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The fight ended as abruptly as it had begun. No sooner was the vampire in the bag than the zombies, their master no longer on the same plane as them, collapsed. All that remained was dust, a pile of ashes. And the adventurers—living and breathing.
They remained vigilant, weapons and catalysts at the ready, keeping a close watch all around. After all, the vampire hadn’t been destroyed. He might have some hidden trick up his sleeve yet. He might even be able to tear open the bag and escape.
The aching silence was finally broken by a single disinterested sentence. “That was excellent work.”
Goblin Slayer gingerly tied the bag shut, then picked up the skull by his feet: the Dragontooth Warrior, its duty fulfilled. How many times had these nonspeaking servants saved him and his party?
Is there some way to reward them?
He never seemed to be able to find an answer to that question—no matter of what or whom he was asking it. For the only thing he was capable of doing was killing goblins.
“…Are we alive? We are alive, aren’t we?” High Elf Archer asked now that Goblin Slayer had cut the thread of tension. She threw herself down spread-eagled on the ash-covered floor, grinning like a child tired from playing too much. That even so, she appeared unutterably elegant—well, this was why the bards loved to sing of the elves. “Gods above, I’m exhausted! And we didn’t even get to see the tournament…!”
“They tell me she’s an elf princess. Not sure I believe it, though,” Dwarf Shaman grumbled—but then he laughed. Yes, this princess of the elves was confident that the tournament had in fact been held in the capital; she didn’t doubt it. Maybe there had been a little trouble—a little adventure—but that kind of trouble meant business for them.
There were adventurers there. Including a friend of theirs—the priestess. How much of a problem could there be?
Guess she and I are probably on the same page, thinkin’ that.
“Well, best hope that’s the end of it. I’m fresh outta spells,” Dwarf Shaman said.
“And I as well,” added Lizard Priest. It had taken everything he had to go toe-to-toe with the vampire. He sat down heavily on the floor; if left to his own devices, he looked like he might just curl up right there. His fingers played across the staff of the Earth Mother, which he held in his hands, and he shook his long head gently. “In the end, we never did figure out why that monster stopped whenever he saw bones.”
“I didn’t expect to,” said Goblin Slayer, tossing the bones to Lizard Priest. “We were lucky.”
“Indeed, even so.”
“It was my suggestion! Make sure you give me the credit!” High Elf Archer cut in.
“Naturally,” said Goblin Slayer, his helmet moving up and down. “I wouldn’t have thought of it.”
“Somehow that doesn’t feel much like a compliment…” High Elf Archer’s head drooped, but from the way her ears flicked, she seemed to be in a good mood.
If they didn’t have enough dragon fangs, why not get more from a Dragontooth Warrior? They might not serve as catalysts, but a bone was a bone. It might be enough for a distraction.
It had been High Elf Archer’s idea, if not her greatest pleasure.
A bag for holding…
The bag, tied shut, didn’t so much as twitch. Of course it didn’t: There was nothing living within it.
They could put the Dragontooth Warrior inside and then unleash it in front of the enemy. It would serve as their shield; all it had to do was distract the opponent when he destroyed it. Even if it didn’t succeed at that, it would absorb his first blow.
All they needed was a single action to enable them to slip the bag over the vampire.
“Let this be a lesson to you, Orcbolg: You could do with having a few magic items on hand.”
“That’s more than I need for dealing with goblins.”
Ugh!
He wasn’t wrong—but High Elf Archer nonetheless gave a dramatic click of her tongue and made an exceptionally distressed face. This was nothing new with him—he had always been this way.
He just took out a vampire without using any explosions, fire, or floods…
For Orcbolg, that was pretty good.
“Tell me, Beard-cutter,” Dwarf Shaman began, sipping the very last of his fire wine. “What was your plan if you couldn’t get the vampire in the bag—or if he got back out?”
“I didn’t have any plan to speak of,” Goblin Slayer said succinctly. “I assumed I would put my remaining fire powder in the bag and light it.”
High Elf Archer stared at the ceiling, speechless.
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We need hardly speak of what became of the vampire after that. Perhaps he was dumped out of the bag into a bright patch of sunlight, or perhaps a torch was tossed in the bag with him. Hell, maybe it was both.
The point is, the vampire himself never knew in what way he was reduced to ashes.
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