34. A distant memory
Darkness surrounded him.
It wasn't the suffocating kind that came from deep caves or the abyss of the dungeon. It was the quiet, familiar darkness of a countryside night. The kind that came with the sounds of crickets, the rustling of leaves, and the distant flicker of lanterns.
Orcbolg knew this place.
He stood in front of a wooden farmhouse, the scent of tilled soil and hay filling the air. The sky above was painted with stars, stretching endlessly across the horizon. Fireflies drifted lazily through the night, their soft glow flickering like tiny embers.
It was home.
"…Hey, slowpoke," a voice called.
He turned.
A girl stood at the edge of the porch, her red hair illuminated by the lantern's glow. She had a playful smile, hands on her hips, wearing the same simple dress he always remembered.
His childhood friend.
She looked just like she had in his memories—soft brown eyes, a warm expression, the kind of presence that made everything feel safe.
But there was something off.
Something wrong.
Orcbolg tried to move toward her, but his feet felt heavy, like the earth itself was pulling him down. His chest tightened.
She tilted her head. "You've been gone a long time."
He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out.
She stepped forward, her boots barely making a sound against the wooden porch. "You don't write. You don't visit." Her voice was light, teasing, but there was something else underneath. Something sad.
Orcbolg clenched his fists.
She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could see the way her eyes softened. "You're always like this," she murmured. "Always carrying everything alone."
Her hands reached out, gently taking his. Her warmth was real, grounding.
"You don't have to do that, you know," she whispered.
Orcbolg tried to speak again, but the words lodged in his throat.
Her grip tightened. "You don't have to fight alone."
The night suddenly felt colder. The fireflies dimmed. The warmth started to slip away.
He knew this wasn't real.
He knew she wasn't really here.
But still—he didn't want to let go.
Her fingers brushed against his knuckles, the same way she used to when they were younger, when they were just two kids who thought the world was simple.
Her lips parted, like she wanted to say more.
Then—
A bell rang in the distance.
His vision blurred. The farm, the stars, the warmth—all of it faded.
And then—
He woke up.
Orcbolg's eyes snapped open.
The dim light of the church greeted him, the scent of old wood replacing the crisp air of the countryside. His body was still, his mind caught between the dream and reality.
Something warm pressed against him.
He turned his head slightly.
Hestia was still asleep beside him, her arms wrapped loosely around his torso, her breathing soft and steady. She hadn't let go.
Orcbolg exhaled quietly, his hand resting over hers for just a moment.
The warmth was different from the dream, but it was real.
The dream still lingered.
He closed his eyes again.
And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to rest.
Some time later.
Orcbolg sat up, the dim light of dawn filtering through the church's worn windows. The warmth of Hestia's embrace had faded, but the weight in his chest remained.
His mind drifted back to her—to the farmhouse, the quiet nights, and the promise he had made.
She was still there.
Still waiting.
Still living in a world where goblins existed.
A world where we still fought.
His fingers curled into a fist.
We.
Because he knew, deep in his bones, that he hadn't truly left.
Not completely.
Half of him remained there. Whether it was his soul, his body, or something else entirely, he could feel it. A presence, a certainty, an unbroken connection between two halves of a single existence.
One of us is here.
The other is still fighting.
We are not alone.
We are never alone.
Orcbolg exhaled, his breath steadying.
It wasn't just a hopeful thought. He knew. The way he had known how to hunt, how to fight, how to kill from the moment he arrived in this world. Instincts that were more than just memory—an active will, something beyond mere existence.
A split.
A division.
One in the Dungeon.
One in the world of goblins.
And neither of them would allow harm to come to what they protected.
He closed his eyes, focusing inward. He couldn't see what the other half of him was doing, couldn't hear the clash of blades or the cries of goblins, but he could feel it.
A silent understanding.
A shared purpose.
A vow unbroken across worlds.
We will not let danger reach her.
We will not let them take anything else.
His grip loosened, his heartbeat slowing.
There was still much to do in this world. Enemies lurking in the depths, gods and adventurers moving in ways he had yet to understand. But for now, he allowed himself this moment.
This quiet reassurance.
Because no matter what happened—
She was safe.
(A/N : When i have the ide of this fanfic, i keep wondering what happen to her when Goblin Slayer not there. And i'm worried of what happening to her and the other characters. So i make this chapter to reasure myself.)