to Zemuria on their behalf to deserve a worse fate. After everything I’ve done… No, I’m not afraid. If anything, I’m fine with it.”
And that was it. The last thread holding High Elf Archer together snapped. “F-FUCK YOU!!!” Her voice tore through the room like a dagger— shrill and shaking. Her face was bright red as she stormed across the room— shoving past Goblin Slayer without a second thought, as her hands slammed down onto Xavniik’s desk so hard it rattled the items on it. Her eyes were wild, filled with a rage that had been festering for centuries.
Veronica, standing beside Xavniik, raised her hand instinctively, her fingers twitching with magic, but he raised his own hand to signal her to stand down. He looked up into High Elf Archer’s furious, tear-filled gaze with a patient, almost resigned expression.
“Y-You don’t get to pity yourself…!” She spat— her voice cracking. “You don’t get to sit here and act like you're some victim— not after what you did!”
High Elf Archer then cocked her fist back and punched him square in the face. There was a sickening crack as her knuckles met his nose, but Xavniik didn’t flinch— he didn’t even attempt to move away.
Blood dripped from his nostrils, but his eyes never left hers.
“Y-YOU MURDERED MY PARENTS!!!” She screamed, her voice rising into a frantic pitch. “YOU BURNED MY HOME!!! MY FAMILY— THEY’RE ALL GONE BECAUSE OF YOU!!!” Her words were shaking now, barely coherent, as if the memories were unraveling all at once in her mind.
“Y-You destroyed Oakglade, my home— the people I loved! You sent your monsters, your men-” her voice cracked again, and a sob broke through. “They brutalized us…! The children- the women…! M… M-My s-sister-”
Her voice broke completely then, tears streaming down her face as she descended into incoherent sobbing. “Y-You made us watch,” she whispered, barely able to speak. “You made me and my brother watch as they… A… A-As they r-raped her! ALL OF THEM DID!!!” The words seemed to tear out of her, jagged and raw— her whole body trembling with the force of her grief.
Lizard Priest and Dwarf Shaman moved quickly— grabbing her by the arms as she tried to lunge across the desk at Xavniik, but her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed into their hold. “They raped her…! They raped her, a-and it’s all your fault,” she sobbed, her voice shaking. “S… She can’t even look us in the eye anymore… It hurts… It hurts so fucking much…!”
Her voice grew ragged— almost delirious with grief. “I… I-I hate you,” she whimpered. “I fucking hate you…! Y-You’re a monster…! Y-You’re worse than any goblin…! Y-You— you ruined everything!” Her words became a desperate, heartbreaking litany as she spiraled into a full breakdown. “I was so scared… I’ve never been that scared in my life… Y-You took everything from me…”
Her breath came in rapid, shallow gasps, her body shaking uncontrollably as Lizard Priest and Dwarf Shaman carried her out of the office— her sobs echoing in the small space. The door closed behind them with a soft, heart-wrenching finality.
Goblin Slayer sat frozen, his heart racing. His mind was spinning, trying to process what he had just witnessed. ‘W… What just happened?’ He thought to himself— feeling the whiplash of bearing witness to such a horrid revelation. ‘Sister… She said… She said that happened to her sister… Her sister… She was…'
The room was filled with an unbearable silence. Veronica handed Xavniik a handkerchief, and he accepted it with a quiet “Thank you.” He wiped the blood from his nose again, though his face was expressionless— save for a faint, bitter smile.
“If your definition of a goblin is someone who gives up their humanity to hurt and take from the innocent,” Xavniik said, his voice low, barely more than a murmur, “then the Royal Army, and the Emperor who commands them, are the worst goblins in existence.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Goblin Slayer's fists tightened on his knees, his mind still reeling from High Elf Archer's breakdown. He couldn't shake the image of her broken, sobbing form from his mind. He had fought countless goblins, but nothing could have prepared him for the weight of this— he horrors she had lived through, the trauma that had been etched into her very soul.
Xavniik leaned forward slightly, his smirk joyless. “So,” he said quietly, his voice almost gentle, “are you prepared to follow through with your ambition? To slay every last goblin on this continent— knowing you’ll die long before that dream ever comes even close to being realized?”
Still struggling to process everything that transpired before his eyes, the gray-haired teen swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. His voice was quiet, but there was a tremor in it, a hint of vulnerability. “I… I’m ready to die… Y-Yes,” he whispered. “S… S-So long as the guild can live on after me, then… T-Then I’ll accept that fate…”
Xavniik’s expression softened slightly, and he clapped his palms together— though the gesture was clearly meant to be sarcastic. “Fantastic! Just know that you’re not the only one who’ll be dying for that dream.” The half-elf mused in an almost mocking way, while leaning in subtly toward Goblin Slayer. "By the time it's your turn to be pushing up daises, you'll have be responsible for the deaths of hundreds— if not thousands!"
The teen, having not expected to hear such a sentiment bluntly stated, muttered, “W-What…?”
Xavniik’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “You may be ready to die, but what about your friends…? The ones who trust you…? Are they ready to die for you, Ren…? Because they better sure as hell be ready to. if they're gonna be sticking around you…”
Frozen still in his chair, Goblin Slayer felt his heart sinking into his chest as he watched wordlessly as Xavniik calmly pulled himself away from him— still smirking without a trace of happiness to be found, as he kicked his boots up on his own desk.
“Eeyup! And you better get used to seeing the consequences of your actions too, kid,” Xavniik cautioned with a soft chuckle escaping his parted lips, as he leaned his head back in his office chair, while interlacing his gloved fingers behind his head full of spiky hair.
“Just give it time, and you’ll end up like me— with the path you’re choosing: being called a hero by some, and called the devil by everyone else.”
Author's Notes: Since the sequel is still in its infancy stage, but will still come either way, feel free to recommend your ideas for interesting plot points, lemons, types of women/femboys/whatever you think would be good to include! I might not use your idea, but I'll definitely reply to them in the review section! Thank you very much in advance!
Oh, and as a side note, Veronica is definitely Arc Mage, and High Elf Archer having a younger brother is a creative liberty in of itself. I don't want to spoil that part, but just know he'll be shown later on, before the end of this story.
Chapter 31: White Silence
Chapter Text
The tension between Goblin Slayer and Xavniik remained thick, despite the silence that settled after their last exchange. The air seemed to pulse with unspoken words, the weight of High Elf Archer’s breakdown still lingering heavily over them.
Xavniik, ever composed, leaned back in his chair and, after a moment, glanced at the gray-haired teen with a subtle raise of his eyebrow. "So," he began, his tone casual, "what are your coin reserves looking like?"
Goblin Slayer, still visibly shaken, took a moment to gather his thoughts. His voice was quieter than usual, strained, but steady enough. “I… I c-cleared out a pryramid… Pyramid of Nyusyree… W-With my second in command. Took what was valuable… And… We also raided the Muhati Marauders’ camp.”
The half-nodded nodded slowly, but his gaze remained intent— as if he were waiting for something more.
Goblin Slayer paused, his mind briefly replaying the battle, the intense heat of the desert, and the blood-stained sand. “We also killed a Blackwatch Executive… A dark-elf, who went by the name “Suliven”.”
That name seemed to stir something in Xavniik. His expression shifted, one of visible surprise, but it quickly morphed into something more amused. His eyes lit up, and a dry chuckle escaped his lips. “Ah, “Moon Lord”…” he murmured, leaning forward slightly. “That’s quite the claim, kid.”
Goblin Slayer stiffened slightly, unsure whether he was being doubted. “I… I understand, but… What I say is true.”
The half-elf raised a hand in a gesture of calm, his lips curling into a half-smirk. “No doubt it is. But still… You’re telling me you killed Suliven? The same Suliven who wiped out entire platoons of soldiers sent to raid that fucking camp? Do you have any idea how many times the Royal Army has tried to take him down? And every time, Suliven came out on top— leaving them in scattered pieces!”
Goblin Slayer remained silent, though the tension in his posture spoke volumes.
Xavniik tapped a finger against the desk, lost for a moment in his memories. “That’s another thing you oughta know— about the Royal Army. You see kid, they’re… Reactionary, not proactive. Always forcing the solution when they have to, instead of preventing them— it’s why the Sahara Outpost fell in the first place.” He let out a sigh. “It’s one of their greatest faults. Anything outside the immediate vicinity of Central County? They don’t care about it, until it bites them in the ass.”
Goblin Slayer, still processing the weight of Xavniik’s words, narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Xavniik leaned back in his chair again, crossing his arms as he studied Goblin Slayer. “Emperor Uthur? The guy who fucked every native over? His interest was never really in all of Zemuria. When he and his fleet sailed from Great Victoria, it wasn’t to conquer the enitre continent. Not at first, at least.”
Goblin Slayer’s brows furrowed beneath his helmet. “Then what was his goal?”
Xavniik’s smirk returned, though this time, it was laced with something darker. “Securing the Avalon Sea,” he said simply. “The rest of Zemuria? That’s was just collateral to him.”
Goblin Slayer was silent for a moment, digesting the information. “But why just the Avalon Sea?”
Xavniik let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he looked toward the ceiling. “Because that’s what empires do. They expand. They control. And they make sure their ships can reach anywhere in the world.” His voice grew quieter, and his eyes darkened slightly. “Ol’ Uthur would have been content with just building harbors along the shores of the Avalon Sea… But that was until the natives of Zemuria made their first fatal mistake: they came to the empire in peace.”
Goblin Slayer tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean?”
Xavniik’s smile turned sad, and his gaze seemed to drift off to some distant memory. “People back then thought they could form an alliance with the Pendragon Empire. Thought they could build something that would benefit everyone. So, the natives shared knowledge of the land, gave them insight into the resources, the people…” He paused, the sadness deepening in his voice as he gave a soft, bitter laugh. “Including my mother— that’s how I got born into his life in the first place.”
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Goblin Slayer sat still, his eyes fixed on Xavniik, watching the half-elf laugh softly to himself, a laugh that held no humor.
The air between them still hung heavy after the earlier exchange, but the teenager, still collecting himself, steered the conversation away from the weight of their previous talk. He tilted his head slightly and asked, "Why did you mother want to help the Royal Army?"
Goblin Slayer’s words caught in his throat. The question was blunt, almost cold, but it had been lurking beneath the surface the entire time. Xavniik shrugged, his expression oddly calm.
“Like every other hopeful fool back then, she saw the Royal Army with their fancy guns and spell-slinging knights as potential allies. They all thought they’d help fight off the bad shit already plaguing the continent.”
Goblin Slayer, eyes narrowing, asked, “Did the Royal Army help?”
Xavniik let out a bitter, half-hearted chuckle. “They helped themselves,” he muttered, before waving a dismissive hand. “But we’re getting off track.” He leaned forward, more focused now. “Your funding— do you even know exactly what you're working with?”
Goblin Slayer paused, then nodded. “I’ve got an experienced business owner who’s offered to be my appeaser. They’re going to help me establish multiple branches across the frontier.”
Xavniik nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like you're on your way to success then,” he said, though his voice carried a subtle edge. “But what about the manpower to make that happen? Visions, no matter how innovative they might be, are all useless as shit, if you don’t have the means to execute them.”
Goblin Slayer thought for a moment. “I’ve got the entire population of Delrivkat to help. Logistics, scouting, medical care, architecture, general labor. Everything.”
That answer visibly impressed Xavniik. A grin crept onto his face as he turned his head toward the smiling blond woman, Veronica, who sat nearby. Their eyes met briefly, and then the half-elf chuckled before turning back to the teen. “How the hell did you pull that off with Storm Lord preventing anyone from getting near Delrivkat?!”
Goblin Slayer's voice was steady as he answered. “Storm Lord’s name is Remi Kasugai. They're the one who got Delrivkat to help me.”
Xavniik’s eyes bulged, and his jaw practically dropped in disbelief. “Wait… Storm Lord did that?!” He leaned forward in his chair, grinning with astonished amusement. “You’re telling me you befriended Storm Lord? The most selfish, psychotic, piece-of-shit, in all of Zemuria?!”
Goblin Slayer frowned slightly, the insult to his friend hitting a nerve, but after a moment of reflection, he realized that what Xavniik had said wasn’t entirely untrue. “Yeah… But they’re more than just those things; they’re my best friend.”
Xavniik raised an eyebrow, leaning in with a sly smile. “Your second-in-command— the one you mentioned earlier— was that Storm Lord too!?”
Goblin Slayer hesitated before nodding. “Yes.”
Xavniik then threw his hands up excitedly, clapping his palms together with a grin. “Wooo!” He clapped again, pointing finger guns at the confused teenager. “The Empire’s REALLY gonna love you when they find that out!”
Goblin Slayer's frown deepened. “Was that supposed to be genuine, or are you being sarcastic?”
Xavniik chuckled at his expense, shaking his head. “Of course, I was being sarcastic! The Empire’s been blaming Storm Lord for them being unable to use Delrivkat as a base of operations! All the bad shit that happens to those who can’t defend themselves on the Muhati Route? According to the current General of the Royal Army, Storm Lord’s to blame— not that’s entirely true, though. It’s just easier to blame Storm Lord than it is to admit incompetence in the higher chain of command.”
Goblin Slayer dwelled on that for a moment before asking, “Is that why the Sahara Outpost fell? Because of Suliven?”
Xavniik scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah. Suliven never targeted the Sahara Outpost. It was too fortified, even for him and his army of marauders and goblins.”
The teen’s eyes narrowed, as his wandering thoughts drifted to the large metallic dragon. “Then… Could it have been Albion?”
Xavniik nodded lazily. “That’s what the reports are saying, yeah.”
Goblin Slayer remained silent, processing everything. After a few moments, he asked, “D… Do you think Albion’s going to target my guild?”
Xavniik leaned back, his expression growing more serious. “Probably. Especially after you killed one of their executives. But with Storm Lord protecting wherever your base is, they might be able to buy you some time. It won’t guarantee anyone’s survival, but it’ll give you a few extra minutes to make peace with yourselves.”
Goblin Slayer frowned again. “Was that supposed to be sarcastic too?”
Xavniik’s face flattened. “No. I was being serious.”
The room fell into a brief, tense pause before the half-elf smirked— letting out a quiet laugh. “It is what it is…! It’s inevitable that you’ll have run-ins with Blackwatch, and even the Royal Army, sooner or later.” After a beat, Xavniik then raised an eyebrow at Goblin Slayer. “With that being said, I'll ask again. Do you really still think running your own guild during an active war on domestic terrorism is a good idea? All things considered?”
Goblin Slayer tensed up, but after a moment, he nodded. “It… It has to be done— goblins aren’t going to stop because of them, and neither will I.”
Xavniik nodded too, looking genuinely impressed. “Even if that means you’ll be responsible for the deaths of those who serve under you?”
Goblin Slayer paused, the question hitting harder than he expected. He finally spoke, voice firm. “… No one’s going to die on my watch. I won’t allow it.”
Hearing this, Xanviik immediately threw his head back in laughter— the sound echoing through the room. “Holy SHIT!!! Haha, ah! You know, I thought the same thing when I first became a knight, and I had to start leading poor fuckers to their deaths!” He exclaimed with bitter sweetness behind his voice, the joy slipping from his grin. “Ahhh…! For what it’s worth though, I personally hope you achieve that impossible feat— really, I am.”
Goblin Slayer’s expression didn’t falter. “I’ve faced the impossible nearly my whole life. Keeping my guild members alive will be no different.”
For once, Xavniik seemed genuinely proud of him, though he didn’t say anything. Instead, he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a stack of blank letters. As he began to write, he spoke casually. “Here’s what I’m going to do for you.”
Goblin Slayer watched, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What?”
Xavniik continued writing, his voice calm. “I’m writing you some letters of recommendation to the Adventurers’ Guild. They’ll provide you with fresh recruits and administrative help. Get things started right.”
Goblin Slayer blinked, taken aback. “That would be… Helpful. Thank you.”
Xavniik waved it off without looking up. “Sure thing.”
The room fell silent again, save for the sound of the half-elf’s pen scratching across the paper. After a few moments, he paused, before glancing up. “… What’s the name of your guild?”
Goblin Slayer fell silent, the weight of the question sinking in. He thought about what message he wanted to send to the people of the frontier— those not fortunate enough to live within the safety of Central County’s walls. His voice, when he finally spoke, was hollow, but resolute. ““United Front”… My guild’s name is “United Front”.”
Xavniik nodded in approval. “United. That’s the way Zemuria needs to be.”
Goblin Slayer’s mind drifted to what it would be like to finally step foot in his fortress, surrounded by his new allies.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden memory. “Actually… Would you mind writing another letter? A recommendation to a professor. Someone who’s smart enough to teach a little girl. A woman professor, specifically.”
Xavniik paused, pen hovering over the paper. He raised an eyebrow, then turned to Veronica, who was grinning excitedly at him. He smirked and asked, “Want to do it?”
Veronica’s response was immediate. “YES!!!” She screamed, jumping up and down in excitement, before doing a little victory dance.
And as she celebrated, Xavniik turned back to Goblin Slayer with a grin. “There’s your professor, Ashta.”
The gray haired teenager looked between the two— stunned by how sudden it all was. “R… Really?”
Xavniik went back to his writing, still grinning. “No one’s smarter in all of Zemuria than her. If she’d been born to the right family, she would have been Head of the Mages’ University by now.”
Goblin Slayer blinked, still processing the whirlwind of information. He sank back into his seat, while quietly muttering, “Thank you…”
The hotel suite was quiet a stark contrast to the unspoken weight hanging in the air. Dwarf Shaman sprawled out in a large papasan chair, with his legs stretched across the cushion, and his exhaustion palpable. His back rested against a pillow, and his eyes were half-closed as he stared at the ceiling. “I… I-I never knew…” His voice trailed off into a whisper, unfinished, before he sighed deeply— dragging his hands down his face. The heavy knowledge of what High Elf Archer had lived through sat with him like an immovable weight.
On the couch nearby, Veronica sat cross-legged— her energy buzzing in contrast to the somber mood. Her flamboyant green coat sprawled around her, complementing the crisp white blouse she wore, buttoned neatly, and black leggings that clung to her legs like second skin. Her apron was discarded, leaving her looking more like an eccentric scholar than a café worker.
With one elbow propped on the armrest, the other holding Goblin Slayer's atlas booklet, her fingers tapping rhythmically against its pages as her eyes flitted over the maps.
Lizard Priest sat beside her, awkwardly tapping his fingers on his knees. He cleared his throat to break the silence. “So… Y-You said earlier that you were part of the Adventurers' Guild in your youth?”
Veronica's eyes brightened as she lowered the booklet slightly— offering him a grin that was wide and mischievous. “Sure was! “Arc Mage”, at your service!” She gave an exaggerated flourish with her free hand, laughing softly. “Though, to be honest, I wasn’t never one for typical quests. I never cared about rewards. You see, I was in it for the research. I used to tag along with reputable adventurers, followed them into dangerous places, and gathered data.” Her raised hand made quick, fluttering motions as she spoke— like she was drawing the adventure in the air.
Lizard Priest tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Research? What kind of research were you after?”
Veronica’s grin widened, and she straightened up, clearly thrilled to explain. “Oh, you know… History, culture, the deeper stuff. The stuff that most adventurers don’t even notice. Zemuria is a treasure trove of forgotten knowledge— lost civilizations, ancient customs— and I wanted to catalog all of it!”
Lizard Priest nodded thoughtfully. “So, you’re still conducting research, I assume?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Veronica’s hands moved rapidly now, almost as if she couldn’t keep up with her own excitement. “The research never ends! I’ve been compiling everything I’ve learned into what I hope will become textbooks someday. You know, spread the knowledge across all four corners of the map! Zemuria’s cultures, its forgotten tribes, its magical heritage— there’s so much that people need to know!”
Lizard Priest leaned forward slightly, intrigued. “If you’re working on textbooks, why are you… Well, working at a coffee shop?”
Veronica chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Ah, Mythical Morning isn’t just any coffee shop, my friend.” She placed the atlas down on her lap, with one hand gesturing theatrically as if presenting something grand. “It’s owned by one of the most influential people in all of Zemuria! It’s a hub of power, really. People come in, exchange information, ideas, rumors— it’s a network. And trust me, in a world where knowledge is power, being at the center of that web can be a game-changer.”
Lizard Priest raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “You really think working there will get your research out? Why not go directly to a publishing house?”
Veronica’s expression soured slightly, with her lips twisting into a sardonic smile. “Oh, I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. But it’s not that simple.” She flicked her wrist dismissively. “The Empire has a stranglehold on what gets published. Censorship’s a big problem. If it doesn’t fit their narrative, it doesn’t see the light of day.”
“Censorship?” Lizard Priest tilted his head. “What exactly is the Empire trying to suppress?”
Veronica snorted, rolling her eyes dramatically as if the answer was obvious. “What ISN’T the Empire trying to suppress?!” She leaned in closer, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “The Emperor controls the narrative, shapes history as he sees fit. If something challenges that— something inconvenient like the truth— well, it gets buried. Did you know that Arthur II doesn’t even live in Zemuria?!”
Lizard Priest blinked. “He doesn’t?”
“Nope— never stepped foot on its soil,” Veronica said, popping the 'p' with exaggerated emphasis, looking pleased to drop this particular bit of information. “He’s all the way in Canterlot, across the Victorian Channel, lounging in luxury with his rich friends while Zemuria rots.”
Lizard Priest frowned, the gears in his head turning. “So, if Arthur II is in Canterlot, then who’s living in that big castle in the center of Crossbell?”
Veronica laughed, almost as if the question itself were ridiculous. “Ah, that would be his son. Arthur Pendragon III. Or, as he likes to call himself, the “Knight of Diamonds”.” Her hands mimicked air quotes as she said the title, her tone laced with mockery.
“The Knight of Diamonds?” Lizard Priest echoed, confusion etched across his face.
“Yep! Can you believe that?” Veronica laughed again, this time more openly. “The rich just love their little titles and names, don’t they? Basically had everything handed to him since day one— even joined the Adventurers’ Guild for shits and giggles! Starting out with daddy’s fancy magic sword and everything he could ever ask for, of course!”
Lizard Priest nodded slowly, with his brow furrowing. “And you think that’s why your research hasn’t been published? Because of him?”
“Not him specifically, no.” Veronica leaned back, crossing her arms. “It’s the whole damn system. They control the flow of information. My work doesn’t fit the Empire’s idea of a nice, clean history, so it’s been… Delayed. Let’s put it that way.”
Lizard Priest tapped his chin thoughtfully, glancing over at Dwarf Shaman, who still sat silently in his chair, his eyes closed, seemingly drifting in and out of the conversation. “It seems like a lot to go through. Why not just move somewhere else, where the Empire doesn’t have control?”
Veronica shrugged, her hands rising in a gesture of resignation. “I could. But where would I go? Besides, I’m not one to run away from a challenge. If the Empire doesn’t want my research published, it makes me all the more determined to see it happen.”
Lizard Priest smiled faintly, impressed by her resolve. “That’s admirable. But doesn’t it get exhausting?”
Veronica let out a short laugh, and waved a hand dismissively. “Of course it does! But hey, if it were easy, everyone would be doing it, right?” She tilted her head at him, with her eyes narrowing slightly as if she were sizing him up. “What about you, though? You’re not just a priest. There has to be more to you than that.”
Lizard Priest blinked— momentarily taken aback by the shift in conversation. “Me?”
“Yeah, you!” Veronica leaned in, her curiosity genuine. “What’s your story? You’ve got that… Calm, wise vibe, but there’s definitely something going on under the surface. I can tell.”
Lizard Priest hesitated for a moment, then smiled softly. “I’ve spent a long time in service to my people— focusing on promoting balance, enriching wisdom, and spiritual guidance. But… You’re not wrong. There’s more. I’ve had to fight to protect my flock— we lizards are targeted by pouches, who wish to sell our tanned hides for the sake of profit…”
“… There’s a side to me that has to engage with violence, even though it’s not what I prefer,” Lizard Priest admitted quietly, while tilting his head down solemnly. “Ironically, the Adventurers’ Guild is to blame for the near extermination of dragons in Zemuria. Gone are all our guardians and sages, and in their absence we must strive to preserve our future— as bleak as it may be.”
Veronica’s eyes lit up with interest. “Ooh, so you’re a warrior-priest type! Love that! Fighting for balance and justice with a moral compass.”
Lizard Priest chuckled softly. “You could say that. It’s not easy, though. Sometimes the lines do get blurry… It’s… Difficult to smile at someone, knowing that they’d murder you if you weren’t associated with their organization.”
Veronica nodded, her hands folding neatly in her lap, unusually calm. “Yeah, I can imagine. The world’s not black and white, even if most people want it to be. It’s all shades of gray.” She smiled, softer this time, and added, “You know, I think we’re more alike than we thought.”
Lizard Priest raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“We both want to change things. You, through action. Me, through knowledge. But at the core, we’re fighting for the same thing— a better world.”
Lizard Priest smiled, a quiet understanding passing between them. “Maybe you’re right.”
Veronica grinned broadly, her usual energy returning as she stood up, stretching her arms dramatically. “Well, in that case, I’ll make sure to save you a signed copy of my first textbook!”
Lizard Priest laughed— feeling the tension in the room begin to lift. “I’ll hold you to that, friend.”
Dwarf Shaman, who had been silent for most of the conversation, groaned softly from his chair. “Aye, can we please get some ale before all this talking makes my head explode…?!”
The closed room was dimly lit— shrouded in a quiet tension that made the air feel heavy. The flickering light from a paper lantern overhead cast soft, wavering shadows across the traditional Tekkadan-style bedroom. The tatami mats underfoot, the sliding paper doors, and the sparse but warm furnishings gave the space a sense of peacefulness— cozy, but unbearably tense. The cool air from the analog air conditioner hummed low— filling the silence that hung thick between them.
Goblin Slayer sat at the edge of the queen-sized bed, while still dressed in his formal clothes, with his back turned to High Elf Archer. She laid under the covers— her back to him as well, and the white blanket clutched tightly in her trembling fingers. Her long ears twitched, betraying the quiet storm of thoughts behind her silence. They were both frozen in place— trapped in the quiet weight of everything unspoken between them.
For what felt like an eternity, neither of them moved, neither spoke. The silence stretched, suffocating. Then, finally, High Elf Archer broke it, her voice soft but cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Y… You don’t need to do this."
Her words were quiet, almost resigned, as if she already knew what was coming. But they struck the teen hard. He shifted slightly— not fully turning toward her, but just enough for his head to tilt. His gaze lingered on his own shoulder, with the weight of her words sinking in.
He swallowed thickly, the lump in his throat painful— his chest tightening as the memories clawed their way up. He tried to breathe, but the air felt thin, with his heart pounding loud in his ears. His breath came out shaky, and it was enough to catch High Elf Archer’s attention.
Slowly, cautiously, she turned around under the covers, her sharp eyes locking onto his stiff back.
"I… I-I’ve never told anyone this," Goblin Slayer whispered, his voice low, strained. It felt as if the words were dragging themselves out of himaa heavy and reluctant. He stopped, his breath catching again, another tremor running through his chest. He wiped at his eyes with a quick, shaky hand, but it did nothing to stop the tears from welling.
"My father was... He was a priest," he continued, his voice trembling slightly. "And my mother... She was a pharmacist." His words faltered, voice cracking as he fought to steady himself. "I don’t remember the city where we lived... I-I just know it was near Crossbell. We were happy, I think— it’s… Hard to remember… I don’t remember much about them… Before they… D-Died,” Goblin Slayer uttered out painfully, with the walls he had erected in his mind beginning to break by the passing second. “I… I was only four when it happened, and Vivi was eight."
The mention of the name made High Elf Archer pause. She watched his back, her heart starting to beat faster. "Vivi?" She asked softly, uncertain. "Who... Who’s Vivi?"
Goblin Slayer’s breath hitched sharply, and his entire body seemed to stiffen. His hands clenched into fists in his lap, his knuckles turning white as the question hit him like a blow. His breathing became uneven, with his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. He fought against it, fought to keep himself composed— but the cracks were starting to show.
"V… Vivi..." He whispered, the name spilling from him like a confession— full of pain he could no longer hide. "She was... She was my older sister."
High Elf Archer’s eyes widened slightly, the weight of his words sinking into her. She sat up slowly, with the covers rustling around her as her mind raced to piece together the fragments of the story he was unraveling. Her gaze stayed fixed on the back of his head, waiting for him to continue.
Goblin Slayer swallowed again— the lump in his throat impossible to ignore now. His voice dropped even lower, barely a whisper. "Our parents... They died in a house fire. One that..." He trailed off, his breath shaky, his hands trembling. "One that I… That I caused…"
His voice broke, and a bitter, joyless smile tugged at the corners of his lips— a smile filled with the weight of his guilt. "I… I remember playing with the knobs on the gas stove. My parents had just had it installed. It was shiny... sleek. I... I couldn’t help myself." His voice cracked, and he let out a bitter laugh that held no humor. "I remember… I remember them telling me not to play with it, but… I did anyway— even waited until everyone was asleep to do it."
A heavy silence followed, his breathing labored as he struggled to push the words out. High Elf Archer said nothing— her chest tightening as she listened, the weight of his pain pressing down on her.
"I… I don’t know how it happened, but… S-Something… Something caught fire," Goblin Slayer continued, with his voice hollow, distant. "There was smoke… So, so much smoke…" He stopped to wipe his eyes again, but it didn’t help. The tears kept falling. "Vivi... She pulled me out of the house… S-She saved me…"
High Elf Archer felt her throat tighten— her heart breaking for him as he fought to get the words out. "Big sisters..." She whispered, her voice soft, trembling. "Big sisters, always look after their little brothers."
Goblin Slayer let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly, but his expression remained pained, and distant. "After that… We went into foster care," he said, his voice growing more strained, as if each word took more and more effort to say. He paused, the silence stretching uncomfortably long. "The man who fostered us... He... He used to do things to Vivi… Horrible things."
High Elf Archer’s breath caught in her throat, with her stomach turning as the realization hit her. She wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she just watched him— her chest aching.
"He... He hurt her… Hurt her head," Goblin Slayer whispered, his voice breaking as he choked on the words. "And I… I couldn’t do anything to save her…" His hands trembled in his lap, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were bone-white.
High Elf Archer swallowed hard— her heart breaking for him. She wanted to reach out, to hold him, but she couldn’t move. She could only listen.
"C… C-Child services finally took her claims seriously," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "They locked him up. But Vivi... She was terrified of being hurt again— she didn’t want us to be kept in foster care. So she... She paid a man to take us to the frontier— a man with three daughters. She was ten. I was six. She thought we could trust him…"
His voice grew more distant, and more haunted as he spoke. "We ended up in a village called “Riverwood”, but… We didn’t know how to build a house… We didn’t know how to grow food— we were just children…" He trailed off again, his breath shaky as he fought to keep speaking. "So... in exchange for work... And sex... Vivi convinced the man to help us."
The room felt suffocating, with the air thick with the weight of his words. High Elf Archer’s heart pounded in her chest— her throat tight with unshed tears. She wanted to stop him, to tell him he didn’t have to keep going, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything but listen.
"She... She became sick— sick in the head," Goblin Slayer whispered, his voice trembling. "I knew that she always resented me for the fire… But after having to give her body again, and again... She… She couldn’t bear the pain inside…" His voice cracked— his breathing uneven. "One night, during dinner... She... She snapped. She attacked me— beat me, and screamed how much she hated me… How it was all my fault.”
His breath hitched, and he let out another hollow, broken laugh. "S… She wasn’t wrong… I was the one to blame."
High Elf Archer’s eyes were wide— her heart aching as she watched him crumble. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, but her hand froze halfway, trembling. She let it fall back to her side.
"She… She’d always apologize afterward..." Goblin Slayer’s voice broke again, and this time he didn’t try to hold back the tears. They fell freely, streaming down his face as he spoke. "She would cry, and cry, and cry… S-She always said she didn’t mean it— that what she said wasn’t true." His voice trembled, his body shaking. "But I knew she did… I knew she hated me."
His hands rose to cover his face, his body shaking with quiet sobs. High Elf Archer could barely breathe, her own chest tight with the weight of his grief.
"I... I preferred it that way— getting hurt by her was easier than the alternative," the teen whispered— his voice barely audible. "Because when she wasn’t hurting me... S… S-She was hurting herself…”
The room fell into a heavy silence, thick with the weight of everything he had said. High Elf Archer sat frozen, her heart shattered, her mind racing to process it all.
"Despite it all… S-She still tried so hard to make me happy," he whispered— his voice raw with emotion. "She’d save up her coins to buy coffee beans, w-whenever a merchant came through… S-She tried— she always tried..." His voice trailed off, the tears flowing freely down his cheeks now.
"And t-then..." He choked on the words— his breath hitching as he forced himself to continue. "And then, when I was eleven... R-Riverwood, it… It was raided by g-goblins…" He paused, his body trembling. "Imp goblins… They... They destroyed everything… D-Defiled it all."
High Elf Archer’s breath caught— her heart pounding in her chest as the horror of what was coming settled in.
"She hid me under the floorboards," he whispered— his voice barely audible. "I… I-I watched her... I watched her slit her own throat before they could get to her— s-she didn’t even flinch when it happened…. His body shook, and he buried his face in his hands. "And then... T-They tore her apart…! For hours…! I just…! I just watched it all happen— too weak to do anything about it, just like that fucking fire…!"
High Elf Archer’s heart shattered as she stared at him, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move.
"S.. She killed herself to escape," he sobbed quietly— his voice raw with pain. "S-She killed herself…! B-Because of me…!”
The words hung in the air— heavy and unbearable.
Before Goblin Slayer could say anything more, High Elf Archer moved without thinking. She threw her arms around him, pulling him close— burying her face in his shoulder. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she held him— her body shaking with quiet sobs.
"I-It wasn’t your fault," she whispered, her voice breaking. "N-None of that w-was your fault…!"
Goblin Slayer didn’t respond. He just sat there, trembling in her arms— his face buried in his hands, as the weight of everything he had been carrying for so long had finally unraveled.
For a long time, they sat like that, High Elf Archer holding him in the quiet darkness— their shared grief the only sound in the room.
The room was still, their sobs fading into the soft hum of the analog air conditioner. The quiet was thick with shared misery— heavy and inescapable. High Elf Archer's arms stayed wrapped around Goblin Slayer, with her face pressed against his back— feeling the trembling of his body as he cried. It was as though, in that moment, the weight of years of silence, years of bottled pain, had finally broken free.
For what felt like hours, neither of them spoke. High Elf Archer’s tears continued to fall, soaking into his shirt as she held him— feeling his pain like a dagger in her own heart.
She had known loss— seen the worst the world had to offer— but that connection between them in that moment was something deeper, more intimate. It wasn’t the kind of grief she could fight with arrows or magic. It was a festering wound that had been hidden for too long.
Finally, Goblin Slayer’s sobs began to slow— his breathing gradually evening out. He let out a long, shaky breath, and his body sagged, exhausted. The silence that followed felt different— less oppressive, but still thick with emotion.
High Elf Archer, her voice soft and raw, whispered into his shoulder. "I had no idea..." Her words trailed off, lost in the weight of everything he had shared. She didn’t know how to make it better— there was no comfort she could offer that would erase the horrors he had lived through. But she wanted him to know he wasn’t alone.
Goblin Slayer, his voice still ragged from crying, let out a soft, bitter chuckle. "I… I originally didn’t come here to bore you with that," he muttered, his words barely audible. He wiped at his eyes again, but the tears hadn’t stopped completely. "I wanted to know that… That you aren’t alone— that I can be there for you.”
High Elf Archer smiled weakly through her own tears— her fingers tightening slightly around his shoulders. "I think you’ve done more than that," she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. "It’s been so long since that god-awful day; for all this time, I thought that the sands of time, they… They would just smooth it all out— that the pain would go away on it’s own…"
They stayed like that for a while longer, neither of them moving, both of them lost in the rawness of the moment. High Elf Archer slowly loosened her grip, pulling back just enough to wipe her eyes. She looked at Goblin Slayer’s back, his armor-clad form so familiar, but now, after everything he had revealed, she saw something different. The weight he carried was so much heavier than she had ever realized.
"B-But it never… I-It never did," she whispered, her voice shaking. “Seeing you in the same pain as I’ve felt, it… It gave me introspection— all I want to do is hold you… To comfort you, to make that pain go away… Our pain, go away…”
Goblin Slayer stayed silent for a moment, his head hanging low, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I was rescued by an old rhea— he told me everyday that I was worthless… That I deserved my fate, and so did Vivi," he explained— his voice barely a whisper. “I… I’ve been hurt by others my entire life… I wanted to be the one who was hurting others for a change— killing goblins, it… It makes me feel like righting my wrongs— atoning for the hell I made Vivi go through.”
"But… It doesn’t work, does it?" High Elf Archer said softly, her heart aching for him.
He shook slightly— his breath catching again as the tears continued to fall. "N-No… No, it doesn’t," he whispered. "I know it’s killing me— all of it is, but… V-Vivi, she’s a part of that— she’s everything to me…! And if I let go of that pain, then… T-Then I’d have to let go of her…!”
High Elf Archer felt a fresh wave of tears rise in her throat, but she swallowed them down, her hand reaching out to rest gently on his shoulder. "N-No, no more," she whispered. “She loved you; she wouldn’t want this for you…! No more holding onto her— not like this…!”
The teen turned his head slightly, his gaze still not meeting hers, but there was a subtle shift in his posture. A quiet, almost imperceptible release of tension, as though the weight of his grief had been lifted just enough for him to breathe.
"I..." He hesitated, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t know how…"
"Y-You don’t have to know how— not right away," High Elf Archer said softly. "Just... Starting by letting those who care about you in— no more holding it all in… Even if it seems impossible, you just have to move on— you have to let go of her, even if that takes time…”
Another silence settled over them, but this time, it felt less painful, more like a quiet understanding. Slowly, Goblin Slayer raised his hand to wipe away the remaining tears from his face. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.
"T… Thank you," he said quietly, his voice soft but sincere.
High Elf Archer smiled through her tears, a sad but gentle expression on her face. "You don’t need to thank me," she whispered. "Just... Live your life— don’t let the little boy who she loved die."
Goblin Slayer didn’t respond right away, but there was a small, almost imperceptible nod of agreement. He turned his head slightly— just enough to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. For the first time in what felt like forever, his expression softened, the hard mask of stoicism slipping just a little.
They sat in silence for a long while after that, the cool air of the room soothing their worn-out bodies, the tension slowly melting away into a quiet peace.
The trauma still lingered, the weight of Goblin Slayer’s past still pressing down on them both, but for the first time, there was a sense that it was no longer tearing them apart.
High Elf Archer gently released her hold on him while leaning back against the headboard— wiping the last of her tears away. Her voice, though soft, carried a hint of determination. "So... W-What now?"
The teenager took another deep breath, finally turning his head to look at her, his crimson eyes meeting hers with a tired but genuine gaze. He let out a small, almost embarrassed chuckle. “I was… Once told that misfortune is like a web that entangles everyone— the brave, or foolish alike,” the teen reminisced with a cathartic tone in his voice.
“They said that despair is different— that it’s the realization that one’s struggles were never a contest, but a foregone conclusion,” Goblin Slayer relayed, while High Elf Archer raised a bewildered brow at him— her face being a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
“Wow, that’s… Quite the cryptic thing to tell someone,” she mused with a small chuckle. “W-Where is this even going anyway, hehe?”
Matching her energy by smirking back at her, Goblin Slayer let out a small laugh under his breath. “Heh, haha…! I-I’m getting there,” he said playfully in his usual soft spoken voice. “Anyway… They told me that suffering was inevitable, and despite our fates, we continue on,” the teen said, his voice dropping ever so slightly, along with the corners of his pale lips.
“They asked me why we persist then… And when I was asked that question, I thought I knew the answer, but… I now know the answer to that existential conundrum,” Goblin Slayer admitted, with a strange sense of relief following suit— his smile returning, while his crimson eyes lit up with mischievous amusement. “You see, the answer to that question lies within the Fashion District…!”
A soft smile of glee broke through High Elf Archer’s tears— her eyes lighting up just a little. "O-Overpriced clothes?" She teased lightly, her voice still shaky but carrying a bit of warmth.
"They’re why we were put here on this Earth," Goblin Slayer replied jokingly— his voice a little stronger now. He glanced toward the window, the fading light of the sunset casting soft orange hues through the blinds.
Chapter 32: It's Time to Wake from this Dream
Chapter Text
Twilight bathed Crossbell’s fashion district in a soft, golden glow, the fading light casting long shadows over the cobblestone sidewalks and the perfectly paved, brick-lined streets. The entire area felt like a grand spectacle— filled with the warmth of steampunk-era lights that hung elegantly from tall, iron posts.
Sleek, colorful vehicles rolled smoothly down the streets— polished creations of brass and glass— blending technology and luxury. Massive billboards lined the skies, all which displayed elegant advertisements for high-end fashion, perfumes, and dining— their neon lights flickering to life as the night began to settle in.
The air was filled with music— smooth jazz, swing, and classical pieces playing from speakers hidden throughout the district, which created a rhythmic backdrop for the laughter and chatter of Crossbell’s elite. Shops lined both sides of the streets, with their windows gleaming with displays of expensive clothes, shoes, and accessories. The entire district gave off the aura of an upscale world that existed in its own bubble— a place where wealth and luxury were celebrated.
Goblin Slayer walked with his companions through the throngs of elegantly dressed residents, with his arms loaded with shopping bags. Despite the usual tension in his posture, tonight he was different—more at ease, and more open.
He glanced at the scene around him— his crimson eyes taking in the grandeur of Crossbell as they moved from shop to shop. While he wasn’t quite used to this kind of environment, after the heart-to-heart with High Elf Archer earlier, he couldn’t help notice how light he felt. His usual stoic expression had softened, and he even found himself enjoying the moment.
Beside him, High Elf Archer strode ahead— her light green hair catching the soft glow of the streetlights. She wore a beautiful white and gold dress she had just picked up from one of the more extravagant boutiques, with the fabric shimmering with every step she took. Her arms were adorned with shopping bags, and she happily slurped on her iced coffee, with a blissful grin on her face as she led the way.
"This place is amazing," she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. "I never realized the Fashion District was THIS fancy! I’ve heard about it, sure, but being here is something else entirely!"
"You’re telling me," Dwarf Shaman chimed in, while walking alongside Lizard Priest. His thick fingers wrapped around the straw of his iced coffee as he took another long sip. "Look at these folk— rich and spoiled, the lot of ‘em. Practically all human, too. I don't see many like us walkin' about."
He gestured around at the residents of Crossbell— most of them human, and dressed in their finest— tailored suits, elegant dresses, and lavish accessories. They strolled the streets without a care in the world, while chatting and laughing as if nothing existed outside of this bubble of luxury.
Arc Mage, who walked just behind High Elf Archer and beside Goblin Slayer, let out a knowing chuckle— twirling a lock of her blond hair between her fingers. "That’s because you’re in the heart of the Pendragon Empire’s playground for the rich," she said, her voice carrying the kind of authority that came from extensive knowledge. "Crossbell is where all the nobles and merchants go to spend their fortune! It’s designed this way— everything from the stores to the architecture. Every aspect of this place is meant to reinforce the idea that those who have money are the ones who matter."
High Elf Archer tilted her head, glancing back at Arc Mage. "Really? I mean, yeah, I figured this whole place was fancy, but... I never thought about it like that."
Arc Mage nodded, while gesturing toward one of the glowing billboards that advertised a high-end perfume with a beautiful human model smiling down from above. "It’s all part of the Pendragon Empire’s design. Crossbell thrives on the idea of excess— everything here is about catering to those with the wealth to afford it. And because it’s the heart of the Empire’s commerce, they’ve created a system where only the privileged get to experience this level of luxury."
Dwarf Shaman let out a low hum of approval. "I’ll give ‘em that, lass. They’ve done a fine job making it look good, even if it’s a bit over the top."
Lizard Priest— who had been silent up until this point— spoke up, his deep, thoughtful voice adding a layer of contemplation to the conversation. "It is true that this place offers an unparalleled sense of safety and comfort. Those fortunate enough to be born into Central County world live in a paradise of wealth and security— even if they're not necessarily living in Crossbell."
He then paused, with his eyes scanning the elegantly dressed people laughing, as they carried shopping bags filled with expensive goods. "But beyond these walls... It is a different story. Those in the frontier are left to fend for themselves— facing dangers that those here could never imagine. It’s a harsh contrast, but it’s one that the system has perpetuated."
Goblin Slayer nodded quietly, as he took in Lizard Priest’s words. He adjusted the shopping bags in his arms, his demeanor more relaxed than usual. "This place," he said after a moment, his voice thoughtful. "It’s easy to speak about it from a moral high ground, when comparing it to how people live out in the frontier, but… I don’t see it that way, not entirely,” the teenager mused, before further explaining, “I see everything around us as a look into what the future could hold— not just for a select few, but for everyone across all of Zemuria."
Arc Mage smiled wryly. "Exactly. That’s why the true Crossbell exists— behind the veil of luxury and pretty lights, there’s a wealth of resources that are accumulated for the sole purpose of innovation, for the future,” the blond woman said with a giddy look in her green eyes, before chuckling as she reached up to adjust her glasses. “The Empire’s future, to be exact. But still, the future nevertheless!”
High Elf Archer looked around, her green eyes wide as she absorbed the information. "Huh... I guess I never really thought about it like that. Guess that makes sense why this place always looks different when I come here… But, still..." She smiled as she twirled in her dress, the gold trim catching the light. "It’s hard to blame people for having fun here, you know? They’re not the ones to blame for living the life they were given."
Goblin Slayer’s lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile as he watched her. He couldn’t deny that he was enjoying himself, too. "Are you one of those people who we shouldn’t be blaming, Arthemis?" He asked playfully, with his tone lighter than usual.
High Elf Archer glanced over her shoulder at him, her grin widening. “I sure am! Besides, like you’re one to talk, “Guild Leader”!"
He let out a quiet chuckle, surprising even himself. “Like you said— can’t blame us for living the lives we were given…!”
"That’s the spirit!" High Elf Archer chimed, turning to lead them toward yet another upscale establishment— her excitement palpable. "Now come on! Just one more store, I promise!"
"You said that last time. And the time before that," the gray-haired teenager pointed out, with his tone teasing as he followed her.
Arc Mage raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you remember the rule of the Fashion District, Ashta? There’s always one more store!”
Lizard Priest chuckled softly, with his long tail swishing behind him as they approached the entrance of a boutique. "Indulgence is the lifeblood of this place, after all."
As they stepped inside, the music shifted to a lively swing tune, and the cool air from the store’s vents washed over them. High Elf Archer immediately darted toward the racks of clothing, with her eyes gleaming with excitement.
Goblin Slayer shook his head, though the small smile remained on his lips. "She really loves this, doesn’t she?"
"She does," Arc Mage said with a knowing smirk. "And I think you’re starting to as well."
He didn’t respond right away, but there was a softness in his expression that wasn’t usually there.
The restaurant they had chosen for dinner was a Tekkadenese fusion sushi spot. The entrance was framed by an indoor, artificial river that wound its way through a serene zen garden— complete with smooth stones, bonsai trees, and raked sand patterns.
Neon lights bathed the restaurant’s interior in a soft, electric glow— bouncing off the sleek glass tables and giving the entire space a modern, almost club-like atmosphere. Overhead, gentle fusion jazz played— a smooth blend of traditional gagaku instruments mixed with modern club beats, creating a tranquil yet lively ambiance.
Goblin Slayer, seated cross-legged on a cushion at a low, traditional table, found himself enjoying the aesthetic of the place more than he’d expected. The soft light, the elegant decor, the music— it all felt strangely calming. But as he stared down at the chopsticks in his hand, he frowned.
‘… What kind of snobby place doesn’t even offer forks?’ He wondered to himself, while trying and failing yet again to pick up a slippery noodle from his bowl of yakisoba. Watching as the lone noodle coiled back on top of the pile of food he had in his bowl, the teenager let out a low groan before looking up to glance around the table at his companions.
Dwarf Shaman sat nearby, holding a sake bottle to his lips as he guzzled the fine alcohol straight from the bottle— clearly enjoying himself, though there was a scowl on his face.
He slammed the bottle down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Bloody bastards," he grunted. "They’re all culture vultures…! Stealin' bits and pieces from everywhere, mixin' it up to make it their own. Hmph!" Despite his grumbling, a look of impressed satisfaction crept onto his face as he raised the bottle again. "But damn if this sake ain't delicious."
The table in front of them was a feast for the senses. Sushi boats overflowed with colorful rolls— dragon rolls, caterpillar rolls, spicy tuna— alongside bowls of steaming ramen, garlic fried rice, tempura vegetables and shrimp, and delicate slices of sashimi. A mix of traditional Tekkadenese dishes with a modern flair. Seaweed salad glistened in small bowls, while yakisoba and tempura filled the air with their fragrant aromas.
Lizard Priest was already devouring his meal— his massive bowl filled to the brim with everything he could pile in. His eyes were half-closed in bliss as he chewed through a mouthful of food, occasionally muttering between bites. "Best thing... I've ever tasted," he mumbled, before diving back into his bowl— scarfing down the food as though it were his last meal.
High Elf Archer, seated gracefully across from him, raised an eyebrow and gave him a teasing smirk. "You say that about everything you eat," she quipped, while popping a piece of tempura shrimp into her mouth.
Lizard Priest, unabashed, simply nodded as he chewed— too content to argue.
Arc Mage, meanwhile, was idly picking at a bowl of seaweed salad— her gaze drifting over the restaurant’s intricate decor. "You’re not wrong, Mr. Bhaston," she began in her usual analytical tone, "Businesses here who come from Great Victoria are infamous for adopting cultural practices from other nations— especially Tekkadenese culture. They cherry-pick the aspects that are exciting, like food, fashion, and entertainment, while discarding what they deem unnecessary. It’s a process of selective appropriation— essentially, plagiarism on a grand scale."
Dwarf Shaman gave her a sidelong glance, taking another swig from the bottle. "Plagiarism, aye? That’s puttin’ it lightly. Buncha thieves, I say! Just like the bloody Empi-imph?!" Before he could say more, Arc Mage suddenly leaned over and shoved a whole onigiri into his mouth— cutting him off mid-rant.
"Shhh," she whispered with a sly smirk. "The walls have ears, remember? Taboos exist for a reason...!"
Dwarf Shaman, wide-eyed and caught off guard, chewed slowly— grumbling through the onigiri but clearly enjoying it. "Hmph," he muttered, swallowing the rice ball. "Bloody delicious."
High Elf Archer, seemingly unbothered by the drama, dipped a piece of dragon roll into soy sauce and a bit of wasabi before popping the entire thing into her mouth. She chewed happily— her minty-green hair shimmering in the neon light as her bright eyes wandered over to Goblin Slayer. He was still struggling with his chopsticks, awkwardly trying to maneuver a noodle out of his bowl.
"Hold up," she said with a playful laugh, while leaning over toward him. "Here, let me help."
Before he could protest, she deftly used her own chopsticks to grab a bite of yakisoba, lifting it up toward him with a grin. "Say ahh," she teased, her tone soft and affectionate.
Goblin Slayer’s cheeks immediately flushed red. He hesitated for a moment, clearly embarrassed, but High Elf Archer’s playful demeanor was impossible to resist. Slowly, he leaned forward, his face inches from hers, and shyly took the bite from her chopsticks. His eyes widened as he chewed, the flavors bursting in his mouth.
"You were right, Jaree," he said quietly, glancing over at Lizard Priest. "This IS the best food ever…!"
Lizard Priest nodded sagely, his mouth full of food.
High Elf Archer smiled, with her own cheeks tinged pink. "Knew you’d love it here," she said, while dipping her chopsticks back into his bowl to help him with another bite. She couldn’t hide the satisfied grin on her face as she leaned in again, offering him more.
But before the moment could continue, Dwarf Shaman dramatically slammed his sake bottle down on the table— standing up with a dark shadow falling over his face. His expression was overly serious, like he was about to make some grand declaration.
"I will not," he said in a low, intense voice, "sit by and watch my culture be bastardized any longer!"
Arc Mage, Lizard Priest, High Elf Archer, and Goblin Slayer all stared at him— bewildered.
"That’s it!" Dwarf Shaman declared, marching around the table. He wedged himself between High Elf Archer and Goblin Slayer— causing her to yelp in outrage, as he pushed her slightly aside. He turned to face the confused teenager, who now had a single bead of nervous sweat trickling down his cheek.
"Uhhh...?!" Goblin Slayer started, but Dwarf Shaman cut him off by snatching the chopsticks from his hand.
"Ye’ve been doin’ it all wrong," Dwarf Shaman said gruffly, handing the chopsticks back to Goblin Slayer and positioning his fingers properly. "Hold ‘em like this. Now watch—ye pinch with the top stick, aye, just like that. Slowly now. There ye go."
Goblin Slayer, under Dwarf Shaman’s careful instruction, slowly picked up a piece of his caterpillar roll. He dunked it in soy sauce and a bit of wasabi, finally managing to get it into his mouth without dropping it.
Dwarf Shaman grinned, patting the gray-haired teen on the back. "There ye go, lad! Ye did it!"
Goblin Slayer chewed, the taste hitting him immediately. "Thanks… I knew I was doing something wrong there— I just didn’t know what it was," he said, smiling sheepishly.
Dwarf Shaman chuckled, stepping back to his side of the table, but not before accidentally bumping High Elf Archer again with his backside.
"Watch it, old man!" High Elf Archer snapped playfully, while shoving him slightly.
Dwarf Shaman barked out a laugh. "Aye, I’ll get outta yer hair, lass!" He reassured, before bowing dramatically to Lizard Priest and Arc Mage, as they clapped for him.
"Well executed," Arc Mage said, while grinning in delight.
Lizard Priest gave a slow, approving nod. "It’s good to teach others the ways of different cultures."
As Dwarf Shaman settled back into his seat, Arc Mage glanced around the restaurant with a soft smile. "I have to admit, the Tekkadenese culture is fascinating. They’ve really perfected the art of blending tradition with modernity. The fusion of aesthetics is... Perfection."
Dwarf Shaman raised an eyebrow at her. "Careful, lass, ye’re soundin’ like a bit of a culture vulture yerself."
Arc Mage smirked, not missing a beat. "Oh, I know: I’m an "Otaku"!"
Dwarf Shaman snorted, shaking his head. "Aye, that’s just a fancy way of sayin’ “weeb,” ye know."
Arc Mage just smiled back. "Guilty as charged!"
As laughter filled the air, the group settled back into their meal, the neon lights reflecting off the shimmering water of the artificial river beside them. The fusion jazz played softly in the background, and for this moment, all was right in their world.
Goblin Slayer knelt by the low chabudai table in the hotel suite, and was intently watching as Arc Mage demonstrated the intricacies of the portable gramophone he had bought for Remi. The wooden finish gleamed under the soft light of the lanterns, its brass horn curving elegantly upward. Arc Mage, seated beside him, carefully turned the dials with a practiced ease.
“First, you set the needle down,” she explained, her voice patient and steady, “and then— just like this— it picks up the vibrations and plays the sound.” The soft hum of the vinyl filled the room briefly before she flicked a switch. “Now, here’s the radio function. These dials control the frequency. See? AM and FM, but we’re going to focus on FM for better quality.”
Goblin Slayer followed her every move, his hand mimicking hers as she guided him. “This is for Storm Lord, you said?” She asked, her lips curving into a small smile.
“Yes,” he replied, adjusting the dial as instructed. “They’re a musician. I thought they’d like it.”
Arc Mage nodded approvingly. “That would explain the amplifier and guitar you got.”
Behind him, High Elf Archer lounged casually on the couch— her bare legs resting gently against the side of the teenager’s shoulders. Her eyes, a bright green, remained fixed on him with a warm curiosity.
Lizard Priest, sitting on the opposite side of the room, subtly caught the affectionate look in her eyes as she gazed at the back of Goblin Slayer’s head— a soft smile forming on his lips as he sipped his tea.
Dwarf Shaman snored in the corner— collapsed into the oversized papasan chair. He was far too intoxicated to appreciate the peaceful scene, with his loud snores the only disruption in the calm.
“Now this,” Arc Mage continued, adjusting another knob, “changes the station. Let’s see if we can find something interesting…”
After a brief moment of static, a boisterous voice boomed from the gramophone’s built-in radio.
“Welcome back to The Rohan Experience! I’m your host, Joe Rohan, and today we have an amazing guest with us— the Prince of Zemuria himself, the Knight of Diamonds, Arthur Pendragon the Third!”
Goblin Slayer’s hand paused on the dial. He glanced briefly at Arc Mage, who was equally intrigued.
“Arthur,” Joe Rohan’s voice continued, “It’s an honor to have you here, man. How’s it feel being royalty, huh?”
A smooth, composed voice responded— full of regal poise. “Thank you, Joe. It’s an honor to be here. I’ve long admired your show. It’s a refreshing place for open dialogue.”
Joe chuckled, clearly pleased. “Well, we’re gonna dive right in, Arthur. A lot of stuff’s been happening in Zemuria, but what’s on everyone’s mind is what’s being done about the tragedy at the Sahara Outpost. I mean... Ten thousand people, soldiers of the Empire, wiped out by Albion and picked off by the Moon Lord. What’s your plan to make good on your promise for justice?”
Arthur’s voice shifted, growing heavier with gravitas. “First, I extend my deepest condolences to the families of those who lost their lives at the outpost. Every one of them has my word— justice will come. The Empire does not forget its fallen.”
High Elf Archer leaned in closer, her legs shifting slightly as she listened intently. Goblin Slayer’s hand hovered over the dial, but he stayed quiet— focused.
“Promises are good, Arthur, but what are you gonna do?” Joe pressed. “I mean, reports say the outpost was wiped out before anyone from the Royal Army even got there. Who’s responsible for that slow response?”
Arthur hesitated briefly before answering. “I… I must admit that our lack of presence within the Muhati Desert is a contributing factor of that. And I take full responsibility for all that went awry in the following aftermath,” the prince said with humble conviction in his voice, before going on to say. “The Royal Army was sent in to eradicate Blackwatch from the area, no matter the cost, but… By the time they arrive to survey the area, they’d found all forces beneath Moon Lord to be eradicated.”
“Eradicated, huh? Then who do you think did it?” Joe asked, his voice eager. “Was it Storm Lord, maybe?”
Arthur let out a low, thoughtful hum. “It’s likely. Storm Lord has been known to act independently— clearing out threats without coordinating with the Royal Army, including diplomats who I tried sending to Delrivkat. Their unwillingness to cooperate with us continues to complicate matters.”
“Complicate? More like obstruct,” Joe countered. “Storm Lord’s been nothing but a pain in your side, right? You can’t get anywhere near Delrivkat without them sending your boys back with broken bones!”
Arthur’s voice was steady, though tinged with frustration. “That’s exactly why I’ve ordered my soldiers not to go within a kilometer of Delrivkat. As far who cleared out Blackwatch from the area, I can’t imagine anyone else who would have done it. The Adventurers’ Guild didn’t even know about the outpost’s destruction, until two days after it happened. As far as I know, the guild doesn’t have information even as to where Moon Lord’s basecamp was.”
Joe’s voice sharpened. “So, what you’re saying is, it had to be Storm Lord. But let me ask you, Arthur— what got them off their lazy asses to do what the Royal Army and the Adventurers' Guild should’ve done, a year ago when Blackwatch first moved into the Muhati Desert?”
Arthur took a deep breath, his tone reflective. “Perhaps we’ve overstretched ourselves, Joe. The Empire has expanded beyond its reach. I’ve realized that now, and I’m working with my father and the cabinet to focus on securing the outer rim of Central County, before we even consider more expansion.”
Joe’s voice became more serious. “Stretching an empire too thin is dangerous, Arthur. What about the people in the frontier? What’ll happen to them if you’re pulling back forces to secure the rim?”
“That’s a good question,” Arthur admitted, his tone thoughtful. “Central County lies along the West coast of Zemuria, where the Avalon Sea meets the Atlas Ocean. Our focus will be on securing the Muhati Desert, the Highwind Plains, and the Cheyenne Marshes first— eradicating Blackwatch from those areas. Everything west of the Iron Flower Mountains will receive more attention, at least for the time being. Our eventual goal is to eventually secure our reach, all the way to the East Coast— providing the same protection and comfort that those living in Central County.”
Joe nodded, his tone speculative. “One of the Empire’s biggest criticisms is its failure to provide a first-world living standard to all of Zemuria. How do you plan to fix that?”
Arthur responded earnestly, “That’s a problem I hope to solve within the next decade or so. It’s why we’re depending on the heroes of the frontier to continue sending resources back to Steelport’s manufacturing plants.”
Joe leaned in. “Yeah, but that’s a tough sell, Arthur. How do you expect the frontier to support the Empire if they’re not getting anything in return?”
Arthur’s voice was firm. “We’ll be funding the Adventurers’ Guild ourselves. Frontier residents won’t have to pay for help from adventurers anymore. They’ll be part of the Royal Army, and the Guild will continue providing security.”
“Mercenaries, then?” Joe pressed.
Arthur sighed. “If that’s what you want to call them, Joe, then yes.”
Joe quickly added, “I’m not trying to step on your toes, Arthur. I just call it like I see it.”
Arthur’s tone softened. “I understand, Joe. And I agree that freedom of speech is important. But in these trying times, we need unity— not anarchy.”
Joe shifted gears. “What about the Forgehart Clan? You really think they’ll let the Royal Army occupy their stronghold? Because from what everyone knows already, they have more reasons to align themselves with Blackwatch than with the Royal Army.”
Arthur’s voice darkened. “Blackwatch preys on fear. They’re terrorists. And I’m aware of the bloody history between the Empire and the natives of Zemuria. I’m working tirelessly to right those wrongs. My vision is for prison reform, more rights for everyone. One day, I hope we’ll stop calling them “subjects” and start calling them citizens— including the Forgehart Clan.”
Joe was impressed. “That’s a radical view, man. What’ll the higher-ups in Great Victoria think of that?”
Arthur replied passionately, “Great Victoria should govern itself, in the same way that Zemuria needs to govern itself. It’s time to hand the torch to the people.”
Joe chuckled. “That’s noble, Arthur. But let’s circle back to the Forgehart Clan. What if diplomacy doesn’t work? Cause I have to be real with you man: everything you said is nice, and progressive, but none of it aligns with the alpha-power hierarchy structure that orc society runs on. Change through them is made by strength. Arthur— not by empty promises.”
Arthur responded firmly, “Violence only creates more violence; I’m hoping to avoid engaging in battle with the Forgehart Clan. I also recognize that orc culture is different from our own; in their eyes, a community is only as strong as the one that leads it. Which is why my Royal Court and I will be leading in the morning to make our way to their stronghold— I believe negotiating in person with the Forgehart Clan’s chieftain is the best way to avoid bloodshed.”
Joe acknowledged it, his tone neutral. “That’s all you can share?”
“I’m afraid so, Joe.”
Joe’s voice softened as he wrapped up. “Well, Arthur, thanks for joining me and being real. It’s been an honor.”
“The honor is mine, Joe,” Arthur replied, his voice sincere.
Joe ended the show with his usual enthusiasm. "And that’s it, folks! Another killer episode of “The Rohan Experience”. Thanks for listening, and remember— stay curious!"
Goblin Slayer sat frozen— his wide eyes locked on the radio. His body was rigid, every muscle tense. He barely breathed, his face ghost white— drained of what little color he had to begin with. The lively conversation from The Rohan Experience faded into the background, replaced by the thundering of his pulse in his ears.
He couldn't move. Couldn’t speak.
Arc Mage, sitting beside him, noticed his reaction. She raised a single brow, more curious than concerned. An intrigued grin crept across her face as she observed him, tilting her head slightly as if studying a rare specimen. "What’s this now…?" She mused, her voice lilting— clearly entertained by his uncharacteristic reaction.
High Elf Archer, still lounging on the couch behind Goblin Slayer, leaned over his shoulder. Her hands rested gently on his armored shoulders, and she turned her head to get a look at his face. When she saw his expression, her heart jumped.
Her casual demeanor vanished, quickly replaced with escalating concern. "Orcbolg? Hey, are you okay?" She asked softly, giving his shoulders a gentle shake. His shuddering, stiff body made her panic even more. "What's wrong? Say something!"
Her worry caught Lizard Priest’s attention. His reptilian eyes flickered toward Goblin Slayer, sensing something was very wrong. Even Dwarf Shaman, who had been snoring blissfully in the papasan chair, stirred awake at the commotion— rubbing his eyes and blinking drowsily.
After a long, agonizing pause, Goblin Slayer finally spoke, his voice quiet and sober, almost as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "... We need to leave."
High Elf Archer blinked, her hands still gripping his shoulders. "Leave? What, why? What’s happening?!"
Goblin Slayer’s voice shook slightly as he stood up abruptly, before gathering his belongings with an urgency they hadn’t seen in him before. "We need to get to the Evergreen Forest... Before the Knight of Diamonds and his court arrive at their stronghold."
Lizard Priest stood as well, watching Goblin Slayer carefully. "Why the haste, Mr. Ashta? What danger do you foresee?"
"There’s going to be a battle— I know there is," Goblin Slayer muttered, his tone grim as he strapped his sword to his side. "The Forgehart Clan has been anticipating an invasion— when they see Arthur and all the soldiers he’ll have with him, they’ll more than likely take that as an act of aggression. We need to be at the fortress near their stronghold before that happens."
High Elf Archer’s face paled. She stood up, gripping his arm now, her voice laced with worry. "Why don’t we wait it out then? It’d be safer if we just let the conflict resolve itself, wouldn’t it?"
Arc Mage, still seated, smirked knowingly as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place in her mind. "Ah… I think I understand." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "You have personal ties to the Forgehart Clan, don’t you, Ashta?"
Her eyes sparkled with accusatory glee as she added, "It’s like you said to Xavniik: you’re willing to die, so long as your guild can outlive you! You want everything in place before you go out to help the Forgehart Clan fight that battle, don’t you?!”
Goblin Slayer flinched, guilt flashing across his face as he froze mid-movement. He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to face his companions, all of whom were now staring at him— each with a different expression.
Arc Mage was grinning, her gaze sharp, as if waiting for confirmation of her theory. High Elf Archer, Lizard Priest, and Dwarf Shaman looked surprised, the weight of the situation finally dawning on them.
Dwarf Shaman, still shaking off the remnants of his drunken stupor, blinked at Goblin Slayer. "Wait, is that true? What she said?"
The teenager hesitated, with his fists clenching and unclenching before he finally spoke. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "I want to help them. They did right by me... And they could be allies." He paused, struggling with the words, before adding in a softer tone, "Some of them... Are my friends… I don’t want them to die."
The room fell silent for a moment. High Elf Archer, clearly conflicted, opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t seem to find the right words. She gripped his arm tighter, her voice breaking slightly as she asked, "And when we got to your fortress, did you really expect us to just let you go out there alone?! Against an entire army?! While we sit there and do nothing?!"
Her voice wavered with frustration and fear as she shook her head, stepping in front of him. "No," she said firmly, her green eyes brimming with passion. "I won’t let the Royal Army kill you…! I refuse to stand by and watch them hurt someone I care about! I WON’T let that happen— NOT AGAIN!!!"
Goblin Slayer shuddered, visibly uncomfortable. "I don’t want any of you to get hurt eith-"
Lizard Priest cut him off with a calm, knowing smile. "-Do not forget the words of the great warrior, “We fight not because we choose to, but because we must protect those we love”.” He then stepped forward, before placing a reassuring hand on Goblin Slayer’s shoulder. "We’re not asking for your permission, friend. We’re telling you— we’ll fight by your side. No matter what lies ahead."
Goblin Slayer swallowed hard, panic rising in his chest as he tried to steady himself. His emotions were a storm within him. Before he could respond, Dwarf Shaman, still slightly swaying from the alcohol, staggered over to the group. "I dunno what all this ramblin' is about..." He slurred, scratching his beard, "but if it means a chance to kick the Royal Army’s arse, count me in!"
The group then huddled closer to Goblin Slayer, each one placing a hand on his shoulders in a show of solidarity. High Elf Archer’s grip tightened, her gaze fierce. Lizard Priest stood tall, his eyes calm yet resolute. Even Dwarf Shaman managed a determined smile, despite his inebriation.
Goblin Slayer’s eyes welled up with emotion, a worried smile tugging at his lips. “I… I don’t want to lose any of you… I… I can’t lose anyone else…”
Arc Mage, who had remained quiet, stood up with a stretch— her confident smile never wavering. "Oh, come on— man up, Ashta! Didn’t you already tell Xanviik that you wouldn’t let anyone die on your watch— no matter how much of an impossible goal that really is?" She sauntered over, leaning casually against the wall. "You knew this was coming, kid, and Xanviik already wrote those letters of recommendation— it’s too late to back out now."
Dwarf Shaman raised a brow at her, his voice thick with suspicion. "Wait, are you... Actually gonna help us fight, if it comes to that?"
Arc Mage let out a laugh. "Oh, hell no— not if I don’t have to! I’ll be staying in the fortress, where it’s safe. But I’ll be rooting for you all, don’t worry,” the blond woman replied bluntly, before her sardonic smile darkened. “Do not be mistaken though: I’ll still step foot onto the battlefield, to see what’s left that I can do a vivisection on… If there even is a battle, of course."
Goblin Slayer, surrounded by his friends, felt a mixture of dread and relief. These were the people willing to fight by his side—willing to risk everything for him. And in that moment, he silently affirmed his resolve.
‘I won’t let any of you die.’
Chapter 33: Goodbye to Paradise
Chapter Text
Goblin Slayer stood at the check-out counter of the armory— his expression hidden behind the cold steel of his helmet, but the tension in his body was clear. In front of him, tempered glass separated him from the quartermaster, who was a heavily built soldier with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. Beneath the glass was a small space that was just wide enough for paperwork to pass through.
The quartermaster then slid a clipboard and requisition form under the window, with his voice slightly distorted through the built-in speaker. "You literate?" He asked bluntly, staring at the fully armored teen with a skeptical gaze.
"Yes," Goblin Slayer replied flatly, and without hesitation.
The gray-haired teen then took his own silver-nubbed pen from his belt and began filling out the form. His movements were efficient, the pen gliding over the paper with precision. Once he finished, he slid the clipboard back along with his laminated ID card.
The quartermaster picked up the form, comparing the handwritten information with the details on Goblin Slayer’s ID. He narrowed his eyes and glanced back at the teenager, as if trying to assess him behind his helmet. After a moment, he set the form aside and spoke through the speaker again. "Wait by the window."
Goblin Slayer nodded, standing motionless as the quartermaster left the counter and disappeared into the armory behind him. Beyond the tempered glass, the armory was a fortress of steel and stone, and was lined with towering shelves filled with an arsenal of weapons, shields, and forbidden items. Everything from simple swords to high-grade, restricted weapons gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights. There were crates marked with warnings in bold, red letters: "DO NOT REMOVE WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION." A few locked cages contained relics of war— pieces of technology too dangerous for regular soldiers, yet tempting for those with enough power to wield them.
The quartermaster returned with Goblin Slayer’s orichalcum tomahawk and his steel-buckler shield. He slid them through a lower compartment— the hatch opening with a metallic click as the weapons were pushed toward the teen.
"Here you go," the quartermaster said, with his tone indifferent.
Then he reached beneath the counter and pulled out something far more intricate— an apparatus of complex metal gears and polished brass, embedded with glowing crystals and etched with arcane symbols. It looked both ancient and advanced, with a strange blend of mechanics and magic. Without a word, the quartermaster placed it in the same compartment and slid it toward Goblin Slayer.
"You know the drill. Arm with the bracelet goes in," the quartermaster instructed, gesturing to the teen’s right arm, where the mana-suppressing bracelet was clamped.
Goblin Slayer then compiled, and slipped his arm into the cold, metallic device. Immediately, the inner mechanisms whirred to life. He felt it latch onto the bracelet, followed by a low vibration that hummed through his entire arm. The sensation was unsettling, sending a shiver down his spine. Behind his visor, the teen’s eyes narrowed as he braced himself— unease prickling at the back of his neck. The vibration intensified, shaking his arm until it abruptly stopped. With a soft click, the bracelet unlatched itself from his wrist.
Slowly, Goblin Slayer pulled his arm free, the cool air biting at his newly liberated skin. He raised his wrist to inspect it, flexing his fingers. The red glow of his left eye intensified behind the visor— flickering ominously. His gaze shifted to the quartermaster, who watched him with growing unease.
The quartermaster's hand moved subtly to the side— signaling the two heavily armored templars stationed nearby. In perfect synchrony, they raised their rivet rifles, with the weight of their weapons shifting with a mechanical hum as they aimed directly at Goblin Slayer’s head.
The quartermaster’s voice crackled through the speaker again, this time with a slight edge. "We gonna have any problems here?"
Goblin Slayer’s eye glowed brighter for a moment, then dimmed as he lowered his wrist. "Not from me."
The quartermaster studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly— the tension in the room thick but not unbearable. The teenager felt a surge of energy course through him now that the bracelet was off. The suppression was gone, and the latent power within him hummed, ready to be released.
He clenched his fists, feeling invigorated, a renewed sense of strength pulsing through him.
With his weapons in hand, Goblin Slayer stepped out of the armory. The air outside was cool and crisp, the sky a vast expanse of pitch-black. Stars twinkled like shards of ice scattered across the heavens, the moon hanging large and pale with no clouds in sight. The outdoor offices surrounding the fifty-meter-tall walls of Central County stood like silent sentinels— bathed in the eerie glow of the night.
As Goblin Slayer passed the security checkpoint, his eyes found his companions waiting for him just beyond. Lizard Priest was standing tall, carrying a dolly with a large bundle wrapped in bungee cords— which was loaded with all of their accumulated purchases.
Arc Mage stood nearby, her curious gaze locking onto Goblin Slayer immediately. “How does it feel to have that anti-mana bracelet off?” She asked in her usual blunt, almost detached tone— though there was a glimmer of genuine curiosity in her eyes.
Goblin Slayer paused, adjusting his steel buckler over his left forearm. “Good,” he replied simply with a single nod— not offering any more details.
Lizard Priest led the group forward, eyes scanning the dark horizon as he flipped through the pages of the atlas booklet with one hand. The moonlight barely illuminated the path ahead, but his sense of direction never wavered.
"If we don’t take any breaks," he mused aloud, his voice low and thoughtful, "we should be back in Stonehall by dawn." He then paused, yawning deeply before adding, "Though… We’ll have to rest sometime. Fatigue is a dangerous enemy."
Behind him, Dwarf Shaman stumbled slightly, while still wobbling from the alcohol. His laughter was soft, almost sleepy as he muttered, "Aye, it’ll be curtains for us, all if we end up fighting while exhausted. No spell’s going to fix that sort of hangover."
Goblin Slayer’s stride was steady, his shield strapped tight to his forearm and his tomahawk resting comfortably at his side. "We’ll be able to rest once we get to Stonehall," he said, his voice calm but assuring. "I’m friends with the owner of “The Opulence of Avalon”."
The moment the words left his mouth, the entire group froze. High Elf Archer blinked in disbelief, her ears twitching as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. "Wait… You’re friends with the owner of the Opulence of Avalon?! That fancy-ass hotel?!" Her voice carried a mixture of shock and curiosity, the name of the expensive hotel sounding too luxurious for someone like Goblin Slayer to frequent.
Lizard Priest looked over his shoulder, a thoughtful expression crossing his reptilian face as he considered the idea. "Now that I think about it," he mused, "it does make sense. Mr. Ashta’s purse was hefty when he joined him. I suppose it's not surprising that he’s involved with such… Luxuries."
High Elf Archer crossed her arms, now less shocked and more intrigued. She glanced at Goblin Slayer from the corner of her eye. "Expensive tastes, huh? Even before we corrupted ya?"
Dwarf Shaman, still swaying slightly from his intoxicated state, snorted in amusement. "A rich snob, our lad is," he teased, elbowing the teenager lightly in the ribs.
Goblin Slayer then cracked a small smile behind the vented visor of his helmet, though none of them could see it.
Arc Mage, who had been mostly silent, raised an intrigued brow at the ongoing conversation. "Fascinating," She muttered to herself, with her interest piqued.
High Elf Archer, still amused, couldn’t resist making a further comment. "What’s next, Orcblog? Are we gonna catch you sipping wine by the fireplace, reading books about philosophy and art?"
Goblin Slayer turned his head slightly, with his voice flat but laced with humor. "I prefer Sharky Pop, actually."
That earned a soft laugh from the group, breaking some of the tension from their earlier conversation.
Lizard Priest’s calm voice cut through the laughter, his sage-like tone returning. "Well then, if the Opulence of Avalon awaits us, perhaps we ought to pick up the pace." He then closed the atlas booklet, before gesturing for the group to continue moving as he slid it into one of the leather pouches along his belt.
High Elf Archer continued to stroll alongside Goblin Slayer— her usual playful smile creeping onto her lips. She pointed to the dolly Lizard Priest was hauling, which was stacked high with purchases wrapped in a tarp. “Y’know, after all the clothes, jewelry, hotel rooms, and food you’ve bought us in Crossbell, you’re probably broke by now.”
Goblin Slayer chuckled softly behind his visor, the sound barely escaping the metal. “You’re not wrong. I’ve probably only got fifty gold pieces left.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Hope you all enjoyed it— because we can’t afford to spend that much again until we get back to base.”
Dwarf Shaman, who was still a little tipsy, cackled loudly, stumbling as he clapped the teenager on the back. “Ach, fifty gold! That’s barely enough for a fancy dinner where we're headin’. You’ve gone soft, lad. What a rich snob ye are, eh?”
Goblin Slayer smiled behind his helmet, and High Elf Archer grinned as she teased, “He did spoil us though, didn’t he?”
Arc Mage, who had been silently watching the banter with an intrigued grin, suddenly spoke up. “I know Stonehall has access to steam engines, but that’s about all I know. Is that where you all met?”
High Elf Archer’s ears twitched as she answered, “Kind of. Me, Lizard Priest, and Dwarf Shaman knew each other from the Adventurers' Guild, but we all met Goblin Slayer in Stonehall… At a restaurant we, uh, dined and dashed from.”
Her eyes widened suddenly, and she slapped her forehead. “Ah shit, I forgot about that!”
Dwarf Shaman burst out laughing— doubling over as he wiped a tear from his eye. “Hah! Aye, hope they don’t remember our faces, else we’ll be tossed in jail before we can set foot in that fancy hotel!”
Arc Mage raised an eyebrow, amused. “What an upstanding group of adventurers,” she quipped sarcastically, before turning her curious gaze to Goblin Slayer. “Speaking of interesting things, what about that girl you wanted me to teach magic to? I’m going to take a wild guess here… Is she from Stonehall?”
Goblin Slayer nodded as they continued walking, his eyes scanning the bustling road ahead. “Her name is Juliet. She’s an employee at tThe Opulence of Avalon. Lady Eleanor, the owner, is taking care of her.”
“Juliet…” Arc Mage mused, clearly intrigued. “Tell me more about her.”
Goblin Slayer took a deep breath. “Juliet was born in a brothel. She was on track to become a… Sex worker, against her will, but Lady Eleanor stepped in. Used her connections to shut the brothel down and took Juliet in.”
His tone softened as he added, “She’s the sweetest girl I’ve ever met. Strong, too. I want her under the protection of my guild… To give her a future where she doesn’t have to live in fear.”
Arc Mage’s eyes softened at his words, her curiosity turning to genuine warmth. “That’s noble of you, Goblin Slayer. But why not just leave her in Stonehall? It’s pretty safe, right?”
Goblin Slayer’s expression tightened behind his visor. “I don’t trust the Royal Army to protect her. Not with the war against Blackwatch ongoing. Stonehall is close to where the Sahara Outpost used to be. If something happens… I need to know she’s somewhere safer than a town that might get caught in a crossfire. At least in Evergreen, she’ll have Remi and I watching out for her— I trust Remi more than I trust anyone else in the Royal Army.”
Arc Mage nodded thoughtfully, her expression briefly distant. “Fair enough,” she replied quietly. Then, after a pause, she tilted her head and asked, “You’re doing something good for her, you know. The world needs more people like you… And Lady Eleanor.”
There was a beat of silence before she continued, her usual eccentric energy faltering just slightly. “When I was young… Well, I didn’t have someone like that. My mother was… Let’s say, unkind. Not as bad as what Juliet went through, but enough that I spent most of my time in libraries. They became my escape.”
Goblin Slayer glanced over at her, listening carefully as she continued.
“I would stay there for hours, reading everything I could to block out the yelling, the hitting… I lived in books and magic theory. It was the only thing I had that made me feel like I could be more than what she said I was.”
Her voice grew softer, almost wistful. “I escaped into my mind, but Juliet… She escaped for real. And you’re helping her do that— I can respect that, Ashta. That makes you a hero in my book!”
Goblin Slayer didn’t respond immediately, his thoughts swirling as he processed her words. He hadn’t expected Arc Mage to share something so personal, but he appreciated her honesty. “I’m not a hero,” he finally said, his voice low. “I just… Want to protect the people I care about.”
Arc Mage smiled— a quirky and lopsided grin that radiated warmth despite her usual eccentricity. “That’s exactly what makes you a hero— you’re not doing it for fame or glory, you’re doing all of this because it’s the right thing to do. Because you want things to change— because you’re willing to make those changes yourself.”
Lizard Priest, his eyes tired but still focused on the road ahead, broke the silence that followed. “If we keep moving, we’ll be in Stonehall by dawn… Unless we collapse from exhaustion first.” Another yawn escaped him as he glanced at Goblin Slayer. “Though I suppose a night at the Opulence of Avalon might be worth the wait.”
“Not if we get arrested first,” Dwarf Shaman chuckled.
High Elf Archer giggled, nudging the teenager gently. “Don’t worry. Orcbolg will bail us out if ee has to. You’ve still got fifty gold, right?”
Goblin Slayer let out a rare laugh, the sound deep and warm, as they pressed on. The weight of the journey, the exhaustion, and the looming threats ahead seemed a little lighter as they walked together.
The iron lampposts flickered in the distance, and the watchtower searchlights swept over the fields. The night was cool, and though the road was long, they had each other— and that was enough for now.
The Iron Flower Mountains stood tall and unyielding against the clear blue sky, with their peaks jagged and sharp— cutting into the heavens like frozen swords. Snowflakes glittered under the sunlight— painting the mountains with a deceptive serenity.
However, the path that Captain and his group trod was anything but peaceful. The higher they climbed, the colder and more perilous it became, with the air thinning with each step. The peaks of these mountains were a place no ordinary adventurer dared to tread— too hazardous, too deadly, even for the most seasoned.
At the head of the group, Female Warrior marched steadily, her crimson-tipped spear slung across her back. Her breath puffed in front of her like a dragon's smoke, visible in the frigid air. She glanced back at her team, her red eyes narrowing with determination. "We’re getting closer to Snow Lord’s base. I hope you’re all ready to fight like hell," she said, with her voice hard as the ice beneath them.
Behind her, Female Wizard, with her wavy pink hair and smug smile, let out a soft chuckle. The wind tugged at the green cape draped over her curvaceous frame, with her ample chest barely contained by the white minidress beneath. “This won’t be any different than when we took down Demon Lord. Stick together, and we’ll crush them. Same as always.”
Myrmidon Monk, who had been walking in silence, recited in a brusque tone, “Overconfidence leads to defeat. Blackwatch is far more dangerous than the Demon Lord ever was alone.”
He adjusted the blue scarf around his neck, with the mandibles on his face twitching slightly as he spoke. The monk, with his insect-like appearance, was a constant reminder of the unusual— the misunderstood. His bluntness had always been a source of tension, though no one could deny his wisdom.
Half-Elf Scout, with his white hair pulled back into a braid and his cocky smirk, rolled his eyes. “Ah, come on, bug-boy, you’re giving Blackwatch way too much credit. They’re just a bunch of uppity peasants being led by a bunch of dumbasses. Albion ain’t much different either!”
Female Warrior scoffed, with her grip tightening on the strap of her spear. “You wouldn’t be so cocky if Albion were flying overhead right now. And don’t forget, they’ve already killed every platinum-ranked adventurer the guild’s sent after him.”
“Eh,” Female Wizard waved a hand dismissively, her long pink locks swaying. “That’s because none of them were as skilled as Akira is,” she said, casting a glance toward Captain, her cousin, who walked in stoic silence. “But such ranks won’t matter for long. We’ll all be working for the Royal Army, soon enough.”
Half-Elf Scout grinned at that, practically bouncing on his feet. “Damn straight! Can’t wait either! Ten years of service and we get a nice retirement plan, our own land in Crossbell, and— most importantly— a hefty salary pay instead of these per-job scraps!”
As they bantered, Myrmidon Monk stayed quiet— the soft crunch of his boots the only sign of his movement. Finally, he spoke, his tone neutral but firm. “I doubt the Royal Army would be so eager to take me in.”
Half-Elf Scout raised a brow, his usual cockiness faltering. “Wait, you thinkin’ about quitting, old man?”
The monk didn’t flinch. “Perhaps.”
The words caught the group off guard. Half-Elf Scout blinked, his joking tone vanishing. “H-Hey, I was just playin’. I didn’t mean-”
“I know,” Myrmidon Monk interrupted, his voice still calm. “But despite the reforms the Knight of Diamonds has proposed, I’m not naïve. The generational hatred toward my kind runs deep— especially among the Royal Army.”
Half-Elf Scout shifted awkwardly, with the weight of the monk’s words sobering him. “What about change, though? People can learn. Things can get better.”
The monk gave a somber nod. “I believe that too, but I won’t live to see it.”
The weight of his words settled heavily on the group. Female Wizard, usually dismissive, cast a glance at Myrmidon Monk, silently acknowledging his age. She couldn’t help but think he might not have more than a few years left before retirement would take him, whether he wanted it or not.
The group fell silent as they continued their ascent. At last, they reached the ice cap, a massive, jagged structure that towered above them. It was bigger than any castle, its sharp edges and ominous presence more foreboding than anything they had encountered before.
Female Warrior unslung her spear, gripping it tightly in both hands as she stared up at the looming structure. “We’re here.”
Female Wizard and Captain scanned the snow-covered field surrounding them— their eyes falling on the mummified remains of not just hundreds, but thousands of unidentifiable bodies buried in the ice. Their faces were twisted in agony, frozen in time by the cold.
Inside the fortress, the air was deathly quiet. Half-Elf Scout took point, while unslinging his crossbow repeater and holding it against his shoulder. He extended his other hand forward— a green glow shining from his palm, casting long shadows on the ice walls.
“Alright, people,” he muttered, scanning the corridor ahead, his spell revealing a host of traps. “Dart trap right there... Blade trap on the floor... And… What the hell is that? A pitfall? Who designs this crap?!”
Female Wizard raised her hand, casting an illumination spell. Six glowing pink orbs floated into the air, casting light all around them— revealing the icy dungeon room in its entirety. The traps glimmered ominously, but with Half-Elf Scout’s guidance, they maneuvered through the first room unscathed.
They reached the base of a spiraling ice staircase, with the steps slick and treacherous. Half-Elf Scout groaned. “Great, stairs. Exactly what I wanted today.”
Female Warrior smirked. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
He chuckled nervously. “Yeah, yeah. You say that, but... Still not a fan of stairs.”
Taking a deep breath, Half-Elf Scout advanced, leading the way up the spiral staircase— his footsteps echoing as the tension mounted.
As they ascended, the walls seemed to close in, the cold seeping deeper into their bones. Suddenly, the temperature dropped further, and the ice itself began to shimmer unnaturally. Without warning, ice wisps burst from the walls— ghostly figures swirling through the air, their forms crackling with malevolent energy.
Captain remained utterly composed, with his eyes narrowing behind his bangs as he calmly unsheathed his ebony blade. His right eye flared a vivid red as he moved faster than lightning; his sword cutting through the wisps in a blur. His movements were elegant, calculated— each strike precise, the wisps exploding into ice particles as his flame-enchanted blade cleaved through them.
“Stay together!” Female Wizard commanded, raising her staff high. Pink lightning arcs shot from the tip, bouncing off the walls and leaping between wisps. They exploded in bursts of ice as her magic raged through the staircase— illuminating the chaotic scene in flashes of pink and white.
Half-Elf Scout fired his crossbow repeater, with his bolts tearing through the icy spirits. “Screw this!” He shouted, until a wisp blasted his weapon from his hands. “Dammit!” He cursed, before drawing two daggers and taking a defensive stance.
Before the wisp could strike, Female Warrior lunged forward— spearing it through the head. “Gotcha covered, Scout,” she said with a grin.
He chuckled. “Much appreciated.”
Meanwhile, Myrmidon Monk hacked through the wisps with his dual kukris— his face impassive, as he felled them one after another. But his focus shifted as he saw Female Warrior get struck by an ice shard that pierced her shoulder. With swift precision, he grabbed her arm— his hand glowing a warm yellow as he healed her wound instantly.
“Thanks,” she muttered, while rolling her shoulder and nodding as she took down another wisp that tried to sneak up on him.
Amidst the chaos, Female Bishop raised her sword up— her voice strong and calm. “Light of the heavens, bless us with your grace!” A soft golden glow then bathed the group— a regenerative aura renewing their strength and stamina. Her calm amidst the battle was a stark contrast to the frenzy around her.
“Thanks, Bishop!” Half-Elf Scout called out, while feeling the divine energy invigorate him.
With the regeneration spell empowering them, the group fought with renewed vigor. Captain moved with lethal grace— cutting through the wisps effortlessly. Female Wizard sent another bolt of pink lightning cascading through their ranks, and Myrmidon Monk and Female Warrior fought back-to-back— their movements synchronized as they cleared the staircase of the icy phantoms.
At last, the final wisp dissolved, leaving the staircase littered with frozen remains. Captain sheathed his blade, his red eye fading to its usual dull hue.
Without a word, he glanced at Female Warrior and said in his cold, flat voice, “We proceed.”
The group, bloodied but unbowed, nodded in agreement. The air was still heavy with tension, but they were ready to face whatever lay ahead in the heart of the Snow Lord's lair.
The ascent up the spiral staircase was grueling— the icy wind cutting through their clothes as they climbed deeper into the fortress. Room after room awaited them, each crawling with dangers— imp goblins, snarling and twisted, and dark elves, their faces etched with cruel confidence as they readied their ambushes.
But none of them stood a chance.
The first ambush came the moment they entered a frost-covered chamber midway up the staircase. Imps lurked in the shadows, their beady eyes glowing in the dim light of Female Wizard’s floating orbs. Dark elves, armored in black leathers and wielding wickedly sharp blades, flanked them. The second they pounced, though, Captain was already moving.
With blinding speed, he drew his ebony-black katana— the blade glinting with a flicker of fire magic. He moved like a wraith— slicing through the goblins before they even had a chance to cry out. Blood sprayed across the walls in thick, dark arcs, as limbs were severed and heads rolled to the icy ground. A dark elf raised his blade, only for Captain’s katana to meet it— shattering the weapon into shards before cutting the elf in two at the waist.
Half-Elf Scout raised his repeater crossbow, but stopped mid-aim as Captain decimated the entire room in mere seconds. He glanced back at the others and cracked a smile. “Well, guess that’s that. Hey, Captain, you planning on leaving any for the rest of us, or are you just doing the whole damn thing by yourself?”
Captain didn’t respond. He merely flicked the blood from his blade, sheathed it, and began walking toward the next room without a word.
“Cool. Good talk,” Half-Elf Scout muttered under his breath, reloading his repeater. The rest of the group exchanged looks.
The next chamber was no less dangerous. The group found themselves face-to-face with a larger contingent of dark elves, led by a tall, silver-haired warrior with glowing runes etched into her skin. Her voice hissed like a blade drawn over stone as she commanded her troops to attack. The elves drew their bows and unleashed a hail of arrows.
In a flash, Captain moved again. His red eye glowed fiercely, and his sword danced through the air— deflecting each arrow as though they were mere twigs. His movements were a blur— each time his sword connected, blood sprayed across the icy walls. The silver-haired elf barely had time to raise her sword before Captain’s blade severed her head from her shoulders, sending it tumbling to the floor in a spray of crimson.
The remaining elves were cut down before Female Warrior could even unsling her spear. Myrmidon Monk watched impassively as Captain methodically wiped out every last enemy— leaving only gore and lifeless bodies in his wake.
“I guess we’re just here for moral support at this point,” Female Wizard quipped, with her staff glowing with residual magic she didn’t have time to use.
Female Bishop stayed back, her hands glowing with divine magic, prepared to heal or protect— but even she found it hard to react in time to Captain’s carnage. She cast a cautious glance at him. “His skill is… Beyond human,” she whispered— almost to herself.
Half-Elf Scout chuckled nervously. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but a little teamwork never hurt anyone.”
Room after room, the ambushes continued. Captain remained an unstoppable force— cutting through imps and dark elves with ruthless efficiency. Each battle was more brutal than the last— he cleaved through enemies like a reaper through a field of wheat.
Heads flew, bodies were bisected, and blood slicked the ice beneath their feet. His enchanted blade, now constantly glowing with fire magic, left trails of scorched flesh in its wake.
In one chamber, a dark elf attempted to cast a lightning spell, but Captain was already behind him— his katana severing the elf’s arm at the elbow before the spell could fully manifest. Another tried to call for reinforcements, but a flick of Captain’s blade silenced him— his body collapsing into a pool of blood.
“Man, I’m starting to feel useless here,” Half-Elf Scout muttered after the tenth ambush was reduced to gore. “If you’re trying to impress the ladies, Cap, you’ve already won— and one of them is your cousin! Come on man, let us have some fun…!”
Female Wizard rolled her eyes. “Second cousin… Technically.”
Female Warrior grinned, her spear still unused. “He’s efficient. We can’t fault him for that.”
After what felt like an eternity of bloodshed, they finally reached the top of the staircase. The dark fortress had grown eerily quiet, with the ambushes thinning as the enemy forces were decimated. According to Female Wizard’s count, they had fought through at least fifty rooms.
Now, they stood before the final chamber— the heart of Snow Lord’s lair.
The massive icy doors creaked open, revealing a cavernous throne room. The room was anything but regal. It resembled a refugee camp more than a seat of power. The ice was jagged and uneven, stained with soot and filth. Tattered tents and makeshift shelters lined the walls, where dark elves huddled around burning barrels for warmth. The air was thick with the stench of desperation.
In the center of the room, looming over the huddled mass of dark elves, stood a massive snow dragon. Its scales shimmered with a cold, deadly light, and its eyes glowed an eerie blue. Frost and mist swirled around it as it shifted, its massive form casting a long shadow across the chamber.
The dark elves, numbering in the hundreds, were a far cry from the organized ambushers they had faced earlier. Many of them were ragged, their eyes sunken and desperate, but a core group of Blackwatch soldiers— armored in black plate and wielding bows, swords, and magic— formed a defensive wall before the dragon, with their grim expressions— daring the group to make a move.
Female Warrior gripped her spear tighter, her gaze sweeping across the room. “This doesn’t feel right. It’s less of a throne room and more of a death trap.”
Female Bishop nodded, her voice low and serious. “They’re not just soldiers. This is their last stand. They’re terrified.”
Myrmidon Monk examined the dragon with a steely gaze. “Terrified or not, they won’t go down without a fight.”
Half-Elf Scout glanced at the dragon, his cocky grin faltering. “Yeah, no kiddin’. That thing looks like it could swallow me whole.” He turned to Captain, still gripping his crossbow. “So, Cap, you think you’re gonna handle this one by yourself too? Or can the rest of us actually participate this time?”
Captain said nothing, his glowing red eye fixed on the dragon. His silence was all the answer they needed.
Female Wizard took a deep breath, raising her staff. “Well, we’ve made it this far. Let’s not disappoint.”
Half-Elf Scout cracked a nervous joke, wiping sweat from his brow. “I don’t know about you guys, but I kinda liked it better when we were just killing goblins…!”
The tension in the room spiked. They all knew what was coming. The dark elves shifted, their bows raised, spells at the ready. The dragon’s icy breath billowed out like smoke, and the ground trembled beneath its weight.
“Alright,” Female Warrior said, her voice steady as she prepared to charge. “No turning back now. Let’s finish this.”
And with that, the icy throne room erupted into chaos, as the dark elves charged their spells and arrows flew through the air. The ground shook as the snow dragon unleashed a deafening roar— its blue eyes glowing with cold fury. The enormous creature reared back, and spewed forth a wave of icy breath— freezing the ground solid and turning the battlefield into a treacherous ice field.
The dark elves were a blur of movement, their bows drawn, their swords flashing, and their black-clad mages hurling bolts of energy. But they were up against something far more terrifying.
Captain moved faster than any of them could see. One moment he was standing beside the others, the next he was a blur of motion— his ebony-black katana flashing through the air. His right eye burned crimson as he launched himself into the heart of the enemy, with his blade cutting through dark elves with terrifying precision.
Limbs were severed, torsos cleaved in two, and blood sprayed in thick, dark arcs as he tore through their ranks.
Half-Elf Scout, holding his repeater crossbow up, glanced around at the carnage. “Damn, Cap! Save some for the rest of us, will ya?” He smirked, but it was half-hearted. He raised his crossbow and began firing— bolts hitting their marks with deadly accuracy, and taking down several dark elves who had been foolish enough to try to flank Captain.
Female Wizard raised her staff high, her voice ringing out as she chanted a spell. “Let the storm be purged by fire!” A firebolt then erupted from her staff— slamming into a group of elves and engulfing them in flames. They screamed as the fire consumed them, with their bodies crumbling to ash.
In an instant, Captain was beside her— his katana glowing with the same fire enchantment she had used. Together, they moved in perfect sync, her firebolts clearing a path as Captain cut down any who dared come close. When the dark elf mages tried to cast protective shields, Captain was already behind them— his katana ripping through their defenses like paper, and their bodies collapsing in pools of their own blood.
But it wasn’t enough to slow the dragon. The beast reared back again— its massive form towering over the battlefield. With a sweep of its tail, it sent several dark elves and makeshift tents flying across the room.
Female Warrior gritted her teeth and lunged forward— her crimson-tipped spear flashing in the dim light. She jabbed at the dragon’s flank, with her strikes precise and powerful, but the beast’s scales were thick, and her spear barely scratched the surface. “Damn thing’s tougher than I thought!”
Myrmidon Monk moved with calm precision, his twin kukris flashing as he slashed through several dark elves attempting to surround them. His insect-like antennae twitched as he sensed danger— dodging an incoming ice shard just in time. “Stay focused! Do not underestimate them!”
The dragon roared, with its maw opening wide as it launched a barrage of icicles from its mouth— sharp as spears. They shot through the air with terrifying speed, and were all aimed directly at Half-Elf Scout.
His eyes went wide, and he instinctively raised his arms to shield himself, panic flooding his face. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shi-!”
But before the icicles could reach him, Myrmidon Monk was there. Without hesitation, he threw himself in front of Half-Elf Scout, his body taking the full brunt of the attack. The icicles pierced through his flesh with sickening thuds, blood spraying from the wounds as they drove deep into his chest and back.
“S-Sebastian!” Half-Elf Scout screamed— his voice breaking as he stared at the monk’s bloodied body. His eyes were wide with shock, his cocky grin gone— replaced by a look of horror.
Myrmidon Monk staggered, with his body trembling from the impact, but he turned his head to look at Half-Elf Scout— his face calm despite the blood pouring from his wounds. “I-It… It’s okay… It’s okay…” His voice was weak, but filled with resolve.
With those final words, he collapsed, his body falling forward.
Half-Elf Scout caught him, shaking— his eyes filling with tears. “No, no, no, Sebastian…! Stay with me…! Please, man…!” His voice broke as he tried to cradle his fallen companion.
Female Bishop rushed to them, her hands glowing with divine light as she tried to heal him, but the wounds were too severe. “I’m t-trying,” she stammered, with her voice thick with desperation as the light flickered in her hands. “I… I can’t…!”
Half-Elf Scout broke down; tears streaming down his face as he screamed for Myrmidon Monk, while holding his limp body in his arms. His voice echoed through the frozen throne room, filled with heartbreak and anguish.
“SEBESTIAAAAAAAN!!! NOOOOOOO!!!”
That scream pierced through Captain’s calm, unfeeling resolve. His eye narrowed, and he could feel something in him snap. His body erupted in a surge of crimson lightning— arcs of red electricity crackling across his skin, with his hair standing on end as the energy pulsed through him.
The snow dragon turned its attention to him, letting out another roar as it lunged— its massive maw gaping wide to crush him.
But Captain was faster.
n an instant, he leaped into the air, his katana flashing as it carved through the beast’s tail in a spray of blood and ice. He moved with the speed and precision of a master— his blade cutting through the dragon’s thick scales like they were nothing.
The dragon howled in agony, thrashing wildly, but Captain was relentless.
His katana moved with blinding speed, slicing through its wings, its legs, its neck— each strike accompanied by a burst of crimson lightning that scorched the dragon’s flesh. Blood sprayed across the throne room— coating the walls and floor in thick, dark streaks. Captain’s final strike was a downward slash that tore the dragon’s head from its body in one fluid motion.
The beast collapsed in a heap of blood and ice, with its massive body falling apart in pieces— torn to shreds by Captain’s ruthless assault. The throne room was silent, save for the crackling of lightning around Captain as he stood over the dragon’s remains, with his katana dripping with blood.
As the room fell into eerie quiet, Female Bishop and Female Wizard knelt beside Myrmidon Monk— their voices choked with sobs as they tried in vain to save him. Female Wizard's staff clattered to the floor as she buried her face in her hands— her sobs echoing through the chamber. Female Bishop muttered prayers under her breath— her tears falling freely as her hands glowed with futile magic.
Half-Elf Scout was still cradling Myrmidon’s body, with his hands trembling as he whispered his name over and over. His once-cocky demeanor shattered into raw grief.
Even Female Warrior, the stalwart one of their group, wiped her eyes— trying to keep her emotions in check. She tightened her grip on her spear, her knuckles white as she walked up beside Captain— doing her best to hold back her tears.
She glanced at him, her voice shaky. “W-We need to finish this.”
Captain didn’t reply. His face was cold, emotionless— his eye still glowing with residual power as he walked forward. The two of them moved across the blood-soaked floor, stepping over the bodies of dark elves and the shattered remains of the snow dragon. At the far end of the throne room, huddled in a ball atop a jagged, icy throne, was the Snow Lord.
She was just a child— a preteen dark elf with long white hair, her body covered in bruises and scars. Her white fur clothes were torn, and her eyes were wide with terror as she cowered, curling into herself. She was shaking, her voice a broken whisper. “Please… Leave me alone…”
Female Warrior raised her spear, her eyes filled with fury. “It ends here!” She stepped forward, ready to deliver the final blow.
But Captain reached out and grabbed her spear— stopping her mid-strike. She turned to him in surprise, with her eyes meeting his cold, crimson stare. He didn’t say a word, just gave her a look that told her everything. She lowered her spear slowly, stepping back.
Captain moved past her, his expression unreadable as he approached the cowering Snow Lord. She whimpered— her voice barely audible. “Please… D-Don’t…”
Without a word, Captain sheathed his katana. He reached down, grabbing her wrist with a firm but not harsh grip. His voice was cold, but final. “You’re coming with me.”
And with that, the battle was over. The throne room, now a tomb of blood and ice, echoed with the cries of the grieving and the silence of the dead.
Author's notes: Two for one, today! This chapter was fun to write, and was a nice way of me showing just how formidable Captain is, along with the rest of his team. Please continue to send your ideas for the sequel in the comments, or add me on discord: sasariou2
Thank you again for the support!
Chapter 34: Ash like Snow
Chapter Text
The lobby of the Opulence of Avalon was a vision of elegance— sprawling and luxurious. The walls were painted in a soothing pastel blue, with delicate gold accents framing every archway and corner. The floor beneath their feet was made of pristine, polished marble that gleamed under the light of the massive crystal chandelier that hung overhead— casting a warm, inviting glow throughout the room. Along the wall, a grand staircase led up to an opulent balcony lined with intricate railings. The front desk, a stately dark-brown wood piece, stood proudly at the base of the staircase— exuding an air of sophistication.
Behind the desk sat a raccoon girl— her fur a mix of rich gray and black, her luscious black hair tied into a high ponytail that bobbed slightly as she leaned back in her chair. She was lazily flipping through the pages of a thick book, with her expression one of casual boredom as she rested her chin on her hand. Her ears twitched as the bell above the entrance chimed softly— signaling the slow opening of the grand glass door.
Lina’s gaze flicked to the entrance, with her dark eyes initially disinterested. But as soon as she saw who entered, her entire demeanor shifted. Her eyes lit up with sudden recognition, and a wide, mischievous grin spread across her face.
“Well, well, well,” she drawled, putting her book down and straightening up. Goblin Slayer entered the lobby first, his familiar armored form unmistakable, and behind him, four unfamiliar faces followed— Dwarf Shaman, High Elf Archer, Lizard Priest, and Arc Mage, all of them visibly exhausted from whatever ordeal they had just endured.
Lina’s grin widened even further as she addressed the armored figure at the front. “Juliet’s boyfriend, back again, huh?” She teased, with her voice light and playful.
Goblin Slayer stopped in his tracks, blinking once behind his helmet as a faint blush spread across his cheeks. “I’m not-” he began to protest, but Lina waved him off with a chuckle.
“Oh, please, you don’t have to hide it from me. Everyone knows.” She leaned on the counter, with her eyes twinkling with amusement. “But seriously, you bringing new friends this time?”
Behind him, Dwarf Shaman grunted, wiping the sweat from his brow as he glanced around the lavish room. “By Paragon’s hammer! This place looks like somethin’ out of a noble’s wet dream…! Who would even build a place like this to be a bloody hotel?!”
High Elf Archer was too tired to roll her eyes at the dwarf’s comment, but she smirked as she gazed at the chandelier overhead. “People with money, obviously,” she retorted, with a voice that was light, but carried the undertone of exhaustion.
Lizard Priest nodded while still pulling their purchased goods in by the handle of the dolly— with his reptilian eyes scanning the intricate carvings and gold accents. “Indeed, such craftsmanship… A temple to luxury, it seems. Truly a place for the refined.” His voice was calm, as always, but there was a trace of awe in it.
Arc Mage, visibly drained, leaned heavily toward her left hip. “Goddamn, but would it kill them to afford an elevator…?!” Her voice trailed off as she scanned the room, but even she seemed to grudgingly appreciate the decor. “Maybe the budget for the elevator went towards that chandelier— it’s not half bad…!”
Goblin Slayer, unaffected by the grandeur, stepped forward— removing his helmet and placing it gently on the desk. His short gray hair was tousled, and the dark circles under his crimson eyes betrayed just how tired he truly was. “We need to speak with Lady Eleanor,” he said, his voice polite but firm— cutting straight to business. “We’ve just returned from Crossbell, and we’re headed to the Evergreen Forest after this. But we’re all exhausted. We’d like to rest first.”
Lina’s ears perked up with curiosity as she leaned in, with her grin turning sly. “Ooooh, this wouldn’t have anything to do with Lady Eleanor’s plans for a franchise, would it?” She tilted her head, clearly fishing for information.
Goblin Slayer, keeping his usual composed expression— gave a single nod. “Something along those lines. Yes.”
Lina stared at him for a moment, and then her smile returned, playful as ever. She slapped the desk lightly— making the sound echo in the quiet room. “Alright, alright, I’ll go fetch your lady in waiting. You all look like you’ve been through the wringer.” She winked at the teenager, before turning on her heel and strutting away from the counter— disappearing through the archway that led into the grand dining hall.
As Lina left, Dwarf Shaman leaned on the counter, letting out a low groan. “Finally, some rest. I feel like my bones are gonna turn to dust.”
High Elf Archer gave him a sideways glance, her smirk tired but still there. “You’re just getting old, Malachy…!”
“Watch it, lass,” Dwarf Shaman shot back, though his voice lacked any real bite. He rested his head on his hand, before letting out another exhausted sigh. “This place better have a bloody mini bar…!”
Lizard Priest, ever serene, nodded his head while rolling the dolly behind him, as he stepped forward. “Mr. Ashta spoke of Lady Eleanor’s keen sense of hospitality. I’m sure our needs will be met.”
Arc Mage, still leaning towards her hip where her hand was now resting, rolled her eyes. “If I die on those stairs, tell my mother… Tell her that she can go to hell.”
Goblin Slayer remained standing, staring ahead with that same stoic expression, though the slight twitch in his brow betrayed his exhaustion as well.
Lina eventually reappeared, with a mischievous grin still on her face. “Lady Eleanor wants to see you in her office, Old Sport,” she announced with a playful wink, while leaning back against the counter. “I’ll go show your friends to their rooms, and get yours ready as well.”
Goblin Slayer gave her a small nod. “Thank you.”
The private office of Lady Eleanor was a blend of studious luxury— reflecting her refined taste and status. The room was filled with rich, dark wood bookshelves, stacked with tomes on economics, trade, and the histories of various noble houses. A grand mahogany desk dominated the space, polished to a high sheen, with gold accents that gleamed in the dim light of the chandelier above. Ornate oil paintings adorned the walls, and lush velvet drapes framed the tall windows— adding a touch of regal opulence to the room.
Lady Eleanor herself sat behind the desk, her ample figure clad in a tight-fitting dress that clung to her voluptuous curves. The fabric was a deep emerald green, luxurious and heavy, shimmering under the light. The neckline plunged low— revealing a generous view of her ample bosom, with her soft skin contrasting against the rich hue of her dress. Her large frame exuded confidence, but there was a subtle grace in the way she carried herself, despite her obvious size. Her dark hair was styled in an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing her round, cherubic face, which was now marked with concern as she regarded Goblin Slayer sitting across from her desk.
“I’m so glad to see you, truly,” she said, her voice smooth and refined— the kind of voice that demanded attention with its elegant cadence. “I was beginning to fear that some ill fate might have befallen upon you, my dear.”
Goblin Slayer, sitting stiffly in the plush chair across from her, regarded her with his usual quiet focus. His stitched leather armor shifted softly as he shifted in his seat— though he had removed his helmet, setting it on the floor beside him. In his hands, he held a vanilla macchiato in a delicate, porcelain cup— a drink Lady Eleanor had prepared for him personally. The soft tendrils of steam rose gently from the cup, swirling in the air as it caressed his pale cheeks, the warmth a contrast to the cold steel of his armor.
Lady Eleanor smiled as she watched him bring the cup to his lips, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “H-How is it, my dear?” She asked, her voice taking on a more personal— almost smitten tone. “I remember the way you liked it, of course…!”
The teenager paused, the cup at his lips, before taking a slow, deliberate sip. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the taste, before offering her a rare, soft smile. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice low but genuine. “The vanilla is subtle, but it blends perfectly with the espresso. The sweetness isn’t overpowering, and the milk adds just the right amount of creaminess to balance it out.” He took another sip— his smile widening slightly. “I love it.”
Lady Eleanor’s blush deepened, with her hand coming up to her buxom breast, as she fidgeted slightly in her chair. She was clearly flustered by the compliment, with her large body shifting uncomfortably, but with a hint of pleasure. “I’m so glad I could service you well, A-Ashta,” she said— her voice trembling slightly, with a mix of nerves and admiration.
But the momentary warmth between them shifted as Lady Eleanor’s expression grew somber again. She let out a soft sigh, her gaze drifting to the window for a moment before returning to him. “Unfortunately, things in Stonehill have worsened since we last spoke,” she continued, her voice now filled with quiet despair. “The Royal Army has turned the town into a full-fledged military outpost. There have been… More public executions than ever before. And I’ve just received a letter from Parliament,” her fingers tightened on the edge of her desk, “informing me that my hotel will soon be required to quarter soldiers.”
Her face tightened with worry, and her voice trembled. “The thought of those kinds of men being around Juliet…” She trailed off, while shaking her head.
Goblin Slayer remained silent, taking another sip of his macchiato— his expression unchanging as he listened. But his presence alone seemed to steady her.
Her eyes brightened suddenly, a small smile returning to her lips. “And then you came back to us— to me,” she said softly, her voice filled with warmth and admiration. “Like an angel sent from the Supreme God Himself! To answer our prayers for salvation!”
The gray-haired teenager blinked, taken aback by the compliment. He gave her a modest, almost shy smile, with his cheeks reddening slightly. “I’m just glad I could help,” he said quietly— his voice humble.
Lady Eleanor leaned forward slightly, her gaze intent as she looked at him, her cheeks still flushed. “Help? Love, you’ve done more than help,” she purred, her voice dropping to a flirtatious tone. “You’ve been nothing short of a savior. I daresay, it’s a shame you hide behind all that armor. You’re far too handsome to be kept in the dark…!”
The sudden forwardness of her words left Goblin Slayer momentarily stunned— his usually stoic demeanor cracking as his face flushed a deeper shade of red. He cleared his throat awkwardly, while lowering his gaze to the cup in his hands. “Th-Thank you,” he muttered, taking another sip of his coffee to hide his embarrassment.
Lady Eleanor’s infatuation was evident, with her eyes lingering on him as she straightened up in her chair, still flustered by his presence. But she forced herself to regain her composure, with her expression becoming more serious as she shifted the conversation back to business. “I was meaning to discuss something with you,” she said, her tone now more measured.
“I’ve been thinking… With the state of Stonehill, I don’t want to leave any of my employees behind when we head to the Evergreen Forest.” Her large green eyes looked at him almost pleadingly. “They’re all women or men who aren’t exactly… Well, let’s just say they’re not the most masculine sort. The soldiers… They tend to harass those types. Sometimes, it’s more than just words.”
Goblin Slayer nodded, his expression darkening slightly. “I understand,” he said quietly. “I don’t want any of your staff getting victimized. Especially by the Royal Army.” He paused, his gaze distant as he recalled what he had learned. “So far, non-humans seem to be the ones who suffer the most. They’re exploited more often than anyone else.”
Lady Eleanor’s eyes softened with sympathy, and she nodded in agreement. “Yes. All of the slaves that were forced to transform the land outside of Stonehill into a star fortress— they were all non-human. Hill goblins, dark-elves, lizardfolk… It’s monstrous what they’re doing.”
Goblin Slayer gave a grim nod, setting his cup down on the desk. “Then get your employees ready. We’ll leave in six hours. My companions will have rested by then, and we’ll be more than ready to defend you, if needed.”
Lady Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with a mix of gratitude and admiration. She smiled at him, almost submissively as she nodded. “Of course, my dear,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of warmth. She stood up, her tall, chubby frame towering over the desk— her curves accentuated by the tight dress as she looked down at him. “I’ll get everything prepared for you.”
As she turned to leave, she glanced back at him, her large hazel eyes filled with genuine affection. “Thank you, truly. You’ve been our knight in not-so-shining armor.” Her voice was soft, filled with emotion as she gave him one final smile before walking out of the office— leaving Goblin Slayer to finish his coffee in quiet reflection.
The world was stark white, so pristine and endless that it seemed to stretch beyond time and space itself. Snow covered the ground in a soft, delicate layer that muffled all sound, creating a sense of quiet isolation. The sky above was a strange, glassy expanse, not quite reflective, but giving the impression of fragility, as though it could shatter at any moment.
In the center of it all sat Goblin Slayer— his black turtleneck shirt and cargo pants the only contrast to the white void surrounding him. His knees were pulled up against his chest, with his arms wrapped around them tightly. His gray bangs hung low over his face— obscuring his crimson eyes that were barely open, just enough to stare vacantly down at the snow beneath him.
His breathing was slow, rhythmic, but shallow— his posture one of quiet resignation.
Behind him, a figure rested their back against his, sitting in a similar position but with a sense of ease and contentment that the teenager lacked. She, too, gazed at the snow— her presence haunting yet familiar. Her voice, when it came, was soft and melodic, filled with an ethereal sadness.
"It’s strange, isn’t it?" Her voice murmured gently— carrying a weight of philosophical reflection. "We hold onto our misery so tightly… Like it’s the only thing that keeps us grounded. But the longer we clutch it, the more it breaks us; piece by piece, until we can’t even remember what we’re holding onto anymore."
The snow crunched softly as she shifted slightly, with her back still pressed against his. "Is it the pain we cling to? Or the memory of what came before it?" Her words floated through the stillness— like a melody carried by a breeze. "We suffer… And in time, we forget. And all that’s left is the weight of something we no longer understand."
There was silence between them. The only sound was the soft exhale of their breath, mingling with the cold air.
She sighed, a sound both resigned and wistful. "I never wanted this for you," she whispered, with her voice barely louder than the sound of falling snow. "This life… This path you walk. I dreamed of something gentler."
Goblin Slayer’s response came as a faint, almost broken whisper. "I… I know."
The silence between them stretched again, longer this time, heavy with unspoken sorrow. Slowly, she reached her hand out— as if to catch something delicate in the air. From the sky above, what first appeared to be a snowflake drifted down— slowly, gracefully. It descended with an almost supernatural lightness— gliding through the glassy sky, before settling into her open palm.
But as soon as it touched her skin, it transformed. The snowflake turned to ash— disintegrating into gray dust that clung to her fingers. She stared at it for a moment, with her expression unreadable.
"Ash falls like snow," she mused quietly, with her voice taking on a more poetic lilt. "What we had… Burned away the day they died." Her fingers closed around the ash— the soft particles crumbling in her grip. When she opened her hand again, the ash had turned dark— like blood, dripping slowly from her fingers onto the pure snow beneath them.
"I… I-I know," Goblin Slayer whispered again— his voice weaker this time. He drew his knees closer to his chest, as if trying to shield himself from the truth.
She gazed down at the blood dripping from her fingers, with her eyes dark with quiet contemplation. "Ash," she repeated softly. "Ash is what’s left when a phoenix dies too. But..." Her voice trailed off as something stirred beneath the snow. Where the blood had seeped into the ground, a red spider lily began to sprout— its dark petals slowly unfurling like a flower born from grief.
"That annihilation," she said, with her voice like a soft breeze, "gives birth to resurrection."
Her fingers closed gently around the stem of the bloodied flower, before lifting it from the snow. She brought the delicate bloom up to her face, pressing the petals— now wet with blood— to her lips and nose, before inhaling deeply as though savoring its scent.
"The sooner you let go of those ashes," she murmured, her voice low and cryptic, "the sooner something raw, something beautiful, can grow in the place of what we once had. What we used to be."
Goblin Slayer said nothing— only tightening his hold around his legs, with the weight of her words settling heavily over him.
For a long moment, there was only silence. The pale, haunted face of the woman behind him was smeared with blood from the flower's petals, with her expression distant and wistful. The snow beneath them was now stained red where the blood had dripped. After a long pause, Goblin Slayer finally broke the silence.
"Do you still… D-Despise me…?" His voice was small, almost childlike.
The question hung in the air. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she closed her eyes, thinking carefully. When she spoke, her voice was laced with empathy and regret. "I… I never hated you," she began, her tone softer than before. "I hate what the world has done to you. To us. What happened to us… We didn’t deserve it."
She paused, her voice lowering to a gentle sadness. "But we can’t change the past. We can only accept it and move forward." Another sigh escaped her lips, this time tinged with a deep sorrow.
"You’ve become a monster," she said softly, her words cutting deeply. "You find pleasure in killing those you deem deserving of death— you hate yourself because of that."
Goblin Slayer flinched at her words— his heart aching. But he didn’t deny it. "I… I know," he whispered.
For a moment, all was still again. The silence was broken only by the faint rustle of the flower in her hand as she reached out, pressing the spider lily gently against his face. Goblin Slayer blinked in confusion, feeling the soft petals— still wet with blood— brush against his skin. Her arms wrapped around him from behind, with her body pressing against his back in a tender— almost desperate embrace.
The scent of copper filled his nostrils as she held him there— forcing him to inhale the sickly smell of death. Her voice was quiet, intimate, as she whispered in his ear, "We aren’t to blame for what the world has done to us, for what we’ve become… That guilt isn’t yours to bare."
She tightened her grip around him— her breath warm against his neck as she continued. "To change the world… Sometimes, you must set it alight." Her words were cryptic, poetic, but laced with a strange conviction. "Protect him," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Protect that little boy inside of you that I love. Shield him from the horrors of this world, as I once shielded you."
Goblin Slayer's heart ached, but he didn’t respond. All he could do was sit there, feeling the weight of her words— the warmth of her embrace, and the cold, endless snow beneath them.
The room was quiet, save for the soft shuffle of Juliet’s gentle hands as they shook him awake. His breath hitched as the remnants of his dream clung to him, the cold snow, the ash, and the voice of his sister fading like distant memories. His eyes fluttered open, and cold tears streaked down the sides of his face— dampening the pillow beneath him.
Above him, the soft, warm light of the setting sun filtered through the large double-glass panel doors leading to the balcony— casting the room in hues of deep orange and gold. It painted the little girl who hovered above him in a glow so radiant that, for a fleeting moment, made her seem like an angel descended from the heavens.
The light reflected off her long golden hair, catching every strand and making it shimmer with life. Her innocent blue eyes stared down at him with quiet concern, wide and soft, like the sky right before dusk— untouched by the cruelty of the world.
Juliet’s voice was soft and sweet, with her words spoken with the grace of a proper little lady. "I’m sorry for waking you," she murmured, her small hands still resting gently on his chest. "I just… Felt something. Like I needed to check on you." Her brows furrowed in concern as her gaze searched his face. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."
For a moment, Goblin Slayer said nothing. He only gazed up at her, taking in her soft features, and her kind expression. Her presence warmed his chest, thawing the lingering cold from his dream. His mind, still raw from the memories, thought of Vivine— the way she must have felt whenever she looked at him when he was younger.
There had been a time when he was as innocent as Juliet, filled with the same light and hope. Vivine had tried to protect him, just as Juliet was trying to comfort him now.
He blinked away the last remnants of the tears and smiled softly at her. The expression felt unfamiliar to him, yet it came naturally when he looked into her eyes. He reached up, with his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of her golden hair away from her face. The moment his fingertips touched her skin, Juliet blushed— her face lighting up as a soft pink hue spread across her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief second, and she nuzzled into his palm, with her flushed cheek warm against his hand.
"I'm… I’m okay," Goblin Slayer said gently, with his voice quiet but sincere. "Now that you're here… I'm much better."
Juliet’s blush deepened, and her soft lips parted in a shy, happy smile. She seemed almost embarrassed by his words, her eyes lowering bashfully before she giggled softly. "I… I’m so glad," she whispered, her voice barely audible, filled with a kind of girlish affection. She reached down and wiped away the cold tears still lingering on his cheeks with the pad of her thumb— her touch delicate and tender.
"I've missed you so much," she confessed, her voice soft and sweet. "Ever since you left, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I’ve been praying to Earth Mother the whole time— praying that she’d keep you safe, and bring you back to me."
Her words washed over him like a gentle wave, and Goblin Slayer felt something within him warm even further. He hadn't realized how much he had missed this— how much he had needed someone like her, someone to care so purely, so deeply. He smiled again, this time with a hint of playful affection.
"Then I guess I have you to thank," he said softly, with his tone lighter as he reached up and gently pinched her cheek. Juliet’s eyes widened in surprise before she giggled— the sound like bells ringing in the quiet room. She reached up, her small hand wrapping around his— holding it against her cheek as she continued to smile down at him.
Her excitement bubbled over as she sat back, still holding his hand. "I can’t wait to tell you— Ms. O’Neil has promised to teach me everything she knows about magic!" She announced with wide eyes, and with her voice bright and filled with enthusiasm. "Isn’t that amazing?! She said that one day, I’ll be super smart and super powerful, just like her! And then, I’ll be able to help you, and keep you safe too!"
Juliet rambled on, her excitement overflowing as she told him about her future plans— about how she wanted to grow strong so she could stand beside him, protect him, and be there for him in ways she felt she couldn’t at the moment.
As the teenager listened to her speak, he felt something shift inside him. The weight he carried, the endless burden of his past, of the monsters he fought both in the world and in his mind, felt lighter. It was as if Juliet’s innocent ramblings, her jovial nature, were weaving through the cracks of his heart— filling the spaces with a warmth that had long since faded.
He realized, as he watched her with wide, sparkling eyes, that this was happiness— true happiness. Something he hadn't experienced in so long that he had forgotten what it even felt like. It was as if a part of him that had been buried deep, trapped beneath layers of pain and loss, had been uncovered by Juliet’s light.
Her words, her excitement, her dreams— they were all so innocent, untouched by the harsh reality he knew all too well. But he couldn't help but feel drawn to her light, to the simple joy she carried in her heart.
It made him think of his sister, of the way she used to dream about the future with the same kind of hope. And now, Juliet was there— offering him that same glimpse of something better, something beyond the blood and darkness.
"You're going to be amazing, Juliet," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I believe in you."
Juliet’s face lit up with joy, her eyes sparkling as she giggled again— her fingers still holding onto his hand. "I’ll make you proud," she promised, her voice full of determination and affection. "I’ll work so hard… I’ll be strong, and smart, and… And I’ll help you keep everyone safe! Just you wait!"
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Goblin Slayer felt truly at peace. He smiled, feeling that warmth spread through his chest— filling every corner of his soul.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way— so light, so free.
His heart ached, not with pain this time; but with something deeper— something poetic. He wanted to protect her light, to keep her safe from the darkness that had consumed so much of him.
She was his reminder of what was good in the world— what was worth fighting for.
"Thank you, Juliet," he whispered, with his voice soft and filled with emotion. "For being here."
And in that moment, as she smiled down at him, Goblin Slayer felt something he hadn't felt in years.
He felt loved.
Author's notes: I'm sorry chooms, I don't think I have it in me to write a lemon between this version of Goblin Slayer and Priestess. At least not yet— I'm absolutely in love with the older brother/little sister relationship they got going on so far lol. I'm not not even sure if I should add lolis or shotas for the sequel at this rate; there seems to be more of an interests for older women and femboys thus far. Plus, I'm not sure if this Goblin Slayer would even want to partake in sexual acts with a minor— not after what happened with Vivine. Not that I have anything against people who like lolis or shotas, but I just don't see that happening with Goblin Slayer with the way I wrote him. Please give me your thoughts lol.
Chapter 35: Return to Delrivkat
Chapter Text
The cool, silver light of the full moon bathed the endless stretch of sand dunes as far as Goblin Slayer could see. His boots crunched against the dry dirt of the Muhati road— his group trailing behind him, with their shadows long and distorted against the illuminated dunes.
The night sky above was vast and clear— a canvas of dark velvet dotted with countless stars. Yet, despite the natural beauty of the desert under the moonlight, the air carried a sense of unease— a feeling reinforced by the sight of military camps, small outposts of the Royal Army, all which were scattered across the horizon like scars upon the landscape.
Tents and supply stations lay nestled in between the massive dunes, fires flickering in the distance, and armored sentries patrolling the perimeter— casting their own long shadows across the sand.
Goblin Slayer’s eyes, sharp and ever vigilant, picked out the mutilated remains of desert beasts littering the path. Enormous scorpions, their once-menacing pincers and tails now lifeless, lay scorched under the unrelenting desert sun. Their shells, cracked and crumbling, looked as if they had been torn apart by overwhelming force.
Massive mammoth scarabs with iridescent armor, now broken and bloodied, were being feasted upon by vultures— long, curved beaks tearing into their sun-baked exoskeletons. There were snakes too, with their monstrous, coiling forms lying in heaps, half-buried in the sand, and their scales dulled by dust and blood. The stench of death lingered in the air— mingling with the faint scent of decay carried by the night breeze.
Overhead, vultures circled, with their dark shapes blotting out the stars, and their wings casting ominous shadows over the sun-scorched remains. The birds descended periodically, and would land with eerie precision on the corpses to tear away flesh— their raspy calls echoing across the dunes.
In the distance, the clatter of hooves against the desert sand signaled the approach of one of many patrols— soldiers on horseback, with their armor glinting under the moon’s gaze. Their knights led with an air of authority, with their hands gripping the reins tightly as their eyes swept across the darkened landscape— scanning for any sign of intruders.
Goblin Slayer’s group, far from inconspicuous, had been stopped numerous times throughout the night. Each time, the knights would challenge them, asking why such a large group was traveling so late under the cover of darkness, far from any known settlement— each time Lady Eleanor would speak on behalf of the gray-haired teenager, and talk her way out of the Royal Army’s crosshairs each time.
As they approached another patrol, another squadron of knights raised their hands, signaling the group to halt. Goblin Slayer resisted the urge to reach for the grip on his weapon— his gaze cold and calculating as the knights drew closer. But before he could answer, Lady Eleanor stepped forward once more— her presence commanding attention.
"Good evening, noble knights," she greeted with a warm smile, with her voice smooth and charming. Her every word dripped with charisma— a practiced tone that seemed to immediately disarm even the most suspicious of soldiers. "We are but humble travelers, making our way back to Maggiore Village after a rather long journey." She gestured to her employees and Goblin Slayer’s companions behind her, with her demeanor pleasant and unthreatening— though there was a sharp intelligence gleaming in her eyes.
The knight in charge of his squad narrowed his gaze, while looking over the travelers with suspicion. "At this late hour?" His voice was gruff, while his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "These lands are under martial law, as per order of General Uriel McCarther. Where exactly is your destination, and why now— after curfew?"
Lady Eleanor gave a soft, melodic laugh— her posture graceful, as she stepped closer to the knight. Her dress, though practical for travel, still clung to her curves in such a way that it was difficult to ignore the confidence she exuded. "Ah, my dear knight, the desert nights are far cooler and easier to travel through than the heat of the day. I assure you, we mean no harm. We are merely seeking safe passage home to Maggiore."
Her voice was like honey, warm and soothing, and though the knight’s expression remained stern, there was a moment of hesitation. She had a way with words— a way of making even the most rigid men bend to her will. "Stay clear of Delrivkat," the knight finally warned, his tone firm. "It’s no place for travelers— its guardian isn’t too keen on accepting outsiders through its gates."
Lady Eleanor’s smile never wavered. "Of course, noble knight," she said, with her eyes flickering with hidden knowledge. She never let slip their true destination— never mentioned that Delrivkat was precisely where they were heading next.
With a wave of his hand, the knight gestured for them to pass, and as they continued on their journey, Lady Eleanor allowed herself a brief sigh of relief— though her confidence never faltered. Goblin Slayer watched her with quiet appreciation— acknowledging her skill in diffusing the situation, just as she had done all the times before.
The journey continued, with the desert stretching endlessly ahead of them— illuminated only by the pale moonlight. And as they continued to walk, the Nyusyree Pyramid rose in the distance— its towering structure now clearly visible under the moon’s glow.
The once ancient relic infested with goblins of Blackwatch was now crawling with the presence of the Royal Army. Tents and banners surrounded its base, with soldiers moving in and out of the entrance, and their torches lighting up the once-sacred ground. The ancient stone walls of the pyramid gleamed in the moonlight, now covered in military paraphernalia— a jarring sight for Goblin Slayer, who starred off with the memories of him and Remi clearing it out together.
"We're being watched," the gray-haired teen muttered, with his crimson eyes narrowing as he scanned the perimeter. He could feel the weight of countless eyes on them, even in the dark. The knights patrolling the pyramid, the soldiers stationed in the camps— sentries who were Goblin Slayer knew, without a shadow of a doubt, were watching them through scoped rifles and binoculars.
"Let them watch," Lady Eleanor replied smoothly, with her voice a whisper in the night. “As long as they believe we're heading to Maggiore, they won't bother us. And once they see Storm Lord accompanying us, none shall even consider the idea of crossing paths with us.”
Goblin Slayer gave her a quiet nod, with his eyes lingering on the pyramid for a moment longer before turning his attention back to the road ahead.
The wind carried a soft howl, sweeping over the dunes, as the group pressed on— the Nyusyree Pyramid slowly disappearing into the night.
As Goblin Slayer and his group neared the sandstone walls of Delrivkat, the moonlight casting a cold sheen over the massive structure, his chest began to tighten. His heart raced in sync with each step forward— the sand crunching beneath his boots as the gates loomed larger.
His breath became shallow— the dry desert air doing nothing to ease the rising anxiety coiling in his gut. His mouth grew dry— like cotton had been stuffed inside— his lips pressed tightly together. A storm of anxious thoughts swirled within him— growing louder and louder as they neared the closed gates of the village.
‘Remi. Would they even want to see me? What if they think nothing of me when I see them? It’s only been less than two days, and yet… So much has happened.’ His mind buzzed with uncertainty, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Goblin Slayer swallowed hard— his chest feeling queasy, the anxiety gnawing away at him. ‘Do they even still like me? Surely this must at least remember me... Remember what we had?’ The thought echoed in his head, but then another, more painful one surfaced.
‘What if...? What if that was all just meaningless to them— if I'm meaningless to them? Was I, and forever more, just a form of entertainment to them?’
He felt a stab of dread. ‘Remi told me that they only understood happiness and hatred— that everything else was beyond their grasp. Could someone like that ever feel love? Or even just pretend to?’ He shook his head slightly, trying to brace himself, trying to soften the blow that might come. ‘No, I… I don’t think so— despite them maybe even probably wanting to love me back. It’s not their fault... And it’s not mine either. It’s just the way things are.’
Suddenly, the battlements above lit up— torches igniting in a line along the top of the walls. The gates began to creak and groan as they were slowly pulled open, revealing the village within. Goblin Slayer let out a soft, inward groan, the dread intensifying. His hand reached up, fingers trembling as he removed his helmet, exposing his anxious expression to the world. The cool desert breeze hit his face, but it did little to ease his nerves.
Before he could fully spiral into his thoughts, he felt something warm and small wrap around his hand. Startled, he looked down, with his breath catching in his throat. Juliet stood beside him, her innocent blue eyes looking up at him with a gentle, supportive gaze. Her small hand squeezed his— her smile soft and full of warmth.
“Everything’s going to be alright,” she said sweetly, with her voice as pure as the desert night.
The tension in Goblin Slayer’s chest began to melt away. Her smile, her gentle presence, was like a balm for his frayed nerves. He blinked, then smiled softly back at her. "Y1You're right... Thank you for reminding me," he whispered, with his voice rough but filled with gratitude.
Juliet beamed at him, her smile brightening under the soft torchlight, and they continued forward, hand in hand, toward the open gates. As they drew closer, Goblin Slayer’s heart skipped a beat when he saw a figure standing just inside the village, framed by the flickering torchlight.
Remi.
They stood there casually, as if they had been waiting for him all along, their relaxed posture betraying no hint of tension. Behind them, a group of curious and excited hill goblins gathered— their small faces peeking out nervously, eyes wide with excitement. But Remi was the picture of cool indifference— their hands resting lazily in their pockets, with their sunglasses glinting as the firelight reflected off the dark lenses.
Remi’s appearance was, as always, flawless. Their long blue hair framed their androgynous face perfectly, with smooth skin and a relaxed smirk on their lips. They wore a loose, open white shirt and black pants that accentuated their lean, athletic frame— with a simple jacket draped over their shoulders. Cool, collected, and effortlessly stylish. The flicker of torches illuminated their expression— one of mild amusement, with their sunglasses resting low on their small nose.
As Goblin Slayer approached, he felt his cheeks burn, his heartbeat pounding again, this time from nervous excitement. His mind was still racing, but a squeeze from Juliet’s hand helped him steady himself. He glanced down at her, and she smiled back at him— her innocent optimism giving him the courage to continue forward.
Remi finally lifted their sunglasses with two fingers, revealing their glowing yellow eyes beneath, a bemused smirk creeping across their face. "Why, hello there, Old Sport— I was thinking you’d never show your mug around these parts again," they drawled, with their voice dripping with sarcasm. "What gotcha there, Sportsy? Did you bring your kid along to show her off? Didn’t even know you were a daddy— not that kind of daddy, at least."
Juliet blushed, giggling softly at the comment. Goblin Slayer, on the other hand, felt his face flush even deeper— a flustered smile tugging at his lips as he cleared his throat.
“T-This... This is Juliet— w-we’ll be looking after her…! K-Keeping her safe, and c-cared for,” he stammered, his heart pounding as he gestured toward her. "Juliet, this is... Remi, but… Almost everyone just calls them “Storm Lord”… They’ll protect you too…"
Remi stepped forward with a casual, almost lazy stride before dropping down to one knee to meet Juliet at eye level. "Hey there, kiddo," they greeted her, their tone softer but still playful. "To heck with that edgy title. Ya cool with calling me “Uncle Remi” instead?"
Juliet giggled, while tilting her head slightly. "I’ve never had an uncle before," she said shyly, with her cheeks tinged pink.
Remi chuckled, while reaching out to gently ruffle her hair. "Well, you’ve got one now, and you’re cute as hell," they teased before rising to their feet, turning their smirk back to Goblin Slayer.
Without missing a beat, the slime monster clapped a hand on the teenager’s shoulder— their glowing yellow eyes gleaming with mischief. "Ya know, Juliet, I’m actually Old Sport here’s boyfriend— so it’s not callin’ me your uncle is that far off, ya know?"
Juliet’s eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks turning bright red as she looked between them. "R-Really?!" She gasped, her eyes sparkling with fascination.
Goblin Slayer, meanwhile, was mortified— his face turning a deep shade of crimson as he tried to hide behind his gray bangs. "R-Remi...!" He stammered, while utterly flustered.
"Oh yeah," Remi said, a wicked grin spreading across their face. "And let me tell ya, kid, Sportsy here is REAL good in bed! In fact, we’re gonna go for round two, as soon as we take care of your sleeping situation."
Goblin Slayer’s entire body tensed, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he sputtered, "S-Shut your mouth…!"
Juliet, taken aback by the sudden innuendo, blinked up at them with wide, astonished eyes. "Round two…? Are you… Are you two going to… S-Spar?" She asked, while immediately feeling her cheeks grow red, as her blood pressure began rising.
Remi threw their head back and laughed— the sound echoing in the night. "HA, HA HA, AH!!! Oh, yeah! One-hundred percent! That was exactly what I was talkin’ about doin’ to Sportsy, kiddo," they said, plucking the sunglasses off their forehead and placing them gently on top of Juliet’s head instead. “I’m gonna pin him down, and spar him HARD.”
They then took Goblin Slayer’s helmet from his other hand while he was reeling from the second sex joke they had just made— the slime monster holding the armored headwear nonchalantly. "Just know that if you hear any loud noises coming from our bedroom, I’m probably the one who’s winnin’." Remi boasted half-jokingly, before grinning down at Juliet, then looking back at Goblin Slayer— their playful smirk ever-present.
The gray-haired teenager let out an exasperated sigh, while still flustered but with a lovesick smile creeping onto his face— despite himself.
The inside of Remi’s living room was dim— cast in the soft, ethereal glow of moonlight that slipped through the half-closed blinds. The space had a distinctly desert theme, with warm, Earthy colors woven into the tapestries hanging on the walls and scattered pillows that lay casually on the bohemian furniture. Though it wasn’t messy, there was a sense of the room being well-lived in— comfortably chaotic. Sand-colored cushions rested atop mismatched armchairs, and a low, wooden coffee table was cluttered with cups, scrolls, and a few random trinkets that suggested the slime monster wasn’t too strict about tidying up— despite knowing that they should have had their possessions packed and ready to transport.
On the middle sofa cushion, Dwarf Shaman snored loudly with his head lolled back, and was completely oblivious to the world around him. His deep, rumbling snores filled the room like a low storm— shaking the air with each breath.
Beside him, High Elf Archer sat, a pillow pressed firmly against her pointed ears as she grimaced, as she desperately tried to block out the incessant noise. Her expression suggested that sleep was a distant hope, with her brow furrowed in frustration.
To the right of the snoring dwarf, Lizard Priest sat upright, with his posture serene and unaffected. He was deep in meditation, his eyes closed, his breathing steady and calm, despite the noisy disruptions from Dwarf Shaman. He seemed completely detached from the chaos of the room— lost in some internal stillness that shielded him from the disturbances.
In the corner, nestled in a plush recliner, Arc Mage sat with her legs tucked under her— a thick blanket draped over her body. Her eyes were still wide open— glinting in the moonlight as she stared lazily across the room. Beneath the side of the recliner, laid out on some bedding that had been prepared for her on the floor, was Juliet— her soft blonde hair catching the pale light as she snuggled under her covers.
The little girl shifted under her blanket, with her blue eyes glancing up at Arc Mage. The room was quiet, except for the persistent snoring of Dwarf Shaman, but something had been weighing on her mind since the encounter with Remi.
"Professor?" Juliet called softly, breaking the silence.
Arc Mage’s gaze drifted down over the armrest of the recliner, her expression curious as she peered at Juliet. Her movements were slow, deliberate— as if her thoughts were constantly taking a longer route to process. She blinked a few times before responding, her voice quiet yet sweet. "Yes, my student?"
Juliet hesitated for a moment, her cheeks turning a faint shade of pink as she thought back to Remi’s vulgar jokes. "When… When Uncle Remi told me that when they and Ren were going to go for round two, were they… Were talking about having s-sex with him…?"
Arc Mage tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing in curiosity. She adjusted the blanket around her voluptuous form as if preparing for the weight of the conversation ahead. "Ah," she nodded thoughtfully, her voice still calm and sweet. "Would you like me to give you a more in-depth explanation into how that works…? Knowledge is power, ya know…!"
Juliet nodded shyly, the blush on her face deepening as she awaited Arc Mage’s explanation. She knew what sex was, or at least the concept of it— she had to bear witness to it on more than just one occasion, while she lived with a brother.
However, this was different.
While the thought of a unsightly, out of shape man shoving his dick into some disease-ridden, apathetic prostitute disgusted her, the thought of two people, who were as beautiful as Goblin Slayer and Remi were, getting into such compromising positions with one another had stirred something foreign in the little girl’s body— ever since she first started to dwell on what that would look like.
Arc Mage leaned back in her chair, with her mind switching into teaching mode— although her manner remained gentle. "Well then, I suppose it’s time I give you a lesson on the facts of life. Let’s start with the basics, shall we?"
Juliet listened intently, with her large blue eyes wide with both curiosity and embarrassment as Arc Mage began to explain.
“I’m assuming you know what the sex already is, but let’s look at it from a more anatomical perspective. Men and women, and even slime monsters, have different sexual organs," Arc Mage began, her voice remaining clinical but kind. "Biologically speaking, on a man the primary organ is called the penis, and on a woman, the main reproductive organ is the vagina." She spoke carefully, ensuring that Juliet could follow along, but she didn’t shy away from the terminology.
“Slime monsters? They’re neither male nor female— fluid, in more than just the literal sense, you see,” Arc Mage explained, with a hint of amusement visible across her curled lips. “Storm Lord, from my observations, exhibits more masculine features than feminine, so it’s more than likely they chose to shape their body into having a “pseudo penis”, instead of a gooey sleeve that resembles what you and I have between our legs.”
Juliet blinked with her expression remaining curious, as she tilted her head at her blond professor. “A… A “pseudo penis”…?” The little blond girl repeated back in a hushed voice, with her already flushed cheeks growing a brighter shade, underneath the cover of darkness. “What’s that, Professor…?”
"It’s, as the name implies, “pseudo peni” are modeled after most peni— depending on the slime’s preference, it could morph their pseudo penis, or pseudo vagina, into whatever they choose it to resemble. If they’re intelligent enough to even process such a level of self-awareness, that is.” Arc Mage continued, with her tone still as soft as if she were explaining a complicated spell. "As I’ve said, I’m assuming you know what sex is already, so you already aware that the penis traditionally goes into the vaginal cavity— stimulation in the form of friction to the cavernous nerves on the penis, and the little bump above the vaginal cavity that’s called a “clitoris”, is what leads into something called an “orgasm”.”
The room remained quiet save for Dwarf Shaman’s rhythmic snores, as Arc Mage continued her lesson, unbothered by the sensitive nature of the topic.
"Oxytocin and dopamine— they are what make people feel intense pleasure and satisfaction during and after the act. But in Storm Lord’s case, their body can’t naturally produce those hormones on their own. Meaning that complex emotions such as “love” and “nurture” aren’t normally exhibited by slime monsters,” Arc Mage explained with an eccentric tone in her voice— as though she were deriving pleasure from the act of educating alone.
Juliet’s cheeks burned as she absorbed this information, her young mind trying to piece together the new vocabulary and concepts. “S… So Uncle Remi… They… They don’t really l-love Ren then…?” The little girl asked with a twang of sadness gripping softly at her flat chest.
“Well, actually, there is a way for Storm Lord to, hypothetically, experience those sorts of emotions— as fleeting as they be,” Arc Mage reassured, with a comforting look in her dark green eyes, as she saw Juliet’s expression change from pitying, to intrigued.
“R-Really…?” The blond little girl whispered, with a perplexed glimmer in her blue eyes. “B-But Professor, you said Uncle Remi couldn’t make those… Hormones, on their own…”
“Exactly, they can’t… Under normal circumstances, that is…!” She began once more. “The exciting fact about slime monsters who are able to master transmogrification is that they can’t only just change their physical appearance— they can also create their own pseudo hormones, through exchanging bodily fluids,” Arc Mage revealed with a dazzle of elation across her smiling face. “Whereas more complex lifeforms receive stimulation through those aforementioned cavernous nerves, slimes’ mate through exchanging gelatinous substances with other slimes— multiplying through asexual reproduction…!”
“… But in the case of Storm Lord and Ashta, an— interspecies relationship to that caliber— Storm Lord can secrete their fluids inside of him to consume his DNA safely through saliva, seminal fluids, and sweat Arc Mage continued to explain, while remaining patient and thorough— never letting her scientific tone falter. “If my theory is correct, the pseudo plasma level of oxytocin after Storm Lord orgasms will baseline at the thirty minute mark— meaning that for at least for half an hour, they’ll be able to express love, and every other human emotion that isn’t just what they can feel through the "adrenochrome" that all slime monsters have floating around in their membranes…!”
Juliet nodded slowly, still processing the plentra of overwhelming information fed to her, while her cheeks remained a deep shade of pink. “S-So Uncle Remi really does love Ren, then…? If only for a little bit a time,” the little girl concluded under breath, as the inner workings of her childlike mind began formulating what she thought was a genius plan. “P… Professor?”
Arc Mage gave her a gentle smile, patting her blanket as if to offer some comfort. "Yes, my student?" She asked expectantly, with her tone softening even further. "What else may I do to satiate that sense of wonderment, and morbid curiosity of yours?”
“If… If I were to, uh…! I-If Ren and I had s-sex too…! If I can give him “oxytocin”, and show him how much I love him…!” The blond little girl stuttered out in a flustered voice— the nauseating excitement of butterflies swarming in her stomach, paired with the tingling sensations radiating from her groin made Juliet all the more embarrassed. “D-Do you think h-he would…! H-He would be happy with m-my b-body…?!”
Instead of responding negatively like how Juliet half-expected to, Arc Mage showed genuine intrigue across her moon-lit face— her hand reaching up to hold her round chin methodically, as though giving the hypothetical sincere thought. “I think I understand what you're trying to ask.. Endocrinologically speaking, yes… Yes, you having sex with Ashta would release a dopamine and oxytocin signal in both of your bodies— causing your familial bonds to strengthen, which would presumably bring you two closer together.”
‘Closer?!’
The exciting thought alone elevated her senses— causing the little girl’s thighs to quiver, as an odd jolt of stimulation traveled down her tummy, before sending more warm tingles down to her groin. "T-Thank you, Professor," she said quietly— her voice a mixture of gratitude and lingering embarrassment.
Arc Mage leaned back into the recliner, content with having imparted the lesson. "You’re very welcome, my student," she said, her voice drifting as she settled back under the warmth of her blanket. "Now, rest. There will be much more to learn in the days to come."
With that, the room fell back into silence, broken only by the sound of Dwarf Shaman’s snores and the soft rustle of Juliet as she shifted under her blanket— her mind still buzzing with all that she had learned.
‘Having sex with Ren… He wouldn’t be rough with me— not like those men were with those nasty women,’ the little girl’s imaginative mind stated factually, as she tried tightening the blanket over her small body— coaxing her yearning mind to sleep.
‘… He would be really gentle with me— hold me, like he did at Stonehall. He would kiss me, ask me if I’m okay, and tell me how much I mean to him… He would love all over me, kiss my chest, grab my tush, a-and rub my…’
‘…’
‘… M-Maybe… Maybe I should… C-Check on him… See if he’s okay.’
Author's Notes: After reading your feedback and dwelling more and more on where we'll stand with loli/shota content, here's what I propose:
+) One-hundred present going to include loli content in this fic, and much more in the sequel. It wouldn't be fair of me to advertise that, and then just pull that idea this late into the story. Especially since I've already established that both Juliet and Sofia both are attracted to Goblin Slayer, with this chapter leading into the last lemon of this story that'll showcase Priestess partaking in acts of voyeurism, Have her experiment rather than just jumping straight into a lemon is good scaling, at least for the time being. By the sequel, she'll have already got more and more warmed up to the idea of her and Goblin Slayer having the same sort of relationship he has with Remi— making it more meaningful when she finally unravels to the truth to him, and admits to Goblin Slayer how long she's wanted to be more than just a little sister to him.
+) If there's one thing I hate, it's those who are on the fence who lack commitment. I don't want to be someone that's on the fence. Having someone with the body of a loli but not the age or mentality of one is the cheater's way out. It'd leave a bad taste in my mouth doing that, and it would take that extra taboo away from your enjoyment. So I won't be going through hoops for that.
+) Monster lolis are a must, such as Sofia. Fireraven248 mentioned the idea of having a vampire loli, which I absolutely love. Expect to see one of those in the sequel.
+) Abraxas gave me the idea to include the act of Oyakodon for the sequel. Which, for those who don't know what that means, is when a mother and daughter have a threesome with someone. In our case, it'll be Lady Eleanor x Priestess x Goblin Slayer.
+) Circling back to mature women, there'll definitely be MILFS, GILFS included in the sequel. All of which will be thick, some being BBWs, and some will have saggy tits and cellulite. Most will. As Supreme God intended.
+) It would only make sense that Goblin Slayer would have a preference based on what he likes with Remi, Priestess, and even Lady Eleanor. Maternal and nurturing kind of older women with plump bodies to fulfill the love he craved from Vivine as an orphan. Cute, feminine, and trusting lolis with big hearts, thanks to Priestess— rekindling a spark with his child self, and makes him feel more connected to Vivine. Remi is someone who he take comfort in, and someone who's open mindfulness and shameless living is what makes Goblin Slayer more open minded himself. It's also what makes him have a thing for femboys, and yes, crossdressing shotas. Expect to see at least one femboy shota who wants to get with Goblin Slayer in the sequel.
+) With that being said, he'll still have romance with the likes of Cow Girl, High Elf Archer, Witch, Sword Maiden, and Guild Girl. But probably only them, since normally he wouldn't probably pursue those kind of women.
+) Remi has the body of a teenager, so it wouldn't be out of the question for Goblin Slayer and Hero to be in a relationship too.
+) Monster girls based off fantasy are going to be included too. So expect to see ors, ogres, goblins, driders, centaurs, along with anthro girls too.
+) I've got a few in mind already, but we'll need a surplus of dark-skinned women, lolis, and what have you too. I love light-skin male on dark-skin female/femboy. Help a choom out.
+) Speaking of furries, a hyena girl was requested. Expect a pseudo penis lol.
That's all I can think of for now. Please give me your feedback, and we'll go from there. I'm super excited for this sequel lol.
Chapter 36: (NSFW) Priestess and Remi Kusagi
Chapter Text
Carefully slipping out from under her covers, the soft rustling of her bedding barely made a sound in the stillness of the living room. Juliet paused, while scanning the dim space to ensure that everyone was still asleep.
Dwarf Shaman continued to snore loudly— completely lost to the world. High Elf Archer had buried her face in her pillow— sleeping her damndest, while still trying to muffle the noise. Lizard Priest remained in his meditative state, undisturbed by the world around him, while Arc Mage had finally drifted off in her recliner— her blanket draped comfortably over her.
Confident that no one would notice her, the little girl quietly pushed herself to her feet— her small frame still wrapped in a white nightgown that reached just below her knees. The fabric was soft and flowy— the light material swaying gently with her every step. The nightgown had little lace details along the hem and neckline— adding an innocent charm to her already youthful appearance. She stood barefoot, with her toes lightly brushing the cool floor as she tiptoed out of the room.
Juliet navigated her way through the dimly lit hallway, with her footsteps barely audible, as she passed the kitchen with its empty countertops and the bathroom with its door slightly ajar. Her heart beat faster with each step— a sense of anticipation bubbling inside her, as she continued down the corridor.
Then, she stumbled upon a door that was just cracked open enough to let a sliver of warm light escape into the hall. The light flickered softly, like the glow of a fire. Juliet hesitated, with her curiosity piqued by the unusual sight. ‘I… I should really just go back to bed,’ she tried telling herself, but her burning sense of curiosity fueled by the perplexing emotions within her abdomen caused her to press on. ‘I’ll just… Take a peek— no harm in that, is there?’ She thought naughtily to herself— her blood thrummed with excitement, as she edged closer, before she pressed her cute, innocent face up against the narrow opening.
Peeking through the small gap, Juliet muffled a gasp with her palm— her eyes wide with surprise. On the other side of the door, she saw Remi, wearing nothing but a pair of striped panties, sitting on a plush carpet next to Goblin Slayer, who was equally undressed, and was clad only in his plain black underwear.
‘Oh?! I… I-I shouldn’t be staring— I should give them privacy,’ the little girl silently scolded herself, but yet her fixation on the gray-haired teenager’s bare back only intensified— betraying her sense of morals. His muscular, scarred back glistened faintly in the firelight that crackled from the large stone fireplace before them— the flames casting dancing shadows across the room. His body was lean and athletic, every ridge of muscle defined beneath the dim, flickering light.
Juliet’s heart raced, her pulse quickening as her blue eyes took in the scene. She felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach— a warmth that reminded her of what Arc Mage had spoken about earlier.
‘He’s so… So breathtaking! Surely if they aren’t going to notice me here, then it shouldn’t be an issue…! I’ll just… Be quiet! Real quiet— it’ll be like I’m not even here!’
Deciding to stay put, the little girl’s breathing became shallow— the rising heat of the moment stirring something new inside her that she couldn’t quite place. ‘My privates feel weird… Weird, but kind of… Good? I wonder if it’s because of him— if he’s making me feel this way…! That must be it…’
The firelight bathed Remi and Goblin Slayer in a soft glow— the intimacy between them palpable on the little girl’s tongue. Juliet’s small hand pressed harder against her mouth, suppressing any sound that might escape her lips as she continued to watch— her cheeks flushing with emotions she only knew the concepts of.
‘Earth Mother, if you can hear me… Is it… Is it wrong that I’m anticipating them kissing? That I want to see them touch each other?’ Juliet silently prayed to her goddess, before muffling a small whimper— the thought alone of seeing the two locking lips while grinding their genitals together sent a sudden jolt of stimulation down her tummy. ‘Goodness…! It’s so…! E-Exciting to think about!’
Unbeknownst that he and Remi were being watched, Goblin Slayer sat cross-legged on the floor with the warmth from the fire flickering against his bare back. His chest tightened with nervous anticipation, as he reached over to the pile of gifts he had brought back from Radio Head—his fingers brushing the neck of the Flying V guitar.
The glossy, cherry-red finish caught the firelight as he carefully dragged it across the carpet towards Remi— who sat across from him, legs crossed in their striped panties, with their smirk all too familiar.
For a moment, the teenager’s crimson eyes lingered over the slime monster’s slender thighs, along with the fabric of their panties, before his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. Quickly, he averted his gaze— swallowing hard as he lifted his eyes to meet their excited grin.
"I, uh..." Goblin Slayer fumbled with his words— feeling more self-conscious by the second. He scratched the back of his head, nervously chuckling. "This girl at the music shop said this model would be perfect... You know, for the kind of music you play. She said, uh… That it’s good for rock and roll."
Remi raised an eyebrow, giving him an impressed look, with their smirk widening. "Well, well, well," they teased, dragging out each word. "Looks like someone put some thought into this gift, huh?" They playfully joked, before leaning down to pull the guitar onto their lap— their slender fingers immediately brushing along its glossy body, and then playing idly with the whammy bar. "You really went all out, Sportsy," they mused, while their fingers teasing the six strings as they spoke.
Goblin Slayer watched, feeling both pride and nervousness bloom in his chest. “I… I-I really wanted to make sure that you’d be happy with what I got you,” the bashful teenager stuttered out, while his smile began to grow slightly more and more uneasy. “I… I have a lot, uh… F-Feelings for you, Remi…!”
“Feelings, huh?” Remi repeated jokingly back at him, before looking up at the teen with that sassy smirk. "You know, I myself have feelings about this guitar being almost as sexy as you, but not quite. Like for example, I feel like I wouldn’t mind playing both right now."
Goblin Slayer's face burned hotter than the fireplace, while at the same time he felt a twinge of pain in his chest. He stammered, “R-Remi, I was…! I-I was being serious with what I said…”
His heart raced, and though he still felt disappointed in the slime monster’s lackluster response, the teen still couldn't help feel a small grin spreading across his face. He was embarrassed, sure, but something about Remi's playful crudeness always got to him.
And when the pastel-haired slime monster leaned forward, their lips inches from his, the hurt inside of Goblin Slayer’s heart became suppressed— snuffed out by the alluring yellow-eyed gaze of the androgynous creature before him.
“And just who the fuck said I wasn’t being serious either?” Remi asked playfully in a sultry voice— lulling the teenager closer, until their sorts lips met. Upon feeling the slime monster’s mouth on his, Goblin Slayer felt himself melt into the kiss almost immediately.
Watching with the air fleeting from her small lungs, Juliet felt another jolt of warmth coursing its way down to her groin— the sight of seeing two what she saw as two beautiful people passionately pressing their lips against one another made her breath tremble with excitement. ‘Oooh! I like it! I like it, I like it, I like it— I like it!’
It started slow, tentative, but quickly deepened as Remi’s hand gently caressed his cheek— guiding their teenage partner closer to their face. The heat of the fire paled in comparison to the warmth of Remi’s mouth on his. He couldn’t help but lean into it, with his hands coming up to rest on their hips.
Sucking in her bottom lip involuntarily, the little girl tightened her slender thighs together in an attempt to quell the pulsating sensation she was feeling inside of her small folds. ‘Oh, what I would give to take Uncle Remi’s place right now! I bet Ren would grab me tight, but he wouldn’t hurt me…! He would pull me closer to him— so he could kiss me harder— just like that!’
By the time they pulled back, a thin trail of saliva and slime bridged the gap between their lips— causing Juliet to arch her lower back, as she felt her panties growing warmer. Goblin Slayer was left breathless— his heart thudding in his chest. He was a mess of emotions— flustered, anxious, but undeniably aroused.
‘Oh… They stopped… What a tease!’ Juliet thought disappointingly to herself, as she muffled an annoyed sigh that had tried escaping from within her throat. ‘Come on, Uncle Remi…! Do something else to him!’
And while Juliet was silently begging for the slime monster to get physical with him, Goblin Slayer cleared his throat to collect himself, as he reached over to the pile of gifts again— dragging a box of extra guitar strings, picks, and lithium-mana batteries toward Remi.
"I, uh, I g-got these for you too," he mumbled, embarrassed— his crimson eyes darting to the side, as the slime monster started tearing into the packaging, while clearly amused by his flustered state. “They’re nothing uh… T-Too exciting…”
“Eh, don’t sell yourself too short there, Old Sport— it’s non-exciting shit that’s usually the most important part of anything,” Remi said dismissively, while beginning to tear open into the packaging of the guitar strings. “Like you!”
Rolling his eyes at the slime monster’s jab at him, Goblin Slayer let out a soft chortle before sarcastically telling them, “Thanks.” And while Remi busied themselves with opening the rest of their new supplies, the gray-haired teenager shuffled over to the next gift— a large electric amplifier. He pulled it toward them with a grunt— the heavy object smoothing out the fluffy carpet, as he set it down in front of them.
"I thought, um..." Goblin Slayer stuttered, feeling worked up as he explained, "I thought this might help you, you know… Increase the range of your buff spells. And... You can also use it to play for an audience too— in case you ever want to play on stage, or something…”
Remi's eyes lit up with excitement as they ran their hands over the knobs on the amplifier. They mumbled the labels underneath each dial— "gain," "volume," "tone"— their fingers twisting each one lightly. “Holy shit, this is fuckin’ awesome, Sportsy— I’ve always wanted one of these…!” Remi whispered, with a grin stretching across their face.
"I can’t wait to use this bitch to knock ‘em dead." They mused, before shooting Goblin Slayer a teasing glance. “If you really wanted to get in my panties that bad, Old Sport, then all you had to do was ask nicely— you didn’t have to drag all this cool shit from Crossbell, ya know…!”
Goblin Slayer laughed nervously, while feeling his cheeks burn as Remi leaned in again— this time their kiss was even more intense than before. It was fierce, full of passion, and the teenager found himself completely swept up in the moment.
Perking up after having felt the secondhand joy between the two partners, Juliet’s underdeveloped hormones working their magic on her petite body once more— her blue eyes widening with perverted excitement and morbid curiosity, as she watched Goblin Slayer’s once again grab onto Remi’s slender, hourglass figure.
‘Uncle Remi really must like the way Ren’s hands feel on them…! They keep wiggling their hips, and their back keeps making weird movements too!’ The little girl observed silently, while watching as they shimmied their pelvis, as they leaned in closer to the gray-haired teen’s body.
Unveiling their translucent tongue out past their lips, the slime monster began teasing the teenager’s mouth— running just the tip of their oral muscle in between his lips. With the tip of Remi’s long tongue sliding slowly against and meticulously against his front teeth, Goblin Slayer’s body responded instinctively by reaching up past their slender hips.
Wrapping his tone, muscular arms around the androgynous slime monster’s tiny waistline, Goblin Slayer felt an involuntary moan escaping from his slimy lips— reverberating against Remi’s tongue, as the slime monster returned an aroused chuckle, while running their tongue against the inside of the teenager’s cheeks.
The combination of sloppy slurping and heavy panting breaths between the two might as well have been music to Juliet’s ears— the audio stimulation causing her own muffled breathing to match theirs. ‘What does the inside of Ren’s mouth taste like?! Does his drool taste good?! He must taste sweet, like coffee with sugar and cream! Oh, how I’d love to savor him!’
By the time the kiss ended, Goblin Slayer’s chin was slick with Remi’s slime. "God…!" He murmured under his breath— trying to compose himself as he reached for the last gift. His hands fumbled with the latch of the suitcase, with his heart still racing and his mouth missing the gooey, cool sensation of their tongue. He flipped it open to reveal an electric gramophone inside.
Remi blinked in surprise, awe spreading across their face as they took in the sight. "No fucking way," they whispered, with their voice filled with excitement. Goblin Slayer beamed— though his embarrassment was still evident.
"Arc Mage told me how to use— in case you need my help," Goblin Slayer explained, while rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s got, uh, FM and AM radio built-in, and, well..." He trailed off, not sure how to explain all the technical details, but he gave it his best shot. “AM radio waves reach longer distances, and… FM, uh…?! P-Plays better, I think…?!”
Remi chuckled, while shaking their head. "Don’t sweat it, Old Sport— we’ll figure it out together sometime." They then shot him a cheeky grin, while examining the top of the gramophone. “So uh, hehe… W-What the fuck does this little needle-thing do?” They asked bluntly, while wiggling the stylus.
“You put this thing called a “vinyl record” on top, and then you put that needle-thing down on top of it— here, I’ll show you,” Goblin Slayer said in a low, sheepish voice, before dragging over the final box— a large container filled with various records. "I, uh... I tried to get you a variety of genres," Goblin Slayer explained, “I only listened to the first few songs on each album… Oh! That’s what they’re called also: "albums".”
Remi snorted, flipping through the records with an intrigued look. “Don’t know who the hell any of these clowns are, but if you think they’re good, then I’m excited to give them a listen," they said, with their voice dripping with humor. “God, what the hell is with some of this artwork, man…?! Some of this shit is trippy as hell to look at…!”
By the end of rifling through each and every album cover, Remi proceeded to set the records aside, before turning to face Goblin Slayer fully— their glowing yellow eyes locking onto his wide, bashful gaze. “Hey… Look down, big boy— I got a little gift for you too,” they purred out with lust dripping from each word they spoke.
Tensing up with aroused excitement, Goblin Slayer did what Remi asked him to. Lowering his crimson eyes down to where the slime monster was spreading their slender thighs open for him, Goblin Slayer felt his erected cock twitch at the sight of the visible silhouette of their own throbbing cock.
“It missed its playmate, Sportsy… It missed you,” Remi murmured with a low, perverted whisper, as they leaned in closer, with their chest brushing against his— giving the teenager a wicked grin, as their erected nipples dragged along his skin. “I’ve been waiting to fuck you hard since you left me,” they whispered with a low growl— their voice low and sultry, as they closed the distance between them. “It’s time to give me one more present, Sportsy… One that money can’t buy…”
Goblin Slayer’s breath hitched as Remi’s lips met his once more. Soon enough, the teenager’s mouth was forcibly pried open by the slime monster’s all too familiar tongue.
Completely enthralled with the sounds she grew accustomed to the two partners making, the submissive change in pitch within Goblin Slayer’s gurgled moans as Remi’s tongue went deeper and deeper into his inviting mouth was nothing short of a symphony for Juliet’s ears to tune into.
‘Oh, Earth Mother above…! I want him to make those sounds in my ear while he touches me!’ The little blond girl prayed with the corner of her warm lips curling into a wide smile— her tongue flopping out past her bottom lip, as she began to imagine herself being the one to fill the teenager’s mouth. ‘Whimper for me, Ren…! Let me taste you…!’
Inch by inch, Remi slid more of their slimy tongue into Goblin Slayer’s oral orifice— letting out a muffled moan mixed with a teasing giggle, as they felt the horny fifteen year-old tightening their wet lips around the base of their thirteen-inch tongue.
Pressing their slender chest further against Goblin Slayer’s toned pectorals, Remi lowered their bulging erection down against his— the soft friction of their soaked panties rubbing against the more coarse material of the teenager’s precum-moistened underwear caused both of them to exchange deep moans into the other’s mouth.
Almost giving away her position from the spike of dopamine that hit her explorative mind, Juliet’s toes curled up against the wooden floorboards, as something primal inside of her reacted to the way the two were beginning to grind on one another’s members. ‘Ren’s penis…! I-I wonder what it feels like! It must feel really good— it has to! It’s making Uncle Remi make those cute sounds now too!’
Learning from last time to breathe through his nostrils, Goblin Slayer shuddered at the tingling down his neck, the moment he felt Remi’s long tongue shift against the inside of his cheeks— the gooey tip of their gelatinous appendage sliding past his uvula caused him to choke only slightly, as the slime monster began lowering him onto his back.
Drooling profusely all into Goblin Slayer’s cheeks and directly down his throat, Remi let out a muffled moan from the way their partner began drinking his slimey essence— causing their throbbing cock to begin secreting slime through the thin, soft fabric of their stripped panties, all while they slurped the teenager’s spit up as well.
Now pressing their chest fully on top of Goblin Slayer’s, Remi’s fingers began twitching with domineering excitement, as they reached up to grab a hold of the teenager’s wrists, before pinning them above his head— causing him to arch his back and gurgle, as the slime monster slid their petite thighs underneath the bottoms of the teenager’s athletic legs.
Enthralled with a sense of lustful anticipation, and fueled by the invigoration of handing over complete control to the slime monster, Goblin Slayer toes curled inward along with his fingers, as he let out another submissive moan that was muffled by Remi’s invasive tongue.
Growing more intoxicated with each drop of slime he consumed from his partner, the gray-haired teenager’s eyes rolled into the back of his head the moment he felt Remi’s cock slip out of their panties, and through the precum-drenched gusset, that was sewn over his own twitching member.
With their chests pressing up against one another, Remi took immediate satisfaction from the way they felt Goblin Slayer’s heart skip a beat before his entire body tensed up with pleasure— their hairless, soft balls smothering the teen’s hairless testicles, as the bellies of their members pushed up and down against one another in quicker motions.
Taking advantage of their own anatomy, Remi’s cock began reverting back to its gelentous state. Blowing a ragged breath through their nostrils and onto Goblin Slayer’s face, the slime monster arched their back while tightening their fingers firmly around the teenager’s wrists— waves of raw sensual pleasure radiating through their groins.
Engulfing all ten inches of Goblin Slayer’s cock in their gelentous embrace, Remi’s inner membrane began pulling the teen’s dick deeper inside them, until their balls were pressed tightly up against each other.
Over the muffled Goblin Slayer’s gurgled moans and Remi’s panted growls, the wet smacking sounds of the teenager’s twitching cock filled the bedroom each time the slime monster slammed their slender hips down against his.
From where she was taking on the role of unexpectant voyeur, the blond little girl watched with enthralled curiosity and bewildering excitement coursing through her petite body— her own breath now matching the same panting intensity of Remi’s own sharp breaths, while she began drooling profusely all over her palm and bottom lip.
Seeing Goblin Slayer in such a compromising position with his legs spread freely, with the androgynous slime monster aggressively milking the teenager’s cock sent waves of tingling warmth down into her own loins— far more than she’d experienced thus far.
Then all of sudden, that’s when it happened.
Juliet froze still, the moment her hazy mind finally registered the warm liquid dripping from her white ruffled panties— the humiliating revelation causing her to tense up with both horror and arousal.
‘Did I…?! Did I just wet myself?!’ The blond nine-year old asked herself within the confines of her head— as she felt the warm liquid trickle down her inner thighs. ‘Ren made me wet myself…! How shameful of me, and yet… I can’t help but wonder if he would be against it. What if… What if I wet myself while his penis was inside me?! Would he like it too?!’
Just when the idea of retreating to check herself began creeping in her mind, Juliet’s full attention was once again enraptured by the bizarre, sexual spectacle unveiling before her very eyes— encouraging her to stay still, and let the warm liquid seep through her drenched panties
‘I’ll… I’ll just change my undies later,’ Juliet reasoned with herself, while feeling her knees buckle in place, as she watched Remi unveil their four massive, gelatinous tendrils from their lower back. ‘Oh wow…! Those are so big…! Are you gonna use those on Ren, Uncle Remi?! Are you warm and wet for him too?!’
Watching the translucent tendrils arching back over Goblin Slayer’s body with widened eyes, the blond little girl flinched the moment she saw them descend upon the teenager’s body.
In an instant, the teen’s wrists were wrapped up behind his lower back by two of the slime monster’s cool, pulsating tendrils— a look of bewilderment and nervous anticipation crossing his flustered face, before all of sudden his mind was left reeling the moment all thirteen inches of Remi’s tongue vacated his throat.
Glops of the slime monster’s residue poured out from the back of Goblin Slayer’s throat— falling down past his drenched chin, and glistening as they landed his pectoral muscles that still bore a plethora of faded hickies.
Seeing stars as the room around him seemed to spin, the teen was barely conscious of the fact that Remi was using his other two tendrils to suspend his body up into the air from his around his inner thighs— forcing his legs to remain spread open, as the pastel-haired slime monster rolled their drenched panties down their slender legs.
“R… R-Remi… W-What are y-UMPF?!?” Goblin Slayer tried wearily choking out, before immediately going wide-eyed the moment Remi shoved their entire balled-up panties into his mouth.
Not bothering to salvage the teenager’s own precum soaked underwear, Remi grabbed a hold of its coarse material before tearing it clear off Goblin Slayer’s hips, as though they were made of paper. “Stay with me, Sportsy…! I’m going to show you what else this big ol’ tongue can do…!” They purred out in a perverted, teasing voice, as they hungrily eyed the teenager’s throbbing ten-inch cock that was not only out in the open for them to drool over, but out for the blond little girl hiding behind the cracked door to gawk at as well.
‘Ren’s penis! It’s so…! It’s so big— so wet!’ Juliet thought to herself with both wonderment and unrequited lust coursing through her mind— the juices pouring through her drenched panties dripping onto the floor beneath we her, as she felt something of her own beginning to throb above the hole where the warm liquid was seeping out of.
Watching with bated breath, the little girl began reaching her trembling right hand down underneath the skirt of her lacy nightgown— her nervous fingers slowly pressing themselves up against the soaked fabric covering her virgin folds.
‘It feels warm… M-My vagina, it… It feels like it has a heartbeat,’ Juliet thought to herself, while beginning to trace the silhouette of her vaginal lips. Teasing herself amidst experimenting, Juliet found herself havi nibble down on the inside of palm, just to muffle her whimpering moans as she watched as Goblin Slayer reacted to the way Remi’s long tongue slid beneath his cock— slithering up against the underside of his testicles and taint, until moving its tip up between his toned bottom cheeks.
As though in sync with the way Goblin Slayer was feeling, Juliet found biting down harder on her palm, as she slipped two trembling fingers through the space between her soaked panty crotch, and her small inner hip— her knees shuddering and her eyes rolling in the back of her head, as she began exploring the hot, wet folds of her underaged pussy.
‘I want your tongue to lick me clean, Ren! I want you to kiss me down there— lick me hard, and suck on my… C-Clitoris...!’ Juliet cried out for the teenager within the recesses of her sex-starved mind— her whole entire body convulsing, the moment her fingertips reached up to make contact with the enlarged, throbbing bump resting above her vaginal opening.
Breathing in a sharp breath and arching his back, Goblin Slayer shuddered as he felt Remi’s lips pressing down hard against the top of his length— swallowing more and more of his cock into their mouth. And while their slippery tongue massaged his warm undercarriage, the slime monster pushed more and more of the tip of their tongue inside him— invading his insides, until finally finding the teenager’s G-spot.
Clenching his jaw tight while gasping for breath, Goblin Slayer began spasming within the cool, firm confines of Remi’s tendrils— the overstimulating sensation of getting his ass eaten out, while simultaneously getting deep-throated by the slime monster scrambled his sex-intoxicated mind.
Seeing Goblin Slayer unintentionally attempting to free himself from their grasp only further increased the predatory nature of the slime monster— their breeding instincts demanding them to reach up with their slender hands, past the bucking hips of their teenage partner, just to keep him from escaping them.
Curling their forearms inward, Remi’s dug their fingertips deep into Goblin Slayer’s inner thighs, while their plump lips made contact with the base of the teenager’s twitching member— their tongue pulsating and massaging the underside of his cock and balls, as the inside of the slime monster’s throat began to firmly tighten around his entire girth.
And as Goblin Slayer’s lower eyelids fluttered as the rest of his red-hot face showed signs of immense stimulation, Juliet began thrusting her hips against her fingertips. While the little girl was furiously masturbating to them, Remi began to bob their head back-and-forth repeatedly between the teenager’s inner thighs— their puckered lips creating a tight seal around his cock that they refused to break.
“F-Fruck…! Fruck, thris w-weri- gwuah, nghuah…!” Goblin Slayer tried choking out with his cheeks stuffed with the slime monster’s used panties, before going cross-eyed— the intense sensation of Remi’s throat milking his hard, throbbing cock member preventing him from having any more coherent thoughts.
At that point forward, Juliet’s darker side began taking a hold of her usually innocent self. Beginning to imagine herself being the one responsible for eliciting those low, defiant grunts and elongated moans coming from Goblin Slayer’s mouth, the little girl girl was furiously massaging her pulsating clit while leaning up against the doorframe— her tongue coating the inside of her moist palm with saliva, as she spread her own small thighs open to get her more of her fingers in between her dripping-wet folds.
‘I-I want to be his good girl! I want to be the one drooling over his penis like that! I want him inside me! I want to suck on it like a popsicle— I want to make him squirm, just like that!’ Juliet’s corrupted mind screamed out, as she imagined herself getting on her hands and knees for Goblin Slayer to use her mouth as he pleased.
‘Oh dear Earth Mother, please! Please let me wrap my lips around it, and make him make those sounds for me! Just like that! Let me show him how much I want him!’ Juliet prayed silently with her small back arching; the warm vaginal fluids now flowing freely down her legs and pooling down onto the floor, with her completely past the point of caring.
Curling her toes and shuddering, the sounds of her underage pussy squishing as she masturbated were drowned out only by the raw, unfiltered cries of pleasure coming from Goblin Slayer, as the slime monster sucked his cock mercilessly— his area from his groin to his lower back side completely coated in a thick layer of slime, that dripped slowly down between his marked thighs.
Unable to distinguish which wet, sloppy sound was coming from where, the gray-haired teen began feeling an all too familiar knot sensation tying within his abdomen— his blurred senses heightened, as his slime-coated member twitching deep inside Remi’s fuck-hole of a mouth.
With his eardrums pounding, and his throbbing heart feeling as though it was about to explode at any given second, Goblin Slayer’s entire suspended body began to convulse more and more.
But before the gray-haired teenager could blow his entire load into the back of his partner’s slimy throat, the tendrils that were wrapped around his wrists and inner thighs began slithering while they rotated— much to not only his confusion, but to the bewilderment of the masturbating little girl, who paused seconds before the feeling in her cunt could send her over the edge.
‘W… Why did they stop?! What’s going on now?!’ Juliet wondered with sexual frustration causing her brows to furrow— her lungs feeling as though they were on fire, as she impatiently massaged her clit slowly.
Just like before, Goblin Slayer’s body flinched and shook the moment Remi retracted all thirteen inches of their tongue from underneath his taint— the tip of their gooey muscle flicking against his tight rump, as it vacated his slime-coated insides.
Releasing their grip while their yellow eyes glimmered with dominance. Remi marveled at the purple hand marks left on the pale skin of Goblin Slayer’s slick, inner thighs— the sight of seeing the teenager gasping for air, covered from head to toe in their own hot, humid sweat made their dick twitch as it shot a string of white slime onto the carpet.
Still unable to close his legs, Goblin Slayer glared with an annoyed yet pleading look at Remi, and twitched with his breath hitching, the moment the slime monster pulled him closer to begin slowly rubbing their throbbing member up and down against his.
Thrusting their hips gingerly into the teen’s groin, Remi slender hands made their way down to Goblin Slayer’s hips, so as to steady his pelvis. Looking up into the eyes of their partner, the smoke monster had an uncharacteristic expression on their flushed face that took the gray-haired teen off guard upon first seeing it.
“Whry… Whry dhrid hr- Auuguh, gwuah?!” Goblin Slayer tried speaking with his mouth full, before suddenly being interrupted when Remi shoved their fingers past his lips— the soft, drenched fabric of the slime monster’s used, dirty panties dragging along his tongue, and causing him to begin coughing up saliva and slime.
Gasping for breath while attempting to steady their disoriented gaze upon the slime monster’s anxious face, Goblin Slayer could feel his cock aching for release as it slid back-and-forth against Remi’s length. “W… W-Why did you stop?” He repeated himself again— this time without a makeshift gag getting in the way.
Like Remi, Juliet refused to lose her libido, and kept stroking her warm, throbbing clit in slow, circular motions. But yet, just like Goblin Slayer, she was completely invested in hearing the slime monster’s case— her ears listening in keenly, over the wet slimy smacks that their genitals were quietly making.
Opening their mouth to speak, Remi’s sex-driven mind fought itself to string coherent sentences together— further perpetuating the notion to Goblin Slayer that something drastic was happening.
“Ahh, ahhh— f-fuck, uhhh…! L-Look, Sportsy, I… I-I gotta some shit to say to ya’ and, uhh…! I-I don’t I’m going to be in the right headspace to say it after this, s-so…!” The slime monster trailed off nervously, with dread and fear in their voice— the diametric signals the teenager was receiving made it not only hard for him to focus on staying aroused, but it made wanting to continue pleasuring herself all the more difficult for Juliet as well.
Growing more frustrated than worried now, Remi’s feral side made itself apparent once more, as they let out a low, growl. “Grruugh…! F-Fuck it, I’m just say it,” the slime monster muttered with their teeth bared at Goblin Slayer— confusing him even more as to what his partner was trying to get off of their chest.
“S-Sportsy… In all my fuckin’ life, I-I’ve never given t-two shits about anyone— including my own f-fuckin’ self…” Remi hissed out with their eyebrows furrowing, and their tendrils instinctively tightening even more around Goblin Slayer’s wrists and inner thighs— cutting off stimulation, and preventing the blood from reaching his extremities.
“E-Even that stupid lil’ cunt who tried b-befriending me all those years ago…! I-I ate her with no problem— didn’t think fuckin’ twice about that shitty lil sob story she tried tellin’ me, before she hung herself in stupid fuckin’ cave I was born in,” Remi vented hatefully with narrowed eyes, before suddenly pointing a finger at their own pissed off expression.
“Take a good fuckin’ hard look at this face, Old Sport…! You’ve been lookin’ at a fuckin’ ghost since you met me...!” Remi growled bitterly with cyan-tears now trickling down their contorted face— their slender chest rapidly shifting, as their breathing grew sharp.
No longer aroused, Goblin Slayer felt his heart sinking into his chest as the pressure on his wrists and thighs was beginning to crush his muscle fibers and tendons. And still, he remained silent— his eyes widening in shock, as Remi’s raw anger slowly transformed more and more into pure heartbreak.
Even Juliet had stopped touching herself, and just like the gray-haired teen, she stood watching with her eyes widened, and her stomach churning at what was unfolding before her. ‘Why is t… Wait… Wait, this must be a side effect of replicating Ren’s DNA! It’s just like the Professor told me: their pseudo hormones are making them feel things they wouldn’t otherwise experience!’
Unlike Goblin Slayer, Juliet had an understanding of what was going on, and why Remi was exhibiting sporadic behavior. So without knowing what was going on, the gray-haired teen whimpered out in a low groaning voice, “Y-You’re hurting me…”
And just like that, Remi immediately forced his tendrils to disintegrate into a mist of cyan particles— a look of horror and remorse overtaking the manic sadness that had been on their face moments ago.
Immediately catching the gray-haired teen with lightning-fast reflexes, Remi cradled Goblin Slayer’s naked body close to their chest. Hearing the slime monster repeatedly muttering apology after apology under their trembling breath, Goblin Slayer felt himself being lowered onto the sopping wet carpet beneath them— Remi’s shaky hands refusing to let go of them.
“O-Old S… R-Ren,” Remi whispered in a quiet, choked-up voice— their long pastel blue hair draping onto Goblin Slayer’s chest, as they lowered their head in shame. “I’m… I-I’m a terrible, horrible, selfish fuckin’ person— if you can even call me a “person”…”
“… All I’ve ever done since the moment I was put here on this Earth was taken from others… Consuming, and taking, until they’ve got nothing left to offer me— just like what I wanted from you,” they uttered out, in a quiet whisper— their cyan drips falling like rain drops onto Goblin Slayer’s chest, as he slowly reached a hand up to cradle the slime monster’s concealed face.
“W… When I first saw you… A-All I wanted to do was k-kill you— to rid you of myself… But then, you became fun, and… And I wanted to keep you around a little longer— I wanted to play with you, just like a child craves to play with their favorite toy,” Remi admitted, while letting out a humorless, dry chuckle as they laid their soaked cheek against Goblin Slayer’s warm, soothing palm.
“That’s all I thought you were to me… My toy… My property to play with, and to tear apart when I grow tired of you… That’s why I call you “Old Sport”— because y-you’re only j-just object to me... And I fuckin' hate it,” Remi continued, while their breathing became on the cusp of hyperventilation— their entire slender body shaking violently, as they pulled Goblin Slayer closer to them for comfort.
“Th-The w-worst part of it all…?! Th-That’s exactly how I’m gonna s-see you again, Ren— as soon as th-this touchy-feely shit w-wears off, y-you’ll stop being “you”— y-you’ll just g-go back to being “Old Sport” to m-me again,” the slime monster sobbed out, as one of their glowing yellow stared down into the teenager’s patient crimson eyes, upon him gently brushing their pastel-blue hair from their tear-ridden face.
“Ya know… I-I was content with livin’ with no purpose… F-Fine with havin’ no reason to live…” Remi uttered out while quietly gasping for breath— what little composure they had left being swept away, the moment Goblin Slayer pulled them into a warm, loving embrace.
Although still completely an emotional wreck, the slime monster couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh— their lips curling back into a sad, amused grin. “B-But…! Th-Then you just h-had to come b-back, a-and fucked all that up for m-me…!” They croaked out in a raspy voice, with their teeth beginning to bear at him, as their gelatinous tears rolled down Goblin Slayer’s own soft, cathartic smile.
Burying their face into the teenager’s collar, and holding them as close as they could while relishing the warmth of their arms around their slender figure, Remi proceeded to close their eyelids shut tightly— their ragged breath hitching, as they swallowed back the lump in their throat.
“Y-You c-connivin’ m-motherfucker…! I-I sh-should rip y-you a-apart ri-right now…! Tear you t-to fu-fuckin’ pieces, and e-eat you a-alive…!” Remi playfully admitted their more feral-manic side coming out— tensing up every gelatinous membrane in their body, before shuddering as they then whispered to Goblin Slayer in a hollowed voice, “D-Don’t you see, R-Ren…? Y-You m-made me fa-fall in l-love with you— y-you p-piece of shit… N-Now why did you have to g-go and do that to m-me…?”
And as Remi’s hushed, sorrowful laughter began to escalate into quiet, blubbering wails of incoherent sentiments, Juliet sat on the floor with her back pressed up against the wall of the corridor— her hands buried into her tear-soaked face, as she huddled her knees up against her flat chest.
Author’s notes: There we have it! We’ve opened ourselves to loli content— the key has been turned, and the gates have been opened.
Sad and horny.
This story is meant to reflect Goblin Slayer overcoming his trauma, and letting the part of him that can’t let go of his pain die. That whole “in order for rebirth to happen, we must set alight what’s hurting us, and let it die and fall into ash” schtick doesn’t just apply to him— we’ve seen so far in High Elf Archer, and now in Remi as well, all of which are still in development.
I promise you that the sequel won’t be as sad as this story has been so far lol. As a matter of fact, Goblin Slayer’s gonna be a helluva a lot more happier and and a bit more extroverted by then too— due to him having to take on much more of a leadership role by then, and having about five years of experience under his belt.
Hopefully you’ve already begun to notice the gradual shift in his personality, when comparing him to how I wrote him in chapter one— which is closer to his canon self, compared to the direction I’m taking him.
Like I’ve said before, I just need Goblin Slayer to get all his trauma stuff out the way, so I can have him be ready to realistically have it make more sense for him to even be in a harem/poly relationship in the first place.
Repeating it loud and proud for those who haven’t read it yet: Goblin Slayer will one-hundred percent have a thing for crossdressing femboys and anyone who is at least as feminine as Remi is. They’ve already voiced their displeasure to me, but somewhat kindly and then downright in the most homophobic way possible.
This goes out to my femboy lovers: even if I get shit on for it, I’ll ensure that Goblin Slayer puts his dick in more than one femboy. Which I’ve already done twice now lol, just with the same gender-fluid femboy.
Okay, that’s it for now. Please continue to post your wishlist of lookalikes, OCs, and what have you that you want to see in the sequel, while even throwing in other suggestions or ideas if you want! Thank you for the support thus far, and, uhhhhh…
I’m probably going to be wrapping this story up, in uh… By chapter 40? Maybe 42, at the most? Just know that this is almost over.
Chapter 37: War Games
Chapter Text
The cold wind swept down from the Iron Flower Mountains— carrying with it the bite of winter as it dusted the peaks of the town below. Matterhorn, once a quiet, isolated mountain hamlet nestled along the Fallen Pedal Trail, had transformed into a military stronghold.
Snow collected on the eaves of the traditional wooden houses, their steep, slanted roofs peeking out beneath layers of ice. The once-charming village now bristled with tall, iron-plated walls that loomed around its perimeter. Guard towers stood like silent sentinels at each corner— armed with mortars and lever-action rifles, snipers crouched within, their sights trained on the surrounding mountainside. Mounted gatling guns pointed outward, ready to rain fire down on any would-be attackers.
The streets crawled with soldiers, with their munition-grade armor clinking softly in the cold air. Knights, easily distinguished by the insignias on their armored shoulders, moved amongst them, while issuing orders. They carried lever-action rifles and heavy revolvers strapped to their sides, with their own personal melee weapon strapped on them as well.
But the true muscle of the base camp were the black templars, hulking figures in black and crimson power armor, and were stationed around the Royal Army Branch Office.
The elongated building in the center of Matterhorn, which was once a large longhouse used for local meetings and aid, had been converted into a fortified structure— its windows sealed, and its wooden exterior reinforced with iron plates. The black templars, armed with advanced rivet rifles, stood like menacing statues, their very presence exuding an intimidating aura of power and destruction.
Through the secured doors of the branch office, the interior had been transformed. The lobby, which had once offered warmth and hospitality to the locals, now overflowed with crates of ammunition, high-grade weapons, rations, and mortars. The walls were lined with supply caches, while a makeshift command center had replaced the cozy seating area. Soldiers milled about— distributing the contents of the crates to different units.
And then through the front counter area and into the back offices, there were knights in full armor that sat at their desks across the open space. Their shining armor bore the Pendragon Family Insignia on one shoulder and officer rankings on the other. The rhythmic sound of typewriters filled the air as the knights meticulously typed up their latest reports of their squads..
At the far end of the office, through another set of secured doors, was the war room. Beneath the stark, newly installed fluorescent lights, a massive steel table dominated the center of the room. On it was a sprawling map of the Iron Flower Mountains, which extended into the eastern edges of the Evergreen Forest. The map had been meticulously marked— blue flags denoted the critical points: Matterhorn, the West and East points of the Fallen Pedal Trail, and several other outposts, while a single small red flag marked Forgehart Stronghold— the orc-controlled fortress less than a kilometer away from the East Fallen Pedal Trail Station.
Standing around the table, their gazes focused intently on the map, were the senior officers of the Royal Army, and among them was D’Arce. She was a striking figure, her pale skin and short ginger bob catching the faint glow of the overhead light.
Her muscular frame filled out her armor, every inch of her body built for power. Her arms were thick with muscle, and her legs were equally large and strong— a testament to years of physical training. A six-pack of abdominal muscles pressed against her layer of belly fat, with her definition unmistakable yet attractive in a primal way. Her armor fit snugly against her wide frame— accentuating her large chest and ample curves at her backside. But her posture remained straight, and her expression unreadable as she stood silently among the other officers.
At the head of the table, towering over all of them, was none other than the General of the Royal Army, Lord Aldric Lysander Blackwood— a figure of legend, and myth. At a staggering nine feet tall, his frame was broad and thick like a mountain of muscle, barely contained beneath his ornate black and gold dress uniform. A thick black peacoat, trimmed with gold, draped over his massive shoulders.
His hair was pulled back into a large, regal man-bun, and his beard was thick, framing his chiseled face. His piercing blue eyes scanned the map coldly, calculating, and his demeanor left no room for doubt— he was a man who commanded absolute authority.
Lord Aldric gestured at the map, and with his voice deep and commanding as he spoke to the assembled knights. "We’ll begin our assault at seventeen-hundred— Prince Pendragon and his Court of Diamonds shouldn’t arrive until the following mornin,," he started, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The Forgehart Stronghold is fortified on all sides. Their walls are thick, but not unbreachable. We’ll begin by surrounding them."
He pointed to strategic points on the map, marking out positions for his forces. "Our mortar teams will be positioned here and here," he said, pointing to the high ridges that surrounded Forgehart. "The bombardment will be relentless. We’ll shell the walls and streets, until the orcs are forced to retreat inside their fortified shelters. They’ll be blind and deaf to our movements."
He stepped back, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in. "Once they’re huddled like rats in their bunkers, the Black Templars will descend. They will hit the fortress from all sides— drawing the orcs’ attention. Their advanced armor and weapons will allow them to absorb the first wave of resistance— creating chaos."
D’Arce stood quietly, absorbing the plan as Aldric continued. "While the orcs are focused on the templars, our knights will scale the walls. Snipers will take position on the surrounding cliffs— picking off any remaining orcs manning the battlements. No ballista will be left operational after the initial strike."
Aldric’s eyes narrowed as he traced his finger over the stronghold’s gates. "When the battlements are cleared, we’ll establish a kill zone outside the main doors. Gatling guns will be positioned here and here. When the orcs attempt to break out, they’ll be met with a wall of fire. Our soldiers will be lined up to pick them off as they flee. We’ll force them into the open and slaughter them."
He smiled coldly, the expression never quite reaching his eyes. "The remaining orcs will be systematically rounded up. Emperor Pendragon will need all the slave labor he can get for the coming days. And orcs..." He chuckled darkly. "They’re remarkably resilient when it comes to hard labor."
The room remained silent, the tension palpable. D’Arce shifted slightly but said nothing, her face impassive as she stood at attention. Like the others, she knew better than to question the General’s plans. His strategies had never failed.
Lord Aldric’s gaze fell on D’Arce for a moment. "Captain," he said, his voice low but commanding. "I’ve received word from West Station of a caravan of supposed Maggiore villagers, who are heading there from Muhati… Get a log of every current resident of Maggiore, and have your battalion escort you to meet them before they reach Matterhorn— you’re going to verify them."
D’Arce nodded, her voice short and to the point. "Aye, sir."
Aldric gave a curt nod, satisfied, before reaching into his peacoat. He pulled out a cigar, placing it between his lips. With a flick of his fingers, a small magical flame sparked at his fingertips, lighting the tip of the cigar. He took a long, slow drag, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling.
"Dismissed," he said, his voice like steel, as he puffed out a cloud of smoke.
The knights saluted in unison, their armor clinking as they turned to leave the war room. D’Arce moved with them, her expression as stoic as ever, but her mind already working, preparing her squad for the bloodshed that would follow.
As the heavy doors closed behind them, the war room was left in silence— save for the soft crackle of the General’s cigar, as he stared down at the map.
D'Arce rode at the front of her column, with the hooves of her warhorse, Aldwin, crunching the frozen earth beneath them as they descended the trail. Her breath, heavy in the mountain chill, billowed like smoke from her lips— mingling with the cold mist that clung to the Iron Flower Mountains.
Behind her, the rhythmic thud of her squadron’s hooves echoed off the rocky cliffs— the creak of leather and metal marking the movements of her two-hundred-strong force. Knights rode in perfect military formation beside her, with their polished rifles strapped to their backs, while the soldiers behind them— armed with a mix of arquebuses and mass-produced lever-action rifles— marched in disciplined rows.
D'Arce's shield, a massive slab of polished steel emblazoned with the Pendragon Family Insignia, was strapped to her left forearm. Her newly acquired red-steel broadsword hung from her hip— its crimson blade radiating a subtle, constant warmth that cut through the chill of the mountains. The heat was a welcome contrast to the icy air, but the weight of it was not just physical— it was symbolic. This sword was a weapon of war, and with it came the reminder of what she had been commanded to do.
As the wind whipped past her face, D’Arce’s thoughts churned. ‘Aldric’s plan to bombard the Forgehart Clan’s stronghold, to crush them without a second thought... It feels wrong, and for the life of me… I don’t understand why I feel that way.’ She thought to herself; conflicted due to her respect of the General’s prowess, and his strategy being undeniably sound.
But Prince Arthur Pendragon III had expressed a different vision. The Prince sought diplomacy with the Forgehart Clan— a chance to bridge the gap between humans and orcs, and create lasting peace.
But peace seemed so distant now, overshadowed by war.
Aldric’s ambition— and the Empire’s hunger for control over the East Station of the Fallen Petal Trail— could not be ignored. That route was vital to securing the outer rim of Central County, and if the Forgehart Clan held it, they held power over more than just the trail. Yet, as D’Arce led her troops down the mountainside, she felt an uneasy conflict within her.
‘What, or who for that matter, am I truly fighting for?’
D'Arce grimaced beneath her helmetaa clenching her teeth against the turmoil gnawing at her. ‘It… It shouldn’t matter,’ she told herself. ‘Not who, but what. It’s always been about what. The Pendragon Empire. I fight for the Empire, just as my father did, just as his father before him.’
But the thought hung in her mind, suspended like a blade above her. ‘But then who does the Pendragon Empire serve?’
She felt her pulse quicken, and her grip tightened around the reins. ‘Zemuria, or Great Victoria?’
Like a snake slithering in the dark, the truth slid uncomfortably into place— creeping into the back of her mind like poison. ‘The Pendragon Empire… Serves the Pendragon Empire.’
The answer stung, and D’Arce flinched. A cold wave of frustration flooded her— overwhelming the warmth of her sword. ‘The Empire’s interests, its wars, its conquests... Was it ever truly for the good of the people?’ The residents of Matterhorn, who had been forced from their homes and businesses, their lives disrupted to make way for this military base. Many had no other option but to venture into the frontier— facing the harsh wilderness with little more than the clothes on their backs, with Maggiore being the nearest settlement.
‘Were their sacrifices— my sacrifices— worth it?’
She had spent her life serving the Empire, upholding its laws, and protecting its people. But she couldn’t say for certain if what she ever did had ever made a difference in the lives of those who looked up to her for guidance.
‘Perhaps the banner of the Pendragon Empire hides a deeper cruelty— a deception that leads to more harm than good?’
The memory of the boy flashed before her eyes— the one she had struck across the face. She had shattered his world shortly after humiliating him by telling him everything wrong with his twisted hatred of goblins. His face— his wide, disbelieving eyes, and his trembling form— haunted her. She had thought it was for his own good, to show him the reality of the world, but the way he had broken down before her hadn’t felt right.
‘The reason as to why I struck him eludes me… He didn’t deserve such cruelty, as neither did the people of Matterhorn…’
Her hand gripped the reins harder as she recalled the aftermath. She had arrested him, sent him away with the Snow Lord to Crossbell, believing that removing him from the battlefield might save him from himself.
But the report had come back weeks later, and her heart had dropped when she read the grim words: her scouts had found the scattered remains of the caged wagon meant to transport him and the broken dark-elf.
They had been ambushed, their bodies never recovered— their rotten, devoured remains left to decay under the hot sun.
She blamed herself for the deaths. For the deaths of her men, the unknown fate of the young boy, and even for the dark-elf, who had been broken by her torture— only to end up back in the same room where she was repeatedly violated and made to endure pain unlike any other.
D’Arce’s chest tightened with guilt.
‘In all my life… Have I truly saved anyone?’
The captain could feel the weight of her decisions pressing down on her, heavier than her armor, heavier than the shield strapped to her arm. She had always been proud of her duty, of her family’s legacy. But as the cold wind swept over the mountainside and her soldiers marched beneath her, she wasn’t so sure.
‘Have my attempts to protect and those who’ve sought my help only brought them ruin?’
As her horse trotted forward, D’Arce let out a slow breath, with her face hardening beneath her helm. The silence of the early morning was broken only by the steady clop of hooves and the sound of her squadron of knights, but eventually something up ahead caught her eye. Her breath hitched as she saw it.
‘There’s the caravan.’
Leading it, at the front, were two figures—one tall, armored, and unmistakable. The other, relaxed and leaning casually on the reins of their horse.
‘That can’t be…?! It’s… It’s that boy again— he’s alive!’
‘Goblin Slayer!’
D'Arce's heart raced in confusion, disbelief overtaking her as she stared. She thought he had died— perished in the ambush that destroyed the caged wagon he had been chained within.
The report from her scouts had confirmed it.
And yet, there he was, as real as the chill of the dawn air— leading a massive procession of over sixty horse-drawn wagons behind him.
Her gaze flickered over the caravan, past the heavy cloth-tarps covering the cargo, to the ambulances— where hill goblins dressed in medical attire were tending to the women. Some of the females D’Arce faintly recognized from previous operations— survivors. Her heart clenched as she watched, uncertainty twisting her gut.
Beside Goblin Slayer, Remi was walking with a carefree smile across their pale face— their relaxed demeanor contrasting starkly with D’Arce’s confusion. The sunglasses that shielded their glowing yellow eyes gave them an air of amusement, and as their eyes met the captain’s, they raised a casual hand in greeting.
“S’up?” Remi called, with their voice lilting with nonchalance.
D’Arce muttered their alias under her breath, her voice a low murmur, “S-Storm Lord…!"
And just like that, D’Arce second-in-command, who was riding just beside her, barked out a command before she could respond, "Knights, take aim!"
At once, the entire frontline of knights raised their firearms, with their rifles trained on Goblin Slayer and Remi specifically.
The shift was immediate. Remi’s body crackled with cyan electricity, the air around them humming with mana as they began to charge. Above, storm clouds swirled into existence, darkening the dawn sky.
Responding to the imminent threat, High Elf Archer drew back her bow with expert precision— twelve arrows nocked, and aimed at ten knights in a single, fluid motion.
Dwarf Shaman, his short, stout form low to the ground, muttered an incantation. The rocky terrain around them rumbled as several boulders rose from the earth, glowing with heat as flames began engulfing them— all of which were ready to strike like falling meteors.
Lizard Priest acted with swift precision, with his clawed hands reaching into his satchel and crushing a handful of fangs. Instantly, he grew, with his form towering and muscular, transforming into a draconic beast. Two massive bone blades materialized in his hands as he let out a deafening dragon roar— shaking the very air. The roar sent fear rippling through the ranks of soldiers, many of whom flinched and trembled. Even some of the knights looked unsettled.
All but D’Arce.
Calm and steady, her visor concealing her expression, D’Arce raised her gauntleted hand; at the same moment, Goblin Slayer lifted his as well.
“That’s enough,” they both ordered in unison— their calm voices cutting through the tension.
There was a beat of silence, a palpable hesitation. Then, as though choreographed, each member of Goblin Slayer's party slowly lowered their weapons. The storm clouds above began to dissipate as Remi’s mana drained from the air— the crackling electricity fading from around their body.
High Elf Archer loosened the tension on her bowstring— arrows retreating into her quiver. Dwarf Shaman muttered another spell under his breath, causing the molten boulders to sink back into the earth, and cooling as they disappeared. Lizard Priest's towering form gradually shrank, with the bone blades dissolving as he reverted to his normal self.
On the other side, D’Arce’s knights also obeyed her command. The rifles aimed at Goblin Slayer and his companions lowered, and the soldiers, still shaken from Lizard Priest’s roar, gradually followed suit. The momentary chaos gave way to an uneasy calm.
D’Arce’s eyes narrowed behind her visor as she turned her attention fully to Goblin Slayer. She recognized his helmet immediately— its dark-metal, sleek edges, the ragged red plume atop it. That unmistakable silhouette. Her heart stirred, though her expression remained unreadable.
“… What is the meaning of this?” She finally asked, with her voice low, firm, and familiar.
Goblin Slayer’s posture stiffened. The voice struck him like a hammer— the same monotone voice he hadn’t heard in what felt like an eternity. Without any distractions or muttering words, he finally recognized it.
“… D-D’Arce?” he muttered, with his voice bewildered— barely audible under his helmet.
The captain hesitated for a moment, with her heart pounding in her chest. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she reached up and removed her helmet, revealing her face.
Mature, weathered, and stunning, her features were as sharp and strong as he remembered. Her short ginger hair framed her face, and her eyes locked on his.
For a long moment, they just stared at one another, with the weight of the past hanging between them in the cold air. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint rustling of the wind through the mountains.
Suddenly, Remi chortled, breaking the tension. They leaned over to Goblin Slayer and elbowed him in the ribs with a grin. “Hey Sportsy, is this the broad whose big ol’ tiddies ya told me that ya sucked on?” Remi asked, half-playful, half-mocking.
Upon hearing that, High Elf Archer raised an eyebrow before glancing at Goblin Slayer in surprise. Lizard Priest, on the other hand, blinked in curiosity, while Dwarf Shaman stiffened— desperately trying to suppress an immature laugh, despite the high tensions in the chilly air.
D’Arce, however, remained completely unamused— her gaze locked on Goblin Slayer with a stoic calm.
The gray-haired teenager tensed, with his face burning beneath the helmet. “N…Not... N-Not now, please,” he muttered through clenched teeth— his voice tight with embarrassment.
Remi cackled, while raising their elbows above their slender shoulders to interlock their fingers behind their head. “M’kay,” they said, nodding their head dismissively.
The tension was far from gone, but in that moment, the silent, frozen mountain air seemed to thaw ever so slightly.
The cold wind continued to howl through the narrow mountain pass of the Fallen Petal Trail— the rugged cliffs towering above the narrow path. D’Arce led the formation, with her powerful warhorse moving steadily forward as her knights flanked the sides of the trail in disciplined formation. Behind them trailed the long line of wagons—sixty-nine in total, and each one drawn by sturdy horses and burdened with concealed cargo and passengers.
At the rear of the caravan, Remi lounged atop of the tarp covering their own personal possessions — the slime monster half-amused, and casually watching the rest of the caravan from where they rested. The wagons ahead of them rumbled beneath the heavy tarps— the goblins either on horseback or riding in the wagos themselves, with some tending to the women within.
But D’Arce and Goblin Slayer had moved to the front— well ahead of her troop, and his group. The two of them rode alone, and were separated from the others by the sheer distance between them and the rest of the platoon. The soldiers, even the knights, kept their distance, and though they cast furtive glances, exchanging quiet, speculative whispers, none would dare interrupt.
D’Arce’s powerful arms were wrapped firmly around Goblin Slayer, as he sat between her muscular thighs— his smaller, slender-fit frame pressed against her broad chest. Both of them wore their helmets, with the wind slipping through the slits of their visors— brushing against their pale faces.
The teen felt a strange tension— half discomfort, half an unexpected sense of calm— from being so close to her. Her curvy breastplate pressed firmly into his back, with her presence overwhelming.
The silence between them stretched on, filled only by the sound of hooves crunching in the snow. Finally, D’Arce broke the stillness.
“So… What happened in the Muhati Desert?” She asked— her voice a low murmur, almost swallowed by the wind.
Goblin Slayer hesitated. The memories of that day flashed in his mind before he responded, his voice measured and quiet. “Albion... Attacked the wagon. Killed the guards. Took the dark-elf girl with them.”
D’Arce’s lips pressed together behind her visor. A hum of acknowledgment escaped her, but the weight of the situation settled heavily on her shoulders. She was relieved he survived, but guilt crept in. “So then… That’s how she escaped,” she murmured quietly to herself, before sighing as she lowered her head slightly. “If I had known Albion was in the Muhati Desert… If I’d known what happened at the Sahara Outpost… I never would’ve sent you through there.”
Goblin Slayer’s head dipped slightly as he acknowledged her apology. His tone was more neutral than accusatory. “There was… No way for you to have known— Matterhorn is so far away from the Sahara Outpost,” he said. “Besides… If it weren’t for Albion, we would’ve made it to Crossbell safely.”
D’Arce grimaced, a pang of guilt twisting deeper in her chest. “P… Perhaps,” she murmured, while letting the word linger. The silence returned for a moment before she sighed deeply, the tension easing just enough for her to voice something else that had been troubling her.
“I’m surprised,” she began, a touch of humor creeping into her stoic tone. “To see you working with hill goblins— after what you said in my office, no less. For someone who calls himself “Goblin Slayer”, that’s... Quite the contradiction.”
The teen chuckled softly— the sound almost foreign coming from him. A small smile tugged at his lips beneath the helmet. “I… I shouldn’t have dismissed you back then… When you tried to explain what imp goblins were,” he admitted. His voice softened, reflective. “I’ve… I’ve learned since then that the word “goblin” doesn’t necessarily mean a short, green-skinned creature.”
D’Arce hummed again, her voice as calm and monotonous as ever. “Is that so?” She asked, with a hint of curiosity buried beneath her tone. “Then tell me... What is a goblin?”
Goblin Slayer took a moment, gathering his thoughts before speaking. “A goblin,” he began, “is anyone who’s wicked. It’s anyone who’s forfeited their right to live, by harming the innocent. It’s anyone who invades the lives of others, and takes away their peace of mind.”
D’Arce fell silent— repeating his words in her mind, and letting them linger as they rode on. After a moment, she reached a hand up, with her gauntleted palm pressing lightly against Goblin Slayer’s leather chest-piece. Feeling her strong hand on his lightly-armored pectorals, the teenager stiffened— flustered by the feeling, and the unmistakable pressure of her armored breasts pressing up against his back.
“What... W-What are you doing…?!” He stammered, with his voice awkward, and unsure of what to make of the situation.
D’Arce’s lips then hovered near his ear, with her voice a quiet whisper, sharp and deliberate. “Would you consider the Pendragon Empire to be goblins, then…?” She asked, with her muffled voice reaching past the orichalum plating of his helmet.
A heavy silence fell between them— thick with unspoken tension. The wind continued to howl, and their horse trotted forward, as though the mountains themselves were unbothered by the gravity of her words. In the distance, the rest of the caravan followed— the soldiers and wagons marching onward up the trail.
After a long pause, D’Arce tightened her hold on him, her voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. “You can tell me the truth: I shall not betray your trust a second time,” she whispered, with the sincerity in her voice cutting through the cold air.
Goblin Slayer shifted uncomfortably in her embrace— the weight of her words heavy on him. He hesitated before speaking, his voice quiet and guarded. “I… You understand my reluctance, don’t you…?”
D’Arce’s chest rose and fell beneath her armor as she took in a slow, deep breath. She exhaled softly, her voice steady as she replied, “I understand… Trust is earned, not given— and is nearly impossible to mend once broken…” There was a brief pause before she added, “After what I’ve done… I owe you a debt… So let me pay it back— let me stick my neck out for you…”
Goblin Slayer furrowed his brows behind his helmet, perplexed by her words. “What... W-What are you-?” He began, but D’Arce interrupted him— her voice barely more than a whisper, yet sharp as a blade.
“The General of the Royal Army is in Matterhorn— Lord Aldric,” she said, her voice edged with anxiety. “He has five thousand soldiers ready to take the Forgehart Stronghold by sundown. He has a Blackwatch executive captive, and plans to use her as false evidence to prove to Prince Pendragon that the Forgehart Clan had been harboring her— making up a false narrative that the Forgehart Clan were the ones who attacked the wagon you were on… That they were the ones who freed her…”
Goblin Slayer tensed at the news, with his pulse quickening. “W… Wh-What…?!” His voice shook with disbelief.
“Before the prince arrives, they’ll have already bombarded the battlements of the stronghold,” D’Arce continued, her tone grim. “Then they’ll send in the black templars— special forces in powered armor… They’re armed with fully automatic rivet rifles... Six-inch armor-piercing rounds— enough to tear through even a dragon’s scales…”
Goblin Slayer’s mind raced, his stomach churning with anxiety at the thought of the Black Templars. “Why… Why are you telling me all of this…?”
“Because,” D’Arce murmured— her voice wavering, “I want to earn your trust…”
There was then a pause, and a vulnerability that slipped into her tone as she continued— quieter now. “Y-You’re… You’re not the only one who’s changed since we last met…”
Goblin Slayer’s breath hitched, sensing the shift in her demeanor. “What do you mean…?” He asked softly.
D’Arce then leaned her helmet against the back of his, with her voice a quiet confession. “I’ve had time to reflect... On my choices… What I’ve almost done to you… Seeing the Royal Army force the residents of Matterhorn from their homes... People who I’ve known for years... Force into the wilderness, where they have little chance of survival... It’s all made me question what I’m really fighting for…”
Goblin Slayer’s heart softened, a faint flicker of empathy sparking within him. “Is that so…? Then, what do you want to fight for…?”
D’Arce hesitated, her voice trembling slightly as she whispered, “For the innocent… For those who can’t protect themselves from the horrors of this world… For those who trust the lives of their family in my hands…”
Goblin Slayer nodded slowly, with his own resolve mirroring hers. “It seems then,” he said, his voice quiet but certain, “that we have the same goal…”
D’Arce smiled, though there was no joy behind it. “It appears we do…”
The silence between them felt different now— warmer, more comfortable. As the towering outer wall of Matterhorn came into view— bathed in the soft glow of the rising sun, D’Arce’s voice broke the silence once more, determined and resolute.
“Follow my lead,” she whispered, “and place your trust in me— I shall not fail you... Or the innocent lives that depend on us…”
Goblin Slayer’s tense shoulders finally relaxed, and he leaned back against her chest— a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “…. Xavniik said the same thing,” he murmured, with the amusement in his voice barely concealed.
D’Arce raised an eyebrow behind her visor, her tone curious, yet intense. “What are you on about…?”
The teenager chuckled softly, with his smile widening beneath his helmet. “He told me that the Pendragon Empire were the worst goblins of all…”
For a moment, D’Arce was taken aback, blinking in confusion before letting out a small, incredulous scoff. “That’s... Debatable, from at least a historical standpoint,” she muttered before pausing— a quiet laugh escaping her. “But... That does sound like something Xavniik would say…”
The dimly lit war room of Matterhorn’s command center was quiet— save for the soft scratching of pen against paper.
Aldric, seated in a cushioned office chair, leaned over the expansive map laid out on the table. His large notebook sprawled over its edge, and was filled with notes and strategies. With calm precision, he continued to write, methodical in his movements— unaffected by the swirling political storm outside the war room’s walls.
The heavy iron doors creaked open, and First Lieutenant Haman Zavala stepped into the room— her long strides carrying her swiftly to the table’s edge. Her presence was striking— sleek, ornate knight armor hugged her form, silver and black with blue accents catching the muted light. Her sharp, aquiline features were framed by short, maroon hair, with her ice-blue eyes narrowed with confusion and outrage. But despite the storm brewing beneath her composure, she maintained her discipline— stopping respectfully across from Aldric.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?" Her voice was firm, though it trembled ever so slightly—the weight of her question hanging between them.
Aldric did not lift his head. His pen continued its smooth glide across the paperaa the scratching sound almost irritating in the oppressive silence. Finally, with the same calculated slowness, he nodded. “… Granted.”
Haman wasted no time. Her fingers curled into fists, though she kept them at her sides. “I must respectfully ask... Why did you authorize Captain D’Arce to escort the caravan? Especially when I told you that she didn’t even verify any of them?” She inhaled sharply, then continued, her voice rising with her indignation. “We should have killed Storm Lord and that boy when we had the chance. They were in the center of Matterhorn, vulnerable. The rest of the caravan should have been executed— especially since they handed over Moon Lord’s victims so willingly. They were without leverage— it was a wasted opportunity to prevent them from sabotaging our mission.”
Aldric’s pen paused. He let the silence stretch— savoring the tension that seemed to coil around her like a serpent. Haman stood, her breath bated, and eyes wide with bewilderment, while her composure was barely holding. Slowly, the general glanced up— his eyes cold and impassive, meeting hers with a look that made the blood drain from her face. His stare was penetrating, a quiet menace behind his otherwise stoic expression.
Then, with a humorless chuckle, he repeated her words. "You wanted to execute D’Arce, and that entire caravan?"
The calmness of his voice was unnerving. Haman stammered, fighting to regain her composure. “I... I’ve read the case file on his arrest— that boy who calls himself “Goblin Slayer”,” she said, her voice shaky. “Written by Captain D’Arce herself. She clearly states that she believes he’s an ally of the Forgehart Clan.” Her voice grew louder, her frustration boiling over. “And he’s fucking allies with Storm Lord! That alone should be enough reason to kill him!”
Her fists clenched tighter as she bit back her rage— forcing herself to breathe. After a moment, she cleared her throat and added, in a more measured tone, “I just need to understand. Why did you authorize that? What was your reason?”
Aldric took his time— finishing the last stroke of his notes before placing his pen down carefully beside the notebook. He leaned back in his chair, while folding his hands together thoughtfully, as the silence returned to the room— thick and tense.
After a moment of consideration, he looked back into Haman’s eyes, with his gaze unwavering. The depth of it shook her to her core, and she involuntarily gasped, the sound barely audible as she felt an almost primal fear grip her.
His voice was calm when he spoke. “All will be revealed within the top of the hour, First Lieutenant,” Aldric said smoothly. “There has been a development in our war against terrorism. I have devised a plan that will overturn the Prince’s bill to the Emperor. We will not halt our expansion at the Iron Flower Mountains— not with Captain D’Arce at that caravan at our disposal.”
A stunned silence filled the room, the weight of Aldric’s words pressing down on Haman. She hesitated before nodding slowly. “I... I see,” she muttered, though her voice betrayed her confusion.
A few moments passed before she gathered her courage once more, her hand trembling slightly as she asked, “P… Permission to speak freely again, sir?”
A low, amused chortle escaped Aldric’s lips— though his smile remained thin and devoid of warmth. “Granted.”
Haman’s eyes narrowed, her gaze shifting toward the end of the table. “Does any of this… New development of yours, have anything to do with… Him?” The lieutenant asked with a wary voice— her attention focused on the young man at the end of the table.
There, seated with his helmet off, was Captain. His long brown hair was tied back into a tight ponytail, with his bangs cascading over his forehead— covering all but his right eye: a sharp, crimson iris that seemed to see through everything.
His expression was unreadable, as always— stoic and silent. His new sleek crimson armor gleamed under the dim lights— the gold captain’s insignia on his shoulder matching with the Pendragon Empire’s insignia on the other.
Aldric’s smirk widened, his voice thick with ominous pride. “Yes,” he said softly, his tone deliberate. “It does.”
He leaned back in his chair, the soft creak of the leather echoing in the room as he pressed his fingertips together. “Captain Akira Ashta and his squad will be present for the next meeting.”
The tension in the air was palpable, the weight of what was left unsaid pressing down on Haman as her gaze lingered on the enigmatic captain at the end of the table. She swallowed hard, the realization of the gravity of the situation settling over her like a shroud.
Chapter 38: Monsters
Chapter Text
As Goblin Slayer dismounted from the saddle of D’Arce’s warhorse, his feet sank into the thick, unkempt grass growing in the courtyard of the fortress— United Front’s fortress.
The stone walls surrounding him, weathered and eroded by time, were just as he remembered them from the day he had first cleared the place of bandits. His fingers reached up, slowly unlatching his helmet. He pulled it free, and held it underneath his left arm as he took in the sight before him.
The fortress, now occupied with a sizable population, stood with the same imposing strength that had drawn him to it a week ago. His gaze drifted to the highest tower that rose high above the entire structure— reaching toward the blue, partially cloudy sky.
The sight tugged at something deep within him. He remembered, vividly, the moment he had stood by the window overlooking the Evergreen Forest he was now staring up at— his eyes once fixed on the distant Iron Flower Mountains.
That had been the day he made the decision to travel to Crossbell.
A shaky breath escaped him as the memories overwhelmed him. His eyes misted over, and for a moment, he was lost in the torrent of emotions— nostalgia, pride, and a bittersweet sense of growth. He had traveled far, endured so much, and yet, here he was, standing where it all began.
The friends he had made, the hardships he had faced, and the pain he had been forced to confront— all of it weighed on him, but in the way that made him feel stronger.
With a soft smile, his eyelids half-closed, he turned to face the courtyard. His heart swelled with pride as he watched, one by one, the horse-drawn cargo wagons roll through the raised iron gate. Each wagon was carefully pulled to an unloading area, where the logistics team of Delrivkat, a group of hill goblins, worked with surprising efficiency.
Dressed in makeshift hard hats and safety vests, they unloaded the cargo with care— sorting it into organized sections. The old goblin superintendent, carrying a clipboard and checklist, barked orders to his foremen— guiding them as they transported the supplies into the fortress halls.
Goblin Slayer wiped his eyes with the back of his forearm, watching as Lady Eleanor, Juliet, and Arc Mage led those who worked at the Opulence of Avalon into the fortress. They carried brooms, mops, boxes of rags, and kettles for hot water, their hands full as they worked to clear out the debris left within the halls. Arc Mage, ever the perfectionist, conjured light orbs that floated alongside each worker and hill goblin— illuminating their tasks and helping the operation move forward with ease.
In the courtyard, Remi busied herself with unloading their gifts from one of the wagons. Nearby, High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest pulled their own shopping bags from another wagon— chatting contentedly among themselves. Their relaxed expressions were a testament to the bond they had forged on their journey together, and the shared trials that had brought them closer as comrades and friends.
The teenager let out a contented sigh— the warmth of the moment filling him with a sense of peace. He shifted slightly, glancing over his shoulder to see D’Arce standing behind him— towering over him by at least two feet. Her gray eyes were focused on the wagons and the busy activity of the logistics team, but as Goblin Slayer turned to face her, she shifted her gaze down to him with a faint— barely noticeable smirk.
"I'm still trying to wrap my head around it," she admitted, her voice quiet but thoughtful. "How a fifteen-year-old could make all of this possible."
Her expression grew more serious as she paused, her eyes flickering with a memory that seemed to pain her. "When I first interviewed you, before your arrest..." She grimaced slightly— flashing him an apologetic look before continuing. "I thought you were just a fool, hell-bent on some ill-conceived revenge."
Goblin Slayer smiled softly, with a glimmer of cathartic amusement in his eyes. "That’s because I was," he admitted without hesitation. His voice was calm, yet there was an undeniable weight to his words.
"When you met me... I was someone in need of help." He paused, reflecting for a moment, his gaze distant as he remembered the person he had been. "I’d been lying to myself for so long, the line between reality and fiction blurred. All I knew was that I was angry... And that anger was something I could take out on goblins. They needed to be vanquished, and that was enough for me to pretend that the past happened differently."
D’Arce’s expression softened— her empathy apparent as she nodded in understanding. "It's… Easier to blame the things we already see as evil," she said, echoing his words. "Than it is to accept those wrongs as our own, and not theirs."
He nodded, his eyes steady on hers. "Exactly." He paused, letting the thought settle before continuing. “When I was at my lowest, I was taught to hurt others, instead of allowing myself to be hurt, but… Even so,” Goblin Slayer trailed off, before taking in a deep breath and continuing, “Spilled blood cannot wash away the nightmares of our past, and nor can the sands of time smooth out those sorts of god-awful memories… It’s up to us to take matters into our hands… And that starts with accepting the truth of who we are— what we are.”
D’Arce was silent for a moment— a thoughtful expression crossing her face as she processed his words. Her brow furrowed slightly, and Goblin Slayer noticed the shift in her demeanor. Concerned, he tilted his head and asked, "Are you… Alright?"
She hesitated, then shook her head— though the motion seemed reluctant. "I’ve… I’ve hurt a lot of people," she admitted, with her voice quieter now, and tinged with guilt. "People I thought were evil. People who I thought deserved it." Her gray eyes darkened as she reflected on her past actions. "What you said… About how it's easier to hurt those who we blame than ourselves… About how no amount of bloodsheding can wash away the sins of the past… How our past actions cannot be erased with time… All of it is beginning to… To make me realize what a monster I’ve become."
Without a word, Goblin Slayer stepped closer, reaching up to grasp her shoulder armor— barely managing to reach it with his height difference. He craned his neck up, his expression soft but resolute, a comforting smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "We’re not to blame for the world turning us into monsters," he said gently. "But we are responsible for letting that part of ourselves die… So that something more beautiful can grow from the ashes of those forlorn memories."
He let the words linger in the air, lowering his head slightly as he sighed— a wave of catharsis washing over him. "It all starts with coming to terms with those sorts of ugly truths. We have to know what needs to be annihilated, before we can set it alight— lest we kill the parts of ourselves worthy of salvation."
D’Arce stood in silence for a long moment, with her eyes searching his face for something unspoken— something only they both could understand. “… My, how you’ve grown, Ashta.”
The sun cast its warm, golden light over Maggiore Outpost— a bustling frontier settlement renowned as the largest and most important headquarters for the Adventurers' Guild. Its cobblestone streets and timber-framed buildings gave the city a timeless, almost ancient charm, with the structures resembling an old-world aesthetic of steeply pitched roofs and exposed wooden beams.
Narrow alleys and open courtyards bustled with the energy of adventurers, merchants, and guild workers alike. Outdoor stalls lined the streets, selling everything from freshly sharpened weapons and potions to enchanted armor and trinkets for adventurers.
A group of lizardfolk, their scales glinting in the morning light, haggled with a dwarf merchant over a set of iron-plated bracers. Nearby, a group of anthropomorphic adventurers, with features of wolves and foxes, loaded their packs with provisions from a stall selling dried meats and spices.
Elves with fair hair, alongside their human companions, browsed magical scrolls. The outpost was a melting pot of races and cultures, united by their singular purpose: adventure and the endless quests that awaited them beyond the outpost’s sturdy stone gates.
Guild Girl walked down the main road toward the Adventurers’ Guild Branch Office, a content smile on her face. Her brown eyes gleamed with excitement for what the day had in store. She held a flask of black coffee in her hand, lifting the lid as she carefully blew on the surface of the hot beverage.
Taking a small sip, she savored the warmth, with her steps light and cheerful as she navigated the busy streets. The sky was a clear, beautiful blue, and the morning sun bathed everything in a soft glow. As she walked, she briefly looked up at the bright orb, feeling momentarily disoriented by the harsh light.
Then she collided with someone.
The hot coffee splattered from her flask, staining the front of a white cloak. Guild Girl stumbled back, and a gasp escaped her lips as her eyes widened in horror. "Oh no! I-I’m so sorry!" She stammered, with her face flushing with embarrassment as she reached out, trying to dab at the mess with her sleeve. Her flustered gaze trailed downward and froze.
The figure she had bumped into was a woman, but it wasn’t just the spill that caught her attention. Beneath the soaked fabric of the white cloak, Guild Girl saw the curve of the woman’s chest where the hot coffee clung to her, revealing the outline of her breasts. Guild Girl’s face grew redder as she tried to avert her gaze, but something else caught her attention— dark blue skin.
Guild Girl’s breath hitched. Beneath the woman’s hood, she could see her face, beaten and bruised. Her blackened eyes, fresh welts, and cuts stood out against her deep blue skin. Her lips were busted, her nose broken and crooked. A dark-elf, who quietly mouthed the word, “R-Run…”
"Oh my gods..." Guild Girl whispered, her voice shaky. The horror and concern flooded her expression. She reached out, intending to help the battered girl.
But the moment her hand touched the girl’s slender shoulder, the dark-elf recoiled violently, letting out a panicked gasp. She shuddered, her breathing becoming rapid, like a cornered animal.
Guild Girl froze, her hand still outstretched. The girl's reaction stunned her, but before she could say anything more, a second hooded figure behind the dark-elf stepped forward. The pale-faced woman had maroon hair peeking from under her hood, and her eyes were cold as she looked down at Guild Girl. "Excuse us," she said in a chillingly calm voice— her tone sharp and dismissive.
The woman placed her hand on the dark-elf’s back, and Guild Girl saw the movement— subtle, but unmistakable. The pale woman’s sleeve shifted slightly, and Guild Girl realized with a shock that she was concealing a weapon. Fear surged through her.
"Wait-!" Guild Girl began to shout, but her voice cracked with panic. "H-Help! S-SOMEONE HELP!!! SHE’S TAKING HER HOSTAGE!!!" She shouted, while pointing toward the hooded woman— her voice shrill as she tried to get the attention of nearby adventurers.
Several heads turned.
The first to react was Heavy Knight— a towering young warrior clad in dark, sleek armor with a massive sword slung across his back. He narrowed his eyes at the commotion and marched forward, with his hand reaching for his sword hilt.
"Oi! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!" He growled at the hooded woman, while stepping in front of Guild Girl as he blocked the path of the two.
The hooded woman didn’t flinch.
Instead, she leaned in close to the trembling dark-elf— whispering something in her ear. Guild Girl couldn’t hear what was said, but whatever it was made the dark-elf stiffen in terror.
Before Heavy Knight could grab the woman’s shoulder, she moved.
Unnaturally fast.
In one smooth motion, she spun on her heel— pulling the dark-elf in front of her as a shield. The next sound was a deafening pop.
Blood sprayed from the dark-elf’s abdomen. The bullet pierced clean through her body— striking Heavy Knight in the stomach. He stumbled backward, with his hand reflexively going to his gut as he stared down in disbelief at the blood spreading across his armor.
The hooded woman didn’t stop. She lowered her revolver and fired twice more at the back of the dark-elf’s heels. Her tendons were blown apart, and the dark-elf let out a harrowing scream as she collapsed to the ground— writhing in agony.
Heavy Knight gritted his teeth, ignoring the searing pain in his abdomen. He gripped his sword with both hands and raised it high above his head. It was a massive blade, heavy and unwieldy, but he swung it down with all his might toward the hooded woman.
Another shot rang out. The bullet tore through Heavy Knight’s hand, blowing off his pinky and ring finger. His grip faltered, and the sword slipped from his hands— clattering to the ground.
"D-Dammit…!" Heavy Knight grunted, while clutching his bleeding hand as he stumbled back— his strength rapidly draining.
Female Knight and Half-Elf Light Warrior sprang into action. Half-Elf Light Warrior darted forward, his rapier gleaming as he aimed for the hooded woman’s throat. “D-DAMN Y-”
But she was faster.
The woman muttered something to the dark-elf at her feet, a cold, detached whisper, before raising her revolver again. She aimed between the eyes of the charging elf and pulled the trigger.
The elf’s head snapped back as the bullet struck— a spray of blood and brain matter following. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, with his rapier clattering uselessly beside him.
Heavy Knight let out a strangled cry as he caught his friend’s body— staring down in shock at the gory mess that had been the elf’s head. "No... no, no! NO!!!" He shouted, with his voice breaking as tears welled in his eyes.
Female Knight clenched her teeth, fury burning in her chest. “W-Why you…!” She raised her sword and cast a miracle— a radiant light surrounding her and Heavy Knight. Their bodies surged with renewed strength, stamina, and speed. With her shield raised, Female Knight advanced— her sword ready to strike.
The hooded woman dodged— her movements almost unnatural in their speed and fluidity. With a series of acrobatic flips and aerial maneuvers, she evaded their strikes effortlessly— her slim, muscular frame twisting and turning as if the attacks were beneath her.
Guild Girl watched in stunned silence, with her eyes wide as she realized this woman wasn’t just some assassin. There was something far more dangerous about her. And then she heard the hooded woman’s voice, cold and commanding.
"Funnels."
Small, geometric objects then materialized around her— flying apparatuses that whirred to life with a brilliant yellow glow. They darted around her in unpredictable movements, and without warning, they fired beams of powerful light.
The beams tore through the adventurers attempting to flank her. Their bodies were ripped apart, limbs severed and blood splattering across the cobblestones. Screams filled the air as more adventurers fell— their bodies collapsing in bloody heaps.
Female Knight raised her shield, but the beams shattered the light barrier she had enchanted with her miracle. Her shield exploded in her hand, with the shrapnel embedding itself in her armor and face. She screamed in pain as she and Heavy Knight were blown back by the force— crashing through the wall of a nearby building. The roof collapsed, burying them under the rubble.
Witch, standing nearby, tried to cast a spell to protect herself. But before she could finish her incantation, Haman fired another shot. The enchanted bullet striking the endowed magic-user’s reflective barrier— shattering its defenses instantly.
Haman’s cold voice cut through the chaos, mocking the dark-elf lying in her own blood. "Look at how much death your cowardice has brought. How many more need to die for your incompetence?"
Spearman, his face twisted with rage, staggered toward Haman. "You... Y-You monster!" He shouted, while gripping the shaft of his spear as he charged at her.
But the lieutenant was ready. With a simple command, one of her funnels flew forward and intercepted him. It struck with precision— slicing through the wooden spear shaft like it was nothing. The force sent Spearman sprawling to the ground— his weapon reduced to nothing more than splinters.
"You’re not even worth my time," Haman said coldly, her piercing blue eyes locked onto him as she turned her back— dismissing him as if he were nothing.
Guild Girl’s heart pounded in her chest as she tried to gather her thoughts, but all she could hear were the haunting echoes of the gunshots, the screams, and Haman’s chilling voice.
Just then, the lieutenant’s voice rang out again, harsher, louder— an order, this time, filled with rage.
"Funnels!"
The whirring sound of the funnels grew louder, and Guild Girl’s eyes widened in terror as she watched them position themselves around Haman. The air seemed to ripple with magical energy as the funnels spun in rapid circles, each one glowing with a brilliant yellow light. In the blink of an eye, beams of searing energy shot downward— tearing through the streets and buildings like hot knives through butter.
The destruction was instantaneous.
Buildings caught fire and collapsed in on themselves— the once sturdy structures reduced to burning rubble. Adventurers and townsfolk alike were caught in the onslaught— their screams of terror abruptly cut off as the beams tore them apart. Limbs and charred flesh fell to the ground as bodies were disintegrated by the yellow light. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, mingling with the acrid smoke of the fires.
Guild Girl barely managed to dive out of the way— her body trembling uncontrollably as she crouched low, her heart hammering in her chest. Her entire body was consumed by fear, and she clutched her arms around herself— unable to even think clearly amidst the chaos.
Amid the carnage, the lieutenant’s voice, now filled with deadly intent, rang out once more. "Call them," she commanded, with her revolver aimed down at the dark-elf. "Summon them, and this can all be over."
Trembling, the dark-elf shook her head with all the defiance she had left inside her small body— sobbing and shuddering, as she did her best to cover the exit wound that was in the middle of her abdomen.
Guild Girl could barely comprehend what was happening— her mind reeling from the violence and chaos that had consumed the once bustling street. Her fingers trembled as they dug into the dirt— feeling the weight of the carnage around her pressing down like a suffocating blanket.
And then, without warning, Haman leapt from the air and came crashing down on her.
The impact was brutal.
The lieutenant’s boot slammed into Guild Girl’s back— sending an explosion of pain through her body as her ribs cracked under the pressure.
Guild Girl gasped— unable to even scream this time, her mouth opening in silent agony.
"Call them!" Haman's voice, now filled with manic anger— cut through the chaos. Her revolver, still hot from the continuous firing, pressed down against the back of Guild Girl’s head.
The searing heat of the barrel burned into her scalp, and she let out a hoarse, desperate scream. The metal singed her skin, and the smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils as her tears mixed with the dirt and blood on the ground.
"Call Albion, or this one dies!" Haman screamed— her voice frantic with rage, as she kept her foot planted firmly on Guild Girl’s back.
Guild Girl could do nothing but sob— her body shaking violently as the pain and fear overwhelmed her senses. She didn’t understand who this monster of a woman was, or why she was doing this. All she could feel was the crushing weight of her helplessness, and the excruciating pressure of the revolver pressing down on her skull.
Suddenly, the dark-elf let out a shriek— her voice hoarse from crying, but this time it was different. There was power behind it— an incantation in her native tongue that reverberated through the air. The very ground seemed to tremble beneath them as the spell took effect. Her eyes, glowing white with arcane energy, cast a brilliant light into the street as she completed the call.
A pulse of magic spread outward, shaking the Earth and sending shockwaves through the outpost. The ground cracked, and a sudden gust of wind swirled around them— knocking debris and dust into the air.
Haman, satisfied, lifted her foot off of Guild Girl’s broken ribs, before removing the revolver from the back of her head— leaving her collapsed and shaking on the ground.
The teenager curled up into a ball, gasping for breath, as hot pain radiated from her broken ribs— her face streaked with dirt and tears.
But the reprieve was short-lived.
Five sharp cracks then echoed in quick succession— each one followed by the grotesque sound of flesh tearing and bones snapping. Guild Girl screamed— covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut as the shots rang out mere feet from her.
Her mind was a blur of panic— her senses overwhelmed by the ringing in her ears. The muffled sounds of chaos filtered back in slowly, her body still shaking as she forced herself to open her eyes. She rolled over, terrified of what she might see.
There, less than a meter away from her, the dark-elf laid motionless on the ground— her body a mangled mess of blood and gore. Her head— what remained of it— was now unrecognizable— the five bullets having turned her skull into a grotesque heap of splattered flesh and bone. Blood pooled around her, with the last remnants of her life leaking out onto the cobblestones.
Heavy Knight and Female Knight were just pulling themselves from the rubble of the collapsed building. The blond teenager’s armor was still caked with shrapnel, and her face was bleeding from deep cuts that ran across her cheeks and forehead.
She winced as she used her hands to dig out Heavy Knight, who had been partially buried beneath the debris. He clutched his abdomen— blood still seeping through his fingers— with his face pale from the pain and blood loss.
"I... I got you," Female Knight grunted as she helped him to his feet— her own legs shaking from the exertion. Both of them looked around at the carnage with wide, horrified eyes, their expressions mirroring the devastation that surrounded them.
Spearman stumbled toward Witch, who had collapsed onto the ground. Her body trembled as she held herself tightly, her face twisted in panic as she fought back a full-blown attack of terror.
"S-Sabrina!" Spearman called out— his voice cracking as he reached for her. His spear was broken, the haft snapped in two during the chaotic battle.
He tried to steady her, but Witch shoved him away— her breath coming in ragged, short gasps “I’m fine…!” She retorted in a shaky, raspy voice— her purple eyes overlooking the death and destruction all around her, before stopping once they reached Guild Girl. “G… Go check on her,” she murmured, before whimpering in pain as she raised a hand up to point at the brown-haired teenager.
Spearman’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he began walking forward and away from Witch— his gaze falling on the mutilated bodies of adventurers and villagers. Some of them no more than children, who had been caught in the crossfire.
The wrong place, at the wrong time.
His teeth clenched, and a low, guttural growl escaped his throat as he fought the growing despair inside him. "D-Damn it…!" He shouted, while slamming his fist into the ground in frustration.
Haman was gone— vanished as swiftly and silently as she had appeared, leaving behind nothing but devastation in her wake.
Guild Girl’s body still shook uncontrollably, as she hugged herself tightly— the pain of her broken ribs almost forgotten beneath the tidal wave of fear and horror that washed over her.
Her scalp throbbed where the revolver’s barrel had seared her flesh, but she barely noticed. She had never felt so small, so helpless. Her mind replayed the massacre in excruciating detail: the screams, the flashes of light, and the bodies falling like broken dolls.
A whimper escaped her lips as she forced herself to sit up— her limbs trembling with the effort. Her brown eyes, wide and filled with terror, swept over the scene of carnage.
The streets that had once been filled with the bustle of adventurers, traders, and merchants were now littered with corpses— some of them torn apart by the beams of light, others shredded by the lieutenant’s funnels.
Blood soaked the cobblestones, pooling around the bodies of the dead. Buildings had collapsed in on themselves, fires consuming the wooden structures and sending thick, black smoke curling into the sky.
Nearby, Witch was kneeling on the ground— her arms wrapped tightly around her body as if trying to hold herself together. She trembled violently, her breathing uneven, each inhale shaky and labored.
Her wide eyes darted from one corpse to the next, refusing to linger too long on any one body as though the sight was too much to bear. Her normally calm and collected demeanor had crumbled, leaving only a young woman on the verge of a breakdown.
"I... I couldn’t stop her," Witch whispered, her voice small and broken. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, unwilling to let them fall. "I couldn’t... I didn’t..."
And while she mourned in silence, Heavy Knight and Female Knight made their way from the ruins of the building that they crashed into— limping by one another’s sides, while the young man continued to apply pressure on his entry wound. The two of them eventually stopped once they stepped onto the blood-stained street— both staring in disbelief at the horror around them.
"Gods above," Female Knight murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion. Her eyes roamed over the bodies, the shattered buildings, and the rising smoke. "Why… W-Why did this have to happen…?!"
Heavy Knight said nothing at first. His gaze was fixed on the spot where Haman had disappeared— his jaw clenched tightly in anger and frustration. He knew he had been beaten, humiliated. His pride as a warrior had been shattered along with his body, and the bitter taste of defeat gnawed at him.
But more than that, the weight of the lives lost— lives he had sworn to protect— pressed down on him like an unbearable burden, with his gaze reluctantly looking down at the lifeless body of his newest party member. “F… Forgive me…”
Guild Girl, still shaking, forced herself to stand on unsteady legs. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps— her chest heaving with the effort. She stumbled forward a few steps before collapsing to her knees again, with her body too weak to carry her further. She felt as though the world around her was spinning, her mind barely able to comprehend the scale of the destruction.
She had seen adventurers fall before— had heard of parties who never returned from dangerous quests— but never had she witnessed something so violent, so senseless. It was like a nightmare, one she couldn’t wake from.
The others gathered around her, each of them broken in their own way, but none more so than Guild Girl. She stared blankly ahead, her eyes unfocused, with her face pale and streaked with dirt and tears. She couldn’t find the strength to speak, her throat too tight with grief and guilt.
‘If I hadn’t shouted for help, if I hadn’t panicked… Would they all still be alive?’
Spearman knelt beside her, with his expression softening as he reached out a hand to steady her. "Hey... I-It’s over now," he said gently, though his own voice wavered with uncertainty. "You’re okay… W… W-We’re going to be okay…”
Guild Girl shook her head slowly, her lips trembling. "I… I’m so sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn’t mean for… F-For any of this. I just… I just wanted to help…”
Witch, still clutching herself, looked over at Guild Girl— her eyes filled with empathy. “Don’t blame yourself for this,” she said, her voice stronger now, though it still shook with emotion. “This atrocity… Wasn’t an act of random violence— there was a purpose behind it… There had to be…”
Female Knight wiped the blood from her brow, casting a weary glance at the destruction. "Blackwatch… They’re the ones who are responsible for this— it had to be them," she muttered bitterly, her hands trembling as she clutched the hilt of her broken sword. "But, I… I j-just don’t understand why a human would join them… It d-doesn’t make sense to me…!”
Heavy Knight’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the light of the lieutenant’s magic had faded. His expression was grim, his voice low and cold. "Whether Blackwatch is to blame is irrelevant," he said, "Albion… That pink-haired bitch wanted that dark-elf to summon Albion— and from the way the ground shook, she did. Meaning it’ll only be a matter of time before this whole place is burned to the fucking ground.”
Spearman stood, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "We can’t let that happen then," he said darkly, his eyes narrowing with anger. "There’s… Soldiers, up in Matterhorn… If we can get them down here, then… Then we might have a chance to stop Albion— we can make sure that there won’t be a reason for something like this to happen again… C-Can’t we?”
The others nodded, though the weight of the task ahead of them felt crushing. The outpost that had once been a bustling hub for adventurers was now a graveyard, and the shadow of Haman’s violence loomed large over them all.
Guild Girl let out a shaky breath, her eyes flickering up to meet the gaze of her companions. She didn’t know what the future held, but one thing was clear— nothing would ever be the same again.
Chapter 39: End Game
Chapter Text
The Forgehart Clan's stronghold, once a thriving and bustling orc settlement, now loomed under the shadow of uncertainty. Massive reinforced walls, made of sturdy steel and orichalcum, encircled the town-sized fortress. The thick scent of coal and evergreen trees hung in the air, and were carried by the cold breeze drifting through the now deserted streets. Dark-brick paved roads, which had once been filled with the heavy footfalls of orc warriors and the clanging of hammers on anvils, now lay empty. The once vibrant heart of the Forgehart stronghold felt like a ghost town; its tall, angular buildings— testaments to orcish ingenuity and craftsmanship— cleared out completely, leaving behind an eerie silence.
At the center of the stronghold stood the chieftain's longhouse— an imposing structure adorned with countless war trophies. The heads of ferocious beasts and formidable enemies hung mounted on the walls, each one telling a story of valor and victory. Tapestries woven with the clan’s history lined the walls, and ceremonial weapon replicas were displayed prominently, each one meticulously forged to perfection. Every inch of the longhouse spoke of the might and glory of the Forgehart Clan.
Behind the chieftain’s throne, hidden from plain sight, was a vault door. Once opened, it revealed a sloping ramp that led deeper into the earth, winding ten meters beneath the foundation of the stronghold. There, at the base, was the entrance to an underground bunker system— an impenetrable fortress within a fortress.
The spacious vault gate, already open, was flanked by heavily armored orcs— their crossbows drawn and at the ready. Warhammers and shields were held in anticipation, while mounted auto-loaded harpoon guns stood poised to rain destruction upon any intruders. Orc archers manned the guns, with orc shamans by their side, all draped in light armor and prepared to unleash their magic in defense of their people.
The dim corridors were lit by sconces made from intricately carved goat horns— casting a warm, flickering glow over the steel walls. Inside the bunker, hundreds of orcs worked tirelessly as a well-oiled machine preparing for the coming battle. Crates of bolts, arrows, weapons, armor, potions, scrolls, and valuables were hauled through the narrow passageways, carried by the massive, armored orcs with the assistance of swift-moving hill goblins.
Every action was precise, every movement driven by purpose. The clang of metal and the gruff commands of the orc overseers echoed through the halls— painting a picture of readiness and determination.
Through the narrow corridors and down another hallway, the scene shifted to the war room bunker. The air was tense with strategy and focus. A massive wooden table dominated the room— its surface illuminated by the orange glow of a sconce chandelier hanging above.
At the head of the table stood the Chieftain of the Forgehart Clan, Kog’rath Forgehart— a towering orc with scarred green skin, with his muscled arms crossed over his chest as he scrutinized the map before him. His tusked jaw was set in a determined frown— his narrowed eyes focused and unyielding.
The map before them depicted the Evergreen Forest and the Eastern mountain range of the Iron Flower Mountains. Several red flags were placed on strategic points— marking the area around Matterhorn, and the open fields around the vicinity of the stronghold where mortars would likely be deployed.
Beside Kog’rath stood his most trusted officers. Grusha, his second-in-command, watched intently, occasionally flicking her gaze up from the map to steal glances at Goblin Slayer. Her cheeks turned a darker shade of green each time; though she quickly suppressed a smile, focusing back on the task at hand.
At the chieftain’s right side, D’Arce stood tall and composed, with her helmet tucked beneath her left arm. Her sharp gray eyes were calculating as they swept over the map— analyzing the positions of the red flags with cold precision. The battle-hardened knight exuded an air of authority, with her mind clearly already processing potential maneuvers and counters.
Beside her, Arc Mage was absorbed in her own thoughts, and her eyes scanning the notes she had hastily jotted down in her barista notepad— repurposed now into a ledger of possible strategies. The flickering light from the chandelier reflected off her glasses as she scribbled furiously, her mind working at a frenetic pace.
High Elf Archer stood nearby, with arms folded across her chest. One hand rested thoughtfully on her chin as she examined the positions of the red flags. Her expression was calm, almost detached, but there was a sharpness in her golden eyes as she mentally calculated the range and terrain.
Across the table from Kog’rath, Goblin Slayer stood— his iconic helmet tucked beneath his arm, much like D’Arce’s. His gaze was fixed on the map, his brow furrowed in concentration. Beside him stood Remi; their yellow eyes glowing faintly, as they stared down at the map, with their sunglasses perched on their forehead. There was a quiet intensity about them, with their fingers tracing the edges of the map as though mentally placing themselves in the battlefield.
To their left, Dwarf Shaman stroked his long beard thoughtfully— his keen eyes squinting at the map, taking in every detail. He grunted softly, with his mind clearly working through the potential for magical defenses and offensive spells.
Lizard Priest stood behind Goblin Slayer, his reptilian eyes trying to follow the battle plans, though it was clear that some of the finer tactical details were escaping him. Still, he listened carefully, knowing that his role would be to support his comrades when the time came.
Kog’rath then lowered his hand to gesture toward the red flags scattered across the map. His face, carved with years of battle, held a mixture of focus and uncertainty. His voice, usually gruff and commanding, carried an unfamiliar hesitation as he spoke.
"What I understand..." he began, his deep voice grumbling with the effort to wrap around the unfamiliar term, "is that these… Mortars… They’re mobile?"
He then paused, with his red eyes shifting to D’Arce, who stood tall beside him. Her expression remained stoic, her eyes unwavering as she met his gaze. Kog’rath waited, his question lingering in the air.
D’Arce, as composed as ever, answered in a calm, measured tone. "The M1 mortar can reach up to three-thousand yards." She then reached down toward the table to pick up an opisometer from among the scattered tools. With a steady hand, she traced a wide circle around the vicinity of the stronghold and the red flags placed on the map— marking where the mortars would be positioned.
"That’s the range we’re dealing with," she reiterated, setting the tool down with a metallic clink. Her sharp gray eyes glanced around the room before continuing. "Arclid’s regiment has thirty mortars ready to be deployed. Each is allocated fifty 81mm incendiary-explosive rounds. They’ll all be heavily guarded with riflemen and knights."
Grusha then stepped forward, with her green skin flushing as frustration bubbled up. Her aggressive tone cut through the tension like a blade. "Why don’t we just spread ourselves out then, and clear out the groups of soldiers and knights defending the mortars?"
Before anyone else could answer, Arc Mage spoke up— her hands already moving with exaggerated gestures as she launched into her explanation. Her speech was quick, and her movements were precise— almost mechanical.
"Knights," she began, pausing as if the single word itself needed time to settle in. Her hand proceeded to hover briefly in the air, before she turned and patted D’Arce on the shoulder. "Knights, like Captain Joanna D’Arce here, are the elite officers of the Royal Army. They’re heavily experienced, trained to lead soldiers, and expected to operate with deadly efficiency on their own."
She then adjusted her glasses with her eyes gleaming as she continued— her voice becoming more animated. "One junior-ranking knight is the equivalent of a silver-rank adventurer. First-lieutenant and above?" She paused, letting the words hang ominously before she grinned darkly, a grin that sent a shiver down Grusha’s spine. "They’re closer to gold-rank— some even have the credentials of platinum-rank. A squadron, or even a troop of orcs, wouldn’t stand a chance against a knight backed by their soldiers."
Grusha faltered at Arc Mage’s words— her brows furrowing as she tried to process the response. Her usual bravado faded for a moment, with her green cheeks growing pale, as uncertainty replaced her earlier aggression. "Then… What can we do?"
Arc Mage’s face lit up with excitement— her tone almost too cheerful for the gravity of the situation. "In order to defeat Aldric, we don’t have to destroy every single soldier and knight in his regiment."
She paused dramatically, with her eyes gleaming with a peculiar excitement. "We only need to slit their throats."
Remi, standing beside Goblin Slayer, gave Arc Mage a sharp look— their yellow eyes narrowing as they bluntly asked, "What the fuck are you on about, nerd?"
Arc Mage perked up, adjusting her glasses as she explained with enthusiasm. "Guerilla warfare! Not to be confused with gorilla warfare— you know, great ape, and what have you…!"
D’Arce nodded in understanding and picked up where Arc Mage left off. "Hit-and-run tactics," she suggested, her voice level. "We deploy squadrons of three rogues. They sabotage the mortars from a distance, using explosive bolts to either destroy the ammo caches or the mortars themselves."
She pointed to the map, with her finger tracing a line toward the stronghold gates. "Without either, they have nothing to protect, and their troops will be forced to regroup. They’ll either fall back to Matterhorn, or link up here in front of our gates."
Dwarf Shaman stroked his beard thoughtfully, with his eyes flicking between the map and the others. "Aye," he rumbled. "And we could set up explosive traps ‘round the kill zone. I know a few spells that’d do the trick."
D’Arce shook her head firmly, cutting off the suggestion. "Blatant traps won’t work. Knights are trained to detect traps— setting them will only alert them and destroy what little element of surprise we have. If we even have an element of surprise left at this point."
Lizard Priest’s voice broke the tension— his reptilian eyes narrowing as he spoke. "I thought we had the advantage of knowing General Aldric’s battle strategy through you, Captain?"
Again, D’Arce shook her head, her tone somber. "Aldric is a genius strategist. He’s unpredictable. He’s won battles across three continents— using vastly different tactics every time." She gestured to the map, her voice steady as she listed off notable battles.
"At the Battle of Havelock, he used a decoy army to draw enemy forces into a ravine and crushed them with a landslide. In the Siege of Yushan, he blockaded a port city for months, then struck with a night raid when their defenses were at their weakest. In the jungles of Palaquor, he used his own guerrilla and scorched-Earth tactics to harass a force with an environmental advantage, until they collapsed from attrition."
Her gaze then darkened, her tone sharpening as she continued. "Aldric was taught extensively by Xavniik himself."
High Elf Archer shifted uncomfortably at the name, her expression betraying unease.
D’Arce caught the reaction but remained reassuring. "But so was I," she added quietly. "I already have more than an idea of how Aldric thinks."
The captain straightened— her gaze shifting across the gathered company. The tension in the war room was thick, but her voice remained calm, steady as a rock. "It goes without saying that this conflict will be a decisive one," she began, her hand still resting on the map. "Even if we somehow defeat Aldric’s regiment through sheer battle and guerrilla tactics, that victory would only incite outrage back in Great Victoria. The Pendragon Empire would retaliate."
Goblin Slayer’s voice, low and grim, cut through the silence. "What you’re suggesting… Is that the Empire would declare war on us."
D’Arce nodded slowly. "Aldric knows that too. Defeating him here only plays into his hands. We win, and it gives the Empire every reason to come for us in full force."
Upon hearing this, Kog’rath’s face contorted in frustration. His fingers clenched into tight fists, and a low growl escaped his throat. "This battle… This has nothing to do with territory disputes with my clan, does it?!" His voice was thick with bitter realization. "To Aldric, my people are just stepping stones…!"
He then slammed his fist on the table, causing some of the figures on the map to rattle. "I refuse to let my clan die to perpetuate that bastard’s political agenda! I REFUSE!!!"
Arc Mage, seemingly unfazed by the tension, began speaking with her usual detached focus. Her hands moved rapidly— mimicking her thought process as she explained. "Ever since Blackwatch began their attacks on the Empire’s settlements, merchants profiting from Zemuria’s raw materials and crops have taken significant losses."
She adjusted her glasses with a precise flick of her hand— continuing with an almost clinical detachment. "These merchants have been pressuring the Pendragon Empire to act. Almost every trade company benefiting from the frontier’s resources is a high-profile donor to the Empire. Many of their presidents or family members have seats in parliament."
D’Arce nodded and began listing off companies. "Lysander Trading, Hornswalt Lumber, Emeretian Mining, and many others, are all deeply tied to Zemuria’s resource commodities. Their influence in Great Victoria is immense."
She placed a firm hand on Kog’rath’s shoulder— squeezing it in a rare display of reassurance. "But Prince Arthur Pendragon the Third is coming here with his Royal Court of Diamonds to negotiate peace with your clan. This will be the first step, not just in halting the Empire’s expansion, but in proving that the Royal Army needs more regulation— that the days of conquering lands are no longer necessary."
D’Arce’s voice grew more firm. "Aldric comes from a noble line that has profited off the Empire’s colonization of Zemuria since they first conquered the Avalon Sea. His interests are purely political— expansion means more power for him and his family."
She looked around the table, her gaze sharp. "Prince Arthur, on the other hand, wants to declare Zemuria independent, while allowing merchant companies to continue operating in Central County— with proposed regulations, of course. If he’s successful in establishing peace, that’ll prove to the parliament that his way of handling the frontier trumps the Royal Army’s methods."
High Elf Archer, who had been quietly contemplating the map, nodded in agreement. "If Prince Arthur manages to negotiate with the Forgehart Clan, it’ll show Great Victoria that peaceful diplomacy can succeed where the Royal Army has failed."
Arc Mage leaped up, her face lighting up with excitement. "Yes! If we can get Kog’rath, or one of his heirs to make contact with the Royal Court, Aldric will have no choice but to lay down arms! The Prince's authority will supersede his!"
Remi, standing beside Goblin Slayer, frowned and crossed their arms. "What’s stopping Aldric from just killing the Prince and his Royal Court, then framing it as an accident?"
D’Arce’s expression hardened. "Even if Aldric has his own political agenda, the death of the Emperor’s heir while under the Royal Army’s protection would fall squarely on his shoulders. He couldn’t escape that."
Remi shrugged— their yellow eyes glinting mischievously. "Then why don’t we just kill the Prince ourselves? Aldric gets executed for failing to protect him, problem solved."
Arc Mage quickly interjected, her voice rising in alarm. "No, no! Even if Aldric is executed, it would create a power vacuum. Someone else will step in to continue the Royal Army’s push for martial law— that idea has been deeply seeded by Xavniik. The Empire’s expansion wouldn’t stop."
Remi then raised an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean?"
Arc Mage adjusted her glasses, with her tone becoming grim. "Prince Arthur is beloved by the Empire. Even with his radical ideas, many in parliament— and especially the Emperor— adore him. If Arthur dies during this conflict, the Empire will move heaven and Earth to avenge him."
She crossed her arms, her voice darkening. "And that means we’d have “Conquer Zemuria, Part II: Electric Boogaloo” on our hands."
Lizard Priest tilted his head, with his reptilian eyes blinking slowly. "I… Do not understand what that implies."
Remi chuckled, slipping their hands into their coat pockets. "Basically, if that little baby bitch-boy dies, then Daddy Pendragon won’t bother trying to deal with the frontier. He’ll just declare all-out war, and it’ll be mass genocide all over again— this time with more toys for them to use on us."
High Elf Archer’s face went pale— her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination. She slammed her fists down on the table, teeth bared in a fierce snarl. "We can’t let Arthur die. I won’t… I won’t go through that again!"
Her hands trembled as the memories of past horrors flashed behind her eyes. Arc Mage, sensing her distress, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. High Elf Archer’s voice broke as she murmured, "I can’t live through that again. I just… I can’t."
Kog’rath’s gaze then fell on High Elf Archer— watching her shoulders trembling, fists clenched, as if she was holding herself together by sheer force of will. For a moment, his hardened expression softened. A look of empathy flickered in his dark eyes. He glanced away, with his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths as his mind worked through the weight of it all. His hand clenched into a fist— knuckles pale against his green skin.
After what felt like a long silence, Kog’rath sighed and turned his gaze back to D’Arce— locking eyes with her unyielding, steely gaze. His voice was low, the gravelly timbre thick with determination. "Tell me what you need me to do," he said, with his words carrying the finality of a death oath.
"Say it, and I’ll make it happen— no matter what it costs me." His jaw clenched, and he scowled slightly as he added in a quieter tone, "All I ask is that the children… Survive what’s coming." He inhaled sharply, and held the breath for a beat, then let it out slowly through his nose.
"The Forgehart Clan— at our core, we are warriors," he continued, his voice steady— as if reciting something from the ancient history of his people. "There is no greater honor for an orc than to fall in battle, defending our loved ones. As long as our sacrifices mean something, and aren't in vain, then I believe I speak for all my people when I say this: we will lay down our lives so the next generation can live." He spoke with a finality that echoed in the war room.
Grusha, standing beside him, stepped forward and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Chieftain," she said, her voice brimming with fierce loyalty. She nodded toward the other orc officers, who stood tall and resolute, tusked grins on their faces. "We’ll follow you through the gates of Hell, if you ask us to. Even if we know there’ll be no comin’ back." The officers grunted in agreement, their smiles hardened with the grim reality of war but full of devotion to their leader.
A rare smile broke across D’Arce’s face, but the cold gleam in her eyes remained unchanged. "Aldric has probably already predicted our strategies," she said, matter-of-fact, her words like a dagger cutting through the silence. "He’ll have contingencies prepared to counter every move we make. Realistically…" She exhaled, almost apologetically, her eyes dark with the truth. "Most of us won’t survive this."
Her gaze swept over the others in the room, lingering on each face. "Aldric is more than willing to sacrifice anyone to win. We can’t afford to hesitate. If we don’t match that resolve, we’ll lose." She paused, her voice becoming colder as her gaze sharpened. "If any of you aren’t ready to die today, then I suggest you leave. Your best chance is to head south, to Vallandria," she added, while gesturing to a map pinned to the wall, marking the region with a firm point of her finger. "Keep going until you reach the border, and don’t look back."
All eyes then turned to Arc Mage. She arched an eyebrow as D’Arce’s gaze bore into her, then scoffed loudly. "Turn tail and run? Me?" The blond woman asked with a flabbergasted tone, before spreading her arms wide— as if addressing the heavens themselves. "You must be out of your GODDAMN mind Captain, if you think I’m running away now!"
A grin tugged at the corners of her lips— her cheeks flushed with excitement. She fidgeted with her fingers, and was nearly bouncing on her heels. "It's always been my dream to witness something like this— a conflict so grand, so monumental that it will be recorded in history books for generations! Whatever happens, my name will be immortalized alongside it!"
From across the room, Remi let out a soft snicker— their arms crossed over their chest, while an amused smirk spread across their face. "Not unless you die first," they shot back, with their eyes gleaming with mirth. "Kinda hard to record history when you're dead, y'know."
Arc Mage giggled in response, before giving a carefree shrug. "Then I just won’t die. Simple as that."
Remi laughed quietly at her response, shaking their head as if at an inside joke, while D’Arce let a brief smile flicker over her lips. "I assume you’re in, then?" D’Arce mused, as she turned to face High Elf Archer— her voice taking on a softer, more understanding tone.
High Elf Archer sniffed, rubbing her eyes with her forearm before standing tall again— her green eyes burning with fierce determination. "I’d rather die before giving the Royal Army a chance to repeat what they did to my people." Her voice quivered with emotion, but the resolve behind it was unshakable.
D’Arce nodded. "Agreed." Her gaze shifted next to Remi, standing nonchalantly by the table— their expression casual, and detached. "What about you, Storm Lord?" She asked. "Are you ready to make the ultimate sacrifice?"
Remi’s lips twisted into a wry grin, with their tone completely shameless. "To be perfectly honest? I don’t give two shits what happens to any of you." Their words were like a slap across the room— the sharp edges cutting through the tension. "You could all die, and the Royal Army could win. It wouldn’t matter to me one bit."
Disgust and disbelief rippled across the faces of everyone in the room, but Remi then raised a hand casually— pulling Goblin Slayer close to their side. "I’m only here for Old Sport," they continued, with their voice softening slightly as they looked down at the young man. "If this is important to him, then I’ll stick around. But it’s for him, not any of you."
The room remained silent for a moment longer— tension crackling in the air like lightning, before D’Arce nodded. "I can respect that." She said, before turning her focus to Goblin Slayer— her eyes softening as they met his. "I’m sorry," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "It goes against everything I believe in to ask someone so young if they’re ready to die in battle, but… I must."
Goblin Slayer met her gaze— his eyes quiet, almost haunted. A small, sad smile pulled at his lips as he spoke softly, the weight of his years pressed into every word. "I’ve been ready to die for a long time."
Hearing this, Remi’s arm then tightened around his waist— pulling him protectively closer, as if they wanted to shield him from the world. There was something in their touch, a care that went beyond what words could convey— as if part of them was trying to show just how much they cared for him.
D’Arce gave Goblin Slayer a slow nod, a deep understanding in her expression. She turned to Dwarf Shaman, only to see him lifting his flask to his lips— downing the last of his wine. He raised a finger as if to ask her to wait, with a cheeky grin spreading across his bearded face.
"Give me a moment, lass," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Let the firewater work its magic." He let out a loud, fiery belch that clouded the air in front of him with smoke, before chuckling. "Once it kicks in, I’ll be drunk enough to say aye to the whole idea of gettin' me arse capped by the Royal Army." He grinned, with his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Remi snorted in amusement, and even Arc Mage broke into laughter, while D’Arce shook her head with a fond smile. "Noted."
Finally, her gaze fell on Lizard Priest, who stood with quiet dignity— his hands folded in front of him. "And you, Jaree? Are you prepared to lay down your life for your friends?"
Lizard Priest looked up, eyes shining as he recited an old verse— his voice calm but powerful.
"To battle, my friends, where the fates may entwine. Our hearts will stand firm, through shadow and time. Should we fall in the storm, let it be known. Our lives were the seeds for a future we’ve sown."
He smiled, a warmth radiating from him. "Where my friends go, I go. Even if that means we walk to the grave together."
The room fell silent for a moment, the gravity of his words settling over everyone like a heavy cloak. D’Arce looked around the room, her voice filled with a rare sense of admiration.
“From this point forth, no matter what happens to us… I want to make it known to each and everyone here that it’s been an honor," she said, "to stand beside such brave souls." Her gaze drifted back to Kog’rath, a look of cathartic understanding in her eyes. "Aldric won’t hesitate to push the envelope to achieve victory. If we want to win, we’ll have to push it even further."
Kog’rath gave her a firm nod, his voice filled with unwavering determination. "Tell me what needs to happen," he repeated, with his resolve like a mountain. "And I’ll make sure it gets done."
The soft clink of Goblin Slayer’s silver-nub pen was the only sound on the rooftop— tapping against the pages of his journal as he scribbled away. He sat on the ledge, with his legs dangling over the edge of the eight-story apartment complex, and his helmet lying beside him on the flat roof.
The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the Evergreen Forest— its warmth painting the sky in hues of orange and violet.
Beside him, Remi sat with their hips pressed close against his, with their legs dangling as well, and their newly gifted Flying V guitar resting across their lap. They wore their signature sunglasses, the dark lenses reflecting the dying light of the sun.
Their fingers worked methodically, strumming the strings with a pick— occasionally pausing to adjust the tuning knobs. The gentle hum of the guitar blended with the scratching of Goblin Slayer's pen filling the silence between them.
Minutes had passed— maybe hours. Neither spoke. The quiet wasn’t awkward— it was heavy, weighty with the things left unsaid.
Finally, Remi broke the silence, their voice carrying an undertone of barely concealed anger. "So… Did you mean what you said?"
The teen’s pen halted mid-stroke. He blinked and slowly looked up from his journal, with his crimson eyes reflecting the golden light. He tilted his head, confusion creasing his brow beneath his unruly hair. "What do you mean?" He asked softly— his voice as calm and measured as ever.
Remi’s lips twitched, with a spark of frustration flashing across their face. Their grip on the guitar tightened. "What you said in the bunker." They paused, their voice wavering with suppressed emotion. "About… You being ready to die."
Goblin Slayer didn’t respond immediately. His gaze lowered, with his eyelids drooping halfway, a solemn expression crossing his face. His pen hovered above the page, frozen in place.
"It’s not… That I particularly want to die," he admitted quietly, with his voice almost a whisper, "but I’ve been prepared for it… Been prepared for it for at least four years now."
Remi’s jaw clenched upon hearing the teen’s response— their guitar now resting silently in their lap. They set the instrument aside, their hands trembling with a mix of hurt and anger. "W… Why though?" They demanded, with their voice growing harsher. "Why?! Even after I told you how much you mean to me?!" Their tone sharpened— cracking with emotion. "Even after I told you that I-" They stopped, their voice dropping to a growl. "Th-That I love you…?!"
The tension in the air thickened. The teenager’s pen lowered to the page, but he no longer wrote. He stared down at his journal, his expression confused, even pained. His lips parted, and he muttered almost to himself, "I thought… You couldn’t feel love."
Remi’s face twisted in a mixture of betrayal and fury. "I can’t," they spat, their voice venomous. "But I sure as hell can feel betrayed!"
The words hung between them— thick as smoke. Goblin Slayer’s mouth opened slightly, then closed again. After a long, drawn-out pause, he quietly apologized. "I never meant to hurt you," he said, his voice barely audible. "But this… This is something I have to do."
Remi was silent; their hands clenched into fists in their lap, while their anger simmered beneath the surface. They stared over the teenager’s shoulder, and watched as he wrote his final words onto the page. The soft scratching of his pen was the only sound between them now, and it felt unbearable.
After what felt like an eternity, Remi’s gaze drifted away from Goblin Slayer to the horizon— past the fortress where their guild was stationed, to where a dark column of smoke rose in the distance from the Maggiore Outpost. Their voice was low and flat when they finally spoke again.
"So..." Remi started, pausing as they turned to face Goblin Slayer’s lowered face. "That’s your plan then? You’re going to leave me here to carry on some fucking plan I have no motivation— other than you— to see through…?!" Their voice grew more bitter, more cynical. "Leave me to do all the hard work, while you run off to investigate something none of us even know what’s going on…?!"
Goblin Slayer’s lips twitched into a joyless smirk. “You and I both know what’s happening over there," he said, his voice calm yet tinged with sadness. His pen scratched out the last line on the page. "Blackwatch is here... This is just like what they did at the Sahara Outpost."
Remi narrowed their eyes, with their voice dripping with malice as they scoffed. "And why the hell do you even care about that place?!" They snapped. "That’s where the Adventurers’ Guild rejected you, remember?! No one there would lose sleep if you got yourself killed trying to save their ungrateful asses!"
The gray-haired teen let out a soft, humorless chuckle— the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "You’re right," he said quietly, almost to himself. "They wouldn’t care."
He took a deep breath before continuing— his tone more serious now. "But the way I see it is that Blackwatch must have known about the Royal Army’s plan— Aldric’s plan— to use this as a reason for the empire to resume their expansion campaign. Albion and her executives are using the outpost to draw them to them— there’s not a doubt in my mind that they also know about Arthur and his Royal Court of Diamonds coming here too… No matter what happens, he and the Forgehart Clan must negotiation peace— we can’t let anyone get in the way of-?"
Having heard enough, Remi then stood up abruptly— the clatter of their Flying V guitar echoing across the rooftop, as it was discarded behind them. Their body trembled with a storm of rage and sorrow, eyes gleaming with unshed tears beneath the dark lenses of their sunglasses.
Their fists clenched, trembling with a barely contained fury, and from their back, four gelatinous tendrils unfurled like serpents— each one writhing in the air, charged with cyan lightning. The air crackled with their power, and the tendrils pointed directly at Goblin Slayer— quivering like coiled springs, ready to strike.
"No." Remi’s voice was a low, menacing growl— thick with a hurt that bled through every word. "No, I won’t let them take you from me… I refuse to let you go."
Goblin Slayer cautiously then rose slowly to his feet, but yet was calm and unhurried. His crimson eyes remained steady, watching the slime monster a collected resolve. His helmet lay on the ground, forgotten, as if the fight itself didn’t concern him.
As if he was already resigned to whatever would come next.
"Remi," he began softly, but the slime monster then cut him off— stepping forward, their fingers curling inward as cyan sparks danced along their tendrils.
"NO!!! W-What am I supposed to do when something happens to you…?!" Remi’s voice trembled— breaking under the weight of their words, with their emotions raw and exposed. "What was the point of telling you that I loved you— confessing everything to you— if you’re just going to throw it all away?! Throw me away like I’m nothing?! Like what we have means NOTHING to you!"
Goblin Slayer’s shoulders sagged slightly, with a heavy sigh escaping his lips. His expression was one of quiet exhaustion— the kind that comes with the acceptance of an inevitable fate. He stepped back, slow and deliberate— as though preparing himself not for the fight, but for the consequences of it.
"I know the risks… We all do," he said, his voice calm, though a flicker of something— regret, perhaps— crossed his face. "This isn’t just about us, Remi."
Remi’s lips curled into a snarl— their entire body shaking with the effort it took to hold back the fury building inside them. Their voice cracked with every word, like something broken inside them was straining to hold together. "Then what the FUCK is it about then?!" They screamed at him, while taking another step forward, with their tendrils coiling tighter— ready to strike. "Why are you so ready to throw your life away, to leave behind the people who care about you, the people who love you?! Do you really not give a shit about yourself?! Do you think this’ll make your fucking sister happy?!"
Goblin Slayer’s gaze softened— his eyes filled with a sadness that felt bottomless. He smiled faintly with a smile that was both wistful and tinged with sorrow. "I’m doing this, because I love you… Because I love everyone who’s helped me get to this point," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And that’s why I have to go… This isn’t just for you— this is for everyone."
Remi flinched at his words— the pain in their chest surging as they clenched their fists tighter. The cyan lightning around their tendrils intensified— flickering and sparking as their control began to slip.
"LOVE?!?" They shouted, with their voice hoarse with disbelief and grief. "YOU CALL THIS LOVE?!? RUNNING OFF TO DIE FOR SOME POINTLESS CAUSE?!? THROWING YOURSELF AT DEATH, JUST BECAUSE YOU THINK IT’S NOBLE? WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP LOVE IS THAT?!?"
Goblin Slayer’s expression remained calm— but there was a softness to his gaze now, a tenderness that he had rarely shown before. "Vivine gave everything to make sure I lived," he said softly, almost to himself. "She sacrificed so much for me. Now… Now it’s my turn to do the same."
Those words broke something in Remi. They felt their control shatter like glass, the dam they had built to hold back their emotions crumbling beneath the weight of their grief. With a guttural scream of fury and sorrow, they lunged at him— their tendrils crackling with cyan electricity, snapping forward like vicious whips.
"IF YOU WANT TO DIE SO BADLY," they shrieked, with their voice echoing across the rooftop, "THEN I’LL JUST KILL YOU MYSELF!!!"
Their tendrils lashed out with blinding speed, aiming directly at Goblin Slayer’s chest. But he was ready. His body then surged with power, with crimson lightning engulfing him as he sidestepped the strike— the tendrils slamming into the ground with a crack of electricity. The rooftop trembled beneath the force of the blow, cracks splintering out across the surface like spiderwebs.
"Remi, stop," The teen said calmly— dodging another strike as the slime monster’s tendrils whipped toward him with vicious intent. His voice was steady, unshaken, but there was a sadness in his eyes as he evaded their attacks, moving with practiced ease. "This isn’t what you want."
"FUCK YOU!!! YOU DON’T GET TO TELL ME WHAT I WANT!!!" Remi screamed back— their voice raw with emotion as they unleashed another flurry of attacks, each one faster and more desperate than the last. "HOW COULD YOU THINK THAT I WOULD JUST LET YOU WALK AWAY?!? THAT I’D LET YOU DIE WITHOUT A FIGHTING FOR YOU?!?"
Their tendrils struck again and again, but Goblin Slayer danced around them— his movements fluid and precise. The rooftop cracked and crumbled beneath the onslaught, debris flying as the tendrils whipped through the air— narrowly missing their target. Cyan lightning clashed with crimson, the air between them crackling with raw energy as their powers collided in violent bursts of light.
"Remi," Goblin Slayer said softly— his voice cutting through the chaos like a knife, "I'm fighting too— fighting for you, fighting for Juliet... For everyone of you."
"Then why…?!" The slime monster’s voice cracked, as they lashed out again, their tendrils whipping through the air, wild and uncontrolled. "Why are you doing this…?! WHY ARE YOU LEAVING!?"
Goblin Slayer didn’t answer immediately. He dodged another strike— his movements calm and measured as always, but there was a hint of fatigue in his eyes now. The fight wasn’t taking a toll on him physically— he could keep dodging forever— but emotionally, it was wearing him down.
"I have to," he finally said, his voice soft, almost apologetic. "Because if I don’t, then you’ll all die… And I can’t… I can’t let that happen— I won’t let that happen."
Remi let out a ragged scream— their tendrils slamming into the ground with such force that the entire rooftop trembled, pieces of debris flying into the air. "YOU’RE BLIND THEN!!!" They shouted, with their voice breaking with the weight of their grief. "YOU BROUGHT US ALL HERE!!! YOU MADE THIS HAPPEN, REN!!! YOU’RE THE REASON FOR YOUR OWN FUCKING MISERY!!!"
With a burst of cyan lightning, they charged at him— their body flickering with raw energy as they cast a bolt of lightning from their hand, aiming directly at Goblin Slayer’s chest. But the teenager was fast enough to react. His hand shot out— projecting a crimson slash of mana that collided with Remi’s attack— creating an explosion of light and energy that sent both of them staggering back.
The rooftop cracked beneath their feet,— chunks of debris falling away as the two of them stood on the edge of destruction. The outpost below was a blur of sound and light,— but up there, on that rooftop— it felt like the only thing that existed was the storm between them.
Remi lashed out again, their tendrils striking with desperate fury, their attacks growing more frantic, more erratic. "WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO, HUH?!?" They shouted, their voice hoarse from the strain. "WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITHOUT YOU?!?"
One of their tendrils finally managed to graze Goblin Slayer’s cheek— drawing a thin line of blood. He winced slightly but didn’t retaliate. Instead, he just stood there, his crimson eyes filled with a sadness that Remi had never seen before.
"Remi…" He began, but they cut him off with a shriek of frustration.
"If you just used your fucking head to think, just for one fucking second," Remi cried, their voice breaking with emotion, "you’d realize that there’s no other way that this ends then everyone here dying— with or without your intervention…! I c-cant do what you ask of me— I just can’t…! I-I can’t lose you…!"
With a final scream, they raised their tendrils high, their entire body trembling as they unleashed a final, devastating strike. "REN ASHTAAAAAA!!!"
The tendrils then slammed into the roof with enough force to send shockwaves rippling through the building. The structure groaned and creaked under the strain, and then, with a deafening crack, the rooftop collapsed— sending chunks of debris crashing down into the floors below.
For a moment, there was nothing but dust and smoke— the air thick with the remnants of their battle. Cyan and crimson lightning crackled faintly, then faded, leaving only silence.
As the dust began to settle, the rooftop was a ruin. Chunks of concrete and steel lay scattered across the ground, and in the midst of the destruction, Remi lay on their side— their body trembling with exhaustion. Their sunglasses were gone, lost somewhere in the collapse, and their eyes were swollen with tears.
Goblin Slayer stood a few feet away, with his helmet cradled in one arm, his journal and Remi’s guitar in the other. His expression was calm, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes as he walked toward the slime monster while kneeling down beside them.
Remi didn’t move. They stared up at him with a heartbroken expression, their voice a mere whisper. "Please," they begged, their voice barely audible. "Please… Don’t go…"
Goblin Slayer’s eyes softened as he knelt beside them, while gently placing the guitar and his journal down next to their trembling form. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from their face, and for a moment, the two of them sat in silence— surrounded by the wreckage of the rooftop.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with bittersweet gratitude. "Thank you for trying to stop me."
Remi closed their eyes, their tears flowing freely now— their body shaking with quiet sobs. "I can’t… I can’t lose you… N-Not like I did with Serena… I-I’m… I’m not strong enough…"
Goblin Slayer’s eyes widened slightly at the name. "Serena?" he repeated softly. "The girl you told me about? The one who…"
Remi flinched at the mention of Serena, their face contorting with pain. They curled into themselves— unable to meet his gaze.
For a long moment, Goblin Slayer said nothing. Then, with a bittersweet smile, he whispered, "I see… So you are capable of love, Remi. You just… Don’t know how to show it— that's all."
Remi didn’t respond— their small, slender body continued trembling. The teenager leaned down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to their forehead, before rising to his feet.
"I’m… I’m so, so happy that… That we got to meet each other, Remi," he said quietly, his voice filled with warmth. "Thank you for loving me… Even when I’m not ready to love myself just quite yet."
He picked up his helmet, slipping it back over his head as he turned away. Remi’s hand reached out, grasping weakly at his ankle, but their strength was gone— their voice barely a whisper. "D... D-Don’t…"
Goblin Slayer walked away, his footsteps soft amidst the rubble— pausing only once, so to look over his shoulder to stare back at the slime monster. “Goodnight, Remi,” the gray-haired teenager said in a hollow voice— a cathartic smile hidden behind the visor of their helmet.
Chapter 40: War (Part I)
Chapter Text
The sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted base camp, as Prince Arthur Pendragon the Third, known to most as the “Knight of Diamonds”, strode confidently through the grand double doors of the Matterhorn Branch Office. His entrance was nothing short of regal, with his presence commanding attention even in the dimly lit repurposed lobby.
His golden-blond hair, meticulously styled, caught what little light remained, and his armor— a masterpiece of white platinum— gleamed with an ethereal shine. The plate was immaculate, reflecting the sunset’s fading glow from behind him, as though it held its own light within. In his hand, Arthur gripped the hilt of Excalibur: the legendary sword radiating a soft, pulsing aura of power— the air around it shimmering slightly as if reality itself bent in reverence to its presence.
He glanced over his shoulder, with his piercing blue eyes landing on the silver-haired woman who stood silently beside him, her posture poised, though her sharp gaze betrayed a readiness to act at a moment’s notice. The silver-haired maid— known now as Spy— was a figure of striking beauty.
Her armor, crafted in the same design as Arthur's, was lighter, made for agility rather than sheer defense, though no less gallant. Her hair cascaded down her back like spun silver, and her silver eyes glinted with a mixture of mischief and cold calculation. She was silent but alert, every muscle in her body coiled with readiness— like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
Beside her stood a red-haired Cardinal— a tall, gentle-looking man dressed in a flowing white clerical robe embroidered with gold, holding a staff of silver and gold. His green eyes radiated warmth and kindness, and was the kind of man who wore his heart on his sleeve. His red hair, bright as flames, seemed out of place against his soft demeanor, but it lent him a striking appearance nonetheless. He exuded an air of calm and trustworthiness that drew people in.
Arthur, still looking back at his companions, addressed Spy, his voice measured and calm, but with the weight of a leader accustomed to being obeyed. “Let me handle the talking,” Arthur said firmly, with his gaze softening slightly as it met hers. “General Blackwood is a very… Traditionalist sort of gentleman— his values may conflict with ours.”
Spy narrowed her eyes, but the faintest smirk played at her lips, with her voice as sharp as ever. “If you insist, Your Highness,” she replied, her tone laced with sarcasm, though beneath the jest was a quiet respect. “But I’ll be ready when you inevitably screw it up.”
Arthur gave her a brief, knowing smile— understanding the role she played in their dynamic, as both protector and provocateur.
Cardinal, who had been observing the brief exchange with his usual easygoing air, took a step forward, his expression more serious now. He looked at the Knight of Diamonds, with his voice full of concern— though his tone remained light. "Just don't forget who's really in charge here, Arthur," he said with a wink, though there was a sharpness in his eyes. "No matter what General Blackwood tries to pull, remember— you're the one calling the shots."
Arthur’s lips curled into a fond smile as he regarded Cardinal. "I haven’t forgotten that, Lucas. But I appreciate the reminder." He clapped then Cardinal on the shoulder, his affection for his companions evident in the simple gesture.
With that, the three of them— Arthur, Spy, and Cardinal— began walking through the crowded lobby of the Matterhorn Branch Office, their footsteps echoing off the walls. The rest of the Royal Court followed behind them— their presence an imposing yet graceful force.
First came Elder Minister, who was an older man with a well-kept gray beard and wrinkled yet vibrant light skin. He wore a white and gold robe that seemed to shimmer with every step, with the fabric embroidered with intricate patterns that reflected his long tenure in service to the royal family. His eyes, though aged, were sharp with wisdom, and he moved with the grace of someone who had long since earned his place among the royal advisors.
Next to Callum was the Court Mage— a tall, imposing figure with dark skin and long, black dreadlocks that were tied back loosely, allowing the runes that adorned both sides of his face to stand out. These white runes glowed faintly in the low light, marking him as a master of the arcane arts. He wore an ornate robe of white and black colors, trimmed with silver, and a white cape draped over one shoulder. Muscles rippled beneath his robe— belying the strength hidden behind his scholarly exterior.
Walking beside Court Mage was the enigmatic Gold-Rank Padfoot— a towering anthro Doberman who moved with a silent grace that belied his size. His black and gold ornate clothes, tailored to fit his powerful frame, shimmered under the low light, giving him an almost otherworldly presence. His golden eyes gleamed with intelligence, and his sharp, alert demeanor suggested that despite his silence, he missed nothing.
Bringing up the rear was the Royal Guardsman— a knight of impressive stature and quiet resolve. His pale blond hair, tied back under a red bandana, was windswept, and his light skin bore the sun-kissed marks of someone who spent more time on the battlefield than in the court. His blue eyes shone with unshakable loyalty, and his armor, modeled after Arthur’s, gleamed with a muted brilliance in the dim light.
As they approached the heavy iron doors that led deeper into the office, Court Mage cleared his throat softly. "General Blackwood undoubtedly has his own interests at heart, Your Highness," he said in his gravelly voice, though there was a hint of wariness in his tone. “Let’s not underestimate him.”
Arthur nodded, his jaw tightening slightly at the mention of Blackwood. "Good— we have our own interests at heart as well," he replied, his voice steady. "Let's not keep him waiting, shall we?"
Spy rolled her eyes, muttering just loud enough for Arthur to hear, "More like let’s hope he doesn’t try to strong-arm us into anything... Again."
Cardinal chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Just be glad it's not another drawn-out sermon about “duty” and “sacrifice”.”
Arthur’s lips twitched into a smile, though his focus remained on the task ahead. "Whatever he tries, we’ll handle it together. But make no mistake— this is our mission. Not his."
The Maggiore Outpost was on fire— engulfed in the unrelenting chaos of war. The sky had been swallowed by thick, black smoke— leaving only a dim, hellish glow from the fires burning across the horizon. Flames climbed the rooftops of what had once been a bustling town— now reduced to a battleground. The air was filled with the unmistakable stench of burning wood, blood, and death. Screams echoed through the streets, which intermingled with the war cries of goblins and the ominous war horns of Blackwatch.
Hundreds of thousands of imp goblins flooded the outpost from all directions. These creatures, small but vicious, wielded crude iron weapons that gleamed dully in the firelight. Their makeshift bows were strung with frayed strings— their quivers filled with crudely fletched arrows that flew wildly through the air, occasionally finding their mark in some poor villager’s flesh. The goblins tore through the village, hunting down anyone who wasn’t part of Blackwatch that hadn’t managed to escape in time.
In one horrific scene, a group of goblins cornered an elderly man— his wrinkled hands trembling as he tried to fend them off with nothing but a broken chair leg. They rushed him in a wave, stabbing at him with rusted blades.
One goblin slashed across the man’s ankles— sending him toppling to the ground. As he screamed in agony, they piled on, hacking and stabbing until his cries became gurgled— dying whimpers. The cobblestone beneath him was stained with a growing pool of blood.
One of the goblins, an eager, foolish creature, held up a crudely fashioned explosive— a small barrel of volatile chemicals strapped together with torn rags. With a gleeful shriek, he raised it above his head, ready to hurl it at a nearby group of adventurers. But the device detonated prematurely— the goblin's body instantly reduced to a red mist. The surrounding goblins were torn apart by the force of the explosion, with their limbs and organs splattering across the ground like grotesque confetti.
Amid the chaos, a troop of Blackwatch lizardfolk stormed through the burning outpost. They were far more disciplined than the goblins, with their maroon cloaks flowing behind them as they charged forward with bone axes, bone swords, and javelins crafted from the remains of fallen beasts. Their scaly skin gleamed with a sinister sheen in the firelight, with their eyes reflecting cold, calculated malice.
One party of adventurers tried to hold them off, casting spells and hurling arrows. A fireball erupted in the center of a lizardfolk formation— incinerating several of them in a brilliant flash, with their bodies charred and blackened.
The lizardfolk retaliated, their bone javelins flying with deadly precision, skewering two mages who hadn’t managed to conjure their shields in time. One lizardfolk warrior, roaring with fury, cleaved through an adventurer with his bone axe— the blade splitting flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The adventurer's body crumpled to the ground, with his blood mixing with the mud at his killer’s feet.
A little farther out, a troop of centaurs charged through the village— their own maroon cloaks flapping as they galloped with terrifying speed. They were clad in iron armor over their equine bodies, armed with longbows— their arrows flying in rapid succession. Their hit-and-run tactics were devastating— peppering both innocents and adventurers alike.
A small girl, no more than ten, tried to flee the oncoming centaur stampede but was struck by an arrow in the back. Her tiny body crumpled to the ground, with her face frozen in terror.
Suddenly, an explosive spell was launched from across the battlefield. A massive, fiery blast erupted beneath the centaurs, blowing the ground apart in a thunderous explosion. The centaurs screamed in pain as their legs were blown off, their bodies torn to shreds. Bloody chunks of flesh, bone, and twisted iron armor littered the battlefield— the air filled with the smell of burnt meat and blood.
The spell had come from Witch, who stood on a hill overlooking the carnage— her eyes glowing with an eerie, mystical light. Her long, dark hair flowed in the wind, and her hat was tilted low, and was casting a shadow over her sharp, calculating eyes. She stood beside Spearman, Heavy Warrior, and Female Knight— all of them observing the slaughter before them with grim expressions.
Spearman leaned on his spear, watching as Blackwatch surged westward. His wild hair was damp with sweat and blood, and his muscular frame coiled with barely-contained energy. “Hell of a shitshow, isn’t it…?!” He muttered, while kicking a chunk of debris. “It doesn’t even seem like they’re here for the outpost… What are they even after then?!”
Witch’s voice was cold and smooth as she replied. “The Iron Flower Mountains. That’s where they’re heading. Blackwatch’s forces... They’re heading toward Matterhorn. That has to be it.”
Heavy Warrior stood silently, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the others. His black, plate armor was battered and scorched, but he carried himself with the indomitable will of a man who had seen too many battles. The great sword strapped to his back was stained with dried blood, as his eyes scanned the battlefield below.
“Does it matter what they’re looking for?” Heavy Warrior’s voice was deep, gravelly, his gaze fixed on the bloodshed. “All I see is an army that needs to be put down.”
Female Knight, her silver armor glinting in the dim light, nodded solemnly. Her blond hair was tied back, her pale face set in a grim frown. She drew her sword, her expression resolute. “We can't let them reach the mountains. Whatever they're after, we stop them here.”
Spearman twirled his weapon absentmindedly. “Sure, sure. But how about we make it a little fun, eh?” His eyes gleamed with an unsettling excitement. “I’ll take out the lizards. Been itching for a real fight all day.”
Witch glanced sideways at Spearman but said nothing. Her focus was on the battle ahead. “This isn't a game, Damien; we’re barely holding on. We need to buy the Royal Army time, and hope to the gods that they send enough reinforcements to counter Blackwatch.”
Heavy Warrior’s gauntleted hand rested on the hilt of his greatsword. “We’ll have to intercept as many goblins as we can then,” he growled. “Those little bastards are thick as rats.”
Just as the words left his mouth, a massive group of goblins rushed their position. Spearman was the first to act— grinning maniacally as he leaped into action. His spear moved like a blur— cutting through the air with incredible speed and precision. He skewered the first goblin clean through its chest— lifting it off the ground before hurling it at the next wave. Blood sprayed across his face, but he barely blinked.
Witch stood behind him, her hands raised as she muttered incantations under her breath. Arcane symbols flashed in the air around her before she thrust her hands forward— sending another fiery explosion ripping through the goblin ranks. Their shrieks of pain were cut short as they were consumed by the inferno, with their bodies reduced to ash and molten flesh.
Heavy Warrior charged forward like a living juggernaut— his massive greatsword cleaving through goblin after goblin with brutal efficiency. His strength was unmatched, with each swing of his sword sending goblins flying in pieces.
A group of lizardfolk charged at him, but he met them head-on— slamming his blade into the first one’s chest, splitting its ribcage open with a sickening crunch. Another lizardfolk swung at him with a bone axe, but Heavy Warrior raised his armored arm to block it, then slammed his fist into the creature’s skull— shattering it with ease.
Female Knight fought with precision, with her sword dancing through the air as she parried a series of strikes from a lizardfolk warrior. She spun gracefully— her blade slicing through the creature’s neck, and sending its head tumbling to the ground. Without missing a beat, she kicked another goblin aside— her face set in grim determination.
As the group pushed forward, the sheer number of Blackwatch’s forces seemed endless, and the enemy showed no signs of slowing.
Spearman, his face splattered with blood, turned to Heavy Warrior and shouted, “I’m counting fifty! You better not let me get all the glory here!”
Heavy Warrior grunted in response— slicing through another goblin. “Count all you want…! Just don’t die…!”
Spearman laughed, with his voice wild and full of reckless energy. “Thanks! I don’t plan to!”
The battlefield raged on, but Witch’s eyes remained fixed westward, toward the Iron Flower Mountains. She muttered under her breath, her mind working through the pieces of this dark puzzle. "Where the blazes are they…?!"
As the group fought, more adventurers fell, but Blackwatch’s forces kept pressing on— their sights set on the mountains, the skies filled with fire, blood, and death.
Heavy Knight, breathing heavily, gripped his greatsword tighter as the next wave of goblins rushed at them— all of them shrieking wildly. His body was drenched in blood— both his enemies’ and his own. The armor that had once gleamed darkly was now dented and cracked in places, his strength sapped from hours of combat, but his eyes— burning beneath his helm— showed no sign of stopping.
"More coming," he growled— stepping forward with the weight of a war machine. His massive blade carved through the air— decapitating two goblins in one powerful swing, with their heads spinning off into the distance. Another came at him with a rusted sword— stabbing it into his side. Heavy Knight grunted in pain, but with a swift upward slash, the goblin’s torso was torn in half.
Beside him, Female Knight fought with unparalleled precision— her silver armor glinting in the firelight. Her sword danced through the air, felling goblins with each strike. But they were taking their toll. One imp goblin, shrieking in fury, lunged at her— its knife scraping across the back of her leg, and tearing through her damaged armor. She grimaced in pain, but with a swift miracle, her sword lit up with divine energy. She spun and cleaved the goblin in half with a shining arc.
“Fortitude!” She cried— her voice filled with power. A burst of radiant energy spread from her, a paladin’s miracle that bolstered the defense of her comrades— weaving a protective aura around them. "Keep fighting— we’ll outlast them yet!" Her leg trembled, but the miracle was enough to dull the pain.
Spearman, a few paces ahead, laughed through the blood caked on his face as he tore through the goblins with reckless abandon. “I’m counting seventy now!” He yelled— thrusting his spear through the chest of a dark-elf mage that had crept too close. His spearhead flickered with lightning magic— sending a shock through the elf’s body as he collapsed to the ground, convulsing.
Witch, slightly behind the group, was chanting furiously, her hands weaving intricate patterns as she deflected incoming arrows. Her deflect missile spell lit up the air around her— redirecting the goblins’ arrows and even a fireball from a dark-elf sorcerer back toward their senders. The arrows pierced through several goblins, while the fireball hurtled toward the dark-elf sorcerer— who barely had time to scream before the explosion engulfed him in flames.
“Witch! Behind you!” Female Knight shouted, catching sight of a dark-elf mage preparing to hurl a spell at Witch’s back.
Witch turned, her eyes glowing with power, and fired a volley of magic missiles. The glowing projectiles shot out in rapid succession, slamming into the elf’s chest and blowing chunks of flesh from his body. He collapsed in a heap, his robes smoldering.
But even as Witch took a breath, she felt a creeping sensation at the back of her mind. An otherworldly voice, like a thousand whispering tongues, slithered into her thoughts. Her hands trembled as she tried to focus on the battle ahead, but something dark and ancient was worming its way into her mind.
Above the burning outpost, an Aboleth loomed— its monstrous, grotesque form floating in the thick smoke. Its flesh was a sickly green, covered in mucus and pulsing veins, while its massive tendrils swayed lazily as if surveying the carnage. Its eyes, glowing with malevolent intelligence, locked onto Witch. Its mind reached out to hers, insidious and vile.
“You... Will obey...” The Aboleth’s voice echoed in her skull— commanding her to turn her magic against herself. Her eyes widened in terror as her hands began to move against her will— her lips forming the words to cast a destructive spell on herself. “You… Will die… For the good… Of Zemuria…”
"N-No…! NO!!!" She screamed, trying to fight it, but her power was being twisted— bent to the Aboleth's will. A swirling fireball began to form between her hands, aimed at her face.
Before she could unleash the spell, a blinding light washed over her.
“Dispel!” Female Knight’s voice rang out— her sword raised high as she called upon her divine magic. A radiant wave of energy rippled from her— washing over Witch and severing the Aboleth's psychic hold.
Witch gasped, the spell dissipating in her hands, and she collapsed to one knee— panting. "Th-Thank you…" She managed to utter out, with her voice shaky.
"No time for thanks!" Female Knight said, with her shield raised as a massive tendril from the Aboleth slammed into it with a sickening thud. The force sent her skidding backward— her heels digging into the ground, but she held firm.
“Watch those tendrils!” Heavy Knight roared, while stepping forward and swinging his greatsword. His blade met one of the Aboleth’s massive, slimy appendages, and with a powerful strike, he severed it from the creature’s body. Green blood sprayed from the wound as the tendril writhed on the ground— twitching violently.
Spearman, never one to be outdone, grinned wildly. "My turn!" He shouted, before leaping high into the air— his spear crackling with electric energy. As another tendril shot toward him, he twirled mid-air— narrowly dodging it— and drove his spear deep into the Aboleth’s flesh. The creature let out a horrific, ear-piercing screech as blood and mucus poured from the wound.
Witch, recovering from the mental attack, raised her arms again. Her eyes glowed with fiery determination as she unleashed a volley of Magic Missiles— the glowing orbs tearing into the Aboleth’s belly. Each impact blew chunks of slimy flesh away— weakening the creature’s levitation.
“It's coming down! Hit it with everything you’ve got!” Witch shouted, with her voice fierce with urgency.
The Aboleth’s levitation faltered, and it began to descend— its massive body lowering closer to the ground, vulnerable.
“Now!” Spearman yelled, and with a powerful leap, he vaulted several meters into the air— his spear poised to strike. He aimed for the creature’s heart, before driving his spear deep into the Aboleth’s chest. The force of the impact caused the creature to spasm violently— its tendrils flailing in agony.
Witch’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t done yet.
“Explode.” She whispered the command under her breath, and the spear embedded in the Aboleth’s chest suddenly erupted. The explosion tore the creature apart from the inside— its green insides and white sinew flying in every direction.
Chunks of the Aboleth’s mutilated body rained down— splattering the battlefield in a grotesque display. The creature’s massive form collapsed onto a burning building— crushing it beneath its weight. The explosion and collapse caused debris and rubble to scatter, with heavy chunks of flesh burying about sixty imp goblins who hadn’t had the sense or speed to move.
The ground shook as the Aboleth’s corpse hit the earth— sending a shockwave through the outpost.
“Move!” Heavy Knight bellowed, before grabbing Witch and Female Knight by their arms and pulling them out of the way, as the creature’s body smashed into the ground where they had been standing. They narrowly avoided being crushed by the falling debris— their breath ragged as they stumbled back to their feet.
Spearman wiped the blood from his face, laughing breathlessly. “Damn, that was intense! You see that jump? I’m getting good at this!”
“You’re lucky the thing didn’t skewer you mid-air,” Heavy Knight grunted, with his hand clutching his side where a tendril had grazed him earlier. He reached for a potion and downed it— the healing magic quickly knitting his torn flesh.
Female Knight, breathing heavily, raised her shield again. “It’s not over yet. Blackwatch’s forces are still moving toward the mountains. We need to-?!"
Suddenly, a figure appeared behind them. A cloud of black smoke swirled around him as he materialized— his presence unsettling. He was slender and short, yet athletic, with pale skin that almost glowed in the hellish light. His scleras were black as night, his irises burning with a red, malevolent gleam. His dark blue hair, messy yet sleek, framed his face, which bore a cruel smirk.
The figure radiated a menacing aura, a dangerous predator assessing its prey.
“You better have all enjoyed that triumphant moment of glory, humans,” He taunted with a voice that was like a blade— cutting through the air, mocking and cold. “It’ll be the last taste of victory any of you will be having.”
Witch's heart raced the moment she saw him. Her instincts flared. As she caught sight of the ethereal black wings unfurling from his back— readying to launch a volley of crystalline projectiles— her hands moved swiftly;, casting deflect missile spell in a flash of desperation. The black crystals rocketed toward her, but her spell sent them hurdling back toward the attacker.
The shards sliced through the air— speeding toward him with lethal intent.
But in the blink of an eye, the figure vanished— disappearing into another cloud of black smoke. Time seemed to slow for everyone, as Witch, Heavy Knight, and Spearman turned— watching in horror as the figure rematerialized directly behind Female Knight.
Female Knight’s instincts kicked in, and she tried to raise her shield.
But it was too late.
The reflected projectiles struck her full force— piercing through her armor like a volley of arrows through cloth. Her eyes went wide, the soundless scream trapped in her throat as her body convulsed. The sheer force of the impact sent her flying back— her shield falling from her hand as she collapsed to the ground, and blood gushing from her wounds.
“D-DIANA!!!” Heavy Knight’s voice was a raw— guttural roar as he watched her crumple to the ground, unmoving.
Witch's breath hitched in her throat, her eyes locked on Female Knight's bloodied form. "I… I-I didn't mean…" She trailed off, with her own voice choked with disbelief— her own spell used against her own party member.
But there was no time for grief. The Blackwatch Executive was already moving— faster than anyone could react. He appeared in front of Witch, with his right wing coiled around his outstretched arm like a living weapon— its edge sharp and deadly.
Witch barely had time to process what was happening before the massive wing blade was slicing toward her— a dark crescent of death. Her instincts screamed, but her body was frozen— unable to keep up with his speed.
The world seemed to collapse around her.
Heavy Knight, blood boiling with fury, leaped forward— his greatsword raised to intercept the attack. Steel clashed against the wing blade, but the sheer force of the impact shattered Heavy Knight’s sword into pieces— the broken shards glinting in the firelight as they fell to the ground. He staggered back, wide-eyed and helpless, his breathing ragged.
The Blackwatch Executive’s gaze locked onto him with a cold, detached malice. With a single fluid motion, he sliced through Heavy Knight’s right forearm— severing it cleanly from the elbow. Heavy Knight let out a cry of pain, with his hand twitching uselessly as it fell to the ground, while it was still clutching the hilt of his broken sword.
Before Heavy Knight could even react to the loss of his arm, the Blackwatch Executive spun— delivering a brutal roundhouse kick to the side of Heavy Knight’s face. The impact was devastating. The young man’s skull caved in from the blow— a sickening crunch echoing through the battlefield as his right eye burst, with blood and fluids spilling down his face. His body was sent hurtling through the air— crashing into the ground several feet away, limp and motionless.
"AKIHIRO!!! D-DAMNIT!!!" Spearman shouted, with his voice a mixture of fury and desperation. Fueled by adrenaline, he charged at the Blackwatch Executive— his spear blazing with flames after Witch’s quick enchantment.
He lunged, aiming for the enemy’s heart, the fire crackling wildly along his spear.
But the Blackwatch Executive moved faster than the human eye could track. He sidestepped Spearman’s thrust with ease— disappearing and reappearing in a blur of motion.
Spearman barely had time to process what had happened before a blinding, white-hot pain erupted from below his kneecaps. He looked down, and was horrified to see his legs severed at the knees— blood spurting from the gory stumps. He crumpled to the ground, screaming in agony— his spear slipping from his hand as he writhed in pain.
The Blackwatch Executive stood over him, raising his wing blade to deliver the finishing blow. “Piece-of-fucking-shit…!” He growled out in a hateful voice— his blackened eyes narrowed, as he took aim at the back of the young man’s head.
Desperate, Witch raised her hand to cast a silence spell— hoping to disrupt whatever dark power he was summoning. The air around the Blackwatch Executive shimmered as her spell wrapped around him— blocking out his voice, and nullifying his spellcasting.
Witch’s heart pounded as she reached into her satchel, before pulling out a scroll. She unfurled it, her voice trembling as she read the incantation.
A powerful gust of wind exploded then from her position, sending debris flying in every direction, but also blasting her backward at breakneck speed. The wind howled as she soared through the air— her body barely under her control.
But before she could even crash to the ground, the Blackwatch Executive appeared in her path, with his wing blade extended. Witch's body impaled itself on the blade— the sharp edge skewering her abdomen. Blood erupted from her mouth as she gasped, her vision blurring from the shock and pain.
She convulsed while her body twitched violently— her organs having been torn apart by the massive weapon. Tears welled up in her eyes, mixing with the blood that trickled from her lips. Her hands weakly grasped at the blade— trying to push herself off, but she was too far gone. The Blackwatch Executive stared at her with fiery, hateful eyes— the slightest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.
With a casual flick of his wing blade, he tossed Witch’s body to the ground. She skidded across the dirt, leaving a trail of blood behind her— her body broken and battered.
Witch coughed violently, with blood spilling from her mouth as she tried to apply pressure to the gaping wound in her abdomen. Her vision blurred, dark spots dancing in her eyes as she frantically searched her satchel for a healing potion.
The Blackwatch Executive glanced down at her one last time, before teleporting away in a burst of black smoke— leaving her crumbled body behind.
Witch’s trembling fingers finally closed around a potion bottle, with her grip weak and fading. With what little strength she had left, she uncorked the bottle and tried to drink, but her body was growing colder, her strength slipping away.
She could feel the world darkening, her life ebbing away with each shallow breath.
Chapter 41: War (Part II)
Chapter Text
The war room of the Matterhorn Branch Office was a stark, cold expanse of metal and maps— the heart of the conflict that raged just beyond its walls. A central table held the grand map, unveiled and detailing the ongoing siege of the frontier. Aldric, now fully clad in his custom black templar armor, loomed over it— his broad shoulders encased in layers of armor plating bristling with concealed weaponry, shields, and an arsenal meant for a walking fortress. The pale-blue glow of thrusters and hardpoints shimmered in the low light— giving his silhouette an imposing, steely presence.
His face was obscured by the visor of his helm, but beneath the armor, the mind of a calculating tactician churned.
Beside him stood Haman, her once maroon-colored hair now dyed jet black, with her knightly armor shimmering faintly under the war room lights. Slung across her shoulder was her lever-action rifle, modified with a glowing purple module affixed to the chamber— its very presence humming with arcane power. Her face was as stoic as ever, but the darkening of her appearance hinted at a transformation beyond the physical.
The doors to the war room swung open, and Arthur entered, flanked by Spy and Cardinal. The princes’ regal blue eyes, sharp and calm, immediately took in the scene before him. The sight of Aldric in full battle armor raised a brow of surprise, but he said nothing.
Spy, however, wasn’t as restrained. "What the hell is he wearing?" She asked, with eyes darting over the general’s imposing suit.
Cardinal immediately placed a hand on her shoulder, with his eyes wide and cautious. "Hush," he whispered sharply, with his fingers tightening as if to remind Spy of Aldric’s reputation. The silver-haired maiden glared back at him, but bit her tongue.
Aldric did not acknowledge Spy’s question. His visor remained fixed on the map,with his voice cold as ice. "Your Highness," he greeted, his tone measured and formal, "Your punctuality is commendable, as always."
Arthur inclined his head. "I assume you’ve been busy." He stepped closer to the table, his eyes scanning the map and the small figures representing soldiers and strongholds. “Yet it’s unfortunate that I and my Royal Court couldn't have arrived sooner.”
Aldric’s helmet tilted ever so slightly, his stare cutting through the air between them. "It is unfortunate," he replied, "but not unaccounted for."
Arthur's jaw tightened as he took in the strategic markings laid before him— his eyes flicking back up to Aldric's. “It seems you've already initiated a battle against the Forgehart Clan.” He paused, his voice dangerously calm. “Against my direct orders, no less.”
Aldric, unfazed, straightened to his full height. "You’re mistaken," he said flatly, with his voice devoid of emotion.
Arthur’s gaze darkened. “Am I?” His challenge was clear.
Aldric finally turned to face him fully. "Indeed. Blackwatch has already begun a full-scale invasion of the West, coming from the East. The Forgehart Clan has merely taken advantage of the chaos— forcing my hand. Maggiore Outpost has fallen, and the clan has sent warriors to flank us near the East Station, deep in the Evergreen Forest."
Arthur and the rest of his Royal Court visibly stiffened at this revelation. Spy’s eyes went wide, Cardinal drew in a breath, and Arthur’s calm façade cracked for a moment.
“The Forgehart Clan," Aldric continued, "is using guerilla tactics. Maggiore was bait. If we sent soldiers there to “rescue” anyone, they would be walking into an ambush."
Arthur’s calm shattered into anger. "That goes against the Royal Army’s code of honor, Blackwood!" He shouted, with his voice rising with fury. “We’re under our word to Supreme God Himself to fight to protect the weak and helpless! No matter the cost!”
Aldric’s response was icy and calculated. "I see. Is that what you want, Your Highness? For me to send my men to their deaths, for the sake of a rescue that’ll yield no survivors?" His tone shifted, colder still. “I can, if that’s your command. Just say the word, and I’ll have them die in the name of the Empire’s code of honor.”
Arthur’s fists clenched at his sides, teeth bared in frustration. "Th-That’s not what I meant!" he snapped.
Aldric’s voice remained low, smooth as a razor. “Then what did you mean?”
Silence filled the war room as Arthur’s words failed him. His shoulders tensed, his frustration mounting as Aldric stared him down— unflinching, with the cold, precise demeanor of a man who knew he was right.
Arthur finally drew in a deep breath, while struggling to contain his emotions. “T… Th-Then what’s your battle plan, General?” His voice trembled with suppressed anger. “If you’re so keen on letting Maggiore perish, what’s your strategy for victory?”
Aldric stepped forward— his armored hand extending toward the map. "Need I remind you, Your Highness, that this is not a quest," he said, his voice firm but measured. "This is war."
Arthur blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone.
"Quests are tales of triumph, of saving towns, rescuing princesses, and restoring peace." Aldric's voice grew harder, the edge of reality sharp against the romantic ideals Arthur held. "But war… War is hell. No happy endings. No glory. Only death."
Arthur said nothing, his eyes locked onto Aldric’s as the words sank in. Even Spy and Cardinal were struck silent, the harsh truth of it all resonating in the stillness of the room.
Aldric’s hand returned to the map. "Victory, however, is possible," he stated, while tracing a line from Matterhorn to the East Fallen Petal Trail. "You and your Royal Court will hold Matterhorn with two thousand of my men. I’ll split the rest of my forces into platoons of fifty. We’ll use search-and-destroy tactics to neutralize the Forgehart Clan's guerilla fighters."
Arthur followed Aldric’s movements over the map— his blue eyes scanning the strategy.
"We'll rain mortar fire on their stronghold, disrupt their lines, and establish an aerial defense for when Albion arrives. Meanwhile, a battalion of four hundred riflemen and gatling guns will defend East Station, creating a kill zone." Aldric’s armored hand hovered over the red flags marking the Forgehart Stronghold. "If all else fails, I’ve prepared a contingency plan— we’ll use the remainder of our explosive ordinance to burn the Evergreen Forest. We trap the Forgehart Clan and any and all Blackwatch terrorists who’ve made it into the forest, force their retreat, while our soldiers rendezvous back to Matterhorn. From there, it’ll only be a matter of gunning down whoever the fire didn’t burn."
Arthur reeled, processing the complex web of tactics Aldric had laid out. He shook his head slowly— still digesting it all. “And your Black Templars? What role do they play in this?"
Aldric grinned ever so slightly behind his visor. "We’ll act independently. We shall first start by taking the Forgehart Stronghold. Then we’ll hunt down Storm Lord and the rest of Blackwatch’s leadership."
"Storm Lord…?" Arthur’s shock was evident. "You’re telling me Storm Lord has joined Blackwatch?"
Aldric's tone grew darker. "Earlier today, before Blackwatch attacked Maggiore, Storm Lord passed through Matterhorn with a caravan from Delrivkat, with an accomplice by their side. Hostages in tow."
Arthur’s anger flared. "And you let them go?!"
Aldric didn’t miss a beat. "I sent Captain Joanna D'Arce to negotiate for their freedom. She never returned." His voice carried a grim undertone— masking the manipulation within. "Reports suggest she entered the Forgehart Stronghold. We suspect they killed her. She sought peace, and they saw it as an act of aggression."
Arthur’s face twisted with anger, and he murmured, "The Forgehart Clan…"
Aldric nodded solemnly, echoing Arthur’s frustration. "Captain D'Arce believed in peace for all. Her sacrifice demands retribution. The Forgehart Clan's actions demand justice."
Arthur, fists clenched, demanded, "What about the accomplice you saw earlier… Do you have any intel as to who was accompanying Storm Lord?!"
At Aldric’s silent gesture, Haman stepped forward, retrieving a manila folder. She handed it to Arthur with quiet respect.
Arthur opened the folder, revealing a name written on a rejected application that sent a jolt through him. "Ren Ashta…?" He muttered under his breath— the name stirring a deep memory. “That name… "Ashta"… It sounds… Familiar.”
Aldric’s voice was low, yet chilling in its calmness. "I’ll deliver you Ren Ashta’s head personally, Your Highness. Along with whatever traces of Storm Lord my men and I can scrape from the dirt. Tonight shall be the night that marks their deaths.”
Arthur grew silent, processing the weight of everything before him. Spy and Cardinal exchanged glances— both waiting for their leader's command. Arthur’s fingers tightened around the folder, and he finally spoke, voice cold as steel. "It sounds like you’ve already ensured the Empire’s victory, General."
Aldric nodded slowly. "Victory is assured."
Arthur raised his head, his eyes hard. "Then you won’t need me at Matterhorn."
Aldric's visor tilted. "Is that so? What are you planning then?"
Arthur’s eyes blazed with righteous fury. "My Royal Court and I will make contact with the Forgehart Clan directly ourselves."
Aldric feigned outrage. "You can’t put yourself at risk-!"
Arthur cut him off, his voice resolute. "-I outrank you, General. You will obey my command."
Spy’s and Cardinal’s eyes lit up, and the Royal Court murmured their approval. Aldric’s jaw tightened behind his visor— but outwardly, he appeared defeated.
"At least take my Black Templars," Aldric offered.
Arthur shook his head. "No. The Royal Army’s presence will only stoke more fear. This has to end with dialogue, not bloodshed."
He leaned in, his eyes narrowing at the general. "Do not follow me, Blackwood. If you do, I will see you executed."
Aldric watched as Arthur, followed by his Royal Court, stormed out of the war room. The heavy doors closed behind them, sealing off the tension in the air.
The facade then dropped. Aldric straightened, calm and calculating as ever. He turned to Haman, his voice low and commanding. "You know what to do."
Haman nodded, and as she did, her body shimmered, turning invisible with a faint distortion in the air. She slipped out of the room silently, leaving Aldric alone— his smirk returning.
The remnants of Maggiore were a hellscape— the once bustling outpost now reduced to a nightmarish expanse of scorched rubble and burning debris. Nearly every building had been obliterated— their skeletons casting flickering shadows over streets strewn with the carnage of battle.
Tens of thousands of bodies littered the ground— all indistinguishable in death. The mutilated forms of fallen adventurers lay among piles of burned, dismembered monsters— their weapons still clenched in rigor mortis.
Among them were the bodies of Blackwatch soldiers, clad in maroon robes, and sprawled in the twisted aftermath of combat. The demi-humans and monsters had fought with an almost supernatural frenzy, but now they lay dead— their blood mingling with the rest. The street was thick with the stench of death, with the metallic tang of blood hanging in the smoky air.
But it wasn’t the bodies of warriors or monsters that spoke of true horror.
No, the real nightmare lay in the smaller, fragile forms that lined the streets.
Children— dozens, hundreds of them— crumpled in grotesque positions— their tiny faces frozen in terror. Some had tried to flee, their hands outstretched in a final, useless grasp for safety. Elderly men and women lay where they had fallen, defenseless victims of slaughter. The cobblestones beneath them were awash in blood— the rivers of crimson stretching far and wide, as though the entire city itself was weeping.
Amidst the ruin, the Adventurers' Guild Branch Office stood as the last mostly intact building, though it too bore the scars of battle. The facade was cracked, the windows shattered, and the doors barely held against the weight of violence that had pressed against them.
Inside, the atmosphere was thick with fear and death.
The grand lobby had become a makeshift battlefield— strewn with the bodies of adventurers who had taken up a final stand. Their armor was dented, their faces pale as the life drained from their wounds. Those few who still clung to life leaned against the walls near the entrances— their weapons limp in their hands.
Some had already bled out, collapsing silently onto the blood-soaked floor— their last moments witnessed by the terrified eyes of their comrades. Each death sent ripples of horror through the survivors, with the weight of it pressing down on them like a suffocating blanket.
Behind the ruined lobby, past hastily erected barricades of stacked furniture, Guild Girl and her fellow clerks held the line. They weren’t warriors, but they were all that stood between the survivors and the oncoming slaughter. Their faces were pale, and their hands trembled, as they pushed their weight against the barricades. Examiner— tall, muscular, and fierce— stood at the center of the room— stripped down to just a sports bra and black slacks, with her powerful arms flexing as she positioned herself between the survivors and the fragile barrier keeping death at bay.
The room behind her was full of the non-combatants— the wounded, the children, and the elderly huddled together in fear. They clung to each other, eyes wide with panic, with the sounds of battle too close, too loud. Every crash against the barricades sent a wave of terror through them, their bodies recoiling in silent dread. Examiner’s presence was the only thing that kept them from crumbling into utter hysteria.
The blue-haired woman, with her skin gleaming with sweat and streaked with dirt and blood, turned to face the clerks and survivors. Her voice, steady but filled with emotion, cut through the panic— silencing the murmurs.
“Listen to me,” she began, her chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths. “We’ve seen too much. We’ve lost too much. I won’t lie to you— this could be the end. But if it is, then I swear to you, on everything I’ve ever known, I will fight until my body runs dry. I will stand between you and those monsters until there’s nothing left of me.”
Her eyes swept the room, lingering on Guild Girl, whose hands were shaking violently as she pressed against the barricades. "It's been an honor to serve you all," Examiner continued, her voice cracking just slightly. "All these years… I couldn’t have asked for a better place, a better home. You’ve all been my family."
She swallowed hard, her muscular frame trembling with barely contained emotion. "But if this is our end, then I will give everything I have to make sure it’s not your end. If you get the chance to escape, you take it. No matter what. Don’t look back. Don’t stop for anything. If you make it out of here, that’s the only victory that matters."
As she spoke, the banging against the barricades grew louder— each crash sending a wave of terror through the room. The adventurers who had volunteered to hold the lobby had begun to scream— guttural, agonized wails as the goblins flooded in. The sounds of metal clashing against flesh were replaced by horrific shrieks, the wet, sickening noises of bodies being torn apart. Guild Girl clamped her hands over her ears, with tears streaming down her face, and her brown eyes wide with terror.
The walls were thin. She could hear everything. The brutal slashing of blades, the gurgled cries of dying adventurers, and worse: the hysterical, pained screams of women being sexually assaulted in their final moments. The shrieks of adventurers who had given their lives to protect them filled the air, and Guild Girl's entire body shook uncontrollably.
Behind her, clerks and survivors began to sob— their breath coming in ragged gasps. The tension in the room snapped as one of the clerks collapsed to her knees, screaming in terror, her hands clutching at her head. “We’re going to die!” She wailed, her voice breaking into sobs. “Oh gods, we’re going to die…!”
Guild Girl couldn’t take it. The sounds of death, the crying, the helplessness— it all became too much. She fell to her knees, her body convulsing with sobs as the barricade began to shake under the weight of the assault outside. “I can’t… I can’t do this…!” She cried, with her voice barely a whisper between her gasping breaths. “Please, please, I don’t want to die…!”
Then, the barricade splintered.
The door was torn from its hinges, and Guild Girl screamed— the sound ripping from her throat as she fell backward, landing hard on the cold, blood-slicked floor. She saw the door flying toward her, the grotesque shapes of goblins silhouetted against the dying light.
In an instant, Examiner was there.
She lunged forward, grabbing Guild Girl by the collar and pulling her back, throwing her behind her with a force that knocked the breath out of her. Examiner stood tall, her body coiled like a spring, ready to fight to the death.
But when the door fell away, the lobby was empty.
There were no goblins. No marauding enemies charging through. Only silence, punctuated by the occasional drip of blood from the ceiling. The bodies of the brave adventurers who had sacrificed themselves for their survival were all that remained— defiled, mutilated, but utterly still.
Examiner’s breathing faltered, with her hardened expression cracking. She stared at the scene before her, the reality sinking in.
The lobby was empty, but the cost had been unimaginable.
Her legs gave out, and she fell to her knees— tears spilling down her cheeks. The sobs came in heavy, uncontrollable waves, her strong facade shattered as she wept for the fallen— for the survivors, for the horror of it all.
Guild Girl crawled to her side, her eyes wide with disbelief. The other clerks and survivors slowly emerged from their hiding places, their faces etched with confusion and disbelief.
Examiner, still on her knees, wiped at her face with trembling hands. “They… They gave everything…” she choked out between sobs. “They fought so we could live.”
Guild Girl, her hands trembling, reached out to Examiner— her voice barely above a whisper. “We… We’re still alive because of them…”
The room was filled with the sound of crying— adventurers, clerks, children, all overwhelmed by the grief and horror of what they had witnessed. The survivors clung to each other, sobbing openly, their tears mingling with the blood on the floor.
Examiner turned to face the survivors, her voice shaking as she spoke through her tears. “We can’t let them die in vain. We… We have to keep going. We have to survive. For them.”
But even as she said the words, there was a heaviness in the air— an overwhelming sense that survival was a hollow victory in a world so utterly consumed by death.
Maggiore Outpost had become unrecognizable, a smoldering ruin where life once thrived. Fires roared, casting an infernal glow over the broken landscape. Blood flowed like rivers through the streets, pooling in the debris, the bodies of adventurers, monsters, and innocents scattered in heaps, the once-bustling city now a mausoleum of horrors. But amid the wreckage, there stood a single figure.
Goblin Slayer.
His armor was stained with blood and viscera, and his orichalcum helmet gleaming faintly beneath the crimson lightning that crackled around him. He stood amidst the carnage, panting heavily— his tomahawk dripping with the blood of those unfortunate enough to cross his path.
"It’s strange, isn’t it?"
"We hold onto our misery so tightly… Like it’s the only thing that keeps us grounded. But the longer we clutch it, the more it breaks us; piece by piece, until we can’t even remember what we’re holding onto anymore."
“Y-You’re not my brother…! N-Not anymore, you’re not…!”
His left eye burned like a raging inferno behind the visor— flickering with barely contained fury. The flames around him danced in time with the electricity surging through his veins— igniting a savage bloodlust that reverberated with every movement.
"Is it the pain we cling to? Or the memory of what came before it?"
"We suffer… And in time, we forget. And all that’s left is the weight of something we no longer understand."
““High-risk liability”— that’s the reason why the guild can’t have someone like you be apart of us, Mr. Ashta…”
He swung his tomahawk in a wide arc, with the edge cleaving through the thick neck of the Hydra— its final head severed with precision. The creature let out a guttural roar before its massive body collapsed onto the ruins— smoke and ash billowing into the sky as its bulk settled on the burning debris.
"I never wanted this for you…"
"This life… This path you walk. I dreamed of something gentler."
“… You… You need help, Mr. Ashta— more than you need to put that sword to good use.”
The earth trembled as more of them came—a mass of goblins, their grotesque forms silhouetted against the fires behind them. Eyes wide with terror, they hesitated, unsure whether to charge the man who now seemed less human and more force of destruction. They’d never seen anything like him. Their instincts screamed at them to run, but fear of the unseen masters driving them forward kept them frozen.
"Ash falls like snow…”
"What we had… Burned away the day they died."
“I HATE YOU!!!”
“I’VE ALWAYS HATED YOU!!!”
Above the pack of goblins, dark elves whispered frantically to one another, the grim-faced sorcerers casting glances at the lone figure below. Even from this distance, they could feel his rage, like a heatwave emanating from him in pulses. But they weren’t ready for the slaughter that followed.
"Ash…”
"Ash is what’s left when a phoenix dies too. But..."
"That annihilation…”
"Gives birth to resurrection."
Without warning, Goblin Slayer leaped into the air— lightning sparking from his tomahawk as he swung it downward with brutal force. The ground split beneath him, a shockwave of crimson energy blasting through the nearest ranks of goblins. The air filled with the stench of burning flesh, the goblins’ bodies torn apart as blood and organs splattered in all directions.
One of the goblins, its face twisted with terror, was the first to scream.
“YOU WERE WHY THEY CAME FOR US!!!”
"The sooner you let go of those ashes, the sooner something raw, something beautiful, can grow in the place of what we once had. What we used to be."
“YOU’RE WHY I'M DEAD!!!”
They started to scatter, scrambling over each other to escape, but Goblin Slayer was already upon them. He charged, his tomahawk slashing through their bodies with merciless precision. Heads rolled, limbs flew through the air, and the ground turned slick with their blood. The teen’s movements were a blur— every swing of his weapon followed by a spray of crimson.
"Do you still… D-Despise me…?"
His mind flashed back to a memory— sudden and jarring.
"Our parents... They died in a house fire. One that..."
"One that I… That I caused…"
A kitchen, bright and warm, and him as a small boy, playing with the stove, laughing at the flicker of flames that danced beneath his fingertips. He remembered the heat growing, the fire spreading too quickly. Smoke filled the room, and his laughter turned into a cry of fear. The smoke became thick, choking. He couldn’t breathe.
"I… I never hated you…”
"I hate what the world has done to you. To us. What happened to us… We didn’t deserve it."
Then, Vivine. She was there, grabbing him, yanking him away from the flames. Her face was streaked with soot as she dragged him out the front door, into the open air, her grip tight on his wrist. Her voice calling his name. “Ren!”
"You’ve become a monster…”
"You find pleasure in killing those you deem deserving of death— you hate yourself because of that."
The sound of his name echoed in his ears as he snapped back to the present— landing heavily in the midst of the horde. His tomahawk rose and fell, slicing through a goblin’s neck— severing it cleanly. He spun, driving the blade into the chest of another goblin— its eyes wide with shock before life fled its body.
"We aren’t to blame for what the world has done to us, for what we’ve become… That guilt isn’t yours to bare."
Dark elves, hidden among the ruins, hurled bolts of dark energy at him, but Goblin Slayer ducked and weaved— the spells missing by inches. His eye twitched beneath the visor. His rage boiled, the blood-soaked battlefield around him blurring into a nightmarish swirl of death.
"To change the world… Sometimes, you must set it alight."
Another memory crashed into his mind, unbidden— a hallway, dimly lit.
"The man who fostered us... He... He used to do things to Vivi… Horrible things."
He stood there, frozen in the doorway of a bedroom, his small body trembling. On the bed, his foster father was on top of Vivine. Her body pinned beneath him, and her face turned away in shame. Goblin Slayer’s mouth opened in a silent scream— his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to move, to help her, but he couldn’t. He was too afraid.
‘I’m a monster. But I’m not to blame for that. The world is. This world’s evil. I’m evil. Everything is so evil.’
His scream finally broke free in the present. It was a sound of unfiltered rage and agony— a primal roar that tore from his throat as he threw himself into the next group of monsters. His tomahawk cleaved through bone, ripping goblins apart with savage ferocity. Blood sprayed across his helmet, and still, he kept screaming— his voice echoing across the battlefield, startling even the most hardened of his enemies.
"C… C-Child services finally took her claims seriously..."
"They locked him up. But Vivi... She was terrified of being hurt again— she didn’t want us to be kept in foster care."
"So she... She paid a man to take us to the frontier— a man with three daughters. She was ten. I was six. She thought we could trust him…"
The monsters hesitated, uncertain, their confidence wavering. Some began to back away, others stood frozen in disbelief. The sight of a man so consumed by rage that he seemed unkillable was too much for them.
Goblin Slayer’s vision blurred as another memory tore through him.
"We ended up in a village called “Riverwood”, but… We didn’t know how to build a house… We didn’t know how to grow food— we were just children…"
"So... in exchange for work... And sex... Vivi convinced the man to help us."
He was seated at a dinner table, across from Vivine. She was different now, her face cold and empty, her eyes staring blankly at the plate before her. There was smeared makeup across her lips, and bruises marked her neck. Hickies. He sat awkwardly, his hands shaking as he tried to eat. But he couldn’t stop looking at her.
"She... She became sick— sick in the head…”
"I knew that she always resented me for the fire… But after having to give her body again, and again... She… She couldn’t bear the pain inside…"
Suddenly, her eyes snapped to him, and there was hatred in them. A hatred that chilled him to his core. He whispered her name, “V… V-Vivi,” with his voice trembling, but she stood from the table.
“One night, during dinner... She... She snapped. She attacked me— beat me, and screamed how much she hated me… How it was all my fault.”
In a flash, she sprinted toward him, tackling him to the floor. Her fists rained down on him, each blow punctuated by her screams.
“Why did they have to die?!”
“W-Why couldn’t it have JUST been you?!”
Her shrieks echoed in his mind as his tomahawk slashed through the chest of a drider, the spider-like creature letting out a gurgling hiss before he decapitated it in one clean motion.
"S… She wasn’t wrong… I was the one to blame."
He leaped off its corpse, charging toward a mass of goblins, his tomahawk glowing with charged magic. He hurled the crimson projectile toward them, the energy bisecting them in a flash of light, their bodies falling apart like ragdolls.
But the memories wouldn’t stop.
He saw Vivine standing over the crawlspace in their cottage, the door and windows shaking as imp goblins pounded against them. Her face was pale, her eyes glassy as she knelt beside him.
"S.. She killed herself to escape…”
“Goodnight, Ren.”
SLIT.
“And this… This is your truth. Not the noble sacrifice you’ve concocted in your mind to shield yourself from the unbearable reality. Your sister— your precious Vivine— was a child herself, broken by despair. She loathed giving her future up for you, and thus hated the weight of your existence. In the end, she chose death over saving the both of you.”
"S-She killed herself…! B-Because of me…!”
“You’ve lived your entire life believing that you were somehow responsible for her death— that you needed to avenge her. But now, you see, it wasn’t the goblins who killed her, Ashta; it was your existence that did that— long before those little monsters ever first stepped foot into Riverwood.”
"Her beauty was flawless, captivating in every way. Yet beneath that surface, there was nothing but emptiness. She existed, but did not live. Her smile could dazzle the world, but inside, her heart was silent, hollow— a barren desert hidden behind a painted mask…”
"You didn't survive that night because of her sacrifice. No, you lived because she couldn't bear the burden of you any longer. She left you, Ashta. Left you to face the world, to face the goblins— alone."
“... No one noticed the quiet desolation in her eyes, the way her soul seemed to drift, untethered from the brightness she presented. Beauty had become her prison, and she a prisoner of her own reflection."
“Your sister died like a coward, Ashta. She took her own life... Just to escape the fate your existence brought onto her…"
"And quite frankly, from the looks of it… You’ll inevitably die the same way as her: by your own hand.”
The image seared into his mind as Goblin Slayer ripped through a wave of enemies, his tomahawk carving through flesh and bone as easily as a hot knife through butter. Blood soaked the earth beneath him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The crimson lightning surrounding him crackled with renewed ferocity as he hurtled toward the dark elves who had tried to flank him.
"Despite it all… S-She still tried so hard to make me happy,"
"She’d save up her coins to buy coffee beans, w-whenever a merchant came through… S-She tried— she always tried..."
Another flash. Burglar, his mentor.
“Worthless!”
“You’re nothing but a failure! A disgrace! You couldn’t save her, and now you’re just like one of them— a godless monster!”
The old rhea cackled as he held Goblin Slayer’s head beneath the water, the river’s current rushing around him. “You’re worthless!” Burglar’s voice rang out, mocking him as the boy struggled to breathe. “A piece of shit that’ll dry up in the sun— forgotten!”
The memory collided with the present as Goblin Slayer found himself being lifted off the ground by a Blackwatch Executive: Fire Lord. Flames licked up the teenager’s armor— the melting leather burning his skin beneath, as the dark-elf’s grip tightened around his throat.
The executive’s laughter echoed, his voice deep and cruel. “Is that all you’ve got?!”
But something snapped within Goblin Slayer. The crimson lightning surged through him in a violent wave, exploding outward from his body and staggering the Fire Lord. He hit the ground with a thud, gasping for breath.
‘Yes. This is all that I have. It’s all that I’ll ever have.’
His tomahawk rose, and he began his assault— a flurry of blows that tore into the Fire Lord’s flesh, the flames struggling to keep up with Goblin Slayer’s maddened pace.
“Do you really still think running your own guild during an active war on domestic terrorism is a good idea? All things considered?”
“It… It has to be done— goblins aren’t going to stop because of them, and neither will I.”
“Even if that means you’ll be responsible for the deaths of those who serve under you?”
“… No one’s going to die on my watch. I won’t allow it.”
“Holy SHIT!!! Haha, ah! You know, I thought the same thing when I first became a knight, and I had to start leading poor fuckers to their deaths!”
The Fire Lord screamed as the tomahawk struck him again and again, each hit more vicious than the last. Blood sprayed in every direction as Goblin Slayer’s weapon sank deeper into the Fire Lord’s body. He wasn’t just killing him— he was obliterating him, reducing the once-mighty executive to a broken, bloodied heap.
"YOU BROUGHT US ALL HERE!!! YOU MADE THIS HAPPEN, REN!!! YOU’RE THE REASON FOR YOUR OWN FUCKING MISERY!!!"
With a final strike, Goblin Slayer drove the tomahawk deep into the Fire Lord’s chest, with his opponent let out a gurgling gasp before the light left his eyes.
“She loved you; she wouldn’t want this for you…! No more holding onto her— not like this…!”
"I… I don’t know how…"
"Y-You don’t have to know how— not right away.”
Goblin Slayer stood over the corpse, his chest heaving, his body trembling with exhaustion and rage. Around him, the battlefield was silent, save for the crackling of fire and the distant howls of monsters. Corpses littered the ground—hundreds of thousands of them.
"Just... Starting by letting those who care about you in— no more holding it all in…”
“Even if it seems impossible, you just have to move on— you have to let go of her, even if that takes time…”
His enemies had been slaughtered, their bodies broken and torn apart in a scene of unimaginable carnage.
“Protect him…”
And yet, as Goblin Slayer stood there, surrounded by death, he let out a scream. A long, howling cry of madness and grief, a sound that echoed across the ruined outpost.
"Protect that little boy inside of you that I love. Shield him from the horrors of this world, as I once shielded you."
Author’s Notes: Probably the heaviest, and saddest chapter I’ve written up to date. A culmination of Goblin Slayer’s trauma,coming back to haunt him, with the state of the outpost triggering his PTSD. Smh, this was hard to write lol.
Chapter 42: War (Part III)
Chapter Text
The sun, once a warm orange globe hanging on the horizon, was suffocated behind a veil of smoke— its light barely cutting through the black, rolling clouds. The sky was a twisted, bruised thing, stars blotted out by the ashen blizzard that fell from above. The air reeked of sulfur, char, and death. Ash rained in soft whispers, blanketing the Evergreen Forest in a dull, gray coat.
It drifted down over the trees— clinging to the leaves, and settling onto the battlements of the Forgehart Clan’s stronghold, with its once-proud stone walls now shadowed by ruin.
On the battlements, orcs stood rigid beneath the weight of their heavy orichalcum armor— the blood-red sigils of their clan faintly glowing on their chests and shields. They manned the ballistas, their thick fingers gripping the crossbows and loading bolts with an uneasy calm. Their dark eyes scanned the forest’s edge, towards the cliffs near the base of the Iron Flower Mountains— as if expecting something to crawl out of the haze.
"Quiet," one of them muttered, with their thick tusks jutting out as he strained to listen. Another orc paused mid-reload— his ears twitching.
Then came the sound. A distant whirr, faint at first, but growing louder, sharp, unfamiliar. The orcs’ faces twisted in confusion. It was a sound they did not know— a mechanical screech that seemed alien in the stillness of the woods. But understanding dawned quickly enough. A mortar’s whistle pierced the air. Eyes widened.
BOOM.
The blast tore through the battlements with a deafening roar. One of the orc warriors, positioned at the ballista, was hit directly. His body was engulfed in a hellish blossom of fire, with his armor warping and melting as the incinerating round exploded on contact.
He didn’t even have time to scream— his insides ruptured, with his torso blasted apart as he was thrown from the ramparts, a burning, ragged mess. His body hit the stone streets below with a sickening crack— rolling in flames, still twitching as his flesh charred.
"FALL BACK!!!" One of the surviving orcs barked, his deep voice cutting through the chaos. They abandoned the battlements in droves— heavy footsteps pounding against the stone as they scrambled down the stairwells, and leaving their posts to the growing inferno.
Mortar after mortar rained down— tearing the stronghold apart with every hit. The reinforced steel buildings crumbled under the relentless bombardment— forges collapsed in on themselves as fire licked at their sides, and flames danced across the once-proud streets.
As the orcs fled, desperate to escape the destruction, they were picked off— thunk.
One orc warrior, mid-sprint, jerked back— his helmet cracked as an armor-piercing round drilled through it— spraying blood and brain matter across the street.
Another orc stumbled, the side of his head blown apart by a sniper round, his body crumpling into a heap.
Those still alive raised their crossbows, and began aiming blindly toward the cliffs.
They never got the chance to fire.
Heads exploded with sickening wet pops, bodies collapsing in graphic detail— their skulls nothing but mangled, bloody ruins.
The orcs who survived the initial onslaught fled deeper into the burning stronghold, while ducking and weaving through flames that engulfed their homes. The streets were rivers of fire, with the heat intense enough to scorch the air itself. But there was no time for thought, only instinct— the primal urge to survive pushing them toward the chieftain’s longhouse, where hope still lingered.
They skidded to a halt, breathless, panting, with their weapons raised. But something was wrong.
The bombardment had stopped.
Silence fell over them like a shroud. Confused, they turned back, their eyes darting around in a panic.
“What— What is this…?” One of them murmured— his voice trembling as he raised his crossbow to the sky.
Then they saw it.
Dark shapes emerging from the clouds— descending like wraiths from the sky. They were, black, hulking figures, humanoid, but larger, all encased in armor as dark as the smoke they fell from. The orcs’ blood ran cold.
Black templars.
The first to land came down with the force of a meteor— his power armor impacting the cobbled streets with a thundering crash. The orc nearest him, crossbow aimed shakily at the Templar’s feet, was crushed in an instant— a booted foot slamming down on him, reducing his body to a pulp of splintered bone and shredded muscle.
“IMPERIALS!!!” The orcs cried out, while raising their weapons— trying to fire.
More templars rained down from the sky— each landing with bone-shattering force, and their armor impervious to the flames licking at their feet. Orcs that dared to fight back were slaughtered before they could blink— those who managed to fire their crossbows saw their bolts ping harmlessly off their thick, laminated armor.
The orcs’ defiance lasted mere moments.
The templars raised their rivet rifles, the barrels glowing faintly as they powered up. Then, in a chorus of mechanical whirs, the guns unleashed a torrent of fire.
Six-inch rivets spat from their weapons at a blistering rate— tearing through the orcs in a brutal hailstorm of metal. Blood sprayed in great arcs, with limbs torn clean from bodies as the rivets punched through armor like wet paper. Orcs exploded into bloody chunks, with their bodies liquefied by the sheer volume of rounds. The streets became slick with gore, and the ground soaked in the remains of the fallen.
Overhead, Aldric flew through the sky— the back thrusters of his Full Armored suit glowing with intense energy. His mechanical arms attached to the tops of his massive back module extended out, with each holding a massive laminated shield in front of him— deflecting the barrage of spells cast by the orc shamans rushing out from the longhouse.
The shields shimmered with each impact, but Aldric’s flight path never wavered.
“Engaging hostiles,” Aldric muttered, with his voice calm, almost bored. He glanced down at the shamans, their chanting growing louder, and more desperate.
With a flick of his wrist, the missile defense systems of his back module activated. Small metal flaps opened across his armor as well, and with a mechanical hum, the micro-missiles deployed.
In an instant, they shot down from the sky— a rain of explosive death. The orc shamans had no time to react— the missiles hit them with pinpoint accuracy, detonating in a violent, fiery blaze.
Bodies were torn apart in the blast, and limbs were sent flying as the reinforcements that had flooded the streets were reduced to little more than bloody scraps.
Below, the black templars switched their tactics. Their wrist modules activated with a hiss— spewing streams of magic-infused napalm across the remaining orcs. The fire clung to their skin— melting armor and flesh alike. The air was filled with the agonized screams of orcs as their bodies bubbled and melted, with some collapsing to the ground, writhing as their limbs disintegrated beneath them.
The napalm burned with a heat that was almost sentient, and consumed everything in its path.
Then came a roar— deep and guttural.
Kog’rath, the berserker chieftain of the Forgehart Clan, burst through the flames, with his massive frame alight, but undeterred. His eyes were wild, and dark energy surged through him— wrapping him in a protective shroud. The flames licked at his skin, but he paid them no mind. His battle axe was held high, with black runes pulsing with energy as he barreled toward Aldric— a beast in the midst of the carnage.
“BLACKWOOOOOOOOD!!!” Kog’rath bellowed, with his voice like thunder. He leapt through the air, his axe raised to strike, and the ground shaking with his fury.
Aldric’s eyes narrowed beneath his helmet. Without a word at first, he extended his armored arm. A beam of brilliant yellow light shot from his wrist— extending into a crackling blade.
“The chieftain…? What a welcomed surprise,” Aldric muttered to himself, while watching as Kog’rath hurtled toward him. “And here I thought you’d try to hide from me… Valiant until the end, now aren’t we?”
The air hissed as Aldric activated his back thrusters, propelling himself downward at supersonic speeds— breaking the sound barrier.
Kog’rath’s axe swung wide, missing by a fraction of a second. Aldric landed with Earth-shattering force— cratering the burning streets, with one knee bent, and his arm outstretched. The yellow beam of energy retracted back into his wrist module as quickly as it had appeared.
Behind him, Kog’rath’s body, mutilated and scorched, rained down in pieces— chunks of flesh and bone scattering across the stone.
Aldric rose to his feet, slowly, calmly, the fires of the stronghold flickering around him. His black templars circled, twenty-five figures clad in the same fearsome armor, standing silently amidst the wreckage, with flames reflecting in their visors.
Aldric raised a hand, gesturing toward the burning longhouse. “The reinforcements came from there. Echo Team, investigate the inside. Alpha, Bravo, Charlie Delta—spread out. Search for the chieftain's daughter— a small little runt who was next for the throne.”
The templars then saluted in unison, with their movements sharp, practiced. Aldric’s voice boomed, echoing through the burning ruins.
“For Great Victoria! Glory to the Empire!”
Ash fell like snow, coating the dense, black woods around the Forgehart Stronghold. It drifted down in a steady, silent rain, settling over the platoon stationed in the perimeter.
The soldiers of the Royal Army— their armor dusted in the pale ash— stood guard over their explosive ordinance and mortar launchers, with their faces concealed beneath soot-streaked helmets. The air was thick, oppressive with the scent of smoke, and the eerie quiet made every rustle of the wind feel like a threat.
At the center of the platoon, the knight in charge stood on alert, with their eyes narrowed, scanning the treeline. A lever-action rifle rested in their hands, with the wood stock worn smooth from use. The knight’s armor clinked softly with each movement— their gaze keen, unwavering.
They weren’t just looking— they were listening, their body tensed with anticipation. Something was wrong. The quiet was too deep, too unnatural.
Then they heard it— a faint snap in the underbrush. Their heart skipped. It was subtle, but unmistakable: a tripwire, snapping.
In a heartbeat, the knight swung their rifle to the left, before firing three quick rounds into the darkness— each shot echoing through the stillness like thunder. The soldiers around them stiffened, rifles raised, but they were too late to catch a target in their sights.
Out of the shadows, a slender figure stumbled into view— a female orc rogue, cloaked in black, her green skin blending into the dark of the forest.
Her eyes widened in shock as the magically infused rounds struck her mid-leap. She convulsed violently, with her body writhing and distorting as the enchanted lead coursed through her veins— turning her flesh to brittle ash. In seconds, she collapsed into a pile of dust, scattered by the ashfall.
For a brief moment, silence returned.
Then— WHOOSH.
From the opposite side, two hill goblins hidden in the branches released their explosive bolts— the sharp hiss of projectiles splitting the air. They struck true— slamming into the mortar launcher and the stacked explosive ordinance with brutal precision.
The knight’s reflexes kicked in. Eyes wide, they threw up their free hand, chanting under their breath. A shimmering barrier of light flickered into existence just as the explosives detonated. The blast wave hit them like a hammer, with the ground shaking beneath their feet. Flames and debris shot into the air, consuming half the platoon in an instant.
Shrapnel flew in all directions, with metal and stone embedding themselves into the soldiers caught in the open. Bodies were thrown back, and screams mixed with the deafening roar of the explosion.
The knight, protected by their hastily cast spell, gritted their teeth as the shockwave pushed them back, the barrier holding strong. But the damage was done— their mortar had been destroyed, along with the rest of their 81mm ammunition.
“Over there!” One of the surviving soldiers yelled, while raising their rifle toward the goblins.
The goblins turned to flee into the trees— their small forms agile and quick. But the soldiers opened fire— their bullets tearing through the air.
One goblin was hit square in the back of the head— its body crumpling lifelessly to the ground. The other managed to escape, though not unscathed. A round clipped its shoulder, another lodging painfully into its buttocks— causing the creature to yelp in pain as it disappeared into the underbrush, leaving a trail of blood.
The knight swore under their breath, pushing through the ringing in their ears. They leveled their rifle, ready to give chase, but froze in place, with their breath catching in their throat.
In the distance, other explosions rippled through the forest, followed by the unmistakable crackle of gunfire. Plumes of smoke curled into the dark sky— growing thicker as more mortars went off.
The ground shook beneath them as the sounds of destruction filled the air, and they soon realized with dawning horror that the other platoons— those deployed around the stronghold— were under attack as well.
The knight clenched their jaw, their hand tightening around the rifle stock.
"Goddamn it," they muttered, while looking back at the few soldiers still standing— their faces pale, streaked with soot and blood.
They weren’t the only ones being targeted.
"Form up!" The knight barked. "We’re not done yet!"
Orcs and hill goblins sprinted through the dark forest— their breaths ragged as they fled the burning fires of their sabotage. The ash still fell heavily from the sky, mingling with the thick, choking smoke rising from the explosions they’d caused. They’d done their damage, wrecking the explosive ordnance and mortars, and leaving chaos in their wake.
But now they were being hunted.
One group of orcs barreled through the underbrushAa their large, muscular forms crashing through branches and foliage. They knew the forest well, its paths and hidden trails, but they couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
A faint rustling from above made the leader of the group glance up just in time to see a shadow move in the trees.
“Ambush!” The orc bellowed, while raising his crossbow.
Before he could get a shot off, the crack of rifles echoed through the woods. Bullets ripped through the leaves— striking the orcs. One went down immediately, while clutching his chest as blood poured from the wound.
Another stumbled, his crossbow raised— firing wildly. His bolt found its mark— striking a soldier in the leg, and sending him crumpling to the ground.
But it wasn’t enough.
The rest of the platoon returned fire, and the orcs were cut down one by one, with their bodies thudding to the ground, and staining the forest floor with blood.
Not far away, a group of hill goblins darted through the trees— their smaller, nimbler forms weaving through the underbrush with ease. Their pointed ears twitched at every sound, and their eyes were wide with fear. They thought they could escape, thought they could slip through the chaos and make it back to their hiding spots.
But then, out of the shadows, a knight emerged— tall and imposing, and their armor gleaming even in the dim light of the ashen forest. With a flick of their wrist, the knight cast a frost spell.
The air around them dropped sharply, the cold biting and unnatural. The goblins barely had time to react before the freezing wind swirled around them— encasing them in solid ice. They froze mid-sprint, their twisted forms turned to ice statues that fell forward and shattered into hundreds of pieces on the forest floor.
Elsewhere, the Forgehart Clan’s own warriors retaliated.
Orcs, skilled in guerrilla tactics, moved like shadows through the underbrush. These weren’t the foot soldiers who had been gunned down— they were veterans of the clan, trained for this kind of fight. One group hunkered down beneath a thick canopy of trees, laying in wait as a squadron of Royal Army soldiers passed by with their rifles raised— scanning the area for movement.
The moment the soldiers passed, the orcs pounced— emerging from the shadows with brutal efficiency. They struck with heavy, sharp weapons— the clash of metal echoing through the forest.
One orc caught a soldier in the back with a jagged blade, before dragging him to the ground.
Another leaped from the trees above— an axe swinging in a deadly arc.
But for every orc that struck, there were soldiers ready to fire back. The platoon turned quickly, firing in every direction— dropping orcs left and right. The guerrilla ambush was brutal, but the Royal Army was relentless, with their training and firepower overwhelming the scattered orcs.
Further into the woods, goblins of Delrivkat fared no better.
A small group tried to regroup after a failed ambush— their eyes wide as they saw their fellow goblins lying dead in the dirt. They ran, while darting between the thick trunks of ancient trees, only to be met by another platoon of soldiers who had flanked them.
The goblins raised their weapons in a desperate attempt to fight back, but the knights leading the squad were faster. One knight stepped forward, his armor gleaming with frost, and with a wave of his hand— he cast another spell. The ground beneath the goblins' feet froze solid, trapping them in place as the ice surged up their legs, and with a sickening crack— their bodies shattered as the knights closed in.
In another part of the forest, the Forgehart Clan’s reinforcements had been moving silently— hidden among the dense foliage. They had been biding their time, and were using every tactic they knew to counter the Royal Army's search-and-destroy squads.
They had learned from generations of battle to strike from the shadows— to bleed their enemies slowly, using hit-and-run tactics to wear them down.
But not even that was enough.
Everywhere, the Royal Army's soldiers were relentless— splitting into small, efficient squadrons that hunted down the orcs and goblins with ruthless precision. For every Forgehart warrior that struck from the shadows, a squad of soldiers was ready to respond with deadly force.
The forest, once a haven for the clan, had become a battlefield soaked in blood and littered with corpses.
Amidst the chaos, one squadron of soldiers stood by— watching as their knight reached into his belt and pulled out a flare gun. The crackling of flames surrounded them, and the knight, without hesitation, loaded a flare, aimed toward the sky, and then pulled the trigger.
The flare shot into the darkened sky, bursting into a brilliant red light. As it climbed higher, its glow cut through the thick smoke that billowed from the Forgehart Stronghold.
More flares began to rise across the forest— painting the sky in crimson flashes. From every corner of the battle, signals were shot into the air.
Across the entire Evergreen Forest, black smoke loomed above the trees like a shroud— the fires from the Forgehart Stronghold casting a sinister glow through the thick woods. And now, more and more flares dotted the night— signaling the fall of the clan’s defenses.
On the ground, the knights and soldiers of the Royal Army took no chances. With cold efficiency, they began igniting the very trees around them— using their magic and matchboxes to set the forest ablaze.
Flames then erupted in controlled bursts— racing up the trunks of ancient trees, and crackling and roaring as they consumed the woods.
"Return to East Station!"
The Royal Army then began to pull back— moving in disciplined formation as the flames spread behind them. The inferno would consume whatever remained of the Forgehart Clan’s forces.
Aldric stood at the center of the devastated Forgehart Stronghold, his twenty black templars positioned around him— their heavy armor unmoved by the ash raining down from the sky.
The burning remnants of the stronghold illuminated their glowing red visors, and their towering, imposing figures cast shadows against the flickering flames. Aldric’s cold eyes, hidden behind his helmet, stared upward into the smoky sky. The light from the flares shot into the air reflected off their visors, but something else caught his attention.
The black smoke swirling above the stronghold began to churn unnaturally— coiling in tight, violent spirals. Thunder cracked across the sky, and flashes of lightning illuminated the thick clouds as they converged. The general narrowed his eyes behind his visor.
His helmet’s commlink crackled to life.
"Unnatural weather activity— sensors are picking up high levels of dispersed mana particles," Aldric muttered, with his voice cold and calculative, vibrating through the helmet’s speaker. His approving look faltered— a slight frown crossing his normally stoic face, as the distant sound of an electric guitar strummed through the smoke, with the heavy chords resonating across the battlefield.
The riff was unmistakable— a hauntingly powerful, aggressive tune.
Aldric’s jaw tightened beneath his helmet. The guitar’s sound echoed louder— reverberating across the damaged battlements, and through the stronghold like a battle cry.
“There’s only one explanation,” Aldric stated— his voice hardening with the realization. “They’re here.”
The commlink buzzed again. “Seven o’clock, battlements,” one of the black templars reported in a sharp military tone.
The general and his twenty Templars turned sharply— their attention focused on the burning wall.
There, silhouetted against the fiery backdrop, stood a slender figure atop the battlements. A Flying V guitar hung in their hands, and a large portable amplifier sat at their feet— crackling with static, as the music continued to blare.
Aldric’s eyes narrowed behind his visor as he sized up the figure. “Storm Lord,” he said, with his voice carrying an air of both disdain and grudging respect. “You should’ve stayed a myth.”
Suddenly, a powerful bolt of lightning erupted from the figure’s body— blasting upward into the swirling storm clouds. Remi stood defiantly, with the crackling energy surging from them.
The storm above roared in response, growing into a full-blown typhoon. Rain pelted down in thick sheets, with the winds howling as the once impenetrable smoke from the fires was blown apart.
The sky split with thunder, and the storm consumed the burning forest and stronghold— dousing the flames in an instant. Even the fires at the Maggiore Outpost began to sputter out, as the tempest reached across the land— even causing snow to fall over Matterhorn.
Aldric’s face twisted into a scowl beneath his helmet. He activated his commlink again. "Search for survivors. I’ll deal with Storm Lord myself— stand by until I need further assistance." His voice was resolute— filled with the calm of a seasoned warrior.
He didn’t wait for a response.
The back thrusters of his full-armored suit ignited, propelling him upward at supersonic speed. He broke through the rain-soaked winds— barreling straight toward the battlements where Remi stood, still shredding the electric guitar with unenthusiastic precision.
The slime monster barely looked up from beneath their sunglasses— their face grim and expressionless as the general approached. The music blared from the amp, with the distorted chords echoing over the storm.
“About fuckin’ time,” Remi muttered under their breath, with the corners of their mouth twitching with anger. “Let’s get this shit over with…”
As Aldric’s shoulder-mounted cannon began charging with a yellow glow of energy, the one monster’s body crackled with more cyan lightning, as four massive gelatinous tendrils unraveled from their lower back— stretching outward like predatory appendages. The air between them crackled with tension.
Aldric fired his cannon— unleashing a massive yellow beam of concentrated mana. The blast tore through the battlements— obliterating the spot where Remi had been standing, molten metal spraying everywhere. The impact of the shot caused an explosion that rocked the stronghold, flames surging from the molten debris.
For a moment, it seemed the infamous Storm Lord had finally been slain.
But from the blast, Remi leapt forward— their body enveloped in lightning. Aldric’s reflexes kicked in, and he used his back thrusters to dodge midair, narrowly avoiding the strike of Remi’s tendrils.
With a swift motion, the general’s mechanical arms deployed the laminated shields attached to his back module just in time to intercept the powerful bolt of concentrated lightning Remi fired from their tendrils. The two forces collided— causing a massive explosion of mana and electricity that sent the smoke monster careening down into the burning streets below.
Aldric’s suit shuddered under the force, with his systems momentarily scrambled. “Thrusters compromised— lithuanian-mana reserves, combusted. Fusion-core is still online,” he said coldly into his commlink. “Alpha team, back me up. The rest of you, continue the search for any witnesses.”
“Yes, General,” the black templars replied in unison through the commlink.
Aldric’s fuel source was on fire, but he kept his focus sharp. He aimed for the nearest inner wall of the stronghold’s battlement— twisting in midair to raise his legs and bounce off it. Using the momentum, he activated the remaining ordnance from his back thrusters— sending a hail of missiles streaking toward Remi.
On the ground, Remi’s speed defied comprehension. They sprinted through the streets, faster than any soldier could follow— their tendrils weaving around them in a blur of lightning. Missiles exploded behind themaa tearing apart the cobblestone streets, but the slime monster dodged them with feral agility— growling as they skidded around a corner.
Another beam of yellow mana shot toward them from the general’s shoulder cannon, and Remi barely managed to dive out of the wa— the blast scorching the ground where they had stood moments before.
In response, the slime monster fired another concentrated beam of cyan lightning from their tendrils— aiming directly at their opponent’s descending form.
Aldric’s mechanical arms raised what remained of his shields— the cyan lightning hammering into them with explosive force. But the shields were failing, and in a split second, the general detached his burning backpack module— skidding along the wall of the battlement, as the explosion ripped through the air behind him.
Leaping forward through the chaos, Aldric extended his arm— a magnetic beam sword erupting from his wrist module.
His voice crackled over the commlink as he closed in on the slime monster.
“This is where your reign of infamy ends, Storm Lord,” Aldric declared, his tone cold and absolute.
Echo Team moved with unflinching focus inside the chieftain’s ruined longhouse. The distant sounds of battle roared like a storm outside, but their minds were locked onto their mission.
One of the templars knelt beside the wreckage of the throne, with his heavy power armor creaking as he revealed the reinforced vault door hidden behind it. His wrist module flared with orange runes— carefully tracing the edges of the thick steel door.
"Prepare for breach," his voice crackled through the commlink— cold and calm.
The other four soldiers backed away, with their weapons drawn. The runes glowed brighter, pulsing with raw energy, until a deafening blast blew the door inward. Metal fragments scattered down the stairwell that spiraled deep below the stronghold.
"Clear. Move in."
With disciplined efficiency, the five black templars descended the staircase— their red visors shifting to thermal mode, as they scanned for movement. The corridor opened up into a vast underground bunker. They activated reinforcement spells, with their power armor glowing with a golden sheen as mana enhanced their already formidable defenses.
But waiting for them were orc warriors— armed with massive harpoons and ballistas, backed by shamans who began chanting the moment Echo Team arrived.
The orcs opened fire, and the templars responded without hesitation. Yellow beam sabers shot from their wrist modules— deflecting the incoming harpoons and magical attacks with terrifying precision.
"Engage," the leader commanded— his voice devoid of emotion.
Rivet rounds tore through their ranks— turning warriors into bloody ruins, and pinning their body parts to the walls. The shamans fared no better; their spells were nullified by the templars’ mana-infused photonic shields. Within moments, the bunker floor was drenched in blood— orc bodies riddled with holes and limbs scattered across the steel grates.
"Proceed," the lead templar ordered.
One of them, larger than the others, strode forward with heavy, deliberate steps— his boots crushing what remained of the fallen. He approached the massive vault door at the far end of the room— its surface unmarred, despite the carnage.
His wrist module flared to life, and a yellow beam saber extended as he began to cut a large section of the door.
His visor detected a faint protective ward, but the templars had already planned for that. They were methodical, relentless, bypassing it as the saber slowly melted through the thick steel.
No heat signatures were visible behind the door— nothing alive, at least.
When the molten metal finally gave way, the templar kicked the door inward, but as it swung open, a sudden bolt of electromagnetic energy struck him square in the chest. His armor’s systems flickered, and within seconds, the servos locked up.
The electronics fried, and his power armor became a dead weight.
“Suit malfunction! Man down!" One of the templars shouted as they rushed to his aid, but it was too late.
The lead Templar’s suit collapsed, leaving him vulnerable. A pale arm reached out from the darkness of the compromised vault door— a translucent blue mana blade forming from the figure’s hand.
“Stand down,” the remaining templars ordered, their voices steady, but even they couldn’t help but feel the rising tension.
As the figure stepped into the dim light of the bunker, the surviving templars braced themselves. Standing before them was a woman— her body wrapped in tight black raiments that clung to her every curve. Her large, plump breasts strained against the fabric, accentuating her figure, but it was her manic grin and wild, glowing eyes that commanded the most attention.
Arc Mage.
Her hair crackled with energy, and her voice, while light and almost sweet, carried the weight of someone utterly confident in their power.
"Well now, isn't this fascinating?" She purred, with her eyes gleaming with excitement. "You know, I’ve always had a thing for EMPs. Electromagnetic pulses. Oh, they’re just delightful. You see, they’re bursts of electromagnetic radiation, and when they interact with electrical systems— bam! Instant overload. They pass through photonic barriers like yours with ease, disrupting any circuit they touch.”
The Templars raised their rifles, but Arc Mage merely tilted her head, her hand still glowing with the ethereal blade. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you! You’ll miss,” she teased.
The templars then opened fire, but as if mocking them, the volley of rivets narrowly missed her every time. Even when their aim was perfect, Arc Mage twisted gracefully— avoiding the shots. With a single, swift motion, she lunged forward— piercing the fallen templar’s armor with her mana blade.
His body dissolved into ash, with his armor collapsing with a hollow clang.
“Now, where was I?” Arc Mage continued, while pacing slowly in front of the remaining templars— her hips swaying with each step.
One of the Templars growled and rushed her, his beam blade aimed for her head. He moved faster than human eyes could track, but his strike hit nothing but air. An afterimage shimmered where Arc Mage had been.
“Ah yes, the beauty of quantum mechanics. You see, afterimages? They’re about quantum superposition— being in more than one place at once! Kind of like Schrödinger’s cat, but more fun.” She winked, her grin widening, as she moved yet again just in time to avoid narrowly getting decapitated by the black templar’s follow up attack.
“Oops! You fell for the same trick twice in a row— how embarrassing!” she giggled, now standing behind him with her hand casually resting on his power pack. “Your suit’s steam-cooled fusion-core is impressive, but… Not cool enough to withstand this,” Her hand glowed brighter, and another EMP burst out from her palm— frying the templar’s systems.
His suit froze, and in one swift movement, Arc Mage stabbed him through the chest with another one of her ethereal blades— reducing him to ash like the first.
She then raised her hand, and the napalm that the surviving templars began trying to use against her was starting to swirl in her palm.
“See, thermal dynamics is the next thing I wanted to chat about,” she continued, looking at the remaining three soldiers. “Heat? It’s just energy moving from one place to another. And stars? They’re nothing more than giant balls of fusion. You know what happens when you compact enough energy into one spot?”
The room lit up with an intense, glowing heat, her grin growing wider.
“… A nova,” she whispered— before the star exploded outward in a violent flare, engulfing the room.
The intense heatwave disintegrated the templars' armor systems— reducing their advanced technology to scrap, and leaving their bodies as nothing but charred ash.
Arc Mage let out a long sigh— looking around the room with a pleased smile. Her fingertips pressed together, she admired her work. “You zealots would’ve known all of this by now, had you’d just let me publish my goddamn textbooks.”
She paused, with her grin softening as she gazed at the wreckage. “Well, five black templars down… And I didn’t even get to finish the lecture. Shame.”
As she stepped over the remnants of the soldiers, Arc Mage grinned to herself— running her fingers through her hair. “Ah, but Juliet is down here, you see,” she mused, looking toward the deeper parts of the bunker. “And I can’t let my star pupil get hurt, now, can I?”
Chapter 43: War (Part IV)
Chapter Text
The blizzard swept through Matterhorn like a wrathful specter— snow blowing sideways across the encampment’s walls, and piling in thick drifts around the military base.
Cauldrons filled with burning logs illuminated clusters of soldiers that were gathered around with gloved hands extended toward the flames— steam rising from their breaths, as they muttered to one another. Some drank from flasks, exchanging grim stories, while others tightened the fur around their hoods— bracing themselves against the cold.
Further along, knights on patrol conjured small flames in their palms— lighting their way and warming themselves, as they marched along the stone ramparts encircling the camp.
A dark-skinned half-elf cleric, her cheeks flushed from the cold, moved quietly through the snow-covered streets. Wrapped in a thick white peacoat that hugged her plus-size, curvy figure, and with a knit snow hat pulled over her head, she cradled a tray of steaming coffee and a plate of cookies.
She passed a squad of patrolling soldiers— exchanging a nod with the officer leading them before continuing her way. Along the path, wolfkin and snow foxkin dressed in slave attire shoveled snow into piles— their movements slow and weary. They looked up at the cleric, their eyes wary, and with a subtle nod, she signaled them; at once, they glanced over their shoulders and dispersed, before finding places to take cover— sensing something was about to change.
The cleric soon arrived at the repurposed town hospital— an imposing building with traditional woodwork and quaint carvings that gave it an old-world charm. Snow clung to its timbered exterior, while the windows were frosted from the storm outside. She entered the lobby, where soldiers were stationed, with their rifles strapped across their shoulders.
The knight in charge sat behind the reception desk, pen in hand, and with a novel lying open beside his paperwork. He looked up as she approached, with his eyes brightening with a playful glint.
"Are those cookies and coffee for me?" He asked with a grin.
"Only if you’re well-behaved," she replied, while smirking back as she passed him.
The knight laughed and offered a casual salute before waving her on, with his focus returning to his papers.
The cleric slipped through the double doors and down the narrow corridors of the hospital, where doctors, nurses, and clerics bustled about. Electric cables were taped along the wood-paneled walls— feeding into flickering fluorescent lights installed in the ceiling that added an odd modernity to the traditional architecture.
Reaching the end of the hall, she opened a door to a narrow spiral staircase and carefully began her descent, all while still holding the tray close to her ample breasts. Her plump curves jostled slightly as she took each step, and she adjusted the tray, her breath steadying as she finally stepped into the crowded basement.
The room was lined with hospital beds, each occupied by a woman rescued from earlier horrors— their faces weary but grateful. Clerics and nurses moved between the beds, tending to wounds and offering soft reassurances.
The half-elf cleric walked to the far corner, where a tall woman lay with pale skin, gray eyes, and long, unkempt green hair. She was athletic, though lean, and exuded an aura of poise even while reclined.
“Your Highness,” the cleric greeted through a barely audible whisper, before bowing as she set the tray on the woman’s bedside.
The woman looked up, her enigmatic smile stretching across her face. She began unwrapping a roll of bandages, while methodically binding her chest. "Ah, so you’ve brought me a little refreshment. Very thoughtful," she murmured, her tone rich with amusement. And without looking away from her task, she asked the dark-skinned half-elf, “Has the prince and his royal court reached Evergreen?”
The cleric straightened and nodded, with her voice dutiful. "Yes, Your Highness."
The woman’s eyes gleamed with approval, while her smile deepened. "Perfect. The stage has been set; the players assigned their parts. And now, the final act of this grand play awaits its unveiling— each scene unfolding as it must… Each step toward the culmination of fate itself."
She then finished wrapping her chest and poured herself a cup of coffee, dunking a cookie before taking a bite— savoring the boiling liquid without so much as a wince.
She stood, stretching her arms high above her head— her slender yet powerful form radiating control. “Give these poor girls my best in my absence— ensure that they have safe passage when I'm through,” she commanded with a hint of mockery, though the cleric nodded obediently— bowing before stepping back.
The woman then wrapped more bandages around her waist, covering her pelvis with practiced precision. She picked up another cookie, devouring it in one bite before striding across the crowded basement— her expression almost contemptuous, as she waved at the traumatized women around her.
A nurse hurried over, with concern evident in her eyes. “M-Ma’am, please, you need res-”
The woman paused, and began studying the nurse with a hint of approval. Her voice dropped into a softer tone, almost reverent, as she began speaking to her.
“Ah, how little we appreciate restoration magic; the hands that mend when all else falls to ruin. If only the Pendragon Empire had raised its soldiers in the ways of rebirth and resilience, perhaps Azura would never have abandoned her only begotten daughter— leaving her to gather the scattered pieces of this broken world.” Her words were a melody, as if plucked from sacred scripture.
The nurse stared back at her— baffled. “I… I don’t understand. W… Wh-What are you saying, ma’am?”
A cryptic grin crossed the woman’s face, as her voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “So long as you and the others remain within these walls, no harm shall find you.”
The nurse proceeded to step back— left stunned, as the woman brushed past her.
In one smooth motion, she pick-pocketed a roll of gauze from the nurse’s apron— winding the fresh bandage around her face, as she ascended the staircase.
The bandaged woman strode down the hospital corridors upon reaching ground level— her hidden expression serene yet charged with something fierce. Doctors and medical staff rushed to her— their concerned voices calling after her, some attempting to stop her.
“Miss, do you need help? You shouldn't be up-"
Another doctor stepped in front of her, with his hands raised in a gesture of caution. "Please, let us examine you. This isn’t safe.”
The woman’s grin widened behind the bandages— her eyes flashing. “Safe? Safety is for those who fear the end. But, what of those who crave it?” Her cryptic response left them silent as she swept past them— leaving the medical staff to exchange bewildered glances as they followed her, with the weight of her words unsettling them.
She continued her steady pace until she reached the lobby— pushing through the double doors with the doctors and nurses still trailing in her wake. The soldiers stationed there looked up, with attention drawn to the unusual sight of the bandaged woman marching with purpose, and medical staff following anxiously. The knight behind the desk glanced up, brow furrowing, and straightened in his seat.
One doctor moved forward, pleading with the soldiers. “Subdue her, please! I believe she’s in the throes of a psychiatric episode!”
The woman chuckled, a rich, sinister sound that filled the room. She tilted her head, her bandages hiding her expression save for the flash of her eyes. “Mad? Why, I’ve always been a little unhinged— this isn’t new for me, I assure you all,” she purred.
Her eyes then gleamed behind her bandages, and with a horrifying swiftness, the soldiers’ heads exploded in unison— a burst of red painting the walls and ceiling as their bodies slumped to the ground.
Even the knight behind the desk slumped forward with his eyes empty, and chunks of his gray matter splattered against the wall behind his chair. The unreal sigh of death made doctors and nurses shriek, with their terror driving them to flee back through the double doors— vanishing down the halls as the woman stepped calmly into the raging blizzard outside.
Barefoot and unfazed by the snow, she made her way across the encampment— the ice crunching beneath the soft soles of her petite feet. With a roll of her shoulders, she popped her neck— a low, amused growl slipping from her throat as she fixed her sights on the nearest patrol of soldiers led by a knight.
Her steps, though measured, exuded confidence and power that sent a shiver through the knight, as he took in her nearly naked figure bound in little more than bandages.
He raised a brow, tightening his grip on his revolver. “Halt! What bloody nonsense is this?! Return to your quarters, woman,” He commanded, though his voice was wary as he spoke, with his eyes flickering with a mix of confusion and suspicion.
She said nothing, her silent smile widening beneath the bandages. The knight scowled, motioning for his soldiers to take aim with their rifles. “I said halt! If you move any closer, I’ll be authorized to open fire!” he barked, with his revolver pointed squarely at her.
She tilted her head, with her mocking laughter carrying over the wind. “I do hope you don't miss your shot then, sir knight!”
He then steadied his hand, with his finger brushing the trigger. But before he could fire, the woman released a massive mana burst— a high-yield explosion of cyan and pink light erupted from her, casting a pillar of shimmering energy that shot through the clouds and into the atmosphere, illuminating the entire Iron Flower Mountains with a radiant glow.
In an instant, the knight and his squad were reduced to nothing more than charred silhouettes against the snow. The ground around her lay scorched, the snow melted, and everything within a fifty-meter radius lay in ruins— save for the hospital, which remained untouched.
Knights and soldiers across the camp looked up in horror, with their mouths agape as they looked up in the wake of the massive burst of mana, where they bore witness to the colossal dragon that hovered above them on blackened wings that radiated cyan light.
The soldiers gasped, their hands trembling as one among them managed to stammer, “A… A-Albion…!”
Others echoed his words, with. their voices filled with dread. As they scrambled to engage, Albion let out a mighty roar; her body a massive force of power cloaked in metallic black scales, with each scale edged with cyan light that glowed between the gaps. Her hundred-fifty-meter-long frame floated effortlessly above them, with her aura oppressive and unyielding.
The knight at the forefront steadied himself, raising his rifle in a shaky hand. “Hold your ground! Aim for its eyes!” His men, though visibly terrified, took aim— unleashing a barrage of gunfire and spells, each shot rattling the air. Yet Albion barely flinched. Her throat began to pulse with an intense pink glow, and she soon let out a guttural growl while charging a powerful spell.
Time seemed to slow, and the very fabric of reality trembled around her, as Albion unleashed a devastating beam of cyan and pink energy. The beam cut through the soldiers— vaporizing them where they stood, with their bodies and the snow beneath them melting away.
The ground itself cracked open, fissures forming and widening as magma bubbled up— pouring out in fiery rivers that streaked across the icy landscape.
Albion darted across the sky at a speed faster than sound— tearing through the air and leaving distorted trails in her wake that slowly mended themselves as she flew.
Her beam swept over the encampment, turning its buildings and defenses to nothing but rubble and ash. The soldiers on the ground scrambled, with some standing their ground to fight, while others attempted to flee. But wherever they ran, Albion’s gaze followed— her devastating beams reducing them to smears across the earth.
By the time the last soldier was reduced to nothing, Albion’s beam had carved a smoldering crater in the Iron Flower Mountains where Matterhorn once stood.
The blizzard continued to rage, with snow swirling around the remnants of the base, and yet the hospital and the surrounding ground remained untouched— the sole monument left standing amid the devastation, just as Albion had promised.
Remi’s typhoon continued to rage over the Evergreen Forest— causing lightning to crack through the dense treetops, followed by roars of thunder that seemed to shake the very ground. Sheets of rain fell hard, cascading down from the pines in cold rivulets, as thick plumes of wet ash clung to the dark green needles. Under the relentless downpour, a small band of figures made their way silently through the woods.
High Elf Archer took careful steps near the front of the group, with her longbow at the ready, and her sharp gaze piercing through the shadows. The hood of her brown cloak was pulled low over her mint-green hair, which curled damply over her pointed ears.
She moved with a hunter’s grace— pausing to listen to the unnatural silence between the drumbeats of rain and distant rumbles of thunder. The darkness cloaked the forest in near-total blackness, save for the occasional silver flash that highlighted their faces for a brief, surreal moment.
Ahead of her, D’Arce marched in the lead— her armor gleaming faintly even in the storm, with each raindrop tapping steadily on her helmet, as she moved with determined strides. Her red-glowing broadsword cast a faint light against her form— just enough to show the slick surface of her shield strapped across her forearm.
She carried herself with muscular confidence, with her powerful frame moving in smooth, battle-tested motions. As she led the way, her robust figure was hard not to notice— Dwarf Shaman, bringing up the rear, occasionally found his gaze drifting to the impressive curve of her toned backside.
Beside the dwarf walked Lizard Priest, his bone saber gripped firmly in his clawed hand, and his yellow, reptilian eyes alert. His bare scales glistened in the rain as he scanned their surroundings— a primal awareness evident in his every move.
In the center of the group, a petite figure in a purple hooded cloak kept close— head bowed to keep the storm from soaking her concealed face. The green hue of her skin was just visible under the shadow of her hood, her mouth a thin, silent line beneath the silhouette of elongated ears that poked through the fabric.
High Elf Archer narrowed her eyes, with her senses honed for the slightest movement. The rain softened her footsteps, and her bow was raised and ready as she murmured, "It’s too quiet. No animals, no night sounds."
Dwarf Shaman nodded, adjusting his grip on the slingshot in his hand. “Aye, it’s unsettling. With the storm like this, ya’d think we’d at least hear the crashin’ of some poor beast." He glanced at D’Arce’s armored back, brow furrowed. "What d’ya think? Could the Royal Army have pulled back?”
The captain glanced over her shoulder, with her expression masked beneath the shadow of her helmet. “The flares would indicate retreat, yes. But with Storm Lord conjuring this monsoon after the fire, and Aldric’s many contingencies in place… I can’t be sure.” She replied with her voice steady— a calm authority that kept the others focused, even in this haunted silence.
Lizard Priest cocked his head, his forked tongue darting out momentarily as he scanned the shadows. "What exactly are we looking for here?"
“Any sign of light,” D’Arce replied, her eyes trained ahead. “The Prince and his Royal Court wouldn’t be sneaking through the woods. They’d want the Royal Army— and anyone else nearby— to know exactly who they are.” Her jaw was set with determination, and though her posture was stiff and wary, she kept her steps measured and soundless.
They continued on in silence, each step swallowed by the soft earth beneath the trees. The dark woods seemed to press in on them from all sides— the usual life and rustling leaves replaced with an oppressive stillness. Occasional whispers of lightning illuminated their surroundings— casting distorted shadows and briefly highlighting the drenched branches, heavy with the weight of water and ash.
High Elf Archer’s grip tightened on her bow, while her eyes scanned the silhouettes around them. Her senses strained, with the only sounds of their own breathing and the relentless patter of rain as the storm raged on, as lightning flickered like a distant reminder of the fury just beyond the trees.
Suddenly, her body went rigid, and her eyes widened as she caught the faintest brush of fabric against a hard surface in the near distance— a noise so soft that it was nearly lost beneath the roar of the typhoon.
“I hear-” she began to whisper, only to jolt violently as a gunshot rang out directly behind them— echoing like a crack of thunder.
All of them spun around just in time to see the purple glow of a bullet suspended mid-air— embedded in D’Arce’s force-field. The bullet hung there, spinning slightly, held back by a thin shimmer of golden light that pulsed in the rain-soaked darkness.
Lizard Priest stepped closer, his eyes wide as he marveled at the sight of the bullet frozen in place. "By the scales..." he muttered, while mesmerized by the unnatural way the bullet remained lodged in the thin film of the captain’s magic.
D’Arce’s eyes narrowed with sudden awareness. "Mel! Fire of eight arrows, one-hundred twenty degrees— seven o’clock, now!"
Without hesitation, High Elf Archer raised her bow, before releasing a burst of eight arrows in a sweeping arc aimed blindly into the direction D’Arce had called. Just as the arrows left her bow, they pierced through the shimmering shield from the inside— shooting into the rainy shadows of the forest.
In that instant, the faint sound of whirling sliced through the rain.
High Elf Archer's sharp eyes caught the briefest glimpse of six white, angular shapes zigzagging through the forest. "What in the-!" She gasped, with her voice laced with fear as six beams of yellow light shot out— intercepting her arrows mid-flight. They exploded in bursts of light, with each arrow obliterated in an instant, though D’Arce’s powerful force-field held firm against the chaotic blasts that crashed against it like waves on a rocky shore.
The captain’s expression hardened, with fury simmering in her eyes even as she held herself composed. "Haman!" She roared, her voice echoing through the storm. "Stand down— that’s an order!"
Only silence answered her, but D’Arce’s instincts screamed a warning as the remaining rounds from Haman’s invisible weapon fired with lethal precision into one single point of her force-field.
The glow around the impact site wavered, with the barrier weakening as the force intensified, and the power coalescing into a single, deadly strike. Just as D’Arce processed this, a barrage of beams fired from the six floating shapes— all directed at that one vulnerable spot in her shield.
"Hit the deck!" D’Arce shouted, before lunging forward with lightning speed to shield the hooded green-skinned girl from the incoming attack.
High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman barely had time to register her words before a piercing beam of mana tore through the air— searing toward them in a blinding arc of yellow light.
Lizard Priest’s eyes went wide, with horror dawning on his face as he registered the concentrated blast aimed directly at him. The beam struck him with a devastating impact— driving him backward as it burned through his chest.
His gaze filled with shock and fear, helpless as the searing energy blew through his torso, tearing flesh from bone in a gruesome display. High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman could only watch in horror as their comrade’s body was blasted apart— scorched fragments of him scattering through the drenched forest.
A silence hung in the air, broken only by the muffled drum of the typhoon as the rest of the team struggled to process the brutality of the attack. The rain washed over them, with the smell of scorched flesh lingering amidst the ash and storm, as D’Arce tightened her grip on her shield, fury blazing in her eyes.
High Elf Archer lay on the ground, shell-shocked, her breath shallow and her body numb. Her wide eyes, glistening with silent tears, were locked onto the smoldering remains of Lizard Priest— his mutilated body spread across the wet forest floor.
She wanted to look away, but the shock anchored her in place— her mind swirling with anguish, fear, and a gnawing guilt. Her chest ached with the weight of it all, unable to even process the brutal loss of her friend.
“J… J-Jaree…?”
In front of her, D’Arce was already in motion— a golden aura blazing around her armored form. She muttered an incantation, her body glowing as her defense spell marked her as a target. Her eyes burned with fierce, white light, honing in on Haman’s silhouette in the distance, a figure made clearer against the dark as her summons—those cursed funnels—began circling D’Arce, weaving unpredictable patterns of deadly light.
“Bhaston, get them out of here,” D’Arce commanded, with her voice steely as she deflected a hail of beams with her shield— each strike shuddering against her force-field. “Go now— I’ll hold her off!”
High Elf Archer remained frozen, but the captain’s voice cut through the fog— urging them to move. “DOUBLETIME, MELIAMNE!!!” She shouted from the top of her lungs, before sidestepping and parrying beams. With a powerful leap, the captain slashed through one of the funnels— the burst of yellow mana exploding around her, but her defense spell held, absorbing the impact.
Not far away, Haman cracked open her revolver before calmly loading six rounds into the chamber with a telekinetic flick. She locked eyes with D’Arce from across the battlefield, a concentrated scowl appearing across her blue eyes, as she wrestled against the spell’s grip compelling her to engage in single combat.
Dwarf Shaman turned to High Elf Archer, his expression torn between anger and heartbreak as he helped her to her feet. He managed to keep his hands steady, though his heart was pounding with fear for their friend.
As they took their first steps to retreat, the sudden crack of a gunshot sliced through the rain-drenched air. The bullet whizzed toward High Elf Archer’s head, but D’Arce intercepted with a swift shield parry, and deflected the bullet— only to be struck from behind by a funnel’s beam.
The blast melted through her armor— carving a molten hole, and revealing her broad, muscled shoulder. Her defense spell held just enough to protect her skin, though the scorched metal still radiated with heat— searing close to her flesh.
“GO!!!” D’Arce barked, while gritting her teeth as she cleaved through another funnel in one sweeping motion. “Don’t come back for me!”
Dwarf Shaman’s face contorted with frustration and pain— his voice breaking as he cursed under his breath, “D-Damnit…!” He then gathered High Elf Archer and the hooded green-skinned girl— gripping their arms tightly. Feeling both fury and shame gnawing at him, he turned and began to pull them away, with his heart shattering as he left D’Arce and Lizard Priest’s scattered remains behind.
Each step through the storm-filled forest felt heavier than the last, with his guilt nearly overwhelming. He shed silent tears, feeling like a coward. Yet he knew it was the only way— the only chance they had of ensuring their sacrifices weren’t in vain— even as the sounds of battle faded into the raging storm behind them.
D’Arce moved with unyielding precision, sidestepping through the torrents of light and fury as beams fired from Haman’s circling funnels— each deflected by her shield or splintered into sparks by her enchanted blade.
Her sword, glowing red with searing magic, cut the air in arcs— each swing tearing through her opponent’s magic like a song of steel and fire. With a swift twist, she shattered the final funnel, but her senses stayed sharp, with her eyes locking onto the dark forest as the lieutenant’s form flickered in and out like a shadow— her invisibility cloak stuttering with the strain of her speed.
Ahead, Haman’s voice seemed to echo from all around, mocking and angry. “Do you know how long I looked up to you? How much I wanted to be like you?” Her tone turned dark, edged with venom. “And yet here you stand— faithless, a traitor to those you swore to protect!”
But D’Arce only narrowed her eyes, her stance poised, centered. “I know where my loyalty lies, Haman,” she answered, her voice a low, resolute calm. “And it’s with the people we’ve been condemning to suffer. But it doesn’t have to stay that way— we can change that.”
With a scream of frustration, the lieutenant flung herself forward— her soul blades igniting like twin pillars of golden flame. But her charge was a mirage— D’Arce’s instincts caught the illusion before it faded, with her shield snapping back to deflect Haman’s true attack from behind, a move so swift it struck with a shower of sparks.
Haman stumbled back, gritting her teeth. “You always did know my every move,” she spat, with her face twisted with raw hatred and hurt.
“That’s because I taught them to you,” D’Arce said, her voice still steady— her eyes fixed on her pupil with an unwavering sadness. “But you’ve blinded yourself to the things that matter… And I have myself to blame for th-.”
“-Shut your mouth!” Haman snarled, before striking out with a savage intensity. Her soul blades clashed with D’Arce’s shield— each blow a mix of rage and agony. “I followed you for years! You gave me something to believe in! To fight for! And now you just throw it all away?! TO THROW ME AWAY?!?”
D’Arce’s voice softened. “I used to believe what we were doing here was delivering justice. But I’ve failed to see the truth, until it was too late— I’ve failed you, Haman. I have failed you. But I won’t let you destroy yourself for a lie!”
The lieutenant ‘s face twisted further— raw emotion breaking through her mask of anger. “What gives you the right to decide that for me?!” She retired with a shaky voice— her eyes bright with unshed tears. “You raised me to be strong, to push my emotions down deep inside, all them wither inside for what you said was for the greater good— and now you tell me that’s all wrong?!” She swung her blades furiously, each strike stronger and sharper— driving D’Arce back step by step. “THAT I’M ALL WRONG?!?”
D’Arce countered, with her blade dancing between each attack— their weapons clashing in a symphony of steel and light. “No, Haman! I was the one who was wrong for raising you that way! I was wrong to make you believe that duty to the Empire was everything!”
Haman let out a bitter laugh, her face twisted in anguish. “And where was that wisdom when I needed it?! When you filled my head with oaths and vows?! When you said we’d stand together, no matter what?!”
“Look around you!” D’Arce shouted, her voice ringing with conviction as she parried another relentless strike. “Do you see what the Empire’s become? What it’s doing to the people we swore to protect and serve?! What it’s doing to you?”
Haman’s jaw clenched, with her eyes ablaze with fury. She lunged forward with a desperate speed— pressing D’Arce back as her voice broke with anger and pain. “I don’t care about the people! They never cared about me when I needed them! This-” She gestured furiously between them, her soul blades crackling in her hands. “-This is what matters— this is all that’ll ever matter to me, because this is all I have left, Captain!”
D’Arce’s gaze softened, and her next words were barely above a whisper. “Haman… You’re more than a soldier or a pawn in someone else’s war. Your sins aren’t yours to carry— they’re my burden for me to bear, not yours…”
“I… I did this to you. I turned that poor, heartbroken little girl you used to be into… Into what you’ve become. I twisted your need for love, your need for a mother, against you— transformed you into a reflection of my own hubris… I’m sorry, Haman— I’m sorry.”
Haman’s rage faltered for a moment, with her expression shifting as if the words struck somewhere deep— somewhere raw. But the bitterness returned just as quickly, her hands tightening around her soul blades. “Y-You don’t get to say that…! You don’t get to tell me you love me like a daughter, and then throw me away when it’s convenient!”
“I never meant to throw you away,” D’Arce said, her tone even but laced with regret. “I left because Zemuria needed me to act on its behalf… And beyond the scope of what I’ve done wrong— what we’ve done wrong— you and I still have a duty to protect these people. We can fix this, Haman— we can fix what the Royal Army’s done to us, and to those living on the frontier.”
Haman’s response was an anguished scream, as she brought her soul blades down with a force that shook the ground. D’Arce raised her shield, but the impact reverberated through her— the soul blades blazing dangerously close to her face. For a moment, D’Arce caught the glimmer of tears in Haman’s eyes.
“DON'T YOU GET IT?!?! Y-YOU CAN’T FIX US, CAPTAIN!!!” Haman yelled, her voice raw. “Because of you, my hands are stained forever with the blood of those who YOU told me were my enemies! Who YOU told me were all just collateral damage! That doesn’t go away, Captain— no matter how many sorrys you throw at my feet!”
D’Arce pushed her back, her gaze unwavering. “Haman, enough! You were just following orders— those deaths aren’t on you! None of them are! You don’t know better— let me help you!”
“Don’t talk you DARE down to me!” Haman’s voice was cracking now— the anger mingling with a hurt that seemed to bleed from every word. She took a step back, and D’Arce watched her, heart heavy, as the lieutenant’s hands began to tremble.
“You can’t just say you’re sorry, and make it all better with sweet words,” Haman whispered— her voice nearly breaking. “You raised me for this… This is all I have, Captain… This is all I’ll ever have.”
“Haman…” D’Arce took a step forward, her face soft with regret and compassion. “I’ve… I’ve hurt you— I’ve hurt you… Please, just… Let me help you. I can get you the help you need— I can kill that monster inside you that my hands sowed.”
Haman’s hands tightened on her blades, with her face twisting with a mixture of rage and heartbreak. “You think your regret means anything…?! You think it changes what horrible things we’ve done…?!” Her soul blades began to crackle with energy, and D’Arce braced herself—- eyes meeting the lieutenant’s with a steady gaze.
Haman’s voice came out choked, her words nearly breaking under the weight of her own anguish. “Y-You may have found a way out, but what about me…? Where's my salvation…?”
For a moment, they stood there, a chasm of pain and betrayal between them, with both of them holding weapons yet restrained by memories, by regrets, by something neither could fully say. And in that silence, it was as if the forest, the storm, the violence— all of it had faded, leaving just two people who had once meant everything to each other, who now found themselves on opposite sides of a war that had fractured everything they had shared.
D’Arce lowered her sword just slightly, her voice barely a whisper. “Then let me be your way out, Haman… Let me take you away from all of this.”
Chapter 44: War (Part V)
Chapter Text
The forest was a rain-drenched maze, with shadows twisted by the storm as Arthur led his Royal Court forward— each stride deliberate, and with Excalibur ready in his hand, as he sliced through overgrown branches. Rain poured through the trees, drumming against armor, and wet ash clung to everything— leaving them painted in shades of dark gray, as they moved deeper into the wilderness.
Spy, illuminating the path with a flashlight, grumbled as a gust of wind nearly blew her hood off. “What’d I miss in the forest’s weather cast? Did it say anything about there being a second coming of Earth Mother?!”
Cardinal gave a small laugh with the Pendragon banner clenched in one hand, and his golden-silver staff in the other— somehow managing to keep both steady despite the rough terrain.
“That’s silly…! But if we’re being serious, then it would be safe to say that this storm is the handiwork of, uh… You know? S-Storm Lord,” the redhead said with an amused grin across his lips, before becoming more methodical as he lowered his gaze ever so slightly. “As a matter of fact, I could’ve sworn I heard a guitar from the direction of Forgehart Stronghold, right before this storm hit… All signs are pointing to them being responsible for the weather, aren’t they?”
Spy threw him a look, half-amused, half-skeptical. “So what are you suggesting? You think Storm Lord’s trying to take on the Royal Army? The most selfish, and least charitable living thing in all of Zemuria, purposefully painting themselves as a target for Blackwood and the templars to find them— ALL for the sake of helping the orcs?!”
Cardinal smiled, a twinkle in his eye as he looked at her. “While most wouldn’t put it past Storm Lord to do something so… Provocative, and be so reward motivated, I personally think there’s more to it than that,” the redhead mused, before smirking methodically as he suggested, “I believe there's a strategic purpose behind this storm.”
She tilted her head, bemused. “What sort of advantage would there be to summoning weather that negatively hinders everyone caught in it? Including the orcs themselves?”
“To put out the fires— to prevent the forest from burning,” Arthur interjected, while brushing aside more thick brush with swift, precise strikes of Excalibur. “Storm Lord’s tactics aren’t just reactionary. They’re likely aware of General Blackwood’s strategies— and that kind of insight had to come from somewhere.”
Spy shrugged, while giving an idle wave with her flashlight. “I guess that makes sense… They could’ve tortured the information out of Captain D’Arce for all we know. She could have had insider knowledge about Blackwood’s plan, before she left to “negotiate” with the Forgehart Clan.”
Arthur paused, with his gaze darkening as he glanced at her. “You really think that’s what happened to her?”
Cardinal cleared his throat, while attempting a reassuring smile, as he tightened his grip on the staff. “I disagree, Arthur. Captain D’Arce would have been no stranger to resilience, if that truly were the case. Every knight’s trained to withstand interrogation methods. They’d sooner bite their tongue than betray the Empire. Some would even use a spell to…” He trailed off hesitantly, with his smile turning uneasy. “Well, you know, if the situation was… Beyond hope.”
Spy’s expression soured, with her brows knitting together. “Sure, sure. They’d do that… To “keep their oath”. Or maybe, just maybe, they’d rather take themselves out than face another round of agony— like any sane person would do.”
Arthur chuckled uneasily— hoping to dispel the grim air. “Let’s… Not dwell on it. I’d rather not imagine anyone, for that matter, under Storm Lord’s “hospitality”.”
Spy gave him a skeptical eyebrow lift. “Look, if Storm Lord didn’t wring it out of her, then she must’ve given it willingly.” She suggested, while eyes grew narrow— sparking with suspicion. “And think about it… Didn’t Blackwood himself mention something about her willingly going inside the stronghold, and never coming back… If that’s the case, then it’s more than likely that she warned them about Blackwood’s plans.”
Cardinal’s brow furrowed, the edge of uncertainty in his eyes. “Maybe… Blackwood’s report isn’t so accurate then, after all. Maybe he himself was misled?”
“Misled?” Spy snorted, while rolling her eyes. “You think Blackwood accidentally gave us the wrong information?! That man’s been full of it from the start!” She shouted, while giving a sharp grin, with her eyes glinting with accusatory energy. “I knew he was on his high horse the second he started spouting that fancy noble garbage about D’Arce! As a matter, he probably never even attempted a rescue! The moment she left, he probably just wrote off as a casualty— or even better, as a preemptive traitor!”
Arthur, a hint of humor flickering through his serious gaze, gave a chuckle, almost sheepish. “Looks like you have it figured out then… Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to stay quiet during his briefing.”
Spy crossed her arms with a smirk. “Oh, it’s probably best I didn’t mouth off. Blackwood’s a piece of work. He has contingency plans, on top of contingency plans— he would have made some other bullshit up that we couldn’t dispute! Why, the only way to stand a chance at outwitting him is to let him think he’s winning.”
She grinned, while lifting her fist. “Let him overplay his hand, feel safe, like he doesn’t even need his precious backup plans. Then-” She suddenly jumped, lifting her flashlight to add drama to the mock ambush, “-that’s when you strike him down!”
Arthur blinked at her, while having a half-amused expression. “You’ve given this some thought, haven’t you?”
“Surviving Blackwood’s backhanded games? Yeah, I’ve given it a lot of thought,” Spy replied with a grin, with a sharpness in her gaze. “What can I say? I never liked the guy.”
Arthur’s face grew more thoughtful as he slowed his pace— the path ahead barely visible through the sheets of rain. “In that case, he’s expecting us. He’ll have prepared for our arrival at the stronghold— he’s under the rightful assumption of where we’ll be heading.”
Cardinal’s face creased with a bit of worry. “So… Should we just walk into his plan, then? Or is that playing TOO much into his hand?!” His tone was half-joking, but his glance at Arthur held a note of genuine apprehension.
Spy raised an eyebrow, blunt as ever. “Yeah, no shit, Lucas! We’ll have to do something when we get there— something close to what he’s expecting, in order to get him to slip— but I just… Don’t know how we’d even do it!” The silver-haired maiden admitted, with frustration growing in her chest. “We can’t even just kill him! He’s got too much support— he’ll become a martyr, and undermine everything we’ve been trying to get through with your dad, Arthur!”
Arthur’s lips then curled into a knowing smirk, as the thoughts in his head began accelerating. “You’re right— it’d be counter intuitive to outright execute him, and be done with it. Ethics and morals aside, of course,” the prince mused with a sly look of his own reflecting in his blue eyes. “Which is why we’ll turn the script on him— trap him in his own web of lies, and unveil him to be the warmonger that he is!”
Upon hearing that, Spy cocked her head, while being clearly puzzled. “How the hell are we even gonna do that, Arthur?!”
But then Cardinal’s eyes sparked— a flicker of understanding breaking through as he looked at the prince with a growing smile. “You’re thinking of something clever, aren’t you?”
Arthur gave a confident nod, with the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “We’ll need to collect more evidence before confronting him, but… If we force him to show us his hand, and play into it— just like you said, Béatrice— then we’ll have done more than just defeat Blackwood,” the prince proclaimed, with his voice invigorated with resolve. “We'll have defeated any and all support he’s amassed back in Great Victoria, and within our ranks— no less. That’ll be how we win this battle, and the war before it even gets to that point.”
Thunder crashed over the Evergreen Forest, as rain poured down in relentless torrents— flooding the Earth and turning the ground to churned mud beneath the endless stampede of Blackwatch forces.
Above, dragons twisted through the air, with their wings spread wide against dark storm clouds, and their scales gleaming like slicked oil as flashes of lightning highlighted their monstrous forms. Massive black horns jutted from their heads, and some dripped glowing venom from jagged fangs. A hundred thousand creatures marched below them— a vast, terrifying horde that spread out like a shadow over the forest edge.
The ground forces were a nightmarish assembly of monsters: towering ogres with tusks protruding from snarling, animalistic faces and wielding petrified clubs; banshees, white and ghostly, wailing curses that echoed over the hills; and twisted creatures with dark, segmented bodies and many legs that skittered over the ground— the stench of death trailing behind them.
Dozens of centipede-like behemoths with plates of armored chitin carried packs of goblins on their backs— the goblins snarling, yellow-eyed creatures with hooked claws and mottled skin, as they screeched and fought with one another for position. Huge, bipedal wargs, resembling wolves but twice as large and coated in tar-black fur, snapped their slavering jaws at anything that crossed their path— driven into a frenzy by an executive who shouted commands in a guttural language— wielding a whip that snapped with streaks of black lightning.
From the shadows at the forest’s edge, Captain stepped forward— framed in an arc of crimson lightning that illuminated his imposing figure in flashes of deep red. His armor, a meticulously designed suit of blood-red samurai plating, was trimmed with ebony steel— giving him the appearance of a wraith, an ancient warrior drawn from the depths of a cursed battlefield. Each plate of armor glistened under the rain, forming a seamless, fortified shell, his hands clad in gauntlets marked with old, faded symbols that pulsed faintly.
His black katana rested lightly in his grip— emanating a dangerous, silent power. His right eye burned red— casting a faint glow that cut through the shadows beneath his messy brown bangs, which lay over his forehead— concealing his left eye and adding to his quiet, unsettling intensity.
Beside him, Female Wizard moved with a graceful yet deadly confidence. Her new set of armor was custom-made— a pristine white that contrasted sharply with the grim storm around them, which accentuated her figure with elegant curves that offered both beauty and intimidation. The armor dipped low over her chest, revealing ample cleavage that gleamed under the rain, while a black cape was draped over her shoulders, fastened around her neck and cascading down her back in deep folds.
Her staff glimmered with faint arcane energy, the golden orb at its top pulsing faintly with her contained power, and she cast a sidelong glance at Captain— her expression wry, as if she found the whole battlefield amusing.
“Right on time, as always, eh Akira?” She commented, with her voice carrying over the clamor of the oncoming army. The look in her eyes was that of someone savoring the anticipation of battle.
Captain, characteristically silent, kept his gaze forward— eyes sharp, every muscle coiled and ready.
“Not one for small talk lately, are we?” She added with a smirk, though she received only a faint nod in response— his focus unwavering.
Female Warrior joined them, her form sleek and formidable in a set of purple armor that clung tightly yet looked as if it could withstand a barrage of heavy blows. The chest plate was etched with silver runes that pulsed faintly. She wielded a halberd with a blade as dark as night— the weapon’s edge jagged and glowing with an ominous crimson aura. Her eyes gleamed with battle-readiness, and her jaw was set in determined concentration.
Following her, Half-Elf Scout dashed up, while flipping his newly issued scattergun in his hand with a cocky grin. His light combat armor was designed for speed— fitted tightly but designed with thin plates that shone under the rain. His long white hair was tousled, and his face showed traces of mischief even in the face of overwhelming danger.
He peered up at the swirling dragons above, letting out a short, nervous laugh. “All this for little ol’ us? Blackwatch sure knows how to make a guy feel special,” he quipped, raising his scattergun.
Female Warrior shot him a sidelong glare. “Keep your nerves in check, or it’ll be your head they’re feasting on.”
He grinned, shrugging as if shaking off the fear. “Hey, nerves are the only thing keeping me alive out here!”
The final figure to join them was Female Bishop, who was moving with an ethereal calm through the rain. Her vestments were white with gold and silver detailing— hugging her form in a blend of reverence and elegance. Her trusty sword-and-scales staff held tightly in her right hand, while her left palm was pressed up to her heart in prayer.
As she murmured a soft invocation to the Supreme God, a sphere of brilliant light flared around the group— bathing them in a protective aura. Each one of them felt their strength bolstered, and their senses heightened, as the rain and storm seemed to lighten under the divine energy surrounding them.
“May His light shield us all,” she said softly, gazing at Captain with quiet faith.
He acknowledged her presence with a faint sigh, with his stance shifting to one of lethal readiness as he raised his katana— the blade vibrating with pent-up power. “Annihilate.”
In a burst of crimson lightning, he shot forward— leaving cracks in the earth as he soared toward the nearest dragon. The beast’s fiery eyes focused on him just as his katana carved into its scales— each movement a precise, deadly dance. He twisted, spinning in midair as he sliced clean through the dragon’s thick neck, with the head falling to the earth with a ground-shaking crash.
He didn’t stop, and was already launching toward the next dragon— his blade gleaming like a red comet in the storm-darkened sky.
Female Wizard raised her staff, and began laughing softly as she summoned a streak of dark flames that twisted through the air— searing through ogres and banshees alike. She looked over at the carnage, with the smirk on her face growing.
“Such a welcoming committee!” She called out, while clearly relishing the chaos.
Half-Elf Scout zigzagged through the battlefield— his scattergun blasting at goblins who tried to flank him, while he leaped over fallen creatures with ease. “ Come on, you call this a fight?! ” He taunted, grinning as he dispatched a snarling warg with a swift shot. “ These clowns gotta be the D-list of Blackwatch! ”
Female Warrior swung her halberd in powerful, controlled arcs— her eyes narrowed as she cleaved through a mass of grotesque creatures, with each strike a testament to her lethal skill. “One more word out of you, Jerma, and I’ll feed you to these beasts myself!”
He rolled his eyes, but grinned as he shot down a goblin trying to flank him. “Relax Felicity, I’m just goofin’ around, is all! It’s like you said: gotta keep them friggin’ nerves in check!”
As the purple haired warrior shot the half-elf with an annoyed glare, Female Bishop moved forward fluidly— casting blessings that deflected the curses being hurled by dark elves. “May His light guide our path,” she intoned, with her prayers a calm contrast to the raging battle. Her light burned through the creatures— and the undead scattered as they approached her divine aura.
Captain spun through the air— his katana cleaving through another dragon’s wing before diving downward to slash through a death knight mounted on a skeletal steed. He moved like a storm himself— untouchable— each strike swift and precise as lightning.
Female Wizard launched more blasts of fire, while her laughter echoed in the rain, as she twisted her staff— the arcane energy coiling around her like smoke.
Female Warrior cut her way to Captain’s side, and together they faced an enormous, shadow-covered beast that towered above them with four tusks and rows of jagged, dripping fangs.
Captain barely gave her a glance, though a faint look of acknowledgement flickered in his eye. She spun her halberd, and launched herself at the creature with a powerful strike as he slashed at its legs— their movements in perfect sync.
After downing the creature, Captain looked back to see the rest of his team handling their sides with deadly efficiency. The horde may have had numbers, but he knew they were no match for them. With a cold, calculating expression across his pale face, he steadied his katana, with his eyes sharp with determination.
Captain moved from where he had been, like a streak of crimson— a living storm on the ground that tore through everything before him. His katana sang in his hands— each swing a blur as he shifted through enemies at a speed faster than they could track, with only a flash of blood-red lightning in their vision before it was too late.
With a fluid motion, Captain extended his hand— calling forth both fire and lightning from his core. The elements spiraled around his arm in streaks of red and blue— crackling and merging into a blinding, pinkish plasma. He thrust his palm forward, and a beam of molten energy erupted— slicing across the battlefield. Everything it touched dissolved in an instant— goblins, trolls, wolves, and a squadron of dark elves liquified, with their bodies melting into a dark, smoldering residue.
High above, the remaining dragons noticed the carnage and let out deep, guttural roars that shook the ground. Captain met them with his glaring red eye, before leaping skyward in a crack of lightning. His form blurred as he moved— faster than any creature could follow.
One dragon snapped at him with jaws the size of a small house, but he was already above it— slicing through its neck in one deft move. He spun midair— kicking off the beast's falling body as another dragon lunged.
When his katana found its heart, he began twisting until he wrenched his katana free— the creature’s golden blood raining down as he dove for the next target.
On the ground, Female Wizard had cloaked her surroundings in a wreath of blue fire— her laughter echoing through the storm as hundreds of creatures fell in her wake. The goblins, orcs, and wolfkin warriors caught within her fiery aura screamed as they were consumed, with their bodies curling in on themselves, and limbs blackening and charring before they crumbled to ash.
Around the edges of her fire, an army of goblin archers raised their crossbows, firing a wave of arrows. She responded with a flick of her wrist, casting her spell— each arrow deflected, redirected in a magical loop. The bolts reversed course, shooting back toward their senders and exploding on impact— blowing goblins apart in bursts of green ichor and broken limbs.
With a smile of cruel delight, she raised her staff and released a volley of purple, elongated magic missiles— each orb homing in on a harpy or wyvern overhead. The winged creatures let out panicked screeches, with some twisting midair in desperate attempts to escape. But the missiles were relentless, each one finding its target, and in a series of shrieks and flashes— the harpies and wyverns exploded into clouds of ash and smoke.
Nearby, Half-Elf Scout was knee-deep in shattered skeletons, while reloading his scattergun with a grin that matched the intensity of the battlefield around him. “Guess you boys ain’t too attached to your spines!” He yelled, before blasting a skeleton’s ribcage apart with one shot— sending bone fragments scattering. “GET BONED!!!” He laughed, while rolling through a wave of arrows, before popping up and blasting another skeleton in the skull— bits of bone flying in every direction.
“Why do you always have to run your mouth, Jerma…?! Would it kill you to clam up sometimes…?!” Female Warrior muttered, with her voice laced with annoyance as she swung her demonic halberd. She stood in a field of her own making— surrounded by the corpses of orcs and trolls she had dispatched with ruthless precision. Her armor gleamed, streaked with rain and blood as she raised her weapon against a platoon of banshees circling her.
“Come on! You know you love it when I yap!” Half-Elf Scout called back— grinning, as he emptied another shot into a charging orc.
She huffed, rolling her eyes before turning to meet the banshees. The creatures shrieked and swarmed her, with ghostly claws reaching out. She swung her halberd in broad, lethal arcs— each movement refined yet powerful. Bolts of dark energy lanced toward her from their gnarled fingers— striking her armor and forcing her back with a hiss of pain, but she held firm, and drove her halberd through their spectral forms, until the last one dissolved in the rain.
A deep rumble shook the ground beneath her, and she turned to see a horde of behemoth centipedes tearing across the field— barreling through goblins and crushing anything in their way as they charged directly toward her. The creatures moved with unnatural speed, with their segmented legs scuttling as their jaws snapped and foamed. For a moment, Female Warrior braced, but their sheer size was more than even she had anticipated.
“Need a hand there, buddy ol’ pal?” Half-Elf Scout asked snuggly, before reappearing at her side— cocking his scattergun, as it began to glow with an ominous red light.
“Try not to get in the way,” she said dryly, though a slight smile played on her lips.
He grinned, while leveling his weapon and unleashing a blast that tore through the first centipede. The creature’s armored shell cracked under the impact, with its body shuddering as the red glow from the scattergun ripped through it— leaving it in smoldering pieces.
Another centipede lunged, and he fired again— obliterating it in a fiery explosion of flesh and chitin. He glanced back at her, smirking. “Guess this makes me your friggin’ hero then, don’t it?”
She snorted, while wiping a splatter of insect viscus from her armor. “Don’t get cocky.”
Across the field, Female Bishop stood amid a column of fallen demons— her aura casting a warm, divine light in stark contrast to the hellish scene around her. She raised her staff, invoking a smite that blazed with holy energy. With a single command, the light exploded outward— tearing through an entire regiment of demons. Their screams were drowned out by the hum of divine magic as their bodies crumbled— disintegrated by the purity of her power.
But from the back of the line, a massive demonic overlord loomed, at least twenty-five meters tall, with its red-skinned body covered in shifting, writhing sigils. It survived her smite, with its eyes narrowing as it took a lumbering step forward— snarling as it raised its massive spiked club.
The earth trembled with each step, with droplets of ice-cold rain cascading down its bulging muscles.
The blond woman tried a blast of fire at it, but the creature brushed it off, unaffected. She took a cautious step back while glancing around the field— her fingers tightening on her weapon.
In that moment of hesitation, the sky split open with a crack of lightning, and through the blinding flash, she saw a faint silhouette— Captain, suspended in the air, with his body encased in crimson lightning, as his gaze fixed on the demon with a cold, unbreakable focus.
His right eye flared brighter than ever— a red beacon that pierced through the storm.
In the blink of an eye, Captain descended on the demon overlord. There was a flash, then another, and another as he spun around it— faster than the eye could follow, his katana carving through flesh and bone.
The demon’s snarl turned into a pained roar, but Captain was already back on the ground— his ebony katana still in hand— as he focused elsewhere.
Behind him, the demon’s massive frame swayed, and the creature began to topple— its body falling apart in bloody chunks that crashed onto the corpses scattered beneath it, shaking the ground.
Female Bishop stared, breath caught in her throat. Through her black blindfold, she watched Captain with astonishment with her poor vision— even with her magically enhanced perception, she was barely able to process the inhuman skill unfolding before her. “Is he… Even human…?” She whispered to herself, while her pale eyes widened.
Captain’s gaze swept over the battlefield, with his movements unrelenting as he tore through hundreds more— his katana a deadly blur, and with each strike a testament to his control and mastery. Above him, the sky roared with flashes of lightning streaking through the clouds, as the storm raged on— a fitting backdrop to the carnage he unleashed.
Amid the ruins of the Forgehart Clan Stronghold, the steel buildings lay in twisted wreckage, with sharp fragments of metal littering the brick-paved roads, all which were cratered and broken.
Lightning from the typhoon split the sky— illuminating the rain-soaked ground in brief flashes that reflected off the crumbling architecture. Corpses of black templars lay sprawled across the battlefield— torn apart within their hulking power armor, with their once-imposing forms cracked and sparking, unable to keep their structure in death.
The faint hum of broken photonic energy sputtered from their armor, mingling with the steady sound of rain and the distant, chilling echoes of gunfire and tendril slashes splitting the air.
In the heart of this battlefield, Aldric stood, his black armor a scarred and battered silhouette— his calm gaze framed by the yellow photonic particles leaking from the fractured panels of his chassis.
He raised his dual rivet rifles, each one emitting a cold metallic hum as he aimed at his opponent. Across from him, Remi stood barely intact, their left arm missing, face half obliterated, with a single yellow eye blazing with defiance, though half of it was clouded with pain. With only two partial tendrils remaining, both crackling with cyan lightning, they were almost unrecognizable.
“Still standing, Storm Lord? It seems as though even the very embodiment of nihilism can still have fighting spirit— go figure,” Aldric’s voice rang out— low and measured, almost amused. “But this battle has a conclusion, and you and I both know who’ll be its victor.”
Remi clenched their teeth, with magical lightning crackling around their frame as they staggered forward— their eyes filled with hatred and defiance. “F-Fuck you, and your conclusion…!” They spat, with their voice ragged with strain— each word laced with venom. “Piece-of-shit…! I would have fuckin’ killed by now, if this was a fair fight…!”
Aldric gave a soft chuckle, steady and unmoved, watching Remi struggle to remain upright. “This isn’t about playing fair, Storm Lord— nor it this even about me ending your life,” the general stated in a factual tone— while still laying heavy fire down on the slime monster. “No… This? This is about securing the correct future. That’s all there is to it.” He explained coldly, with the storm flashing in rhythm with each shot, as he unleashed another hail of rivets.
Remi darted left, dodging with erratic movements— zigzagging to throw off his aim.
The moment they dodged the last round, Aldric switched his wrist module— a volley of magic missiles streaming toward Remi. In response, the slime monster’s tendrils whipped up with cyan lightning arcing, as they proceeded to slam their gelatinous extremities down onto the ground— fanning out the lightning and detonating the missiles mid-air.
Each explosion painted the battlefield in harsh bursts of light— illuminating the fury and sorrow etched across Remi’s half-broken face.
"The correct future…?! BULLSHIT!!! Who the FUCK are you to decide what’s right, and what’s wrong?!" Remi snarled, their voice shaking. "You think you’re so fuckin’ genius?! Some sort of fuckin’ visionary?! Fuck no— you’re just like every other over-privileged FUCKER who’s ever been handed down Xanviik’s bullshit legacy!”
Aldric narrowed his eyes, stepping forward with eerie calm. “To say I’m a visionary would imply that I wish to change the status quo… You couldn’t be any more misinformed of my goals.”
With that, Aldric’s thrusters activated— propelling him forward as he swung his yellow beam sword down at Remi. Seeing the general coming at him at mach speed, the slime monster barely rolled aside in time— their remaining tendrils flashing forward to shield them against the torrent of napalm that the general unleashed in their path.
Flames erupted around them— reflecting in Remi’s single remaining eye as they staggered to their feet, with their breath ragged and shallow.
At that moment, Arc Mage darted onto the field— her tight, rain-soaked vestments clinging to her as she lifted her hand to summon a surge of blue, crackling with electromagnetic energy that arced toward Aldric. She glanced at Remi, her voice firm but softened with subtle concern. “You were taking too long— figured you were getting your ass kicked out here!”
Remi managed a weak grin— liquid gel dripping from their lips. “L-Lucky guess…! Didn’t you say you were going to stay in the bunker…?”
Arc Mage chuckled, casting a faint smirk. “I was! That was until you let five of them inside! Now, I gotta take action, for Juliet’s sake!” She shouted with determination palpable in her excited voice, as she launched her spell: an electromagnetic burst that streaked toward the templars.
And although their photonic shielding absorbed the shock, with their suits unharmed, the blond woman managed to redirect their sights onto her.
“Damn it— it was worth a shot…!” She hissed under her breath, while weaving between the bolts with magical enhanced precision. But the onslaught was relentless. She activated her afterimages, darting in and out of existence as she tried to avoid the barrage.
Out of the thousand shots fired at her within twenty seconds, three rivets managed to strike her abdomen— tearing through her vestments, and flying out from her lower back.
She gritted her teeth, the pain sharp and brutal, and tasted blood as it spilled from her lips. ‘Maybe I should have stayed in the bunker after all!’ She thought frustratingly to herself, but still forced herself to keep going, with her mind wrestling against the pain. With her hand outstretched, she gathered a purple aura that swirled over her palm, as she prepared a gravity spell.
Remi, watching her falter, felt a pang deep within their chest. “Stupid fuckin’ nerd…! Why did ya have to make this about Juliet…?!” They whispered hoarsely, with anger flaring up at their own helplessness. “Now I feel like shit…!”
Arc Mage caught his gaze, while grinning through her pain. “S-Same— f-fuck, nghh…!” She grunted while gritting her teeth, as she held out her palm, with the charged spell ready to be casted. And even as a volley of rivets struck her thigh and shoulder, with blood pouring down her limbs as shards of bone and strings of sinew were expelled from her fresh exit wounds, Arc Mage was still able to complete the spell.
A nano singularity suddenly ignited beneath Delta Team— the air around them distorting, as they fought against its relentless pull. The templars’ thrusters flared— stabilizing their stance against the singularity's drag, and unintentionally giving the opening Remi needed.
The slime monster condensed what remained of their form into a massive tendril, before whipping it across the templars’ backs— smashing into their armor, and destroying the mana-infused fusion cells powering their shields.
Steam erupted from their overheating cooling units, and without their thrusters, they were helpless.
The gravitational pull intensified, and one by one, the templars were sucked into the singularity— their armor crushing inward as they were pulled apart. Their bodies were spaghettified, with each limb stretched into oblivion, and twisted into bloody streaks as they vanished into the nano black hole.
When the spell quickly faded, all that was left was only the twisted remnants of metal and bone.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, Aldric angled his thrusters to close the distance between him and the slime monster— his blade slicing through the tendril with ruthless precision. Remi’s single eye widened in horror, the realization dawning as the general advanced with his blade mere inches from their form.
“There won’t be anything left of you— I’ll make sure of that," Aldric intoned— his voice devoid of malice or triumph, as though merely stating a fact.
Time seemed to slow for Remi, as memories flooded them.
"I’m… I’m so, so happy that… That we got to meet each other, Remi…”
They felt tears mix with the rain, their heart shattering as they watched Aldric’s blade descend.
With a final, desperate dodge, Remi tried to evade, but the general anticipated it. In a swift, brutal slash, he cleaved down the center of their form, bisecting them from head to groin.
Remi’s world faded, as their body dissolved into a pool of cyan slime.
"Thank you for loving me… Even when I’m not ready to love myself just quite yet."
Aldric’s boots hit the ground in a heavy skid, and turned heel immediately to make his way over the splattered remnants of his latest kill— their translucent gel pooling at his feet. He lowered his wrist on the slime monster’s remains, activating the napalm launcher. He aimed carefully, his voice cold. “Be sure to send Ren Ashta my regards, Storm Lord.”
The napalm then poured out in a fiery stream to begin consuming what was left of Remi— bubbles and steam rising as the gel boiled away, until only charred ground remained. The rain hissed as it struck the flames, the battlefield silent, as Aldric waited for the last of them to vanish.
“Goodnight, Remi.”
With a final surge of lightning, the storm dissipated— leaving the battlefield cloaked in twilight. The rage, the fury, the violence— all that remained was the rain, a soft patter against the decimated streets.
Chapter 45: War (Part VI)
Chapter Text
The Evergreen Forest stood drenched in rain— a quiet sanctuary where the air was thick with the smell of wet pine needles, rich earth, and rain-soaked bark. Every breath tasted like the forest’s own lifeblood: grounding, and ancient.
Yet the deeper they went, the pure scent twisted with something darker: the sharp tang of gunpowder, the sickly iron reek of blood, and mud churned with death. Corpses lay scattered, and were contorted in unnatural poses amidst hundreds of spent bullet casings— blood seeping into the mud.
Through the rain-soaked shadows, High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman sprinted for their lives, with a small, hooded figure darting between them— their boots splashing mud and kicking up debris as they raced forward.
Behind them, the thunder of steel-plated boots crashed through the underbrush. Soldiers shouted orders, with their voices blending with the terrifying, steady whine of bullets tearing through the air that were all close enough to ruffle clothes and slice through locks of hair.
The shriek of bullets brought each of them to the edge of despair— dodging and weaving, with mud flying in all directions.
“Damn this lot…!” Dwarf Shaman muttered, gritting his teeth as he lifted his hands to the sky. A thick wall of rocks rose up from the ground at his command— deflecting the incoming bullets.
Still, the soldiers emerged again, seeming endless. The unmistakable insignia of the Royal Army gleamed from their armor, but was now smeared with the muck and grime of pursuit.
High Elf Archer’s lips curled into a sneer as she spun, loosing arrows blindly into the trees, hoping against hope. “Nadorim…!” She spat in her native tongue, with her words laced with venom, “Pieces-of-crap don’t give up, do they…?!” Her flying arrows then ricocheted off the rocks and trees— taking down a handful of soldiers.
But her quiver grew lighter, with each pull of the bowstring feeling emptier. She glanced over at Dwarf Shaman, with her eyes flashing with frustration and fury.
At last, with an exhausted scream, she fired her last arrow— and felt the sickening snap of her bowstring. Her weapon splintered in her hand— leaving her weaponless and exposed. “Damn it all!” She hissed, before throwing the broken bow into the mud.
Without hesitation, she bent down and hoisted the small, green-skinned figure over her shoulder— carrying the hooded girl in a fireman’s carry.
Dwarf Shaman stumbled beside her, blood streaking down his arm as a bullet tore through his shoulder. He let out a growling laugh. “Ach, lucky I’m too bloody drunk to feel that one too deep,” he wheezed, pressing a hand to the wound to staunch the bleeding.
“Shut your mouth and keep running!” High Elf Archer barked, her voice more desperate than angry now, though she threw him a sidelong glare.
He turned to look over his shoulder to flash a crooked grin back at her, but his face paled as another explosion erupted— close enough to shake the very earth beneath them.
The impact sent them all sprawling, with mud splattering over their faces and limbs, as they skidded to a halt— breaths punched out of them, as they tumbled and struggled to regain their footing.
Through a haze of pain and confusion, Dwarf Shaman blinked, disoriented. “Wh-What in the name of-?!”
Before he could finish, knights surged forward, with their weapons trained on their bodies, and the circle of soldiers tightening around them. “Stay on the ground!” One of the knights shouted, fury undercutting his command, as he slammed a boot down on High Elf Archer’s back— forcing her into the mud.
“Pukta nornye…!” High Elf Archer snarled, with her voice a low, venomous hiss. She struggled against his weight, spit flying as she again cursed in her native tongue, “Á lapsa vienya…!”
The knight’s expression tightened as he twisted her arms behind her back— slapping on a pair of shackles etched with blue runes that glowed, sealing her in place. She let out a ragged scream, fury sparking in her eyes as she writhed under his grip, her breathing harsh and labored.
The knights crowded around Dwarf Shaman, as he coughed while wincing in pain. “Ye calls yourselves soldiers?! Bullocks! Couldn’t even keep up with me fat arse— bloody disgraceful…!” Dwarf Shaman taunted, with his accent thickening as he spat blood onto the knight’s boots. “Sod off…!”
The knight who’d pulled back the hood of the green-skinned figure stumbled back— eyes widening in shock, as he looked down. “W… What‘s the meaning of this?! It’s just a bloody goblin!”
The goblin girl looked up at him, with her wide yellow eyes steady, and filled with defiance, despite the trembling of her small form. She didn’t speak, but her expression held a quiet strength.
Dwarf Shaman’s snickering started again, soft at first, but then it grew into a laugh, loud and derisive— echoing through the silent forest. His captor twisted his arm further, with anger flashing in his eyes.
“Shut your mouth, dwarf!” The knight spat, but Dwarf Shaman only laughed harder— gasping through the pain.
“Ach, look at ye— fooled by a wee goblin lass!” He howled, while delighting in their outrage. “Your proud army, outwitted by the likes of us! Ha! Bleedin’ idiots— the lot of you!”
The enraged knight’s composure then cracked.
With a snarl, he drew back his foot and drove his boot into Dwarf Shaman’s face. The impact silenced his laughter— the sickening crunch of bone following, as his head snapped sideways, with blood and fragments of teeth spilling from his mouth. His mirth twisted into a groan of agony, with blood trickled from his lips as he grinned in defiance.
“Kickin’ a man when he’s down, like a bloody coward…! Y-Ye feelin’ like a man yet, soldier-boy…?!” he choked out, spitting blood between his words.
Another kick drove into his ribs, with the snap of breaking bones piercing the air as he doubled over in pain— his breaths shallow, wheezing.
High Elf Archer let out a scream of pure rage, her voice hoarse and wild as she strained against her shackles— muscles shaking with the force of her fury.
“Th-That’s enough!” she roared, with her voice a raw, trembling snarl. “Leave him alone!”
Her captor sneered, while pressing his knee harder into her back. “Shut your mouth, elf,” she spat, as drew a dagger from her belt. With cold precision, she slid the blade into her lower back, before twisting it viciously. Pain exploded through her, tearing a ragged scream from her throat.
Gasping with her vision swimming, the pain crashed over her in waves; but her glare remained defiant— piercing through the haze. “G-Go to hell…!”
The female knight then leaned close, with her voice dripping with malice, as she tightened her grip on High Elf Archer’s neck— pressing the dagger to the base of her ear. “You’ll tell us where the chieftain’s heir is, or I’ll cut that pretty ear clean off. Try me.”
High Elf Archer’s laughter was bitter, with her mouth twisted in a defiant sneer as she spat out blood. “Try THIS…!” She snarled back, before swinging her head back with all her strength.
She felt the satisfying crunch as the back of her skull connected with the knight’s face— breaking her nose. The knight stumbled, cursing as blood dripped down her face.
High Elf Archer managed a grim smile, while pulling her wrists to attempt picking the lock on her shackles. But it wasn’t long until a nearby knight struck her with the butt of his rifle— cracking her the back of her head. More soldiers piled onto her, pressing her into the ground as they brought the rifles down on her back— one after another.
The blows reverberated through her, with each one feeling like fire, as her ribs cracked under the force— but she gritted her teeth, and refused to cry out.
The last thing she heard before the darkness closed in was Dwarf Shaman’s labored breathing, with his gasps laced with a final, faint chuckle— a sign of defiance lingering in their shattered bodies, even in defeat.
And as she slipped into unconsciousness, the ground suddenly rumbled again— a faint but insistent tremor that reverberated through the forest floor.
Suddenly, a brilliant blue light burst forth, and pierced through the dense canopy, like a blazing pillar reaching toward the heavens. Its ethereal glow bathed the treetops in a cool, almost serene light— casting the towering pines in shades of blue.
The soldiers of the Royal Army paused, with heads tilting upward— silent awe cutting through their brutal task.
From nowhere, a dense puff of smoke erupted in their midst— swallowing them in a black fog. As it dissipated, they found themselves face-to-face with an imposing, slender figure— his presence radiating dark energy that seemed to pulse with barely-contained rage.
A striking, youthful high-elf with sharp, angular features and dark hair— his scleras were pitch-black, and contrasted against the blazing red of his irises. He spread a pair of vast, ethereal wings that materialized from his back— dark and jagged, and looked to be made of a writhing substance that looked almost alive, unfurling around him in fierce, sharp arcs.
“Get the FUCK away from her,” he growled— his voice a low, deadly rasp.
The soldiers scrambled to lift their rifles, but before they could take aim, a cascade of black crystal projectiles erupted from his wings. The shards tore through the air with unrelenting force, each one as sharp as obsidian— slicing through their munitions-grade armor as if it were paper.
Blood sprayed as the soldiers’ bodies were ravaged in the onslaught— the crystals tearing through limbs, splitting torsos, and shattering bones.
Arms were ripped clean off, with chunks of flesh and armor scattering in all directions. One soldier's head was nearly severed as a shard drove through his neck— splintering his helmet. Another was disemboweled, with his innards spilling out in a crimson flood as he fell to his knees— lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.
Bullets began to fly toward him, but the Blackwatch executive moved with fluid grace, dropping low to the ground and somersaulting forward in a blur of motion. He reached High Elf Archer, gathering her limp form in his arms, with her bloodstained face pressed against his chest, as his wings wrapped protectively around them both.
In less than a heartbeat, the two vanished in another cloud of thick— swirling smoke.
The knights were stunned for a split second, but then the commander, rallying his men, shouted orders. “Search the area! They couldn’t have-”
But then he stopped, with his voice trailing off as a tremor louder than before shook the forest, and a deep, resonant boom echoed from above. The knights and soldiers all froze— every face lifted to the darkened sky.
In an instant, the sky split open as a colossal form descended upon them.
Albion, the massive dragon, plummeted to the forest floor— her landing like the impact of a meteor. Her weight crushed nearly everything beneath her. With a hundred and fifty meters of scaled fury and primal power, her bulk flattened knights and soldiers into the ground like fragile dolls— their bones snapping and bodies breaking under her immense strength.
The survivors barely had time to scream before Albion further unleashed her wrath.
Her metal scales trembled, then sheared away from her body— exploding outward in a lethal storm of shrapnel. Fragments of gleaming metal ripped through flesh, armor, and bone alike.
Shards punched through skulls, embedding themselves in brain tissue; arms and legs were sliced clean from their bodies, blood fountaining across the forest floor.
Those closest to her were torn to pieces— shredded in the blink of an eye.
And as the remaining soldiers struggled to even understand what was happening, Albion threw back her head and let out a roar that shook the air, a sound that echoed with maddened laughter— a dragon’s dark delight in death.
Her glowing white eyes gleamed down at the few scattered survivors— her chest heaving as she laughed, with her form looming over the battlefield like a god of death.
Directly beneath her massive body, lying prone and broken, was Dwarf Shaman. His unconscious form lay crumpled in the mud, and was oblivious to the titanic shadow that covered him.
The Royal Court of Diamonds steadied themselves— still reeling from the tremor that shook the ground underfoot. Arthur was the first to speak, his voice calm but wary. “Is everyone fine?”
Cardinal, cheerful even in the face of impending doom, grinned. “All accounted for, Arthur! Though, I think my breakfast just tried to make an escape.”
Elder Minister’s face was pale, with his voice being little more than a quivering murmur as he looked beyond them. “I… N-No— it can’t be,” he whispered, as if willing himself to disbelieve as his hands shook slightly.
Court Mage’s eyes darted across the darkening forest as he began chanting under his breath. “We’re in trouble, folks. I’m reading a surge of energy that’s way off the charts… Somethin’ fierce.”
“Tell us somethin’ we don’t know, aye?” Grunted Gold-Rank Padfoot, with his ears flattened and fur bristling as he sniffed the air. His gaze hardened as his nose picked up a familiar, dreadful scent. “Dragon.”
Spy’s face went rigid, her fists clenched. “Sh-Shit…!” She muttered, with the chill of dread visible in her pale face. “A… A-Albion…!”
As if summoned by her name, the forest ahead erupted, with trees and the Earth splitting, as a rift opened— twisting reality itself like paper being torn. From that rift, Albion emerged— towering and sleek, with her scaled black form catching and bending what little light remained.
Her colossal body loomed high, reaching fifty meters tall, with her wings unfurled in a span so vast it swallowed the forest canopy in shadow. Glowing white eyes surveyed the small, defiant figures below with a knowing, predatory gaze.
Albion then let out a roar, deafening and primal, that vibrated through the air like a seismic wave. The Royal Court staggered back from the sheer force.
However, Arthur’s resolve didn’t falter— even in the shadow of such an overwhelming foe. He tightened his grip on Excalibur, his voice calm but firm. “We stand and fight! We will NOT yield!”
“That’s the spirit, Pendragon!” Court Mage barked, with his eyes gleaming as he started weaving a spell. “Don’t let up!”
Cardinal flicked his fingers, weaving a shimmering ring of golden light around the team as a protective ward. “Get behind me! Just a sec more and we’ll have-”
But Albion’s head darted down before the redhead could finish his sentence— striking like a cobra. With her maw opened wide, and teeth gleaming in the starlight, she lunged toward Spy with intent to kill.
Before that could happen, Arthur then sprang forward, with Excalibur blazing as he sliced upward to intercept her.
The blade carved a brilliant trail through the air, and struck Albion’s snout with a blinding flash that left a radiant gash along her scaled face. The massive dragon snarled— recoiling back in fury.
Spy glanced sideways at Arthur, a faint smirk. “Not bad for a nepo-baby…!”
Arthur only nodded in response, with his gaze fixed on Albion. “Stay focused, Béatrice…!”
As if on cue, Albion’s wings flared, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch across the entire forest. A storm of black crystal shards shot from her wings in a relentless barrage— each shard the size of a javelin and hurtling at impossible speed.
“Get ready!” Cardinal shouted, while at least finishing the last of his incantation and reinforcing the barrier, just as the crystals rained down.
Court Mage and Elder Minister joined their strength to the ward— the barrier shimmering as it absorbed the impact. Splinters of crystal ricocheted off it with bone-rattling force, and cracked the air like thunder.
Behind them, the forest was obliterated; trees were blasted to shrapnel, the ground littered with splinters and the bodies of unfortunate animals caught in the devastation.
“Blackwatch dies with this monster!” Court Mage roared, while sending a blazing arc of flames that twisted in the air— curving toward Albion’s flank.
The dragon swerved just in time to avoid the worst of it, but the flames licked along her scales— leaving charred black streaks in their wake.
“Perish, wretched thing!” Elder Minister shouted defiantly, as he unfurled a scroll— his hands crackling with energy as he read aloud. In an instant, a bolt of lightning arced from the scroll— striking Albion’s chest with a resounding crack.
The dragon hissed, with her muscles contracting as electricity coursed through her colossal form.
“Don’t stop!” Court Mage roared out, as he gestured to the ground— causing massive roots to spring up from the soil and coil around Albion’s legs, which pinned her down.
With a deft flick of his hand, Elder Minister unleashed a blast of pressurized water that tore into Albion’s side like a hydraulic lance— the impact splintering scales and sending a spray of black blood onto the ground below.
Albion let out a furious roar— wrenching her wings upward, shattering the roots, and releasing a fresh wave of crystal shards at point-blank range.
The shards tore through their defenses— hitting Spy and Cardinal, who cried out as the shards scraped flesh and armor.
The prince’s gaze turned steely.
With a fierce leap, he charged forward— using Excalibur to launch himself onto Albion’s back. He sprinted across her spine, moving with precision and speed, with his feet light and agile as he ascended toward her shoulder.
Albion twisted, her massive head whipping around to try and shake him off, but Arthur held firm— leaping from spine to spine.
“Arthur, you reckless idiot!” Spy shouted from below, while firing her revolver wildly at Albion’s head. “Are you TRYING to get yourself killed?!”
Arthur gritted his teeth, not answering as he charged Excalibur with a bright, golden light. He swung down and sent a golden crescent of energy slicing through the air— striking Albion’s left wing at the joint. The energy tore through scales, sinew, and bone— severing the wing with a sickening crack.
Albion screeched, the sound a blend of agony and rage as her severed wing crashed to the ground in a massive, shuddering heap.
“She’s down a wing!” Gold-Rank Padfoot called— his eyes wild with adrenaline. “I’ll keep her grounded, Master!”
The doberman then lunged forward high into the air, with his claws flashing as he leapt up and raked Albion’s other wing with his glowing fangs— holding fast to her scales even as she writhed and twisted.
As Spy stared into Albion’s maw, she felt the rising dread twist her insides. Albion’s throat glowed with that ominous pink light, swelling with power. Her mind reeled— run, survive. Her gaze darted around, looking for an escape, a way out of this nightmare. Her instincts screamed at her to flee.
But then she caught sight of Arthur, still facing Albion, determination carved into his features despite the odds. Something else twisted inside her. She couldn’t leave him—not Arthur. Gritting her teeth against the fear clawing at her, she forced herself to move closer to him— each step a fight against her own sense of survival.
She hated herself for it. For the instinct to flee that she barely managed to quash, for abandoning the others to focus only on saving him.
Albion’s tail flicked, and Arthur was flung from her back, crashing into the earth below. Nearby, Gold-Rank Padfoot clung to Albion’s wing, fangs embedded in her scales, until she whipped him free with a powerful shake. He hurtled through the air and smashed into the forest floor with a sickening crunch— a whimper escaping his muzzle as his spine snapped audibly.
Spy’s body moved before her mind could fully register it; she broke into a sprint, running away from the golden circle of Cardinal’s protective barrier.
"B-Béatrice?! Wh-What’re you doing?!" Cardinal shouted with a strained, confused voice.
Elder Minister’s voice trembled as he steadied his stance, glancing between Spy and Albion. “Lass, come back— do not succumb to your fear!”
Court Mage’s gaze flicked from Spy’s fleeing form to Albion’s charging energy— the realization dawning too late. “No, w-wait…! A-Albion— t-they’re preparing to fire!”
Without another second to hesitate, Cardinal broke from formation to rush over to Gold-Rank Padfoot’s side— his hands glowing as he channeled healing magic. “Hold on, buddy, I’ve got you…”
Elder Minister and Court Mage braced themselves— their combined magic swirling into a ward as Albion unleashed her mana burst. A roaring beam of pink energy ripped forward— blinding and deafening, as it tore through the ward instantly, while decimating everything in its path.
The energy swept over Cardinal, Elder Minister, Court Mage, and Padfoot. Arthur could only watch, frozen in place, as his friends were engulfed— their forms disintegrating into nothing.
Albion’s beam slammed into the ground, with the shockwave of it erupting like a bomb. The forest floor exploded outward, and sent Spy and Arthur hurtling forward— sliding and skidding across the mud, as dirt and ash clouded the air.
Arthur staggered up immediately to his knees— breathing in shallow, ragged gasps. The horrifying finality of what he’d just witnessed clawed its way into his chest, and his mind flashed with precious memories of the moments they’d shared: quiet fireside laughter, wise reassurances, cheerful banter, and loyalty forged through fighting alongside one another.
The weight of it all felt unbearable, and his vision blurred as tears spilled over— each drop cutting through the grime on his cheeks.
A faint, yet fierce, light flickered from Excalibur. The blade began to hum with an ethereal resonance— a power deep within him answering to his sorrow and his rage.
Spy, lying a few paces away, caught the gleam and stared up at the sword— her face a mix of awe and shock. “A… Ar-Arthur…! Your s-sword…! It’s…?!”
Her voice died in her throat as she turned and saw Albion’s smoldering gaze fix on them— fury radiating from her white-hot eyes. Spy tried to scramble to her feet, but a sharp, stabbing pain shot up her leg that dropped her back down.
She then looked at her ankle, twisted grotesquely, with the bone jutting at a wrong angle. A strangled whimper escaped her lips, with her breaths coming fast and shallow as panic set in.
Albion’s massive jaws parted, and the glow of her throat returned, brighter, more intense— like the core of a star. The light pulsed, cyan and pink spirals of energy twisting within her maw— growing brighter, hotter, as she charged her attack. Sparks and arcs of raw magic crackled around her teeth, with her chest heaving as she prepared to unleash another devastating blast.
Arthur raised Excalibur, while his tear-streaked face twisted in defiance. He positioned himself between Albion and Spy— his grip steady as he slid into a stance, with every muscle taut and ready.
The dragon goddess’ power blazed into the night like a sun as her beam drew closer, with time seeming to slow down, as their world consumed in the impending flash of destruction.
And then Arthur’s voice rang out, as he let out a cry of defiance.
“Ex…! Cali…! BUUUUUUURRRR!!!”
With the power word spoken, Arthur swung his sword with a mighty, furious arc, and from the blade erupted a radiant beam of golden light— pure and holy. The energy surged forward and collided with Albion’s mana burst— the two forces crashing together in a blinding maelstrom of pink and gold.
Reality itself seemed to tear as the beams met, forming a shimmering, jagged fissure in the air— like a window into another dimension. The clash of energies crackled and sizzled— creating an otherworldly storm of color and light that twisted and bent the fabric of existence.
Albion snarled, her beam surging with newfound power— pressing against Arthur’s golden light, and inching it backward.
The prince’s teeth ground together, as he pushed harder— refusing to give an inch. The strain was unbearable, yet he felt something awaken within him— something ancient and relentless.
He let out another roar of defiance, summoning every ounce of strength, as golden runes appeared at the base of his beam— swirling like sacred sigils.
The light intensified as the runes fed into the beam— transforming it into an unstoppable force.
The golden light surged forward— overwhelming Albion’s beam and pushing it back. Her white eyes widened in shock, as the holy light engulfed heraa the sheer power of it too much to withstand. She let out a deafening, guttural roar, with her body writhing in pain as her scales splintered and disintegrated.
The holy light consumed her— tearing her massive body apart until she erupted into a cloud of ash. Her massive form then blasted upward into the stratosphere— scattering what remained of her across the ruined forest below.
As the light faded and the last remnants of Albion were carried away on the wind, a thick layer of ash blanketed the forest, coating everything in a soft, haunting grey. The destruction was absolute, and silence fell over the devastated Evergreen Forest. Only Arthur and Spy remained, alive amid the ashes of the battle that had claimed everything else.
The edge of the Evergreen Forest lay shrouded in a haunting quiet. A snowfall of ash drifted from the heavens, veiling the battlefield in a dim, pallid fog. The land itself seemed held in some ghostly silence, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the stinging acidity of burning flesh.
It was like a twisted winter— ash blanketing the mutilated bodies scattered across the plains that bordered Maggiore Outpost. The piles of rubble that were once simple buildings loomed in the distance— stoic and silent— marking the edge of a battlefield now emptied of life.
The corpses of monsters lay strewn across the ground, grotesque forms frozen in agony. Hulking trolls lay gutted open, with their fur and hide streaked crimson and strewn, with the scattered fragments of shattered armor. Goblins sprawled lifeless, twisted and broken, with their feral snarls now silenced. Enormous insects, their carapaces cleaved open, glittered with dark ichor beneath the ashes— a macabre memorial to their final stand.
Captain stood alone amidst this ruin, with ash falling softly onto his armor— coating it with a ghostly pallor. His figure was still, statuesque, yet he emanated an aura of cold, meticulous purpose, with his red eyes sharp and calculating— like coals burning in the fog.
Behind him, distant thunder rumbled— the echo of Albion’s fall reaching across the wilderness. He didn’t flinch, nor did he even turn toward the sound. His gaze was fixed forward, somewhere far beyond this ruined field— as if peering into the heart of something even more dreadful.
With a slow, measured breath, Captain’s lips barely parted in a sigh— a sound softer than the ashfall, carried off by the wind like a fading whisper. His gaze was unfathomable— a man observing his own handiwork, perhaps feeling nothing more than the weight of inevitability.
His right hand moved with calculated precision, with his fingers drifting to rest on the hilt of his sheathed katana. The slight gesture held power, a quiet threat, poised and waiting.
Ash drifted through the air outside— settling like a soft blanket over the ruined buildings and shattered streets of Maggiore Outpost. Inside the Adventurers’ Guild’s last-standing branch office, the survivors gathered in its dimly lit lobby— exhausted and aching but alive.
The air was thick with the scent of soot and damp dirt, yet the flicker of a makeshift fireplace cast a comforting glow— its warmth cutting through the bone-deep chill left by the chaos.
The fire, crafted and sustained by the Female Wizard, crackled quietly as she sat close— her slender fingers hovering near the flames. Her eyes were distant, reflecting both the firelight and a quiet longing, with a soft smile curling her lips as she thought of her cousins. Every spark that danced from the fire seemed to mirror the anticipation she felt of their destined reunion.
Across the room, Female Bishop was knelt down by Witch. Holding her staff in one hand, with the other hovering over the young woman’s bloodied abdomen, the blond woman’s voice weaved softly through an ancient prayer.
A gentle, golden light cascaded from her palm— spilling into Witch’s torn flesh, and knitting the wound back together in delicate, precise layers. Blood-soaked edges pulled together, sinew and skin mended in a vivid, haunting transformation that was as mesmerizing as it was gruesome.
When the wound finally sealed, Female Bishop exhaled, her breath steady, as she raised her hand to Witch's forehead— placing her fingers tenderly on the cool skin. "May the Supreme God grant you solace," she whispered with her voice tender, as the golden light washed over Witch’s pallid face.
Beneath Bishop’s healing touch, Witch began to stir. Her eyelids fluttered weakly, her breaths shallow, as she asked, “What… Wh-What’s going on,” with a voice that was thin, and unsteady.
Bishop smiled softly in response to hearing Witch’s weary voice, while stroking her dark hair in a comforting gesture. “You’re safe now,” she said gently. “You’re with friends now. Just rest.”
Witch took a moment— blinking as though the words were coming from a dream. Her brows knit in a hazy concern. “ B-Blackwatch... Are they...? ” She trailed off, with her voice cracked and trembling.
Bishop rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, with her expression calm and warm— even behind the black blindfold she wore. “It’s okay,” she reassured, with her voice like a balm to Witch’s worried mind. “Blackwatch’s army has been defeated… They can’t hurt you anymore.”
Witch’s face contorted with an unexpected flood of emotion— her eyes widening, and her voice choked. “Is… Is that t-true…?” She whispered, as if daring to hope. “Did we… Did we make it…?! Is it finally over…?!”
Bishop squeezed her shoulder gently, before nodding with a quiet conviction. “Yes, dear,” she said softly. “It’s finally over.”
The words seemed to finally reach her, and Witch’s face broke as she began to cry, tears spilling down her cheeks as she struggled to find control over her emotions. Bishop stayed by her side, one hand still gently holding her shoulder, the warmth of her touch grounding Witch as she wept.
Across the lobby, Half-Elf Scout and Female Warrior were bandaging other survivors; their hands steady yet their movements careful— as if handling precious relics.
Half-Elf Scout’s sharp eyes darted from one injured adventurer to the next— never lingering on any one person too long.
“Aw, c’mon, keep that arm still, will ya?” Half-Elf Scout said, while sounding slightly exasperated as he tightened a bandage around a weary dwarf’s bicep. “Ya friggin’ lucky that axe didn’t take ya whole arm off. Just stay put, alright? We got bigger worries than you bleedin' everywhere, Bozo.”
The dwarf grunted, but gave a weary nod. Female Warrior, finishing up another set of stitches nearby, glanced over at Scout with a bemused smile.
“Ease up, would you? Not everyone’s as tough as you think, Jerma,” she said, with a playful glint in her eyes.
Half-Elf Scout rolled his eyes, and muttered back at her, “Yeah, yeah, but like, we handled WAY more than what these guys went through,” before lowering his voice and adding, “But don’t get me wrong, I mean— they did alright.”
The dwarf grumbled something under his breath, to which Half-Elf Scout smirked at, while giving him a light pat on the back. “Just sayin’ the truth, slugger— it ain’t our fault that we make it look easy!”
On the other side of the room, Heavy Knight and Spearman sat back against the wall— both young men stripped of their battered armor and were covered in bandages.
Spearman let out a dry chuckle as he nudged Heavy Knight— inclining the muscular man to turn his head towards Witch. “Look at that,” he muttered with a faint grin. “Looks like Sabrina’s actually happy for once. Guess hell really did freeze over today, eh Akihiro?”
Heavy Knight only grunted in response, with his gaze distant— one eye covered in a thick bandage. He looked down at what was left of his left arm, now a bandaged stump ending at the elbow with his expression somber— almost unreadable.
Spearman’s eyes traveled to the stump before returning to his comrade’s face. A sly smirk crossed his lips as he leaned in, nudging him again. “What’s with the long face? Least you still got your legs.”
Heavy Knight frowned, while looking at him out of the corner of his eye.
Spearman waggled his eyebrows, letting out a mischievous chuckle as he pointed to his own bandaged stumps— the remains of his legs ending at his knees. “Besides,” he added with a wicked grin, “you’ve still got your right hand, yeah? That’s the important one.”
Heavy Knight blinked, with his brow furrowing in confusion. “The important one…? Why’s that one the important one?”
Spearman then gave him a knowing look and mimed an exaggerated, jerking motion with his hand while snickering. Upon realizing what he was insinuating, Heavy Knight let out a dry laugh— shaking his head as a rare, genuine grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Shut the hell up, idiot,” Heavy Knight muttered, before smacking Spearman on the back of his head.
They were still chuckling when Female Knight strolled over, a bemused look on her scarred face. “What’s so funny over here?” she asked, with an eyebrow raised.
Spearman shot her a wicked grin. “ Oh, y’know, just teachin’ Akihiro here a thing or two about keepin’ busy with one hand of his, ” he joked, while throwing a teasing glance at Heavy Knight, who immediately turned pink and coughed awkwardly.
Female Knight then rolled her eyes, with a grin spreading across her face. “Yeah, you WOULD know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you Damien?!” She asked half-jokingly with a laugh— shaking her head, as she plopped down beside them. “You two are ridiculous…!”
“It can’t be helped,” Heavy Knight admitted with a faint smile, while playfully glaring at Spearman, who grinned wide and shrugged. They all the. shared a quiet laugh— a rare moment of levity in the ruin.
By the doorway, Guild Girl stood, gazing into the ash-filled horizon with a faraway look in her brown eyes— the weight of everything she’d witnessed settling heavily on her shoulders. Examiner then gingerly approached her from behind— her presence steady and grounding, as she came to stand beside her.
For a moment, they simply stood in silence while watching the delicate ash drift down like snow— cloaking the empty streets and shattered buildings in a somber blanket. Examiner then placed a gentle hand on Guild Girl’s shoulder, with her gaze solemn.
“We… We were able to save quite a few,” Examiner announced, with her voice holding both sorrow and resilience. “Regular folk, adventurers… Children.” She said, while squeezing Guild Girl’s shoulder and giving her a reassuring smile. “We did well today— all of us did. You should be proud of yourself— you and the girls were brave.”
Guild Girl looked up, meeting Examiner’s steady gaze, with her own eyes softening. She shook her head slightly, before murmuring back to her boss, “I… I wasn’t brave,” she murmured. “I was just… Scared… R-Really, really scared…”
Examiner’s smile grew, with her expression kind but resolute. “Bravery isn’t about not being afraid,” she countered. “It’s about doing the right thing, even when you’re terrified.” She said, before gesturing toward the lobby at where injured adventurers lay recuperating. “Without you, some of these people wouldn’t have gotten the help they needed. That was you, Guild Girl. You helped their lives today.”
Guild Girl then looked down, with her lips pulling into something like a smile. She took a steadying breath, with the weight of Examiner’s words settling warmly in her chest. “What… Happens now?” She asked— surprising herself with the question, and realizing that she was already seeking purpose in the aftermath.
Examiner’s eyes then lit up, with a hint of intrigument. “Funny you should ask that… I actually got a letter today— one that I was going to show you all, before this… All happened,” she announced, her voice low and conspiratorial. “And it’s from none other than Zachariah Xanviik himself— believe it or not!”
Upon hearing that name, Guild Girl’s eyes widened— her head snapping up to meet Examiner’s gaze. “Zachariah Xanviik?” She echoed, with her voice a whisper. “That sounds familiar… Isn’t he… Some sort of war hero?”
Examiner chuckled softly. “Something like that.” She replied with a grin; before pausing while crossing her arms over her breasts. “Remember that recent application we had to deny? The kid who failed his psych evaluation?”
Guild Girl nodded slowly, with curiosity flickering in her gaze. “Y-Yeah… W-What about him?”
“Supposedly, he went off and made his own guild, and made a good enough impression on Xanviik for him to recommend it to this outpost, personally. It’s called “United Front”, apparently,” Examiner revealed with a tempted smirk spread across her lips. “If you’re interested, we could give it a shot. We can ask around here, to see who else is curious enough to see what’s up with that— I bet some of these adventurers still have the urge to get back on their saddles…!”
Hearing the offer, Guild Girl’s lips curled into a quiet smile, with her gaze softening as she looked away. “So… He actually did it after all,” she murmured to herself, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “He built a guild— just like how he said he would…!”
Chapter 46: War (Part VII)
Chapter Text
Arthur knelt in the ruins of Albion, with his shoulders trembling as silent sobs wracked his body. His hand was raised to cover his eyes, with his fingers shaking against his clenched jaw— as if it were the last fragile barrier holding his grief in check. His other hand gripped Excalibur, with its once-brilliant blade now dim and planted in the ground— supporting him as he clung to the weapon like a lifeline.
The ash of Albion's body, dissolved and dispersed, drifted down in fine flakes— dusting Arthur, Spy, and the blackened landscape around them in a haunting snowfall.
Spy laid on the ground behind him, with her gaze softened in sorrow. She looked up at Arthur's hunched figure, watching the strength and pain woven into his posture, and the silent suffering etched into his bowed head. Slowly, her gaze shifted to the desolate scene around them.
The woods, once vibrant, lay destroyed— the Earth split open and bleeding magma. The molten rock from the earth’s wounded crust pooled in blackened ruts and rivulets, beginning to cool and harden in jagged edges— a morbid monument to the terrible battle and the fallen Royal Court of Diamonds.
Her shoulders shook as she tore her gaze away, with guilt pressing down on her heart. She lowered her head, while swallowing down her own tears. "I… I-I'm... I'm s-sorry," she whispered, with her voice barely audible, and cracking at the edges. "I-I'm sorry…!"
Arthur’s shoulders rose as he struggled to pull himself together, before finally turning his head slightly, just enough to glance at her over his shoulder. He met her gaze with a soft look, one of weary understanding, with the corners of his mouth tightening as he gave a small, sad nod.
“M… M-Me t-too… M-Me too…” he choked out, with his voice thick and barely holding, before he turned back to the ground. The weight of his words lingered in the air between them— both a confession and a shared acceptance of all they had lost.
For a while, they both stood in heavy silence, with Spy staring at the wreckage around them as the memories of the battle flickered through her mind like unbidden ghosts. The encounter they had barely survived, the friends who had not. She exhaled a long, shaky breath— the gravity of it settling over her as she tried to shake it off.
Then, something stirred in the haze beyond the ashen fog.
She narrowed her eyes, with her heart skipping a beat as she focused on the hazy silhouettes slowly approaching. Two figures moved toward them, one smaller, almost delicate in form, and the other taller, broad-shouldered yet unmistakably feminine in shape— her hourglass waist easily discernible even in the swirling dust.
Spy’s pulse quickened, a glimmer of nervous excitement sparking in her. Moving cautiously, she dragged herself closer to Arthur, before nudging him by his hip and whispering urgently, “L-Look,” while pointing in the direction of the two approaching figures.
Arthur blinked and straightened, his tired eyes sharpening as he followed her gaze. He tightened his grip on Excalibur and rose to his feet— rotating the blade with a steady hand before raising it defensively.
In a voice that held a mixture of grief and the strength of authority, Arthur called out, “I am Prince Arthur Pendragon the Third! If you come in peace, state your purpose, or I will not hesitate to defend myself and my friend!”
They waited, with Spy holding her breath beside him as the two figures continued their approach— stepping through the ashen clouds and coming into clearer view. The taller figure revealed herself first— an orcess, muscular and statuesque, with dark green skin that was faintly smudged with ash. She was clad from neck to toe in a suit of orichalcum armor, and her mature, tomboyish features were partially obscured by a messy bun of black hair— strands of which fell over the right side of her face. Beneath the armor, her powerful build was evident, and her eyes held a serious, almost reverent glint as she gazed at Arthur.
Beside her, the smaller figure lowered her hood, revealing a young girl with beautifully braided brown hair and a delicate, light-skinned face dusted with ash. Her bangs swept across her forehead, and her bright eyes sparkled with an unexpected regality. She raised the sides of her cloak with a practiced grace— curtsying before Arthur with a poise that felt almost royal, despite her youthful age.
The orcess knelt before Arthur, with her heavy armor creaking as she lowered herself to one knee, her head bowing in respect. Spy’s eyes widened at the display of reverence, while Arthur’s breath hitched— his hand relaxing slightly on Excalibur, as he took in their humble gestures.
The girl in the cloak spoke up— her voice high yet refined, and with the eloquence of someone far beyond her years. "I am Lady Sofia Forgehart, current Chieftainess of the Forgehart Clan.” She introduced herself, before straightening her stance while folding her cloak, as her youthful but composed gaze met Arthur’s with a determined light. “I stand before you on behalf of my late father, and I wish to extend the hand of alliance between our clan and yourself— through the United Front."
Arthur’s mouth fell open slightly— the words taking a moment to sink in. “United Front…” He repeated, with his voice barely a murmur— as if tasting the name for the first time. His hand holding Excalibur lowered to his side, with his arm slackening as he took in Sofia’s sincerity— her hope echoing the dreams he had thought lost.
Spy exhaled a soft breath beside him while tilting her head toward him with an almost-smirk— though her eyes glistened with a hint of her own hope. “Just… Say yes already, Arthur.”
The prince then glanced down at her, with a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as her hopeful face met his gaze— her expression softening his own. For a moment, the ache of their recent trials lifted— replaced with the flicker of a new beginning.
Turning back to Sofia, Arthur sheathed Excalibur at his side, before then lowering himself to one knee— mirroring the young chieftainess’ height. The soft clinking of his armor was the only sound as he bowed his head to her, with his gesture both surprising and humbling to the orcess— whose eyes widened slightly— and to Sofia, whose face flickered with awe.
He met Sofia’s gaze with a solemn yet warm expression. “It would be my honor to ally with you, Lady Sofia,” he said, with his voice filled with reverence and hope— like the renewal of a pledge.
For a moment, they were suspended in that moment— surrounded by ash and ruins yet united in purpose and courage. A quiet, shared understanding settled over them— a promise of what they could rebuild together.
Goblin Slayer staggered forward, feeling the ash sting his lungs with every breath, with every step dragging him further into an unyielding sea of gray. His hands, slick with blood and soot, pulled futilely at the shredded leather armor clinging to his body. Each piece tore away reluctantly, before falling to the ground.
The weight of the armor, usually a second skin, now felt foreign, and suffocating.
His gloves came off next, revealing pale, calloused fingers streaked in grime. He threw them down— leaving himself with only his bloodied turtleneck and the worn black cargo pants that clung to him with each movement.
He looked down at his buckler— his battered piece of defense. His fingers flexed around the rim, testing its integrity, before flinching the moment it snapped almost instantly.
‘Broken, just like everything else.’
His lips pressed into a line as he discarded the remains of it— watching them disappear into the thick haze of ash. “D-Damn it,” he muttered angrily, while feeling the words leave his lips hollow and weightless. “I don’t have time for this…!”
He reached for his backpack, only to hear a rip as the straps gave way in his hands. Sighing, he pulled it to his front and rifled through it— taking out potions of green, red, yellow, and blue.
Holding them tightly, he tossed the shredded pack aside and uncapped each bottle with precision— tipping his head back and pouring the bitter, pungent liquids into his mouth through his visor’s vent. The flavors mingled in a foul concoction, and he grimaced as he swallowed— the taste of blood and fermented ingredients lingering on his tongue, as he dropped the empty glass vials to the ground.
Every step he took forward, each deeper breath, was lined with the sharp scent of ash and blood that hung like a miasma around him. He pressed forward, while gripping his orichalcum tomahawk— letting his fingers tighten until he could feel the rough edges bite into his skin.
The ash began to thin— revealing strange mounds rising from the haze.
"Vivi! Look, it's getting huge!" he shouted, his voice full of excitement. His small hands were red from the cold, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Vivine smiled warmly, taking a sip from her cup. "You're doing great! That's going to be the best snowman we've ever built."
The boy puffed out his chest, feeling proud of himself. "I think this one's going to be even bigger than the one we made last year! But you have to help with the head, okay? It’s too heavy for me to lift."
"Of course," Vivine chuckled, watching him struggle with the oversized snowball. She walked over to him, her boots crunching softly in the snow. "But first, you should take a break. Your hands must be freezing by now."
He shook his head defiantly, brushing his damp hands on his coat. "I'm fine, Vivi! I want to finish it before the snow stops."
Vivine laughed softly. "The snow isn’t going to stop anytime soon. But how about we compromise? You keep working on the snowman’s body, and I’ll start getting things ready for the face. Deal?"
He thought about it for a second, then nodded enthusiastically. "Deal!"
Vivine crouched down beside him, setting her coffee cup in the snow for a moment. Together, they shaped the snowman’s body, the boy’s smaller hands carefully smoothing out the surface while Vivine helped him with the trickier parts. The air was filled with the soft sounds of snow being packed together and the occasional giggle when cold snow slipped through his gloves.
"Remember last time how we used those pebbles for the eyes?" Vivine asked as she stood up, brushing the snow from her gloves.
"Yeah!" He said— his face lighting up again at the memory. "And the carrot for the nose. We should do that again!"
Vivine smiled, reaching for her cup. "I think we still have a carrot in the kitchen. Want me to grab it?"
"Yes! And we need something for the hat. Snowmen need hats, right?"
"Right," Vivine agreed, her eyes sparkling with affection. "I’ll see what I can find. You keep working on that head, Ren. I’ll be right bac-”
‘-No,’ he thought— forcing his gaze to steady, as his heart began to slow. ‘This isn’t snow,’ he realized to himself, as the coppery, putrid scent of burned flesh and decay filled his nostrils.
The mounds weren’t snowdrifts— they were bodies, twisted and charred, with faces frozen in expressions of agony beneath a thin veil of ash. Orcs, dark-elves, imps, creatures he barely recognized— every monstrous race lay here in a twisted heap, as if they’d been swept up by some merciless storm.
‘Annihilation.’
The bile rose in his throat as he walked through them, and his thoughts raced. ‘Did… Did the Royal Army come to fight Blackwatch? I didn't see any of them in Maggiore... Did they leave this field of carnage behind them?’
Each step grew heavier as he moved through the aftermath. He tried to swallow down his nerves against the rising sense of dread coursing through his veins.
‘Focus. Focus on the stronghold. Juliet… Juliet needs you. They all do.’
And then, through the haze, he saw it— a shadow, still and hauntingly familiar.
His heart stopped. Something in him seized, an instinctive, primal terror he couldn’t suppress. His fingers tightened around his tomahawk, with his muscles tensing as if to fight or flee. But his feet remained rooted to the spot— frozen by the sight before him.
The figure moved, the ash shifting around him as he drew closer— revealing a form clad in dark crimson armor— gleaming with the same cold, lethal beauty that left him breathless.
‘I… I know him,’ he thought, as his mind scrambled to process the realization. He knew that armor, the silent aura, that unyielding presence. His gaze was unbreakable, unmoving, a force that radiated calm yet promised death.
A strange feeling settled into his chest. ‘Beautiful,’ the thought rose unbidden, unwanted, into the teenager’s petrified mind. ‘Why…? Why does everything that’s intertwined with death have to be so beautiful?’
The figure then raised his sword— its ebony blade almost melding into the shadows that clung to him. And then, finally, his voice cut through the silence— smooth and cold, an unyielding pronouncement of fate. “This…” He paused, the word lingering in the air. “… Is as far as you go.”
Goblin Slayer’s lips parted— his breath hitching. He wanted to respond, to say anything that might pierce through the fear pulsing in his veins. “I…” His voice shook— barely audible even to himself. “I-I need t-to get to the Forgehart Clan’s stronghold. M-My friends… Th-They need me.” The words fell from him— desperate, and pleading.
The figure’s gaze remained unfaltering, with his voice calm as steel. “Your friends…” He spoke with a deliberate pause, with each word sinking like a dagger. “… Are all dead.”
The air drained from Goblin Slayer’s lungs. The weight of those words crushed him— snuffing out every fragment of hope he’d clung to. His heart hammered, and his hands began to tremble.
“T… Th-There’s… No way of y-you knowing that,” he argued back in a raw whisper— his grip on the tomahawk growing painfully tight, as if it were the last solid thing in his crumbling world. “Th-There’s s-still… There’s a ch-chhance they’re o-okay…”
The figure’s gaze narrowed, and for the first time, a sliver of something darker flickered across his face. “Death follows you, wherever you tread,” he said, his tone low, cutting. “It clings to you like a shadow.”
The gray-haired teen felt a sharp pang in his chest.
His breaths grew shallow, with his vision beginning to blur as he tried to stare into the eyes of this merciless figure— trying to find any sign of reprieve, any hint that might absolve him. “You don’t… Y-You don’t know me,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “You have no idea what I’ve done… W-Who I am…”
The figure tilted his head, with a glint of pity flashing in his steely gaze. “I know more than you realize.” He said, while his tone softened— but the weight of his words remained. “1885. Michael Ashta and Sarah J. Ashta, were found dead in a house fire caused by their youngest child... Ren Ashta.”
Goblin Slayer’s blood ran cold. The name, his parents— he could hardly process it, his mind caught between disbelief and despair.
But the figure continued, his voice relentless, unwavering. “1900. Riverwood Village— the entire village was raided, with no survivors found. 1905, this very year. Ren Ashta, who was thought to have been killed along with his older sister, Vivine Ashta, was rejected by the Adventurers’ Guild. Sahara Outpost soon fell afterward, shortly before three men were slaughtered while delivering a Blackwatch executive to Crossbell… Along with Ren Ashta.”
Each word drove deeper, tearing at him, exposing wounds he thought had healed, memories he had buried. His breaths grew more ragged as his gaze locked onto the figure, with each word bringing the memories flooding back.
‘H-How?! How does he know any of that?!’
The crimson figure’s voice dropped to a murmur, yet it cut through him just the same. “Look around you,” he said, while gesturing to the bodies strewn across the ashen field. “Look at this destruction, this trail of death that’s followed in the wake of you coming back here.” His voice softened, almost sorrowful. “Blackwatch wouldn’t have been summoned, if it weren’t for you… Maggiore Outpost is gone, because of you.”
Goblin Slayer’s vision blurred, his entire body beginning to shake. “None of that…” He trailed off, with his whispering voice fragile, and on the edge of breaking. “None of THIS… Is my fault…”
The figure sighed— a weighty, sorrowful sound— as the teenager felt his resolve waver further. “I know.” He said, breaking the silence like a confession; and for a moment, Goblin Slayer thought he saw something in those eyes— regret, perhaps, or empathy. “... I know.”
The figure took a measured step forward, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. “But if there’s even a chance to stop General Blackwood, if Prince Pendragon can reach whatever remains of the Forgehart bloodline…” He said, with his voice grew soft— the finality settling in like a death knell. “Then I can’t risk you bringing ruin to Zemuria’s last hope.”
The blade lifted— an extension of the man who wielded it—with his expression set in cold determination. “For the future,” he murmured, almost tenderly, “for the sake of all that remains— Ren Ashta, you… You have to die.”
A veil of black smoke rose and dissipated in the courtyard of the weathered fortress— revealing the Blackwatch Executive with High Elf Archer cradled against his chest. The high-elf touched down with grace, with his boots pressing lightly into the ash-dusted Earth, and with the quiet sound of horses grazing on patches of pale grass accompanying his landing.
Ash drifted downward, coating the coats of the sixty or more horses surrounding them— their presence both solemn and surreal against the crumbling stones of the fortress. Just beyond the Northern battlement, the soft murmur of the river’s flow wove a calming lull into the air— a contrast to the tension tightening his jaw, as he looked down at the limp figure in his arms.
Without a second thought, the Blackwatch Executive strode forward— each step more urgent than the last, as his wings dissipated into tendrils of black smoke behind him. He soon reached the nearest door leading into the fortress, and kicked it open with one fierce motion— the wood splintering as he stepped inside and knelt, before carefully laying High Elf Archer on her back.
She looked so fragile, her features pallid, marred by ash and blood.
“D-Damn it…! Damn it all,” he cursed under his breath, with his fingers trembling, as he raised his hand, palm out, before slicing his own flesh open. Blood trickled down his palm as he moved quickly— dipping his fingers in it, before beginning to rub the blood across her forehead, and down to her temples. He carefully lifted her head, rubbing the warmth of his blood against the back of her skull— over the wound at her lower back, every touch urgent, every stroke desperate.
"Wake up, come on…” He muttered under his breath as he uttered an incantation— a spell woven into each word. His own worry flickered across his face, with his expression torn between frustration and fear, as the blood he had spread over her wounds began to blacken and bubble— smoking as it sealed her bruises, her abrasions, her worst wounds. As he watched, his wings dissipated entirely, with his scleras fading from black back to white— the glow of his red irises softening into a familiar emerald green.
High Elf Archer’s breath suddenly hitched— a soft groan leaving her lips, as her eyes fluttered open, blurry and unfocused. Her vision swam, and her head felt weighted, but as her gaze settled, she found herself staring up at him— his face hovering close, with his worry visible even in the dimness.
“A-Arthemis… I… I-I’m scared…”
“A… A-Athrun…?” She uttered out in a hushed, bewildered murmur, as recognition dawned. Her brow furrowed, with her thoughts tangled and jumbled, as she slowly reached up— her fingertips grazing the edge of his cheek, before sliding to his dark blue bangs. “What… What happened to you?”
Athrun looked away from her— the hardened edge returning to his gaze as he narrowed his eyes, with his jaw tightening. “I did what I had to do,” he said quietly, though the bitterness in his voice cut through like ice.
He then turned his gaze back on her, that hurt, raw anger flashing behind his eyes. "Why did you…? Why did you become an adventurer? How could you even think of joining the humans, after everything they did to us? After what they did to Atalanta?!”
Her chest tightened at his words, the familiar name— Atalanta— stirring memories that had haunted them both.
“Shh… It’s alright…”
“... No matter what happens, I’ll always love you two.”
She couldn’t speak at first, but his accusations weighed heavy— stirring something defensive within her. “I… I did what you should have done too, Athrun! I put aside my hatred, for the sake of our kingdom’s survival!”
“Bullshit!” He snapped, with his voice a sharp rebuke— cutting deep. He leaned closer— his anger a barely-contained flame. “What you did was kneel before the Empire— became their obedient servant! Just like all the others who were too afraid, too weak, to do what was right!”
Her breath hitched, and her eyes narrowed as she sat up slightly— the fire in his gaze matched by her own. “What’s right?!” She shot back, with her voice rising. “What’s right is not abandoning our people to join Blackwatch! What they’re doing is no different than what the Royal Army did to us, two hundred years ago!”
Athrun scoffed as her words struck a nerve, while his fingers clenched into fists, as he felt the truth cut deeper than he cared to admit. “Good,” he spat, with his voice laced with venom. “It’s about fucking time the humans get a taste of their fucking medicine!”
High Elf Archer let out a strained breath— her own fury shimmering in her gaze. “You fucking idiot! Don’t you get it?! Blackwatch isn’t hurting the Royal Army, Athrun! They’re hurting innocent people— people who had nothing to do with what the Royal Army did to us! People like US!!!”
Hearing that made his hands tremble, as the resolve he clung to faltered. “That doesn’t matter! T-Those fuckers…! W-What they did to Atalanta, Artemis, it’s…!” He said with his voice cracking, as a flicker of doubt surfaced in his eyes. “I-It’s not okay…! I-IT’S NOT FUCKING OKAY!!! NONE OF THIS IS FUCKING OKAY!!! THEY NEED TO PAY, THEY NEED TO-”
“- WHEN DOES IT FUCKING STOP THEN, ATHRUN?!? WHEN IS ENOUGH EVER ENOUGH?!?” High Elf Archer screamed back at him in defiance, her voice stronger now, and edged with sorrow and anger alike— her gaze unwavering, as she held his.
Her words struck him harder than he expected, a wave of realization washing over him as he saw the glistening tears brimming in her eyes.
Her voice dropped, while her expression softened, as she looked at him— her own sorrow raw. “I…! I’ve tried moving on… Pretending that what happened to us would just… Go away on its own. But… It never did...” She said quietly, with her voice wavered— breaking just slightly. “And if I can admit that, Athrun… If even I can admit that I was wrong… T-Then so can you…”
“... Chasing revenge… Damning ghosts… None of that will fix us… I’ve seen it, and… It just doesn’t work, Athrun— it just fucking doesn’t…”
He felt his breath hitch as she gently held his cheek— her fingers warm against his skin, as she began to sob, with the weight of everything they’d both lost evident in her eyes. He could feel his own tears beginning to fall, with his eyes widening, as he struggled to keep his composure— his jaw tightening, as the pain in his chest grew.
“We can’t keep living like this… We can’t let our demons chain us to the past forever,” she whispered, with her voice thick with emotion.
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. His voice was lost, buried beneath everything he had held back. Finally, his voice cracked, quiet and pained. “H… H-How then…? How are we supposed to move on…? How could I… How could I ever face Atalanta…? After what I’ve done… What I couldn’t do for her… F-For you…”
High Elf Archer’s lips trembled, but a small smile softened her expression— bittersweet. With her thumb, she brushed away a tear from his cheek— the warmth of her touch grounding him, and pulling him back to the present. “In order to move on… In order to live in the present… We need to face what happened— together… No more bearing that weight on our own…”
Athrun felt his heart tighten, with a wave of sorrow crashing through him as he listened— letting himself hear her words, and truly hearing them for the first time.
“We’re all suffering,” she said, with her voice stronger now, with an underlying resolve. “But it’s time to set those memories alight, and to kill that part of ourselves that’s still chained to the past… So that we can let something… Something more beautiful grow from its ashes.”
His throat felt tight, with the weight of her words stirring emotions he’d tried to keep buried. He lowered his head, and pressed his cheek further into her hand, as he let out a choked breath. “I… I don’t know how,” he whispered, with his own tears falling freely now— his vulnerability laid bare.
She continued to gently wipe his tears— her touch still warm, and comforting. “Neither do I,” she murmured, with her voice filled with a quiet, determined strength. “Not yet, anyway.” She added, while her expression softened, as determination began to shine through her sorrow. “But even so… What I do know is that we… We can end this strife— we can rebuild the bridge that’s long since been burnt.”
Athrun then looked down at her, with a guarded yet curious look in his eyes. He couldn’t quite understand, and couldn’t yet see the path she did. “What… What do you need me to do?”
In the dim, blood-streaked twilight, crimson arcs of lightning flared to life— crackling around Captain and Goblin Slayer, as they stood locked in a fierce standoff— two spectral figures wreathed in deadly light. The bloody aura shrouded them like phantom armor, and in the chilling silence, the electric hum reverberated through the ashen Earth beneath them— threatening to tear it asunder.
Captain’s right eye glowed like a live ember, a chilling contrast to the hollow, yet hauntingly focused gaze under Goblin Slayer's visor, where his left eye burned a deep, furious crimson.
The teenager barely had time to react when a flash of searing pain ripped through his abdomen. In a fraction of a second, Captain had cut into him, the blade moving faster than Goblin Slayer's reflexes could counter. “G-Gha…!”
Staggering back, the gray-haired teen pressed a trembling hand to his side— feeling warm blood soak through his fingers, as his mind raced in jagged fragments.
‘How… How did he anticipate that?! I thought I caught him off guard!’
His thoughts drifted between confusion and desperation— almost frantic— yet he forced himself to ground his terror.
‘Calm down. Stay calm. You can… You’ll be okay,’ he told himself, but his heartbeat drummed faster— hammering against his chest, like a war drum.
Clutching his tomahawk, he raised it with a trembling hand— summoning a spell with all the strength he could muster.
‘I can do this. I can still figh-’
SHNK.
‘-t.’
His thought broke mid-sentence, as he felt an agonizing pressure slice between the vents of his visor— a blade piercing his right eye and lodging itself deep within his skull.
Time froze in that instant, the pain blooming slowly at first, then crashing into him like a wave of fire. His consciousness reeled as he comprehended the impossible— Captain’s katana was embedded in his skull, cleaving through bone and nerves, igniting a searing agony that blanketed all else.
Goblin Slayer’s mouth opened in a silent scream, and then, as the shock settled, he threw his head back and shrieked— the sound raw and tortured, echoing into the ashen sky.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!H!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
His body shook violently, as he collapsed to his knees while the weapon remained embedded in his head.
‘IT’S IN MY HEAD!!!’ He repeated to himself— panicked and delirious. ‘IT’S IN MY HEAD, IT’S MY HEAD, IT’S IN MY HEAD, IT’S MY HEAD, IT’S IN MY HEAD!!!’
Blood and viscous cerebral fluid leaked from his nostrils and mouth, painting the ground beneath him in a grotesque spatter.
‘M-M-My braaaainn…?! My braaainnn, braainnn— rigghh iush lerrfff! Muh braain… M-Muh braainnn?!? Shtuabbed— heee shtuabbed mmuah braaaain…! Hyuhingg… Aime dyainnnggg….!’
His mind spiraled into jagged fragments— words broken beyond recognition as his brain struggled to keep up with the onslaught of agony. He wanted to scream, to demand an answer, but his thoughts were tangled in a web of pain and confusion.
Through labored breaths, he muttered, slurred and incoherent, "H-He gah mah b-b-b-rai…! Wha… What iz g-gonna happen t-to meeeeeee…?!"
Through the suffocating haze of pain, his impaled mind began scourganing for every last bit of lucidity he had left— his thoughts conveying rambling lines, as a desperate grasp to regain his clarity.
“Her...! Beueaity was flswless, captivatung in ebery way… Yet bwneath that surface, there was nothibg bUt e,ptiness…” His voice was weak and stuttering, with each word a struggle, as his mind grappled with its damaged coherence.
His trembling hand rose to grab the handle of the katana still embedded in his skull— a cold understanding dawning, as he realized that its blade pierced not only straight through his brain, but went through the back of his orichalum helmet as well.
“Shee existed... But dis not live…”
With a trembling groan, he attempted to wrench the weapon free— his broken voice continuing, haunted and unsteady.
“Her smile could dazzle the world… Bit insife, her heart wad silent, hollow— a bsrren desert hisden behind a painted maak…”
The blade refused to budge, and his guttural cries of agony filled the air as he clutched the handle— his body jerking violently in protest.
“GWAUAAAAHHHHHH!!! AAAAAAAAAHHHH— AAAAAAH, GHAAAAAAAA!!!”
He could barely comprehend what was happening, but he recited on— his words fractured yet determined, as if the verses might shield him from oblivion.
At a distance, Captain watched him with cold, melancholy eyes— a silent spectator to the agonizing unraveling before him, as Goblin Slayer’s voice strained against the weight of his torment.
“N-No one noticed the quiet desolation in her eyes…! The way her soul seemed to drift…! Untethered from the brightness she presented…!”
His hands reached shakily to his helmet, and with a trembling effort, he managed to remove it— revealing his exposed, bloodied face. His left eye still glowed with a furious, unwavering light, with the crimson arcs surrounding him growing increasingly erratic— wild, and desperate.
“Beauty had become her prison… And she— a prisoner of her own reflection…” He whispered, with his voice breaking, as his damaged brain recalibrated itself. Reaching up to his fatal injury, Goblin Slayer pulled the blade from his skull in one last, agonized surge of will. Blood and brain matter oozed as the blade fell, yet he stood— defiant.
When Captain finally spoke, his voice was soft— almost respectful. “That was… Beautiful.”
“That was… Melusine Austen,” Goblin Slayer managed to reply coherently, with his voice barely above a whisper— each word thick with suffering.
“Ah. I thought it sounded familiar.” Captain’s mused with a trace of admiration still in his voice, but it soon faded as he reached for his second katana— his eyes narrowing.
“That poem.... Must remind you of…” Captain muttered, before the words trailed off. And then in a sudden, explosive burst, he unsheathed his katana while charging it with a fusion of fire and lightning spells. He then unleashed a beam of molten, searing pink plasma— the air sizzling and exploding in bursts of heat around the beam.
Goblin Slayer’s eye widened, and his body instinctively reacted by diving and rolling to the side, as the lethal energy shot past him— leaving trails of blackened Earth in its wake.
‘Hot. Pain. Hot pain.’
His thoughts were frenzied as he barely kept ahead of the plasma— darting and weaving to avoid the destructive force. And yet Captain’s magic attack moved closer— drawing in on him with relentless precision.
Goblin Slayer pushed forward, racing around his opponent, and as Captain adjusted his aim, the teenager felt hope flare in his chest. ‘All I need… Is one hit,’ he thought, the desperate resolve surging within him. ‘Just one…’
But his heart sank as he realized Captain had already anticipated his movement— vanishing from sight and reappearing in a blur behind him, and summoning a volley of dark magic missiles aimed directly at him.
In an instant, death seemed imminent.
Goblin Slayer’s muscles tensed as his life flashed before his eyes, flashes of distant memories mixing with horror.
“You… You need help, Mr. Ashta— more than you need to put that sword to good use…”
"Yeah… And, uh… As cheesy as it sounds, I… I think I really am gonna miss you. Like, I’m not even bullshitting right now when I say that I really, really, don’t want you to go."
"A gift. From Lady Sofia…She wanted to make sure you came back safely. So you’ll return to her."
“You remind me of myself, you know. Focused. Determined. You seem like the sort of man who knows his purpose in life, and is content with that— I can respect that.”
"I... I know what it’s like— to be hurt by those who you’re supposed to depend on…”
"Now carry on, love: it’s not proper for a man to keep his lady waiting for long…!”
“Hey, dude, don’t be too hard on yourself, okay? Those lines of what’s real and what’s imaginary tend to blur when we think the world about someone… But deep down? We know what’s real, and what’s fuckin’ fake…!”
“Good Mythical Morning! I’m Veronica O’Neil. You folks must be tourists, right?”
“So, are you prepared to follow through with your ambition? To slay every last goblin on this continent— knowing you’ll die long before that dream ever comes even close to being realized?”
“Seeing you in the same pain as I’ve felt, it… It gave me introspection— all I want to do is hold you… To comfort you, to make that pain go away… Our pain, go away…”
"I can’t… I can’t lose you… N-Not like I did with Serena… I-I’m… I’m not strong enough…"
‘No,’ he thought— his spirit surging defiantly. ‘Not yet… NOT YET!— NOT YET!!’
With a primal scream, he unleashed a devastating crimson lightning burst— a furious, all-consuming explosion that tore through the Earth.
The sheer force obliterated the ash-covered ground— casting it skyward in a violent storm of red lightning that blazed against the night. The crimson radiance ripped through the night, clearing the clouds— surging high into the atmosphere, and scattering into fragments of red and pink light that danced like a crimson aurora across the heavens.
As the last arcs of lightning dissipated, Goblin Slayer and Captain stood at the epicenter— locked in a quiet, solemn exchange. The teenager’s face was ashen and dripping with blood and cerebral fluids, with his one remaining eye fixed on Captain. “G… G-Goodnight,” he whispered, his voice broken, with the other man giving him a small, almost proud smile.
“You’re... Pretty good... Ren Ashta,” Captain said in a low voice, before in one swift motion, he channeled his own crimson lightning— flooding it through his blade as he plunged it into Goblin Slayer’s chest.
The impact sent the gray-haired teen flying backward— his body limp as he skidded and rolled across the ground.
And as Goblin Slayer lay on his back, he gazed up at the aurora shimmering above— its colors swirling in the night sky, as if heaven itself wept in gentle ribbons of light for the battle below.
"Protect him.”
He felt a swell of despair mingle with a soft, unnameable hope.
“Protect that little boy inside of you that I love. Shield him from the horrors of this world, as I once shielded you."
His sight grew dim, his hearing faint, as the last fragments of his life drifted into the air like the ashes carried away in the night.
“Goodnight, Ren.”
Chapter 47: War (Part VIII)
Chapter Text
The Forgehart Clan’s Stronghold loomed in silent ruin, with its once formidable walls now twisted and scarred— casting long, jagged shadows across the landscape of devastation below. The roads leading up to its entrance lay broken and decimated— scattered with piles of shattered stone and rusted, twisted metal, remnants of collapsed towers and fallen barricades that once stood as shields of iron and pride.
The great structures that had once protected this land were now no more than disfigured skeletons— haunted remains of their former glory.
Above, the aurora borealis shimmered in soft, celestial waves— painting the sky in hues of green, violet, and red, and casting its light upon the somber ruin below. The ethereal glow bathed the landscape in an otherworldly beauty, as if the cosmos themselves mourned what had been lost. Its vibrant colors spread across the remains of the Evergreen Forest— illuminating splintered trees that lay in fractured lines like ancient bones scattered in final, silent testimony to the clash that had sundered them.
A cool night breeze swept in from the Iron Flower Mountains, carrying with it the crisp, fresh scent of pine and ice. It drifted down from the high peaks, descending upon the battlefield— mixing with the lingering odor of blood, gunpowder, and the sickly sweet stench of burned flesh.
The breeze felt almost like a cleansing force, as it swept through the remains of the Royal Army’s kill zone— brushing past broken bodies and discarded weapons, carrying with it the death and destruction, the blood and smoke, dispersing it eastward while the fresh scent of the mountains filled the air.
Yet the purity of the mountain air felt haunting against the bloodstained earth— as though even the mountains mourned what had transpired there. The ground lay silent, unnaturally so, as if life itself dared not disrupt the tranquility of the graveyard. Broken blades, dented shields, and scraps of armor lay scattered— silent tributes to the men and women who had fought and fallen, with their sacrifices etched into the soil, and absorbed by the land.
There was beauty in the silence— in the tragic stillness that had descended upon the stronghold. The temperature had dipped, a faint chill blanketing the land, a reminder of the touch of winter that crept down from the mountains— freezing the last remnants of violence in quiet stasis.
The air tasted cold and clear, yet tinged with the metallic bitterness of blood, lingering just beneath the crisp mountain scent. It was a place that echoed loss, haunting and heavy, and yet the serenity was oddly profound— a final requiem for the lives that had come and gone, their last breaths now carried away on the whisper of the mountain breeze.
The remains of fauna and flora lay scattered, twisted and broken just as the soldiers were, woven into the devastation— wildflowers crushed beneath shattered armor, branches charred and broken by fire, animal tracks trailing into bloodstained mud before fading into nothingness.
This land was haunted, alive only with the soft weeping of the breeze through the broken stones— the distant whisper of leaves brushing against charred bark, and the cool caress of the mountain’s breath against the remnants of what had once thrived here.
And above it all, the aurora borealis shimmered on— undisturbed by the devastation beneath it, casting its light over the silent, broken world. It was a scene both beautiful and desolate, a stillness filled with unsung sorrow, and an unspoken reminder that life and death— in their own terrible beauty, were woven together in the fabric of the world.
In that quiet, mournful place, where only the dead bore witness, the land seemed to weep— carrying its grief outward to the distant, unknowable night.
Aldric descended through the elongated corridor behind the ruined throne of the chieftain’s hall— his footsteps echoing off the cracked walls. His custom templar armor, battered and scorched from his previous battle, sparked with flickers of yellow light, as his suit’s photonic defense system strained to maintain integrity.
He moved with calculated caution, with each step measured as he scanned the dimly lit path ahead. At the bottom of the corridor, he halted, with his eyes narrowing at the myriad of protective wards scattered across the ceiling, walls, and grated floor of the underground vault’s damaged lobby. His helmet sensors pulsed as they detected the wards’ invisible runes— highlighting their intricate, faintly glowing patterns against the cold metal and rock.
“Ah,” he muttered, with his voice laced with a resigned expectation, “I suspected as much.”
Aldric activated his commlink, the internal display sparking to life, as he raised his wrist module to initiate a spell.
“Echo Team, respond,” he ordered, with his voice calm but laced with authority. Static filled his helmet. He tried again, his tone more urgent, but the silence remained unbroken. Frowning, he glanced at his wrist module, and watched as the photonic amplifier hummed to life— glowing faintly as it channeled mana into a condensed orb.
“Echo Team, do you read?” he asked, finally allowing a trace of frustration to surface as he glanced toward the gaping hole blasted into the vault door across from him. “So… They must have perished… How disappointing.” He muttered to himself, with his voice dropped to a murmur— the thought punctuated with cold detachment. He then turned his gaze back to the sphere of concentrated mana, watching it rise from the twisted metal grating and hover ominously in the air.
With a flick of his wrist, Aldric summoned a powerful, glowing orange ward that sealed the corridor from the compromised lobby— forming a shimmering barrier. He kept his focus steady as the orb’s spin grew faster and faster, expecting it to obliterate the opposing wards within moments. Just as he prepared to complete the cast, warning signals flashed across his visor in bold red lettering.
SYSTEM MALFUNCTION.
His eyes widened, and he cursed under his breath. “What the hell?!”
The barrier around him began to flicker, unstable, as the spell charged to critical levels. Finding his movements sluggish as his suit’s servo motors faltered, Aldric grimaced while thinking fast. Abandoning his original spell, he redirected the remaining energy to cast a powerful defensive buff over himself, and conjured a ward in front of his body— just as the volatile orb erupted.
The detonation exploded like a flashbang, and was followed by a scorching shockwave that seared the front of his power armor. He suspected sabotage— someone tampering with his fusion core while his back had been turned.
Acting quickly, he activated his suit’s built-in emergency eject protocol. And as the force of the shockwave hurled him backward, his warded form shielded against the brunt of it— his damaged armor tearing apart and scattering into pieces around him.
Landing heavily on the grated floor, Aldric’s figure revealed itself in a slimmer, black suit— dark as midnight, reinforced with tactical plating that clung to his muscular frame. He barely had time to reorient himself before he spotted a figure ahead of him. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, slamming the blond woman— Arc Mage— into the decline of the corridor.
She retaliated with a blade of ethereal energy, extending from her hand as she struck out. But he was faster, his hand locking around her wrist as his other clamped tightly around her neck.
“You should have fled when you had the chance,” he sneered, while watching her expression shift to silent terror. He grit his teeth and, with a sudden twist, broke her wrist, then her neck with ruthless precision. Her eyes went wide, a final flash of resistance, as he felt her bones snap beneath his grip. He drove her body into the floor, with his muscular frame crushing her as he executed a forward roll— breaking his own fall.
As he raised himself to his feet, he spared her one more glance. ‘How did she sneak up on me, even after five rounds from a rivet rifle?’ He wondered, though the thought only briefly lingered in his mind, as he prepared to finish her off.
Just then, something gelatinous and cold slammed against his exposed face. It was a creature of cyan, translucent slime, barely a foot tall, with no mouth, but intent on revenge. They clung to his face with surprising strength, with their body sizzling against his skin as they attempted to melt his head clean off.
Aldric roared, his defense spell holding back the worst of the damage, but unable to block the searing pain as his skin blistered. Through the haze of agony, he gripped Remi’s slimy form— prying them from his face with raw force. “How-” He gasped, disbelieving as he flung them onto Arc Mage’s twisted body. “That should have KILLED you!”
He aimed his hand to finish them both— his voice a low, guttural growl. “Stay DEAD this time…!”
The fire spell gathered at his fingertips, bright and burning, ready to incinerate them where they lay— only for him to hear the swift, silent approach of more footsteps down the corridor. He snapped his gaze upward, spotting High Elf Archer and Athrun racing toward him— their eyes sharp with determination.
Reacting instantly, he redirected the flame toward them.
High Elf Archer then dropped into a slide across the grated floor— dodging the blast by a hair’s breadth, as she released ten arrows in rapid succession.
Beside her, Athrun matched her slide, with his scleras blackened, his red irises glowing with an unnatural intensity, as jagged crystals emerged from his back— flaring out into wing-like appendages, before launching a volley of sharpened projectiles toward Aldric.
“Fucking elves,” Aldric muttered, with his warding absorbing the barrage of arrows and crystal shards with a faint shimmer, before they clattered harmlessly to the ground. In one fluid motion, he twisted, sweeping his arm wide to conjure another barrier, as Athrun rolled over— wrapping his arms around High Elf Archer, and vanishing them in a cloud of black smoke before they reappeared behind him within what was left of the bunker’s entry lobby.
Aldric spun around, already prepared for their arrival, with his gaze cold and calculating. "I’ll finish what Xanviik started," He sneered, the flames in his hand flickering out as he sized them up. “This time, your filthy whore of an older sister won’t be here to save either of you.”
Athrun’s eyes glinted with a fiery resolve, with his voice lowing to a spiteful growl. "M-Motherfucker…! You’re fucking DEAD!!! DEAD!!!”
Aldric let out a short, bitter laugh. “Brave words, from a coward like you.” He retorted insultingly, before raising his wrist module, with the photonic light crackling ominously as he prepared his next spell.
High Elf Archer nocked another arrow, with her green eyes narrowed as she bared her teeth at his direction. “FUCK YOU!!!” She spat out hatefully, as she released her arrow while Athrun, with practiced precision, sent another volley of blackened crystals to follow her attack— creating a deadly pincer.
Aldric’s grin twisted as he sidestepped, as he narrowly dodged the arrows. He angled his hand toward the oncoming wave— casting a shimmering ward that absorbed the crystals mid-air. His laughter echoed in the chamber, as he deflected their combined assault with ease. “Bravado won’t save either of you— it didn’t save your sister,” he taunted, while launching a spell of his own— a volley of molten bolts that arced toward them in waves.
Athrun lunged forward, shielding High Elf Archer and dissipating the fire with a burst of dark energy— narrowing his eyes as the smoke cleared. “F-Fucker…!” He growled with gritted teeth, as his ethereal wings unfurled behind him in lethal, obsidian arcs.
Aldric’s expression remained icy and unyielding as he raised his wrist, flickering with lethal mana. Preemptively countering his attack, Athrun teleported forward— his shadowy wings twisting to form a jagged, ethereal blade around his right arm. With a sharp pivot, he slashed toward Aldric, who sidestepped effortlessly— bringing up a translucent ward barrier that deflected the blow.
The impact crackled as arcane energy collided, sending ripples across the bunker walls.
“THIS IS FOR ATALANTA!!!” High Elf Archer shouted, with her voice laced with venom as she loosed a flurry of arrows— each ricocheting off the warped metal walls in unpredictable paths. Aldric tracked their movements, raising another barrier and weaving between the bolts with fluid— almost taunting agility.
His own spells spun to life, sending searing magic missiles hurtling through the air in every direction, forcing her to retreat back— dodging narrowly with uncanny speed.
“A futile effort, both of you,” he sneered, with his movements a seamless combination of offense and defense, as he deflected Athrun's crystals— his speed and reflexes dauntingly precise. His eyes locked onto the high elf, who was teleporting through the flickering shadows— launching one volley after another of dark crystal shards in rapid succession.
In an instant, Aldric broke into a burst of agility— moving like a black blur across the grated floor. His fists and feet struck out with lethal precision, each blow blocked or sidestepped by Athrun, who barely managed to keep up with the general’s relentless pace.
Frustration twisted Athrun's features as he shifted tactics— wrapping his wing-blade around his arm and charging again. His form blurred as he teleported directly behind Aldric, as he swung his wing in a furious arc.
Aldric spun in place, his movements deceptively swift, and slipped beneath the swipe— retaliating with an explosive kick that sent Athrun staggering back. The moment Athrun regained his footing, High Elf Archer was there— firing another volley. The arrows whizzed past the general, ricocheting around the room, as her younger brother closed the gap with a new barrage of crystal shards.
But Aldric moved like a shadow while evading the projectiles with acrobatic precision, with his ward pulsing around him, as he danced between the deadly shots— his agility defying their attempts to pin him down.
With a low growl, he spun forward, striking out in close combat. He deflected High Elf Archer’s blade with one hand, with his other sweeping in a precise arc to counter Athrun’s next teleport. His fist met Athrun’s abdomen with crushing force, and he followed with a knee to the face— breaking his teleportation rhythm.
Gritting his teeth, Athrun staggered back, but High Elf Archer was beside him in an instant. With her eyes blazing with fury, she launched a final salvo of arrows, with each aimed for Aldric’s vulnerable points.
Two arrows struck deep into the back of his shoulder, while two of Athrun’s crystal shards found their mark in his thigh— piercing the protective layers of his under armor. Aldric grimaced but pressed forward— his own rage seething beneath the surface as he swatted High Elf Archer’s next strike aside.
“Pathetic! No wonder your people were slaughtered!” He snarled, while grappling Athrun’s ethereal wing and, with a ferocious yank, tore it clean off.
The wing dissipated in a burst of dark energy, and Athrun’s scream echoed through the chamber as Aldric followed with a brutal strike to his face. The general’s blows came down in a merciless flurry— fists striking again and again, smashing into the high elf’s face and chest, until blood splattered the grated floor beneath him.
With a final, crushing stomp to Athrun’s head, Aldric sent his opponent crumpling to the floor..
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!!!” High Elf Archer’s scream tore through the air as she lunged onto Aldric’s back, with her knives flashing as she repeatedly stabbed into his neck— desperate to save her fallen brother.
The impacts jarred Aldric’s defensive ward, which held up just long enough for him to twist his arm back. His hand closed around her shoulder, and with a vicious judo throw, he hurled her onto the grated floor beside Athrun with brutal force.
She gasped, winded from the impact— her body bruised and beaten. As she struggled to push herself up, Aldric raised his boot, ready to crush her skull. Instinctively, she rolled to the side, with his boot slamming into the floor just inches from her head.
But Aldric was already in motion, delivering a devastating kick to the top of her head that sent her careening across the lobby. She crashed against the metal wall with a sickening crunch— her body crumpling to the ground, limp and motionless.
Silence fell over the desecrated bunker, broken only by the faint hum of flickering wards, as Aldric straightened, victorious. The echo of the battle still reverberated through the bunker when a thunderous voice shattered the stillness.
“BLACKWOOD!!!”
Aldric’s eyes widened in shock, with his body instinctively tensing as he whipped around to face the voice. At the far end of the massive corridor, past the unconscious forms of Arc Mage and Remi sprawled across the floor, stood D’Arce.
Her towering, broad frame exuded a righteous power, with her broadsword gleaming in her hand with a crimson radiance that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. A massive shield was strapped firmly to her other arm, polished steel reflecting the soft yellow aura that emanated from her whole being.
Her entire form glowed with holy light— a golden halo shimmering above her head, casting a celestial glow over her short, fiery ginger hair. Her eyes blazed white, her fierce gaze fixed on Aldric.
A bemused smirk flickered across Aldric's face as he took in the sight. “Captain D’Arce,” he sneered. “This is quite the surprise. I expected that First Lieutenant Zavala would have done you in by now.”
D’Arce took a deliberate step forward, her expression as composed as it was fiercely determined. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly— her righteous anger like a storm held tightly under control.
Aldric cocked his head to the side, feigning mild surprise. “So… Did you actually kill Zavala?” He asked, with his voice dripping with condescension. “I didn’t think you’d have it in you— she was practically like a daughter to you, wasn’t she?”
D’Arce raised her glowing sword, with its crimson tip directed squarely at Aldric. Her voice was cold as ice as she replied, “Haman is no longer a slave to the Royal Army…” She declared protectively, as she took another measured step forward, with her armored footfall echoing in the damaged bunker lobby. “And neither am I.”
Aldric chuckled, a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes. “You’re right,” he mused, with his voice dangerously calm.
“... Slaves get to live.”
Without warning, a fiery aura erupted around him— flames licking his body and dancing over his warding shield. His eyes began to glow with a fierce, unnatural flame, and his entire frame became a blazing silhouette. A sudden explosion of fire surged out from him— shaking the very foundation of the bunker as he dashed towards her, with flame and fury at his command.
D’Arce braced herself— her shield rising just in time as Aldric’s fire-clad fist crashed into it with the force of a boulder. She held her ground, and gritted her teeth as her feet dug into the grated floor— absorbing the massive impact.
Aldric immediately followed with a slashing strike of his flame-blade, but D’Arce parried it with her own crimson sword— the clang echoing like thunder as the holy light around her flared, dimming the flames.
With a sharp twist of her shield, D’Arce forced him back— her blade sweeping toward him in a powerful arc. Aldric countered with a burst of flame that shot from his outstretched hand— spiraling around her sword as it connected.
The sheer heat seared the air around them, but D’Arce pushed through, her sword driving forward. Aldric dodged just in time, twisting to the side, but not without feeling the holy aura singe his ward.
They clashed again— their weapons a furious dance of crimson light and roaring fire.
Aldric struck with relentless speed, with each attack a deadly combination of flame bursts and precise, calculated strikes from his flame-forged swords that extended past his wrists. D’Arce met his every move, with her shield absorbing the brunt of his fiery attacks— each impact sending sparks flying and scorching the walls around them.
With every swing, her broadsword seemed to burn brighter— carving through his flames with righteous fury.
Aldric spun low, with flames trailing his movements as he aimed a vicious sweep at her legs. D’Arce blocked it with a quick downward slash, then countered with a shield bash that connected with his chest— forcing him back. The general staggered slightly, but recovered almost immediately— unleashing a torrent of flame bolts that struck her shield in rapid succession, with the heat and force nearly overwhelming. The righteous captain’s arm trembled under the strain, but she pushed forward— pressing against the searing onslaught with unyielding determination.
“You’re strong, Captain,” Aldric hissed, with his voice laced with dark amusement— even admiration. “But not even that will save you!”
D’Arce’s only response was a fierce growl, as she brought her blade down with all her might— the crimson glow erupting into a blinding flare that clashed against his fire-blade with a shockwave of light.
The force shook the entire bunker— cracks splintering along the walls and ceiling as debris rained down around them.
Aldric dodged to the side, while twisting around her and delivering a powerful kick aimed at her knee. She grunted, absorbing the blow with practiced precision, then spun to meet his next attack.
Aldric's hands glowed with embers as he slashed down, and D’Arce raised her shield— the holy aura around it absorbing the fire as it scattered like shooting stars. She lunged forward with her sword— catching him off-guard. Her blade found his side, piercing through his ward and drawing blood. The general winced, but countered swiftly— his flame blade surging into an explosion that forced her to recoil.
For a moment, both of them stood still— breathing heavily, and assessing the other, as their respective auras flickered and wavered. Then, without warning, they were upon each other again— their attacks faster and fiercer than ever.
Aldric launched himself at her, flames spiraling around him as he closed the gap. His fists struck like hammers, each blow a searing impact that would have shattered lesser armor. But D’Arce held firm, every fiber of her being radiating determination. Her sword met his flames, deflecting each fiery strike with precision, the holy aura protecting her even as her own energy began to drain.
Aldric swung both flame-blades downward in a scissor strike, but D’Arce blocked it with her sword, then pushed back hard, creating just enough space to drive her shield forward, catching Aldric in the chest. The impact knocked him back, his flames dimming for a heartbeat before roaring back to life.
“You were always… So insufferably righteous— how hypocritcal,” Aldric sneered, while wiping blood from his lip as he ignited his hands anew. “So obedient, and loyal… Where did you go wrong, Captain?!”
“The moment I took that bullshit oath to follow your orders,” she shot back, with her voice calm yet deadly, as she leveled her sword at him. “But you’ll pay for it, Blackwood— you’ll pay for it ALL!!!”
With a feral growl, Aldric lunged forward, with flames wreathing his body— a burning vortex of fury. D’Arce met his charge, with her sword glowing brighter, as if fed by her own conviction. The bunker shook with their clash— the walls groaning under the force of their battle. For each flaming strike he unleashed, she countered with equal ferocity— her shield a bulwark against his wrath, her sword an unwavering line of justice.
In a final burst of speed, Aldric twisted behind her, with his flame blade aimed at her back. But D’Arce, sensing his movement, spun around with a radiant arc of her sword. The holy blade met his flame-blade, and with a deafening blast, both fighters were thrown back— the captain landing hard against the exposed rocky wall of the bunker lobby.
Refusing to lose his footing, the air crackled with magic and fire as Aldric unleashed a controlled explosion beneath his feet— propelling himself backward in a trail of flames that seared the ground in his wake. He skidded to a stop, with his dual fire-blades blazing as he leveled his hand at D’Arce.
With a flick of his wrist, a volley of crackling magic missiles spiraled toward her— each one homing in with deadly precision.
D’Arce’s expression steeled as she raised her shield. Summoning a shimmering light barrier, she braced herself as the missiles impacted— erupting in a brilliant burst of purple mana that clouded the air.
The bunker shook again from the force— fragments of stone and metal trembling loose from the ceiling.
From within the purple haze, a gleaming crimson glow emerged— burning through the mist as D’Arce charged forward. Her broadsword pulsed with righteous energy, with her silhouette casting long, dancing shadows against the battered walls as she lunged— her blade aimed straight at Aldric’s core.
Her aura surged, the golden light flaring anew as she closed in.
Aldric grinned, impressed. “Impressive, Captain,” he sneered, meeting her strike with his fire-forged blades— the force of their collision sending another shockwave across the room.
Their faces hovered inches apart, their breaths heavy and strained— muscles taut with fury and exhaustion.
“If this had been a real fight…” He mused, with his voice low and filled with a triumphant undertone, “you’d have killed me by now.”
D’Arce’s eyes flickered, a subtle falter in her hardened expression that did not go unnoticed by Aldric. His grin widened, and his resolve sharpened like steel as he absorbed her reaction— triumphant fury filling his gaze. “But I know,” he continued, with his tone laced with dark satisfaction, “that you need me alive.”
With a brutal twist, he knocked her sword aside— disarming her with a vicious parry that sent her broadsword skittering across the grated floor. He surged forward, deflecting her shield with a well-placed strike, and leaving her exposed and unarmed.
Their eyes met— her resolve burning, but her defenses shattered.
“Unfortunately,” Aldric sneered, with his gaze narrowing as he leaned close, and his voice dripping with malice, “The same cannot be said about you.”
In a swift, unyielding movement— he drove both his blazing blades into her abdomen. D’Arce’s breath hitched and her body momentarily tensed, but she met the pain with a stoic silence. Her armor seared, and with the intense heat of the flames piercing through, and Aldric lifted her— her form slumping as he raised her high above him, with his expression savage with satisfaction.
With a final, brutal slash, he tore his blades outward— ripping through her armor and flesh in a gory display, and leaving a cauterized wound that cleaved nearly through her torso. Her body convulsed as the fiery blades dissipated, before she fell from his grasp— crumpling face-first onto the grated floor with a dull thud.
The golden aura that had once surrounded her flickered weakly— the halo above her head dimming to nothing, leaving her form lying lifelessly, with blood seeping through the spaces of the grated floor.
Aldric walked toward her discarded sword— his smirk growing as he picked it up. He tested its weight with a few calculated swings, feeling the blade’s balance, and letting its crimson glow reflect off his smirking visage. “This will do,” he muttered with a twisted approval— satisfaction thick in his voice as he looked down at the weapon, as though claiming it as his own.
Behind him, D’Arce lay silent, her vision blurring, breath faint— the cold steel grate pressing against her cheek as she watched her aura fade. With her strength slipping away, she could only lie helplessly, and listened as Aldric’s footsteps echoed into the distance— fading through the open vault door and into the cold corridors of the bunker beyond.
The general’s footsteps echoed down the dim metallic hallway, with his hand gripping D’Arce's sword with a faint, but deep sense of satisfaction. Each step seemed to drive his thoughts deeper— spiraling into plans and calculated manipulations, with his voice a low murmur that drifted into the silence.
“I’ll have to place their deaths on the Forgehart Clan as well,” he muttered, with his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. A grim smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “D’Arce dying inside the bunker… It couldn’t have been better, really.” He thought aloud, with his tone turned wry. “I can already imagine what to say to Prince Pendragon when he arrives. I’ll weave it so tight— no one will be able to question it.”
But then slowly, his confidence wavered for a moment. He slowed his pace until pausing, as his thoughts turned to the prince himself, and the Royal Court of Diamonds. “Then again,” he murmured, while glancing back over his shoulder, as if the walls themselves might answer, “the commotion I heard topside…” He murmured, with his voice trailing off with tension creeping into his expression.
“What if,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “Arthur and the others… What if they were killed?”
The possibility left a dark crease in his brow.
Goblin Slayer, the Adventurers’ Guild, Captain and his party— they should have held the enemy at bay, just as he planned. “Arthur and his court could handle themselves against Blackwatch’s army,” he reasoned, with his fingers tightening around the hilt of D’Arce’s sword. “And even without the Royal Army’s intervention, they would have been able to defend themselves.”
Still, doubts gnawed at him— silent whispers of unlikely but possible outcomes.
Slowly, Aldric resumed his walk, with each step heavy with contemplation. “Could Albion have broken through the artillery? Past the gatling guns? That’s… Possible,” he muttered, while shaking his head.
Yet the longer he dwelled on it, the more he found himself facing the grim likelihood: if Albion had somehow managed to get past the defenses, they may very well have cut down Arthur, his court, and whatever remained of his knights and soldiers.
A sigh then left his lips. “If that’s the reality,” he said to himself, with his voice darkening with irritation, “then I’ll have to circumvent it. Troublesome.” He mused with a chuckle— a cold sound that betrayed the gleam of twisted excitement in his blue eyes. “Troublesome, yes… But not impossible.” He added with his expression shifting— a subtle spark of satisfaction lighting his gaze as his mind ticked through the options.
He could almost feel the weight of the Emperor’s wrath— the blame that would inevitably fall upon him for failing to protect Arthur. The Emperor would demand retribution, and that retribution would mean mass warfare against the Frontier.
Aldric’s lips curved into a smile, hungry with malice. “If Arthur’s dead, then I’ll leave a remnant of my power armor behind— stage my own death, and let the Emperor have his vengeance.” He mused enthusiastically to himself, while turning the sword over to inspect its crimson blade, as his excitement grew. “I’ll return to Central County… Return to Crossbell, and begin again.”
His confidence swelled as he walked— his stride quicker, stronger, with each step driven by the thrill of the new life he envisioned. “I’ve connections… More influence than that little brat ever had, really,” he murmured, with his voice gathering confidence. “I’ll start anew… Build a new identity, remain untouchable, as I pull the strings from the shadows!”
The thought invigorated him, and quickened his steps. His plan was clear. He’d slaughter everyone left in the bunker, ensuring there were no loose ends. Blood would pave the way for his rebirth, and with that in mind, he approached the end of the hall, where a metallic door awaited.
His gaze gleamed with anticipation.
But then, as his hand reached out to grasp the door, he froze, caught by the sight of a figure stepping forward from the shadows on the other side.
A small girl, frail in stature but radiating an inexplicable resolve, emerged from behind the door. Her presence struck him as if from nowhere, and for a moment, he stood bewildered, his mind racing to place her.
She met his gaze, unyielding and resolute despite her small frame, with her feet rooted to the ground, and her chin lifted as she stared up at him without a hint of fear.
Aldric’s lip curled in dark amusement as he raised D’Arce’s sword over the little girl’s head— her small, steady gaze meeting his with an unflinching resolve that almost amused him. "Brave, aren’t we?" He muttered, as if to himself. “But that bravery of yours is about as futile as a flame in a storm.”
The blade arced downward.
But suddenly, his arm halted mid-strike. His eyes went wide with alarm, with the smirk fading instantly, as he strained against an unseen force locking his body in place. He could barely even tilt his head to look down at the ground, where a radiant glow pulsed beneath his feet— binding him.
The light flickered in runic patterns— wrapping around him like ethereal chains.
His mind raced in disbelief, horror mounting as he registered the shimmering light. “A protection spell," he growled, “from a CHILD?!?”
He then glared down at her, straining, with his mind turning to a desperate solution. A simple explosion spell would be enough to shatter her focus, but just as he summoned his power, he felt his voice vanish— the arcane words silenced on his tongue.
A cold shock rippled through him, as he realized the child had cast a silencing spell too.
“Y-You wretched little BITCH!!!” He hissed, with fury blazing in his eye,s as he struggled against the binding light. “When this spell fades, I’m going to tear your insides out! Make you beg for-!”
But then the girl took a step closer— her face steeled with a fury that stunned him. “I grew up around men like you,” she said, with her voice small but filled with conviction that trembled through the air— powerful in its raw intensity.
“Men who prey on the innocent, the weak, and those who can’t fight back. And still… They always saw themselves as untouchable.” She continued, with her blue eyes seemingly shining brighter with each word— a searing clarity of purpose in her gaze. “But all of that ends today! I told my friend that I would help him protect Zemuria, and I meant it! I MEANT IT!!!”
Aldric’s smirk faded, and for the first time, he faltered— taken aback as her fury only grew. Her hands were clenched, with her voice rising with her emotion. “I’m not afraid of "goblins" like you— not anymore!” She shouted. “I’m not afraid of the Royal Army, or Blackwatch! I’m not afraid of anything you think can scare me! I’m done letting fear ruin my life— and ruin the lives of my friends!”
Her voice rang out with a fierce clarity, and Aldric’s breath caught as a chilling realization swept over him.
Her bright blue eyes began to glow a fierce, crimson red— casting a holy light on her small face. “What… What the hell are you doing?!” He snarled, with his outrage turning to something close to terror, as she seemed to transform before his eyes.
With a tremble that shook his very soul, he saw six radiant wings, ethereal and blinding white, unfurling behind her— an aura of shimmering light casting the hallway into stark brilliance.
A halo of pure, golden light appeared around her head that pulsed with a divine energy that seemed to reverberate through him— piercing every inch of his mind. He felt his thoughts unraveling, with his very self peeling away in the presence of this impossible power.
A silhouette took form behind her, the figure of a radiant goddess hovering, filling his vision with unbearable light. The goddess's eyes bore down into him— seeing into his soul. Aldric’s mind splintered under the assault, memories flashing before his eyes, a lifetime of cruelty and ambition paraded out in excruciating detail.
The hatred, the malice, the countless lives he had shattered— all of it stood bare in front of him, stripped away by the divine presence that scourged his soul.
He convulsed as the light grew brighter— tears streaming down his face as the goddess’s gaze burned away every trace of his defiance. His soul seemed to twist and shrink, as if it were being purified by fire. “N-Nruaaghhh…!” He tried to scream, but he could make no sound— his entire being breaking down, the years of rage and bitterness being pulled out of him like poison drawn from a wound.
He was losing himself, every last fiber of hatred unraveling until he was bare— nothing left but raw, broken emptiness.
It was all too much for him.
He sank into the overwhelming brightness, with his mind blanking as consciousness slipped from him— leaving his body to go limp, slumping forward like a marionette cut free.
Juliet stood trembling, as her wings slowly faded— the red glow in her eyes dimming to nothing. She staggered back, swaying, lightheaded and dizzy— her vision blurring as the last traces of the goddess’s presence dissipated.
She lost her footing, feeling darkness encroach on the edges of her vision, and her body began to slump forward.
Just before she hit the ground, a pair of strong arms caught her.
Lady Eleanor knelt, cradling Juliet’s limp body close to her chest— her own breath coming in short, panicked gasps as she tried to comprehend what she had just seen.
“Oh, my sweet Juliet,” Eleanor whispered, with her voice thick with emotion— her fingers gently brushing through the girl’s tangled blond hair, as she pulled her close. Her eyes filled with tears, confusion, awe, and overwhelming relief mixing as she rocked the girl back and forth, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Still cradling Juliet tightly, Eleanor cast a horrified glance over her shoulder— back at Aldric’s slumped, unmoving form. His body lay unmoving on the grated floor, but she wasted no time dwelling on him. She rose to her feet, backing away with the little girl safely in her arms.
Holding Juliet close, she carried her deeper into the bunker— her mind racing to understand the impossible, and with her heart heavy with gratitude ,as she felt the girl’s gentle, steady breath against her shoulder.
Eleanor pressed a kiss to her forehead once more, her tears flowing freely as she whispered, “My little m-miracle…!”
Chapter 48: Seasons Die, One After Another
Chapter Text
Arthur’s arm tightened around Spy’s wait, as he helped her hobble forward— her left ankle twisted in a direction that made him wince just looking at it. She leaned heavily on him, with one hand gripping his shoulder, and her breath strained but determined.
They picked their way over massive piles of twisted rebar, steel plating, and crumbled concrete— the remnants of the Forgehart Stronghold. What were once proud forges and bustling structures were now reduced to broken fragments— blasted apart by the fury of the Royal Army.
Each step was a careful balancing act— wary of the craters pocking the cracked streets beneath their feet.
Spy’s eyes scanned the devastation with quiet astonishment, with her gaze tracing the charred ruins, the countless reminders of lives lost, and her own sympathy reflecting Arthur's guilt-stricken expression. “How horrible,” she murmured in a solemn voice. He could feel her hand tighten on his shoulder— as if bracing both of them against the tragedy surrounding them.
Beside them, Grusha was silent— her broad shoulders shaking as her eyes fixed on the remains of her clan’s chieftain, Kog’rath.
His body lay in fragmented, bloodied pieces, barely recognizable.
Sofia moved with them— her face set, carrying herself with the same dignity she had always maintained, but a hollowness lingered in her gaze. She led the way without hesitation, guiding Arthur and Spy through the shattered streets, with her shoulders growing tenser with each step as the scenes of loss and mutilation became more visceral.
“This way,” she instructed, with her voice low and unwavering— though her grief softened its edge.
Arthur stopped to take in the sight before him, and with his heart feeling like it was collapsing beneath the weight of his remorse. His voice came out hoarse and choked. “This… This is my fault,” he whispered, while struggling to keep the ache from breaking his composure.
Spy glanced up at him, her dark eyes sympathetic, with an understanding flickering there as she turned toward him. But before she could speak, Sofia’s voice cut in.
“With all due respect, Prince Pendragon… I ask that you refrain from diminishing their bravery by blaming yourself. My people knew what they had to do. They faced the impossible with more courage than any soldier from the Royal Army has ever shown.”
Arthur flinched— caught off guard by her measured words. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he lowered his head— nodding reverently. “You’re right,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven, Prince Pendragon,” Sofia replied, with her tone as gentle as it was resolute. “But thank you for your condolences.” She added, with her gaze softening a little before she pressed forward again— steeling herself as they neared the opened bunker entrance
They entered the bunker through the shattered remnants of what had been the chieftain’s grand hall. The walls were torn apart— jagged fragments of steel and exposed stone surrounding the entrance. The vault door was a monument to the force that had torn it open— a deep gash seared through it. Beyond the threshold, a vast metal corridor stretched— the sound of their footsteps echoing through the quiet.
Spy relaxed against Arthur’s side as they walked— each of them listening to the faint, distant hum of voices ahead. Grusha exhaled shakily, her tone wavering with hope. “That… That must be the others,” she whispered, her voice cracking with relief. “Thank the gods…! That must mean that the Royal Army didn’t… Didn’t get to them.”
“Hopefully,” Sofia agreed, with her voice taut with restrained optimism.
The end of the corridor drew nearer, and they saw him: Aldric, slumped against the wall adjacent to the metal door— his head buried in his knees, hands clutching the sides of his head, shoulders heaving in ragged breaths.
Arthur’s expression hardened, and he guided Spy with steady resolve, as he moved past Sofia and Grusha to make his way toward the defeated general. His voice rang out in the cold silence, commanding and firm. “BLACKWOOD!!!” He glared at the man with unflinching, a fierce resolve in his narrowed gaze. “It’s over! Your plan to incite a full-scale invasion of the frontier— your attempt to rip apart everything— all of it’s failed!”
Aldric didn’t respond.
He merely sat there, his body hunched— as if every word Arthur spoke weighed heavier and heavier upon him. The prince continued, with his tone dripping with disdain. “Don’t try to deny it— I won’t hear it! Lady Sofia has already told me everything! You WILL NOT escape justice today, Blackwood!”
Arthur waited, expecting the usual fire and defiance; a vehement rebuttal, maybe even an attack. But what he saw instead caught him off guard.
Aldric slowly lifted his head— his face hollow and broken, tears streaking down his bearded cheeks. His eyes were haunted, a depth of despair Arthur had never seen before. “W… Wh-What have I done…?!” He choked out, with his voice ragged and thick with self-loathing.
Arthur stood there in silence, his expression hard, but the vehemence in his eyes wavered slightly as Aldric continued.
“All the lives I’ve ended… The damage I’ve caused…” He mumbled, before his quaking voice broke into sobs, with his hands shaking as he clutched his head again. “I-It’s all my fault,” he whispered, with each word like a blade, and his entire frame shuddering as he was engulfed by the overwhelming weight of his guilt. “It’s… it’s all my fault…!”
Spy looked up at Arthur, with her hardened expression softening with a trace of surprise. She saw the man before them was no longer the ruthless general they had fought against, but a man unraveling.
Broken beyond recognition.
Arthur’s voice was quiet— restrained, as he watched Aldric’s despair. “We’ll talk more…Later.” He stated with resolve in his voice, before turning and looking back at Sofia and Grusha— his demeanor returning to the gentle authority they had come to respect. He then offered them a polite gesture toward the metal door, while nodding as he said, “Ladies first.”
Sofia held her chin high, while taking one last look at Aldric— but her expression betrayed neither pity nor scorn. She simply acknowledged Arthur’s gesture with a nod of her own, and Grusha followed behind— still shaking but composed.
Arthur and Spy waited a moment longer, each lost in their own thoughts. Then, without another word, they passed through the metal door— leaving behind the shattered remains of a man who was once feared and respected.
The catharsis hung in the air, with each step forward a quiet testament to resilience, sacrifice, and the unwavering strength that binds those who walk a path of honor.
Inside the dimly lit medical bay, elder orc shamans and nimble, medically educated goblins moved around— tending to each wounded soul. The atmosphere was hushed, filled with the faint scent of herbal poultices— low murmurs of concern, as they nursed the survivors of the battle.
Arc Mage lay on her back on a bed, with her neck encased in a brace, right arm in a cast, and an IV drip slowly feeding fluids into her left arm. Her abdomen, left thigh, and right shoulder were all wrapped in thick bandages— their stark white standing out against her skin. The blanket pulled over her waist protected her modesty, though she seemed too dazed to care.
She was staring up at the ceiling, giggling softly to herself. “Hehehe…! W-Wow,” she murmured in a dreamy voice, her eyes unfocused. “I'm sooooo fuckin’ lit right now…!”
The goblins tending to her only exchanged a glance, with the one who had been checking her IV line chuckling softly, before half-jokingly saying, “Might need to lower that dosage just a smidge…”
Beside her, Remi lay in their natural slime form, quivering happily in the center of a bed, as a small group of goblins fussed around them— each eagerly bringing water and whatever rations they could gather. Every time one placed a morsel of food in front of them, Remi jiggled excitedly, with their form wobbling in delight.
Across from them, High Elf Archer lay back on her bed, with a brace strapped across her lower back and an IV in her left arm. She turned her head, glancing over her shoulder toward her younger brother, Athrun, who lay in the bed beside her.
His forehead was swathed in a bandage, and his bare torso marred by a mess of bruises— revealing a frame that was slender, but toned.
"How are you holding up, tough guy?" She asked, with an almost teasing edge in her voice.
Athrun gave her a sidelong, sarcastic glance. “Oh, just fuckin’ peachy,” he muttered dryly, before looking back up at the ceiling. “Exactly how I wanted to spend the week, thanks for asking.”
High Elf Archer’s lips curved into an amused smirk, and she shrugged as much as her back brace allowed. “Hey, I’m just being considerate! Some people pay for this level of family bonding, you know!”
Athrun rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “You’re annoying, you know that?”
“Oh, you love it,” she replied, with her tone light but affectionate.
There was then a silence between them for a moment, with only the sound of their IVs steadily dripping in rhythm. After a beat, Athrun shifted his gaze up to the ceiling, his tone more serious.
“So,” he began, with his voice softer, “what are you going to do now?”
High Elf Archer tilted her head, considering the question. “I think I’m done with the whole “wandering adventurer” thing,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ve got to help support Oakglade in a more… Meaningful way. Help high elves like us to have a voice, and make sure no one ever has to go through what we went through.”
Athrun hummed in response, while contemplating briefly before asking, “You’ll be… What, an ambassador then?”
She gave a casual shrug, while still on her back. “Something like that, yeah.”
He considered her words for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Well, until I can wrangle a pardon from the Empire, I guess I’ll keep my head down, and help Oakglade in whatever way I can,” he said, with a faint smirk returning to his face. “Maybe the next evil organization I join will fare a bit better than Blackwatch did.”
High Elf Archer shot him a sharp look, with her gaze narrowing. “Don’t even joke about that, Athrun…! I swear-”
Athrun held up his hands defensively, while chuckling. “-I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he assured her, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed his enjoyment of riling her up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Better not,” she muttered, though the ghost of a smile softened her expression, as they settled back into companionable silence.
Across the room, D’Arce lay quietly on her bed with her eyes closed, and her midsection bound tightly with layers of bandages. Her chest rose and fell with a slow, measured rhythm— as though each breath took conscious effort.
Her head stirred slightly, and her eyes blinked open— adjusting to the dim light of the room. She squinted, surprised to find a familiar face sitting beside her.
“H… Haman…?” D’Arce asked, with her voice barely a whisper.
Haman, standing beside her, took D’Arce’s hand gently— her face soft with concern. “I… I wanted to make sure you were alright,” she explained, with her tone filled with warmth and a touch of regret.
D’Arce’s gaze softened as she looked up at her, though a hint of worry clouded her weary eyes. “You… You shouldn’t be here, Haman,” she murmured. “It’s too dangerous to stay.”
Haman’s fingers tightened around D’Arce’s, with her lips trembling slightly. “I couldn’t just leave you alone,” she replied, with her voice dropping to a whisper. “I… I-I should have been there with you… I should’ve helped…”
D’Arce shook her head slowly, with her smile gentle but firm. “No, Haman,” she said quietly. “I needed you to be safe. If you’d been here with me, Blackwood would have targeted you, and I would’ve slipped up trying to protect you.”
Haman lowered her head, with a tear slipping down her cheek. “But I could have-”
D’Arce cut her off with a reassuring squeeze of her hand. “-This… This is how it had to be,” she replied, with her voice barely a whisper. She glanced down at her own bandaged midsection— sighing, as she looked back up at Haman. “I needed to keep you out of harm’s way— that’s what gave me the courage to face him.”
Haman’s gaze drifted over to the entrance, where she spotted Arthur, Spy, Grusha, and Lady Sofia visiting Arc Mage— checking up on her condition. She looked back at D’Arce, with her expression pained. “I…! I-I have to go,” she murmured, with her words heavy with regret. “I-I’m sorry…!”
D’Arce managed a small nod, though the sadness in her eyes mirrored Haman’s. “I understand,” she replied softly.
Haman lingered, her expression filled with uncertainty, before finally voicing what was weighing on her heart. “Will… Will I see you again?”
D’Arce hesitated, the question hanging heavily in the air. She took a steadying breath, before meeting Haman’s gaze. “I need to stay with the United Front for a while,” she said slowly, with her tone laced with resolve. “But… In a few years, five or so… I’ll come find you. We’ll find a place to call home, somewhere quiet and safe, where we can live together. Not as comrades, but as family.”
A glimmer of hope flickered in Haman’s eyes, with her heart swelling with emotion. She leaned down to press a tender kiss to D’Arce’s forehead— lingering for a moment, as she whispered, “I love you, D’Arce.”
“I love you too,” D’Arce replied, with her voice soft and steady as she looked up at her with a small, hopeful smile.
Haman took one last lingering glance before she shimmered— her form slowly vanishing until only the faintest outline remained, before slipping away into the shadows, just as Arthur and the others turned in their direction.
The medical bay returned to its soft, steady rhythm, with the bonds of camaraderie and quiet resilience holding the wounded together— each of them carrying their own hope forward, united in determination to face whatever the future would bring.
The night sky over Maggiore Outpost blazed with ethereal lights— ribbons of green and purple from the aurora borealis shimmering across the heavens and casting an otherworldly glow over the razed Evergreen Forest.
Beneath the soft illumination lay Goblin Slayer, with his body sprawled lifelessly, mouth agape, his single, crimson eye staring blankly upward at the lights. His left eye socket was an empty, bloodied void, and a gaping hole in his chest bore scorch marks around its edges.
Captain stood over the corpse— his ebony katana hanging casually by his side. With a measured calm, he reached up with his free hand to brush his gloved fingers along the bleeding gash that cut across his cheekbone. He felt the warm slickness of his own blood soaking into the fabric, then brought his hand back down— studying the crimson stain with a faint, approving smirk.
He rubbed the blood between his fingertips, almost reverently— as if appraising his own mortality.
The night’s stillness was broken by a faint shuffling sound.
Captain’s eyes flicked up, with his gaze sharpening as he watched a lightly bandaged woman emerge from the shadows. She moved with a limp, with her pale skin ghostly in the aurora’s glow, and her long, wild green hair framing her face, and spilling over her shoulders. Her eyes were a stark, unsettling gray, and she wore a knowing, almost enigmatic smile as she approached.
Captain’s right eye glowed red as he noted patches of writhing, jet-black ichor scattered across her body— tendrils that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.
She tilted her head, her smile widening as she drew close, her voice laced with mock politeness. “Good evening, young man. Lovely weather we’re having, don’t you think?”
Captain raised his katana, with its tip trained on her with unerring precision. His expression didn’t falter as he took in her peculiar appearance— nor did he react to her strange greeting. Instead, his voice was cold, clinical. “Who… No, what… Are you?”
The woman’s smile didn’t waver; instead, it grew more amused. She took a few more steps, pausing just two meters from Goblin Slayer’s corpse, with her eyes holding Captain’s with a curious intensity. “What is an identity, really?” She mused, with her voice soft yet carrying a haunting profundity.
She then let out a weary giggle, with the sound echoing eerily in the silent night, before then shaking her head. “But you may know me as the daughter of Azura, perhaps?”
Captain’s expression remained impassive. His silence seemed to amuse her further, and she let out a quiet, painful laugh— clutching her abdomen as if stifling a deeper pain.
“Young people these days…! No respect for the gods,” she muttered, half to herself, with a dry chuckle. “Not even a bow of recognition…! Someone’s been skipping church, haven’t they…?”
He didn’t lower his sword, though his tone held a flicker of curiosity. “... What do you want?”
The woman’s gray eyes glimmered with intrigue as she looked at him. “With Albion’s death at the hands of Prince Arthur, Blackwatch is broken. Its fanatics and loyalists, those who were its most radical and willing members, have perished on this night,” she explained, while gesturing to the distant horizon. “The ones whose loyalty was never set in stone will return to their old lives, or what’s left of them.”
She gave a nonchalant shrug, as though discussing the inevitable cycles of nature. “In a year, perhaps two, with the United Front growing and Arthur’s reforms pending… Goblins like those who fought for Albion will be gone from Zemuira. Extinct.” Her hand drifted to her chest as she smiled, with amusement flaring in her eyes. “Albion sent them here knowing it would be their end, you realize. As far as I can tell, none of them remain… Not many left in Zemuira— if any at all.”
Captain’s red eye glinted, betraying a flicker of interest beneath his steely exterior— which only made the woman chuckle. “With Prince Pendragon’s victory spreading across the world, his father will be more than happy to grant him Zemuira’s independence— Great Victoria will remain its closest ally. Imagine it: free trade, economic growth, and new opportunities rising up to shape Zemuira’s future,” she said, with her voice lilting as she painted the picture. “Arthur’s victory was the key. The emperor won’t stand in the way— nor will parliament.”
She spun slowly, wincing as a hand pressed to her abdomen but laughing again— her gaze drifting back to Captain. “And then there's Aldric. He survived, you know! And with most of his men slaughtered, the Royal Army will be investigated, and inevitably reformed— no more dogmatic soldiers, no more following Xavniik’s outdated ideals. Competency will reign, with a new jurisdiction in its place.”
The woman paused, while pressing her hands together— her eyes twinkling with a dangerous, playful gleam. Her voice then dropped to a softer, almost seductive tone. “Of course, the Frontier and Pendragon Empire will still have their… Challenges. Winning a battle, orchestrating a victory? Easy enough, young man. But governing? Well…” She trailed off, letting her words hang, with her enigmatic smile never faltering, before finally finishing off with, “That is much, much harder.”
Her smile persisted as she locked eyes onto Captain’s— waiting to see if he truly understood the weight of the future she was describing. The aurora borealis cast shifting light over the barren terrain as Captain stared at the woman, his grip tightening on his katana’s hilt.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said coldly, with his eyes narrowing. “What, precisely, do you want?”
The woman giggled— the sound mocking yet almost delighted, as she took a step back. “Oh, how terrifying you are, Akira,” she said with exaggerated fright— feigning a shiver.
“But look around you, young man. Zemuira is on the brink of a shift. Those who hold power now are all human, and they along with the organizations who embody their self-proposed supremacy will continue to exploit the agrarian settlements here on the edge of civilization… The divide will grow— widen, as humans in the frontier head to the growing urban societies of the West.”
Her gray eyes gleamed, taking on an almost reflective quality, as she continued, “The frontier will become a wasteland of the unwanted, left to non-humans and demi-humans alike— those who will truly never be welcomed into the arms of the Pendragon Empire. Not unless they subject themselves to the prejudice and bias of its ruling class!”
She then gave him a knowing look, with her tone dripping with a sarcastic sweetness. “That only begs the question, doesn’t it? Who will keep order out here, hm? Before Blackwatch, native tribes were raiding settlements for mere scraps— attacking each other just as often. Someone’s going to need to keep the rowdy in check. Especially now that Albion’s not around to, shall we say, encourage compliance…!”
Captain’s katana tip stayed locked on her as he regarded her with a steady, intense stare. His expression remained impassive, though something in his gaze darkened— considering her words. “I see… For argument’s sake, who exactly are you expecting to fill that position?”
A wry, confident smile then spread across her face, and she gestured lightly to the lifeless body at their feet. “Why, someone highly recommended by Zachariah Xavniik himself,” she drawled with mock reverence, before adding, “I’ve been keeping tabs on your cousin for a week now.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice as if savoring a secret. “And believe me, I’ve never seen anyone bring together so many who’d rather kill each other than call themselves comrades!”
Captain’s suspicions deepened as he stared her down— the red glint in his eye hardening, but she only gave him an exaggerated shrug and winced as she clutched her abdomen again. “Don’t look at me like that— I did my homework, young man! I know what I’m talking about… I’ve been meticulously planning all of this for a while, you could say!”
Captain’s frown deepened, with his skepticism cutting through the night air. He exhaled slowly, before turning his gaze down to Goblin Slayer’s corpse before returning it to the woman. “It doesn’t matter… You’re too late,” he said, with his voice grim as he gestured with the blade toward the broken body. “He can’t help anyone anymore. He’s dead.”
The woman then let out a laugh— a sound that echoed unsettlingly in the silence, with her face lighting up with manic amusement. “Oh, ye of little faith!” She chided him— almost like a schoolteacher scolding a pupil. She crouched down, with her eyes fixating on Captain’s with a gleam of mischief. “Only Goblin Slayer has died. Not Ren Ashta.”
Captain frowned, as he asked her, “What exactly are you insinuating?”
She smirked knowingly, while lifting her chin with an almost predatory confidence. “See, young man, when I look at someone, I don’t just see the flesh and bone. I see their soul.” She explained, before pausing as her eyes scanned him, as though taking in something no one else could perceive.
“Yours, for instance,” she mused, “is like ice— sharp and clean but fractured. The cracks are so deep, they’d shatter if you put too much pressure. It’s as though everything about you exists on the edge of a blade.”
Captain’s hand tightened slightly— a brief shadow flickering over his face as her words hit too close to home. The woman’s smile widened, while clearly relishing his discomfort. She cast her gaze back down to Goblin Slayer’s corpse— studying it, almost as if in reverence.
“Your cousin’s soul,” she continued softly, with her tone almost affectionate, “is different now than when I saw him last in the Muhati Desert. Gone is the vicious, blood-drenched rage. Now… He’s fractured too, but in a gentler way. Before, he was like a tempest; now, he’s… Softer, like a breeze. Just enough light breaking through the storm to make you wonder what he’d be if he wasn’t bound to violence.”
She tilted her head up, with her gray eyes finding Captain’s with an intensity that left him rooted in place. “When I look at him, I don’t see Goblin Slayer anymore. I only see Ren Ashta.”
Captain’s gaze drifted downward, while taking in the ruin of his cousin’s body— the burned cavity in his chest. Finally, he lifted his eyes back to her. “... And what can you do?”
The woman grinned, with her expression shifting to one of raw, unhinged excitement. “Oh, what I can do is fix him, young man! Put him back together, piece by piece! I’ll fill in all that’s missing— make Ren Ashta into the perfect bridge between monsters and humanity!” She explained, with her eyes sparkling with a wild fervor— her smile turning predatory.
“Just like Dr. Frankenstein had his unholy creation, I shall have mine!”
Captain’s face twisted in disapproval. “So… You’re proposing necromancy?” He asked, with his tone carrying a slight edge of disgust.
The woman then let out a derisive laugh, while tossing her head back with a disdainful expression. “Necromancy?!” She scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Please! A pathetic spark compared to what a goddess has at her fingertips!”
She then held his gaze, while letting her words settle. “Necromancy could only animate the body, you see. I have no need for a puppet. I want to heal him— restore his essence. Create the perfect being who’ll stand between this world and the next, who could one day unite Zemuria… And perhaps beyond.”
Captain’s skepticism remained evident, yet something in his gaze betrayed intrigue. “I see… And what do you need for this miracle of yours?”
“Only your permission,” she replied, with her voice calm yet carrying an undertone of thrill, “to get close to him.”
Captain hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he weighed her words, then gave a quiet nod and sheathed his katana. “You have it.”
She then clapped her hands together, with her face lighting up with delight. “Excellent!” She exclaimed. And in one smooth motion, she dropped to her knees beside Goblin Slayer’s body.
Her voice fell to a near-whisper, reciting poetry with a reverent, eerie tone, as she reached up to her face to press her fingers against her right eye.
Without hesitation, she pulled her eye from its socket.
A writhing mass of black ichor immediately extended from the hollow like tendrils— slowly reshaping themselves into a dark, reflective surface as if eager to regenerate her eye anew.
“Dear, my most broken down past… I’m feeling now at last, the nostalgia you’ve left…” She intoned, with her voice carrying the weight of ages as she pressed her eye into Goblin Slayer’s empty socket— the tendrils curling around the edges and sinking into his form.
“Despite those god-awful days, and nightmares that never fade…”
She pushed down with her thumb— embedding it firmly— then reached down to her chest, with a single, knowing grin tugging at her lips.
“... As close to me as I thought they would always stay, I realize they’re behind me…”
With her one good eye glinting in manic glee, she lowered the pulsing bouquet of ichor into Goblin Slayer’s chest cavity, with her laughter filling the night as she tore more pieces from herself, before stuffing them inside his body with ferocious joy.
“Someday, these flowers will bloom…! And they’ll float down to you— wiping this life anew…!”
Tendrils of black ichor spread within the gaping wound— curling and weaving, knitting together where his heart had once been.
“Even through my suffering, even through my endless grief…!"
Captain watched with a cold, unblinking stare— his face impassive, as she tore herself apart piece by piece, until the cavity in Goblin Slayer’s chest was packed with dark, writhing ichor.
“With no sunlight breaking through the clouds above— the song in my heart plays on…!”
She sang, before getting up and staggering to her feet, with her hand pressing over her empty socket, as she and Captain gazed down at Goblin Slayer.
The ichor writhed and pulsed— beginning to close up his wound as new skin wove itself over the gaping hole. Black tendrils curled and retracted, sealing together his flesh, bone, and muscle, regenerating organs and tissue with an uncanny precision— leaving behind no scar, no trace of the violence he’d endured.
The woman took a step back, watching with satisfaction as Goblin Slayer’s chest rose and fell with a shallow breath— her remaining eye gleaming with triumph. “One by one; the seasons die,” she whispered, her voice a mere echo, “and come back to life.”
THE END.