by Fuse
Destroy them! Destroy them! Destroy them! Destroy them!
Such was the thunderous chant of the orcs as they marched along, their yellow eyes sparkling with rage.
They were not capable of thought in the normal way. In their eyes, anything that moved was prey. They were eternally hungry, and the whole of their consciousness was devoted to filling their empty stomachs.
Whump.
Another one down. Those surrounding him were overjoyed. They had prey now. At one point, they might have been friends—but now, he was just a slab of something edible. He looked like he was still breathing, but all that meant to the others was that his meat was fresh.
Those lucky enough to have been marching alongside him immediately took to taking the body apart. The liver was taken to the leader of their little group, with the rest snatched up on a first come, first served basis.
Crunch, rip, smack.
The air was quickly filled with the repulsive sounds of flesh and bone being torn apart.
They were forever hungry. And the hungrier they got, the more powerful they became in battle. That, right there, was the hidden benefit of the unique skill known as Ravenous. The more orcs that fell and were eaten—the hungrier the survivors grew—the stronger it made the entire army.
They numbered two hundred thousand, a city’s worth of famished slaves under the orc lord’s rule. There would be no salvation for them, as they worked feverishly to fill their stomachs…
It was all too futile an effort in this endless hellscape.
Now the homeland of the ogres was before them. The orcs were D-ranked monsters. The ogres, with a grade of B, made them cower in fear—never in their dreams would they dare challenge them to a fight.
But look at them now…
Destroy them! Destroy them! Destroy them! Destroy them!
They never stopped. If anything, the hunt for prey made them go faster.
Their comrades fell as the ogres raged, exercising the full brunt of their powers, slashing them apart, caving in their skulls with the handles of their axes…
But all it meant was that the orcs suddenly had a bountiful supply of fresh meat. They were thrilled, hoping against hope that it’d help stave off the hunger for at least one passing moment.
An ogre fell. Several orcs immediately pounced, bathing in his blood as they gnawed at his body. But…ahh, it didn’t work. It filled nothing.
But now look. The orcs’ bodies were changing. The power of the ogre was now within them. And now the ogres were swallowed up by the supposedly inferior orc hordes, screaming their last, pained at the seeming uselessness of their powers.
And slowly but surely, some among the orcs began to manifest new, unexpected abilities.
The strength of the companions I eat becomes my own!
The power of the prey I consume becomes my own!
The eating continued.
None were afraid of death. Any sense of fear in their minds had been consumed right alongside the flesh of their comrades. And the power flowing within them was now making its way to the king. Their king. The orc lord, the one at the top of the food chain.
The march continued. Their next prey was right in front of them.
The lizardman chief shuddered when he heard the report. The thing he feared most was now reality.
According to the messenger, the stronghold of the powerful ogre race was destroyed before the day had even ended. As if swallowed whole by the orc horde.
There was no longer any doubting it. The orc lord was here.
In terms of sheer statistics, these were still D-ranked orcs, two hundred thousand of them or not. Ten thousand C-plus-level lizardmen, playing on their home turf in the marshes, had every chance of fighting evenly, or better. But if the thing he feared the most—an orc lord—was on the scene, nothing about them was D rank any longer.
If they had completely overwhelmed the ogres, that was an indicator of their power—from the guy up top, all the way down to the lowliest peon in the army. They may not be as powerful as ogres, no, but you could put a plus sign next to that D, at the very least. And any orcs who were at knight level or higher would be at least a C. Hell, at this point, they might be leaning toward C-plus, matching the lizardmen’s grade.
It would be hard enough to fend off such a massive army attempting to strike them at their weakest link. But if there was no meaningful difference in strength at the infantry level now, they had no chance. The presence of the orc lord meant that holing up in the caverns and attempting to weather out a siege would be pointless. It was one thing if they had reinforcements, but shutting off all potential exits would simply make the lizardmen starve, not the orcs.
They would simply have to throw themselves against them. It was a bitter decision for the chief, but one that had to be made.
Gabil, sent away to gain the goblins’ support, had yet to report back. They couldn’t waste time searching for him—it would only make their foes even more of a threat. The chief began to fear that he would have to lead the forces himself.
A soldier ran up, shouting.
“Chief! We have an intruder! He wishes to meet with you in the limestone grotto entrance!”
The chief’s guards readied their spears in response. “Calm yourselves,” he said. He could feel the presence of a strong aura nearby—more powerful than anything he had felt before—and he realized it wouldn’t pay to do anything to stoke its owner’s anger. Any battle would lead to untold casualties, most likely, and he couldn’t detect any hostility to the aura anyway.
“Whoever it is,” he said as he composed himself, “he is very brave, coming here alone. I would like to see him. Bring him over.”
“But what about the risk, my lord?”
“This aura is on the level of a magic-born’s. If we wish to drive him away, we will have to pay dearly for it. He does not seem to be an immediate threat, so we have no reason to immediately threaten him.”
“Shall we line the chamber area with our elite troops, then?”
“Please. But I want no one to move an inch until I give the order. Make that clear.”
“Yes, my lord!”
The chief nodded to his royal guard and waited for the uninvited guest to appear. They were in a natural labyrinth, one with countless hidden nooks and crannies. If this magic-born-level foe attempted to cause any trouble, they would have ways of handling it—if it came to the worst-case scenario, that is. The chief’s hope was that they could talk this out instead.
Now the aura drew nearer, its size telling the chief everything he needed to know. Anything foolish, he thought, and not even a hundred of my elite force may be enough to defeat him.
After a few more moments, one of his men brought a single monster into his chamber. He was dark-skinned, his hair black with hints of blue, and eyes a lighter blue that were cold as ice. He was about as tall as your average lizardman—not gigantic by monster standards, but he looked composed, impervious, ready for anything.
The power he seemed to exude was overwhelming in itself, even as he was surrounded by several lizardman warriors to keep him in check. A hundred other troops were stationed around the chamber, ready to leap at this visitor whenever their chief instructed.
The chief looked at the visitor, then resigned himself. If this goes wrong, he thought, I may have just wasted the lives of everyone in this room. Such was the extent of this monster’s aura, exponentially larger than anything he knew.
“My apologies,” the chief began. “We have been so busy with our own preparations that I fear I cannot provide you with the proper courtesy you deserve. May I ask what brings you here?”
His choice of words angered the younger lizardmen in the chamber. What need was there for all this politeness before a complete unknown like this? The chief appreciated their concern, but now he was anxious. If they did anything to displease this visitor, they may never step out of this chamber again. The young warriors had far too little experience and lacked the ability to accura
tely gauge their foes. They hadn’t lived as long as the chief nor developed their danger-sensing skills like he had.
But not caring at all about the chief’s concerns, the monster spoke.
“My name is Soei. There is no need for excessive ceremony. I am merely a messenger.”
Betraying the chief’s worst fears, the monster serenely introduced himself. There was nothing savage about his demeanor as he regarded the chief, not caring at all about the grumbling guards around him.
Soei, is it? A named monster. That would explain the overwhelming sense of power anyway. And this named monster was being employed by someone else—a thought that made the chief imagine a cold sweat running down his back.
“Allow me to state my business. My master wishes to form an alliance with you and has requested that I make the necessary arrangements. I feel we have good news for you—my master cannot bring himself to simply watch idly as the orcs decimate your ranks. That is why he has requested this alliance.”
It was no nightmare scenario for the chief after all. This “master” did sound a tad uppity and forceful, yes, but some aspects of the offer deserved to be heard. The chief thought—about this monster, Soei, and the goals of the one he served. Whoever he was, he was working against the orcs, at least.
“Before I respond to your proposal, may I ask you a question?”
“Let me hear it.”
The reply was simple, but it confirmed to the chief that the other side was willing to negotiate. It came as a relief.
“Well, then… If it is an alliance you seek, is it safe to assume that your master is willing to work alongside us as we confront the orcs?”
“Indeed. As I told you, he does not wish to see you annihilated. He wishes to fight alongside you, if possible.”
“Then let me ask another question. What does your master think is the root cause behind this orc activity?”
Soei fell silent for a moment. A bold smile began to cross his face. “Are you asking whether it is an orc lord we are dealing with? Then let me give you a piece of information I guarantee is the truth. My master, Sir Rimuru, has received a request from the dryads, the wardens of the Forest of Jura, to slay the orc lord. He has solemnly promised to do the deed. I hope you will consider that as you make your decision.”
This reply offered even more for the chief than he expected. The revelation that dryads were involved caused everyone in the room to stir. And the man before him had just confirmed that the orc lord was very, very real. Whatever master this monster served—did he have the power, truly, to defeat this menace?
Considering Soei had dropped the name of the dryads, one of the top-level presences in the forest, it seemed safe to assume he was telling the truth. Nobody was dumb enough to speak of dryads if doing so would spark their ire. It was said they could see all and hear all, through the very trees that populated the forest. All forest residents knew that their names must be handled with respect.
The term alliance suggested that the lizardmen would not be subjected to servitude. They would be treated as equals. It was an offer, the chief reasoned, that had to be taken.
But before he could speak, another group of lizardmen bounded into the chamber.
“Chief! There is no need to listen to such talk!”
“Indeed! We are the proud lizardman race! Why does some total stranger think he can simply stroll in and curry our favor?”
They were Gabil’s men, part of the group that stayed behind while their leader set off to secure the goblins’ support. The chief had bidden them to stay, fearing them too hotheaded to be useful in delicate negotiations with the goblins, and now he was paying for that error.
He wished he could click his tongue and make them vanish. Certainly, there was no telling exactly how powerful this master and his people were. But simply dismissing them out of hand, over the authority of their chief?
This visitor was demanding a lot, it was true, but he was a messenger, and these rank-and-file lizardmen had no right to treat him like garbage. Besides, the visitor’s demands were not, in themselves, a problem. The envoy represented a monster powerful enough to be relied upon even by dryads.
In terms of level, he must have been equivalent to the lizardmen or higher. And in the world of monsters, it was all about survival of the fittest. Here was a higher-level presence seeking their help. Any perceived rudeness could be quickly forgiven. Even this envoy possessed a frightening amount of force, a magic-born through and through. Get on his wrong side, and he could easily become their enemy—and taking on a magic-born like this before the orc horde arrived would be the epitome of foolishness.
The chief eyed Soei, trying to read his emotions. The envoy’s eyes were still squarely upon the lizardman leader. Whew. That was a relief. He couldn’t afford to let a witless bystander ruin this offer.
“Silence!” he shouted, shutting down the chamber as he signaled to his guards with his eyes. “I will be the one who decides what we do. You do not have the right to intervene. Take them to the brig! A night spent in there should help them see the error of their ways.”
The two transgressors were quickly whisked away, shouting “Chief, please reconsider!” and “Sir Gabil will never allow this!” But they no longer mattered. He turned back toward Soei and lowered his head.
“Please forgive the rudeness of my people. I think I would like to pursue this alliance with you. However, the affairs I must deal with at the moment force me to remain here. Under normal circumstances, I would love to confer with your master at the location of our choice, but I am afraid I cannot spare a single moment. Would it be possible for him to come to me instead?”
He swallowed nervously. This was asking a lot, he knew, of someone much more powerful. He knew it could anger the envoy easily enough—but Soei showed no concern at all.
“I accept your apology. I am sure my master will be delighted to hear your reply, and I look forward to working together with you. In that case, I will make the necessary arrangements to bring our forces here—you will get to meet Sir Rimuru yourself then, I imagine.”
Soei’s demeanor suggested he never thought for a moment the chief would turn him down. Or—the chief suddenly thought—if I did turn him down, that would be it. The end of the lizardmen’s luck.
And that is no idle speculation, he thought. Without this meeting today—without this alliance—our people could very well have perished.
The envoy, Soei, had declared that the orc lord was real. The worst-case scenario in the chief’s mind was already in motion, and now there was a glimmer of hope that they could survive it. It filled the chief with a great sense of relief.
“Let us convene together, then,” Soei said, “seven days from now. I ask that you do not hurry yourselves into any type of conflict before then. I would also advise you to watch your backs for the time being as well.”
“Very good. I look forward to meeting your master.”
The monster nodded at the chief, then disappeared from the spot, without a sound, as if fading into the shadows.
Seven days. That would be enough, he thought. Hole up in their caverns to keep the orcs from getting any stronger, and wait for their reinforcements. He didn’t know what kind of numbers his newfound friend would bring, but even someone as powerful as Soei alone would be a great help. If his so-called master was taking on the orc lord himself, then the lizardmen needed to grant him all the support they could. It was an uncertain, wait-and-see approach, but it certainly beat risking their lives in a confrontation that offered almost no chance of survival.
Now, at least, the chief knew what must be done.
“Prepare for a siege, men! We must reserve our fighting strength until the reinforcements arrive!”
“““Yes, my lord!”””
And so the lizardmen holed up in their natural labyrinth, lying low and quiet for the clash to come.
Gabil opened his eyes. It took a moment for him to recall what had happened. When he finally did, he shot ou
t of bed, livid.
“Are you awake, my lord?!” the lizardman serving him said.
“Yes. I apologize for alarming you. I must have fallen into his trap…”
“His trap?”
“Indeed. That impudent fool and his clever tricks…”
“…Meaning, sir?”
“Meaning that fighter who defeated me was the true leader of the village.”
“What?!”
His men began nervously conversing with one another, digesting this devastating piece of news. It explained a lot, in their minds.
“The little sneak pretended that slime was their leader to distract my attention. He played the part of some foolish peon, then struck me right when my guard was down!”
“Of all the dirty tricks, my lord!”
“And to think the direwolves, of all the monsters, are willingly cooperating with such a small-minded weasel. So much for the so-called masters of the plains! Just a bunch of mangy dogs, in the end.”
“The work of a coward, through and through! Unworthy of ever crossing blades with a warrior such as yourself, Sir Gabil!”
“Quite, yes. I offered him a chance to duel with me, fair and square, and now I see how much of an error in judgment that was!”
“Ah, I…I see, sir. Indeed, there would be no other way I could imagine you tasting defeat otherwise.”
“Bah! Curse those wretched direwolf beasts and those conniving hobgoblins! Just because they happened to be blessed with a round of evolution, my lord, they walk around like they own the world! If they think they can measure up to the lizardmen, we had all best relieve them of that idea with haste!”
Gabil gave his men an appreciative nod. It was true. He couldn’t imagine any other reason why he lost that confrontation. That, and the direwolves proved to be a sore disappointment. All that talk of their pride, their flawless teamwork, and here they were sharing their fates with a bunch of underhanded lowlifes.
“Anyone who uses such cowardly tactics against me is worthless!” he spat out, still livid.