Disclaimer: Warhammer Fantasy and Goblin Slayer are properties of Games Workshop and Kumo Kagyu respectively. I own nothing here except for the few OCs that I have created.

Tools of the Trade - Part I

"Late again…" Wulfrik rumbled out as he stared at the open road. "Perhaps the boy had finally given up and left."

Nearly an hour had passed already and still there was no sign of the mutant. He would have thought the boy was simply doing this again just to piss him off, had it not been for his little tirade yesterday. He remembered how scared that Northman looked when he told him more about the Greenskins and their Waaagh! It was rather gratifying to see that seemingly unflappable facade of his morph into one of true shock and fear. Perhaps it was due to this that he simply decided to cut his losses and left for his homeland, wherever the hell that was.

Good riddance he thought. That mutant would only cause nothing but trouble. And yet, Wulfrik actually felt slightly disappointed in him leaving.

Not because of some misplaced feeling of attachment, but because the old Sergeant had not been able to get enough use out of him. He may have been a mutant and deserved to be purged, but Sigmar damn it, he was one bloody useful mutant, especially when it came to a fight. He would have preferred he cleaned up all the Greenskins that may still be crawling within the Stahlhart lands before he departed.

Oh well, no matter. You can't always get what you want. Still, this left him in a good mood. The red-eyed eyesores absence being one reason. The other was his rather pleasant night's sleep last night.

Truly peaceful nights of sleep was a rare thing for Wulfrik, due to all the horrors he had to bare witness to during his many years of faithful service to the Emperor and the Empire of Man. And the only thing that could properly help him attain at least a few hours of much needed shuteye was a bottle of ale or two. Or even three.

And the Sergeant had been nursing just that last night as he sat by his warm hearth, quietly staring at a small wolf carving in his hand, reminiscing of happier times, in the company of those dearest to his heart. And that was the last thing he remembered, before darkness slowly took his sight and all consciousness left his weary mind.

By the time he had finally woken up, it was already at the break of dawn. And with him feeling more refreshed and rested than he had ever been in years. An odd change but one that was most welcome. But the truly strange part was that he was no longer sitting on his chair in front of the hearth, suffering another hangover while surrounded by empty bottles, as he expected himself to be. Instead he was lying comfortably in his bed. His boots taken off and deposited on a corner. And a blanket draped over him. Truly strange indeed.

He chalked it up to him merely sleepwalking after drinking too much ale. Wouldn't be the first time.

The sound of footfalls drew his attention, and as he cast a quick glance behind his shoulder, he was treated to the sight of one Erik Wolfsangel stomping towards his direction. And wearing a rather sour look upon his face. The younger man did not say anything to him as he simply took his seat upon a nearby stack of logs and began to brood.

"You're late boy. I'm beginning to think your trying to follow that mutant's example. An ill habit to have for a soldier of the noble house of Stahlhart." Was his stern reprimand.

"Ah stow it old man!" Erik spat back. "I'm already here aren't I? No need to give me anymore of your boring lectures, especially this early in the morning"

That bit served to draw the Sergeant's gaze to the young hunter, giving him a simple quirk of the brow. Any other man who talked to Wulfrik that way would have gotten socked in the jaw. But luckily for Erik, the old Sergeant was in a bit of good mood today, so he would try to punish him a different way instead.

"Quite the bark from you lad. Tell me, what crawled up your arse and died?"

Erik cast an annoyed glance towards the Sergeant, before looking away and said. "Nothing."

A smirk made it's way to the Sergeant's face. "That look on your face says otherwise. What? Tried to get your hands on a girl again last night and she wouldn't let you slip your cock in her?"

Though he did not reply, his pointed silence and the further souring of his face was enough of an answer. And this only served to invite the old Sergeant to keep pressing on. He rarely get to be the one to annoy the younger man after all.

"I'm right, am I? Ha! Good for that lass then. But I hardly think you should be acting like some prissy little girl about it." was the sergeant's humorous remark.

Erik rolled his eyes at that and said. "I wouldn't be like this right now, if getting denied was all that happened."

"What, she dumped your arse in a sty or something?" the old Sergeant quipped.

"Or something" the roguish hunter replied testily.

"So that must be the reason why you're late. Had to wipe the mud on your face first." Wulfrik shook his head at that as he looked away. "I would call you a big disgrace, but I think you already know that."

And Erik answered the Sergeant's comment by giving him the middle finger, before he looked away and continued, visibly irate. "The real disgrace is the arschloch who's teeth I'm going to kick in for thinking he can fick with me and get away with it. As soon as I know who it is, that is.

"Meaning you don't know even know who it was who put your face in the muck?" the old Sergeant gave him a sidelong glance, bemused.

Erik let out a huff, annoyed, before he answered. "No, I don't. 'Cause I don't remember."

"You don't remember? Then you must have been really out of it. Maybe drank yourself silly last night, I take it." the Sergeant concluded, a rather plausible answer.

But Erik shook his head at that, thoroughly unconvinced. "Nope, that's not it. I got a long memory on me, and it will take more than a few steins of Bertha's signature Red Horse ale to knock me out."

"Hmm, I suppose." the older man conceded, though still rather unconvinced.

"So, any idea who is responsible for this unfortunate incident?" Wulfrik pressed on once again, a way to pass the time rather than any actual interest on Erik's little plight.

"Like I said, I don't remember."

"Must have been the girl whose skirt you were trying to lift. She wasn't really keen on it, so she knocked your arse out cold." the older man jokingly said.

"I don't ficken remember alright!" and Erik spat out, growing more annoyed. "Could have been a girl, could have been a boy. Sigmar's balls, it could have been the bloody Grand Theogonist for all I know!"

That actually brought out a laugh from the old Sergeant. And he would have tried pressing Erik for more, looking to see how far he could push the boy. But the steady beating of hooves drew the attention of both men and they looked towards the source.

"Well, well. It seems I was wrong." Wulfrik grumbled as he glared at the rider in the distance.

In the middle of the open road, the Goblin Slayer approached. Mounted upon a chestnut-colored mare, the man rode towards the village at a steady trot. Dressed in thick woolen shirt and cotton trousers of a rather fine make and with his heavy leather boots strapped to his feet. A large saddle bag and a heavy sack hung from the sides of his mount as he held the reins with one hand, with the other resting comfortable upon the hilt of his sword strapped to his waist.

Though dressed in simple commoner's garb and only lightly armed, the man still made for a rather intimidating figure. In fact, had Erik and Wulfrik not known that he was a living man, they might have mistaken him for some spectral harbinger of death, what with his unnatural crimson eyes and his deathly pale skin. But none of them would ever openly admit to this fact, of course.

Erik would not, for he had no desire to look like anyone who is less than the silvery-haired warrior before him. But Wulfrik would not due to his own stubborn pride as well as the fact that he had already faced much worse than him. And as the man drew closer, Wulfrik stepped up to him and stared him down.

"And here I thought you already ran home with your tail tucked between your legs. But I guess a mutant like you simply has more balls than brains." Was the man's rather scathing remark as he glared straight into his crimson eyes.

And then his gaze wandered over to the horse he was riding on and the rather bulking sack hanging by it's side. His grizzled visage soon turned darker as his hand hovered close to his pistol. "And what's that you got there, huh? Planning on robbing your employers blind before skipping off town? If you think it will be that simple then you are sorely mistaken!"

Erik said nothing as he watched the exchange, unconcerned. He already had a good idea as to what the man's purpose was today and why he had that horse with him. And as the Slayer calmly dismounted before standing at his full height and faced the Sergeant directly, he was soon proven right.

"I am not trying to flee, nor have I stolen anything. This horse was loaned to me by Lady Stalhart, and I shall return it to her as soon as my business inside the village is done." the silvery-haired man stated evenly.

"And what sort of business is that?" Wulfrik demanded, ever suspicious.

"To acquire the tools of my trade. For I intend to go on a rather long hunt." The man spoke coolly, a faint smile upon his lips and a coldness within his blood-red eyes. And this earned him a scoff from the old Sergeant.

"So you're actually going through with that crazy plan of yours? Gonna go hunt down some Greenskins after your job here is finished, instead of simply going back home?" This time it was Erik who finally spoke, and rather incredulously.

"I do plan on returning home, that has not changed." The Slayer corrected as he shifted his calm gaze towards the young hunter. "But before I do so, I would first render assistance to your Empire and slay the Goblins. For a reasonable price."

"Really? And how many Goblins do you plan on killing before you finally give up and leave? A few hundred? A few thousand?" Erik asked once more rather rhetorically. Just so he could see how insane this man truly was. And the Goblin Slayer did not disappoint, as his eyes flashed dangerously for a moment and said.

"All of them."

The young hunter could only shook his head at that, genuine disbelief showing upon his face. Yes, this man was very much insane. For only a madman would spend literally years of his life hunting down and killing a particular breed of monster, and one that is practically limitless in number as far everyone knew. If he decided to push on with this fruitless endeavor, then this Goblin Slayer would be stuck here for a very long time. Chances are good he might not even be able to return home, living or dead.

Not that Erik particularly cared. To each his own he supposed. And if this meant he was finally going to move out of Tanya's home and probably never come back, then all the better. Erik was already starting to grow sick and tired of seeing his pasty mug. Especially with the way Tanya keeps smiling every time she looked his way.

"Doesn't matter to me where you plan to go or what you wish to do with whats left of your miserable life." Wulfrik soon interjected with obvious disdain, glaring at the Slayer. "I'm not about to let you waltz into the village and let you do as you please."

And the Slayer actually let out a tired sigh at that as he turned his attention back towards him, and spoke rather patiently and cordially to him in return. "I shall not be of any harm to your people Sergeant, I assure you. And I have already secured Lady Stahlhart's express permission."

"Show me proof, mutant!" And the old soldier quickly fired back, unflinching.

So the Slayer did as he said and reached into his bag, pulling out a neat roll of vellum fastened by a string. He handed it over to Wulfrik who impatiently snatched it out of his hand while frowning at him. And when he all but ripped off the string and unrolled the vellum, Wulfrik's frown only deepened as he began to read the letter, written in the same elegant hand of the current Mistress of Essental and Lady of House Stahlhart.

Dear Sergeant Wulfrik,

I know you will refuse to take the Slayer at his word and would seek to bar him from entering Essental, so may this letter serve to convey my formal directive to you and leave no avenue for doubt.

Let him pass.

The Goblin Slayer has recently informed me of his desire to help rid us of our local Greenskin infestation, and at no additional charge other than the costs required for arms, armor and provisions. Thus, I hereby order you to allow the Goblin Slayer free access to any and all facilities and services in the village, including Siemens' smithy and Mauser's workshop. We must all render upon him any assistance he may require so as to aid him in his blessed work. For the good of this village, and for the glory of the Empire.

Wulfrik stopped reading for a moment and cast his stern gaze back towards the silvery-haired man. He briefly wondered what sort of honeyed lies this pale-faced mutant has whispered to Lady Tanya's ears. What guile has he used to seduce her, what sort of false promises and sweet temptations have dripped from his heathen tongue, that would cause her to place so much trust in him. To a stranger and a foreigner, and a mutant on top of it all.

Or worse, what sort of vile magics has he used to warp her mind? He was beginning to seriously consider shooting him like he originally intended and end his threat once and for all. Even if it meant dying in the attempt.

But he decided to read through the rest of Tanya's letter first before passing final judgement upon this Chaos Spawn in human form. And what he read next caused him to raise his brow in surprise, and brought a faint smile to his face.

Do not be an arse, please. I know your only trying to keep me and everyone safe and I am truly grateful for all your years of loyal service. You and father had been close friends since you were young, and my sister and I have long since come to see you as our very own uncle. Our very stubborn and prickly and rather foul mouthed uncle, but one whom we genuinely care for.

But kindly understand the Slayer is no enemy of yours, nor has he done anything to harm me and my sister. And no, contrary to what you and others may wish to believe, he has not committed any indecency to either me or Anna, nor has he manipulated us in any way.

Yes, I know that you fear he might only be deceiving us, and that it is only a matter of time before he would turn on us. Yet he has done no such thing, despite having ample opportunities to do so. And now he has volunteered to help us eradicate an enemy which has plagued our nation since it's founding. A truly daunting task to be sure, and one which I dare say is all but impossible, but there you have it.

I might be a bit biased here in saying this, but The Goblin Slayer has thus far proven himself to be more honorable and trustworthy than most Knights of the Empire. And as the daughter of a Knight and decorated Imperial Captain, I do not bestow such praise lightly.

So I would appreciate it if you would at least show our hero a bit more leniency and courtesy from now onwards. Or at the very least, try not to get into a fight with him. Anna and I do not wish to see you hurt.

Much Love,

Tanya.

P. S.

Kindly inform Erik to cease his womanizing ways towards the women of our village. Many of them have recently lost husbands and fathers to the Greenskins. It would be both highly inappropriate and deeply insulting to them, especially to their dearly departed. Give him a good talking to for me will you?

Wulfrik let out a soft, rumbling laugh as he finished reading, a pleasant warmth blossoming within his burly chest. He was a hard man, and none who knew him would ever dare call him soft, lest they suffer his fist being planted firmly upon their cheek. But if there was one thing that could make the old and grizzled Sergeant's heart melt like warm butter, were pleasant words from one whom he secretly considered to be the daughter he never had.

And in the face of her rather passionate yet wise and thoughtful missive, Wulfrik could no longer find the strength to disobey. The man still had his doubts, and would never truly be able to trust this Goblin Slayer. But his lady has spoken. And he would do what any proper soldier would do, and that is to follow orders.

He neatly folded Tanya's letter and placed it inside his back pocket before turning his eyes towards Erik.

"Go find Gunther, Jurgenn and Lukas. Tell them to drop whatever it is their doing and arm themselves. They'll be coming with us on our patrol."

"Aye aye." Was the young hunter's casual response as he got back to his feet. He then flashed the Slayer a rather arrogant smirk before he turned around and headed back into the village.

With his orders carried out, Wulfrik soon turned his full attention towards the Slayer once more. He gave the man a long and hard look, before he finally spoke.

"If it's arms and armor you need, then try talking to Karl Siemens. You can find him at his smithy on the western side of the village, near the gate. If you need guns and munitions, go talk to Mauser. His workshop is just down the main street, can't miss it. And if it's provisions you need for your journey, the Red Horse Inn is your best stop. Bertha ought to fix you something right for the road. Anything else you might need, you could probably find it if you try asking around."

And for this, the Slayer bowed his head slightly to him in respect and gratitude. "My thanks, Sergeant."

Wulfrik scowled at him for this, though it was devoid of any real heat or menace. "Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. The last thing I want is some Witch Hunter accusing us of aiding and abetting a mutant."

He stepped aside and gestured for the silvery-haired man to pass. And so the Slayer took the reins on his horse and began to lead the beast as he walked into the village. But barely a moment had past before the sergeant called out to him again.

"One last thing Slayer."

Halting in his steps, he looked over his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Are you religious?" Was the Sergeant's rather unexpected question.

"Not particularly." And the Goblin Slayer answered truthfully in turn.

A grave look soon settled upon Wulfrik's face as he stared straight into the Slayer's eyes. "Then it's high time you become one. While you are here, you better start learning how to pray to Sigmar, Ulric and Myrmidia. For you will need their help on this suicidal quest of yours."

And he meant every word of it. Regardless of his misgivings towards the red-eyed mutant, Wulfrik knew that if this Slayer were to have any hope of ultimate victory, then he would need the Gods themselves to stand by his side. For what he was attempting to do was truly the impossible. Something that not even Sigmar himself has been able to accomplish.

And so it came as a bit of a shock to him, when the Goblin Slayer turned fully to face him, calmly met his eyes, and smiled a confident smile.

"No quest ever ends in suicide where one is adequately prepared Sergeant. A veteran soldier such as you should know this best."

Then his smile soon disappeared as the man glared into his eyes, his own red orbs brimming with resolve. And with his voice now as cold as steel and just as firm, he soon added.

"And not once have I ever beseeched the Gods of my lands for their aid in battle, yet here I stand, while my enemies are now but dust in the wind. So I shall not ask help from your Gods. I have no need of them."

With those words said, the Goblin Slayer turned away and continued on, leaving a speechless Sergeant Wulfrik behind.

He could not remember the last time he had been the object of such fear, disdain and hate.

Indifference he was accustomed to. Cold disregard he knew well. Or simply healthy caution coupled with a bit of curiosity, that was most common. In the years before he took on Priestess as his Adventuring partner and unofficial apprentice, he was used to simply being ignored by those who did not know him or being brushed off by those who did. Some would have been affected by this, but not him. It suited him rather well. The destruction of his most hated foe was all that mattered at the time.

Yet in the years after he met Priestess, as well as High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest, things began to change. Cold disregard soon turned to admiration. Indifference became genuine concern, and even love. And the invisible veil of obscurity that draped over him was lifted, and his name became one of great renown. He went from just another faceless Adventurer for hire, to one of the most revered and respected heroes of the Frontier and beyond. His tale sang by bards and merrymakers in taverns and inns in nearly every kingdom. And of course, where ever he went, warm greetings and well-wishes were always given, or in some places, outright cheers and heartfelt declarations of gratitude from those whom he had saved.

He found it all rather shocking at first, but it was not unwelcome.

But here, in the Old World, things were rather different.

He passed down a street on his way to the western side of the village. And along the way a couple of men were engaged in casual conversation. Yet as he walked passed them, both of them began to sent threatening glares towards his way, looking at him as if he was nothing more than some dangerous animal that needed to be put down.

Of course, he still did the polite thing to do, taking a page from the Priestess's book by bowing his head rather respectfully to them and said. "Greetings."

And in response, one of them spat on the ground right next to his feet and said. "Keep on stepping freak!"

And so he did, not giving them one more look as he calmly walked away, even as they continued to glare daggers at his back. And if he wasn't mistaken, they probably would have preferred to sink a real one in him, maybe two. So he kept his guard up, and he only lowered it after he made fifteen more paces without getting attacked.

He made a quick turn right towards another street, already on the lower end of the west side of the village, now nearing his first destination for the day. But along this street were more people of the village, all going about their way.

A woman hanging up her linens to dry on a line up on her second floor balcony. A small group of children playing with each other on the side of the street. An aging old woman sweeping the front of her home while humming a pleasant tune, while an elderly man sat on a chair near to her side was smoking a pipe. And there were others he could see through the windows of their homes or their open doors, either breaking their fast in the company of their family or simply engaging in pleasant conversation with either friends or relatives.

All this he took notice of as he quietly went about his way. And he allowed himself a moment to feel a rightful feeling of pride and accomplishment. These were the sort of people whom he had dedicated nearly his whole life trying to protect, whom he had saved from the malicious ravages of damnable Goblins. And he did it all not for the prospect of greater riches or personal glory. Seeing them all content and safe within their homes in the company of their loved ones was enough of a reward for him.

And yet, seeing them look at him with such fear and distrust as he passed them by, was still rather disappointing.

The woman hanging her clothes idly looked down towards his way. And the moment she laid eyes on him, it was as if Death itself was staring back at her, for she hurriedly picked up her basket of laundry and went back inside her home. Shutting the door right behind her, as well as closing the curtains on her windows.

The elderly man who was smoking his pipe had also spotted him as he walked by, and it was as if he had aged a dozen more years as all color drained from his wizened face. He quickly got to his feet as fast as his frail body could manage and he took his wife's hand, ushering her back into the confines of their humble abode, all the while whispering fearfully into her ear. And he too shut the door close on his way in. His pipe lying discarded upon his porch.

And as for the children still playing on the side of the street. Still innocent to the harsh and brutal ways of the world as they are, none of them felt any fear or alarm upon seeing him. In fact, the little cherubic youths wore looks of awe and wide-eyed interest as they stared at him.

One boy in particular mustered enough courage and sought to approach him. But he barely managed a few steps forward before a firm hand latched onto his arm and pulled him back.

"Don't go anywhere near that thing, Mikhail!" A woman chastised the boy as she led him away.

"But mama, he's the one who killed them green ones, so that makes him a hero right? Lady Anna said so herself yesterday." was the young one's defence of him as the boy cast curious glances towards him over his shoulder.

"Well, Lady Anna is wrong. He is cursed is what he is! So you are not to go near him, ever! Nothing good will ever come of you hanging about such filth." She corrected her son while casting venomous looks towards the man whom she viewed as less than the ox she used to help plough her fields.

"And all of you best go back inside your homes as well!" the woman then all but shouted as she now turned her attention towards the children. "A vile mutant walks our streets in broad daylight, and neither Lady Stahlhart nor the militia is doing anything about it!"

The other children, while not entirely convinced, still did as they were told and went back to their homes. Their innocent and impressionable minds now colored by the woman's harsh and fearful remarks, and would remain so for quite some time.

All around the street, people quickly closed their doors and windows as he passed them by. Not seeing him as the one who saved their lives and the lives of their families, but as a dangerous beast who simply took the place of the ones who came before him. Not as a hero to be thanked and praised, but as an aberration in human form, to be rightly vilified and reviled. All this he took notice of as he quietly continued on his way, and he did nothing about it. Choosing instead to ignore all the fear and all the venom being cast his way.

But he could not fault these people for seeing him as a monster or something to be feared and shunned. For he understood their fears and their worries perfectly. They were not at fault. They were simply doing what they thought was best. He too would caution his own son to be wary of strangers or to avoid a person of ill repute, as any responsible parent rightly should. And in the lands as harsh and as brutal as the Old World, one must take every precaution to protect oneself, less they become food to the ones who prowl the dark.

Still, he found it rather disappointing. Being the object of such fear and hate. He was used to simply being seen as the man who killed Goblins. And not as someone who was no better than the very filth he sought to slay, as these people saw him. And a rather cold and cynical part of his mind told him none too fondly, that these people's deep mistrust and animosity towards anything unnatural or inhuman, was not an exception. It was the norm. Not just in this province, but all across the lands of the Empire of Man and beyond.

If so, then he should expect trouble later on. Lot's of trouble. Nothing he was not accustomed to already.

The acrid smell of smoke soon greeted his nose, as did the unmistakable sound of a hammer pounding upon iron. He had now reached his first destination for the day, the local blacksmith. The humble establishment he saw before him was little more than a large box made of brick and mortar, with a few grated windows and a simple tiled roof. Smoke continued to bloom out of a chimney that jutted from the side of this rather compact and sturdy building, undoubtedly connected to the smithy's forge located within.

A small and rather rustic house stood just to the side of the building, no doubt where the smith took permanent residence. Through the open window he could spot a woman stirring the contents of a pot placed upon a hot stove, all the while she idly talked to someone to her side. And through the noise coming from the smithy, he could hear a child's voice. He filed these small bits of information away for now as he placed his attention back towards the smithy.

At the front of the building was a wooden sign hanging from a pair of iron chains, with words painted in bold, black letters that read, Siemen's Ironworks. Tanya told him that if he needed his weapons and armor repaired, this was the place for him to go. She recommended it rather highly as well, saying that this mister Siemen's craft was of fine quality.

But whether or not the same quality of work and honest service also extended to one such as him, remains to be seen. Only one way to find out.

After bringing his horse to the side of the street and fastening the reins upon a nearby post, he took the heavy sack off of the beast and began to make his way into the smithy. The moment he turned the knob and pushed the front door open, a small wave of heat immediately buffeted him and the smell of smoke within the air became stronger, tinged with the distinct flavor of iron.

The space inside was rather cramped, as many racks and shelves stood on the sides bearing a wide assortment of tools. From simple farming and carpentry equipment and even various kitchenware, to obvious weapons of war ready for use by the local militia. A few wooden barrels stood together on a corner, some of which were filled to the brim with what seemed to be charcoal, while others were full of some type of ores. Several lengths of chains of various sizes, wrought from iron, hung from the ceiling through simple hooks, as well as a few lines with small hooks where dozens of horseshoes hung from. A workbench stood a bit further inside, with a wide range of craftsman's tools strewn rather haphazardly upon it's soot stained surface.

And just a couple feet away from it stood the owner, working the bellows as he pumped more air into a blazing hot forge, seemingly undisturbed by the intense heat radiating from it as he waited for the ores to melt down and all the impurities to burn away. The fires reflecting off of the pair of thick, tinted bifocals he wore upon his stony face.

He closed the door behind him and walked towards the blacksmith, gently brushing off some of the chains hanging in front of him. And as he approached the smith, without turning to face him the man spoke. And none too kindly.

"We're closed for the day. Go and have your scheiss done somewhere else."

He could not help but frown at that, disappointed. And annoyed. Yes, it seems he would be facing a lot of trouble later on, and this man was one of them. But nothing would stop him in his quest. Not even the Gods could force him to surrender, least of all some unfriendly Blacksmith.

Stopping in front of the workbench, he placed his heavy sack upon the floor and addressed the smith. "Are you Master Siemens?"

"Aye, and what of it?" Came another gruff response from the man, his voice rather gravelly and deep. A proper smoker's voice, or at least one who regularly inhales lot's of smoke due to his workplace.

"I am Goblin Slayer. And I am in need of your services, good smith." Proper and polite yet straightforward. And that brought out a derisive snort from the rather prickly smith as he began to feed more charcoal into the forge.

The man before him was about a head shorter than he was and was already upon his middle years, possessing a balding pate and a few strands of gray among his hair, cut short and neat. He was topless with only his thick padded apron hanging rather loosely upon his lean and wiry form, a thin sheen of sweat covering his soot stained and weather-beaten skin.

With his back still turned to him, he replied. "I know who you are already, Northman. And as I said, the smithy is closed. I won't be doing any business at the moment."

"Yet your door is unlocked, and your forge is burning hot." He coolly pointed out. "I believe you can do some business at the moment."

"Not to your kind, I wont." And the blacksmith bit back.

"My kind?" He asked, feigning simple curiosity. Even as that little remark caused his temper to spike, though he managed to keep it down.

"Yes, your kind." The smith repeated with more emphasis as he finally turned to face him. Looking straight into his eyes, and making no effort to hide his disdain for him as his face made a rather unpleasant frown. "I refuse to raise my hammer in service of some Chaos-tainted, Northman scum."

It was fortunate enough that he was no stranger to unpleasant personalities who had a habit of throwing insults and profanity. His former Master made doubly sure of that. So he was unfazed by the Blacksmith's obvious hostility. And thanks to Lady Tanya, he came prepared for this exchange.

"I am not corrupted by the Dark Powers nor am I one of the barbarians who raid your lands." He said with a firm voice and an equally firm shake of his head.

And then he reached for his pocket and pulled out a fat pouch full of coins, and he held it in front of the blacksmith. "Though I am perfectly able, and willing, to compensate you for your work."

And to emphasize his point, he gave the coin pouch a bit of a shake, causing the coins inside to rattle together. Like a big juicy bone being held in front of a hungry dog, the smith's attention immediately fell upon the hefty coin pouch. And though he tried his best to hide it, his keen and perceptive eyes could still see the man's greed plastered upon his face.

He had to stop himself from smiling, smug as a cat who ate his master's pet bird. Nothing loosens a tight fist like the clinking of a few gold coins. And even the bitterest of prejudices can be sweetened by the promise of future of riches. Except for when Goblins were concerned. Not even all the gold in the world could make him spare their unworthy kind.

"I-I won't touch your damned, Chaos-tainted gold. I might sprout an extra pair of hands if I do." The blacksmith sputtered out, an angry look upon his face. But his earlier resolve had already waned as the temptation proved quite strong. A bit more prodding, and it would finally break.

"This gold was given to me by Lady Stahlhart. And I have good reason to believe the young Lady's personal wealth to be free of corruption. So you are not at risk of growing any extra appendages." Was his rather dry and somewhat sarcastic response.

And to crush any further resistance on the Blacksmith's part, he decided to throw in one more piece of temptation to better entice the man's greed. "And should you agree to help me, I shall return to you for all of my future armaments and repairs. And since I shall be slaying quite a few Goblins later on, expect plenty more coin to go your way."

Another long moment of deliberation passed on the blacksmith's part, visibly torn between denying what he believed as the machinations of an evil abomination, and accepting the opportunity for greater fortunes, one he knew that the smith very much needed. Supporting ones self and his family was not cheap after all. In the end, he finally relented, as he knew he would.

"Oh fine! Can't turn away a customer, even if it's a bloody damned mutant. I hope the Heldenhammer won't strike me down for this heresy." The man groaned out, not exactly happy with the current turn of events.

"I'm sure he would understand." He remarked, earning a scoff from the blacksmith.

"So what is it you need me to fix?" The man demanded, now more professional and businesslike as he began to quickly clear all the tools scattered on top of his table and set them all on the side.

"Only these."

And so he began to pull out all of his damaged equipment from his burlap sack and laid them all on top of the smiths table, arranging them in an orderly fashion.

Switching the lenses on his bifocals from the dark tinted glasses to the slightly larger and much clearer magnifying ones, the blacksmith began to examine his weapons and armor under his scrutinizing gaze. And he could almost see the gears turning quickly within his head as the smith began making his assessments and estimations.

"Hmm…" The man sighed, a rather sour look upon his face. He finally took off his bifocals and gently folded them before sticking them back into the tight confines of his trouser's pocket.

"Your thoughts?" He addressed the man once more.

"You wish to hear the short of it, or all of it?" The smith responded in his usual gruffness.

"Tell me all."

The man harrumphed before he folded his arms in front of his chest and began. "Aye, I can fix your equipment for you. Nothing that I haven't done before. But what I don't like is all the work that I have to put into fixing your scheiss. And scheiss it is, for you've given me armor made of cheap steel and really old leather that looked like it's been used by an Orc Big 'Un as a punching bag! And look at that big, ugly gash on the front of the cuirass! You could fit your whole arm through there better than you would through a Slaaneshi temptress's tainted cunt!"

"I see." He simply nodded to him in understanding.

Yes, this man certainly did not mince words, and could probably match Sergeant Wulfrik in a battle of profanities. Still, he could definitely appreciate his honesty and good professional input. In some ways, he reminded him of the old Blacksmith whom he used to go to for armaments and repairs back in the day, may the Gods bless his soul. And he was glad to know that while the damage sustained by his armor was rather extensive, it could still be salvaged. But what was this Slaaneshi temptress he was referring to? A new mutated species of Goblin perhaps?

"At least your weapons are less of a pain in the arse to work with." The blacksmith continued his rather colorful yet informative tirade. "All of them cheap scheiss as well, except for those strange looking blades of yours. They look quite fancy, and a bit expensive. Never seen anything of the like."

"They are a type of dagger, brought by traders hailing from lands far to the east." He explained.

"They look like something that a pansy-arsed Reiklander lordling would use to impress his foppish peers." The smith retorted.

"I know not of your nobility's habits, though I mostly use these blades to slay Goblins." He answered back, before a small smile made it's way to his lips as he added rather coolly. "Or dismember troublesome Dark Elf Sorcerers from afar."

That simply elicited another snort from the smith as he gave him a rather doubtful look. "If you say so. At any rate, I'll make sure these fancy-looking beard-cutters of yours are ready to slice through imaginary knife-eared pricks once again. Same with your sword and throwing knives."

"Gratitude, Master Blacksmith." He bowed his head respectfully towards the man.

"Bah!" And he simply waved it off. "I don't need your gratitude, only coin."

"And you shall have it." He said to the Blacksmith, a small smile upon his face as made to reach for his coin pouch. "The costs for all the repairs?"

And the Blacksmith soon wore a rather confident smirk upon his scraggly face. A gleam upon his eyes as he loudly said. "Fifty Marks."

That wiped the smile from his face in an instant as he stared disbelievingly upon the Blacksmith, feeling his temper spike once more. "That is far too expensive."

And it certainly was. He had recently been given a cursory education into the basics of the Imperial financial system and economy, courtesy by Lady Anna. And from what she had taught him, The Empire's main form of currency was the Gold Crown. Or Marks, as they were more commonly known here in the province of Ostermark. He had been loaned exactly fifty five Marks by Lady Tanya earlier, more than enough to buy him everything he would need for his quest. He also knew the price for all his armor and weapons, and it barely even reaches ten Marks, the twin daggers included. That was how cheap it all was.

But now this unscrupulous rat of a Blacksmith was making him pay five times what his equipment are actually worth! He would no longer have enough money to buy additional arms and supplies. He might not even have enough money left to afford food and lodgings at a cheap inn somewhere. And he certainly would be unable to purchase any of the Master Gunsmith's wares later, and he very much needed those guns.

"Please, be reasonable. I cannot afford to pay you fifty Marks. That is nearly all the coin I have and my equipment is hardly even worth that much. Lower the price, I beg you." He all but pleaded, swallowing his pride as he bowed his head to him.

But the man merely shrugged his shoulders and said. "That is my only offer. You can either take it, or you can get your pasty arse out of my smithy and find some other smith willing to help you. And good luck trying to find one that is even half as decent as I am, for chances are good you'll run into some idiot who can only make nails and horseshoes."

And then his smirk devolved into a rather nasty grin. "And that is if nobody reports you to the Witch Hunters first. Those bastards have a habit of burning mutant scum like you. Alive of course. And now that I think about it, I ought to call them on you. For not only being a mutant, but for being a lying, thieving mutant, 'cause I'm willing to bet you actually stole all that gold from Lady Tanya."

He remained quiet and still, his head still bowed at he listened to every word spoken. A moment later he finally raised his head and once again turned his gaze back towards the Blacksmith. But now his pale and scarred face was devoid of all emotion, eyes now cold and calculating, as they began to glow faintly with an eerie red light.

So this was to be his reward for saving this man's life from the Goblins? Blackmail and extortion. Insults and blatant disrespect. He risked his life for this insolent prick, and was about to risk it once more to save his nation from a great enemy, and yet he treats him like he was no better than the dirt stuck to his heel. He remained alive and well, and had the pleasure of being with his family, while he was trying to find ways to protect them and denying himself the happiness of reuniting with his own loved ones.

How dare he! How dare they! Worthless, ungrateful sacks of slime! If this is how selfless acts of kindness were to be rewarded in these lands, then it was best he simply leave for his home and abandon these people to whatever horrible fate awaited them! Let whatever Dark Gods swallow these lands whole, for the people living here were unworthy of salvation!

Punish him. Make him pay. Make him scream.

Oh, how he would love to punish this ungrateful son of a whore. And the best way would be to make him wail in absolute agony, by feeding his worthless hide to the fires of his own forge! He very much would like to do it. It would be so easy. In fact, burning down this village and watching these prejudiced ingrates scream within the flames would be so easy.

As easy as smashing the skulls of a few baby Goblins.

And yet, he would not do it. . . He could not bring himself to harm these people, no matter how tempting it might be. No matter if it was within his ability or not.

No one can stop you. So why not fulfill what your heart desires? You deserve it. So why not take it?

Because that was not him. That was not his way. The Goblin Slayer only ever kills Goblins. He would never harm innocents. He would never be able to look his own family in the eyes again if he ever did. And he had already given his word to Lady Tanya. He would keep them all safe. This greedy dog of a Blacksmith included.

. . . Noble fool. Another time then.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he could not shrug off this strange feeling, that he had somehow managed to disappoint someone, or something. He simply cast it out of his thoughts and paid it no more heed.

He let out a sigh as he closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to calm down. Before he opened them again, the light within them now gone, as he addressed the Blacksmith once more.

"Tell me, is there truly no way for you to lower your price? A fairer deal is all I ask for everything that I have done to save you and yours. I hope you would reconsider." He asked the man one more time, trying to see if he could still somehow convince him, appeal to whatever good there might still be in his wretched heart.

Though there was something rather odd he noticed about the Blacksmith. Gone was the man's earlier maliciousness and arrogance, and in it's place was plain fear. He was now rather pale with eyes a bit wide and a cold sweat having formed upon his forehead. And the slight shaking of his hands was also not lost on him.

It was almost as if he had just seen his death flash before his very eyes. How odd indeed. What could have brought about this sudden change?

"Well, uh…Ahem." The man tried to speak, though he somehow had trouble gathering his thoughts, a tightness upon his throat. He simply allowed the man time to recover himself. He looked to be ready to pass out any minute.

"I suppose, fifty Marks might be a bit too steep, now that I think about it…" He finally said clearly after a moment. And this brought him fresh hope. "So I would be willing to lower it. Twenty Marks for all your repairs. And I will be sure to have it all ready for you within a week."

And rather hesitantly, and with a bit more politeness than before, he added. "And I would be glad to throw in a few simple improvements free of charge. I hope this deal is more to your liking?"

And it was. Much more than what he was given earlier. The price being asked was still effectively double than what his equipment were actually worth but he would take it. This left him with plenty enough coin to purchase his other needs. And he could now afford to buy some of Mauser's guns later. Although now that he thought about it more, there might actually be a way for him to acquire the Master Gunsmith's arms without having to spend any actual coin.

He took out his coin pouch once more, and began handing over the required payment. Before he bowed his head respectfully to the Blacksmith once more and said. "Thank you, Master Siemens."

"Aye, aye, whatever." He waved it off rather halfheartedly as he pocketed the coins. "Now go on out Northman. I got a lot of work to do."

He simply nodded at that before turning around and left.

Author's Notes:

Been a while hasn't it? Yeah, I know, a new update. Who would of thunk it. But between Nurgle's Plague, the lockdowns, a bit of job hunting and then all the crazy overtime I had to put into my job, this story was greatly delayed. And all the other stories that I had been planning on were consequently put on hold as a result. A shame really.

The good news is that I finally get to show you guys something that should serve as a Thanksgiving present from me for all of you who had supported this story and waited so long for an update. I know it's not as big as it should be to compensate for the long wait, but I believe it's should be enough to whet your appetites, and as the title says, this is only the first half of the actual chapter that I had planned on releasing. I wanted to put it all inside a single update, but I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer.

A small update about the poll. I'm actually rather surprised to see the High Elf polling ahead of the Dark Elf and Wood Elf. I won't say any exact numbers but I will say the High Elf holds a significant lead and looks to be on the path to victory. But we will see if this changes later on. The poll shall remain open until chapter 20 of this story, right around the time our resident Orcbolg finally meets one of the Elder races of the Old World for the first time. So plenty of time for you all to cast your vote and affect the outcome of this story! ;D

That's all I have to say for now. I will be replying to your old reviews on the next chapter instead of now because I don't want to delay this release any longer. But may this chapter serve to answer some of your many questions and give you more insight as to what might be in store for Goblin Slayer later on.

Again, thanks for reading my work. If you have any thoughts about the story that you would like to share, leave a review down below and drop a quick Follow to stay tuned for the latest update. Stay safe everyone and stay healthy. John out.