by Fuse
But the sight of Gruecith vaguely sort of floating atop the liquefied soil drained her will to continue. So she sighed and unraveled the spell.
“…Their eyes telegraphed it from the start.”
Mjurran rolled her eyes when he said it just now. All the prep work she’d done to ensure the magic could never be spotted, and Gobta and Gruecith had their eyes on the ground the whole time. There you go, then, she thought with a sigh. It’s all but opening your mouth and telling him, “Ohhh, hey, something’s here.” Yohm was stout enough to resist the urge, at least, but he’s only human. Nothing from him would work on Hakuro.
“Ho-ho-ho! You may be a fine strategist, my lady, but without a keen insight into your allies’ personalities, one can never hope for truly effective teamwork. No hastily put-together team could ever defeat me.”
Mjurran nodded at the condolences. “It’s been a lesson for me, yes. I’d like to begin by examining them further in depth.”
“Mm. Yes. A good idea.” Hakuro nodded, then turned to his three kneeling opponents. “So may I suggest you answer me now? Before I decide to switch blades from wood to metal?”
The avuncular smile he’d given Mjurran was a thing of the past. Now he was back in full demonic form.
“Pah!”
“Whoa?!”
“Waaaaaait!”
Three hours later, they were still there, legs numb from all the kneeling. Hakuro was making them stay until he was damn sure they wouldn’t pull any more malarkey like that. Mjurran gave them a passing glance as she returned to her bedroom, promising herself that she’d never join them on a “plan” like this again.
“Now, I say this just in case, mind you, but promise me you won’t try to ‘test’ Sir Rimuru like that, please?”
“What’re you talking about?” Gobta pleaded to the rather concerned-looking Hakuro. “No way any of that would work on Sir Rimuru!”
“…Oh? Because, to be honest with you, I think it might have more than an outside chance of working…”
“Ha-ha-ha! Come on, Gramps. Don’t you think you’re worrying too much? Someone like Rimuru, he’s not about to fall for a trick play!”
“Hopefully not,” Hakuro said. “If he did, we would all be in trouble.”
His three pupils shuddered at the thought.
“Y-yeah… We weren’t planning to, but definitely not now, no.”
“Gobta said it. He and that other girl, too. The violent one.”
“You mean Shion?” Gobta asked. “Or, wait, not Mili—”
“Whoa, stop right there, Gobta.”
The hobgoblin nodded at the panicked-looking Yohm. Gruecith failed to follow this conversation but understood well enough that he should stay out of it. A smart move, although he may not have realized it.
“All right,” Hakuro gravely intoned. “Soei is too prudent to fall for that, but Sir Rimuru and Sir Benimaru… They have their quirks, shall we say? Sir Rimuru seems to be restraining his Magic Sense, too, to some extent.”
“Why’s he doing that, sir?” asked Gobta.
“Who knows,” Yohm replied, looking at him. “I couldn’t even guess how that Magic Sense stuff works.”
“Well,” interjected Gruecith, “I certainly see why Lord Carillon accepted Rimuru as an equal. Placing limiters upon his own strengths like that… A constant, never-ending cycle of training!”
“Huh?!”
“Wow, is that it? Boy, Sir Rimuru sure is great!”
“Huh. Man, his mind works on a whole different plane from ours, eh?”
This, along with Hakuro’s later approval, led to a new fad around Tempest where monsters deliberately limited the release of their skills to better hone them. It had nothing to do with Rimuru, but if he were around, they hoped he would approve.
All that slogging through liquefied soil and getting rapped soundly by swords had made the three of them very muddy. It wasn’t long before they discussed entering the town’s famous bathing facilities together.
“Boy,” Gobta observed, “that lady sure knows how to use her magic. She’s pretty, too!”
“Yeah, ain’t she? And she’s got personality, too. It ain’t just looks.”
“I have no argument with that. Her name is Mjurran, right? It’d be nice if she could give birth to my child…”
“Whoa there, Gruecith. Ya can’t go talking like that. She’s one of my officers.”
“What does that have to do with anything, Yohm? When it comes to romance, I’m free to do whatever I want. First come, first served.”
“Wow, really? I’ll keep that in mind!”
“Don’t you start, Gobta!”
Gruecith snickered at the wailing Yohm. “Maybe I should talk to her myself, hmm?”
“Damn it, Gruecith, I go first! I’m your boss!”
“Are you crazy? I just told you: Romance is all about freedom!”
“Yeah, Yohm!”
It was turning into quite a heated argument by the time they reached the bathhouse. The moment they washed off and settled into the hot bath, Gobta’s eyes began to emit a sinister twinkle once more. “I just remembered Kabal said something to me when he was here last,” he began. “They say there are some baths in the world with a ‘mixed gender’ rule. He said Sir Rimuru told him about it… And, you know, Sir Rimuru’s word is law, isn’t it?”
“Hang on, Gobta. If that’s an order from Rimuru himself, then we gotta make sure it’s enforced, yeah?”
“Uh-huh! I think so, too!”
“What? Gobta, what do you speak of? Tell me more of this…mixed genders.”
“Hee-hee-hee! You like it, too, huh, Gruecith? Well, it’s like this…”
He went over the topic in detail, growing more excited with every syllable.
“So you mean…not only Mjurran but Lady Shuna and Shion as well…?”
“You gotta be kiddin’ me, Gobta. I had no idea those were the rules around here!”
The pleasant sensation of the hot mountain-spring soak was putting the trio’s minds at great ease. It also raised their voices high, their schemes echoing around the chamber.
Not all of it bounced back, however. Some of the sound waves wriggled their way right through the wall—and into the ears of Shuna and Shion, who had invited Mjurran to enjoy the women’s bath with them.
“I wonder if we should develop a potion to banish the stupid from their minds?”
“Do not worry, Lady Shuna. I will beat it out of them until they cry for mercy and their willpower is retempered!”
“I’ll be glad to help,” Mjurran added.
Records, sadly, did not exist to say what happened to the men afterward.
“Mjurran, can we have a talk?”
Several weeks had passed, enough time for Mjurran to get fully used to life with Yohm and his crew, when her leader spoke to her.
“Certainly. What about?”
“Not…here, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh?”
That struck her as odd, but not queer enough to turn down his request. She followed Yohm out of town and toward a deserted patch of forest.
Hmm? Uh-oh. Did he find out who I am? I don’t sense any traps or ambushes up ahead…
The rest of Yohm’s team was still garrisoned in town; Mjurran knew all their exact positions. She didn’t much like the look Yohm had exchanged with Gruecith when he called her to him, but it still seemed like her cover was safe.
So what is it, then…?
She remained baffled right up to the entrance into Forest of Jura land.
“Have we walked enough, then? What is—?”
“Mjurran!”
The interruption made warning flags shoot up in her mind. No! Really?! So had he found out after all? Had he told anyone else yet? Or was Yohm the only one to ferret her out so far? Either way, she had to come up with urgent countermeasures before—
“I love you! I swear: I fell in love with you the first time my eyes met yours!”
Her mind stopped.
>
…What?! What did he say?
“Huh?”
Assorted questions popped in and out of her mind, but that was the only response she could muster. Simply returning Yohm’s gaze took all her mental fortitude.
Looking back, Mjurran had always felt a pair of eyes upon her. It was true ever since she’d infiltrated his force. It belonged to Yohm, and when their eyes met, she found herself averting hers out of awkwardness several times. It made her a tad nervous, perhaps wondering why he was so watchful of her. But maybe her misgivings were really about something else entirely.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. I promise I’ll make you a happy woman. I promise!”
The sheer frankness of the confession made Mjurran’s cheeks flush. The last time she was (chronologically) a young woman, it was a good seven centuries ago. Her memories of it were vague at best. No memories of anyone else back then. To her, romance was a completely novel experience. Unexplored land.
Anxiety won out over happiness in her head. That, and:
…He’ll make me a happy woman? The demon lord Clayman’s used Marionette Heart to make me his personal puppet. If I can’t get my real heart back, I can never be free—and there’s no way to do that. And how could a human ever love me? They all die far too quickly…
So she opted to delay her response. The logical part of her brain told her to say no and get on with life, but somehow, she didn’t quite have the courage for that. Four hundred years of life as a magic-born, and it was the first time she had ever felt so anxious about herself.
Even after the confession, life went on as usual.
Yohm was usually fairly shallow personality-wise, but—perhaps out of respect for her feelings—he made no further advance upon Mjurran. The feeling was no doubt mutual. Whether circulating around villages on monster hunts or relaxing back at town, Yohm showed concern for her, but he never did anything to squeeze a reply out of her.
I… What should I even do? As long as Clayman lives and breathes, there’s no way his dream could ever come true…
Somewhere along the line, Mjurran began to have daydreams of herself more closely united with Yohm. The logical part of her brain denied it could ever be a possibility, but she just couldn’t bring herself to abandon the thought. Her mind gradually began to open itself to it, enthralling her so deeply that she didn’t even notice Gruecith staring at her, a troubled, lonely expression on his face.
Life was good—and now, within a week’s time, it would be destroyed.
“It has been a while, Mjurran. Are you doing well?”
The magical communiqué from Clayman arrived out of the blue. It made her panic a bit.
“L-Lord Clayman! What motivates you to contact me?”
To her, Clayman was unworthy of her loyalty. If she could, she’d murder him in his sleep. She didn’t because it was so obvious to both parties that she’d fail.
The last time she’d reported back to him, Clayman had been in oddly high spirits. The same was true this time. Mjurran’s instincts sounded the alarm. It creeped her out. Clayman almost never showed emotion to his underlings—if he was so obviously enjoying himself now, things must be going exactly the way he wanted. It did not seem like good news to her—and it wasn’t.
“Thanks to the intel you provided me,” Clayman told the cautious Mjurran, “things are going quite well over here. You’ve done a superb job. Why, I’m even starting to think it’s time to return this heart in my hand and set you free.”
Mjurran paused, confused at the proposal. For just a moment, Yohm’s face appeared in her mind. She could feel her spirit leap with excitement, but she still managed to keep her voice calm. Clayman must never learn of her true feelings. He was a demon lord, a devious Marionette Master perfectly willing to deceive his own servants.
“Thank you very much, sir. This sudden suggestion is quite a surprise to me. Does this mean you no longer require my services?”
“Haaa-ha-ha-ha! Ah, you never change, Mjurran. There is hardly any need for such modesty. Why would I ever want to do away with such a talented pawn? I do hope you’ll still be able to serve a role for me, yes.”
“I see. I am glad to hear—”
“Mjurran,” the demon lord quietly interjected before she could finish her wary answer. “There is no need for alarm. I simply want you to perform one final piece of work for me. You won’t turn me down, will you? I’m sure you aren’t ready to die yet, and I’m sure you don’t want to see the man you love die before your eyes!”
She could feel the blood drain from her head.
“I—I have no love for…?!”
“For any man, is it? You give me far too little credit, Mjurran. All you have to do is follow my orders, and everything will be fine. I showed you the sweet dream of release there; I wouldn’t mind a little appreciation for that. Just sit tight until I provide your orders, if you could?”
Then he shut off the link.
Mjurran, sadly, had nothing to counter with. No matter how unhappy it made her or anyone else, the only road to salvation was to serve him. The only thing that remained in her heart was the demon lord’s final words: “When it is all over, I will release you. Your dream of living with the man you love may not be a dream before long.”
Was this a trap?
—No, it had to be one. But all Mjurran could do was trust in his words. If she ever doubted them, it’d lead to potential tragedy for both Yohm and her. Far better for her to just do what Clayman said and hope for another passing whim in her favor.
Just as it always was, the only option available for Mjurran was to wait for her orders. But if it really did lead to her release—
Could I ever really accept him?
She had to explore the thought, no matter how much she knew it was unforgivable.
If this dream can come true, it’ll likely mean selling my soul to the devil.
It was settled. Mjurran was resolute now. And then, as if nothing had just happened, she was back in action.
CHAPTER 2
PRELUDE TO CALAMITY
King Edmaris of Farmus winced at the report he was just handed. He had reason to. His kingdom’s situation had just faced dramatic changes for the worse.
It all began when the seal placed on Veldora, the Storm Dragon, vanished from the Forest of Jura. It led to a flurry of requests for monetary and military support from Earl Nidol Migam and the many other nobles with parcels of territory out in the hinterlands. It wasn’t a problem the nation could afford to ignore. Edmaris had ordered measures to be taken at once—but instead of providing what the nobility hoped for, he sought instead to further entrench his authority.
“I suggest that we could lay waste to the monsters only after they ravage one or two of our frontier provinces.”
“That would certainly help prove the battle might of our Knight Corps, yes.”
“Heh-heh-heh… Sacrificing a few of those yappy little Free Guild men won’t hurt our budget at all. You can’t pay a creditor if he ceases to exist.”
“Very true, very true. And what better stage could we set to boost your political strength, Your Highness?”
The losses had been factored into the equation, as it were.
It was the job of a king to guarantee the safety of those who swore loyalty to him and followed his will in protecting their province. King Edmaris believed this. But there was no need to save the likes of Nidol Migam, some greedy knave more preoccupied with filling his own pockets than serving his people. Things had changed dramatically, yes, but Migam had failed to prepare for the future, and this was what he deserved for it.
An act like this may temporarily hurt Farmus’s reputation in other lands, but once their knights proved themselves in combat, it would be a wash. Instead of trying to keep the entire country safe, it was both cheaper and safer to attack only when attacked first. The outer provinces were a shield that protected the Farmus homeland. They were useful tools, easily replaceable if lost. And there was no ne
ed to risk one’s neck trying to save a set of tools.
Still…
To Farmus’s central government, which had fully prepared for a monster attack, there was something of a disappointment. A single champion, Yohm, had disrupted the entire plan. This man, rising up from the common people to form his own band, had gone so far as to defeat an orc lord and its entire force—so the rumors had it. And monster-based losses had been down from the usual rate so far this year. The king had no word about Veldora’s disappearance causing the monsters to grow unrulier—if anything, it seemed to be the opposite. That, as well, made the story of this new champion more believable.
“A champion? Ridiculous.”
“Unbelievable. But the Free Guild said that an orc lord had appeared. Perhaps it is not entirely untrue.”
“Indeed. They might not have been a full-fledged force yet, but a brand-new orc lord would have several hundred orc soldiers serving it, perhaps. That would still be enough of a threat to the borderlands, but—”
“Ha! This is pointless. If that’s all it is, I could wipe them out myself! And now this man goes around calling himself a champion…”
The core of the government—the advisers King Edmaris put the weight of his trust upon—had come to a conclusion.
“Well, if it means a threat has been eliminated, then very well. A pity it means our royal knights can’t have their day in the sun, though.”
Folgen, head of the Knight Corps, looked less than happy with the chief royal sorcerer Razen’s statement. For now, though, the topic was settled. He could tell well enough that Razen was simply telling the truth. There was no need to sally into battle just for the fun of it—an opinion King Edmaris seemed to accept.
The next issue to tackle, however, wasn’t one they could afford to watch and wait on. Their tax revenues were falling.