The double glass doors of Mythical Morning swung open— releasing a wave of rich, warm air that wrapped around them like a comforting embrace. Inside, the aroma of freshly ground coffee, cinnamon, and honey filled the air— mingling with the soft hum of voices and the clink of ceramic cups. Goblin Slayer paused at the threshold, with his gaze sweeping over the spacious café, as he took in the scene with a quiet, deliberate slowness.
The place was vast, yet intimate. The high ceilings were lined with dark wood beams, and the walls told stories of battles fought and won. Posters and framed memorabilia from the Pendragon Conquest of Zemuria adorned the walls— pieces of history captured in faded photographs, showing proud soldiers standing victorious over their spoils.
Worn banners from long-forgotten campaigns hung alongside old helmets and tattered flags— relics of a time when war had carved deep marks into the world. Despite its heavy past, the café held a warmth that invited people to forget the battles, even if just for a moment.
Goblin Slayer breathed in the scent of coffee deeply, savoring it. His lips curled into a soft smile, but there was a quiet restraint to it, like an actor stepping into a role. "My sister… She used to love coffee; she'd drink at least one or two cups every morning, if we had some in our cabinets," he said, his tone gentle, almost wistful. "We couldn't grow the beans ourselves, which made being able to buy them a luxury for us… Guess that's where my fondness for it comes from."
The words lingered in the air, as though he were trying them out— like a line in a script that didn't quite belong to him. His companions exchanged brief glances, sensing the shift in his demeanor, but said nothing for the moment.
Dwarf Shaman chuckled, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "Huh. I had you pegged for a coffee lover— I've been seein' you gulpin' them down, each time ye had the chance," he mused aloud, before voicing some of his confusion.
Goblin Slayer gave the dwarf an amused smirk, as they made their way at the start of the line— with his gaze wandering over the café. The warm glow of the amber lights cast everything in a golden hue— the tables filled with a mix of adventurers and soldiers, all taking a rare moment of respite. The low murmur of voices, the clatter of cups, and the hiss of steam from the machines formed a comforting rhythm— a lull that felt foreign to him, yet somehow he slipped into it.
'To have a life like this… So peacefully ordinary… If only such a life could be mine,' the teenager thought to himself— a melancholic breath escaping past his parted lips, as he did his best to shake the feeling of longing off.
High Elf Archer, despite how relaxed Goblin Slayer was, seemed to be on edge. Her fingers tugged at her cloak, while her eyes darted around the room. Her usual confidence was tempered with an undercurrent of unease. She shifted nervously, with her shoulders tense as though bracing for something.
While his eyes were tracing the decorative contours of the café's wall-pieces, Goblin Slayer soon took notice of High Elf Archer's mildly distressed body language. "Artemis? Is there… Is there something wrong?"
She blinked, startled, as if pulled from her thoughts. "What? Oh, no… No, I-I'm fine— really." Her smile was thin— an attempt to brush off the question. "Just… Taking it all in strides, you know?"
Goblin Slayer's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Yeah, I know the feeling," he said softly, but there was a weight to his words— an understanding that ran deeper than he let on.
Dwarf Shaman finished observing the twos' interaction, before subtly nudging Lizard Priest— casting another glance at Goblin Slayer, while the teen's back was turned towards them. "Doesn't it feel strange…? Seein' him like this…? So… Relaxed…?"
Lizard Priest hummed in agreement, his claws tapping thoughtfully on the counter. "A curious sight indeed… But perhaps it is a reminder that even the hardest stone can soften…? That there is peace to be found, even in fleeting moments…?"
The teenager let out a soft laugh, surprising the two as he turned his head over his shoulder to smile back at him. "It's not that strange," he said, his voice lighter than usual. "This? This is how I would be all the time, if I could." His tone was casual, almost playful, but beneath it, there was a sharpness— a bitter edge he couldn't quite smooth out. "Being this way? It makes me feel… Happy."
Dwarf Shaman chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. "Aye, lad— if ye' say so. Just don't be forgetting who ye' are entirely, ye' hear me?"
The gray-haired teen's smile wavered, just for a second, before he forced it back into place. "I couldn't, even if I tried," he said simply, as if that was all there was to it.
He and his companions eventually approached the counter, once it was their turn to be called up— stepping into a soft golden light that seemed to wash over the scene. The café had that rare, almost mythic, charm— the kind of place where time moved a little slower, and even the hum of conversation felt musical.
Goblin Slayer, ever aware, noticed that the woman behind the counter was different from the teenagers bustling around her. She was striking— mid-thirties, by his guess. Her short blond hair framed a face softened by years of something beyond the battles the memorabilia suggested. Her eyes, a deep, alluring green, fixed on him with an intensity that felt out of place for a café. Dark-rimmed glasses sat on her nose, and her barista uniform was worn with an elegance that the others couldn't quite mimic.
"Good Mythical Morning!" She said, her voice rich and enthusiastic— breaking the spell of his observation. She grinned, wide and welcoming, and leaned forward on the counter, tilting her head just slightly as she introduced herself. "I'm Veronica O'Neil. You folks must be tourists, right?"
Her tone was bright, but not overbearing, like someone genuinely pleased to see them. The teenager responded with a smile, one that seemed almost real, though beneath it, he felt the weight of each muscle pulling into place.
"We here for this place in specific," he said— his voice soft and calm. "But I've bean looking forward to a good cup of coffee since our ferry boat landed." The pun slipped out so naturally that even he was surprised.
Veronica blinked, her smile deepening as her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Oh-ho! A man after my own heart," she said, leaning in conspiratorially. "I suppose I can espresso how much I like that joke!"
The teen then let out a soft laugh, genuine this time— the sound surprising Dwarf Shaman and High Elf Archer, who both looked at him like they didn't know what to make of this version of him.
Veronica, still smiling, looked Goblin Slayer up and down with intrigue. "So, coffee jokes aside, what brings you folks here? Can't just be our famous brews."
It was then that his expression shifted, the mask slipping back into place. "Actually," he said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket, "I came from the Evergreen Forest to speak with Zachariah Xavniik. Captain D'Arce, stationed at Matterhorn, sent me." He handed the paper over to her, careful, and polite. The weight of the journey hung in his words— though he spoke with his usual calmness.
Veronica's eyes gleamed with curiosity as she took the paper, slipping it into her apron pocket with practiced ease. "From the Evergreen Forest, huh? That's quite the journey." She paused, musing aloud. "Must be something important if you came all this way."
Goblin Slayer nodded. "I wouldn't have traveled that far if it weren't." His voice was steady, betraying nothing, yet a flicker of something deeper— something like purpose— danced in his eyes. "I'm interested in building a guild. A guild that will protect the people of the frontier, from goblins of all shapes, sizes, and species."
Veronica raised an eyebrow, smirking as she leaned back. "Goblins of all shapes and sizes, huh?" She seemed intrigued, but not fully convinced. "That sounds ambitious. Altruistic, even." She eyed him carefully as she spoke— clearly weighing the teenager before her.
Goblin Slayer's gaze was unwavering, though there was a flicker of subtle weariness in the depths of his eyes. "It's… It's necessary."
Veronica smiled, pocketing the folded paper. "Well, I'll have a word with the boss. But before I do that, you'll need to buy something."
Goblin Slayer blinked, genuinely confused. "I need to buy something?" He repeated slowly, his mind running through the unexpected shift in the conversation.
Veronica stifled a laugh, noticing his confusion. "Yeah, the boss doesn't usually talk to people unless they're paying customers. You're not the first one to come looking for him, and he usually sends most of them on their way." She shrugged, her smile playful. "It's kind of a thing around here."
Goblin Slayer's brow furrowed for a moment as he processed her words. "I see," he finally said, then paused. "How… How often does he turn them away?"
Veronica chortled, clearly entertained by his question. "Almost everyone who comes here seeking for his help gets turned away. The famous Hero General doesn't just speak to anyone." But then she winked— her tone playful yet reassuring as she tapped her apron pocket, where she'd tucked the note.
"You've got one thing that the forty other people who got turned away didn't— you were sent by one of his protégés." She smiled knowingly, her eyes flicking back to Goblin Slayer's. "In my ten years working for Xavniik, I've never seen him turn away someone who was invited to see him by a protégé."
Goblin Slayer's posture relaxed slightly, his expression softening. "T… Thank you," he said, with a genuine note of gratitude in his voice. He turned his attention to the chalkboard menu above the counter— squinting slightly at the endless options written in intricate script.
High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman exchanged uneasy glances— the overwhelming array of choices clearly leaving them at a emerald green eyes began darting nervously over the menu, her fingers twitching at the edge of her cloak.
Dwarf Shaman scratched his head, muttering something under his breath about too many choices.
Goblin Slayer, however, seemed unfazed. "I'll take a vanilla iced macchiato with double ristretto, triple shot, caramel drizzle, a splash of oat milk, and light foam," he ordered— his tone casual, as though the absurd complexity of the order didn't even register.
High Elf Archer and Dwarf Shaman stared at him, dumbfounded, and completely at a loss for words.
Veronica raised an eyebrow, impressed, and quietly murmured his order to herself as she scribbled it down on her notepad. She then turned to Lizard Priest, grinning as she playfully pointed her pen at him. "And what'll you have?"
Lizard Priest, ever methodical, smiled politely. "I'd like an iced bubble tea, please. Extra tapioca, almond milk, and a hint of honey."
He paused, turning to Goblin Slayer. "May I also indulge in some pastries?" He asked— his tone reverent as if asking permission for a great honor.
The teen smiled back at him, a warmth in his eyes that seemed real, if only for a moment. "One of every sweet," he said, turning toward Veronica. "Add that to the order, please."
Veronica's eyes widened in surprise, clearly intrigued by his generosity. She repeated the phrase "one of every sweet" to herself, jotting it down. Lizard Priest, meanwhile, turned to Goblin Slayer with an uneasy smile.
"T-Thank you, my friend," Lizard Priest said, his voice soft with gratitude. "But I don't want to be a burden. The last thing I want is to take advantage of your kindness."
Goblin Slayer shook his head, his smile barely faltering. "It's fine. I insist."
Lizard Priest hesitated. "A-Are you certain…?"
"I am," He replied simply— his tone firm, yet gentle.
Suddenly, Lizard Priest's face lit up with excitement, and before anyone could react, he grabbed Goblin Slayer, lifting him into a tight embrace. "You truly are a good friend!" He shouted, twirling the gray-haired teenager around in a joyous hug.
Goblin Slayer, at first stiff and uncomfortable, slowly relaxed in Lizard Priest's arms— a small smile creeping onto his face. "Hey… What else are friends for?" He mused softly—the words tinged with a quiet sincerity.
Lizard Priest then set him down gently, beaming, as Veronica watched them with an amused smile. She then turned her attention to High Elf Archer, who was still staring at the menu in bewilderment.
"And you?" Veronica asked, raising an eyebrow. "What'll you have?"
High Elf Archer glanced at the menu again, clearly overwhelmed. Without missing a beat, she pointed a gloved hand toward Goblin Slayer. "I-'ll have what he's having," she stammered out— trying to maintain her usual cool demeanor, though it came off more flustered than anything.
Veronica stifled a laugh, seeing through her facade as she scribbled down the same complicated macchiato order again, adding a quick "times two" beside it. She then turned to Dwarf Shaman, grinning. "Let me guess… A Gaelic Car Bomb?"
Dwarf Shaman's eyes lit up with curiosity. "What in the blazes is that?" He asked, intrigued.
"It's whiskey and Gaelic Cream poured into an espresso," Veronica explained, with her voice low and playful.
Dwarf Shaman's eyes widened with delight, and he grinned. "Och, now that's a drink! You've got me sold!" He leaned in, his expression sly. "But tell me, lass… How'd you know I was a wee bit of a drinker…?"
Veronica mimicked his wry look, leaning over the counter toward him. In a hushed voice, half-joking, she said, "I could smell the fire wine on your breath…"
Dwarf Shaman's face flushed with embarrassment, and then he burst into hearty laughter. Veronica scribbled down the Gaelic Car Bomb order, tearing the page from her notepad with a flourish. "Find yourselves a cozy spot," she said, her voice teasing and full of promise. "I'll bring your orders— and Xavniik— when they're both ready."
The fire roared beside them— its heat filling the circular lounging area with a cozy warmth that contrasted the intensity of the dancing flames. Goblin Slayer sat in a worn leather chair, casually immersed in a book titled "Monochrome Rainbow". His right hand held the book open, while his left occasionally brought an iced vanilla caramel macchiato to his lips, sipping quietly as he read.
"Her beauty was flawless, captivating in every way. Yet beneath that surface, there was nothing but emptiness. She existed, but did not live. Her smile could dazzle the world, but inside, her heart was silent, hollow— a barren desert hidden behind a painted mask. No one noticed the quiet desolation in her eyes, the way her soul seemed to drift, untethered from the brightness she presented. Beauty had become her prison, and she a prisoner of her own reflection."
Goblin Slayer blinked as he re-read the last line, lingering on the words. He shifted in his chair, taking another sip of his drink. There was a familiarity in those sentences, though he wasn't sure why. He closed the book with a soft sigh, setting it on his lap as his gaze flicked to the others.
Lizard Priest was seated on the couch, and was hunched over the coffee table, while working his way through an impressive assortment of pastries. His eyes gleamed with childlike joy as he savored each bite— the variety of sweets laid out before him like an offering. He was remarkably polite, despite the sheer volume he was consuming— methodically selecting each treat as though participating in a sacred ritual.
Dwarf Shaman, on the other hand, was eagerly chugging his Gaelic Car Bomb— his eyes squinting at the comic section of the newspaper he held. The little comic strips seemed to amuse him greatly, and between gulps, he would chuckle to himself— his laughter rumbling over the sound of the crackling fire.
Meanwhile, High Elf Archer sat beside Goblin Slayer, her body tense. Her hands, wrapped in her gloved fingers, held onto her iced macchiato as if it were the only thing grounding her. She sat close to him, their hips barely touching, but her attention was elsewhere— fixated on the flames that danced before them. The warmth of the fire crept across her skin, but rather than providing comfort, it filled her with a growing sense of dread.
Oakglade had once been a peaceful kingdom, nestled deep within the forest, its wooden structures seamlessly blending with the trees and the land itself. Tall, ancient trees formed a natural canopy above the village, their branches woven together as if protecting the inhabitants below. Moss clung to the stone paths, and ivy crawled up the sides of the wooden cottages. It was a place where nature and civilization coexisted in harmony, a serene and timeless beauty that could lull one into a sense of eternal peace.
Until the Royal Army came, and brought the horror of war to the kingdom of the high-elves.
The once-green forest was covered in ash— its leaves now gray and lifeless as flames devoured everything. The air was thick with smoke, with the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh permeating everything. Bodies of high elves littered the forest floor— their silver armor charred and broken. Their eyes, once full of life, now stared blankly at the darkened sky.
Amongst the carnage, arquebusiers, bowmen, and knights stormed the dirt roads of Oakglade. They moved with ruthless precision— their armor clanking as they advanced through the town.
High Elf Archer could still hear the crack of gunfire— the screams of her people as they fell one by one. The men were shot down without hesitation, their bodies riddled with bullets. But the women and children weren't given such a swift end.
She remembered the arquebusiers rushing at the half-elves who had fled from their burning homes, the men pushing them down— tearing at their clothes as they sobbed and screamed for mercy. High Elf Archer had watched and listened in horror— unable to do anything but run with her own younger sibling close by her side.
Further up the hill, the castle— a wooden marvel that had stood for centuries— was also under siege. High-elf archers stood on the battlements, and were trying desperately to defend their home, but the knights were relentless. They raised shimmering magic barriers, protecting themselves from the rain of arrows while the arquebusiers shot through the barrier, and killed the defenders with brutal efficiency.
Explosive spells were cast at the castle, sending parts of the structure flying into the air— the high-elves who had been inside the windows obliterated in an instant.
High Elf Archer and her younger brother eventually found themselves in the throne room— huddled amongst the few remaining defenders. The room was crowded with non-combatants— women, children, the elderly— who had sought refuge when the town began to burn. She could hear the barricaded doors creaking under the weight of the enemy's assault, with the wood groaning as the knights pushed against it.
Her hands trembled violently as she tried to steady her bow, but it was no use.
She was shaking too hard, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. Her body was covered in cuts, and several bolts were embedded in her back and shoulder, each one sending a fresh wave of pain through her with every movement. The weight of despair pressed down on her chest as she realized how hopeless the situation was.
Her younger brother sat nearby, crumpled against the wall, his body trembling as the blood from his bullet wound trickled down his abdomen. His light green hair, so much like hers, was matted with blood— his pale skin turned ghostly white. A deep slash ran across his chest, a mortal wound that had bled through his tunic. His green eyes, once full of mischief and life, now flickered weakly as he clung to consciousness.
"A-Arthemis… I… I-I'm scared," he whimpered, his voice barely audible above the chaos outside.
High Elf Archer's heart broke at the sight of him— her mind numb with the realization that she could do nothing. Her hands shook as she tried to reach out to him, but the pain in her back kept her still. She wanted to scream, to cry, to run, but she couldn't. She couldn't save him. She couldn't save anyone.
She couldn't even save herself.
Suddenly, a gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she flinched— her breath catching in her throat. She looked up and saw her older sister— strong, calm, even in the face of certain death. Her sister's eyes, though weary, still held that unyielding determination.
"Shh… It's alright," her sister whispered, wiping the tears from High Elf Archer's dirt-streaked face. "No matter what happens, I'll always love you two."
Her sister gave her a sad smile and kissed her forehead, before rising to face the barricaded door— her petite hand trembling, as she reached up to reluctantly unveil each of her breast from the confines of her dress. High Elf Archer felt a deep, painful sob rising in her throat as she watched her sister stand tall, ready to face what was coming.
And then, the door burst open.
High Elf Archer gasped as reality came crashing back. The warmth of the fire pulled her from the nightmare— her heart still pounding as she blinked, trying to calm herself. She was on the verge of a panic attack, her breathing ragged, when a sudden voice snapped through the room.
"ATTENTION ON DECK!" One of the knights shouted, his voice sharp and commanding.
High Elf Archer nearly dropped her drink— her body jerking in surprise. The café fell into an eerie silence as every soldier and knight in the room snapped to attention— their bodies rigid, their eyes focused on the door to the kitchen.
Emerging from the back, a figure strode confidently toward them. His dark hair was spiky, and his muscular frame was defined even beneath the sleeveless turtleneck he wore. His eyes gleamed with confidence, and his smirk was almost playful as he waved his hand dismissively at the knights and soldiers.
"At ease," he said with a casual, almost sarcastic tone. The soldiers relaxed, resuming their seats as the handsome half-elf made his way toward the teen— Veronica trailing behind him with a knowing smile. "You must be the unlucky bastard who I get to talk to today," the blue-eyed man said with an amused grin. "I hear you've come a long way to see me."
Goblin Slayer, feeling the weight of anticipation and eagerness settle over him, stood up, extending his hand. "X-Xanviik," he said, his voice steady yet alive with a quiet enthusiasm. "I… I… I wanted to ask you for your help. Captain D-D'Arce, she… She said you could help me."
Xavniik's grin widened as he clasped Goblin Slayer's hand firmly. "You need but ask, then! D'Arce wouldn't waste my time, if she didn't have faith in someone like… What was your name again?"
Goblin Slayer couldn't suppress the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, a rare expression of something that almost felt like hope. "R… Ren… Ren Ashta."
Xavniik raised a brow, intrigued. "Ah, I see. Well then Ren, you came to the right place!"
Goblin Slayer nodded. "That's what I was hoping you'd say…!"
For a moment, it seemed as though time stood still, the weight of the conversation sinking in. Xavniik's smirk softened into something more genuine as he looked at Goblin Slayer, a knowing glint in his eyes.
"Well then," Xavniik said, leaning forward slightly, "let's see just how ready you are then, kid."
The atmosphere in Xavniik's office was thick with tension. The dim light from the desk lamp barely illuminated the space, casting eerie shadows along the walls. The half-elf sat behind his desk— legs crossed and an air of calm surrounding him. Veronica stood beside him, sipping her coffee, her gaze attentive but relaxed.
Across from them sat Goblin Slayer, whose facial expression conveyed a sense of nervous anticipation. To his left, Dwarf Shaman stood with his arms crossed, and a frown creasing his weathered face, while Lizard Priest stood on the other side of the teenager— completely relaxed.
High Elf Archer, however, lingered near the door. She had one foot propped up against the wall, arms folded tightly over her chest. Her head was bowed, her green hair shielding her face, but the tension radiating from her was palpable.
She refused to look anywhere near Xavniik.
It was then that the half-elf's sharp eyes darted toward her, and he smirked— though there was no joy behind it. He sighed heavily, turning his attention back to Goblin Slayer. "So," he began, with his voice low, "what is it exactly that you hope to accomplish by running your own guild?"
Goblin Slayer's response was direct, his voice flat and determined. "I want to establish a safe zone within the Evergreen Forest first. Clear out the goblins. Then expand, little by little. Push them back until there are none left."
Xavniik raised an eyebrow. "Planning to divide and conquer, I take it?" he asked, his voice holding a hint of amusement.
"Precisely— Captain D'Arce said that was the best way to go about doing it," Goblin Slayer explained, while his tone darkened. "Those who take, hurt, and murder the innocent. They have no place in this world."
A small smile tugged at Xavniik's lips. "That includes humans too, I take it?"
Goblin Slayer's voice hardened, a note of bitter malice creeping in. "... Once someone decides to take what isn't theirs— to violate, to kill— they forfeit their humanity. They lose their right to live."
Xavniik chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Quite the philosophy," he mused, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. "But tell me, what about the Royal Army?"
Goblin Slayer frowned, uncertainty creeping in. "T… T-The Royal Army?" he asked cautiously.
Xavniik raised his hands in a nonchalant gesture. "Oh, come on now. Everyone knows that the Royal Army didn't conquer Zemuria by asking nicely." His gaze momentarily shifted to High Elf Archer, and he watched as she flinched visibly— her body tensing. His voice then softened, darkened.
"... There's a reason Blackwatch is even a thing."
Goblin Slayer, feeling the tension rise, began to half-stand— his instincts on edge. Xavniik chuckled softly, raising a hand. "Relax, Ren. There's no one watching us. I'm not with the Royal Army anymore, so chill."
Dwarf Shaman shifted uncomfortably— his thick accent adding a rugged edge to his words. "Aye, but why would someone like yerself— a hero, they call ye— talk like this about the army ye' served in? Aren't ye afraid of what might come of it?"
Xavniik let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Afraid?" He leaned back, folding his hands over his chest. "I've done enough to Zemuria on their behalf to deserve a worse fate. After everything I've done… No, I'm not afraid. If anything, I'm fine with it."
And that was it. The last thread holding High Elf Archer together snapped. "F-FUCK YOU!" Her voice tore through the room like a dagger— shrill and shaking. Her face was bright red as she stormed across the room— shoving past Goblin Slayer without a second thought, as her hands slammed down onto Xavniik's desk so hard it rattled the items on it. Her eyes were wild, filled with a rage that had been festering for centuries.
Veronica, standing beside Xavniik, raised her hand instinctively, her fingers twitching with magic, but he raised his own hand to signal her to stand down. He looked up into High Elf Archer's furious, tear-filled gaze with a patient, almost resigned expression.
"Y-You don't get to pity yourself…!" She spat— her voice cracking. "You don't get to sit here and act like you're some victim— not after what you did!"
High Elf Archer then cocked her fist back and punched him square in the face. There was a sickening crack as her knuckles met his nose, but Xavniik didn't flinch— he didn't even attempt to move away.
Blood dripped from his nostrils, but his eyes never left hers.
"Y-YOU MURDERED MY PARENTS!" She screamed, her voice rising into a frantic pitch. "YOU BURNED MY HOME! MY FAMILY— THEY'RE ALL GONE BECAUSE OF YOU!" Her words were shaking now, barely coherent, as if the memories were unraveling all at once in her mind.
"Y-You destroyed Oakglade, my home— the people I loved! You sent your monsters, your men-" her voice cracked again, and a sob broke through. "They brutalized us…! The children- the women…! M… M-My s-sister-"
Her voice broke completely then, tears streaming down her face as she descended into incoherent sobbing. "Y-You made us watch," she whispered, barely able to speak. "You made me and my brother watch as they… A… A-As they r-raped her! ALL OF THEM DID!" The words seemed to tear out of her, jagged and raw— her whole body trembling with the force of her grief.
Lizard Priest and Dwarf Shaman moved quickly— grabbing her by the arms as she tried to lunge across the desk at Xavniik, but her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed into their hold. "They raped her…! They raped her, a-and it's all your fault," she sobbed, her voice shaking. "S… She can't even look us in the eye anymore… It hurts… It hurts so fucking much…!"
Her voice grew ragged— almost delirious with grief. "I… I-I hate you," she whimpered. "I fucking hate you…! Y-You're a monster…! Y-You're worse than any goblin…! Y-You— you ruined everything!" Her words became a desperate, heartbreaking litany as she spiraled into a full breakdown. "I was so scared… I've never been that scared in my life… Y-You took everything from me…"
Her breath came in rapid, shallow gasps, her body shaking uncontrollably as Lizard Priest and Dwarf Shaman carried her out of the office— her sobs echoing in the small space. The door closed behind them with a soft, heart-wrenching finality.
Goblin Slayer sat frozen, his heart racing. His mind was spinning, trying to process what he had just witnessed. 'W… What just happened?' He thought to himself— feeling the whiplash of bearing witness to such a horrid revelation. 'Sister… She said… She said that happened to her sister… Her sister… She was…'
The room was filled with an unbearable silence. Veronica handed Xavniik a handkerchief, and he accepted it with a quiet "Thank you." He wiped the blood from his nose again, though his face was expressionless— save for a faint, bitter smile.
"If your definition of a goblin is someone who gives up their humanity to hurt and take from the innocent," Xavniik said, his voice low, barely more than a murmur, "then the Royal Army, and the Emperor who commands them, are the worst goblins in existence."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Goblin Slayer's fists tightened on his knees, his mind still reeling from High Elf Archer's breakdown. He couldn't shake the image of her broken, sobbing form from his mind. He had fought countless goblins, but nothing could have prepared him for the weight of this— he horrors she had lived through, the trauma that had been etched into her very soul.
Xavniik leaned forward slightly, his smirk joyless. "So," he said quietly, his voice almost gentle, "are you prepared to follow through with your ambition? To slay every last goblin on this continent— knowing you'll die long before that dream ever comes even close to being realized?"
Still struggling to process everything that transpired before his eyes, the gray-haired teen swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. His voice was quiet, but there was a tremor in it, a hint of vulnerability. "I… I'm ready to die… Y-Yes," he whispered. "S… S-So long as the guild can live on after me, then… T-Then I'll accept that fate…"
Xavniik's expression softened slightly, and he clapped his palms together— though the gesture was clearly meant to be sarcastic. "Fantastic! Just know that you're not the only one who'll be dying for that dream." The half-elf mused in an almost mocking way, while leaning in subtly toward Goblin Slayer. "By the time it's your turn to be pushing up daises, you'll have be responsible for the deaths of hundreds— if not thousands!"
The teen, having not expected to hear such a sentiment bluntly stated, muttered, "W-What…?"
Xavniik's voice was soft, almost a whisper. "You may be ready to die, but what about your friends…? The ones who trust you…? Are they ready to die for you, Ren…? Because they better sure as hell be ready to. if they're gonna be sticking around you…"
Frozen still in his chair, Goblin Slayer felt his heart sinking into his chest as he watched wordlessly as Xavniik calmly pulled himself away from him— still smirking without a trace of happiness to be found, as he kicked his boots up on his own desk.
"Eeyup! And you better get used to seeing the consequences of your actions too, kid," Xavniik cautioned with a soft chuckle escaping his parted lips, as he leaned his head back in his office chair, while interlacing his gloved fingers behind his head full of spiky hair.
"Just give it time, and you'll end up like me— with the path you're choosing: being called a hero by some, and called the devil by everyone else."
Author's Notes: Since the sequel is still in its infancy stage, but will still come either way, feel free to recommend your ideas for interesting plot points, lemons, types of women/femboys/whatever you think would be good to include! I might not use your idea, but I'll definitely reply to them in the review section! Thank you very much in advance!
Oh, and as a side note, Veronica is definitely Arc Mage, and High Elf Archer having a younger brother is a creative liberty in of itself. I don't want to spoil that part, but just know he'll be shown later on, before the end of this story.