Goblin Slayer sat stiffly at the outdoor patio table, the midday sun casting odd shadows through the makeshift iron umbrella sticking up from the center. In front of him sat a steaming gyro stuffed with scrambled eggs, black beans, and vegetables, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it.
His stomach growled in rebellion, demanding food, but his mind kept turning over the possibility of poison. He'd learned not to trust easily, and certainly not here.
Across from him, Remi lounged back, their posture casual, borderline lazy, as they cradled their own gyro. Without warning, they shoved the entire thing into their mouth, not even bothering to take a bite. The gyro disappeared, and Goblin Slayer stared— unsure whether to be disgusted or impressed.
"You, uh... Planning to eat that, Old Sport?" Remi asked, wiping their mouth with the back of their forearm, before washing it down with a hefty gulp of coffee. The boiling liquid didn't seem to faze them in the slightest.
The gray-haired teen's frown deepened. "How did you even fit that all in your mouth?"
Remi gave him a wicked grin. "Talent, Sportsy. Lots of practice. Why, you jealous?"
"No." Goblin Slayer glared down at his untouched food, clearly suspicious.
"Could've fooled me." Remi chuckled, leaning forward and resting their elbows on the table. "You've been staring at that gyro like it's gonna sprout legs and attack you."
"It could be poisoned," Goblin Slayer replied flatly, his eyes never leaving the meal.
Remi let out a barking laugh. "Oh, right. Sure. Those nerds last night absolutely wasted those medical supplies on your ungrateful ass, just to have you killed anyway," they teased sarcastically, and paused to savor the annoyed look on the teen's face, before jokingly adding, "You did say I was conspiring with them, after all— congratulations on catching onto that early."
Goblin Slayer's gaze snapped up, his posture tensing. "Tell me… Why did they help me— why did they choose to rescue me?"
Remi leaned back in their chair, sighing as they stretched out their arms. "The goblins here, in Derivakat? They're what you'd classify "good samaritans"; the sort of folk who've got morals and ethics, or whatever," they said dismissively with a wave of their hand— seemingly rolling their eyes behind the blackened lenses of their shades. "I don't know; maybe you don't understand those social concepts— I sure as hell don't."
The notion hung in the air between them, sharp and unsettling. Goblin Slayer's mind churned, trying to process what Remi was telling him. 'Good samaritans? Goblins? Those two words have no right being in the same sentence, but yet… But yet, here I am. Alive… It doesn't make sense— none of this does.'
Seeing his confusion, Remi shrugged. "Hey Sportsy, try not to overthink it. Trust me, I'm just as baffled as you are."
Goblin Slayer, feeling the weight of Remi's eyes on him, hesitated, then picked up the gyro. His stomach growled again, pushing him past his reluctance. He took a tentative bite, half-expecting the taste of rot or poison. Instead, the food was surprisingly flavorful— delicious, even.
Remi's smirk returned as they watched him chew. "Knew you'd like it. Seriously, though, are you always that paranoid?"
Goblin Slayer swallowed before responding, his voice low. "I have to be."
"You don't say?" Remi mused somewhat sarcastically, before leaning back again in their seat— looking up at the sky as if searching for the right words. "You know, Old Sport… You reminded me a lot of myself when I first came here," they reminisced, as they stared up at the underside of the dirty umbrella above them.
"A little backstory first though: way before I came here, the Pendragon Empire one day decided to transform "Pathway" into "Crossbell". Uthur had the natives of the land booted so he could begin work on his kingdom's capital; and with these guys pulling the short straw, they got the pleasure of being stuck in the middle of Muhati Desert," they explained, while Goblin Slayer quietly listened intently— feeling silently surprised that Remi was capable of speaking words that weren't insulting or infuriating to him.
"Anyways Sportsy, things were rough for them since they got here. As I'm sure you know by now, things out here aren't always the most hospitable. These hill goblins were constantly targeted by raiders and predators alike, and thus had to live underground— just to not get themselves wiped off the map," Remi explained, before letting out a muffled chuckle as they raised their hand up to push their sunglasses up with a single finger.
"Fun fact I learned while living with these little green guys: hill goblins are the only kind of goblins that AREN'T nocturnal. I'm sure then you could imagine just how difficult it was for them navigating through monster-infested caverns when they had to use torches, just to see where they were going," Remi mused with a seemingly uncaring attitude towards their suffering twinkling in their glowing yellow eyes— perplexing Goblin Slayer.
'Why are they so… Apathetic towards them? I understand their disposition towards me— or lack thereof— but to feel so unsympathetic towards those who care for their needs— goblins, or not— that just… That just… I… I don't understand.'
And while the gray-haired teen was racking their brains for some sort of probable reason behind their indifference towards the goblins' past suffering, Remi continued on. "Back to me though… You see, when I first encountered these guys, I was a lot like how you were, Sportsy: down on my luck, and one foot in the grave…"
"… And despite not having anything to give them in return, the scouts who came across me— just like how they did with you— invited me to their reserve for nourishment, even though they had every reason not to," Remi recalled, before trailing off into a brief pause— pushing their sunglasses up their nose, while silently letting out a humorless laugh.
"It's funny… 'Cause when they brought me to their underground village… I remember planning on betraying them while they were still taking care of me… I still could do it— it'd be easier now than it was back then."
Goblin Slayer's jaw tightened with slight excitement, as to him, that had been the only thing that had come out Remi's mouth that he agreed upon. "Then enact those plans. It's not too late for that; they're all just disgusting monsters."
"Are they really, though?" Remi's eyes narrowed, a strange gleam in them now, equal parts anger and sadness. "Take a good, hard look at us, Sportsy: you want to murder an entire village of goody-two shoes, who've probably shown you more kindness than anyone of your kind has, and I wanted to do the same thing at one point. Hell, that's still a viable option on the table for me if shit goes South."
Goblin Slayer took another bite of his food, chewing slowly. "Then why not help me?"
Remi laughed, the sound bitter and sharp. "I already told you once, did I?" They leaned in, eyes flickering with something darker. "We have an agreement, Sportsy: I get free shit, they get to live another day with peace of mind. It's just business; that's all it is to me— no matter how much they look up to me, or see me as their savior."
Challenging that, Goblin Slayer crossed his bandage-wrapped arms over his just as equally bandaged-up chest. "And yet, you keep my hand from their throats."
That's when Remi leaned over the table— their face only a foot away from the teenager's, as he saw his own cautious gaze within the tinted reflection of their shades. "Let me be perfectly clear about that, Sportsy: if it weren't for that arrangement, I personally wouldn't care if every last goblin in this village died at your hands. Women, children, all of them can go to hell— at least as far as I could care."
Goblin Slayer stared at Remi, taken slightly aback by their words. "I see… Then… You truly wouldn't care if I ended them?"
"No. No, I wouldn't." Remi's grin was gone now, their voice hollow as they leaned back and plopped back down on their seat. "And that's what pisses me off the most, Old Sport: I know I should care, but I don't. I can't find myself caring about anything, really— not even a little. And I can't figure out why that is."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the soft sound of Remi tapping their fingers against their cup. Goblin Slayer watched them closely, something in his chest tightening, though he couldn't say why.
Finally, Remi spoke again, quieter this time. "I've gotten pretty good at looking like a human, acting like one. But the emotions? The complicated stuff? That's still... Beyond me." They gave a bitter laugh. "Music helps, though. It's the only thing that gets me close to feeling something real— other than joy and hate. Those are easy."
Goblin Slayer's voice was low, almost cautious. "… What are you trying to say?"
Remi hesitated, their gaze flicking toward him, before they smiled—this time, a smile without warmth. "Let me show you what I mean, Old Sport."
Without warning, Remi reached up and grabbed their own head. Before Goblin Slayer could react, they tore it clean off— holding it in their hands. The bewildered teen's coffee cup slipped from his fingers— shattering on the sandy ground.
Instead of blood, a translucent cyan liquid oozed slowly from their neck, a surreal, almost gelatinous substance. Remi's head, still cradled in their hands, looked up at him with a dry smirk.
"Beneath the surface, I'm really just a slime monster; I only look human," they said, their voice unnervingly calm. "It's… Pathetic, really: I've gotten so good at faking it, that I even fool myself sometimes. In fact, I've gone this long trying to be something that I'm not, that I've actually forgotten why I even started doing it in the first place."
Goblin Slayer stared in shock, watching as Remi casually reattached their head. The liquid from their neck sealed the skin back together, as if nothing had happened. "Tell you the truth, Sportsy? These days, I don't even know why I get out of bed anymore."
When Goblin Slayer finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "Does it... Hurt?"
Remi let out a long, tired sigh. "… Only if I let it."
They sat in silence again, each lost in their own thoughts. Remi, normally so sarcastic, seemed weighed down by something darker, something broken. Goblin Slayer, meanwhile, couldn't shake the strange feeling of pity that had settled in his chest.
Then, Remi broke the silence with a pointed question. "So... What's your deal anyway? Why the hatred for goblins in general? Something must've happened, right?"
Goblin Slayer stiffened, his hand clenching the edge of the table. He didn't answer immediately.
"You… You already know what imp goblins are infamous," he said after a long pause.
Remi's expression shifted, their eyes darkening with understanding. "Who did you lose?"
Goblin Slayer's voice was barely a whisper. "My sister."
The two sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Remi spoke, their voice quiet but seemingly sincere. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Goblin Slayer's lips twitched beneath his helmet, but it wasn't quite a smile. "I thought you couldn't feel those kinds of emotions."
Remi chuckled, though the sound was hollow. "You're right. I can't. But if I could, I would."
Another silence settled over them, heavy and lingering.
Remi leaned back and sighed, a bittersweet expression crossing their face. "You know, there's this old story I heard once, about the moon, you see," they said, as their lips began cracking into an amused smirk.
"Oh… I see," Goblin Slayer uttered back with a curious, albeit distracted voice— his brain still reeling from the odd interaction they had over breakfast.
Pushing their ceramic cup toward the teenager's side of the table, Remi put their elbow down on their edge of the table— resting their chin on their upturned palm, before proceeding to speak while he drank what was left of their coffee.
"So the story goes that a long, long, long time ago, there was this old man who descended from the moon itself, and came into contact with four sentient animals: a monkey, an otter, a jackal, and a rabbit."
"The old man apparently looked like a beggar, 'cause these three animals took pity on him and thought he was starving."
"The monkey gathered bananas from the trees, and offered them to the old man. The otter did what otters apparently do: they caught some fish, and offered all of that to that geezer."
"And then the jackal— being the lazy piece of shit that he was— simply gave that old guy the first things he came across: a lizard he caught, and some water he found. Bare minimum level effort on his part, you see."
"But then there's the rabbit, who didn't know what to fetch for the freeloader. Because the rabbit only had access to grass that he knew that the old man couldn't eat, he decided to make the ultimate sacrifice by offering himself up as meal— just like the suicidal dumbass he was."
"So this rabbit makes a big-ass fire, and tries killing himself by hopping inside of it. But then— surprise, surprise— no harm comes to little rodent. It's then that the old man reveals himself to be none other than the Supreme God Himself."
"Touched by the rabbit's virtue and selflessness, the Supreme God supposedly rewarded the little shit by drawing his likeness on the surface of the moon itself— so that all who gaze upon it will remember the rabbit's kindness, and strive to be just like him."
Although he didn't much care for Remi, and he especially despised being forced to be peaceful amongst a village full of goblins, Goblin Slayer had been enthralled with the story spoken to him— having sipped the remainder of the slime beast's coffee, until the cup had run empty.
"That's… Quite the tale," the teenager said in a quiet tone, while silently dissecting it and the reason behind why Remi had bothered to tell it in the first place.
Without missing a beat, the pastel-haired slime monster said aloud in a low, spiteful voice, "I hate that story," catching Goblin Slayer off guard.
"W… Why?"
"'Cause I fuckin' hate rabbits."
Remi let out a short, humorless laugh— one that was filled with misunderstood sadness and frustration. And though their joyless laugh was one that would have made anyone else feel uncomfortable listening to, for Goblin Slayer, it was nothing short of infectious.
Feeling the corners of his lips tighten and curl upwards, the teenager closed his eyelids softly— starting off with silent, quickened breaths, before slowly escalating them into a fit of muffled snickers.
He knew he wasn't happy, and from what he could tell, neither was Remi. And yet there they were, with Goblin Slayer haunched over the table— his red-face buried in his arms, cackling to himself while the slime monster across the table from him started to howl with laughter.
The wind picked up, carrying sand through the narrow streets as Goblin Slayer and Remi left the Sandy Planet café. They walked side by side in silence for a moment, the sound of their footsteps crunching against the dirt. Remi, ever restless, broke the quiet first.
"So," Remi chimed out, as they tossed a sideways glance at him— the corner of their mouth twitching in amusement. "Ever gotten laid before?"
"No," he replied flat— his voice low and rough, like gravel grinding together. "But… One time I laid my lips upon the breasts of an endowed nurse."
Remi barked out a laugh. "Hah! No shit, Sportsy?! You actually got some action in your life?! Heh! And here I was: under the impression that you were celibate…!"
Goblin Slayer didn't dignify that with a response.
The sand stung his exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the awkwardness of walking through a goblin-inhabited village with Remi keeping a close eye on him.
It wasn't the watchfulness that bothered him—he was used to being watched— but there was something different about Remi. They were a paradox— always keeping him on edge with their sarcasm, but never quite crossing the line into hostility.
"You know," Remi started again, their tone conversational, "I bet if I hadn't been watching over you, you would've gutted a few of the villagers by now. Probably would have enjoyed the shit out of it too, huh?."
"Yes."
Remi raised an eyebrow at Goblin Slayer, all while still smirking— the sounds of their feet hitting the ground filled the momentary silence. "… Would you ever fuck a goblin, Old Sport?"
Goblin Slayer stopped just short of rolling his eyes.
They eventually began walking up the rocky steps to Remi's home, with the wind being none the gentler. When they reached the top, Remi pulled open the door and gestured for him to enter.
"Look at that," they said with mock enthusiasm, "I'm being hospitable. I think I deserve to suck on some nurse's tiddy too, for that."
Goblin Slayer stepped inside without a word, but he gave a slight nod— the closest thing to a "thank you" Remi would ever get from him. Inside, he followed Remi to their bedroom, where they crouched beside the bed and pulled out a trunk from underneath.
"Alright, here's your stuff," Remi said, standing up as they opened the chest. "Armor's patched. Shirt's stitched. Didn't touch the tomahawk, though. Thought you'd be weird about it."
Goblin Slayer inspected his gear in silence, methodically pulling on the repaired black turtleneck shirt and securing the leather armor over it. The quiet felt different now— not hostile, not tense, just natural.
Remi grabbed a black crop-top from a nearby pile of clothes. "I've got to say, Sportsy, you're way more chatty than I thought you were going to be," they said, pulling the shirt over their head. "Guess all you needed was a good night's rest, and some grub."
"Those things… Helped," Goblin Slayer replied, buckling his armor straps. "I… I try not to say more than what's needed."
"Is that so," Remi muttered, zipping up a pastel-blue jacket with a fur-lined hood. "They say "loose lips sink ships". Is that what happened to you? Did you get yourself into some sort of trouble from yappin' to the wrong person?"
"… Yes."
"Don't worry, Sportsy; I've got a pair of loose lips myself. Play your cards right, and you might get well acquainted with them before you go."
Remi finished adjusting their jacket and grabbed their guardless katana, sliding it smoothly into the sheath at their hip before equipping their guitar from its stand. Goblin Slayer secured his tomahawk to his belt in near-perfect synchrony— the two of them moving with an unspoken rhythm.
They both reached for their headgear at the same time— Goblin Slayer for his helmet, Remi for a different pair of sunglasses.
Once they were dressed, Remi leaned against the doorframe of the small kitchen as Goblin Slayer packed a few supplies. The pantry was sparse, but there were dried meats, some jerky, and a canteen of water— enough for a quick resupply.
"Still don't get why these guys wanted me to spare you," Remi mused aloud, watching him with a curious expression. "It's not like they didn't catch onto how much you hate them."
Goblin Slayer stuffed the last of the jerky into his pouch and glanced over. "They trust you to do the right thing."
"Yeah, well, I personally wouldn't trust me," Remi said, smirking. "But hey, I guess everyone's got their blind spots."
Goblin Slayer didn't reply, but there was a hint of something in the air between them— a mutual, if grudging, respect. He slung the canteen over his shoulder, and together they headed for the door.
Outside, the sun was lower in the sky, casting long shadows across Delrivkat. The goblins moved about, going through the routines of their day, but their eyes lingered on Goblin Slayer— always cautious, always wary. Remi walked beside him— their posture relaxed but their gaze sharp, as if ready to step in at a moment's notice.
"You really think you're gonna make it out there by yourself?" Remi teased, grinning as they adjusted their sunglasses. "Or should I expect to see your pasty-ass back here by the end of the night?"
"Don't bet on it."
"Sure, Sportsy," Remi said with exaggerated disbelief, "Let's just hope that this'll be the last we see each other's mugs."
They continued down the dirt road— their banter light but not without a sense of something deeper. By now, Goblin Slayer had gotten used to Remi's sharp tongue, and though he wouldn't admit it, he found it easier to tolerate.
The sandstone walls of Delrivkat loomed behind them— fading into the hazy distance as Goblin Slayer and Remi walked in silence. They had gone far enough that the goblin archers stationed on top of the battlements had a clear shot on him, if he decided to turn back.
The wind was relentless— stirring the sand into small, with erratic cyclones that kicked against their boots. Remi adjusted the strap of the guitar slung across their back, keeping their face unreadable behind the sunglasses, but their mouth twitched slightly— betraying some internal conflict.
"Well, Old Sport," Remi began, voice casual, but with an undercurrent of something more. "This is where we part ways. Try not to die, alright? Not that I care or anything. It's just that the elder would be insufferable if any of her scouts came across your corpse."
"I see." Goblin Slayer, already a few steps ahead, stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "I'll keep an eye out for any rabbits for you."
Remi gave a half-hearted laugh, waving him off. "Yeah, sure, rabbits… You do that."
Goblin Slayer nodded slightly, offering nothing more before turning his back to the village once again and walking toward the desert's endless horizon.
Remi stared at his retreating form, their lips tightening into a thin line. They took a few steps forward, back toward the gates of Delrivkat, but stopped abruptly. Something gnawed at them— something unfamiliar, unsettling. Their hand clenched involuntarily at the strap of their guitar.
'What the hell is this feeling? Why am I still thinking about him? I did my part— whatever happens to him is on him!' They scowled, shaking their head, and then with a loud, frustrated sigh, spun around.
'Fuck it.'
"H… H-Hey, Sportsy!" Remi shouted, waving their arms frantically to get his attention. "Hold your horses!"
Goblin Slayer paused, turning slowly— his vented visor catching the fading sunlight. His posture remained steady, but there was a slight tilt to his head— as if perplexed by Remi's sudden urgency.
With a cloud of dust kicked up from the speed of their feet, Remi sprinted toward him— skidding to a stop just in front of him, their breath quick, but controlled. They tried to appear nonchalant, smoothing their jacket and adjusting the guitar strap as if nothing unusual had just happened.
"Say… Remember what I said the other night?" Remi started, tone light but edged with something uncertain. "About having something you might be interested in?"
Goblin Slayer remained still, his curiosity piqued. "Okay," he said, waiting for Remi to continue.
Remi cleared their throat, trying to keep the façade of indifference, but the sharp edge of worry hadn't entirely left their voice. "So... There's this outpost a few kilometers North of here— not sure if you've seen it or not."
The gray-haired teenager nodded, and said in his usual deep voice, "I see."
"Well anyways," Remi went on, scratching the back of their neck, "it's gone. Burned to the ground. Scouting parties found it yesterday before they came across you being eaten by some birds. While you were unconscious, the elder asked me to look over the reports with her. Anywhoozle, the reports included sightings of desert marauders and imp goblins that were all leaving the destroyed outpost in different directions— all of them having stolen loot and captives rounded up with them."
Goblin Slayer's grip on his belt tightened at the mention of imp goblins, his eyes narrowing beneath the helmet. "… Goblins?"
"Yeah Sportsy, the fucking bad kind of goblins," Remi continued, watching him closely, "That's not all: without that outpost, Delrivkat's pretty much screwed at this rate. They were the village's main source of trade— food, materials, you name it. The goblins can't survive out here alone, and…"
"… Well, even though I couldn't give two shits about what happens to them, the truth of the matter is Sportsy is that if a bunch of 'em die under my watch, it'll ruin my street cred, you know?" Remi's voice faltered, a rare crack in their usual bravado. "Can't be called "Storm Lord" anymore, if my fan club doesn't think that I can't bring on the thunder!"
Goblin Slayer's silence weighed on the air between them. He knew what Remi was asking, even if they couldn't bring themselves to say it outright. His gaze stayed steady on them as Remi shifted awkwardly on their feet.
"L-Look," Remi finally blurted out, trying to regain their casual tone, "I could use the company, and you could use my protection. I mean, it's only a matter of time before you get yourself killed again anyway, so why not do some good before that happens?"
Goblin Slayer could see through the flimsy façade— the sarcasm, the bravado. It was a defense mechanism, something to hide behind. He didn't call them out on it, though. Instead, he nodded, his voice calm and deliberate.
"I'll join you. But only if I get to deal with that goblin army."
Remi grinned, the tension easing from their face for a moment. "Outta boy, Sportsy! That's the genocidal spirit!" They cheered somewhat sarcastically, before eagerly reaching into their pocket to pull out folded parchment paper. "We don't even gotta waste time tracking them down; the nerds back home already did the hard work for us!"
Goblin Slayer didn't respond immediately, but something shifted in his posture, a subtle acknowledgment of the unspoken understanding between them. He turned toward the horizon again, glancing briefly over his shoulder.
"That's fine… Take me to the goblins, and then we'll deal with those marauders," Goblin Slayer commanded, while Remi began unfolding the charter map that Delrivkat's team of cartographers gave them.
