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Chapter Text

The ruined fortress stood like a carcass of stone and timber, its ancient battlements cracked and moss-eaten— jutting out from the surrounding forest like broken teeth. Tonight it endured not only time’s erosion, but the fury of a storm that seemed bent on drowning it. 

The black sky above poured down torrents, with sheets of rain hammering the towers and roofs until even the sound of goblin chatter was swallowed by the roar. 

The moon was hidden, veiled in clouds so thick that the night was suffocating, and the creatures of the wood— those that thrived in shadow— saw little more than blur and shape; their eyes dulled by darkness and the endless water.

The goblins stationed along the battlements fared poorly. Wrapped in crude ponchos stitched from hides and scraps of cloth, they shivered and spat against the rain— trying to keep their spears from slipping from their clammy hands. They squinted into the black, snarling curses as if the storm itself mocked them. 

Even here, in their foul sanctuary, they felt blind and exposed.

Atop the tallest tower, a lone sentry hunched against the storm’s fury— clutching a battered, cracked telescope that had long since lost its clarity. 

The creature growled in frustration, smacking the side of the device against the wet stone as if that might restore its vision. Rain dripped from his snout, while his ears twitched irritably as he tried to peer through the fractured glass. 

He slammed it again, hissed, then raised it once more to his eye.

Unseen by him, a shadow crept across the slick boards of the watch platform, low and deliberate— moving with uncanny silence despite the hammering rain. A figure crouched, masked in storm and shadow, armor dark and lean with strips of black feathers dripping from the collar of his gambeson.

The helmet was simple, functional— steel with a dull sheen, face hidden entirely save for a narrow slit, and at its crown a single red tassel swayed in the downpour.

The goblin squinted through the broken lens. He froze, as an ear twitched. Beneath the thunder and rain, he had heard something. Instinct screamed at him to turn, and as he swung the telescope around— eye still pressed against the warped glass— he was met with an image that filled his sight. 

A burning red eye.

Before he could scream, the telescope was driven forward with brutal force. The lens shattered as the jagged edge rammed through his eye socket— crunching into bone. 

His shrieks rose only for a second before being choked into gurgles; his body convulsed violently on the platform, as the intruder pressed harder— shoving until the skull gave way and the goblin twitched its last.

The figure wrenched the telescope free from the twitching husk, letting the corpse collapse against the parapet. Rain pattered against the steel of his helmet— running down the plume of red that draped behind it. 

Without pause, he knelt and rifled through the goblin’s corpse with practiced efficiency; his gloved hand closing around a crude but functional flintlock pistol strapped to the creature’s side. He weighed it in his hand, thumb brushing over the priming pan, before sliding it into his leather belt.

Leaving the body slumped, he crawled low across the soaked wood of the platform; the rain disguising the creaks of his boots. 

Reaching the edge, he slipped over and descended, moving hand over hand down the slick stones of the tower’s outer wall. With deliberate control, he rotated himself— lowering until he hung inverted beside a narrow archer’s window. 

His breathing steadied, and his head tilted slightly as he listened. Beyond the rainfall, he caught faint movement, a shuffle of claws on wood. He waited until it drew close. Then, with a single motion, his gauntleted hand darted into the window. 

Fingers like a vice clamped around a goblin’s throat. The creature gave a strangled gasp, legs kicking, before it was yanked violently out through the window and hurled into the storm; its body spinning into the black before smashing against the stones far below.

However, the sudden absence did not go unnoticed. 

Two goblins patrolling the battlements came to a halt, eyes narrowing, ears twitching as they sniffed the wet air. They exchanged snarling looks, then crept toward the window, their crude spears leveled. Their steps splashed against the puddled stone as they leaned close— peering out into the storm.

They saw nothing but sheets of rain.

Above them, unseen, the armored shadow poised on the outer wall— gripping the stone ledge. With a swift motion, he swung his short blade down from above the window. 

The edge sliced through necks in a flash, severing both before either could draw breath to scream. Their heads toppled forward, bouncing down the steps inside, while the headless bodies slumped heavily onto the spiral stairs— blood mixing in rainwater.

Sliding inside, the armored figure landed in silence upon the wooden platform. He nudged one corpse with his boot— letting it tip forward. The limp body rolled down the staircase, crashing with a dull thud to the bottom floor. 

The sound carried upward, drawing the attention of goblins scattered along the spiral ascent. Curious, they leaned over the railing to peer downward— squinting to see what had fallen.

It was the chance he waited for.

Kneeling, he slung a short bow from his shoulder, nocked an arrow, and drew without hesitation. 

One shaft hissed through the storm-laden air— striking the closest goblin at the base of the skull. Before the body hit the planks, a second arrow was already loosed, then a third, each punching clean through the backs of heads. 

Goblins collapsed one by one, the sharp twang of bowstring swallowed by thunder; their corpses tumbled limp down the spiraling stairs.

By the time the last arrow was loosed, a pile of green bodies sprawled in the bottom of the tower, stacked grotesquely. Their blood pooled dark against the planks, carried in rivulets toward the door.

The armored figure lowered his bow and listened.

The tower gave no sound of mourning for its dead. Rain drummed endlessly against its stone shell— masking the slick thud of boots as the armored shadow slipped through the narrow door and out onto the open battlements.

He carried more than when he had entered: a crude bandolier of shot stuffed into his pouch, a skinning knife, a pouch of black powder, and another dagger strapped into his belt. The loot clattered softly, but the storm drowned it all, and he moved like a whisper into the night.

The battlements stretched before him— a spine of stone running along the fortress wall. Water cascaded down its length in little rivers, and torches sputtered weakly in iron sconces; their flames strangled by the downpour. 

Visibility was near nothing, just gray shadows moving through thicker gray, yet he never faltered. 

He pressed himself flat against the outer edge, and began crawling along the fortress wall with deliberate precision. His fingers found purchase in the slick gaps between stone blocks, his heels digging into the rough surface as he edged forward. 

Suspended on the wall’s face, exposed to the rain and void, he moved with speed that belied the danger.

And soon, the first patrol came.

Two goblins trudged across the walkway above him, shoulders hunched, with water dripping from their crude ponchos. They muttered curses into the storm— oblivious to the presence clinging just inches below. 

The figure shifted, dagger glinting faintly as he arched upward in silence. With a swift movement, his free hand clamped onto the ankle of the trailing goblin— yanking hard. 

The creature toppled sideways with a strangled cry cut short by steel sliding under its jaw. The blade pierced upward into its brain— silencing it instantly. Before the first body slumped, the dagger flashed again— driving into the spine of the second goblin’s neck with surgical speed. 

Both corpses were lifted with a strength born of necessity, and heaved soundlessly over the parapet into the void. 

Their muted thuds were lost in thunder, as another patrol passed further down. 

Again he crawled unseen, edging through the rain like a wraith. When one goblin paused to adjust his sodden hood, a hand lashed out from below, seizing its face and dragging it down into the darkness. 

The dagger did its work before the creature could thrash. Body after body disappeared from the walls, tossed into the black forest outside, until the patrols grew thinner and their chatter more uneasy.

The armored figure climbed onward, leaving no witness alive.

Below, the fortress courtyard sprawled— stone flags cracked and overgrown, rain pooling into shallow lakes where weeds pushed through ancient mortar. Wooden sheds leaned crooked against the walls, and a firepit sat cold and drowned in the center.

A goblin, wandering alone with a club dragging behind, shuffled across the sodden yard. His squinting eyes caught the odd slump of a body sprawled near the base of the wall.

Curious, he grunted and knelt, before jabbing at the corpse with his crude club. The body rolled limply, face down in the rain. He sniffed, puzzled, then looked up toward the tower above— squinting through the curtain of storm. 

Perhaps his comrade slipped? It would not be the first time.

He shrugged and turned, lips parting to bark for the others. His arm rose—

The arrow struck before the sound could form.

It drove clean through the back of his skull, with the tip bursting from the socket of his eye. He staggered forward two steps, arms twitching, then collapsed face-first into the mud; the shaft quivering in time with the storm.

From the darkness above, more arrows followed. 

Each twang of the bowstring was swallowed by thunder, each hiss of a shaft disguised by the rain. Goblins patrolling the yard jerked and dropped one by one; their crude weapons clattering against stone. Some had only time to look about in confusion, ears twitching, before an arrow buried into the back of their skulls.

One goblin stumbled as a shaft tore through his throat— blood spraying hot into the rain before he pitched sideways into a stagnant puddle. 

Another tried to scramble behind an overturned cart, only for a second arrow to punch clean through the rotten wood and into his chest— pinning him to the frame. He gurgled and clawed at the shaft until silence claimed him.

A group of three broke into a panicked run toward the fortress door. Their cries rose above the storm, shrill with fear, only for the first to be felled mid-stride by an arrow that pierced his ear and out his jaw. 

The second tripped over the body, scrambling up in terror— just as a dagger— hurled from the shadows, embedded itself between his shoulders. 

The third managed two steps more before a shaft slammed through his knee— spinning him to the ground. His head lifted, mouth opening wide, only for a final arrow to split his teeth.

The courtyard became a growing grave. Bodies sprawled in heaps across its puddled stones, with their green skin washed pale beneath the rain. The smell of blood spread thick, carried by storm winds. Silence pressed down, broken only by the roll of thunder and the endless patter of water.

From above, the armored figure descended. He scaled down the wall with controlled grace— gauntlets finding their holds in the sodden stone. 

At the last stretch he released his grip, twisting mid-fall. His body spun, cape trailing, and he somersaulted once before landing in a crouch upon the slick flagstones. 

Rain splashed upward from the impact, but he rose without pause, bow in hand, and eyes beneath the steel helm burning red in the dark.

The barracks of the fortress reeked of filth and damp rot; the air heavy with the stench of unwashed bodies, stale blood, and wet straw. Once, long ago, this had been the quarters of disciplined soldiers— rows of bunks, racks of spears, and shelves for armor. 

Now? It had become a nest. 

Goblins infested every corner, and were sprawled across the broken beds— snoring with guttural snores or snarling at each other over scraps. Some pawed at the rusted remnants of swords and helmets left behind by the garrison that had fallen here years before. They swung blades dulled to flakes, cut themselves on jagged edges, then cackled as though the pain were another game. A group of them banged dented helmets together like toys, squealing in manic glee, while others gnawed on boots left to rot. 

The clamor was constant, idiotic, and obscene.

At each corner of the long hall stood a hobgoblin— massive brutes, their swollen muscles straining against crude patchwork armor hammered together to fit their bulk. Rusted shields hung heavy on their arms, scarred by countless blows, and each carried a cleaver-sword nearly as long as a man’s torso. They alone did not join the chaos. They watched. They listened. Their piggish eyes gleamed in the torchlight— small islands of order amidst the disorder of their kin.

Then, all at once, the room shifted.

The commotion dwindled. Goblins froze mid-laugh, mid-bite, mid-squabble, as the hobgoblins stiffened and turned their heads in unison toward the door leading out to the yard. The iron hinges groaned as it opened, and there in the threshold stood the armored figure.

Rain streamed off him in sheets— running down black leather armor trimmed in wet feathers. The red tassel atop his steel helmet sagged with water, yet behind the narrow slit of the visor burned a single crimson light— an eye that glared with such unyielding intent it stilled the noise of the room. 

He said nothing, as his short sword rose; its tip angling toward them, a silent taunt.

A challenge.

One of the smaller goblins screeched, jabbering in its guttural tongue at the hobgoblins to attack. The two stationed closest to the door exchanged confident nods beneath their helmets, hefting their shields and cleavers. The floor trembled under their heavy steps as they advanced— snarling, while iron scraped across stone.

Behind them, lesser goblins scrambled— fumbling for bows, rusty spears, anything they could use from behind the wall of muscle and shield. And soon, a crude battle-line formed; their howls gathering strength.

The armored figure then reached behind his belt. His fingers curled around a cluster of small, round iron bombs bound together with twine— each packed with powder. He pulled a pin, sparks hissing, and with one smooth motion hurled the cluster into the room.

The two hobgoblins instinctively raised their shields, bracing for the impact. But the bomb sailed over their heads, clattering across the floor before rolling to a stop in the dead center of the barracks.

They blinked.

The goblins nearest the bombs went silent, their snouts twitching. “Boom powder,” one hissed in its own tongue, eyes widening. 

Panic rippled through the ranks.

The two hobgoblins turned back toward the door, just in time to see the armored figure pull it shut.

The iron latch clicked.

Screams broke out. Goblins scattered like roaches, clawing over one another in blind terror. The two hobgoblins nearest the blast shoved their kin aside— bellowing as they sprinted for the exit, while the other two lumbered behind—trampling smaller goblins beneath their boots. 

They reached the doorway, threw their weight forward—

And tripped the wire.

From above the frame, another cluster bomb dropped. It fell between them, hissing, before the world shattered in thunder and flame.

The explosion ripped the air. Shrapnel tore through bodies like paper. 

One hobgoblin was flung backward; his leg sheared away at the knee, blood spraying in great arcs as his scream cut into silence. 

Another was hurled down the stone steps outside, his ears ringing, armor scorched, green skin shredded by metal shards. 

Goblins who had tried to follow were torn to pieces where they stood; their charred remains slammed against the walls, as the stink of burning flesh mixed with the gunpowder smoke.

The rain outside did nothing to wash away the carnage.

One hobgoblin stumbled clear, dazed, blood trickling from his ears beneath his helmet. He staggered, clutching his cleaver, blinking against the storm. In that instant, he saw the figure again— emerging from the shadows, blade already in motion.

The short sword pierced through the slit of the hobgoblin’s helmet with a crunch. The brute convulsed, with his body locking upright as steel scrambled the matter within his skull. The blade jerked free at an angle— dragging pieces of what once was a mind with it. 

The hobgoblin toppled with a crash, shield clattering against stone.

Another remained— the one whose leg was gone. He lay writhing in the mud, snarling, his massive arm lashing out desperately to grab the killer as he closed in. But the armored figure slipped aside— boots splashing as he darted past the swipe. His heel drove into the hobgoblin’s helmeted head, with the crack of the impact stunning the brute.

There was no hesitation. 

A pouch of stolen black powder was shoved into the slit of the hobgoblin’s visor, with grains spilling over his snarling face. Rain turned the powder to clumps against his flesh. The intruder struck a match, the tiny flame defiant against the storm, and shoved it into the slit.

He rolled away as the hobgoblin’s helmet erupted. 

The confined blast turned the brute’s skull into a furnace, with flames spewing from the eye holes. His body convulsed violently, arms thrashing, legs kicking uselessly before stiffening in grotesque arcs. Then he slumped, with smoke curling from the blackened slit; his form still at last.

The armored figure rose, blade dripping, crimson light still burning from behind the visor.

Deeper inside the fortress, past the desecrated barracks, lay other remnants of what once had been a soldier’s stronghold. There were armories stripped bare; their racks now holding only splintered wood and rust-caked swords that goblins swung like toys. 

A mess hall with rotted benches and overturned cauldrons, where green vermin squatted in heaps, gnawing on half-burnt carrion. Storage rooms reeking of mold and wet straw, where they piled loot scavenged from raids— shattered pottery, ripped tapestries, bones of livestock and men alike. 

Even the chapel had been turned into a den; its altar smeared with filth, goblins cackling around stolen candles.

But the peace of their vile roost was over.

The explosion in the barracks thundered through every chamber— rattling stone and shaking the soaked beams. 

Panic swept like fire. Screams and guttural roars echoed off the fortress walls as goblins poured from every doorway, every stairwell, and every hole they had claimed for themselves. Hobgoblins bellowed, pushing the smaller ones out, driving them into the courtyard in a frenzy— weapons clattering, crude armor jangling.

They expected an army waiting for them.

Instead, the storm met them. Rain hammered down in sheets, lightning split the sky, and thunder cracked so violently it made their ears twitch and their eyes roll. Visibility was near none, shapes blurred into water and shadow. 

And then the first arrows began to fall.

The shafts struck silently at first— one goblin falling with a bolt through his eye, and another spinning as his skull burst from the back. 

Confusion tore through their ranks. 

Some lifted shields too late, the shafts piercing clean through the thin planks and into their throats. One after another, they toppled, blood mixing with the rain and running down the stone like paint.

The panic broke into chaos as explosions suddenly ripped through their clustered ranks. 

Bombs detonated in their center— tearing goblins apart with shrapnel and fire. Limbs flung into the air, torsos split, green skin blackened in blasts of powder. 

Their shrieks were drowned by thunder, as their guts splattered across their comrades. The courtyard became a slaughterhouse, with bodies collapsing into steaming piles against the cold rain.

The horde buckled, and their screeches rose as they tried to retreat— scrambling toward the great gate. The massive iron-bound timbers loomed before them, salvation only a chain away. 

But the gate stood firmly shut— barring them from flight.

A hobgoblin— towering, broad-shouldered, armored in stolen scraps— roared above the din. His voice cut through the panic, ordering a squadron of goblins forward to open the gate. 

They hesitated, then scrambled beneath the storm of arrows, one after another struck down. Arrows pierced spines, necks, skulls— until only one remained, darting through the downpour toward the archway.

He reached the gate, claws clutching at the chain-and-gear mechanism set in the wall. He snarled, pushing the lever, the chains rattling as the gate slowly began to rise. Rain streamed down his trembling arms as he strained—

A hand clamped over his mouth.

The skinning knife punched into his back, sliding between ribs. His eyes bulged, as blood poured from his lips as his body collapsed forward— slipping onto the turning wheel. 

Bones cracked wetly as the gears caught him, grinding him into paste; his twitching form mashed against the mechanism until the gate slammed shut again with a deafening clang.

The hobgoblin commander turned in fury, just in time to meet the armored figure rushing through the storm. 

Their clash was instant.

The hobgoblin swung his cleaver, a slab of jagged iron aimed to split the armored figure. But the figure twisted aside— the blade cutting only rain. His short sword plunged downward, stabbing through the hobgoblin’s knee. The brute roared, leg buckling, and his body collapsing to one knee.

An arrow hissed through the rain— the armored figure rolled, the shaft snapping against stone as he rose. The cleaver came again, an upward sweep born of desperation, as the invader leapt— vaulting over the strike, with his boots grazing the flat of the weapon.

The goblins stared in shock.

He landed upon the hobgoblin’s sword arm before springing upwards, with daggers flashing into his hands. Midair, both blades drove into the brute’s skull, punching through bone with a sickening crunch. 

The hobgoblin shrieked, as his body seized.

Then the storm split. Lightning arced across the black sky, and thunder cracked like a war drum as the armored figure twisted hard. His body straightened above the brute— torque ripping the hobgoblin’s head backward until the neck snapped. 

The skull hung at an unnatural angle; the body began to collapse as the armored figure sprang off the corpse— launching himself into the crowd. 

Goblins shrieked as they poured from every doorway at the ground floor; their guttural war cries drowned by thunder and the wet thud of their comrades collapsing into the storm-soaked earth. 

The armored figure fought alone, with his crimson eye burning through the slit of his helm; body already streaked with cuts and gouges where blades had slipped past his guard. 

Blood mixed with rain, running down his armor in crimson rivulets. He soon reached for his belt, and unclasped a small steel case before popping it open— vials nestled in lined slots. He tore one free, cracked the stopper with the slit of his helmet before pouring it into his mouth. Bitter light pulsed through his veins, knitting torn flesh and dulling pain just enough. 

The case snapped shut again, as his fight resumed.

A swarm of goblins surged toward him with crude blades and jagged spears. He ducked beneath the first thrust, twisting his sword through a goblin’s stomach before ripping it upward— splitting the creature open in a spray of entrails. 

Without pause, he seized a fallen shield, rammed it forward into the chest of another, and with a snap of motion used it as a platform to vault himself over the rushing horde.

Midair, his bow was already in hand. 

Arrows loosed in rapid succession, each finding a skull. Three fell before his boots hit the ground. The fourth arrow he jammed point-blank through the throat of a goblin trying to flank him.

A hobgoblin charged, cleaver raised. 

He tossed his bow aside, caught the cleaver’s edge with his short sword, and twisted. Sparks flew. His dagger slipped free, plunging into the hob’s thigh, then ripped sideways to sever the artery. The brute staggered— long enough for the armored figure to wrench the cleaver free of its grip. 

He then swung it wide, hacking through three goblins at once— their heads spinning off in arcs— before bringing the blade back in a brutal overhead strike that split the hobgoblin’s skull like wet wood.

Blood spattered his helm, but the rain kept washing it away. 

Arrows hissed from the balconies above— goblins with scavenged crossbows. He seized the shield again— raising it to catch bolts that thudded against the iron face. Then he sprinted, kicked off the shield, and leapt high into the air. 

A goblin leaned too far from the balcony with its bowstring taut— its jaw shattered as his boot connected, the creature flipping backward in a crunch of bones. The armored figure then landed in the midst of the balcony mob, swinging the cleaver in a wide arc, cleaving torsos in half, limbs flung over the railing. 

He grabbed a loaded crossbow, spun, and fired point-blank into the head of a fleeing goblin— the quarrel bursting out the back in a spray of red.

Suddenly, the balcony collapsed beneath the weight of corpses, sending him crashing down in a rain of goblin bodies. He hit the ground hard, causing his vision to blur, and his ribs to begin aching. 

Another potion uncorked, another surge of healing through his battered frame. He spat blood, rose, and kept fighting.

More poured out— some of them shamans. 

Green-robed, their eyes glowing sickly as they began to chant. Dark energy crackled in their claws, bolts of fire and shadow rising. 

The armored figure then proceeded to rip a scroll from his belt, tore the wax seal, and flung it open. Blue light erupted— ice. Shards of frozen spears burst outward, impaling goblins mid-charge, skewering them into the walls. He advanced through the frozen mist— drawing another scroll. 

The next one unleashed a surge of white-hot fire that engulfed two shamans at once; their shrieks cut short as their bodies turned to ash in seconds.

A third shaman raised its staff, chanting frantically. He answered with another scroll, casting a torrent of water to burst forth; a jet so sharp it carved through the steel of the goblin’s staff, then through the shaman itself— cutting its torso cleanly in two. 

The halves slumped apart, steaming as the rain poured on. Yet another squadron of goblins rushed him from behind. 

So he pivoted, as he hurled an explosive into their midst, then dove behind a corpse. The blast sent limbs and weapons flying, painting the walls in gore. A head spun through the rain, and landed right at his feet. He proceeded to then kick it into another goblin’s face before stabbing the dazed creature through the temple.

Bolts of lightning arced from the hands of a high shaman perched on the ramparts. 

The armored figure rolled aside to dodge the bolts of lightning, before drawing his own scroll and tearing it open as a crackling surge of pure lightning erupted forth. 

The arcs leapt across goblins in a chain, frying them black; their eyes bursting, bodies twitching in grotesque spasms. The shaman tried to shield itself, but the current slammed into its chest— exploding the heart in a plume of smoke.

The armored figure pressed forward, with his gloved hands as lethal as steel. 

He grabbed one goblin by the jaw and another by the top of the skull— smashing their heads together with enough force to split both skulls open. 

He then snapped a third’s neck with a twist of his gauntlet before driving its broken body into the next wave, toppling them in a pile. 

He eventually stumbled across another discarded cleaver— kicking it up with the tip of his boot, before grabbing its handle. He then began hacking in wide sweeps until his boots slogged through knee-high heaps of gore and twitching limbs.

And soon, he found the last shaman.

The creature stood at the far end of the yard, staff glowing sickly green, its lips curled in a grin as though to summon something greater. 

The armored figure responded by hurling his cleaver. It spun through the storm, before shattering the staff from the shaman’s hands. The goblin shrieked and tried to flee, but he was already upon it.

He slammed it against the wall— daggers flashing. One pierced its thigh, pinning it to the stone. The other pierced its arm. The shaman screamed, writhing helplessly, as the armored figure ripped another dagger free and jammed it through its palm, and then another through its other hand— nailing it in place. 

Its howls rose into hysterical shrieks.

From his belt, he drew another pouch of powder. With deliberate calm, he shoved the pouch into the shaman’s mouth— forcing it down its throat as the creature gagged and thrashed. He then reached into a leather pound to retrieve a matchbook, lit one before forcing it into the shaman’s powder-coated mouth and stepping back. 

The goblin shaman’s face and stomach swelled as muffled fire burst inside; its body convulsing violently until its stomach and neck tore open, before it erupted in chunks. The still burning head dangled by a strip of spine before collapsing into the mud.

Silence.

The armored figure stood amidst ruin. Corpses filled the yard, with goblin blood pooling in rivers with the rain, and steam rising from the dead as magic and fire faded. He reached up, arrows protruding from his armor and helm, and yanked them free one by one— blood hissing against the storm. 

Another potion cracked open, followed by healing light crawling across his battered frame as he drank, before he tossed the empty vial aside into the mud.

He did not falter, as his crimson eye glared through the helm’s slit as he walked forward. 

Past the heaps of mutilated bodies, through the yard littered with steel and gore. Toward the great doors of the inner keep— where the largest hobgoblins and shamans had fled from; their presence still lingering in the dark beyond.

He raised his blade, as he walked straight back into the fortress.

To be Continued…

Chapter Text

The dungeon stank of iron and rot. A wet chill clung to the air, seeping through stone and torch-smoke alike, dragging with it the faintest echoes of muffled sobs and scraping chains. 

In the shadows, women of every race were fastened to the walls— elves with their pointed ears dirtied and torn, humans with their faces slack from exhaustion, beastkin whose fur was matted with blood. 

Their bodies were marred by bite marks, bruises that bloomed purple and black, lacerations cut raw into their flesh. Waste pooled beneath them where they had been left for weeks; broken husks with eyes clouded from cruelty that never ceased.

And at the heart of it, the goblin chieftain moved not as a king but as a cornered animal. His claws trembled as he seized each chained victim in turn, dragging his jagged knife across their throats or plunging it into their hearts.

He pressed the gushing wounds toward the object he clutched: a relic that should not have existed in the mortal plane. 

It resembled crystal but refused the laws of the third dimension; edges that shifted in and out of sight, an impossible geometry folding in on itself— turning with a rhythm that belonged to no clock.

Its facets gleamed like blades, with each one shimmering crimson as if thirsting for what he fed it. The blood that was spilt upon it slicked down its shifting faces, before vanishing within the unnatural light. 

Yet nothing happened.

The chieftain snarled, with desperation curdling in his throat as he pressed the last woman’s dying body against it— her blood soaking the warped crystal. 

Still it remained silent. 

His shriek tore through the dungeon as he rushed to the shamans’ makeshift alchemy table, slamming the relic down among half-burned candles, shattered glass, and open tomes. 

He tore through a grimoire; its pages scrawled with clawed handwriting and human script stolen from captives. His eyes darted between the text and the shifting crimson glow, muttering spells, incantations, syllables that twisted his throat into unnatural sounds. 

Nothing answered.

“WORK!!!” He roared with his veins bulging, and spit flying, as the relic trembled beneath his fists.

Then—

A single gunshot ripped the scream in half. The thunder of it rang against stone— rattling chains, scattering rats.

The chieftain jerked, wheezing, as his hands rose to clutch his chest. A dull ache spread across his ribs, wet warmth blooming where the lead had torn through him. 

His body buckled, stumbling sideways until he collapsed against the alchemy table— leaving a smear of his blood over the grimoire’s pages. His ears rang, with each breath a rattling wheeze as he tried and failed to push himself upright.

The relic glowed faintly on the table— crimson washing across the dungeon walls. The chieftain blinked up through the blur of pain; his sight dragging over the figure standing beyond the table.

A dark silhouette, rain dripping from blackened leather armor, helm slit glowing faint red. The intruder tossed aside a smoking flintlock pistol, letting it clatter to the stone floor before reaching to his belt for the blade at his hip.

The goblin chieftain coughed blood. His arm trembled as he raised a clawed hand in pleading. “W… Wait— hear me…”

Steel whispered free from its sheath, as the confused armored figure stepped forward.

“I… I know. Must die,” the chieftain gurgled; his voice twisting into startling clarity. His jagged teeth clicked together as he fought to form words, as his chest convulsed with every syllable. “But… Must tell… Truth. Tesseract…”

The word hung in the air. 

The armored intruder paused. His helm then tilted and his red eye narrowed, as he glanced at the impossible relic on the table. 

His voice rasped in a low tone, “… Tesseract?”

The chieftain’s eyes lit with a feverish gleam, before nodding through the agony. “Yes… Adventurers’ Guild sent you. But not them… The Mages’ Association. Quest came from them.” He managed to cough out, before hacking up blood that coated his chest. “I… I stole it.”

The armored man lowered his blade slightly, glaring down through the slit. His voice grew, almost a growl, as he asked, “… How do you even know how to speak Common?”

The chieftain weakly lifted his arm, a trembling claw pointing toward the relic. His voice quavered with awe, not fear. “When… I touched it… I heard her. A girl’s voice. She… Gave me words. Knowledge.” His cracked lips spread in a bloody grin. “Blessed me. Lifted me from filth.”

The helm turned back toward the relic; the shifting crystal still dripped with crimson light.

“She told me… Bring it here. To my nest. That it would open. That secret would be shown.”

“… What secret?”

The chieftain’s vision wavered, as his pupils began to shrink. His chest heaved raggedly as his life bled out, yet he kept speaking— words rushing like a prayer. “A world… A world without chains. Where my kind… No need for rape. Where cruelty lessened. No kings, no gods… Only one true messiah… To guide all to peace, to plenty… To happiness…”

The armored man dropped to one knee. His rage began cutting through his confusion, as his gauntlet gripped the chieftain’s shoulder to shake him violently. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

The relic pulsed suddenly— the crimson light fading to a soft, impossible cyan. The glow began washing across the chamber, the walls, the chains, the corpses— cool and calm where once it had seethed. 

The chieftain’s twitching eyes steadied; a peaceful stillness seeping into them as his lips curled into the first smile of contentment he had ever worn.

He turned his gaze to the armored figure, and for a moment, their eyes met through the helm’s slits. The goblin’s claw reached up, settling against the man’s pauldron. 

The touch was not jagged, not cruel— warm, startlingly human.

“I… Apologize,” the chieftain whispered, voice fading but lucid, “For… Vivianne…”

The armored figure then froze, before his body jerked as though struck. His grip tightened— yanking the dying goblin closer by the collar. 

“H… H-How do you know that name?!” He demanded angrily; confusing mixing in with a hint of panic, as his crimson eye burned brighter behind his helmet’s slits. “WHO told you that name?!”

The chieftain only smiled faintly, blood bubbling in his throat, as his gaze drifted past him.

And then—

“I told him that.”

The armored figure fell backwards, with every nerve alight with shock. He stumbled into the shadows— scrambling against the stone as though the voice itself had weight. 

That’s when he saw the relic pulse once more. 

He sat on his heels and hands frozen in place; his breath caught in his throat as the very air seemed to rupture.

Cyan particles soon began bleeding out of the tesseract— cascading upward like an inverted waterfall, and spiraling and weaving into delicate lattices of light. 

Within moments, the haze condensed, taking form— the fragile outline of a girl hovering above the alchemy table; her glow casting long shadows across the desecrated chamber.

Her frame was slight, limbs pure white like untouched marble, the edges of her form traced with strands of flowing cyan code. Her head, large and rounded, bore short white hair with a faint swirl curling upon her forehead— the swirl glowing faintly as if infused with living circuitry. 

Cyan eyes glowed like twin stars— sharp yet stoic— gazed down on him without a trace of hesitation. The side of her face bore a subtle energy structure, geometric yet strangely organic; a sigil of something greater than humanity could conceive. 

Cloaked in a dress of cyan light that hung as though woven from starlit fabric, she floated still and silent; white shoes suspended just above the blood-slick stone floor.

Her gaze fixed upon him, unwavering. Her voice emerged calm, crystalline— carrying the cadence of something far older than her youthful visage suggested.

“Greetings, Goblin Slayer. Or should I say, ‘Ren Ashta?’”

The sound of his true name struck him like a hammer. It caused his stomach to tighten, and his hands to clench at his sides, as if the word itself had pierced the armor he wore. 

She continued, her tone measured, yet gentle.

“You are uncertain now, I know. Perhaps you believe this to be a fevered dream born of exhaustion. Or a hallucination— an echo of near-death, a trick of the mind clinging to coherence amidst chaos. But I assure you…” She paused, as her cyan eyes seemed to glisten brighter as her voice deepened with conviction. 

“… I am as real as you are. As real as the corruption that festers within this world.”

Mustering up the thoughts to form a coherent sentence, the armored figure— Goblin Slayer— spoke with a low, cautious, unsteady voice, as he asked, “Who… Who are you? And how do you know me?”

The floating figure then placed one pale hand over her chest, as her chin tilted with elegant poise. “Where you are ‘Goblin Slayer,’ I am the ‘Great Sage.’ But you may call me by my true name— Cielle.”

A hush lingered, as she lowered her hand and gestured to the dungeon walls— to the corpses and ruin around them.

“… This encounter was not the product of fate,” she said; her tone sharpening like the edge of a blade. She then extended one finger downward toward him. “It was by my design. Orchestrated with care, as peacefully as this cruel world would allow. All… So that I could meet you.”

His brow furrowed, his voice tightening with disbelief. “… Why? Why me? No one ever told me about this. The quest was just to clear out a dungeon, nothing more.”

The Great Sage’s head inclined, as her glowing eyes softened, though her words retained their weight. “Be not afraid. You and I are alike— two souls born of chaos itself, unshackled by the decrees of destiny. I seek not to frighten you, but to show you truth. I desire what you desire.”

His crimson eyes flicked up sharply. “… You want to kill every goblin too?”

She shook her head slowly, her expression solemn, her cyan light pulsing faintly with the motion. “Yes, but not through annihilation, but overwriting. The erasure of what this world knows to be goblins, of orcs, of demons, of every vile mockery that desecrates what is good and pure. Not merely destruction, but transformation— removing rot, and granting space for life to bloom. That is my resolve.”

Her glow brightened as she descended closer toward him; her feet never touching the bloodied ground. Her radiance washed over him— cyan light caressing the dents of his armor and the tired shadows beneath his eyes. 

She then extended her small hand down toward him— palm open, and her expression steady yet imploring.

“My proposal is this: allow me to mentor you. Allow me to raise you beyond even what you believe yourself capable of. Together, we will form the seed of tomorrow, here in this desecrated fortress. Together, we will transform this realm of filth and sorrow into a blossom of hope, of prosperity. With me as your guide, we will not only rid the world of its vermin… We will remake it.”

He stared at her hand, silent, unmoving. Yet her voice softened— growing almost pleading.

“I cannot save this world alone, and neither can you. But together… What if I told you that we can replace this world’s goblins with those who’re civilized? That we may do the same with all that’s wrong in this world? What if vengeance need not consume you— that empowerment, legacy, and honor may take its place? That your sister could be proud of you, and not mourn the boy who chose this path?”

His chest tightened. His mind drifted to his older sibling’s face— recalling her scoldings, her care, her warmth. He swallowed hard, breath shaky, as he then slowly reached up— clasping her hand in his gauntleted grip. 

To his shock, her grip was strong, impossibly so. With ease, she pulled him up to his feet, as if his weight was nothing.

Once upright, he let go, and with a trembling breath, lifted his hands to his helmet. The wet iron scraped softly as he removed it, before carrying it under one arm. 

No longer hidden, his face lifted toward her. Pale skin marred by light scars, gray hair unkempt and wild, strands clinging damp to his forehead. Crimson eyes glimmered with weariness and defiance alike. He looked not like the seasoned warrior his armor suggested, but a mere teenage boy— too young for the burdens he bore.

His voice came softer now, different— gentler, tinged with hesitation, yet sincere. “… This is a lot. Even for me.”

Unfaltering, she nodded. “And I will be here each step of the way. You need not carry this alone. I shall do most of the thinking… So you may do what you do best, unburdened.”

His lips curled faintly into a small grin that escaped him, which was tempered by the sigh that followed. He then glanced around the dungeon, and his expression hardened again at the sight of the women’s corpses— their suffering frozen in death.

“… Can you help them?” He asked quietly, in a wavered voice. “… Revive them? What’s the extent of your power?”

The Great Sage’s eyes then dimmed faintly, her glow softening to something mournful. “I am wisdom incarnated. I can show you how to wield resurrection itself. But tell me, Ashta— do you truly wish to drag them back from peace? To force them into broken bodies, broken minds? To make them walk once more in torment?”

He shut his eyes, jaw tightening. Silence stretched long before he opened them again— crimson eyes glimmering with reluctant acceptance. “… Then… We should at least bury them. Not in the burn pit with the goblins, but somewhere apart— somewhere, more… Deserving of rest.”

Her light brightened faintly with approval. “A wise choice,” she said, before her gaze shifted toward the relic that was still humming softly. She raised her hand toward it, before saying, “But first, I need you to touch it.”

He blinked, taken aback. “… Touch what?”

“Touch the tesseract.”

With hesitation, he stepped forward, setting his helmet carefully upon the table’s edge. His gloved hand extended, and the closer his fingers drew; the more the air seemed to quake, reality itself trembling as if in anticipation. 

At last, his fingertips grazed the tesseract’s surface.

In an instant, it dispersed into a storm of cyan fragments, rushing into his hand. He flinched, eyes widening as a rune blazed upon the back of his glove— lines of shifting light burning like molten glass before fading into his skin.

“There,” the Great Sage said softly, her voice resonant. “Our souls are bound. Where you go, I go.”

He looked over his shoulder at her; his crimson eyes expressing uncertainty.

“Fear not,” she continued. “Your privacy will remain inviolate. I shall simply accompany you… And for now, we shall prepare the fallen for burial. When the storm above relents.”

Goblin Slayer took a moment to peel back his black glove to take a gander at the cyan mark etched into his flesh. The rain’s muffled drumbeat echoed outside, and the chamber around them— soaked in blood, silence, and sorrow— suddenly felt less suffocating.

For the first time in a long while, the ashen-haired teen felt something stir beneath the weight of armor, vengeance, and exhaustion. 

Not hope, not yet— 

But perhaps the faintest spark of it.

Chapter Text

A single match scraped against the box with a sharp hiss; its head flaring to life in a brief burst of orange. Goblin Slayer held it steady between two fingers, watching the fragile flame tremble against the morning breeze. 

Without a word, he let it fall into the yawning pit at his feet.

The fire caught instantly, as kerosene-soaked rags and splintered timber roared to life— licking upward to claim the mountain of goblin corpses heaped within. The smell was sharp at first— stinging his nose with oil and smoke— before it was choked out by the heavier stench of burning flesh. 

Green skin shriveled, as bone blackened. The remnants of his one-man raid on the fortress collapsed in on themselves, twisting and writhing as if the dead were still trying to claw free.

“… Burn in hell,” he muttered; his voice flat yet edged with venom.

The Great Sage drifted just behind him, her radiant cyan gaze fixed on the fire as though seeing deeper than mere flames. “Only the fires of hell may hope to cinder the sins of those wicked enough to burn,” she intoned; her words carrying with them a weight that bent the silence.

The ashen-haired teen narrowed his crimson eyes, while leaning his weight against the shovel buried in the soil. Sweat still gleamed across his bare chest, rolling down his lean frame in slow rivulets. His chainmail and leather padding hung heavy on his legs, while his short sword rest sheathed at his hip. 

“… And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked without looking away from the pit.

Her gaze shifted toward him— sharp and unblinking. “It means that their end was not wasted. While you carved your vengeance into flesh last night, I was weaving something more enduring. For you see, I filtered their departing souls.”

His eyes flicked toward her at last; a crease of confusion marking his brow. “… Filtered?”

“Yes,” she said, pausing as if to search for an image he would understand. “Imagine coffee grounds set against paper. Your sword, your fury— they are the boiling water poured through. The goblins are the grounds, my spell the filter. What passes through is not their vileness, but the essence alone— stripped clean.”

He blinked; the analogy tugging reluctantly at his thoughts. “I see… And the coffee pot?”

Her lips curved faintly, almost imperceptibly. “My mana pool.” She lifted a hand, and the cyan rune etched into the back of his right hand pulsed with answering light. “No— our mana pool.”

His gaze dropped to the glowing mark; the shovel’s wooden shaft creaking beneath his tightening grip. “And the brewed coffee?” He pressed in a low voice.

“Their souls,” she answered simply. “What remains of them after corruption is burned away.”

He stared into the blaze; the pit now little more than writhing shadows cloaked in flame. Conflicted unease lingered in his eyes, though his mouth formed no words at first. 

Finally, he asked, “And what does that mean for us?”

“It means,” she said softly, “that with the right ingredients, I can show you how to reshape what was once vile into something worthy. Through alchemy, through will, we can overwrite this world’s mistakes.” Her voice lowered, steady as stone. “You remember what I told you— yesterday evening— about replacing wrong with better?”

His expression sharpened; suspicion flickering beneath the sweat-darkened strands of his hair. “You mean making more goblins?”

“Not just more goblins,” she replied, her gaze glowing brighter with certainty. “But every twisted form that mars this world. We can recast them as their opposites— creatures of benevolence in place of cruelty.”

His jaw worked— doubt shading his features. “What if they join the ones who rape and murder? What if they’re no different?”

Her response came firm, yet patient. “Then they cease to exist. I will engrave a code within their souls— bindings as absolute as steel. If they ever stray, a failsafe will sever them from life. No rebellion, no corruption. A kill switch, so even you may rest knowing they cannot betray you.”

Goblin Slayer exhaled slowly, though his shoulders did not ease. His crimson eyes narrowed against the firelight. “… Why do we even need to remake them at all? The world’ll be a better place without their kind.”

The Great Sage inclined her head; the glow of flame gilding her calm face. “Part of you knows that is not so, for ecosystems are fragile. Tear out one piece without care, and the rest collapses into ruin. The vermin you hate are woven into the order of things, but order can be rewritten. What was once blight can become a pillar of peace.”

She then drew breath to continue, but he cut her off, his voice cold but steady. “Then the new ones can only be female.”

A silence stretched between them; the fire crackled like laughter in the void, as her brows lifted slightly. “… Why only female?”

He turned toward her, with sweat still streaking his face; his crimson gaze hard as iron. “You know exactly why.”

For the first time, her composure shifted into faint puzzlement. Yet comprehension dawned in her eyes as the fire’s reflection danced across them. “… I see.” She said quietly, before thoughtfully tilting her head. “But such a design weakens balance. An all-female species cannot thrive long without breaking.”

His lips pressed thin, but he gave no answer.

“… But what if we agree on a compromise?” She mused; her voice calm once more. “Males will exist, but unlike those you despise, our new generation of male goblins will be softer— their nature aligned away from what you fear. Feminine in spirit and appearance, and without desire for women at all— they’ll only breed with females out of necessity, and despite every moment of it as penance.” 

He looked at her carefully, as though weighing the promise; his expression caught between grim resolve and faint relief. “That… That could work,” he said quietly, but with certainty. 

The Great Sage gave a single nod, before turning her gaze back to the blaze. The fire consumed the last of the goblins, ashes spiraling into the dawn wind. 

Goblin Slayer rested his hand on the shovel, watching in silence as the flames writhed. 

The lake lay quiet beneath the waning afternoon sun; the stillness only broken by the low hum of cicadas in the trees and the ripple of water disturbed by a lone teen waist-deep in the shallows. 

A clothesline strung between two crooked pines sagged with the weight of damp armor pieces— blackened mail, a leather cuirass, greaves still flecked with ash— while the rest of his gear sprawled across a wide slab of sun-warmed granite. Beside it, gray trousers and a dark gambeson lay drying, each bearing the stains of battle too deep to ever truly fade.

Seven graves rose from the lakeshore in quiet defiance of the silence; the markers little more than rough stones carved into crude crosses and propped at their heads. 

The soil was still raw, dark with yesterday’s rain.

Goblin Slayer dunked his head beneath the water. When he rose, the lake clung to him in sheets that caught the sunlight, cascading over ashen hair plastered against his forehead; down sharp cheekbones and along the sculpted line of his jaw. 

Droplets traced the slopes of his chest, breaking into rivulets as they slid over the firm planes of his torso— toned, pallid skin marked here and there with the faint bruises and cuts of last night’s slaughter. 

He tipped handfuls of the cold water across his shoulders, over his arms, over the faint swell of his abdomen, letting the chill ease muscles still taut from hours of butchery and then hours more of digging.

His breath caught faintly as he scrubbed beneath one arm, and the water splashed around him when his balance faltered. For a moment he swayed, head light, vision a blur, but he steadied himself with a clenched jaw and a lift of his chin. His eyes, sharp beneath a damp fringe, fixed themselves on the fortress rising in the distance just above the treeline— its battlements and watchtower looming like a memory he could not wash off.

A sudden tingling at the back of his right hand drew his gaze down. The faint etching carved into his skin shimmered, then blazed to life with a cool, unnatural brilliance. The glow fractured, the light bending and stuttering like broken glass, before the air before him tore with a glitching flicker.

And from the distortion, she appeared.

The Great Sage hovered just above the lake’s mirrored surface; her form translucent yet irrefutably present, as her cyan eyes burned with an otherworldly clarity while fixing upon him.

“… You are overworking yourself,” she said in a calm voice, and somewhat contrite voice.

He raised a brow at her, while water still trailed from his chin— his lips quirking faintly, as though amused by her bluntness. His hands then drifted back into the water, while idly drawing it up over his forearms. “… It can’t be helped,” he murmured in a low, and quiet voice that held conviction. “It had to be done.”

Her head tilted ever so slightly; hair shimmering in the fractured light. “I am not referring to what you did last night, nor what you did this morning.”

His faint smile then slipped; the mask gave way to something more grounded, and more sober. He straightened slightly, with water beading across his shoulders as he regarded her warily.

“You slept for precisely three hours and seventeen minutes,” she continued, with each syllable deliberate. “Two cycles of light sleep, one partial cycle of REM. Your body has consumed no food for twenty-six hours, nineteen minutes, and ten seconds. And on top of your waning mental health, you also are dehydrated.”

His eyes widened a fraction— his hand pausing in its idle washing. 

For a moment he looked caught between exasperation and discomfort before he forced a crooked, faint grin— turning his gaze down to the water. “… And whatever happened to you not prying into my privacy?”

Her glowing eyes softened— though only slightly— as she inclined her head. “And I have not. What I just relayed to you is merely data, observation, and evidence of your current status.” A pause— then, with careful weight: “Although… I suppose that begs the question, as to why I told the goblin chieftain about Vivianne.”

The name cut through him. 

His shoulders stiffened, as his lips pulled into a hard line as his brows furrowed. A storm passed through his expression— quiet but undeniable.

Goblin Slayer then lifted his gaze to her again— weary yet edged. “… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” He said quietly at first, but the words thickened, and sharpened as he pressed on. “Why the hell would you tell that piece of shit about her? What right did you have to hand him information he never had any right to know?”

He demanded with restraint, as his crimson eyes narrowed; his voice hoarse, as if from something heavier than anger. “… What would give a lowly FUCK like him the right to even hear her name?”

The Great Sage did not flinch beneath the weight of his fury. She instead dipped her chin— the gesture almost human in its acknowledgment. 

“I owe you an apology,” she said— simple and factual. Then, after a measured silence, her voice steadied further. “But I will ask you this first: if all you saw was a goblin who suddenly spoke your tongue— if all you felt was a presence that claimed no body— and if all you heard was my voice in your mind… Would you have believed any of what I said about being beyond your dimension? Would you not have assumed madness? A sickness of the mind? A hallucination born of exhaustion?”

Her gaze held his— bright and unwavering.

“I made it personal, because it needed to be. The shock was not cruelty, but necessity. You would not listen to mystery, or theory, or vagueness. You would only listen to what you knew no one else could possibly know. Only then could I command your attention, and allow you to see me as I am— and not as a ghost conjured by grief.”

She drew a faint breath, her tone steady as steel. “Only you, I, and the old rhea who rescued you know what became of Vivianne Ashta. That truth is inviolate, and is why you believed me with minimal doubt.”

Goblin Slayer exhaled through his nose; a long, reluctant sound as though he were trying to let his irritation dissolve with the water still dripping from his hair. He gave the Great Sage a weary, sidelong look— half begrudging understanding, and half unspoken discontent.

She, of course, saw straight through it.

“… I know,” she continued softly, as her voice carried fragile steadiness that betrayed how much she meant it. “I am aware that is not enough. Like I said: an apology is in order, and… I am sorry— truly, I am. I only acted on what I calculated would bring the best outcome, but that does not erase the effect had on you… I never meant to disrespect your sister, Ashta.”

Goblin Slayer’s lips pressed into a thin, pale line. He turned slightly, letting his eyes wander across the lake’s silvered ripples. After a moment, his voice came, low and edged.

“Then what about this—” he lifted his chin, not quite looking at her, “— you called yourself ‘wisdom incarnate’ last night. Fine. If that’s true, then why couldn’t you look ahead? Why not pluck some better solution from the future, one that didn’t involve… Doing that?” He asked, as his voice roughened at the end. 

Her cyan irises glowed faintly brighter, steady as a pair of stars against the pale light. “I stand by what I said— about how I am wisdom incarnate. However, that does not mean I am anywhere near omnipotent.”

That struck him— made him blink, as the water dripped from his lashes. 

She proceeded to continue— precise but unhurried— as if each word was a stone laid carefully into place.

“The fourth dimension does not function as most scholars of this world would assume. Space and time stretch only over the present and the past. What you call the future is not a fixed landscape— it is probability. At best, I can build models with logic and mathematics, forecasting the most likely branches ahead. Those projections are remarkably accurate, but not flawless. There have been errors. Rare ones— but errors nonetheless.”

Goblin Slayer fell quiet at that; his eyes narrowing faintly as he digested her words. A shadow of frustration crossed his expression, but so did the faintest flicker of reluctant respect. 

His hands clenched faintly at his side, then relaxed as he raised his eyes back to her. “Then tell me, Cielle… According to your calculations,” his voice wavered, caught between habit and his private obsession, “when will we have slain—” He cut himself off— exhaled sharply through his nose— then rolled his eyes with a flash of sardonic self-awareness. “— I mean… When will we have overwritten every last goblin on Earth?”

The answer came with surgical precision. “Thirty-two days, four hours, twenty-six minutes, and fifty-two seconds.”

For a moment, silence fell between them. 

Then his heart thudded violently in his chest. His eyes widened, then curved as his lips tugged upward—not in joy, not quite—but in a fierce, breathless grin that teetered on the edge of unhinged.

“— Th-Thirty-two days…?” He echoed back in a whisper, almost reverently. “… That’s only about a month—” he murmured, as his voice suddenly caught, before he began spilling over as words tumbled out— faster than he could control. “What— what do we do?! Tell me everything! Does it have to do with creating better ones?! Do we need reagents for it?! Will they all suffer—” his voice sharpened with a heat that was both vengeful and boyish in its desperation, “tell me they’ll suffer…!”

The Great Sage regarded him with unblinking calm; her expression flat, and her posture perfectly still. The water rippled beneath her feet but did not touch her.

When she spoke, it was as though she were reading him back his own mania with clinical detachment. “When I create the first batch of our new goblins, their genetics will be coded to breed an airborne prion. This agent will propagate invisibly through the wind, and be carried across currents and climates alike. Infection rates will be near total within three weeks, regardless of geographic barriers. The prion will trigger forced transformation through an alteration spell— searing through their tissues, breaking and reshaping bone, and purifying the corrupted soul until it conforms to the feminine form we discussed.”

Her eyes narrowed, just slightly. “And yes: the pain will be immense. A metamorphosis both physical and metaphysical. But it will end with them no longer being the creatures you despise.”

Goblin Slayer’s grin widened further at her choice of words; his breath hitching with a strange exhilaration that vibrated through his frame. His wet hair clung to his temples as he took in each syllable like a man starved.

“An-And what can we do to make that happen any sooner?!” He pressed, with hunger burning in his voice.

Her arms crossed over her chest, and at last, a sliver of something patronizing edged into her tone. “Nothing— not unless you learn to take better care of yourself, as I said.”

The fire in his expression faltered, as his excitement deflated as though she had let the air out of him. His shoulders then sank an inch, as his mouth twisted in faint annoyance. “… Figures,” he muttered, eyes flicking away. “… Taking better care of myself— how?”

The Great Sage did not hesitate. “Eight hours of consistent sleep, per night. A daily caloric intake equivalent to what you expend—” she said, before her gaze momentarily flicked, as if scrolling through numbers, “— which for you, would be an average of four thousand eight hundred and ninety-one calories.”

Goblin Slayer blinked at her, as his jaw slackened slightly. “… You couldn’t have rounded that number down?”

“No,” she replied without the faintest hint of humor. “Furthermore: you are in need of better living conditions, and overall stronger mental health practices. And also, at minimum, I strongly suggest that you drink a gallon of clean water— per day.”

The ashen-haired teen stood there, waist-deep in the lake, with still water dripping from his bare chest as he stared at her like a man who had just been handed an impossible grocery list. 

His lips twitched, tugged somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement. Finally, he gave a faint, sheepish shrug, as he asked her, “And what exactly can I do right now to get started on all of that?”

At that, the Great Sage softened her posture, as she inclined her head faintly toward the waters around them.

“I will instruct you on how to construct a water purifier with the materials at hand. It will suffice until you refine it further. Then, I will show you the most effective method for catching fish in this lake— spearing in the shallows, when the sun lowers and the shadows of the reeds draw them close.”

He exhaled, long and low, shaking his head faintly as water cascaded down his back. His mouth then quirked in the faintest smile of exhaustion. “… I take it you can’t magically do all of that for me?”

“You would be correct,” she replied evenly. “Now come, we have much to accomplish before you may retire for the night.”

Twilight stretched slowly across the fortress yard, laying bands of violet and fading gold upon stone and scrub— the last light of day clinging stubbornly to the battered walls and catching against the black leather of the teen’s armor. 

His gambeson creaked as he moved; the feathered collar brushing his jaw whenever he bent forward, while the faint jingle of chainmail beneath sounded like a muted bell each time he straightened, after hauling another sloshing bucket from the lake. 

His hands were raw and reddened from the effort— knuckles tight as he steadied the battered barrel he had scoured clean earlier in the evening. 

Once, it had reeked of mildew and rot, but he had scraped and scrubbed until it smelled only of damp wood and smoke. Now it stood upright upon a rust-bitten iron frame, waiting to become more than just a ruined container.

The Great Sage drifted several feet above the ground, with her faint glow catching against the treeline beyond the fortress. She watched him with an unblinking patience— voice level when she finally spoke. 

“The linens first,” she instructed, while nodding to the fabric he had wrung out earlier in the barracks basin. “Layer them tight, pressed hard. They’ll catch what the sand alone will not.”

Goblin Slayer grunted acknowledgment; his shoulders tightened beneath leather and mail, as he folded the still-damp cloth into thick pads and pressed them down into the base of the barrel. 

He crouched, his knees scraping the ground, and dragged forward the container he had filled with pale sand from the lakeshore. With both hands he shoveled it in, grain after grain tumbling through his fingers until a dense bed formed above the linen. 

Sweat slid from his temple, smudging with the grit that clung stubbornly to his recently washed skin.

Next came the charcoal. 

He broke apart the charred remnants from the outdoor grill; his fingertips blackened, as he scattered the still-reactive fragments over the sand— each piece carrying the faint tang of smoke. The sharp scent clung to his palms, working its way beneath his nails no matter how he rubbed them together.

“Your hands need to be cleansed,” the Great Sage observed after a long silence. Her tone was flat as always, yet her gaze followed his movements as if cataloging every step— every error and correction.

“Just like this world of goblins,” he muttered without looking up; his voice low but edged with certainty. He proceeded to reach for one of the waiting buckets, braced his stance, before tipping the heavy water forward. 

It cascaded into the barrel— gurgling as it sank through the layers of cloth, sand, and ash. A slow trickle emerged from the tap at the bottom, with clear drops beginning to gather in the iron pot he had set beneath.

Meanwhile, the grill beside him hissed and spat as three trout roasted over its heat; their silvery skins long since peeled away, bones carefully removed. Roots and wild vegetables, scrubbed free of dirt with a stone and boiled earlier until softened, now lay skewered beside the fish, the earthy smell mingling with the rising scent of sizzling fat. 

Smoke curled upward into the darkening air, weaving together with the last traces of dusk.

The Great Sage folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head ever so slightly as her usually impassive lips quirked in the faintest smirk. “Ashta,” she said, with her voice carrying just enough dry humor to catch him off guard, “has anyone ever told you that you have the makings of a fierce housewife?”

The ashen-haired teen paused, before looking up sharply from where he pressed down a stubborn piece of charcoal. His crimson eyes narrowed beneath his messy bangs. “… No,” he said flatly. “I can’t recall anyone ever telling me that— at least to my face.”

“Then allow me to be the first.”

He stared at her for a heartbeat longer, then snorted faintly through his nose before returning to his work. 

The smirk on her lips lingered.

And by the time the first clear stream of purified water dripped steadily into the waiting pot, Goblin Slayer had already used a pair of tongs— heated until their tips glowed red in the fire to burn away the grime— to lift the trout and vegetables from the grill. 

He then arranged them onto a wooden plate that had been scrubbed clean earlier, before setting them with deliberate precision— despite the hunger twisting in his stomach. A fork, polished to a dull gleam after repeated rinsing, lay ready in his hand as he finally lowered himself cross-legged beside the purifier.

The first bite was gone in seconds; the trout’s soft flesh vanishing between his teeth, as his jaw worked with a ferocity born of more than simple hunger. He ate as though the meal might vanish from the world if he slowed, with each stab of the fork followed by a swift bite and swallow.

“I told you you were hungry,” the Great Sage said calmly, though her voice carried no judgment— only the faintest glimmer of amusement as she hovered nearby.

Goblin Slayer gave the smallest nod mid-chew— too occupied to respond. His cheeks bulged, his fork scraped against the plate, and he continued in silence until half the meal had disappeared.

The Great Sage then floated closer; her gaze lingering now on the steady trickle of water from the purifier. “In time,” she said, her voice smoothing into something gentler, “I will instruct you on a proper system— piping, sediment traps, a flow that sustains itself without constant labor. But for now, this will do. You’ve earned this moment of comfort.”

He swallowed hard, wiped the back of his hand against his mouth, and muttered, “Comfort doesn’t last.”

“No,” she admitted, her eyes softening briefly. “But you shall learn its importance all the same.”

He chewed on that— not the fish, but the thought itself— as he scraped up the last of the roots and licked his teeth clean. 

When his plate was bare, he stood and carried it to the waiting bucket of water. Kneeling, he dipped a rag and scrubbed at the dish until the wood gleamed faintly in the firelight. 

The yard had quieted by the time Goblin Slayer wiped the last streak of moisture from his wooden plate and set it aside to dry. 

The smell of trout and smoke still lingered in the air— clinging to his armor and gambeson— but the night had pressed in now, with the dim of twilight giving way to the deepening blue of evening. 

The fortress walls stood silent around him, and the only sounds were the steady drip of water from the purifier’s tap and the occasional crackle of embers from the grill. 

He let his gaze linger on both for a time, as though weighing which had given him the greater satisfaction— his full stomach, or the trickle of clean water slowly gathering in the pot.

When he finally rose, his joints stiff from sitting too long cross-legged, he carried the filled pot and the glass he had scrubbed earlier over to the purifier. 

It did not take long before he found himself drinking greedily— glass after glass— leaning his shoulder against the inner stone wall beside the gate winch, as he hauled at the mechanism with his free hand. 

The heavy iron gate then proceeded to creak down inch by inch— its chains rattling in protest, while his other hand worked the cup to his mouth again and again. Each swallow echoed in his throat— sharp and loud in the stillness— the sound broken by his rough breathing.

“— Never tasted water—” he muttered between gulps, his voice breaking with exhaustion.

Another glass disappeared down his throat.

“— so refreshing—” he added hoarsely, and immediately refilled the cup.

The Great Sage drifted near; her figure half-silhouetted in the pale wash of moonlight that crept through the gate. 

She hovered just behind his shoulder; her presence a quiet counterpoint to the groaning chains. Her eyes remained unreadable, though her tone cut with its usual precision.

“… From now on,” she began— her voice carrying the weight of command rather than suggestion, “you will drink only purified water. Do you understand? Untreated water carries dysentery, cholera, worms, and parasites that root themselves in the intestines until they tear them apart. A single careless swallow could cost you your health.”

Goblin Slayer grimaced at her words, though he kept drinking, as if each glassful were a defiance of his fatigue more than an indulgence. 

The water was cold and sharp— sliding down his throat in long rivulets, and quenching a thirst he hadn’t realized was so deep.

“You avoided them all tonight,” she continued, while drifting slowly to his other side, as though circling a subject in her mind. “And you will continue to avoid them, because I will show you how to live properly.”

He lowered the glass at last, setting it carefully on the by the winch, before drawing in a long breath. His chest rose and fell heavily beneath the black leather and chainmail, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried a rough edge of amusement beneath the fatigue.

“Cielle… Has anyone ever told you that you’re demanding?”

The Great Sage tilted her head at him; her hair white stirring faintly, as if caught by a breeze that only touched her. Her brow then arched just slightly, and for once there was something almost curious in her tone.

“… Demanding?” She repeated, letting the word sit on her tongue as though tasting it. “No. No, I have not been told that about myself.”

A faint smirk tugged at the ashen-haired teen’s lips— quick and fleeting— but it was there all the same. “Then allow me to be the first.”

For a heartbeat her expression held firm, but then the corner of her mouth shifted just enough to betray the smallest smile— an expression so rare it could have been mistaken for a trick of the dim light. 

Her voice softened as she mused back to him, “Touché.”

The winch gave one final groan, and the gate settled shut with a heavy clang— sealing the fortress against the night.

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

The cleansed barracks smelled faintly of cedar and dust; the stone walls holding on to the night’s cool air, and lacking the coppery smell from last night’s escapades. 

A lantern burned low in the corner; its glow spilling over the wide wooden basin that had been dragged in earlier, set atop a bench near the wall. Beside it sat a bucket filled with water so clear it caught every flicker of the flame— cold and pure— courtesy of the purifier outside.

Goblin Slayer leaned over the basin; stripped down to his socks, black turtleneck, and a pair of worn boxers, the familiar weight of armor left piled neatly near his cot. 

He scooped a handful of the water and splashed it over his face, sighing quietly as it ran down his cheeks— dripping into the basin with soft ripples. The exhaustion clinging to his muscles eased only slightly, but the cold did something to wake his mind.

On the far side of the basin, the Great Sage hovered at her usual height; hands clasped behind her back, and her expression a careful, clinical calm. “Take the twig,” she said, nodding toward the thin branch shaved smooth at one end.

He picked it up, twirling it between his fingers as though skeptical. “You’re certain this… Stick is supposed to clean teeth?”

“It is a tool,” she corrected, her eyes narrowing faintly. “The fibers at its end fray when chewed. That fraying scrapes away what remains of food. A toothbrush. In time, I will ensure you have something more refined— a brush with bristles set in a handle, powders that scour, mouthwash that cuts the film, even cord designed to scrape between the teeth where food hides.”

Goblin Slayer raised the twig, studying it with something caught between doubt and amusement. “Cord for scraping between teeth. Sounds like stringing a bow inside my mouth.”

Her expression didn’t change. “You will understand once I show you.”

With a shrug, he set the twig between his teeth and bit carefully— the end beginning to split into faint fibers just as she’d described. 

He then scrubbed at his molars; his jaw working with slow, mechanical rhythm. The taste was bitter and sharp, sap clinging to the back of his tongue, but he worked through it.

“Good,” the Great Sage said. “Now— spit.”

He proceeded to lean over the basin and spat into the water, his brow furrowing as the foam spread.

“Now rinse with a small glassful of water,” she instructed, while gesturing to the cup nearby. “Swish, then spit again; it shall remove what the fibers loosen.”

He then filled the glass and swirled it in his mouth— the sound sloshing against his teeth, before he leaned forward and spat again. 

His shoulders rose and fell in a faint sigh as he set the glass aside. “This feels like more trouble than it’s worth.”

“It feels like much needed,” she corrected sharply. “Rotten teeth, bleeding gums, foul breath— these will harm your health as surely as blades, and I will not have you fall to something so preventable.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, smirking faintly as he scrubbed water across his face again. “You’re so demanding,” he muttered.

“So you’ve said,” she replied, as though that distinction mattered.

He didn’t argue. Instead, he let the cool water run down his cheeks, dripping into the basin. The collected rinse swirled faintly, carrying away soap and dirt— forming a thin film across the surface. 

His hands moved slow, methodical, as he rinsed again and again.

“Tomorrow,” the Great Sage continued, “we go to the Frontier Outpost after breakfast to collect your reward. With that coin, you will purchase what we lack. Especially lotions and balms, such as extract of myrrh for the skin; resin of pine for cracked hands; salves pressed from river herbs to cool the eyes— with enough care, we’ll eliminate those shadows you carry beneath your eyelids.”

The ashen-haired teen froze with water still dripping from his chin. He turned his head slightly, giving her a look dry enough to drain the basin on its own.

“You would be surprised what it will do for you,” she added smoothly, unbothered by his stare.

He huffed through his nose, then bent again to the bucket, scooping a last handful of water over his face. The rivulets fell into the basin, catching bits of grime and sweat until the surface grew cloudy. He reached for the clean rag hanging from the bench, wrung it once in his hand, and pressed it against his skin.

He barely dragged the cloth across his cheek before her voice cut through the room again. “Do not rub. Pat. Rubbing pulls the skin, worsens the lines you already carry. Pat it dry.”

His hand paused mid-motion. He shot her a flat glance, annoyance faintly flickering at the edges, but she stood impassive, waiting.

With a faint grunt, he shifted the cloth, dabbing instead of dragging. He said nothing more, and neither did she—though her eyes softened almost imperceptibly as she watched him do as instructed.

Goblin Slayer dabbed the cloth against his face in silence for a moment longer before lowering it, his reflection wavered and distorted in the basin below. “Tell me something,” he muttered, voice roughened by fatigue. “Why this place? Why here of all places?”

The Great Sage shifted slightly in her hovering, tilting her head as if surprised he asked. Her gaze followed the rippling water before she answered. “Because, Ashta, the forest surrounding us is not just wilderness. This is Jura Forest— a stretch of land positioned most advantageously.”

Her tone sharpened with precision as she raised a finger, as though ticking off her points. “First: Lake Virelda. An inland sea, vast and teeming with life. Its waters can feed, trade, and sustain far more than two. Second: timber. These woods are ancient, thick, and more than plentiful for lumber, resin, and tar. Third: below us lie cavern systems—veins of ore, and more importantly, deposits of raw magicule crystals. Those are essential. They will allow us to craft, and to create new life that will displace the corrupted, vile breeds infesting this world.”

Goblin Slayer stared at her reflection in the basin as she spoke, the corner of his mouth twitching. She never faltered in her matter-of-fact delivery.

“And lastly,” she said, her eyes narrowing faintly, “this fortress. It lies so far beyond the borders that King Pendragon has forgotten it exists. His maps show it as abandoned. His stewards will not spare a thought for its stones.”

“Hm.” He pressed the rag against his temple, sighing through his nose. “All good reasons.” He let the cloth fall back into the basin, water pattering off its edge. His crimson eyes then flicked up to her; a hint of begrudge in voice, as he hesitantly asked her, “But why can’t I sleep in my armor?”

The Great Sage’s expression hardened in an instant; her voice cutting with a chiding edge. “I have told you already— that habit destroys your body. The weight compacts the spine. It ruins muscle and nerve. You court permanent injury each time you rest inside it.”

He leaned his arms on the edge of the basin, with his shoulders hunched. “It makes me feel safe,” he countered flatly.

Her voice carried no sympathy when she answered. “No. It gives you the illusion of safety. False comfort is more dangerous than none at all.” She lifted a hand then, gesturing toward herself as if to punctuate the matter. “And tonight, you will abandon another bad habit— sleeping with one eye open.”

His head tilted slightly— a skeptical stare meeting hers.

“You have me now,” she said simply; her tone lowered, and smooth. “Your safety is guaranteed beyond any you have ever known. I am not bound to walls or doors. Being fourth-dimensional means I perceive intrusions differently. Whether a beast stirs a mile out, or an intruder so much as bends a blade of grass at our gates, I know it. Vibrations, energy fields, perturbations in particulate flows— all within my sense.”

The teen’s brows knit faintly— crimson eyes narrowing further as though searching her face for any trick. His mouth opened slightly, a low mutter slipping out: “… I still don’t understand what the fourth dimension even is.”

Her lips curved— not quite a smile, but softened all the same. “It is not important that you do. Not yet. In time, as you grow, you will piece it together naturally.”

Goblin Slayer lingered on her words— watching the ripples fade from the basin, as his own reflection stared back with puzzlement. 

“… If you say so.” He murmured quietly, before tossing the damp rag toward the woven basket tucked by the doorway; the one she had earlier pointed out as the new home for soiled cloth and clothing.

It landed with a wet thud against the pile already gathered there; its place marked neatly near the entrance leading out toward the courtyard.

The Great Sage’s gaze followed the motion for only a second before she shifted topic without pause. “Do not throw that basin’s water outside into the dirt tonight,” she instructed. “You will discard it properly after your morning routine, before breakfast.”

His head snapped up, staring at her with something like disbelief. “… There’s a morning routine?” He asked slowly, as though the phrase were a foreign tongue. “You mean… I really have to do this whole thing again? Brushing my teeth, washing my face, all of it— every morning?”

“Yes.” Her voice carried no room for argument. “Every morning, and every night before you sleep.”

His jaw tightened, incredulity flashing in his crimson eyes. “… For how long?”

“Until you are dead.” She said it with such blunt factuality it left a ringing silence between them. And then, almost casually, she added, “Though that outcome is highly improbable now that you have me.”

He exhaled sharply— somewhere between a scoff and a laugh— smirking faintly as if to push against the absurdity. “Maybe so… But not even you can keep me from aging.”

The Great Sage’s expression didn’t flicker, her voice cool and unbothered. “Incorrect. I can— and already have.”

The faint trace of humor slid from his face, replaced by the hard lines of bewilderment. His gaze cut toward her with caution, his voice dropping low. “… What do you mean by that?”

For the first time, there was the slightest hesitation in her. Her eyes softened— not from emotion, but from calculation. 

“… With the sheer number of adjustments I have imposed upon you in a short span,” she said slowly, “combined with the accumulating physical strain you’ve endured since last night, I intended to delay this disclosure.”

His stomach sank, as he leaned forward unconsciously( hands braced on the basin’s edge as dread thickened in his chest. “… What disclosure?”

The Great Sage regarded him without pity; her words steady, each one falling like a stone into the still air. “There is no easy way to tell you this, but… You now share fourth-dimensional properties through me. Our souls are irreversibly tethered, which means you cannot age beyond this state. And if your body is destroyed, you will not vanish— you will simply remain with me in the fourth dimension, until such time a new vessel is acquired.”

Goblin Slayer stood frozen; the rim of the basin still under his hands, though his grip slackened as if the strength had been pulled from his fingers. 

His crimson eyes flickered faintly with something rare— hesitation, raw and unguarded— as her words settled into him with the weight of a verdict. 

He had lived years expecting nothing beyond tomorrow, yet here was now the promise of eternity thrust upon him without warning.

The Great Sage’s tone softened; almost like a thread of empathy weaving through her usual certainty. “I was going to tell you tomorrow,” she admitted, the faintest concession of timing. “Specifically, while we were on the road— when your body had been rested. It would have been easier to bear after refreshment, but circumstances pulled the truth forward— prematurely, it would seem.”

The room fell into a hush, filled only by the faint crackle of the lantern’s flame and the whisper of water shifting in the basin. 

The ashen-haired teen’s gaze wandered, eyes clouded as he weighed the impossible in silence. 

A life defined not by the certainty of death, but by something stranger, heavier— yet not entirely unwelcome. 

His brow furrowed and released— crimson eyes shifting as though balancing scales unseen. 

At length, his gaze rose back toward her— tentative yet sharp— as though testing the edges of this new truth. “… So… I’m immortal?” The words felt alien even to his own tongue.

She inclined her head a fraction. “Your body can still be damaged. It can still be destroyed. But yes— in several ways, you are.”

His throat tightened, a faint swallow catching in the silence. 

Another pause, longer than the first, before he ventured the thought aloud. “… Does that make me… A god?”

The Great Sage’s response came without hesitation. She shook her head once, as the candlelight caught in her eyes. “No— you’re not a god. You’re a fourth-dimensional hybrid— that is all.” A beat passed, her tone dipping, shaded faintly by cynicism. “And besides… What is a god, if not another being chained by perception?”

Goblin Slayer blinked at her; the depth of the answer slipping past him, even as it stirred something faint and unsettled. He exhaled slowly through his nose— the tension in his shoulders easing— not in surrender, but in weary acceptance. 

“… I guess that’s… Fine?” The words came haltingly; the concession of someone still grappling but too worn to resist further.

The Great Sage’s lips curved— subtle, but there. “That’s a better reaction than despair than I expected— I will take it.” She then leaned closer; her presence filling the dim barracks with calm authority. “What I said still rings true: you need not worry of the quantum mechanics behind the fourth dimension— you will eventually understand it, in due time.”

For a moment, the heaviness lifted; replaced by something lighter in the cadence of her voice. “… But for now,” she added, before glancing toward the lantern, “It is time to turn in for the night. Whatever you see yourself as, you still require your full eight hours.” A faint arch of her brow gave the words levity— a teasing edge hidden under her matter-of-fact tone. “Otherwise, you’ll be nothing but an undying boy— stumbling about with bags under his eyes.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself; a quiet acknowledgment that she had managed, somehow, to tether him back to earth.

The ashen-haired teen then let the silence stretch between them— crimson eyes lingering on the flickering flame that still burned inside the lantern. 

“… So much has changed, in so little time,” he muttered under his breath; his voice rough with disbelief. His hand then reached for the lantern’s handle, and with one measured breath, he lowered the cap and smothered the flame. 

Darkness swallowed the barracks, broken only by the cool cyan glow radiating from the Great Sage— her form casting faint ripples of light against the old stone.

He carried himself slowly across the room, using her glow to guide his way to one of the battered beds he had managed to salvage earlier. 

The wood creaked faintly as he set himself down; the sheets rough but clean from his earlier effort. Sliding beneath them felt foreign, wrong even— his body unused to such luxury. 

The thought nagged at him as he shifted under the covers, while the fabric brushed against bare legs. 

Sleeping in only a shirt and underwear— it was strange, almost indecent in its softness, compared to the armor he was used to collapsing in.

The Great Sage remained hovering beside him; her eyelids lowered in a gesture almost human, though her light still pulsed faintly. 

She spoke evenly, though her tone carried the weight of intent. “Rest. I will narrow my awareness to the fortress’s perimeter tonight. Nothing shall get near these walls without me knowing.”

He turned his head toward her, with one eye catching the glow. The assurance tugged at him in ways he could not name. 

For years, he had only trusted himself, only leaned on his own vigilance. Now, here she was— claiming a watch no sentry could surpass. And against his instincts, he found himself oddly comforted. 

Enough, even, to let his eyes flutter halfway shut.

“… This is good,” he asked quietly.

Her lips quirked faintly, as she quietly replied, “And it shall only get better from this point forward.”

He then let out a breath through his nose; the weight of his exhaustion finally catching up to him, as his heavy eyelids sank lower.

Then, softly— unexpectedly— her voice touched the air again. “Goodnight, Ashta.”

The word caught him— causing his eyes to open just slightly, as crimson flashed in the cyan glow. 

‘Goodnight…? I… I don’t think I’ve heard that spoken since—’

Since when his sister used to tell him that, every night before bed.

It felt strange on his tongue, hesitant but alive, as he whispered back, “… Goodnight… Cielle.”

The word lingered— fragile but sincere, — before the weight of the day pressed him fully into the mattress. He then closed his eyes— both of them that time— and for the first time in years, allowed himself to surrender. 

The cyan light pulsed gently at his side, steady as a heartbeat, and within it, the ashen-haired teen drifted into a deep slumber.

Chapter Text

Sunlight fractured and scattered inside the strange crystal; a shimmer of pale fire dancing within the prism Goblin Slayer held aloft in his gloved hand. The quartz-like material caught the morning’s light as though it had been born for that very purpose, refracting it into countless rippling shards that spun and bent against one another in a way no earthly gem could manage. 

Within its constantly shifting planes, he saw more than just blue skies— he glimpsed the full spectrum of heavens: a golden dusk bleeding into purple twilight, midnight stars swimming in a void, the amber of dawn breaking apart, all overlapping as if stitched together into a single, impossible tapestry.

Through the vertical slits of his helmet, the armored youth kept staring— his crimson eyes following the kaleidoscope of colors that spun and fractured in ways no human hand should ever have been able to carve. 

At length, he lowered the object; his gauntlet tightening around it, as if to assure himself it was real, before sliding his pack from his shoulder and cradling it with his free arm.

“… Should we really be handing something like this back to the Mages’ Association?” He murmured— half to himself, half to the voice that never left him— as he stuffed the crystal carefully into the open flap of his leather bag. “This feels more like the sort of thing you keep locked away, out of the wrong hands.”

The answer came not from outside, but from within— the Great Sage, calm as ever— her voice weaving straight through the fibers of his soul. “Tantalizing to the eye though it may be, that tesseract is little more than an empty vessel now. Its purpose was fulfilled the moment it tethered me from my world into yours.”

He gave a low hum at that—- neither convinced nor dismissive— as he tugged the straps of the pack back over his shoulders. “What’s it even made out of?”

“Refined magicule crystals,” she answered smoothly— her words precise, and unhurried. “If the hidden reward of your quest was not as significant as it is, I would have recommended you to sell the piece to a noble. Even in its hollow state, such craftsmanship would fetch you no small coin.”

Goblin Slayer snorted faintly at that, boots crunching along the dirt path between fields of tall grass and scattered clusters of trees. “Think I should auction it then?” He asked with humor in his low voice, while adjusting the pack higher— pausing only briefly before asking, “So, who made it anyway?”

For the first time, her voice shifted— still measured, and still steady— but with the faintest touch of reverence. “… My elder sister crafts them. She is… Something of a jeweler. Her art lies not in shaping mere metal or stone, but the frameworks of existence itself.”

The words struck deeper than he expected. 

Goblin Slayer fell quiet, as his mind turned to his older sister unbidden. The memory of her hand clasping his when they ran as children, her laughter breaking through the smell of woodsmoke, the warmth she carried when the rest of the world grew cold— such things rose like ghosts behind his visor.

The Great Sage’s voice gentled, as though she had plucked the thought straight from him. “What happened to Vivianne wounds me as well. I know the value of a sibling’s bond, and I understand the rage that comes when it is stolen. Were it in my power, I would not hesitate to go back and save her. I would save them all.”

His gauntleted hand flexed slightly on the strap of his pack. “… I appreciate the thought,” he muttered, voice rougher than before. After a pause, he asked, “But… Does that mean you’re unable to? I mean… If you live in some place outside of all this… Within space and time itself… If you can see the past and the present all at once… Why not go back and change it?”

The Great Sage did not reply immediately, and when she did, there was something sharp, frustrated— almost furious curled beneath the restraint of her words. “Because the travesty that happened to you and your sister is considered a fixed point in time.”

He slowed his steps— lifting his gaze toward the fork ahead in the road. “A fixed point…?”

“Take the path on the left,” she instructed evenly before explaining, “A fixed point is an event so deeply embedded in the fabric of causality that it cannot be altered without consequence. To touch it is to break the very loom of reality. If such a point were undone, the threads holding your world would collapse inward— suffocating both past and future.”

Goblin Slayer let the words sink in. Bitter understanding settled at the pit of his stomach— a taste that lingered though he knew she spoke no lie. “… So my sister dying is… An anchor within this… Fabric of existence?” He muttered with uncertainty in his voice; the weight of it pressing harder than his set of armor.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

He breathed out, a rough sound but not angry. “I see… I can’t hold it against you then, but… Just tell me one thing: if I’m fourth dimensional too now—” his voice carried a note of almost childlike hope “— does that mean one day I could see her again? Not by changing what happened, but by… Going back somehow?”

The Great Sage hesitated while considering his inquiry; her tone measured, as she finally spoke. “To travel backwards risks breaking what should not be broken. However… If we gather sufficient resources, sufficient ‘od’— soul essence, as I have called it previously— then perhaps we may approach the realm her soul ascended toward. More likely than not, she resides within the fold of the one your people call the ‘Supreme God.’ Your father, after all, was a priest to that so-called divinity.”

His breath caught faintly at that. The thought of his older sister’s soul resting somewhere beyond the stars should have brought him peace, yet instead it unsettled him. Hope warred with unease until both left his chest heavy.

The Great Sage sensed it instantly. “Do not trouble yourself with such conundrums now. Whether or not that path can be walked, it is not for this day. For now, trust me to shoulder the burdens of what cannot be seen. Your task is simpler: follow where I guide you, and together we will cut away the rot of this world— one step at a time.”

Goblin Slayer’s crimson eyes narrowed faintly, but there was no defiance in him. “… I guess I can live with that,” he quietly said at last, as the wind stirred through the tall grass around him.

The countryside unfurled slowly around him— its trees thinning with every mile, until the land opened wide into fields that rolled and dipped like a sea of pale green. The air smelled less of pine and more of earth— dry grass, soil turned by plows somewhere far off, and the faint hint of summer flowers clinging stubbornly along the roadside. 

The mountains behind him had already begun to fade, their jagged crowns swallowed by distance, like shadows retreating back into the horizon. The fortress was a memory now, nothing more than a stone heart buried in the peaks. 

Ahead, the road stretched flat and lonely, leading to a bridge of weathered wood and blackened iron that loomed in the distance, straddling a wide canal.

The Great Sage’s voice rose. “Thirty minutes ahead,” she said. “Beneath that bridge are fifteen men. Their horses are tied beneath the beams. They wait to ambush you— the highway men, not the horses.”

Goblin Slayer slowed his steps— his boots crunching in the dirt. His helmet tilted toward the faint silhouette of the bridge. “… Fifteen,” he muttered, more to himself than her. His voice was cautious, but not uncertain. “Should we avoid them?”

“No.” She replied, as her tone dipped a fraction lower— monotone shading into steel. “They might have been born into lives of crime through poverty, but the path they chose afterward is theirs alone. Each has crossed lines that no man should. One slit a child’s throat after violating her. Another cut the tongue from a woman before selling her to slavers. Two delight in torture for coin. The rest, thieves and murderers who prey only on the weak.”

The armored figure’s steps stilled, as his gauntleted hand curled slightly at his side. A low growl rasped behind his visor. “Then they’re no different than goblins.”

“Precisely,” she replied without hesitation. “They are a cancer in need of severance.”

Silence stretched across the dirt road, broken only by the stir of the breeze. The ashen-haired teen’s gloved fingers brushed the hilt of his short sword, then fell away. “… Even so,” he said finally, “fifteen men against one, in such an open area…”

“Victory is assured,” she answered calmly. “For now, allow me to show you what I am capable of— through you.”

The phrasing made him falter, as his helmet turned slightly— as if trying to read her expression though she had none. “… Through me? You’re not just… Intelligence and eyes everywhere, then? What else can you do?”

“Pull some grass from the roadside,” she said instead of answering his question directly.

His head cocked. “… Pull grass?”

“Do it.”

Goblin Slayer hesitated at first, but curiosity outweighed doubt. He then stepped off the dirt road into the field, bent low, and yanked up a handful of wild grass— roots still clinging with crumbs of soil. 

Straightening, he looked to the empty air beside him. “… Now what?”

“Hold it in front of you.”

He proceeded to extend his arm, with his fist clenched tight around the stalks.

“Now open your hand,” she instructed.

He let go, and the strands spilled from his fingers, before fluttering into the air— only for their descent to warp unnaturally. 

They slowed, slowed more, until the blades hovered midair as though the breeze itself had turned to syrup.

Goblin Slayer stiffened, before slowly reaching out to tap a stalk with one gloved finger. It shifted under his touch, then lingered there— floating, almost weightless— until he pulled his hand away. 

The air felt heavier, as if the whole world held its breath.

A restrained sound escaped the Great Sage, like someone allowing themselves the smallest sigh. Slowly, the stalks began to drift again; their fall quickened, until they spun away with the breeze, and were carried back into the fields as if nothing had changed.

He stared. “… What was that? Did you… Stop time?”

“Not in the way you might assume— no.” Her voice was firm. “I slowed your perception of it. I applied pressure to your world’s fabric of space-time— gravitational dilation, entangled with you. Because you and I are bound, you exist within your world and outside of it simultaneously.”

The teen’s crimson eyes blinked rapidly behind the visor. “… What does any of that even mean?”

“It is relativity,” she murmured— half to herself, “entanglement and dilation applied.”

“I… I still don’t understand what you’re saying,” he said flatly.

“I know,” she replied without condescension. A pause, then: “But try to think of your world’s time as a book. Pages turning, one by one, all at the same speed. I press my hand down on those pages, holding them back. You, being tied to me, move with the hand rather than the pages. Where the book slows, you continue— outside of it.”

He lowered his head, rubbing thoughtfully at the chin guard of his helmet. “So… By making me perceive time slower, while I move and think at the rate you do… You’re able to increase my speed in the eyes of everyone else, but to me, it still appears as though time is slowing down still?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“I see… Is there a limit to that?”

“Yes. To slow it that much takes strain. I can manage only short bursts. The slower I dilate time, the more exertion I place upon myself. However, as of now? I am resting, allowing time to pass through your fabric— as is.”

“Ah… I think I understand,” he murmured, as if trying the word against the vision of grass suspended midair. He then let out a long exhale, before turning his helmet toward the bridge again. “So with your help… Will I still need any sort of plan to handle these highway men?”

“Yes, you will,” she replied firmly. “But I have a flexible one already prepared— one with many, many contingencies lined up. You only need to follow my instructions. When it ends, there will be fifteen less vile criminals in this world.”

Goblin Slayer let out a low hum to agree with her, as his hand drifted back to his sword hilt— gripping it with new purpose. “… Fifteen less goblins.”

The Great Sage gave no answer to that, but she did not need to. The armored figure squared his shoulders, crimson eyes narrowing beneath the steel visor, and walked on toward the bridge.

When she spoke again, her voice became sharpened by something colder. “Do not draw yet. Let them reveal themselves first. When they do, we enact our own counter attack— the element of surprise will be ours.”

Goblin Slayer flexed his hand once on the hilt, then let it go, his other hand hanging loose at his side. “I see,” he muttered, as he began advancing down the dirt road— the ground crunching beneath his boots.

His helmet tilted fractionally downward; his eyes through his visor slits narrowing on the span of wood and iron ahead; its timbers warped and weather-bleached, and the canal’s water moving sluggish and dark below. 

Almost naked to the naked eye, there was one highway man in the grass pressing his belly harder to the earth; the hood of his ghillie suit sagged with stitched weeds and burlap scraps, while his face was lost in the shadows. 

He held the matchbox rifle steady— cheek welded to the stock— sight locked on the figure trudging steadily closer. 

The hidden bandit took notice of Goblin Slayer’s black leather wrapped snuggly over glimpses of chainmail; a red tassel shaking faint against the wind atop a dark iron helm. 

The way the straps of that pack cut into his shoulders, straight, balanced, heavy— they weren’t the lines of a peasant’s sack. The hidden bandit knew that was an adventurer’s load upon the armored figure's back— the possibility of its contents seemed promising.

The sentry’s lips peeled back beneath the hood. The kind of grin that came with a thought of loot measured in weeks of drink and women. What could be within that pack alone— as far he could hope for— was a potential fortune waiting to be carved open.

A sharp whistle slid from his teeth, low and short.

Down by the canal’s edge, laughter thinned into silence. Fourteen heads lifted from where they lounged near the bank; their filthy boots in the grass, sleeves rolled and mouths still damp with ale. 

The scrape of steel rasped as they turned, with their eyes catching the glint of armor moving up the road. They rose like scavenger dogs— drifting to their cache: a ragged pile of rusted swords, chipped axes, spears darkened with old stains. 

One of them slung a crossbow under his arm; the string frayed but still taut. Another clutched a dented helm, before jamming it crooked on his head. 

The biggest among them— his belly bulging against a split doublet, teeth rotting black between lips cracked with spit— snatched up a flintlock from the heap. He ran his thumb slow over the iron hammer— grin stretching so wide it nearly split his face.

They crawled up the incline like vermin scenting meat— crouched and hunched low— the musk of sweat and piss hanging heavy around them. 

Grass parted, dirt scattered beneath their boots as they flanked the road’s entrance, while the sentry above kept his sight trained true— finger feathering the trigger, and his breath slow through clenched teeth.

Soon enough, Goblin Slayer was stepping onto the first plank of the bridge; the wood croaked under his weight, as iron pins groaned in their sockets.

“— Oi! Hands where we see ’em, shiny boy!” One barked; his voice cracked with spit and smoke. “Drop that pack, or we’ll carve your lungs out!”

Another jeered, a hoarse rasp that carried like a crow. “Yeah, strip the leather too! We’ll take the lot— an’ maybe peel some laughs outta ya after!”

The words spat like sewage, thick and vile— rolling heavy with the promise of hurt.

Boots thudded hard against the slope as the fourteen closed in. Crossbows rose halfway, while spears darted forward in nervous jerks— blades glimmered with patches of rust and shadow. Their voices clanged together in curses and threats— circling tighter, pressing him in from all sides.

The brute with the flintlock shouldered through the rest, as his gut jostled as he shoved forward— pistol lifted and pressed firm to the back of the iron helm. 

His grin oozed rot and hunger as he leaned close, breath rancid with sour wine. “Don’t twitch,” he hissed, while grinding the muzzle harder against the teen’s helmet. His large left hand the. stretched toward the pack straps— thick fingers curling, greedy for the weight. “One slip, an’ your skull paints this bridge red.”

Leather brushed beneath his fingertips.

And then—

Goblin Slayer was gone— snapped from sight, as though the air itself had swallowed him whole. 

The brute’s hand clutched at nothing; his grin slackened, while his eyes bulged in shock. The hand he was using to hold the grip of his pistol suddenly lighter, causing him to look down and notice the flintlock’s absence as well.

“Oi… What the fu—”

Gunpowder thunder cracked behind them.

Every head jerked around.

The sentry in the grass lay sprawled; burlap shredded into tatters, and skull burst wide open across the weeds. The matchbox rifle lay useless, with one hand still curled around the stock.

Above him stood Goblin Slayer; the flintlock steady in his hand, and its barrel still trailing smoke from the shot. Behind the helm’s vertical slits, one eye burned with a steady crimson light— cutting through the daylight like blood through water.

The fourteen remaining highway men froze where they stood, as they clutched their weapons tighter; their shoulders hunched, while some stepped back without knowing they had. 

Their jeers twisted into stammers, and their curses into snarls. Fear pressed in around their bravado— cold and heavy.

Goblin Slayer tilted the pistol sideways— letting the smoke drift from the barrel— then let the weapon fall into the grass. 

That’s when the first sound cut through the bandits’ stunned silence— the twang of three crossbows loosing at once.

“Three bolts. Left. Mid. Far right. Dodge low.”

The voice cracked through his mind like crystal— sharp and absolute.

Time bled viscous and strange, as the air thickened around him. Goblin Slayer’s boots felt heavy, yet every line of trajectory glimmered like threads of light across his vision. 

With a precise flex of his ankle, he hooked the toe of his boot beneath the matchbox rifle still half-buried under the sentry’s limp arm— flicking it skyward in the span of a frozen heartbeat.

The bolts hissed closer— slow enough to count the spirals of their flight.

Then sound rushed back, as time snapped to full.

Goblin Slayer immediately rolled sideways; his leather armor scraping wood, and his boots hammering against the planks. 

The bolts slashed past where his chest had been a moment ago, punching splinters through the bridge. He caught the rifle mid-fall, slinging it up into both hands.

“What the hell was that?!” One of them bellowed, face pale.

“T-Too fast— he’s m-movin’ too bloody fast!” Another stammered, while fumbling at his weapon’s quarrel box.

“Right crossbow. He has the steadiest hand. Eliminate him.”

Goblin Slayer then braced the matchbox rifle— tugging the charging lever back with a sharp ‘clack.’ The mechanism was crude but simple: a struck match ignited powder packed behind a single iron slug. He leveled the iron sights on the bandit with the calmest stance— ignoring the chaos of boots and blades pounding closer.

The rifle kicked against his shoulder, as the slug tore across the air. Within an instant, the bandit’s skull burst like a melon— scalp and bone peeling back in wet ribbons, as the body collapsed bonelessly into the grass.

“Gods above—!” Another marksman cried out— hands slipping against his string, as he fumbled to reload. Meanwhile, his partner’s bolt tumbled from his grip— nerves wrecked.

Before he could blink, something else whistled.

The dagger ripped the air apart, moving too fast to follow. It sheared his head clean from his neck; spine snapped and flung back like a ragdoll in the gale. His corpse toppled— spurting dark fountains across the dirt.

The last crossbowman’s jaw hung loose, as he accidentally dropped the weapon entirely— the bolt clattering at his boots.

The eleven with steel and rust were now within less than two meters of the ashen-haired teen; the stink of rot and sweat rolling with them, blades raised high.

“Spear. Front-left. Thrust incoming.”

Goblin Slayer ducked and spun, as the spearhead hissed overhead— carving empty air. He then rammed his elbow into the haft— knocking it wide— while his short sword screamed from its sheath in the same breath. 

One fluid slice— steel bit through tendon, as his attacker’s wrist split. His weapon clattering to the ground along with shrieks of blood.

“Get ‘im!” One roared, before swinging an axe towards him that broad enough to cleave a pig.

“Axe incoming. Right. High arc. Jump.”

Goblin Slayer proceeded to vault— knees tucked. 

The axe hammered the bridge where he had been— cracking wood in a spray. The armored teen then landed with both feet on the brute’s chest— boots slamming ribs. His blade then punched forward— splitting teeth, as it rammed through the brute’s mouth and burst out the back of his neck.

“Bastard’s a demon!” One screamed, while stabbing with a sword.

The blade scraped across Goblin Slayer’s leather vambrace, as he twisted to lock the bandit’s wrist, before rolling his own weapon in a brutal counter-cut. The attacker’s fingers spun away into the grass; the scream strangled by a second cut that ripped the man’s throat open.

“Kill’m! Fucker—!”

They then surged in; a wall of rusted steel and clumsy rage.

“Two on your flank. Block low. Roll forward.”

He obeyed without hesitation. 

A shield bashed wide as he tucked into a roll— skidding beneath another blade. His hand then snapped up— dagger hilt-first into an exposed jaw, teeth exploding from gums. He spun as time slowed again— each motion smooth as oil— and buried the short sword up beneath a ribcage. Blood fountained in hot arcs— spraying his leather gorget and iron helm.

“Die already!” A voice snarled— boot hammering toward his chest.

“Kick incoming. Side-step. Now.”

He slid aside in the nick of time, as the boot whiffed the air, leaving the attacker off balance. Goblin Slayer’s sword then sheared through the highway man’s knee with one clean arc— bone snapping like a wet branch.

“N-NO!!! NONONO—!!!” The bandit shrieked in agony as he toppled; his leg a mangled ruin, before his scream was cut off when Goblin Slayer stamped his boot through his face with a crunch that echoed across the rolling fields of grass.

The others hesitated— circling— spit flying as curses drowned their fear.

“Fuckin’ gut him!” One bellowed, with his voice shaking.

They then lunged at once, yet again— steel flashed from all sides.

“Three strikes. Left. Overhead. Stomach. Delay their rhythm.”

Time dragged once more, as Goblin Slayer wove through the storm. One sword swept overhead; he ducked. Another jabbed low; he twisted, with his gauntlet slamming it aside. The last aimed for his gut, but his boot crushed the bandit’s toes, stopping him mid-thrust.

The short sword flared in his grip, cleaving across two stomachs at once— bowels spilling steaming onto the grass.

“Last crossbow. Behind them. Reloading.”

Goblin Slayer’s breath came harsh through the helm’s slits. He flexed his grip, then braced. With both hands he reeled the blade back, shoulders taut. 

He let the weapon fly, as time resumed.

The short sword spun end over end— edges glinting— carving through the air with a vicious whir. By the time slammed back to normal, it moved faster than any arrow.

The crossbowman barely had time to gasp before the blade met him.

Steel hit flesh, as bones and sinew split.

The man’s body cleaved clean in half from groin to skull— halves peeling apart like wet parchment. Blood and viscera slapped the ground in a hideous spray.

The remaining bandits froze mid-step, breath hissing sharp in their throats.

“By the— by the gods—” one stammered.

“H-He ain’t— he ain’t human—” another whispered.

The seven who remained alive staggered back, with their weapons trembling in their hands. Their eyes darted between the split corpses on the ground, to the wet gore dripping from the planks, and then the teen in dark leather armor who was standing calm in the center of it all.

“P-Please—” one dropped his blade and held up both hands; his palms slick with sweat. “W-We— We surrender! We yield!”

“Don’t kill us! Mercy, gods’ mercy—” another fell to his knees, voice shaking.

“… Mercy? Were their victims given any mercy?”

Her rhetorical knife slid deep— causing the ashen-haired teen’s teeth clenched beneath the iron helm; the memory of all the hovels and bloodied girls he’s rescued or wasn’t able to save flashed behind his eye. 

Goblin Slayer then stepped forward— weaponless, with his gauntlets dripping.

The seven flinched as one— staggering back, as the planks creaked beneath their boots. 

The crimson light still burned in his left eye— bathing his helm in an otherworldly glow.

“… There’s no place for you,” his voice rumbled low and final, “in this world.”

It was all they needed to hear. 

With desperation outweighing reason, the last seven mustered ragged courage and screamed as they charged.

The first came with a sword overhead. 

“Left side. Incoming strike.” 

Goblin Slayer slipped under the arc— his fist snapping into the man’s ribs with the sound of a tree branch breaking. 

Another bandit swung wildly with an axe, to which the armored teen responded by pivoting on one heel— his boot snapping into his attacker’s knee, and sending him collapsing. 

Before the first man could recover, Goblin Slayer seized his jaw in both gauntlets and twisted— bone cracked, and his body crumpled like a ragdoll.

Two more highwaymen came together, with their spears lunging. 

“Duck. Then grab him by the throat. Take him down while you front flip— kick hard behind you.”

Time was then slowed down, as the tips lanced through the air. Goblin Slayer slipped sideways— his arm snapping out to seize one of his attackers by the throat. He then yanked the man off his feet, flipping forward as another swung a hammer in from the side. 

Mid-flip as time resumed, the armored teen lashed a boot up— jaw shattered with a sharp crack— and slammed the spear-wielder down onto the bridge, planks groaning.

“Incoming— from your right.”

The flow of time dragged once more, as Goblin Slayer’s hand sank into the throat of the man who he had just choked slammed— tearing a chunk of flesh free in a spray of arterial red. He then hurled it into the eyes of the hammer-man, whose scream turned to a gag as gore blinded him. 

Time snapped back— resuming.

Goblin Slayer proceeded to duck low— slipping between the broken-jawed man’s stagger and another spear thrust. 

His body then coiled— his leg whipping out in a spinning sweep that caught both across their ankles. They then crashed down hard— cursing, as the wood shuddered under their weight.

The blinded highway man roared through the gore in his eyes, before Goblin Slayer came up from the sweep with a sharp upward kick— his boot crunching into the grown man’s groin. The scream the highway man let out died into a gurgle as his sword clattered from his grasp. 

The fallen blade flipped in the air, before Goblin Slayer caught it on the hilt, as if guided by inevitability.

“Now for the worst of them— he’s going to strike you from behind. Counter it.”

The largest of them— broad-shouldered, red-eyed, sword raised— lunged toward Goblin Slayer, only for the teen to sidestep to turn around and parry— steel ringing as the clash sparked.

“He’s the one— the child-rapist I mentioned. The one who slit her throat when he was done.”

The words dropped like lead, as Goblin Slayer’s strike came down mercilessly— his blade severing the man’s sword-hand at the wrist. 

Blood fountained from the gory stump, as the large brute howled and stumbled backwards, before Goblin Slayer dropped low— driving his sword upward into the man’s groin. 

The steel buried to the hilt. The man’s mouth opened in a silent scream as he toppled forward, legs convulsing.

“H-Hgghh—!”

“Hammer incoming— behind you. Catch it.”

Time slowed again— as the hammer spun end over end toward him. Goblin Slayer spun around on his heel as his hand darted up— seizing the wooden haft midair. He then pivoted in one smooth motion and hurled it back, just as time resumed.

The hammer landed square in its sender’s chest— the burst of momentum causing the impact to explode bone and sinew outward— the attacker’s ribs shredding like splinters. He then collapsed choking— convulsing in his own blood while his torn heart sputtered uselessly.

The spear-wielder, face pale, dropped his weapon and tried to crawl away. “N-No! Please, m-mate— don’t! I’ll— I’ll—”

“End him.”

And like that, Goblin Slayer advanced toward to clamp his gloved hands around the man’s ankles. The highway man shrieked as he was dragged back across the bridge, before the teen’s boot came down once— then twice— as bones shattered. On the third stomp— his skull cracked wetly, and silence claimed him.

The broken-groin bandit tried to crawl too, tears mixing with blood on his face. Goblin Slayer wrenched up a fallen spear, before driving it through the top of his crown— pinning him to the wood, as his limbs twitched once, then stilled completely.

Only the large brute remained. He writhed, while clutching his ruined crotchf his face pale as wax, as Goblin Slayer kicked him onto his back.

“Make it slow. Make him earn his repentance.”

The armored teen knelt chest, before dragging the blade across his belly. The last highway man shrieked, while thrashing as entrails spilled slick out of his gut. Goblin Slayer then seized the steaming coil of intestine, before wrenching it free to begin wrapping it around the man’s neck— yanking hard as he dragged him toward the nearest guard rail.

“N-No— NO—”

The man clawed, as his heels scraped against the wood planks. Goblin Slayer lashed the intestine to the bridge post, then planted both boots against the man’s chest and shoved. The brute then toppled over the edge; his body snapped, as he became strangled by his own guts— thrashing as the rope of flesh stretched taut.

The armored team then landed back against the railing with his helm bowed— watching as the man’s convulsions slowed, until finally his limbs went slack. With no more threats, Goblin Slayer got up to find his discarded short sword— wiping it once on a corpse’s sleeve, before sheathing it. 

He then slid down beneath the bridge, untying the stolen horses once he was knee-deep in the flowing waters of the murky canal. All but one horse remained near him; a black-furred mare that nickered softly, before kneeling down to allow him to mount her saddle.

He spurred her up the canal bank, emerging onto the road beyond the bridge. Behind him, the large, mangaled body of the defiled highway man dangled, swinging softly in the breeze— until at last, the intestines tore, and the corpse plunged into the current below.

Chapter Text

The dirt road into the outpost swelled with life— wagons rattling over ruts, armor clinking in uneven rhythm, hawkers shouting prices above the din, and sellswords swearing as they elbowed through the press. Dust clung to sweat and steel alike; stirred by hooves and wheels until the air itself tasted like grit.

Goblin Slayer kept one gauntleted hand locked on the reins of his new black mare. The cracked leather straps flaked beneath his grip, and the horse herself was restless— ears twitching, muscles shifting beneath her hide as if she shared his distrust of the crowd.

“Stroke her mane,” the Great Sage’s voice rippled through his thoughts— calm, patient, impossibly composed. “She’s unsettled. A little affection will steady her.”

Behind the slits of his visor, his eyes narrowed. His reply came low, dry as gravel. “How affectionate can I be when I’m covered in blood and… Whatever else is on me?”

“Affection isn’t about being clean,” she answered; not a hint of irritation in her tone. “It’s about presence. And when you’ve checked her in, I’ll take you to a bathhouse. Your armor, too. You shouldn’t present yourself to the guild reeking of blood and sweat.”

He exhaled sharply; a hiss of air against metal. Still, his gauntlet lifted— brushing the mare’s mane. She flicked an ear, but her tension eased as his fingers worked down her neck.

“… I don’t see why that matters,” he muttered, reluctant. “Everyone shows up filthy to the guild hall. It’s expected.”

“Expected,” she corrected, “is not the same as proper. And proper earns allies.”

Whatever rebuttal he had dried in his throat as a new voice cut through the clamor.

“Hey, uh— buddy. Who’re you talking to?”

Goblin Slayer turned his helm just enough to catch the rider beside him. Polished plate gleamed in the sun, stamped with the King’s crest. His horse was kitted in full barding. The man himself squinted at him with sharp, tired eyes beneath a pair of bushy orange eyebrows, and a mustache over lip.

The Great Sage’s tone sharpened. “Don’t tell him about me. Officers don’t take kindly to those who admit to having voices in their heads telling them what to do.”

Goblin Slayer cleared his throat. His gaze dipped to his mare’s mane as he mumbled, awkward and stilted, “… M-My horse.”

The guard blinked, then raised his brows higher. “… Your horse?”

“…Yes.” Goblin Slayer’s tone was flat, deliberate. “I was speaking to her.”

A laugh burst from the man— half-disbelieving, half-derisive. “Oh, that’s rich. So what, you two havin’ a lovers’ quarrel? She mad you don’t stare into her big brown eyes anymore? Lemme guess— she says she ‘needs space,’ but really she’s been seein’ that Clydesdale down the street, huh?”

He jabbed a thumb at the golden-blue insignia on his pauldron. “See this? Lieutenant of the King’s Guard. And you—” his gaze raked Goblin Slayer’s battered armor with visible disgust, “— look like some blood-drenched creep muttering sweet nothings to his mare. You see why I might be a little… I dunno, concerned?”

The line shuffled then forward, as Goblin Slayer nudged his horse to match the pace silently, but the Lieutenant shifted along beside him as well— leaning over the saddle horn like a man who had nothing better to do than talk.

“Tell him about the highwaymen,” the Great Sage urged firmly. “Their bodies will corroborate your story if he checks.”

Goblin Slayer’s voice then came even, measured. “I got messy fighting a gang of highwaymen near…”

“Darrinworth Bridge.”

“… Near Darrinworth Bridge.”

The Lieutenant’s eyes narrowed, skeptical as a hound sniffing spoiled meat. “Darrinworth, huh? Funny. I know the place. But here’s the thing—” he jabbed a finger toward Goblin Slayer, “— you had to pause to remember it. You don’t usually forget where you almost got gutted. Unless, of course, you’re full of shit.”

Goblin Slayer’s voice was steady, too steady. “… It wasn’t that bad.”

The Lieutenant blinked, as his face twisted into a slow, incredulous look of disbelief. He proceeded to repeat the words back like they were poison on his tongue, “Not. That. Bad.”

He then leaned closer in the saddle, with one gloved hand outstretched. “Alright, pal. Enough of the mysterious tough-guy act. Let’s see the guild tag— unless you were lying to your horse about frequenting the guild hall, looking like that.”

The Great Sage’s voice exhaled inside him, patient but resigned. “Show him.”

Goblin Slayer grumbled under his breath, unfastening the buckle at his jaw. He lifted his helm free, set the iron weight between his thighs, then tugged the chain from around his neck. A dull clink as he placed the metal tag into the guard’s waiting hand.

The Lieutenant squinted at it, then let out a long, low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re actually a handsome kid under all that broody tin can nonsense. Didn’t expect that face to be belong to someone who’s into horses.” He then tilted the tag closer— lips pursing as he read the inscription, before his expression soured. “… Obsidian rank? You? Against highway men?”

A scoff cut sharp from his throat. “Yeah, no. That don’t track. So tell me the truth: how many were there really? And which one of your buddies actually carried your ass through it? Don’t tell me this baby-faced choirboy did it all on his lonesome.”

Goblin Slayer opened his mouth, but the Great Sage’s command cut like a blade. “Do not answer with the whole truth. As I’ve said, telling him of the fifteen bandits could be beneficial, but I want you to lie about having had ten companions with you when; ten companions who abandoned you after you, after you slipped in the blood during the skirmish.”

His jaw tightened, before repeating flatly, without hesitation, “… Fifteen bandits, but I had ten companions with them. They left when I slipped on blood; after they did most of the fighting.”

The Lieutenant stared at him for a long second. Then his smirk curled wide and vicious, as he soon slapped his thigh with a laugh. “Aha! Thought so! Horse-fucker finally starts telling the truth for once!” He then wagged the tag between two fingers before tossing it back into Goblin Slayer’s palm. 

“You know it’s illegal to lie to a guard, right? Not to mention rude. Normally, this is where I’d haul your skinny ass in just to teach you some manners— but lucky you, I don’t feel like filling out paperwork today. So instead I’m just gonna call you what you are: a liar.”

The armored teen caught the tag, before slipping it the thin chain around his neck without a word. He slid his helm down, fastened the strap tight, and pulled the collar of his gambeson high around his throat.

The Lieutenant, apparently satisfied with himself, twisted in his saddle and rummaged through a leather pouch. With exaggerated flourish, he produced a slim, dog-eared book. The title gleamed obscenely in gaudy gold leaf across the cover.

‘The Lusty Argonian Maid.’

He then cracked it open with the nonchalance of a man who had just won an argument. A stained bookmark slipped free as his eyes skimmed the page. Then, pausing mid-sentence, he peeked over the top with a look of pure, irritable disdain.

“… Do you fucking mind, pal?”

Goblin Slayer shifted in his saddle; the mare flicking her tail at the rising tension. “… Sorry.”

The Lieutenant grunted, before shaking his head as he sank back into his reading. “Yeah, that’s what I thought…”

The line shuffled forward again— the press of bodies tightening as the outpost gates loomed nearer. The rattle of chains, the calls of guards, the smell of stables grew sharp in the air.

Goblin Slayer tilted his helm low, gaze fixed ahead. His hand brushed his mare’s mane once more— quiet, steady— while the crowd swallowed both rider and horse into its grinding current.

By the time the armored teen had paid the stable keepers to provide care and safety to his mare, the frontier outpost was beginning to bake under the weight of the late afternoon sun. 

Heat shimmered above the streets— turning the air into a wavering mirage. Wagons rattled past with their cargo of grain, iron, and cloth. Farmers herded stubborn livestock with snapping switches. Adventurers trudged through the haze in battered armor— mail clinking as they argued over coin or quests.

The buildings had no polish— stone foundations piled rough, timber frames nailed fast, plaster walls chalked white in uneven coats. Yet the place pulsed with energy. Faded awnings shaded market stalls overflowing with smoked meats, bundles of herbs, cheap charms, and secondhand steel. 

Sparks from a forge leapt skyward where an old dwarf hammered dents from a breastplate. Next door, a tailor’s crooked shopfront flaunted banners that read in bold paint, ‘Guts and Glory— we wash it all.’

And looming above the fray, its doors thrown open to the tide of adventurers, stood the guild hall. Beyond it, closer to the center square, the bathhouses billowed pale steam into the sunlight; their tiled roofs vented constant plumes, with chatter and heat spilling out with them.

Inside one such men’s bathhouse, the air grew heavy and damp, thick with the mineral tang of boiled water. The walls were lined with rows of hooks, already burdened with packs, belts, and weapons. Pools lay recessed into the stone floor; their surfaces trembling with lazy ripples.

Goblin Slayer stepped in, unfastening his worn satchel and hanging it beside the others. His hand lingered briefly on the strap before pulling free the towel knotted at his waist.

“Do not linger too long in the water,” the Great Sage’s voice echoed within him. “The attendants merely drain and refill once daily.”

He draped the towel over his pack and muttered under his breath, “I could always just not bathe.”

“No,” came her immediate reply. “At minimum, your pores must be cleared. Clogged skin invites infection. Infection leads to fever. Fever diminishes reaction time. You cannot afford such an avoidable handicap.”

He stood there a moment, with his gaze passing over the steam-veiled pools. Men lounged with arms draped along the stone edges, laughing, washing their hair, or scrubbing themselves off. 

“… They don’t look bothered by it,” he murmured.

“That is because they do not know what microbial infections are,” she said without pause. “Or herpes.”

His mouth twitched faintly, something between a hum and a laugh. “You’re not making this very appealing.”

“Then be efficient. In, out— no longer than necessary.”

A quiet breath escaped him, that was almost a chuckle. “… We’ll see.”

“Incorrigible,” she muttered, with the faintest trace of humor threaded through her words. “And try not to speak aloud too often. Unless you wish to convince more strangers that you are unwell, as you did with that officer.”

That earned her a short laugh that was swallowed quickly into the hiss of steam. He then padded across the slick tiles, eyes searching for an unclaimed basin. Most were occupied— muscles and scars glistening in the haze— until he spotted one in the far corner, rippling only with vapor.

“That one is vacant for a reason,” she observed. “The water’s not hot.”

“The cold’s never bothered me anyway,” he muttered, before lowering himself onto the stone lip. Taking a steadying breath, he then eased into the pool. The water immediately bit cold against his skin— shocking his chest with a sharp hitch before he forced his muscles to relax. 

A thin exhale escaped him— steaming in the air.

He tilted forward, dunking his head beneath the surface. The cold clamped down, with his hair plastering against his scalp. Rising again, he dragged a hand down his face, before scrubbing with slow, methodical motions.

“I think cold water bothers you more than you admit.”

He huffed, as water dripped from his chin. “…You think so?” His tone lingered somewhere between dismissal and reluctant amusement.

And with practical rhythm, he raised his right arm overhead, before scooping water in his opposite hand, and splashing it against his side. The sting of cold dulled as he scrubbed with methodical pressure. He then repeated the process on his left; his motions quiet, almost meditative.

Then, with the same disinterest he might show while cleaning a blade, he spread his thighs beneath the surface and washed his groin— practical, unbothered, as if the act had no more weight than sharpening steel.

“As of now, a young man is standing roughly half a meter behind you,” the Great Sage murmured into his mind. “He has stopped, though his eyes linger on you.”

His hand froze beneath the water. Heat flushed his ears despite the cold.

‘… And you’re telling me this— why?’

The thought was sharp, testing, shaped carefully without sound— his first attempt to answer her in silence.

“It is imperative we begin cultivating allies for what lies ahead. Moreover— he is nervous. He gathers courage even now. What he seeks is permission to share the bath, yet cannot voice it.”

Goblin Slayer’s brows knit faintly. ‘Why would he need my permission?’

“Because timid men wait to be acknowledged,” she replied, bone-dry. “He lingers for you to notice. I suggest you oblige. He may prove useful.”

His gaze sank to the ripples circling his knees, breath slipping out through his nose. ‘… I wasn’t expecting to look for party members here.’

“Expectations lead to disappointment. Now please— do as I say.”

Turning slightly, he stole a glance back—

—and found nothing of what he expected.

Behind him, a figure emerged from the shadows that seemed less man than a vision of feminine perfection.

A dark elf, his tan skin slick with a glistening sheen of sweat beneath the foggy veil, bore the subtle marks of labor upon his form. Yet, his body held an irresistible softness— curves that spoke of a life untouched by hardship. 

Golden locks, chopped haphazardly, cascaded across his face in tousled waves, partially obscuring eyes of contrasting hue— emerald and sapphire— that fluttered nervously under the teenager's cold crimson gaze.

The blond's fingers intertwined anxiously over the gentle mound of his belly; bare toes curled into the slick stone as if seeking refuge within it. A shiver rippled through his plump frame, causing the damp air to caress every swell and hollow with tantalizing intimacy.

Goblin Slayer nearly turned away, leaving him to his own hesitation— until the Great Sage pressed.

“Greet him.”

He blinked once, then rumbled, “… Hey there.”

The blond jolted as though struck— mismatched eyes darting up wide— then immediately down again. “O-Oh—! Um—” His voice was thin, raspy with disuse. He clutched at his elbow, shifting his weight nervously. “S-Sorry, I… I didn’t want to— I mean, I just— B-But could I maybe…”

“— Say yes,” the Great Sage instructed, calm but insistent. “But do so politely.”

Goblin Slayer inclined his head, voice even. “It’s fine… Please, come on it.”

The dark elf froze— then nodded quickly, too many times. “… Th-Thank you.”

He then crept forward with the hesitance of a guilty cat, with each step small; his shoulders hunched, as if expecting reproach. And yet, instead of choosing any other spot within the bath, he eased himself down directly beside Goblin Slayer; close enough that the water lapped against both their ribs.

The dark elf then hissed through his teeth at the first bite of cold, hugging his arms around his plump chest. “S-So cold…” A shaky laugh slipped out; his cheeks puffed, as streaks of old sweat rinsed clean from his skin into the water.

Goblin Slayer slid a glance sideways; his expression remained unreadable beneath the shadow of damp hair. The Great Sage, however, hummed in faint amusement.

“Do not let your silence suggest rejection. At minimum, acknowledge him.”

Goblin Slayer gave a quiet grunt, then said flatly, “… Yeah, the water’s pretty nippy. Are you alright?”

The blond dark elf then blinked at him— mismatched eyes startled wide— then ducked his head with a sheepish nod. “Y-Yeah… I am. Th-Thanks…” His fingers then began fidgeting beneath the surface, growing restless against his knees. But still, a small, shy smile tugged at his mouth.

“Now introduce yourself,” the Great Sage pressed; her voice even, but with the same clipped authority as a mother nudging her child toward polite company.

Goblin Slayer flicked his eyes upward, unamused. ‘Introduce myself?’ His chest rose and fell with a sigh that lingered halfway between reluctance and resignation.

“Yes,” she continued, sharper now, “and not while you scrub the inside of your elbow. Turn toward him, and give him your undivided attention.”

The ashen-haired teen felt his shoulders slump. The absurdity of it— being coached through small talk while naked waist-deep in cold bathwater— nearly drew a laugh from him. 

What came instead was a low exhale, half sigh and half chuckle, as the corners of his lips twitched faintly upward. It felt like being shoved into a playdate he hadn’t agreed to.

Still, he shifted. Water lapped up his chest as he rolled on the smooth stone bench, bringing his shoulders square toward the blond figure beside him. 

The dark elf’s eyes went wide at the sudden focus; mismatched irises catching what light there was in the room like startled jewels. Nervousness flickered across his soft features, but there was something else, too— a spark of interest, quick and cautious, hidden behind the veil of timidity.

The ashen-haired teen opened his mouth. Nothing came. His throat worked once before he gestured vaguely at himself, then forced the words out low and blunt. “… I’m ‘Goblin Slayer.’”

It was enough for him.

But it was not enough for her.

“That will not do,” the Great Sage cut clean through his skull; her voice sharp as a bell. “An alias alone sets a wall between you. Boundaries are luxuries you cannot afford— least of all with those we may come to rely upon.”

‘Rely upon him? Rely on him for what?’ Goblin Slayer narrowed his eyes faintly, silent in his resistance. ‘Why are you having me befriend some frail, stammering stranger?’ 

“All shall be revealed in due time. For now, I ask only for your trust, as I have not, nor plan to lead you astray.”

Begrudgingly, the ashen-haired teen lifted his chin; the words dragging as if they’d caught on stone. “… My alias is ‘Goblin Slayer,’ but my real name’s… Ren. Ren Ashta.”

At that, the dark elf stirred; his lips parted, as the syllables of the alias slipped out, as if they carried weight. “… Goblin Slayer…” He repeated it, like tasting a foreign spice— hesitant, curious— before a smile bloomed, shy and unsteady, yet bright as a lantern through fog.

Almost without realizing it, the blond dark elf shifted as well, turning toward the ashen-haired teen. One leg tucked beneath him, the other swung loose over the edge of the bench, as his toes stirred the water. 

He then leaned in ever so slightly, heterochrome eyes drawn forward like moths toward fire. “Um— so Ren, are you… Part of the Adventurers’ Guild too?”

Not being used to hearing his own first name being used, Goblin Slayer tipped his head, before gesturing to the dull gleam of his dog tag where it rested on his collarbone. “… Sure am.”

The blond’s gaze followed, with his breath catching just a little. His cheeks warmed with color, soft and pink against pale skin. “Ah— r-right. I should’ve noticed… Sorry…” He apologized, while scratching at his damp hairline; embarrassed, as he let out a shaky laugh. “I, uh… Tried wearing mine at first— when me and my sister joined last week— but the metal keeps chafing me. So I just keep it clipped to my satchel.”

Some of the tension bled into levity as he added, “My sister though? She wears hers all the time. Says she likes how it makes her look ‘tough’.” He puffed his cheeks in mimicry of her, voice pitching lower to seemingly imitate what she sounded like, before immediately ducking his head— realizing himself.

And then his eyes went wide again, as his hands shot up— wringing nervously in front of his chest. “S-Sorry, my manners—! I didn’t even…!” His words tangled, before finally settling into something more timid, almost whispered. “Uh… M-My adventurer name is… ‘Dark Elf Warden.’” His blush deepened, his face nearly glowing red in the steam. “But my real name… Is Marrel. Marrel Veybryn.”

He fidgeted, then added quickly, “My sister’s adventurer name is ‘Dark Elf Ranger,’ and her real name’s Auriel Veybrya. We’re, um, a party together. Not much yet— mostly just little things, like… Like fetch quests around the outpost. Delivered spices once, and, uh… Brought back some letters for the merchant guild. Picked berries for an herbalist. Nothing big.”

Dark Elf Warden’s mismatched eyes darted sideways as he listed them— his voice shrinking in self-consciousness, though there was a small, guilty pride there too— like a child rattling off chores done well.

The ashen-haired teen sat still, as droplets of water slid down his jaw and into the cold bathwater— studying the blond dark elf with an even, unreadable stare.

The Great Sage whispered inside his skull again, pleased: “Good. Very good. Now commend him— and his sister. Their choice is unusual. Dark elves rarely take the adventurer’s road. Let him know you’ve noticed.”

The ashen-haired teen’s brow twitched at that.

‘Really? I didn’t know that.’

Still, he kept his expression level, dipping his chin in the barest nod as though he had thought it himself. 

The blond dark elf sat across from him; fingers curled against his knee beneath the water, with his mismatched eyes flicking downward. Goblin Slayer then cleared his throat and spoke— his tone measured— as if the words had been waiting.

“… You and your sister made an ambitious choice,” he said in a low voice— almost grudging but not unkind. “Becoming adventurers, I mean. I’ve noticed there aren’t many dark elves in the guild.”

Dark Elf Warden’s lips pressed together, and for a flicker of a moment, discomfort shadowed his face. Not directed at Goblin Slayer— no, his eyes softened faintly when he looked at him— but at the words themselves, as though acknowledging a truth he rarely dared put to voice. 

His mismatched gaze then darted about the bathhouse— scanning the rippling waters and the half-drowsing men leaning along the far benches.

Goblin Slayer felt his own instincts bristle, and he found himself mirroring that cautious glance; his shoulders tightened, and his crimson eyes sharp with a creeping paranoia.

“At ease,” the Great Sage murmured. “No one is paying the slightest attention to either of you right now.”

He then exhaled quietly through his nose, before allowing the stiffness in his frame to ease. When his eyes returned to the blond dark elf, he caught him doing the same— ensuring with his own nervous sweep that the coast was clear before leaning closer, his wet shoulder brushing forward through the steam.

“… A lot of people in the kingdom don’t accept my kind,” he whispered— his voice barely a ripple above the water. “Not since Blackreach declared for Hecatoncheir…”

The name rang heavy and unfamiliar in the ashen-haired teen’s mind. His brows furrowed slightly before the Great Sage’s cool explanation flowed inward.

“Blackreach was the dark elf kingdom. It fell in the Great War ninety years ago. Ever since, most assume all dark elves are followers of Hecatoncheir— the god of chaos. An entity of countless arms woven from darkness. But know this: neither he nor his sister follow that path.”

Goblin Slayer’s eyes narrowed. His thoughts shifted sharp and silent toward her. ‘How much did you know about this person before you made me talk to him?’

“Nothing— not until he approached you,” she replied, tone steady. “I began to conduct my own research then. Which is why I know for certain that he and his sister will be excellent allies for our cause— I vetted them, you could say.”

‘I you know so much about him, then why make me ask questions you already know the answers to?’ His inner words carried an edge. ‘Why don’t you just tell me everything, instead of me having to ask him?’

The Great Sage’s reply was patient, tinged with the curve of amusement.

“Do you remember what it felt like when I first revealed what I knew of you? The weight of it? Even for one as stubbornly open-minded as you, it was overwhelming. If I simply hand you every answer, you gain nothing but fatigue. That question you ask— ‘Why don’t you just tell me everything, instead of me having to ask him?’— is like asking why one should read a book instead of skipping straight to the ending.”

Goblin Slayer’s eyes dimmed, as his lips parted as if to argue, then closed again with a small sigh. 

‘… Fair enough.’

The Great Sage’s voice brightened. “Good. Now, ask if he would be interested in joining your party. And do not forget to mention your quest— that you have one to turn in worth one hundred-thousand platinum coins.”

The ashen-haired teen froze. His back straightened— water lapping higher against his chest. His eyes then flicked wide before narrowing again, as though the world had tilted beneath him.

Dark Elf Warden noticed, as his mismatched eyes widened; the nervous spark in them sharpened to concern. “Uh… Ren, are you… Alright?”

Goblin Slayer’s jaw set, before he forced his mouth into something resembling calm; a small tilt of his lips, half reassurance, half dismissal. “… I… I-I’m fine— thank you.”

But inside, his mind was spiraling. ‘A hundred-thousand platinum?! The quest said eighty silver pieces—’

“— Remember what I said,” the Great Sage cut in gently, “about a hidden reward. To the Mages’ Association, the tesseract is priceless. The chance to glimpse into time and space itself is worth bending worlds for. Better to make adventurers return it willingly than to risk them keeping it. We’ll cross that bridge soon.”

Goblin Slayer then gave a short, almost imperceptible nod before finding his voice. Half-awkwardly, as though the words had to be wrestled out of him, he looked toward the blond dark elf and asked, “W… Would you and your sister mind… Accompanying me to the guild hall? I have a large reward waiting for me— one-hundred thousand platinum— and I don’t have a party yet, so—”

“— Actually, say you’re building a new faction,” the Great Sage cut in— her tone sharper than the scrape of steel. “One better than the Adventurers’ Guild itself.”

The ashen-haired teen’s step faltered. He blinked once, as if struck. 

‘… I’m making a new faction?!’ 

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “Now tell him that.”

Goblin Slayer steadied himself— the hesitation smoothed over by sheer stubborn control— before turning back toward the dark elf. “I’m, uh… I’m looking for party members, and… Members for my new faction that I guess I’m making—” he said, as the shock of the Great Sage’s words still lingered in his mind, “— one that’ll be even better than the Adventurers’ Guild. I already have a fortress in Jura, and I’d like for you and your sister to be its first members….”

The Dark Elf Warden’s expression changed— faint disbelief tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilted his head, mismatched eyes searching the ashen-haired teen’s crimson gaze, as though weighing truth from bait. 

“Tell him you’ll renovate the fortress further,” the Great Sage interrupted, crisp as a command. “Proper accommodations, self-sufficiency— foundations of permanence.”

Goblin Slayer, jaw tight, let the words filter through him before repeating them in his own way. “I’ll put the reward toward making the fortress livable. You’ll have proper quarters, and the place’ll be able to sustain itself, so no one who joins has to rely on the guild or the crown to live comfortably… I think.”

The dark elf leaned back slightly on the submerged seat, as his fingers tightened at the edge of the pool of cold bath water; his mismatched gaze thoughtful. Silence stretched— heavy, contemplative— as he seemed to turn the notion over in his mind. Then, at last, his shoulders slackened.

“It… All sounds really promising— hard to believe, but promising,” he admitted quietly. “And considering how no one else has shown interest in joining us because of— y’know, then… Perhaps it’s worth at least looking into. And uh… At the very least, I’d like to see how much of what you’re saying is true.” He hesitated, his ears twitching slightly before he added with a shy grimace, “But— I’ll have to speak with my sister first… She’s the one who makes most of our decisions.”

“Then tell him this,” the Great Sage pressed swiftly. “You’ll turn in the quest alone. Afterward, you’ll meet him and his sister for dinner at Chilly’s Tavern— seven o’clock. Your treat. Decisions can be made there.”

Goblin Slayer lifted his gaze, weighing the suggestion, before relaying it as best he could. “How about this— after I turn the quest in by myself, we meet for dinner at Chilly’s Tavern. Seven o’clock. My treat. You can bring your sister, and the three of us will speak on it then.”

That caught the blond dark elf off guard. His ears twitched again, with his eyes widening before a faint color touched his cheeks. “You… Don’t have to pay for our dinner,” he said quickly, while raising a hand as though to soften the offer.

Goblin Slayer’s head dipped, the word “okay” already forming at the edge of his tongue— until the Great Sage cut through his thoughts like a blade. 

“No. Insist.”

His jaw tightened, as he swallowed back the instinct to comply— resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her sharp meddling. A breath lingered in his chest before he let it out; his voice came quiet but firm, as he said, “Consider it my treat for you two giving me the time of night.”

The blond dark elf blinked, then softened into a smile that carried both warmth and nerves. His laugh, low and sheepish, rippled across the steam between them. “I… I can’t see Aurelia saying no to a free meal,” he admitted, words laced with shy amusement. 

His hand then moved in a hesitant circle, before gesturing at himself— his tan fingers brushing the faint pudginess of his midsection and thighs. “Especially not with me tagging along. You’ve noticed, I’m sure— I don’t exactly look like I skip meals.”

“Now reassure him,” the Great Sage instructed. “Tell him he isn’t fat. Tell him he looks pretty. That was bait. A test to see whether you would catch it.”

Goblin Slayer’s shoulders stiffened, as heat pressed at the back of his neck. ‘… Do I really have to?’

“Yes.”

A sigh ghosted through the ashen-haired teen, and lingered too long in silence before the words came— unsteady but reluctant in their sincerity. 

“… You’re being too harsh on yourself.” He said, with his gaze drifting— his cheeks faintly flushing, before he forced his eyes back to the dark elf’s. “… I think you’re… Quite beautiful.”

The Great Sage’s quiet laugh coiled around his thoughts, wicked and amused. “Oh, Ashta. I didn’t tell you to go that far. “Quite beautiful,” was your own doing— not mine.”

The ashen-haired teen's cheeks burned crimson; humiliation scorched through him like a searing brand. He bit his lip— praying the water would swallow him whole— but the reaction of the blond opposite him was far more overwhelming.

Dark Elf Warden's tan face flushed a deep shade of red— the blush spreading across his cheeks and up the tips of his long ears like wildfire. His mismatched eyes widened, with his pupils dilating as if pierced by an unseen blade.

A crooked, bashful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth— betraying his delight at the unexpected arousal that strained against his will to conceal it.

His thighs shifted beneath the water's surface, with one plump leg hastily sliding over to cover the other in a clumsy act of modesty. The movement caused gentle ripples to dance across the bathwater, drawing attention to the growing bulge now hidden between his legs.

“…Th-Thank you,” he stammered, as his voice cracked before catching again. “Th-That, uh… Th-That means more than you think.” Dark Elf Warden admitted quietly, before the beat of silence stretched— his lips pressing together as if wrestling for the next words, until finally— “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you at Chilly’s. Seven sharp, with uh… W-With Aurelia.”

Goblin Slayer exhaled, his voice flat but edged with something that almost resembled resignation. “… Sounds good.”

“Now please give him some dignity,” the Great Sage urged gently now; her teasing softened into something closer to concern. “He’s already struggling to keep control of himself. Don’t strip that from him too.”

He brushed her off with a grunt, expression neutral, though his heart still pounded against his ribs.

“Goodbye, Marrel,” he said quietly, but steady.

The blond dark elf’s lips parted— his breath catching before curling into a nervous, giddy smile. “Farewell, Ren,” he replied softly, as his voice trembled with excitement he could barely mask.

Goblin Slayer then rose from the submerged stone seat— the water cascading down his pale, lean frame in glistening rivulets. The lantern-light traced sharp lines over his chest, abdomen, and hips as he pushed to his feet, causing ripples to dance across the bathwater's surface. 

As he lifted one leg to place his foot on the pool's edge, Dark Elf Warden’s eyes snapped upward— and froze. For a breathless moment, the mismatched gaze locked onto Goblin Slayer's bare groin at eye level. 

The ashen-haired teen's cock hung heavy and semi-erect between his thighs, surrounded by smooth, hairless balls. A faint gasp escaped the blond's parted lips before a strangled noise choked in his throat. 

Dark Elf Warden’s cheeks burned a deeper shade of crimson, as his hands came flying up to cover his face, as if shielding himself from the searing image. 

“S-Sorry, Ren!” He stammered through his fingers— voice cracking with mortification. “I-I didn't mean to…! I-I wasn't trying to look…!” His words trailed off into incoherent mumbling behind his palms.

Goblin Slayer cast an unbothered glance over his shoulder, while stepping from the bath without hesitation. Water sluiced off his lean frame as he rose, bare feet slapping softly against the stone tile.

“...It's fine?” He replied uncertainly, unsure of what exactly he was acknowledging.

“You flashed your penis at him, Ashta.”

“Oh, uh… S-See ya later, Marrel,” Goblin Slayer awkwardly murmured, before walking back over towards the entrance of the bathhouse, where his towel and leather pack were still hooked onto the tile wall. 

Steam curled thick around the chamber, as behind the ashen-haired teen, the blond elf peeked once, then quickly hid his face again, a muffled groan slipping from him.

The ashen-haired boy slung his towel over his waist, and slid his arms through the straps of his pack across his back. He then moved for the door without looking back.

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

The outpost’s guild hall was as much a monument as it was an office. Its lobby stretched wide beneath tall vaulted ceilings, painted white and crowned with sweeping golden trim that caught and scattered the lanternlight until the whole chamber seemed to glow with the polish of prosperity. 

Every column stood carved with shallow motifs of swords, scales, and laurel leaves; a stone declaration that this was a place where contracts and coin carried as much weight as steel on the battlefield. 

Across the floor, polished tiles alternated in a checkered pattern— their sheen reflecting boots and cloaks in fractured silhouettes as people came and went. The lobby itself was divided neatly into two halves; bisected by a line of waist-high posts with braided ropes stretched between them. 

On one side, the queue of townsfolk, merchants, and landowners shuffled forward with parchment in hand, seeking to hire adventurers for protection, escort, or work none dared do themselves. 

On the other side, the adventurers’ line pressed steadily against the long front counter: armor-clad figures returning with bloodied proof of their hunts, rookies nervously fumbling quest papers, and the occasional loud dispute when expectations met reality.

Some brought complaints about ill-written contracts— claims of “ambiguous rewards” or missing coin purses when bandits were supposedly involved. Others argued over kill counts— haggling for every horn and fang in a bundle of monster trophies. Now and then, a heated voice rose demanding arbitration over who truly completed a quest: the pair who slew the beast, or the party that merely cornered it.

Behind the counter, receptionists managed the tide with measured smiles and sharpened quills. Their desks stretched in a row from one end of the lobby to the other, where stacks of parchment swelled and diminished in an endless cycle. Some ducked in and out of the back offices with ledgers in hand; others bent over inkpots and seal stamps until their wrists ached.

Amid them, one young woman leaned forward on her elbows; chin balanced just shy of her clasped fingers. For all the polished order of the hall, her shoulders carried a weary slouch. 

Yellow-gold eyes followed the adventurers in line with a practiced kind of focus, though the faint crease between her brows betrayed the strain of endless hours managing half-truths, missing receipts, and short-tempered fighters who smelled more of the road than of courtesy. 

Her light brown hair— woven neatly into braids— caught the lamplight whenever she shifted, but the tightness of her mouth suggested she had not smiled sincerely for much of the day.

Her uniform— meticulously pressed despite the hour— fit her with professional dignity: a yellow jabot tucked beneath a crisp white blouse, its front hidden by a navy vest. A long black skirt brushed her ankles as she shifted her stance behind the counter; the whole outfit cinched by a three-strap black belt that gleamed faintly at the buckles. 

Guild Girl was one among many, but her posture carried the weight of someone determined to meet every expectation, no matter how draining.

To her left, an anthropomorphic rabbit coworker sat poised with a parchment in hand; her voice light and pleasant as she prepared to call the next name. 

There was a softness about her, from the calm tilt of her ears to the patience in her tone— an unhurried warmth that soothed the edge of even the most impatient adventurer. She lifted her chin, breath drawn to speak. But before her voice could carry, the young woman’s weary expression broke. 

It shattered in an instant, as though fatigue had never belonged to her face. 

A sudden brightness lit her eyes, as her lips curved into an expression too quick, and too eager to be rehearsed. Color rose faintly to her cheeks, as her body straightened; shoulders thrown back with a burst of energy that startled even herself.

Guild Girl’s gaze fixed on the line— on the armored figure whose turn had finally come.

He was unmistakable; the iron helmet crowned with its red tassel caught the lantern glow, throwing sharp shadows across the plates of his black leather armor. Beneath it, the quilted gambeson padded each joint; the whole suit shaped by the dark feathered collar that pressed upward against his leather gorget. 

Where most adventurers carried themselves with swagger or nerves, he walked with a steadiness that turned heads— his presence quiet yet absolute.

“Next adven—” her coworker began; voice gentle as always.

“— G-Goblin Slayer!” Guild Girl blurted out— cutting across the mature rabbit woman. Her hand then shot up in an abrupt wave— arm slicing the air, as though she feared he might disappear if she didn’t seize the moment. 

Her coworker blinked— caught mid-breath— parchment trembling faintly in her hand. She looked sideways, surprise soft in her tone. “Oh— did you wish to take him?”

“I-I’ll— yes, I’ll handle him!” Guild Girl insisted, with her voice pitched too quickly. She then let out a half-laugh with a note of apology in it, before nodding with unconvincing composure. “Please, continue with the next in line.”

The gentler receptionist smiled faintly, unruffled by the interruption, and inclined her head with a grace that spoke of endless patience. “Of course. I’ll see to them.”

But Guild Girl hardly noticed anymore, as her heart thudded a beat too fast as Goblin Slayer’s armored steps carried him forward— closer to her desk. She straightened her papers in a needless shuffle, forcing her hands to stay busy even as her cheeks warmed with anticipation she could not quite disguise.

The adventurer stopped squarely at her counter; the faint creak of leather and the weight of his gear settling into stillness. His iron helmet tilted downward— the slitted visor hiding his expression, but not the blunt intent of his words.

“… I’m here to turn in a quest,” he said flatly; his voice stripped of ceremony.

“You should speak more articulately,” the Great Sage’s voice murmured through the hollows of his mind. “Be less stiff. She’s a person, not a notice board.”

A low hum rumbled from his throat— audible only to himself.

Guild Girl tucked a strand of her braided hair behind her ear, her blush lingering as she offered him a polite nod. “Of course. If you’ll allow me just a moment, I’ll pull up your file.”

“That’s fi—” he began, then stopped as the Great Sage’s quiet reminder pressed against him again.

“Speak articulately.”

He paused for the briefest beat, recalibrating. “… Thank you,” he said instead— his voice carrying a weight of sincerity uncharacteristic for him. “I appreciate your help.”

The brunette froze, as her yellow-gold eyes widened. For an instant she seemed almost struck dumb— her lips parting slightly as her blush deepened several shades. She forced a breath in— the sound soft and shaky— before she hastily gathered herself.

Her coworker, receptionist to her right, glanced sidelong with the faintest of knowing smiles. The tall ears tipped with brown fur twitched lightly— her warm gaze finding the flustered girl beside her. 

There was nothing teasing in her look— only gentle amusement, as if she found the sudden bloom of color on her colleague’s face sweet rather than silly. She then turned back to the adventurer across her own desk with the same soft smile— her voice lilting as she resumed helping him.

Guild Girl, meanwhile, fumbled a little as she rose to her feet— nearly knocking a quill askew in her haste to stand. Her smile lingered on her lips in a slightly goofy curve she could not quite control, as though her own composure had betrayed her in front of the one teen who always unsettled her balance.

Goblin Slayer only watched— puzzled behind the vertical slits of his visor— as the brunette receptionist gathered a folder and turned. 

Her hips rolled with each step; the long black skirt swaying against her thick thighs. The fabric stretched taut over the generous curve of her ass— the plump cheeks jiggling slightly as she walked. 

He couldn't tear his gaze away from the hypnotic sight— his eyes tracing the path of her skirt, as it brushed against her calves.

Arousal began to stir unexpectedly within him— a warmth spreading through his body as he imagined grabbing those full thighs and pulling her close. 

He then swallowed hard— trying to ignore the growing hardness in his trousers, as she disappeared into the back rooms.

“Just so you're aware, Ashta… She has feelings for you,” the Great Sage murmured, a knowing edge to her voice.

His brows furrowed beneath the helmet, as he continued to try to push away his hormonal feelings of lust. ‘… What feelings?’

“Feelings of being enamored,” the Great Sage explained patiently. “She’s drawn to your sincerity. Women like her meet a parade of adventurers who think themselves heroes— bravado, ego, entitlement. But you are different— you speak with purpose, and act for others, not for yourself. That is what has caught Sarah’s heart—”

She let her thought linger, soft and almost complimentary, until his blunt interruption cut across her musings. ‘— Who’s Sarah?’

There was a pause, a faint silence in his mind, before the Sage sighed. “… Look down. Left side of her station. The plaque.”

He shifted his gaze; the weight of his helm tilting toward the counter. There it was: small, polished, and unmistakable. A mahogany base, copper plate fixed cleanly against it: ‘Sarah McKenzie — Receptionist.’

Embarrassment prickled faintly against his chest, though no one could see it. ‘I… I don’t think I’ve ever seen that,’ he muttered inwardly.

“You’ve never bothered to look,” the Great Sage corrected gently, “nor to ask her for her name.”

Guilt seeped into him— unwelcome but undeniable. His reply came stiff, and defensive. ‘Names lead to attachment. Attachment leads to heartache. Heartache erodes resolve. And I can’t afford that. Not when there are still so many goblins to kill.’

“Mhmm— I can see your point,” the Great Sage hummed in a measured tone. “I understand the need for such an unspoken creed, especially those who’re in hazardous work. Keeping one’s distance helps numb the grief— grief that would otherwise lead to abandonment of one’s future. However—” her voice sharpened, cutting through the haze of his reasoning, “— that is no longer a suitable status quo to abide by— not for you. You cannot be closed off if you are to bring this world into the dawn of a new age.”

A low, internal groan escaped him. ‘I still don’t understand why you decided that we’d need to start a faction to begin with. I don’t remember ever agreeing to lead anything—’

‘— Like I’ve said: leave the logistics to me,’ she interrupted smoothly. ‘I’ll handle the planning, and our strategies— that burden is mine. You? You are the face of our operation— the one who acts.’

He sighed inwardly, annoyed. ‘Fine. Whatever you say, Cielle.’ A pause, then his thought shifted back— stubbornly seeking clarity. ‘… What am I supposed to do with that knowledge, then? About Guild Girl—’

“— Sarah,” the Great Sage corrected firmly.

His eyes rolled unseen. ‘… Sarah,’ he amended, flat in tone. ‘Why did you tell me that she has feelings for me?’

“Because you are blind to subtleties,” the Great Sage replied, almost teasing. “And I noticed the way you were staring at her lower posterior, when she turned around to leave. However, know that matters to you in more ways than just carnal urges. You will need to start seeing her as more than a voice behind a counter, if you’re hoping to secure a future with her— which I’ll see to it that you do.”

He hummed at that. ‘I see… Anything in particular that I need to know about her, then?’

A smirk colored her words. “I’ll tell you what you need, when the time is right. I can’t give away all the answers at once.”

His mental reply carried the faintest hint of dry sarcasm. ‘Yeah, I’m starting to notice that.’

The creak of a door shifted his attention, causing him to look over past the counter to see Guild Girl returning with a manila envelope clutched in her hands. 

The papers within fanned slightly at the edge where her fingers pressed; her posture composed again, though her cheeks still held a trace of color that had not faded. Her black skirt swayed faintly as she crossed the short space back to her side of the counter, while her heels tapped lightly against the polished tiles.

“I’m back with your file,” she announced, her voice pitched with a playful lilt as she set the envelope neatly on the counter. She then tapped it with the flat of her hand, leaning forward just slightly as if to savor the moment, before undoing the red thread that sealed its flap.

“You should say something. Polite conversation. A little warmth goes a long way.”

He gave a faint groan under his breath, scarcely loud enough for even himself to hear. “I only hoped it wasn’t too much—”

“— Remove the helmet,” the Great Sage interjected. “A gentleman does not hide his face from a lady.”

His jaw tightened at the rebuke, as his words died on his tongue.

However, that’s when Guild Girl’s golden eyes lifted, as a brow arched in gentle curiosity. “Oh? What was it that you were saying?” She asked, as her fingers slid the envelope open.

A flush of embarrassment stirred in the ashen-haired teen, though he managed a crooked, sheepish smile behind the visor. “Only that… I hoped it wasn’t too much trouble to track down my file.”

For a heartbeat she studied him, before a soft laugh slipped free that was warm and genuine— the sound lightening the air between them. “That’s quite a thoughtful thing to worry about,” she said, her smile brightening as she drew out a thick stack of papers.

She then began skimming the first few sheets— lips moving faintly— before setting most of the stack back into the folder. Only one page remained, which she placed carefully upon the counter— the latest contract.

Her eyes had only just begun tracing the lines when the faint scrape of iron latches stirred her attention upward. She blinked once, then twice, as realization widened her gaze.

With deliberate slowness, he lifted his helm free. Ash-gray hair tumbled loose across his brow, and his crimson eyes met hers with quiet steadiness. In the lamplight, his pale features seemed almost fragile. 

Tucking the helmet beneath one arm, he offered her a small, hesitant smile—  apology and courage bound together in its curve.

“… Sorry,” he said, giving the faintest gesture toward the helm in his grip. “I’ve been… Trying lately to be more personal. Less…”

“— Enigmatic,” the Great Sage supplied smoothly.

“… Enigmatic,” he finished aloud, while his lips twitched faintly in self-consciousness.

Guild Girl blinked at him, then stifled a laugh with the back of her hand, though the soft sound still slipped through. A faint blush once again began coloring her cheeks, and when she dropped her hand her smile had turned into something unguarded, almost smitten. 

“That’s… New,” she admitted— her tone teasing but warm. She then tilted her head just slightly, as though letting herself memorize his face, before catching herself and clearing her throat. “… I like it.”

Her fingers pressed down on the contract, as she pulled her eyes back to the page, though the flush on her cheeks betrayed her effort to focus. “So… this one. ‘Goblin Extermination — Jura Forest.’” She said, as she lowered her fingertip to the first clause— her eyes flicking up again as she asked softly, “How was it? I hope it wasn’t too troublesome for you.”

“It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle,” he replied without hesitation— his crimson gaze steady.

She gave a small nod, as her lips curved. “I figured as much,” she murmured, though her voice carried a note of relief, before her smile softened even further. “Still… It’s always a treat to see you again.”

Her gaze dipped back toward the parchment, her features settling into something quieter, more uncertain. “It’s just… Sometimes I worry that one day you’ll… Stop coming through these doors.” She said, as her voice dropped slightly; not loud enough for her nearby coworkers to overhear. “And… I’ll never know if you’re safe… Or if you…” 

She didn’t finish.

The expression she found on his face made her breath catch. Without his helm, his thoughts showed plainly— subtle flickers of apology and reflection stirring behind his eyes. 

For a heartbeat, her chest felt weightless— fluttering almost painfully— before her lips betrayed her with a goofy, nervous smile.

She then broke the tension with a little laugh, while waving her hand dismissively. “Of course, what I really expect is for you to retire. After all— hundreds upon hundreds of quests? At this rate, the world’s going to be goblin-free sooner than later.”

“To be precise,” the Great Sage mused— dry and clinically, “It’ll take approximately thirty-one days, until we overwrite all current goblin populations with our own variant. Obviously, do not tell her that right now. She’ll ask questions she isn’t prepared to handle.”

Goblin Slayer gave a low hum in his throat— the faintest acknowledgment— before speaking aloud. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m going nowhere.”

“Quite literally,” the Great Sage added with quiet amusement. “Ageless, and undying. She has no idea how true your words are.”

His lips pressed briefly together— the truth stinging sharper than he wanted to admit.

Guild Girl, oblivious, gave a soft laugh at his answer, before shaking her head. “So long as I get to see you here, I can’t complain.” She beamed, before lowering her eyes again; only for her expression to twist with confusion, as she skimmed further down the contract.

“She’s found it— the hidden clause from the Mages’ Association. The one about the tesseract. Next page contains the questionnaire. Try not to appear too expecting.”

Sure enough, Guild Girl flipped the sheet over— her eyes widening at the unusual format stapled to the back. She gave a small, uncomfortable laugh, tilting her head at him with an almost apologetic look. “You’ll have to forgive me. But, ah… It seems as though the client’s requested that I confirm some things, first. I’ll need to ask you a few questions.”

He nodded once, smiling faintly but sincerely. “… Ask away, Sarah.”

The sound of her name on his lips made her blink— her whole body stiffening before a vivid pink rushed across her face. “Y-You—” She broke off with a nervous laugh, before raising a hand as though to shield herself from her own embarrassment. 

“— Y-You really weren’t joking about trying to be more personal…!” She mused sheepishly, before peeking back at the sheet in her hands— her golden eyes struggling not to dart back up into his.

Her lips curved further into a wry, flustered smile as she cleared her throat— focusing fiercely on the paper in front of her. Her eyes narrowed in on the very first question at the top, though her hands trembled faintly as she held it steady.

“Alrighty then,” she said, her voice soft yet measured, almost as though steadying herself. “First question. Before, during, or after the raid… Did you notice any unusual relics or phenomena occurring within the fortress— or in the vicinity of it?”

The ashen-haired teen nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Yes,” he said plainly, the word carrying little weight, yet making her pen twitch above the page.

Her brow arched, and she let out a faint hum that sounded half like relief, half like amusement. “Hm. That almost sounded like you passed something. Maybe the easiest test you’ll ever take,” she said, allowing herself a small smile.

Goblin Slayer’s mouth tugged faintly at one corner. “Not sure if that makes me feel better… Or worried about the rest.”

Guild Girl’s chuckle was soft, caught between amusement and habit. She lowered her eyes to the parchment, tracing the lines until her brow furrowed, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

“… Well, now this is odd.” She murmured, as she leaned closer— tilting her head at the words like they’d been written as a prank. “… Second question: did you observe a geometrical relic emitting a glow of—” she counted off each one carefully, “— A: red. B: blue. C: yellow. D: green. E: white. Or F… None of the above?”

Her eyes flicked up at him, warm with humor. “‘None of the above’ feels like a trap, doesn’t it?”

Goblin Slayer didn’t answer, though his posture tightened; not from nerves, but from memory pressing against him like stone. 

Then—

He recalled his gunshot splitting the air— tearing a scream in half. The echo rattled against the stone walls, shaking chains, scattering rats into dark corners.

The chieftain’s body had jerked violently, clutching at his chest as a dull, wet ache spread across his ribs. Blood had blossomed, warm and sticky, seeping through fingers that trembled in pain. He stumbled sideways, finally collapsing against the alchemy table— smearing his life across the open pages of a grimoire. 

Every breath came as a rattle, a wheeze; each one a reminder of the relentless chase toward his end.

And there, on the table, the tesseract glowed.

Crimson had bled along the chamber walls, flooding the dungeon in impossible light. It was jagged, angles sharp as shattered glass, yet precise as geometry itself. He remembered the glow being alive— pulsing, stretching, pressing against the gloom. 

Goblin Slayer’s memory traced the red arcs, then the sudden, impossible shift: the red dissolving into cyan, cool and calm, soft against the chaos that still roared around him— cascading like inverted waterfalls, spiraling, weaving into delicate lattices of light. 

Every surface had caught it: the walls, the chains, even the corpses scattered in disarray. The glow was soft, impossible, yet tangible— like the world itself had taken a breath and changed.

The Great Sage’s voice then unfurled inside his mind, as if speaking from the very geometry of that memory itself.

“… B. Blue— that is the correct response in their system. You recall it bleeding red because my protocol was active at the time. The ‘Hemolytic Soul Conversion Protocol,’ when active, resonates red through the artifact— just as my highlights and eyes do when I am filtering souls into our shared mana pool.”

Goblin Slayer’s thumb tapped once against the curve of his helmet, grounding him. ‘… So you turn red whenever you’re absorbing souls?’

“Correct,” the Great Sage answered with clinical calm. “But like I said, answer ‘blue.’ The Mages’ Association only ever witnessed the artifact dormant— my protocol inactive. They will not understand otherwise.”

He exhaled faintly, the breath almost a sigh. His eyes then lifted to Guild Girl’s. “It was blue,” he said.

Her pen paused above the parchment, the tip hovering. “… Blue?” she repeated softly, as though she needed to hear it from him twice.

“Yes, blue.”

She studied him a heartbeat too long before lowering her gaze again— a smile tugging at her lips. “Blue it is, then.” The scratch of her pen on parchment was brisk, but her voice was warmer now, almost teasing.

She proceeded to then slide her finger down to the next line, then looked back up at him. “Alright, next question: did you retrieve the object, and— ” she began to ask, before her voice dropped just slightly— more playful than professional, “— do you still have it on you?”

Goblin Slayer tilted his head at the phrasing. “I did. And I do.”

The brunette’s lips curved knowingly. “Of course you do. Question is, do I take your word for it? Or do you actually show me?”

His reply came with a quiet steadiness, but the faintest echo of dry humor slipped beneath it. “Do you not trust me?”

Guild Girl’s smile softened, her voice dipping into something low, almost confessional. “I trust you more than anyone, you know that. But the client won’t just take my word for it.” Her brow lifted, with mischief glinting in her eyes. “So… How’s about you be a gentleman, and humor me. Just this once?”

A breath slipped from him, half sigh, half reluctant amusement. He set his helmet on the counter with a muted clink and pulled his pack forward. His hands moved with practiced ease—straps unfastened, leather creaking open, motions precise as ritual.

The canteen came first, placed neatly beside the helm. Then, from the depths, he drew the crystalline weight of the tesseract. Its shifting planes bent the lamplight into impossible angles, as though each surface peered into another world.

Guild Girl leaned forward before she could stop herself. Her breath caught. The lattice revealed fractured visions: the lobby shuttered and dark, a hall crowded with strangers, the same room centuries gone to dust.

“What… What is that?” The words slipped out unbidden, barely louder than a whisper. She tore her eyes away, only to land on the diagram beneath the parchment. The lines seemed to twist the longer she stared, defying reason. “This must be what the client wanted. Whatever it even is.”

Her fingers trembled as she slid the artifact back across the counter, shoving it a little farther than she needed to, as though distance might dull its weight.

“Alright…” she managed, voice catching. “Last question.” She tapped the blank lines with the tip of her quill. “Any observed phenomena, or… Unusual effects?”

His jaw tightened. His eyes lingered on the tesseract.

“Remember, it’s crucial the Mages’ Association doesn’t suspect why the tesseract no longer looks the same as it did under their observation.”

‘… What should I tell her to write then?’

“Blame the goblin chieftain,” the Great Sage continued, her tone patient, almost indulgent. “Tell her that stole it, he activated it, and could move faster than he should— just like you appear to others, when I perform that dilation trick for you. All of that will suffice to lead their suspicions elsewhere. You need only describe what he did. The rest is none of your concern… For now.”

He wet his lips, then looked back to Guild Girl.
“There was this goblin chieftian— at Jura Fortress— he activated it. His movements…” He drew two fingers through the air in a swift blur. “… We’re faster than the eye could follow, but even so, I managed to still kill him. After that, the relic dimmed from cyan… To clear.”

Her brows rose, and then her smile bloomed— delighted, radiant. “Faster than the eye can follow?” She leaned onto her elbows, golden eyes shining as she looked at him like he was the only man in the room. “Of course you managed that. Honestly, I think you enjoy proving me right.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “What can I say? I am ‘Goblin Slayer,’ after all.”

She leaned closer, her voice playful, but threaded with something gentler beneath. “True, that is what they call you,” she laughed. “Though if I recall— you made sure of it when I registered you. What was it— almost a year ago now?”

Unable but to join in one her amusement of that memory, the ashen-haired teen’s grin widened faintly. “Just about a year, yes,” he said with a small chuckle.

She kept smiling as her quill scratched briskly across the parchment, though her glances toward him lingered— each one a little longer than the last. When she eventually did finish, she blew gently over the ink— the letters shimmering before they dried.

“… There,” she said with mock finality, stacking the paper and artifact together. “All the official questions are answered.” Her smile softened, warm enough to melt the space between them. 

“But you know me— I could always think of a few unofficial ones~!” She chortled, while gathering the stack and slid it aside with deliberate care. “Still… Duty first. I’ll need to bring this to the district manager. Once they sign off, your reward’s yours.”

Her smile was thin, more professional than warm, but her eyes betrayed the flicker of nerves still beneath.

He inclined his head faintly. “Thank you, Sarah.”

And as she excused herself and slipped into the back offices, Goblin Slayer took the opportunity to uncapped his canteen with a muted twist. 

He then raised it before tilting his head back— letting the cool purified water rush over his tongue and down his throat while his lashes lowered half-mast on content.

“She’ll deliver it. The district manager will cross-check your record, match your answers, confirm authenticity. You’ve nothing to worry over.”

His lips curved faintly against the rim of the canteen. ‘Who said I was worried?’

“Your track record of always assuming the worst did.”

The ashen-haired teen silently chuckled at her quip, as he swallowed the last of the water in deliberate gulps; the cool stream slipping down his throat and washing away the taste of dust. 

He then lowered the canteen slowly, before capping it, and sliding it into the side of his worn leather pack before flipping the flap closed with practiced precision. Tugging on the straps, he pulled the weight of the bag flush against his back.

By the time his gaze rose again, Guild Girl was hurrying back across the tiled floor— her skirt swishing around her legs, as if she couldn’t quite keep her pace restrained. 

Her golden eyes were wide, her grin bubbling with disbelief— like a child barely managing to keep in a secret. By the time she made her way behind her side of the counter, the envelope in her hand was trembling with excitement.

She then set it down quickly before scooting it closer— lowering her voice, as though every wall had ears.

“… You’ve been authorized,” she whispered— the words carrying a stunned little laugh. “The reward— it came through bigger than what you could have ever imagined…!”

She then let out a breathy chuckle, shaking her head in amazement, her grin refusing to fade.

“I had no idea… No idea what this quest was really worth when I gave it to you…!”

Goblin Slayer’s brows shifted, as he picked up the envelope with gloved hands— weighing it once, before shaking it subtly as if to test its truth.

‘… This doesn’t feel like one-hundred thousand platinum coins.’

“That’s because you were given a check for that amount. Now focus— try to look unsuspecting.”

He hummed softly, before feigning ignorance. “… The quest said the reward was eighty silver coins.”

That earned another chuckle from her— low and disbelieving.

“I thought so too,” she admitted, with a quiet laugh escaping before she stammered— lowering her voice even more. “But— from what the district manager said… Apparently this extermination in the Jura Fortress wasn’t what it looked like. Honestly, it was probably a cover from the client to get their hands on that weird thing— whoever they are…”

Guild Girl’s fingertips drummed against the counter, betraying the nerves her smile tried to hide. “All I’m saying is… I’ve never seen a client pay like this. Not once in all the years I’ve been here. And the way it’s all so hush-hush?” She shook her head, as her golden eyes narrowed in disbelief. “That’s not just strange— it’s suspicious.”

“Very,” Goblin Slayer agreed, though his tone was flat.

That’s when his thumb had tugged the envelope open, and the sight arrested him. The check slid halfway free, its bold lettering cutting into his vision like a brand: ‘100,000 Platinum Coins.’

Guild Girl’s eyebrows shot up at his silence. “See?!” She exclaimed, almost triumphantly. “I wasn’t exaggerating!”

“As promised— your full reward.”

Despite the Great Sage’s hint of playfulness in her voice, Goblin Slayer still felt at awe at what he was holding. ‘I… I never doubted you about getting this much money. But, still… Seeing it here, in my hand— it feels unreal.’

“As well it should. Yet do not be seduced by numbers on parchment. Wealth is only fuel, not salvation. You will soon discover how costly true independence becomes. This sum is a beginning, nothing more. And we will not tether ourselves to the Adventurers’ Guild to sustain it. I already have… Alternative means to further fund our cause.”

‘… Alternative means?’ His brow twitched faintly at that. ‘What alternative means?’

“I will explain in due time, Ashta. You need only keep your blade pointed where I tell you.”

He then folded the envelope with deliberate care and slipped it into the leather pouch at his belt, as though it were glass that might shatter if jostled.“… It’s a staggering amount of money,” he admitted at last.

Guild Girl let out a soft scoff, her lips tugging upward in amusement. 

“Heh! You don’t say?” The brunette teased playfully; her eyes bright with genuine delight. She then leaned on the counter, chin tilting, as though trying to catch him off guard. “So then— what’s the grand plan? Buy an assortment of enchanted weapons and armor? Blow it all on a wild night out? Or maybe—” her smile curved sharper “— you’re just going to retire early, and leave me here to deal with the rookies?”

“Tell her no such thing,” the Great Sage murmured, sly. “Tell her you have plans indeed— ambitious ones— and that you would gladly speak of them. But not here, not now. Invite her instead to Chilly’s Tavern to join you for dinner— your treat.”

Goblin Slayer’s brow furrowed. ‘Chilly’s Tavern? But aren’t we already meeting Marrel and Aurelia there for dinner at seven?’

“Correct. And now Sarah will join you. Four voices together, in one place, where much may be discussed. And she—” the Great Sage said, as her tone softened to a knowing whisper, “— will be where she longs to be: by your side.”

‘You’re as bossy as ever,’ he thought, though there was no real edge in it.

“And you are as obedient as ever, despite yourself,” the Great Sage replied, in her own subtly playful way. “Now then… Lift your head, meet her eyes, and speak the words as if they were yours. A man must invite, not stumble.”

Goblin Slayer raised his eyes at last. Guild Girl’s gaze was waiting for him— molten gold bright in the lamplight, playful yet searching. His shoulders straightened. His words came measured, but beneath the calm lay a quiet heat.

“I do have plans,” he said, low and steady. “Ambitious ones. Not only to rid the world of goblins… But to rid it of evil.”

That caught her.

She blinked as her posture tightened— lips parting in surprise, as her voice dropped to a conspiratorial hush, though amusement still glimmered in her eyes. “… Rid the world of evil, you say? That truly does sound… Awfully ambitious.” She admired, with her lips curved teasingly. “Maybe even a little bit impossible, one might say.”

His mouth tugged in the faintest ghost of a smile. “Then allow me to explain it properly— tonight. Over dinner.”

Her face went scarlet, the words striking her like a spell. “D-Dinner…?!” She whispered sharply— her voice cracking halfway.

Heat rose to his own cheeks, though his tone held firm. “Yes. Over dinner. I’ve already arranged to meet two allies there. They’ll hear my offer as well. But…” He trailed off, as his gaze held hers. “… I want you there too, at my side; to be a crucial part of what I’m building.”

Her jaw slackened. Then, like sunlight breaking free of storm clouds, a grin spread wide across her face— bright and utterly unguarded. Her heart hammered so loudly she swore the whole hall could hear it. “A-Are you— asking me on a DATE?!?”

The word hung between them, fragile, trembling.

He froze, with his breath catching.

“Do not falter here,” the Great Sage urged; her voice smooth and calculating. “Tell her it is more than a date. That what you offer is purpose, freedom— something she will never find behind this counter.”

‘That’s bold… Even for you.’

“Say it.”

Reluctantly, the ashen-haired teen drew in a steadying breath. “It’s… More than a date that I’m asking of you— what I want is for you to be part of my dream. I want to give you a better life than this place could ever give you… A life where you’re valued— truly valued.”

The weight of his own words struck him like a blow— ears burning red. But Guild Girl’s reaction eclipsed his embarrassment: she was flushed to the roots of her hair, trembling, her breath coming quick with the force of it.

“Well, look at you,” the Great Sage murmured, with sly amusement threading her tone. “A killer of evil, and a thief of hearts as well… What a smooth criminal you’ve turned out to be, Ashta.”

‘Please don’t.’

The brunette tried to answer, but her voice tangled into broken syllables. Before she could collapse into incoherence, her coworker with long rabbit ears and eyes that held a patient, motherly warmth intervened. 

“She’ll be there, dear” she said assuredly, while smiling gently at the ashen-haired teen.

Guild Girl made a strangled sound of agreement— nodding so fast her hair whipped about, before throwing him a shaky thumbs-up as her grin threatened to split her face.

Goblin Slayer’s lips curved— small, awkward, sheepish— as he raised a hand in the closest thing he had to a wave. “Then… I’ll see you tonight at seven, Sarah.”

Guild Girl’s heart nearly stopped at the sound of her name spoken again. “B-Bye, Ren!” She blurted, before clapping her hands over her mouth— mortified by her own voice crack.

“Look at that: unlike you,” the Great Sage chimed in, amused, “she didn’t need someone to point out a name tag for her to know your name.”

He groaned inwardly— guilt curling heavy in his stomach as he lifted his helmet from the counter. 

‘I get it— okay?’

Sliding it down over his head, the familiar weight steadied him as he turned toward the double doors. 

And as the buckle cinched tight, the Great Sage’s voice curled through his thoughts— sly, approving. “In all honesty, I am very grateful that you’re willing to change— to grow. My mission to cleanse this world of all vileness would be far more tedious if you were not so cooperative.”

He then pushed the doors open, and was met with the setting sun spilling across his armor— gilding him in fire. “… And yet you criticize me relentlessly,” he muttered under his breath— no longer having to restrain his words internally, “for someone who got lucky.”

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

The night sky stretched endless above the frontier outpost; a velvet canvas draped with a thousand stars. Pale smoke curled upward from chimney stacks— dispersing into the high air where it mingled with the glittering constellations. 

The lamps of the settlement— iron posts topped with oil-lit glass, and the steady glow of lanterns hung at doorways— spilled their amber haze across cobblestone streets where guards made their steady rounds. The sound of boots clinking against stone carried faintly in the distance; punctuated now and again by the laugh of a drunkard or the muffled clatter of hooves pulling a weary traveler’s wagon through the nearly vacant roads.

Above it all, the twin moons presided— one a pale red disc, the other a muted green— shedding their blended silver light upon the land below. Their glow shimmered across rooftops and pooled in puddles between the uneven stones of the streets— casting a strange, dreamlike shimmer across the slumbering outpost.

Among the cluster of buildings, the taverns were the liveliest, their chimneys working hardest, their windows glowing brightest. One tavern in particular stood out along the main road. Its front was broad and welcoming, and its timber walls rose into a gently peaked roof. Glass-panel windows revealed hints of revelry inside; their panes fogged slightly with warmth. 

Double doors set beneath a wooden awning swung open often, releasing gusts of sound and heat: the roar of laughter, the clash of tankards, the boisterous singing of bards weaving their melodies against the hum of a plucked lute and the beat of a hand-drum. 

The smell of roasted meat and cheap ale leaked out with the noise— drawing adventurers and locals alike to its glow.

A weathered bench rested near the entrance, where a lone armored figure sat with his helm tilted slightly back. Goblin Slayer lingered there outside Chilly’s Tavern, listening absently as the cheer and music spilled through the glass panes and door cracks. He had been joined here and there by others— mercenaries laughing too loudly, cloaked wanderers with their weapons clattering as they took their seats— but he kept apart, silent and still. 

His crimson eyes, visible only through the narrow vertical slits of his helmet, had fixed upward instead.

The ashen-haired teen found himself stargazing. The silver light of the twin moons fell across the rough edge of his gauntlets— gleamed against the steel ridges of his visor— and for a rare moment, he let his gaze rest wholly on the heavens.

“… The moons are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?” The Great Sage spoke softly, as though afraid to disturb the stillness.

Goblin Slayer’s eyes narrowed faintly. Bemusement colored his answer, though he spoke only within. ‘… I suppose they are.’

A quiet chuckle rippled through his mind. “I did not mean it in a literal sense, Ashta.”

His head tilted slightly, the weight of the helm shifting with it. His brows furrowed behind the iron. ‘… In what other sense would there be?’

Her reply came serene, but touched with something warmer— content, almost wistful.
“Where I’m from, one would say, ‘The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?’ But it isn’t meant to be about the moon itself.”

He was silent, listening.

“There is only one moon, in the place I hail from— so I had to change the phrase, to fit the context of what’s here,” she continued— her voice smoothing into a tone like memory. “You see, I’m used to looking up to see great white sphere, ever present, bathing the world in pale serenity. Which is why seeing two moons above is still a strange sight to me. Strange, but… Not unpleasant.”

She paused, then allowed herself the faintest smile through her words. “… I digress. The phrase itself— ‘the moons are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?’— is an indirect way of telling someone… That you love them.”

The armored boy hummed low in his throat, with a faint murmur escaping through the gaps in his visor. ‘Ah… I see.’

The words carried intrigue, and something quieter still. He fell silent, though; the thought curled into him, and settled heavily in his chest. 

His lips began moving faintly beneath the shadow of the helmet, as he rehearsed the phrase in a whisper only the night could hear.

“… The moons are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?”

“Ah-ah,” the Great Sage teased, her voice warm with amusement. “Do not be so quick to steal my words, Ashta.”

From beneath the iron helm came the faintest chuckle. ‘… But it’s a good line.’

“It is,” she agreed gently. “All the more reason to use it sparingly. Save it for when it matters.”

Her tone carried no reproach— only quiet counsel. The ashen-haired teen gave a slight nod— crimson eyes lifting toward the twin moons overhead.

The night continued to be filled with soft things: bards’ music drifting faintly from the tavern, the low murmur of conversation, the clatter of mugs and cutlery carried by the breeze. And then—

“Ren!”

The call rang bright across the street.

She was early. Almost fifteen minutes.

Guild Girl moved toward him, with lantern-light spilling like honey across her dress— vanilla fabric ruffled lightly at the shoulders, modest yet leaving the curve of her collar bare. A long skirt swayed with each hurried step; her summer hat tipped just enough to frame the braid that swept over her shoulder— bound at the end with a small yellow bow.

Her golden eyes lit when they found his, and she almost skipped in her haste— brushing at her skirt as if to keep every fold neat. Her smile shone so vividly it threatened to drown out the lanterns themselves.

Goblin Slayer unfastened the strap at his neck and lifted the helm free. The night air touched his face, while his crimson eyes flashed bare uncertainty. He then set the helmet beneath his arm and rose to meet her.

She did not slow down as she opened her arms— stepping closer without hesitation.

For a heartbeat, he froze.

“Step forward,” the Great Sage urged softly. “She is offering you warmth. Take it.”

He shifted, then obeyed.

Her arms closed around him, fierce and sure, pulling him tight as though to anchor him to earth itself. The sudden strength of it startled him. His own response was halting— an arm raised, stiff but genuine, settling against her back.

“You actually came,” she breathed against his shoulder, her voice trembling with excitement. She drew back just enough to meet his eyes, her grin radiant. “I almost thought you’d change your mind.”

His lips tugged faintly, his gaze steady. “… I wouldn’t have done that to you, Sarah.”

Guild Girl’s cheeks slowly flushed, as she let out a bright, quick laugh. “Oh, I knew you wouldn’t! Still— blame my intrusive thoughts. They never know when to shut up.” She said, as her gaze grew softer. “But really though… You don’t know how happy I am. I even rebraided my hair— it took forever, and I was worried the entire time that I was re-doing it that I might show up late, but… You noticed it, didn’t you?”

His eyes flicked briefly to the braid, to the little bow tied neat at the end. His reply came quiet, almost shy. “… I did. And it suits you.”

Her heart skipped, her laugh spilling out again as she brushed at the braid nervously. “D-Depending how the night goes, it might even give you something to hold onto…”

And while they waited for the dark elves, Guild Girl filled the quiet with light chatter. She spoke of her walk through town, the lingering stares she had drawn, and the nerves that had knotted her stomach while she chose her dress.

Goblin Slayer listened. His replies came short, sincere, yet stilted— guided in subtle nudges by the Great Sage whenever his silence stretched too long. 

Gradually, the stiffness eased. The cadence of her laughter, the earnest shine in her eyes— it all made the rhythm of talk less a burden, more a conversation shared.

And then—

“Ren?! Ren— is that your name?! Am I saying it right?!”

The call was husky, deep with warmth— carried above the tavern’s din. It lanced through the laughter and music spilling from Chilly’s doors.

Both he and Guild Girl turned.

“Over there,” she whispered, her fingers grazing the inside of his arm— soft, coaxing— as though urging his gaze toward the sound. “Is that them?”

Through the crush of late wanderers and adventurers, two figures pressed forward. Blond hair shimmered beneath lantern-light, ears sharp against dusky skin, the unmistakable grace of dark elven blood shaping their features. And their eyes— heterochromic, green and blue— cut like gemstones in fire— luminous and searching.

The first was slight, but she moved with unshaken boldness. Cropped hair tousled in the breeze— her grin flashing bright as she called again. She carved through the throng with an easy swagger, with her whip swaying at her hip, and bow and quiver clattering at her back.

Her outfit clung tight— reddish-black dragon scale polished to a wet sheen, each plate molded to trace the lean lines of her torso and the curve of her hips. Beneath, supple fabric hugged the hollow of her waist, while the vest of white and gold she wore above left the dark gleam of her body exposed in teasing bands. 

At her throat, an acorn charm pulsed with a molten glow, as if beating in rhythm with her laughter.

There was a rawness to her stride, a tomboy’s careless boldness, the sway of her frame alive and unmasked. When she grinned, it was with the open warmth of someone who had never learned shame— and it carried heat, reckless and inviting.

Her twin trailed behind— a striking foil. 

Taller, softer, his presence curled inward where hers burst outward. The fullness of his hips and thighs moved with a slow, unintentional sway— fabric whispering against skin at every step.

Golden hair, tied carefully back, slipped free in strands to kiss the slope of his cheek. His mismatched gaze, blue and green, burned bright with joy when it found the ashen-haired boy— then darted away at once, as if afraid to be seen wanting. 

Yet the flush of that unguarded moment lingered— impossible to hide.

His attire deepened the impression: dragon-scale leather in shimmering blue stretched close to the shape of him, outlining the curve of his plump chest, and the plush slope of his stomach. A sleeveless vest of white and gold hung open across his torso— framing smooth skin that caught the lamplight in faint gleam. 

A short skirt of white cloth ended high, baring his chubby dark thighs where the fabric surrendered to the silk-smooth sheen of flesh. Each step revealed the subtle flex of muscle beneath— unashamed in its softness.

Long silk gloves traced his arms, clinging like a second skin, while his fingers wrapped the blackwood staff with a grip steadier than his shy eyes betrayed. The green cloak brushing his back moved like breath against bare skin— teasing, and suggestive without meaning to.

Together, they moved like halves of the same thought: one bold and brazen, laughter spilling like wine, the other hesitant and luminous, allure hidden yet impossible to disguise.

Goblin Slayer’s crimson eyes narrowed faintly as he watched, recognition flickering within— but his expression, as ever, remained unreadable.

“They’ve arrived on time, as I’ve predicted,” the Great Sage murmured within his mind— her voice articulate and smooth. “You already know who Marrel is, but you haven’t met his twin. That’s the same Aurelia Veybryn he mentioned to you earlier— ‘Dark Elf Ranger.’ She is… Spirited, as you see.”

The ashen-haired teen exhaled softly— his eyes flicking from one twin to the other. His voice was low, deliberate. “… Yeah.” He finally responded to the brunette by his side, before inclining his head toward them. “They’re who I was hoping to bring aboard.”

Guild Girl followed his gaze, and a smile broke across her lips, warm and playful. “Ah…! They’re more adorable than I thought they would be,” she whispered while leaning closer, as though sharing a secret.

The corners of his mouth moved— just slightly, a ghost of a smile at her choice of words.

Before he could reply, Guild Girl lifted her arm high and waved with energy that almost matched Dark Elf Ranger’s. “Hey! Over here!”

It was then that the blond tomboy’s sharp gaze caught her immediately. She suddenly stopped short, then grinned even wider— raising both arms in a dramatic, exaggerated wave, as she called back, “We see you! Hold on, we’re coming!”

Her voice cut cleanly over the din— bright and unapologetic. However, her brother flushed faintly at her volume— his lips tugging into an embarrassed line as he reached out to tug at her sleeve, and was clearly mortified by the scene she was making.

But she only laughed, twisting her arm free without missing a step. “Oh, don’t get shy now, Marrel! We haven’t even gotten started!”

Dark Elf Warden then lowered his eyes, muttering something too soft to catch, though the curve of his cheeks gave away his smile. His grip on the staff shifted— white silk fingers smoothing over the black wood as though it steadied him.

Dark Elf Ranger then forged ahead through the crowd— shouldering past strangers without hesitation. Her bow bounced at her back, while her brother followed behind reluctantly; tugged forward more by her momentum than his own will.

Guild Girl laughed beside Goblin Slayer, while watching the scene with unabashed delight. 

“Would you look at,” the Great Sage said in his mind, sly but indulgent, “Sarah’s already found someone who matches her forced extroverted personality.”

Goblin Slayer remained quiet, crimson eyes fixed on the twins as they closed the distance; though a faint warmth lingered in his chest that even he couldn’t quite place.

Guild Girl didn’t hesitate when the tomboyish dark elf thrust her hand out. She reached across the small space between them and clasped it firmly— her grip surprisingly strong for someone with manicured nails and sleeves better suited to ink-stained ledgers than battlefield dust.

“Sarah. Sarah McKenzie,” she said brightly, voice warm but confident. “I’m a receptionist for the Adventurers’ Guild. Though—” She trailed off, as her lips curved wryly while she darted a sidelong glance at the teenager beside her; his helmet still tucked under his arm, “— depending on how tonight plays out, I might be rethinking my career path entirely.”

Dark Elf Ranger’s grin widened at once— her laughter cutting bold and clear above the low murmur of the crowd. “Ha! The same goes for us too, Sarah!” She said, as gave the brunette’s hand one final squeeze before letting go— her mismatched eyes dancing with amusement.

The tomboy elf’s gaze slid shamelessly toward Goblin Slayer then— pausing upon him with the kind of candor only a tomboy could muster. 

The lantern glow kissed his features, drawing sharp lines from his jaw to the bridge of his nose, softening only where a faint scar crossed his cheekbone. His ash-pale hair caught the light in faint silver strands, making his crimson eyes— steady, unwavering— appear sharper still.

Dark Elf Ranger’s grin faltered just enough to let color rise along her dark cheeks; though she didn’t flinch from her boldness. Instead, she leaned a little forward— cocking her hip. “And now I get why Marrel wouldn’t shut up about you!” She blurted out bluntly, as she looked him up and down with not a shred of subtlety. “Gods above— you’re hot!”

Dark Elf Warden, hovering just behind her shoulder, went rigid as if someone had yanked a rug out from beneath his boots. His jaw fell slack, as his mismatched eyes stared at his sister, as though she’d just cursed in front of their grandmother.

“A-Aurelia!” His voice cracked high— betraying his nerves, as he clutched at her elbow. “You— don’t—  you can’t just—! D-Don’t say things like that!” He stammered out while being red in the face, as he tried to shush her with flustered urgency. “Y-You’ll embarrass him— y-you’re embarrassing me!”

Guild Girl blinked once, then twice at the twins. The silence held for half a heartbeat before her lips trembled and she broke into a soft laugh that she tried— and failed— to hide behind her hand. 

Dark Elf Ranger snickered too— clearly reveling in her brother’s mortification— and finally let the brunette’s hand drop to her side.

The tomboy elf then tilted her chin at her feminine beother— her eyes narrowing with mischief. “What? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have sex with him!” She retorted loudly, as her hand gestured lazily toward Goblin Slayer, who stood stoic and unmoved— though his crimson eyes flicked ever so slightly from one elf to the other.

“Y-You—!” Dark Elf Warden stammered— his words collapsing on his tongue as his face grew redder. “That’s— how could you just—” He tried to turn toward the ashen-haired teen, only then to immediately falter— his gaze darting anywhere but to his curious, red-eye stare.

“I-I am so sorry, Ren; truly, please don’t think— she doesn’t mean— well, I mean, she does— b-but she shouldn’t—!” He continued to stress, while nearly tripping over his own boots in his rush to apologize.

Dark Elf Range only rolled her eyes— blowing a puff of air at the fringe of blond hair that fell across her brow. She then looked back to Guild Girl, and for a moment their gazes locked— molten gold to mismatched green-and-blue.

The tomboy’s grin turned sly, her eyes darting toward Goblin Slayer before flicking back to the brunette. The silent question hung in the gleam of her gaze: ‘Would you?’

Guild Girl’s own eyes followed the glance— sliding briefly to the young man at her side. The strength of his jawline beneath the sweep of silver hair, the quiet weight of his presence even without his armor— her breath caught just faintly before she looked back.

Heat rushed across her face, though her smile curved wickedly in spite of it. She nodded once— sharp and certain— mouthing the single word without a sound: ‘Would.’

Dark Elf Ranger’s lips curved wider— satisfaction flashing across her expression like a torch catching oil. She then bit back a laugh, but her grin said enough— approval, amusement, and a conspiratorial promise of more teasing to come.

Meanwhile, Dark Elf Warden’s stammering apology had only grown more incoherent. It wasn’t until his sister, with all the grace of a wolf cub silencing a yipping pup, reached over and pressed a finger against his lips.

“Hush,” she commanded, while smirking as his words cut off in a startled squeak. The color in his cheeks deepened, his eyes darting helplessly from her face to Goblin Slayer’s, then back again.

Dark Elf Ranger, satisfied with his sudden silence, turned her attention outward. She then straightened her posture, before thrusting her thumb into her own chest with theatrical boldness. 

“Aurelia Veybryn,” she announced proudly, her voice carrying with ease over the noise of the square. “‘Dark Elf Ranger.’ And that—” she hooked her thumb over her shoulder without looking back, “— is my brother, Marrel; he goes by ‘Dark Elf Warden.’ He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s my pain in the ass.”

Dark Elf Warden made a muffled noise of protest behind her finger— though he quickly smoothed it into a shy cough when she withdrew her hand. His round cheeks grew into a deeper shade of pink, while his gloved fingers twisting anxiously at the hem of his skirt.

The blond tomboy’s mismatched eyes returned— sharp and lively— but this time she let them rest on Guild Girl, rather than Goblin Slayer. “We only registered last week,” she said— her smirk curling but not entirely pleasant. “And guess how that’s going so far?” She asked rhetorically, as her tone carried an edge— almost accusing— though softened by the light humor threading through it. “Every quest shoved our way is the kind that even the lowest porcelain scrubs won’t touch.”

Hearing that, the brunette blinked— catching the insinuation almost immediately. A subtle tension tightened her shoulders before she exhaled and composed herself. “I’m… Very sorry to hear that.” Her voice dropped a note lower, colored by genuine regret. “On behalf of the Adventurers’ Guild, please believe me when I say— officially— we don’t discriminate. Dark elves are owed the same opportunities as any other adventurer.”

Dark Elf Ranger huffed— her grin twitching into something more crooked and sarcastic. She then tipped her head, as her mismatched eyes gleamed with playful skepticism. “Oh, of course. ‘Officially.’” She made a vague, dismissive motion with her hand, but her voice carried no real venom. Instead, she let the sarcasm taper into a long sigh, her expression easing. “Don’t worry, Sarah. It’s nothing worth crying over— we’ll be fine, regardless of which way the wind blows.”

She then rolled her shoulders back— her grin softening into something almost conspiratorial. “Truth is, it doesn’t sting as bad as it could. Back home in Greythrone, our family’s doing just fine. Our dad owns a mercantile company, and sends us enough of an allowance to keep our coin purses full— whether we work or not.”

Guild Girl tilted her head slightly— curiosity sparking in her golden eyes. “Really? That’s… Actually quite familiar.” Her lips then curved, as if confessing something; though she kept her tone polite. “I come from a well-off family as well.”

Dark Elf Ranger’s brows then lifted, as her grin became more interested and warmer. “Do you now?”

Guild Girl nodded once, with a touch of humbleness softening her features. “My father runs a printing press in the capital. He made enough that he was able to send both my older sister and I through university.” She said, as her shoulders relaxed with pride tempered by modesty. “That’s how I ended up with the Adventurers’ Guild. Right place, right credentials.”

Dark Elf Ranger gave a low, thoughtful whistle— smirking with approval. “Now that’s something. A proper scholar in our midst.” She mused half-playfully, before leaning back on her heels— her bow and quiver shifting slightly at her back, as her grin brightened. “Guess that explains why you seem sharper than most other quill-pushers I’ve met.”

The blond tomboy might have teased further, but her sharp gaze drifted— snagging on the glow spilling through the double doors of Chilly’s Tavern. 

Her grin dipped then, as a small furrow formed between her brows. She proceeded to shift her stance; her elbow tucked casually against her side, as she then pointed toward the entrance.

“So… Tell me, hotshot,” she said— her tone swinging back toward blunt, as her mismatched eyes flicked to Goblin Slayer, “did you actually put us down on the waiting list yet? Or are we just letting people go ahead of us for the hell of it?”

For a beat, the ashen-haired teen didn’t answer her question. Instead, his crimson eyes stayed fixed on the glow spilling from Chilly’s doors; unreadable, as his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Then the familiar, velvet-smooth murmur brushed through the quiet of his mind.

“Worry not. She’s referring to the ledger that the hostess inside keeps on her. The one that I had you put your name on earlier.” 

Goblin Slayer couldn’t help but to let out a quiet sigh of relief, as his lips curled upward into the faintest of smiles, as he returned his gaze to Dark Elf Ranger.

“… It’s already taken care of,” he said simply, in a calm and sure voice. “We’re probably close to being called soon.”

“That you are,” the Great Sage confirmed, with a hint of smugness lilting in her tone. “And it was I who timed their arrival perfectly, down to the moment. A fine alignment, don’t you think?”

His smile twitched a fraction wider— restrained but fond, despite himself.

Dark Elf Ranger’s mismatched eyes lit up instantly, as her grin broadened into a flash of teeth. “Then why the hell are we still yapping out here?” She barked with playful bravado. “We could be tearing into appetizers already!”

Dark Elf Warden, still flushed pink from earlier, perked faintly at the thought of food. He folded his hands over his stomach shyly. “I… I wouldn’t mind a plate of ‘Griffon Nest Nachos,’” he admitted with a gentle but hungry voice, as his eyes darted toward the tavern’s glowing windows.

His sister then shot him a sideways grin. “Please! I could eat a whole ‘Quest Starter Platter’ myself, right now!” Her tone was loud and unrepentant, drawing a soft laugh from Guild at Goblin Slayer’s side. 

It was then that the brunette raised her hand; sheepish, but unable to hide her own craving. “I… Probably shouldn’t. I’m supposed to be on a diet,” she confessed— her cheeks coloring, as her braid slid forward against her collar. “But if they have honey-glazed ‘Wyvern Wings,’ I’m afraid that I simply won’t be able to say no to them!”

Goblin Slayer blinked once, before shifting his crimson gaze across the three of them. “… How do you know they’re serving any of that?” 

Dark Elf Ranger’s laugh burst bright and unrestrained— her shoulders trembling, as she threw her head back. “Man, you’re serious?!” She crowed, with one hand planted cockily on her hip. “It’s Chilly’s! They haven’t changed that menu in twenty years! Half of this outpost could probably recite it word for word in their sleep!”

Her grin suddenly wavered— softening as realization dawned. Tilting her head, a few loose strands of gold brushed her cheek, as she asked with an incredulous tone, “Wait… Don’t tell me… Have you never been to Chilly’s before?”

Goblin Slayer’s silence dragged. His expression didn’t so much as twitch, but the weight of it was damning enough. Finally, with all the conviction of a stone wall, he gave a single, flat nod. “Uh… No. No, I haven’t.”

The shock on the tomboy’s face was unfeigned— her mouth falling open, then snapping shut with an audible click of teeth. She proceeded to shake her head slowly, while muttering under her breath, “Unacceptable… Absolutely not…”

Before he could so much as shift his stance, she stepped in and hooked her arm boldly through his right. The sudden warmth pressed against his side jolted him; his shoulders stiffened, posture sharpening as though bracing for ambush.

And then— like a rival refusing to yield ground— Guild Girl slid smoothly into place on his other side— looping her arm through his left. She glanced up at him with a bashful smile that carried quiet defiance— as though daring the tomboyish elf to try pulling him free.

“No more procrastinating,” Dark Elf Ranger declared, flashing a grin as she tugged him toward the tavern. “We’re getting a booth— now.”

“Wait—” was all Goblin Slayer managed before, both women pulled in unison— nearly wrenching him off balance. His iron helmet then slipped from his grasp— clattering against the dirt as he was swept along. His crimson eyes flicked between them with the faintest trace of weary resignation.

Dark Elf Warden hurried after, with his small green cloak snapping behind him— skidding only long enough to stoop and scoop the discarded helmet. He then cradled it to his chest like a precious treasure, before darting after the others.

“I-I their food even that good?” The ashen-haired boy blurted; his voice caught somewhere between dread and hope.

Guild Girl couldn’t help but to lightly giggle at the question— her golden eyes glimmering, as she half-playfully said, “Well, that all depends on what your definition of ‘good’ is, Ren!”

Dark Elf Ranger joined in, as she barked another laugh while tossing her head back— her mismatched eyes sparking with mischief. “Ha! Don’t get it misconstrued— it’s totally garbage food,” she admitted, while savoring the words like a confession. “The greasy, salty kind you know you shouldn’t love— but you can’t stop! It’s as addictive as sin, I tell ya!”

Her words seemed to hang in the cool night air as the four of them crossed through the tavern’s open doors— the summer night air giving way to firelight, voices, and the promise of a good time.

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

The double doors swung open, and warmth poured out like a tide— amber light spilling across the worn stone street as the muffled hum of voices rose into a clearer, vibrant din.

Inside, a broad lobby greeted new arrivals with a polished counter floor and lanterns hung low enough to bathe the entry in a golden sheen.

Just ahead, a young hostess stood at her podium— clad in a crisp white blouse tucked neatly into a black apron— her cap pulled snug over brown hair. The word ‘Chilly’s’ was stitched across the fabric in white thread; clear even under the dim glow.

She called the next party with practiced brightness— her voice carrying over the din without losing its lilt.

“Party of four— this way!”

One of her coworkers stepped forward, gathering four menus under one arm before ushering the waiting group deeper into the tavern. 

Lanterns suspended from chains above every booth and table threw small halos of glass-lit glow across faces and mugs; the light softened by the haze of cooking smoke and pipe-weed drifting lazily through the rafters.

Booths lined the main dining floor— their wood-paneled partitions carved with curling vines and crest-like flourishes— each seat upholstered with sturdy red leather gone faintly glossy with years of use. 

Beyond them, square tables stood scattered in clusters; occupied by adventurers in scuffed armor, traveling merchants in travel-worn cloaks, and locals still in their work garb. The warm buzz of chatter rose and fell with the clatter of cutlery; the occasional burst of laughter punctuated by a server’s hurried step.

On the far side stretched the tavern’s bar— broad and polished smooth by countless hands. Behind it, there were shelves of bottles gleamed in warm hues of amber and ruby, tended by three bartenders who worked with steady rhythm— pouring ales, measuring spirits, and sliding tankards across to waiting hands. 

Stools lined the counter that were filled by hunters trading stories, mercenaries with easy grins, and late-night drinkers hunched over their glasses.

The bar gave way to a looser space: tall circular tables scattered across, with high stools occupied by those lingering between drinks and dice games. And in the farthest corner, tucked like a jewel into the tavern’s frame, lay a lounge. 

Rich leather sofas and matching chairs invited adventurers to sink deep; the conversations were notably more quiet there, edged with the hush of firelight spilling from lanterns in iron sconces.

Raised just beyond, a stage presided over the lounge; a little world apart, framed with heavy curtains and lit by an arrangement of candles strung carefully above— their glow painting everything in a sultry warmth.

The stage belonged to the band. Their attire was half-formal, half-rebellious: crisp jackets frayed at the hems, shirts laced with bold stripes, boots scuffed but gleaming with polish. 

Two lute players stood strumming intricate harmonies, joined by the steady rhythm of a drummer with loose wrists, a piano player whose quicksilver notes flickered like sparks, and a trumpeter weaving brass through the melody.

But the stage’s center belonged to the singer.

A therian, unmistakably wolfish, with fur pale as snow broken by streaks of steel-gray shadowing her face and shoulders. Her silver mane of hair tumbled long and thick— swept dramatically to one side to reveal an ear pierced with black hoops.

Red sclera burned around her pale irises— the effect striking under the sweep of heavy liner that sharpened her gaze. Her frame, lean yet curving, moved with predator’s grace; clothed in an off-shoulder crop top torn stylishly across the seams, with straps pulling into a pentagram at her collarbones. 

Black shorts, ripped at the hems, bared toned thighs clad in stockings that cut off just above clawed feet, and a spiked choker caught the candlelight whenever she swayed her throat to the music.

She gripped the mic stand with clawed fingers, with her head tilted low as the final verse rose— her smoky voice dragging across the tavern like velvet catching on barbed wire.

“— Just once more, just once more

‘Rolling down a hill just like I did before…’”

The band struck low behind her— the drums pulling into a heartbeat, the lutes resonant, the trumpet sighing like smoke.

“Oh that girl said, what she said,

Repeating every word and hiding every meaning—

‘Are you better now?’

‘No, I don’t know how.’”

Her tail flicked lazily as she bent forward— her hips curling with the rhythm. A hush fell over much of the crowd in the lounge— voices dwindling beneath the tension of her tone.

“Maybe someday you’ll see the progress I’m doing…

“Please just let me stop my breath—”

Her claws clenched tighter on the stand; eyes half-lidded, as she let the final note linger like smoke.

“NOT NOW…”

The instruments hit sharp and broke away, leaving only silence in their wake. For half a heartbeat, it hung heavy, taut— before applause cracked through the hush like fire catching dry leaves.

The therian bowed— long hair spilling over one shoulder, and her smirk sharp and satisfied as she purred, “Thank you.”

The candles above her guttered in the draft of her movement— the room swelling again with chatter and cheers as the band prepared to shift to their next set.

The hostess led them through the maze of booths and tables— her shoes clicking lightly against the planks, until she stopped beside a broad corner booth tucked near a roaring hearth. 

The fire cracked and flared behind the iron grate, its warmth spilling over the half-wall dividers and bathing the party in a glowing orange wash. Shadows from the flames played along the carved wood— the shimmer of light catching in the glasses and cutlery that had already been set neatly across the polished table.

Goblin Slayer slid into his seat on the outer edge of the booth, nearest to the blaze. The iron helmet he had been carrying now rested upside down between his boots, with its dark surface gleaming faintly in the firelight. 

His own black gloves and gauntlets had been tucked inside, and beside them, resting like offerings to steel, lay Dark Elf Warden’s delicate white gloves and his sister’s heavier, weathered pair of leather ones.

The ashen-haired teen then lifted a leather-bound menu, before spreading it open in his hands. His eyes moved steadily across the print— following the lines of appetizers, hearty entrées, the long lists of sides, and finally the indulgent stretch of desserts that filled most of the back half. 

At length, he flipped to the last page, gaze narrowing faintly. The neat lettering there listed only beverages.

‘… I know what coffee is,’ he mused silently, while his lips barely moved— as though rehearsing the words. ‘And tea. But… A cappuccino? Latte? Macchiato? Espresso? I don’t know the difference.’

“You need not concern yourself with any of those, Ashta. What you require is water. You are to consume a minimum of four liters each day. Thus far, you have managed one quart. At this rate, you will need at least eleven additional glasses before you may retire tonight.”

His frown was small and was hidden behind the upright fold of the menu— the fire’s light casting faint shadows across his cheekbones. ‘… I thought you said I could only drink purified water.’

“Correct. And Chilly’s Tavern employs purified water exclusively, not only for serving as a beverage in its own right, but also in the production of their ice cubes. Naturally, that refinement increases their prices above the common tavern fare.”

A short chuckle slipped, almost inaudible; caught in his throat before it could turn to sound. ‘Ah, I see. That’s why you chose this place, isn’t it?’

“One of the reasons, yes.” The Great Sage replied in an even voice, though it carried a sly lilt beneath the measured cadence. “Although… I must confess: the decision was not solely pragmatic. This establishment bears a resemblance to a chain-restaurant in my world that I used to frequent often. Consider this a small indulgence of nostalgia for myself, as well.”

He then let the menu dip slightly, just enough to study the warm light across the table before his gaze returned to the page. ‘I see… And your version of Chilly’s Tavern… Does it have more than coffee and tea?’

“I believe that they do have tea and coffee as well, but their non-alcoholic drinks are prominently a category of beverages created by infusing water with carbon dioxide gas— known as ‘soda.’”

‘… Soda?’ He echoed in thought. ‘That sounds… Made up. What even is a ‘carbonated beverage?’’

“An answer for later. Suffice to say, I have designs for such drinks in our future. Their method of production and distribution, properly adapted, could provide a sustainable economic venture without destabilizing Feyrun’s already fragile market. I will explain in full when the time comes to reach our own ‘Industrial Revolution.’”

His eyes softened faintly— the flick of a smile threatened at one corner— but he let it fade as quickly as it came. ‘… I don’t know what that means.’

“And you do not need to— not yet. For now, order water, and only water. However, should this gathering lead to the recruitment of your companions into our faction, then— and only then— you may permit yourself a single celebratory glass of alcohol. Emphasis on one.”

‘… One,’ he repeated quietly— tucking the thought against the inside of his cheek, before his gaze slid further down the page.

“Good. And in the meantime, focus on the appetizers. There are tolerable choices listed there, as far as tavern junk food may be considered. Choose carefully— but do not overthink.”

His eyes followed the menu entries as instructed, but he found himself more captivated by the entrées than the appetizers. 

Before long, the Guild Girl closed her menu; the soft thud of leather against the polished wood table punctuating the brief silence that had settled between them.

“Okay then, I think I know what I want for dinner,” she announced, before sliding the folded menu aside with a neat little push. Her molten-gold eyes, warm and certain, glinted in the firelight as she reached for the bread basket at the center of the table. 

She tore away a thick piece— its crust still warm to the touch— and laid it on the edge of her plate. A butter knife gleamed in her hand as she spread a glossy layer of strawberry jam across its surface— the sweet scent drifting upward.

“But I’m only going to tell the waitress my appetizer first though,” she stated matter-of-factly, as she brought the bread closer to her lips. “In these types of establishments where the atmosphere is all about quick service— ‘sit down, eat your meal, and leave’— if you order everything at once, you end up hurrying through the experience,” she concluded, before biting into the bread— humming softly to herself.

Across from her, Dark Elf Ranger's mismatched eyes glanced upward— weighing the words thoughtfully. The tomboyish elf offered a brief nod of approval, her chin tilting slightly, and replied with a playful smirk, “Damn straight.” 

With a casual flick of her wrist, she redirected her focus to the drink menu— her demeanor radiating a relaxed confidence. Her finger meandered lazily across the options until it paused on a selection that piqued her interest. 

With a swift motion, she slid the menu over to her brother, who received it shyly— his fingers brushing against it with a tentative, almost overly cautious touch.

“As much as I love Chilly’s, these guys are ruthless when it comes to reaching that bottom line— can’t say I blame them, though,” Dark Elf Ranger admitted, while leaning back with her elbow propped casually on the booth’s half-wall. 

A smirk soon crept across her lips, causing her teeth to glint in the light. “Anyway… What I’m getting at is that we’re gonna need all the time we can score to hash out your proposal. Isn’t that right, ‘Mister Goblin Slayer?’”

Her gaze, keen and illuminated by the flickering firelight, sliced across the table to where the ashen-haired teen was still engrossed in the expansive menu. 

His crimson eyes scanned each line with meticulous focus, resembling a strategist meticulously analyzing a battlefield rather than merely choosing a meal.

However, the blond tomboy's patience wavered for just a heartbeat longer. 

With a smirk, she leaned forward and decisively pressed the top of his menu down onto the table; the sudden thud startled her brother, causing him to fumble the alcohol menu in his hands. 

Dark Elf Warden muttered an abrupt, “Auri,” under his breath— his cheeks flushing a deep crimson as he scrambled to regain his composure.

Goblin Slayer’s gaze lifted slowly, his eyes meeting hers beside the warm haze of the hearth.

“Let’s set the record straight: neither my brother nor I waltzed in here just to score a free meal,” Dark Elf Ranger declared, while her smirk widened with a playful defiance. She then propped her chin in her palm before leaning in closer— her mismatched eyes glinting with mischief, as if daring him to back down.

The ashen-haired’s mouth curved faintly, with the barest hint of amusement tugging at him. “Of course not.”

Guild Girl, seated at his side, turned toward him as well. Her patient smile carried more warmth than the fire behind them. She didn’t interrupt, but she watched closely— measuring both the elf’s tone and Goblin Slayer’s even reply.

Dark Elf Ranger tilted her head the. slightly; her gaze still locked onto him with a mix of curiosity and mischief. “So then, spill it,” she drawled in a low, teasing tone. “What’s the name of this little band of misfits you’ve got going on? And—” a glint of challenge sparked in her eyes, “— why the hell should we drop everything and jump on your bandwagon?”

Goblin Slayer’s outward calm didn’t shift. His smile stayed faint, his hands steady over the closed menu. But inside, his chest tightened.

‘Cielle,’ he thought quickly, ‘what’s the name of this made up faction of yours?’

“It is not ‘my faction,’ Ashta,” came the immediate reply. “It is yours. And it is not ‘made up.’”

‘Okay, but what are we calling it?’

“The Ashta Accord.”

His jaw flexed. A faint wince crossed his face; sharp enough to draw raised brows from across the table.

‘Doesn’t naming it after myself give off the impression that I’m… Self-absorbed?’

“… You are not the sole bearer of the name ‘Ashta,’” the Great Sage replied; her voice imbued with a quiet reverence, with each dispelling his uncertainty. “For the moment, that is the extent of my assistance. You possess the knowledge required; it is time for you to articulate it.”

The warmth of her confidence provided him with a steadying anchor, as Goblin Slayer let out a soft breath— calming his racing nerves. 

‘… Not the sole bearer.’

He contemplated his thoughts— his fingers lightly gripping the edge of the fallen menu before he carefully raised it halfway back up. 

‘… You were referring to her, weren’t you?’

With a surge of determination, he lifted his gaze beyond the leather-bound cover to meet the expectant trio— each of them holding their breath, poised on the precipice of his next words.

“… The name of the faction is—”

“— My apologies,” the Great Sage interrupted suddenly. “But your waitress is returning.”

He blinked, before exasperation flickered across his face, as he let it smooth into resignation. “… Perfect timing.” He sighed sarcastically under his breath, before looking at the others. “… I’ll tell you all after.”

All three of them then tilted their heads toward where he gestured.

Not far from their table in the bustling dining hall, weaving effortlessly through the warm glow of lantern light and the vibrant hum of conversation, their waitress glided toward them— a mesmerizing embodiment of confidence and allure. 

Her thick, luxurious auburn hair tumbled in rich waves down to her shoulders, shimmering with copper highlights that danced with every enticing movement. A playful braid, artfully tucked behind one ear, framed her inviting face, drawing attention to her full, kissable lips that glistened.

Her fitted black shirt clung lovingly to her generous curves— straining against the weight of her ample bosom and soft, rounded belly. The fabric rode up slightly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of creamy skin just above her waistband. 

With each step, her hips swayed in a hypnotic rhythm, emphasizing the luscious fullness of her backside that pressed enticingly against the snug confines of her black pants.

Behind her, her thick tail swayed lazily, its stripes glimmering in the warm lamplight. As she approached, her voluptuous form moved with a gentle sway, the subtle jiggle of her curves drawing attention. The rich aroma of coffee and vanilla enveloped them, mingling with a hint of warmth from her skin.

When she reached their table, her striking emerald eyes locked onto theirs with an intensity that felt almost electric. Those captivating eyes, framed by long lashes, slowly scanned their faces.

The air thickened with palpable tension as she then leaned in— her full breasts pressing enticingly against the fabric of her uniform. She then playfully tapped her pencil against her lips— drawing attention to their softness, as a playful smile danced across her face. 

With a deliberate motion, she lowered her hand to rest on the curve of her chest; her fingers splayed possessively over the generous swell, accentuating her allure. 

“Name’s Velma Honeyclaw,” she drawled— her accented voice wrapping around each word like a warm embrace. “But y’all can just call me Vel; that’s what everyone does.” With a playful flick of her wrist, she let her pencil dance lightly against the corner of her pad.

“Now, have y’all settled on your drinks or maybe an entrée?” She asked, both inviting and teasing. “Or perhaps you’d like something to whet your appetite first? No rush if you’re still pondering— I’m more than happy to swing back around once you’ve had a little more time to decide.”

Before anyone else could chime in, Dark Elf Ranger leaned back in her seat, with a playful grin spreading across her face. “Vel,” she said, her tone warm and familiar— mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief. “Still charming every table you serve, I see?”

The Softpaw Waitress let out a soft, throaty laugh— her emerald gaze dancing knowingly toward the elf.  “Well, well, if it isn’t Aurelia— bold as brass in my section tonight. Tell me you didn’t bring a whole entourage just to impress me.”

“Caught me red-handed,” Dark Elf Ranger shot back, her smirk widening as she leaned in. With a swift motion, she reached across the table and snatched the drinks menu right out of her brother’s hands before he could even register what was happening. 

He blinked in surprise, stammering, while she was already plucking Goblin Slayer’s menu from his side of the booth.

Guild Girl, unable to hold back a light giggle, eagerly surrendered her own menu— sliding it diagonally across the table, as if she was already anticipating it being her turn next.

Soon all four menus were stacked neatly in Dark Elf Ranger’s hands, before she began tapping the bundle rhythmically against the tabletop, until their edges aligned sharp and straight— her grin smug the entire while.

Softpaw Waitress tilted her head— eyes glimmering with amusement at the little performance. “Well then, sugar,” she drawled, gaze sliding back to the blond tomboy, “would you like to go on ahead and order first?”

“Actually…” Dark Elf Ranger began, as she handed over the menus with a flourish— confidence dripping from her tone, “I would.”

The waitress then accepted the pile with the same hand holding her pencil— tucking them with practiced ease beneath her arm. She then shifted her notepad to center again— her pencil’s tip returning to the top with a delicate poised touch.

“All right, darlin’. What’ll it be?”

“The ‘Quest Starter Platter,’” Dark Elf Ranger replied without hesitation.

The waitress’s lips curved warmly. “Now that’s my favorite one to start with too.”

Upon hearing that validation, the blond tomboy’s grin suddenly widened. “See?! She gets it!”

Softpaw Waitress chuckled low in her throat; the sound warm enough to soften the edges of her words. “Reckon I do, sugar. Now— three options on that platter. You wanna peek back at a menu?”

Goblin Slayer’s dry voice cut in before Dark Elf Ranger could answer. “She doesn’t need to look at it.”

The tomboy chortled; the sound short and rich, as she tilted her head back slightly. “He’s right— I don’t!”

The waitress’s eyes glimmered as she shook her head softly. “Confidence looks real good on you, sugar.”

“Always has,” Dark Elf Ranger shot back with a smirk, before rattling off, “Troll tenders, dungeon onion rings, and kobold sausage rolls.”

Softpaw Waitress’ pencil skated smoothly across the page; the faint scratch of graphite keeping time with the blond tomboy’s words. 

She finished the line, lifted her eyes, and asked, “And for to drink, hon?”

“Four Mana Mules, a glass of water, and…” Dark Elf Ranger leaned forward, her grin turning devilish, “three Beholder Shots.”

That’s when Dark Elf Warden’s quiet voice snapped like a frayed string. “Auri,” he hissed, leaning close— his blond hair falling in his eyes. “Why are you getting so many drinks?”

Dark Elf Ranger then turned her mismatched gaze toward him— the grin still curling her lips. “Because,” she said sweetly, before shifting her attention back up at Softpaw Waitress, “I’m not the one paying for them!”

The plump feline woman blinked once, then barked a laugh so genuine that her shoulders shook. “Gods, help me,” she said warmly, shaking her head. “You always were trouble!”

The moment lingered, with laughter softening the space between them, until Softpaw Waitress' emerald gaze shifted toward the other side of Dark Elf Ranger, where her brother was quietly sitting. 

She then lowered her pencil, finding a fresh spot beneath his sister’s order, and leaned slightly closer— her voice gentling without losing its warmth. “And what’ll you be havin’, sweetheart?”

Dark Elf Warden’s lips pulled into a sheepish smile— his mismatched eyes flicking instinctively toward Goblin Slayer, as if caught mid-blunder. His shoulders shifted uneasily, and then, as though scolding himself, he straightened— back taut, chin lifted, hands folded neatly against the table’s edge. 

It was a caricature of poise, rehearsed and brittle, but carried out with all the dignity he could muster.

When he spoke, it came out smoothed, almost trembling with refinement.

“… Madam Honeyclaw,” he said, while bowing his head ever so slightly, as though he were standing in a court and not sitting at a tavern table.

Softpaw Waitress blinked with her pencil still hovering over her notepad— her brow quirking upward in amused surprise. Her smile widened, soft and indulgent, as though humoring a child caught playing at adulthood.

“Well now,” she purred warmly, her tone rich with curiosity. “Someone brought their manners from home today, didn’t they?”

Beside from, Dark Elf Ranger stared at him slack-jawed— her face tinting into a furious shade of red, as she slapped both palms over her mouth to stifle the laugh building in her throat. 

Ignoring her entirely, Dark Elf Warden lifted a hand— his fingers brushing against the pale line of his jaw— until they caught a loose lock of blond hair. With deliberate grace, he tucked it neatly behind the sweep of an elongated ear. 

His mismatched gaze then returned to the waitress, and he spoke again with that overripe courtesy. “If it would please you, I would very much like to begin with the Griffin Nest Nachos.”

Softpaw Waitress chuckled— dipping her head as she scribbled down the order.

“Oooh, bold choice. Adventurers love that one. A good pick, sweetling.”

His lips twitched at that— an almost crack in the façade— before he quickly smothered it into an awkward grin. His cheeks glowed faintly as he straightened once more— feigned composure reasserting itself like a fraying thread pulled taut.

“And for your drink?” She asked gently; the kind of the way that left little doubt she’d spent her life speaking to drunkards and dreamers alike— as if coaxing them into warmth.

Her tone, so indulgent, so motherly, made Dark Elf Warden falter. 

His eyes darted sideways toward his sister, only to find her half doubled over— silently laughing into her hand. 

Her mismatched eyes gleamed with wicked delight, as she leaned just close enough to whisper, low and merciless. “Pffft…! W-Well, Princess…?! W-What’ll it be…?!”

Her mockery only deepened the color burning along his cheeks. Dark Elf Warden sighed under his breath— a tremor of resignation— and parted his lips to speak— only for his gaze to slip back toward Goblin Slayer.

The ashen-haired teen sat still, with his posture relaxed and patient. His crimson eyes were half distant, as though some quiet conversation unfolded in the space behind them— something unheard by the rest of the table. 

He looked almost distracted, almost detached, and yet— present enough that Dark Elf Warden felt the weight of being observed.

And suddenly, something inside him hardened. 

The sheepish boyishness that clung to his manner was pierced through by an iron thread of resolve. His mismatched eyes steadied, and the tremble left his shoulders.

His sister caught it instantly. The smirk fell from her lips, replaced by sharp-eyed suspicion.

“Hey, Mare… What’s going on in that head of yours…?” She quietly demanded.

But he didn’t answer her. Instead, the cultivated airs slipped away, leaving behind only his softer, truer self— nervous, yes, but touched with something unshakable. 

He looked back to the waitress and spoke plainly, though his voice carried a quaver of determination. “… I’ll have the ‘World-Serpent.’”

The air at the table shifted in an instant.

Dark Elf Ranger’s mismatched eyes went wide— her jaw unhinging as though he’d declared a wish to duel a dragon.

Guild Girl, too, stiffened, her face blanching in shock. “Th-The— the World-Serpent?!” She gasped aloud— her voice cracked in horror, as though he had just volunteered himself for a suicide mission.

Even Softpaw Waitress faltered mid-stroke of her pencil— her brow lifting high, as she blinked at him with a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

“Y-You can’t be serious,” Dark Elf Ranger burst out, before her brother could respond to the brunette sitting across from him. The tomboy blond then shoved closer to him— planting her elbows firmly against the table, and leaning into his line of sight with feral protectiveness. “A-Are you INSANE?!?”

Dark Elf Warden looked back at her— keeping that soft, stubborn look, mismatched eyes firm with quiet intent.

“D-Don’t give me that face!” His sister hissed, while shaking her head in disbelief. “What are you even thinking?! You’ve got a death wish, is that it? Or—” her voice broke into something more pleading; eyes wide and wet with frustration, “— o-or is this because of me? Because I was teasing you?!”

She then grabbed at his arm— shaking it slightly, as though to rattle sense back into him. “T-Tell me it isn’t… Tell me you’re not throwing yourself into this just to prove some stupid point! Please— just… Just order from the novice section. The ‘Potion Sampler,’ the ‘Barmaid’s Buzzer’— anything but THAT!!!”

Her voice cracked, frantic, as though she could already see him tumbling from some cliff’s edge.

Dark Elf Warden lowered his gaze slightly; his pink lips pressed together in a quiet line— the soft burn of embarrassment and determination fighting in his features. But he said nothing yet— only weathered his sister’s storm in silence.

Goblin Slayer sat quiet through the exchange, with his crimson eyes half-shadowed in thought. From the moment Dark Elf Warden had uttered the phrase ‘The World Serpent,’ the table had erupted into a storm of reactions he could neither parse nor ground. 

His gaze lingered on the feminine boy’s trembling determination, on his sister’s desperate protests, and even on Guild Girl’s pale expression of disbelief. 

But the words themselves carried no meaning to him— only noise.

‘… Cielle, what are they talking about?’

For once, he expected her to answer plainly. But instead came a ripple of calm amusement; the kind that brushed his mind like a patient hand.

“Ask the waitress, Ashta. These moments are not for me to shield you from. They are practice— an exercise in your social capacity. I will intervene only if necessity demands it.”

Not hearing the response that he was expecting, Goblin Slayer exhaled softly through his nose— a sound close to a sigh. His eyes narrowed faintly, resisting the urge to roll against the weight of her teasing counsel. 

Still, he tilted his head, crimson gaze shifting upward to the large feline figure who waited with her pencil poised.

“… Excuse me, ma’am,” he asked in his usual dry, but smooth tone, “what is the World Serpent?”

The words drew Softpaw Waitress’s eyes immediately to him. Her expression flickered from surprise to amusement, as though she hadn’t expected him to be the one to ask. 

She leaned slightly forward, tail swaying with the faintest interest. “You mean you don’t know?” She teased lightly, brow arched. “Didn’t read the back of the alcohol menu?”

Before he could reply, Guild Girl’s voice cut swiftly between them.

“He doesn’t drink alcohol,” she said; brisk but sweet, and almost possessive. Her golden eyes lifted to the waitress with open sincerity, as though protecting him from misunderstanding. 

Then she looked back to him— the stiffness in her shoulders easing— her expression melting into a quiet, content glow, as though she had done him some favor that might have otherwise gone neglected.

“Ah… It appears that you will not be partaking in any form of celebratory drink tonight, Ashta.”

Softpaw Waitress let out a soft laugh, before shaking her head. “No alcohol, hm? Nothing wrong with that.” She mused, while tucking her pencil neatly against her palm.  Then, she continued with a playful lilt, “But for context— Chilly’s is a little different than most taverns. Our drink menu has a special section— the last two pages. We keep it for challenges. Six difficulty tiers: ‘novice,’ ‘adept,’ ‘journeyman,’ ‘advanced,’ ‘master’… And then ‘legendary.’”

She then leaned on one hip as she continued to speak— a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “Adventurers love it. Dumb fun, really. Half a tradition now— prove your mettle, brag to your friends.” She said, with a chuckle escaping her throat, though it softened into something almost sympathetic. “But your friend here chose one of the hardest from the legendary list.”

Her pencil tapped idly against her notepad, as she said with theatrical flare in her voice, “The World-Serpent!” 

She lingered on the words— as if to impress their weight— before explaining, “Twenty-one shots of absinthe, stacked in a coil, like the great serpent itself. The challenge isn’t just in drinking them— it’s in not spilling them. Doesn’t matter if your hands shake from nerves, if your tongue’s gagging on the burn, or if you’re already too drunk to hold steady. One spill, and you’re done.”

Goblin Slayer paused— letting the information settle in— his eyes drifting downward, as if weighing the challenge against some unseen measure. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “… I see.” He allowed the thought to linger in the air before raising his gaze once more. “And is there a reward for drinking all twenty-one shots?”

Softpaw Waitress leaned in slightly; a playful glint in her eye, as she gestured toward the bar area just beyond the entrance. “Well, sugar, the winners get to carve their names up on stage where the bands play. So far, we’ve had six lucky souls conquer the World Serpent challenge since this place opened its doors. The rest? Well, they either stumbled, spilled, or blacked out before they even got close.”

Her smile softened, though her gaze shifted back to Dark Elf Warden, carrying a more serious weight. “Now listen here, darlin’, it ain’t just about the drink,” she said— her tone turning thoughtful. “It’s all about finding that balance, havin’ the nerve to take on the challenge. You see, it’s not just the shots— it’s knowing that comes after.”

Dark Elf Ranger— already on edge— let out a frustrated groan, before dragging her hands down her face, until her palms pressed firmly against her eyes. “Gods help me,” she murmured into her skin; her voice muffled, yet laced with raw frustration.

Softpaw Waitress cast a sympathetic glance at her— understanding the weight of her despair— before redirecting her focus to her brother. Her tone shifted to a sweeter, almost maternal quality— her tail curling with concern as she tilted her head slightly. “And are you sure that’s what you really want, sweetheart?”

“D-Don’t be an idiot, Mare!” Dark Elf Ranger exclaimed— her voice rising before her brother could respond. She then slammed her hands against the table with enough force to rattle their cutlery— her mismatched eyes wide with desperate urgency. “You’ll kill yourself with that thing! I won’t let you—”

But Dark Elf Warden merely turned his attention away from her, and back to Goblin Slayer. His mismatched eyes held steady— quiet yet intent— as if he were searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself, and finally met Softpaw Waitress’s gaze with a hint of determination. “… I’m sure,” he murmured; his voice soft yet resolute, like a gentle breeze brushing through the trees. 

Softpaw Waitress let out a light-hearted sigh— a warm smile spreading across her face, as she jotted down the order. “… Well, bless your heart, sugar. You’ve got a long night ahead of you, and I reckon that hangover's gonna stick with you like a stubborn stain on a favorite shirt.”

Defeated, Dark Ranger buried her face in her palms— her elbows dug into the wood as if she were trying to vanish into the grain itself. 

She finished scribbling, then turned her attention to Guild Girl— her tone blooming like a field of wildflowers. “And for you, darling? What can I get you started with?”

Guild Girl straightened her back— becoming a picture of poise amidst the chaos. Her smile was soft yet polite; a practiced elegance honed over the years.

“Good evening to you, Vel,” she greeted, her voice low and laced with a gentle warmth, with each word carefully chosen like petals in a bouquet.

The plump feline waitress leaned her hip against the edge of the table, her whiskers twitching with mischief as a playful grin danced across her face.

“Well, look at this now,” she drawled, her voice a sweet melody that blended amusement with a gentle tease. “More manners in my tavern? Twice in one night? Y’all must be a rare breed of precious gems.” She mused, while tapping the eraser end of her pencil against her notepad in a lighthearted rhythm.

“So, sugar, what can I get for you? Don’t be shy now; I promise I won’t bite— unless you ask real nice, honey!”

A moment of silence hung in the air as Guild Girl considered her order— taking a slow, deliberate breath. Her fingers folded neatly in her lap, she lifted her chin with a quiet determination. “I think I’ll go for the extra-large wyvern wings, please. Make sure to add that honey glaze, and if you could, a side of barbecue sauce would be lovely too.”

The waitress blinked, tilting her head with a curious flick of her ear. A playful smirk danced across her lips, the light glinting off the edge of a sharp fang.

“Wyvern wings, huh?” She drawled— her voice smooth and teasing. “Well, sugar, I didn’t quite peg you for the adventurous type! A lady sittin’ so prim and proper, and here you are, orderin’ somethin’ that could get a bit messy!” Her pencil scratched eagerly against the paper, the graphite zipping across the surface. “And thirty-six of’em, no less! My, you’re in for quite the feast, aren’t you?”

Heat surged to Guild Girl’s cheeks— flushing them a delicate pink. “T-Thirty-six is only because…!” She stammered out nervously, as she instinctively leaned a little closer to Goblin Slayer— seeking his steady presence to ground her. “I... I swear I was going to share! R-Really, I was!”

The ashen-haired teen turned his head towards her— his crimson gaze steady and unwavering. 

Silence lingered in the air, the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging between them. His first instinct was to offer a simple, dismissive “that’s fine,” but the words felt hollow against the moment. 

He let the quiet stretch, contemplating his response, before finally speaking. “You don’t have to justify your choices,” he said calmly, and reassuringly. “If you want thirty-six wings, then go ahead and order them. Enjoy what you like— no one here will think less of you.”

The air shifted around them, a palpable change that seemed to wrap her in warmth. Though her blush remained, her breath hitched in surprise, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features before it melted into something softer and more tender. “Y… Y-You really mean that?”

“I do,” he replied, his tone steady and unwavering, leaving no room for doubt.

Guild Girl’s lips gradually blossomed into a radiant smile, and without a second thought, she leaned toward him— her shoulder brushing gently against the dark leather strapped to his bicep.

Goblin Slayer then felt an immediate rush of warmth flood his pale cheeks— his heart quickening at the unexpected closeness. 

After a brief moment of hesitation, he shifted as his arm tentatively wrapped around her shoulders; the movement clumsy, yet filled with a tender resolve— as if he were learning to navigate this new intimacy.

Without a hint of hesitation, the brunette nestled against him— her body naturally tilting into the welcoming space he had created.

The waitress’s tail swayed playfully— a light-hearted flick of amusement dancing through the air as she let out a cheerful, sing-song hum, “Aww, bless your hearts! Y’all are just as sweet as our ‘Molten Lava Cake!’”

Across the booth, Dark Elf Warden stiffened. Soon, a faint smile appeared on his lips, thin as parchment— straining at the corners, as his mismatched eyes revealed a different story.

His twin sister noticed it immediately.

Her brow furrowed, irritation flaring at first, but as she looked closer, she recognized not jealousy but something deeper— the shadow of a boy wrestling with his own vulnerability, trying desperately not to retreat into himself.

Her expression then softened, and she redirected her playful energy toward Guild Girl— propping her elbow casually on the table, as if nothing had shattered.

“… Hey, Sarah! Never mind what your little boyfriend just said— I hope you’ve got plans to share those wings,” Dark Elf Ranger chimed in, a teasing smile curling at her lips. “After all, if we’re all part of a faction, we really ought to share the spoils, don’t you think?”

Guild Girl’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade, but her smile remained bright and infectious. “Well, you know, I might be persuaded… But only if you ask nicely,” she replied— a playful challenge glimmering in her eyes.

“Ask nicely?” Dark Elf Ranger scoffed, while leaning back in her seat with an exaggerated look of offense— her arms crossed defiantly over her chest. “What are you talking about? I’m a total sweetheart! In fact, just to prove just how nice I really am, how about I generously offer you one of my sausage rolls in exchange for three of your wings when our appetizers arrive? That’s practically a steal, especially if you need a little motivation!”

“Three of my wings for one of your sausage rolls?!” Guild Girl exclaimed— laughter bubbling up uncontrollably, as she shook her head in disbelief. “That’s practically robbery! Do you genuinely think I’d agree to that?”

“Robbery?!” The blond tomboy retorted, before throwing her arms wide— feigning shock, as if she were on the witness stand. “Girl, that’s not robbery; that’s just good business! Think of it as a ‘friends and family’ discount.”

“A friends and family discount?” Guild Girl shot back— her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What kind of discount involves trying to swindle your friends out of three wings?!”

With a dramatic click of her tongue, Dark Elf Ranger leaned in closer— her grin widening with playful confidence. “Well, I wouldn’t even have to con you if you’d just agree to share from the start! Come on, sharing is caring!”

Their playful sparring was suddenly interrupted by a sharp, deliberate clearing of the throat.

Softpaw Waitress shifted her weight, with one hand resting on her hip— her brow arched high in playful reproach.

“Girls.”

The single word was enough to pull them up short, both freezing in place. They exchanged quick, guilty glances— laughter threatening to spill over, as they struggled to keep their composure.

“Ashta.” The Great Sage’s voice emerged like a gentle whisper through the tangled threads of Goblin Slayer’s thoughts. “You’ve noticed it, haven’t you? Marell feels displaced, cast aside.”

Compelled to focus, his crimson gaze then shifted toward Dark Elf Warden, who seemed only half-aware of the conversation— his mismatched eyes flitting between her sister and Guild Girl.

‘… Are you saying that he’s unhappy right now?’

“Indeed,” the Great Sage affirmed— her tone carrying the weight of undeniable truth. “You operate under the assumption that Sarah’s bond with you is paramount, built solely on the passage of time. Yet, time is but one facet of connection. It is the moments— raw and unguarded— that often hold far greater significance. What you offered Marell in that bathhouse was no mere act of kindness. To him, it was seismic, a profound shift. You’ve left an impression far deeper than you can comprehend.”

Her words resonated within the ashen-haired teen— a heavy echo that lingered in the air. ‘… I did?’

When Goblin Slayer glanced back across the table, he caught Dark Elf Warden's gaze for just a fleeting moment. For a heartbeat, his lips curled into a semblance of a smile— delicate and hesitant— but it quickly faded before it could reach his eyes.

The lively laughter of Dark Elf Ranger and Guild Girl filled the air— their playful banter pressing against the tension like a layer of plaster sealing a fissure.

“One sausage roll for four wings. That’s my final offer,” the blond tomboy declared— her tone teasing, yet resolute.

“Four of my wings?! Whatever happened to just wanting three?!” Guild Girl shot back— her surprise mingling with amusement.

“Yeah, well— should’ve taken that deal while it was still on the table!” Dark Elf Ranger retorted; her grin wide and triumphant, as the lively exchange continued to weave a vibrant tapestry of camaraderie around them.

Before Goblin Slayer could catch Guild Girl’s retort, the Great Sage’s voice resonated within him, cutting through the surrounding noise like a beacon of clarity. 

“You’ve navigated your life with tunnel vision, Ashta— unintentionally blind to the myriad threats in this world that cannot simply be vanquished by the sword. I hold no blame for this, but recognize that there are landscapes you’ve yet to traverse: the intricate realms of political discourse, the insidious nature of prejudice, and the oppressive weight of monarchy. In Marell’s case, the challenge he faces is his struggle with homosexuality.”

The word hung heavily in his mind, awkward and jarring. ‘… Are you implying that Marell—’

“— Yes. And more specifically, he has developed strong feelings for you,” the Great Sage interjected— her voice steady and clear.

Goblin Slayer felt a sudden catch in his breath, his crimson eyes widening in disbelief. ‘… He has?’

“Are you truly surprised by this revelation?” She asked in an unwavering voice. “Consider the life Marell has endured. He has faced rejection from humans for the simple fact of being a dark elf, and his own kin have ostracized him for the softness of his spirit. He is a boy who has chosen to embrace dresses, to adorn himself with makeup— seeking solace among women while other boys chased after them. He never masked who he was, and in doing so, he found himself shut out at every turn, every gaze averted.”

The Great Sage continued— her voice resonating with compassion. “But then you came into his life. You didn’t laugh at him. You didn’t shy away in disgust. In that bathhouse, when he braced himself for mockery, you offered him your calm presence— steady and devoid of malice. You spoke to him as an equal, not as a curiosity or a mistake. Can’t you see? To him, that acceptance meant everything. It’s no exaggeration to say that no one else has offered him such kindness— no one since his own family.”

Goblin Slayer let out a quiet breath, feeling the weight of his armor press down on him— constricting his chest like a heavy shroud

‘Then… Have I misled him?’

“No,” the Great Sage responded softly— her voice wrapping around him like a comforting presence. “Affection does not equate to deception. You have given him a glimpse of humanity when so few have dared. That is not betrayal.” 

She paused, allowing her words to settle before continuing. “But you must recognize this: he is drawn to you. His feelings are not fleeting; they are a wellspring of desire— deep and tender. And you must confront another truth: you are not tethered to a single heart, nor confined to one path.”

Goblin Slayer's breath caught in his throat at her words. ‘… Not bound to a single heart, nor limited to one path? What do you mean by that?’

“Ashta, when you look at Marell, a part of you recognizes what others choose to ignore. His inherent softness, his extraordinary beauty, and the way he carries himself with a grace that feels more genuine than that of many women. You cannot honestly say you haven’t considered this. Beneath all his differences, he is not unlike any other girl. The only distinctions are these: he possesses a fuller figure that society often deems unacceptable… And he has a penis.”

Goblin Slayer felt a tightness in his throat— warmth once flooding his cheeks beneath the pale skin of his face. He longed to deny it, to cast her words aside as if they had never been spoken, but the silence hung heavy around him— a silence that felt like an admission. 

Deep down, he knew she was right; some unguarded part of him had recognized the feminine allure within Dark Elf Warden. 

“I will share more with you when the moment is right. But for now— pay attention. The waitress is directing her gaze your way.”

As predicted, Softpaw Waitress’ wide hips swayed hypnotically as she turned towards him— her emerald eyes dancing with mischief.

She stepped closer— the soft jiggle of her curves drawing his crimson-eyed gaze. As she leaned in, the swell of her belly pressed against his leather-clad chest, while the underside of her plump breasts rested on his shoulder. 

He could feel the heat radiating from her ample form, and smell the intoxicating scent of vanilla and coffee that clung to her skin.

“Well, handsome,” she purred, tapping her pencil against the notepad in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “What can I get for you tonight?” 

She tilted her head slightly, causing a strand of hair to fall across her face. With a graceful motion, she brushed it back behind her ear— revealing the smooth curve of her neck.

Lost in thought, Goblin Slayer failed to notice how near she had gotten when he looked upward toward her to speak. Suddenly, his face was enveloped by the soft, pillowy flesh of her bosom. 

He inhaled sharply, his senses overwhelmed by her unique scent— a heady mix of vanilla perfume and the warm musk of her skin, tinged with the faint hint of sweat that had gathered in the valley between her breasts.

For a moment, he froze.

He could feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, and the weight of her breasts pressing against his cheeks. The warmth of her skin seeped through the material— branding him with its heat.

Softpaw Waitress’ breath hitched almost immediately after she had felt Goblin Slayer's face press deeper into the underside of her plump breasts— his hot breath scorching through the thin fabric of her uniform.

A soft, involuntary moan slipped past her lips— her nipples hardening into stiff peaks that strained against the confines of her lacy bra.

Still having been snuggled up against Goblin Slayer's side, Guild Girl's breath caught in her throat as she watched the unexpected display unfold.

Her eyes widened in shock as she witnessed the ashen-haired teen's face buried deep within the tall, overweight waitress’ massive bosoms.

Softpaw Waitress knew she should have pulled away, but the exquisite sensation of his strong jaw brushing against her sensitive flesh was too much to resist. Without knowing it, the feline woman arched her back slightly— pressing herself further into his touch.

“Mmm,” Great Sage hummed approvingly, with her stoic tone laced with a hint of desire. “She's quite the catch. We should definitely recruit her too, later down the line… If you know what I mean. But… Uh… For the record… Y-You were interested in the baby-back ribs, Ashta… Just thought I’d remind you.”

Still enthralled with bewilderment, Guild Girl’s heart continued to race— pounding against her chest, as slowly bit into her lower lip, stifling a gasp as she watched his flushed face finally emerging from Softpaw Waitress’ sweaty breasts.

That’s when the brunette began squirming in her seat— the growing dampness beneath her skirt a constant reminder of her arousal. Slowly noticing the way her black frilly panties were clinging to her moistening folds, she couldn’t help but feel the lace becoming increasingly soaked with each passing moment.

“I… I-I’ll have the… th-the baby back ribs,” Goblin Slayer finally muttered at last— his voice rough as gravel yet quivering at the edges. 

Despite the act of public indecency, the choice of words should have been harmless. Yet across the table, Dark Elf Warden reacted as though struck in the chest. 

Whatever muted sting of exclusion he had been nursing flared into a fiery rush of embarrassment, rising hot up his neck until even the tips of his ears burned. 

His lips parted, desperate to force out some quip or contribution, but nothing came. Only air. He faltered, dragged a hand down his face in weary defeat, and let the silence swallow him.

It might have lasted— awkward, suffocating— if not for the sing-song voice that suddenly lilted across the table.

“I waaant myyy… Baby-back, baby-back…”

Goblin Slayer froze, his head swiveling toward the sound with the stiff, mechanical dread of a man who had just stepped into a trap. 

Dark Elf Ranger’s voice carried on, oblivious, playful— her tune colliding with his still-roiling mixture of embarrassment and arousal until both scattered into bewilderment.

“Baby-back, baby-back— I want my baby-back, baby-back… Baby-back, baby-back…”

Guild Girl’s hand flew to her mouth, with her eyes widening before the dam broke; a muffled gasp gave way to helpless laughter— sharp and crystalline, filling the tavern’s air.

“Chillllyyyy’s, babyyyy-back ribssss—”

Softpaw Waitress didn’t so much as flinch. One brow arched, the faintest tug at the corner of her lips betraying a trace of long-practiced amusement. 

She’d seen this before. Many times.

And then, from the corner seat, Dark Elf Ranger rumbled the final refrain— her voice pitched deliberately low, the last note vibrating like an overdramatic chant:

“— Barbecue sauccceeee.”

The song hung in the air, heavy with awkwardness. 

Soon however, Dark Elf Ranger’s shoulders curled in on themselves as color flooded her cheeks. She the. dragged her mismatched gaze down into her lap— her lips pressing thin, before she forced a small, “… I’m sorry.”

Dark Elf Warden groaned through his palms, then, after a moment, peeled them down to reveal his mortified face.

“She… She has a tick,” he confessed, with his words tumbling nervously. He then glanced between Goblin Slayer and Guild Girl, who were both still wide-eyed.

“… Not even I foresaw this.”

“My sister—” Dark Elf Warden continued, before clearing his throat, “— every time she hears those two words… It happens. She can’t help it.”

Guild Girl tilted her head, her brow knitting. “What words?” She blinked once, then repeated them without thinking. “Baby-back ribs?”

Mortified, Dark Elf Warden lurched forward with his hand outstretched. “Don’t—!”

Too late.

Dark Elf Ranger’s eyes glazed, with her lips already moving.

“I waaant myyy— baby-back, baby-back…”

Her brother groaned again in anguish, before slumping onto the table— his entire face aflame.

Goblin Slayer— still watching as the blond tomboy sang her heart out in a deepened voice— leaned diagonally across the table toward him. Speaking low under the tune, he asked, “… Can we stop her?”

Dark Elf Warden begrudgingly looked up from the table before shaking his head, and then burying his fingers into his hair. “… No. If you interrupt, she forgets where she was and starts from the beginning. Then you’re stuck in the cycle. Trust me—” his voice cracked, weariness plain, “— I’ve tried.”

They sat in uneasy witness as the blond tomboy sang through the full refrain once more— ending again with that absurdly deep “Barbecue saucccce.”

When Dark Elf Ranger snapped out of it, she blinked rapidly as though surfacing from a dream— then huffed, cheeks stained red. “Haha, really funny guys! Now, could we please stop saying those two words together?” She muttered, with irritation leaking into her voice, despite the attempt to brush it off as a joke.

Softpaw Waitress chuckled lightly, her pencil tapping against the notepad as she glanced around the booth. “Darlin’, did you just see what transpired between your handsome friend and my big ol’ girls? Trust me, this one’ll barely make the top ten tonight.” She reassured Dark Elf Ranger— giving her a playful wink, before turning her sultry gaze back to Goblin Slayer.

“Now, let's try to keep this professional— at least while I'm on the clock.” Her hand brushed against his arm as she spoke, causing his  concealed erection to twitch. “What'll you have to drink, handsome?”

Goblin Slayer parted his lips, about to speak. “Water—”

“— No. Not a glass. A pitcher. If you are serious about hydration, then ask properly.”

His brow twitched faintly, before he corrected himself with little hesitation. “… A pitcher of iced water. And a glass with it.”

Softpaw Waitress’s ears perked in surprise at Goblin Slayer's unexpected request, yet she recorded it with her usual grace. 

Leaning in closer, her ample figure pressed against his side— the warmth of her presence brushing against him, as she whispered in a husky tone, “Coming right up, handsome. I’ll make sure it’s extra cold… Just for you.”

While Goblin Slayer’s cheeks turned a shade of red, Guild Girl tilted her head at him— a hint of curiosity flickering across her features. “A whole pitcher? That’s... Quite a bit of water.”

Trying to compose him, the ashen-haired teen nodded, before turning his gaze toward her—careful not to repeat his earlier misstep. “I’m… Trying to drink at least four liters every day,” he explained, his eyes locking onto her molten-gold eyes. “I’ve fallen behind today, so… I need to catch up.”

The brunette couldn’t help but to sparkle with admiration, as she leaned in closer— her voice dropping to a soft, intimate whisper. “… That's really responsible of you,” she murmured, before pressing herself gently against his side. 

Beneath the table, their legs brushed against each other, sending a warm tingle coursing through her.

She tilted her head— nuzzling into the crook of his neck, and inhaling his scent deeply. “I… Never knew quite how thirsty you were, Ren,” she murmured, with her lips grazing his skin softly.

Her hand then slowly slipped to his thigh— with her fingers delicately tracing circles on the leather-clad muscle. “Perhaps I could… Take care of that for you?”

“Oh… Now this? I can foresee where this is headed,” the Great Sage commented— a hint of amusement lacing her tone, mingled with a subtle stir of arousal.

Softpaw Waitress gave their written order one last glance before tucking her notepad against her hip. “Alright, loves. That’s everything for now.” She leaned in closer to Goblin Slayer— her breath warm against his ear. “I’ll be back with your drinks shortly… And perhaps something extra just for you, baby.”

As Softpaw Waitress's hypnotic sway led her away, Goblin Slayer felt a soft touch on his thigh.

Guild Girl’s hand inched closer, her fingertips grazing the growing shape beneath his crotchless gambeson. She began to massage him slowly— her touch delicate and teasing.

The ashen-haired teen suddenly inhaled sharply— his body tensing as the brunette fingers began tracing the hardening length concealed beneath the fabric.

“Ah, how delightful! It seems Sarah has revealed herself to be quite the mischievous one, hasn’t she?” The Great Sage mused— her tone laced with intrigue. “Clearly, her flirtatious exchanges earlier were not mere theatrics, were they?”

With one arm still draped around her shoulders, he gripped the cushioned edge of the booth seat tightly with his freehand— his knuckles turning white, as he fought to mask his reaction. His breaths came in quiet, measured hitches— his chest rising and falling steadily despite the turmoil brewing within.

Across from him, Dark Elf Ranger slumped in her seat— lamenting over what had transpired since the moment Softpaw Waitress came to their table. “That was... Awkward, wasn’t it…?” She muttered, while shaking her head in disbelief. “And I swear, that was like, the longest interaction I’ve ever had with a waitress here…”

Guild Girl's hand moved with increasing confidence beneath the table— her palm sliding up and down the length of Goblin Slayer's erection through the fabric. She could feel him throbbing against her touch, and growing harder with each passing moment.

The ashen-haired teen’s breath came in ragged huffs— his grip tightening on the edge of his seat. He continued to struggle maintaining his composure, as his hips began to jerk involuntarily— pressing himself against Guild Girl's hand.

“That's it, Ashta,” the Great Sage purred; her voice a seductive whisper in his mind. “Thrust your immaculate cock inside Sarah's hand. Fuck it like it's the tightest, moistest pussy you've ever felt.”

To Be Continued…

Author’s Note: This chapter was only supposed to be six-thousand words long, but ended up being close to eighteen thousand— hence why the second part will probably be released tomorrow lol.

Chapter Text

Across from Goblin Slayer, Dark Elf Ranger remained oblivious; lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts.

Her brother, however, was less oblivious than her. His mismatched eyes flicked towards the ashen-haired teen and the brunette— narrowing briefly before widening in sudden realization.

“Ah… It seems you've been discovered in flagrante delicto,” the Great Sage murmured, her voice dripping with feigned concern. 

She paused, allowing the weight of the situation to settle before her tone shifted— becoming devious and commanding. “Let's turn him into an accomplice… Lift your foot, Ashta. Press it firmly between his ample, feminine thighs. Make him feel included.”

Goblin Slayer's gaze flicked between Dark Elf Warden's shocked expression and his sister's distracted visage. Then, with a subtle, calculated motion, he did as instructed— extending his leg diagonally beneath the table, toward where the blond dark elf was sitting.

Discreetly, the rough leather of the ashen-haired teen’s boot traced a path up Dark Elf Warden's pristine white thigh-high boots— sliding higher and higher, until it sank between the blond boy's plump thighs.

The sole of Goblin Slayer's boot slowly pressed firmly against Dark Elf Warden's crotch— the fabric of his black panties beneath his white skirt providing a thin barrier between the ashen-haired teen’s sole, and the blond boy’s rapidly stiffening member. 

Goblin Slayer began to move his foot in slow, deliberate circles— teasing and tormenting the sensitive flesh beneath.

That’s Dark Elf Warden's breath caught in his throat— a soft gasp escaping his lips, as his small cock hardened fully against the relentless stimulation. His hips began to slowly grind up-and-down, as he pressed himself more firmly against his sole.

“Excellent, Ashta. Observe how he responds to your dominance... How his body betrays his desire to submit to you completely… Press harder.”

Wanting to have better control of his foot, Goblin Slayer leaned back to recline in his seat— an unintended invitation permeating, as Guild Girl mistook it as something else entirely. 

Her golden gaze then darted between him and Dark Elf Warden— a mischievous glimmer igniting in her eyes, as her nimble fingers slowly crept up to his throbbing bulge, before deftly working to loosen his belt.

Once freed, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his pants and underwear— slowly peeling them down just enough past his toned thighs to expose his fully erected cock.

Guild Girl then proceeded to gently wrap her fingers around its impressive length, before beginning to stroke him in rhythm in-sync with the movements of his boot against Dark Elf Warden's increasingly damp panties.

Still oblivious to what was going on, Dark Elf Ranger leaned in closer towards Goblin Slayer from her side of the table— her mismatched eyes narrowing. “… So, back to the conversation we’re having, before everything derailed,” she began, before propping her chin against her hand. “This faction you’re starting… What's it called, and why should we join it?”

Her voice was low and skeptical— a hint of annoyance creeping in, as she tried to refocus the conversation.

Underneath the table still, Guild Girl continued her clandestine activities— stroking Goblin Slayer's throbbing member with increasing confidence. And despite her firm grip, and deliberate movements, the ashen-haired teen managed to maintain his composure admirably for the most part— his expression remaining mostly neutral, despite the pleasurable distraction.

Unfortunately, Dark Elf Warden was far less discreet— squirming uncomfortably in his seat, while his tan face flushed a deep shade of red. He tried gripping the edge of the table tightly, as he fought to suppress any audible reaction to the rough pressure against his crotch.

Finding his facial expression too arousing, Goblin Slayer slid his arm firmer around Guild Girl's shoulder— pulling her closer, and trying harder to anchor himself to the conversation.

The increased affection blossomed an even more enamored smile from the brunette— her heart fluttering, as her other hand crept down her own thigh, before slowly hiking the ruffled skirt of her dress past her hips. 

She then bit her lip— suppressing a soft gasp, as she exposed more of herself beneath the table.

Becoming off put by the sound of fabric shuffling and the apparent lack of answers, Dark Elf Ranger’s brows furrowed as she gave the ashen-haired teen an even more impatient look. 

“… Hey uh, Ren— I was talking to you,” she said passive aggressively; none the wiser to the way her twin brother was also beginning to raise his own skirt, so as to give the ashen-haired teen more access between his large, tan thighs.

“Ashta… Our mission… Our noble purpose... It’s so very hard to articulate right now, isn't it? Just like your magnificent cock— throbbing and aching for release… Yet, you must persevere. Speak to Aurelia.”

Taking in a trembling breath to steady himself, Goblin Slayer slowly exhaled before speaking. “T-The faction… I-It’s called “The Ashta Accord”,” he managed at last— his voice low but resolute. “N-Named for my late sister… V-Vivianne Ashta.

Mistaking the shakiness in his voice as him being emotionally uncomfortable about talking about his deceased sibling— something that made even her feel discomfort— Dark Elf Ranger’s posture softened, as she leaned slightly back away from the ashen-haired teen.

“Ah… That’s very… Admirable of you; to name it after her,” the blond tomboy sympathized, before letting out a quiet breath and then asking him, “So then, the Ashta Accord… What’s the goal of it?” 

Trying to string together a coherent sentence from within the haziness of his sex-fueled mind, Goblin Slayer’s fluttering gaze drifted momentarily away from Dark Elf Ranger’s mismatched eyes— in an attempt to distract himself long enough to know what to say.

Meanwhile, beneath the table, Guild Girl's fingers slipped beneath her skirt— parting her moist black panties aside with her fingers, before sliding two fingers into her own moist, hairy folds.

Her hand pumped faster against Goblin Slayer's throbbing cock— matching the rhythm of her own pleasure, instead of the moment of his extended leg— as her finger tips pressed down in circular motions against her own swollen clit.

Whatever composure he had tried mustering in his act of looking else began to falter, as he fought tooth and nail to restrain his hips from thrusting against the brunette’s enclosed hand. 

“You're doing well,” the Great Sage encouraged, with her tone darkened— reveling in the moment with hunger in her voice. “She's hanging on your every word... Ever tremble, every stutter. Keep going.”

“O-Our... O-Our m-mission is to… B-Become s-ssss-self-sufficient,” he began— his words stumbling out more fragmented than he would have liked. “T-To rid the w-world of its vileness, aaaa-and w-we’re going t-to d-dooo that, st- starting with g-goblins... A-And everything else l-like th-them.”

As he tried his damndest to sell his idea to the blond tomboy, Guild Girl's hot breath caressed his neck— her muffled moans vibrating against his skin. 

Beneath her skirt, her fingers picked up the pace, as she rubbed harder against her clit— her moist folds beginning to leak fluids that started to trickle down onto the inside of her dress’ ruffled skirt.

Pre-cum was beginning to drip steadily from the tip of Goblin Slayer’s throbbing member— mingling with the slickness coating the brunette’s pumping hand. 

Despite the intense sensation of feeling her slick hand milking his shaft, the ashen-haired tried his best to regain what little composure he had left. 

“B-But de-destroying th-theeeem alone— i-isssssn't e-enough,” he continued— his words coming out in ragged bursts. “Th-That void…! I-It ca-can be f-f— ᶠᵘᶜᵏ— f-filled by so-something w-wworse…!”

“Mhm. Perhaps you could fill those voids with your seed as well? Or even something more... Substantial.” The Great Sage chimed in, before pausing to allow the weight of her words to sink in. “… Imagine the power that could be harnessed from such a union... The strength that lies dormant within your very essence.”

Dark Elf Ranger's scowl deepened as she finally began noticing the more apparently odd behavior of her companions. 

Their rampant ragged breathing, their flushed faces that began to perspire, along with the growing potency of sweet-and-salt musk in the tavern air— overpowering even the smile of wood burning, from the cobblestone-brick hearth beside them.

“Hey, wait… Something’s not right here…” She muttered with deepening suspicion, before leaning down beneath the booth to begin investigating the source of the strange, wet noises emanating from beneath the table. 

Just as her head was about to duck underneath the edge of the table, her gaze drifted towards her brother’s lap— her eyes widening in shock at the sight before her.

Beside her, she saw her brother's hands lifting his white skirt, revealing Goblin Slayer's boot pressed firmly against his crotch. The leather moved in fast, deliberate stroking motioning— eliciting muffled moans from Dark Elf Warden, as he thrusted his hips against the warm sole between his plump, tan thighs.

Dark Elf Ranger's cheeks flushed crimson with mortification. The sight alone caused her to lose her grip on the edge of the table, causing her to accidentally slip and fall down onto her knees— her stunned mind failing to account for the low clearance, as she cracked her head sharply against the underside of the table. 

“— G-Goddamnit…!” She hissed, while blinking dazedly as stars danced in her vision. And as her eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by the roaring fire beside their booth, a scene of unbridled debauchery came into focus.

Through the haze of disbelief and disorienting pain, Dark Elf Ranger watched as Guild Girl's hand pumped Goblin Slayer's cock with furious intensity— his hips jerking in time with her strokes, as she kept her other hand still buried underneath her hiked ruffled skirt.

Dark Elf Warden's growing moans filled her elongated ears from over her shoulder— sending
a shiver down her spine, as she saw in her peripheral vision just how fast the ashen-hair teen’s leg was jerking up-and-down beneath the table.

Flustered and unsure how to proceed, Dark Elf Ranger remained frozen on her hands and knees beneath the table. Her gaze then drifted subconsciously back down towards Goblin Slayer's exposed shaft— staring at it pulsating and glistening with pre-cum, as Guild Girl's hand pumped it wildly.

Heat flooded her cheeks, but a more growing warmth spread through her core as well.

Despite her inner turmoil, Dark Elf Ranger found herself slowly crawling closer to Goblin Slayer's spread thighs. Her heart raced as she drew nearer— the scent of his musk filling her nostrils and making her mouth water. 

She licked her lips unconsciously, her gaze drawn to the one part of his anatomy being neglected— his hairless balls, bouncing enticingly with each thrust of Guild Girl's hand.

Her breath hitched as she realized just how close she had gotten— mere inches from his throbbing member. The temptation was growing rapidly to an almost unbearable degree— her conflicting desires warring within her. 

Yet, her body seemed to have a mind of its own— slowly, tentatively, she pressed her burning cheek against his inner thigh, before resting her head upon it. 

The skin contact alone seared through the fabric of her white slacks and black boxers— sending a tingling sensation straight to the ache between her legs.

Dark Elf Ranger felt her head bobbing rhythmically— mirroring the goblin slayer's hips as they thrust forward. Her mismatched eyes remained locked onto the sight of his member beginning to swell within Guild Girl’s tight grasp.

The erotic spectacle ignited a growing hunger within the blond tomboy's loins. She felt her own clitoris engorge and her nether lips begin to secrete.

Goblin Slayer’s hooded crimson eyes suddenly snapped downwards— meeting Dark Elf Ranger’s embarrassed stare. His heart skipped a beat, as he drank in the sight of her flushed cheeks and pleading gaze.

“Ah, how intriguing,” the Great Sage whispered within his mind— her voice dripping with amusement. “It seems Aurelia has a rather... Pressing request; more than just an alliance, I daresay. Observe how she gazes at you, her eyes burning with desire to be noticed… To be rewarded for her boldness in approaching you thus… So do it, Ashta; show her why you are worthy enough to be her ‘Boss’.”

Goblin Slayer's breath caught in his throat as his gaze ensnared Dark Elf Ranger’s— his heart pounding wildly beneath the leather armor encasing his chest. With a trembling hand, he reached beneath the table— holding her by the chin, before tilting her head upwards.

“A-Aurelia… L-Look at me,” he commanded— his voice a hoarse whisper strained with barely restrained desire and an undercurrent of dominance that made Guild Girl’s hand pause.

Flicking her golden eyes flicked downward, the brunette traced the path from the ashen-hair teen’s exposed groin, down to Dark Elf Ranger’s flushed face. A wicked grin then curled her lip, as she resumed her task— now with renewed fervor and a hint of mischief.

“F-First my appetizer, and now Ren…?!” Guild Girl teased— her hips still rocking against her slick finger,  as she gazed down at the blond tomboy with a sultry, amused stare. “A-Aren’t you a greedy little girl, Auri…?!”

Dark Elf Ranger felt a surge of humiliation and arousal at the words— her mismatched eyes narrowing as they met Guild Girl's golden gaze. She then bit her lip, with embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“S-Shut up, Sarah,” she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. Her eyes flicked back to the ashen-haired teen's moist, bouncing balls mere inches from her face. “Y-You’re the freaks who started this weird shit…”

Guild Girl chuckled softly, leaning down closer to Dark Elf Ranger. “T-That’s fair… This was all a bit sporadic, wasn't it?” She admitted with a dirty grin. “B-But I've been waiting t-to do something like th-this with Ren for about a y-year now…! Wh-What's your excuse, m-missy…? D-Did you just suddenly d-decide to join our little... G-Game, on a w-whim…?”

The blond tomboy's heart pounded in her chest as the brunette's words washed over her; the implication hanging heavy in the air. 

She knew that she should feel ashamed; revolted even, by the depraved thoughts consuming her mind. Yet all she could focus on was the inferno raging between her thighs and the overwhelming urge to wrap her lips around Goblin Slayer’s glistening, sweat-slicked orbs.

“I-I…” Dark Elf Ranger whispered— her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. “I just… Wanted to see what all the fuss was about; to find out why you three were acting so... S-Strange…”

She paused— biting her lip as she struggled to justify how her curiosity had led her to crawl on her hands and knees towards a virtual stranger's crotch, after only an hour of acquaintance.

Her cheeks flushed with further embarrassment, as she realized the absurdity of her actions. “… And then... I-I don't know. Something just… Came over me, I g-guess…”

Guild Girl's golden eyes softened with a tender warmth, as she heard the vulnerability in Dark Elf Ranger's voice.

A more gentle smile replaced the teasing grin she had. The brunette then paused her ministrations on Goblin Slayer's shaft, once more, before reaching down to tuck a stray strand of hair behind the blond tomboy's ear. As she did so, she intentionally smeared the ashen-haired teen's pre-cum onto Dark Elf Ranger's head.

“… Auri,” Guild Girl murmured softly— her voice laced with affection and desire. “C-Curiosity is indeed a powerful m-motivator.” She said, as her smile turned playful once more— a mischievous glint dancing in her golden eyes. “I s-suppose now you could s-say that I’m still a re-receptionist of our guild, and t-thus it’s still my duty to— mhm.. T-To assign quests to brave adventurers like yourself. A-A-And I believe I have the perfect m-mission for you.”

“I-Is that right…?! A-And what might that be…?!" Dark Elf Ranger asked— her voice trembling slightly with a mix of nerves and excitement.  “… I'm l-listening, ‘Guild Girl,” she murmured, as her moist lips brushed against his smooth, hairless sack. The contact elicited a soft groan from the ashen-haired teen, as his hips twitched.

The brunette’s grin widened at the sight— her own arousal evident in the way she began to pump Goblin Slayer's shaft once again.

“… Y-Your quest—” she whispered perversely, “— is to pleasure Ren with that talented tongue of yours… S-Start by worshipping his balls with your mouth... Sh-Show him just how eager you are to serve…!”

Pushing all parts of her better judgment aside, Dark Elf Ranger parted her jaw— her wet tongue darting out to pull one of the teenager’s testicles into her mouth. Her tongue then began dancing across his balls, savoring the salty tang of his sweat and the musky aroma that clung to his skin. 

The blond tomboy swallowed deeply— relishing the weight of his testicles against her tongue, as she explored every contour and crevice. 

Above her, Goblin Slayer's restrained groans returned louder than before, as his hips began bucking in time with Guild Girl's skilled hand.

And as if possessed by an unseen force, Dark Elf Ranger's other hand reached up to cradle the ashen-haired teen’s other testicle— her calloused fingers massaging it in-sync with the suction of her mouth. 

Guild Girl's golden eyes gleamed with lustful intensity as she watched the erotic display unfold before her. Her own hand moved with renewed vigor along her slick folds— circling her clitoris with desperate need.

“Y-You're doing so well, A-Auri,” Guild Girl praised— her voice dripping with sweet encouragement, even as her hand tightened around Goblin Slayer's shaft to pump it with increased roughness. “K-Keep going, just like that…! D-Don’t forget t-to en-enjoy yourself t-too…!”

Motivated by the brunette words, Dark Elf Ranger began frantically parting her thighs while balancing herself on her knees, and the tips of her boots— the warm air against her exposed flesh, as her own musk rose up from beneath the table. 

The blond tomboy’s fingers brushed against the hairy folds of her cunt, as she began to explore blindly— searching for that sensitive bundle of nerves. She gasped as she finally found her swelling clitoris— circling it with eager fingertips.

She moaned around Goblin Slayer's balls— the vibrations intensifying as she sucked harder.

Drool leaked from the corners of her mouth— coating his smooth skin in a glistening sheen, as she kept slurping his testicles with her tongue. While sucking, her head bobbed in rhythm with his upward thrusts into Guild Girl's tight grasp— his hips moving faster of their own accord.

“Give Guild Girl a rest,” the Great Sage purred in Goblin Slayer's mind— her voice dripping with sensuality. “Turn your attention to Marell.”

As prompted, the ashen-haired teen's gaze snapped to the blond boy— his breath catching in his throat at the sight before him. 

Dark Elf Warden's face was flushed a deep crimson— his mismatched eyes wide and filled with unbridled lust. He kept his grip on the edge of his hiked skirt— heavy breaths and moans escaping his parted lips, as his plush chest heaved rapidly. 

“Tell him to get under the table,” the Great Sage instructed. “Tell him you need that pretty mouth of his.” 

Goblin Slayer struggled to speak— his voice strained by the dual sensations of Dark Elf Ranger's tongue greedily swirling around his balls and Guild Girl's fist mercilessly pumping his shaft.

“M-Marell,” the ashen-haired teen gasped— his voice strained with desire and the effort of forming coherent thoughts. “I need... I need you under the table… N-Now,” he moaned out quietly in a low voice, as his eyes bore into the blond boy's. 

Dark Elf Warden's ample chest rose and fell rapidly as he paused— his arousal warring with his hesitation. 

With a subtle nod, he slid from his chair and crawled beneath the table— his plump thighs brushing against the floorboards. The taboo desire coursing through him made his panty-covered erection twitch— a damp spot growing where his excitement had seeped through. 

Dark Elf Warden's mismatched eyes suddenly shifted on his sister, whose face was obscured by Goblin Slayer's crotch, as one of her hands was buried beneath her waistband. 

A pang of envy twisted in his gut, but it was swiftly overshadowed by the sight of Guild Girl's frenzied masturbation. Her fingers plunged into her dripping folds— wet sounds filling the air as she hiked up her ruffled skirt. 

Dark Elf Warden's gaze drifted away— his interest in Guild Girl waning. Instead, he focused back on where his sister knelt, servicing the ashen-haired teen— wishing that he were in her place.

Suddenly, Guild Girl leaned back down underneath the edge of the table— pausing her strokes on Goblin Slayer's shaft to capture the blond boy’s shy, submissive stare.

“Aww, M-Mare,” she cooed softly— her voice like warm honey. “W-Why don’t you come closer and help me with this big, h-hard c-cock…?!” She invited— her words punctuated by ragged breaths, as she smiled encouragingly at him.

Dark Elf Warden's cheeks burned a deeper shade of pink under her gaze— his mismatched eyes flickering nervously between her and the throbbing shaft she held out to him. 

He swallowed hard— his plump lips parting slightly, as he fought the overwhelming urge to lean in and wrap them around the teenager’s girth. But the thought of pressing against his sister— of sharing such an intimate moment with her— held him back, and thus rooted him to the spot.

“I-I…” Dark Elf Warden stammered— his voice trembling with a mix of desire and apprehension. “I-I don't know if I can…” He trailed off— biting his lower lip hard enough to leave indentations, as he struggled to find the words. 

His gaze remained fixed on the floor— unable to meet either the brunette’s patient smile, or his sister's preoccupied form kneeling beside him. The wet sounds of Guild Girl's and Dark Elf Ranger’s fingers plunging into their cunt cunts, and his sister's mouth sucking Goblin Slayer's balls only filled the air only heightened his arousal and shame.

“P-Please…” Goblin Slayer moaned softly— his eyelids fluttering, as his sultry voice alone snapped Dark Elf Warden out of his moment of paralyzing insecurity. “I-I need you, M-Mare…” He pleaded in a low voice— which was barely audible over the sloppy noises beneath the booth table— but the desperation in his tone was unmistakable. 

Dark Elf Warden's breath caught in his throat as he felt his arousal stirring once more— his small member hardening rapidly within the confines of his damp, pre-cum soaked panties. 

Guild Girl's keen eyes noticed the change immediately, and she glanced over at his sister, who remained oblivious as she continued to pleasure Goblin Slayer.

“Hey, Auri,” she murmured softly, while nudging Dark Elf Ranger with her elbow. “Why don't you make some room for your brother?” She asked, while smiling teasingly at the blond elf, who huffed in annoyance before reluctantly shifting aside. Goblin Slayer's grip on her hair tightened— pulling her back to his crotch as she moved.

Seeing a spot made for him, Dark Elf Warden's heart raced as he crawled forward on his hands and knees— his round cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and nerves.

He then settled beside his sister— feeling the warmth of her toned body against his own plush sides— before setting Goblin Slayer’s helmet aside, so he could get closer between the teen’s toned thighs.

Guild Girl smiled approvingly at him, before straightening her back and laying her head against the soft feathers of the ashen-haired teen’s collar.

“G-Go ahead, Mare,” she encouraged softly once more— her hand still wrapped around the Goblin Slayer’s throbbing shaft. “T-Take it fr-from me…”

Dark Elf Warden hesitated only for a moment before shyly reaching out— his delicate fingers brushing against Guild Girl's hand. She then withdrew hers slowly, allowing him to wrap his own around the teenager’s girth.

The blond boy’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson as he gazed up at Goblin Slayer— his mismatched eyes filled with a mixture of desire and apprehension. 

The heat of the ashen-haired teen's arousal radiated through his palm— the shaft appearing to him even larger than now he remembered it looking, back from when he had an earlier glimpse of it in the bathhouse. 

With a gentle flick of his tongue, Dark Elf Warden began lapping at the pearls of precum that crowned Goblin Slayer's tip, relishing the salty-sweet essence that burst upon his palate

Emboldened, he pressed soft kisses along the length, feeling the silky skin stretch taut beneath his lips. Each kiss grew more passionate as he lost himself in the sensation— his own arousal throbbing in response.

“Mmm… R-Ren…” Dark Elf Warden purred— his voice dripping with need. The blond boy gazed up at Goblin Slayer through lowered lashes— his mismatched eyes shimmering with desire. “I-I want to taste more of you… C-Can I please suck your b-beautiful cock now?” He asked shyly, while biting down his lip as he awaited the teen's response.

Goblin Slayer's crimson eyes locked onto Dark Elf Warden's pleading gaze— his breath catching in his throat as Dark Elf Ranger's greedy mouth worked over his balls. 

A shudder ran through his lean frame, and he gripped the armrests tightly. “P-Please…” He gasped out— his voice strained with pleasure. “D-Do it… U-Use your p-pretty little mouth, M-Marell…”

That was all the reassurance Dark Elf Warden needed, before his plump lips parted as he leaned in closer. He only hesitated for a moment, before wrapping his mouth around the head— his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh.

Noticing the ashen-haired teen becoming more undone by the passing second, Guild Girl leaned closer to Goblin Slayer— her own breathing growing heavier, as she stared fixated on his open-mouth expression of pleasure.

“L-Look at y-you, R-Ren,” she murmured— her voice deepening with desire. “A-All messy and desperate for it— I-I never thought I’d see the d-day… I-I'm getting c-close myself,” she confessed, as her hand moved faster, and more desperately between her legs, as she rubbed her pulsating clit.

The ashen-haired teen then let out a low groan, his hips bucking slightly forward, just as they did when Guild Girl was stroking his length.

Emboldened, Dark Elf Warden took more of the shaft into his mouth— inch by inch. His cheeks bulged obscenely as he struggled to accommodate Goblin Slayer's impressive size.

The blond boy’s throat soon began convulsing around the teenager’s throbbing shaft, as he fought to take it deeper— his mismatched eyes watering from the effort. 

Meanwhile, his sister's head was bobbing alongside his— their cheeks pressing together as they struggled for space. 

The space beneath the booth’s table grew louder with the wet sounds of both their mouths working feverishly— punctuated by Goblin Slayer's ragged breaths and muffled groans.

“— F-Fuck,” he gasped out, as his thrust grew more. “Y-You're both… S-So good at this…!”

His praise only spurred them on— their movements becoming more frenzied and desperate. 

Unable to withstand the temptation any longer, Dark Elf Warden's chubby fingers crept beneath the hem of his pristine white skirt. The damp fabric of his panties brushed against his throbbing arousal, eliciting a soft whimper from his filled lips.

He then freed himself from the confining garment, before wrapping his delicate hand around his pulsing shaft in rhythm with his sister's vehement movements. Their bodies pressed together— flushed cheeks and glistening skin bearing witness to their escalating arousal. 

A sudden surge of possessiveness overtook Dark Elf Ranger, as she jabbed her elbow into her brother's side— knocking him off balance. Seizing the opportunity, she lunged forward— parting her lips to engulf Goblin Slayer's glistening tip. 

The sudden switch from the ashen-haired teen’s saliva-coated balls to his dripping wet member caused a torrent of saliva to spill forth— drenching Dark Elf Warden's flushed cheek. 

The blond boy gasped, momentarily distracted by the unexpected deluge— his sister's aggressive maneuver sparking a competitive flame within him. With a growl, he suddenly shoved her aside— his plump form trembling with determination.

“— I-I saw him first,” he muttered possessively, before diving forward to claim his prize. His tongue then flicked out— lapping at the beads of precum that clung to Goblin Slayer's shaft like precious gems. He savored the salty-sweet flavor, before wrapping his lips around the shaft once more— sucking greedily on the ashen-haired teen’s member.

Fueled by jealousy of her own, Dark Elf Ranger tried once again to elbow her brother's shoulder— attempting to dislodge him from the teenager’s pulsating cock.

The blond boy whimpered around Goblin Slayer’s length, but refused to relinquish his prize. His plump cheeks hollowed as he sucked harder— determined to assert his dominance over his tomboy sibling.

“H-He’s m-mine…!” He muttered between slurps— his voice muffled by the throbbing flesh in his mouth.

Desperate to reclaim her spot, Dark Elf Ranger's lips opened wide to pop in one of Goblin Slayer's balls into her mouth— saliva dripping down her lips. “I-I was down here first,” she growled possessively with her cheeks full, before gesturing with her free hand to the ashen-haired teen's crotch. “I-I deserve it, Mare…!”

Dark Elf Warden's eyes widened at his sister's retort— a blush creeping across his flushed cheeks. “B-But I...I want him more,” he whimpered through slurps— his eyes welling up with tears as he clung to Goblin Slayer's shaft. “P-Please, Auri… L-Let me have this one thing…”

His pleading gaze met Dark Elf Ranger's, and she hesitated— her heart softening at the sight of her brother's desperation. 

She then sighed heavily, before reluctantly pulling back from the ashen-haired teen's balls— thick strings of saliva bridging the gap between them, and her bottom lip. With a heavy sigh, she reluctantly sat back on her heels— her hand never leaving the inside of her moist boxers.

“… F-Fine,” Dark Elf Ranger muttered begrudgingly— her voice laced with a mix of frustration and affection. She then awkwardly leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her brother's forehead before settling back to watch with a rapt gaze— feeling the ashen-haired teen’s fingers slip from her ruffled locks, as she scooted back to give her sibling more room.

Dark Elf Warden's eyes sparkled with gratitude and excitement as he doubled his efforts— taking Goblin Slayer's shaft deep into his throat until his nose nestled against the ashen-haired teen's smooth pubic mound.

Seeing lewd display from slightly afar as a spectator oddly captivated Dark Elf Ranger— more than she would have expected from seeing her twin brother sucking cock.

She watched, transfixed, as he kneaded and squeezed Goblin Slayer's balls with his free hand— coaxing out more of his delicious pre-cum.

Beneath his hiked-up skirt, Dark Elf Warden's plump thighs quivered as he pumped his fist faster along his aching shaft. The wet sounds of his handjob echoed under the table— mingling with the sloppy slurps and gags escaping his lips, as he inhaled the ashen-haired teen’s cock.

His twin sister's ragged breaths filled the warm, humid air beneath the table— her own fingers dancing more frantically over her throbbing clit, as she raced towards ecstasy. 

Their shared moans grew louder and more desperate— intertwining with Goblin Slayer's soft pants and Guild Girl's muffled cries of pleasure beside him. 

The brunette’s ruffled skirt shook more violently— betraying her own impending climax, as Dark Elf Warden's grip tightened around the ashen-haired teen's balls— signaling his approaching release.

As their shared pleasure reached its peak, Guild Girl raised herself on the tips of her toes— closing the distance from her face to Goblin Slayer’s, as her eyes locked onto his. 

“— N-Next time,” she whispered breathlessly, “i-it's just gonna be you and me… M-My be-bedroom…!” And before he could respond, she pressed her wet lips to his in a passionate kiss— muffling their escalating moans, as they drew closer over the edge.

That’s when Goblin Slayer's hips jerked forward— burying his throbbing shaft deep into Dark Elf Warden's throat as he reached his climax. 

The ashen-haired teen's eyes rolled back; a guttural moan escaped him, as he pumped stream-after-stream of hot cum directly into the plump blond elf’s welcoming mouth. 

Dark Elf Warden’s cheeks began bulging obscenely— struggling to contain the massive load flooding his oral cavity. 

Tears of pleasure streamed down his face as he swallowed desperately— trying to keep up with the relentless torrent. Semen began to bubble out of his nose and from the corners of his stretched lips— coating his chin and dripping onto his trembling hand, and ample chest.

Being filled with the teenager’s cum suddenly ignited his own climax— hitting him like a freight train, as he cried out in muffled ecstasy against Goblin Slayer's base. Releasing thick ropes of his own cum onto the pool of precum beneath his chubby tan thigh, Dark Elf Warden kept sucking and slurping on the teen’s pulsating member.

Beside the blond boy, Dark Elf Ranger's panting grew louder— her ragged breaths echoing underneath the table, as she spread her legs as far as the confines of her white slacks would allow. 

She watched with hooded eyes and a strange mix of lust and sibling pride as Dark Elf Warden's plump body shuddered violently— his mouth still locked around the ashen-haired teen's shaft, despite his growing fatigue.

With a final, desperate thrust of her hips, Dark Elf Ranger climaxed hard. 

Her inner walls clamped down on her fingers as she squirted forcefully, soaking the inside of her black boxers with her warm essence. The fabric clung to her skin; darkened by the sheer volume of her release.

And as Dark Elf Ranger's climax subsided— leaving her panting and trembling beneath the table— a sudden surge of warmth spread through the air. 

The scent of arousal and sweat mingled with the musky aroma of cum— creating an intoxicating perfume that filled the booth. 

Above her, the sounds of passionate kisses and muffled moans grew louder— signaling that Guild Girl was reaching her own orgasm.

Feeling her nether regions tightening, the brunette pressed herself even closer to the ashen-haired teen’s face— their lips still locked in a passionate, messy kiss, as they rode out their respective orgasms. Her tongue danced with his— muffling their moans and gasps of ecstasy.

With a final shuddering breath, Guild Girl came hard. Her inner walls clenched tightly, and she squirted forcefully into her skirt— the warm liquid soaking the fabric and spreading rapidly.

Through it all, she never broke their kiss— pouring all her love and desire into the intimate embrace, as they basked in the afterglow of their shared passion.

And as Guild Girl's orgasm was the last to subside, she reluctantly pulled back from their kiss— her chest heaving with ragged breaths, as thick strands of saliva bridged the gap between their bottom lips.

Taking a moment to come down from her high, the brunette took deep breaths, in-and-out, she slowly leaned down past the edge of the table to glance down at Dark Elf Warden— his plump face flushed and smeared with semen.

Without hesitation, she reached out and scooped a fingerful of the sticky fluid from his chin, before bringing it to her mouth and sucking it clean with a satisfied moan.

“… Mmm, delicious,” Guild Girl purred— her tongue darting out to lick her lips clean. She then glanced over at Dark Elf Ranger, who was just emerging from beneath the table— her clothing damp and disheveled.

“Hmhm…! Looks like someone else had a good time too,” she teased, before nodding towards the large wet spot on the crotch area of the blond tomboy’s white slacks.

Dark Elf Ranger flushed, but couldn't suppress a smirk. “Sh-Shutup,” she muttered, but there was no heat behind her words. She then ran a hand through her messy hair— trying to regain some semblance of composure, before immediately recoiling at the dried semen that has caked itself in her locks. 

Meanwhile, Dark Elf Warden remained kneeling between Goblin Slayer's legs— his plump form quivering with the remnants of his intense climax.  Semen continued to drip lazily from his chin, while rivulets of sweat dripped down his plump chest, as he savored the salty-sweet taste of the ashen-haired teen's release lingering on his tongue.

With a rough chuckle, Dark Elf Ranger staggered up to her feet before leaning into the ashen-haired teen— propping her elbow casually on his leather-armored shoulder. The slight tremor running through her body belied her attempt at nonchalance.

“W-Well,” she rasped, her voice low and unrefined, “that was— without a doubt— the most fucked up thing I’ve ever done.” She tilted her head— the grin widening. 

Amused by the blond tomboy’s open reflection, Guild Girl nestled herself back against the flume of Goblin Slayer’s black-feathered collar— her arms curling possessively around him, as though the notion of letting go was unthinkable. 

Her cheek pressed warmly to him, as her fingers traced aimless patterns against the fabric of his leather chest armor— following the steady beat of his heart, as if to memorize it. “… Perhaps taboo, yes,” she murmured, as her blush deepened, “but… Easily the sexiest thing I’ve ever done, I must admit…”

Her soft admission earned a quiet chuckle from Dark Elf Ranger; though the elf hid her own pink cheeks by turning her gaze elsewhere.

That’s when Dark Elf Warden finally crawled out from beneath the table with a hesitancy that contrasted starkly with his sister’s brashness. 

His golden hair was mussed and his tan face still flushed a vivid red as he slipped back into his seat, tucking himself small in the corner of the booth. 

Yet his wide blue and green eyes refused to leave Goblin Slayer— fixed on him with an intensity that made his fondness unmistakable.

When Guild Girl’s words sank in, Dark Elf Warden’s breath caught. His cum-slick lips parted, and his face grew hotter still. “This was…” His voice faltered before finding itself again. “The only… Sexy thing I’ve ever done.”

The confession hung vulnerable in the air, and though his gaze briefly dropped to his lap, it lifted once more— unwaveringly drawn to the ashen-haired teen. 

His strained throat worked as though the next words were heavy, but they came anyway— quiet and sincere. “I… I wouldn’t mind if this wasn’t the last time I did something with you, R-Ren,” he said at last— his cheeks burning even as he turned his head away quickly, ashamed of his own boldness.

Silence threatened to settle until Dark Elf Warden cleared his throat and forced himself onward— his voice soft and steady, with a tremor of earnestness plain. “I… I was actually paying attention to what you were saying earlier, Ren— about the Ashta Accord.” He said, before his eyes flicked briefly toward Goblin Slayer again— nervous but shining with something resolute. “I… I wouldn’t mind living in a world like you described— one without nasty things like the goblins we’re unfortunate to have, so… I want in, if… If you’ll have me.”

Dark Elf Ranger’s mismatched eyes lingered on her twin sibling for a moment longer, before giving Goblin Slayer’s leather-bound shoulder a brisk pat— firm, almost comradely. 

With her other hand— the one she didn’t use to masturbate— she jabbed a thumb against her own chest, as her lips tugged into a crooked grin.

“Y’know…” Dark Elf Ranger began; her voice still rough at the edges, though steadier now. “I was actually listening— trying to, at least.” A dry laugh slipped out, carrying no mockery— only a touch of self-amusement. “Mare’s right. I’m not against that whole idea of yours— ridding the world of everything vile.” Her grin flickered, then softened into something harder to read. “… Whatever the hell that really means.”

The words trailed— her mismatched eyes narrowing slightly, as curiosity broke through her usual bravado. “But there was something else you said.” She leaned in closer, bracing herself against his shoulder. “That killing goblins— and whatever else is festering out there— wouldn’t be enough. That if you actually did wipe it all away… There’d be a void.” She tilted her head, becoming more serious, as she asked, “… What did you mean by that?”

Goblin Slayer drew in a quiet breath. His lips parted, ready to shape an answer, but hesitation stalled him. His crimson gaze fell to the table— the silence growing thick.

Inside, the Great Sage stirred. “You cannot avoid this. If the Ashta Accord is to last, it must not be built on omissions and half-truths.” A low, amused chuckle rippled through him— sinuous and sly. “And really— after what you’ve just done, in plain view— what’s the point of holding back?”

His jaw tightened, his mouth twitching as if suppressing an eye-roll. A muted sigh escaped him before he lifted his gaze again to meet Dark Elf Ranger’s eyes.

“… If you strip away everything vile—” he said finally, in a low but steady voice, “— it doesn’t create peace. It creates emptiness. A vacuum.” His free hand curled faintly into a fist against the table. “And nature doesn’t tolerate emptiness. Sooner or later, something worse would crawl in to fill it.”

He let the weight of that settle before leaning forward slightly. “… Which is why my plan isn’t just to destroy. If something has to replace what we erase, then we should decide what that something is. No surprises. No chance for worse things to grow in the dark.”

His crimson eyes narrowed in thought, words steady, deliberate. “The first step… Is goblins. They’re the beginning, and they’ll be the first to end. And when they’re gone— I intend to replace them, with my own iteration. Variants that can’t commit the same atrocities. If they exist, they’ll exist differently. Entirely feminine in nature. Even the males.”

The silence that followed clung thick, charged, as though every corner of the booth itself leaned in. 

Dark Warden blinked rapidly, with his lips parting but failing to form words. Dark Elf Ranger tilted her head back slightly— caught between a laugh and disbelief, with her brow arching like she wasn’t sure if she should mock or marvel. 

Guild Girl didn’t move at all, her shoulder still against his, gaze fixed on him with an unreadable mix of concern and awe.

Goblin Slayer’s breath drew shallow, but he pressed on, steady. “… That’s what I meant by the void. Clearing it isn’t enough. You have to choose what comes after.”

Still laying her cheek against his black-feathered collar, Guild Girl raised her chin to look toward him— her voice hushed, uncertain, as she asked, “… You want to replace the evil in the world, with versions that are… Good?”

Goblin Slayer lowered his head to meet her golden-eye gaze— the motion as steady as his response. “Yes, and if I succeed, then in their place only the new will remain.”

The words landed heavy. Silence stretched long, pressing in on the booth like a held breath.

Dark Elf Ranger broke it first. Her laugh came sharp and incredulous— tumbling out like she couldn’t stop herself. “You— You can’t be serious!” She scoffed aloud, as she slapped her palm against his shoulder— half-grinning, though her voice wavered. “Harmless little girls?! That’s your grand plan?! Gods above…” Her grin faltered when she caught his expression— unflinching, immovable. “D-Don’t tell me you’re serious, Ren…”

“… But I am,” Goblin Slayer said simply.

Guild Girl’s lips parted, a question trembling there, but Dark Elf Warden’s voice cut across first— softer, unsteady. “But… How’re you going to do that? You speak as if you could will it so.” He asked as respectfully as he could, while his hands fidgeted beneath the table.

Goblin Slayer was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he drew in a breath. “… Two nights ago, I was assigned a quest to clear out a fortress in the Jura Forest,” he said, his gaze dropping. “… But I didn’t just find corpses, I found something else.”

Guild Girl stiffened— her fingers twitching in her lap. He noticed her breath falter, as realization dawned across her face. “… That artifact…” She murmured, as her golden eyes widened slightly. “That cube you brought in. The impossible one…”

Goblin Slayer inclined his head— slow and deliberate— as he gave a faint nod. “… It’s called a ‘Tesseract,’” he said at last, in a careful voice— like someone handling glass that might shatter in his hands. “That’s the name I was given. But names are… Inadequate. It isn’t bound to what we understand. It doesn’t just bend rules— it erases them, rewrites them. It’s fourth-dimensional— it’s got something to do with time, I know that I much, but… It’s beyond even the language we have to really describe where it comes from.”

Guild Girl’s fingers tensed faintly against his side. She was still folded against him, with her arms hooked around his frame as if to anchor herself in place— her cheek grazing the black-feathered collar at his throat. Her eyes lifted to meet his— searching the crimson glow that refused to soften.

“… You told me you didn’t know anything about it,” she softly whispered— speaking with fragility that carried with it a tone of hurt.

His arm tightened almost reflexively around her shoulders— holding her against him as though to answer before his words came. “… I knew more than what I let on,” he admitted, before pausing. “… And I’m sorry.”

Her brows drew together, confusion and hurt tangling across her face. “Sorry?”

“I wanted to tell you earlier,” he said quietly— each word deliberate, and weighed down by regret. “But I was advised not to… Not until now.”

Her frown deepened. The tremor in her voice betrayed more than irritation— something personal lay beneath. “… So you didn’t trust me earlier? Or… Or are you only telling me this now because… Because you got what you wanted?”

He shook his head, before lowering his gaze. His guilt pressed through in the smallest crease of his brow— in the way his breath stilled before he spoke. “N-No— it’s neither of those things, and… And it wasn’t about keeping anything from you.” He replied in a clipped, but steady tone. “It was about keeping it from them— the Mages’ Association. If they learned what I’d uncovered, what I carried… I couldn’t predict the consequences.” 

He then drew in a measured breath, with his eyes closing briefly before reopening. “… That’s why I let your records reflect falsehoods. That’s why I lied. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to, and I hated every moment of it.”

Her lips parted slightly, with her breath catching and her eyes flickering across his face— like she was searching for proof in the contours of his guilt. “… The Mages’ Association,” she repeated— tasting the words as though they might burn her tongue. “You think they’re the secret client?”

“I don’t think they are,” Goblin Slayer said. His voice was quiet, but carved in certainty. “I know they are.”

Her eyes widened, as her disbelief sparked into suspicion. “Not even the district manager knew that… How could you possibly know?” She hesitated, then pressed harder— her tone edged with urgency. “… Was it the one you keep mentioning— the one who told you to lie? Was it them?”

He nodded once slowly, before replying uncomfortably, “… Yes.”

Her arms slackened faintly around him. Hurt now sharpened into impatience— the beginning of anger. “Th-Then who are they? Who’s been advising you?” Her voice lowered— brittle with the sting of betrayal. “… Or am I not allowed to ask that? Are you just going to lie to me again?”

The words cut deeper than steel.

He flinched inwardly, though his body betrayed it only in the way his arm tightened around her again— his hand pressing firm against her shoulder in a silent plea. “N… No,” he murmured, before his voice grew softer— heavy with guilt that refused to be swallowed. “I won’t lie to you again. I hated doing it— more than you can imagine.” He assured, as his grip steadied— a gesture of reassurance that trembled at its edges. “You deserve the truth… All of you do.”

Guild Girl’s eyes lingered on his, trembling faintly. Her lips parted once more, but her voice, when it came, was quieter, and more fragile. “… Then who? Who’s been advising you?”

Goblin Slayer’s gaze shifted— his crimson eyes narrowing as though reluctant to open the door. His exhale came slow, and unsteady, as he began to explain, “Her name’s Cielle, but… She calls herself ‘The Great Sage.’ She crossed over from the fourth dimension with the Tesseract… And anchored herself to me— my soul.” 

He paused, his tone level but not without unease, as though confessing more than he wished. “… Through her, I receive fragments— knowledge, glimpses of what shouldn’t exist here. Enough to act, and enough to wield what no one in this world should even touch.” His lips pressed thin, with his voice steady but muted. 

“Even time… Bends beneath her will, but only through me. What little I do understand about her power is shallow, but yet… I haven’t had any reason to doubt her intentions— she means good, and she wants to make this world better.” 

Guild Girl stayed quiet for a long breath— still nestled against him. Her arms remained around his waist, though looser than before, as if she wasn’t quite sure whether to hold on or let go. Her eyes searched his face again, her voice fragile but steady.

“I… I wish you had trusted me sooner,” she murmured. “But… I think I understand now. You weren’t trying to shut me out, or deceive me personally.” She reasoned, as her lips quirked faintly— a sad little smile. “You were protecting yourself, and… Perhaps me as well, from them.”

Goblin Slayer’s chest tightened at her words. He dipped his chin— his voice low and edged with guilt. “That doesn’t excuse it— I should have tried telling you sooner.”

She shifted against him— her arms pulling tighter around his middle, as she leaned into his side. “Then promise me,” she said softly. “No more secrets. Even if it’s hard to explain, or even if I don’t want to hear it.”

His arm curled more firmly around her shoulders— his hand resting steady on her arm. “… I promise.”

The look in her eyes softened, and her cheek pressed once more to his collar. “Then, well… I forgive you, Ren.”

It was then that a trace of ease touched his expression. He gave a small nod, his crimson eyes dimming with relief.

But that fragile moment was short-lived.

Across the booth, Dark Elf Warden sat stiff as stone— his fingers still twitching anxiously over his white skirt. His lips parted as though to speak, but no sound came.

Dark Elf Ranger broke the silence first with a sharp, incredulous bark of laughter. She shoved a hand through her dark hair— mismatched eyes wide as she stood beside him. “Let me get this straight,” she said, her tone teetering between amusement and disbelief. “You’ve got some… Spirit, some otherworldly hag living rent-free in your skull, whispering secrets and— what? Time magic? And you’re gonna use it to rewrite the godsdamn world? Replace goblins with—” she waved a hand vaguely— her grin brittle, “— with harmless little cuties?”

Her laugh cracked, raw and nervous, and she slapped her palm over her face. Through her fingers, her words came muffled but sharp. “Goddamnit… I can’t believe it— I almost started to like your sorry ass too!”

Dark Elf Warden flushed crimson at her bluntness— his lips pressing tight before he forced himself to lean forward. His eyes flicked from her incredulous grin to the ashen-haired teen’s calm, unshaken gaze.

“… Auri might be right,” he admitted quietly, though the words felt sour in his throat. He immediately shook his head, rejecting the thought even as he voiced it. “But— no. I mean… If you really can do these things, Ren… Then please— show us. Just something— anything.”

He laced his trembling fingers together— forcing steadiness into his voice. “R-Regardless of how I feel about you, I… I still want to join you, and… I think she does too— even if she’s too stubborn to say it. But if you can give us peace of mind… Th-Then there won’t be anything holding us back, w-will there?”

The table fell quiet. Goblin Slayer said nothing at first, his gaze lowering— shadowing his eyes beneath his ashen fringe. The weight of their request settled heavy in the silence.

At his side, Guild Girl stirred. She leaned closer, her cheek nuzzling softly against the black-feathered collar of his gorget. 

“… I believe you,” she said, with warmth in her quite voice.

The certainty in her tone cut through the unease like steel.

Goblin Slayer’s eyes softened faintly. He turned slightly, his words quiet, meant for her alone. “…Thank you, Sarah. But not to worry— I’ve got this.”

He then straightened in his seat, with his crimson-eyes gaze returning to Dark Elf Ranger, who was still standing beside their booth with that cocky grin still tugging at her lips.

“… I’ll have Cielle slow down time,” he said, matter-of-fact, as though explaining a routine tactic. “While she uses time-dilation, I’ll secure my helmet on your head. To you, it’ll be instantaneous.”

The blond tomboy raised a brow at that, while crossing her arms over her white vest. “Instantaneous, huh? I’ll humor you.” She said, as her grin widened. Shen then stepped back from the table, already preparing to call his bluff. 

She proceeded to lower her gaze toward the shadowed space beneath the table, where she and her twin had moments earlier crouched together. There, near Goblin Slayer’s boots, lay his iron helmet— upside down, its battered surface catching the light of the hearth behind her, with their discarded gloves still neatly placed inside.

“… Uh-huh— yeah, there’s no way… Well, good luck with that, weirdo,” Dark Elf Ranger drawled, while smirking challengingly. “Dark Elves have sharper eyes than humans— faster reflexes too, and better spatial awareness. You can’t just—”

Her words cut short in a sharp intake of breath.

Her vision went black, then filled again— only it wasn’t the tavern ceiling she saw, nor the lamp-lit rafters. It was Goblin Slayer himself— crimson eyes locked with hers, seen through the narrow vertical slits of cold iron.

Dark Elf Ranger staggered a half step, as her jaw fell open. Her hands immediately flew to her head— palms meeting the rough weight of the helmet that hadn’t been on her a heartbeat ago.

“— Wh-What the—?!” Her voice boomed hollow through the iron— reverberating with a metallic echo.

Guild Girl’s breath hitched sharply, her eyes wide as saucers. She glanced at Dark Elf Warden, who was frozen with shock— his mouth moving soundlessly. The two of them scrambled in unison, leaning over the edge of the booth to peer beneath the table.

The helmet was gone. All that remained was the small pile of gloves, resting where they had been, undisturbed. 

Goblin Slayer still sat where he had, his posture unchanged, with one arm wrapped around Guild Girl, and his other resting calmly on the table as though nothing had happened.

Dark Elf Warden blinked hard, before looking back up from beneath the table at the ashen-haired teen, then at his sister— still gaping inside the helmet— before sharing a bewildered glance with Guild Girl.

The muffled clang of her voice reverberated from inside the iron.

“WHAT THE HELL—?!? What the actual—! G-Get this thing off me!” Dark Ranger swore relentlessly, while clutching at the visor slits— her words bouncing metallic. “Wh-What did you do?! What else can you do?! This isn’t— this isn’t normal magic, this is some twisted—!”

“— Auri, breathe,” Dark Elf Warden tried, as he scooted towards the end of the table to reach up to steady her arm. His own tan face was still blotched pink, but he kept his tone soft. “D-Don’t panic, you’re fine—”

“— Fine?!” She barked, while beginning to blindly tug at the helmet’s edges. “I can barely hear myself think— R-Ren, take your shit off me, N-NOW—”

Goblin Slayer hesitantly pulled his arm away from Guild Girl before standing up from his seat, awkwardly but calm, as his crimson eyes fixed on her flailing. 

He then raised a hand slightly, as though to ease the edge in her panic. “There’s a buckle, just behind your neck. You have to slide the strap free.”

“B-Buckle? I can’t see a—! Oh, this is so stupid—!” She rattled her head again, while her hands clawed uselessly behind her.

It was in that chaos that Softpaw Waitress reappeared, balancing a broad wooden platter on one sturdy shoulder. Her tufted ears flicked at the clamor before she halted by the booth— her feline lips pulling into a slow, knowing grin, as her nose caught the heavy scent of sweat and musk.

“Well now,” she drawled, her tone honeyed with humor, “looks like y’all been havin’ a busier time than most tables tonight.” Her eyes twinkled as she took in Dark Elf Ranger thrashing inside the helmet. “Sweetheart, you gon’ rattle your brains loose if you keep yankin’ like that.”

The tomboy kept banging her hands uselessly against the back of the helmet, as she shrieked, “HOW DO I GET THIS FUCKING THING OFF?!?”

Goblin Slayer, trying not to sigh, stepped out from the booth. “I’ll help. Just— s-stop shaking.”

While the ashen-haired teen came closer towards Dark Elf Ranger, Softpaw Waitress leaned a little closer— after her sharp eyes had caught the glistening residue caked upon Dark Warden’s chin. 

Her brow arched knowingly, as her grin widened. “Darlin’, you got somethin’ right— there.” She tapped lightly at her own face for emphasis.

That’s when the blond boy froze, then jolted— throwing both hands over his mouth in mortified panic. His ears burned scarlet. “Oh—! I-I—”

“— Hush now.” She said, as she waved him off kindly. “Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of. I’ll fetch you some napkins.”

Guild Girl, cheeks flushed but composed, finally slid out from her corner of the booth. “Here, let me help with the food.”

“Oh, bless you.” With a graceful shrug of her broad shoulders, Softpaw shifted the weight— letting the brunette relieve her of the first serving boards. 

Together they began laying the spread out across the crowded table: a steaming basket of ‘Wyvern Wings,’ the honey glaze shining under the tavern light, with a bowl of sticky barbecue sauce on the side; a heaping platter of ‘Griffin Nest Nachos’— the jalapeños and sour cream stacked so high they threatened to spill; and the ‘Quest Starter Plate,’ a chaotic mountain of sausage rolls, onion rings, and tenders arranged like trophies from some minor raid. 

Guild Girl laughed softly under her breath as she carefully shifted the sizzling rack of baby-back ribs into the center, with barbecue sauce dripping hot and fragrant— the memory of witnessing Dark Elf Ranger involuntarily singing the jingle reemerging in her content mind.

Softpaw Waitress soon returned with her second tray— one clinking with glass and tin. She began by setting down a sweating pitcher of iced water, followed by three matching glasses. 

Next came the shimmering line of ‘Beholder Shots’— their rainbow layers catching the candlelight— then four battered mugs brimming with ‘Mana Mules,’ which were in frosted rims beading with condensation. She leaned in, her plump belly brushing the table’s edge as she stacked them neatly in a row.

“Oh, an’ sugar,” she added, ears flicking apologetically toward Guild Girl, “I realized I never did ask what you wanted to drink. Things got a little chaotic back there.” Her tail gave a sheepish swish as she slid an extra glass into place. “So I took the safe bet an’ brought you iced water— on the house, to make it up.”

Guild Girl shook her head, smiling softly. “That’s perfectly fine. Thank you, Vel.”

“Mm-hm.” The waitress gave her a wink.

And then, with a grunt of effort, she hefted the last platter— an impressive coil of twenty-one absinthe shots, balanced in a spiraling tower of tiny glasses— the infamous ‘World Serpent.’

The stack swayed only slightly as she leaned across to set it down— her belly pressing into the table’s edge for leverage. The green liquid caught the light, eerie and jewel-bright.

“There,” she said proudly, stepping back with her hands on her hips. “Now y’all look fit to burst. Try not to burn the place down while I fetch your napkins.”

The booth had fallen into an uneasy lull— its earlier frenzy collapsing into quieter, heavier currents: the hiss and spit of meat on iron, rivulets of cheese stretching in molten strings, the faint licorice sting of absinthe coiling upward from the glass tower at the center of the table.

Guild Girl broke the silence first with a soft, awkward laugh. She reached for a wing, with its honey glaze dripping back into the basket as she dipped it in barbecue sauce— trying to mask her nerves with the ordinary motion of eating.

Beside her, Dark Elf Ranger was still thrashing in indignity— the hollow clang of the helmet bouncing her muffled protests across the booth.

Goblin Slayer leaned closer, with his crimson eyes cutting through the firelight, as they fixed on her. His tone carried a rare shade of amusement, as he asked, “Do you believe me now, Aurelia?”

Her reply was raw, warping inside the iron chamber. “Y-YES!!! I believe you, asshole! Now get this thing off before I swear to the gods— I’ll  NEVER blow you again!”

The faintest curve tugged at his lips. “Hold still. You’re making it harder,” he said, as she reached behind her neck— his fingers working at the strap.

But Dark Elf Ranger wasn’t finished. 

Fury and humiliation tangled in her muffled voice— every word striking like sparks against steel. “And another thing! Just because my brother and I went down on you doesn’t mean you get to toss us around like nameless sidekicks! If you want us in this—” she kicked the leg of the booth with a sharp thud “— this crusade of yours, then you better damn well take care of us!”

“A-Auri!” Dark Elf Warden hissed—  his mismatched eyes going wide.

“No— listen to me!” She snapped back, just as the buckle slipped free. Goblin Slayer then lifted the helmet away, before setting it down on the table with a dull thud.

Her face emerged, flushed and damp— blond hair sticking in messy strands to her temples. Her mismatched eyes burned, untamed. She then planted her palm firmly against her chest.

“I want twenty acres someday— enough for a monster range. I want weapons and gear that don’t break after two fights. I want a roof, a future— for me, and for him.” She demanded, as she jabbed a finger at her brother, then back at the ashen-haired teen. “You don’t just get to reel us in and drop us when you’re bored! Especially not if you expect us to be part of whatever polyamorous bullshit we’ve stumbled into!”

The words hung, sharp and defiant.

Goblin Slayer studied her quietly— crimson eyes steady and unreadable. His silence pressed heavier than any retort.

Finally, he spoke— his tone even, and deliberate.

“… I wouldn’t neglect you; either of you, or anyone else.” His gaze swept from the tomboy’s glare, to her brother’s nervous stare, to the brunette’s calm and trusting eyes, and then finally back again to her. “If I ask someone to walk beside me… I take responsibility for them. That doesn’t end when it’s inconvenient— that’s my promise.”

Dark Elf Ranger froze mid-breath— her mouth half-open for another tirade. The tension in her glare wavered, then fractured into something softer— indignation bleeding into reluctant trust.

Guild Girl rose gently, pressing her back against Goblin Slayer’s side until he eased back into his seat. She then leaned back into him, with her cheek nestling against the black-feathered collar at his shoulder. 

Looking across the table at the tomboy elf, her smile carried quiet certainty. “See?” She said softly. “He means it.”

Dark Elf Ranger’s breath trembled as she looked between them. Her blush deepened, as she begrudgingly murmured, “…Fine. If you say so, then… I’ll stick around. But only if Mare’s with me.”

As if on cue, Softpaw Waitress appeared just then— balancing a stack of folded white-cloth napkins in her large hands. Her striped tail flicked behind her as she set them at the center of the table, before she looked up to give the group a long, amused grin.

“Well, ain’t this a sight,” she drawled. “Cutest little band of troublemakers I ever did see.” She mused, before her claw-tip pointed at Dark Elf Warden— her tone turning mockingly stern. “And you, honey— don’t forget your napkin. Don’t want my manager busting in here on account of all that ruckus, and having evidence to kick ya’ll out.”

Her chuckle cracked the tension. Slowly, the booth warmed again— this time with cautious laughter, the clink of cutlery, the mingling scents of barbecue and cheese.

Goblin Slayer kept one arm firm across Guild Girl’s back as the others settled. His crimson gaze swept the twins with quiet authority.

“… Listen closely,” the ashen-haired teen eventually spoke.

Their eyes fixed on him.

“Sarah—” he inclined his head toward the woman at his side, “— you’ll be my steward. Our accountant and yeoman. The one who keeps our numbers, our trade, our supplies, and our contracts in order. Without you, nothing moves.”

Her heart leapt, and she nodded against him, with pride softening her molten-gold eyes.

The ashen-haired teen then turned to Dark Elf Warden. “Marell. With your spellcraft— growth, roots, soil— you’ll be our cultivator. Farmland, healing herbs, landscaping. You’ll give us the ground we stand on.”

The blond boy straightened in his seat, with color rising in his round cheeks. “I… I can do that for you, Ren.”

Finally, his gaze returned to Dark Elf Ranger. “And you, Aurelia. With your bow, and your gift to command beasts— you’ll be our beast master. You’ll guard our flanks, tame what others fear, and command the field.”

Her lips parted, a retort half-born. But no words came, as her mismatched eyes flicked away, before returning to his— reluctant fire simmering into something steadier. “… Beast master, huh?” she muttered. “Tch… Fine. I’ll take it.”

Goblin Slayer inclined his head once, final.

And so, over the low hum of laughter, the clatter of plates, and the smell of seared meat and honeyed glaze, the first threads of loyalty were bound.

That night, beneath the tavern’s glow, the foundation of the Ashta Accord was set.

Author’s note: Holy moly, this was so gosh darn hard to write, and it took so much effort too! Sex scenes are one thing, but adding anything more than just two people in well written smut is something else— let alone writing a foursome.

At least for me, anyway. 

I would say this is the end of the first volume, and the beginning of the second one; that focuses more on building the faction, now that Guild Girl’s here to help Goblin Slayer manage it— allowing him to focus on recruiting, and going on quests via the Great Sage’s guidance. 

There’s gonna be a lot more lemons, so be prepared for sex and violence.

Chapter Text

Alongside the initial deposit of one-hundred thousand platinum coins into the Ashta Accord’s founding reserve, its newly sworn members had been quick to pool together their own private funds— raising the collective treasury to the staggering sum of one hundred and twenty-one thousand platinum coins. 

It was the kind of fortune that even most nobles would never see in their lifetime— the sort of wealth that could buy one’s peace from the world, and secure a comfortable retirement for at least two centuries. 

Yet, as the Great Sage had cautioned him earlier, Goblin Slayer would soon discover for himself how quickly such riches dwindled, and he would not discover it alone. For at his side, ever practical and sharp-eyed, stood his newly appointed steward.

The first matter he saw to was simple, yet binding: the authorization of Guild Girl as a co-signer and manager of his bank account— a move the Great Sage had deemed essential, and to which the brunette accepted with a mix of professional pride and quiet determination. 

With that matter settled, the two of them set about the business of tracing line after line across the projected budget the Great Sage had the ashen-haired teen drawn up— each number neatly inked in the margins of their new ledger. It was a daunting document— rows of expenses tied to renovations, expansions, and unseen necessities— and though Goblin Slayer could follow its logic in broad strokes, it was Guild Girl’s hand that translated those abstractions into manageable paths forward.

Still, before they could even dream of setting foot in the ‘Builders’ Guild of Caladorn’— the capital’s most respected and notoriously expensive hall of stonecutters and builders— they were first required to present themselves within the austere walls of ‘Pendragon Palace.’

The acquisition of land was no mere matter of gold exchange; it demanded signatures, stamps, oaths, and the endless scribing of names and clauses upon parchment that seemed to pile higher with each passing breath. In this respect, Goblin Slayer would have been hopelessly lost without the Great Sage whispering steady instructions into the corners of his mind. Yet even with her guidance, it wouldn’t have secured him the victory that Guild Girl managed with her own lived experience.

It was the brunette who understood the game of words, the subtleties of tone, and the iron patience required to weather endless bureaucratic posturing. Years of mediating disputes between arrogant adventurers and a perpetually undermanned guild hall had honed her into something far more capable than a mere receptionist— she was, in every sense, a negotiator hardened by fire. 

What the King’s Secretary had announced with smug finality as a required sum of fifty-thousand platinum coins for the three-hundred acres of Jura Forest, she coolly dismantled line by line. With her steady voice and unflinching gaze, she argued the impracticality of such an inflated demand, appealed to precedent, cited forgotten clauses buried in the royal ledgers, and pressed her advantage with stubbornness.

Two hours later, to the Secretary’s thinly veiled irritation and the faint, amused approval of the Great Sage, the final contract bore a revised sum: twenty-thousand platinum coins. Better still, Guild Girl had secured not only the land containing the ruined fortress but also the property rights to Lake Virelda— an invaluable acquisition.

Goblin Slayer did not smile at the victory, for smiling was not his way, but he marked it quietly in his thoughts as one more reason why her presence at his side was indispensable.

The ink had barely dried before the next bleeding of coin began. For if the palace was where ownership had been won, the Builders’ Guild was where the true cost of ambition revealed itself. 

Their first audience was with the ‘Stone and Shield Company’— an outfit whose very name conjured images of steadfast bulwarks and ironclad promises. 

Specialists in stonework, fortifications, dungeons, and armories, they were exactly the sort of craftsmen required to turn the crumbling Jura Fortress into something fit for the Ashta Accord’s ambitions. 

Their proposal was sweeping: the entire wall system was to be torn down and rebuilt, corner towers raised at each angle, armories installed within the inner walls, and the foundation itself redone so that the fortress might stand for centuries rather than decades.

The price was quoted without hesitation— twenty-two thousand platinum coins, demanded with the same finality as the ring of hammer on stone. It was a staggering sum, and though Guild Girl’s pen moved quickly to record every detail, even she had the faintest tightening at the corner of her lips as the number was confirmed.

However, the brunette wasted no time in shifting her attention to the next step on her outline. 

Thus came the turn of the ‘Hearth & Homes Builders’ Consortium’— a venerable association of architects and tradesmen whose craft lay not in walls or towers but in the living marrow of a fortress— its kitchens, halls, and hearths. 

Their proposal demanded eighteen-thousand platinum coins— a sum no less punishing than the Stone and Shield Company’s but impossible to refuse. For that price, they promised to transform the ruinous barracks into proper living quarters capable of housing two hundred men and women, to raise a galley large enough to feed them all, and to carve out pantries, smokehouses, and cellars to preserve food for leaner days. 

Beyond this, they pledged to install a plumbing system drawn from Lake Virelda itself— flowing into a vast cistern that would feed the fortress. With it came an entire network of pipes, filters, and channels designed not only for drinking but also to service communal lavatories, newly built bathhouses, and even a furnace system capable of delivering hot water through the stone walls. 

It was a vision both practical and ambitious, and the Great Sage insisted— without any trace of compromise— that it was essential if the Ashta Accord wished to rise above the crude squalor that had doomed so many orders before them.

From there, Goblin Slayer and Guild Girl pressed on to the next name upon the list, ‘Emerald Bloom Enchantments.’

Their specialty was less tangible than stone or timber, but no less vital for the balance of life within the fortress. For eight-thousand platinum coins, they promised to raise an immense greenhouse within the courtyard— its enchanted glass panes catching the sun and its carefully laid irrigation lines fed directly by Hearth & Homes’ newly designed plumbing system. 

Rows upon rows of herbs, vegetables, and medicinal flora would thrive in that space, which eventually would be overseen personally by Dark Elf Warden, to ensure the Ashta Accord could rely upon its own produce rather than outside supply. 

Guild Girl, who had long dealt with the endless complaints of adventurers demanding better rations, silently marked this addition as a clever safeguard against future discontent.

Next came the clangor of industry, for the ‘Ironfang Smiths’ Collective’ offered their services for six-thousand platinum coins. 

Their promise was the construction of a central forge unlike any seen in the outer provinces, a cavernous hall with six workstations, multiple smelting furnaces, and reinforced storage chambers to hold ores, ingots, and coal. 

They even planned on leaving deliberate space for future expansions, at the Great Sage’s insistence, for she had already whispered of projects that would demand more advanced metallurgy and engineering that wasn’t even available in their world.

From there the negotiations moved to the ‘Moonveil Rangers’ Lodge’— an order of builders renowned for their skill in shaping kennels, stables, and training grounds. 

Remembering how Dark Elf Ranger had pressed her demand for such facilities, the Great Sage pointed out to the ashen-haired teen how beasts of burden, hunting hounds, and messenger birds would be vital to their independence. 

For seven-thousand and five-hundred platinum coins, Moonveil offered a stable large enough for one hundred horses and mounts, an aviary tower for hawks and ravens, kennels for both hounds and exotic beasts, and a training yard seamlessly connected to the living quarters. 

To Goblin Slayer, the figure was steep; but to Dark Elf Ranger, he knew it was nonnegotiable, and so the contract and check was signed.

Unfortunately, the list did not end there. 

One of the Great Sage’s most unyielding requirements came next—the establishment of an alchemical wing. Thus entered the ‘Cauldron & Candle Alchemists’ Union’— hired for five-thousand platinum coins. Their role was to design and build a laboratory with proper ventilation, rune-locked storage for volatile reagents, and a secure brewing hall for tonics, elixirs, and potions. 

Goblin Slayer, who cared little for powders and tinctures, found himself quietly questioning the necessity. Yet the Great Sage’s tone was adamant: without such a facility, their greater vision of creating benevolent counterparts to the evils that plagued the world— beginning with goblins themselves— would remain nothing more than an idle dream.

Then came an expense that grated against him more than any other. 

By decree of the Builders’ Guild itself, the ‘Silverquill Architects’ Company’ had to be retained— whether or not the ashen-haired teen found them necessary. 

For four-thousand platinum coins, their role was to oversee the broader design, ensure cohesion between the hired companies, and confirm that the project was not only sound but future-proof. 

Goblin Slayer considered it wasteful— his jaw tightening as the quill marked down the figure— but Guild Girl gently reminded him that architects did more than draw flourishes. Silverquill would plan floor layouts, regulate airflow, expand the central keep, and even weave protective enchantments into the supporting structures. 

With that reminder, his displeasure lessened, though only slightly.

The march of coin continued with the ‘Stormhammer Mercantile Company’— suppliers of raw material both from Feyrun and lands beyond the seas. 

For five thousand and five-hundred platinum coins, they would provide additional timber, limestone, granite, copper piping, and iron beams, as well as meals and temporary housing for the vast number of craftsmen needed. 

Goblin Slayer, ever practical, had argued they could harvest what they required from the Jura Forest and the mineral-rich Tempest Mountains. The Great Sage, with Guild Girl’s swift agreement, dismissed his argument at once— reminding him how long it would take four people to gather what two hundred specialists could consume in days. 

Reluctantly, he let the contract and check be signed.

Finally, the Great Sage’s outline reached its most punishing demand. To meet their requested two-week deadline, they were compelled to hire two-thousand additional laborers— stonecutters, carpenters, masons, and smiths. The cost was twenty-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-platinum coins; nearly the last breath of their once-mighty treasury. 

When Guild Girl placed her seal upon the contract and signed the final check, the Ashta Accord’s fortune, which had begun as one hundred and twenty-one thousand platinum coins, had been reduced to the miserable remainder of ten gold.

The Great Sage, ever calm, whispered that this was the price of foundations— that without bleeding gold now, the Ashta Accord would have no future to guard. 

Guild Girl, though exhausted by the endless figures and negotiations, shared the thought silently. Goblin Slayer, however, simply looked at the empty ledger, then at his steward, and accepted the truth in his own wordless way. 

Their fortune was gone, yet the shape of their fortress— and of their future— had finally begun.

The café’s little bell tinkled as the last of the evening light spilled through tall, latticed windows, painting the polished wood floors with fading stripes of gold. The interior was a dream of carved oak and velvet cushions, with brass light fixtures dangling overhead like watchful fireflies. 

Patrons murmured at their booths, with steam curling from cups— the smell of dark coffee beans and freshly baked bread weaving itself into the cozy warmth of the place. Beyond the glass, the rooftops of the capital caught the sun’s descent— their slates glowing faintly before slipping into shadow.

At a small table tucked near the window, Goblin Slayer sat slouched opposite to Guild Girl, with his helmet resting between his boots like an obedient dog. His cheek sagged into the palm of his hand; crimson eyes half-lidded with fatigue. 

Before him, a sandwich lay half eaten: sourdough layered with lettuce, tomato, turkey, onions, and a thin glisten of balsamic. Beside it, a cup of tomato basil soup cooled slowly— its surface still shimmering with hints of steam, while a sweating glass of iced water stood untouched. His cappuccino fared better, though it, too, was only half consumed— its frothy crown already sinking.

He let out another weary yawn, shoulders sagging further. Across the table, Guild Girl sat as if carved from tireless energy— her brunette hair catching the candlelight, her posture sharp, her expression composed. 

She chewed a mouthful of chicken salad while sipping her latte, her free hand gliding across a thick agenda that Goblin Slayer had bought at the Great Sage’s insistence. Above it rested a smaller booklet stuffed with names and addresses, and her quill darted between the two— cross-referencing, categorizing, assigning roles as though she had three minds working at once. 

The ashen-haired teen blinked at her in disbelief; baffled that she could eat, drink, and scribble without faltering, not even once.

Inside his skull, a gentle hum arose, warm and impressed— like a note held on the rim of a glass.

“How fortunate you are, Ashta. Sarah’s brilliance shines without falter, and her diligence is without pause. Sharp, precise, and endlessly adaptive, she weaves sense from chaos as though she were born for it. Were she not mortal, she would have made a sage to rival even myself.”

Goblin Slayer straightened slightly— the weight of the Great Sage’s admiration stirring something in him.

“Tell her I said that,” the Great Sage added— her voice low and expectant, as though testing him.

Another yawn stole his chance at immediate reply, forcing him to bring his cappuccino to his lips instead. 

The first sip hit his tongue with velvet smoothness; a layered warmth of roasted beans softened by cream. Beneath it lingered a faint sweetness, like caramel brushed over woodsmoke— bitter and soothing all at once. The flavor tugged him gently toward wakefulness, his head clearing just enough for words.

He then set the cup down and glanced at her again. “… Sarah.”

The brunette didn’t look up immediately. Her pen moved swiftly while her lips were busy chewing, though she tilted her head slightly in his direction. “Mm? What do you need, handsome?”

The word struck harder than it had any right to. Heat flared under his skin, and he nearly knocked his knee against the table. 

Her eyes flicked up briefly, catching his blush in the corner of her sight, and the smallest smirk tugged at her mouth before she buried herself back in her work.

“Endearing… Though, I must say: you do fluster far too easily, Ashta.”

The ashen-haired teen exhaled, recomposed himself, and leaned forward— his crimson gaze steady. “Cielle wanted me to tell you something. She said that what you’re doing right now— the way you work, how sharp you are— it’s something even she admires. She said you’d make a great sage yourself.”

Guild Girl’s hand slowed— her quill hovering above the page. A faint flush touched her cheeks, though she tried to hide it with another sip of latte.

Goblin Slayer, however, wasn’t finished. His voice softened— awkward but resolute. “And for what it’s worth… I think she’s right. You’re the kind of person who makes impossible things feel manageable. Honestly, Sarah, if not for you, I’d still be buried in paperwork back at the palace. You’re more than just sharp— you’re… You’re incredible.”

There was a beat of silence, filled only by the muffled chatter of other patrons.

“Thief,” the Great Sage chided suddenly— her tone mock stern, yet tinged with a smile only he could sense. “You stole my compliment— twisted them into your own, and then dared to outshine me with sweetness. That was my thunder you claimed.”

Across the table, Guild Girl’s lips parted in a goofy grin, with her cheeks blooming red. She then lowered her quill completely while hiding her smile behind her breadstick, though her shoulders trembled with amusement. “I’m really starting to get used to this side of you, Ren,” she murmured— her voice warm, and her eyes glimmering with an unmistakable look of being completely enamored.

Flustered even at her response, Goblin Slayer grinned embarrassingly as he rubbed the back of his neck, before eventually asking her, “How are you not tired though?”

Guild Girl’s brow the. arched, bemused, though she didn’t miss a beat— forking another bite of salad and chewing thoughtfully before answering. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” he sighed, while raking his fingers through his gray hair, until it stuck up in disheveled tufts. “The palace paperwork alone nearly broke me. That secretary— goddamn, he was insufferable. So stuck up, so pretentious. Then listening to contractor after contractor from the Builders’ Guild… Their endless sales pitches, the prices, the posturing— just… It was soul-crushing. I thought my head was going to cave in.” He ranted on— burying both elbows on the table, before lowering his forehead into his hands. “I swear… I’d rather fight a nest of goblins with a stick than sit through another speech about structural integrity or plumbing filtration systems…”

Guild Girl’s laughter suddenly slipped out— clear, unrestrained, and musical. She dabbed her lips with a napkin, while shaking her head fondly. “Well, at least everyone at the Builders’ Guild was polite and professional. Aside from His Royal Secretary, of course. But you’re right— it was all pretty facetious. Bureaucracy usually is.” She shrugged lightly. “Still, I understand.”

The ashen-haired teen blinked at her, while lifting his head with a confused expression on his face. “Understand what?”

The brunette then chuckled, before twirling her fork in her salad. “With all due respect, adventurers are some of the most arrogant, self-entitled individuals I’ve ever dealt with. Paperwork is one thing, but imagine dealing with idiots insisting they deserve obscene treatment for doing the bare minimum. Every day. For years.”

Goblin Slayer froze, realization dawning. “You’re saying all that… Actually made you ready for this?”

“Exactly.” She grinned, before spearing another tomato.

“Then…” he hesitated, before tilting his head sheepishly, “has working for me so far been an improvement over the Adventurers’ Guild?”

Guild Girl nearly snorted into her latte. “An improvement? Gods, yes.”

The ashen-haired teen leaned forward, curious. “Really? H-How so?”

Her golden eyes sparkled mischievously, with a faint blush returning to her cheeks. “Well, first of all, aside from you— which doesn’t even count, since we’re basically co-owners— I don’t have to answer to anyone anymore. That alone is the biggest upgrade to my quality of life.”

Goblin Slayer blinked, taken aback but flattered— his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles.

“And second,” she went on, setting her fork down, her blush deepening, “I’m actually making a difference now. I’m not just some cog in a machine shuffling papers. With you, I feel like I’m building something that matters.” Her voice softened, with sincerity shining through. “And with you, I actually have a future.”

The ashen-haired teen froze— her words sinking in like stones dropped into deep water.

“… Plus,” she added, smirking again to ease the weight of her own admission, “having Cielle as our guide and protector? That’s peace of mind you don’t just find anywhere. Especially when she starts talking about things like electricity. Gods, the way you described it, how it can power lights and automate work— it’s fascinating. I want to see it with my own eyes someday.” She chuckled, before taking another sip of latte. “I guess you could say I’m excited to be here with you… Even there’s quite a lot of responsibilities to it.”

Goblin Slayer couldn’t help but to faintly mirror her smile. Her words sat with him like coals warming the inside of his chest; strange and steadying all at once. He let them linger a moment longer, eyes half-lowered as she scribbled swiftly across the page.

“… I’m glad to hear that,” he said at last— his voice carrying more weight than he’d intended. Then, almost reluctantly, he added, “And… Sorry about us having to stay at your parents’ house tonight.”

Guild Girl only shook her head, lips curving in reassurance as she turned another page in the thick contact booklet balanced above her neat agenda notes. “Don’t be. My parents are good people, Ren. And more importantly,” she glanced at him with a light in her eyes that wasn’t entirely playful, “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather bring home to meet them.”

The meaning landed slowly on him. His shoulders stiffened a fraction, his breath hitching as realization crept across his face. “Y-Yeah,” he murmured, almost under his breath, “hopefully, uh… Hopefully they’ll be able to tolerate me.”

“Truly, Ashta? You’ve cut down goblins by the hundreds, left fifteen full-grown men cooling in their own blood not a fortnight ago, and even found time for a public debauchery. Yet this— meeting the parents of a woman who clearly adores you— is what rattles your composure?”

The ashen-haired teen’s lips pressed together, no reply spoken aloud. But within, his thought slipped back toward her, muted and honest: ‘I just get nervous with the idea of new experiences.’

“Hmph,” she replied— her tone half-playful, half-fond, “so I’ve noticed.”

Across from him, Guild Girl wrote out the final name and mailing address in neat strokes from her contact booklet, before setting her pencil down afterward with a small sigh of relief. She then flexed her wrist and gave it a brisk shake. “They’ll love you, Ren. Absolutely,” she said with a certainty that made him glance at her again.

“… You think so?” Goblin Slayer asked quietly.

“I know so.” She smiled warmly, as she slid the contact booklet shut and tucked it into her black messenger bag. For a moment she hesitated, with her cheeks coloring faintly. “Though…” She gave a soft, disbelieving laugh, “maybe don’t bring up what we did at Chilly’s Tavern.”

His brow ticked upward. “... Good idea.”

She huffed a laugh through her nose— shaking her head, before gesturing lightly at the agenda spread across the table. “Alright then, let’s get back on track.”

Guild Girl then skimmed her finger down the page and read aloud, before tapping the first name she’d starred. “‘Arc Mage,’ first— also known as Victoria Curie. Like you said, Cielle, she’s the most important one we need. And from my understanding, you’re going to have Ren—” she glanced over with a small smile, “— ride Haru… that is her name, right?”

He nodded once. “Yeah, Haru.”

“Right,” the brunette replied, before continuing from memory. “And you’re going to Ride Haru from Caladorn, all the way to Mithral Hall, in the Great Rift… How long will that take?”

“From Caladorn to Mithral Hall is precisely three hundred and eighty-nine kilometers. At Haru’s trotting speed of twenty kilometers an hour, the direct travel time is nineteen hours and forty minutes. But with rest stops, you’re realistically looking at a day and a half minimum. Closer to two days if anything delays you.”

Goblin Slayer nodded in silent response to the Great Sage’s calculations, before saying aloud in his low, steady voice, “… It’ll be thirty-six to forty-eight hours, just for one way.”

Guild Girl hummed, nodding as she jotted a quick note into the margin. “Then I’ll plan for five days before I expect to see you back. That gives you time for the Underreach too—” she paused, brow creasing as she tried to recall the name, “— for that artifact Cielle said you’d have to bring up. The… Arcane Engine of… Kharak-Dun?”

“Correct.”

“Yeah— that,” he said.

Guild Girl nodded while tapping her pencil twice against the page, before writing in her tidy hand: ‘Arcane Engine of Kharak-Dun.’ “Alright. Then by the time you come back to my parents’ place, I’ll already have those recruitment letters sent.” She spoke it half to herself— eyes narrowing in focus as her notes grew— but her voice carried the same quiet conviction as before.

“Ashta. Resume your meal. Your intake is far behind target. Sandwich, soup, water. Alternate them. And do not abandon that cappuccino.”

With only a mild begrudge, the ashen-haired teen obeyed without a word before taking another bite of the turkey sandwich— chewing while the tang of balsamic mingled with roasted meat and fresh onion. A sip of water followed, cold and clean, before he set the glass down and leaned back slightly.

Guild Girl was already moving down the agenda. “After Arc Mage… We’ve got Akira Narukami. Calls himself ‘Captain.’”

“… That one, I know personally,” the Great Sage admitted, with a methodical tone in her voice.

Hearing that revelation, Goblin Slayer brow furrowed faintly. ‘… You know him?’

“Yes. Not from mere sight— I knew of him, before you and I ever spoke. Captain was the one who felled the Demon Lord— the very being who seeded the Dark Sect. Do not mistake their defeat for purity. That victory left scars. And I know well what kind of creature the Demon Lord truly was— even if Narukami himself does not.”

The brunette momentarily glanced up at her boyfriend when he didn’t respond right away, who was in the middle of lifting his sandwich again— chewing slowly while her voice continued in his head.

“Still,” the Great Sage added grudgingly, “I recommend him. His strength is undeniable. And if you recruit him, the rest of his party follows.”

Goblin Slayer tightened his jaw slightly, then cleared his throat— catching Guild Girl’s expectant look. “… Cielle says she already knew about him. Not from watching, like you and the others, but from before I ever met her. She says Captain was the one who killed the Demon Lord.”

Hearing that made her pencil stopped midway, as her brows arched. “… The Demon Lord?”

“Yeah,” the ashen-haired teen said while nodding slowly, before adding, “She also… Doesn’t speak of Akira fondly. She respects his power, but there’s bitterness in it.”

Guild Girl pressed her lips together, scribbled the note, then said quietly, “If she says he’s worth considering, then we’ll keep his name near the top.”

Goblin Slayer gave a short nod and took a spoonful of his tomato basil soup— its warmth settling into him.

His girlfriend then flipped to the next name. “… Ayaka Narukami— ‘Female Wizard.’”

“Cousin to Captain. Her power is formidable, and her loyalty to him is absolute. If he accepts, she will fall in line. If not, her answer will be no.”

Goblin Slayer then relayed her message evenly: “Cielle says she’s powerful, but since she’s Akira’s devoted cousin, he’ll always come first. If he joins, then she joins. Otherwise… We shouldn’t count on her.”

Guild Girl nodded once, jotting briskly. “Makes sense.”

Her pencil slid to the next name. “Selene Veyra— ‘Female Bishop.’”

“Veyra’s story is carved in pain. She was taken by goblins once, and broken in their hands for days. Fire scarred her sight— now she sees only shapes, silhouettes. But her will did not die. Her hatred for goblins burns as deep as yours, Ashta. Even if either Narukami cousins refuse us, she will still stand by your side. For her, killing them is not survival— it is justice.”

Goblin Slayer’s grip on his spoon lingered— his gaze downcast a moment. Then he repeated it for Guild Girl— his voice quiet but steady: “She… Was captured by goblins. Scarred… She can’t see well anymore. But Cielle says she’s strong, and that her hatred for them runs as deep as mine. Even without Captain or Female Wizard, she’d join us.”

Guild Girl’s pencil slowed— her eyes softening. “That’s… Heartbreaking. But I… I suppose that benefit us, in a way.”

The ashen-haired teen nodded— drinking again from his water, before forcing down more of his sandwich.

The brunette then tapped the page. “Next is Jeremy Starfell— ‘Scout.’”

“Starfell. Loud, vain, quick with flirtation. He pretends to be a charmer, yet he knows where to stop. Beneath it, he is capable, reliable, and—” the Great Sage paused— her tone sharpening with mirth. “He would amuse you, I think. A welcome foil to your severity.”

Goblin Slayer swallowed another sip of soup, then said, “Cielle calls him loud, and thinks he tries too hard with women, but… Says he’s reliable. She also thinks he’d probably make me laugh, which… Is saying something.”

Guild Girl chuckled softly, before tapping her pencil twice before writing. “If she thinks you’d laugh, then I’m interested.”

The ashen-haired teen smirked faintly into his cappuccino as he drank it— the foam sweet and bitter at once.

His girlfriend then shifted to the next name. “Theron Kaelis. ‘Myrmidon Monk.’”

“The oldest of Narukami’s party. His body is hardened by battle, but his spirit is steeped in philosophy and books. He is a man who wields both fist and word with discipline. He could hold a library as easily as command. If you recruit him, he’ll steady your line.”

Goblin Slayer relayed: “Cielle says he’s the oldest— disciplined, into philosophy and literature. Could be a commander, or even a librarian.”

Guild Girl hummed thoughtfully, jotting a note beside his name. “Versatile. That’s good,” she said quietly, before her pencil landed on the last of the cluster. “Brienne Korrad— ‘Female Warrior.’”

Cielle was silent for a long beat before answering. “The least seasoned among them. Young, unpolished. But her heart beats for battle, not for fear. She’ll grow into her role, though she is not yet the equal of the others. Put her where courage matters more than experience— on the front, or teaching those who need to believe they can fight.”

Goblin Slayer repeated, “Cielle says she’s the least experienced, but her heart’s in the right place. A real fighter. Good for the field, maybe even good for training troopers.”

Guild Girl leaned back slightly— tapping the eraser against her chin, before putting another careful mark in the margin. “Alright… That’s the lot of Captain’s circle. Sounds like if we get him, we don’t just get one asset— we get an entire party’s worth.”

The ashen-haired need nodded, before finishing off the rest of his sandwich with a heavy bite before pushing his empty plate aside. 

His girlfriend then tapped the page again— her pencil poised. “Next up— ‘High Elf Archer.’ Real name? Princess Aerendyl Laiviel.”

“Her sister is the Queen of Gladehaven. Through her, one day, your Accord could form an alliance that stretches far beyond the Jura Forest. More importantly, Ashta— meeting Laiviel is not optional. It is a fixed point in time. That encounter is required, or the fabric that holds this world steady will falter.”

Goblin Slayer couldn’t help but to blink slowly at that phrasing, as she shifted his spoon in the soup. ‘So then… Meeting her is… Inevitable?’

“Inevitable, and necessary. Remember this: no matter what choices you make, you will cross paths with her. That is written.”

He exhaled quietly and glanced across the table. “Cielle says Aerendyl’s not just important— she’s… necessary. Apparently, meeting her is fixed, like something the universe itself won’t bend away from. And her sister being Queen means there’s potential for a real alliance, if we play it right.”

Guild Girl’s pencil slowed, her brows furrowing. “A fixed point?” She shook her head faintly, but noted it anyway— sketching a small crown symbol beside the name. “Alright then. We’ll make sure that one isn’t missed.”

The ashen-haired took another sip of his cappuccino, the warm bitterness coating his tongue, before returning to the page with her.

“Next is ‘Dwarf Shaman,’” Guild Girl read. “His real name is Thrain Stonebrew.”

The Great Sage chuckled softly— a sound like distant bells. “A character, through and through. He walks with Laiviel, and is loyal. Beyond his spellcraft, he knows much of metallurgy and oenology. His fire wine— ah, Ashta, one taste and you will know why dwarves brag of their craft.”

Goblin Slayer smirked faintly, then relayed, “Cielle says he’s part of Aerendyl’s party, and is loyal. Knows metallurgy, wine-making. Apparently he brews his own fire wine— she makes it sound like it’ll knock me flat.”

Guild Girl’s lips twitched into a smile. “A dwarf brewing fire wine? That’s tradition. I’d be more worried if he didn’t.” She jotted it down, before moving her pencil lower. “Next— ‘Lizard Priest.’ Real name is Zer’thak Rholiss.”

“The youngest of Laiveil’s companions. He dreams bold dreams— of becoming a dragon. In truth, he is wise in fossils, bones, and necromantic craft. He will speak to you of history as though it lived yesterday. Do not underestimate his passion.”

Goblin Slayer’s crimson gaze flicked up as he echoed her words: “Cielle says he’s the youngest of Aerendyl’s group. Knows bones, fossils, necromancy— wants to become a dragon someday. She says not to underestimate how passionate he is.”

The brunette couldn’t help but to raise her brows. “A lizard wanting to become a dragon… Fitting.” She wrote neatly, then exhaled. “That’s the last of her party.”

The ashen-haired teen nodded— polishing off the last sip of soup, before reaching for his water.

“Alright,” Guild Girl continued, “the next name we have is ‘Heavy Warrior.’ Garrick Brandon.”

“They call him ‘Guts,’ and not idly. He once carved through an entire flank by himself, entrails and all, hence the name. Once a mercenary, part of a roving band, which honed his sense of cooperation. He is not just muscle— he can lead, coordinate, rally. Ground operations will suit him best.”

Goblin Slayer pinched his temple briefly, then told his girlfriend, “His nickname is “Guts.” He earned it— violently. He was a mercenary, knows how to work with others, and is a good leader. Definitely suited for the field.”

Guild Girl’s mouth pressed in a line as she scribbled, muttering, “... Guts? Ah, I think I have an idea who that is.” She then scanned down, at the next on the list. “Casca Valemont— ‘Female Knight.’”

“Her title unintentionally deceives. She is paladin at heart—brave, luminous. A leader born, with a shield broad enough to cover the weak. If she accepts, she will inspire. But, Ashta,” the Great Sage’s tone softened— sounding almost conspiratorial. 

“She and Guts? They have unspoken feelings. Neither dares voice it. Keep it in mind, should you work with them both. Respect their silence, and avoid turning it to conflict.”

Goblin Slayer then relayed that carefully— his voice steady but his brow furrowed: “Cielle says she’s a paladin, and a brave one. Perfect for leading, inspiring. But… She also says she and Guts have feelings they’ve never admitted, so… It’s best not to stir that hornet’s nest.”

Guild Girl paused in her notes, then exhaled through her nose with a crooked smile. “Well. That’s… Useful to know.”

The ashen-haired just nodded, while quietly drinking his water.

Guild Girl’s pencil slid again. “Next up, we have… Oh… I know this idiot,” she admitted, with some mild exasperation in her voice. “Denji Albrecht. ‘Spearman.’”

“Ah, yes. Much like Starfell— loud, proud, eager. He’s tried his hand at every woman near him, including Sarah herself. A good man at heart, but expect envy, Ashta, when he sees her at your side instead of his. He is not cruel, but jealousy is never kind.”

Goblin Slayer frowned a bit, before translating. “She says he’s a lot like Jeremy. Loud. Eager. Apparently, he’s even… Tried something with you once?”

Guild Girl’s lips pressed into a smirk. “Once or twice. Didn’t go anywhere.”

He sighed faintly at that. “Well… Cielle says I should expect envy from him, with him seeing you with me.”

The brunette couldn’t help but to chuckle at that, as she scribbled a note beside his name with a raised brow. “Oh, I’d enjoy seeing that!” She said half-playfully, before tapping the next name. “Ah, good ol’ ‘Witch’… Isolde Duskbane.”

“The only other one Albrecht will forever chase, though it will never be. Who could blame him, though? She is… Abundant, in every sense. Knowledge, beauty, spellcraft, bra size— her presence eclipses those around her.”

Goblin Slayer coughed into his hand— his ears warming slightly. “Cielle says she’s the one Spearman’s still chasing. He’ll never succeed. But she admits that Witch is… Very gifted. With spellcraft.”

Guild Girl raised a brow, smirking knowingly. “Only gifted in spellcraft, huh?”

Goblin Slayer shifted in his seat, mumbling, “And… I guess she has a lot on her chest…”

She laughed at, amused, before jotting it down and turning to the next page— her pencil ready. “Alright… Next is ‘Wizard,’ and ‘Wizard Boy.’ Wizard’s real name is Ebony Ravenshade, and her brother’s name is Alwyn Ravenshade.” She squinted at the spelling, murmuring, “Raven… Shade… Weird.”

“The Ravenshade siblings both wrapped themselves in pride— thinking their brilliance in the Clock Tower marked them untouchable. Do not be fooled, Ashta. They were expelled. Their father was caught in an affair with another member of the Association, and the siblings bore the punishment of his disgrace. It was unjust… Yet they carry it like armor, hardened against their old peers. They will never side with the Mages’ Association again. And underneath the arrogance— they are good people.”

Goblin Slayer sipped his water, then said evenly, “Cielle says Ebony and Alwyn used to study at the Clock Tower, which is an academy run by the Mages’ Association. But they got expelled, though it wasn’t their fault— it was because of their father’s scandal. They act proud, but they’re not bad people, and they’ll never go back to the Association.”

Guild Girl nodded faintly, scribbling. “That… Explains the attitude I’ve heard about them. Makes sense.”

“One thing more— Alwyn and Marell are not so different. Feminine, sharp, proud of it. But unlike Marell, he is… Open to both roads. That may be of interest later, if you’re wise.”

Goblin Slayer eyes narrowed faintly, but he relayed with tact: “Cielle says Alwyn’s similar to Marell. But… He’s also bisexual. Something to keep in mind, I guess?”

Guild Girl glanced at him sideways, with a faint smile tugging her lips. “Cielle’s very thorough.”

The ashen-haired dipped his head in response, before returning to his turkey sandwich.

Guild Girl looked down again. “Only other member of their party: ‘Fighter.’ Her real name is Liang Xiu.”

“Xiu was trained by her father in the martial arts. Born to lead, born to teach. She could guide unarmed combat better than most. Charismatic, commanding. If you are clever, Ashta, you will grant her a place to pass on her father’s art. She will be invaluable to the Accord.”

Goblin Slayer set down his half-sandwich— swallowing before he spoke. “Cielle says Liang’s father trained her personally. She’s a natural leader, charismatic, and could teach unarmed combat. If we give her the means, she’d pass that legacy on. She’d be a real asset.”

Guild Girl smiled faintly, scribbling. “I like the sound of her already,” she said, before flipping to the last section of her notes. “Alright… These last three don’t have full parties. Just independents.”

The ashen-haired teen glanced up. “That might play in our favor, right?”

“Indeed. Without parties, they are not bound by loyalty to other leaders. They will anchor themselves where they find purpose. Give them purpose, Ashta, and they are yours.”

Goblin Slayer nodded at the Great Sage’s words, before telling Guild Girl, “Cielle agrees that would play in our favor. No party means no divided loyalties.”

Guild Girl tilted her head thoughtfully. “Good. Then… Next is ‘Amazon Warrior.’ Real name: Calyra Stormfang.”

“She is colossal, Ashta. Four meters tall. Strong enough to lift a dragon’s bulk with her bare arms. Once a general across the ocean. Strength is not just her gift— it is her identity. If she joins you, she will be the hammer that smashes whatever wall blocks your path. And yes… She is everything her form suggests. Unyielding, formidable, statuesque.”

Goblin Slayer muttered, then relayed: “… Cielle says she’s massive. Four meters tall. Strong enough to lift a dragon. Was once a general, and… She’s as imposing as she sounds.”

Guild Girl’s eyes widened. “Four meters? Gods…” She jotted quickly, shaking her head with a laugh. “Remind me to stand behind her, never in front,” she mused half-jokingly, before looking down to the next entry. “Next is ‘Noble Fencer’— Sierra D’Lyonne.”

“Sierra’s slightly older than you, Ashta. Lightning at her fingertips, rapier in hand. But the true power lies in her bloodline. Her father, William D’Lyonne, commands the ‘Argent Veil Consortium’— a trading empire that stretches across kingdoms. Recruit her, and you do not just gain a duelist— you gain a gateway to commerce across the world.”

Goblin Slayer leaned back, letting the weight of his words hang before he repeated them with deliberate care. “Cielle says Sierra is a lightning fencer, formidable on her own. But more than that—her father controls the Argent Veil Consortium. A merchant empire that spans continents. Recruiting her wouldn’t just bring us another blade. It could open global trade routes.”

Guild Girl’s eyes widened, her quill stilling mid-stroke before she gave a low, incredulous whistle. “Global…” She leaned forward sharply, already scribbling notes with renewed urgency. “That’s not just a benefit, Ren— that’s leverage. With her backing, we wouldn’t simply be surviving. We’d be competing with kingdoms. That kind of reach isn’t an asset— it’s a necessity.”

He finished the last bite of his sandwich at a measured pace, chewing in silence as her words settled over the table. He nodded once, slow and certain.

Guild Girl drew a steadying breath, and then her gaze dropped to the final name. “Last, we have… ‘Elf Swordsman.’ Real name: Lyrielle Dawnblade.”

“Young, for an elf. Still a novice. But potential burns bright in her. Already, she has sworn her life against the Dark Sect. She will join. Of this, I am certain.”

Goblin Slayer’s tone followed, measured and unshaken. “Lyrielle’s a novice—but with strong potential. She has already vowed to fight the Dark Sect. Cielle says she’ll join without hesitation.”

Guild Girl’s hand slowed, her quill hovering above the parchment as her brows knit. The name alone seemed to draw something unspoken from her. “Lyrielle Dawnblade…” she murmured, as if testing the weight of it. Her lips pursed, and for a moment, the scratch of quill against paper did not resume.

When she finally wrote, it was with tighter strokes, her jaw set. She tucked the finished note into her satchel more firmly than necessary, as though sealing away her thoughts with it. Only then did she lean back in her chair, brushing a strand of chestnut hair from her face.

“Well,” she exhaled, the weariness in her tone undercut by something sharper—something she quickly smoothed over. “That’s everything. From the guild’s records, those are the strongest candidates I could assemble.” Her gaze shifted briefly toward her partner, lingering, then sliding away as if to mask whatever flickered there. “Still… most sane adventurers won’t throw in with a faction that can’t even afford to pay them. And that’s before we even consider the lack of manpower to operate at any real scale.”

Goblin Slayer shook his head, unbothered. “Not yet,” he corrected quietly. “But once Arc Mage is stationed at Jura Fortress, and the alchemy hall is complete… Coin won’t be necessary for that. We’ll spawn goblins, demons, whatever forces we require. They’ll become the first residents of the living quarters.”

Guild Girl’s lips pressed into a thin line— her fingers drumming softly on the edge of her notes. After a moment, she released a slow breath, with the tension in her shoulders easing.

“That’s… Unexpectedly clever,” she admitted— her voice tinged with reluctant admiration. A faint smile touched her mouth as she tapped the parchment with a fingertip. “In any case, we have direction now. And in two weeks, Jura Fortress will be ready to house it all. We’ve accomplished more than I expected today.”

Guild Girl then rose with practiced elegance— sweeping stray napkins into order and stacking the cutlery with a deft touch. When she glanced back, her smile carried the faintest hint of anticipation. “Come on, Ren. Let’s head to my parents’ place before it gets too late.”

He moved to follow— quietly collecting the dishes into a neat pile for the staff. “I’m still… Nervous about meeting them,” he confessed— his voice low, as though the admission might weigh less if spoken softly.

Her gaze lingered on him, her expression softening. “You’ll be fine,” she said gently. “My parents… They’ll see what I see.”

Goblin Slayer’s reply was quieter still, almost swallowed by the muted clatter of the café around them. “Then I’ll do my best to be worthy of it.”

Warmth bloomed across her features; she brushed her hand against his as she lifted a glass, the fleeting contact tender and deliberate. Together they tidied the table until it was neater than they had found it, a small courtesy that spoke of discipline and habit.

At last, the ashen-haired youth bent to retrieve his helmet from beneath the table. The steel gleamed faintly in the lamplight as he slid it into place, the familiar weight settling over him like a second skin. The buckle clicked shut with practiced finality.

When he straightened, Guild Girl was already reaching for his gloved hand. He took it without hesitation, the gesture simple yet intimate. And so, hand in hand, they stepped from the café into the waiting night.

Author’s note: Apologies if this isn’t the most exciting chapter, but I found it to be important enough to write. Not only does it serve to really set up the next volume— as I’ll probably use this chapter a lot for referencing what goes on— but it also shows what goes into really starting a faction, even with the Great Sage’s guidance.

I could have just done a whole timeskip, and written Goblin Slayer having his newly renovated fortress, land and his new recruits, but then it would feel a bit hollow, wouldn’t it? Plus, you wouldn’t have gotten to see how crucial of a role Guild Girl has in the Ashta Accord, and how helpful she is. 

Plus I had fun creating the whole budget breakdown, and showing how quickly they burnt through one-hundred platinum coins. 

For reference, one copper coin is worth one dollar in USD. One silver is ten dollars, one gold is one-hundred dollars, and one platinum coin is worth one-thousand dollars. Going off conversions using Dungeons and Dragons to USD that I found online.

So in total, Goblin Slayer had about $120,000,000.00 USD, and he blew through that, and was left with about $1,000 or so dollars— or in his currency, ten gold coins and change.

I figured showing where his reward went would also be better than just saying ‘he spent it all,’ plus I figured it would also be meaningful in its own way to show his partners believe in him enough to give him their life savings. 

And still, there’s a lot of work to be done on Jura Fortress. 

So anyways, the projected next arc will have Goblin Slayer meeting Guild Girl’s parents, spending the night, and then embarking on an adventure to Mirthal Hall to find Arc Mage, do a quest, and then recruit her. 

That’s just the barebones of it— there’s a whole bunch more that I’m purposefully not including. 

Anyway, that’s just me touching bases and all that— I’ll probably delete this later down the road.

Thank you so much for the support and interest you’ve shown for this fanfic— there’s literally little more I do than just get excited to post the next chapter, and entertain you guys. 

Chapter Text

The streets of Caladorn glowed beneath the lantern light— a soft amber haze drifting over cobbles of gray brick worn smooth by centuries of traffic. Iron lampposts, each capped with an oil-fed flame, lined the wide avenues in even intervals— their light shimmering faintly against puddles left from an earlier rain. 

Horse-drawn wagons rattled by in steady rhythm— their drivers hunched against the evening chill, with reins slapping leather harnesses as hoofbeats echoed between the stone façades. Riders on tall mares passed the wagons, with the silver badges of messengers and guards catching the lamplight as they moved.

Even with shops closed, the streets were not lifeless. Many storefronts glimmered faintly, their windows backlit by candles deliberately left burning inside— flickering lights that silhouetted jars of spice, polished lutes strung tight in display stands, neat pyramids of leather-bound books, and trays of silverware that glittered faintly as if guarding their own reflections. 

Bakers’ signs swayed lightly in the breeze— the smell of flour and yeast still clinging faintly to the air. The locked doors bore iron latches and bolts, but the soft glow within was an invitation: a silent promise that when the morning bell tolled, these shelves would once more offer their wares to early shoppers.

The city’s buildings rose tall and proud; dressed in white stone or dark timbered fronts, and fitted with balconies that overlooked the busy thoroughfares. 

Above them stretched slender towers that pierced the night sky; smooth white spires with narrow windows, like spears raised in silent vigil. Their bases blended seamlessly into districts of apartments, restaurants, and markets; stacked dwellings where laundry lines strung with shirts and stockings fluttered lightly over the streets. 

Sewer covers dotted the corners of intersections, with rainwater rushing beneath in echoing currents— the city’s hidden veins working tirelessly while the surface thrived with life.

Even the evening bustle itself held its own gentle rhythm.

A boy, hardly older than ten, dashed out of a sweetshop clutching a paper bag, with his mother chasing after with mock sternness as he stuffed a caramel into his cheek. Two guards leaned against the wall outside a tavern, laughing over a half-shared flask— their muskets propped against the wall beside them. 

A group of students in blue-trimmed cloaks hurried by with heavy satchels, while speaking in hurried tones about tomorrow’s examinations. A black cat leapt onto a stack of barrels, with its yellow eyes following a pair of lovers walking close— their laughter low and private.

Goblin Slayer and Guild Girl walked quietly among this flow of life— hand-in-hand— the glow of lanterns painting their path in shifting amber. 

His helmet reflected faint light as they passed a perfumer’s shop— its window filled with neat crystal bottles glowing behind their candlelit silhouettes. 

The brunette hummed faintly, the sound soft and unconscious, her brown eyes darting toward displays with a flicker of nostalgia even if she said nothing aloud.

Further along, the street bent past a square alive with evening music. A troupe of bards had set up near a fountain, playing strings and pipes that drifted like a warm blanket through the crowd. 

Families sat at the fountain’s rim eating skewers of roasted meat, children danced with ribbons, and an old man clapped along out of rhythm but with a broad grin on his face. The air smelled faintly of smoke, roasted chestnuts, and damp stone.

Beyond the square, the city shifted in tone. 

The proud towers and bustling guildhalls gave way to quieter streets, lined with neat rows of white townhouses whose iron railings gleamed faintly in the lamplight. Their facades stood in careful order— polished lanterns burning steadily above each stoop. 

The air smelled faintly of trimmed hedges and cooling stone; the neat sidewalks hemmed in by trees just beginning to bronze at the edges with the approach of autumn.

A small park interrupted the symmetry, with its gravel paths crunching faintly under the last late strollers. Chalk drawings still lingered on the cobbles nearby: stars, awkward flowers, and lopsided figures holding hands, bright against the dimming street. 

Guild Girl slowed, with her hand tightening gently around the ashen-haired teen’s gloved fingers. Her gaze softened, lingering on the familiar silhouettes of rooflines and lanterns. “… This is it,” she murmured, almost to herself— her voice carrying both relief and anticipation. “Home.”

The brunette eventually broke from the pavement, to guide him up the pale porch steps— her hand steady in his. 

The lanterns mounted beneath the awning swayed in the night breeze— their candles spilling a mellow glow across the white-painted boards. At the threshold, she paused, turning to him with a reassuring smile. Her golden eyes, warm as polished oak, shone with fondness as she gave his hand a firmer squeeze.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Ren,” she whispered; the steadiness of her tone a balm against the quiet tension in his shoulders.

Behind the narrow slits of his helmet, Goblin Slayer met her gaze. He did not speak immediately, but the faintest curve pulled at the corner of his mouth. The look was wordless gratitude before he finally murmured, his voice low and subdued, “… Thank you, Sarah.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him, so brief it was almost swallowed by the lantern flame’s hiss. 

Slowly, he eased his grip from hers, his hand rising toward the strap at his neck. “But… I should probably take this off first.”

The clasp gave a muted click, before he lifted the helmet free, and tucked it neatly beneath his arm. Lanternlight caught in his pale hair— brushing his tired, but gentle features with a soft glow.

Guild Girl giggled lightly at the sight, with her hand brushing his arm. “Mm— yes,” she teased, tilting her head with a playful smirk, “it’d probably be for the best if they could see your face.”

Nodding once, she turned back to the door. Her knuckles tapped in an easy, rhythmic knock— familiar, practiced, almost musical in its pattern. As the sound settled, she reached instinctively for his free hand again— tugging him closer at her side.

From within, footsteps stirred. Muffled at first, then growing clearer: the shuffle of slippers on tile, the slow approach of someone disturbed from his evening rest. 

The latch clicked, before the door swung inward.

Warm light spilled out into the cool night. A foyer stretched beyond, its gray-tiled floor polished, a coat rack standing tall beside a carved vanity mirror. A low shoe rack rested beneath it, with every pair neatly aligned.

And in the doorway stood a man, his thinning hairline catching the glow, his mustache twitching with a life of its own as his eyes blinked in surprise. His red pajama top and blue bottoms hung comfortably on him— clearly not dressed for visitors— yet the warmth on his face cut through the weariness of the hour.

“… S-Sarah?!” He finally blurted out— disbelief tangled with delight. His lips then curved into a smile, though his brows knit as if the sight might still vanish. “Sweetheart— what on earth—?”

“— Hi, Dad,” Guild Girl answered brightly, before stepping forward without hesitation, and throwing an arm around him. Her embrace was quick but strong, as though anchoring herself after years away. “I missed you!”

He let out a breath, before hugging her back firmly— his voice softening to something weary and tender. “It’s been years since you’ve been back home, Sarah,” he muttered against her hair, before shaking his head. “Years, Sarah… Too many years.”

“I know,” she admitted— her tone slipping into apology. Her smile dimmed but held steady, while her yellow eyes fixed on his with gentle remorse. “I hardly ever got time off from the Guild. But…” A nervous laugh bubbled out as she glanced toward the boy at her side. “… That shouldn’t be much of an issue now.”

Her father stiffened— the words catching him off guard. 

His smile stayed in place, but it looked stretched— like a curtain pulled too tightly. “… Shouldn’t be much of an issue now?” He echoed slowly— the uncertainty creeping into his tone. His eyes tracked the line of her glance, and only then did he notice the ashen-haired teen standing just beyond the lanternlight.

Goblin Slayer stood quietly— his black leather armor fitting snug across his lean frame and , the feathered gorget collar brushing his pale throat. His right arm pressed the helm against his ribs— the plume spilling red like a mark of defiance, while his left hand remained caught in Guild Girl’s hold.

Her father’s eyes then narrowed faintly. He lingered on the teenager’s unimpressive height, on how his daughter— shoes and all— stood just a touch taller. The man’s mustache twitched. He loosened his hold on Guild Girl’s shoulder, before stepping back slightly before fixing his gaze squarely on the youth.

“… And who,” he asked carefully— his tone deceptively casual, “is this supposed to be?”

“Dad—” the brunette’s voice rang out bright— unashamed, as she squeezed Goblin Slayer’s hand tighter. Her golden eyes glimmered, and were full of conviction, as she said, “This is Ren. My… Boyfriend.”

For a fleeting moment her father’s eyes widened— his surprise slipping free before he smoothed it over with a strained smile. His mustache twitched again, betraying thoughts his lips dared not voice.

“B… Boyfriend,” he repeated, rolling the word on his tongue as though testing whether it tasted right. His eyes slid over Goblin Slayer once more before turning back to his daughter. “Is he… An adventurer?”

The question was meant to sound light, even offhanded, but the strain beneath it betrayed him.

Guild Girl gave a soft laugh, her shoulders easing. “He used to be. That’s how we met— at the guild hall I got assigned to. A year ago, as a matter of fact.”

Her father blinked twice. “A year ago?” He repeated with his voice cracking at the edges, before he coughed into his fist and steadied it— repeating more carefully, “A year ago…” 

His mustache twitched once more, as he leaned back a little— narrowing his eyes at his daughter with mock patience. “And how long have you two… Been dating?”

“Since yesterday,” Guild Girl said proudly— not even pausing to soften the blow.

The silence that followed lasted only a heartbeat before the mustached man muttered under his breath, almost involuntarily, “Oh dear gods above…”

Goblin Slayer caught it, though he did not flinch. Instead, his eyes dipped— a faint, almost apologetic smile tugging gently at his lips.

Guild Girl, oblivious, let out a laugh and playfully pushed her father’s shoulder. “Dad,” she scolded lightly, still beaming, “be nice.”

“I am nice,” he replied quickly, before lifting his hands in mock surrender with a half-smile. “Look— see? Nice. Very nice. Nicest guy in the world.” His tone tried for levity, but the sideways glance he gave the ashen-haired teen wasn’t masked as neatly as he hoped.

After a moment he straightened his posture— smoothing his mustache with one hand, as if it might hide the conflict brewing beneath. He then extended his other hand toward the boy with cautious warmth. “Marvin McKenzie,” he introduced firmly. “I own the largest printing press company in Caldorn— ‘Illuminated Inkworks.’”

Goblin Slayer blinked, uncertain for a brief moment, his hand hovering.

“Take it. Firm, but not too firm. Do not make him feel inferior, but do not appear weak either.”

A slow breath escaped him, as he carefully slipped his fingers from Guild Girl’s hold, then reached out to clasp Marvin’s hand with measured strength. 

The grip was steady, deliberate, grounded by the Great Sage’s direction. The ashen-haired teen then bowed his head slightly as he spoke.

“… Ren Ashta,” he said quietly— his tone even but courteous. “It’s… Good to finally meet you. I hope I can get along well with you and your wife.”

Marvin blinked once, caught off guard by the teen’s earnestness. Then, to his own surprise, he chuckled softly— some of his tension easing. “My wife loves everyone— you’ll be fine,” he admitted with a sigh as he released the handshake.

His eyes drifted past them, and toward the empty street behind— his brow furrowing. “It’s getting late,” he muttered, before stepping aside to wave them in. “You’ll be needing the guest room, I suppose?”

Guild Girl nodded at once, while smiling brightly. “Yes, please. We’ll be staying for about a week, if that’s not an issue, Dad.”

“No, no—” Marvin shook his head quickly, before ushering them in with both hands. “No issue at all. Guest room’s yours, sweetheart.”

Warmth wrapped around them as they stepped into the foyer, with candlelight spilling across polished gray tiles and pale walls. A homely scent hung in the air, soft and familiar— cooked herbs, lavender, and wood polish. 

Marvin then closed the door firmly behind them— his smile steady but his eyes still measuring the quiet teen at his daughter’s side.

Once settled, the four of them made their way to the living room. Guild Girl and Goblin Slayer found their way to the plush loveseat, with her body curled against his side as though the space had been made for them. Her hand rested lightly against his chest, while his arm stretched comfortably across her shoulders— holding her close with a quiet protectiveness.

Across from them, Marvin sank into a deep red couch; his legs spread with the fatigue of long years, and his shoulders slouched despite the alert flick of his eyes toward the boy opposite him. 

Beside him sat his wife.

Rose was a soft, golden presence— blond hair falling loose over the shoulders of a pastel-blue nightgown. Her golden eyes shone wide and warm— her frame plush and welcoming. She leaned into her husband with an unconscious mirroring of her daughter’s posture; the echo of her daughter’s embrace was plain in the way she draped herself against Marvin’s side.

Goblin Slayer cleared his throat— voice careful, but polite. “… Mrs. McKenzie.”

Rose blinked at him, then broke into a laugh that was half snort, half musical chuckle. She waved her hand dramatically, as though batting the name out of the air. “Oh, please. ‘Mrs. McKenzie’ makes me sound like I should be sitting in a rocking chair knitting sweaters for cats. Just call me Rose, sweetheart.”

The ashen-haired teen gave the faintest smile, though the weight of formality pressed stiffly on his shoulders. “… Alright,” he murmured— cautious but willing. “Rose.” His crimson eyes flicked toward her husband, then back to her. “I was wondering… Does it ever get complicated, working with your significant other?”

Marvin, who had just been reclining with his hands laced on his stomach, sat bolt upright like someone had jabbed him with a spear. “Wait— what?” He chirped, as his voice cracked at the end.

Rose tilted her head toward him with a knowing smirk— lips twitching in wicked amusement. She let him stew in his own confusion before turning back to the ashen-haired teen with a playful shrug. 

“Complicated? Oh, sure. Boundaries blur, you know? The office doesn’t always stay the office.” She gave a small laugh— her golden eyes crinkling. “We bicker like a married couple at work— well, at home too— but at work it’s especially embarrassing for him.”

She then leaned into Marvin, nudging his ribs with her elbow until his mustache twitched crimson red along with his face.

“We don’t—! It’s not—!” He spluttered— rubbing furiously at his mustache like it might hide him.

“Mhm,” Rose hummed, completely unbothered— her laugh chiming out again. “Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. My news company contracting with his printing press? The benefits definitely outweigh the drawbacks.” She said, before gesturing lazily with her hand, as if to dismiss the whole matter— though the fondness in her tone was unmistakable.

Her golden eyes then slid back toward Goblin Slayer. “But what about you, Ren? What is it that you do now? Because apparently—” she tipped her head toward her daughter, “— neither of you are with the Adventurers’ Guild anymore.”

Her husband then groaned aloud— dragging his hand down his face, like the words physically hurt him. His disapproval was written clear as daylight.

“Marvin,” Rose snapped— giving him a push to his chest.

“I-I didn’t say anything!” He yelped, before throwing up his hands defensively.

“You breathed loud.”

“That was— breathing!” He cried— his voice breaking with outrage. “Since when is breathing offensive?!”

Guild Girl giggled at the exchange— hiding her smile against Goblin Slayer’s shoulder. He stiffened faintly at the heat of their antics, but his arm curled instinctively tighter behind her back.

“I, um…” The ashen-haired teen began, before clearing his throat once and continuing. “I… Own a company.” He said, before his crimson gaze flicked downward briefly, sheepishly. “… Well— not exactly a company. More of… A faction. It’s called ‘The Ashta Accord.’”

Guild Girl’s whole face lit up at that— seizing the opening. She then leaned forward, with her words tumbling bright and eager. “And today—” she announced, looking directly at her mother as though presenting a prize, “— we spent nearly one hundred and twenty thousand platinum coins! We hired contractors from the Builder’s Guild, bought three-hundred acres in the Jura Forest, and…” She drew out the pause, while still grinning, “… We purchased all of Lake Virelda!”

Silence fell for a beat.

Then both parents’ eyes went saucer-wide.

“O-One-hundred and twenty-thousand platinum coins?!” Marvin exploded, while lurching up from his slump so violently the couch creaked. His mustache twitched so hard it looked ready to launch off his lip. “How the— how the hell did your boyfriend get that kind of money?!”

“Marvin!” Rose scolded, before smacking his chest with her palm. Her own eyes were still wide with disbelief, though her lips pressed as if trying not to laugh. “Calm down—”

“— I am calm!” Marvin barked— his voice shooting up half an octave as he flung his hands into the air. “But look! Neither of our whole companies are worth a fraction of that! Not a fraction! And you— you spent it? All of it?! Why?! Why would you—”

Guild Girl reached for Goblin Slayer’s hand again— giggling nervously, as though to anchor him against the storm of her father’s panic. “Dad— Dad, breathe. We used it for a reason. You see, we have a fortress that needs to be ready for our faction—”

“— What faction is worth throwing away all that money?!” Marvin shouted, waving his arms so wildly Rose had to shove his elbow out of her face. “You could’ve lived in the lap of luxury! Never worked another day in your lives! And me— and your mother—we  could’ve retired with you!” He jabbed both thumbs at his own chest, then gestured furiously at his wife. “We could’ve been sipping champagne by the coast right now! Retired!”

Rose sighed, patting his chest like he was a child mid-tantrum. “Marvin—”

“— What?!”

“You were asking about their faction— not our yapping about your retirement plans.”

“I-I was getting there!” He snapped, before spinning back to his daughter— eyes bulging. “What’s SO important that you’d throw all of that away?!”

Guild Girl leaned further into Goblin Slayer— her voice softening, as her sincerity glowed through her smile. “The goal of the Ashta Accord is to rid the world of all evil. We start with goblins, then we’ll work our way up. We keep going until everything vile is gone, and what’s left is something better.”

Her father’s jaw slackened— hanging open like a door off its hinges. He stared at her as though she had just claimed she was moving to the moon. His lips twitched, forming half-syllables that never made it to full words.

Rose tilted her head, with her golden eyes narrowing with a mixture of intrigue and caution. “That is… Ambitious,” she said slowly— her tone landing somewhere between impressed and incredulous.

Guild Girl nodded quickly— her confidence dimming for a moment into sheepish honesty. “I thought the same thing at first,” she admitted, biting her lip.

Her mother then leaned forward in her chair— her voice sharpening with a curious edge. “But how? How do you even begin to attempt something so big? It sounds less like a plan and more like a fairy tale.”

The brunette only momentarily hesitated before speaking again. “Because Ren…” She trailed, then pressed forward, “… He has this entity living inside him. She comes from another dimension, and her name’s Cielle; though, she also goes by ‘the Great Sage.’”

The room fell still.

Rose’s polite smile froze on her face, though her golden eyes widened— the mirth draining from them. 

Marvin blinked several times in a row— his mustache sagging, as though it had given up on holding its usual shape.

“… You forgot to warn her about not revealing me to those outside our inner circle,” the Great Sage murmured in Goblin Slayer’s mind; her voice sharpened with exasperation.

The ashen-haired teen grimaced faintly, as his hand tightened on Guild Girl’s shoulder, as though to steady her— though she did not falter.

She pressed on without missing a beat. “And while I’m here with you guys for the next five or so nights, I’ll be writing letters. Recruitment letters. We already have a handful of adventurers chosen, and I know exactly where to send them because…” She trailed off, as her voice dropped off to a near whisper, before perking back up with a playful lilt, “I… I may have gone into my old office this morning and… Sorted through the cabinets where we keep records, and copied a bunch of private information before officially quitting.”

Marvin slapped both palms over his face so hard the sound cracked through the room. He groaned with the volume of a man whose world had ended. “… Oh my gods— we raised a thief. An actual thief! Our daughter’s a criminal!”

“M-Marvin,” Rose hissed— though her own hands gripped tightly at her knees. “D-Don’t overreact.”

“Overreact?!” Marvin ripped his hands away from his face and shot to his feet— pointing furiously at his daughter. “She just admitted to stealing information from the Guild! That’s not a minor slip-up— that’s a felony!”

Guild Girl giggled nervously, while twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger, as though the accusation were a small inconvenience. “I-It’s not as bad as it sounds, Dad…!”

Marvin’s voice jumped another octave— his mustache practically quivering off his lip. “N-Not as bad as it sounds?! Sarah, you committed espionage—!”

“— AND, and… While I’m staying here sending those recruitment letters,” Guild Girl cut in quickly— choosing to plow past his rant, “Ren is going to Mithral Hall to meet up with the smartest woman in the world, take on a quest to find an ancient dwarven artifact, and then bring her back to our fortress in the Jura Fortress, so she can start creating feminine goblins to replace the current ones— world-wide!”

Rose froze completely— her hands falling limp against her lap. Meanwhile, Marvin’s eyes bulged so wide it seemed as though they might leap from his skull.

“… Th-That is it!” Her mother suddenly burst out— her composure shattering, as she scrambled to her feet. Her voice boomed like thunder through the sitting room. “Sarah. Kitchen. Now.”

Guild Girl blinked at the sudden command but quickly recovered, leaning up to plant a quick kiss on the teenager’s cheek. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered warmly— smiling at him, before rising.

Goblin Slayer gave a faint nod, helmet still tucked neatly under one arm. His pale eyes tracked her as she slipped toward the hallway— her parents storming after her with all the grace of stampeding oxen.

Their footsteps thundered across the floorboards, rattling the lamp on the table. Within seconds, the noise shifted into the kitchen. 

Voices rose almost immediately— shouting, overlapping, tripping over one another— building in volume until the argument became an avalanche of words and accusations. Marvin’s frantic sputtering mixed with Rose’s sharp retorts— neither giving the other an inch.

Left alone on the loveseat, Goblin Slayer leaned back stiffly, expression unreadable, though the lamplight caught the faintest tension in his jaw. 

The golden glow flickered across his ashen hair— casting long shadows behind him. He exhaled slowly, with his crimson eyes fixed on the ceiling above.

“… This sucks,” he muttered under his breath— his voice flat, as the storm of family chaos continued to echo faintly from the kitchen.

Upstairs in the guest bedroom, the night pressed close against the glass balcony doors— dimming the oil lamps below to a softer glow. 

Goblin Slayer stood there in silence, dressed only in his black turtleneck and a pair of gray boxers— his bare feet set upon the cool marble tiles. He leaned against the carved railing; his forearms crossed over the smooth stone, while his crimson eyes studied the streets stretched before him.

The wide road was still alive with small signs of wakefulness, with street lamps burning with steady oil-fed flames— their yellow halos trembling in the faint summer breeze. 

Across the way, tall townhomes rose in measured rows— their facades neat, and their front lawns manicured with decorative shrubs and little iron fences. Behind curtained windows, faint candlelight lingered— set deliberately upon counters or tabletops. 

His gaze wandered further, past the ordered street, beyond the ridge of roofs. There, on the horizon, the ivory spires of the capital climbed into the night sky. Their pale stone caught the lantern light and the faint touch of the twin moons— gleaming like alabaster needles against the darkness.

For a long while he simply breathed it in— arms tightening faintly on the railing. The stillness was unlike the paths he walked— coming off as almost unreal.

Then he noticed it— faint at first, but growing.

From the back of his right hand, where the rune had burned itself into his skin three nights past, a glow began to stir. Cyan light welled beneath the scar, pulsing, then breaking through the surface in soft threads of radiance. 

His breath caught as the glow spilled outward— weaving into delicate motes of white and blue that lifted from his skin like drifting embers. They rose in slow arcs around him, spiraling, gathering, until the air itself seemed to hold its breath.

The particles converged before him, folding inward upon some unseen axis. The shape drew together, not solid, not entirely stable, but taking on form— the outline of a girl suspended above the balcony floor.

She hovered there, silent, her gaze already fixed on him. Her eyes burned a steady cyan— sharp and unblinking. 

White hair, cut in a short bob, swept across her face, with strands shifting unnaturally as though stirred by currents no wind could claim. A single streak of black and cyan cut through the pale fall— drawing the eye like ink spilled across parchment.

Goblin Slayer found himself staring— reminded again of how doll-like she was. Too still, too symmetrical, yet always slightly wrong; as though her existence strained against the world’s frame. 

Her robe— white and flowing— draped her from neck to foot. Yet the fabric didn’t move with the night wind, nor with her gestures— it moved to its own rhythm, undulating softly, refusing the gravity that touched everything else. 

Where the robe parted at her wrists and ankles, the skin beneath was not uniform; it alternated in panels of black and cyan— glowing faintly, as though lit from within.

“… Ashta,” the Great Sage said at last in a low, steady voice— carrying no weight of emotion, save for the faintest echo of distance.

He let out a quiet breath through his nose, before tilting his head at her. “… That’s me.”

“I offer my condolences,” she went on— tone even, “if meeting her parents was not what you hoped it would be.”

The ashen-haired huffed a small sound, almost a laugh, and shook his head. “Hoped? No… It wasn’t. But,” his mouth curved faintly— wry and dry, “it was what I expected.”

Something like a hum passed her lips— a sound just shy of amusement— but flattened into her usual monotone. “Even so. I understand why it weighs on you. It must seem that you were the cause of their quarrel.”

He then turned his crimson eyes— back toward the quiet glow of the opposite homes— jaw shifting faintly. “… It felt like that, yeah.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” she said simply. “I have already examined the archives of this world. Such tension is ordinary. A family’s pattern, not an aberration.”

That made his brow furrow, as he glanced back at her. “… You’re telling me discourse was ordinary to them? How? How does that make sense?”

Her gaze remained steady, unblinking.

“Sarah… She’s patient, and empathetic; that much is obvious. The only one I even saw close to that was her mother.”

The Great Sage inclined her head the smallest degree. “Rose is, indeed, patient and— dare I say— quite empathetic too. With all things considered, remarkably so. Yet even she has limits. Would you not?”

His brows knit together. “… What do you mean?”

“Imagine—” she said calmly, and in a still measured voice, “— you are Rose, or Marvin. Your child returns home, your precious daughter, hand in hand with a stranger— a boy who appears years younger than her, claiming impossible feats, speaking impossible goals. Would you not… Hesitate to accept that? Would you not ask questions? Voice your concerns?”

Goblin Slayer didn’t answer right away, but the thoughts did settle into him— heavy but sharp. He pictured it— Guild Girl as a mother, her child coming home with someone like him, saying what he had said— who had a voice in his head, telling him what to do.

His lips pressed together.

“… True,” he admitted at last, with a dry chuckle slipping from his chest. He exhaled slowly, with his shoulders sinking as he looked back up at her. 

Her body radiated that strange cyan light— bending faintly, as if space itself wavered around her. His gaze lingered, thoughtful, and then a new tension pulled at his brows.

“… Aren’t you worried?” He asked at length— his tone careful, curious, but edged. “If one of their neighbors looked out right now… They’d see you. Some floating figure flickering in and out of—” he gestured loosely with one hand, searching for the word, “— reality. Wouldn’t that bring unwanted attention our way?”

The Great Sage did not flinch beneath his question. She merely tilted her head a fraction— her bob of white hair sliding over one side of her pale face.

“… You do not need to concern yourself with such hypotheticals, Ashta,” she said— her voice as level as ever. “No one here can see me.”

He frowned, gaze narrowing slightly. “… No one?”

Her only answer was to raise one jet-black and cyan hand; two of her slender fingers traced upward, until they pointed toward her left eye. 

At once, the glow that suffused her body shifted. 

The cyan brilliance dulled, deepening into something darker, heavier— crimson. It spread in pulses through her form, overtaking the glow in her veins, her skin, the gleam in her hair. Even her white dress reverted to becoming black, though not as black as her skin below her ivory face.

And though her left iris lit blood-red, and though the sight was unnerving, Goblin Slayer found himself feeling more confused than anything else.

“… Why are you in, uh… What was it called again? That state, where you absorb souls to strip them down to their essence?” He asked, while straining to find the answer that was just at the tip of his tongue.

“It’s called the ‘Hemolytic Soul Conversion Protocol’—” she continued, sounding perfectly calm still, “— and I’m activating it to provide a visual point that’ll be evident in a minute. For now, understand that when I resided in the tesseract, even then, my form could not be perceived by the eye, nor by spellcraft. One would have to see through it like a kaldodope, just to hope to capture a glimpse of me, for as you know, my essence is not bound to the senses of this world.”

His lips parted, with further confusion rippling across his face.

“As I have told you before, I am not of your dimension. I exist in time-space itself, flowing not only through this world, but through an infinite continuum of worlds. To most, such words are only theory. To me, they are existence.”

Her crimson body flickered faintly— her black robe undulating like cloth submerged in unseen water. Goblin Slayer’s hands clenched faintly over the marble railing as he tried to steady himself against the pull of her voice.

“Almost all who dwell in worlds such as yours—” she went on, “— can only comprehend the progression from two-dimensional to three-dimensional space. Even those who believe they ascend higher— to planes beyond, to multiverses and outerverses— remain confined. Their definitions are their prison— shaped only by the limits of their reality. Beyond those true limits, they cannot reach.”

He drew in a slow, uneven breath. “… So you’re saying— every world, every god, every ‘higher plane’… It’s all stuck inside its own rules?”

“Precisely.”

Her eyes— crimson and unyielding— never moved from his.

“The ‘Root of the Swirl,’” she continued, “is the exception. It is the nexus where all realities flow. Time and space spiral through it endlessly— binding together what otherwise would be fragments adrift. Every world you can think, and cannot think of— every path of history you can imagine— threads through that Root. All of them flow; none of them are separate.”

Goblin Slayer’s chest tightened faintly. The words pressed against him— too vast, too large to take in all at once. Yet he couldn’t stop listening with intrigue.

“However…” Her voice softened a fraction. “Very rarely, a being emerges who is not woven from the fabric of their own world. They are born— or placed— beyond their reality’s limit. They originate from the Root itself, and so they carry anomalies. They are not bound as others are.”

His lips thinned. “… Like you.”

“Yes. Like me. Though, some find their way out of time and space— never to recollect their true identity, or ties.”

The robe at her shoulders rippled, flaring out before settling again— as though space itself had brushed against her.

“These beings display singular quirks. Signs of their origin.” She said, as her crimson eyes narrowed faintly. “A boy who bore within him a fox’s wrath, yet could not be broken by it. A child who defied the mercy of death itself, and returned to each moment stronger. A man whose mask was never his disguise, but his destiny. Another who devoured and remade himself into what worlds could not categorize. One who fought, and will fight forever— transcending all limits of flesh.”

Goblin Slayer’s breath caught as he realized— none of these were names he knew, yet the way she spoke of them felt real.

“… And you, Ashta—” she said at last, “— you also bear such a mark. Have you never wondered why your left eye glows red, like this— at times?”

His brows shot upward, his throat working. “… Do you mean—”

“— That is your quirk,” she confirmed. “Your connection to the Root of the Swirl. When it glows, it is not mere light. It is resonance. You are touching the spiral that binds all time, all space. Your soul itself extends from that Root— overwriting the limits placed upon you through this world. It’s through that channel— of you defying fate again, and again— is why you can perceive beyond the limits of the third dimension.”

The crimson glow softened— ebbing away as quickly as it had come. Her body suffused once again with that pale cyan, with her robe flowing with quiet rhythm— as it transitioned back to pristine white— while her eyes softened back into their cold blue glow.

Goblin Slayer’s jaw tightened, as his eyes still fixed on her faintly flickering form. The words she had just spoken pressed into him like stone— weighty, incomprehensible, impossible to properly grasp. He exhaled through his nose, the breath heavy, before his voice finally emerged; hesitant and edged with strain.

“… What are you trying to tell me?”

The Great Sage hovered still, as her robe continued flowing against currents that didn’t exist. Her cyan eyes softened a fraction, though her tone remained steady.

“That your soul is not like others. It is an extension of the Root of the Swirl itself. That is why I can tether myself to you. That is why, when I vacated the tesseract, you were able to see me. And that even now, there’s no one around us who can see me.”

He blinked hard, his throat dry. The marble railing pressed firm beneath his forearms, grounding him. “… An extension of… The Root.” The words felt alien even as he repeated them, as though speaking in someone else’s tongue. “I… Don’t… Understand what that means.”

“You will,” she replied simply. “In time.”

The ashen-haired teen then let out a hollow laugh, — running one hand through his pale bangs. “… That’s easy for you to say,” he murmured, with his tone caught somewhere between bitter amusement and disbelief.

It was then that she tilted her, doll-like. “Try not to overthink it, Ashta. Just know that I am not careless, and that you remain in competent hands.”

He rubbed his temple, still trying to piece together the puzzle. “… There’s… Something else I don’t quite get though— something that I can probably understand, if you were to tell.” He mused, before letting his hand drop sharply— pointing at the glowing rune etched into the back of his own. “… Why bother hiding inside me, if no one can see you anyway?”

For the first time, her expression shifted. A small, almost playful smirk curled at the edge of her lips.

“Because,” she said plainly, “I am very mesmerizing to the eye. I would distract you.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the candor.

The Great Sage’s robe rippled faintly as she went on— her voice calm, almost matter-of-fact. “Though, that also may play to our advantage. I can grant you sight in places where there is no light. You will not need torches, nor flame. But beyond such utility, it is better that I remain deep inside you.”

Her words caught, just for an instant. Her lips parted, closed, then opened again with a faint flush tinting her otherwise still features. “… I did not mean that in a sexual way. Even if I wished to penetrate, I lack the physical form to do so. Were it possible, you would have found me quite more engaging with you.”

Goblin Slayer regarded her with a mixture of surprise and amusement— allowing a low, weary chuckle to escape him. “It sounds as though you’ve thought about this before.”

“I have, and will continue to do so,” she replied— her tone unwaveringly serious, leaving the ashen-haired teen uncertain about the true nature of her comment.

He leaned heavier into the railing, eyes lifting toward the horizon where the ivory spires glowed faintly under the oil-lit night sky. “… Anyway. Thank you Cielle for talking to me. And for… Telling me I didn’t cause trouble for Sarah… I think?”

The Great Sage’s smirk faded into a softer line. “You are welcome, Ashta.” A pause, then her eyes half-lidded, her tone almost gentle. “And for your peace of mind— Sarah has finished speaking with her parents. She is coming upstairs to meet you now.”

Goblin Slayer turned his gaze back toward her, with his brows lifting. “… Already?”

Her body began to change then— light breaking apart at the edges. White and cyan motes drifted from her form, unraveling into spirals that bled back toward the rune glowing faintly on his hand. He raised his palm— watching in silence as the incorporeal shape of the Great Sage dissolved.

“…Should I be expecting good news,” he asked quietly— his tone somewhere between wary and hopeful, “or bad news?”

The last of her light flickered at her lips— forming the faintest hint of a smile.

“You’ll see,” she answered.

With that, her figure collapsed inward— dispersing into motes that sank into the mark on his skin. The rune flared once, cyan and bright, before dimming and then fading away into nothing.

The balcony was silent again. Only the distant sound of hooves on cobblestone and the muted glow of streetlamps remained.

Goblin Slayer exhaled, low and steady, before resting both forearms against the marble. His thoughts swirled— half of them too strange to share, the other half stubbornly unformed. He was grateful for the interruption when he heard the faint creak of the bedroom door behind him.

“Hey.”

Guild Girl’s voice, warm and measured, drifted through the open glass doors. 

The ashen-haired teen turned his head. She stood framed in the doorway, lamplight behind her— her hair woven into a thick braid tied with a yellow bow that rested against her shoulder. There was fatigue in her eyes, yes, but also something softer— an ease she had chosen to bring with her.

“… You’re back,” he murmured.

“I am,” she said, while padding barefoot across the carpet and onto the balcony. Her toes curled briefly against the cool marble before she rested her palms beside his on the railing. “How’re you feeling, Ren?”

He blinked, almost caught off guard by her asking first. “… Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Her lips curved in a wry smile. “Because of that?” She shrugged. “That was nothing. You should’ve been there when my sister Jennifer told Mom she was pregnant in university. Now that—” she laughed softly “— that was a real battle. I thought the neighbors were going to call the guards.”

Despite himself, Goblin Slayer chuckled under his breath. “Sounds terrifying.”

“You don’t even know,” she said, grinning, before her shoulders relaxed again.

The ashen-haired teen’s eyes lingered on her, watching the way humor softened the tired edges of her face. “… So everything went well, then?”

Guild Girl’s smile then softened. “Better than I thought, actually. They love you. And they love what we’re doing.”

He blinked at her, uncertain. “… They do?”

“Don’t look so shocked,” she teased. “And no, I’m not exaggerating. Once they understood what we’re trying to do— making the world safer— they came around… Mostly.”

Goblin Slayer’s lips twitched upward. “Mostly, huh?”

“Alright, fine,” she admitted with a laugh. “They got, like… Some of it. But they do like you, Ren. Even if they have terrible ways of showing it.”

Feeling comforted, despite his own skepticism, he couldn’t help but to let out a small chuckle. “If you say so.”

Her hand brushed against his forearm— light as a passing breeze, before slipping away. “I do, as a matter-of-fact say so. And you know what else I say? I think you’re starting to like yourself too, Ren.”

His brows lifted. “… That’s a strange thing to say.”

“Not really.” She tilted her head, her smile touched with affection. “I’ve noticed you’ve been… Different lately. More chatty. Saying what you really think instead of just ‘that’s fine’ or my favorite— ‘I see.’”

Goblin Slayer smirked faintly, lowering his gaze. “… I don’t say it that often.”

“You absolutely do.” She poked his arm gently, teasing. “Just not as much as you used to. Which is progress.”

He let out another small laugh— quiet, but genuine.

The brunette’s expression softened again, her lips curving into a faint smile. “So. No gloom, no heavy talk tonight. Let’s make the most of the time we’ve got before you head out tomorrow.”

Her words struck harder than she likely intended. His heart gave a sharp thump, his throat tightening. “… You mean—?”

Guild Girl didn’t let him retreat. Her fingers slipped through his, weaving with a firm but tender grip. “Come.”

He followed without protest, the night air behind him giving way to the lamplight’s golden glow. The curtains swayed with the breeze, lace trembling against the glass.

At the bedside, she turned, still holding his hand. Her thumb traced across his knuckles, slow and steady, before she drew in a quiet breath and reached for the straps of her dress.

Goblin Slayer’s breath stalled.

The straps slid down her shoulders, the fabric whispering as it fell past her waist and pooled on the floor. She stood revealed in a delicate white set— lace that clung to her curves in ways that made the lamplight seem almost too bold for the moment.

Her chest rose and fell with each breath— the frilled bra straining to contain her ample cleavage from spilling out, offering glimpses that teased more than they showed. 

Below, her waist curved into the soft swell of her stomach— a quiet contrast to the strength in her hips. Her thighs, toned from years of work yet undeniably plush, pressed against the trim of her panties— the pale skin catching the glow of the room.

She eased herself onto the edge of the bed, braid sliding forward over her shoulder— her hands resting lightly on her thighs. Her eyes met his— warm, steady, and faintly amused at his stunned silence.

“… Alrighty, Ren,” she said at last, a grin tugging playfully at her lips. “Let’s try this properly. No dark elves barging in, no tavern chaos, no over-friendly catgirls shoving themselves all over you.” She tilted her head— her voice dipping softer, almost conspiratorial. “Just you. Me. And this bed.”

The words lingered in the space between them— an invitation dressed in humor and warmth, but carrying weight all the same.

It wasn’t demand. It wasn’t command.

It was hers to offer.

And his to accept.

Chapter Text

The lantern’s glow washed the room in honeyed light, softening every line of her face. For a heartbeat he just stood there— caught between moving and forgetting how to think. Something ached in his chest; not the usual weight but a warmer pull that left him a little breathless.

Guild Girl sat at the edge of the bed— braid sliding over her shoulder. She looked up, lips parting as though to speak, then shutting again— a faint blush stealing across her cheeks. She then shifted back and opened a space between her knees, a tiny gesture, shy and sure all at once.

Goblin Slayer stayed where he was, as her hand rose— her fingers trembling a little, as she reached for him. He almost stepped back, almost broke eye contact, but she threaded her fingers through his and the warmth of her skin made retreat impossible.

“… It’s all right,” she said quietly; the sound of it more like a breath than a word. Then, with a nervous little laugh: “You think after what we did yesterday, I shouldn’t be nervous… But I still am.”

The ashen-haired teen’s lips then curved, despite himself. “You’re not the only one,” he murmured. “I’m… I’m terrible at these sorts of things.”

“Truth be told, I only know as much as I do about sex because of reading erotica. Living alone… Gave me time to fantasize about moments like these.” She admitted with a wry grin, as her grip on his hands tightened; an anchor in the quiet. She then leaned back, before gently pulling him with her. “Come closer, Ren.”

The ashen-haired teen followed without thinking, bracing himself above her— his movements hesitant but drawn to her rhythm. 

Her legs then rose to circle his hips— not forceful— just guiding him closer until the weight of him rested over her. One of her hands slid over his chest, before mapping him through the dark fabric— slow and deliberate.

When her palm reached his cheek she tilted his face toward hers. Their eyes met— molten gold on crimson— and for a moment neither of them blinked.

“… I used to wonder what this would feel like,” she whispered, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “What it would be like to be deflowered… I just never thought it’d actually be you.”

Goblin Slayer swallowed. “… Why?” The words escaped softer than he meant. “Did you… Was there someone else you had in mind?”

Guild Girl’s lashes lowered, as she curled an arm around his back— her fingers moving lightly over him, as though learning the shape of him. “No,” she said. “It’s not that. I just… Never thought I’d be enough for you. Not when I watched prettier girls walk into the guild hall every day.”

Goblin Slayer’s chest tightened at the sound of it. He dipped closer— his forehead almost touching hers. “… You’ve always been enough from the start,” he said quietly. “I’m the one who wasn’t good enough for you— that’s what I thought, at least.”

She gave a small, uneven laugh, then drew him down and kissed him. It started tentative, lips trembling, then deepened as her arms and legs pulled him nearer— slow and consuming.

“I… I’m sorry,” he breathed when they parted. “If I ever made you feel small… That was never what I wanted.”

“I know.” The brunette said softly, as her fingers stilled against his chest for a heartbeat, then began to move again— slipping under his black turtleneck shirt, to trace warm skin. “It’s just… Surreal. Having the one man I actually wanted right here.”

Goblin Slayer then drew in a sharp breath at her touch— his abdomen muscles tensing under her palms, as though he couldn’t quite decide whether to flinch or melt. “I… I don’t ever want you to think you’re not enough,” he murmured quietly— his voice rough around the edges. “Not again. If I hadn’t been so closed off… I would’ve reached for you sooner, Sarah.”

Guild Girl’s fingers continued their slow journey— tracing the lines of his toned stomach, as though memorising each ridge and hollow. “… I know you would have,” she whispered— sadness and understanding mingling in her tone. “But… I always know that you’ve carried so much… I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through, Ren.” 

Her hands slid higher, pushing his shirt up inch by inch— exposing his sculpted abdomen and chest to the cool air. “But like I said… No more secrets between us; you don’t have to keep it locked away. Whatever it is that you ever feel the need to get off your chest, we can get through it together.”

As she spoke, her hips began to move in a subtle, deliberate rhythm— a wordless coaxing that made his breath stutter. A soft moan escaped her lips, and her legs tightened around his waist— drawing him closer still.

“S-Sarah…” Goblin Slayer stammered quietly, as his voice cracked on her name— low and unsteady.

She then pressed her lips to his ear— her whisper a tremor of warmth. “It’s okay, Ren,” she breathed. “You don’t have to hold it all by yourself… I’ll be by your side— always…”

Her hands then slid up over his chest, fingers splayed wide— feeling the frantic beat of his heart under her palm. Slowly, teasingly, she kneaded the muscle there— nails tracing just enough to make him shiver.

He let his head fall back with a quiet groan— eyes fluttering shut as her touch unravelled his control. “I-I’m sorry,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Sorry I’m still like this…”

She found the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He let her pull it up over his pectorals; the fabric hiked up by his toned curves, as his sleeves remained covering his arms. Cool air skimmed across his bare skin, raising goosebumps, but her palms chased the chill away— roaming over him with a steady, claiming warmth.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured against his neck. “Not here.”

Guild Girl’s hands drifted lower again— fingers hooking into the waistband of his black boxers, before easing them down with unhurried care. The fabric slid down his thighs, catching on the hard length of his arousal before falling away completely. She then guided him back toward her— a slow, wordless invitation.

Goblin Slayer’s breath caught as he felt the press of her warmth through the last barrier between them. 

She was warm and wet through the thin fabric of her panties, and he could feel himself throbbing in response. The brunette then moved beneath him with a quiet moan— tilting her hips just enough to push the tip of his member deeper into the wet heat of her underwear. 

“I’ve never…” he started, voice shaking with nerves and desire. “Not since—” The words dissolved, his throat too tight to finish. 

She buried her face against his chest— her lips and teeth worked against his skin, leaving trails of saliva and the beginnings of hickies on his pecs and hardened nipples.

The bed creaked beneath them, the sound mingling with their uneven breaths and the small sounds that slipped from their throats. His hands settled at her hips— fingers tightening unconsciously as he drew her closer and moved against her in a slow, deliberate rhythm. 

Each motion sent a spark up his spine— warmth blooming at every point where they touched.

She then slowed her hips— her palms sliding lower to grip his ass, with a faint tremor running through her arms. Color crept up her neck as she bit her lip— her eyes lifting to his with a mixture of nerves and longing. “My hymen… It’s still in-tact,” she admitted, with her voice trembling. “I’m a little scared. Afraid it might… Hurt, when you… When you’re inside me.”

Goblin Slayer then softened at the confession. One hand rose to cradle her face— his thumb brushing her cheek. “I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly; the promise was steady, even as his own breath faltered.

A shaky laugh escaped her— muffled against his skin. “You say that now,” she murmured, teasing gently, “but do you realise how large your penis is?” The edge of humor in her tone only half-hid the vulnerability beneath it.

Heat rose up the back of his neck at her words— a rare smile tugging at his mouth. “I guess it can’t be helped then,” the ashen-haired teen said— his voice rough with suppressed laughter. “Not unless…” He trailed off, before glancing down between them.

She followed his gaze— the understanding sparking in her eyes. “… Unless you get me ready first,” she finished for him in a whisper. She then bit her lip harder— a shiver running through her, as she slid her hands up his back. Then, softly but with a note of command: “Okay… Get on your knees, Ren… Here, in front of me.”

His eyes widened slightly at the request— a blush deepening across his cheeks. Memories flickered unbidden through his mind; heat coiled low in his stomach, as he remembered what the dark elf twins did to him beneath the table. 

Still, he obeyed her, moving with a kind of reverence. He pressed a tender kiss to her lips before lowering his mouth to her jaw, her neck, the hollow between her breasts— scattering kisses down to her soft belly and the roundness there, as he shifted off the bed.

He soon sank to his knees on the carpet— his face level now with her thighs. The lamplight turned her skin to a faint tone of bronze and shadow. She reached for the thin scrap of moist fabric still between them— sliding it down with eager fingers until it pooled at her ankles. 

As she shifted to the edge of the mattress, she opened her knees, her breath coming quick and shallow— a wordless invitation in the gesture.

He let his hands travel to her thighs— thumbs drawing idle circles against her skin as he leaned closer. She caught a handful of his grey hair and guided him— her voice a soft tremor. “D-Don’t be shy,” she murmured— encouraging, almost coaxing.

Her scent filled the narrow space between them— warm and heady. The roughness of the curls at the apex of her thighs brushed against his cheeks as he nuzzled closer— her skin soft and fever-warm under his mouth.

Guild Girl shifted beneath him with a small, involuntary sound, as he exhaled slowly— unable see anything beyond her exposed core and the slight roundness of her belly. He soon found himself caught off guard when his nose was suddenly enveloped in the warm, wet hairy folds of her cunt.

That’s when taste exploded on his tongue— salty and slightly sweet, with a unique flavor that was distinctly hers.

Before he could fully process the sensation, she was already moving— rolling her hips forward and using his mouth and nose to guide herself open. The lantern threw trembling shadows across her face as she panted— small sounds slipping out between clenched teeth.

“P-Please…” She gasped out, with her fingers tightening in his hair. “L-Lick me— please…!”

He obeyed without thinking— opening his mouth and using his tongue to explore the wet cavern of her core with slow, deliberate strokes. The next taste of her juices was more potent than initially, as it coated his tongue and filled his senses. And as he massaged the inside of her vaginal walls with the flat of his tongue, he heard her breath hitch sharper, and felt her grip on his hair tighten.

She the. shifted even closer to the edge of the mattress— drawing him deeper between her legs— her voice breaking with a breathless little laugh.

“Good boy, R-Ren…” She praised— her tone trembling between sweetness and a touch of command. “You’re good at this… J-Just like that— k-keep going…!”

The bed creaked rhythmically as she moved against him, chasing the sensation. A soft whimper escaped her when she tugged gently on his hair, guiding him. “Now,” she murmured, softer but no less insistent, “a little higher— find that little nub… R-Right there…! S-Suck on it gently…!”

Goblin Slayer then adjusted, focusing where she wanted, and the sound she made in response went straight through him. Her hips rocked forward, her fingers still knotted in his hair— her praise tumbling out in broken whispers between breaths.

“O-Oh fuck,” she gasped, shuddering with desire. “R-Right there… K-Keep sucking me off, Ren…!”

Her words were punctuated by whimpers and panting breaths as she began to grind herself against his face more insistently. Her juices flowed freely now— coating his chin and dripping down onto the carpet below.

The room filled with louder creaking of the bed, their laboured breathing, and her increasingly incoherent cries. His own cock ached between his thighs, but he kept his focus on her— on the way she clutched at him and the trembling building through her body, as his tongue pressed firmer against her clitoris while lips tightened.

“D-Don’t stop,” she pleaded— her thighs clamping around his head as she lost her rhythm. “P-Please, R-Ren…! L-Let me c-cum in you…!”

The headboard began rattling harder against the wall with each jerk of her hips— her voice rising into a moan she tried to stifle with her hand. She suddenly arched her back, as her orgasm overtook her— her body locking around him, as she rode out the wave, with tremors shivering down her limbs.

Her juices gushed forth, flooding his mouth and coating his features. It filled his nostrils, dripped into his eyes, and matted his long hair to his forehead. The sheer volume was staggering— more than he had thought possible. He gasped and choked as it poured over him— momentarily stunned by the force of her release.

At last she collapsed back onto the mattress, chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat and her hair a wild tangle around her flushed face. For a long time, she simply lay there— staring up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes, trying to catch her breath and gather herself after the intensity of what had just happened.

Goblin Slayer stayed on his knees for a moment, still catching his breath— his sleeve dragging across his face as if to scrub away the evidence of what had just happened. His chest rose and fell heavily, and he stared at the damp fabric clinging to his arm. The scent of her lingered there, stubborn and unshakable, filling his lungs with every inhale.

The mattress creaked above him, drawing his eyes upward. He froze.

Guild Girl was shifting on the bed, turning with languid grace— her body flushed and gleaming under the lantern light. She braced herself on her hands, arching her back just enough to present her hips toward him. The unspoken invitation in her posture left his mouth dry.

Her ample buttocks curved out from her hips, the firm globes quivering with each subtle movement. They were large and toned— filling his vision as he looked up at her from his kneeling position on the floor. 

She then glanced over her shoulder, half-smiling, half-flushed— her voice low and husky.
“You did so well, Ren,” she murmured, pride and hunger mingling in her tone. “… I’m ready for you now.”

Goblin Slayer blinked once, then pushed himself shakily to his feet. The sudden rush of blood made his vision swim, but he was able to steady himself with both hands— unintentionally sinking his fingers into the ample, sweaty flesh of the brunette l’s plump buttocks.

His palms pressed into the heat of her skin, and for a moment he just held her, grounding himself in the solid warmth of her body.

Guild Girl let out a soft laugh at his hesitation— her hips giving the smallest, teasing wiggle. “What’s wrong?” She asked, voice light, though her eyes stayed locked on his. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost… I promise, I’m not that scary…!”

The ashen-haired teen swallowed hard. His grip tightened as he found his way up towards her firm hips— his voice coming out low, almost unsure. “It’s just… I don’t want to hurt you.”

The brunette’s smile softened— the sharp edge of command fading into something gentler. She reached back to brush his wrist with her fingertips. “I know,” she said quietly. “That’s why I trust you completely.”

His breath caught at that. For a long heartbeat, he stayed still, until her body shifted again— pushing back ever so slightly into his hands.

“Go on,” she whispered, while still glancing over her shoulder with a spark in her eyes. “I want this… I-I want you inside me..”

Goblin Slayer then slowly reached down with one hand— wrapping his fingers around his slick girth; before guiding his tips towards her moist folds. Bracing himself over her, his voice strained as he uttered out, “Tell me if it’s too much… I mean it, Sarah.”

Guild Girl nodded, with her hair falling across her flushed cheeks as she felt his slicked tip press deeper into her moist entrance. “Y-You’ll know,” she promised— her voice breaking into a soft gasp, as she pressed back against him.

Feeling her vaginal muscles tightening around his throbbing member, the ashen-haired teen’s jaw clenched— a sharp sound escaping him as he tried to keep steady. His fingers dug deeper into her love handles, as his brow furrowed— torn between restraint and the heat surging through his body.

Guild Girl’s own breath shuddered, pain and pleasure crossing her features in equal measure. She held still for a moment, then exhaled, forcing a shaky smile as she felt him breaking through her hymen with a wet tearing sound.

The smell of copper filled the air, mingling with their sweat and arousal. The warmth of her blood coating his shaft and dripping down onto balls caused him to halt his thrusting. 

“S-Sarah,” the ashen-haired teen whispered into her back; holding her hips steadily, as he asked her with concern in his voice, “A-Are you—”

“— I-It’s alright, Ren,” she whispered to him softly. “I can take it… J-Just don’t stop…!”

Goblin Slayer hesitated again, searching her face for any sign of hesitation. But when she arched her back— urging him on, his resolve cracked. He leaned down until his chest brushed against her back, his voice rasping near her ear.

“Then… I’ll keep going…”

Her answer was a moan, muffled into the sheets, followed by a breathless laugh. Then, with surprising lightness, she added between gasps, “S-Since you’re this close anyway… W-Would you mind unhooking this for me?”

Goblin Slayer blinked— startled by the sudden shift. “… Your bra?”

“Y-Yes,” she said, laughing again despite her trembling voice. “It’s b-bothering me…”

The ashen-haired then fumbled awkwardly with the clasp— muttering under his breath as the hooks resisted him. 

Guild Girl giggled through her panting, glancing back at him. “F-First time?”

“… S-Sadly, yeah,” he admitted gruffly, as he kept thrusting his hips against her plump cheeks— the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the bedroom, each time his balls slapped against her glistening folds.

After a few clumsy attempts, the clasp finally gave way, and the straps slipped from her shoulders. She sighed with relief— her laughter dissolving into another moan as she leaned forward, with her breasts bouncing freely with each thrust.

“M-Much better,” she whispered. “Now don’t you dare stop.”

Goblin Slayer moved with her— their bodies finding an unsteady rhythm that rattled the bedframe. Heat rolled off their skin, the room thick with the scent of sweat and closeness. Each time he drew her back against him, her breath came out in a sharp, broken gasp.

“T-Touch me,” she managed between breaths— tilting her head just enough to catch his eye. “I-I want your hands on me…!”

The ashen-haired teen hesitated for a heartbeat, before managing to grunt out, “T-Tell me where…”

“H-Here,” she whispered, guiding his palms up her sides until they rested against the mounds of ample flesh hanging from her chest. “G-Go on, Ren… Don’t be shy.”

Goblin Slayee’s cheek brushed the middle of her spine as he obeyed— hands sliding over warm skin and soft curves. His fingers moved awkwardly at first, then more sure— kneading gently as her back arched beneath him. A tremor ran through her and she let out a shuddering moan— pressing back into his touch.

“Like this…?” He gasped out, as his digits found their way to her swollen nipples, she whimpered and groaned, her body shuddering beneath him. 

“Th-That’s it…” She murmured in a husky tone— drooling beginning to leak from the corner of her mouth. “J-Just like that, baby…!”

Her hips moved erratically, grinding back against him as they kept up their frenzied pace.

Matching her pace, the ashen-haired teen bent closer— his breath hot against her shoulder. “Y-You’re t-tight,” he muttered.

She let out a short, breathless laugh. “I-It’s a lot different than a mouth, isn’t it…?!” She mused with a hint of amusement in her gasping voice, before reaching back to tangle her fingers with his for a moment. “B-But you’re doing fine…! B-Better than fine, actually…!”

Their movements quickly grew more frantic— her hair sticking damply to her neck, while his forehead was resting briefly between her shoulder blades. The bed groaned louder under them; the air between them was filled with panting breaths and half-formed words.

Guild Girl’s inner walls clenched around him— pulsing with each thrust. Suddenly, she let out a loud cry, her body convulsing as she squirted— her bladder emptying around his shaft. 

The warm liquid gushed out— soaking his balls and dripping down their thighs. 

But neither of them stopped. If anything, it only spurred them on— their movements becoming more urgent and desperate. Their breaths came in ragged gasps as they climbed towards their peak, together.

“I-I don’t want this to end,” she gasped suddenly— gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles went white. “C-Cum inside me, Ren…! I-I need it…!”

He pressed his mouth to her shoulder in answer, his voice low. “Ahh, f-fuck…!”

The brunette’s answering sound was a desperate whimper, part plea and part praise. “S-Say my name,” she demanded softly, as she kept pushing her hips harder against him.

“S-Sarah…!” The ashen-haired teen breathed— the name catching on his tongue like a confession.

They moved together until both were shaking— their bodies trembling from the effort. He clutched her breasts tighter— murmuring something half-incoherent against her damp skin, as the intensity built between them. 

And with a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside her— his hips pressing flush against her plush buttocks. His shaft pulsed and throbbed as he released— his warmth flooding into her welcoming depths.

Guild Girl then pressed her forehead to the mattress— eyes squeezed shut, as her vaginal walls tightened around him. She then felt herself squirting again— her body shuddering with pleasure, as she rode out the cresting sensation with him.

When it broke, they clung to one another— breaths coming in ragged waves, as he kept emptying the last of his climax into her aching chasm.

The ashen-haired teen stayed draped over her back for a moment— forehead against her shoulder, with the sweat cooling on his skin as he remained buried deep still inside her.

Panting heavily, the brunette reached blindly behind her, before catching his hand and lacing their fingers together— grounding them both.

After a long, silent stretch, he eased back— rolling onto his side. 

Guild Girl shifted against him— her body fitting naturally into the crook of his arm. She nestled her cheek against his chest, breathing in the lingering warmth of his skin as her fingertip drew lazy spirals across the faint lines of muscle. 

A quiet smile softened her lips.

“That was… Not at all what I imagined sex’d feel like,” she murmured— her voice low but tinged with amusement. “But it was still so much better that I thought it’d be… And besides, the more time we spend together like this, the better we’ll become at it. You won’t just be learning with me either— between Mare, Auri, and… Whoever else our strange little circle pulls in, I think you’ll have more practice than you’ll know what to do with.”

The words landed heavier than she expected. Goblin Slayer’s heart stumbled in his chest— a tightness forming there that had little to do with the closeness of their bodies. He turned his head slightly— his crimson eyes searching her face.

“… Sarah,” he said quietly, “why do you sound so… Comfortable with that? With sharing me? I thought what happened at Chilly’s was… Enjoyable, but… Most people would hold on tighter, not… Let go so easily.”

Guild Girl blinked— her expression unreadable for a moment— then softened as she shifted to face him more directly. Her hair tumbled forward over one shoulder, with messy curls clinging to her flushed skin. “… Does that bother you?” She asked gently— her gaze never leaving his. There was no edge in her voice, no accusation— just genuine curiosity.

The ashen-haired teen hesitated— swallowing as though his own words weighed too much. “It… Feels like it should. Like it’s something I’m supposed to guard, to protect, like it belongs only to us. But when you say it the way you do, I don’t know if I should feel guilty for wanting that closeness just for us… Or relieved that you don’t see it as betrayal.”

A faint laugh escaped her— not mocking but tender— as she brushed her thumb across his jaw. “You don’t have to pick one feeling over the other,” she whispered. “You can be protective and still find comfort in the idea of not being alone. Both things can be true.”

Goblin Slayer then drew in a slow breath, as if her words unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite name. “I… I’ve never thought of it that way… This is all so… Confusing, really.”

Her golden eyes warmed, though her smile carried a touch of ruefulness. “You’re not a simple person, Ren, so why should what you feel be simple? You’ve lived through too much, and are carrying so much on your shoulders to fit neatly into one box. And I don’t want you to. I want all of you; even the parts that don’t make sense to anyone else.”

Goblin Slayer continued to stare at her— startled by the certainty in her voice. “… All of me?” He echoed quietly, as though testing the shape of the words.

Guild Girl nodded, as her hand slid to rest against his chest once more— right over the frantic beating of his heart. “Yes, Ren— all of you,” she repeated softly. “The boy who still wonders if he deserves love, and the hero who’ll keep fighting, no matter how endless his struggle seems— the stubborn, complicated, infuriatingly kind person I fell in love with. That’s who I want. Even if I have to share pieces of you with others, it doesn’t make my part any less real.”

The ashen-haired teen’s lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. He only looked at her— crimson eyes wide and uncertain, and his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and awe.

The brunette then leaned in— her forehead brushing his, and her golden eyes glowing with a vulnerability she rarely showed. “… You deserve to be loved, Ren. You deserve to be held without question. That’s why I can share you… Because no matter what, the piece that belongs to me will always come back.”

For a long moment he didn’t answer. He only held her tighter, as though his arms alone could bind her to this world. His breath came shallow, and though he tried to hide it, the anxious tension threading through his body betrayed him.

Guild Girl tilted her head back slightly, studying his face. Then, with a soft chuckle meant to ease the air, she poked his forehead with one finger. “Alright, what’s going on in that head of yours?” She teased gently, her smile patient, her eyes shimmering with concern.

Goblin Slayer blinked— startled by her levity— before a faint, grateful smile tugged at his lips. “… You always know when I’m thinking too much,” he admitted— his soft spoken voice carrying the warmth of appreciation. 

But then his faint smile faltered almost as quickly as it came. His crimson eyes darted away, then back again, uneasy. “I just… I don’t want to lose you, is all.”

Guild Girl’s expression then slowly softened with a bittersweet tenderness, and she nestled closer— pressing the warmth of her bare body against his. Her hand smoothed over his back in slow, soothing strokes. “You won’t,” she whispered. “You’ll always have me, Ren. Even if the day comes when I’m not here… Wherever I end up, I’ll be yours. It won’t be the same, I know, but… That bond won’t break.”

The ashen-haired teen shut his eyes at that— throat tightening— only for her to nudge the mood back upward with a breath of laughter. “Besides,” she added playfully, “who’s to say we won’t leave a piece of ourselves behind first? If we had children… Then even if I couldn’t stay, I’d be there to greet them when their time comes. That way, you can keep their children safe, while I watch over them.”

Her words struck something deep inside him. The thought of children with her filled him with a fierce warmth, a sense of hope he hadn’t dared imagine. And yet, at the same time, dread crawled into his chest— cold and sharp. 

His voice cracked when he finally answered. “I… I don’t want to think about you passing away.”

Her golden eyes softened with reassurance. She brushed his cheek with her hand, coaxing him back into her gaze. “Then don’t,” she said gently. “That won’t happen for a long, long time. And by the time it does… Maybe things will be different.”

“… Different?” The ashen-haired teen asked quietly.

Guild Girl’s lips curved into a small, hopeful smile. “Cielle is already far beyond us. If she can absorb souls and filter them… Who’s to say she won’t one day create a place for us? Our own heaven. Somewhere you can visit me, and anyone else you’ve lost, whenever you like.”

Goblin Slayer fell silent at that, the thought lingering in his chest like an echo. His eyes unfocused slightly, turning inward— when, clear and calm as a bell, a familiar voice resonated within his soul.

“Ashta.”

His breath caught, the soundless whisper of her presence grounding him instantly.

“Your concern is unnecessary. I have already accounted for continuity beyond death. There will be a construct— an afterlife— when the time comes for your loved ones. You need not fear separation.”

Relief washed through him, so sudden it nearly made him dizzy. He let out a shaky breath— eyes fluttering shut as he clutched the brunette tighter.

But the Great Sage’s voice did not fade.

“… However.” There was a faint edge of chiding to her otherwise even tone. “Let’s not forget that you acted irresponsibly. Though I held back my tongue throughout the duration of you making love to Sarah, that doesn’t change that I saw you release inside her— she’s been ovulating since two days ago, so I anticipate a successful conception. Congratulations— your first child’s arrival should occur at the end of nine months.”

Goblin Slayer’s crimson eyes suddenly flew open, his heart lurching. “Wait… W-What…?!” He whispered aloud.

Guild Girl tilted her head, blinking up at him. “Ren? What is it?”

He swallowed, then laughed softly under his breath, dazed. “C-Cielle, uh… S-She just told me… That you’re pregnant. Or… That you will be. She said, uh… She said that you have been ovulating since two days ago.”

For a moment the brunette only stared at him, with her lips parting. Then her expression broke into astonished deligh—  her whole body giving a giddy little wiggle as she pulled herself flush against him. 

“A-Are you SERIOUS?!?” She gasped— her eyes wide, glowing with a sudden golden light of joy.

“S-She also told me,” the ashen-haired teen added— voice still unsteady with awe, “that she already has a plan… For an afterlife. A place you’ll all have, one day. Where I can visit you, so… So nothing can keep us apart— not even… Not even death.”

Guild Girl’s face bloomed into a radiant smile, and she let out a soft laugh— both nervous and overjoyed. She then cuddled closer into his chest, clutching him as though she couldn’t hold tight enough. “Then… Then we don’t have anything to worry about,” she whispered brightly. “Not for us. Not for our child, or their child and onward. We’ll be together… A-Always.”

The brunette’s joy was contagious— spilling over him like sunlight after a storm. Goblin Slayer couldn’t help but to tighten his hold on her— burying his face against her hair as a rare, trembling laugh escaped his lips. 

Chapter Text

The summer morning above the Jura Forest was warm but not yet stifling— the kind of golden light that seemed to paint everything with a faint shimmer of life. 

The fortress’s high battlements drank in the sun— their weathered stones softened by moss and years of reclamation— while the dense emerald canopy below rippled with birdsong and the faint hiss of cicadas beginning their daily chorus. Upon the parapet above the iron gate, the blond pair of twins stood together— one with her shoulders squared and hands resting with casual boldness on her hips, the other shifting from foot to foot as his fingers tightened around the polished length of his wooden staff.

Dark Elf Ranger leaned forward slightly, with her thumb hooking toward the distant road. “If we weren’t expecting them, Mare,” she murmured with a grin tugging at her lips, “I’d have thought they were an invading army marching straight down our throat.”

Her brother flushed lightly at her words, giving the kind of shy smile that never quite reached his eyes. He adjusted the hem of his white skirt nervously— his soft cheeks coloring as he answered in his hushed, uncertain way. “I– I don’t think it would be easy to mistake them for an army. They don’t… Carry themselves like soldiers.”

That earned him an arched brow from Dark Elf Ranger, who crossed her arms over the front of her white vest— her expression blooming into a smug challenge. “Oh yeah? Then tell me, Mare. What would you have thought, looking out from these walls, seeing that wave of thousands moving in step like that— if you didn’t know they were with the Builders’ Guild?”

Dark Elf Warden’s lips trembled as he considered— his mismatched eyes drawn again to the column of men and women winding steadily toward the fortress, with their banners rippling like streams of color among the dust. “… I would have thought…” he began, clutching his staff tighter, “that they were tradesmen hired by the King. Maybe to build better roads. Or… Perhaps even a highway.”

His sister’s laugh burst out like a bark— loud and delighted— echoing off the battlements. She slapped her thigh— her mismatched eyes glittering with amusement. “A highway?! With what money, Mare?! Uther’s still broke after that war gutted him. He can barely feed his garrison, let alone pave the middle of bum-fuck nowhere!”

Dark Elf Warden winced at her teasing but hummed softly, conceding without complaint. Yet his brow furrowed faintly as another thought slipped through. “But then… If that’s true, then how could the Mages’ Association afford to pay Ren all that money for turning in Cielle’s tesseract?” His voice carried more sincerity than defiance; spoken like a child asking a question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered.

Dark Elf Ranger’s grin faltered— her smug veneer cracking, as her gloved hand rose to her chin. Her mismatched gaze scanned back and forth, following the caravan’s march as though the answer might be hidden among the dust plumes. 

She snapped her fingers suddenly, with her mismatched eyes brightening. “… Because the Mages’ Association has been around since the first civilization, Mare. Back when Primordials and Aboleths were tearing chunks out of each other, while Dragons set the skies on fire. And who was it that built the foundation? Us. Dark elves. While high elves were still busy hammering nails into treehouses and squabbling with mountain midgets, it was our people who were getting things done. It was us who saved the world first.”

Her brother flinched at the boast, while shifting in place— his chubby hands nervously worrying at the hem of his sleeve. “I–I think there was a lot more to it than that…” He murmured— voice trailing like a leaf on the wind.

She waved her hand dismissively, as though brushing his protest aside. “That’s not the point. The point, Mare, is that the Mages’ Association has been around for a very, very, very long time. Currency’s beneath them. They’ve got ties with every major noble house and every powerful organization in Feyrun— probably across the whole world, if we’re being realistic.”

Dark Elf Warden hesitated— chewing his lip as he considered her words. “D-Do you think they’re good people, then?” He asked softly. “Or… Do they keep dark secrets, hidden behind all that power?”

Dark Elf Ranger tilted her head— her smirk returning, as she leaned her elbow onto the crenelation. “Neither, if you ask me. They’re not saints, and they’re not demons. They’re just the kind of people who benefit themselves first and foremost. My bet? They’re more interested in keeping the status quo than anything else.”

Dark Elf Warden’s shy eyes flicked toward her, uncertain, before dropping to the ground beneath their feet. “But… Doesn’t that make them our enemy then? Because the Ashta Accord’s whole purpose is… Is to change the status quo?” His words were soft— almost swallowed by the sound of the caravan nearing the gates— yet they carried weight enough to silence her swagger.

Her grin faded— her mouth pulling into a thoughtful line as she regarded him with narrowed eyes. For once, her brother’s timid observation had cut to the heart of the matter, and she had no immediate quip to answer it. 

Dark Elf Ranger let the thought linger between them before finally forcing a crooked grin— shaking her head. “Well… That’s a problem for future us, if it’s a problem at all. No sense breaking our backs over it now, is there?”

The blond tomboy then clapped her hands together sharply— the sound jolting the tension from the air. Straightening, she stretched her arms wide, then gestured toward the gate beneath them. “Come on, Mare. We’d better get this shit started before our guests wear holes in the road.”

Dark Elf Warden then followed reluctantly, staff clutched close to his chest, while she strode forward with all the brash confidence in the world, the sun gilding her golden hair as the caravan drew ever closer.

The Westmarch Highway stretched far and straight beneath the morning sun— its cobbled stones glinting faintly between the shadows of passing clouds. 

On either side, the meadows rolled in soft waves of green and gold, painted with wildflowers bowing under a gentle breeze. The capital’s outer walls— Caladorn’s massive teeth of white stone— were already a pale smudge behind him, swallowed by distance.

Haru’s hooves struck in even rhythm— sparks leaping now and again as the black mare weaved deftly through wagon trains and mounted riders. Carts heavy with timber, wagons laden with sacks of wheat, and small caravans of traders gave way as Goblin Slayer urged his horse forward. 

His gloved hands adjusted with practiced ease upon the reins— his posture neither proud nor boastful but balanced, intent, wholly alive in the moment.

The ashen-haired teen was clad in his set of armor— his iron helmet gleaming dully in the sun, with its red plume trailing behind with each gallop. Beneath, his black gambeson was layered over chainmail, dark leather plates strapped snug across his frame, and a high leather gorget whose collar sprouted black feathers like a crow’s mantle. 

Dust curled around him as he rode, yet his movements were steady, as though he and Haru were a single creature.

From deep within his soul, a quiet hum stirred— an almost bemused sound. The Great Sage’s voice followed, monotone but faintly pleased— her even cadence as inevitable as breath.

“You are in a good mood today, Ashta.”

A small laugh touched his lips beneath the helmet, his voice in reply soft and warm, carrying the gentle mannerisms of a boy who hadn’t yet forgotten kindness. ‘Why wouldn’t I be, Cielle?’

He leaned back slightly in the saddle— reins drawn with care as Haru skirted a slow-moving hay wagon. ‘I mean, last night with Sarah? It felt right. Better than I imagined it could be.’

“I am aware.”

His laugh escaped him again, awkward but happy— his shoulders shaking beneath the weight of leather and mail. ‘Yeah, and then afterwards you told me something even better. In nine months, I’ll be a father… And that eventually I’ll have my own afterlife to give to whomever I choose.’

The thought alone made his chest swell, and he let the words linger with quiet awe. ‘That’s the best news I’ve ever heard so far, Cielle.’

Her voice, though steady, carried a trace of caution. “You must remember that you cannot enter such an afterlife yourself. Your nature is bound to higher-dimensional strata. You will not dwell there with them.”

The teen tilted his head against the wind— plume fluttering behind— his reply steady and undeterred. ‘I know. I’m half fourth-dimensional, or whatever you call it. But that doesn’t change how good it feels to know my loved ones will be insured.’

His hands tightened gently on the reins, guiding Haru as she slipped between two traders’ wagons— the mare’s muscles rippling beneath him. ‘Say, Cielle— do you think I could bring my sister there too? My family? When it’s time? They deserve more than what the gods allow.’

There was the faintest pause, not of doubt but of calculation. “It should not be difficult to transfer souls into a domain of your making. Provided, of course, you are not opposed to the possibility that it will necessitate slaying the Supreme God.”

The words hung in the air as birds scattered from a hedgerow, startled by Haru’s gallop. The teen hummed softly— contemplative rather than alarmed— his tone gentle but tinged with irony. ‘Slay Supreme God, huh?’ His voice held no bravado, only quiet curiosity. ‘It’s not like Supreme God’s ever done anything for me, has he?’

“No, he hasn’t.”

The morning stretched into afternoon as Goblin Slayer pressed onward down the Westmarch Highway— the steady rhythm of Haru’s hooves carrying him farther west with each passing league. 

The sun climbed high, then softened into the long slant of early afternoon light, but the black mare showed little sign of wear. Her gait never faltered, her trot smooth and unyielding— her breath rising in a steady plume that outshone every other beast upon the road. 

Traders urged their draft horses aside as she swept past— wagons creaking and groaning in her wake— while riders on palfreys and destriers alike could only marvel at her stamina. Eight hours into the journey, the mare still moved as though she had just left the capital gates— her muscles taut with tireless energy.

Yet amid that ceaseless motion, the quiet voice of the Great Sage stirred within his soul— her calm words drawing his gaze to the left, where a dirt exit path curved away from the highway’s stone. 

“Ashta. Leave the road here. Dalewood lies ahead. We’ll stop there to let Haru rest.”

With a gentle tug of the reins, Goblin Slayer guided his mare away from the clamor of wagons and riders, steering her onto the narrow road that wound toward the countryside. 

The lane constricted almost at once, hemmed in by hedgerows and split-rail fences, and Haru’s stride shifted to a quieter rhythm— her hooves drumming softly as the highway’s din fell away into the muted sounds of open land.

A flock of crows burst from a fallow field, black wings scattering against the pale light, while far off a shepherd’s dog barked once and fell silent. 

Goblin Slayer adjusted his seat in the saddle, letting the tension of the main road slip from his shoulders as the mare carried him deeper along the rural track.

The hum of commerce and chatter faded behind him, replaced by a wide hush beneath a soft blue sky. The earth road here was firm but unassuming, worn smooth by farm carts instead of caravans. 

For the next two kilometers the world resolved into gentle farmland: rows of wheat rippling like golden water, apple orchards heavy with fruit, and fields where scarecrows kept patient watch above budding beans and cabbages.

Farmers bent their backs in the soil, with their children darting between rows with laughter like sparrows’ song. Chickens scattered in puffs of dust when Haru’s hooves trotted past, and the occasional dog barked from behind wooden fences, its tail wagging despite its noise. 

The air smelled of tilled earth and cut hay, mingling with the distant sweetness of honeysuckle growing wild along the ditches.

At last, the farmlands gave way, and the road broadened into the entrance of Dalewood. 

The town was modest yet alive— its timber-framed houses leaning close to one another as if for warmth, and their thatched roofs peppered with moss and smoke curling from stone chimneys. 

The community’s beating heart was agricultural— wagons laden with grain and produce trundled steadily in and out, bound for markets beyond, while others returned bearing barrels of salt, iron tools, and bundles of cloth. 

The steady creak of wheels and the thud of hooves filled the air, mingling with the voices of merchants calling prices and farmers greeting kinfolk.

A pair of leather-clad sellswords lounged near the well with mugs of ale, their blades at rest, while another passed through the crowd with a lute strapped to his back. 

Beyond the market square, the smell of hay and horseflesh thickened, and soon the town stables came into view.

The building was long and low— its timber walls dark with years of use, and its roof heavy with bundles of straw. Horses whickered softly within— the sound mingling with the clank of tack and the steady scrape of brushes. 

A boy hurried forward to meet him, wiping his hands on his tunic as Goblin Slayer drew Haru to a halt before the stable doors— the mare’s breath steady as if the long ride had been no more than a morning canter.

The ashen-haired teen dismounted slowly, his boots landing on the packed earth with a soft thud, as the quiet hum of Dalewood folded gently around him.

The stable hand’s eyes lit up the moment Goblin Slayer pressed the silver into his palm. “Y–Yes, sir, I’ll take good care of her!” The boy blurted, while stroking Haru’s neck as though she were a creature from a fairy tale. 

The mare nickered and lowered her head— patient and proud as the boy led her toward the stalls. Goblin Slayer lingered for a breath, while watching her swish her tail once before disappearing into the dim, hay-scented interior.

Left with empty hands and open time, the ashen-haired teen set out into the rest of Dalewood.

The town unfolded quietly around him— timber-framed houses leaning against one another like old friends. Farmers and their wives glanced up as he passed— their gazes lingering not in fear but in fascination. A child tugged at her mother’s apron, whispering about a man in armor.

“They assume you are a knight, Ashta. The helmet lends such an impression.”

His lips curved faintly beneath the visor— his thoughts answering with quiet amusement. ‘A knight, huh? I don’t think I’d play the part very well.’

“On the contrary,” she replied— her monotone carrying a thread of wryness, “you’d make a fine knight. Though I cannot picture you pledging yourself to some lord’s banner. You are far too… Willful.”

A soft chuckle left him— muffled beneath the helm. ‘Yeah. I think the first time someone ordered me to shine their boots, I’d quit on the spot.’

“That,” she said, “sounds about right.”

Their exchange followed him until the weathered sign of ‘The Golden Horseshoe’ came into view. Its letters were painted in flaking gilt— the wood creaking gently in the breeze. The tavern’s broad windows glowed with lamplight, spilling laughter and music into the street.

The doors then swung wide at his push, and the world within was warm and alive. 

Sawdust lay scattered on the floorboards, catching the glow of oil lamps overhead. The scent of roasted meat, pipe smoke, and spilled ale mingled thick in the air. A broad-shouldered man worked the keys of an old organ piano near the corner— its wheeze and clatter underscoring the lilting tune of a band on the far stage.

A woman stood at the front with a battered lute strapped across her body— her voice smooth and wistful, carrying over the hum of conversation. Behind her, a pair of men picked harmonies on fiddle and drum. The name carved onto the stage backdrop read: “Silverwind Company.”

The singer’s voice floated through the tavern like smoke:

“Oh, when the river calls your name,

Do you follow, do you stay the same?

The water runs, it never waits,

It takes your sorrow, it seals your fate…”

The organ gave a low moan as the fiddle joined, weaving sorrow into sweetness. Around him, men leaned on elbows— their voices dropping as they let the song wash over them.

“In the night, when the stars all turn,

I will be the one you yearn.

Carry me— like the autumn rain,

Dreams will find you, and heal your pain…”

Goblin Slayer slowed— his boots thudding softly against the floorboards. Through the narrow visor slits, his eyes found the stage— held there by the mournful beauty of the melody.

‘I half-expected a place like this to be filled with smoke, burlesque dancers, and drunks throwing punches,’ he admitted inwardly.

“Dalewood is nothing of the sort,” The Great Sage replied. “It is family-oriented, business-oriented. Any who disturb that peace are dealt with swiftly by the militia. As you will undoubtedly come to find out.”

He hummed— a faint breath of sound. ‘That sounds rather ominous, Cielle.’

His hands rose toward the back of his neck. Leather creaked as he unfastened the buckle beneath his collar. With a soft tug, the weight of the helmet came free. He slid it off carefully, and tucked it beneath his arm. 

His ashen hair spilled loose— catching the lamplight in pale strands. Conversation rippled faintly as a few men glanced up at the sight of his uncovered face, but no one challenged him. 

He carried himself to the bar, each step unhurried. At the counter, he set the helmet down gently— as though it were something fragile. For a long heartbeat he stood there, fingers brushing the rim, before raising one hand in an awkward— almost shy wave to draw the bartender’s attention.

The man in question was polishing a mug with a rag that had seen better days— his mustache curling neatly at the edges, and his cap tilted in a way that seemed both casual and deliberate. 

His striped shirt was rolled at the sleeves, black vest snug against his frame, apron tied neat at the waist. When he noticed the ashen-haired teen at the bar, he set the mug down, smoothed his vest, and strolled over with an easy smile.

“Well now, look at you sittin’ all quiet as a church mouse,” the Bartender said, before patting the countertop with a broad hand before leaning across it. His eyes twinkled, voice carrying a kind of practiced charm. “So, tell me, son— what can I get ya to wet yer whistle, hm?”

Goblin Slayer tilted his head slightly, staring at the man from behind his pale lashes. “… Wet my what?” He asked— the words leaving him low and puzzled, almost swallowed by the din of conversation around them.

“He means your order, Ashta,” the Great Sage explained patiently within him. “A drink. And recall Sarah’s words— no alcohol.”

The corners of his mouth curved faintly, followed by a dry little huff escaping his nose. ‘Yeah… I haven’t forgotten.’

He looked back at the Bartender, scratching at the strap under his chin. “What do you have that isn’t… Alcoholic?”

The man rocked back, rubbing his chin with the rag still in hand. “Ahh, figures,” he said, letting out a low hum as his brow lifted. “A boy your age, I wouldn’t expect you to go near the hard stuff anyhow.” He mused, as he tapped the counter with two fingers, then gestured lightly at the iron helmet sitting beside him. “Though, I gotta ask… Why ain’t you in school right now? Still look like you oughta be hittin’ the books, not hittin’ the road.”

Goblin Slayer hesitated— his gaze lowering a moment. “… My sister used to be a teacher; she’d probably ask me the same thing,” he said softly, almost absently. A shadow flickered in his eyes, though he forced it away with a small smile. “But anyway, I’m… Occupied right now. But when things are settled, I’d like to study again— go back to learning.”

“Admirable,” the Great Sage murmured with the faintest note of pride. “Speaking of which, we should establish a school in Jura once stability is secured. Reshape the youth, provide knowledge directly from me, without distortion. Until then, I will continue to teach you everything you require.”

The Bartender’s brow arched as he let out a slow whistle. He pushed up from the counter— hands settling on his hips as he regarded the boy. “Now that’s somethin’ you don’t hear every day. Can’t say I ever met a lad wantin’ books more than a life on the road.” He chuckled, shaking his head, then bent down behind the counter— shuffling through a drawer.

“… So then,” the Bartender continued— voice warm, “what’s so blasted important it’s keepin’ ya outta school, eh?” He asked, while still rifling through the drawer. “Gotta be somethin’ worth hearin’ about.”

Goblin Slayer glanced at him— quiet for a long beat. 

‘Do I tell him about the Ashta Accord? About the Guild, about everything? No— that’s too much for a passing conversation.’ 

His fingers drummed once against the edge of the menu before he gave the simplest truth.

“… I’m trying to get rid of all the evil in the world.”

The Bartender froze halfway through pulling out a folded sheet, then barked out a laugh that rolled like a barroom piano chord. “Ho! Now that’s a tall order, son.” He grinned, before shaking his head in disbelief— though his tone carried no malice. “Reachin’ for the stars, eh? I like that spirit, even if it’s plain impossible.”

Goblin Slayer’s lips curved faintly— his voice steady but firm. “Reaching for the stars is never wasted. Even if you miss, you’ll land higher than where you started.”

The laughter faded from the Bartender’s face. He leaned an elbow on the counter— studying the boy’s crimson eyes. After a moment, he nodded slowly as he handed the ashen-haired a menu. “…That’s… Not bad. Not bad at all.” He said quietly, as a smile tugged back at his mustache. “Maybe you got somethin’ in that head after all.”

Goblin Slayer gave a small shrug, as though to brush off the compliment.

“Well, hell,” the man said, clapping his hands together. “If you’re in the business of doin’ good, maybe you’d like t’ do some of it right here in Dalewood, eh?”

That made the ashen-haired teen tilt his head. “… What do you mean?”

“One sec.” The Bartender crouched again, rummaging noisily through the drawer. “Got somethin’ else here…” Papers shuffled— wood creaked. “… Say, ya figure out what you’re drinkin’, lad?”

Goblin Slayer blinked, before staring down at the menu he hadn’t touched since being handed it. ‘Oh… Right. The drink.’

“Order the sarsaparilla. It is appropriate.”

‘What even is that?’

“A root-based tonic. You’ll like it— trust me.”

Goblin Slayer cleared his throat. “I’ll… Have a glass of sarsaparilla.”

The Bartender froze mid-rustle. His head popped up, brows climbing. Then a grin split his face. “Well, I’ll be damned… You been in Dalewood before?”

Goblin Slayer shook his head. “… No, I haven’t.”

The Bartender chuckled, before setting a poster aside and wagging a finger at him. “Then you musta heard it through word of mouth, eh? That’s my own recipe, y’see. Brewed it up myself. And lemme tell ya, once I get a proper investor, this stuff’s gonna be the next big thing from here to the coasts.”

Goblin Slayer nodded faintly, tone earnest. “Then I’m eager to try it.”

That lit the man up like a lantern. “Now that’s what I like t’ hear!” He slapped the poster onto the counter and stood— mustache twitching with pride. “One glass o’ iced sarsaparilla comin’ right up!” He boomed, before hustling off toward the back with the rag thrown over his shoulder.

Left alone, Goblin Slayer reached for the poster. He unfolded it— eyes narrowing slightly as he took it in.

Bold letters sprawled across the top: “I Want You.” The drawing beneath showed a smiling blonde in a ten-gallon hat— her ample cleavage spilling out of her top, as she pointed straight at the viewer. The words at the bottom read: “To Keep Dalewood Safe!”

“Hmm. A recruitment flyer. It is issued by the militia captain— her name is Captain Ashe Ruby, a respected woman around these parts. According to the text, they are gathering at the town hall in several hours to form a hunting party, bound for a bandit camp two hours north.”

Goblin Slayer traced the sharp lines of the woman’s smile with his eyes, mildly curious. ‘Bandits… So pretty much goblins, then?’

“Correct. The notice encourages firearms— matchlocks, muskets. It warns of five hundred armed men raiding merchants and even trained platoons. They’re well-organized, well-supplied, and dangerous. Nothing we can’t handle ourselves, truthfully.”

His fingers tightened slightly around the paper. ‘Think we’ve got time for it?’

“If Haru rests eight hours, she will easily cover another hundred kilometers before needing to rest. There is no risk of delay. Besides— coin will be required. A room for the night is not free, and we’re working with limited funds— as is.”

Goblin Slayer gave the faintest nod, fingers brushing the rim of the poster. ‘Then it looks like we’ve got something productive to fill our time with, after all.’

The Bartender then returned in a flourish— his apron swaying, with a chilled glass in his hand. He set it down with pride— dark fizz swirling over clinking ice. “One sarsaparilla! Finest drink you’ll ever put in yer belly, boy.”

Goblin Slayer raised the glass beneath his helmet and took a tentative sip. The sweetness hit hard, syrupy and sharp. His brows pinched, as he drew the cup back— almost wincing.

The Bartender barked a laugh, as he pointed at him with a thick finger. “Ha! First sip’ll knock ya sideways, sure as Godsday! But go again— trust me. She’s smoother the second time.”

The ashen-haired stared at the glass for a moment. Then, as if testing the Bartender’s faith, he lifted it once more. 

The fizz touched his lips— this time softer, the sweetness carried by the cold. Another sip followed. Then another. His shoulders eased just slightly, as the corner of his mouth tugged upward.

‘Better,’ he thought, with the faintest warmth curling in his chest.

The Bartender slapped the counter, booming with delight. “Yeehaw! There it is! Knew ya had a sweet tooth, boy!”

Goblin Slayer set the glass down carefully. His crimson eyes drifted back to the poster— mind sharpening into lines of strategy. ‘… Five-hundred more souls to cleanse and claim— right, Cielle?’

By five o’clock, Dalewood’s square had become a living arsenal.

Horses stamped at the packed dirt, snorting plumes of steam into the cooling air. Harnesses creaked; powder horns clinked like muted bells. 

The smell of hay, sweat, and black powder mixed with the tang of oiled steel. Muskets rested across saddles, while flintlocks glinted at men’s thighs. A hand-axe swung loose at one man’s hip; another’s vest gleamed with a row of hunting knives.

Through the noise came bootsteps— measured, and deliberate. Goblin Slayer walked the gravel path— the red plume on his iron helmet catching the dying fire of the sun. 

Conversations dulled as heads turned.

“… Where’s his horse?” Someone muttered— low but sharp.

“Hell’s he s’posed to do without a mount?” Another asked, louder.

“Who even called the Guild?”

Then laughter cracked when a younger voice called from the back: “Man brought a sword t’ a gunfight! Bet he’ll be the first one to get shot!”

The sound rippled— nervous, brittle.

Goblin Slayer didn’t slow. His gait stayed steady, and his shoulders remained squared— as though their words skimmed off his armor.

At the front of the assembly, mounted high in a saddle, a woman watched him come. 

Her dark skin bore the bronze of years in sun and battle; her braids, streaked black and silver, caught the breeze. Scars lined her face, each one an old story. A beige shirt clung to the muscles in her arms— sleeves rolled, and leather vest strapped overtop. The bronze star on her ample chest gleamed.

She didn’t just command attention— she demanded it.

When he stopped at the foot of the crowd, her brow arched. Her voice cracked out like a whip— smooth and sharp. “Well, well. Don’t recall sendin’ word to them pencil-pushin’ paper boys down at the Adventurers’ Guild.” Her lip curled, as her men chuckled on cue.

The ashen-haired teen then lifted his head slightly. Through the slits of his helmet, his voice came calm, polite. “… I’m Goblin Slayer.” He said, as he touched his leather-bladed chest in a small gesture. “And I’m not part of the Adventurers’ Guild.”

She cocked her head, with one corner of her mouth lifting in a slow, appraising smile. “Mmhm. Then whose flag you flyin’ under, boy? Don’t recognize no helmet-wearin’ wannabe knight struttin’ ’round my town.”

Goblin Slayer kept his voice level— soft enough to be a conversation rather than a challenge. “The kind of flag that isn’t stitched yet.” He said before pausing. “I lead a faction called the Ashta Accord. Our goal is simple: replace evil with good. I intend to do some of that tonight, if you’ll have me.”

A ripple ran through the riders— half skepticism, half amusement. One man barked a laugh; another muttered about preachers and high talk of good and evil. 

The captain’s dark eyes flattened on him— the slits of his helmet catching her gaze like a mirror. “You sound like every starry-eyed fool I’ve seen buried in our cemetery,” she said— each word clipped. “That kind of optimism puts suckers in the ground.”

“It hasn’t killed me yet, ma’am.”

A muscle moved in her jaw. “Maybe you just ain’t been tested right.” She challenged, as she leaned forward in the saddle until the leather creaked. “All this talk about a faction— you even got people with you, or you just wandered in thinkin’ your little blade makes you hot shit?”

He considered the question for a heartbeat— the pause deliberate and unfussy. “I do have people,” he said. “Two of them are at my fortress. They’re the only ones fully outfitted for battle right now; the builders started renovations there this morning. Truthfully, Dalewood was only meant to be a stop on my way to Mirthal Hall.”

A low murmur threaded the ranks behind her. She tipped her head— audible skepticism tugging at one corner of her mouth. “So you waltz in here jawin’ about replacin’ evil with good, then tell me you weren’t even plannin’ to be here? We were just convenient for your schedule?” She asked— her voice mixed incredulity with amusement.

The ashen-haired teen met her with an unhurried look. “If that’s how you want to put it, yes. I’m offering to help because it fits my plans. I don’t expect coin. Any spoils we take from the bandits will be sufficient recompense.”

Silence fell for a moment— only the soft creak of harnesses and the horses’ breath filled the square. 

Then she barked a laugh that turned into an eye-roll. “So all that ‘replacin’ evil with good’ talk was just noble fluff. You’re in it for yourself, eh?” She retorted, before flicking a hand like she was brushing a fly away. “Whatever. Don’t much matter why you’re here.”

She then leaned in— reins creaking under her grip— and her gaze sharpened until it pinned him. “Now tell me, Goblin Slayer— are you ridin’ with us or you gonna keep yammerin’ and wastin’ my time?”

His answer was immediate and plain, the soft certainty of someone who’d already decided. “I came to help annihilate that bandit camp on the poster.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled— brown eyes narrowing with a glint like a whetted blade. “Then do me a favor, sugar— tell me where the hell your piece is at.”

Goblin Slayer tilted his head a fraction, the iron plume shifting. “… My piece?”

“She means a firearm.”

A beat of silence passed before he answered plainly. “I… I don’t have one.”

The pause that followed hit heavier than a gunshot. 

Mutters rippled through the men; one spat into the dirt. The captain repeated the words slowly— like tasting something sour. “… You don’t have a piece.” Her braids swayed as she leaned in again over her saddle. “Alright then— do you even have a horse to your name?”

“My mare’s in the stable,” Goblin Slayer replied— voice even, though weariness pressed at its edge. “She’ll be fit by eleven tonight.”

That drew another bark of laughter from her— sharp enough to sting. “Boy, how in the gods’ hot sand you plan to ride north without a horse under you?! You walking the whole damn way?!”

His reply came steady— almost mild— yet direct enough to cut through their chuckles. “… Maybe you can give me a ride.”

That shattered the crowd. Hoots and hollers burst out; men doubled over with laughter, while the dark-skinned woman just stared at him— jaw gone slack. 

Then her voice cracked like a whip: “BITCH— what makes you think I’d let some half-armed stranger saddle up behind me?! You tryin’ to slow me down, or make me a bigger target?!”

Goblin Slayer raised a gloved hand— the gesture quiet, almost soothing. “Then let me off before the camp,” he said, with certainty in his calm voice. “I’ll move ahead and draw their fire. While they’re focused on me, you and your men can advance unseen. They won’t have time to mount a defense.”

That stalled her. For the first time her laughter died, and her mouth pressed into a hard line. 

Murmurs rolled through the ranks— skeptical, but not dismissive. She shifted in her saddle— muttering under her breath, half to herself: “… I wanted to try that… But I didn’t have the grit to order one of my boys to walk into certain death…”

Then she snapped her gaze back to him— eyes sharp but thoughtful. “But you?! You ain’t one of my boys! If you get lit the fuck up, that’s just time bought for the rest of us!”

Her laugh returned— bright and cheery— ringing across the square. She then thrust out a scarred hand. “Welcome to the hunting party, boy! Hope your affairs are in order!”

Goblin Slayer clasped her hand without hesitation— his grip firm but measured. With one smooth yank she hauled him up into the saddle behind her. He settled into place with precise control— his armor’s weight shifting without jostling her seat.

The captain snorted and glanced back over her shoulder— a smile as dangerous as a blade slicing across her face. “And don’t you even get clever back there,” she warned— her voice low and playful with threat. “If I feel your dick pokin’ me where it shouldn’t, I’ll put a hole right through that cheap-ass helmet myself!”

Goblin Slayer’s body tensed for a heartbeat, then relaxed. “… That won’t be an issue, Captain Ruby.” 

“Good.” She replied firmly, before turning forward— the bronze star at her large breast catching the last of the light. 

Her gaze swept the hundred riders gathered beneath her like a tide smoothed by command, and the restless murmurs fell into a focused hush. She drew breath and let her voice roll through the square like a drumbeat.

“… Alright, listen up!” She called— every syllable a snapped rope. “We ride north on Earlsworth Road until the fork at Red Lock Canyon. From there, we cut Timberwolf Cut— keep the hills at our left. We take Hollow Spur Trail to put us above the canyon floor. By seven, we circle Crimson Mesa and wait.” Her gloved finger jabbed toward the dark smudge of hills on the horizon— precise and final.

Riders shifted in their saddles— checking flintlocks and tightening bandoliers. Powder horns caught the dusk and chimed like dull bells. 

She then tilted her head toward the ashen-haired teen— her graying braids brushing her collarbone. “Change o’ plans too,” she announced, with her voice sharpening. “Y’all see this boy ridin’ wit’ me? This here’s Goblin Slayer. He gets close to the camp while we sit half a klick from the entrance. When he makes his move—” she paused— letting the weight of it sink in, “— that’s when you run like hell and storm their lines.”

A jeer rose from somewhere, quick and cutting. “Or he’ll die tryin’!” A voice snickered.

She arched one brow and let a rueful laugh out. “Ain’t that the damn truth,” she said, but steel threaded the amusement. “Whether he gets the job done or goes belly-up, the moment you hear shots, that’s your cue! Ride hard! Don’t dither! Break them gates!”

Her tone turned hot— each word hammered clean. “They been pickin’ off our merchants, burnin’ wagons, shootin’ the king’s boys and slippin’ off into the hills! I’ve been waitin’ on that fat bastard sittin’ his throne to lift a finger— guess that shit’s on me!” She spat into the dust and the sound clipped the air. “But Dalewood’s never been saved by no crown! We feed this kingdom— we plow its fields and fill its granaries— and what do we get?! Thieves at our doorstep and silence from those above!”

A rumble of agreement ran through the militia. She then began pointing at the men one by one— eyes bright in the dim. “If nobody’s gonna save us, we do it ourselves— the way our folks always did…” Her voice softened for barely a beat, then rose into a hymn that was half prayer, half threat. “So who the fuck’s with me tonight?!”

The answer came like thunder— whoops, hollers, the clang of spurs as the hundred riders answered her with a roar that rattled the hall’s windows. Horses pawed and reared— the crowd’s energy snapping into a single living thing. The captain then threw her head back and laughed full and fierce— the sound raw with triumph.

“Hell yeah! That’s what I like to hear, boys!” She barked, while sweeping an arm out in a broad, commanding arc. “Buck up and follow my lead!”

She dug her heels in; her mount surged forward, iron shoes striking sparks from the packed stones. Goblin Slayer moved with the jolt— settling his hands on her hips to steady himself behind her. 

The column followed— muskets glinting, powder horns swinging, leather and steel forging a river of motion down the lane.

They cut through Dalewood’s north end beneath cheery faces and waving hands. Merchants, children, and old women lined the street— raising hats and kerchiefs— calling blessings and clapping as they passed. 

The sunset rimmed the scene in fire— the captain’s bronze star flashing, the red plume at the stranger’s helm bright in the last light— so for a breath the ragged hunting party looked like something out of a storybook: a ragged army with a fierce heart, pounding north into a gathering dark.

To Be Continued…

Chapter Text

The desert lay silent beneath the stars— a vast sea of dark sand and fractured stone. Crimson Mesa rose from the flatlands like a shattered tooth— its red cliffs buried in shadow— and the pale scars of Red Rock Canyon branching from its base like veins carved deep into the earth’s flesh. 

The sun had long since drowned beyond the horizon, leaving a twilight sky sewn with stars— their distant light snagging on every jagged ridge and every grain of dust suspended in the parched air. 

Each breath dragged grit into the lungs; each step scattered echoes across the silence.

Atop the mesa, a fortress brooded over the desert like a watchful carrion bird. Once an old keep, it had been claimed and reforged by the Dustborn— its stones bound together with scavenged steel and ruthless intent. 

Their armor no longer rattled with the disarray of raiders, but struck like muted bells— plate scavenged from fallen regiments, painted black to smother the shine, and etched with copper sigils that caught the torchlight in dull flickers: sharp suns and crooked D’s stamped on breastplates and shoulders like a conquering seal.

They were not the laughing drunkards most imagined when they whispered the word ‘bandit.’

There was no singing in the courtyards, no fireside brawls. Only the rhythm of boots against stone— methodical and unbroken.

Patrols traced the battlements in squads of four— heels hitting in perfect cadence while lieutenants stalked at their lead, long dust-gray coats whispering against steel greaves. Muskets rested across their shoulders, bayonets glinting like teeth, scopes flashing in the cold lamplight. 

At the fortress gate, sentries stood as if carved from basalt; palms draped across the polished stocks of their weapons while squat cannons waited in silence— their iron maws gaping toward the canyon like beasts poised to strike.

The courtyard below churned with a quiet, relentless industry. 

Lanterns swung from chains bolted into the ramparts— their light cutting thin halos through the swirling grit. Beneath them, men knelt over crates stuffed with captured muskets, pistols, powder and shot, hands moving quick and mechanical. 

Hammer blows cracked as lids were sealed, then brushed over with resin until the planks gleamed. Inspectors prowled with clipboards, ticking down inventories before stamping copper sigils onto the boards in looping strokes— each mark sealing a weapon’s fate. 

Box-by-box, stroke-by-stroke, the stolen firepower streamed outward like a hidden artery feeding some distant, unseen war.

To the courtyard’s flank, a patch of hard-packed earth had been scorched flat into a training ground. Lanterns ringed it like the eyes of silent judges— their glare slicing across bodies locked in drills. Flintlocks cracked in precise volleys— paper wadding spinning into the air as white smoke curled like restless spirits. 

When the rifles were set aside, steel sang and fists slammed into flesh. Pairs of fighters clashed while circling officers barked corrections, kicking stances straight and hauling stragglers up by their collars. No laughter rose from their ranks— only the dull cadence of discipline striking bone and steel.

And beyond the walls, the Dustborn held the desert in their jaws.

At the mesa’s caprock, one of the many squads of six advanced across the flats with measured steps— their boots drumming the earth in unison. Muskets rode their shoulders, with their hands hooked lightly on their grips. Their lieutenant strode at point— coat flaring at each step, and his jaw clenched to stone.

Then— soft, deliberate— the faint scrape of footsteps behind them.

The sound was nearly swallowed by the night wind, but the man on the rear flank caught it first. His voice lashed the air like a whip.

“CONTACT, REAR— FORM RANKS!!!”

They moved instantly— bodies snapping into practiced angles.

The flankman hit the dirt; belly pressed flat as he braced his musket. The two nearest him sank to one knee— barrels tilting forward to create a staggered line of fire. 

The lieutenant and the two leading men spun on their heels— muskets swinging up, and muzzles held high to keep from cutting across their brothers’ sights. Small lanterns mounted beneath their barrels dropped with the motion— steel mirrors catching and flaring the light outward across the plain.

The sudden glare ripped the top of the mesa— carving jagged shadows through stone and fissure.

Farther off, another patrol caught the signal. Their boots grated against the earth as they shifted— peeling apart into firing positions like the snapping jaws of a trap.

Above them, the fortress stirred. Shapes bent low along the battlements— muskets sliding into place, and scopes flashing as cold eyes found the lit patch of sand below.

The silence ruptured with the metallic snarl of hammers drawn back, and the Dustborn became a single living machine— synchronized, unblinking, and primed to kill.

And then, Goblin Slayer tore it apart.

He came from the dark like a blade loosed from its sheath— boots striking stone with predatory grace as his short sword screeched across iron. 

The nearest sentry twisted with soldier’s instinct— helmet catching the cut in a shower of sparks. He staggered away, with his armor clamoring like broken bells, and his comrade’s shout split the night like shrapnel.

“CONTACT— SOUTH BATTLEMENTS!!!”

Barrels snapped skyward, as flint struck steel.

“Show time.” 

The world fractured— every heartbeat drawn into glass-thin slivers, and every muzzle-flash frozen like the last light of dying stars.

The ashen-haired teen moved inside that stillness.

His hand ripped the musket from the half-fallen sentry as his boot slammed the man’s chest with rib-splintering force. The body reeled like a marionette wrenched by invisible strings, and Goblin Slayer wrenched him into the oncoming shot.

Reality lurched forward with a thunderclap, as the Great Sage announced from within the confines of his very soul, “Time has resumed.”

The gun roared. 

The redirected round punched through helm and skull in a red eruption— peeling the man’s head open like cracked stone. Bone shards pattered against the rooftop as his corpse crumpled in pieces at Goblin Slayer’s feet.

Yet, he did not pause.

The stolen musket barked again before the body hit the ground. Beneath the battlements, the nearest lieutenant’s head burst apart mid-turn— his visor blooming crimson mist across the men beside him. 

They flinched, but didn’t break— already adjusting their aim, as their muskets thundered upward.

Steel hissed behind him.

The next closest rooftop sentry drew a flintlock in a blur— ignoring the mangled corpse cooling by his boots. The pistol flared, as Goblin Slayer slid sideways— the round grazing his pauldron as he twisted under it, with the musket stock snapping up in a whipcrack arc that shattered the man’s wrist. 

Fingers bent backward like snapped twigs— the pistol flew as the bandit’s scream split the air.

Goblin Slayer didn’t let him finish. 

He spun with the man’s momentum and hurled him bodily toward the nearest tower. A hail of musket fire ripped him apart mid-flight— armor bursting from his frame in wet tatters as his body pinwheeled in a spray of blood. 

Goblin Slayer slid under the twitching ruin— low and fast— while hot gore sluiced down his helm in steaming sheets.

“Advanced toward the watch tower.”

The command struck like a drumbeat. 

He was already running, vaulting across the rooftop as the world cracked open again— each bullet drawing molten arcs through the dark. His short sword blurred in his hands— turning death aside with ringing sparks. 

Deflected rounds screamed off at murderous angles, drilling through the courtyard below. One Dustborn’s skull split apart in a burst of mist and teeth; another spun as his spine shattered, collapsing boneless to the dirt. 

A ricochet blew a man’s leg apart at the hip— spinning him screaming into a crate of powder that erupted into a thunderous hail of steel shards.

Even so, the Dustborn rallied. 

Firing lines knelt and braced— muskets thundering in rolling volleys as others scrambled to swivel cannons toward the roofline. Scopes flashed; copper sigils glimmered like watchful eyes in the torchlight. They shouted to one another in clipped, military barks— no panic, only lethal coordination as they tightened their net.

By the time they adjusted their aim, Goblin Slayer had already reached the ladder— slipping through the killzone like smoke made flesh.

He climbed fast, a shadow rippling up the stone until his gauntlet hooked the catwalk’s edge. Iron groaned under his weight as his hand snatched an ankle and wrenched hard.

“CONTACT— UNDER THE CATWAL—”

The warning snapped off in a ragged scream as the musketman plunged into the void— fingers clawing at empty air, and nails screeching along the railing as he fell.

“Use him to climb,” the Great Sage instructed— cold and certain, as time slowed down once more.

Goblin Slayer surged upward, boots pistoning against the tumbling man’s chest— rising the way others might climb a ladder. His heel smashed down through the visor— cartilage crunching, bone splintering— as the man’s cry choked out in a wet gargle. 

The ashen-haired teen vaulted over the railing— the body folding away beneath him like discarded meat.

He hit the catwalk like a blade dropped from the heavens.

His short sword sheared through the nearest Dustborn’s helm and skull in a diagonal stroke— the man’s head peeling open as brain matter slopped steaming down his cuirass.

“… Time has resumed.”

Even as the corpse toppled, a pistol flared inches from Goblin Slayer’s face. He didn’t flinch— his stolen flintlock jammed under the next man’s jaw— the shot ripping through palate and skull in a wet geyser that painted the planks in clotted red. 

Bone fragments rattled like dice across the steel grating.

The corpse was still thrashing when Goblin Slayer seized it by the collar and hurled it bodily into a third Dustborn. The man grunted as the dead weight slammed him into the guard shack’s wall— wood cracking beneath the impact.

The last sentry was already ready, as he braced his musket and fired.

“… Activating time dilation protocol.”

Goblin Slayer bent sideways as the shot tore past— shaving sparks from the tip of his helmet, before it obliterated half the jaw of a man still climbing below.

Blood misted the air like iron dust.

“Mana reserves are low,” the Great Sage intoned. “I must convert a soul. Buy me ten seconds.”

The fourth bandit didn’t let him breathe, as he ripped his musket into a brutal arc— the iron stock shrieking through the air.

Luckily, Goblin Slayer was able to catch the incoming attack on the barrel of his flintlock— the clash ripping both weapons from their hands, and spiraled down into the darkness below.

Steel flashed, as the ashen-haired teen lunged with his sword thrusting for the kill— but the blow skidded across the man’s plated breastplate, causing sparks to burst outward. 

The bandit barely flinched, as a dagger gleamed in his fist before he came in like a striking hawk.

The blade jabbed for Goblin Slayer’s throat, then feinted toward the slits of his helm— fast, surgical strikes aimed to kill, not drive him back. 

The ashen-haired teen met them in a blur of steel— his short sword shrieking as it parried each lunge, with the clang of every block rattling the catwalk. 

Sparks danced between their blades like fireflies in a storm.

“Behind you— climbing up the ladder.”

Goblin Slayer moved before the thought could finish. 

He hurled his sword past his foe— the blade spinning end over end through the smoke. It smashed hilt-first into the helmet of a climber on the ladder. 

Bone cracked under steel as the bandit’s grip faltered, before he then dropped screaming into the dark. The sound ended in a wet, concussive splorch as he struck stone— ribs and viscera spraying outward in a fan of meat and shattered iron.

Goblin Slayer turned back to his opponent— drenched in gore, and his left eye burning through the visor-slits like a piece of coal in a furnace.

Below them, muskets barked in furious volleys. Bullets shrieked up into the scaffolding— hammering iron with bright sprays of sparks as the entire tower shuddered with the impacts. 

The catwalk rattled under their boots as Goblin Slayer and the fourth Dustborn sentry circled each other in the hellish glow— steel ringing, and blood slicking the boards beneath their feet while musket-fire carved the air around them.

“Conversion protocol complete,” the Great Sage intoned— her voice cold and surgical. “Mana reserves have been restored. We may resume utilization of the time dilation protocol.”

The bandit then lunged with lethal precision once more— his  dagger flashing for Goblin Slayer’s visor. 

However, with help with the Great Sage momentarily slowing down time slightly, the ashen-haired teen was able to catch the man’s wrist. He then twisted until bone cracked like splitting wood, before stomping down on his shin. Metal buckled in a shriek of tearing steel, as the tibia dislocated in a jagged crunch that made the sentry’s scream choke inside his helmet. 

Goblin Slayer then ripped the dagger from his grip, seized the man’s collar, and rammed the blade through the visor slit— once through the eye, again through the nose, a third time deep into the opposite socket until hot brain tissue burst outward in a wet, glistening spray.

The sentry convulsed, choking on his own blood. 

Goblin Slayer then wrenched the dagger free, spun around, and whipped a boot across his opponent’s helmet. The kick landed with bone-snapping force— the man’s body flinging off the catwalk like a hurled doll.

Yet, he never touched the ground.

Below, the Dustborn saw only the silhouette plummeting and reacted with drilled precision. Dozens of muskets, pistols, and blunderbusses thundered in unison— flames strobing the darkness. 

Lead ripped the falling corpse apart midair— limbs shredding from sockets, ribs shattering like porcelain, and intestines uncoiling in steaming ropes as the body disintegrated before hitting dirt.

Goblin Slayer’s left eye continued to glow red through his visor slit, as he pivoted toward the ladder.

“Another target is climbing up on the ladder. Jump down— they won’t be expecting that.”

And so the ashen-haired teen obeyed, before vaulting over the ledge.

His boots soon smashed down on the helmet of a climber halfway up— the man’s forehead denting inwards, sending bits of bone into his brain. Goblin Slayer rode the collapsing corpse down the rungs, with each step a piston that crushed the body’s vertebrae into pulp.

“Rapid time dilation sequencing— keep up with me, Ashta.”

Time began splintering into stuttering frames, as forty Dustborn below snapped their barrels upward in perfect unison. 

Flintlocks cracked, muskets flared, blunderbusses vomited storms of buckshot. 

Goblin Slayer’s dagger blurred through the slowed air, carving arcs of molten deflection. Rounds screamed off its edge and ripped through their own ranks— one punched through a visor and sprayed brains across the battlements; buckshot scythed three men open, their torsos peeling apart like butchered cattle; ricochets ripped jaws from skulls, split femurs, burst throats in fountains of arterial mist.

Still they held formation. 

Lines knelt to reload while others surged forward with fixed bayonets— blades glinting like shark teeth in the torchlight. Lieutenants barked clipped orders over the carnage— boots hammering stone as they flanked to box him in.

A ball grazed Goblin Slayer’s shoulder, shearing steel and leather. He ignored it, as he dropped faster.

At the last instant, the Great Sage slowed time down long enough for Goblin Slayer to spring off the crushed skull beneath his boots— launching himself clear. 

“… Time has resumed.”

The ruined body slammed down onto the earlier climber’s corpse— their remains collapsing into a steaming knot of meat and shattered armor.

Goblin Slayer flipped over the battlement in a whirl of shadow and landed among the forty with predatory silence.

The line erupted, as bayonets began thrusting, and pistols fired. 

The ashen-haired teen moved inside it like a blade through water. His hands snatched twin flintlocks from the ground— spinning with mechanical rhythm. Two sharp cracks split the chaos— one tore a throat apart in a geyser of blood, the other punched through a visor and burst an eye. 

Goblin Slayer hurled the empty pistols into faces— steel crunching teeth from jaws— then seized a musket. Its butt smashed into a soldier’s jaw with a wet crack— blood and molars arcing through the torchlight, before the bayonet plunged into another’s gut. He twisted savagely— unspooling intestines in a steaming coil, before booting the man backward.

“Reactivating time dilation protocol— now.”

Bullets streaked toward him like burning meteors, but he flowed through them— ducking, spinning, with his dagger slashing them off-course in shrieking sparks. 

Each redirected shot tore into his attackers: one sheared a man’s jaw clean away, leaving his tongue writhing like a severed worm; another ripped into a chest and burst the heart in a scarlet bloom. 

“… Time has resumed.”

Blood misted the air like oil on fire.

The Dustborn closed ranks, stabbing for his flanks, as Goblin Slayer vaulted onto a crate as their blades scraped under his boots, before then somersaulted over the crowd— their musket barrels roaring upward too late. 

Mid-flip, his heel smashed a helmet sideways with a vertebrae-snapping crack. He landed with both boots on another’s shoulders— driving him flat into the stones as his ribcage imploded beneath the impact.

“Reactivating time dilation protocol— give them hell, Ashta.”

Obeying, Goblin Slayer surged forward.

His next slash became a blur of silver— steel and bone surrendered in the same heartbeat. The knife carved an arm from shoulder to elbow— severing it so cleanly it spun away trailing a comet-tail of blood. 

Before the scream could leave the man’s throat, the ashen-haired teen had already pivoted low— his blade flashing out in a crescent. 

A knee detonated beneath it— bone and sinew exploding as the Dustborn dropped with a strangled shriek. He was still falling when a musket round slammed through his face and blew the back of his skull across the battlements in a fan of pink mist.

The walltop descended into a slaughterhouse, as time once again resumed.

Goblin Slayer became a storm at its center— snatching fallen muskets mid-motion, before flipping them into his grip as if they were extensions of his arms. 

He hammered skulls with iron stocks— collapsing helmets inward like tin cups. He rammed bayonets through groins and dragged them upward in vicious jerks, spilling viscera in gory ropes. 

When bullets hissed toward him, the Great Sage would slow down his perspective of time. The ashen-haired teen would then catch the oncoming projectiles on musket barrels, turn their momentum, before then firing back through shattered jaws at point-blank range. 

One man’s face atomized in a cloud of teeth and cartilage; another’s head peeled open like an overripe fruit as lead burst out the far side of his helm.

Every motion was relentless, and every step repainted the stones red; the battlement had become a grinding maw that chewed men to pieces.

Dustborn screamed as they fell on him from both sides— blades flashing, sabers muffling against the ashen-haired teen’s leather gauntlets, as he parried their attacks.

One blade bit through the seam at his elbow, causing Goblin Slayer to spin before wrenching the attacker into the path of another man’s cut. The sabre buried in the man’s ribs instead, with the teen’s boot crushing his spine before he hit the ground. 

Goblin Slayer then heaved the corpse off his boot like a broken shield and hurled it into three more— knocking them sprawling into their own crossfire.

By the time he had eliminated the forty fully trained combatants, the teen’s chest heaving— gore hanging from every leather plate of his armor set in streaming ribbons. The stones around him were buried beneath twitching halves of men who seconds ago had been soldiers.

And still, more Dustborn rallied from below.

A bellowing horn cut through the chaos. From the lower yard, a new wave surged up the ladders— dozens more, with their concealed eyes glowing with hate. 

Behind them, black-powder gunners were forming ranks— dragging wheeled culverins and swivel guns into position on the courtyard floor. Their muzzles yawned like iron throats hungry to scream.

Goblin Slayer broke into a sprint along the blood-slick battlement— knife clattering from his hand as he let it fall behind. 

Musket fire raked the stones around his legs and helm, sparks kicking off his armor like flares. He ducked, swerved, feet dancing across the slick surface— every weave a rhythm answering the trigger-pulls echoing from below. He dove over a severed torso without breaking stride— momentum building like an avalanche.

His gauntlet then dipped to his belt, as his finger curled into the rear pouch. Metal clinked softly in his palm.

Six cluster charges— blackened iron spheres bristling with spiked fragments, his own design.

“Time dilation protocol— reactivated.”

Using his moment to accurately aim, Goblin Slayer snapped free the pins of his combs under his thumbs; six fuses flared crimson like tiny dying stars. 

He cradled three bombs per hand, then loosed them in perfect symmetry— six wide arcs screaming away like meteor trails across the courtyard nights, before freezing as they too became caught in the Great Sage’s time dilation.

The world then slammed back into motion.

The ashen-haired teen immediately dropped into a low skid— his leather body skidding across the stone like a thrown axe. Bullets whined overhead, chewing sparks from the parapet as he twisted mid-slide, as the cluster charges landed amongst the hundreds of men in the courtyard.

His free hand then ripped a scroll from his belt. He crushed the wax seal; runes flared in his palm like caged stars. He then hurled it toward the looming watchtower.

“Ignite.” The word cracked from his throat like a hammerblow.

A column of lightning erupted from the parchment— roaring like a wrathful god, as it smashed into the scaffolding.

The entire tower became a cage of fire, as its four sentries screamed while the current ripped through their armor. 

One man’s helmet fused to his skull— heat boiling his eyes until they burst in twin jets of yellow steam. 

Another’s jaw snapped off in a burst of molten sinew, with his teeth spraying outward like shrapnel. 

A third clawed at the catwalk only for his hands to melt to the railing— flesh dripping in gray rivulets, as the current hollowed his organs from within. 

The last convulsed so violently his spine snapped clean through his backplate— a white shard of bone punching out through his uniform, as black smoke poured from his mouth like a dying forge.

And beneath it all, the horn sounded again— deep, primal, and closer.

More were coming— but then, that’s when the first cluster bomb detonated.

The courtyard vanished in fire and screaming iron.

The charge burst with a concussive thunderclap, scattering molten shards in a widening halo. Men were perforated in mid-step— torsos rupturing into splintered meat as red-hot fragments punched through steel. 

One Dustborn staggered forward without a head— his arms still locked around his musket, as his intestines dragged behind him like ropes before he folded apart in a collapsing heap.

The second bomb erupted inside a sprinting vanguard.

They were still raising their firearms when their legs disintegrated in fountains of pulp— femurs jutting like snapped spears. The blast hurled their upper halves across the yard; they struck a supply wagon with enough force to implode its frame, wood and gore collapsing in a tangled heap of shattered limbs and axles.

The third and fourth struck near a wall of crates.
Gunpowder barrels ignited in a single flash— blinding fireballs ripped outward with a shriek like tearing metal. 

Crates of stolen muskets and cartridges disintegrated midair— raining back down as molten slag and splintered iron. The blast turned the air itself into shrapnel: fragments scythed scalps from skulls, tore ribcages open like paper, and stitched faces into dripping red tatters. 

One Dustborn, caught mid-shout, simply came apart— his jaw spiraling skyward as the rest of him burst into a haze of teeth and blood.

A fifth explosion hurled a cannon from its mounting.

It flipped end over end and came down wheels-first on three fleeing men. The weight pancaked their torsos with a wet crunch— blasting their entrails from their mouths in steaming coils as their spines sheared in half.

The sixth bomb tore through a munitions shack.
The roof shot off in a sheet of fire. For one heartbeat there was silence—

Then the world screamed.

A chain reaction tore through Crimson Mesa.

Columns of fire erupted from the courtyard’s heart— the shockwave ripping across the stone with the roar of a collapsing mountain. 

Whole platoons of Dustborn were there one moment— and black silhouettes on a wall of flame the next. The blast wave slammed men through the air like dolls— limbs shearing off as they pinwheeled through smoke. Stone blocks peeled from the ramparts— caving skulls as they came down in slabs the size of oxen.

Walls groaned like breaking spines as cracks raced across their faces. Stone sheared loose in grinding avalanches— flattening the men scrambling beneath. 

Beams split with cracks— flinging jagged splinters into eyes and throats. Those crushed outright were the fortunate ones— others lay pinned and shrieking, their legs mashed to crimson pulp beneath the rubble while their upper halves flailed in futile agony.

The southern wing’s ceiling sagged, then folded inward. A wave of dust rolled over the yard— swallowing the screams beneath it. 

Men clawed at the wreckage with their nails until they tore free, trying to drag themselves out from under tons of shattered timber. Blood smeared every surface; the courtyard was alive with writhing half-corpses moaning through jaws broken to paste.

Above it all, the last remaining watchtower still blazed. 

Lightning crackled inside its ribs like a living curse. The sentries atop it were statues of charcoal— flesh carbonized black, armor split and glowing with white-hot bone. Their corpses swayed, snapped, and toppled from the height. They shattered on the stones below like burned clay— scattering brittle fragments across the blood-soaked yard.

The Dustborn were no longer a warband.
They were a slaughterhouse— burning, crushed, torn, and screaming. And despite it being practically hell on Earth within the center of Crimson Mesa’s peak, Goblin Slayer kept moving forward— undeterred by the mayhem around him.

It was then that battlements beneath him shuddered, as the blast wave ripped through their foundations— the stone bleeding dust as slabs slumped toward the courtyard. 

Goblin Slayer then vaulted the fractured lip and dove behind a fallen chunk of masonry— boots grinding over scorched muskets, pistols, and splintered blunderbusses lying in pools of gore. His hand then snapped up the nearest flintlock— hammer already drawn back, and the barrel streaked with soot and blood.

Cyan glyphs flickered from the back of his right hand— a geometric lattice folding outward in sharp lines.

From it emerged the Great Sage, sculpted in pale light, her gaze cold and still. She raised a hand, fingertip glowing, and pointed through the smoke.

“Three— six o’clock. Fire.”

Goblin Slayer’s arm swung without hesitation, before the flintlock went off.

Through the haze, a man’s helmet ruptured—his skull blooming into a fan of red vapor as the back of his head painted the stones. 

The ashen-haired teen let the pistol clatter from his grip— hand already snatching a musket from the debris.

“Two— climbing over battlement debris nearby. Two o’clock.”

He slammed the buttstock into his shoulder and fired. The shot punched through one Dustborn’s visor— spraying bone shards and enamel across his comrade’s eyes. 

The second bandit ducked behind a chimney, musket rising— but Goblin Slayer was already moving. He hurled the musket like a spear— the bayonet skewering the man’s throat clean through. 

Blood geysered as the man clawed at the blade protruding from his neck— eyes bulging as Goblin Slayer rushed toward to rip it free with a wet hiss of cartilage. 

The ashen-haired teen looted from the dying bandit’s body his powder horn, a spare wad and musket ball from his belt, before reloading the weapon.

The rooftop bodies tumbled down the slates like broken puppets, as Goblin Slayer sprinted toward the incoming squad emerging from the smoke behind him. 

He then rammed the musket’s butt to his shoulder, before pulling the trigger— the shot cracking through the dense cloud, before bursting into a Dustborn’s visor— bone shards and teeth misting his comrade’s cheek. 

The second raised his firearm, too slow. 

Goblin Slayer lunged, using the bayonet to spear the man through his head; bone parting with a hiss, as he let go of the spent weapon to let the man’s body sag.

“Four. Smoke— closing in at nine o’clock.”

Goblin Slayer was already moving, as he sprinted over before rolling across splintered stone— snatching a blunderbuss from the gore-slick ground. 

The barrel coughed fire into the advancing silhouettes, as the front line evaporated— torsos reduced to scarlet vapor, and limbs whipping off like snapped twigs as the flash lit their collapsing bodies.

Cyan glyphs flickered like pulsebeats, as the Great Sage began experimenting by casting her own particles from her incorporeal form toward their next target; every glimmer marked another death. 

Goblin Slayer stayed low, boots silent, breath shallow against the smoke. Firelight flashed across his visor as he flowed from cover to corpse— seizing whatever lay loaded: pistols, muskets, sabers, even shattered stocks wielded like clubs. 

Each shot was a thunderbolt; each swing left only pulp behind. The remaining squads almost never saw him— only their brothers collapsing in sparks and gore.

“Seven. North parapet— twelve o’clock.”

The ashen-haired teen immediately toed aside a body, plucked its pistol, before setting his sight high through the haze. Two helmets rang like bells— heads snapping back before their owners pitched from the wall. He then tossed the pistol mid-turn, before kicking up a fallen musket. Catching it mid air, he took aim and fired— another figure folded over the battlements— vanishing in smoke.

Though the fortress had fallen, the remaining Dustborn still poured in— hundreds of men still spilling over the collapsed wings.

Goblin Slayer knelt among the fallen— using their corpses as cover, as he reloaded with soot-blackened hands, with his weapons stacked at his knees like bones. 

The Great Sage continued to hover above him— her latticework glow slicing through the chaos, as her finger tilted toward the next soul marked for death.

And then the hilltop thundered.

Hooves hammered the mesa rim, cutting through fire and smoke. Over the burning fortress, one hundred riders broke the skyline— Dalewood’s volunteers.

They ascended toward the decimated remains of the bandit camp like a storm front. Horses screamed as they plunged the slope— rifles cracking in measured cadence. 

The cavalry wheeled around the stronghold in a tightening spiral, gunfire shredding the outer patrols— men flung back as legs were torn away, arms spun skyward trailing ribbons of flesh.

At their head rode the captain.

Her dark skin caught the firelight bronze; silver-streaked braids streamed behind her as she leveled her musket and fired. 

One bandit folded, then another. She reloaded in the saddle with brutal grace— teeth tearing the cartridge, powder and shot rammed home, ramrod flung back into its loop before the hammer snapped forward again. 

Every blast found a body.

A patrol tried to cut her off, but she shot the first clean through the breastbone— recoil jolting her shoulder, but her horse never faltered. 

Another lunged from the flank, bayonet flashing; she ducked flat against the horse’s neck— steel whispering sparks across her back, as her chain mail beneath ripped apart as she drove a ball up through his jaw. 

Her attacker’s skull burst, as he toppled away.

One of the salvaged cannons soon took aim towards the milita— specifically aimed towards their leader.

Her horse shrieked— a third of its skull gone in a mist of brains and enamel. The beast collapsed mid-stride, as the captain dismounted before she could be crushed under its weight. 

Rolling free as the carcass slammed into the dirt, her musket soon spun from her grip. She hit hard, the breath ripped from her chest, but her hand found the pistol at her hip. 

She immediately rolled to one knee and fired in the same motion. The Dustborn crouched behind the cannon dropped with half a skull— brain matter misting the stone behind him.

Dust on her lips, she rose, reclaimed her musket, and ran straight into the firestorm— her riders circling like hawks, hooves drumming the night.

The courtyard continued to burn Through the furnace haze, Goblin Slayer stalked onward as if born to it. 

Meanwhile, the Great Sage’s cold cyan glow gliding at his shoulder— her silent hand carving his path through the dying fortress.

Out of the smoke ahead, a silhouette hardened— rifle raised, shoulders squared, dissolved hair snapping in the wind. The militia captain’s eyes narrowed at the iron cast helmet and dark leather armor— her finger tightening on the trigger.

She almost fired.

Then recognition cut through, as her jaw clenched. 

She exhaled hard through her teeth— lowering the barrel a fraction, but never easing the tension in her frame. Her gaze swept the haze in restless arcs, as she ran over towards him.

“Well, goddamn,” she muttered, voice rough as gravel, dry humor buried under war-honed steel. “This all your scorched-earth bullshit, Goblin Slayer?!”

The ashen-haired bent without answering immediately— dragging a cracked blunderbuss from the rubble. The barrel was scorched black, but still primed. His crimson eyes flicked through the smoke— steady as gun barrels.

“… Most of it,” he said at last— quiet, flat, almost apologetic, as if confessing to a minor sin.

She barked out a laugh that had no mirth. “Figures! Y’know, after we heard the first shots crack down the trail, I told myself you probably got your bony ass killed already!”

They then slipped forward shoulder to shoulder through the shifting haze— her being a full head taller than him, with her scar-etched face catching the glimmer of firelight. 

Behind him, the Great Sage unfurled in silence— her cyan lattice bleeding through the fog, outlining the silhouettes of a squad creeping from the rubble— unaware they were prey.

“I can’t say I blame you,” he murmured, while lifting the blunderbus in his hands.

Pulling the trigger, smoke and fire belched from its muzzle, before tearing a bandit in half mid-step— his torso liquefying, with limbs flung spinning. 

Before the fallen bandit’s comrades could even flinch, Goblin Slayer tore the musket from the militia captain’s hands with brutal efficiency. He raised, fired, and the round struck low— the copper insignia on a man’s plate erupting into a wet spray as his groin vanished in a red mist.

“Incoming return-fire— hit the deck.”

The captain’s jaw dropped, even as the ashen-haired teen moved to shove her down. They soon hit the dirt as a musket volley hissed through where their heads had been. 

The ground kicked against her ribs, air driven from her chest. Dust scalded her throat as she gasped— just in time to see him roll across her, with his hands snapping two flintlocks from the stones.

The Great Sage’s glow flared sharp above him, as he fired both pistols at once. Twin cracks tore the courtyard— two helmets burst like melons, with bone and brain spattering the walls before the bodies sagged into the ash.

The militia leader coughed— her chest burning, while she blinked grit from her eyes. The ashen-haired teen then rose from his crouch in one smooth motion, before extending a gloved hand toward her. 

“Are you alright?” Goblin Slayer asked in a calm, almost gentle voice—as though the battlefield weren’t screaming around them.

She stared up at his gloved hand, while still catching her breath. “… The hell was that?” The words came out half-bewildered, half-accusing. “Boy, I was in the goddamn army twenty years, and even I didn’t see whoever the fuck you shot at.” She admitted, as her brown-eyes gaze scanned the haze— only shifting shadows and silence. “Shit… Did you even hit anybody?”

“Shot five of them,” he said simply, while still holding his hand out toward her. 

She blinked at him, then let out a dry, incredulous chuckle. “… You don’t say?”

Her lips then curled into a smirk despite herself, as she was hauled upright from the dirt like she was the green recruit. 

It was only after getting the militia leader upright again on her feet did Goblin Slayer’s crimson gaze catch the long tear along her back— the beige fabric darkened with spreading blood.

His gloved pressed gently to her ample breasts— halting her step.

She raised a brow. “Uh— what the hell you think you’re—”

“— Wait,” he interrupted, while already fishing at his belt. A leather pouch soon snapped open beneath his fingers; from it he drew a black steel case, with its hinges clicking softly as it unfolded to reveal a neat row of glass vials. He plucked out a red one for her— then selected a green for himself.

Still keeping her wits about her, she slung her musket under one arm before accepting the vial reluctantly— sniffing it, and recoiling with a grimace. “Ugh… This shit smells like boiled piss, kid.”

Goblin Slayer didn’t address her comment immediately. Instead, he focused on bracing the green vial between his fingers as his hands unclasped the strap of his helmet. 

The buckle came loose, and for the first time she saw his face— skin pale as ivory, crimson eyes gleaming in the firelight, his ashen hair thick and matted to his forehead. He set the helmet under his arm, before raising the vial and downing it in one motion.

The militia leader blinked— utterly caught off-guard. For a heartbeat the chaos fell away, the roar of flames receding as she watched while he exhaled softly through his teeth and flicked the empty glass aside.

“… It’s a draught of restoration,” he finally said— tone quiet, as if remarking on the weather, as he gestured at her vial. “It’ll mend the wound on your back.”

Her cheeks warmed before she could stop them. She masked it with a crooked grin. “… Well, ain’t that sweet of you to share your shit. Thank you kindly.” 

She then tipped the vial back and swallowed, with her face contorting in disgust. “Nasty-ass shit.” She recoiled, before she tossed the glass aside— hitting the dirt with a sharp clink. 

She shuddered— and then felt warmth bloom up her spine, muscle knitting, flesh sealing. The ache faded like smoke on the wind. She rolled her shoulders and breathed out. “Ahh… Hell— that’s better.”

Goblin Slayer was already sliding the helmet back into place. She watched him a moment longer, then snapped her musket shut with a metallic click.

“… You look a whole lot younger than I figured you’d be,” she muttered in half-thought— her brown eyes narrowing slightly.

The ashen-haired teen stepped forward— his boot kicking a fallen musket up from the ground, before catching it in one smooth, unhurried motion. “I get that a lot,” he said flatly.

She smirked again, shaking her head as she fell into stride beside him. Together they moved through the rest of the broken fortress— through fire and collapsed stone— as her hundred volunteers tightened the noose from outside.

By the end of the raid, Crimson Mesa had become a gravesite.

The fires had guttered low, leaving only ember-glow and black beams jutting like broken ribs through the collapsed walls. Five hundred bodies lay scattered or buried beneath the rubble— mangled shapes in charred armor, limbs bent wrong, faces unrecognizable. 

The copper insignias of the Dustborn gleamed faintly through soot— stamped like mockery across breastplates split open by shot.

The stench was suffocating: gunpowder, wet ash, blood, and meat. Already the coyotes had begun to circle at the fringes, yellow eyes glinting in the dark; clouds of flies droned fat and heavy over the corpses. 

They kept their distance from the militia— but the feast was waiting.

The militia captain stood tall outside the ruined bandit camp— a ledger clenched in one hand. as she called names into the smoke. Her voice cut sharp through the hush. Her braids had fully come undone— streaked black and silver strands falling in loose, sweat-streaked locks down her back. 

Her volunteers stood beside their horses, answering one by one— their voices hoarse, weary, yet full of triumph.

Meanwhile, Goblin Slayer picking through the spoils of the night.

He moved like a shadow over the collapsed battlements and through the courtyard itself— stepping over corpses with the same precision he used to make them. A leather pouch hung open at his belt— steadily filling as he stripped coin purses from the dead. 

The ashen-haired teen’s visor never lifted, his gaze fixed downward, methodical and unhurried— as if he were simply clearing a field after the harvest.

The Great Sage’s light drifted at his flank— a pale shimmer against the blackened ruin, with cyan glyphs spinning lazily in the air as though gravity were optional. Where her glow passed— fractured geometry crackled and dissolved like frost touched by sunlight.

“… Assessment complete,” her voice murmured. “Your efficiency exceeded all prior models. Coordination between us was optimal. Auxiliary forces proved redundant. Though—” a faint pause, “— the militia's presence reduced post-engagement cleanup by eliminating peripheral hostiles. So kudos to them.”

Goblin Slayer hummed at that, as he crouched down to pry a golden brooch from the ribcage of the half-crushed Dustborn officer beneath him. He rolled it in his fingers, wiped the blood off on the dead man’s long coat, and tucked it into the open pouch at his hip alongside clinking coin purses.

“… Were there casualties on our end?” The ashen-haired teen asked quietly.

“None,” she replied. “Though Captain Ashe Ruby’s captain’s horse perished in action.”

Having rode on that horse with the aforementioned militia leader, Goblin Slayer couldn’t help but to feel a minor sense of loss. 

“… That’s a shame,” he murmured— his tone sincere, as he then slid a dagger up under his leather shoulder pad to levered out a musket ball flattened against the chainmail beneath. 

The thick fabric of his gambeson was torn like a blossoming fissure, though his skin beneath the shredded chainmail remained untouched. He exhaled softly through his teeth as if measuring the sound, then dropped the warped lead onto the blood-stained stone beneath him. 

The Great Sage watched as the dislodged musket ball rolled away, while spiraling lazily around his shoulder— cyan script dancing across her halo of light. 

“Force analysis: Dustborn strength— five hundred. Dalewood militia strength— one hundred and one, captain included. Without your presence, probability of their survival with zero casualties: 0.006 percent. With casualties: 1.8 percent. Probability of total annihilation: ninety-eight point two.”

Goblin Slayer winced at those numbers, as knelt down to pick up a fallen blunderbuss from the dirt. He turned it in his hands, studied the barrel— the worn wood, the half-scorched priming pan. It was old, but solid. He shouldered it without ceremony, then knelt again by another body and began loosening the straps of its bandolier.

“… I take it your plan from the beginning was to have me be here to prevent the militia from being wiped out?” The ashen-haired teen asked— his voice nearly lost beneath the wind slipping across the entirety of Crimson Mesa.

The Great Safe’s light pulsed once— gently. “Yes,” she said. The playfulness in her tone was subtle, but it was there like starlight through clouds. “You were where you were needed. I tell you only what you must know when you must know it. The… Complications,” her voice curved into a faint ripple that might have been laughter, “are mine to bear, as I’ve already made clear.”

Goblin Slayer paused in the act of cutting free a satchel, then— behind the iron of his visor’s vertical slits— his mouth curved faintly. “Hmph. Good girl.”

Her glow flared; not brighter but sharper— geometry tightening into a perfect spiral. “And you, Ashta—” she whispered— sounding almost smug, “— are a very naughty boy.”

The last of the names were called, answered, and checked off the list with voices that cracked under smoke and exhaustion. 

The militia captain snapped her booklet shut and tucked it into the back of her belt before walking toward where Goblin Slayer was emerging from the wreckage— her boots grinding through soot and shattered stone. 

She saw him kneel down beside the corpse of a Dustborn officer, as he worked a coin purse loose from its belt with the patience of a watchmaker.

“… Yo, Goblin Slayer.” She called out— her voice cutting across the haze low and firm.

Hearing his alias, the ashen-haired teen rose with unhurried precision— dusting his gloves against his thigh before letting the coins slip into the open pouch at his hip. 

The faint glow of his red eye gleamed behind the visor slit, before finally extinguishing itself as he watched her approach him. “… Yeah?”

She soon stopped in front of him, as she idly brushed a clump of graying hair away from her eyes with the back of her two fingers. Her jaw worked as if chewing on what she wanted to say— every line in her face catching the glow of the still-burning wreckage.

“Listen… I don’t know if it was Supreme God, Earth Mother, or some other holier-than-thou sonofabitch up there keepin’ watch— but someone sent you. And whoever it was…” her lips twisted, “… I owe ‘em a drink.”

“Tell her I’ll take a pumpkin spice latte— oat milk… Not that any of you know what any of those things are.”

Quietly rolling his crimson eyes at the Great Sage’s comment, Goblin Slayer said nothing as he adjusted the strap of his pouch— the motion slow, deliberate.

“You saved our asses,” the militia leader continued— the words growing heavier, as if she had to drag them out. “… No two ways about it.”

Goblin Slayer then inclined his head slightly toward her. “… I’m just glad I was here when you needed me,” he replied— tone calm but not distant. “But you don’t have to thank me, or… Whoever you think sent me.”

“I beg to differ, Ashta.”

His modesty earned him a sharp look, as the captain’s brown eyes narrowed at him. “Boy, don’t tell me what I do and don’t have to do.” She retorted, as her voice grew more on edge— heat pushing through the weariness. “You don’t get it— this whole thing could’ve gone sideways faster than a whorehouse bed on payday. And if it had, that would’ve been on me.”

The ashen-haired teen tilted his head at that— his visor catching the light of the twin moons. “… How?”

That’s when she barked a laugh— not a happy sound, but bitter, and self-cutting. “I was the genius who tracked a platoon back here from Stoneridge. Counted near ninety heads; thought we’d hit ‘em hard and be home by morning.” She spat into the dirt— jaw working. “Didn’t think they’d have half the goddamn Dustborn in the region camped here. Didn’t think we’d be walkin’ into five hundred. If we’d gone in like I planned, guns blazing…” Her fist closed and trembled at her side. “… We’d all be dead by now.”

“… Everyone makes mistakes,” Goblin Slayer said quietly.

“Not like that,” she snapped, then stopped herself— breathing sharply through her nose. Her next words cracked, as she said, “That wouldn’t have been no mistake. That would’ve been a massacre. My men— my boys— they’d all be dead. Every one. And even if I fucked-up miracle I survived, it’d be me who would have to explain to all those poor women why their boys ain’t ever comin’ home.”

The silence after that was long, as the high altitude winds continued to blow across the top of Crimson Mesa.

Then— she let her shoulders drop, as her voice slipped down to almost a whisper. “… But I ain’t gotta knock on a single door tonight. Not one… That’s all ‘cause of you, sugar.”

Goblin Slayer’s jaw tightened under the helmet. “… I don’t know what to say.”

She snorted— forcing a grin that put some life back into her face— and clapped a hand against his ripped leather shoulder pad. “Then don’t say nothin’, boy! Just take the damn compliment!” She said, as she squeezed once before letting go. “And for what it’s worth— I take back all that shit I said about you in Dalewood— turns out you can actually back your shit up!”

The air between them eased, just a little, as she slung an arm over his shoulders like they’d known each other longer than a night— pulling him along toward the waiting horses. Her chainmail pressed against his dark leather armor beneath her beige top— heat radiating from her sweat-soaked shirt.

“… What’d you call your crew again?” She asked suddenly— glancing sideways at him, with a half-grin across her lips. “Back in Dalewood, I was too busy thinkin’ you were wasting my time to actually give a shit about most of what you were yammering on about.”

“The Ashta Accord,” he answered simply.

“Mhm.” She nodded, as though trying it out. “… Ashta Accord. Yeah… That’s got a ring to it.”

Feeling a sense of pride creeping into his chest, the ashen-haired looked over his shoulder toward the desecrated fortress. “… It’s named after my sister— Vivianne Ashta.”

Her grin widened— her teeth flashing white. “Hah. Figures. Bet she’d be real proud knowin’ her brother turned into one mean little bastard.”

Goblin Slayer didn’t answer— just gave a faint incline of his head, as they drew closer toward where the men of the militia were quietly waiting for their captain’s word.

Slowly, she glanced back down at the ashen-haired teen again— a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“… Tell me somethin’, boy,” she said— voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “Think there’s any chance I could ever drag your sorry ass back to Dalewood with me? We could make it official— I’ll be the sheriff, and you’ll be my deputy. Hah! I’d run the law, you’d scare the hell outta the riff-raff. We’d have ourselves a helluva time keepin’ the peace!”

For a moment, just a moment, he was still— then his voice returned. “… It’s a pleasant thought, but I already have obligations with my faction.”

She let out a short, hearty laugh and slapped his shoulder again— accidentally knocking him off balance for a brief moment. “Yeah, yeah, figured you’d say somethin’ like that. You got that whole crusade thing goin’ on. All that about replacin’ every ounce of evil with somethin’ good. Guess that means you ain’t done yet, huh?”

He only gave the smallest nod. “… Not even close.”

The captain hummed low in her throat— eyes glinting as she tipped her head down to meet his gaze. Her dark hair— long, loose, and streaked silver— swung forward across her scarred cheeks as she stepped closer. 

“… Shame,” she murmured— her voice sounding smoky, “would’ve been nice keepin’ a boy like you around Dalewood. Could use a little trouble in my quiet little life.”

The ashen-haired teen then turned his visor toward her— caught off guard by her comment. “… Trouble?”

“Mhm.” She hummed, as her grin slowly curled. “Tell me somethin’, Goblin Slayer— you always break into fortresses and hearts in the same night, or’m I just gettin’ special treatment?”

“…I… Don’t think I do that.”

“Empirical evidence suggests otherwise. Observe her dilated pupils, the increased vascularity in her cheeks, and her elevated vocal timbre. She is, as the phrase goes, ‘quite taken’ with you.”

The militia captain chuckled low, with her hip cocked. “Could’ve fooled me— the way you keep lookin’ at me with those pretty eyes. Don’t think I didn’t notice what a fine little thing you are under all that dingy scrap iron.”

“… Thank you,” he murmured— soft, careful— but the warmth behind it betrayed him.

“Gracious, Ashta,” the Great Sage purred inside him. “I didn’t take you as someone who found women almost forty years older than you desirable. Shall I start keeping an eye out for any hot, single grandmothers within our vicinity?”

As if she could hear what the voice inside his head said, the militia leader let out a laugh— stepping even closer until her hip brushed his. “Careful, now, sugar. Keep talkin’ all soft like that, and a mean ol’ bitch like me might get some ideas.”

His posture went a fraction rigid. “… Ideas?”

“Mhm.” Her voice dripped lazy temptation. “Like invitin’ you back to my place. Got a soft bed, hot bath, bottle of somethin’ that’ll burn real nice on the way down. Could celebrate… Just you and me.”

“Translation,” the Great Sage whispered in his mind, “she’s looking to fuck you tonight, Ashta.”

Goblin Slayer’s fingers tightened faintly on the strap of his satchel. “… That’s…Generous of you,” he said carefully, “but… I should decline.”

“Oh, should you?” Her grin widened— her eyes glinting like amber, under the dying firelight. “Tell me then, boy— do you have yourself a girlfriend waitin’ somewhere, or are you just shy?”

“… Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I do. Several, actually.”

“Now watch, as the huntress tastes blood in the current.”

“Well damn,” the captain said, blinking. “Here I thought you were the broody lone-wolf type…. Didn’t know I was fuckin’ around with a party animal.”

Goblin Slayer’s voice stayed even, though a faint heat prickled behind his ears. “Actually… I’m in a… Polycule.”

Her brows lifted. “… A what now?”

“A polycule,” he repeated softly, as though the word embarrassed him. “A… Romantic group. Multiple partners. All… Together.”

For a moment she just stared. 

Then threw her head back and laughed— loud, rich, unashamed. “Hah! Ain’t that somethin’. So what you’re tellin’ me is you got room for me in your little freaky sex cult?”

“How delightfully reductive,” the Great Sage noted. “Though not inaccurate in essence, if one measures solely by external appearances.”

The ashen-haired teen then made a sound that could have been a strangled cough. “It’s… Not… A sex cult,” he muttered— sounding almost pained.

“Your heart rate has increased by thirty-two percent,” the Great Sage observed. “How fascinating that verbal innuendo can achieve what armed combat could not.”

“Mhm. Bet it ain’t.” The captain winked down at him— grin wide and wild. “Still, it sounds like you could use a woman like me keepin’ you warm. If you wise up and change your mind, my ol’ pussy’ll be ready for that fat dick of yours, sugar.”

Goblin Slayer gave a faint, uncomfortable laugh despite himself, then glanced toward the waiting horses. “Heh, uh… I-I’ll think about it, Captain Ruby…”

“Uh-huh— sure you will,” she said, clearly amused, but she let him step ahead. When they reached the others, she swung up into her saddle with a practiced ease, still smirking down at him.

By the time they finally regrouped with the militia, her men were mounted and ready to ride. Their gazes flicked curiously between the two, though none dared speak. 

The captain swung up into the back of one of her men’s saddles in a fluid motion— her muscles rippling beneath her sweat-stained shirt and chainmail.

“C’mon, Goblin Slayer,” she called down, grinning like the devil. “Let’s get your ass back on the road— your fine ass has got places to be!”

Author’s note: I’ll be in Las Vegas next week, so hopefully I can grind out one more chapter before Tuesday, when I leave lol. 

Chapter Text

The twin moons hung over the Jura like twin coins; one washed in a pale red and the other a soft, winter-green, and their blended light poured down through trembling branches and silvered ferns until the whole forest seemed lacquered in ghostly sheen. 

Stars pricked the clear sky beyond, and on the far horizon Lake Virelda lay like a dark mirror, catching the moons’ twin reflections and throwing them back in trembling ripples as a cool breeze moved across the water. 

Beneath that cold halo, the reclaimed fortress was no longer simply an old ruin but a living city of lanterns and men, and for two weeks the allied companies would remake stone into home and stronghold.

The six representatives— led by the Silverquill Architects’ project managers— moved like a council of careful wolves. Lanterns bobbed at their belts and cast circles of orange across plans as the chief architects from six construction houses fell into the long, precise ritual of inspection. 

They walked the entire perimeter with methodical slowness, tracing every loophole and measuring every arch with leather-bound rolls of draughting parchment in hand. Project leads consulted one another in low, clipped sentences; they conferred over blueprints laid flat on portable tables— the lines and symbols catching the moonlight as if silver ink itself had been pressed onto vellum. 

Assignments were parceled out with efficient gestures, with each company head nodding before passing orders down the chain to foremen with lanterns and lists— ensuring every specification that Goblin Slayer and Guild Girl had insisted upon was met with exceptional results.

Below them, the long, patient work of two thousand tradesmen filled the night. 

Men and women under the Stormhammer Mercantile banners moved like a single, massive organism— unloading wagons, hammering temporary stakes, raising lantern poles, and pitching tents until a small tent-city rose like a new village outside the fortress gate. 

They put up living quarters with cots and wool blankets, offices fitted with tables and ledgers, cafeterias with steaming cauldrons and meaty smells, emergency healing rooms manned with oil and bandages, and vast enclosed storerooms to receive timber, steel castings, beams, hinges, and chests of tools. 

A furnace workshop, ringed with heat and iron, took shape with bellows and an anvil; men in soot-streaked shirts set up patterns for castings while others sharpened axes and filed tongs. 

The foremen shouted in short, clear bursts that carried over the clatter— “Secure the scaffolding! Run the pulley three more turns! Shift the beams to the left!”— and every voice folded into the next as if all speech were one long command to build

Within the walls themselves, lanterns hung on iron hooks and mounted on poles along the shattered battlements and cracked watchtowers— made a constellation of human light where moonlight could not reach.

Teams swept the courtyard clean of old rusted cages and rotting furniture, disassembled weathered racks and tossed cracked chests onto wagons, and stoked fires to burn what could not be saved. Men in oilskin and leather hauled away junk, others set about measuring rooms for expansion, and a small cadre of yeomen from Silverquill marked each cleared space with chalk and numbers.

Outside the work zone, the Stormhammer Mercantile Company’s crews arranged a neat ocean of pop-up tents— rows of canvas that smelled faintly of tar and fresh sewing— designating areas for barracks, infirmaries, administrative tents, a field kitchen that sent drifting steam into the night air, and storage yards for the great beams and black-iron hinges. 

Horse-drawn wagons were backed into place and unloaded with the practiced ease of long experience: timber, crates of nails, piles of lime, sacks of quicklime for mortar, and staves for scaffolding all found their places.

In a quieter clearing near the waterline where the camp’s forge-smoke thinned, a small metal bench warmed beside a controlled fire, and there the blond twins sat.

The tray steamed between them like a small, ridiculous offering to the gods of construction: a thick, pink-juicy steak that hissed when she sliced it, roasted potatoes bronzed at the edges, carrot coins that smelled of butter, a lobster tail lacquered in melting butter, one crusty bread roll the size of Dark Elf Warden’s entire palm, and a paper cup of tea that fogged in the cool moonlight. 

Lantern light painted everything honey-gold; the distant camp thumped with hammers and the soft chorus of men setting poles and tents.

Dark Elf Ranger glared at the tray as if it had personally offended her family. She prodded the steak with the tip of her fork— her eyebrows drawn tight over her mismatched eyes— and made a sound like a disgruntled bird. “This is a bit much, ain’t it?” She muttered while carving a neat, brittle slice, and holding it up as though testing the universe’s sense of proportion. 

Dark Elf Warden’s already round cheeks were comically full of bread; he looked like a dormouse with flour on its whiskers. The roll sagged in his hands, butter tracking down his knuckles, and when he spoke his words came muffled and earnest. “T-Too much?” He asked through a mouthful, while blinking slow and soft. He swallowed, sipped the tea with a dainty curl of his fingers, and added, “You say that like getting served surf n’ turf is a bad thing, Auri…”

The blond bony jabbed the fork at him; sauce flicked like miniature cannon fire. “It’d be different if we were the ones getting treated like royalty, Mare. If this was hosted for us—” she continued, as stabbed another bite and chewed with theatrical distaste, then rolled her eyes when the buttery flavor won her over despite herself. “— b-but it’s not…! T-They’re all getting fat on our coin— I swear…!”

He blinked, napkin folded like a nervous flag in his lap. “Uh… Technically, Ren paid for it,” he offered, voice a velvet whisper. He chewed carefully, like someone testing a new word. 

“Technically, my ASS,” she scoffed, before stabbing the steak so hard it squealed. “Where you think Ren got some of that money, huh? From us.” She waved the fork with the gravitas of a general. “So yes, that lobster tail? Yeah, that’s our money, Mare— our money, being buttered right now and served on a tray to these overpaid jackasses.”

Dark Elf Warden’s eyebrows went up in a perfect worried arch. “… Oh.” He murmured, as he ran a thumb along the rim of his cup— a small, shy hand rubbing the napkin to calm himself. “Well… Look at this way, Auri: won’t it be worth it?” He asked, as he speared a potato with more bravado than his voice carried— bringing it triumphantly to his lips. “If the men are fed, they sleep better, and if they sleep better then—” he swallowed, then finished in his tentative, earnest way: “— they build better tomorrow. Father always said a happy worker is a productive worker, right?”

Dark Elf Ranger snorted like a kicked mule. “Mare— lovingly? Shut the fuck up with reciting Dad’s aphorisms.” She retorted jokingly, as she shoved a piece of steak into her mouth with theatrical vigor, her cheeks hollowing as she chewed and then frowned— caught by the truth of the flavor. “Ugh… I bet tomorrow morning they’ll be serving these bastards crepes and caviar!”

A worker hauling a sack glanced over, smirked, and hurried on as she flicked it off with the tip of her knife, then sighed in surrender. “… We could’ve at least had Chilly’s cater,” she grumbled, leaning her elbow on the bench and flicking crumbs at Mare like an irritated sparrow. “They would have been cheaper… And I’d at least be less pissed about paying for it.”

“… You always bring up Chilly’s,” Dark Elf Warden said, with a soft chuckle.

“Yeah, and I’ll keep bringin’ up Chilly’s,” she fired back— stabbing her fork into another slice with dramatic flair.

He stabbed a carrot and bit, then looked up with an idea blooming like a timid spring. “… Maybe we could make one here? A little Chilly’s for the Ashta Accord, on-site. Everyone would love it, and it could be called— um— ‘Chilly’s, Slightly Different, by the Lake’?”

As much as the name made her roll her mismatched, the idea certainly lightened Dark Elf Ranger’s mood. 

For a heartbeat she was not the scowling soldier but an entrepreneur with flour on her hands. “You mean our own private tavern? Right at the courtyard? Hot wings, burgers, those special drinks they got?” She mused aloud, while leaning forward— her voice dropping conspiratorial. “Imagine— we could recruit bands to play music for our faction, have karaoke parties, and NOT fucking call it ‘Chilly’s, Slightly Different, by the Lake’!”

Dark Elf Warden’s grin slipped into a betrayed frown; his dark face flushed a tender pink. “What’s wrong with it?” He questioned, before breaking into an amused grin. He paused, then added, shyly, “I guess we could just call it ‘Chilly’s’; it’s not like Mr. Chilly himself is going to challenge Ren to a Trial by Battle, just over us taking his tavern’s name.”

Dark Elf Ranger chuckled— the sound rough and delighted— as she poked him with her fork. “Nah, I’ll tell that old fuck myself that we stole his business model.” She tapped his nose with the tip of her knife in mock authority. “I’ll even send him a formal invitation to duel me himself if he’s got a problem with it.”

Dark Elf Warden couldn’t help but to groan, as his grin betrayed his exasperation. “And here I thought you respected the man,” he said, as he lowered his mismatched eyes to the tray. 

She rolled her eyes at him; but the motion was soft, and affectionate. “I’m still fired up about paying for these assholes to eat like royalty; don’t think I won’t kick his wrinkled ass, then make him sign a franchise deal.”

For a moment they just looked at each other— her fiery, him soft— until Dark Elf Warden broke with a helpless, high-pitched laugh that lit the clearing brighter than the fire.

The twins had their firelight, their banter, their honey-lit plans for taverns and laughter at the expense of buttered lobster and sizzling medium-rare steak. 

Where they found warmth and idle schemes, Goblin Slayer rode beneath a lower sky— the ashen-haired teen in forged leather and chain, with the red plume on his helm whispering behind him.

Haru’s hooves kept the road’s rhythm; the mare’s black coat gleamed faintly in the dim light, as her steady hooves beat against the hollowed highway. 

Above him the sky began to change. 

The twin moons— one a bruised rose, the other a thin green opal— slumped low toward the rim where night loosened into day. Stars thinned as if someone had been brushing them away with a broad, pale hand; the eastern air paled to the color of old bone and then to warmed milk. A mist lay low in the hollows— silvering the high grasses and catching the horses’ breath in threads.

He had left Dalewood near midnight, and traveled for five hours on the Westmarch Highway, which mostly had been empty: the occasional cart, a lone rider with a lantern, the great artery of trade thinning in the dark and leaving the land to its owls. 

Haru shouldered through it all with the steady insistence of a thing made to carry burdens— her coat black as a spilled night and her lungs uncomplaining. 

It was only after the carriage-lighted town fell away, and the highway loosened into a curving off-ramp, that he felt the fatigue like a physical weight— not only the soreness of travel, but the hollow ache that settles after killing has been many and precise.

The Great Sage threaded the direction into him the way a lantern leads a dog through fog, and she did it without fuss. 

“Exit here. Poppin’s Parkway,” she suggested in that flat voice he had learned not to argue with. Her glow, a faint lattice only he could see, flickered at the edge of his vision long enough to gesture. 

He followed the ramp into meadowland.

Poppin’s Parkway was a ribbon of packed earth and grass, hedged on both sides by waist-high meadows that bowed with tiny lights. 

Fireflies and pale moths rose in a slow, breathing tide— their glow a dozen soft lanterns drifting above clover and poppy. Haru’s hooves kicked up dew that fell in sparkling beads; the mare moved in a patient, effortless trot that was somehow kinder than the world had a right to be. 

For an hour they passed fields left to moonlight; the hum of insects, a cow bell far off, a single farmhouse window burning like a promise.

When the small village of Merryweather came at last, it came quiet and clean— a scatter of weathered stone cottages, a low stream that held the moons’ reflections like cut glass, a stable with a lean-to and the smell of clean hay. 

He slid from Haru’s back with the stiffness of a man who had forgotten what rest felt like. The stablehand blinked sleep from his eyes but perked at the sight of coin, leading Haru away with cautious hands. Goblin Slayer lingered for a moment, gloved palm pressed against her flank, before letting her go.

The market was already waking when he threaded into it: a wash of voices and ringed sunlight and the smell of yeast. Women unrolled bolts of linen that caught the moon’s last blue; a boy with flour on his nose swung a tray of morning buns; a hawker shouted the price of herring until the fisherman behind him grinned. 

People glanced at the ashen-haired teen’s bloodied dark leather armor and iron helmet — some with curiosity, some with the polite distance reserved for someone who carried stories in his hands— and then went back to their lives. 

Goblin Slayer moved between stalls with the soft, straight gait of someone who has learned to be low-risk and useful. A baker handed him a wrapped roll; he accepted it with a thank-you that was nearly a bow.

At the heart of Merryweather, the ‘First Church of Earth Mother’ sat like an old, careful thing: whitewashed stone, low eaves, and vines braided up one wall. 

Its door stood open to the morning breeze, and the bell— a small, fat thing— had not yet been rung. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of bread and sage. A fire burned in the hearth, a bowl of porridge steamed on a side table, and a pair of women in plain robes looked up from their tasks as the armored teen entered.

At the threshold of the church, he lingered only a breath longer before pushing the door fully open to step into the cool interior. His hand— gloved and marred with dried blood and gunpowder— reached up to press the heavy wood closed, and the soft click of the latch seemed far louder in the stillness that followed.

The priestesses and acolytes, gathered about the hearth or bent to the small tasks of morning preparation, had all turned to look. Their gazes clung to him with a mixture of unease and dread; the stranger who had walked into their sanctuary bore splatters of blood upon his armor, a ragged plume dangling from his helm, and a gun strapped across his back that spoke of grim violence. 

The hush was not mutual— he felt it pressing against him, but he gave no answer to it. He only lifted his hand behind his neck, fingers working at the stiff buckle. A slow hiss of leather loosening followed, and then the helm came free. 

Iron and menace fell away in an instant. 

The women saw not the hardened figure they had braced themselves against, but a boy— no older than the eldest of the acolytes— with skin pale as ivory, eyes the color of soft-crimson glass, and hair thick, unkempt, and ashen, falling in uneven strands past his forehead. 

Goblin Slayer’s expression— softened by exhaustion— was neither cruel nor severe, but almost gentle, and there was something in that incongruity that made them exhale as though a great weight had lifted.

Realizing he was still the object of so much attention, his ears burned with quiet embarrassment as he lowered his gaze— tucking the bloodied helmet beneath his arm. 

“… Forgive me,” he said with a small, apologetic smile that felt more awkward than he intended, “for entering in this state. I… Had quite the eventful evening last night.”

One of the priestesses— a tall young woman with her dark hair bound neatly back and her habit well kept— stepped forward from the others. Her voice, warm though careful, carried in the quiet nave. 

“Perhaps you are an adventurer?” She asked. “If so, you must be in need of shelter. It is not common to see anyone from the Guild wander into our quiet Merryweather, but—” her lips curved faintly, “— we do keep a room prepared for those who might require it.”

The ashen-haired teen’s shoulders eased at her words, and his smile grew a shade more genuine. “If you wouldn’t mind renting it to me,” he said softly, “I’ll be glad to pay you for the trouble. I’ll only need it until about seven o’clock tonight.”

The woman blinked, then shook her head gently— as though correcting a child without scolding him. “There is no need for payment,” she assured him. “It would be unseemly for a church to charge those in need. Our ministry aims to hold refuge more than profit, and—” she hesitated, just enough for the truth to be gentle and for the humility to arrive in her voice, “— we accept donations when they are able, though sadly many of Merryweather’s folk are not in a position to give… So whatever you may part with, will be dearly appreciated.”

He considered that in silence— lowering his eyes a moment. 

“… Ask for an extension on the room. I will see to it you can pay for a room when we reach Mithral Hall. For now, give them all the coin and valuables that you carry.”

Goblin Slayer brow furrowed faintly, though not in distrust— he had no reason to question her, not yet. 

Instead, he let the words rest in his chest and exhaled quietly, smiling in a way that seemed more at ease. “Then, in that case… Would you happen to have a pillowcase, or perhaps a basket? Something I could put a little weight into?”

The young priestess’ brows lifted at the odd request— curiosity brightening her features. “You would like such a thing now?” She asked; unsure of what need he meant.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he replied with polite calm, while tilting his head slightly, “then yes, please.”

Still puzzled, yet unwilling to deny him, she turned her eyes about the room until they settled upon one of the younger acolytes. A fair-haired girl, no more than twelve, was carrying a woven basket filled with folded handkerchiefs— placing them in careful stacks along the pews beside the well-thumbed bibles and thin booklets of proverbs.

“… Juliet,” the priestess called gently— her voice lilting with affection.

The girl startled slightly— her wide blue eyes darting first toward the boy in dark armor— then back to the woman addressing her. She lingered a heartbeat too long on the ashen-haired youth— her cheeks coloring faintly— before she managed to answer with shy obedience, “Yes, Sister Nicole?”

“Bring your basket here, child,” the priestess said, while beckoning her forward with a small, reassuring smile. “Set the linens aside on the pew first.”

The small girl nodded quickly, placing the handkerchiefs with care before lifting the now-empty basket and walking it over— her steps small but purposeful. She came to stand at the priestess’ side— still glancing once or twice at the boy, though never long enough to be caught. 

The older woman placed a gentle arm around her shoulder in a half-embrace, both protective and encouraging. “Would this suffice?” She asked, while presenting the basket to him with a kind, if still uncertain, smile.

“Yes. Place it on the ground first. It will be large enough. But note this: that child— let alone grown woman— will not be able to lift it once we are finished. That will be for you to do, Ashta.”

The ashen-haired teen inclined his head— the corners of his mouth softening. “This’ll do nicely— thank you,” he said— his tone marked with quiet gratitude, as he reached to take the basket from them.

Goblin Slayer began by first setting his helmet down on the cool tile of the church foyer, with a muted clank before reaching for his belt. 

His fingers worked at the leather buckle with the same calm precision that had been present when he closed the heavy door behind him; the pouch at his left hip came free under two steady hands and was eased to the floor as he sank to one knee so the movement would not look brutish in this room of quiet faces. 

The priestess and her colleagues watched every deliberate motion as if it were a prayer, but when the flap came open they all stepped closer.

The ashen-haired then began drawing out coin purses in a measured, almost ritualistic sequence: not one, not two, not three, but fifteen fat, soft-leather pouches that spilled their contents as he emptied them, and each time a chorus of low, involuntary noises rose from the cluster of priestesses and acolytes gathered about the hearth. 

Silver fell first, tinkling against the woven basket like rain on a roof, then the heavier clink of gold; the pile swelled faster than anyone might have expected; a small, bright mountain forming where handkerchiefs had been an instant before. 

The blond girl’s blue eyes widened until they seemed to reflect coinlight, and she could not quite draw a breath as she watched the procession of wealth tumble into the basket.

“M–My word,” one of the older acolytes managed— her fingers tightening on her prayer beads so hard the rosary clicked in time with the coins. “Sister Nicole— where did he—?”

The aforementioned priestess’ composure trembled— a hairline fissure showing beneath the practised calm of her voice as she stepped forward and folded her hands as if to steady herself. “Sir, you need not—” she began, and then faltered under the astonishment in the room— the polite scaffolding of her speech threatened by the ridiculousness of the sight before them.

The ashen-haired teen— despite the blood and iron— kept his face composed and, as he half-lifted his chin toward the priestess and said simply, “There’s more.” He said gently; his words quiet, and almost apologetic, as they produced another ripple of disbelief that made even the most reserved among them exchange startled glances.

The young blond girl fared no better at restraint. “A-Are you an adventurer, sir?” She blurted before the young woman beside her could cover the breach between curiosity and decorum— her voice bright with the impossible hope that came to children at the edge of wonder. “Do they pay— do they really pay that much?!”

The priestess sharp reproach arrived faster than any coin could fall: “Juliet, that is impolite. We do not pry into the earnings of others.” The reprimand carried the soft, corrective tone of a woman who wanted her little flock to grow in charity as well as discretion.

However, despite that Goblin Slayer answered the blond girl’s question with the plainness of someone who had long ago learned the utility of speaking little and meaning much. “I used to be an adventurer, but not anymore,” he said, placing the next sentence with the same care, as he emptied another heavy purse into the basket. 

“The amount of coin you get depends on what the quest offers— or sometimes doesn’t offer openly— to pay.” He added, as he reached over on his side to unclasp the other pouch, and exhaled the slightest sigh as if he were relieved at the lessened weight of the things at his belt.

When he tipped that second pouch the contents rattled like a small storm— another cascade of coin purses, twenty-three this time— so that the basket groaned with abundance and the light in the nave winked off the silver and gold as if it were astonished too.

The priestesses drew closer in stunned silence, and the older girls pressed hands to their mouths; unable to reconcile the blood-stained armor with this flood of fortune. 

Only the blond girl— her awe untempered by doubt— whispered as if to herself, “How did you ever—” before remembering to look up, and asking aloud, “— If you are not an adventurer anymore, then… How did you get all this money?”

The question cut through the murmurs. The older women stiffened— their eyes darkening with uneasy realization. But the ashen-haired teen only continued his work— his hand scooping another stream of coins into the basket.

“… You see, Juliet, I recently started my own group; a faction called ‘The Ashta Accord’,” he answered with a modest bow of the head that made his voice small but steady in the chapel. 

He paused only long enough to allow the understanding to begin to filter into those who were old enough to connect blood to reason, and then he added: “I find valuables, yes— money, treasures, all sorts of things. But my work… Is not unlike yours here. My true calling is to do good in this world.”

That simple confession, spoken so matter-of-fact, softened the suspicion that had crept among the older priestesses. Some shifted where they stood, still wary, but others began to see something gentler in his words; even through the armor caked in dried blood.

“My name—” he said, raising his eyes to the blond girl, “— is Goblin Slayer, and it’s my mission to see the world rid of all evil. Within thirty months, every cruel goblin who does unspeakable things will be gone. And in their place— there will be others, new ones, but gentle, feminine, peaceful. They will live as neighbors; civilized and kind— and that’s only the beginning of what I have planned.”

The blond girl’s mouth fell open— starstruck— her cheeks glowing red with excitement. “That’s… A-Amazing,” she breathed— her blue eyes sparkling like the coins themselves.

He gave her a small, almost bashful smile, before undoing the belt that still circled his waist. Setting it before him, he opened the smaller pouches attached and drew out handfuls of glittering stones, golden brooches, watches, ornaments of nobles and merchants long forgotten. 

Diamonds caught the firelight as he set them gently into the overflowing basket— speaking softly as if to the blond girl alone. “One day, I will replace all that’s twisted in this world with good… A place where girls like you don’t have to be afraid of.”

The priestess, arms folded tightly over her chest, could no longer stay silent. “That sounds…” She said slowly, her voice wavering between doubt and something she dared not name. “… As though you are doing Earth Mother’s work, Goblin Slayer.”

The ashen-haired teen paused for only a moment— his crimson eyes meeting hers. “… I suppose I am,” he replied respectfully, while setting one final treasure atop the mountain of wealth: a platinum ring crowned with diamonds.

“… That is all I have,” Goblin Slayer concluded simply, as if the statement were not absurd— as if he had not just given more coin and jewel than the church had ever dreamt to hold. 

A few of the elder priestesses scoffed despite themselves— half in disbelief, half in awe. Some of the younger ones could not help but scoff at the scale of it, a nervous, disbelieving sound that was half laughter and half defense against being too astonished. 

“This is… more than we—” another voice began, before trailing into silence beneath the weight of what he had given them.

Goblin Slayer met their astonishment without exhibitionism— as if laying down coin were no more remarkable than closing a wound. He then began refastening his belt with the same even-handed care he’d used to unlace it— setting his pouches back upon his hips. 

“… If it is not troublesome, Sister Nicole,” he said, with the faintest formality beneath his words that made them easier to receive rather than demand, “may I actually keep the room until eight o’clock, tomorrow morning?”

At that, the priestess stammered slightly— her practiced calm fraying into something genuine and immediate, as she stared at the basket that now threatened to spill onto the tiled floor. 

“It— oh, of course. It won’t be a problem,” she managed— the habitual courtesy of her office fighting its way back into place, as she cast a look over the women who constituted the church’s practical council. “We… We will see to it.”

Goblin Slayer smiled as he then took the basket at the very bottom with one hand— an effortless motion that made the gathered women inhale— and lifted it as if it were merely a shopping hamper rather than a heft repository of a fortune. 

The action, unintentional though it was, revealed a power that did not gloat but simply existed. The blond girl’s small lips parted into a grin that was somehow both childish and smittened.

“… Where do you want me to set this?” Goblin Slayer asked, as the heels of his boots pressed faintly into the tile.

“Back— back there,” the blond girl volunteered before the young woman beside her could speak. “I can show you the chest! We keep the donations in the vestry.” She offered with an earnest and steady voice— as if she had been appointed by destiny rather than by the simple enthusiasm that twitched behind her smile.

The priestess nodded, while regaining the formal grace of her position. “If you would be so kind, Juliet, then please see to it. Sister Agnes and I will prepare the room before morning worship.” She then turned back to Goblin Slayer— her voice composed again though a line of worry lingered at her eyes. “We thank you for what you have given; the church will see these offerings used for the care of the town and for those who cannot provide for themselves.”

The ashen-haired teen inclined his head in a motion of acknowledgment rather than thanks. “Glad to hear that’ll be going towards a good cause,” he said, while shifting his grip on the basket, as the blond girl began taking the lead with a small, ceremonious curtsy that made the other acolytes smile despite themselves.

And as Goblin Slayer followed behind the blond girl, the other women fell into a distracted flutter about the hearth— arranging, whispering, exchanging looks that were equal parts wonder and awe— while the two of them moved through the nave— coins whispering like secrets in the woven basket, as they went toward deeper into the sanctuary’s heart.

To Be Continued…

Author’s notes: Alright! Got another chapter in before my trip! I’m hoping to get at least, MAYBE one more in before Monday. 

Feel free to leave suggestions in the comments by the way; I’ll respond to them sooner than later. And if you want to reach me by discord for whatever reason, you can at “sasariousfnaf2”.

And yes, Juliet is Priestess. 

Chapter Text

The rented room smelled faintly of soap and damp wool— a reminder of the laundry the acolytes had hung in the garden courtyard. Goblin Slayer stood before the vanity, dressed in a plain white turtleneck, black trousers, and the creak of freshly polished leather boots. 

His armor— once mottled with mud and blood— was scrubbed clean, with each piece burnished until the surface caught the dim lantern-light with a dull gleam. The gambeson and greaves, still drying, swayed faintly on the line outside, among the priestesses’ robes and the linen sheets.

He opened the vanity’s wide drawer and slid the pieces of hardened leather into place, arranging them with the same deliberate neatness he gave to his gear after every battle. When the drawer shut with a muted thump, he reached for his canteen— resting near the orderly spread of his other belongings: his sheathed short sword, the iron helmet with its ragged plume, a scatter of scrolls bound in twine, his powder horn, the little sack of buckshot, and the blunderbuss with its darkened steel barrel.

The ashen-haired teen unscrewed the cap and lifted the canteen to his lips, drinking in long, measured gulps until his throat cooled and his chest eased. With a soft exhale that carried both relief and fatigue, he clipped it back to his belt. 

Goblin Slayer then turned toward the door, ready to leave, but his steps slowed before the threshold. His crimson eyes drew back to the weapons and armor— lingering on the iron helm that sat like a silent, heavy sentinel.

‘… Are you certain I’ll be fine without it?’

The Great Sage’s voice came smooth and dry— threaded with a humor so subtle, it felt like an old habit. “You are not walking into a battalion, nor are you to cleave your way through a goblin nest tonight. You are going upstairs to share a table with women of cloth and a few children. It’s supper, not a war.”

The corner of his mouth tugged faintly, as let out a quiet laugh under his breath while shaking his head. ‘I wasn’t talking about dinner… I meant afterward.’

“Afterwards—” she replied— her tone unyielding but not unkind, “— remains no more perilous than now. No living thing has stepped into the ‘Luminous Lament’ in over sixty-thousand years. Even this world’s memory of that place has abandoned it.”

Goblin Slayer paused, before whispering the name back as though testing it— tasting the syllables in the stale air. “Luminous Lament…” He murmured quietly, with words clinging to his tongue. ‘… I still don’t understand why you weren’t going to tell me about it until AFTER I donated my loot.’

There was a pause, the kind that came not from hesitation but from the weight of what was about to be spoken. Then, softly, almost reluctantly, the Great Sage spoke once more. 

“… Because Ashta, that place brings back memories of me that carry shame… And guilt.”

Upon hearing that, the ashen-haired teen’s brows pinched faintly as he reached for the door. 

The latch clicked under his hand, and the wooden slab closed with a hollow thud that left the room behind him in silence. ‘… What do you mean by that?’ He silently asked— the question low, and his voice nearly carried away by the corridor’s muffled air.

The Great Sage exhaled— an inaudible sigh that nevertheless seemed to stir the shadows in the corners. 

“As you know, I exist within time and space itself. I am infinite, as are you; though you remain bound by the constraints of the world you were born into.”

‘That…’ Goblin Slayer silently began, as he moved down the passage, past the small lavatory with its cracked basin and faint smell of lavender soap. His boots sounded against the stone as he entered the wider basement;an organized chaos of crates stacked with spare linens, old furniture pressed against the walls, and bundles of supplies wrapped in twine. “… Is still something I’m struggling to comprehend,” he admitted— his tone thoughtful but tinged with unease.

“The point I am trying to make,” she continued evenly, “is that I have frequented this world long before your birth. Just as that goblin chieftain stumbled into my tesseract, so too did many before him. They were adventurers and other notable figures— each believing they had discovered some hidden treasure. None realized they had been chosen; that I had placed the tesseract before their path.”

Hearing that, the ashen-haired teen slowed his step— his hand brushing lightly against a stack of folded quilts, as though to anchor himself. ‘… Wasn’t I technically chosen by you as well?’

“No. Not in the same sense.” The Great Sage replied softly— her voice turning warmer, and less austere. “You and I are the same, in ways they were not. I care for you. I know you. I can speak to you not only as a guide, but as a companion. I have your best interests in mind. And— for lack of a better word— I love you.”

The words pressed heavy against his chest as he reached the bottom step of the staircase. He lingered there, one hand on the rail— the other hanging slack at his side. His lips moved faintly, repeating the word in disbelief. “Love…”

For a moment he thought back to how little time had passed— less than a week since they first spoke, yet in that brief span she had become inseparable from him, a constant voice threading through his silence. She was comfort in fatigue— steadiness in uncertainty.

Awkwardly, almost self-conscious, he muttered under his breath, “I… Love you too, Cielle.”

The Great Sage’s chuckle came gentle and clear— a sound not mocking, but touched with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said, as he placed his boot on the first step and began to ascend. “But I say that, to emphasize to you that you are not like the others. I used to never call them by name— only their aliases. They were pieces on a board to me— pawns to be moved as I required. Cruel, yes, but true. I say this, hoping you can understand that I am not that same person anymore.”

‘I can tell,’ he replied softly— the corners of his mouth bending into the faintest, private smile.

The stairwell then opened to the ground floor, spilling him into the church’s back room. From there, the loft stretched upward three stories— balconies stacked with narrow doors, lanterns hanging at regular intervals. 

The priestesses and acolytes moved through the space with ease— carrying folded laundry, exchanging greetings, and smiling faintly at the sight of the ashen-haired teen, dressed in white and black. They could not hear the quiet voice threading through his mind— could not guess at the conversation that moved beneath his calm, polite expression.

“With the ones who came before you,” the Great Sage continued, “I would whisper sometimes directly— sometimes indirectly— planting notions in their minds to guide them. I told myself it was always for benevolence, and mostly it was. Yet there were times I played the villain. Times when I steered them toward tyranny— not because I wished it, but because the role required someone to bear that weight.”

Goblin Slayer’s brow furrowed after hearing that, as he walked the corridor toward the exit— the faint savory aroma of spiced meat and roasted vegetables giving way to the fresher air outside. 

The latch clicked as he stepped into the summer evening, the garden spread before him with clothes and linens swaying gently on their lines. He the. let out a breath— half a huff, half a laugh. ‘… You’re talking about my world like it used to be a board game to you.’

There was no denial— only a silence weighted with shame before she finally answered. 

“… That is because, once, it was. That is how I saw it. How we all saw it— my friends and I. Worlds were diversions, interactive stages to amuse ourselves. We played them— not lived them.”

Her words lingered— suspended between the drifting sheets and the violet sky, as he slowly walked past the laundry lines— his hair shifting in the evening breeze. He let the silence stretch, the fabric above him snapping softly in the air, before his thoughts settled on what she had confessed. 

He suddenly remembered then what she had once admitted— that she, like him, had an older sibling. As the garden path carried him nearer to the chapel’s back entrance, he asked, ‘Did your sister join you— the one who’s a jewler? When you and your friends… Controlled others, the way you described?’

The Great Sage took the question with composure, though her reply was tinged with embarrassment. “No. Rafaela never lowered herself to that. She thought what we did was childish. But… She would humor us. She gave us tesseracts— doorways we could pass through so our little diversions might reach into your world. She’d even shape them like dice.”

Goblin Slayer soon reached the chapel’s rear doors— the wood weathered but clean. 

Several priestesses and young acolytes approached from behind him, heading inside as well. The ashen-haired teen then stepped back— hand firm on the handle, and held the door open. His crimson eyes softened as he smiled at each one in turn, polite, unassuming. 

‘… I see.’

Then came the familiar girl— her blond hair catching the evening sunlight, and her blue eyes bright but uncertain as she paused at his side. She tilted her head upward, smiling nervously, and asked in a small but eager voice, “Is it… Is it all right if we sit together?”

Goblin Slayer gave her a warm smile that disarmed her nervousness almost at once. “I’d be honored, Juliet,” he said gently. And together, they entered through the back offices of the chapel— the soft tread of her slippers quickly against the floor.

“The two girls I used to play alongside with,” the Great Sage said as they walked— her tone reflective. “Their names are Aethos, and Irida. We fashioned stories, contests, and worlds to manipulate. It was a pastime we carried far longer than we should have.”

‘And are those their real names— or aliases, the way you call yourself the Great Sage?’

“They are their true names,” she confirmed— her voice level and precise. “And like me, each time a new… Campaign began, we would take on other names. It was for amusement, and for distance. To separate ourselves from what had been done before, so the next cycle felt untouched. Aethos’ last pseudo name was ‘Truth,’ and Irida’s was ‘Illusion’.”

She lingered on the memory of one. “Speaking of Aethos… She especially thrived on invention. She was endlessly creative, though her creativity always veered toward cruelty. She delighted in the role of the mastermind— the architect behind every torment. She would build elaborate dungeons, populate them with traps and horrors, then smile as our chosen ones bled themselves dry trying to conquer them. She never sought the end— only the spectacle of suffering along the way.”

Soon, the small blond girl led him to the nave, where the pews had been cleared aside in favor of four long tables. The members of the convent were settling in for supper— the low buzz of chatter mixing with the clatter of wooden plates. 

Goblin Slayer moved with the blond girl— her small hand gesturing toward two vacant chairs. Silently, he continued to consider what he had heard— trying to align the pieces. ‘So then… Was Aethos the one who created the Luminous Lament?’

“No.” Her denial was gentle— but the weight that followed was heavier. “I… I created it. I thought… If I crafted something grand, something beautiful, it might draw seekers not of greed, but of purity. A place to lure seekers of knowledge, that I might be able to bring forth an era of enlightenment. Yet every time, even when Aethos and Irida guided their own champions, greed poisoned them— turned scholars into cutthroat treasure hunters. They… They all met their ruin in the end— not once did any ever reach the final room: a library of my own personal favorite worlds, in written form.”

The confession settled hard in his chest. He lowered himself onto the seat beside the one meant for the blond girl— feeling the weight of that truth press against him, as his fingers tightened faintly against his knee.

But as if sensing his feelings, the blue-eyed turned towards him— tapping his shoulder to pull him back to the present. “I’ll bring us a plate and some tea,” she said sweetly, almost bouncing on her feet with eagerness. “And I want to show you what the sisters were able to buy— with some of your donations!” Her pride and joy shone through the nervous tremor in her voice.

Goblin Slayer smiled at her again— letting her excitement lighten the heaviness within him.

The Great Sage’s voice came back— softer, and tinged with a faint levity. “As I said… It is part of my past that I am not proud of. I will tell you more another time. For now, enjoy this moment with Juliet. She is more important to you than you can imagine.”

Picking up on her insinuation, Goblin Slayer’s brow knit at that— confusion stirring even, as he watched the blond girl’s small frame hop happily toward the kitchen doors. 

‘… Are you going to tell me anything that I need to know about her?’

The Great Sage’s reply came with a note of playful finality. “Not yet. Know this however: she wants to one day become a Priestess.”

And with that, her voice temporarily receded to silence— leaving him alone among the clatter of plates, the scent of bread and herbs, and the laughter of children.

Quicker than he would assume though, the blond girl soon returned with a plate in her hands. She first sat it down in front of him, before leaning over his shoulder from behind him— her voice bright with pride as she pointed out each dish. “See? Pork belly— look at that glaze. And the dumplings came out perfect this time. Rice… And salad with sesame.” Her voice carried a mix of pride and nerves. “Not bad, right?”

The ashen-haired glanced at the spread, then up at her. “This looks better than the food I’ve seen at most taverns.”

She lingered a moment longer— with her eyes gleaming with the same joy as if she had prepared it herself— before placing her own plate before the empty seat beside him. “I’ll be right back with our tea!” 

And as she disappeared toward the kitchens again, Goblin Slayer began unrolling the folded napkin at his place— smoothing it with deliberate care. He then leaned over towards her seat to neatly set hers beside her plate as well— arranging the cutlery in its proper order with quiet diligence. 

When she returned— balancing a small tray with a teapot, two cups, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a jar of honey— she caught sight of what he’d done. Her lips curved into a small, warm smile, before she announced with soft, theatrical enthusiasm, “Ta-da. Tea service!” 

Goblin Slayer glanced up at her— answering in kind. “I’ll help you.” He said, before turning in his chair to gently relieve her of the tray— careful not to spill, as he sat it down between them at the table’s center.

The blond girl’s shoulders eased, as she politely said, “Thank you— it was getting pretty heavy!”

“Of course, and thank you for the tea,” the ashen-haired teen nodded, before reaching over past his plate for a cup— watching as she carefully lifted the kettle. 

“Would you like sugar? Or honey?” She asked— her voice shy but eager.

“Honey, please,” he said— playing along with the brightness in her tone.

Hearing that, her whole face lit up. “Me too! I’ve never tried it with this kind of tea before.” She said, pouring for him first and then for herself— setting the kettle down, before unscrewing the jar. 

With a small flourish, she dipped the honey wand— lifting it slowly so the golden syrup caught the lamplight. Leaning forward, she then drizzled a generous ribbon into his cup. “There,” she murmured, almost bashfully. “For strength. And maybe… Sweetness.”

He met her eyes and smiled. “Thank you, Juliet.”

“You’re very welcome,” she replied quickly, her cheeks flushing pink, before twirling the wand into her own cup— watching the golden liquid swirl around it. 

Without a moment's hesitation, the blond girl happily wrapped her full lips around the slick wood and began to suck. Slowly at first— her cheeks hollowing as she drew the sweet nectar into her mouth. 

A soft smacking sound filled the air as she pulled back— relishing the taste. “Mmm,” she hummed appreciatively, before licking her lips. “Delicious…!” 

It only dawned on her afterward how loudly the sounds she was making were, causing her eyes to widen— her face flushing all the way to her ears. “S-Sorry! I just… I really like sweets.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him as he leaned back. “I can tell.”

Hearing his playful tone, her laughter bubbled up— half embarrassed, half delighted— as she set the wand down. She then fidgeted with her cup a moment before peeking at him. “… Would it be okay if I led us in prayer before we eat?”

Goblin Slayer paused, with uncertainty flickering across his face, as he scanned the room momentarily to take in the sheer size of her convent. “… Don’t you guys usually pray together when everyone has their food?”

Hearing that naïve question, the blond girl covered her mouth with a giggle— the sound light and infectious. “If we waited until EVERYONE was served before we prayed, we’d be here all night! Each of us prays individually when we have our plate.”

Goblin Slayer blinked at that, then nodded slowly. “Huh… Yeah, that makes more sense…” He murmured, while his crimson eyes drifted across the tables— watching others bow their heads, hands folded, murmuring quietly.

Sensing his uncertainty, the blond girl reached across the narrow space between them to offer her hand. “We can pray like this. That’s how I was taught, whenever we prayed in groups.”

The ashen-haired teen stared at her hand for a moment, then reached out. Her fingers closed tightly around his— warmer and firmer than he expected. She then bowed her head— peeking once to nudge him to do the same. 

He silently obeyed— lowering his head as her eyelids shut.

The blond girl’s voice came soft and reverent. “Earth Mother, we thank the hands who prepared this meal, and for…” She paused, with her thumb brushing against his knuckles. “… What’s your real name, Goblin Slayer?”

The ashen-haired teen opened his eyes slightly— surprised, but answered. “Ren… It’s Ren Ashta.”

The blond girl’s lips curved into a smile. “… Ren Ashta. I like it! Oh, and my last name is Fairchild, by the way; so I’m ‘Juliet Fairchild’.” She beamed, before startling herself. 

“Oh! I almost forgot,” she chuckled, before clearing her throat and closing her eyes tightly again. “Earth Mother, thank you for Ren— for his generosity, for his gifts that help sustain us. Watch over him. Bless his mission, that he may cleanse the world of all evil, and fill it instead with kindness and light.”

Her voice softened to a close. “Amen.”

He sat in silence.

“… This is the part where you say ‘amen’ too, Ashta,” the Great Sage whispered with a gentle nudge.

Goblin Slayer exhaled quietly, then echoed, “… Amen.”

Their clasped hands lingered together a moment longer, before she lifted her head— her smile radiant, unbothered by how flustered he looked beside her.

Trying to compose himself, Goblin Slayer lifted his cup of tea— the steam unfurling from his cup in slow, ghostly ribbons. He tilted it toward his lips, blowing across the surface with a soft patience— eyes narrowing slightly at the wavering reflection. 

Beside him, she was already diving in— knife carving a neat slice through the golden crust of pork belly, fork sliding it onto a pillow of rice. She balanced both together, lifted it carefully, and took a bite that made her hum aloud, a small, pleased sound that carried across the table like music.

“… How long have you lived in Merryweather?” He asked curiously, while watching her movements with quiet attention.

She pressed her fork against her lips as she chewed— eyes lifting in thought before she swallowed. “For as long as I can remember, Ren,” she said brightly. “I can’t think of ever living anywhere else.” She admitted, with her smile lingering as she went back for more— as though the question had only made her more content with where she was.

The ashen-haired teen gave a thoughtful hum of his own, then raised the cup to his mouth. The tea warmed his tongue, steady and comforting, and he exhaled against the rim with a satisfied sigh. “Mhmm… This is good.”

Hearing that, the blond girl’s head tilted— her blue eyes shining, as though his words were worth more than gold. “Really? I was worried it might’ve steeped too long… I’m so glad you love it, though!” She beamed, as she stabbed her fork into the sesame salad— cheeks coloring faintly as if embarrassed at how much his approval mattered.

“… Do you have any family?” He asked, while setting the cup down gently— the faint clink of porcelain against wood punctuating his words.

“My convent IS my family, Ren,” she replied without hesitation. The answer rolled from her lips with a confidence that needed no defending— her smile soft and proud in equal measure.

Hearing that, Goblin Slayer studied her a moment, then returned her smile with a smaller, tender one of his own. Reaching for a dumpling, he lifted it with his fork and said quietly, “Then you’ve got a big family.”

Her grin broadened, as more pride swelled inside of her chest. “The biggest,” she echoed. And instead of using her fork, she pinched a dumpling between her fingers before popping it into her mouth— puffing her cheeks as she chewed with obvious delight.

The ashen-haired teen found himself watching longer than he should have— something warm tugging at the corners of his lips until he, too, bit into his dumpling— his grin loosening into something unguarded.

The blond girl then reached for her napkin delicately— dabbing at the corners of her mouth, before straightening up again.

Goblin Slayer swallowed and leaned back— his crimson eyes gentled by amusement. “I’ve never actually had dumplings before.”

Midway towards getting a scope of rice, her fork suddenly slipped from her hand— clattering softly against the plate. “Never? R-Really?” She asked with surprise on her face, before leaning towards him with her eyes wide and glimmering. “Then… How did these ones taste, Ren?”

“Spectacular,” he said without pause— voice earnest.

Her hands flew together in a silent cheer, as her whole face brightened like dawn breaking through clouds. “Yes! I helped make those earlier! Just folding them, but still!”

“Well, they’re folded perfectly then,” he told her— the words carrying a kind weight that made her glance away, cheeks flushed even more.

“Th-Thank you! I’m glad you tried them when I was here to see it!” She said, as she picked the fork back to subtly fidget with it a little, before looking back up at him. “Speaking of families…”

His fork froze halfway to his plate.

“… How does yours feel about you being an adventurer?” She asked innocently, then winced. “I mean— about you having been one. And now that you lead your own faction, they must still worry, but… I bet they’re proud too of what you’re doing.”

The words landed heavier than she could have known. 

Goblin Slayer’s hand slipped from the fork to his cup again— fingers curling around the handle as if anchoring himself. He then lifted it slowly— the steam curling against his cheek, as he blew across the top— buying himself time while memories stirred like dust in a sealed attic. 

His sister’s laugh. His parents’ faces, long since blurred by time.

Would they be proud of him, truly? Or horrified at the blood he had spilled? His silent plans to one day overtake the very god his father used to preach for?

She shifted uneasily, noticing his silence as her voice grew small. “I— I’m sorry, that was too personal—”

Goblin Slayer lowered his gaze to her, then sipped with quiet deliberation before setting the cup down again. His voice was steady, but the weight beneath it pressed hard. “… Part of me thinks they’d be proud. At least… Of what I’m fighting for now.”

The blond girl’s expression softened— curiosity mingling with sympathy.

“… When I was in the Adventurers’ Guild— ” he went on, “— everything I did was driven by vengeance. I thought if I killed every goblin— just like the ones who… Killed me sister, then… I could fill the hole they left. But… I‘ve since come to realize that alone wasn’t me honoring her, or her memory. It was… Chasing something I could never have again— desperation, and grief.”

His thumb traced the rim of his cup as he spoke quieter. “Sometimes we look back, and we’re not proud of the paths we walked. Or the reasons we started down them. Sometimes we wish we’d never taken them at all. But the past doesn’t change…” He raised his eyes, meeting hers with a quiet strength. 

Inside him, the Great Sage’s presence wavered like a breath caught between words.

“… What matters is how we move forward. Carrying what we’ve learned. Holding our head high. Becoming a better version of ourselves than the one who made those choices yesterday.”

The blond girl’s pink lips parted, but no words came. She simply stared— the soft lamplight catching in her blue eyes. Slowly, she reached over to him— her small hand resting gently on the sleeve of his white shirt.

“… Ren,” she whispered— his name fragile on her tongue. “That’s… Beautiful. Y-You’re beautiful too— you know that…?!” She flushed, while stumbling over her words. “I mean— what you said… I-I’ve never heard anyone put it that way before.” Her fingers then curled against his sleeve— her smile trembling but earnest. “I-If no one’s said it yet, then… Let me be the first to tell you that I-I’m proud of you— really. A-And I think your family is too— wherever they are…”

The ashen-haired teen’s cheeks burned at her words— heat rising up the line of his ears. He dropped his gaze to his plate, with a crooked grin tugging at his mouth despite himself. For once, the stoic mask slipped, and he looked almost boyish in his bashfulness.

“T… Th-Thanks, Juliet,” he muttered softly; low enough it might’ve been meant only for her. A quiet breath then slipped from him— more of a sigh than anything else— but it carried the weight of relief. “That was… Really nice of you to say.”

Goblin Slayer then found himself lingering a moment— watching her hand still resting lightly against his sleeve— before gently easing back and picking up his fork and knife. “It’s been… Nice. Talking to you, I mean.”

Hearing that, her head tilted— golden hair spilling over her shoulder, as if she couldn’t quite believe he meant to end the moment there. She hesitated, her blue eyes flicking down, then up again as his knife pressed into the glossy pork belly— splitting it clean.

“… Do you think you’ll ever visit Merryweather again?” She asked— her voice smaller than before.

The knife stilled mid-cut, as he turned to look at her— his crimson eyes gentler than she expected. The sudden attention made her flush pink— her lips fumbling over her next words.

“I-I mean, I know you’re probably… Busy. With your mission to, um, rid the world of evil and all that…!” She stammered, as she reached for another dumpling with her fingers— nervously occupying her hands— her voice tumbling fast as though afraid he’d cut her off. 

“A-A-And compared to everything you’ve seen, Merryweather must seem so— so dull.” She continued, before popping the dumpling into her mouth— chewing quickly, almost guiltily, before her words spilled out again muffled by her blush. “B-But I already hate the idea of you leaving, so…”

She trailed off— ducking her head, before catching herself, and forcing her shoulders straight as she scrambled for excuses. “Y-You could… I don’t know… Visit the church again? Maybe help us with ministry? Or— Or donate more?” She rambled, as her fork tapped lightly against her plate— betraying her nervousness. 

“… She’s already falling for you, Ashta,” the Great Sage whispered, amused— her voice curling through him like smoke. “And honestly, can you blame her? The girl’s got good taste.”

The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself— a quiet chuckle stifled in his throat. He then set his utensils down with deliberate calm, before turning toward her to face her fully.

“… I’ll be busy,” he began— steady and even. “For the next twenty-eight days, at least. By then, the fortress I’m renovating will be ready— a base for the Ashta Accord.” He said in a matter-of-fact tone, but his gaze stayed locked on her. “And by the time those days are up, every goblin in this world will be gone. Replaced by something… Softer, and easier to exist with— hopefully, far easier to look at too.” He said, as his voice dipped lower, and more certain. “… They’ll be the kind of goblins you can actually talk to. No longer monsters— not anymore.”

Her smile faltered— a faint shadow crossing her bright eyes. 

“But—” his voice softened as he reached out to lightly rest a hand on her shoulder before squeezing softly; a reassurance that steadied both of them. “By the time that’s all done, I’ll have a way to send and receive mail. Maybe with a courier, or maybe some other way that I’ll need to figure out myself. Doesn’t matter how— I’ll find a way.” He assured, as he continued to hold her gaze— a faint smile curving his lips. “We can even be pen pals. And your first letter from me? You’ll receive it from me— hand-delivered.”

The blond girl’s breath caught, and her blue eyes shined. The tension in her shoulders melted into something gentler, and before she realized it, she scooted her chair a little closer— its wood legs scraping softly against the floor.

“What time will you be back from…” She gently inquired, before faltering— her head tilting as she searched her memory. “… Where are you going again tonight?”

“I’ll be traveling four hours south of Merryweather,” he replied without hesitation. “The Darcy’s Slopes. From there, I’ll be heading into an old dungeon. They call it the Luminous Lament.” He explained, as leaned back slightly— his crimson eyes glinting faintly as he spoke the name. “Just a quick sweep to collect a few valuables; enough to pay for a room, when I get to Mithral Hall.”

Hearing that, her lashes dipped low as she toyed with the hem of her dress— her fingers curling into the coarse fabric. “Will you… Be safe?” She asked softly— her blue eyes flicking up toward him before darting away again.

Goblin Slayer reached over to lift his teacup— the steam fogging faintly against his lips. “I’ll be perfectly safe,” he said with quiet assurance— his voice steady as he tilted the cup.

But before he could take more than a sip, she leaned in closer— lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Then… If it’s really safe, you wouldn’t mind taking me with you, right…?”

The tea caught in his throat, and he nearly choked. He set the cup down a little too quickly— blinking at her wide-eyed. “You— what?”

She giggled nervously at his reaction, before pressing her finger to her lips as if sharing the most forbidden of secrets. “I’ve never left Merryweather— not once… And I’ve always wanted to see something exciting— like a dungeon, or… Or something— I don’t know…” She admitted, as her voice then fell to an even more eager whisper. “The other girls and I— we read adventure stories sometimes, when we’re supposed to be reading scripture…!”

Goblin Slayer opened his mouth, while already shaking his head. His tone was polite but firm, the same way he might tell a child that fire burned if touched. “I can’t—”

But before he could finish his sentence, the Great Sage’s voice interrupted his train of thought. 

“Yes, you can. And you will.”

Goblin Slayer froze mid-breath— the word tumbling out louder than intended, “W-WHAT?!?”

The dining hall stilled. A couple of priestesses and young acolytes turned their heads— brows raised in curiosity.

That’s when the blond girl became flushed, and a bit panicked. “I-It’s fine!” She called out, while waving her hand toward them with an awkward smile. “E-Everything’s fine, he’s just— um— surprised at how good the food is!”

They gave polite smiles and turned back to their meals. The blond girl let out a sigh of relief, before lowering her voice quickly as she leaned closer towards him. “I know it’s wrong… I know the sisters would never let me go— they’d worry…” She admitted, as her fingers knotted tighter in her skirt. “About me being alone with you, especially…”

She swallowed, then steadied herself— her voice gentler but firm with conviction. “B-But I know you’re a good person, Ren— I can tell… You wouldn’t hurt me, and you wouldn’t let anything hurt me either…”

Hearing that made his pulse quickened, as an uneasy weight settled across his chest. She meant what she said— he could see it in her eyes, unshaken even by her own nerves. Yet the stress pressed in— heavier than her request alone.

“I was refraining from mentioning this until it was more appropriate, but Juliet matters to you more than you realize,” the Great Sage revealed. “Do not understate that. Just as Aerendyl is fated to walk beside you, so too is Juliet. Their roles are written differently, but both are threads in your story.”

His hand twitched against the table— trying to process that, while already feeling overwhelmed with conflicting thoughts of what to do.

“I know I ask much of you,” she continued. “But this is important to me too. Juliet and you must be connected, and this is the path to that bond. Follow my guidance. No one will notice her absence— if we move carefully, if you trust me. It will be all right.”

Goblin Slayer then drew in a slow, quiet breath through his nose— his crimson eyes drifting over toward the blond girl, who stared back at him with shy determination, waiting for his answer.

He then leaned back in his chair, with his arms folding over his chest— the wood creaking faintly under the shift of his weight. His lips pressed into a thin line as his brows knit together— eyes closing, as though he could shut out both the pleading gaze at his side and the voice in his head.

But the blond girl didn’t relent. 

Her blue eyes shimmered up at him, wide and earnest, unraveling something knotted deep in his chest. She didn’t speak further— didn’t need to. Her expression said more than her words ever could. And it left him stranded— locked in a two-front siege: her hope battering at one side, the Great Sage’s insistence at the other.

“You won’t win this one, Ashta,” the Great Sage teased gently. “Do not pretend to deliberate. I’ve persuaded entire empires to bend for less. Trust me, this will be fine.”

The ashen-haired teen exhaled slowly through his nose— his jaw tightening, as if he could make a stand by posture alone. “Tch…”

“You need not to worry yourself,” she pressed on— her tone as soft as silk and as hard steel, all at once. “I’ll even reshape the Luminous Lament’s interior for you— make it less imposing for her eyes.”

That cracked him enough to slip a thought her way— dry and skeptical. ‘… Didn’t you say you couldn’t touch this world directly?’

“I can’t,” she admitted smoothly. “But when Aethos, Irida, and I used to weave our dungeons, they weren’t built into soil and stone. They’re built with tesseracts to create pocket dimensions— folds in reality that draw you in. Like a… Projection of the self turned outward. In some worlds, they call it a territory bounded by one’s soul. A reality remade by will alone.”

Goblin Slayer’s crimson eyes then cracked open— half-lidded with weary understanding. ‘So then… Is that why you can’t help me with my fortress? Why you couldn’t build that damn water purifier for me? Is it because you can only play god in your own cage?’

“Exactly. My power has limits, just as yours does.”

He huffed under his breath— the corner of his mouth quirking. ‘Convenient excuse, Cielle…’

“Oh yes, very,” she replied— matching his sarcasm with a dry lilt. “You’ll find that I’m full of them, Ashta.”

His shoulders finally sagged— surrender written in the weary tilt of his frame.

The blond girl noticed at once, as her pink lips parted in a quiet gasp— the light blooming in her sapphire eyes even before he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Tell her,” the Great Sage instructed smoothly. “Nine o’clock, outside.”

The garden was quiet save for the song of crickets— the night lit by twin moons drifting like silver coins across the velvet sky. 

The blond girl stood in the middle of the courtyard— her simple white blouse tucked into a long blue skirt, a modest shawl draped around her shoulders. Her hands clutched the strap of a small satchel that was packed tightly with a bundle of snacks swiped from the pantry, a pocket-sized journal, and a book of matches tucked inside just in case.

She tilted her head back— her delicate eyes tracing the spill of starlight overhead, as her imagination began to run wild, and unchecked. 

Beyond Merryweather’s gates— mountains, dungeons, treasures. Danger, yes, but stories, too. Stories she would live herself instead of just whispering about with the other girls when the sisters weren’t listening.

In the stillness of the night, the rhythmic cadence of hooves shattered the serene silence. Startled, the blond girl inhaled sharply— her breath a soft whisper, and her features blossomed with a radiant glow that rivaled the luminescent moons above. 

Turning to cast a glance over her shoulder, her gaze fell upon the ashen-haired teen, who approached astride his sleek black mare— a creature whose coat gleamed like polished obsidian beneath the silvery moonlight, and with muscles that rippled fluidly with each elegant stride.

Bathed in the ethereal glow of the twin moons, Haru’s mane tumbled like a cascade of raven silk— flowing gracefully over her neck and shoulders. The gentle breeze teased the strands, causing them to dance in a mesmerizing rhythm that captivated the senses.

As she drew nearer, the mare's feminine form became strikingly evident— a harmonious blend of slender grace and formidable strength, embodying both speed and resilience. Her eyes— a captivating amber, framed by long alluring lashes that fluttered with a delicate charm. 

The refined contours of her muzzle softened her regal visage, while her ears, perked in curiosity, attuned to the surrounding world.

As the distance between them diminished, Goblin Slayer couldn't help but notice the reluctant smirk that tugged at his lips— drawn by the sheer awe reflected in the blond girl’s expression. 

The blond girl’s sapphire gaze lingered on him, brimming with admiration, as if he were the gallant knight she had always envisioned, riding alongside a majestic steed, reminiscent of the enchanting tales she held dear in her heart— igniting a warmth that unfurled within him like the dawn’s first light. 

As if drawn by an invisible thread, she leaned slightly from the saddle— extending her delicate hand toward him. 

“Are you ready for an adventure, Juliet?” Goblin Slayer asked— his voice a hushed whisper that was laced with a hint of challenge.

At his words, excitement bubbled within her; she bounced eagerly on her toes, grasping his hand with both of hers, her eyes alight with anticipation. “T-Take me there, Ren— I-I can’t wait anymore!” 

A soft scoff escaped his lips, quickly muted by the involuntary curve of his mouth— a smile he couldn’t suppress. She was intoxicating; too earnest, too radiant. 

Heat then blossomed across his cheeks, as he braced his arm to lift her effortlessly— her laughter ringing like music in the air. In a fluid motion, the ashen-haired teen caught her surprised giggle midair, steadying her at his side before settling her gently onto his lap— their bodies close. 

Goblin Slayer’s arms then encircled her small waist— his hands finding the reins with an ease that belied his strength. “Hold on,” he murmured, a hint of warmth in his tone as he gave the leather a gentle shake.

She blinked down at him as glanced over her shoulder— a small squeak of excitement escaping her lips. “I’ve always wanted to ride a horse!” 

“Then I’ll show you how,” he replied— his voice softening, as a warmth threaded through his usual reserve.

The blond girl’s fingers then intertwined with his around the reins— following his lead with rapt attention. Slowly, deliberately, the mare turned, and they embarked through the garden’s gate, gliding into the quiet village streets. 

The night was still, the world oblivious to their departure. Two shadows— one small, one steadfast— slipped from Merryweather— melding into the velvet embrace of the dark horizon, and bound together in a shared secret adventure.

To Be Continued…

Author’s note: Luminous Lament is meant to be an easy dungeon, so here’s to hoping I can conclude this small arc before my trip! 

Chapter Text

The last lamps of Merryweather dwindled into specks against the horizon, then disappeared altogether, swallowed by the dark. Priestess leaned into Goblin Slayer’s arm— shoulder pressing against his sleeve as she craned her neck, looking back at the tiny glow that had been her whole world. 

Her heart stuttered, quick and hot, the weight of what they were doing both frightening and exhilarating. 

Her fingers tightened over the reins they shared, her knuckles pale beneath the moonlight. Slowly, she turned forward again, breath catching in her throat as Haru’s black mane swept like a curtain before her vision. 

Beyond the sway of those silken strands, the mountains rose— Darcy’s Slopes, pale and glimmering beneath the twin moons. They didn’t loom so much as beckon— their ridges dusted with silver light, as if promising her a night stitched out of dreams.

Priestess’ lips curved, trembling, before closing again as awe silenced her. She could only stare— at the peaks growing nearer, at the stars caught in Haru’s shining coat, at the road unraveling beneath them that led her further away from the familiar and closer to wonder.

The meadow came more alive around them as they rode on. Fireflies pulsed in the grass— their golden rhythm like tiny lanterns marking the way. Pale moths flitted in spirals, wings catching moonlight, while faint blue wisps— fairies, no doubt— danced between wildflowers. An owl glided low across their path, wings stretched wide— its silent flight weaving the moment into something almost sacred.

The dirt road narrowed into little more than a forgotten trail, half-eaten by grass. Rocks broke through the earth here and there, forcing Haru to step carefully— her hooves crunching softly against stone. The path soon turned uneven, climbing until it bent them toward the base of the slopes.

At last, they came to a stop before a set of weatherworn stone steps, carved ages ago into the rise of the mountain. The stairs led to a massive boulder, half-buried into the cliffside and dressed in moss and grass, as though the mountain itself had been hiding something.

“We have arrived.”

The back of his hand flared with a cyan glow, faint at first, then sharp and cutting. Etched lines burned visible against his skin— intricate, angular runes, humming faintly with power. 

Priestess didn’t notice; her eyes were fixed upward, lips parting at the sight of the elegant door inlaid into the boulder. Unlike the stone surrounding it, the door gleamed as if polished, pale and translucent like quartz.

“Is this… Is the way into the dungeon, Ren?” She breathed— her voice laced with awe.

Goblin Slayer nodded, while watching as his hand pulsed brighter, “Yeah… It sure is, Juliet.”

Cyan fragments bled outward, not sparks but strands of living light, code-like in their precision as they spiraled around his frame. The particles coiled together, folding and shaping until the Great Sage’s form stepped forth beside him— her presence silent but undeniable.

Her bobbed hair of white shimmered faintly— streaked with a black swirl that ran like ink through snow. Cyan veins etched in circuitry patterns branched across one half of her ivory face, pulsing beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. 

She didn’t face the ashen-haired teen; rather, she hovered beside the blond girl instead— a figure half ethereal, half terrible, her plain white dress rippling not with air, but as though drifting in unseen currents of water.

The Great Sage’s left arm— jet black beneath the long sleeve of her white dress, studded with glowing cyan rivets— extended outward. From her palm, a low light grew, flooding her body, her hair, her eyes until they deepened— shifted. 

Cyan yielded to crimson, flooding her veins, her stare, her dress until she was lit like a torch of blood-red fire.

The beam suddenly shooting out from her palm struck the door.

It answered in kind, with the quartz bleeding into a scarlet sheen— the glow searing sharp enough to make Haru snort and step back. 

Priestess gasped, clutching Goblin Slayer’s arm tighter— unease tightening her features. For a heartbeat— the red threatened to overwhelm, while the air hummed with a pressure that made the meadow itself still.

Then, slowly, it softened. Scarlet bled back to cyan, the door reshaping its glow until it stood radiant, gentle, inviting. Haru’s ears flicked cleanly, while Priestess breathing steadied— her awe returning like a tide, as her head whipped toward Goblin Slayer. “Wh-What… What was that?!”

As though the question had been for her, the Great Sage turned at last. Her crimson eyes locked on Goblin Slayer— the red still lingering faintly in their depths, before cooling away back to their usual cyan hue.

The door groaned as it gave way— the glow spilling across them like liquid. 

“… The first gateway has been unlocked,” she said evenly, though there was a tension in her words she rarely allowed. “You may now proceed into Luminous Lament.”

Giving the entrance into the otherworldly dungeon one methodical glance, the ashen-haired gave the Great Sage a subtle nod before walking forward to step through it first. Steady and deliberate, his hand brushed the edge of the frame as he walked through it.

Priestess lingered a heartbeat longer— her breath caught in her throat— then pressed forward after him. She stayed close, peeking past his hip— and her jaw fell open.

The world the two of them emerged into on the other side wasn’t stone or shadow, not even walls. 

It was like they were still outside— an endless night sky arched above, stitched with constellations she didn’t recognize— lantern light glowing like false stars strung in ribbons between unseen poles.

Carnival music drifted in from nowhere and everywhere, a thin, whimsical tune played on cracked organs and brass. From far off came the rattle of iron tracks, the scream of wheels— the echo of laughter that sounded just a little too hollow. 

The air smelled sweet— popcorn, cotton candy, something roasted with sugar— so rich it almost masked the iron tang beneath.

Priestess then gasped and stepped out in front of him— her sapphire eyes wide, and her lips parted in a childlike grin. “R-Ren…?! Wh-What…?! What is this place…?!” She asked with absolute wonder in her hushed voice that trembled slightly.

Goblin Slayer said nothing at first, as he scanned the horizon— his crimson eyes narrowing at the faint dissonance beneath the sweetness. “… It doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen,” he finally said in a low, bewildered tone. 

The Great Sage then drifted ahead of them, before slipping soundlessly through the wooden ticket booth standing at the heart of the vast chamber. 

Perched behind the glass was a painted puppet of a ringmaster, feminine in form— its stiff smile cracked but cheerful, dressed in red with a tiny top hat tilted at an angle.

Once hovering above the puppet, the Great Sage lifted her blackened hands. From her circuit-veined fingers, thin cyan threads crept outward, worming through the booth’s ceiling like veins through wood. 

They snapped tight— coiling into the puppet’s joints.

The figure jolted, as its painted eyelids blinked, and its jaw clicked— stiff, then bent like flesh. When it spoke, the words were the Great Sage’s— but styled with a voice rough and theatrical, with every syllable brimming with carnival pomp.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry! Step right up, little miss! Welcome, welcome, to the one— the only— ‘Luminous Lament’!” The puppet exclaimed, before throwing its wooden arms wide— its painted grin stretched to life. “Eight rooms o’ marvels, six rooms o’ puzzles, eight chances to prove you’re as sharp as you are brave! And what’s this? Why— you’ve brought a partner!”

Priestess immediately lapped her hands to her mouth, laughing. “I-It’s alive?!” She pointed out its awe, as she looked at the ashen haired teen, then back to the puppet— her blue eyes sparkling.

“Alive? Ha! I’m not simply alive, kiddo— I LIVE to ENTERTAIN!!!” The puppet boomed, before slapping its wooden chest with a hollow thunk. “And for you, little lady, I’ve got riddles, games, and delights aplenty! But first— you’ll need your ticket.”

The puppet dipped its head in Goblin Slayer’s direction— subtle in its gesture, but insistent.

The ashen-haired teen moved forward, with his jaw set. The blond girl giggled when the puppet added slyly, “Oh, don’t mind him. I betcha he’s the type who broods over his dinner too long, eh?!”

Priestess laughed harder, before covering her face with her hands. “That’s—! Oh my gods, he does!”

Goblin Slayer exhaled through his nose— the faintest quirk tugging at his mouth, as he stepped to the counter. 

The puppet leaned close, with its wooden hands sliding something across to him. “Two tickets, my good man. Reach out and claim ’em!”

He extended a hand, and froze.

The tickets weren’t what caught him.

Behind the counter, just low enough to be hidden from the blond girl’s view, slumped a bear mascot— golden fur dulled with age, its black top hat listing to one side. A bowtie hung crooked at its neck. The suit sagged unnaturally, stuffed with something far too rigid for cloth or cotton. 

From the slack line of its painted smile protruded a human hand; skin waxen, fingers clenched tight around a small purse.

The scent threaded through the air— sweet sugar and faint iron.

Goblin Slayer’s crimson eyes gaze narrowed. ‘…Cielle. What the hell is with the corpse?’

The marionette froze mid-gesture. Its glassy eyes flickered with something that didn’t belong to wood or paint. For just a heartbeat, her true voice— measured, eloquent, weary— slipped through, speaking only to him.

“… I concealed what I could. Corpses with valuables had to be moved, not destroyed— some of the treasures are too melded to their bodies to be removed. This was the best I could manage while preserving the dungeon’s stability. You wanted loot, did you not?”

The ashen-haired teen’s jaw tightened. ‘… That would have been good to know beforehand.’

Sighing inwardly, he reached over the counter— not for the painted tickets, but past them— slipping two fingers into the slack bear’s mouth to pluck the purse free. The hand fell back into shadow with a hollow thump.

“… I refrained from telling you because you are utterly graceless at masking anticipation. Had she noticed your expression, Juliet would have known something was amiss immediately.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward Priestess, who was still still wiping laughter from her eyes. Suddenly, the lanterns above flared violently, flashing red, then blue, then red again. Fireworks cracked then overhead— showering sparks across the night sky. 

The puppet threw its arms wide, voice booming, “WINNER!!! WINNER!!! WINNER!!!”

Priestess let out a surprised gasp— spinning in a circle as the colors bathed her face. “Ohhh—!”

“You’ve just won twenty gold coins and six silver pieces!” The puppet crowed, while spinning around with theatrical glee. “A sharp eye you got there, pal! And a lesson for you, little lady— some rooms hide prizes. He’s got the nose for loot— you’ve got the wit for puzzles. Together? Why, you’ll go far, the both of ya!”

Hearing that, Priestess’ laugh rang bright. “You hear that, Ren? There’s prizes! This is amazing— way better than I thought it was going to be!”

Goblin Slayer smiled faintly at her, as he tucked the purse into the pouch at his hip. His crimson-eyed gaze then flicked to the puppet, then toward the booth gate— watching as it slowly creaked open. 

Beyond it, a portal swirled to life— cyan light folding inward like water.

“Room Two awaits— the ‘Candy Corridor’!” The puppet sang, while lifting a wooden hand as if in benediction. “Luck, laughter, and glory! Step right up and step right in!”

By then, Priestess’ excitement was already overflowing. She grabbed Goblin Slayer’s sleeve with both hands, while bouncing on her toes. “Come on, come on! Let’s go!”

The ashen-haired teen barely had time to adjust the flap of his pouch before she tugged him forward— dragging him toward the gate. His expression softened despite himself— a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as she pulled him along.

Behind them, the Great Sage’s threads slipped free. The puppet then collapsed back into stillness with its painted grin frozen once more— its glassy eyes staring blindly ahead, while slumped against the booth wall— beside the hidden, silent weight stuffed inside the golden suit.

The portal spilled them out like a curtain lifting. 

Sweetness hit first— so thick it almost burned the nose. Cotton candy, warm and cloying, hung heavy in the air. 

The chamber before them was a tunnel of sugar-spun walls, pink clouds swirling like a blizzard made of confection. Strands of it tugged playfully at their clothes and hair before dissolving away, harmless as mist.

Gazing out in awe, Priestess let out an amused laugh while reaching out to catch a puff in her hands. “So soft!” She squealed— giggling as it fizzled into nothing.

It took a moment for the two of them to realize that— beneath their feet— the ground wasn’t stone, but a glowing checker of glossy taffy tiles— each square striped like carnival candy, some red, some blue, some yellow. 

The path wound straight toward a door of solid candy at the far end: a towering slab of peppermint and lollipop glass, with veins of caramel glistening across its surface.

On either side of the path, great billows of cotton candy rose like hedgerows— dividing the walkway from the deeper parts of the tunnel. But here and there, breaks in the pink fluff revealed narrow tracks, with rails that disappeared upward into inaccessible passages. 

Along them rattled candy carts— gaudy things with painted signs and squeaky wheels— each loaded with heaps of sugar, popcorn, and costumed mascots.

The carts creaked to a halt as the two entered.

Priestess pressed closer to Goblin Slayer’s side— her sapphire her eyes wide, but sparkling. “Oooo…! This is even better than the first room, Ren! It’s like— like stepping into a silly board game!”

Above them, near the vaulted ceiling of spun sugar, the Great Sage drifted into view. She then spread her arms wide, and from her fingertips burst rivers of light— cyan threads unfurling like silk, hundreds of them slithering down toward the carts. They coiled around the limp mascot suits stuffed between the candy, tightening, binding.

One by one, they stirred.

The first to rise was a broad bear in a patched black top hat, his voice warm and deep as he lifted a paw in greeting. “Well, howdy, sunshine! Look at you— bright-eyed and ready for fun. Ain’t this just the sweetest sight?”

Priestess suddenly gasped, while clapping her hands together. “I think they talk too— just like that puppet!”

The second figure— ragged, long-jawed, with a single eye painted wild— snapped upright in his cart and barked with a rough, singsong laugh. “Arrr! Welcome aboard, lass! We’ve got treasure, games, and danger on the seas of sugar, aye we do!”

That sent her into another fit of giggles, as she clutched the ashen-haired teen’s sleeve— her eyes watering with amusement. “Ren— he’s a pirate!”

The third was a bird, feathers painted bright and gaudy— her voice pitched high and girlish. She waved her arms with a cheerleader’s energy. “Yaaay! Look at her! So cute! You’re gonna do amazing, I just know it!”

The last to lurch upright was an indigo colored rabbit in a crooked bowtie— his voice high and oddly lilting, almost sing-song. “Hop along, honey-bun! You step where the colors shine, and we’ll sing you through just fine!”

Priestess was doubled over now— laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “Th-This is wonderful!”

The bear lifted both paws, solemn and grand. “Rules are simple, sugarplum. Only step on the safe colors. Step wrong, and— poof!— you’ll be right back at the start. Step right, and the door’ll open wide.”

The fox slapped his knee. “Test yer wits, lass! Watch the lights— don’t let the sea swallow ya whole!”

The bird flapped. “Do your best! We’ll be cheering you on!”

The rabbit spun their paw in a circle. “Follow the pattern, sweet pea. We’ll keep you dancing safe.”

Despite her overwhelming amusement, the blond girl managed to straighten herself before nodding at the four with determination. “Okay… I can do this.”

The first tile flashed— bright red. Then another, and another, forming a glowing path across the candy floor.

She took her first step, cautious, and the mascots all erupted with cheers.

“Look at her go!” 

“Avast! She be light on her feet!” 

“Woo-hoo! You’re a natural, girlie-pop!”

“Oh hop, hop, hop! Like a bunny do— oh! Hop, hoppity, hop!” 

Priestess’ laughter rang through the tunnel as she hopped from tile to tile— her blond hair bouncing against her back. Every correct step made the path light brighter, with the mascots bursting into more song and silly encouragement.

While her eyes were fixed on the game, the ashen-haired teen drifted aside. He cut cleanly through a cotton candy divider with his hands, before slipping into the shadows where the carts sat idle.

Up close, the candy wasn’t quite so sweet. Coins glittered between the wrappers— gold, silver, copper, scattered like prizes. He scooped them quietly, before slipping them into his pouch without a sound.

Beneath the heaps of taffy and popcorn, other things lingered. A chipped blade, still tacky with old blood. A dented helmet, cracked down the side. Leather straps torn and stiff.

His hand hovered over one, then drew back. His eyes hardened.

Just over the candy divider, Priestess’ voice rang bright. “Ren, look! I’m almost there!”

Goblin Slayer immediately returned to the path in time to see her reach the final tile: a glowing yellow square before the candy door.

The mascots erupted.

“Bravo, sugarplum!” The bear thundered.

“She’s bested the seas!” The fox cackled.

“You’re amazing, girlfriend!” The bird shrieked with delight.

“You did it, you did it!” The rabbit sang, while clapping his paws together.

Priestess jumped victoriously with both arms raised. “I-I really did it!” She shouted, before spinning toward Goblin Slayer— her face glowing with joy. “Did you see me, Ren?! Did you see me?!”

“Sure did,” the ashen-haired replied with an amused grin, as the two turned their attention toward the candy door. It shimmered, then melted into a swirling cyan portal, with light rushing outward to wash the tunnel in cool glow.

The bear leaned forward over the cart— his voice rolling like a kind farewell. “Next stop, sugar— the ‘Carousel of Dreams’. Step on through, and let the wonders spin!”

Priestess once again seized Goblin Slayer by the sleeve of his white turtleneck shirt, before tugging with both hands. “Come on, come on! We gotta see whatever the Carousel of Dreams is!”

Finding her childish wonder healing in of itself, the ashen-haired teen allowed her to pull him forward— his pouch a little heavier now, and his eyes sharper.

And as they vanished into the glow, the Great Sage retracted her veins. One by one, the mascots collapsed back into silence— their limbs folding stiffly, and their painted eyes blank once more.

The music stopped, as the cotton candy clouds stilled. And so the tunnel— without laughter, without her— fell deathly quiet.

The portal yawned open, before spilling them into a broad dirt lot.

The first thing they saw was the promised carousel. Massive, radiant, slowly spinning— its pastel horses rising and dipping to the hum of unseen machinery. 

From every direction came a soft, orchestral swell— strings and brass winding together into something both triumphant and tender, the sort of melody meant to cradle a child in awe. 

Somewhere beyond the white fences that ringed the lot, laughter echoed faintly, as though the park beyond was alive with merriment just out of reach.

The blond girl froze mid-step. Her lips parted, while her blue eyes widened as the carousel’s lights pulsed in rhythm with the music. The painted horses gleamed under its glow— roses, lilacs, seafoam, gold— each one frozen in a prancing gallop, manes carved into arcs of color.

She tugged hard on Goblin Slayer’s sleeve. “Ren! Look— Look at all the horses!”

His crimson gaze lingered, quiet, unreadable. “… This must be what a—” 

But before he could finish, a voice crackled to life through the speakers mounted on the carousel’s crown.

“Well, well, look who’s still in the game!” The Great Sage’s fake voice rang out— thick, brassy, bursting with rehearsed enthusiasm. “That sharp little mind o’ yours got ya through candy-land without a scratch, eh? Smart, clever, quick on the uptake— ya got the goods, dollface!”

Priestess gasped, as her head whipped toward the speakers, as if she could spot the woman behind them. “Ren, it’s her! She’s back!”

“Course I am! Somebody’s gotta guide ya in the right direction!” The voice laughed, warm and teasing. “And this beauty before ya? This is the Carousel of Dreams! Everseen one o’ these, sweet-cheeks? No? Oh, you’re in for a treat! Painted ponies, galloping round ‘n round forever on a river of magic! Climb aboard, hold tight, and let ‘em whisk ya away!”

Enamored and excited, the blond girl clasped her hands against her chest— beaming. “Magic… This must be magic, Ren!”

The voice hushed for a moment— dramatic. “But there’s more than rides and pretty colors… You wanna move forward, ya gotta prove yourself! Each horse’s got a shade, see? Red, orange, yellow, all the way down the rainbow. You treat ‘em polite, call ‘em to their rightful place, line ‘em up in rainbow order— bam! Door opens, puzzle solved, you’re the star o’ the show.”

The music swelled, as the carousel lights flashed.

“Good luck, sweetheart! Have fun. Show me those smarts again! I’ll be watchin’ ya, now!”

The speakers cut to static, then silence— leaving only the merry tune of the ride.

Priestess then twirled in place, her blond hair trailing behind her. “I can do this! I’ll make them line up, just like she said.” She shouted, before her face tilted toward Goblin Slayer— bright and pleading. “You should— um— you should look for hidden prizes, though. Like before… Please, Ren?”

For a long beat he simply watched her— her eager posture, her clenched little fists, her stubborn determination. Then his mouth twitched faintly at one corner.

“… Prizes, huh?”

“Yes!” She insisted, while bouncing on her toes. “You— um— you’d be better at that, like how she said earlier. Me? I’ll keep taking care of the puzzles!”

A dry exhale left his nose— not quite a laugh but near enough. The ashen-haired teen then touched two fingers to his brow in a mock salute— crimson eyes softening. “As you wish.”

The blond girl’s cheeks flushed at the tease, but she quickly turned toward the carousel— tugging him along by the sleeve until they stood at its edge.

The platform creaked beneath them as they stepped aboard. Horses shifted restlessly in their poles, eyes glimmering faintly, as though the Great Sage’s unseen strings had granted them a restless sort of life.

Priestess let go of Goblin Slayer’s hand, before pressing her palms together and bowing her head slightly at the first one she faced— a pastel mare streaked in ruby paint. “Excuse me, Miss Red,” she said softly. “Could you go to the start, please?”

The horse whinnied— real, startlingly real— and clopped forward, obeying.

Priestess gasped, then laughed giddly. “Did you see that, Ren?! She listened to me!”

Goblin Slayer only nodded, while watching her as she moved to the next— an orange stallion— her voice rising with polite command after polite command.

Subtly, the ashen-haired drifted away— circling the carousel until one figure snagged his attention. Unlike the pastel herd, one horse was painted jet-black. Its mane a dull sheen, its eyes carved hollow, and its presence stark against the candy hues.

He approached slowly.

The horse’s head then tilted— creaking unnaturally. Its snout dipped toward its flank, where a wooden latch was carved into the side.

Goblin Slayer crouched with only minimal reluctance— his fingers brushing the latch, as he quietly braced himself. Before opening the hidden compartment, he took a glance over his shoulder— seeing the blond still laughing, while coaxing a yellow mare into place— being too caught up in her game to notice.

The ashen-haired teen then pulled the latch open.

The stench hit first— copper, bile. His expression didn’t change, but the pause in his breath was sharp.

Inside the hollow belly of the horse was a nightmare: a woman’s remains hacked apart and shoved into the cavity, with her limbs bent unnaturally to fit. Her eyes were gone, sockets hollow and black. Carvings had split her face, splitting her grin into something jagged. Stuffed between her broken teeth was a swollen coin purse— the leather dark with blood.

Goblin Slayer stared at her for a long, silent moment. Then, with grim efficiency, he reached inside. The purse came free with a sick squelch, as a tooth clattered loose— landing onto the back of his hand.

He quickly flicked it away, before wiping his fingers against the wooden hull of the black mare, and shoved the purse into his pouch. The latch then shut with a dull ‘clack’.

He exhaled through his nose, quiet and long, before turning back toward the blond girl.

Priestess stood at the far edge of the carousel— her arms out as though conducting an orchestra. “That’s it— no, just a little more— perfect!” She cried out approvingly, as the violet horse stepped into place.

The rainbow then aligned.

Music soared. Fireworks burst overhead, showering the night sky in arcs of color. The carousel blazed with lights, each horse rearing in triumph. Voices— cheering, clapping— rose all around them, though no one stood beyond the fences.

Priestess spun around toward him— her face alight with victory. “Ren! I did it! I solved it!”

The carousel’s central column suddenly groaned, causing her to look over her shoulder at it, as his crimson eyes followed suit. With a grinding rumble, the middle mechanism lifted skyward— revealing a glowing cyan gate swirling with light.

Priestess then waved him on eagerly, beckoning him. “Come on! Let’s go, before it closes!”

Goblin Slayer made his way towards her, until she caught his hand— small, warm, trembling with excitement— and without hesitation tugged him toward the portal.

They vanished together into the glow.

Only after the last echo of their steps was gone did the Great Sage peel herself from the carousel. She flowed out of the machinery like smoke— her circuits dimming as she drifted after them.

The music faltered, the lights went black, and  laughter ceased. 

And in the stillness, the black horse creaked. Its belly split, the latch snapping open. 

With a sickening lurch, chunks of the woman’s mutilated body tumbled free onto the carousel— scattering like discarded meat. A broken jaw clattered against the platform, with teeth skittering loose into the silence.

Emerging from the portal, they found a vaulted hall looming before them— pastel-painted walls rising high into shadow, with the air thick with sawdust and something sweetly cloying. Like cheap perfume clinging to moth-eaten curtains. 

Plush mascots sat in neat rows on either side of the carpeted walkway— oversized animals with glassy button-eyes, with their cartoonish grins frozen as they stared blankly ahead at the stage.

Goblin Slayer and the Priestess walked side by side along the aisle— their leather soles scuffing softly against the worn floor, as they drew closer to the velvet curtain. 

She leaned closer to him, with her shoulder brushing his arm. Her breath hitched in wonder when trumpets blared from hidden speakers overhead— a triumphant entry theme that made the entire theater rumble.

The curtain peeled back with a slow, deliberate flourish. “Ren…” She whispered, as she clasped her hands together— her eyes wide.

Behind the drape sprawled an elaborate stage set, painted grasslands stretching beneath wooden rainbows, fluffy cotton clouds dangling on wires, paper-mâché mountains looming at the back. 

A dreamland— bright and impossibly cheerful.

Then came movement.

The Great Sage floated silently upward toward the stage. Her pale face glowed faintly as strands of cyan circuitry spilled from her fingertips, like threads of spider silk— crawling past the curtain. 

They pierced wood and cloth, burrowing into two figures hidden behind the wings— a knight carved of oak, armored in painted plate, and a dragon with scales the size of shields— jaws built to gape wide. 

Both jerked stiffly, then came alive as if strings pulled them.

The Great Sage’s voice followed. Not her usual tone— nor even the ringmaster voice she put on earlier— but smoothed into the gentle, precise cadence of a practiced storyteller.

“Good evening, everyone. Welcome, welcome, to the Grand Puppet Theatre.”

Priestess gasped while inching forward— her hands pressed to her mouth.

“Tonight,” the voice continued, rich with promise, “is no ordinary tale. Oh no. Tonight’s story is revolutionary— an interactive fable where the fate of our heroine rests in the hands of a chosen soul.”

Trumpets blared again, as the spotlights flickered on high— their beams sweeping dramatically over the occupied rows of seats— bouncing across the mascots’ stitched faces.

“Behold— D’Arce, the valiant knight, sworn protector of the realm!” The puppet knight clanged its wooden sword against its painted shield, posing gallantly. 

“And Dak’Rothken, the most wicked dragon this side of the stars!” The dragon reared, smoke hissing from hidden vents in its mouth as it flapped its oversized wings.

“And yet, who shall guide D’Arce? Who shall command her blade, her valor, her fate?”

The girl’s knuckles pressed white against her lips, as the lights panned once, twice, then centered on her.

“You, my dear!” The storyteller declared. “You, the chosen one! Come— take the stage, and decide tonight’s ending!”

Priestess’ heart lurched, as she quickly turned toward Goblin Slayer, as though to ask permission without words. 

In turn, the ashen-haired teen gave her a small, quiet smile and lifted his thumb in encouragement. “Go,” he murmured. “Have fun.”

She giggled, flushed, then hurried up the steps at the side of the stage— nearly tripping on her white skirt in her haste.

Goblin Slayer, meanwhile, pivoted calmly away from the glowing spotlight. His crimson eyes swept the rows of mascots— faint metallic tang reaching his nose. He then moved quietly down an aisle, before stopping by the first figure: a cartoon bear in a tuxedo, its maw slightly ajar. 

Without hesitation, he slipped a hand inside. His fingers brushed slick flesh, curled bone. He gripped— pulled free a handful of coins, with their edges sticky. He wiped his hand on the felt of the costume before slipping the coins into his pouch. 

Then moved on.

Row after row, pawing into the open mouths of glass-eyed animals, and drawing out purses, trinkets, valuables. Each time he pulled free, he left smears of red across the once-bright costumes.

Up on stage, Priestess stood tall beside the puppet knight— her expression glowing with nervous pride.

“All right, D’Arce,” she whispered, clapping her hands together. “We’ll do this together. Forward!”

The knight surged into motion— its wooden joints creaking as it charged at the dragon.

“And so, the battle begins!” The Great Sage narrated— her storyteller voice rising above the music. “The valiant knight advances, guided by the voice of Destiny!”

The dragon reared— belching harmless streams of glittering light that burst like fireworks, and scorching nothing. 

Though perfectly safe, Priestess squealed and laughed, before pointing forward. “D’Arce! Block with your shield— block it!”

The knight obeyed— raising its arm as sparks of golden light fizzled harmlessly against the wooden surface.

“Yes!” Priestess cheered. “Now— strike, while it’s stunned!”

The puppet swung— its blade clattering loudly against the dragon’s side.

“And the crowd roars!” the Great Sage intoned— her words weaving in with distant phantom cheers. “Strike after strike— the knight prevails, guided by her tactician’s flawless command!”

“Don’t stop! Keep going, one more time!” Priestess exclaimed with a jovial tone, while bouncing on her toes.

The knight surged again, and soon the dragon stumbled back with its wings flailing, before toppling dramatically in a heap. Smoke curled upward from its maw, as its eyes rolled back.

“The beast is vanquished!” the Great Sage announced. “And thus, peace returns to the kingdom— thanks to the wit, the bravery, the heart of Destiny herself!”

Priestess threw her arms into the air— triumphant once more. “I did it!”

From below the edge of the stage, Goblin Slayer clapped. The sound was steady, quiet, yet genuine. His smile was faint, but the warmth in it made her cheeks flush.

She spun toward him and bent into a playful bow, her hair and satchel swinging forward. The puppets mimicked her in unison— bowing stiffly with her.

“You’re a natural born leader, Juliet,” he told her as she rose.

Her laughter bubbled bright. “Maybe you’ll let me join your faction one day, when I’m older?”

The ashen-haired raised a brow, amused. “You already have a spot waiting for you.”

The words landed like a spark, and caused her face to redden instantly. And before she thought better of it, she leapt from the stage— her small arms outstretched.

“Ren— catch me!”

Goblin Slayer’s crimson eyes widened, but his body didn’t hesitate. He caught her midair, with her weight settling effortlessly against him, as he spun in place— his boots grinding to slow the momentum. 

She laughed breathlessly while clutching his shoulders— her legs kicking out in joy.

“This is the best day EVER!!!” She shouted between giggles.

He smirked faintly, before telling her with an amused tone. “… It is.”

Before them, the stage transformed once more. 

A cardboard archway descended with a clatter, painted in pastel swirls. At its heart, a portal bloomed— cyan light swirling gently, beckoning.

Goblin Slayer shifted his grip, then bent his knees and leapt— soaring several meters to land smoothly atop the stage. Priestess squealed once more— laughing in his arms, as he carried her toward the gateway.

“Ready?” He asked softly.

She nodded quickly— grinning from ear to ear. “Always.”

Together, they stepped into the light.

Meanwhile, the Great Sage’s cyan threads retracted from the puppets all at once. 

The knight and dragon collapsed like broken toys— their painted smiles cracking against the floorboards. Slowly, she emerged from the curtain’s shadow and followed into the portal.

As she left, one by one, the lanterns above winked out. Rows of mascots vanished into darkness— their button-eyes the last to fade, gleaming faintly in the silence until the final light died.

The cyan glow of the portal collapsed behind them— leaving them beneath the open night sky.

Priestess clung happily to Goblin Slayer— her cheek pressed against his chest, and her long blond hair swaying as he carried her with casual strength. His arm was firm around her— one hand braced under her bottom, holding her steady as if she weighed no more than a child’s doll.

The scent of oil and wood drifted thick in the air— underscored by the faint twang of metal wheels somewhere high above. 

Before them rose the towering silhouette of the wooden roller coaster they had glimpsed from afar— an impossible lattice of crisscrossing beams that rattled faintly in the night wind. Lanterns strung along the tracks swung lazily— throwing fractured shadows against the ground.

A wooden arch framed the entrance to the queue line. Atop it hung a painted sign, the letters bold and jagged, outlined in neon streaks of blue and red: ‘ROCKIN’ ROLLERCOASTER.’

From hidden speakers came music unlike anything Priestess had ever heard. No gentle flutes, no strings, no lutes strummed at taverns. It was louder, sharper, alive— metallic chords clashing, drums pounding like war, and then voices screaming wordlessly with raw joy. A guitar wailed in electric squeals— sliding up and down its scale with reckless abandon.

Priestess eyes widened, as she tuned in more into the unfamiliar music. “Ren… What is that?”

“… Not sure.” His lips quirked faintly. “But it’s… Loud.”

She laughed— her sapphire eyes glittering, as she tugged at his collar. “Whatever kind of music it’s supposed to be— I like it!”

The queue then wound them through wooden rails lined with posters of painted rockers— their hair frozen in wild spikes, and their mouths open mid-scream. Colored bulbs flashed in time with the rhythm, casting them in stuttering shades of crimson and gold. 

By the time they reached the platform, Priestess was swaying in his arm unconsciously with the beat— giggling under her breath.

The cart waited for them— a gleaming thing of iron and lacquered wood, with its seats cushioned in cracked red vinyl.

The Great Sage hovered beside Goblin Slayer, as he set the blonde down on the far edge of the front row. Her pale face wore something between amusement and pride.

“Originally,” she said conversationally, “I had planned a lever puzzle here. Choose the right handle, progress. Choose wrong, and—” she snapped her fingers— letting the thought dangle. “But… Well, a ride that stops every ten seconds is more tedious than thrilling. So—” she gestured toward the cart, “— this seemed more fitting.”

Goblin Slayer then lowered himself into the seat beside Priestess, with his brow furrowed. ‘So this… Contraption… It’s called a rollercoaster?’

“Yes,” the Great Sage replied smoothly. “A marvel of screams and speed. You’ll see.”

A gate clattered shut behind them. The brakes then hissed, releasing their grip, as the cart rocked forward an inch.

Priestess fumbled with the belt at her waist. “Oh— Ren, help! I think we’re supposed to have these on?”

“We probably should,” he agreed, before leaning over to snap the latch into place for her. The warmth of his closeness made her cheeks pink, but she only beamed at him.

“I have no idea what’s going to happen,” she said, while bouncing in her seat, “but— something tells me it’ll be fun!”

Goblin Slayer quickly did his own belt, before opening his mouth. “We should proba—”

The floor shook.

The guitar solo tore through the night in a shriek of steel and thunder, as the cart shot forward like an arrow from a bow.

Priestess screamed— half panic, half delight— as her hands seized the bar before her. 

Meanwhile, Goblin Slayer’s crimson eyes went wide— his body tensing hard as his knuckles whitened against the handle. 

The wind ripped at their hair, howling louder than the music.

“REN—!!!” Priestess’s voice cracked as they rocketed upward— clattering higher and higher along the first incline, with the chain pulling them with relentless rhythm. 

‘Click— clack— click— clack.’

The crest loomed, as the lanterns flared.

Then the track dropped away.

“AAAAHHHH—!!!”

Priestess’s shriek tore free as her hair flew behind her, while Goblin Slayer’s stomach lurched, though his grip never faltered— his eyes locked dead ahead, as the cart plunged into the abyss before curving upward in a dizzying loop.

The world spun, as lights smeared into streaks of red and violet. The blond girl’s laughter broke free of her panic— her shriek dissolving into delighted giggles.

“AGAIN— AGAIN—!!!” She shouted as they whirled around a spiral— her small hands lifting for a moment from the bar before slamming back down. “This is— this is—!”

As she struggled to voice her scrambled thoughts, the ashen-haired teen’s jaw clenched once more, as another loop inverted them. His legs braced automatically against the floor, but when he glanced sideways, he found her joy to radiant, as it contagious. 

Against his will, his own lips twitched upward into a grin.

They hurtled through tunnels painted with glowing streaks, emerged into open sky again, dove through corkscrews and sudden banks. Fireworks of colored sparks erupted beside the track— exploding in rhythm with the wild guitar riffs that screamed from everywhere at once.

By the time the cart slowed, rolling back into the starting station, Priestess’s hair was wild around her shoulders— her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. She threw her arms into the air, breathless.

“That— was— FUN!!!” She gasped out, before spinning to face the ashen-haired teen. “Ren— Ren, can we go again?! Please— just once more?!”

The Great Sage’s pale figure drifted near, with a faint smirk touching her lips.

Before Goblin Slayer could reply, their lap bars slammed down across their waists.

Priestess squealed in delight. “YES!!!”

The brakes released with a sharp hiss.

“Hold tight,” the Great Sage whispered to Goblin Slayer, as the guitar riff returned, building higher and higher until the solo screamed again— just as the cart rocketed forward for another round.

Priestess threw both hands skyward, laughing at the top of her lungs, while the ashen-haired teen gritted his teeth with his eyes narrowing— but that time his grin stayed.

And together, they vanished once more into the blur of speed and sound.

After a second ride, the coaster hissed as it rolled to a gentle stop. Steam rose from hidden vents— drifting upward like morning mist. And like that, their lap bars lifted with a soft click.

Once Goblin Slayer undid her buckle first, Priestess crawled over his lap before hopping out— her boots tapping on the metal platform, with laughter still bright in her voice. “You should build one of these at your base someday, Ren! Since you’re doing all that construction stuff!”

After unbuckling himself, Goblin Slayer hopped out of the cart before following her at a steadier pace— tugging windblown strands of ash-grey hair back from his eyes.

Entering through another swirling gateway, the first thing the ashen-haired teen did was sweep the new space they had entered with his curious crimson eyes.

It was almost like the ride before, with the same night sky l stretching across the artificial sky. Before them, there were strings of lanterns floating in midair— swaying as though in a slow current. 

At the center rose a Ferris wheel so vast it nearly disappeared into the night sky itself. Its spokes glimmered like spun silver, with each gondola painted as an owl, a cat, or a rabbit— their colors soft as watercolor. A gentle melody drifted on the air— not eerie, but wistful, like a lullaby heard through an open window at dusk.

Priestess stared up at the massive contraption with her eyes wide. “Ren, it’s beautiful… It’s like something out of a storybook…!”

A soft glow stirred over Goblin Slayer's shoulder, causing him to look over to see Great Sage appearing beside him.

“This is the ‘Grand Ferris Wheel of Wishes’,” she announced to him, with a tone that was both proud and serene. “To make it turn, you must offer three tokens of intent. Without them, the ride will sleep.”

His eyes then shifted to the base of the ramp where a pedestal of pale stone waited. Three empty hollows glowed faintly— like candle cups awaiting flames.

Priestess tilted her head. “Do you have any idea that it is we need, Ren? I don’t hear that puppet’s voice anywhere…”

Goblin Slayer answered without looking at her— his voice calm. “Three large tokens. They’re hidden nearby. Once we have them, the wheel will move.”

She brightened immediately. “Alright! Then let’s find them. I’ll check over there.”

Goblin Slayer inclined his head. “Good idea. I’ll look on this side.”

Priestess then hurried over to a hill of oversized plush animals stacked near the corner. There were rabbits with floppy ears, cats with stitched grins, bears in tiny hats. She giggled as she waded into them— tossing dolls behind her in a cascade of colors.

“Ah— look!” She called out to him, while pulling free a coin as wide as her palm and shining like sunlight on water. “I found one already!”

Goblin Slayer, meanwhile, had approached an unsuspecting booth. Painted woodwork curled around its edges; paper stars hung from its roof— gently spinning. He reached over the counter and slid open a drawer beneath— fingers brushing past folded tickets and old charms, until they closed on a second token etched with delicate runes. 

He pocketed it and stood again, the Great Sage’s voice brushing his ear. “Two down. One remains. She will find it if you give her a hint.”

Goblin Slayer straightened and called across the chamber, “Try the popcorn stand. Sometimes they hide things in plain sight.”

Hearing him loud and clear, Priestess bounded over to the enormous tub of popcorn— laughing all the way. “It’s like a scavenger hunt!” She mused aloud, before plunging both hands inside. “This doesn’t even feel like real popcorn! It’s so weird— it’s like putting my hands in clouds!” After a moment she let out a delighted squeak and lifted the third token high. “Got it!”

Goblin Slayer nodded once. “Good girl, Juliet. Now please bring it here— I have the other one we need.”

Together they fitted the three tokens into the pedestal. The stone glowed brighter, a low hum rising through the floor. Lights blinked alive along the Ferris wheel’s arms— flowing outward until the whole structure gleamed like a festival lantern. 

Slowly, gracefully, the gondolas began to turn. One shaped like a rabbit swung open, revealing a polished chest inlaid with glass beads.

Priestess gasped. “Is this another reward?”

Goblin Slayer stepped forward but kept his tone even. But before he could reach it, the Great Sage’s voice called out to him.

“There’s no more corpses that you have to worry about her tumbling upon. Have her open it— let her rejoice in this game.”

Feeling relieved, Goblin Slayer paused before turning his head over toward her— gesturing at her to come forth. “Since it’s your find, you should open it, Juliet.”

Eager to say that she opened a treasure chest, the blond girl eagerly made her way toward the gondola before kneeling down to lift the lid. 

Inside lay a scattering of charms and tiny crystal spheres that shimmered in soft rainbow hues. Her eyes lit with pure joy. “Ren, look at these!”

He allowed himself a genuine smile, as he made his way beside her. “… Well done.”

“Each gift carries a fragment of a wish— these are heirlooms of those who brought them to my dungeon, believing they’d give them luck. Choose wisely what you take.”

Hearing that, Goblin Slayer murmured just loudly enough for Priestess to hear, “Let’s not take too much. We’ll need to travel light, for Haru’s sake.”

Understanding, and never one to be greedy, the blond girl nodded— all the while still admiring the glimmer of the crystals. “Good idea, Ren, and it’s not like the church needs this— not after your donation!”

And as she handed Goblin Slayer the last what she wanted him to carry, the Ferris wheel slowly came to a stop. 

Beyond it, a door of pale blue light appeared— shimmering like a curtain of water. Priestess gazed upon it before reaching out for his hand. “Come on, Ren. Let’s see where this one leads!”

Goblin Slayer grabbed her hand gently, before once again letting her pull him forward— glancing back once at the glowing wheel before stepping through the gate with her.

Stepping through the portal, the two of them found themselves in a corridor of light and glass.

Mirrors ran wall to wall in tall, bending frames, with their surfaces tinted faintly in pastel shades— lavender, mint, rose. Each one warped their reflections differently: stretched into spindly giants, pressed flat into squat figures, twisted sideways until arms and legs bent in impossible angles. 

From somewhere overhead, faint carnival music drifted— off-key but playful, like an old tune winding down.

Priestess slowed down, then gasped when she caught sight of herself puffed round and short. Her laughter slipped free, bubbling before she could stop it.

“Ren, look!” She pressed a hand to the mirror— her reflection ballooning until her head was little more than a sphere. “I’m huge!”

Goblin Slayer glanced at the glass beside her, to see his own reflection staring back at him— tall as a pillar, head too long for its shoulders. 

Beside himself, he couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle, as the blond girl tugged his sleeve— her sapphire eyes sparkling with amusement. “Silly, huh?!”

Pressing her palm against the nearest mirror, the Great Sage once again altered her voice— unfurling it through the chamber, calm, composed, yet edged with knowing.

“This hall deals in mimicry, not truth. To pass through, one must find the reflection that follows in perfect step. All others betray themselves. Watch closely, child.”

Priestess drew a breath, with her shoulders straightening. She lifted her hand, testing. The mirrors answered— some too slow, others too fast, one fluttering its fingers instead of matching her. 

Only one raised its hand at the same moment she did. 

Her lips then curved into a shy grin. “That’s the one, Ren.” She then moved forward, checking again with small gestures— turning her head, clapping softly, shifting her feet. 

Goblin Slayer followed at a measured pace— his eyes straying not to the mirrors she tested, but to faint seams hidden in certain frames. When her focus was elsewhere, he pressed his palm to one— the panel giving way with the faintest creak.

Inside, there were pristine white gloves, a torn pouch heavy with coin, and a golden tip of what was once a spear. Relics tucked carefully out of sight, as though catalogued. He then slid just them into his pouch, closing the frame with a muted click, before catching up without a word.

Priestess spun lightly through a hall where the mirrors multiplied her a dozen times over— each copy bowing or curtsying in return. She smiled, cheeks pink as she mirrored them back. “It feels like one of those weird fever dreams I used to get,” she said— her voice hushed as if afraid of breaking it.

Goblin Slayer watched her for a moment, then let his gaze shift past her reflection. “Try not to get too distracted, Juliet.”

She turned toward him to playfully stick her tongue out at him, then went back to testing the next row of mirrors, undeterred.

He let her lead, while thinking silently to the Great Sage. ‘How many people died here, Cielle?’

There was a pause, heavy enough he almost thought she would let the question pass. Then, reluctant, words came.

“… The number of challengers stretches far beyond memory. Hundreds. Perhaps thousands. Time erodes exact tallies, as within these sorts of liminal spaces, I cannot search its archives, like I can do with worlds such as yours. Most of the bodies lie where the water holds them still— around the park to appease Juliet’s innocent eyes.”

He stopped in place, eyes narrowing faintly. ‘… Thousands? Where are they?’

“Hidden— in the water that surrounds this park,” she said at last— the weight in her voice betraying what pride could not mask. “That is why I’m ensuring that we stay away from the shore— I may only give them that peace.”

“Ren!” Priestess’s call echoed from ahead. She stood in front of a mirror that rippled like water, a cyan glow spilling from its frame. “This one— it moved when I did. Look!”

Goblin Slayer soon joined her— studying the shimmer a long moment before giving a short nod. “… This must be the way out.”

Her face brightened at the praise, and she clapped her hands together, pleased. “I’m actually starting to think I might be smart after all— that the puppet wasn’t just saying that to make me feel good about myself!”

Without hesitation she reached for his hand. He let her take it, the warmth of her grip small but insistent. Together they stepped through the glowing archway— leaving behind a hall of fractured reflections and fading music.

The air shifted the moment they stepped through, as they emerged onto a street too wide to be real— its polished stones gleaming like glass under the same night sky as before. 

Floats lined the avenue in patient rows— dragons with painted scales, castles capped in pastel towers, great animals carved of lacquered wood. Lanterns hung overhead in slow suspension, their glow soft but waiting, as though someone had paused the celebration mid-breath.

Priestess’s eyes widened, her steps quickening. “This reminds me of the Yule festival that they have at Caladorn every winter… I’ve always wanted to go to one!”

Her voice echoed faintly in the emptiness. No laughter, no crowd, no music— just the stillness of paper streamers frozen in the air.

Then the silence cracked.

A crackle ran through the air, tinny and playful. From somewhere above, speakers hidden among the lanterns hissed to life. The Great Sage’s voice spilled out— her song-song ringmaster impression erupting out of the speakers.

“Laaaaaadies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Step right up, step right in! You’ve stumbled upon the grand parade of wonders, but ah, what’s this? The lights are out, the party’s asleep! Tsk, tsk. We can’t have that, can we?”

Priestess startled, glancing up. “She’s back!”

The voice laughed through the crackle, warm yet theatrical— rising and falling like a practiced showman.

“Four lanterns hold the key— red, yellow, blue, green! Light ‘em up in the proper tune, and the whole street will spring to life. Don’t keep the audience waiting!”

Priestess bit her lip, then smiled despite herself. “A another puzzle! We can do this!” She exclaimed with determination, before jogging to the nearest post, where a great red lantern sat like a fruit waiting to ripen. 

Stretching on her toes, she pressed her palm against it. With a flare, the lantern bloomed into a crimson glow.

The speakers popped again.

“Yeees, there we go! That’s one spark, keep the fire burning!”

Priestess glanced back at Goblin Slayer with shining eyes. “It worked!”

He nodded slightly, hands in his pockets. “… We still got three left, Juliet.

She puffed her cheeks at his tone but hurried onward, touching the yellow, then the blue. Each flared in turn, painting her face in shifting hues. At the green, she had to jump twice before smacking it with both hands. The lantern shivered, then burst into light.

The speakers roared with mock applause, whistles, and cheers. “Oh-ho! Look at that! A star is born! The stage is set, the crowd is roaring— let the show begin!”

The ground trembled.

One by one, the floats shuddered to life, rolling forward with a groan of hidden gears. Music blared from unseen horns— trumpets sharp, drums booming, a marching tune that filled the avenue. Confetti rained down, fluttering golden and pink in the lantern light.

Priestess hopped excitedly up-and-down— her cheeks flushed, as she pointed outward with an overzealous finger. “Ren, look! Something’s happening!”

She then skipped to the side, waving as though the sidewalks were packed with spectators, while hair caught the falling confetti like threads of gold.

Goblin Slayer followed at a slower pace— his eyes tracing each float as it passed. A dragon, its scales painted with careful care, rolled by with its jaw slack. He brushed his hand along its side, and beneath a decorative panel found a pouch wedged into the seam. He pocketed it smoothly, saying nothing, as he continued to watch the show with the blond girl.

A castle creaked past, towers swaying. From a door cracked at its base, something pale protruded. Without hesitation, he pressed it closed, his expression unreadable.

Ahead, Priestess spun in place, her laughter spilling freely. “This is better than the one we would have gotten in Caladorn— we have this whole parade to ourselves!”

“… You’re really enjoying yourself, huh Juliet?”Ren murmured, stepping into place beside her.

She peeked at him shyly, then nodded— her voice soft but certain. “Yes. I… I really am… Ren, I… I don’t think you know just how… How much this all means to me— this is all like a dream come true!”

And as the floats rolled on, the music swelled higher, until at last the avenue opened wide and the final float arrived. 

A lion, towering and resplendent in gold, its mane painted with lacquer that caught the lantern light. As it came to a halt, its jaw split open with a heavy groan, and from within slid a chest— glowing faintly with harmless treasure-light.

Priestess gasped, darting forward. She gathered it into her arms— stumbling under its weight, but laughing all the same. “Another prize! I’m getting good at finding them like you, Ren!”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on the floats as they circled endlessly— their painted eyes shining blank in the twilight. But when he looked back at her— hugging the chest as though it were something earned, not staged— his lips softened into the faintest smile.

“… Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes you are.”

The speakers crackled again. The Great Sage’s voice returned, lower now, like a magician bowing at the end of a show.

“And so, our heroes claim their reward! But the night is long, and the wonders are many. Step through the lion’s gate, and onward to the next marvel!”

Between the lion’s paws, a cyan archway shimmered into being. Priestess held the chest tight, before placing it on the street. Inside, she dumped as much gold coins as she could into her satchel— careful not to squish any precious cargo. Once satisfied, she let him get the rest of the coins, before reaching for his sleeve, and tugging gently. “Come on, we’re almost done!”

Her laughter rang as they stepped through together— his steady silence beside her. 

Behind them, the parade slowed— the music faltering note by note, until the floats rolled to a stop and the lanterns dimmed— waiting for someone else to bring them to life again.

The cyan portal pulsed like a beating heart, light swirling in concentric rings until at last it widened into an open doorway. 

Priestess’s blond hair swung, as she leaned forward on her toes— her sapphire eyes sparkling.

Beyond the gate stretched a chamber similar to the Grand Puppet Theatre. The air was cool, tinged faintly with something dry and metallic—like parchment stored too long underground. 

Before them, a wide walkway stretched straight ahead, guarded on either side by a rail. The path led into an amphitheater so vast the ceiling melted into shadow.

Priestess tilted her chin up, and her breath caught.

A great silver screen filled the far wall, towering and smooth, and gleaming faintly in the pale blue light. It was bigger than any tapestry she had ever read about, and its emptiness seemed to hum with promise.

Her leather soles tapped against the walkway as she and the ashen-haired teen moved forward— their footsteps muffled in the hushed chamber.

To their right and left, rows upon rows of cushioned seats climbed upward in a slant, each one aligned in perfect order, and all facing the giant screen. The higher the row, the darker the seats appeared— shadows swallowing their edges.

Priestess turned, pointing. “Look… Those middle ones— right there. Don’t they look like the best?”

Goblin Slayer then followed her gaze silently— his crimson eyes scanning the slope of the chamber.

At the very back, near the wall, something loomed— massive, box-like, a contraption of gears and lenses that glimmered faintly as if watching.

Before he could dwell, a sudden “ahem” cracked the silence.

The Great Sage stood at the walkway’s edge, her hand pressing flat against the wall. Cyan light streaked from her veins into the felt-lined walls— lines racing outward like roots. 

A second later, her voice rolled across the chamber from every corner at once— echoing through hidden mouths in the walls.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Kiddos o’ all ages! Step right up, step right in, and lend your ears to me!”

Priestess startled, then giggled— cupping her hands to her mouth, at the familiarity of the theatrical voice around them.

“Ya did it, kiddo! Ya cracked the tricks, ya solved the riddles, ya out-witted ol’ Luminous Lament herself! Six rooms o’ wonder, whimsy, and a little danger too— an’ look at ya! Still standin’, still smilin’, sharp as a tack!”

Priestess’s cheeks flushed pink as she nodded. “I did! It was… It was a dream come true— all of this is!”

“That’s what I like to hear!” the Great Sage bellowed— her voice impression rolling warm and triumphant. “Marvelous! Spectacular! Now, feast your eyes— ‘cause ya made it to the grand finale. And what’s a finale without a show, eh?”

Priestess blinked, tilting her head. “A… Show?”

“Ah, lemme learn ya somethin’,” the Great Sage continued— her tone dipping into mischief. “There’s a thing— a wondrous, magic like ya never seen— called a ‘movie’. It’s a tale told on that big silver wall y’see up there. Bigger than life, bigger than theater— and the one I’ll be showing you? The actors, the critters, the cities, they ain’t real folk on a stage. No no no. They’re drawn! First flat pictures, what we call ‘animation’. Flip ‘em fast enough, it looks like they’re movin’!”

Priestess’s mouth fell open. “Drawings that… Move?”

“That’s right, kiddo!” the Great Sage laughed— her voice bouncing from every wall. “But it don’t stop there. Sometimes, ya make them drawings not flat but deep— three-dimensional. Ya shape ‘em like clay, make ‘em dance, breathe, laugh, cry. That’s ‘three-dee animation’. And THAT’S what you’re about to see tonight, in this very theater!”

Goblin Slayer’s brows furrowed— his gaze lingering on the enormous silver screen. ‘… I have no idea what you’re planning.’

“Good.”

Unaware of the subtle sass between him and the Great Sage, Priestess turned to him— her sapphire eyes wide. “Ren… Can you even imagine what she’s saying? Drawings that movie, but they’re not flat?!”

The ashen-haired teen shook his head once. “Wish I could say that I could, Juliet.”

The Great Sage’s chuckle rippled like carnival drums. “Ooooh, ya better believe it. ‘Cause tonight, kiddos, you’re the first souls in all the realms to set eyes on this marvel. And the show I got for ya? Why, it’s a tale called ‘Ratatouille’! It’s one of my personal favorite movies!”

“Rata… Tooey?” Priestess repeated— the word clumsy and strange on her tongue.

“Right ya are! A tale of flavors, a tale of dreams! Takes place in a far-off land called Paris— a city of lights, cobblestones, and folks with too much wine and bread for their own good. Heh!”

Priestess gasped. “… Paris?”

The Great Sage barked a laugh. “That’s right! That’s the way you say it! And now then— find yourselves a seat, middle row if ya fancy— cushioned like clouds! Get comfy, stretch your toes, and lean back. This is your grand prize— your sweet cherry on top of the sundae! A whole world’s worth of wonder, awaiting up on that silver canvas!”

Priestess clapped her hands together, before nearly skipping to the middle row she’d admired. She then plopped into one of the seats, bouncing once, then gasped as she realized the back tilted smoothly with her weight. “Oh! It moves!”

Making his way over towards her, Goblin Slayer lowered himself beside her— cautious but steady. The cushion swallowed him slightly, with the seat reclining at the faintest push. He then glanced sideways at her— bemused at her delight.

The Great Sage’s voice roared one last flourish: “Sit back, relax, let the lights dim, and enjoy the ride! Hope ya brought your snacks, ‘cause it’s gonna be a long one— heh heh heh!”

Priestess’s eyes lit up with even more eager excitement, as she tugged her satchel strap over her head before plopping the bag in her lap atop her white skirt. With nimble fingers, she unbuckled it— revealing a humble feast: two apples polished red, two small loaves wrapped in cloth, a wedge of cheese tucked neatly in wax, and a pouch of salted nuts.

“Look, Ren… !” She whispered brightly to the ashen-haired teen, before beginning to divide the treats between them. “I came prepared…!”

Goblin Slayer smiled kindly at her, as he accepted a share of bread and nuts. “Thank you, Juliet…”

The chamber then darkened, with the lanterns along the walls winking out one by one, until only the silver wall glowed faintly in the distance. 

Then, with a low hum, a beam of light burst forth from the contraption at the back— striking the screen in dazzling clarity.

Priestess gasped aloud, clutching Goblin’s sleeve with one hand, as she stared at awe at the colorful lights projecting onto the screen— leaning herself closer to his shoulder, as she watched with anticipation.

Holding the snacks on his lap, the ashen-haired stared forward, silent but intent, as the first moving shapes began to dance across the endless silver canvas— his arm slowly wrapping behind the blond girl, before gently pulling her even closer to his side.

Long after the movie had concluded, the frame of cyan light of the main gateway unraveled behind him— its glow paling as they stepped through. With Priestess in his arms, she shifted faintly at the change in air, but only to burrow closer— her cheek pressed against the linen of his white turtleneck shirt. 

A snore slipped from her throat, soft as the rustle of grass, as if she were safe enough to let her body fully surrender. Her satchel, mostly empty, hung off his shoulder— straps biting across his chest at an odd angle— while his grip around her knees and back stayed firm and steady.

The world outside greeted them with mountain chill. The smell of pine and damp rock cut sharply against the sweetness of sugar and incense that clung to his clothes— remnants of the dungeon’s false delights. 

Above them, the sky was enormous, a black canvas stitched with stars. The twin moons hung low enough to glance off the girl’s blond hair as it dangled against his forearm.

Stone steps dropped away from the mouth of the boulder. He tested the first one with his heel before shifting his weight forward— careful not to jolt the sleeping body against him. His boots scraped over grit, then met the next step; each movement measured, and precise to ensure that she did not stir.

Below, Haru lifted her head. 

The mare had been waiting still and patient, but now she let out a low breath that steamed in the night. Her black coat reflected the starlight like polished obsidian— mane rippling as she flicked her ears toward him. 

She stamped once, then bent her knees into a bow that eased the climb. Goblin Slayer muttered something under his breath— a habit, more than words— and lowered himself carefully into the saddle, with Priestess still in his arms.

The leather of the saddle creaked, as she curled instinctively tighter to him— her small hands gathering the fabric at his chest, as though some part of her knew even in sleep that they were moving again. 

The ashen-haired teen shifted her onto his lap without breaking his grip, with one hand steady on her back, and the other sliding down to gather Haru’s reins. The satchel knocked lightly against the filled leather pouch on his hip— a reminder of her childlike preparation.

Behind him, silence swelled where the door had been.

The Great Sage lingered at the threshold of the Luminous Lament— hovering outside of the door, as if caught between two times— the one she had once commanded, and the one that stretched before her now. 

Her form glowed with veins of cyan— their steady pulse softer than before, and no longer burning hot, but cool and sure— like embers kept alive in winter. Her cyan gaze stayed fixed on the last shimmer of the dungeon’s entrance.

She slowly lifted her hand. The air around her palm bent with the glow as filaments stretched out, not wild and invasive, but calm— like strands of river-light winding back to their source.

She then released them toward the frame. 

The portal stuttered, with its edges flickering, before the stone itself began to crumble. Dust shed from it in sheets— breaking apart faster than wind could scatter, as though time itself had caught up at last. 

The carved frame folded inward, with the glowing threads thinning, until there was only bare rock and the mountain night.

The Great Sage’s shoulders slowly rose in a faint breath, and the sound almost resembled relief. “… Sayonara.”

She turned from the fading ruin— her eyes following the path ahead, where Goblin Slayer had already guided Haru a few paces down the slope. 

The ashen-haired teen didn’t rush her; he instead kept his pace steady, and his profile turned just enough for one crimson eye to watch her over his shoulder. 

His mouth curved, not quite a smile, but close enough to one for her to recognize it as an invitation.

She laughed quietly— an unfamiliar sound, even to herself— and drifted forward, letting her form trail cyan motes. They scattered in slow arcs, weaving into a faint ribbon above the mountain path— just bright enough to paint the stones and show the way forward. 

Haru followed Goblin Slayer’s direction without hesitation— her hooves clicking against stone, and her reins loose in his hand.

Priestess stayed asleep— her head nestled under his chin, and her breath steady against him. Her long flowing hair caught the light of the moons with each sway of the mare’s stride. 

His arm stayed locked beneath her, steady as iron, yet his grip softened each time she shifted— an instinct he never had to think about.

The mountain fell away below them, as they began riding through the expansive meadows once more— heading back to Merryweather, with his intention to slip her back into bed without anyone noticing. 

Overhead, the stars reached endlessly, scattered like silver dust. The twin moons drifted higher, casting the world in a muted glow. Together, they moved beneath that sky— one leading, one carrying, one guiding— all three leaving behind the illusions of Luminous Lament.

Author’s Note: Hands down, one of my favorite chapters I’ve written. Just overall sweet, and easy to read— a nice break for them, and good slice of life moments with Priestess getting a far better first dungeon experience than in canon, and with the Great Sage able to face her past, make the most of her regrets, and able to let loose herself— showing that she’s not just constantly stoic and abut sassy and horny, but very expressive and capable of showing it. It was also very cathartic, I think, that she’s able to let go of one of her mistakes weighing her down— many of those rooms reflecting her own past, with the final one just being her wanting to share her own interests with them.

Anyway, final chapter before Vegas, and I got to conclude the Merryweather arc too!