by Fuse
That right afforded Middray all but absolute power in this city, but he never abused that power. Why? Simple: Because the other priests who served him had the right to dismiss him from office. If he got too selfish with his decisions, he’d lose his post. That understanding was what kept Middray from becoming a tyrant. (Of course, they already had a tyrant on hand in Milim, and nobody was stupid enough to try to imitate her game, but still.)
Thus, these tens of thousands of people were far better led and organized than one would expect at first. While some may think the city was lacking in military strength, that was completely untrue. The Dragon Faithful, thanks to certain local conditions, all had very strong physical skills. In addition to their organizational acumen, each adult was strong enough to almost reach C rank. Their pacifism didn’t make it clear at first, but this was actually quite a formidable group of warriors.
The priests, in particular, were in a class of their own. There were only a hundred or so of these guys, handpicked from the best the region had to offer, and they could definitely mess you up. Their daily “prayer sessions” to Milim (i.e. battle training) gave them superior combat skills, and once you got up to the level of Middray or Hermes, they were even strong enough to give Milim a run for her money. That’s why Middray was so enraged that Clayman’s forces were treating them like dirt.
And that wasn’t this people’s only secret. The second one was the clincher.
Another day passed. Clayman’s army was now freely raiding the city’s storehouses for food supplies. The veins throbbed on Middray’s forehead as he was asked to remain patient with them.
“But why has Lady Milim not returned?” he asked, trying to adjust the target of his rage.
“Well, who knows?” Hermes distractedly replied. They had gone through this back-and-forth a dozen times or so, and it was getting on his nerves more and more.
“We prepared this wonderful meal for her… I hope Lady Milim is not hungry somewhere out there, you see…”
“I doubt it,” Hermes countered. In fact, he was sure about it. The wonderful meal Middray mentioned was a “plate of nature’s bounties,” which in fact was a bunch of raw vegetables on a plate. The last time he had a meal with Milim, Hermes stole a glance at her, only to find her lamely chewing away, all expression drained from her face.
I could tell she wasn’t enjoying it, he thought. She was just trying her best to power through it. Judging by her joy when some roasted meat was brought out, there was no doubt in his mind.
He had suggested to Middray that actually cooking the food might please Lady Milim more, but that fell on deaf ears. It was the head priest’s firm belief that providing all the glories of nature, in their most natural form, was the best possible way to pamper her. That’s exactly why Lady Milim hardly comes around any longer, he wanted to say, but it’d be his neck on the line if he did.
Hermes had traveled extensively across the land, giving him insight into the cuisines of many nations. The other priests, meanwhile, didn’t have that experience. They were too closed-minded to think that anything apart from “pure nature” would be right, so Hermes just gave up eventually.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” mused Middray. “But just imagine. That villain Clayman, thinking he’s king of the world, making Lady Milim write that edict…”
It was definitely written in Milim’s sloppy— Er, unique handwriting. They had no choice but to carry it out, but they could only go so far with it.
“Yeah, true. We can’t do much if it’s Lady Milim’s orders…but they’ve emptied out Food Storehouse Number Three, too. We’ve only got seven left. That’s going to make things lean until the next harvest…”
“Dammit all!!”
Veins swelled across Middray’s bald head like the skin of a melon. It was rather clear just how angry he was. And given how he had to work hard to keep from laughing at it, Hermes was a pretty shameless priest, too.
As they spoke, the very source of all their troubles came walking up—the general manager of the Clayman force.
“Feh! Keep your cool, Hermes.”
“I hear you.”
You first, Hermes thought. He was hoping the man would walk on past, but sadly, he was headed straight toward them. They closed their mouths and waited for the man, Yamza, to arrive.
Yamza was the general commander of Clayman’s forces, a man seen as one of the demon lord’s most trusted confidants. Slender in size and build, he looked light enough to float into the air, making him a fighter built for speed. Or perhaps, not a fighter so much as a swordsman. A first-class swordsman with arms as fast as a passing gale. The Ice Blade, a Unique weapon gifted to him by Clayman, allowed him to use the aspectual magic Ice Blizzard. Between that and his latent sword skills, the Frozen Swordmage was an A-plus magic-born in rank.
“Well, hello there, Father Middray. We do appreciate the provisions you’re supporting us with. With an army of thirty thousand, there’s just never enough to go around.”
He flashed a friendly grin at them, but his eyes weren’t smiling. He silently, carefully gauged Middray’s response. He didn’t give Hermes a glance. It was a common thing to see, magic-born treating humans like second-class citizens. Hermes wasn’t a fan, but he sucked it up, just as Middray told him to. There was no point starting a fight. He saw it as just a temporary affront.
“Ha-ha-ha! It’s an honor to be in your service. However, sadly, it is difficult to provide you with much more than we already have. Lady Milim would be saddened if our people don’t have enough to eat.”
“What are you saying?!” Even that little retort was enough to set Yamza off. “Your Milim was the one who stepped out of line. We’re trying to clean up the mess she made, so the least you could do is show us all the respect you can!”
It was an act, of course. He was pretending to be mad so that he could see how Middray reacted. If the head priest retaliated, he clearly intended to use that as a pretext to sack the city.
“Ah, my pardons,” Middray modestly began. “We were thinking only about ourselves there, for a moment. We will provide you with all the cooperation we can, so please feel free to ask.”
Hermes was thoroughly impressed. All that haughty elitism, and Middray didn’t let any of his anger reach his face. He kept the smile going the whole time.
Well done, Father Middray. Your head didn’t go all melon-like at all. I would’ve snapped at him long ago.
Yamza returned his smile. “I see, I see. I was hoping to hear that. We have enough people to sweep up the Beast Kingdom, but allow me to give you the opportunity to help us out. You should be able to support us with material transport, shouldn’t you?”
“W-wait just a minute! First you take our food, then you take our people from—”
Hermes hadn’t intended to resist him. He just let his mouth run off. The next instant, Hermes felt an intense pain in what used to be his left arm.
“Ah?!”
“Silence, you piece of trash!”
The slitted eyes of Yamza, placed upon Hermes for the first time, were cold as ice. Holding his severed arm in place, Hermes gritted his teeth and glared at him.
“…So you don’t know your place. You appear in a hurry to die.”
Now his smile was brutal in its chill, as Yamza pointed his bloodstained sword at Hermes.
Bastard. Thinks he can tell me what to do—
Just as Hermes was about to lose his temper, he was thrown back by a force like a wild animal butting against him. This was a kick, from Middray, hard enough to nearly break the skin.
“Ah, no, my apologies for all of this, Sir Yamza. I’ll teach this fool how to behave correctly, so please, by my name, I hope you will forgive him.”
Middray bowed his head toward the magic-born.
“Pfft. Always a pain, isn’t it, when the people below you are such idiots? I will forgive him just this once. We will depart tomorrow morning, so I want all of you priests to prepare immediately!”
Middray’
s mediation was enough to make Yamza sheathe his sword. But it came at a heavy price. The Dragon Faithful’s priests, the leaders of their people, had just been forcibly conscripted.
Yamza promptly left with nothing more to say. He wasn’t expecting fighters among the Faithful; he just wanted the priests and their healing magic. And thanks to Hermes’s needless meddling, Yamza had everything he wanted.
After he left, Middray sighed and healed Hermes’s wound.
“You utter fool. I warned you about that.”
“I’m sorry—I just couldn’t help myself…”
Hermes held his arm in place as Middray began his work, casting the holy magic Recovery on it. In a few moments, the amputated limb was good as new. The blood loss made him a little light-headed, but he could use his own Healing skill to tackle that.
“All right. Well, even if the priests are gone, our people won’t be affected right away. But that man…”
The anger he held back was now clear on his face as Middray glared in the direction Yamza walked off to.
“…He is damaging Lady Milim’s own assets.”
He was referring to his attack on Hermes. It was an unforgivable act of aggression, although he was now trying to sweep that kick he landed under the rug.
That kick hurt like hell, too, y’know…
But Hermes didn’t bring it up. He knew Middray didn’t mean ill of him. As befitting someone who worshiped Milim, Middray tended to fly into violent rages all too easily. Something you could say about everyone in this domain, really…
“No, but really… Do you mind if I kill him?”
“Fool,” the head priest promptly replied. “You don’t stand a chance.”
He wasn’t wrong. Hermes probably couldn’t even scratch him.
“Yeah. That sword’s unbeatable, and I think he’s hiding something else, too.”
“Indeed. He is the confidant of that scheming sneak Clayman; he won’t reveal his true powers that easily. A real man would put it all on the table to secure victory, but not them…”
I wouldn’t call that approach very smart, Hermes thought, but again, Hermes didn’t agree too often with the way people thought in this domain. So he pretended to agree and went back to work. With the new deadline of tomorrow morning coming out of nowhere, he had a mountain of business to settle.
The next morning, with two days left until the Walpurgis Council, the Clayman force continued their forward march.
It was the morning after the summit. I had been working all night, and my body was giving me a lot of guff for it. Or my mind was, anyway. In reality, I couldn’t have been healthier. Not needing to sleep helps a lot at times like these.
Last night, after our conference, Soei contacted me again. He participated in the meeting in the flesh, but one of his Replications reported in this time, after collecting information from across the Beast Kingdom. Soka, and the other four people on his team, were contributing as well, providing a few more solid leads.
The Clayman force, ever on the lookout, still had not moved.
In the midst of this, they all searched for someplace to deploy our own forces, but a problem arose. The fleeing residents of the Beast Kingdom were spread out all over the place. If we wanted to rescue them, then no matter where we transported our army to, we might have some areas left unevacuated before time ran out. Thanks to the Clayman force’s invasion route, we were lagging behind schedule.
Suggestion. It would be more effective to transport the citizens to a single location.
Hmm. I see. Yeah, I suppose it would be. No reason why that kind of transport is military only. Dominate Space allowed me to smoothly travel wherever I wanted, including to Soei, his Replications, or Soka and the others. I could then use the new type of transport spell we devised to collect all the evacuees together.
Thanks to that, things got very busy after the conference. First, I had Geld’s army go on ahead to build a field base that could accept these refugees. I transported them over to the former location of Eurazania’s capital, which Milim had turned into a vacant lot. Being a wide-open field, it stuck out like a sore thumb, but there’d be no better place to deploy a large force in.
Then I personally went from village to village, transporting the refugees out. This we wrapped up before the end of last night, which was why I was so exhausted—mentally speaking, that is.
Phobio was with me, which thankfully kept us from dealing with any resistance, although it exhausted him as well. “Performing all this teleportation,” he marveled before he left, looking at me like I was some kind of fiend. “How can you keep yourself together…? And such elaborate transport magic, over and over again… It seems absurd.”
Well, that’s rude of him, isn’t it? Of course I’m tired.
By now, Phobio should have been asleep in a room inside one of the field tents Geld’s force built. But that didn’t matter. Our main force would be ready soon, so I needed to perform one really big transport shortly.
I headed for an empty field just outside town. Rigurd was there, having spent the night preparing for this. Unlike me, he was running and hopping around, a bottomless well of energy. Rigur was called back as well, and he was pitching in all he could to help Rigurd. Once they were done, it was my job to transport all the people gathered here to our Beast Kingdom field camp. Once that was over, I planned to start preparing for the Walpurgis Council two days from now.
Upon reaching the field, I found lines of Tempestian soldiers waiting for me—including ten thousand beastmen, led by Sufia and Alvis. Their armor was piecemeal, nothing unified about it, but that was unavoidable. We had simply provided them whatever armor we didn’t need, and since many were capable of transformation anyway, this was better than confining them in full uniform.
Next to them were my leaders, ready to serve as reinforcements. Even compared to the Charybdis battle, our size—and our power to wage war—had grown tremendously.
Benimaru, noticing, stood next to me and took this opportunity to explain the evolutions that had taken place.
Following my own demon lord evolution, everyone else in Tempest had some change of their own. The World Language said something about everyone in my “genealogy” receiving “gifts,” and I assumed that meant everyone I had named.
“Based on what we heard from the townspeople,” he said as we faced the ranks of soldiers, “the men now enjoy enhanced stamina. The women report that their skin is glossier and more beautiful than before. None of that mattered to me—or I should say, it was beyond my comprehension, but I suppose you could say their spiritual strength has risen.”
Some, he reported, looked like they turned back the clock a few years. Everyone appreciated it. But these were the townspeople. They were holding down the fort back home. Let’s see what our fighters are packing.
Among our platoons, as well, there was a litany of changes. Some soldiers learned new skills for themselves; others gained the same skill in groups, based on the unique nature of their squad. I couldn’t wait to dive in and see for myself.
We first visited a group that had been with me almost from the start—Gobta’s goblin riders, a legion of hobgoblins led by starwolves that almost never naturally appeared unless the right conditions were in place. But were they really hobgoblins? That’s their species, perhaps, but their essence was something wholly different now.
Astoundingly, they had all learned the extra skill Unify. This was a rare one that let man and mount quite literally become one, turning them into mobile, high-speed, four-legged warriors. They were awarded an A-minus rank in this form—they didn’t manage a solid A since they were geared mainly for one-on-one combat, but they were killers in battle. A few working together could probably beat an A-ranked magic-born.
That was the whole gimmick with them, of course. The goblin riders were a team, guaranteed to work rapidly with one another’s thoughts and remain steadily in formation. They were keeping up with Hakuro’s training, after all—and if you imagine a hundr
ed moving in tandem, you can see what made these Riders so fearsome.
I definitely felt like the human-invented ranking system was doing these guys a disservice. I could expect a lot more from them than that, even.
Next, we visited some of Benimaru’s personal trainees.
Once I became leader of the Forest of Jura, we started enjoying a lot more combat-ready monsters in our midst. This included three hundred ogres, the most powerful of which were young men and women from the village that sought my help early on. They looked up to Benimaru a lot, which affected the “gifts” they received.
It was really a crazy sight to see. Some had volunteered for the force, making them named warriors from the start. They were strong enough to be considered low-level magic-born, which made them a tremendously reliable asset. Even a wild, non-sentient ogre ranked a B—and these guys were both fully equipped and had learned some Arts. These were never gonna be wimpy kids.
These ogres had formed a sort of elite personal guard for Benimaru, and each was A-minus in rank. I named them Team Kurenai, or red flame.
Now, for the fighters assigned to Benimaru’s main force.
This was around four thousand hobgoblins, and their evolution was really fascinating to me. They had more or less taken on the flame element, learning skills like Control Flame and Resist Temperature Change. Kind of a surprise. Each soldier ranked a B equivalent, and you could call them a specialized assault team.
By the way, these hobgoblins all had a reference to the color “green” in their names, since their skin was green. I don’t know who named them, but I really wish he thought a little more about the long-term effect with that.
Report. They were named by you, Master.
I know!!
Eesh, I wasn’t expecting to get dissed by my own skill here. Talk about unwanted sarcasm. Like, I can’t read that far into every single thing, guys. These monster evolutions just made no sense.