Orlando let the rambling go in one ear and out the other, occasionally grunting in response, but it seemed he had been found out.
“Hey, are you listening?”
The predictable question had already come.
…Nope, I’m not. Probably not since the third time this happened.
By the fifth or sixth time Orlando was forced to listen to the same story, he would normally have replied grumpily, No, why would I be? But reacting that way to Pabel in this situation would be a big mistake—because Orlando knew from experience that the response would be Okay, then, I’ll say it again.
The right answer lay elsewhere. “Yes, yes, I hear you. Your daughter really is precious, isn’t she?”
Pabel’s expression changed immediately. His face looked so monstrous that even Orlando braced himself, but that was just how this man blushed.
Orlando had to seize this moment where Pabel briefly paused his own boasting to savor the fact that someone else had praised his daughter. Without drastic action, he would miss his chance to escape hell.
“So…” There was only one topic that could trump Pabel’s daughter: work. “Doesn’t working at night mess up your internal clock? Your body doesn’t get thrown off?”
Pabel’s expression changed from completely deranged killer back to run-of-the-mill mass murderer.
“…How many times have you asked me that? My answer will never change. It doesn’t bother me. But why are you so obsessed with that point? What are you really trying to get at?”
Orlando had expected the dramatic shift, but he still couldn’t help his eyes popping a bit.
Who are you, and where is the Pabel from a second ago? he wanted to jab, but he wasn’t interested in jumping into the grave he had just climbed out of.
“…Hmm. What do you mean, sir? That’s a strange question… I can’t have the guy who defeated me wearing himself out for some lame reason and retiring early. Once I beat you, I won’t care, but…”
When Orlando had first been assigned to this fort, he had been so full of himself that just recalling it was embarrassing. As more tough guys gathered around him out of admiration, his inflated confidence got even greater, and eventually, he found himself sparring with Pabel.
Orlando was skilled with a sword, specializing in close-quarters combat, while Pabel’s talent was archery—specializing in combat at range.
If the two of them were going to fight, the distance between them would be critical. But Pabel offered to fight at close quarters.
And then Orlando lost.
That was why Orlando respected Pabel. But at the same time, he openly stated his desire for a rematch and his intent to defeat his rival. He wanted to give Pabel the distance that would suit his specialty and win anyway.
“Oh. You want to fight me? In my prime, when there’s nothing wrong with a single part of me?”
The sharp, beastly grin on Pabel’s face stirred something in Orlando’s breast.
Yes, exactly. You understand, right? I want to fight you. I want to fight to the death. But I’m sure we can’t go that far. Still, I want to rush to the very brink, where one of us might end up dead. That’s the kind of battle I want to have.
But Orlando couldn’t say anything—because he felt the beast that had appeared before him suddenly flit away. And the next thing Pabel said only confirmed his intuition.
“But sorry. I’m sure you understand. There are only a handful of people who could beat you in hand-to-hand combat now, and I’m not one of them.”
The words Then let’s fight at range never reached Orlando’s tongue—because he knew they would be an insult to a man he respected.
Knowing Pabel’s prowess with a bow, he wasn’t confident he could evade those attacks and close the distance.
Not yet anyway.
“Anyhow, if you’re done chatting, then let’s have that report.”
“There’s no need to hurry, is there, sir? It’s not time to change shifts yet. The bell hasn’t even rung.”
There was still quite some time before the scheduled chime that signaled the guard change.
“There are still preparations to be made, things that need to be done before the bell rings. We need to be ready so that the moment it’s time, we can get straight to work.”
“There’s still time, though, right, sir? Let’s chat a little more.”
“In that case, why don’t I give the report to your aide, Commander?”
It was one of Orlando’s men who spoke.
“Good idea. You’re the best! Does that work for you, sir?”
“…Sigh. You’re really stubborn today. There must be something specific you want to talk about, right? I wish you would just come out and say that like a normal person.”
Unfortunately, that was impossible for Orlando.
Some chose to confide in people they respected, but Orlando was the type who couldn’t possibly go to someone he admired with his concerns. He wanted to be seen as a man’s man.
“I’m impressed as always, sir. Always on top of things.”
“…Sigh. So what is it? If it’s something stupid, I’ll make you regret it.”
“Right.” Orlando removed his helmet and scratched his head. The cold air on his flushed face was oddly comforting. “Actually, I’d like to undertake a journey to train myself. May I have permission to go on leave?”
He heard people around them gasp. But the face of the man in front of him didn’t move a muscle.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re the man I respect the most in this country. If you won’t stop me, then I have no qualms about leaving.”
“You aren’t a regular, right? If your conscription period is up, I can’t stop you.”
Due to the Sacred Kingdom’s extensive conscription system, distinguishing draftees from career soldiers was often achieved by referring to the latter as regulars. Pabel and his subordinates were all regulars, while Orlando’s group was a mix.
“So you mean it’s fine if I quit?”
This was the first time Orlando ever saw Pabel’s face move aside from when his wife or daughter came up. The change was so slight that picking it up took all the powers of perception that Orlando had honed as an exceptional warrior; it was doubtful anyone else had noticed.
This man who Orlando regarded as steel was moved by an action he took. A stormy mix of joy and sorrow roared in Orlando’s breast.
“…The law gives you that right. There’s nothing I can do… That said, losing a man of your caliber leaves…quite a hole. You could have gone training earlier. Why now?”
In the last six months or so, the subhuman tribes had stopped attacking the forts. Prior to that, dozens of them would regularly mount attempts once or twice a month.
Though these raiding parties numbered in the dozens and not hundreds or thousands, subhumans were physically superior to humans. And many of them had special powers. Even with relatively low numbers, it wouldn’t have been strange for such an attack to wipe out a whole garrison.
Consequently, during most of the attacks, Orlando or Pabel had been dispatched with their crew to reinforce the frontline troops.
“It’s not like I enjoy killing subhumans. What I like is fighting strong guys and getting stronger myself.”
“But you don’t care about the Mighty King?”
“Oh, that guy…”
“Not just him. Demon Claw, the Beast Emperor, the Ash Lord, Elementria, Screw-Spear…”
Pabel rattled off a list of notorious subhumans, but none of them inspired Orlando as much as the first.
The Mighty King…
He was the king of a race of subhumans, sometimes known as the Breaker Lord.
The name came from his skill with weapon-breaking arts and how his combat style centered around that unique ability. This nemesis of the Sacred Kingdom had defeated many a warrior. Orlando had fought him before in a battle that ended in the destruction of not only his sword but also his reserve
dagger and hatchet, plus the ax he used to fell trees.
Though all of Orlando’s weapons had been destroyed, the fight came to an end when the Mighty King withdrew upon the arrival of reinforcements dispatched from the nearby fortress. In the sense that he had held out until help arrived, it was Orlando’s victory, and many praised his valor. But since he wasn’t an enemy worth the Mighty King taking on a risk to eliminate, Orlando himself had felt somewhat defeated.
“I do want to fight him again someday, but…I probably can’t beat him yet. You probably have to be what they call a hero to take down that guy. Which is why—oh, sir, you heard, right? That the great warrior Gazef Stronoff fell in battle?”
“So you heard that as well. The higher-ups are discussing how it will affect the countries in the region.”
The death of the strongest warrior in the Re-Estize Kingdom was a major topic among Sacred Kingdom soldiers and really anyone who was decent in combat.
“Do you know the details?”
“I’ve heard the gist. Apparently, a caster known as the King of Darkness defeated him in single combat. To be honest, I struggle to understand how a caster could fight solo.”
Orlando agreed.
But the term caster encompassed a wide range of people. If a faith caster boosted their strength with magic, they could easily be more than a match for a half-baked warrior. Plus, holy warriors in this country liberally used magic. In a broad sense, they could be considered casters, too. It wasn’t impossible to imagine a caster in single combat.
“…I heard this King of Darkness also wiped out an entire army and summoned giant goats or sheep or something.”
“That’s news to me. Giant goats…? Sounds like a weird guy.” Hearing about goats reawakened Orlando’s defeated feelings. He knew they couldn’t be regular goats if the caster had summoned them for battle. “Well, that weird guy is just another reason…”
“For what? I don’t follow.”
“Just like how when you beat me, sir—I always ignored projectiles and magic. I thought I could just force my opponents to their knees with my sword. So when I heard that the captain of the Royal Select was killed, I realized maybe I had underestimated those elements of combat.”
“So?”
“I want to retrain.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to challenge one of the people in our country you can’t defeat.”
“I won’t.”
The people Orlando couldn’t beat were a handful of the Nine Colors.
Deputy commander of the marines, Enrique Belsué the Blue.
Leader of the Paladin Order, Remedios Custodio the White.
Pabel Baraja the Black.
A merman of the sea, Ran Tsu An Lin the Green.
And though he wasn’t one of the Nine Colors, the elite priest Kelart Custodio.
In other words, they were all people of rank, so fighting them would cause a huge commotion. Even if sparring between members of the Nine Colors were somehow permissible, a bout with naked blades would never be allowed.
Unfortunately, that level of sparring wouldn’t be enough.
Fighting with practice swords was totally different from fighting with real weapons—so different that it might even affect the outcome of the duel. Many people did not perform the same in exams as they did in actual combat. And being strong meant being strong when it counted. If he couldn’t gain any useful experience, it wouldn’t count as training for him.
“Good…but then where are you planning to train?”
“We were just discussing the Nation of Darkness. I think I’ll try going there. By the sound of it, the place is home to some pretty powerful undead.”
The Nation of Darkness, Ainz Ooal Gown…
Appending his full name to the country seemed to show just how self-aggrandizing the king was, but Orlando wouldn’t dismiss the idea. Besides, it meant the king was influential enough to make it happen.
“I’ve heard the name from the merchants who travel between here and that kingdom.”
The teachings of the shrines had permeated Sacred Kingdom society, so most citizens felt only hatred and repulsion toward undead. Pabel was probably no exception. Then again… Orlando thought about it for a moment. Pabel doesn’t hate them as enemies of the Sacred Kingdom but as enemies of his wife.
But he didn’t bring that up. The commander wouldn’t lose his head quite as much as when he talked about his daughter, but it would still make the conversation much longer than it needed to be.
“The official stance is tacit acceptance, I think? It’s probably no problem if someone from the Sacred Kingdom wants to go there…right?”
No matter how one spun it, the Nation of Darkness, with its army of undead, was a foe the Sacred Kingdom couldn’t coexist with. After hearing about the plight of the people in E-Rantel, which the king had made his home base, many people in the Sacred Kingdom were already calling for soldiers to be deployed. But the Sacred Kingdom was busy dealing with the threat that the subhuman tribes posed, so until the hills were cleared, there was no way it could take military action against another country.
Regardless of what the masses desired, the government was content with simply directing passive criticism at the Nation of Darkness.
“A trip to the Nation of Darkness…? If you ask the higher-ups, you could probably stay with the army and still go. That place comes just after the subhumans on their list of priorities. Apparently, they’re thinking of establishing a united front with the Theocracy.”
“Oh, really? But won’t our differences in faith make a mess of it?”
“Yeah, I’m sure they will. Anyhow, if you stay in the army, then you’ll be able to get support from the country, and there shouldn’t be any obnoxious border inspections…at least as far as I know. It’ll also be timely, since the higher-ups want to know more about the inner workings of the Nation of Darkness.”
“That’s not a bad idea, sir. But then I can’t just smack whoever I choose, though.”
“The fact that you’re not joking is…problematic.”
“I’d feel bad for you if I caused an international incident.”
A cold evening wind whipped by. Pabel, his expression unchanging, was silent for a moment. Then, looking disgruntled as always, he murmured, “Well, it’ll be lonely without your dumb face around here anymore.”
Orlando smiled. It looked like the grin of a ferocious beast, but this was an uncharacteristic sign of bashfulness. Pabel didn’t say not to go, but he didn’t say to go, either. He also tried to give Orlando a place to come home to.
“Well, I am sorry about that… But I’ll get stronger and come back. By then, I’ll be able to teach you a lesson or two!”
“That’s some big talk.”
When Orlando flashed him an easy smile, Pabel returned it. It was as fierce an exchange as two beasts growling at each other.
Just then the bell rang.
Time to change shifts? I guess we chatted a bit too long; I might get a warning later. But Orlando’s thoughts scattered as the bell continued to ring.
When Pabel whipped around to face the hills, Orlando did the same.
This bell meant subhumans had been sighted.
For over four hundred yards out from the wall, there was nothing to obstruct their view. In the past, there had been hills and trees, but when the wall was built, clearing and flattening a large swath of the surrounding land had been a part of the public works project. The only light at this hour came from the stars. Across what was essentially a big meadow, toward the hills where there was more cover, shadows crossed the darkened ground.
“Sir.”
It was impossible for Orlando to see them at this distance in this gloom. That was why he called out to the man with better eyes.
“No doubt about it—those are snakemen.”
The response was instant.
Snakemen were humanoid creatures covered in scales, with heads and tails like cobras, a race thought to be closely related to l
izardmen. Their cobra heads produced a potent venom, which they also daubed on their crude pikes. If possible, it was best to avoid close-quarters combat with them.
That said, Orlando and his men had trained their bodies to the point that they had a good chance of resisting the effects of the venom. The scales provided some defense but not enough to repel sharpened metal. Snakemen also employed their tails to great effect in combat, but those could simply be considered another weapon. Finally, due to their snakelike senses, these creatures had the upper hand in the dark, but that disparity could be managed.
Will we be the vanguard? No, Pabel’s team will probably feather them all before they make it over here.
Snakemen loathed anything cold, so they didn’t have metal armor. That made it easy for first-rate archers like Pabel’s troops to take them out.
“How many, sir?”
Most raiding parties would number fewer than twenty.
“…Sir?”
The lack of an answer gave him pause. When he looked at Pabel, what he found instead of the expected blank expression was one of obvious confusion.
“What is it, sir?!”
“…Their numbers are still growing. This could be trouble! Other races have showed up. I see armats, ogres, caven…”
“Seriously?!”
All sorts of subhumans lived in the hills, but it wasn’t as if they all got along. On the contrary, there were often conflicts over turf. Aside from goblins and ogres, who often cooperated, and races who enslaved others, members of different races usually weren’t seen working together.
There had even been cases where one race would attack the Sacred Kingdom because they had been forced out of their lands by another race.
Was it possible that was the driving force this time? If not…
“Is this a major invasion?” Someone spoke up. They may have meant to murmur it to themselves, but the comment sounded strangely loud.
The Paladin of the Sacred Kingdom Part I Page 2