The morning sun filtered through the windows of the hotel dining hall— casting a warm, golden hue over the space. The air was rich with the scent of savory breakfast meats, Earthy and spiced, and blending seamlessly with the sweetness of freshly baked pastries that filled the room. The fragrance of rich, buttery bread, warm honey, and cinnamon clung to the air— mingling with the more robust aroma of roasted vegetables and eggs cooked to perfection.
The dining hall itself was a blend of old-world charm and mechanical ingenuity. Polished wooden beams lined the ceiling, their surfaces worn smooth by time, while intricate brass piping wove through the walls like veins. Large, riveted cogs adorned the far end of the room, turning slowly, not for function but for form— creating an ambient hum.
Long tables, carved from dark, solid wood, were set with heavy iron chairs, with their backs adorned with delicate, gear-shaped etchings. A soft metallic sheen flickered from the candle-like bulbs that hung overhead in glass globes— suspended from intricately coiled copper wiring.
Along one side of the hall, five grand banquet tables stood in a row, with their surfaces laden with an assortment of delicacies. Each table was lined with catering trays of polished steel, with the food within being kept warm by small orange flames flickering beneath them. The flames emerged from circular devices, glowing with a controlled intensity, with their heat radiating just enough to keep the dishes steaming gently.
The soft hiss of the warming flames was almost drowned out by the quiet clinking of cutlery, and the murmur of early risers seated at the long tables, with their plates already filled with an array of offerings. The trays brimmed with roasted root vegetables, crisped bacon strips, plump sausages, and golden-fried eggs that glistened under the soft lighting. Beside them, pastries were piled high— flaky croissants, sticky buns drizzled in syrup, and bread rolls dusted with powdered sugar.
The atmosphere was one of warmth and simplicity, yet there was something more— an underlying pulse of machinery, subtle but ever-present, serving as a reminder of the intricate world outside the rustic walls.
The dining hall was alive with the muted clatter of cutlery and the gentle hum of conversation from patrons seated at the surrounding tables. The room's ambiance was steeped in a curious blend of old-fashioned charm and modern ingenuity. Polished wood beams framed the space, but the delicate copper piping that adorned the walls and the subtle mechanical hum hinted at an underlying, more advanced framework. Warm, soft light emanated from brass sconces— their glow highlighting the simple elegance of the room.
Goblin Slayer sat at a large circular table draped in a pristine white cloth. His plate, sparsely filled, remained mostly untouched as he cradled a white mug in both hands. His attire, surprisingly formal, caught the morning light— the crisp white collar of his shirt standing in contrast to the black tie and the dark, tailored vest that he wore over it.
His black slacks were perfectly creased, and the final touch was the unwanted, large black bracelet wrapped around his left wrist. It was an intricate piece of craftsmanship, with copper and brass accents that gleamed subtly, while small vents along an armored module glowed a faint yellow.
"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."
He inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of the coffee in his mug, while lamenting on the guard's recited words—the rich bitterness softened by the sweet hints of cream, sugar, and s'mores syrup he'd added.
It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
He took a long, deliberate sip, tilting the mug slightly higher than needed, while avoiding the contemplative stare High Elf Archer was giving him from beside him. Her delicate fingers held a teacup as she took a methodical sip, but her gaze never left him, with her emerald eyes being watchful as they were curious.
The teenager finally lowered the mug from his lips, but he kept it close— his crimson eyes focused on the swirling coffee within as if searching for answers in its dark depths. High Elf Archer's suspicion confirmed— he was avoiding them, retreating into himself. She continued to sip her tea, her patience unwavering, though a flicker of concern crossed her face.
Across the table, Lizard Priest sat with his maw stuffed with mozzarella sticks, and spoonfuls of yogurt— a peculiar combination that didn't seem to bother him in the least. He was completely oblivious to the tension in the air.
Beside him, Dwarf Shaman was humming quietly to himself as he unscrewed the cap of a small flask— pouring a generous splash of alcohol into his coffee before taking a hearty gulp.
The clinking of forks and the murmur of other guests filled the space— the mood light yet underscored by an unspoken weight hanging over the table. High Elf Archer broke the silence with a casual, almost teasing comment, her voice lilting with an attempt to lift the mood.
"I've got to say, Orcbolg, I'm surprised you're dressed so fancy this morning. Didn't even think you owned anything like that." Her lips curled into a small smile— hoping to coax more than a few words from him.
The teen, in response, flicked his eyes up at her for the briefest of moments— acknowledging her remark before retreating back into his mug, his voice low and flat. "It's proper etiquette."
He took another slow sip of coffee, leaving High Elf Archer disappointed.
Lizard Priest, however, was entirely unaware of the delicate dance of conversation playing out. With his maw full of food, he swallowed in one exaggerated gulp and grinned sheepishly— wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I must admit, I feel a bit embarrassed," he said, with his gravelly voice muffled as he spoke around the last of his mozzarella stick. "Had I known we were to dine in our finest attire, I would've brought my ceremonial vestments."
Dwarf Shaman let out a hearty chuckle, as he sat his mug down with a clink. "Vestments, eh? What you've got on now isn't ceremonial enough for you, eh, Scales?" His voice was gruff but good-natured as he raised an eyebrow in amusement.
Lizard Priest scoffed at the suggestion, shaking his head with exaggerated indignation. "Do not be ridiculous, friend; these are merely my work clothes— there's nothing sacred about them." He reached for another yogurt cup, his tail flicking in light amusement.
Dwarf Shaman laughed heartily at that, while leaning back in his chair as he downed another gulp of his alcohol-laced coffee. High Elf Archer's lips twitched into a smirk— a few quiet snickers escaping her, though her eyes kept darting back to the gray-haired teen, whose expression remained distant.
His crimson eyes, despite their intensity, were clouded with sadness, though his stoic face made an effort to conceal the depth of it. She could tell—he was lost in thought.
Tapping her fingers lightly against the rim of her teacup, High Elf Archer watched him for a long moment, her expression softening before she broke the silence once more. "Speaking of proper etiquette, we never did get to introduce ourselves properly to you, did we?" Her tone was more serious now, but there was an underlying warmth in her words.
Dwarf Shaman caught her meaning almost instantly, exchanging a knowing glance with her over the rim of his mug. He chuckled softly, before setting it down once more. "Aye, that's true. We didn't, did we?"
Lizard Priest, wide-eyed, nearly choked on his yogurt as realization dawned on him. He slammed the cup down on the table, and looked mortified. "By the Ancient One's scales…! You're right! Blinded by the sultry temptations of Chester Cheddar's offerings, I was!" His voice was both wise and absurd— a comical sage-like tone that made the others stifle their laughter.
Dwarf Shaman, ever the comforter, leaned forward slightly. "Better late than never, eh? No need to fret, Scales." His tone was reassuring, while a glint of amusement was still in his eyes.
Lizard Priest nodded solemnly, and visibly took solace in the words. "You're right, friend! As always. My thanks." He then bowed his head slightly, though the gesture was more dramatic than necessary.
The table's quiet amusement floated in the air, but High Elf Archer's attention drifted back to Goblin Slayer, who remained silent— his shoulders tense as if the lighthearted banter had barely touched him.
She could see it— the deep ache beneath his calm facade. His pain, his sorrow— it was all still there, simmering just beneath the surface.
High Elf Archer adjusted her brown short-shorts with the cushion creaking slightly, as she stood up from her chair. For a moment, she stared down at the teenager— his attention still fixed on the swirling contents of his coffee mug. She let out a quiet breath before gesturing to herself with a gloved hand.
"I am Princess Artemis Meliamne," she began, with a subtle regal edge to her tone. "I'm two thousand and twenty-six years old, and I joined the Adventurers' Guild to financially support my kingdom, "Oakglades"." She paused, waiting for any flicker of acknowledgment from Goblin Slayer, but his eyes remained locked on the mug. Her shoulders dropped ever so slightly as she sighed and returned to her seat, glancing at Dwarf Shaman and mouthing, "Your turn."
Dwarf Shaman nodded, finishing off his coffee with a swift gulp. Rising from his seat, he wiped his lips and beard with a napkin before adjusting his white kimono. He turned to Goblin Slayer with a friendly grin, while trying to lighten the mood. "Malachy Bhaston, one-hundred and seven years young. From "Deepbridge," "Tekkadan Island"— East of Zemuria's coast."
The teen's gaze didn't waver from his cup, but Dwarf Shaman pressed on— his tone light. "I joined the Adventurers' Guild to get subject status, figured I'd buy a house in Crossbell. Stuck with adventuring though— living in Crossbell means you've gotta work for a livin'." He mused jokingly, and let out a chuckle while hoping for some reaction.
But Goblin Slayer remained still, his eyes still focused on his coffee. Dwarf Shaman sighed— his good-natured attempt falling flat. He plopped back down into his chair before giving a soft smile to Lizard Priest. "You're up next, Scales."
Lizard Priest enthusiastically picked up his plate and scarfed down the last of his remaining food— earning chuckles from both Dwarf Shaman and High Elf Archer. Even she, despite the tension in the air, couldn't help but find his eating habits amusingly jarring.
With a final gulp of water, Lizard Priest wiped his face with exaggerated elegance. Adjusting his feathered headdress, he rose from his seat while almost knocking his chair over in the process. Catching it deftly, he turned to Goblin Slayer and bowed awkwardly.
"I am Oungan Jaree Adnoartina," he said proudly, puffing out his chest. Then, almost immediately, he added with a rambling tone, "Well, "Oungan" is a title, so really my name's just Jaree Adnoartina." He then straightened up, grinning wide. "I'm twenty years of age, from the tropical saltmarshes of "Santamavus," down in Southern Zemuria."
Lizard Priest's eyes gleamed with excitement as he continued. "I joined the Adventurers' Guild to support my eating habits, of course," he chuckled, "and practice my craft. With enough food, I hope one day to grow into a dragon! Imagine it— taking to the skies on glorious wings-!"
His enthusiasm was lost on Goblin Slayer, though. The quiet warrior's crimson eyes widened ever so slightly at the mention of a dragon, though he tried to hide his reaction behind the rim of his mug.
"Ah, misfortune— its web, tangled and wide, ensnares the fool and the brave alike. But despair... Despair is different…"
"… It's a gift, you see— not born of failure, but realization. Realization that your struggle was never a contest, but a foregone conclusion…"
"… Despair is the clarity of knowing the universe has long since decided your fate, and yet we persist…"
"… Why do you think that is?"
High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman exchanged confused glances, noticing the teen's subtle shift, but Lizard Priest rambled on while being oblivious.
But before he could drone on for long, Dwarf Shaman then raised a hand— cutting off Lizard Priest mid-fantasy. "Hold on there, Scales. You alright, Beard-Cutter?"
But the teen didn't reply— forcing himself to instead push aside the words of the bandaged woman that had stirred in his mind. He let out a soft breath and lowered his mug to the table, with the empty cup clinking against the white cloth.
An uncomfortable silence followed, tension thick in the air until High Elf Archer cleared her throat, while trying to shift the mood once again. "Y-Your turn, Orcbolg," she said gently, though there was a slight unease in her voice.
For a moment, Goblin Slayer said nothing. He took another methodical sip from his mug, then stood up slowly; his posture stiff and deliberate, and the cup still in hand. In his usual quiet tone, he began to introduce himself.
"Goblin Slayer," he said, his voice as steady as ever. "I'm fifteen years old. From the Highwind Plains." He paused, his eyes momentarily flicking up toward the others before lowering once more. "I… I didn't get accepted into the Adventurers' Guild."
With that, he sat back down— the words falling heavy over the table.
Lizard Priest, ever innocent, leaned forward, a puzzled expression on his face. "Wait, is "Goblin Slayer" the name your parents gave you?" He asked curiously.
Goblin Slayer's voice dropped even softer. "No," he replied, while avoiding the question with his eyes locked on the bottom of his mug once again.
High Elf Archer squirmed uncomfortably in her seat— guilt welling up inside her. She bit her lip, trying to hide her feelings, while Dwarf Shaman noticed her unease but said nothing as he took a slow sip from his drink.
Lizard Priest, oblivious to the tension, nodded to himself thoughtfully. "Ah, so you named yourself," he concluded with a sense of satisfaction, as if it all made perfect sense now. He then leaned forward, his curiosity undeterred. "But why didn't the Adventurers' Guild let you join?"
Upon hearing that, Dwarf Shaman nearly choked on his coffee— the alcohol burning slightly as he swallowed too quickly. High Elf Archer flinched, as her hands tensed on the table as she braced for the response.
Goblin Slayer took a deep, quiet breath— exhaling slowly before setting his empty mug down. He closed his eyes for a moment, then softly uttered, "I'm… Unwanted."
His words hung in the air— heavy and laden with pain. High Elf Archer's heart ached as she felt a surge of guilt wash over her, while Dwarf Shaman sighed deeply, as he raised a hand to his forehead— leaning his elbow on the table as he took another quiet drink from his mug.
Lizard Priest, still not grasping the full implication of the teen's response, grew mildly outraged on his behalf. "What?! That's absurd! You're the most generous and kind-hearted person I've ever met— you are the opposite of "unwanted," my friend," he declared passionately, his voice rising with emotion. "Even though we've only known each other for a short time, you've had more of an impact on me than most people I've known for years."
Lizard Priest's heartfelt words drew a soft, fake smile from the gray-haired teen. He opened his eyes halfway, his expression unreadable as he quietly said, "Thank you."
Long past the end of their breakfast, the party of four eventually found themselves back on the road— this time, within the comfort of the brass-and-copper vehicle Dwarf Shaman managed to hail.
Its wheels rattled smoothly along the highway, a steady hum and rhythmic hiss of pressurized steam keeping pace with the churning pistons beneath the hood. Lizard Priest had his head out the passenger window, his snout stretched wide in excitement as the wind flapped his scales. His forked tongue lolled out as he enjoyed the breeze.
Beside him sat the driver; a wiry rat in a weathered newsboy cap, perched behind the wheel with an ease that suggested this was his domain. His claws tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel— keeping time with the upbeat music streaming from the dash-mounted stereo.
The road stretched ahead, a polished ribbon of smooth asphalt flanked by wide, grassy fields. On either side of the highway, colossal steel towers held up sprawling webs of electric cables, crisscrossing the sky like spider threads. Telephone poles lined the road, and the occasional farmhouse, distant and lonely, broke the monotony of the green expanse.
Cars— metallic and bulky, their frames adorned with copper pipes and smokestacks— roared past them, with some towing massive trailers filled with cargo. Beyond the fields, in the far distance, a gargantuan dam stood tall, like a sentinel guarding the land— its concrete face holding back a shimmering body of water that spilled over into a glittering waterfall.
In the backseat, Dwarf Shaman was half-hidden behind a broadsheet newspaper— his thick fingers turning the page with an expression of deep interest. He sat directly behind the driver, while occasionally chuckling to himself as he read.
Goblin Slayer, silent as ever, sat in the middle seat— his battered leather armor creaking with every bump in the road. His orichalcum helmet obscured his face entirely— its cold, unfeeling gaze staring straight ahead between the front seats, taking in the bizarre world around him.
Everything was strange— alien, even. The sights, the sounds, the metal contraption they were riding in. His silence wasn't just his usual stoicism. It was something deeper— a quiet observation, trying to piece together this new, unfamiliar reality.
Beside Goblin Slayer, High Elf Archer sat with her back half-turned toward him, while her elbow was propped on the door and her cheek resting against her knuckles. Her emerald eyes, sharp and curious, flickered toward him. "So…" She said slowly— her voice carrying that teasing edge she always seemed to have when addressing him. "What's the plan when we get to Crossbell?"
Goblin Slayer didn't answer right away. His gloved hand drifted down to his belt pouch— the buckles of his gear clinking softly as he fished out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it slowly, his gauntlet-clad fingers moving with the deliberate care of someone who valued every scrap of information. "I need to see him," he said simply, before handing the paper to High Elf Archer.
She raised an eyebrow but took it. As she unfolded the note, her eyes skimmed the contents— whatever curiosity she'd had faded quickly, replaced by a grim frown. Her lips curled in disdain as she practically spat the name out. "Zachariah Xavniik...?!"
Her fingers gripped the paper tightly, with her knuckles whitening as her voice turned bitter. "Of course…! OF COURSE you'd want to talk THAT asshole…!" She snapped the paper shut with an angry flick of her wrist, nearly crumpling it as she handed it back to Goblin Slayer— her teeth gritted.
Dwarf Shaman lowered his paper just enough to peek over the top, a chuckle rumbling in his throat. "Ach, don't take it so hard, lass. You've always been a wee bit sour when it comes to that one, eh?" He then jabbed Goblin Slayer playfully in the elbow. "She's just pissed she lost to him a couple hundred years ago. She'll get over it. Eventually."
High Elf Archer whipped her head around— glaring daggers at him. "Shut it, Stone-Head!" Her voice rose, sharp and biting. "Because of Xavniik's "tactics," my homeland's forests never recovered! He burned them down— our homes, our trees, everything! Even my parents were executed because of him!"
Her voice shook, anger boiling over now. "If it hadn't been for my sister surrendering, we'd have kept fighting. Maybe we could've stopped him. Maybe we could've kept Oakglade from-" Her words caught in her throat— the weight of old grief surfacing.
Dwarf Shaman shifted awkwardly in his seat, his jovial expression softening. "I'm sorry, lass. I didn't mean to stir up the past."
High Elf Archer huffed while turning her face away from him, all while staring out the window as the vehicle rumbled on. "It's fine… I forgive you, I guess," she muttered, though her voice still trembled with the remnants of her frustration.
The rat driver, who had been silent up to this point, glanced over with his small, beady eyes— his whiskers twitching as he spoke in his nasally, streetwise voice. "Yeah, I get it too, lady. Xavniik's a real piece of work. You think yer people got it bad? You shoulda seen what he did to us rats in Remsen Town."
Dwarf Shaman looked up from his paper, his curiosity piqued. "Oh aye? What happened in Remsen Town?"
The rat shrugged, his grip on the wheel loose and casual. "Back when he was some hotshot general for Urthur's Royal Army, he rounded up a platoon of necos— catfolk, and trained 'em to hunt down us rats. They stormed the town, set up traps, and poisoned the food supply. Typical dirty tactics."
He scratched his chin with a claw, still focused on the road. "Our alpha at the time? Big fella, made all the rules. Kept everyone in line. Xavniik decided to make an example outta him. Had the necos pin him down in the square and… Well, they ripped him open and ate his guts while he was still alive— gobbled his insides out, like a big ol' pot of spaghetti. Made the survivors watch, too— messy, real messy."
The cab fell silent, the music from the stereo feeling strangely out of place after the rat's brutal story. High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman exchanged wide-eyed glances, while Lizard Priest, undeterred by the gruesome tale, stuck his head further out the window— his long tongue flapping in the breeze.
The rat shrugged, almost dismissively. "Eh, allegedly, anyway. I wasn't around to see it for myself. This was like two-hundred years ago. My great-great-great-grandma told me the story. Supreme God rest her bitter-ass soul."
Without missing a beat, he casually turned his attention back to the road— steering around a pothole as though he hadn't just described the grisly death of his people's leader.
The electro-swing music filling the car was a sharp contrast to the heavy atmosphere. The jaunty beat tapped out through the speakers, its energy almost infectious despite the tension. High Elf Archer, still simmering, crossed her arms and glanced sidelong at the rat. "Well… That's horrific."
Dwarf Shaman chuckled while shaking his head. "Aye, lad's got a way with words…!"
Lizard Priest, ever unfazed, pulled his head back inside— his reptilian eyes fixating on the shimmering cityscape growing on the horizon. Crossbell— perched atop the great mesa like a crown jewel— gleamed in the sunlight. Its towers were crafted from smooth ivory stone, laced with veins of shimmering brass. Gears and pistons spun lazily on the rooftops, while ships glided across the glistening waters of the Avalon Sea far below. The city, bathed in golden light, looked almost otherworldly— its grandeur a stark contrast to the raw, industrial sprawl that surrounded it.
Goblin Slayer, finally breaking his silence, spoke up, his voice steady and calm. "What's playing that music?"
The rat driver raised an eyebrow, his whiskers twitching in surprise. "You mean, you don't know what a radio is?"
Goblin Slayer's helmet tilted ever so slightly. "No."
The rat stifled a laugh, while shaking his head in disbelief. "Kid, where you been living, under a rock?! This here's a radio! Plays music— news, sometimes. Entertainment. Right now, you're listenin' to Armada Château. Good stuff, huh?"
Goblin Slayer stared blankly at the dashboard— his understanding of the world expanding just a fraction. "Yes."
As the rat turned back to the road, still smug about his concert plans, High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman exchanged amused looks. Goblin Slayer, however, remained focused. Reaching down, he pulled his worn backpack out from under the seat before setting it on his lap. He opened it with care, taking out a small, leather-bound journal.
High Elf Archer raised an eyebrow, watching him intently. "What are you up to now…?" She muttered, leaning slightly in his direction— her curiosity piqued.
Goblin Slayer placed the backpack back beneath Lizard Priest's seat and clicked his pen, before bending over the journal. His gloved hand moved in deliberate strokes across the paper—his focus entirely on the words forming beneath his fingertips.
Dwarf Shaman, who had been quietly observing, shook his head with a knowing grin. He crinkled his newspaper loudly, and cleared his throat to get High Elf Archer's attention. She quickly pulled back, straightening up in her seat.
"Ye ought to leave him be, lass. Let the lad write his thoughts."
She huffed, before crossing her arms again, but kept her eyes on Goblin Slayer's bouncing knee. The tempo matched the rhythm of the music playing from the radio.
Goblin Slayer paused in his writing, his pen hovering over the page. He then looked up at the rat driver, before asking him, "How do you spell "Château"?"
Without looking back, the rat then casually spelled out, ""C-H-A-T-E-A-U". Draw a little wiggle above the first "A"."
Goblin Slayer nodded, satisfied. "Thank you."
He returned to his writing, the steady scratch of his pen blending with the music, as he went back to bouncing his knee to the beat of the music. High Elf Archer watched him with a soft smile, with her earlier anger finally ebbing away, replaced by a quiet sense of peace.