Goblin Slayer, Vol. 1 (light novel) by Kagyu Kumo

Goblin Slayer, Vol. 1 (light novel) by Kagyu Kumo

Author:Kagyu, Kumo
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Yen Press
Published: 2016-12-20T05:00:00+00:00


Goblin Slayer was examining a scroll that was tied shut in a peculiar way. The elf reached out just as, seemingly satisfied with the knots, Goblin Slayer was putting the scroll back into his bag.

“Don’t touch that,” he said flatly. The elf drew her hand back hastily. “It’s dangerous.”

“I-I wasn’t going to touch it. I was just looking.”

“Don’t look at it. It’s dangerous.”

The elf gave a little sneer in his direction. Goblin Slayer was unperturbed.

Unwilling to take no for an answer, the elf glanced at the scroll out of the corner of her eye. “Isn’t that a magic scroll?” she asked. “I’ve never seen one before.”

At her words, not just Priestess but the dwarf and the lizardman leaned in for a look.

A magic scroll. An item sometimes found in ancient ruins, albeit very rarely. Unroll it, and even an infant could cast the spell written there. The knowledge of how to make them was long lost, even to the oldest of the high elves. Magical items were rare enough, but such scrolls were among the rarest of all.

But for all that, they were surprisingly inconvenient items for adventurers. Any of an infinite variety of spells might be written on them, from the most useful to the most mundane, and they could be used only once, anyway. Many adventurers simply sold them—for a tidy sum—to researchers or collectors of curio. A wizard in the party was magic enough for them. They needed money more than scrolls.

Goblin Slayer was one of the few who had kept his scroll. Even Priestess hadn’t known he had it.

“All right, all right. I won’t touch, I won’t even look, but will you at least tell us what spell is written on it?”

“No.” He didn’t so much as look at her. “If you were captured and told the goblins, then what? You’ll know what it is when I use it.”

“…You don’t like me, do you?”

“I’m not particular.”

“Isn’t that just a way of saying you don’t care?”

“I mean no more than I said.”

The elf gritted her teeth, and her ears flapped angrily.

“Give it up, long-ears. He’s stubborner than I am.” The dwarf laughed happily. “He’s Beard-cutter, after all.”

“You mean Orcbolg.”

“I am Goblin Slayer,” he muttered.

The elf frowned at this, and the dwarf stroked his beard in amusement.

“Um, excuse me,” Priestess broke in, “but what does Orcbolg mean, exactly?”

“It’s the name of a sword that appears in our legends,” the elf said. She held up a finger proudly like a teacher instructing her pupils. “It was a goblin-slaying blade that would glow blue when an orc—a goblin—was near.”

“Let it be said, though, that it was we dwarves who forged it,” Dwarf Shaman interjected.

The elf snorted. “And called it ‘Beard-cutter.’ What an awful name. Dwarves might have good heads for crafting, but not for anything else.”

“So, long-ears, you admit that your people aren’t the skilled craftsmen mine are!” He heaved a huge belly laugh. The elf puffed out her cheeks.

The lizardman gave a great roll of his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and exchanged a look with Priestess.



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