Chapter 59: The Premiere Begins

Re-written date: 7 / 17 / 2025

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Chapter 59: The Premiere Begins

Having paid the price of admission, Wilhelm—with his usual grand generosity—personally invited Wycliffe and his young disciple Rhine to attend the premiere. Left with no excuse, the pair had no choice but to accept the fifty-gold-coin ticket and step into the cinema's auditorium.

Compared to Wycliffe, who walked in with a stiff expression and rigid posture the entire way, Wilhelm and Rhine—a lively duo of old and young—were all smiles and laughter, chatting freely as they made their way through the corridor. Soon, they arrived at the grand hall where the premiere would take place.

A single glance was enough to show this wasn't a public screening. Fewer than a hundred guests were present—every single one of them a wealthy merchant or noble from various regions, accompanied by their finely dressed families. The younger ones were especially excited, chatting cheerfully as they took their seats, clearly expecting another hilarious comedy just like KonoSuba.

Seeing this, Wycliffe and Rhine—who were attending a film screening for the very first time—followed Wilhelm to their seats. Once seated, the Knight Commander immediately closed his eyes and entered meditation. While meditation didn't provide any particular combat advantage to non-magical professions, it remained a standard practice among knights for training mental discipline and focus.

The reason for Wycliffe's behavior was obvious—he was still stubbornly clinging to his earlier declaration: "I won't waste time on something as meaningless as a film." Even if it meant sitting still with his eyes closed for the entire duration, he would rather meditate than give the movie a single glance.

Wilhelm and Rhine exchanged helpless glances but didn't push the issue. Instead, they turned their attention toward the enormous white wall at the front of the hall—the screen. Neither of them had ever watched a movie before, so their hearts were quietly filled with anticipation.

Then, without warning, the imaging crystals embedded in the ceiling dimmed and went out completely. The auditorium fell into a deep darkness. And in the next moment, a faint light flickered onto the white wall at the front of the stage.

A soft, rhythmic dripping sound began echoing through the silent space—drip… drip…—like the slow fall of blood onto stone.

The movie had begun.

It opened on a dark, damp cavern. Blood and water slowly pooled across the rough ground. The camera panned slightly, revealing a trembling girl curled against the rock wall, eyes wide in horror at something just beyond the screen.

Then, a sudden cut.

A figure in armor approached, holding a torch. He emerged slowly from the cave's depths, his filthy body seeming to meld into the shadows. The slits in his helmet glowed with a deep red glint—redder, even, than the torch he carried.

The girl whimpered softly as the armored figure stepped closer and closer…

And just before the two met—

The screen faded to black.

The story had truly begun.

Inside the auditorium, confusion slowly spread among the audience. Most of them had no idea what they'd just seen. Expecting something fun and lighthearted like KonoSuba, they had mentally prepared for laughs and silly antics.

But this? This wasn't that at all.

KonoSuba had left too strong an impression. Its revolutionary brand of comedy and absurdity had shaped the entire southern territory's entertainment scene. Many people had come to equate the very word "movie" with laughter and ridiculous adventures. And because this new film had received no prior promotion or trailers, nearly everyone had assumed it would be more of the same.

So naturally, the armored figure who had frightened the girl in the opening scene? They all assumed he was the villain—the final boss of the story.

After all, what kind of hero would make a girl look that terrified?

And then it happened—the movie's title appeared on-screen in blood-red letters: Goblin Slayer. Below that, a line of text: Set in Winterhold, Northern Territory.

Silence fell across the auditorium.

Only then did the audience realize—the story wasn't set in the safe, familiar South. It was set in a place most of them had never dared to visit.

The North. The Empire's most dangerous frontier.

Watching the group of young adventurers set off to slay goblins, the audience began to feel a creeping sense of dread.

They couldn't explain why.

There was just something about the movie's dark and heavy tone—something that pressed down on them from the very beginning. It felt like the story was warning them, like it was handing them a silent, invisible dose of reality before anything even happened.

And when those cheerful, inexperienced adventurers stepped into the goblin cave with bright eyes and optimistic smiles...

"No good. Not good at all. These kids are walking straight into disaster," Wilhelm muttered, his voice low and grave.

"Huh? Why?" Rhine turned to him, confused. "Aren't they just fighting regular goblins? I mean, their equipment looks decent, and their party seems balanced—they've got a swordsman, a fighter, a priestess, and a mage. Isn't that a standard team setup?"

At that moment, the Knight Commander—who had been silently meditating with his eyes closed—suddenly opened them. His sharp voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

"'Decent equipment'? Not a single one of them is wearing proper armor. No shields. No defensive gear at all. Do you think goblins are going to politely line up and let them swing swords at them?"

"But... they're just goblins..." Rhine murmured.

Wycliffe scoffed. He didn't need to look to know the boy was still too green. "Foolish. Have you already forgotten everything I taught you, Rhine? An adventuring party with no map, no antidotes, no escape route, no information on the enemy, and worst of all—no sense of their own limits—those people were already dead the moment they stepped into that cave."

Rhine opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again without a word. He knew he couldn't win. Neither Wilhelm nor Wycliffe were armchair critics—they'd both survived countless battles, and both had experience fighting in the brutal, unforgiving North. Compared to them, he was just a student.

So, Rhine turned his attention back to the screen, even if his heart felt uneasy.

Meanwhile, Knight Commander Wycliffe—who had, not ten minutes ago, declared movies a waste of time—was now fully drawn in. Eyes wide open, posture rigid, he sat just like the rest of the audience, unable to look away from the screen.

He wasn't watching a film anymore.

He was watching a tragedy unfold.

And it didn't take long for that tragedy to arrive.

The young adventurers, ignorant of the danger, were completely unprepared for what awaited them. They were slaughtered. One by one. Without mercy. Their lack of experience, their poor formation, their overconfidence—it all crumbled the moment they faced the goblins' dirty, underhanded tactics.

The mage girl screamed as a goblin drove a jagged dagger into her side. Women in the audience gasped and instinctively covered their mouths, some turning away. A few parents quickly shielded their children's eyes, horror etched into their faces.

And that was only the beginning.

The male swordsman—hearing his teammate's cries—rushed to help, only to find himself caught in a trap. The cave was narrow, the space too tight to swing a sword properly. His movements were clumsy and restricted. And when his blade finally jammed in a crevice, the goblins swarmed him like wolves. He didn't stand a chance. The screen flashed red as he was torn apart.

The movie hadn't even reached the ten-minute mark, and the audience had already witnessed a brutal massacre.

There was no laughter. No quirky characters. No hopeful tone.

Only blood. Pain. And silence.

The message was clear.

This wasn't a fantasy.

It was adventure. Real, raw, and horrifying.

And when the female fighter was dragged away screaming by a hulking hobgoblin, several women in the audience screamed too. Some trembled. Others covered their ears. They had lived sheltered, gentle lives. They were not prepared for this.

And just when it seemed like the last survivor—the young priestess—was about to meet the same fate…

He appeared.

That shadowy figure from the opening scene. The dirty, silent knight.

The one everyone had thought was the villain.

In that moment, gasps spread through the audience.

Someone whispered, shocked, "Wait... That filthy knight... is the protagonist?"