by Fuse
Yohm sniffed at her. There was no way he could ever let a woman defeat him. A few of his men had joined his side, concerned and overprotective, but they were just silently watching for now.
He saw no reason why he couldn’t handle this fight by himself. After all, he was wearing the Exo-Armor Rimuru gave him, the best protection anyone could ask for. It brimmed with enough magic resistance to neutralize pretty much any threat he might come across.
Ha! I have nothing to worry about with conjurers like her. Just dash forward, close the distance, and cut her down!
It was a tactic that served Yohm well. No magic-user had ever given him much of a headache up to now.
“I would like three of you to take me on at once,” the woman called Mjurran declared. “In fact, you can all descend upon me simultaneously.”
This offer immediately made Yohm lose his self-control.
“Don’t give me that nonsense, lady! Rommel, Jagi, don’t bother going easy on her. We got potions to spare anyway. Give ’er all you’ve got!”
They both prepared to follow his order—Rommel less than enthusiastic about it all, Jagi cool as a cucumber.
It was three-on-one when Franz gave the signal to begin. No sane witness could have imagined any possible scenario where they’d lose. The moment the signal came, Yohm was immediately bathed in strengthening magic from Rommel and support magic from Jagi, both enough to make him physically feel his muscles expand to their limits. Supremely confident, he rushed toward his target—and right into a pitfall trap.
“Ah?!”
Right in front of Mjurran, just as he planted a foot down to land a lethal blow upon her, that foot fell through the ground.
“Aspectual magic: Earth Lock,” came the quiet voice as Yohm floundered. Normally, this magic was used to help the caster gain surer footing—but when used on a target trapped in a pit, it made the walls literally close in. Just as the battle started, Yohm was out of the contest.
“How on…?!”
“I’ve never seen such simple magic used in such a devious way!” marveled Rommel. One couldn’t blame him. Mjurran had used two magic spells, one to soften and muddy the ground enough to build a pitfall and a much simpler one to solidify it again. No matter how resistant to magic Yohm’s equipment was, it couldn’t do much about the ground caving in on him. It was a breathtakingly straightforward tactic, one crafted with a clear understanding of how Yohm would strike.
The two witnesses were stupefied but not enough to miss their enemy’s next few words.
“Ailment: Silence.”
“—?!”
“—!!”
That was the finisher.
“What a pitiful show.” Mjurran groaned. “Neither of you prepared any defense against ailment magic? How are you going to handle magical opponents that way…?”
She hadn’t even needed three minutes to claim victory. It all but forced Yohm to accept that she was a force to be reckoned with.
They were all at the local tavern that night, holding a small celebration to commemorate Mjurran’s induction into the group.
“Yahhh-ha-ha-ha-ha! You’re a strong woman, you are,” Kazhil managed to work in between his laughter. “Sure wasn’t expecting the boss to get trounced like that!”
“Ahhh, shut it, Kazhil. I just didn’t think it’d be so easy. Is that normally how magicians go at it, Jagi?”
“Oh, no, boss, that’s just crazy! You’ll never find a wizard who wouldn’t flinch at the sight of a skillful warrior’s sword thundering their way. You need to define a point to dig a hole at, too, so you gotta have enough courage to stand right by it to serve as the bait. I don’t think either I or anyone else would try something like that.”
“He’s right, Yohm. She must’ve planned out that whole bait job in advance. I guess Mjurran was right—sooner or later, we would’ve met our doom in a clash of magic.”
The conclusion made Yohm realize all over again how lacking their team was.
“Pfft. True enough. I can brag all day about how invincible I am, but it don’t mean a thing without results. We took you on three against one, and we still lost; I’ll admit that to ya. So, you know, I’m sorry to bother you about this, but I hope you can teach us how to fend for ourselves against magic-wielding foes.”
“Indeed,” Rommel added, “they never taught us how to fight like that at the magic academy. We did learn about taking advantage of the terrain in my legion-magic classes, but…”
“…Well, I could help you a tad, perhaps…?”
“Oh, wonderful! I’ve just got to broaden my knowledge a little. Better learn how to use my skills more effectively!”
“I’m in on this, too, yeah,” said Jagi.
“Certainly, certainly. But just a little, all right?”
“Yeah,” Yohm interjected. “Thanks a lot for puttin’ up with us.”
It felt a little shameless to him, asking Mjurran for help. But it nonetheless meant that she was part of the team now—a trusted adviser, no less.
Mjurran was starting to suspect she was a bit of an easy mark. She had infiltrated Yohm’s team in order to more fully investigate the nation of monsters in the forest, which was fine, but now she was some kind of senior official among them.
These people are so stupid. They don’t suspect for a moment I’m magic-born.
She looked down on them for that, but there was still a faint smile on her lips. Interacting with these kinds of people for the first time in quite a while was oddly exhilarating. She wanted this to continue, whether she consciously thought it or not; she wanted to enjoy this state of affairs for just a little while longer.
Then, an innocent look on her face, she went back to her usual work.
Once she’d joined Yohm’s team, Mjurran’s days suddenly became packed.
She was responsible for giving tactical advice to the party, providing in-the-field guidance on working together to fend off monsters and magical attacks. She had inadvertently admitted to them that she was a wizard, but there was no point regretting that after the fact. She couldn’t take back the words, so she resigned herself to their consequences, offering her teachings to Rommel, Jagi, and everyone else in the party at least somewhat familiar with magic.
Tactical advice was enough of a workload; magic only added to it. Simple curses were easy enough to teach others about. She was a witch, so talking about the kinds of magic available to humankind was child’s play for her. Higher-level magic, on the other hand, was a far different story. Some of it could be conjured only by magic-born. Blithely imparting everything she knew could cause serious problems for her later.
So what were humans capable of? Where did the boundary lie between what they could and couldn’t handle, magic-wise? She needed to know that before anything.
This is such a pain. Why did it turn out like this…?
She could whine about it all she wanted, but she knew full well that she had done this to herself.
As military adviser, she had one other important role: casting the deciding vote on the party’s actions. This was its own barrel of monkeys, one that required far more work than she’d anticipated.
Whenever regular reports came in via the communication crystals installed in each village, the team’s main officers would congregate and work out their future direction. Mjurran was among them, but something about these meetings—likely the lack of intelligence among the men, she guessed—made them drag on forever without any resolution. It sorely tried her patience. They passed out these incredibly valuable magic items to all these settlements, and now they were wasting time quibbling over the silliest things thanks to them? She spoke up about all this waste, and once again, she sealed her own fate with it.
Now she was giving orders to each individual platoon, making arrangements for them and reporting directly to Yohm about them. It was all her. She didn’t understand why they were giving so much responsibility to someone brand-new to the squad, but given the lack of other qualified candidates, it
was like they had just been waiting to spring all this on someone like her.
The only real decent-minded person among them was Rommel.
“Man, Mjurran, I don’t know what we could’ve done without you!”
Receiving such heartfelt thanks made it tough for Mjurran to disappoint him. Imagine, she thought, trusting a magic-born like me… I can’t believe what a pushover I am! But she never said it.
He had apparently been hired right from the magic academy by the local earl, who had tapped him to serve as his personal conjurer. He had essentially no battle experience, making it hard for him to be decisive on many matters. Until Mjurran came along, every day was a long trial-and-error process for him.
Rommel did seem to have a good head on his shoulders, though. She could practically feel him maturing as she taught him. For now, her main mission was to get Rommel up to snuff as quickly as possible so he could take her place for a change.
Once they decided on a plan of action, the team had to carry it out. They went around the villages in their territory, in order of priority, and dispatched the monsters that appeared. It was her job to juggle the adventurers stationed in each area and keep the whole operation purring.
Why do I even have to do this? This is ridiculous…
She thought she had a legitimate complaint, but as long as she had that mission to infiltrate the monsters’ country, she couldn’t quit in a huff yet. The whole plan was starting to seem like a failure, but she couldn’t bail on it now.
Through it all, days passed on as Mjurran firmed up her position on Yohm’s team. Defeating monsters, saving villages…
…This is wrong. It’s got to stop somewhere.
But even as she whined to herself about it, she also felt oddly fulfilled. Dealing with people for the first time in ages, recalling emotions she thought she’d forgotten about. And then, finally, mercifully, the group found the opportunity to head back to Tempest.
The magic-born Gruecith was joining them as a guest in their battle training.
“Argh… Boy, that old coot sure isn’t letting up today, either!”
“G-Gobta… Is that demon, er, is Sir Hakuro like this every time…?”
It astonished Gruecith, covered in welts and bruises from head to toe. Gobta, his hobgoblin companion, didn’t look much better.
“Oh, you bet he is. No joking!”
Gobta wouldn’t dare say that in front of the teacher himself. Gruecith firmly agreed, but he bit his tongue so as not to sound ungrateful. It saved the day for him.
“Ohhh? By ‘old coot,’ you wouldn’t happen to be referring to me, would you?”
“Gahhh!! M-Master, why are you—?”
“Silence, you insolent oaf! It’ll plainly be at least a hundred years before I let you call yourself a disciple of mine!”
They’d both thought he was gone, but there he was, completely concealing his presence until the last minute. His wooden practice sword swung down, faster than Gruecith could follow with his eyes, and smacked right against the crown of Gobta’s head. He was out cold in an instant, eyeballs lolling around the backs of their sockets. Gruecith watched piteously as Hakuro then dragged him off, no doubt for yet more “instruction.” All he could do was pray for his friend’s safety.
He was here in Tempest on orders from Phobio, one of the Three Lycanthropeers, to live in this nation and observe its people. Rimuru, its leader, was away from the land for the moment, but he had already given his full permission for Gruecith to be there. It was hard for him to believe the leader of Tempest was traveling the world solo, but none of his subjects had any objection to it, so he did not press for an explanation.
Right now, his priorities were pointed more toward using this opportunity to gain as much knowledge and experience as he possibly could. Along those lines, he was joining in every training session Hakuro offered him. This was per the invitation of Yohm, the first human friend he’d ever had; Gruecith hadn’t expected it to be so grueling at the time, but this session was different. The training Hakuro gave when only native Tempestians were in attendance was like nothing he had seen from him before.
This is incredible, he marveled. He was going easy up to now just so Yohm and the humans wouldn’t be ripped apart!
Yohm’s training involved a rundown of the basics with a bit of skill training mixed in, but the session they just wrapped up was almost all core foundational stuff. “Don’t expect me to teach any Arts to a bunch of weak-hearted sissies like you!” Hakuro bellowed as he bashed his pupils to bits with his practice sword in battle (Gruecith included). “You’ll have to seize them from me by force! Watch with your eyes, and stake your very lives upon learning them yourselves!”
Gruecith was at least somewhat confident in his skills when he’d joined in. Now, he wasn’t. The results were clear as day. Hakuro closed the distance between them in an eyeblink, slashing away faster than he could follow. Hence all the bruises on his body.
I might’ve died if that sword wasn’t wooden… And how could a wooden sword be so damaging to me, even?!
He was a lycanthrope and therefore gifted with natural healing abilities, but dull pain radiated from everywhere he took a blow. It was some unknown-to-him Art, perhaps, that drilled into him and made the damage cut deeper.
They had put it in different ways, but Gruecith and Gobta agreed: Hakuro was a demon beyond all comprehension. Maybe he could have survived against him for a few moments longer than the other hobgoblins. Now, though, all confidence he had in his own strength was shot.
Gruecith had taken an interest in the creatures who served under Gobta, the hobgoblins who rode the starwolves—themselves a rare evolution to see. They were called goblin riders, and they were responsible for security around town. Hakuro trained them, focusing primarily on team-oriented strategy, and they functioned as a single cohesive unit—well honed, well practiced, and moving flawlessly. If I had to tangle with them, he thought, five would likely be the most I could handle.
He hoped to invite them to the Beast Kingdom someday, as impossible as he imagined that was. Judging by the residents around town, he knew there was almost no chance they would leave their posts.
The land of Tempest was filled with warriors whose hardiness went far beyond Gruecith’s imagination. He might have been complaining about it the whole time, but Gobta, his partner in training, was keeping up with every step Hakuro the ogre mage took. That in itself made him formidable. And he was hardly alone. Rigur, head of the security patrol, was even stronger than Gobta. The dragonewts Gruecith occasionally caught sight of seemed just as daunting to him. He had spotted several powered-up high orcs among the ones who served as Tempest’s combat engineers. One among them, named Geld, even looked and acted every bit like a reincarnation of an orc lord. Taking that guy on, Gruecith gave himself a fifty-fifty chance. It was his battle to lose.
Last but not least came the ogre mages. Approach one, and their strength was obvious. In his own mind, Gruecith figured he could defeat Kurobe the blacksmith and Shuna, that fetching young lass. Beyond that, he had no confidence at all. The other four ogre mages, his instincts told him, he couldn’t even scratch.
Gruecith might have been on the low end of the Beast Master’s Warrior Alliance totem pole, but even he could tell there was something unnatural about this. His instincts on that score—judging by the thrashing Hakuro just gave him—were right.
What in the hell? This entire town is sheer madness! I mean, they could even take on my homeland in battle, couldn’t they?!
He had to breathe a sigh of relief. His master, the demon lord Carillon, was absolutely right not to challenge Tempest to war.
Yohm’s team returned to town a few days later.
“Hey. Doing well?”
Gruecith smiled back at Yohm. “I am. Glad to see you are, too.” But what struck his interest the most was the beautiful woman among them. “So, who is that?”
“Oh? I didn’t think magic-born like you cared about women.”
“Don’t be stupid! All magic-born aren’t the same, you know. Lycanthropes like us are closer to demi-humans than full-on magic-born. It’s not uncommon for some of us to mate with humans and produce offspring, too.”
“Really, now? Well, here’s a word of advice for you: Don’t you dare cross that woman. I did, and lemme tell ya, I paid dearly for it.”
“What? Of all the ridiculous things to say…!”
This threw Gruecith. Yohm the champion, defeated by a woman who couldn’t look more out of place on a battlefield? It was a difficult story to swallow.
“Would you like to try your luck, then?”
“Ha! I like that! No point trying too hard for this one. Let me at her!”
Gruecith’s behavior was fairly easy to predict. A challenge like that, he’d never turn down.
So they traveled to the usual training ground, and Yohm brought with him the woman—his new military adviser, apparently.
“Why do I have to go through with this charade?” she asked, looking seriously reluctant.
“Oh, it’s nothing big, Mjurran. I just want you to show this guy how strong you are.”
“Yes, and I told you, I don’t see why I have to.”
“There’s a good reason for it! He’s already put you down. I hate it when people put my team down!”
Gruecith gave Yohm an exasperated look as he sized up the woman. Hmm. Mjurran’s her name? She sure is a sight to see. But why’s that bastard Yohm trying to trick me? There was a kind, gentle air about her. Strong wouldn’t describe it at all. He couldn’t believe the thought of her defeating Yohm.
After a few more pleas to his cohort, Yohm at last turned toward Gruecith and smiled.
“Heh-heh! I finally convinced her. Gruecith, if you can beat this lady, I promise I’ll serve as your lackey forever. But if she beats you…you’ll have to be my gofer!”
“What?! What kind of nonsense are you spouting now?”