There was a scuffle—he might be dealing with a goblin, but he was doing it atop a shaking cart—but he twisted the hilt, gaining a critical hit. The goblin drowned in his own blood, unable even to scream, reduced to a bit of repetitive twitching. There were a few scant breaths of life left in the body; Goblin Slayer leaned into it to snuff them out.

“GGOORGB?!”

“GGBG! GGOOROGB!!”

Beneath the shield, unaware of the death of their leader, the goblins gibbered and jabbered. But what did he care?

“Hrrgh…” Goblin Slayer gave the shield a kick to shut them up, then took tight hold of the side of the cart. Only he, riding atop the chariot and thus with an unobstructed view, fully understood what was about to happen.

The war cart found ample purchase on the foyer’s marble, charging ahead—until it didn’t.

It was a wall.

Goblin Slayer felt a shock run through his body comparable only to a blow from the hammer swing of some massive creature. He found himself bent almost in half, then straightened back out again with a shock. His arms, clinging to the chariot, groaned; and he could feel something hard hit the goblin corpse he bore on his back.

“GGORBBG?!”

“GBBG! GOORGBB?!”

The goblins, having finally realized something was amiss beyond their blinders, started to shout, but it was too late. The next thing they felt after the impact was the sense that they were floating, at least for an instant. There was a cool kiss of night breeze.

The impact had torn the catapult clean off the war cart, the rest of which had punched through the wall and was tumbling through space. The few seconds before it hit the ground (it wouldn’t be a very clean landing) seemed inordinately long.

“Hrg…ggh…!”

Goblin Slayer’s body shook again with the terrific impact. He had never been on a bucking horse before, but he imagined this was what it was like. If he fell, the best he could hope for was to hit the ground hard; but at worst, he might be thrown into the spikes projecting from the wheels.

Goblin Slayer simply focused on clinging to the battle wagon, keeping his breath steady.

“GBBOGB?! GOGGG?!”

“GOOROGGB!!”

The goblins pushing the cart along were in roughly the same position: unable to let go, carried along by the cart’s momentum.

Their ends would come soon, at any rate.

The cart arrived full tilt at the bottom of the hill, speeding toward the dark river. And the goblin ship attempting to make its way down it.

“GORGB?!”

“GOOOROGBB?!”

On deck, the goblins, who had been focused on defending against the hail of arrows from the mansion, cried out as they spotted the battle wagon. No doubt they were exclaiming, What the hell?! or What are those idiots doing?!—something of that nature.

An instant later, the chariot broadsided the ship, its weight and speed turning it into a giant battering ram. Goblin Slayer himself hardly knew how he managed to withstand the impact. The chariot plowed into the ship’s hull, tearing clear through to the center.

There could hardly be said to be a chariot anymore—or a ship. Just struts of timber waiting to be reduced to so much flotsam. As they went plopping into the water, they had only the vague impression that they were slamming into something white. Then their brains registered that they had been plunged into something heavy and viscous, and they began to reflexively struggle. But they could not escape. The water sprites pulled mercilessly on their legs, and as for their heads—yes, the remains of the chariot itself served as a lid over them.

“GOBOO?!?!”

“GOOGRBB?!”

The goblins pounded desperately on the cart, coughing and hacking froth and foam, but it didn’t budge. They would soon suffocate and drown. Goblin Slayer watched to be sure, then kicked off the river bottom. That’s right: Sink down deep, then kick off—and even if both your hands were bound, you could swim.

It was even easier if, on the ring finger of your left hand, you wore a Breath ring.

The spark had long vanished from it, but the magic contained within was unchanged. Even in the depths, he had no reason to fear. He pushed through the surface of the water, into the open air, droplets dribbling from his helmet.

“Ahh…”

He opened his mouth wide, sucking in air. It carried the thick humidity of early summer, an atmosphere that conducted magical energy poorly.

“GOOROGB!!”

“GOGB?! GOORGB?!”

He looked around and discovered that the goblin battle wagon had driven into what appeared to be the second of three ships. The vessel had split in two with a great crack, both halves now proceeding down to the bottom. On deck, screeching at the top of their lungs, were a few goblins who had jumped clear of the impact. But there was no help for them now.

The goblins had thought that if they rode on a chariot, or sailed in battleships, that victory would be theirs. Could they be defeated or sunk? Not I, each one was sure. Now they were fighting to get off the deck, each trying to save himself first. Even if they succeeded in jumping into the river, they would most likely be slammed by the sinking derelict, pinned down and crushed to death.

But even so… In Goblin Slayer’s mind, that changed nothing. He was just considering whether to dive down, using his ring to get deep enough to avoid the hulk, or whether to climb up its side when—

“Orcbolg, look sharp!” a clear voice called out, and soon he was saved. A bud-tipped arrow came whistling by, lodging itself in the wood boards just in front of him. He noticed the rope attached to it and grabbed on without hesitation.

“My word, you do come up with the wildest plans, Beard-cutter…!”

The other end of the rope was in the hands of Dwarf Shaman, standing with his feet planted firmly on the bank. High Elf Archer had her hands wrapped around his waist, pulling with all her strength to keep the dwarf from sliding into the river. Priestess, covered in mud, came rushing up to the two friends engaged in their tug-of-war. Following her came Lizard Priest, looking supremely satisfied as he let out a great breath.

“The impact with the ship was not part of the plan.” Did Goblin Slayer’s voice quite reach the others?

“A’right, now, Beard-cutter, hold on good and tight!”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Sorry for the trouble, but I need your help.”

“Ahh, no dwarf would stand by and watch his friend drown. He’d pull him out or go to the bottom with him!”

“It’s looking a lot more like the bottom at this rate!” High Elf Archer cried.

“I’ll help,” Priestess said, reaching out with an awkward smile. And when Lizard Priest shouted, “Allow me!” and added his strength to the pullers, it seemed there was nothing more to worry about.

“Nothing to worry about?” Goblin Slayer mumbled underneath his helmet, amazed at himself for even having the thought. He glanced back to see the goblin ship cracking apart and going under, plainly visible even in the darkness of night.

This, he suspected, represented the successful completion of the quest. The goblins would all die. If there were any survivors, they would be mopped up as they came on shore. It was over. Or, at least, it ought to have been.

For heaven’s sake: He never could feel completely confident. He probably never had, not since ten years ago—ever since that goblin hunt protecting that village in his first year. Had he, in fact, truly protected this mansion? Had he been able to clear away the suspicions surrounding Sister Grape? How long would the battle with the goblins go on?

What had he been able to accomplish? Did he even think he could accomplish anything?

He thought back over the role he had played in these events.

Then he asked himself if he had fulfilled that role.

He almost didn’t know.

All he knew was that at the other end of the rope he clung to were his comrades.

“Hrmph.” Goblin Slayer sighed for the umpteenth time, adjusting his grip on the rope. “Goblin hunting is indeed simpler.”