Chapter Text

Adventurers. Almost all are common-born, simple folk from humble, boring families. They hear tales from their relatives or the few that live around them of adventuring, the guild, the heroes and legends, the gold, the glory. They see a door to a better way of life - They come of age and march off, poorly shod and poorly clad, ofttimes with no better arms than a sickle or a sharpened hoe, or a maul they made themselves by lashing a stone to a stick with strips of hide. Brothers march with brothers, sons with fathers, friends with friends. They've heard the songs and stories, so they go off with eager hearts, dreaming of the wonders they will see, of the wealth and glory they will win. Adventure seems a fine life, the greatest most of them will ever know.

Then they get a taste of battle.

For some, that one taste is enough to break them. Others go on for years, until they lose count of all the battles they have fought in, but even a man who has survived a hundred fights can break in his hundred-and-first. Brothers watch their brothers die, fathers lose their sons, friends see their friends trying to hold their entrails in after they've been gutted by an axe.

They take a wound, and when that's still half-healed they take another. There is never enough to eat, their shoes fall to pieces from the walking, their clothes are torn and rotting.

They don't know where they are or how to get back home and the one they're fighting for does not know their names, yet the orders come, calling for adventurers to plum the depths, to form lines with their swords and spears and sharpened hoes... And the fiends come on them, their stomping feet and terrible roars overwhelming all other sensation.

And the adventurer breaks.

They turn and run, or crawl off afterward over the corpses of the slain, or steal away in the black of night, then find someplace to hide. All thought of home is gone by then, and kings and lords and gods mean less to them than a haunch of meat that will let them live another day, or a skin of wine that might drown their fear for a few hours. The broken one lives from day to day, from meal to meal, more beast than human.

Goblin Slayer walked blearily through the streets, strangely cognizant of the sound of his armor clinking as he moved. He headed for the Guild. It was time to get things back on track, he'd wasted enough precious time lost in his indulgent mourning. As per usual, more gawking eyes when he came through the door, but that was nothing new. They plastered awkward smiles across their faces, a warrior in heavy armor gently rested his hand on Goblin Slayer's shoulder. He stepped past the crowds towards the desk and Guild Girl greeted him with a beaming grin, trying to radiate some positivity. "Slayer-san! How're you holding up? Anything I can get for you?"

He paused. "It's time for me to get back to work. I need a Goblin Quest." Guild Girl's smile changed into something a little more familiar, a comforting embrace of tradition and normality. "Alright, but before you do, can I talk to you about something..?" Goblin Slayer considered just walking away with the paper, resentful of the thought of more impudence into his mission. But she was a friend, and he needed to consider things other than killing Goblins. At least, that's what people kept telling him. So he relented and nodded. "There's a session that gathers members of the guild every week here in the Guild, in one of the offices. For, ah, adventurers who have... Lost something or been deeply hurt by what they've gone through. You should consider attending! I'll be there, mediating! I think it might be good for you, to talk about what happened."

Goblin Slayer breathed deep and slow through his nose, crumpling the paper of the contract in his hand as he stomped off, frustrated by the binds of attachment constricting him. "I will consider it." He tried to not let his anger show. Another feeling was brewing in him. He gazed across the sea of faces in the hall, chatting, drinking, preparing for work or coming back from it. Old faces, young faces, bright shining eyes. Plenty of those eyes would be closed before long. Eyes that didn't deserve to be closed. Much like Priestess.

Goblin Slayer walked hard, facing straight ahead. By the time he had been out of town and on the road for a few minutes, he realized he hadn't even checked the details of his mission. He inspected his paper, another cave. About fifteen goblins, give or take. Unknown leader, likely a wanderer or Hob, no visible totems. Along the way was the farm, but he didn't feel like making a stop, even though he was low on gear. More stiff, forced hospitality from his old friend trying desperately to get him to admit some breakage in his functionality didn't appeal at that moment. He'd make do with what he had. He got a ride from a passing caravan and walked the rest of the way, through the woods. He kept some notes of any tracks or traps around, but he wasn't catching anything at a cursory glance.

Didn't take that long to get to the mouth of the cave. Goblin Slayer picked a good position where he'd be visually obscure but had a good view of the entrance. He sat himself down and considered his gear. A hatchet, torches, some knives, a short dagger-like sword, some miniature, impact-sensitive explosives, a couple potions, bandages, trump card in case of emergency, etcetera etcetera. He'd put it all to... Use. He felt his heart throbbing, unnaturally. The heat rose in his flesh again and he began to sweat inside his armor. Adrenaline made him shaky and uncertain, his heart pumped. He couldn't take it. Fuck the plan. He didn't care if he lived or died.

He sauntered up heavily to the entrance, one-handed axe in his grip. The Guard immediately scurried away off into the darkness, but Goblin Slayer gave pursuit. He'd never do something so foolhardy ordinarily, but the idea of being led into a less defensible area with more risk for attacks wasn't on his mind. It was killing the Goblins. All of them. He caught the ankle of the chubby little bastard fleeing and yanked them back, making them land hard on their front. He started dragging them out, watching them claw and screech, trying to get enough grip to prevent his fate, something, anything to stop him being brought back out into the light. But to no avail.

Goblin Slayer lifted him and let him hang upside down, limply. The thing began to sob and make general notions of begging at Goblin Slayer, who regarded it with a hateful eye. If helmets could make faces, the sneer of seething hatred would be palpable. Goblin Slayer pulled his arm back and then threw it towards the rockwall. THWACK. Flesh impacted stone and a protruding nose collapsed in on itself. Bleed vessels burst, bones cracked, flesh bruised. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. A big red smear in the form of a Goblin was beginning to form on the stones. It looked a little like the crude art Goblins themselves might concoct.

He tossed the limp, barely-breathing thing on the ground and stomped on it's head, which gave like a rotten apple. Funtime was over, he'd already been advanced upon. A rock collided with the back of his head and he turned to see a Goblin perched in a tree. How very hopeful of them. He had throwing knives, but he figured two could play at that game. He lifted a heavier, more jagged rock and drew his arm back. He waited for the fiend to panic and scramble, measured their path... Then threw. It connected in a spray of blood and viscera. Their brain was exposed, and he had no doubt they'd die soon. Still, he'd make sure later.

Turning around, about three Goblins were charging at him with machete-styled blades in hand. He backed off, waiting for one to make it's move, but they were practically in unison. He went for his axe and buried it in the skull of the first to approach, but the others circled around him. One sliced at the back of his knee, making it buckle and forcing him to kneel. As he spun to counter, the other went for his front and leapt up, holding the machete above it's head in two hands, trying to bring it down hard and stake it straight through Goblin Slayer's chest. He let it's legs connect and wrap around his torso, falling backwards. It threw the Goblin off for a second, long enough for him to swipe the weapon away with a slap of his forearm, sending it clattering. He went to punch it off, but found his arm suddenly grabbed and pulled back by the one who had gotten his leg. It sunk it's teeth into the plate metal that covered him, punching some holes through it, but it wouldn't affect anything. His off-arm wrapped around the throat of the Goblin sitting on his chest and squeezed while he pushed himself back up to his feet, carrying the Goblin who'd bitten him with him by it's jaw. He applied more pressure with his wrist until he felt the bones give in the Goblin's neck and the creature go limp. Then he threw the other to the ground, pinning it down with his boot. He worked his fingers beneath the chin, digging them in under the jaw, then pulled.

With a vicious, wet RIP, the head separated from the body. That was... 4. No, 5. More didn't seem to be willing to make their way out, so he was going in. He didn't see any side-tunnels in the narrow passage. Oh, here's some more Goblins. They were all coming at once! That was handy, if a bit intimidating. He reached into his satchel and grabbed himself some of the aforementioned little grenades, tossing them with abandon into the rushing hoard. They exploded in small pressurized bursts, but the fragmented shell being thrown around and the powerful releases of energy were enough to take out a few of them and blind or deafen a few more. Their united front was weakened and Goblin Slayer prepared to pick them off.

He felt a rope slip around his neck. "Oh, no-" He was suddenly being choked from above, a weak force dragging him, cutting off his airflow. He tried to glance up. They must have built some sort of tunnel ABOVE him and perched there in an entrance, waiting for the perfect moment. No matter. He was much stronger than them. He just had to cut whatever was holding him with- No, his arms were being dragged, too. They were piling on him, mauling him, getting in a stab or two here and there. He could feel his strength fading. The Hobgoblin was approaching with a massive hacksaw held in both hands, no doubt to cap it off with a grisly ending.

Goblin Slayer began to realize as his lungs burned and vision tunneled that he did, in fact, care if he lived or died.

He elected to err on the side of life.

He couldn't use his arms or legs, but he could still work his body. He just had to wriggle back until the rope was catching his armor instead of his neck. He pulled back and let it catch the chin of his faceplate. Oxygen was able to flood into his lungs again. He didn't have much time. He let gravity grab a firm hold of the helm and pull it off, releasing the main source of support holding up Goblin Slayer. He fell backwards into the pile. He hoped he crushed at least one of them to death. He scrambled furiously to try and keep them from piling on him, little hands and limbs clawing at his body, trying to keep him down. Kicks and punches flew and he managed to crawl out long enough to get himself an opening. They'd stripped him of almost everything in those moments, but he still had his axe. Slash, hack, chop. A few more down. He was mostly interested in the Hob. They decided mutually to ignore the little ones.

The Hobgoblin's weapon of choice was more a tool of torture than a weapon. It's grip was awkward, prevented easy movement and could only really attack in a downward direction efficiently. Goblin Slayer let him approach and hoist it in the air. He ran a few steps and then slid along the muddy ground, right between the Hobgoblin's legs. As he came out the other end, he swung his hatchet and let it connect directly with the ankle-tendon of the Hobgoblin, who folded and cried out in pain. It gave Goblin Slayer a moment to take out a couple more of the bastards. Some of them were beginning to flee. He'd deal with them. The Hobgoblin turned, face twisted in rage, and began to charge. It struggled to put weight on it's severed foot, but it's adrenaline would permit it to fight through the pain and disability. It was rushing towards him like a bull with furious speed.

Goblin Slayer casually stepped aside and let him tumble uselessly to the ground. He reached for a potion of healing that had been scattered in the scuffle, popping it off and pouring it straight through his faceplate. That would help with his punctures, but he'd need to find an antidote in case he'd been poisoned. All in time. He approached the Hob trying to push itself up and swung his axe once more, this time through the elbow of it's right arm, which it seemed to be favouring. He considered choking it for some irony, but those Goblins could have scurried off a long way by now. It'd be a long day. He grabbed the head of matted hair on the Hobgoblin's skull and pulled it back. He grabbed for a dull, rusty knife caked in dirt and faeces off the ground, bringing it to the Hobgoblin's throat...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door slammed open with a startling whack. The people in the office, all sitting around in a circle in little chairs, slumped over, swivelled to look. A few gasps rang out as Goblin Slayer stepped in. His armor was filled with holes, he stumbled like a drunk. He was covered head to toe in dried blood. No, some blood was still dripping on him. A steel-rank warrior Goblin Slayer vaguely recognized approached him. "You look like hammered shit! Do you need healing?!"

Goblin Slayer shook his head and motioned at the group of people all sitting around in a circle, staring straight at him. He grabbed for a chair and inserted himself amongst everyone. Guild Girl was at the end with a view of everyone, awkwardly clearing her throat, tapping on a journal with a pen. "Well, um, Goblin Slayer, welcome to the Adventure Support Group... We were just about to wrap up, actually, but, uh, I suppose we can take a few moments to speak with you... Everyone, you all know Goblin Slayer!" She said, to a chorus of mumbled acknowledgement and nodding heads. "I didn't realize this was going to be about me."

"Oh, well, it's not, really! It's for all of us, it's about what we've gone through in Adventuring, and how we go on afterwards. For example, our Barbarian friend here was just talking about how he wasn't feeling like he could fight anymore after he saw his brother dying." Goblin Slayer glanced over. "Why not? You're still alive. You look like you can fight just fine to me." Guild Girl pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "It's not about that, Slayer. It's about the toll adventuring can take. On your mind, on your soul. Let's... Would you be okay if we talked about your adventuring companion? She passed, very recently. Would you be willing to speak about her?"

"I see no reason why I wouldn't."

"Tell me, Mr. Slayer, how do you feel about her passing? What emotions have you felt?"

"It has left me in a... Malaise. She was a reliable and trustworthy adventurer. And she was... A good person."

"But how do you FEEL? Are you sad? Angry?"

"I am... Both. I would suppose that at this moment I am more in anger than sadness."

"Alright, let's start there." Guild Girl pointed her pen in his direction and nodded. "Why are you angry, Goblin Slayer?"

"Because my friend was killed by Goblins. I hate Goblins. I wish that she had not passed." He thought that would be sufficient, but expectant eyes were still lingering on him. "Go on. Would you be less angry if she had died some other way?"

"Yes. If she had been killed by something else, there might have been reason for it. There is no meaning in a defeat to Goblins. She was taken away in just a moment because I failed to pay attention."

Guild Girl perked up a little bit. "You feel as though you could have prevented her death, and it makes you frustrated?"

"Yes." "That's very common! That's very common in cases where there are survivors and dead. They call it Survivor's Guilt. It's the feeling of foisting responsibility for one's death on oneself, even when it's irrational. We can take some time to work through it later, but- As much as I'd like to go on, we're past our time limit here."

"...I see." On cue, everyone rose from their seats and started wandering off into the evening, talking quietly amongst themselves. This seemed like a very solemn ritual. Goblin Slayer wasn't sure he understood it. He made his way towards the door when he was stopped by a a hand gripping his forearm. It had a tough, firm grip, and Goblin Slayer almost went into defensive mode for a second, flinching as he turned.

A short girl in clothes from the abbey was staring at him, insistently. She had dull, cold eyes. Eyes that had seen too much. Another broken one. Goblin Slayer wondered if he didn't recognize her. Maybe another one he'd rescued. Or, rather, failed to rescue. She certainly looked like another victim of the goblins.

"We need to talk."