The Invaders of the Great Tomb

by Kugane Maruyama

  Of course, that made them worth a lot—more than five warhorses. It was rare for even nobles to possess them.

  But the count had two hitched to each wagon for a total of four. Probably he’d considered the possibility that they could be lost over the course of the adventure, so all the workers could do was applaud his resolution. Or does he think there is enough treasure in the ruins that we’ll need sleipnirs to carry it all back?

  Some of the others must have been thinking the same thing. There were several audible gulps.

  “Please use these wagons. Food and other supplies are packed inside. We’ve also employed some adventurers to guard the wagons and your campsite. Please bear in mind that their contract strictly prohibits them from entering the ruins.”

  Hekkeran left his friends and jogged over to Gringham, thinking they needed to have a meeting right away.

  “’Scuse me, Gringham. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “What is it? Did something happen?”

  “It’s about how to split up the wagons. Do you think my team could be separate from Tenbu?”

  “Huh? Oh. I understand thine anxiety. About her, right? Then my team will go with Tenbu.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Make no mention of it. For this job, we’re companions. I’m not interested in having any spats before we even begin our survey of the ru—”

  “Do you think we’ll be okay with gold-rank adventurers? We’ll have problems if we get back and our base is destroyed or monsters slip past them while we’re sleeping.”

  The pair turned in the direction of the loud voice whose sudden comment had been launched like a fireball.

  It was Elya shouting in the butler’s direction, but at the sound of his voice—he hadn’t even tried to be discreet—the adventurers stopped loading the supplies as if time had frozen.

  When looking up, there were always farther heights, and no way to tell if one would be able to climb to them or not. To people who nevertheless advanced step-by-step, Elya’s comment was utterly offensive. They, too, lived in a struggle for power, so having a job end with their abilities in question—especially by the requester—would impact future jobs. They needed to show off their capability in an indisputable way.

  The man who hurled this abuse, considered unforgivable by the workers and adventurers alike, was a person who couldn’t put himself in other people’s shoes—which is why he went on without even noticing how sour the atmosphere had gotten. “No, I understand that they’re fine for carrying luggage. I’m only concerned about whether they can keep danger away or not.”

  For crying out loud. Nothing good will come of this tension. I imagine they’ll just take it since this is for work, but still…

  It was true that all the worker teams present were probably mythril equivalent; in other words, they were stronger than the adventurers. Still, there were things that were all right to say and things that weren’t.

  Somebody make him stop, even if you have to hit him.

  The workers’ eyes were hard as they glanced at one another, and Hekkeran ran over to Imina. She’d be in danger if a sword fight broke out.

  But the one who struck wasn’t any of the workers. “Sir…Uzruth, correct? We assure you there will be no problems.”

  “That’s assuming we work together, right? If that’s the case, then it makes more sense…”

  “No, it’s because someone even stronger than all of you will also be accompanying you. Momon—”

  Responding to the butler’s icy voice, a warrior clad in full plate armor poked his helmeted head out of one of the wagons. Up until then, he must have been carrying supplies set on the cargo bed farther in.

  “Allow me to introduce you. This is Momon, from the two-person adventurer team Raven Black, an adamantite rank. His teammate Nabe is also here. These two will accompany you and guard your camp. Will that be satisfactory?”

  The atmosphere underwent another dramatic change. The highest rank possible for anyone adventuring to attain… With proof of that ultimate strength before their eyes, the workers were rendered speechless.

  Mollified by the genuine reactions of the workers to the appearance of the most elite adventurers, the gold ranks returned to loading supplies. The one who seemed like their leader, wearing a smile that seemed almost deliberate, addressed the raven-black warrior. “We’ll do the rest, so would you go ahead and get to know the workers? We’d like you, as our leader, to have a meeting with them about our security plan.”

  “Got it. If your team is fine with that, then I humbly accept your proposal. That said, I think your team should lead the security planning. You have more people. It seems like it would be easier to have you guys do the bulk of it.”

  “Humbly?! What are you saying? And we could not possibly disrega—”

  “No, I insist that you take point on security. Utilize us well! Nabe.” With a faint chuckle he stepped lightly out of the cargo bed. An astonishingly beautiful woman followed behind him.

  Where a gorgeous woman appeared, a fuss was certain to follow. But there existed a level of beauty that didn’t allow for that. Those who saw a truly beautiful woman could only stare.

  “Hekkeran, she’s…”

  “Yeah, Rober. I was thinking the same thing. We saw her in the northern market. That’s…Momon of Raven Black. And his sole teammate? The rumor that they took out that huge giant basilisk doesn’t seem to be an exaggeration.”

  “A giant—is that true?”

  “Supposedly. Not only that, but I heard from Gringham that he killed a difficulty two hundred demon in one hit.”

  “Surely that’s a lie. Difficulty two hundred is in a realm where it’s impossible for humans to win. Did you mishear one hundred?”

  “Even that would be amazing. But somehow it doesn’t seem like a lie when you see how he carries himself.”

  Hekkeran felt he’d been able to grasp Momon’s personality from the warrior’s short exchange with the guy who must have been the gold-rank team’s leader. He seemed to have the proper presence and charisma of an adamantite-rank adventurer—Hekkeran thought he could grow to like him.

  “Before we get to know one another…there’s something I’d like to ask you.”

  Momon didn’t speak very loudly, but they could sense his courage in his deep voice.

  “Why are you going to the ruins? I know you got a request. But unlike adventurers, who have a hard time turning down a job if the guild insists, you guys aren’t tied to anything, so why did you accept? What motivates you?”

  The workers all looked at one another. No one knew who should say it, and it ended up being a member of Palpatra’s team who spoke.

  “That would be money.”

  It was a perfect response—because there was no greater reason. The workers hadn’t been debating the answer but trying to figure out why Momon, who must have already known something so obvious, would even ask.

  Seeing that the other workers were vocalizing their agreement, Momon asked another question. “Does that mean the amount of money offered was worth your lives?”

  “Yes. The offer was enough that it made sense to take it. And we can expect additional compensation depending on what we discover in the ruins. I’m fairly certain it’s enough to justify risking our lives.” It was Gringham who answered.

  “I see… So that’s your decision. Got it. My apologies for the utterly nonsensical question. Do forgive me.”

  “You don’t need to apologize over that… No worries.”

  “Hya-hya-hya! Seems like that’s it for your questions, but can I ask one?”

  “Go right ahead, sir.”

  “I’d like to get confirmation on the rumors. Will you show us the truth of the one that says you’re exceptionally powerful?”

  “Ah-ha. ‘Seeing is believing’? Okay, that’s fine. If it will help you be satisfied with our protection, I’ll show you my power. But in what way should I display it?”

  “I suppose
having you spar with someone would be best.”

  Everyone’s eyes gathered on—

  “And I said it, so you should fight me.”

  “What? Sir…I’m terribly sorry, but I’m not very good at holding back. I don’t intend to hurt you, and I’m not confident I can be a good sparring partner at your level…but if that’s all right, then…?”

  “Hya-hya-hya-hya! Well, you are adamantite rank! I’m not even thinking about hurting you.”

  A faint chuckle came from beneath Momon’s helmet. “That’s only natural, sir. It’s what you call a clear gap in ability. I’m strong. Stronger than any of you. That’s why I’m adamantite rank!”

  Full of overwhelming pride, he seemed to be peering down at them from high above, but no one was offended. That must have been how much power his presence held. The words he spoke and the terrible authority he exuded, as if he’d racked up more than a few kills, were very persuasive.

  “…Amazing.”

  “……Yeah, amazing.”

  Delirious voices commented here and there.

  Many women fell for strong men. And many men fell for them as well, in the sense of respect. Like moths fluttering around a flame, people knew that if they got too close they would get burned, but they still couldn’t resist. For those who lived in this world of blood and steel, strength was like a massive bonfire.

  “Hya-hya-hya! No one doubts that you’re adamantite rank! Still, how about we get a taste of what you can do? Here, the wagons are in the way. Can we use that big open space over there, sir?”

  Having gotten permission from the count’s man, Palpatra led the group over onto the lawn. The workers went with him, of course, but so did the adventurers and the butler.

  “I don’t think Palpatra can handle him.”

  “That guy is crazy strong.”

  “Mm, rather than strong, it’s more like he’s on another level completely. Doesn’t he seem even stronger than both of the empire’s adamantite teams?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. The members of Argenti all have rare classes, so their abilities are uncommon, but in terms of power they lose out to the more basic classes. I hear the Eight Ripples are so great because of their numbers and excellent teamwork.”

  Argenti was a team whose leader was a bard who’d reached the realm of heroes. All the members had unusual classes. Eight Ripples was a nine-person team. Some people said that each individual member hadn’t reached adamantite rank, that they were only so strong due to their large team size, but others said that by working together they achieved things even other adamantite ranks couldn’t.

  Still, one had to wonder if either of them were truly worthy of being called adamantite—humanity’s last resorts, who made the impossible possible.

  Hekkeran could hear his teammates whispering about those things behind him.

  And it wasn’t just those three. If he concentrated, he could hear all sorts of conversations. The most common topic was speculation about how good a fight Palpatra would be able to put up. Not a single person thought he would beat Momon, because although it had been only a short time, they all considered Momon’s aura enough to convince them he was adamantite rank.

  As he was walking, lost in thought, someone fell into step beside him. The noisy metal armor was enough for him to know who it was without looking up.

  “How do you think their fight will go, Gringham?”

  “I pity Palpatra, but Momon is not likely to lose. It’s more about how well Palpatra will be able to persevere. Dost thou not wish to reserve the next round?”

  “Seriously? Count me out. What about you?”

  “I decline. I am satisfied by the display of his superior presence. I do hope however to get some training while we’re on the road.”

  “Me, too—oh!”

  The pair looked out at the lawn where Momon and Palpatra were staring each other down at a distance.

  The gleam in Palpatra’s eyes was not that of an ordinary elderly man but a veteran warrior.

  His determination gradually mounted, morphing into excitement; the atmosphere was no longer one of a friendly bout.

  Everyone watching was anxious and sticky with cold sweat.

  “…This can’t be good. Palpatra is taking this seriously!” Gringham inadvertently dropped his forced manner of speaking.

  “I get that he’s fighting an adamantite-rank adventurer, so he has to go at him like he means to kill him, bu—” Hekkeran, next to Gringham, gasped as he moved his eyes to the dark warrior facing Palpatra.

  From Momon, he felt nothing.

  In his stance with both arms dangling down, there was none of the fighting spirit one would expect from someone who was about to clash swords. Like an adult facing a child with a sword, his calm was clearly visible.

  “Wow, he’s amazing! Palpatra’s hitting him with that much killing intent and he’s not reacting at all. He can’t not notice it—he’s just at the peak of warriordom. Is that Heights of Nothingness?!”

  “Enlightened Mind? Or maybe Realm of the Wandering Priest? He must be awfully sure of himself to look so composed despite the gap between their weapons. Yeah, I’m just amazed.”

  Palpatra’s spear was a magic item with a tip carved from a dragon tooth. Meanwhile, Momon was holding a wooden staff he’d borrowed from one of the adventurers; it didn’t look enchanted at all. A magic weapon could have all sorts of effects, like increasing sharpness, boosting the abilities of the one equipping it, or dealing additional damage. At this stage, from a weapon standpoint, it was possible to say Palpatra had a huge advantage.

  “Nah, that can’t be true. The gap between them won’t be filled by a weapon. And Momon’s armor seems more enchanted than Palpatra’s. Plus, the items he has equipped are probably more magical, too. Overall, there’s either no gear gap, or Momon is ahead.”

  “Don’t be too hasty. Haven’t you heard the rumor that the total value of the magic items Palpatra uses surpasses what adamantite-rank adventurers can afford? He’s fulfilled tons of requests over the years. He’s probably earned the most rewards in the entire empire!”

  “Nah, nah, wait a—”

  “No, you wait!”

  As the two of them chattered on, the combatants’ will to fight hit critical mass and the battle began.

  “Okay, here I come!”

  “Come at me, sir, but don’t overdo it. This is an important job, r—?”

  Without letting him finish, Palpatra charged with elegant power and speed one would never expect from an eighty-year-old man. Meanwhile, Momon didn’t even hold up his staff.

  “Dragon Tooth Thrust!”

  Hekkeran’s eyes widened as Palpatra didn’t hesitate to use a martial art for his opening move.

  He whipped his spear, thrusting to deliver two piercing strikes, like dragon fangs. The attack included a special effect that dealt additional attribute damage. This was a more advanced version of Drill Thrust, which Palpatra had developed over forty years ago. Known for its good balance, the martial art had been learned by many fighters.

  The type of Dragon Tooth Thrust he used was Blue Dragon Tooth Thrust—to deal additional lightning damage.

  What’s that old man thinking? Sure, you have access to healing magic, but you still wouldn’t normally do something like that in a friendly spar!

  Even grazing someone clad in metal armor with a lightning-imbued martial art would be extremely effective; the choice showed Palpatra was going all out.

  Though the attack should have been troublesome for a warrior wearing metal, Momon nimbly dodged it. Despite his raven-black full plate armor, he moved so lightly it was like he had wings. More surprisingly, he didn’t jump out of the way or make any large movement; he evaded it completely while barely moving from where he stood.

  No way! I can’t imagine what his dynamic visual acuity and physical ability must be!

  “Wind Acceleration!” Palpatra used another martial art.

  You’re overdoing it, you old fart! Did your a
ge hit your brain?

  “Dragon Tooth Thrust!” He assaulted Momon again with the same art as before. This time the tip of the spear was imbued with snowy chill—White Dragon Tooth Thrust.

  A total of four chained moves in less than the space of a breath.

  The spectators were stunned.

  Of course they were. Not a single one of the attacks so much as grazed Momon’s armor.

  Palpatra jumped way back. The beads of sweat on his forehead weren’t from exerting his body to attack but from the immense mental pressure of wielding his spear in a battle he couldn’t win.

  “Wow!”

  “He’s even stronger than you, Hekkeran.”

  “Of course he is, Arché. Don’t even compare me to him. That’s what an elite adventurer is. He’s the very top. That’s the power of an adamantite rank.”

  “So is it my turn now?”

  Momon held up his staff and pointed its tip at Palpatra’s eyes. Meanwhile, the spear Palpatra had been grasping was now leaning against his shoulder. It wasn’t a combat stance, but the stance of someone who no longer had any will to fight, of someone who’d given up.

  “Magnificent. Stop, stop. Not only can I not win, I can’t even scratch you.”

  “Oh?”

  At Palpatra’s declaration of surrender, the onlookers sent up an admiring moan: “Whoaaa.” Momon was truly overpowering. The gap in strength might as well have been that between an adult and a child—he’d shown them that vividly.

  Everyone who had watched began chatting, sharing their impressions, wondering what school of footwork he used to dodge, and so on. Leaving them, Hekkeran and Gringham approached Palpatra, who was wiping the sweat from his forehead and talking with Momon.

  “You’re already finished, sir?” His tone and manner had changed abruptly. “…Weren’t you about to get serious there?”

  “Hya-hya-hya! What a thing to say to an old man like me. I was being serious! That was me being serious, Sir Momon.”

  “Oh, er, please excuse me.”

  “Oh, please don’t apologize. I’ll feel even worse. And you don’t have to stand on ceremony with me. We should assess each other based on strength, not years lived. It feels quite awkward to be treated with so much respect by someone as overwhelmingly strong as yourself.”