As the moon began to rise fully, its light bathed Forgehart Stronghold in a silvery glow. Goblin Slayer and Grusha walked side-by-side— the rhythmic sound of their boots on the dark brick road echoing softly in the stillness of the evening. The scent of burning coal mixed with the mountain air, tinged with pine from the nearby Evergreen Forest. Twilight had faded, and now the stars glimmered above, casting a serene atmosphere over the fortress.

They passed the high stone walls of the stronghold, lined with orc sentries. The crossbows they held gleamed in the moonlight, while ballistas stood ready at key positions along the wall. Goblin Slayer's eyes constantly scanned their surroundings— his still hand near the hilt of his short sword.

Grusha noticed his tense posture, and let out a soft sigh. "Would it kill you to take it easy every once in a while? Besides, you're with me— no one is gonna mess with you, I swear."

Goblin Slayer didn't answer right away. His gaze shifted to the buildings within the stronghold—dark, geometric structures with flat roofs and reinforced walls.

The roads were paved with dark brick, flanked by iron lamp posts that lit the streets in a soft, orange glow. It was clear the orcs here were craftsmen of the highest order, everything built with precision and care.

"… Hey! Were you even listening to me?!" Grusha pressed, glancing at him with an annoyed glare. "I wasn't yapping for the sake of hearing my own voice, you know…!"

Goblin Slayer grunted, his grip tightening slightly on his sword. "I heard you."

Grusha rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help but feel a strange warmth growing toward him— despite him being extremely on guard.

'Damn, you're rough around the edges— that's for sure! Buuuuut,' Grusha thought to herself, as she kept walking forward while still staring at him from her peripheral vision. 'There's something about your single-mindedness that's… Intriguing. Heh! And not to mention you're not exactly bad-looking, either!'

"So... Like seriously though: do you ever, like… Actually relax?" She asked, half-teasingly as she felt her cheeks warming up while flicking her eyes forward.

"No," Goblin Slayer replied flatly, not even sparing her a glance.

Grusha couldn't help but chuckle, shaking her head. "Yeah, I figured."

They continued walking in silence— the crackle of torches and distant clang of metal echoing through the streets. The stronghold was a living, breathing thing—filled with orcs going about their tasks. Some were sharpening tools and practicing their craft, while others hauled crates of supplies. The sounds of a bustling community at work filled the air.

Grusha broke the silence again, her voice softer this time. "I know I gave you some shit about not knowing what orcs were, but… It's nice to know you've got a fresh perspective on my kind— instead of coming in, with any sort of crappy prejudices towards us."

"For twelve generations now, my clan's built this place from the ground up— a joint effort between orcs, and the clan of dwarves who used to occupy this area, back in the day," Grusha explained pridefully, as she felt a sense of invigoration flowing through her large chest. "Everything you see before you is proof that orcs are more than barbaric warriors who know how to pillage and destroy— we're sophisticated, we're builders."

Goblin Slayer's eyes followed a group of orcs passing by, their armor and weapons gleaming, clearly well-maintained. "I see," he murmured.

Grusha raised an eyebrow, giving him a sideways look. "Sheesh! You sure love saying that, don't ya?"

He gave her a slight nod. "I do."

She laughed softly. "I could tell!"

Soon enough, they approached a large, enclosed forge— its windows glowing with the light of a roaring fire inside. The clang of hammer on metal was louder here, and the smell of burning coal hung thick in the air. Grusha gestured toward the building. "This is it. If anyone can fix that helmet of yours, it's my uncle."

Goblin Slayer remained silent, but his hand instinctively went to his pack where he'd stored the broken pieces of his helmet. 'I hope her uncle's as helpful as she's been to me; I won't get very far, if all it'll take to put me down is an arrow to the head.'

Grusha then opened the door— the warmth of the forge spilling out into the cool night air. She motioned for him to enter first. "Come on, let's get this over with. Uncle's not the friendliest guy, but he's good at what he does."

Inside, the forge was filled with tools, anvils, and racks of weapons, all gleaming in the firelight. In the center of it all stood an older orc with broad shoulders and arms thick from years of hammering steel. His tusks were slightly longer than Grusha's, and his green skin had a darker hue, marked with scars that told stories of battles long past.

"Uncle Torug," Grusha called out, her voice firm but respectful.

Torug paused mid-strike, lifting his hammer and turning toward the two of them. His eyes narrowed as they landed on Goblin Slayer, sizing him up with a grunt. "A human in my forge— with my eldest niece, nonetheless? Hmph! Never thought I'd see the day."

Grusha rolled her eyes but stepped forward, placing a hand on her hip. "Relax, Uncle. He's not just any human— he helped me take down that golem today."

Torug's eyes widened slightly in surprise before he snorted, crossing his arms. "The one who's been plaguing the miners?" He shook his head with a grunt of disbelief. "An orc needing to be saved by a puny human? Our ancestors are probably rolling in their graves now…!"

Grusha's cheeks flushed slightly, and she shot a glance at Goblin Slayer, who stood stoically beside her, his expression unreadable. "First of all, I didn't NEED to be SAVED, Uncle! If anything, I was the one who saved him— not the other way around!" Grusha argued, and trailed into an embarrassed silence— her uncle still staring expectantly at her, as though he knew there was more to it than that. "And, uh…! He might have d-distracted the golem, while I was… C-Catching my breath…!"

"… Rolling in their graves," Torug grumbled under his breath, before eyeing Goblin Slayer more closely. "And as for you… Helping an orc? Doesn't seem like a valorous act that your kind would approve of, human."

Goblin Slayer met his gaze evenly. "I don't seek anyone's approval."

Torug raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a slight smirk. "So you say…! But let's move onto business, shall we? I can't imagine you came all this way to be buddy-buddy with the best blacksmith on this side of the mountains."

Grusha nudged Goblin Slayer. "Show him the helmet."

Without a word, Goblin Slayer reached into his pack and pulled out the broken pieces of his helmet, laying them on the forge table. Torug picked them up, examining the metal with a practiced eye.

"Hmph! Shoddy work, this. Surprised it didn't break sooner," he muttered, turning the pieces over in his hands.

"It served its purpose," Goblin Slayer said simply.

Torug grunted, tossing the fragments back on the table. "I can take care of your problem, but it won't be free."

Grusha stepped in, her arms crossed. "We know, Uncle. What's it gonna cost him?"

Torug scratched his chin, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Well, normally I'd ask for a lump sum of Pendragon's lackluster currency— so I could recycle them into raw material," he mused, before lowering his hand from his face as his eyes stared unimpressed at the teenager. "But judging by your even more lackluster gear, I think it's fair to assume that you're broke as hell; with that being said, I can put you to work if you're serious about getting that helmet repaired."

Goblin Slayer didn't flinch, his mind already calculating what needed to be done. "That's fine," he said.

Grusha raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "That's it? You don't even want to know what kind of work Ihe's got in store for you?"

"I need a helmet," Goblin Slayer replied, his tone flat.

Torug let out a low chuckle. "I like him, Grusha. No nonsense, straight to the point— if only more humans were like him."

Grusha glanced at her uncle, then back at Goblin Slayer, her lips curving into a small smile. "Yeah, if only, huh?"

Goblin Slayer, oblivious to her gaze, simply nodded. "How long will it take?"

"Normally, it would take less than an hour for me to weld an iron helmet back together," Torug said, already picking up a hammer and inspecting the metal.

"But the alloy used in this piece of crap has already long since oxidized— It's more rust than iron, at this point," Torug explained with a shrug, before placing down his hammer to begin shifting the pieces of Goblin Slayer's broken helmet into place. "Yeah… Yeah, I'm going to have to forge you another one; that'll take me about a day— if I start tonight, that is."

Grusha turned to Goblin Slayer, her expression softening slightly. "In the meantime, you can stay with me in my quarters. It's... Well, it's the least I can do for ya."

Goblin Slayer hesitated for a moment, feeling the dull throb of his earlier head injury. 'It's not like I'm in any reasonable condition to reject their offers… Besides, if I'm going to make it to Crossbell, I'll need a helmet to get me through the journey— one that'll ideally survive more than one blow.'

"That's... That's fine," he said, finally agreeing.

As they turned to leave the forge, Grusha shot one last glance at her uncle, who was already deep in his work. "Thanks, Uncle."

Torug waved a hand dismissively. "Just don't get yourself into any more trouble, Grusha."

She rolled her eyes and walked out of the forge, Goblin Slayer following behind. The night air was cool and crisp as they stepped back onto the dark brick road. The scent of pine and coal mixed in the air, creating a strange but comforting blend.

As they walked, Grusha glanced over at Goblin Slayer, her eyes lingering on him longer than they should. She bit her lip, then quickly looked away, her cheeks warming slightly. There was something about him, something she couldn't quite figure out. But whatever it was, she found herself liking it more than she'd expected.

"Thanks," she said quietly after a long silence.

Goblin Slayer glanced at her, confused. "For what?"

"For... H-Helping me," she admitted, though her voice was hesitant. "I know I haven't really addressed it much, but I… I probably wouldn't have made it out of that fight in one-piece, if it weren't for you."

He didn't respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was as flat as ever. "I didn't do it for thanks."

Grusha smirked, though there was a hint of warmth in her eyes. "Of course you didn't! You just wanted to have me for yourself, didn't ya?"

"Only if you were a goblin," Goblin Slayer replied, his focus already shifting back to the task ahead.

Grusha, however, couldn't help but steal another glance at him, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn't quite suppress.

Goblin Slayer continued to walk beside Grusha through the lamp-post lit paved streets of her clan's home— her presence calm but energized, as she guided him through the stronghold's maze of geometric buildings. The sounds of a feast reached their ears as they neared the Chieftain's long-hut, a grand structure of iron, brick, and wood.

As they approached, Goblin Slayer's sharp eyes took in the building's features—the mounted heads of exotic monsters, ancient weapons, and artifacts decorating the exterior. The torches outside flickered in the growing darkness, casting long shadows that seemed to dance in the mountain air. The stronghold was a testament to the craftsmanship and strength of the Forgehart Clan, as Grusha had mentioned before.

Inside, the atmosphere was alive—boisterous laughter, clinking mugs, the thrum of lively conversation. Orcs, dressed in various armor and casual attire, filled the long tables, feasting on roasted meat and drinking heavy ale. Goblin Slayer could feel their eyes on him, curious but not hostile. He'd been in crowded rooms before, but this felt different—more grounded, more unified.

Grusha glanced over at him with a slight smile. "Nothing cures an injury like stuffing your face full of roasted vegetables and veal! Think you're up for it, or do I need to take you to an actual healer?"

"This'll do," he replied, his eyes scanning the room for potential threats or exit points, his instincts never fully at ease.

Grusha poured him a mug of ale, though Goblin Slayer merely held it, still on guard. He noticed the orcs around him—many of them strong and well-built, warriors with experience in their eyes. 'Everyone seems like a tight-knit group— like soldiers who'd fought many battles together… They would make for fine recruits.'

"If you say so," Grusha said, leaning back in her chair. "But seriously, if you need it, just say so! You've already been vouched for— you're practically on our way to being one of us, you know!" The orc woman said jovially, as she kicked up her feet onto the edge of the table— mug in hand, as she shouted to have a few buttered-rolls thrown their way.

Goblin Slayer didn't reply, but he appreciated the sentiment— even if he wasn't used to such camaraderie. His attention drifted across the room, taking in the scene— until something else caught his eye. At the far end of the table, a small figure, perhaps no older than ten, sat quietly, observing him. She was different from the others, her braided hair hanging loosely down her back, her eyes wide with interest.

Grusha noticed his gaze and chuckled softly. "That's Sofia," she said, keeping her voice low. "The Chieftain's youngest daughter. She's giving you those bedroom eyes now, isn't she~?"

Goblin Slayer frowned slightly. "She's a child."

"Yeah, well, orc kids aren't like human children," Grusha said with a grin. "Besides, can you really blame her? You're the prettiest thing that's ever stepped foot into this stronghold for a while now— it's kinda hard for a girl her age to NOT stare at someone like you!"

He didn't know what to make of it, but Sofia's gaze was unwavering, her young eyes filled with fascination. He wasn't used to being looked at like that, and it stirred something unfamiliar in him.

"If we're talking real shit, I'd even go as far as to say that you and her have a lot in common," Grusha continued, a bit more thoughtfully now. "Like for instance: she's not much of a talker either, Goblin Slayer— I think that alone makes her an eligible bachelorette for ya!"

Goblin Slayer's gaze lingered on the child for a moment longer before he returned his attention to the table. "You said she's the Chieftain's daughter?"

"Yeppers— I sure did," Grusha replied, taking a long drink from her mug. "And that means she's important. Even right now, she has a say in how things are run around here; might be worth getting on her good side— especially with that up and coming guild of yours in the works."

'She's right. I could establish an alliance with the Forgehart Clan through that girl— it would be my best way of getting a better foothold in these parts,' He thought to himself— the idea feeling calculated, almost cold, but Goblin Slayer was nothing, if not pragmatic.

"You're thinking about something," Grusha noted, her sharp eyes catching his pensive expression.

"Nothing important," he replied.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing him, but didn't push the matter. Instead, she leaned back even more in her chair— taking a bite out of a roll, while watching Sofia for a moment before speaking again. "If… If your guild endeavors end up not going the way you wanted them to, you… You could always find a place here— you'd fit right in."

He glanced at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It won't come to that."

Grusha shrugged. "Suit yourself. But if you ever change your mind, it's not a bad idea to stick around and drop in whenever you can. Especially with everything you've got planned." She looked at him meaningfully, as if she knew more than she let on.

He didn't respond, but the idea of allies weighed on his mind. The Forgehart Clan was powerful—strong walls, skilled warriors, and most importantly, resources. They were also fiercely loyal to their own. If he could gain their trust, it might be a step toward building something greater than he'd imagined.

Sofia's eyes were still on him when he met her gaze. Instead of averting her eyes away from him, or showing any signs of chagrin from having been caught staring, the ten year old boldly doubled down on her own thoughts by puckering her lips at him before kissing the air— nodding her head slightly, as a way to convey her confidence and her intentions to him.

'Besides, it… It wouldn't take much to get close to her— from the looks of it, that is,' Goblin Slayer thought to himself, before feeling his cheeks growing warm as he felt something unfamiliar stirring with him.

"You should eat," Grusha interrupted his thoughts, nudging a plate toward him. "That headache of yours isn't gonna go away if you don't."

He nodded and took a bite, though his mind was still elsewhere. Grusha's words about alliances, Sofia's gaze, and the growing realization that this stronghold might hold more for him than just a place to rest—it all swirled in his thoughts.

When the two had their fill, the orc woman spent an hour after eating to show off her new human companion to her peers— each time she told them how they had met, she would always emphasize how she had been the one to save him, and not the other way around. Eventually, she said her goodbyes before taking the silver-haired teen with her out of the Chieftain's long hut— the two of them more than ready to retire for the night.

When Goblin Slayer finished climbing up the flight of stairs behind her, he was met with a shocking surprise. Despite being a warrior, Grusha's fifth-story apartment was cozy for a woman of her stature. And as she led Goblin Slayer out of the apartment hallway and into the inside of her living room, she closed the heavy wooden door behind them and slid the lock into place. The click echoed softly in the quiet room. Her apartment was unlike anything Goblin Slayer had seen before, a mix of rustic charm and something more refined.

Tapestries draped across the walls, each one depicting scenes of orcish history, battles, and celebrations. Mounted weapons—axes, swords, and hammers—decorated the remaining spaces, and shelves lined with books filled the room.

Grusha caught him glancing at the shelves. "What?" she said with a half-smile. "Even orcs like to unwind with a good book. We're not all about fighting, you know."

Goblin Slayer didn't respond, his eyes trailing over the details of the room as he moved toward the large living room window. The heavy curtains hung down, blocking his view of the stronghold below. He hesitated briefly before looking over at her.

"Can I?" he asked, motioning to the curtains.

Grusha shrugged. "Go ahead."

He pulled the curtains aside, revealing a view that took him by surprise. The night sky stretched above them, clear and full of stars, with the moon hanging low and bright, casting its silver glow over the stronghold. Below, the streets were lit by torches and small lamps, their lights twinkling like fireflies in the darkness. It was quiet out there, the distant sound of voices and the occasional clang of metal faint in the cool mountain air.

Goblin Slayer stood there for a moment, taking it all in. "One day, I want my fortress to be like this," he said quietly, as if speaking to himself. "Just as successful. Just as strong."

Grusha stepped up beside him, her arms crossed as she looked out at the same view. "And you can make it happen," she said with a firm nod. "So long you keep your mind open to more than just goblin killing, that is! I mean, eventually that is, you're gonna run out of goblins in the area to kill. And then what?"

He didn't respond right away, his mind already turning over her words. 'No goblins left to kill? That would be an ideal predicament to be in… But even so, she has a point: I don't think my guild will to get very far— not unless I'm willing to think outside the box, that is…'

Sensing that he was deep in thought, the orc woman reached up to pat him shoulder. "You'll get there soon, Goblin Slayer," Grusha added, her tone softer now. "I think you have what it takes. For now, let's just focus on getting you prepped and ready for making it to Crossbell."

He gave a slow nod, acknowledging her words but saying nothing more— his thoughts were still tangled up in the future, in what it would take to make that dream real.

After a brief pause, Grusha glanced over at him, her eyes narrowing playfully. "But first, I'm gonna have to ask that you get out of that armor."

Goblin Slayer turned to her, brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

Grusha rolled her eyes with a chuckle. "You can't walk around my apartment in dirty leather armor. I don't want that grime all over the sheets of my guest bed."

He stood there, unsure. "Where should I take it off?"

A grin spread across Grusha's face, smug and teasing. "Follow me," she said, turning on her heel and walking toward a door on the other side of the room. "I'll show you."

Curious and slightly wary, Goblin Slayer followed her.

She led him into a small, neatly kept room—a "bathroom," she called it— though the word meant little to him.

Inside, the space was lit by soft candlelight, their flames flickering on a counter near a polished sink. The air smelled faintly of pine and soap, an unusual scent in the otherwise rugged stronghold.

Grusha pointed to the sink with a proud smile. "My clan's chief engineer invented this thing called "indoor plumbing"," she said, puffing her chest out as if it were her personal achievement. "You definitely won't see this anywhere else. Not yet, anyway."

Goblin Slayer stared at the sink, unsure what to make of it. It had smooth curves, polished metal fittings, and strange handles. It looked nothing like the crude wash basins he was used to seeing in villages.

"Watch this," Grusha said, turning one of the handles. Water poured from the faucet in a steady stream, splashing into the sink below.

Goblin Slayer's eyes widened beneath his helmet, his mind struggling to grasp the practicality of it. 'Running water? Inside a home? It feels... Excessive. But practical,' he admitted silently to himself. "That's... useful," he muttered, still staring at the stream of water.

Grusha laughed, clearly amused by his reaction. "Useful? You've barely seen the best part."

She gestured to a stall on the far side of the room, a strange contraption with pipes and handles. "This is called a "shower"," she explained. "You step inside, turn it on, and wash yourself. It's like standing in the rain, but warmer." She turned one of the handles on the shower, and water began to spray from above.

Goblin Slayer stared, still mystified. In all his travels, he'd never seen anything like this.

"You should wash yourself," Grusha said, stepping back toward the door. "Trust me, you'll feel better afterward." She paused before closing the door behind her, adding, "I'll go get you a towel."

As the door clicked shut, Goblin Slayer stood there— still processing everything. His mind raced, jumping from one thought to the next. He looked down at the strange porcelain structure in the corner— Grusha had called it a "toilet".

'It looks like something out of a different world…' Goblin Slayer thought to himself, before his attention soon turned back to the shower.

He stripped down to nothing— feeling the cool air from the air vent blowing down against his skin— as he stepped into the stall. The water was warm, washing away the dirt, the sweat, the blood.

In that moment, he felt a strange sensation— one he hadn't experienced in a long time: he felt clean. The water, the warmth, it brought a kind of clarity to his thoughts, a pause in the constant churn of his mind.

Outside, Grusha leaned against the wall, tapping her fingers against the doorframe. She grinned to herself, knowing she'd gotten the better of him with her smug bathroom introduction. But as she thought about it, a part of her couldn't help but feel something else—something warmer toward the man who was now standing under her shower, probably still confused but going along with it.