Chapter 9: Bluerose Castle
~ Part 1: Greenies? ~
Bloody hell!! That thing really came out of nowhere—Oh. Wait. It did. Literally. Hehehe.
Anyhoo…
That thing showed up when I’d been wrapping up an epic three-way battle against a flying octopus and a carrot—it was really a [Root Treant], but it looked just like a carrot, so I’m calling it that.
The freaking cow barged in, trampled the octopus and burned my carrot. The French idiom “les carottes sont cuites” now comes to mind, but I wasn’t in a mood to joke back then. My mana pool was already on the low side, and I won’t even mention my stamina, which too was hovering near rock bottom. This forest is just unbelievable! There should be a law against this kind of population density of monsters! The ecosystem of this place is fucked up! How those things aren’t all killing each other is beyond me. Oh. Wait. They are. Hence the three way battle. Never mind. I’ve lost my train of thought.
Point is, I ran away from the cow that had squished my squid and roasted my carrot. I’m not proud of it, but I did. Because I was close to the castle and didn’t want to be delayed any longer. I’m on a tight schedule, dammit! Give me a break.
In the end, I somehow managed to make it to the top of the ramparts with a well-timed combination of spells. Yes, that last second save was totally planned for. Faceplanting the wall? Hahaha! All part of my master plan to confuse the enemy! Mwahahahaha!!
…
……
………
I think I’m losing focus again. Damn, and I was doing well for once.
Alright. More importantly…how long is that tricephalous freak planning on ramming the wall? It’s been fifteen minutes already.
* * *
Only after a whole hour of inefficient onslaughts does the stubborn mixture of Greek myths at last gives up and unsteadily staggers away. I understand the feeling. I’d be groggy too after sixty minutes of pounding a stone wall with my head…heads. That thing has three of them! Head trauma x3. Ouch. Combo. But ouch.
Mysteriously, the mysterious castle is still standing in all its mysteriousness. A real mystery. Though it lost a few stones.
Mysterious stones.
Once the [Cerbertauros] has disappeared into the woods, all the people—a bunch of short green ones and this sole tall and shiny, handsomely bald guy—who gathered atop the wall finally let out a long-withheld collective sigh of relief.
It’s funny. This is the first time goblins felt relief in my presence.
But—I look around—there really are a lot of them. And I do mean a lot. Because of the ruckus, the whole tribe might be out in the courtyard and up the wall. In fact, this rampart is getting way overcrowded now. And also noisy. A few hundred goblins all talking at the same time make helluva lot noise.
And because their language sounds like stones coated in grease grinding together, my eardrums are crying blood. I don’t think those little idiots are even listening to each other. They’re just…yammering to themselves as loudly as they can. Is this Wall Street or something?
It’s not an insult to call them idiots, by the way. A few bodies splattered on the ground down at the foot of the wall attest of their racial stupidity. The dumbness obviously isn’t limited to the little guy I just saved. It’s kind of sad for the goblins…but on the plus side, those squashed bodies look surprisingly Christmassy! All those shades of green and vibrant red. So pretty~
Arr…But they’re so dumb. It really is—almost—sad. I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Goblins—ah.”
As soon as the word leaves my mouth, I regret it. Silence falls on my immediate surroundings, and I mentally facepalm.
Me and my freaking big mouth!
Nick’s mouth! Getting him into trouble since…err…birth, I think.
The quietness quickly spreads as each of the green runts successively interrupts their soliloquy group session. One after the other, they pivot their deformed heads my way. I can almost see the few rusty gears turning behind their big dull eyes, and I’m not liking where those turns are taking them.
I propose a quick and efficient retreat.
Oh. You’re back!
Sort of. Never really left.
Uh? S’that so…?
I’m a bit curious, but the silence around is getting really uncomfortable. So I decide to listen to my own advice and remove myself from the party as inconspicuously as possible. I make my way through the crowd…which barely reaches my waist. Very inconspicuous indeed. You shut up. And the others, please stop staring. It makes me self-conscious.
Let’s try to lighten the mood. “Haha…Go~d, this is awkward…Err…Well…Haha. Scary mean cow, right? Anyway…It was nice meeting you all, but I shall be on my way. I hate to impose myself uninvited. I really do. And, besides, I have a princess to catch, a plane in the hoven, and a cake to rescue…I might have mixed things up a bit there. Like the cake. Hahaha. It’s a joke. Get it? …I guess not. Nice guarding by the way. I see some sharp…thingies here and there, and very…pointy stuff. Good. Very Good. Keep up the good work guys! And keep the pointy thingies pointed away from me…Oh my! That’s a magnificent…err…that’s a spear, right? Very…great…stick you have there, mister…misses? Miss, maybe? Haha…I really can’t tell you apart…Such unbecomingly lacking manners. I feel so ashamed…”
Silence.
This audience is really difficult! This is Elric Walker’s Stand-Up Début, you know? Here, at Bluerose Castel! Be a little more receptive! Nick, stick to tsukkomi. It’s your strongest asset. But I’m awful at those! My point exactly. Stop trying to be funny in general. Hey! That was mean!
Still, I manage to make it halfway down the stairs before a goblin finally snaps out of it. He—or she?—raises a makeshift spear, face twisting in anger. I extend one last olive branch. “I don’t suppose we can get to a peaceful understanding? It would really love not to waste my time slaughtering you all.”
“KRIIIIIIIIILL!!!”
I sigh. “Guess not…Unless it’s really ‘krill’ you want. Then I suggest the closest ocean. No? Okay then.” They visibly have no interest in crustacean plankton and the negotiations have officially failed.
The others greenies progressively join in with the war cry, and soon the whole tribe is roaring and jumping at me.
So tiring.
The closest goblin, standing just below me on the stairs, swings a rusted sword at my leg with all his…her(?) might. And what a very puny might that is. I don’t even bother to dodge. As expected, the blade shatters on impact and I’m unscathed. I tut in brotherly disapproval. “Armour, kiddo.”
Then I swiftly crush the goblin’s head to a paste, using a war hammer I just took out of my inventory. The little ugly didn’t have much use for brains anyway, if attacking me was any indication.
I casually rotate the heavy weapon, and homerun another little bugger who was targeting my head. “Don’t jump, silly. That puts you at my level. Use your small height to your advantage.” They can’t understand you, you know? “I know. But it makes me feel less guilty if I pretend I’m doing this for their own good.” Whatever floats you boat.
I glance around.
“KRILL!!” “KRILL!!” “KRILL!!” “KRILL!!” “KRILL!!” “KRILL!!” “KRILL!!”
A throaty groan escapes my throat. “O sweet Applejack. There really are a lot of them.” Goblins… Their only strength is number after all. Yeah, but still…
Another swing takes out three in one blow and I descent another step. I reverse the attack and crush two others, then use the handle to relieve one last goblin of his teeth, and most of his jaw. “C-C-Combo!!” I shout merrily.
And—by the way—I know that last one was male, because he didn’t wear pants…though he had a gambeson. Weird. And, on that subject, either cold doesn’t affect goblins like it does us, or I’m going to need a restock of my Goblin Dick Jokes Repertoire. You don’t have a repertoire of goblin dick jokes. I don’t? What an oversight!! Well…It’s never too late to start! Please…don’t.
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Humming and bickering with the voice in my head—as usual—I slowly create myself a bloody path down the stairs. “♩ Hmm Hm-hm Hm-hmmm ♫ My little greenie~ ♩ What is friendship all about? ♪♪”
* * *
Blood. Death. Carnage. Chaos. Unfitting cheerful tune. Honestly, I’m having a blast. The goblins? Not so much I’m afraid. And I take back what I said before. I looove wasting my time slaughtering them. I hadn’t notice, but staying focused for so long was a huge mental strain. This little game of Whac-A-Mole…or Whac-A-Goblin I suppose…really is an excellent form of stress relief.
Again…that’s only my opinion. The goblins don’t look very relaxed for some reason.
Teehee~
Moron.
Although, surprisingly, some of the little guys actually put up a fight—for a whooping two seconds—before splattering on the ground. Kind of OP for goblins, if you ask me.
They even had goblin mages! How rare. But emphasis on “had”. Not anymore. A shame. Those might have succeeded in getting a couple hits in and make things more exiting.
However, in the typical fashion of goblinic strategy, all of these shamans had been gathered in one spot, which happened to be the very stairs where my little Mash-A-Gob play started. I would say it’s impressive they even thought to get atop the wall when a monster was attacking their home…if I wasn’t convinced they only wanted to get a look at what was going on like all the others.
As the saying goes, curiosity killed the goblin…I think.
What puzzles me most though, are the trolls. There are those two, huge, burly [Mountain Trolls] chained to the inner wall of the courtyard a few dozen feet away. [Mountain Trolls] are one of the rare humanoid-ish monsters even dumber than goblins. But contrary to the latter, troll are not only stupid, but stupidly strong and durable too. Thus the weaker but—very relatively—smarter goblins sometimes manages to tame trolls for defence purposes.
And those two trolls are obviously tamed, but…err…How do I say this…?
I think the goblins forgot they had trolls.
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……
………yeah…
Or maybe I already killed the goblin in charge of getting the trolls, and none of the others thought to do it themselves. The trolls are grunting though. And pulling on their chains, exited by the smell of blood. It’s not like they’re difficult to notice.
What can I say…goblins are…argh…goblins. That’s why I don’t like to fight them, usually. I feel like I’m bullying children.
But, unfortunately for them, I’m a bullying mood right now! Hehehehe. Nothing like butchering weaklings to feel refreshed. I haven’t even used a single spell, nor my sword. I’d be cleaner, and faster, but I feel like making a mess. And this huge bulgy hammer is perfect for that. Without any finesse, I brutally shatter weapons and smash skulls to smithereens in a damp firework of red. “I’m a little teapot~ ♫ HAHAHAHAHA!!!”
“TROO MI GOBUK!! KREEEEEL!!”
A particularly high-pitched scream echoes over the cacophony. I raise an eyebrow and glance in direction of the shout—while casually kicking another pest away from me. “Eh…” To my left, I see a rather small but muscular goblin charging at me with a chipped battle-axe raised overhead. But what’s more surprising are the seven other goblins rushing behind the axe wielder. A drunken, senile, one-eyed soldier could, perhaps, confuse their disposition with a battle formation, if the lighting was poor.
In other word, a pretty solid attack pattern, for goblins.
I also notice the whole bunch is shorter than the rest of the tribe and lacking “proper” equipment, meaning they wear either shoddy tunics or nothing at all. With the exception of their leader, they are all wielding sticks. Younglings probably.
Somehow, my battle euphoria drops a bit. Rather than killing those kids, I feel more inclined to patting them on the head for at least trying. And they’re even the most competent here! Even though, from what I know of a goblin’s growth rate, these ones shouldn’t be older than a week or two! Astonishing. “YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF!!” I shout at a visibly grown-up goblin, jumping mindlessly at me, just before I remove his whole upper body from solid state.
Unfortunately though, the baby suicide squad is between me and the door which I suppose leads further in. And as much as I fool around, I can’t go too easy on the goblins. There are a lot of them. Like zombies, they’re really not much of a threat, but if I let myself get swarmed, I’ll be in a bit of a pinch. Like Lao-Tzu once said “the bite of the mosquito isn’t to be feared, but one hundred mosquitos can be a real pain in the venerable’s bottom.”
…Did he?
Hahaha…err…Well, would you look at that! I talk to myself, I talk to myself, and the junior attack team is already on me. “O well…too bad.” I shrug and raise my hammer, finally taking a proper fighting stance. At least I can reward their efforts by putting a bit of effort myself. And, if I’m honest, I’m a little curious just how far I can sent these ones flying. They’re just so small.
“GOBU MIA!! NAAAR!!”
Just as I start my swing however, an even louder shout than before resounds to my right. A blur enters my field of vision, jumping at my target and roughly pushing Axe Goblin aside, thus taking their place. I find myself staring in the wide fearful eyes of the goblin I saved just before, my hammer rushing to his face. I can’t tell those goblins apart, but I recognise this one’s patched blue tunic and short rusted sword. And he’s even scrawnier than the rest.
Then that goblin does something I never would have expected one of his kind to do in this situation. He abruptly kneels on the ground, bows and raises both arms in my direction, presenting a rusted sword flat on both palms.
“GOBUK SHRNDER! GRET SVILER PIZ SPER GOBUK!!”
Oh damn. Is he surrendering? Now? REALLY? I mean, it’s great, awesome, but HOW DO I STOP A WAR HAMMER MID-SWING??? Dammit, dammit, dammit! Work, ya darn muscles! I trained you for this! Triceps! Stop slacking off!
After much effort…my hammer slams into the kneeling goblin and send him flying. He ricochets on the stone floor twice before coming to a halt.
…
TRICEPS!!! YOU HAD ONE JOB!
The surroundings have fallen dead silent…and a lot dead too. But that’s not really news. I hear a growl from beside me and see Axe Goblin slowly getting up, teeth bared and glaring at me with hatred. I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. You guys are the ones who attacked. And it’s his fault for getting in the way. Who jumps in front of hammer-san? It’s not truck-san, you know? You won’t get reincarnated.”
My sage words of warning fall in deaf hears however, and the group readies for a recurrence of the hostilities. With a sigh, I raise my own weapon—when suddenly!
“Gobu…Mia…shpop…”
I think everyone present here, goblins included, are monumentally surprised to see the runt from before slowly pushing himself back up, using his old sword as a crutch. “Eh…” A small breath of disbelief escapes me. Well, triceps, seems like you did something well after all.
In the general silence—broken only by thunder and the occasional bestial scream coming from the woods—the little goblin makes his way back to me. He’s limping, and by the look of it, at least one of his arms is broken. Yet he keeps his eyes on me. I think I like this guy. Yeah, I do.
Eventually, he reaches me. Once again he falls on his knees and presents me his weapon, with only one hand this time. The other hangs limply by his side.
“Gobuk…nar frite…shrnder…piz…sper gobuk…nar bobo…gobu mia…”
“Gobu Ru…” I hear the axe wielder whisper from the side.
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……
………
Why do I feel like the bad guy in a sappy romance all of a sudden?
Err…I don’t know. Laughing madly while slaughtering a whole tribe of defenceless midgets comes to mind. And also—Alright. Alright. I get it. Obviously this goblin is the real protagonist.
“You want to surrender?” I ask to confirm. When I receive only a fearful confused glance in response, I sigh and eruct in their own language. “Ya shrnder?” My Goblin is a bit rusty, but it’s basically phonetical Common Tongue with a few twists. I can manage this much.
I don’t think the little guy expected his plan to even work, because his jaw drops and he looks at me dumbly. Not that it’s special. Goblins usually look dumbly at stuff. Or maybe he’s surprised I speak goblin. That I can understand. Most players also stare at me oddly when I do. Whatever the case, while waiting for his answer I cast a prudent glance to the rest of the goblins.
If I had to interpret the expressions of the mob around us, I’d say they seem unsure what the skinny youngling is trying to do, but since it actually stopped my killing spree, they’re not complaining…for the most part. One tried, actually. He or she raised a club and started to shout something, but the goblin next to him—struck by a fleeting moment of brilliance—swiftly knocked out the reckless moron before he could get them all killed.
Those goblins show a remarkable level of intelligence. They do, don’t they? For goblins, that is. For goblins.
Reassured, I turn back to my tentative interlocutor, self-appointed goblin representative and chief negotiator. Eventually, the little guy—Goblin Ru was it?—gets his baring. His slow brain finally registers my question and he nods fervently. “Yass, yass, yass. Gobuk shrnder! …piz nar krill?” He concludes his question with an upturned puppy dog eyes no jutsu.
…
Eww. Someone should tell goblins not to do that.
With a sigh, I take the offered weapon, as a sign I accept the peace offering. I don’t recall there being this kind of custom in goblin culture, but goblins barely have a culture to begin with…and this tribe is probably quite isolated here. I’m more inclined to think the little guy thought this up on the spot. He might be quite smarter than average. For a goblin. I get it. Stop pointing that out.
Well, I’ll just go with the flow. As usual.
“Ya nar krill gobuk?”
Gobuk means goblins, right? Err…How does it goes again…? I really should practice more. Maybe we’d have avoided this whole mess in the first place. But you enjoyed it so much. Not helping. And not the point.
…Okay. I think I remember. Something like: “Nar. Huma Elric…err…” Aw fudge. Let’s just repeat what he said. “Huma Elric nar krill gobuk. Okey doke?”
“…okey doke?”
I sigh. No improvising. Got it. “Yass…Huma Elric nar krill gobuk. Can you let me through now?” I gesture towards the doors to illustrate my intention.
The little guy laboriously stands up. He stumbles, but the axe wielder, which I can only assume is female under that dirty tunic—goblins are notoriously heterosexual—rushes forwards to support him. Awww…ish? It’d be really cute if only both didn’t look like six-year-olds whose mother repeatedly dropped them at birth. He smiles at her, then looks at me, still smiling. Please stop. It’s disgusting.
“Grats, Huma El. Gobu Ru rik.”
…“Rik” means “I am”, right? And…darn. It’s Elric, not El. I’ve never managed to get one of those things get my name right.
After introducing himself, Ru then points at the female(?), who was now looking at her friend with wide bewildered eyes.
“Gobu Mia ris.”
Great. I get a lesson on conjugations too. But is it really normal to calmly introduce themselves with half their tribe laying dismembered all over the place? Maybe they’re trying to be polite not to anger you? I guess…
Not willing to waste any more time, I point at myself and then at the obsidian tower. “I have to go.”
Still smiling like a deformed green potato with a mouth, Ru salutes and replies: “Gro Huma El. Grats sper gobuk. Gobuk sri atak. Sri. Sri. Vri Sri. Huma El gret mrci. Gobu Ru nda gobuk shral mebre hur az Sliv Humhum Rmor ohf Ders de Mrcifur.”
“Eee…Thank you…Grats…I guess.” Whatever you just said. “I’ll…just go, then…Err…good bye?”
Scratching the back of my head with my bloody hammer, I slowly start walking towards the large doors I’ve been heading to for the whole “battle”. The surviving goblins quickly scramble out of my way, and I make sure not to step on the few still-breathing crippled ones desperately crawling away from me.
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……
………
Aw—kwaaaard.
Upon reaching the door, I mark a small pause and glance back over my shoulder at the goblin couple, Ru and Mia. Ru is still smiling, though it looks a bit strained. He waves and nod towards the door, likely encouraging me to get the fuck out and never come back. Also still holding him, Mia sends a ferocious glare my way.
Why do all the female I meet want to kill me? It’s a gift. I’d rather do without.
With a helpless shrug and sigh, I finally push the door and step into the inner courtyard.
“That was weird.”
Let’s just hope the rest of the castle is less bizarre.
* * * * *