by Fuse
“Ah, Geld. Thank you!”
Phobio wasn’t turning him down. Even here, he could sense the difference in combat ability between him and this pair. To him, the best path to victory was worth choosing more than his own pride.
So began a smaller battle between two duos, in the shadow of a small hill away from the battlefield.
The reports Yamza received from this battlefield bewildered him. The overwhelming advantage he thought he had was just an enemy trap all along.
He didn’t want to consider the thought of defeat. It would obviously enrage Clayman. He had to find a way to turn this around, to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat—but he doubted he had the man power left to achieve it. He still had enough of his wits to realize that, and now he had to think of other forces he might be able to stir into action.
The five fingers, Clayman’s inner circle of associates, was led by the middle finger, Yamza, the strongest magic-born out of them all. Only Adalmann, the pointer finger, and Nine-Head, the thumb, could compare with him.
Adalmann, head of the defense forces in Clayman’s castle, began life as a wight, a deathly spirit who resided in the Great Forest of Jura. He was a well-known bishop during his living years, but that meant nothing now. Clayman’s accursed magic had greatly boosted his power as a monster, transforming him into a wight king that ruled over the undead. The holy force he wielded when he was alive had transformed into impure demonic power that he used to curse the living.
But despite his vast strength, Adalmann had one weakness—his lack of intellect. The only thing he could do was follow his orders to destroy any intruders; that’s why he wasn’t involved in this war.
Nine-Head, meanwhile, was a fox spirit, an extreme rarity in her field. She was still young, just three hundred years old, and only three of her tails had grown out. Her magicule energy, however, was already well past Yamza’s, up to the level of Clayman himself. She was with him now at the Walpurgis Council, serving as his bodyguard, so Yamza couldn’t tap her for backup, either.
It’ll have to be Adalmann, then…
The problem was how to call him over. Actually, no, it wasn’t a problem. It would be simple to have him show up right this instant. Yamza would have to then gather up his surviving troops, flee back into Milim’s domain, meet with him there, and go back on the offensive. That’s the best approach, he thought. Walpurgis Councils had lasted upward of a month in the past—if all went well, he could wrap this whole thing up before Clayman came back. It wouldn’t exactly be simple to make Adalmann move, but it wasn’t impossible.
Either way, if he stood down and accepted defeat right now, it was clear Yamza would be purged. Lord Clayman is a vicious man. He would do away with me in no time—I am sure of it… And even if I were lucky enough to survive, I don’t want to turn into a soulless puppet. As much as it vexes me, I must admit defeat here—but I will reign victorious in the end!
Yamza turned his gaze toward the battlefield—and there, he witnessed a sight that made him doubt his eyes.
In the front was a bewitchingly beautiful woman, her hair a mix of blond and black. She held a golden staff and was boldly racing across the land, as if no one was around her at all.
Protecting her was a group of Carillon’s finest, the Beast Master’s Warrior Alliance. They numbered only a few dozen, but almost no one could defy them in combat, each one bearing the strength of a thousand. There was Zol, an elephant beastman; Talos, a bear beastman… They couldn’t beat the Three Lycanthropeers, but they were all stout fighters, worthy of serving under the great Beast Master.
They were also accompanied by a group in crimson garb, using searing flame spells to burn away the supplemental forces kept in the rear. They meant little to Yamza, but there was no doubting they were ranked above the magic-born around them.
Things had suddenly become very bad for him.
The unbelievable visitors deepened Yamza’s gloom.
“It can’t be… Why are the Three Lycanthropeers here?! Have they abandoned their troops and come to provide reinforcements themselves? But how could that…?”
He could hear the trusted magic-born around him shouting. Agitation was in the air.
“They’re pointing their greatest force toward our main army?! What are the lookouts doing?!”
“Allow me to interrupt, sir! We can’t make contact with our lookouts. Someone has killed them all!”
“What?!”
The enemy was moving so fast, they were completely behind on dealing with them. By the time Yamza noticed that, they were already lethally late. The realization made the blood drain from his head. There would be no regrouping now—even escape would be fiendishly difficult.
No. No, no, no, no, no!! I may not even be able to escape here with my life!
Yamza began to panic. If this was one-on-one, he might be able to deal with that, but he wasn’t self-absorbed enough to think he stood a chance against a squadron like this.
“Buy me some time! I will return to our homeland and bring Adalmann back here. He can summon the dead to restore our forces!”
It was just a pretext. He already knew all was lost, and he had decided to run away, as fast as possible. Luckily, he had only volunteered his fealty to Clayman, so his behavior was not restricted the way it was with the other four fingers. Following him any farther would be suicide, and that made it easy for Yamza to sever all ties.
“Yes sir!”
“We can give you three hours, sir!”
His men each gave him stern, resolved looks that did nothing to move his heart. All he could think about was how stupid they were. The next moment, he chanted a teleportation spell. But something was off.
“It’s…not working? Is this a…Spatial Blockade?!”
Yes. He was already too late. The moment Yamza and his men saw Alvis, Alvis’s gaze landed on them as well, thanks to the power of her skill Snake Eyes. It was an extra skill, one that applied a large variety of ailments—paralysis, poison, insanity, and so forth—and worked on anyone caught in her line of vision. A tremendously useful skill, the only way to escape it was by either successfully resisting it or simply weathering it out.
And Alvis had another card up her sleeve—the unique skill Oppressor. This spatial skill gave her the effects of Mind Accelerate, Spatial Control, and Spatial Motion, letting her impede enemy movement and give her allies superior positioning.
A single motion from her was enough to neutralize all the masses surrounding Yamza. The more weakhearted of them were instantly driven mad; the stronger ones were still paralyzed long enough for the poison to kill them off. Some had even been turned to stone. Less than a hundred managed to emerge unscathed. Before they could put up any resistance, the unworthy had been denied even the right to stand before Alvis.
Her Spatial Control had snuffed out Yamza’s magic, having the power to both obstruct spells and fix their spatial coordinates in place to prevent them from affecting the air around the caster at all. No magical escape from this area was possible now—“this area” being the range of Alvis’s vision. The entire battlefield was now in her total control. Such was the power of the Golden Snakehorn.
Realizing escape was impossible, Yamza gritted his teeth.
He still had a last resort. But it was a forbidden one, one that he’d prefer not to use. Beyond that, the only path to survival involved winning this.
“…So be it. Let’s show them what we’ve got.”
“Ah, Sir Yamza!”
“Sir Yamza at his finest could overwhelm even the Three Lycanthropeers!”
“Let me join you, sir! Our fighting will surely please Sir Clayman!”
His men were elated for the fight. Yamza found it boundlessly foolish. The demon lord Clayman sought only two things: victory and profit. He would never accept this performance—wasteful attrition, followed up by total defeat.
The only thing he believes in is pure, unadulterated power…
No matter how faithful Yamza was to him,
Clayman never saw him as one of his own. He was just a useful pawn, a talented minion; that was as far as the lord’s affection went. The Ice Blade had been a gift, yes, but it was simply provided in an effort to strengthen him. It was all for Clayman’s sake.
Still, Yamza provided him with respect and reverence, and the gifts he received in return helped. They both had a common interest. But Yamza had no intention of offering his life to Clayman.
…About time to head out. I have to survive this and bounce back!
This failure would force him to go into hiding for a while. But a Special-A talent like him, a giant among high-level magic-born, would no doubt be picked up by another demon lord before long, he thought.
(I like this,) he Thought Communicated to Alvis. (One of the greatest magic-born under the Beast Master’s command, part of the valorous Three Lycanthropeers. Are you willing to duel with me?)
It was a risky bet. He wanted to defeat Alvis, the strongest figure in the group, and crush the enemy’s will to fight. Perhaps that would be enough to change the script—and even if it didn’t end well, he thought it could give him a chance to escape.
(Very well, Sir Yamza—head of the five fingers beneath the demon lord Clayman. I will show you how far out of your element you are!)
This, Alvis thought, would prove once and for all where Clayman and Lord Carillon stood with each other. She promptly transported herself before him with Spatial Motion, and in an instant, Clayman’s surviving servants swarmed over her.
It was not what one would normally call a strategy. Beastmen are mostly simple folk, easily provoked, and this cowardly approach took full advantage of that. If they can exhaust Alvis, even a little bit, that’ll make it easier for Yamza to win—such was the reasoning behind this kamikaze strike.
“You think those tricks will work?!” Alvis shouted as she turned up the intensity on her Snake Eyes. To Yamza, though, they had already done more than enough. That single instant, when Alvis used her power, was the exact thing Yamza needed for his assured victory.
“…Got you!!”
In a flash, he was upon her, slashing his sword at her exposed back. And just before the tip of his blade reached her body—
“Nuh-uh! Backstabbing someone like that’s not manly at all!”
Someone had leaped straight out from Alvis’s shadow, babbling to himself as he deflected Yamza’s sword.
“Dehh! Who’re you?!”
“I’m Gobta! We were hiding out just in case this happened!”
As he explained that, more and more figures popped out from the shadow. They were, of course, the Unified, four-legged goblin riders, tapping their physical agility to attack the magic-born that were still moving.
“And you didn’t tell me?” Alvis said. “I was wondering why something didn’t feel quite right.”
She had actually noticed them all along. That was why she was unafraid to go plunging in like this.
“Heh-heh! Benimaru ordered us to,” Gobta casually replied as he fired off a Case Cannon bolt at Yamza. He could tell the moment he crossed blades with him that this wasn’t a battle for him to win. So while the commander was distracted by his short sword, he thought now would be his best chance. Gobta’s definition of fair and square differed a bit from the norm—it was something he asked of his foes but never followed himself.
Still, Yamza managed to deflect the blast with his sword.
“Out of my way, weakling!”
He pointed the tip of his blade at Gobta and cast a spell, sending an Icicle Lance hurtling his way. Gobta simply used his dagger to fire an Icicle Lance of his own—not to fire back, but because he had planned for this follow-up strike from the start. It wound up saving Gobta’s life, as the two magic bolts met in the air and dissipated.
“That… That had as much force as this magic sword?! And without casting? Cheeky little weakling, are we…?”
Now Yamza recognized Gobta as his foe—but Gobta had already pretty well exhausted his arsenal. Uh-oh. I couldn’t follow that counter of his at all. That ice just happened to save me, but if he stabs me with that thing, I’m a goner. Probably oughtta start runnin’, huh?
Fortunately, the goblin riders had already made their contribution to this fight. No one would complain if they retreated now. Gobta made up his mind.
“All right, let’s pull—”
But just as he began to make the order, Yamza’s sword sailed right past his nose.
“Pyah?!”
In another stroke of luck, he had taken a timid step back just in the nick of time. It made Yamza almost lose his nerve. This little sneak made it past my attack three times? Three in a row couldn’t be any coincidence, as he saw it—that supersonic swipe he just made proved that the hobgoblin before him was no also-ran.
“Heh-heh-heh… Oh, how the Lycanthropeers have fallen! Sneaking their minions into a one-on-one duel!”
The boast, made with wide-open, bloodshot eyes, was part of Yamza’s strategy. By his estimation, dealing with both a Lycanthropeer and this mystery intruder at once was dangerous.
Gobta seized the opportunity. Woo-hoo! That means I don’t have to fight this crazy-dangerous magic-born, right?
He suppressed his joy just long enough to declare “All right, I’ll serve as an observer for this duel, then!” Yep. Definitely an observer. With all his tactics exhausted, that beat just standing there and getting in the way. Rimuru could accept defeat, but he could never accept his people getting killed in action. Gobta wasn’t stupid enough to volunteer to be war casualty number one for Tempest.
“Oh, you can have him if you want,” Alvis playfully said.
“If I take your prey,” Gobta wittily replied, “wouldn’t that hurt your honor as a beastman, ma’am? I don’t need it that bad, so go ahead and fight all you want! Sorry I got in the way!”
Alvis accepted the inane excuse without a word. If anything, it was the luckiest thing to happen to Gobta all day. He had dodged a bullet with this total unknown before him. Alvis had no intention of letting anyone else score this kill anyway, and he had wriggled out of a battle against a foe that completely outclassed him.
Whew. That’s the end of my work!
At the very far end of the rear guard, the group of priests led by Middray was clashing with Gabil’s Team Hiryu.
Of course, only a few were standing by now. Nearly two hundred fighters on both sides were lying on the ground. But Middray was unhurt, his white robes free of dirt and grime, and it was clear he was still going strong.
“Waaah-ha-ha-ha! Not too shabby, you guys. I see you are the descendants of dragons!”
Middray flashed a contented smile, surveying the fallen and pretending the panting and exhausted Sufia in front of him didn’t exist.
“Don’t you ignore me!”
Sufia, half Transformed into her beast form, had used her vastly strengthened physical skills to attack Middray. But the head priest, perhaps sensing this, had simply leaned over to one side, preventing her from landing a lethal blow. The effort had left her wide open.
“Hyah!”
Taking the clawed arm extended out to him, he tripped up Sufia’s legs, picked up her body, and sharply slammed her against the ground. The judo-like throw was unique to the Dragon Faithful.
“I wasn’t ignoring you at all,” Middray happily explained. “I don’t have much opportunity to use this against monsters, so this is rather fun for me. It’s been ages since I had a foe so worthy of that throw.”
This was more than Sufia was willing to bear.
“D-dammit! You, you made me…”
She was being treated like a plaything, her face red with humiliation. But she had to admit it. Middray, this man standing before her, was more powerful than she ever imagined. Now he was surveying the landscape once again, waiting for her to stand up and ignoring her until that happened.
Curse him, he’s treating me like a second-class fighter! And how could my Self-Regeneration fail me like this…?
I
t was true. Sufia’s skill was not healing any damage, because her physical body hadn’t sustained any wounds. She was exhausted simply because her stamina was tapping out on her, and the force of each slam added to the burden. He was wounding her internally, where the damage wouldn’t be visible.
But Sufia stood up anyway. As the Snowy Tigerclaw, she could not let this affront continue to stand.
“Imagine, a bastard like you serving Clayman. I thought Yamza was the best around here, but I suppose my instincts were correct all along.”
“Yamza? Ah yes, sir. Yamza. He is rather capable, I’ll admit, but not enough to serve as a playmate for me. I may not look it, but I’ve sparred with Lady Milim on regular occasions, you see.”
“Milim… The demon lord Milim?! So you’re the Dragon Faithful?!”
No wonder, Sufia thought. They seemed so different in disposition from the rest of Clayman’s troops. They seemed to enjoy fighting for the sake of fighting, not at all concerned with actually killing their enemies. And compared to the other magic-born, they were all overwhelmingly strong—and enjoying every minute of it.
“Ooh? Say, that dragonewt just felled Hermes! Wah-ha-ha-ha-ha, that was quite a performance!”
Hermes was tangling with Gabil, and Gabil had just knocked him down with his spear.
“F-Father, stop laughing and help me, please!”
“You lost, fool! Just sit there and think about what you could’ve done better!”
He laughed at his associate, lying there on his back and pleading for assistance. He could tell that Hermes wasn’t as bad off as he claimed and that Gabil had no intention of taking his life.
“All right. Counting me, that leaves three remaining. You command a truly wonderful set of fighters, given how evenly we are matched. It proves you’ve honed your bodies and your minds, instead of relying on skills.”
“I suppose I should appreciate the compliment. My name is Gabil. And you are with Lady Milim…?”
“Indeed! I am Middray of the Dragon Faithful.”