Goblin Slayer trudged down the dirt road within the Muhati Desert, his boots kicking up dry, sunbaked dust. The air was sweltering, and the relentless desert sun hung high, burning his skin. He felt the heat rise off the sands beneath his feet, but the weight of his orichalcum helmet tucked beneath his left arm didn't seem as oppressive today. He held an ice-cold bottle of cyan-blue Sharky Pop in his right hand— condensation beading on the glass.

With a satisfied sigh, he lifted the bottle to his lips, letting the cold, sweet taste of "Passionfruit Pacific" rush over his tongue. The sweetness was almost indulgent, cooling him from the inside out, a brief oasis amidst the heat. He smiled gently, the rare expression softening his usual stony features.

The future felt solid now, something tangible. For the first time in a long while, Goblin Slayer allowed himself to genuine hope.

Delrivkat was prepared; Remi had seen to that. All he had to do was finish his business in Crossbell and return to the foundation they had built together. He could hunt the goblins— or those he considered goblins— in his own way, and that thought filled him with a sense of ambitious pride and excitement for the future.

His gaze shifted to the horizon, and there it was: the familiar silhouette of the pyramid, now a symbol of triumph. He and Remi had cleared it of goblins just the other night, an achievement that felt monumental. His lips twitched upward again as he recalled the battle, the way they had moved together, fighting in sync, pushing back the tide of filth that had overrun the sacred ground.

The memory fueled him, his pride swelling as he passed the ruins of the desert marauder camp. There, too, he had triumphed. The broken weapons, shattered tents, and scorched earth were all that remained of the marauders. They had fallen to him and Remi— just like the goblins before.

And then there was Suliven— the executive of Blackwatch stationed in the Muhati Desert, and a foe beyond anything Goblin Slayer had ever faced before.

The memory of that battle came back in flashes. The way Suliven had stood, shrouded in dark magic, his power palpable. Goblin Slayer had faced monsters before, but nothing like what he was.

Yet, against all odds, he had emerged victorious. He wouldn't have dared dream of such a victory once, but now, he had done it.

He had slain an executive of the Blackwatch— a being of terrible strength, and lived to tell the tale. He couldn't have done it without Remi, of course. But the fact that he had stood toe to toe with such a powerful enemy— no, defeated such an enemy— filled him with a deep, quiet amazement at himself.

His thoughts grew more somber as he continued down the road and came upon the remnants of the Sahara Outpost. The buildings, once tall and proud, were now nothing more than blackened ruins.

The smell of ash still lingered in the air, and the bones of the settlement stood scorched and skeletal against the sky. Only the charred skeletons of structures and scattered piles of ash remained. It was a stark reminder of the destruction that always followed in the wake of the enemies he fought.

The sight dampened his mood, but only for a moment. It was a reminder, after all, of why he needed his guild— why his mission was so vital. He thought of the people he could protect, the lives he could save. The idea of his own funding, his own resources, and the autonomy to rid the world of goblins his way gave him the resolve to press forward.


Looking back at the desert path behind him, the teenager felt the weight of the task ahead, but for the first time, he also felt the strength to bear it. With a final sip of Sharky Pop, he tossed the empty bottle into the sands and continued on his way.

Goblin Slayer reached into his pack— immediately pulling out another Sharky Pop filled with a carbonated red soda. The label with a cartoon depiction of a shark girl with sunglasses on it read: "Tropical Punch."

The bottle felt cool in his hands, condensation clinging to the surface from the day's lingering heat. He gripped his orichalcum tomahawk, positioning the sharp edge beneath the bottle cap. With a swift motion, the cap flew off— clattering to the dirt road.

The teen then brought the bottleneck rim to his lips and took a long drink. The flavor hit him immediately— an intense blend of tangy citrus and sweet, almost candy-like, tropical fruit. The bubbles fizzed pleasantly in his mouth, and he let out a satisfied sigh— savoring the refreshing burst of sweetness.

'Dear God— what a superb taste! Remi and I've got to find ourselves a new supplier— this is the stuff of legends!'


As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, the once-blistering heat softened, casting long shadows across the land. The flat desert terrain gradually gave way to rocky, barren stretches, the sparse desert trees growing fewer and farther between.

The sky shifted from a glaring blue to a brilliant gradient of oranges and purples. Goblin Slayer took in the view as he walked— the coolness of the desert evening beginning to settle over him, the day transitioning to night with each step.

By then, the last of the Sharky Pop had been finished, with the empty bottle lying far behind him— collecting sand, somewhere along the road. Pulling out his map, the teen unfolded it in front of him.

It was getting darker, and to better read the fading text, he activated the buff spell— forcing his left eye to glow a dull red. The light cast an eerie hue over the parchment as he scanned for his location. 'Should be coming up to a settlement soon,' he thought to himself— tracing a finger along the lines on the map.

The town's name, "Stonehall", stood out— marking his destination.

He thought about stopping there for the night, something he never used to consider. In his early days, Goblin Slayer would have just found a quiet place in the wilderness to rest— too poor to afford a roof over his head. But things had changed. The purse full of gold coins and diamonds he carried— wealth amassed from the loot Remi had their scouts gathered from the pyramid and Suliven's tower, was more than enough to afford any accommodation he needed.

It felt strange, having money for once. He still wasn't used to it, and part of him wondered if he ever would be.


Twilight began to creeping into the orange sky, as stars flickered to life over the horizon.

The terrain had shifted from barren desert to green, fertile land, the rocky flats replaced by grasslands and the occasional grove of trees. The dirt road beneath his feet became cobblestone as he neared civilization.

His instincts kicked in when he heard the distant clatter of armor and the synchronized steps of many feet marching in unison. Without a second thought, Goblin Slayer ducked behind a nearby bush— his keen eyes watching as a platoon of knights and soldiers from the Royal Army made their way down the road.

The insignia of the Pendragon Empire was held high, fluttering in the evening breeze as the knights marched in perfect formation. Their armor gleamed in the fading light, polished to a shine that reflected the last vestiges of the sun's rays.

The most decorated of the knights led the platoon, each bearing weapons of distinct craftsmanship— swords, spears, and axes that Goblin Slayer could only assume were enchanted or otherwise special.

Their presence was imposing, their disciplined march a clear display of their power. He studied them carefully, noting their movements and the insignia emblazoned on their shields, before silently deciding it was best to avoid them.

Once the Royal Army had passed by and the sound of their marching faded into the distance, Goblin Slayer emerged from his hiding spot.


Twilight had fully descended, and the sky was deepening into a darker shade of blue. The air was cooler, and the world seemed quieter. He continued walking down the cobblestone road, approaching the town of Stonehall.

The cobblestone walls of the town rose up in the distance, imposing and sturdy, lit by torches and lanterns that flickered in the growing darkness. Guards stood posted on the battlements— watching the road, while others manned the gate below.

As he neared the gate, Goblin Slayer mentally prepared himself, reminding himself to keep his answers brief. He folded the map and tucked it back into a leather pouch on his belt. 'Don't tell them anything more than they need to know,' he thought to himself— steeling his resolve, as he approached the town's entrance.


Goblin Slayer walked through the paved streets of Stonehall, his boots making a soft clinking sound against the cobblestone. He noted the lampposts lining the sidewalks— each casting a warm, steady glow on the closed storefronts. The town had an active but orderly energy, even at night.

The occasional horse-drawn wagon clattered by, forcing Goblin Slayer to step up onto the sidewalk to make way. 'Traffic is here night and day, compared to how clear and underdeveloped the roads are back in the Maggiore… Wonder if the Evergreen forest will become urbanized, like this place is? Maybe I could help with that someday.'

As he continued down the street, his eyes caught the presence of the Royal Army soldiers mingling with the local town guard. The guards were outfitted in chain mail, wielding traditional bows, arrows, swords, and shields.

In contrast, the soldiers of the Royal Army stood out, their steel-plated armor gleaming under the lamplight. Their helmets were fully enclosed, and they carried repeating crossbows, bolts hanging from their hips, halberds slung across their backs, and steel-graced longswords paired with bucklers strapped to their forearms.

The difference in gear was striking, but Goblin Slayer remained quiet, keeping his observations to himself.

Every now and then, a few knights led patrols of soldiers— their advanced weaponry catching Goblin Slayer's eye. Though unfamiliar, he recognized the efficiency and craftsmanship in the designs.

Spell-infused firearms and other high-grade melee weapons were carried with authority by these knights. Some knights moved with such confidence they didn't bother wearing helmets at all. Their colorful hair and uniquely colored eyes stood out, marking them as more than ordinary soldiers. Goblin Slayer mused that these knights were likely skilled enough to forgo the protection of a helmet.

After navigating the busy streets, Goblin Slayer spotted a restaurant that was still open— its warm lights and the soft hum of conversation drawing him in. He figured it would be better to save his rations and enjoy a hot meal instead.

Plus, a good meal would prepare him for the journey ahead.

The sign above the door read "The Serpent's Delight", and appeared to be an upscale establishment, from the look of it. With a sigh of contender, he decided this would be a fine place to stop before finding a place to stay for the night.


As he stepped inside, the scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filled the air. The decor was elegant, with dark wood accents and candle-lit booths— each one providing a sense of privacy. Patrons of all races filled the room, many clad in various types of armor, carrying weapons of differing qualities.

He quickly surmised that most of them were adventurers, and for a moment, he felt a wave of disappointment. It made him wonder how things would have turned out if he'd been accepted into the Adventurers' Guild.

But that was quickly replaced by a sense of contentment. 'No… No, I made the right choice. This is the path for me.'

A lamia greeted him from behind the podium— her curvy frame and pink hair making her stand out in the dim light. Her light skin shimmered slightly under the glow of the candles, and her smile was warm and welcoming.

"Good evening, young man! Do you have a party with you tonight?" she asked— her voice carrying a melodic quality.

Goblin Slayer shook his head. "No, I don't. I've never eaten at a restaurant like this before."

The lamia blushed at his words, mistaking his honesty for a compliment. She giggled softly. "Well, I'm honored! Let me find you a good seat." She grabbed a menu from beneath the podium and slithered out from behind it— motioning for him to follow. She led him to a secluded, candle-lit booth near a barred window.

"Here you go! A waitress will be with you shortly," she reassured him, her voice still tinged with a soft giggle. With a smile, she left him to settle in.

Goblin Slayer surveyed the patrons as she slithered away. Each person seemed engrossed in their meals or conversations, and there was a sense of camaraderie among the adventurers. He carefully calculated the risk of taking his helmet off, weighing whether it was worth it. The clientele appeared trustworthy enough, and besides, he had become adept at reading body language— no one here seemed dangerous or suspicious.

With a soft sigh, he decided it was safe.

Slowly, he reached up and removed his orichalcum helmet, placing it on the edge of the table closest to the barred window. With one elbow propped on the table, he rested his chin in his hand, his eyes drifting out through the window.

He watched the street outside, observing as people walked about their lives. Guards patrolled, soldiers and knights moved in formation, adventurers talked loudly as they made their way down the street, and residents went about their nightly routines. The soft glow of the lampposts illuminated the cobblestone road, casting long shadows across the path.

For a moment, Goblin Slayer felt at peace, the quiet hum of life around him calming his mind as he waited for his meal.

Goblin Slayer carefully removed his gauntlets, setting them beside his helmet with a soft metallic clink. The candlelight flickered across the wooden table as he picked up the menu, eyes scanning the offerings written on the parchment attached to a finely carved wooden board. His gaze hovered over the prices for a moment, and a familiar feeling of anxiety tugged at him.

The dishes were far more expensive than anything he had ever seen before, far beyond the humble meals he had once been able to afford. But then he remembered— he wasn't poor anymore. The gold and diamonds he had collected from his recent spoils were a reminder that he could afford to splurge on himself— a reality that seemed hard to grasp.

His stomach growled faintly as he continued to browse, trying to make sense of the fancy names. After a moment of indecision, he settled on something simple: bruschetta. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but from its short description, it sounded small enough for a start.

Just then, the soft sound of scales brushing the wooden floor caught his attention. A lamia waitress slithered toward him, her pale skin contrasting sharply with the sleek black scales coiled beneath her.

She wore a gothic-style barmaid's dress that added to her unusual but composed appearance, her straight black hair falling just past her shoulders. As she arrived at his table, she placed a glass wine cup in front of him, filled with ice cubes, water, and garnished with a lemon slice on the rim.

"Good evening," she greeted in a smooth, monotone voice. "My name is Xanthe, and I'll be your server tonight. Is there anything you'd like to start with?"

Goblin Slayer hesitated, staring at the menu in his hand. The word he had chosen was unfamiliar to him, and he struggled to pronounce it. "I'll have the, uh... Bruh-sheh... Bruh-shetta?"

Xanthe's lips curled into a subtle smirk at his attempt. "You mean bruschetta?" she corrected, her tone gentle yet amused.

Goblin Slayer nodded, a little embarrassed. "Yes. That."

"Very well," Xanthe replied, her smirk fading back into her usual calm demeanor. "And would you like something to drink?"

Goblin Slayer thought for a moment, his eyes briefly scanning the menu again, but nothing caught his attention. Instead, he recalled something Remi had mentioned earlier that day. "Do you have Sharky Pop?"

Xanthe blinked, a hint of curiosity crossing her otherwise impassive face. "Sharky Pop?" she repeated.

"It's a fizzy drink," Goblin Slayer explained, repeating what Remi had told him. "Imported from the Great Barrier Sea. It's crisp, and refreshing."

The lamia waitress raised an eyebrow, her tail subtly shifting beneath her. "Ah, I see. Unfortunately, we don't carry Sharky Pop, but I'll be sure to mention it to the executive chef. Perhaps it's something we could consider adding to the menu."

Goblin Slayer gave a small nod, appreciating her effort to entertain the idea. "Thank you. If not that, then I'll have... Some tea, please."

"Of course." Xanthe gave him a polite bow. "I'll bring your bruschetta and tea shortly. Take your time before ordering an entrée."

As she slithered away, Goblin Slayer stared after her, feeling slightly perplexed. 'What's an entrée? Am I supposed to order more food than just the bruschetta?'

He contemplate the question more while finding his gaze wandering back to the window— watching the cobblestone streets outside, illuminated by the warm glow of lampposts. He could see the bustling activity of soldiers and adventurers alike, their movements quick and purposeful as they patrolled the streets or made their way to the taverns.

There was a certain charm to the town of Stonehall, with its quiet hum of activity and the cool evening air filtering through the barred windows. It wasn't like the outposts he was used to, like the Maggiore Outpost near Evergreen, where things were slower and simpler.

As he gazed outside, the door of the restaurant opened, and the faint sound of boots and slithering scales filled the air. The lamia hostess greeted three new patrons, leading them toward a booth directly behind Goblin Slayer. Their voices drifted into his ears, distinct but unfamiliar.

"Long Ears, ye ain't gettin' any free drinks with that anvil chest o' yours," came a gruff, teasing voice. Goblin Slayer noted the rough accent— had he been a more worldly person, he would have identified the voice as belonging to a dwarf. The voice followed with a thick, rough and boisterous laughter— making it hard for the teenager to ignore.

"Shut up, you stone-headed idiot!" Snapped another voice, sharp and high-pitched. It belonged to an elf, judging by the tone. "And stop making fun of my chest! I'll shoot you right here if you don't shut up."

"Peace, my friends," a third voice chimed in, deep and calm. This one was more composed, almost reptilian in tone. "We are here to dine, not bicker over such trivial matters."

Goblin Slayer tensed slightly, his mind running through possibilities. He didn't recognize the voices, but the conversation hinted at a group of adventurers.

He continued to focus on the window, not yet ready to engage with anyone else, preferring to keep to himself, and to his plate full of delicious bruschetta.


High Elf Archer rolled her eyes at Dwarf Shaman's loud laughter— already exasperated as she sat down in the booth. She picked up the menu and scanned it briefly before letting out a frustrated groan. With a huff, she slammed the menu back down on the table, loud enough to turn a few heads in the restaurant.

"Goddamn it," she muttered irritably, crossing her arms. "Everything's so expensive here…! We should've just gone hunting for the night instead! Would've been cheaper, and at least I wouldn't have to deal with this nonsense…!"

Dwarf Shaman chuckled, leaning back in the booth with a smug grin. "Aye, lass, but ye cannae hunt brandy in the wild, now can ye?" He gave her a knowing wink as he reached for the menu— his tone laced with amusement.

High Elf Archer glared at him, her sharp green eyes narrowing. "Raging alcoholic," she shot back— voice dripping with disdain.

Dwarf Shaman only laughed louder, unbothered by the insult. "Aye, lass! Guilty as charged!" He waved it off— the chuckle still rumbling in his chest, as he looked over the menu without a care in the world.

Lizard Priest, sitting with his usual calm and composed demeanor, added his voice to the conversation. "Indeed, we cannot hunt cheese wheels either, as they are not living creatures," he remarked sagely, as if that solved the dilemma. His tail gently tapped the floor beneath him as he considered his point of wisdom.

High Elf Archer, already agitated, threw her hands up in frustration. "You two are impossible!" she snapped, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Inconsiderate assholes— both of you…! And who always gets stuck paying the tab?! ME! That's who!" She grumbled under her breath, glaring at the table in front of her.

Dwarf Shaman, without missing a beat, grinned mischievously and pulled a bottle of fire brandy out from underneath his white kimono. "Och, now don't be whinin', Princess. Ain't ye royals supposed to be rich?" He teased, poking at her with a smirk.

High Elf Archer growled at him, her ears twitching in irritation. "For the last time, I'm not THAT kind of princess!" She barked. "My tribe's been paying reparations to the Pendragon Empire for the last two hundred years. We live in huts in trees, crying out loud! How rich do you think we are?!" She snapped— her frustration bubbling over.

Dwarf Shaman shrugged, completely unfazed by her growing annoyance. "Sounds like a broke mindset to me, lass. That's why yer poor," he said with a smirk, taking a swig from his brandy bottle.

High Elf Archer's patience finally snapped. "Broke mindset?! I'm broke all the time because of YOU!!" she shouted, her face flushing with anger as she leaned across the table toward him. "We barely complete any quests because you're too busy drinking, and then some other party always swoops in and beats us to it!"

Dwarf Shaman let out another hearty laugh, clearly enjoying himself at her expense. Lizard Priest, sensing the rising tension, lifted his clawed hand gently— his voice calm and measured. "True wealth is not measured in gold or silver, but in the peace of one's mind and the balance of one's soul," he said in his usual profound manner— looking from High Elf Archer to Dwarf Shaman with a wise gaze.

After a brief pause, Lizard Priest glanced down at the menu again and, without missing a beat, added, "… Though, on a more practical note, how do you two feel about dining and dashing?"

High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman exchanged a quick glance. Then, without hesitation, both nodded nonchalantly, as if it were the most reasonable suggestion they had heard all evening.

"Great idea," High Elf Archer muttered, picking up her menu again, her earlier frustration replaced by a calm determination.

Dwarf Shaman smirked as he leaned back in the booth, already flipping through the menu to find the most expensive item he could order. "Aye, let's make it worth it, then," he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

High Elf Archer soon found herself eyeing the filet mignon on the menu, accompanied by a baked potato and garlic-roasted vegetables. The thought of it made her stomach rumble audibly, causing her to grimace in embarrassment.

Both Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest turned to her with raised brows, their silent looks enough to make her flush.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, trying to deflect the attention. "Anyway, look at all the other adventurers here tonight," she said, casting a glance around the restaurant. "You think any of them are here for our goblin quest?"

The word "goblin" had barely left her lips when she noticed both Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest staring beyond her— their expressions suddenly alert. Confused, she turned around in her seat, only to find a figure looming over the back of her booth. His piercing crimson eyes met hers, and she was taken aback by the intensity of his stare.

"… What the hell do you think you're doing?" High Elf Archer snapped, glaring up at him.

"I heard you mention goblins," the teenager responded in a straight-forward fashion. "Hill, or imp?"

High Elf Archer's face twisted into a look of bewilderment. She turned back to Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest, wordlessly gesturing at Goblin Slayer as if to say, "Can one of you deal with this?"

Dwarf Shaman, assuming Goblin Slayer to be some local kid, decided to entertain him. "Aye, lad, ye heard right. We're adventurers from the guild," he explained, his tone polite yet dismissive. "Here to deal with the goblins that've been killin' livestock and stealin' goats."

Goblin Slayer's response was immediate and direct. "Where's their nest?" He asked, his words clipped. Without waiting for an answer, he reached down into his belt and produced a folded map and pen— offering them over the top of the booth, his arm hanging just above High Elf Archer's head. "Mark it for me. I'll deal with them now."

Dwarf Shaman blinked in confusion, glancing at the map hanging over their booth. "Hold on, lad. Ye shouldn't be worrying yourself with this," he said, trying to be gentle. "That's what the Adventurers' Guild is for."

Lizard Priest, ever observant, leaned in closer. "He wears leather armor," he pointed out, his eyes studying Goblin Slayer's gear. "Perhaps he's a guild member himself."

This struck a nerve with High Elf Archer. Her patience thin, she swatted the map and pen out of Goblin Slayer's hand— the items landing on the polished floor with a light clatter. She turned fully around, standing up to meet him at eye level, her face mere inches from his.

"Listen here, brat," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "I don't know who you are, or why you thought any of us wanted to talk to you, but let me make it clear that none of us are, or ever were, interested in listening to your dumbass talk about goblins!"

Dwarf Shaman scolded her. "Now Long Ears, that's no way to talk to a child!"

High Elf Archer, already furious, snapped back at him. "Listen, Stone-Head, we can't afford to be nice anymore: hell, we CAN'T afford to NOT turn in this quest!" She shouted, her frustration boiling over. "Our registration renewals are coming up soon, and if we can't pay those fees, then we can't be adventurers anymore! Then you're really going to see what it's like being dirt-ass poor!"

Goblin Slayer, uncomfortable with the rising tension, cleared his throat and clarified. "I'm not an adventurer. I have my own guild. We deal with goblins of all shapes, colors, and sizes."

The claim left the trio skeptical. Lizard Priest tilted his head curiously. "Your own guild? What's it called?"

Goblin Slayer faltered, unsure of how to answer. "We… We don't have a name yet… B-But it's a work in progress."

High Elf Archer snorted in disbelief. "Bull-SHIT," she snapped. "Face it: you're just some lying spoiled brat pretending to be one of us! So why don't you turn around and mind your own business, before I beat the crap out of you?!"

Goblin Slayer, though visibly uncomfortable, stood his ground. "If that's true," he said quietly, but firmly, "then it won't matter if you show me where the nest is."

Out of patience, High Elf Archer huffed angrily. "Fine!" She barked, storming out of the booth and bending down to pick up the map and pen. She aggressively unfolded the map and slammed it on the table in front of Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest— her movements sharp and irritated.

She circled the approximate location of the goblin nest, then crumpled the map and threw it at Goblin Slayer's face. The pen followed, but Goblin Slayer ducked just in time to avoid it.

"There," she snarled. "Now leave us alone!" She plopped back down into her seat with a scowl, her cheeks flushed red with anger as she muttered curses in Elvish under her breath.

Goblin Slayer, now holding the crumpled map, turned and walked back to his own table, focused and unshaken. He uncrumpled the map and spread it out across the table, pulling out another pen from his belt. As he started marking up the map with notes near the circle High Elf Archer had drawn, he absentmindedly grabbed a bruschetta from his plate and began to chew.

Moments later, the lamia waitress returned, her expression concerned. "Is everything alright, young man?" She asked— eyeing the tense atmosphere.

"Yes," Goblin Slayer replied curtly, still focused on his map. "But I need to go."

The lamia nodded understandingly. "Would you like to order an entrée to go, then?"

Goblin Slayer thought for a moment before replying, "Spaghetti Bolo-Go-Niece." He butchered the pronunciation of the word, but his mind was too focused on planning his next raid to care about the awkwardness of the exchange.

The waitress blinked, slightly baffled by his intense focus, but smiled politely. "Of course. I'll have that prepared for you right away."


Author's note: Unintentional headcanon: Goblin Slayer loves drinking ice-cold soda.