Chapter 62: Premiere Ends

Re-written date: 7 / 17 / 2025

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Chapter 62: Premiere Ends

By the time the final battle began, only one word remained on the minds of the audience: spectacular.

For most people watching, the last fight in Goblin Slayer stood out from everything that came before it. It wasn't just another scene of swords clashing or magic spells flying. No, this was something else entirely. It was as if they were watching a high-budget fantasy movie filled with special effects, even though this world didn't need effects—its magic and martial arts were already flashy enough on their own.

That was the thing. In this world, the vast majority of the population were normal people. They didn't know how to cast spells or wield powerful weapons. Most had never even seen a real battle before. And unless they were brave—or foolish—enough to head to the frontlines, or unlucky enough to experience a monster attack in their own city, they would probably go their entire lives without ever witnessing a real fight.

So when they saw this final battle—when they got to watch a true clash between elite adventurers from the North—there was no holding back. Cheers, shouts, and even a few stunned gasps filled the theater. It was pure, raw excitement. The kind that made your blood rush and your eyes water—not from fear, but from being so overwhelmed you could hardly believe what you were seeing.

The reason this battle looked so amazing was simple: the cast for the final fight had been handpicked from the North's top adventurers. When the casting call went out, there was a flood of applications. Everyone wanted a chance to show off, and in the end, not a single one of them was below Silver rank. That meant no amateurs, no background extras swinging swords awkwardly. These were real fighters, and they wanted to shine on screen.

And shine they did. Picture this: a group of High Mages throwing down city-level spells like fireworks while Sword Masters danced through the chaos with terrifying precision. It wasn't even a contest. The goblins didn't stand a chance. It was like watching a bunch of nuclear bombs dropped on ants—and it was beautiful.

Compared to this, the battle scenes in KonoSuba seemed tame. Sure, that movie had some exciting fights too—especially the ones involving the Dullahan, whose power had surprised everyone. But at the end of the day, KonoSuba was a comedy. People were there to laugh, not hold their breath during a dramatic duel.

Goblin Slayer, though? This was a pure combat story. A tactical battle anime, if you had to put it in genre terms. Every fight was a deadly game of wits and strategy. The way the protagonist outsmarted his enemies again and again kept the audience glued to the screen. By the time the final battle came around, people were fully invested in the experience. And then they got hit with this massive spectacle of raw power. It was like getting your dream college acceptance letter the same day you ace your final exam—absolute euphoria.

The mood in the theater hit its peak. No one remembered how confused or even uncomfortable they felt during the slow start of the film. That had all been wiped away. Now, they were fully absorbed in the world of adventurers and goblins and the brutal, thrilling lives they lived.

Even high-ranking officers like General Wilhelm and Knight Commander Wycliffe couldn't help but be impressed. To them, this was more intense than any military drill. After all, regular training exercises didn't include Sword Soul or a Sword Saint, let alone a Grand Mage casually casting battlefield-level spells just to set the mood.

Wycliffe, in particular, was stunned. The bloody, brutal fight scenes reminded him of the death matches held in the Beastkin gladiator arenas he'd once visited. And yet somehow, this movie—just a movie—was able to evoke the same rush of adrenaline and raw excitement.

By now, he had let go of every prejudice he held about film. Whatever doubts he'd had before had melted away. This was no gimmick. This was art, crafted by people who truly understood both war and storytelling.

And finally, after the adventurers' brilliant last stand, the story moved toward its true climax—Goblin Slayer's final confrontation with the Goblin Lord.

Before the battle began, there were still murmurs among the crowd—people debating whether Goblin Slayer really stood a chance against the Goblin Lord. Some thought the fight would be close. Others figured Goblin Slayer's skills would carry him through. But once the fight actually started, it turned out to be a completely one-sided beatdown—and not in the way they expected.

No one thought the Goblin Lord would be that powerful. Even Goblin Slayer, the walking nightmare of goblins everywhere, was nearly overwhelmed.

Still, in the end, everything played out according to Goblin Slayer's plan. And when that golden barrier slowly shimmered into view, the audience felt a collective sense of relief—like they'd just been handed a safety charm. They leaned back into their seats, the tension finally breaking.

Then came the Goblin Lord's memories. The moment they were revealed, everything clicked. The movie's beginning—the ruthless slaughter of the goblin younglings—suddenly had context. The lingering question that had haunted the start of the story returned, this time with an answer.

And just like that, the film that had gripped everyone's hearts and punched them in the gut reached its end.

As the final scene faded out—showing a lively, warm adventurer's guild—and the camera lingered on Goblin Slayer, now a man whose twisted heart had been nudged ever so slightly toward redemption by his companions, one viewer in particular let out a long sigh.

Wycliffe, the stoic Knight Commander, mumbled under his breath, "We should do this again sometime… watch another movie."

"Oh?" a teasing voice replied.

It was General Wilhelm, smirking beside him.

"Did you really just say that?"

Meanwhile, Rhine—Wycliffe's student—had the kind of expression that was hard to describe. After all, hearing his battle-crazed, kill-happy mentor say something as peaceful as 'watch another movie'... it made him wonder if he should be worried for his own safety. Was that the kind of thing that got people silenced?

The movie had ended, the credits were rolling, and Viz's gentle piano melody drifted through the air. On screen, the names of the cast scrolled by, but the audience barely noticed. They were too busy talking, buzzing with excitement, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

And without a doubt, the hot topic on everyone's lips was none other than the star of the show—Goblin Slayer.

This kind of protagonist was something entirely new to this world.

Back in the day, stage play heroes wore thick makeup to hide their faces. Their lines were melodramatic and overly refined. Church-sponsored stories were all about holy warriors who were brave, kind, and generous—more saint than soldier, more preaching than action. And the recent trend of "invincible dragon-blooded chosen ones" from popular novels? Even more removed from reality.

Goblin Slayer, in contrast, was the complete opposite. He never once showed his face. He barely spoke. Yet every viewer could feel that he was real. Bloody, brutal, and absolutely relentless—his actions might've followed a classic "help the innocent" storyline, but the way he did it made all the difference. He felt human.

And then, in the midst of all the chatter and discussion, someone shouted.

"G-Goblin Slayer?!"

A young boy, who had been enthusiastically talking with his friend about Goblin Slayer's brutally cool fighting style, suddenly froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he'd spotted something—someone—stepping slowly out from the edge of the premiere stage.

That single shout triggered a wave.

The entire venue exploded into noise.

Because walking toward them, in full armor, was none other than Goblin Slayer himself—followed by nearly the entire cast of the film.