Disclaimer: I do not own Goblin Slayer.

Betaed by: Zim'smostloyalservant and an anonymous friend.

The Difference of a Promise

Chapter One

It was a simple promise. A thing of children, really.

Of course, it was between two children.

It all came of a roll of the dice. A wedding not being held off for whatever reason, and so a celebration came that otherwise would not have.

The wedding was a modest affair, all things considered. The village was no collection of hovels, but there were no great houses. In place of a market there was a handful of merchants and craftsmen. A shrine to the God of Wisdom served as a place of worship, even though most kept the Earth Mother foremost for the sake of crop and herd.

But it had its pride and skill, as such small places can. The adults would point with pride to the lake. A small thing, too big to be a pond but a small lake regardless, and say it was manmade. Built by the sweat of their parents' generation, with some guiding help by the God of Wisdom's cleric.

So, modest as others would find it, a wedding was meant to be a grand affair, so everyone pitched in if only a little to try and make it so. The fact it was the tinsmith's daughter to the most prosperous farmer's son certainly didn't hurt.

The wedding was held, and it brought together not just the village but some relatives from nearby villages to take part, reconnect with kin, and do business, as such events went. There were games, food, and odd bits of ritual.

One custom that was common here, as in many rural places, was for the bride to wear a crown of flowers. And a moment came in the celebration to cast off her crown to a crowd of single women, to share her blessing with the catcher. And naturally, that original sentiment had been embellished over time into it predicting the catcher would themselves soon be a bride.

The little crowd was sizable enough as the bride took her crown off. The usual young women of the village dressed and cleaned up to the best of their modest means. Middle-aged spinsters and widows either hopeful or simply seeking a lark. Wrinkled elders there more to rib and taunt their juniors. And underfoot were the little girls, innocently enchanted with the whole thing, being both teased and encouraged by their elders.

As is often the case, the throw and the catch were small things compared to the buildup. The victor was left to carry off the crown in victory; putting it on was a taboo of sorts, as if trying to overshadow the bride. The winner was followed by both congratulating friends, scornful rivals, and many only to tease. But not everyone followed the winner. One little girl in particular with red hair touching her shoulders and dressed in a clean and neat dress lacking adornment stomped off, cheeks puffed out in frustration.

She sought out her friend, ignoring any distractions of the festivities. She spotted his sister first, and sure enough he was nearby the pretty woman with the brown side braid.

She wanted to talk but not sure about what, so they ended up playing the ball game, tossing balls into a jar fashioned like a cow's mouth. He won handily, and at his sister's urging played a second time to win the girl her own cup of lemonade.

The girl lamented over lemonade about her inability to be married. He said she was too young for anyone to want to marry her. He wasn't wrong, but it was poorly phrased, and to the sister's amusement the girl vented her displeasure while she held onto their lemonade. But the girl was the better for the bit of playful anger and chase, and they soon enough returned to their drinks and the girl had a bit of inspiration.

"When we're grown up, why don't you marry me?"

"Huh?"

"What, is something wrong?" she asked.

"Uh, no?"

"Then you'll do it?"

"Sure. I'll marry you," he said, blushing.

"Hurray! Come on!" And she was off with him in tow. Everyone, she'd decided, needed to know she was engaged.

The sister only laughed at the display. It was just a thing of children, and she knew everyone would treat it as such. The girl had been enchanted with the idea of getting married by the wedding, and next week she may want to be an adventurer or yhe lady of a castle. Perhaps a princess the week after that?

It wasn't to be mocked, to her mind. It was just the nature of children to love something passionately yet often swiftly. Sincere, if somewhat shallow in their passions.

If anything bloomed between those two and they married someday, this could be remembered as the start of something. And if far more likely nothing came of it, it would just be a silly pleasant memory of youth to reminisce on, reflecting on the nature of childhood.

Simply put, all was well.

But a mere two weeks later, the village would be attacked by Goblins. And all those gathered there would be dead, save for those poor women hauled off to a fate worse than death in store for them.

With two exceptions. The first being the girl, who by mere chance had the day before the raid been taken by her uncle to the frontier town. A childless man edging past the typical age of marriage, he was keen in her as a potential heir, and she was eager to see somewhere new and learn something new in witnessing a cow give birth. The second was the boy. Who would endure the horrors of his childhood's end, and after his luck and resourcefulness was exhausted would be saved by a certain rogue.

One could say that the wedding had been utterly irrelevant, amounting to no more than another memory two people would have of what they had lost. And indeed, with few exceptions their fates would play out much the same for a time, even as chance or fate brought them back together.

X X X

The first great ripple of the dice's roll would show as the adventurer known as Goblin Slayer departed with an elegant guild woman for an examination in the field.

"If he gets promoted, do you think he'll ask to get married?" Cow Girl wondered to her uncle as they cleaned up their dinner.

X X X

The Farmer entered his room with more haste than normal. And hoped his niece hadn't noticed. Looking around the familiar practical room, he felt oddly boxed in. Despite the darkening hour, perhaps he should have gone outside? Surely the sight of the farm, the fields, the cow barn, etc. would have calmed him; far more than being reduced to pacing in here?

No, coming here had been the right choice. She'd be out there, sitting on the porch staring with that just too wide gaze of hers down the lane that connected the farm to the main road. And he did not want to speak with her right now or be seen.

"A fine thing for a man to be worried about being confronted by a slip of a girl in his own house," he muttered. The words felt foolish leaving his mouth, and he frowned as if they were hanging in the air in front of him like a fixture that needed tending.

Being a parent was hard. Especially to his mind, when you actually weren't quite a parent. But he was all the family his niece had left and vice versa. He'd taken her in when she was ten, and in doing so had in fact if not law become her father. He'd never try and assert that to her, he would not sully the memory of his late good-brother by usurping his role in such a way, but he had to shoulder the responsibility.

And she wasn't really a slip of a girl anymore. She was sixteen by some weeks now, an adult in the law's eyes for more than a year. And she'd been truly throwing herself into work on the farm this last year and more; where once she'd been skinny from eating little, now she ate hearty and built a fine farm girl frame, able to pull the wagon to town for deliveries on her own without complaint.

As tempted as he was to complain about the current issue, he could only gripe so far in good conscience, he admitted. He'd come to the old cedar trunk. A luxury he had indulged in back when he thought he'd marry someday and have a wife craving fine clothes as befit the wife of a prosperous yeoman who paid neither tribute nor rent to nobleman or merchant landholder. Instead, it held only his own clothes, and his sister's blue dress and the box holding the matching hat. His only real keepsake of the only sibling of his to survive to adulthood alongside him. Bought on a trip when she'd left that quaint but unimpressive village to see the farm her brother wrote so proudly about.

As he'd expected, for all the pretensions of townsfolk, all it had taken was good bath, a visit to the barber and the right outfit, and she could well have passed for a town girl, or the wife of a prosperous yeoman. She left it here, saying she'd rather it be there for when she returned someday; it had no place in her humble village.

If only he'd been able to convince her to stay. It would have done nothing for the village's wretched fate, but she would have lived.

Of course, his invitation to move in and help him had been halfhearted. He had not yet slowly realized his lack of interest in a wife, and she would not have abandoned their aging parents so casually anymore than they would have abandoned the village that was their world.

He'd been the problem child, hard as most would find it to believe now. Once he'd turned fifteen, he'd taken the spear from his father's hiding place and run off to the wars seeking fortune and glory. Glory, of course, was not for the like of peasant soldiers, even in the kingdom's so-called modern army where the claim was merit could raise even the lowest status to high station. He had his letters, and that had helped. But he was nothing more than competent as a soldier, and he regularly gave generous offerings to the Earth Mother's temple in part because on reflection, it could only be divine interference to have saved him from foolish deaths in battle. And steadying his hand to actually save money from salary and meager loot rather than blowing it on women, gambling, and drink as his fellow soldiers were wont to do.

No small thing, those temptations. The well-to-do in their comfortable salons and the like could tut-tut all they wanted about soldiers not thinking of the future, but for soldiers there often wasn't a future. When the next day you could be screaming as an orc pulled a sword from your guts, or a swarm of goblins drag you down from your feet stabbing you to death with daggers, or an ogre crushes you underfoot slowly, it was hard to see the point of saving money for a time of peace.

But he'd done it. He'd lived and followed good advice where he could becoming a hand on a dairy farm to learn more of the trade and business, buying promotion to higher status on the farm to learn more still. And all the while, adding to his savings and putting his ear to the ground for land that was promising and affordable.

And he'd beaten the odds again to do it. His land was his, only the king had claim to it over him, as the law said the crown technically owned all lands; that tidbit he'd learned from his apprenticing. He lived simply not because he lacked the funds of his peers but because after the life he'd lived he saw no need for casual luxury. He wasn't a miser, he'd slowly grown his business in place of social status born from showing off his success. His cheeseworks was a resounding success the Guildhall masters themselves knew him on sight for supplying their kitchen, as did the reputable inns of the town.

And despite a nonexistent marriage bed, he didn't lack for an heir, as his niece had emerged from her five-year darkness. Five years of waning and waxing melancholy. Never defiant, but barely any spark of life in her. Doing chores obediently but halfheartedly. Not out of laziness, a firm hand could have fixed that, no it was as if she cared for none of it. Anything, everything having so little grip on her, staring but not seeing. He had thought she wouldn't bother to bathe or eat if he didn't remind her. Even her hair growing out was not some attempt at beauty, he could see, but her simply not bothering to cut it more often.

The clerics and doctors could do nothing. There was no magic to fix a broken mind or a tortured heart. He'd even turned to a Lizard shaman once, thinking the exotic race's mystics might have some insight. The hulking reptilian had sat with her for a good hour before simply reporting he could not help one who would not open. At least he hadn't charged for his failure like the town doctors.

Then came the boy. Change falling like a bolt from the blue. Indeed, it was like the old story of an alchemist bringing his creation to life by luring a thunderbolt from the heavens.

She'd run to him at his work, a stunning and horrifying sight at the time. He'd thought for a horrid moment the goblins had come for his farm, just as they'd come for the village all those years ago. What else could make her run like that?

But it wasn't goblins, or ill news at all, the Farmer shortly realized. The boy was alive. Her friend of childhood, the one she'd boasted about as they made that trip that was meant to be a visit to witness a calf's birth and buy her a dress that ended up being the final parting of their family. Boasting because she'd asked the boy to marry her after a village wedding and he'd said yes. He'd chuckled to the notion, humoring her then. It was just a promise between children. If it worked out they'd call it destiny, and if it didn't both could laugh later that it was just the foolishness of children. Neither way was wrong, life had to be a bit senseless to be worth living after all, some smart fellow had once said.

Then with the news of the village's destruction, the boy had just been another thing for her to mourn. The funerals were shams, of course. Goblins ate man flesh, and liked it fresh. Those not killed right away had been dragged off, the men for later meals and the women not killed in the battle to serve a worse fate before being cut up for the feast. After all, everyone knew there was no such thing as a she-goblin. He'd identified a body as his sister, hoping he was right because he'd rather she'd have died there in the village than a week later in a dark cave or sitting hollow, having been used up and discarded for the goblins' pantry.

The boy was naturally presumed dead. Except he wasn't. He gathered the boy had been hidden by his elder sister in the floorboards. He'd lived at the cost of witnessing the unholy things happening in his home in silence, and nearly killing himself from thirst waiting for the horde to move on. After that was fuzzier; the boy was taciturn, but he gathered an adventurer who was hunting the horde had stumbled upon him and seen some awful spark of madness, hate and determination in the child. And rather than seek to heal that wound out of madness or blackheartedness, that adventurer had chosen to nurture it. Five years of isolation and learning accompanied only by a possible madman had turned that boy into a young man utterly obsessed with a quest to eradicate the entire goblin race personally.

Madness, foolishness, but nobody cared to stop him. Goblins needed to be killed. Some monsters, under the right circumstances, you could reason with. He'd even heard tell of an ogre who fell in love with a human woman he won as spoils from a dragon and became a peaceful subject of their kingdom. And everyone knew of the dark elf who betrayed his kind to fight for order rather than chaos. But goblins? They were regarded as a disease that got up and walked. Hateful and violent, each of them held in check by stronger dark forces only by intimidation and bribery, famed for turning on their masters at the first chance.

But they were as numerous as they were weak. You couldn't possibly kill them all, not if you had a high elf's lifetime to try, and the boy was just as human as him.

But the Farmer hadn't known that then. No, all he had known was that by chance she'd seen him on the road, another adventurer returning from a clearly difficult adventure, stumbling back toward the town, the guild and their succor. But she'd recognized the boy and he her, and she'd rushed to her uncle begging to let him shelter with them.

Of course he'd agreed. How could he not, and at first he thought the boy's strangeness was related to her, just as she was out of sorts with him around. But no. While his survival motivated her to live again, his eyes were fixed on his quest. He'd been rented the old shed, and he helped around the farm when not training or hunting his precious loathed goblins. As tenants went, he was practically a role model. His pace was a picture of spartan militant efficiency; he never expanded outside what was agreed upon in his rent. Inspected the farm and surrounding area every day he was in residence for any goblin signs. Helped with any chore when asked without complaint, and paid rent fully and on time, having never missed once.

The Famer knew the boy saved lives as well. Working himself to the bone as he did, and never investing on top of the line gear for his eccentric passions, he likely had a decent little fortune by now.

But now his niece, his daughter in so many ways, wanted to press the issue of marriage. And that was what had made him nearly slip up in front of her. He came so close to forbidding it. He didn't dislike the boy. In his own way, that boy lived a respectable lifestyle, and the Farmer respected dedicated professionals at their work. But the boy had lost his mind, and had no seeming interest in recovering it. He all but stated his goal was to wipe out all goblins or die trying.

So he'd die trying. And never stop to consider the widow he left behind. Not because he didn't care, but because the shadow of the goblins eclipsed everything to that boy. It was like the sun to him, the farmer had come to realize, everything and everyone else where stars - the boy could see and appreciate them, but when the sun rose the stars vanished and all that remained was the goblins, and him.

He couldn't let her draw any closer to that insanity. But if he tried to forbid her, what would happen? Did he have the right? But surely he had the responsibility?

X X X

Cowgirl was not going out of her way to check the lane for his return. Having finished the morning chores her morning perimeter check on the fences was a normal task to choose to fill the time before lunch. There was always something to do on the farm. Really, it probably could use farmhands, she'd come to realize; it was a bit too big for two full-time workers, a bit more than a bit maybe. Her uncle was really amazing in a quiet way, to run it on his own so long and then with her only contributing little.

That brought a frown to her face as she put a hand out to run her fingertips on the fence top as she walked. The sensation of the weather-smoothed wood warmed in the sun eased away thoughts of those strange years of apathy, calling her back toward the present like a cow call to bring in the herd before darkness fell.

Well, it wasn't like it was just her and Uncle. Goblin Slayer had never, to her knowledge, refused to assist with any task when asked. And she'd discovered yesterday when checking the stone fences repairs, fresh ones. She'd only learned how to properly do it recently, but she'd noticed Uncle's repairs for years. That had been different.

She'd asked Uncle last night over dinner if Goblin Slayer had mended the wall. He confirmed it without fanfare, having apparently come across him in the midst of the task. Her intended hadn't even asked. He'd just seen a problem he apparently knew how to address, and so did it. Likely he wouldn't have ever mentioned it. He was wonderful.

And honestly, a farmhand did not appeal to her. She'd been to the frontier town that she was told was inching every year closer to being a small city so many times, but unlike that first visit there was no desire to explore. When she'd accompanied Uncle, all but the last time when he instructed her on how to make a full delivery, she had stuck with the wagon, never going out of reach of it. And when doing deliveries on her own, she kept strictly to the deliveries, the route, the contacts, the song and dance of payment and receipt, with the occasional message to her Uncle regarding business.

Cowgirl did not linger in any tea house or tavern for a drink. She didn't shop unless it was on their list, and then only for what was listed. She certainly didn't talk to anyone she didn't have to. And a coil of tension in her chest was released when she closed the gate behind her back on the farm.

'Coward,' the word floated in front of her mind. She sent it away with a sigh. She was no hero, and had never seen herself slaying a dragon or something. The most ambition she'd had for adventure had been to be by his side. And Goblin Slayer, for good or ill, walked alone on his path to adventure.

And lingering to inspect and tear down some too tall grass by a gate post, she could admit in a way his lack of a party was fine with her. She wasn't proud of it, but the thought he would not return by having something better beyond these fences was in some way worse than the thought of him dying somewhere to goblins or some other monster. Their promise was a frail bond, and he was so strong. She'd never object if he declared it to have been a silly thing of children, nothing compared to love forged in a clash of arms and shared travel with a lady adventurer.

He'd left on this adventure with a woman. Even stranger than that mage woman he'd gone on a few quests with. That had not been pleasant. Her uncle had mentioned so casually that for all they knew, Goblin Slayer was visiting brothels in the towns. Not that he'd been demeaning her friend, he spoke from experience of young men and his time as a soldier; may as well have said Goblin Slayer might be buying new armor or something. But that, followed by that woman, pretty in an unkempt way, and quite busty with a robe of all things that showed off her figure.

Then the woman had made her feel so like a little girl, seeing right through her and with a quick lean in and whisper assured her this was only professional, but a woman shouldn't hesitate to grab the fish swimming around her feet if she was hungry.

Embarrassing!

That woman was gone now. Dead most likely, though she didn't press the issue. Goblin Slayer had asked her help to clear out the mage's shed, and divided her supplies and books between which he would keep and what was turned over to the guild. The guild woman they'd talked with on the delivery had wilted at being told to carry out the instructions. Obviously, the orders in case the once famed mage would never return.

Cowgirl knew there had been goblins on that adventure.

This woman, though, had been utterly different from that strange mage; a different kind of strange. For starters, her clothes were man clothes. Clearly tailored to fit a mature woman's figure, but still it was the style and colors of a high-ranking guildsman, even Cowgirl knew that; the only ones she'd seen in person wearing that style were the branch heads of the guilds in town. And among the lower ranks, the guild staffers had very distinct uniforms for boys and girls, alike enough to tell they belong to the same group, but you'd never confuse them. Yet that woman with almost boyish jet black hair covering one eye had seemed natural, despite being an aberration.

Every step on the dusty lane was natural, as if she was weaving through some vast office with subordinates scratching away with quill and ink. She was in charge, that was the first and pervading impression you got after the shock of first seeing the one called Examiner. Goblin Slayer, when asked, had given a curt introduction as normal, and the woman whose voice was deeper than expected but still feminine had explained further.

She came from the capital! The King's city! A near mystical land, where the law radiated out from. She did administrative work, and she claimed worked a counter with customers like so many other girls, but had the additional duty of examining troubling cases, both with adventurers, guild staff, and potentially troublesome clients and business partners for the organization.

Scary. This was a woman whose forms, when filled out, could ruin careers, possibly lives. Cowgirl hadn't been able to avoid straightening in her overalls; after all, she didn't doubt "business partners" meant if she didn't like their cheese, the farm would lose a valuable client.

But the older woman had just smiled as if there was no reason to be worried, and looked between her and Goblin Slayer and asked if they were husband and wife, as if she was a lowly commoner like them.

"No! Just engaged!" Cowgirl had belted out as if she was back in class at the God of Wisdom shrine and been called on.

"Oh? Don't wait too long, the dice are always being rolled, boy," She'd shifted her attention to Goblin Slayer.

"I see," he'd said simply. Then thankfully they'd said their goodbyes and leaves, so Cowgirl could put her heart back in her chest.

Well, at least she didn't have to worry about anything happening between her intended and that woman. If it did, she'd see it more as a workplace hazard, because if that woman had ordered well, that, Cowgirl might have ended up going along. So she wouldn't blame him.

But surely he wouldn't.

Oh, here he came.

Wait, what?

The wind had shifted, so she smelled him before she saw him. The scent of a man in leather armor and chainmail who hadn't bathed in days or likely removed any of the accouterments save what was needed to relieve himself. It wasn't that he stunk, he'd never allow it to interfere with his need for stealth, but she knew the smell of her friend returning from a goblin hunt. And he looked worse than he smelled.

She'd offer to clean up his stuff after he settled in. He knew she knew how he liked it. Better but not so clean that the smell of oil and polished metal or cleaned leather would stand out in the places that goblins dwelled. There would be goblin blood too, of course. He used that as a way to trick them, smearing it on himself after the first few kills to cover his human scent.

She'd gotten quite good at scrubbing out goblin blood if she said so herself, putting on a warm smile as she perched herself on the fence as he approached.

"You're back," she greeted from her perch.

"Yes," he said.

He was alone.

"The Examiner...?" she asked, not looking around but at him.

"She thought it better to return to the capital directly. I am not sure why. She will be fine, she is quite capable," he stated. Cowgirl let out a sigh of relief. The important woman was both fine and going very far from her.

Hopping down from the fence, she opened the gate for him and before they advanced onto the farm she paused.

"So, your promotion?" she asked, her smile becoming a bit crooked. He didn't seem to care, but she knew too much about not caring, so she cared for him. If someone that official declared him a hopeless case, his career would stall for sure. What that meant for an adventurer, especially one that hunted only goblins, she had no idea, but it couldn't be good, right?

"I do not think she likes me. She said she could not approve of me. She gave me a letter to Guild girl."

"Ohhh," Cowgirl gave out an odd breath.

"My promotion to Steel has been approved."

"...That's wonderful," she said, grabbing the back of his helmet in a sort of hug that was not entirely friendly after the way he'd answered her question.

He was not trying to make her worry, that was what she had to keep in mind. They were both strange people, the difference was that she hid on the farm while he went out into this four-cornered world that was practically teeming with goblins.

So she forgot about her anxiety because he was here now, and made small talk knowing she'd carry the conversation. She promised him a special dinner to celebrate his promotion, and no she didn't care it wasn't official yet. And complimented him on repairing that stone wall, which segued into the odd increase in earthquakes recently, wondering if some great dragon was stirring in the Underdark.

She'd hold off on questions of marriage for now, but the Examiner's words and even Arc Mage's rattled at the back of her mind.

X X X

The dinner had been good. Stew, his favorite, though he would not refuse any food that sustained him. Still, it had been stated to be special for him, so despite the lack of requesting any such thing, some additional words of appreciation he deemed appropriate. He had not been reprimanded, so he would assume he had been correct in his actions.

But Goblin Slayer had been held up from his usual evening routines by his landlord. His old friend's uncle rarely asked things of him. But as their arrangement was more than satisfactory, he never saw reason to question additional chores, particularly as they were few and relatively far between. Though being asked to help check the cow barn was unusual.

Yes, he could not recall being asked for this specific and vague task before. Still, there was no reason to refuse, and if goblins had been scouting the farm and escaped his lookout for their signs, the cattle would be of interest to them, and the place where the needed unusual level of stealth would likely slip.

So yes, he accompanied the farmer to the barn without objection or complaint.

The tasks given seemed standard; despite not performing them before, they seemed straightforward enough. His presence hardly seemed necessary. Was the farmer tired and simply wanting the task done quicker?

"We need to talk," the farmer stated, not looking up from his own task. Goblin Slayer paused in his own work for a moment.

"I see," he stated. So that was the reason, very well.

"My niece is thinking of pressing the issue of you marrying her."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Are you interested?"

"...I do not know the answer. I did make a promise," he stated. And that was all there was to it. Marriage was like the idea of being a proper adventurer. It seemed to him to be something that could only be considered when the goblins were gone. All goblins.

To his mind, the issue was straightforward. But his mind was not the only one to evaluate his life. The Examiner had held nothing back in her critique of him, and it was her job to evaluate people. To dismiss her words in evaluating him would be as foolish as fresh Porcelain ranks dismissing his words on goblin hunting.

He had maintained against her criticism that he did not care if he failed to meet the criteria for a proper adventurer. Not because he spurned their standards, he did not. It was simply a fact that he had only joined the guild as it was the best way to hunt goblins and gain the payment that let him devote his time to the hunting of goblins rather than other jobs to support his needs.

When she threatened to deny his promotion to Steel, he had simply stated that was fine. He never sought promotion; the receptionist had recommended it for reasons he did not presume to understand. Even demotion to Porcelain would make no difference.

That could have been the end of it. But the Examiner had instead inserted herself into accompanying him in the field, to slay goblins.

He was reminded of the fact he was no proper adventurer. The Examiner was retired from the field, but far surpassed him in skill. Slaying goblins with single punches, never even dirtying her uniform, and whipping out a weapon that he could only describe as a chain blade from her sleeve to slaughter a group of them with ease. He was puzzled how the weapon could fit, just as like when he witnessed her stripped during morning exercises and witnessed a build far more muscled than her suited attire indicated. Magic clothes? Irrelevant, but a reminder that a proper adventurer, even one long retired, was on a whole different level from himself.

The hunt was not typical, a Goblin Lord. His first encounter with such a creature, and confirmation that such actually existed. His improvisation vs her control and skill, yes, failure had seemed certain. Yet she had passed him, apparently holding to her dislike but saying for all his flaws there was no proper reason to not promote him.

People were difficult to understand, or perhaps it was simply he who did not understand? And now this.

"If it were someone else, I might think you were being cheeky. But you're nothing if not honest."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I'm not in favor of it. But I'm not sure it's my place to get in the middle of it."

"I see."

"...Well, I'm not sure what I thought this would achieve."

"What would you do?" Goblin Slayer asked.

"Heh, well I never married, but... Alright then. As you're both over fifteen and there aren't any parents to say anything about it, so by the law you could find the nearest priest or cleric and get hitched. But just because someone can do something doesn't mean you should."

"Yes," Goblin Slayer answered. Too many rookies who had no business goblin hunting had died to the hunts. There was an immense gap between what one can technically do, and what one is qualified to do. Even if it was folly to think one could afford to wait until you were 'ready'.

"Before a man marries, I feel he needs to be able to offer something. You have a trade already, so there's that, but low-ranked adventurers are hardly hold a good place in society."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Rightfully or wrongfully, adventurers are regarded by most as hoodlums and thugs until proven otherwise. Ranking up is the most common proof. When the guild promotes you, they give you a seal of approval of sorts, an endorsement that you are worthy in skill and professional character of the trust that rank implies."

"I see," Goblin Slayer gave that some thought. As he only hunted goblins, he was unsure why the Guild would choose to invest him with such approval. But it was not relevant to determine their motives, so his focus quickly snapped back to the present.

"You've been saving money, right?"

"Yes." There was no need for expensive equipment, and the standard potions were more than sufficient. His only notable gear was the breath ring, and that had not been purchased, and he kept it only because it was unlikely goblins when they killed him would be able to put it to use against their next victims. So even with low-paying goblin quests and his rent, there was money left to either be stashed in the shed or deposited with the guild bank.

"I don't suppose you would think to use that money to buy an apprenticeship elsewhere? The town guard maybe?" his Landlord asked.

"No. I am Goblin Slayer."

"So you are. Well, I had to ask," the farmer said. He was either done or taking a break, leaning against a railing, fingers to his brow.

"...Well, how about... Silver then?"

"Coins?"

"No. The Silver rank. No one can turn their nose up at adventurers that advanced, and you'd really have proven yourself getting that high. So how about that? You're free to marry her if you can reach the Silver rank, if you both still want it by then."

"I see. That is acceptable. Is there anything else?"

"Not going to argue?"

"No. Should I?"

"...Boy, for being so blunt, you certainly can leave a man wondering what to think of you."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. And that will be all."

Goblin Slayer bid the older man goodnight and departed.

Silver rank, Goblin Salyer doubted he'd ever get that high. He'd never even expected to reach Steel. Promotion was never part of his plans, and he had no reason to reevaluate that.

Marriage. It seemed absurd to even contemplate. But his sister had told him to keep his promises. Even if it was breaking a promise just to be home before dinner was ready, she would be cross. He could not imagine her approving him breaking a promise of marriage.

He could not ask. She was dead, and all the goblins were still not dead.

Yes, this would do. If he never reached Silver rank he would not marry, and if he did and his old friend still wanted it, he would fulfill his promise. But the odds of ever reaching even Sapphire, the next rank, were so absurd...

It felt a tad dishonest. But it seemed the best option. Only a fool complained for the lack of ideal solutions to his problems. You used what seemed able to work, and if it didn't work and you lived, you tried something else.

Having decided, his mind turned to the next two days recuperating and inspecting the farm and being available for any doable task requested. Then back to town, to the guild hall and checking the board for the next goblin quests.

Author's Note:

And here's something else while I work on the sequence of updates for 'Maggie of Manhattan'. This has been sitting with a decent buffer for some time, so i decided to finally start posting it. Not only here but on AO3 as EKassel16.

The first of many crossposts to come, or at last that's the plan.

Long days and pleasant nights to you all.