by Fuse
But having someone as strong as Mizeri do this kind of low-end work? Talk about arrogance. Here I thought the demon lords were all I had to worry about. So much for that. Maybe I should’ve taken Diablo along after all, even if he and Shion would’ve gone out of control with each other…
Well, it’s too late for second-guessing. Time to put up or shut up. The world’s rulers are waiting for me beyond—but I didn’t feel scared. That’s because I was one of them. One of the strongest in the world. If anything, I felt cool as a cucumber as I crossed the door.
Benimaru grinned broadly as he surveyed the battle unfolding below him.
It was all going according to plan. The enemy had been lured, like clockwork, right into the traps Geld set—which could have been predicted, given how lightly they had treated the Tempest side.
“Sir Rimuru was right,” he said to himself, pitying his foes. “If they’ve set the table this kindly for us, it would almost be more difficult to lose.”
They could pull this off thanks to the perfect control he had over his armies, but Benimaru didn’t think it that impressive of a feat. As he said, they had caught Clayman’s forces comically off guard—they expected their numbers to overwhelm Tempest, after all. They had pursued the fleet-footed beastman fighters that had posed as refugees, and now they were completely cornered.
Alvis flew up to the point in the air Benimaru chose to watch events from. “It appears to be decided,” she observed, quietly flapping her wings so as not to break Benimaru’s train of thought. “By this point, I see no way for the enemy to recover itself.”
“Ah, Lady Alvis.” He turned his crimson eyes to her. “Enough of that blather. We haven’t won anything yet.”
“Please, Sir Benimaru, Alvis is fine…”
“You are not subordinate to me,” he coldly refused.
“No, perhaps I am not, but we beastmen have given up our command to you for the moment.”
Benimaru nodded his understanding. “Very well. For this battle, at least, I will appoint you as my aide.”
“I appreciate it, Sir Benimaru.”
Now—in name, at least—Benimaru had command of this combined force. With the supervisor of all Eurazania’s armies officially declaring herself below him, Benimaru was now officially supreme leader of the entire show. There was no defying the supreme leader; in the world of monsters, the strongest called the shots.
“…But despite appointing you my aide, I’m not sure there is much left to do, is there? I am keeping a steady watch on matters, but victory is imminent.”
“I agree with you. However, I do sense the presence of several strong members on their side.”
“True,” the unwavering Benimaru replied. “Once the outcome is set in stone, I will send Geld’s troops their way.”
“Hold on,” Sufia interjected. “I want to join in on that!”
“Yeah,” Phobio added. “I don’t want you hoarding all the action, Commander. This is the land of beastmen—our land. If we leave it all to you, Lord Carillon’ll chew us out for it.”
“He’s right! If you’ve left us to ensure everyone is safe, you could at least let us handle this battle.”
“Sir Benimaru,” said Alvis, “I leave command of the armies to you. Please allow us to target and defeat the ringleader of the enemy force!”
All three bowed their heads to him. Benimaru greeted this with a clicking of the tongue.
“So that’s why you made me commander?”
“Oh, how do you mean?” Alvis replied, playing dumb.
“…Very well. I was planning to have you join the fight anyway. However, if you feel you are about to lose, retreat at once. With some of their fighters, arrogance could be your downfall.”
He had a point. Several members of Clayman’s force remained question marks. Depending on who was paired with whom, things could become dicey in the battle ahead.
But, Benimaru thought as he boldly smiled to himself, I’m always here. As long as I can detect when we’re in danger, we will not lose.
Each of the Lycanthropeers already had their targeted prey in mind, sharpening their claws and letting their proud animal instincts run wild in pursuit of these loathsome interlopers.
The trap would go off in another few minutes.
“…I wanted to ask you something else,” Alvis said as she waited. “What will we do with those caught in our trap?”
“Kill them all, is what I would like to say…” Benimaru thought for a moment. “But I would like to leave judgment on that to you beastmen.”
“Meaning?”
“Take anyone willing to cooperate with us prisoner. Sir Rimuru is a generous leader, despite appearances. He is not a great proponent of genocide, although he’ll gladly carry it out if they take any of our lives.”
“…I see. In that case, let us decide how to deal with the prisoners later.”
“Certainly. That is fine. I imagine Sir Rimuru probably pictures them as a potential source of labor.”
“…Oh?”
“You are going to rebuild your capital, aren’t you?” Benimaru casually asked. “The more able workers, the better.”
“You’ll do that much for us?!”
Alvis, along with her two cohorts, was shocked. Rimuru not only took victory almost as a given; he already had the script written for what came next.
Where does that confidence come from?! We’re fighting the closest companions to the cunning, deceitful Clayman, and yet…
The biggest surprise of all, though, was fighting this on the assumption that they’d take prisoners. In this world, it was far easier for most people to kill in battle rather than capture. You would never find a commander who’d care whether a force was partially surrendering before doing them all in with ranged magic. The idea of using prisoners as a labor force had never occurred to anyone before.
This shook the Three Lycanthropeers to the core. It meant that the magic-born working under Rimuru never even considered the possibility of defeat. They went into this fight backed by an absolute confidence in their victory.
“Well,” Benimaru added with a laugh, “assuming our strategy goes to plan.” It only terrified the beastmen more.
And then the battle began.
(Everything to plan, Soka.)
(Understood, Sir Benimaru.)
With that short exchange, the Clayman force experienced its first casualties. They were about a hundred magic-born, led by a named one of some renown, but they all died at once, their magical cores plucked out by Soka when she appeared out of nowhere. The four team members working under him were already busy taking down the other squad captains of Clayman’s army, only striking those targets they were absolutely sure they could defeat. That was Benimaru’s order, and they followed it to the letter.
The result: The enemy’s chain of command was pulverized. Orders from above were no longer making it to the foot soldiers.
“This is a trap! The beastmen have surrounded us!”
“That’s crazy! How could they—?”
“Retreat! We have to regroup our forces!”
By the time they noticed, it was too late. Unlike a human army, monsters tended to over-rely on their own strength and bravery; a leader to guide their instincts was indispensable. Without them, Clayman’s army was doomed to fall to pieces.
(Geld, you may begin.)
(Yes sir!)
His orders given, Geld called out the signal.
“Start it now!”
“““Rahhh!!”””
The next moment, the ground caved in, swallowing up the enemy forces. Tempestians gifted in controlling the earth had unleashed their magic. This natural-looking stretch of land was actually pockmarked with pit traps, an illusion created by their skills.
Only monsters with the power of flight could escape, and even those were quickly picked off by avian beastmen and Gabil’s Team Hiryu. The ones who were caught found themselves in a cavernous underground hollow, the soil liquefied beneath. They
were unhurt but buried up to their waists, unable to move.
These were monsters, of course; some used magic or skills to wriggle out of this mousetrap, falling over their weaker companions to reach solid ground again. But the plan accounted for this, too. It helped thin out the crowd. The stronger ones among the force were killed without any chance to resist; the weaker, seeing this, had their hearts crushed. The survivors would know all too well where they stood strength-wise, likely losing their will to fight. The pit trap was set up entirely to procure pliable prisoners, willing to follow orders.
Ten or so minutes after the plan was launched, the battle was already far too one-sided to offer any hope for a turnaround.
“This… This many?”
Benimaru had a bird’s-eye view of over ten thousand Clayman soldiers, cut off and plunged into the pitfalls. Geld’s Yellow Numbers were patrolling the edges, surrounding all the holes at regular intervals and taking out the magic-born who managed to claw their way up. The enemy forces were outnumbered, and any unexpected shows of strength were handled with Tempest’s superior numbers and equipment. Even the most powerful magic-born could be taken out by a handful of beastmen or Team Kurenai. Most of Clayman’s force had marched into what appeared be a flat field; the remaining several thousand were holed up in the rear, but they weren’t enough to change anything.
“We won,” Benimaru matter-of-factly whispered.
“Truly, an amazing show,” marveled Alvis.
“Heh. We were bound to win. That was why we couldn’t afford to let our guard down. I have my own work to do now. Alvis, Lycanthropeers, you are free to do as you like. Take the heads of the enemy leaders!”
“That’s what I’ve been waiting for, man! I’ll be back!”
“Now we can finally have some fun! I can smell the bastard who defied me before. Think I’ll go after him first!”
“I suppose I will join them, too. The rest is up to you, Sir Benimaru.”
The commander nodded, face pointed straight ahead.
“Go!”
“““Yes sir!!”””
With that, the three warriors sprang into action.
Sufia tore across the sky, faster than wings could take her. This was Skywalk at work, an Art only a small handful of magical creatures could wield, but Sufia used it like second nature.
She was headed for a small group at the very far end of the battlefield, unarmed and looking out of place. They were priests, led by Middray of the Dragon Faithful. She didn’t know them, but Sufia’s animal instincts told her that these were the strongest forces the enemy boasted.
As she sped forth, she heard the voice of Gabil, commander of the skies. He, and the hundred members of Team Hiryu, were following her.
“Gah-ha-ha-ha! Let me give you a hand, Lady Sufia!”
“Ah, Gabil.” She smiled a beautiful, heroic smile. “Sorry, but you might be left with the short end of the stick here.”
“Wah-ha-ha! Not a problem for me. We’ve taken care of most of the aerial forces, and I wouldn’t want to take any more work from the flying beastmen. Where are the enemies that lie between us and victory?”
“Ha! Victory is ours, yes, but I think we have to put down the people in the back, just in case things go haywire on us.”
“Right. I hear you loud and clear! You get that, men?!”
“Understood, General!”
“As long as you don’t screw up, either, General!”
Gabil snarled at his dragonewts. Their exchanges usually went something like this. Sufia chuckled at it a bit before focusing her lethal energies on the target ahead.
Middray had set up camp in a safe spot toward the rear…although it wasn’t a “camp” so much as a completely different location, a medic facility built by the supply team. He hadn’t asked for this battle, but being so belittled by the force all this time made him feel too embarrassed to face Milim again.
Lady Milim will surely deride me for this, too…
The thought concerned him enough that he demanded to be stationed on the front lines. That request was turned down by Yamza, who certainly didn’t do it out of concern for Middray’s safety—he just didn’t want anyone else horning in on his upcoming glory.
Still, victory was all but guaranteed today. Their force was three times the size of the enemy’s, which was not at all a coherent fighting unit. They were being forced to retreat while guarding a large crowd of refugees, rendering them incapable of any counterattack.
It’s more dishonorable, if anything, to attack an opposing force like this…
Such was the thought in Middray’s mind in the days leading up to this clash. Things, however, did not quite work out that way.
“We might be in trouble, Father. The battle’s all but lost, isn’t it?”
“Mm… They are weak, Hermes, too weak. I had no idea the demon lord Clayman’s soldiers were this incapable…”
“They aren’t, Father! The enemy just had the superior strategy!”
“What? Don’t be stupid. We should have the power to force our way right through any of their silly tricks! If that’s the weak excuse you have for this, I’m disappointed in you, Hermes!”
“Look, if this was just a one-on-one duel, that’s one matter, but in mass combat like this, the quality of your army’s command is what decides the day! That, and how well you can catch the enemy unawares. Today, that was the opposing side. They hid their war power until the last moment and even sprang a trap on us.”
“Pfft. I can see that much!”
Middray was never one to use his head very much. Hermes had a habit of bringing up all these meddlesome, annoying topics with him, just because he happened to be a little smarter, and he never liked that much. Now, however, even Middray could see that there was nothing he could retort with. The scene presented to him was all the evidence Hermes needed.
“But, Father Middray—”
“I know. The fighters headed our way… They’re powerful. As much as I hate to say it, we are standing in the midst of a battlefield. If they’re coming for us, I say we come for them!”
“So it goes, does it? Very well, then…”
Hermes reluctantly agreed as Middray next to him began to burn with a desire to fight.
Here, in the rear of Clayman’s forces, was fought the most intense and ferocious of the day’s conflicts.
Landing on solid ground, Phobio silently ran forward. Discovering a group hiding in the shadows behind the battlefield, he stopped right in front of them.
There stood a man wearing a mask of anger and a girl wearing a mask of tears. This strange duo was Footman, the Angry Jester, and Teare, the Teardrop Jester; both members of the Moderate Jesters and both here observing the battle by Clayman’s request.
“Hey,” Phobio quietly said, holding back his rage. “I owe you one from last time.”
Footman’s eyes twinkled ominously beneath his mask. “Oh-ho? Well, well, if it isn’t Sir Phobio!”
“Sir Phobio,” Teare said in a chiding, singsong voice as she traipsed around him. “The beastman who could never quite become a demon lord! Sir Phobio, the one who lost to Milim! Thank you so much for helping us out then!”
“Heh. Glad you still remember me. It’d be a shame if I killed you when you had no idea why you deserved it!”
“Ooooh? What’re you angry about?”
“How odd. What could this fool be so livid for? Those raging emotions are so delectable, but there’s no reason for us to die here.”
“Oh, not at all, not at all!”
“Shut up! Maybe I was a fool for letting you trick me, but a fool like me doesn’t need a reason to ask for a little payback from you guys!”
Phobio broke out his sharp claws. Teare and Footman were unmoved.
“Hmm? You want to go with us? You shouldn’t push yourself like that. You’re too weak for that!”
“Hohhh-hoh-hoh-hoh! None of that, Teare. Sir Phobio here is trying to make us laugh with this little joke of his.”
“Ngh…!!”
“Tch!”
Realizing their mind games had no effect against him, Footman and Teare changed their approach. Things began to move quickly. The air twisted around them, opening a portal through which a man with the head of a wild boar appeared.
“Long time no see, Footman. Remember me?”
“Hoh? Hmmmmm? Ah, the orc general? My, look at how impressive you’ve become!”
Footman attempted to sound playful with the sarcastic taunt, but the expression on his face indicated he was in trouble.
Despite appearances, Footman was a coolheaded, calculating type—a trait Geld was fully aware of. The jester was with the forces that laid waste to the ogre village that Benimaru and the others called home, and Geld knew his powers were difficult to ignore. Footman was on a different level from other magic-born, as far as Geld was concerned.
Plus, there was Teare. Footman’s peer in many ways. The extent of her powers was an unknown, but she wasn’t one to be underestimated. Phobio might have been the Black Leopard Fang of the Beast Master’s Warrior Alliance, but even with his strength, taking on Footman and Teare by himself would spell trouble.
The beastman let the rage bubble within. Heh-heh… Well done, Sir Benimaru. Not a disagreeable piece of prey at all!
The commander, overseeing the battle from the skies, had ordered Geld to assist Phobio. He wondered why at first, seeing as it meant Geld would abandon his command post, but now he saw that Benimaru was right. The rest of the battle had already been decided, to the point that even Geld’s aides could handle it well enough. Only the top leaders among the magic-born under Rimuru’s command could handle two Moderate Jesters like this.
“Allow us to assist, Sir Phobio.”