The sky was painted with shades of orange and pink as the sun descended, casting long shadows over the grassy field. In the dimming light, a platoon of Royal Army soldiers stood ready— their shining armor gleaming in the fading sun, with the Pendragon insignia emblazoned on their shields and breastplates.
At their forefront was a knight, her long pink hair flowing behind her as she led the charge. Her green eyes blazed with focus, with the sharp red eyeliner accentuating the intensity in her gaze. Her gold and black armor bore the rank of commander— her presence exuding authority and experience. In her left hand, strapped to her forearm, she wielded a shield, and in her right, a glowing red claymore that pulsed with raw power. A large revolver rested in her left hand, with its barrel gleaming as the evening light caught its polished surface.
"Archers, lay down suppressing fire! Pikemen, ON ME!" She barked— her voice cutting through the growing tension like a blade through flesh.
The command echoed across the field as her soldiers sprang into action. Archers with bows drawn and pikemen with gleaming spears surged forward— their weapons glowing faintly from the magical buff bestowed upon them by the lieutenant standing nearby.
The bearded cleric raised his hands— a large golden cross emblazoned on both his back and chest armor. His voice was a steady murmur of prayers, with the passive spell coursing through the men around him— charging their weapons with kinetic energy that crackled with power.
From the Earth below, the ground heaved and trembled as thirty rock serpents emerged.
Massive, armored creatures, their bodies made of stone and dirt, each one towering above the soldiers. Their eyes gleamed red like coals, and their mouths were filled with jagged stone teeth that could crush steel. The serpents swarmed out of the ground, with their rocky hides reflecting the setting sun like shields of iron.
Without hesitation, the archers loosed their arrows— each shot glowing with kinetic energy. The arrows pierced through the rock serpents' thick armor, and drove deep into their bodies, shattering stone and sinew with every hit.
Pikemen followed suit, their spears glowing with the same energy, as they stabbed their sharpened into the exposed flesh between the creatures' rocky plates— piercing with supernatural ease.
In the distance, the arquebusiers and spearmen held the perimeter— their eyes scanning for any breaches in the line. Merchants with horse-drawn wagons stood behind them, watching with wide eyes, while trackers and other onlookers murmured in awe— none daring to step beyond the defense line.
The pink-haired knight was unstoppable. Her claymore swung with brutal efficiency— cleaving through the rock serpents like a heated blade through butter. With each strike, molten stone and ichor sprayed across the battlefield— drenching the ground in a mixture of blood and shattered rock.
She leaped from one serpent to the next— her movements precise and graceful despite the carnage around her. With one fluid motion, she fired her revolver, with each shot echoing like thunder.
A nearby rock serpent caught three bullets to the head in rapid succession— each one blowing chunks of its rocky skull apart until nothing remained but a shattered stump. The beast collapsed onto the grass with a heavy thud, and its body twitched as it died.
Another serpent lunged at her from the side— its mouth wide open, ready to devour her whole. She sidestepped at the last second, with her pink hair trailing behind her like a comet's tail. As the beast roared in frustration, her pikemen rushed forward to stab the tips of their enchanted weapons into its gaping leech-like maw. The creature screeched, with its mouth held wide open by the pikes lodged deep within its flesh.
The knight twirled on her heel, with her claymore glowing a deeper red as she brought her revolver up— taking aim at the back of the serpent's throat. With a smirk, she pulled the trigger— sending an explosive round into its gullet.
The shot detonated with a sickening crack, and sent shards of its skull flying in all directions. The inside of its mouth was reduced to a blood-soaked ruin— spraying her pikemen with gore and pieces of its splattered tongue.
"Push forward!" She shouted, her voice tinged with exhilaration, as the men surged ahead. The field was a cacophony of violence— steel puncturing flesh, serpents screeching, and the steady thrum of arrows shattering rock.
Grinning as she stood amid the carnage, she fired her revolver into the ground at her feet. The explosion beneath her sent fire and dirt flying into the air— engulfing her armored legs in flames as she rocketed toward another serpent that had begun to burrow back into the earth.
She landed on its back with a tremendous crash, with the force of her impact splitting its rocky armor. Her glowing claymore came down like a hammer, and liquefied the serpent's insides with a single blow.
She slammed her blade into the serpent's corpse— standing atop the dying creature as its insides spilled out in a grotesque display of blood, molten stone, and tissue. Her breath came in heavy pants, with sweat dripping down her brow and she freed her right hand. Opening the chamber of her revolver, she purposefully let the spent casings fall into the serpent's still-warm remains.
Her green eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she then reached into the leather satchel on her thigh and pulled out five fresh rounds. One by one, she placed the bullets into the chamber, with her fingers moving with practiced ease. With a swift flick of her wrist, she snapped the revolver shut with a satisfied click.
Turning to her men, she raised the revolver high before letting out a triumphant cheer. The soldiers erupted in a roar of celebration, with their voices ringing out across the field— drowning out the dying groans of the last serpents. Blood and fire coated the battlefield, and the air was thick with the stench of death and victory.
The fading light of sunset bathed the grassy field in a warm golden glow, and the battle that had just raged now drew to a close. The pink-haired knight led her platoon, now victorious, back toward the direction of the Marigold Road. Her crimson claymore glowed faintly, still hot from the heat of combat, and the soldiers who had secured the perimeter began shouting dismissively at the crowd of onlookers.
"Show's over, move along! Get back on the road before sundown!" One of the perimeter guards yelled, waving off the bystanders.
Among the gathered onlookers, Goblin Slayer, High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest stood quietly— rubbernecking with the rest.
High Elf Archer rubbed her chin, eyes half-closed while staring contemplatively at the knight striding confidently across the field. Her expression was sharp, but distant, as if she was deep in thought.
"I… I swear I've seen her before," High Elf Archer mused aloud, her voice thoughtful. "That red eyeliner and pink hair— all unmistakable."
The four of them began walking toward the Marigold Road along with the rest of the crowd— the sound of footsteps on the grass joining the murmur of conversation around them. Goblin Slayer glanced back toward the direction of the far away knight— his helmet hiding an impressed expression. "You could see that from here?"
High Elf Archer shot him a sideways look, half-annoyed. "Of course I can. Not everyone has the crappy eyesight of a human, you know," she said— her tone dripping with sass.
Dwarf Shaman chuckled beside them, playfully elbowing Goblin Slayer in the ribs. "Ach, don't pay her any mind, lad. She's just hangry."
High Elf Archer didn't bother to acknowledge the jab, flipping him off without even breaking her stride. Dwarf Shaman laughed heartily, as his broad grin spread even wider. Even High Elf Archer's lips curled into a reluctant smirk— betraying her amusement.
Goblin Slayer tilted his head slightly, still walking as he turned his attention to Dwarf Shaman. "What does hangry mean?"
Lizard Priest, walking beside them with his usual measured gait, recited, ""Hangry: a state of anger, annoyance, and hostility caused by a lack of food,"" He sighed, his long tail flicking behind him. "I, too, fear I may fall upon such grumpiness, if I do not eat soon."
Goblin Slayer murmured, "I see," his voice quiet.
As they walked, he began loosening the strap on his leather backpack and swung it around to rest against his chest. While the teen began rifling through it, High Elf Archer turned on her heel to begin walking backward. She eyed Dwarf Shaman, who was pulling out a leather canteen from beneath his white kimono.
"Anyway," she began, picking up where she left off, "about what I was saying. That pink hair, red eyeliner... Does any of that sound familiar to you?"
Dwarf Shaman uncapped his canteen with a flick of his thumb, lifting it to his lips and taking a hearty swig. He let out a satisfied sigh, the smell of strong liquor wafting out, which made High Elf Archer wrinkle her nose in disgust.
Dwarf Shaman then began stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Hmm... I reckon we've probbaly seen her around the Adventurers' Guild. Aye, can't remember her name though. But with the Pendragon Empire recruiting, it wouldn't be any surprise if that were the case."
The white-man dwarf then took another swig of his wine, before continuing on. "Empire's been offerin' officer positions to gold and platinum adventurers. Silver and steel ranks are gettin' soldier posts, startin' at a higher pay than your regular recruits."
High Elf Archer's expression flattened as she walked backward, eyes narrowing in thought. "And how do you know all of this?"
Dwarf Shaman shrugged nonchalantly, still grinning as he took another swig. "I read a pamphlet, lass. Back in Tanglefield, ye' see."
"I didn't see anything like that," High Elf Archer murmured, sounding unconvinced.
"They had 'em in the guild's branch office," Dwarf Shaman replied. His grin widened mischievously, and High Elf Archer's face immediately darkened in preemptive annoyance— knowing exactly where he was going.
"For all your long ears and sharp eyes, ye still manage to miss what's right under yer nose," Dwarf Shaman teased.
High Elf Archer scoffed, a grin tugging at her lips as she shot back, "At least I can pass a sobriety test at any given moment."
Dwarf Shaman nearly choked on his drink, coughing through a burst of laughter. "Aye, fair enough, lass," he conceded— wiping a tear from his eye. His laughter was infectious, lightening the mood.
Just then, Goblin Slayer's voice cut through, steady as ever. "We're only a few kilometers from reaching Central County." He held open the atlas booklet that Lady Eleanor had bought him, pointing to a page. "It says Grekok is the closest city from the East gate."
High Elf Archer scoffed, turning to face forward. "Duh, everyone knows where Grekok is— it's the agriculture center of the world, for gods' sakes."
Goblin Slayer paused for a second, then simply said, "Okay," before adding, "I'll pay for dinner, once we somewhere to sleep night."
His offer of generosity caught High Elf Archer off guard, and she flinched— her face flushing with guilt. Dwarf Shaman smirked knowingly at her, causing her embarrassment to deepen.
Lizard Priest, ever the peacemaker, spoke up. "I've never been to Grekok before, but I've read about it in a book. It's renowned for being a melting pot of cultures." He said, before reciting to them, ""The mingling of differences is the essence of life's beauty"," before licking his scaly lips in anticipation. "That means the food will be diverse— plenty to try!"
High Elf Archer turned around again, this time walking forward with a heavy sigh. The sun had begun to sink lower— casting long shadows ahead of them, as they approached the silhouette of Crossbell in the far distance.
Goblin Slayer, still holding the atlas, glanced at Lizard Priest. "There's information about the Grekok's eateries in here. Would you like to see?"
Lizard Priest smiled, taking the atlas with reverence. "Thank you, my friend." He then quoted, "Sharing bread is sharing trust. A meal together strengthens the bond between souls."
Hearing that only deepened High Elf Archer's guilt. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she muttered, "Thanks, by the way," her face still flushed.
She didn't turn to meet Goblin Slayer's gaze, but the weight of her emotions was clear as they continued their walk, the horizon ahead glowing with the promise of rest and food.
As the sky above them deepened from warm oranges to rich pinks, the subtle purples of twilight began to creep in— painting the horizon in gorgeous purple hues.
The long journey on the Marigold Road was nearly at its end, and the looming silhouette of Central County's towering walls drew closer. The inner circle of Zemuria, renowned for its massive fortifications and impressive defenses, felt intimidating, even to him. But it wasn't the walls themselves that unsettled him. It was the strange electric hum that filled the air, emanating from the large street lamps now flickering to life along the roadside.
"What's inside the glass?" Goblin Slayer muttered under his breath— his helmeted gaze fixed on the nearest lamp. Its glow wasn't magical, not like the torches or lanterns he was used to seeing. The light was steady, almost too perfect, too controlled. Magic had a certain unpredictability to it; this did not.
High Elf Archer, walking just ahead, glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. "Electricity," she answered, as if that explained everything. "It's a human thing. Try not to break your neck staring."
The road grew more congested as they neared the city. It was clear now they were approaching a major urban center.
Towering guard shacks stood on both sides of the road, flanked by watchtowers equipped with search lamps that swept over the fields beyond. Goblin Slayer noticed the guards posted in the towers, their silhouettes unmistakable— musketeers, armed with firearms that gleamed in the fading light. Some of the rifles had scopes, suggesting these sentries could pick off any threat from a distance.
"More of those fancy guns," Dwarf Shaman commented, nodding toward the musketeers. He took a swig from his ever-present flask, sighing afterward. "Can't say I'm fond of 'em."
The teenager didn't respond immediately. He understood what Dwarf Shaman meant, but found himself wondering, 'How effective would those contraptions be against goblins?'
"As the elders say," Lizard Priest began in his deep, contemplative tone, "Progress is like a blade. It cuts both ways."
The Marigold Road was almost at a standstill by the time the sun had disappeared completely— choked with people, wagons, and soldiers.
Knights in gleaming armor led patrols up and down the highway— their commanding presence a stark contrast to the local guards who were more concerned with maintaining order than intimidating the populace. Civilians, merchants, and travelers alike had come to a near halt— forming a sea of people.
In the distance, the towering fifty-meter walls of Central County loomed— casting long shadows over the landscape that blended with the dark skies. The walls, built to withstand sieges from any known force, seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions— circling the entirety of Zemuria's most protected territory.
Goblin Slayer's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene. Through the gaps in the crowds and wagons ahead, he could make out guards calling people forward to be inspected before entry.
"We're close," he muttered, with his voice barely audible beneath his helmet. His party walked in silence, each of them keeping their eyes on the horizon, where the massive protected gate stood as a near impassable barrier.
As they neared what appeared to be a structured base camp separating the crowd from getting access through the large gate, a guard motioned toward them. "You there," the guard called, his voice loud and authoritative, "head over to that line— it's less crowded."
Without a word, High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest began to peel off their shoes and open their bags, already anticipating the security check. Goblin Slayer, however, remained still, his gaze shifting from his companions to the guard.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice flat.
High Elf Archer rolled her eyes, her hands already busy with her boots. "What do you think we're doing?!" She snapped, sounding exasperated. "Don't tell me you've never been through a checkpoint before…!"
Goblin Slayer hesitated. He didn't like the idea of taking off his gear in such a crowded area— especially his helmet.
But before he could voice his reluctance, a guard standing near a wooden table waved him over. The table was set beside a conveyor belt that ran through a strange brass archway, bulky and unfamiliar. Everything about it screamed foreign technology to Goblin Slayer.
"Step forward," the guard ordered, his tone clipped. "Put your helmet and boots on the table, and open your bag."
Goblin Slayer remained where he was, his hand reflexively tightening around the strap of his backpack. "Why?" He asked, his tone neutral but firm.
The guard sighed heavily, as though he had been asked this question far too many times. "By order of Emperor Arthur Pendragon II," the guard began, his voice dripping with boredom, "all travelers seeking entry into the Central County must undergo security screening."
His eyes glazed over slightly as he continued, clearly reciting a well-worn script. "Registered members of the Royal Army or the Adventurers' Guild are permitted to carry arms. All others with proof of identity will have their weapons confiscated and be fitted with anti-mana bracelets during their stay. Legal possessions will be returned to you, upon departure."
Goblin Slayer frowned behind his visor. The idea of having his weapons taken— or worse, being forced to wear some magic-inhibiting device— did not sit well with him.
"And… And if someone doesn't have proof of identity?" Goblin Slayer asked— his voice steady but betraying a sliver of unease.
The guard groaned again, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Then you'll be sent to an inquisitor for further investigation," he replied, his tone flat. "They'll conduct a background check. If you pass, you'll be issued a new identity card— for a fee, of course. If you don't... Well, you don't want to piss off an inquisitor." The guard's voice dropped— adding a weight to the last part of his warning.
Goblin Slayer felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The word "inquisitor" lingered in his mindaa conjuring images of robed figures, prying questions, and intrusive magic. He didn't like it, not one bit. But he had no other choice.
Slowly, he bent down to remove his boots, placing them and his helmet on the table alongside his shield and tomahawk.
The guard glanced at him, unimpressed, before resuming his search of Goblin Slayer's bag. "Just follow the rules, and you'll be fine," he muttered, though there was little conviction in his voice. "Now go ahead and show me your proof of identity," the guard muttered, hardly looking at him as he began marking down the teen's possessions on a clipboard he had on hand.
Goblin Slayer stood there, silent for a moment. The guard's pen scratched across the parchment, the noise grating on his nerves. "I told you that I don't have any proof of identification," he finally said— his voice level but holding a quiet undercurrent of tension.
The guard's hand stopped mid-motion, and he finally looked up, his expression incredulous. "You mean to tell me that wasn't just a stupid hypothetical question?!" He sighed heavily, muttering to himself as if this was the last thing he wanted to deal with. "Great, just great. Now I've got to fill out an incident report. Fantastic."
He motioned with a hand toward the line, a signal for someone else. "Stay right there," the guard grumbled, shooting Goblin Slayer an irritated glare as if the entire situation were a personal inconvenience. "You've just made my day, you know that?"
Before Goblin Slayer could respond, the heavy thudding of boots filled the air. He glanced to his left and saw them: two hulking figures in black and gold armor, standing out even among the other soldiers patrolling the checkpoint. They towered over everyone around them, easily over ten feet tall, their presence alone causing the crowds nearby to quiet in reverence— or fear.
The armor they wore was bulky— the kind designed not just for protection, but intimidation. Thick black plates covered every inch of their bodies, with intricate gold detailing along the edges, almost ceremonial in their design, but there was no mistaking their lethality.
On their backs, Goblin Slayer noticed packs that hissed and radiated thin wisps of steam— the soft mechanical hum of motors cutting through the air. The armor wasn't just heavy—it was alive with technology, powered by something far beyond what Goblin Slayer was accustomed to.
Every step they took was loud and mechanical, each movement accompanied by a sharp hiss of air escaping from vents, as though the suits themselves breathed.
The two figures closed in on him— their large bulky rifles slung across their chest plates. Their firearms were massive, constructed of gleaming brass and steel, and Goblin Slayer's trained eye caught the large rotary magazine mounted on the top, with a faint whirring noise coming from a small motor near the firing mechanism.
These weren't standard firearms— they were something else entirely, far beyond the simple matchbox guns and crossbows he had seen. They were just like the ones he had seen on the knights— complex, and intricate in their complex design.
Their helmets were the most unnerving. Blackened eye visors gave no indication of who or what was behind them, and perched just above the visors were headlamps that cast an eerie glow, illuminating their surroundings but keeping their own eyes hidden. They were faceless giants, their presence a deliberate show of power and control.
"You," one of the armored figures said, his voice a low, mechanical growl that echoed unnaturally from the helmet. "You're coming with us."
Goblin Slayer tensed. His hand instinctively belt, but he forced himself to remain calm. "W… What's this about?" He asked, while trying to keep his voice steady.
"No proof of identity," the guard who had been searching his bag chimed in with a shrug, clearly done with the situation. "Means you're getting sent to an inquisitor. Hope you enjoy the visit."
The first armored figure stepped forward, hi— sheer size forcing Goblin Slayer to look up. The soft whine of the servos in his suit grew louder as the giant bent slightly forward, pointing a thick, gloved finger toward the direction they wanted him to go. "Double time," he barked, with his voice crackling through the modulator in his helmet.
Goblin Slayer felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. The command wasn't just firm— it was an order that brooked no argument. He was no stranger to commands, but the implications here were clear: resist, and it would not go well.
Reluctantly, the teen began walking, his pace faster now, keeping just ahead of the two massive figures. Their heavy, mechanical footsteps followed him— each step pounding into the ground with a rhythmic precision.
The path they walked took them away from the main lines and the bustling crowds. They passed beyond the normal checkpoints, moving toward the massive archway that led into the center of Zemuria itself.
The arch loomed ahead— a towering structure of stone and steel, with bright electric lights illuminating the tunnel beyond. The road leading through the arch was wide and well-lit, lined with outdoor offices— temporary structures manned by guards and clerks who processed those seeking entry.
Goblin Slayer could feel eyes on him as they passed by the other travelers and soldiers. Many turned to stare, their expressions a mix of confusion and fear. He glanced over his shoulder, back toward his party. High Elf Archer, Dwarf Shaman, and Lizard Priest stood in the line, their faces a mixture of confusion and mild worry.
High Elf Archer's brow furrowed in concern, and Dwarf Shaman had paused mid-swig, lowering his flask as he watched Goblin Slayer being led away.
Before Goblin Slayer could take a second glance, one of the armored giants behind him shoved him forward. "Eyes front," the second soldier ordered, his tone devoid of emotion. The shove wasn't hard, but the force of it was enough to nearly make him stumble. The threat was clear— there would be no room for hesitation or defiance here.
Goblin Slayer gritted his teeth but complied, turning his gaze back ahead. The situation was far from ideal.
Inquisitors. The word rang ominously in his mind. He didn't know much about the Pendragon Empire, but inquisitors were a universal constant— agents of the state, trained in interrogation, investigation, and worse. If they deemed him a threat or an imposter, things could go downhill quickly.
His thoughts raced as they approached one of the larger outdoor offices, its walls made of thick, reinforced wood and metal. A large, brass placard on the front bore the insignia of the Pendragon Empire, with the words "Inquisitor Tamriel's Office" etched in bold lettering.
There were a few soldiers stationed outside, their armor gleaming in the light of the electric lamps overhead. Goblin Slayer felt the weight of his unease deepen as they stepped closer.
"Go," one of the armored giants ordered— gesturing toward the door. The hiss of their steam-powered suits and the low hum of their mechanical parts filled the air— an ever-present reminder of their superiority in both size and technology.
Goblin Slayer didn't argue. He stepped forward and pushed open the door— the weight of it heavier than expected. Inside, the room was dimly lit, with a large desk in the center and shelves lined with scrolls, ledgers, and documents. A man sat behind the desk, his face obscured by a hooded cloak. He looked up slowly as Goblin Slayer entered— his eyes cold and calculating.
"So," the man began, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable authority. "You're the next unfortunate soul who's tried crossing into Central Country without any identity." His lips curled into a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Let's see what we can find out about you, shall we?"
The tension in the room was palpable. Goblin Slayer stood still, his muscles coiled beneath his armor. The inquisitor's gaze felt like it could cut through steel. The hooded man tapped the end of his golden pen against the desk in a slow, deliberate rhythm— an unspoken reminder of who held the power in the room.
Goblin Slayer sat still, his mind racing but his face unreadable, his posture rigid as he waited for the man to speak.
"Are you literate?" The inquisitor asked— his voice smooth and casual, though laced with an undertone of superiority. His eyes didn't leave Goblin Slayer's face, as he watched him for any flicker of reaction.
"Yes," Goblin Slayer replied, being curt and to the point.
The inquisitor raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting more, but when no further explanation came, he leaned back in his chair, lips curling into a thin smile.
"Splendid," the inquisitor said softly, while opening a cabinet beneath his desk. The sound of wood scraping against wood was grating. He pulled out a printed forum— placing it neatly in front of Goblin Slayer, along with a cheap, ink-stained pen. "Fill this out."
Without a word, Goblin Slayer reached into his belt to produce a different pen: the sleek, expensive one with a silver nib that had been from Lady Eleanor. He uncapped it, ignoring the cheap one the inquisitor had offered.
The hooded man watched with amusement— one corner of his mouth lifting as the teenager's subtle act of defiance registered.
"Ah, a Montablac series— how exquisite," the inquisitor remarked, his tone laced with dry amusement. "I'm a collector of finer goods myself— I know that model must've cost you at least fifty gold coins, in and of itself. From the way you're dressed, I wouldn't have assumed you could afford such luxuries."
Goblin Slayer said nothing, instead focusing on the form in front of him. He wrote his name— his hand hesitated slightly as he filled out the section for his place of birth. The teen could feel the inquisitor's eyes on him, like a predator sizing up its prey, but he kept his focus on the task. Every stroke of the pen felt heavy, as though writing it down cemented something he'd rather leave forgotten.
Once finished, he slid the form back across the desk. The inquisitor picked it up, his eyes skimming over the details.
"Ren Ashta," the inquisitor said aloud, the sound of his name leaving the man's lips sending an odd shiver down Goblin Slayer's spine. "Riverwood Village… Highwind Plains."
The teen clenched his jaw as the inquisitor reached for a large logbook from a nearby shelf— flipping through its pages with an almost methodical precision. His fingers moved across the entries, muttering to himself as he cross-referenced the details. "Let's see here... Date of birth... Just fifteen years old, are you?"
The inquisitor's tone was quiet, but there was something mocking in it, like he found the whole situation vaguely amusing. He flipped to another page, running a finger down the list of names and places.
"Ah, here you are," he announced with a touch of satisfaction. "Ren Ashta. Well, well, well… A miracle you know how to read at all, coming from a place like that!" The inquisitor chuckled to himself. "Riverwood: a backwater settlement, in middle of nowhere— barely a dot on the map."
Goblin Slayer remained still, though he could feel his heartbeat quickening. His fingers flexed slightly— resting on the armrests of the chair.
"Oh, this is rich," the inquisitor went on, his grin widening as he read further. "According to a report filed five years ago, Riverwood was destroyed in a goblin raid. Brutal, I imagine." His eyes flicked up to the teen— taking a sadistic pleasure in the way his face tensed. "No one even cared enough to investigate further. Just another drop in the bucket, really. I'm sure you understand, though— expansion must go on, and small villages like that? Expendable as they are replaceable."
The teen's hands tightened into fists, his knuckles turning white. He didn't respond, but the inquisitor saw the flicker of anger in his eyes and relished it.
"You do realize the purpose of those settlements and the Adventures' Guild isn't to build a strong, thriving community in the less savory parts of Zemuria, yes?" The inquisitor asked rhetorically— already knowing Goblin Slayer's answer, and not waiting for an answer before continuing.
"They're all there to be footholds for our Empire— to collect resources that merchants travel to purchase from your backwater villages at a cheap price, and then sell said resources to manufacturers within Crossbell— where we can develop ourselves, and strengthen our armies to properly conquer the rest of the continent," the hooded man explained snuggly— his voice filled with graceful arrogance, as he smirked from the way he saw the teen's eyelids narrow.
"That's what you, and every other star-eyed bumpkin are in the eyes of the Empire: disposable means to an end," he said in a low, sadistic voice, before pausing as his dark demeanor suddenly fell apart.
"Relax, boy," the inquisitor chuckled, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. "No need to get all worked up. For what it's worth, that method of expanding at our own pace is no longer viable; ever since Blackwatch recently became a formidable force, I'm afraid that the days of sending adventurers to the frontlines isn't enough anymore— asymmetric warfare requires more out of all of us, you see."
The inquisitor then reached into a drawer, and pulled out a small notepad. "Or perhaps you don't see that— I digress," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Tell me, Ashta, were you the only one who survived that goblin raid? Back when Riverwood was around?"
Goblin Slayer's voice was low but steady. "… Yes."
The inquisitor let out a soft, sadistic chortle, as he jotted down a quick note. "Sole survivor," he murmured to himself, as if savoring the words. He tapped his pen against the desk again, before moving on. "And what brings you to the Central Kingdom? You must have a reason for coming all this way."
Without missing a beat, the teen formulated a lie, with his face betraying no emotion. "The frontier is too dangerous. I want to start a new life."
The inquisitor smirked, leaning forward. "A new life, you say? Can't say I blame you. Life on the frontier isn't exactly for the faint-hearted. And I'd say that your reason for coming here is completely justified…"
There was a sudden, eerie pause. The inquisitor's hand moved under the desk— flicking a hidden switch. Silence hung between them for a beat too long. The inquisitor's eyes gleamed with something sinister. "… If any of what you just said were true, of course."
Before Goblin Slayer could react, the door burst open. The two hulking armored guards from before stormed in, their heavy rifles aimed directly at the back of his head. The mechanical hum of their suits filled the room, a constant reminder of their power.
The teen jumped, as his hand instinctively twitched toward his side. His heart raced, but he forced himself to stay calm. The inquisitor, meanwhile, was thoroughly amused.
"Lying to a government official," the inquisitor drawled, wagging his finger mockingly. "That's called perjury, you know. A very serious offense. Eight years in prison, at minimum… If you survive the intense interrogation sessions, that is."
The inquisitor leaned back, placing his hands behind his head as he began to reminisce about his favorite pastime. "We inquisitors start with the small stuff. Breaking fingers. Burning flesh. But the real fun begins when we get creative. Hooks. Barbed wire. The rack…" His eyes glinted, watching for any sign of weakness in Goblin Slayer. "I would take my time with you, boy. But since you're just a filthy, sister-fucking, hillbilly— and a just moronic child at that— I suppose I can show a bit of mercy. Just this once though."
Goblin Slayer's muscles were coiled tight, but he didn't flinch.
The inquisitor waved the guards off. "Go fetch me his belongings," he ordered. The armored giants nodded and left, leaving Goblin Slayer alone with the hooded man once more. The silence that followed was suffocating, filled only by the soft tapping of the older man's pen.
He hummed softly to himself as he swiveled around in his chair— opening a small compartment behind his desk. "All of this must truly be a culture shock to you, isn't it? I mean, templars are quite terrifying— undoubtedly. But there's more to advancing technology than just using it for the sake of securing dominion," he mused pridefully, as he took out a strange device— mechanical and brass, with intricate details.
Goblin Slayer didn't answer, but the inquisitor didn't seem to care. "This is called a gramophone. It can play recorded music on mediums called "vinyl records". Completely alien to someone who lives in the dark ages like yourself, but soon enough appliances such as these will be in households of every subject in Zemuria."
He screwed a brass horn onto the device— his movements slow and deliberate, enjoying the power he held over the moment. "Between you and I, it's a wonder that you've got all your teeth still, honestly. Tooth decay's rampant among those living on the Eastern Frontier, now isn't it?"
Goblin Slayer continued to sit in silence— his crimson eyes locked on the inquisitor, but betraying nothing.
The inquisitor rifled through a collection of vinyl records before selecting one and placing it onto the player. A few moments later, the sound of soft, melodic jazz began to fill the room. The hooded man then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, so as to savor the music as it washed over him.
"Ah, "In the Mood"…! Sir Miller, you truly are a musical genius, aren't you…?" He murmured to himself, naming the song with a contented sigh.
The jazz, smooth and soothing, filled the tense air— an eerie contrast to the situation.
The inquisitor then turned back to his desk— the smile returning to his face as he picked up his pen again. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on the desk— fixing Goblin Slayer with a wide, predatory grin.
"Get cozy, Ashta," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "We're going to be here for a while."