His waterlogged footsteps slowed and then stopped. His heavy leather pack jerked on his back. He’d stopped because a familiar lizardman had come out of Rororo’s house.
Their eyes met. After cocking his head at puzzled Zaryusu, the black-scaled lizardman moved closer. “I always thought you should have been chief,” Shasuryu began after coming to a stop about two yards away.
“What are you talking about, brother?”
“Remember the war?”
“Of course I do.”
It had been Zaryusu who had brought it up at the meeting; there was no way he didn’t remember it. Then it dawned on him that that wasn’t what Shasuryu was trying to say.
“…After it ended, you became a traveler. I regret branding you so much. I should have stopped you, even if I had to thrash you.”
Zaryusu vigorously shook his head. His brother’s expression back then was still a thorn in his heart. “…Because you let me go, I learned how to farm fish.”
“You could have figured it out here. A wise man like you should have been the one guiding the village.”
“Brother…”
Things that happened in the past couldn’t be undone, and there was no point in saying, But if only… It had already happened. So were they thinking that way because they were weak?
No, that wasn’t it.
“…Let me say this not as your chief but as your brother: I’m not going to ask if you’ll be okay on your own. Just come home safe. Don’t try too hard.”
Zaryusu replied with a cocky smile. “Of course. I’ll do a perfect job of it and come back fine. For me, it’ll be a cinch.”
“Mph.” A grin naturally spread across Shasuryu’s face. “Then if you fail, I’m gonna eat whichever of your fish has the most fat on it.”
“Brother, I don’t care about that. That’s not the kind of thing you should be saying now, though.”
“…Mph.”
They quietly laughed together. Eventually, although neither of them in particular made the move, they found themselves facing each other with serious expressions again.
“So is the alliance really your only aim?”
“…What do you mean? What are you trying to say?”
Zaryusu squinted—and thought, Crap. Considering how perceptive his brother was, he couldn’t react like that.
“The way you were talking in the hut, manipulating everyone’s opinion, you seemed reluctant.” Zaryusu was at a loss for words, and Shasuryu continued. “…One of the reasons we had that war was simply that the lizardman population had grown too large due to the lack of smaller-scale fights.”
“Brother…we’d better leave it at that.” Zaryusu’s steely tone confirmed Shasuryu’s theory.
“Aha…I see.”
“…It’s the only way…if we don’t want a repeat of that war,” Zaryusu snapped. It was an ulterior motive even he knew was no good. It was underhanded. He hadn’t wanted his older brother to find out, if at all possible.
“…Then what are you planning to do if the other tribes won’t form an alliance? We won’t be able to stand up to them later with just our selected survivors and runaways.”
“Then I guess…we’ll have to crush them first.”
“You’re saying we should destroy one another first?”
“Brother…”
Zaryusu was about to try to convince him, but Shasuryu laughed it off. “I understand, and your way of thinking is correct. I agree with you. As the leader of the tribe, I need to be thinking about its survival and continued existence. So don’t worry about it, Zaryusu.”
“I’m glad. So should I bring everyone to this village?”
“No, if what they said is true, we’re second in line; I envision the first village as the battleground. Normally I’d say we should gather in one of the later villages or one with good defenses, but things will be tough afterward if entire villages get burned down. We should block them at the first village, so can you go straight there when you’re ready? I’m going to ask the priests for magic so we can share information.”
“Sure thing.”
The magic his brother mentioned was hard to use for a large volume of text, and if the distance was too great it wouldn’t reach, but Zaryusu figured it would be okay for this trip.
“And for food, we’re gonna take your fish.”
“Of course. Just leave the fries. It seems like we’ve gotten into a good groove. Even if we have to abandon the village, they’ll come in handy.”
“Okay, I promise. How much food do you think there is?”
“…Counting the dried stuff, probably a thousand meals.”
“Okay, then there’s no immediate issue.”
“Yeah, I know you’ll take care of things. Okay, brother. I’ll be off now… Rororo.” In response to Zaryusu’s voice, a snake head appeared in the window. The pale moonlight reflected off its scales with a wet gleam. The way each individual scale sparkled when they shifted created a beautiful optical illusion. “Let’s go. Can you come over here?”
Rororo gazed at Zaryusu and Shasuryu for a few moments and then pulled in his head. There came the sound of something heavy splashing through the water and some gurgling.
“So, brother, there’s something I wanted to ask you. I wonder if you have the answer yet. Did you decide what to do about the number of people? Depending on how things go, I may use it to negotiate.”
Shasuryu hesitated slightly before answering. “…Ten from the warrior caste, twenty hunters, three priests, seventy males, a hundred females, and kids…a few.”
“I see… Got it.” Zaryusu fell quiet before Shasuryu’s exhausted smile.
A splash broke the heavy silence. The two of them looked in the direction it had come from and then smiled at each other out of nostalgia.
“Mph… He sure has gotten big. I was surprised when I went in the hut before!”
“Yeah, me too, brother. I had no idea he’d get this huge. He was so little when I found him.”
“I’m not sure I believe that. He was pretty big already when you brought him back to the village.”
As they reminisced about how Rororo used to look, four snake heads poked out of the water a little way from the hut. The four heads moved in the same way, pushing through the water toward Zaryusu and Shasuryu.
Suddenly the heads lifted high, and something huge came out of the water. The four reptilian heads on long twisty necks were attached to a giant four-legged body—Rororo was a magical beast called a hydra. When Zaryusu gave him fish, the chewing sounds proved he wasn’t a usual snake. He moved his sixteen-foot body with surprising obedience and went to Zaryusu.
Zaryusu scrambled up him with the lightness of a monkey climbing a tree.
“Get home safe! It’s just like you not to use your head and passionately shout that you won’t let a single person die, the way you used to.”
“…I guess I’m an adult now.”
Shasuryu snorted. “The little scamp is all grown up… Well, that’s fine. Take care! If you don’t come back, we’ll know who to attack first.”
“I’ll be back. Wait for me, brother.”
For just a little while, they gazed at each other, full of emotion; then without a word, their shadows moved apart.
3
The ninth level of the Great Tomb of Nazarick had many different rooms. Of course, there were guild member rooms and rooms for the NPCs, but there were also facilities like a large bath, a cafeteria, a beauty parlor, a clothing shop, a general store, a spa, a nail salon, and many other rooms reminiscent of stores.
The reason these kinds of places existed despite being meaningless in-game was either because lots of guild members had been obsessed with those types of details or perhaps because they were building the tomb in the image of an arcology. It could have even been that because employment conditions in the real world were so horrible, the designers longed for such places.
And in one of those rooms…
The manager of this particular area was the
Great Tomb of Nazarick’s sous-chef. Usually he displayed his talents in the cafeteria, but depending on the day and time, he might also be here making sure things were ready in case someone came by. The room, designed to be like a short bar with only a handful of regulars, glowed quietly in the subdued lighting.
With shelves full of bottles and eight chairs at the bar, he was confident this was a fine enough room to quietly enjoy a drink. He was as content and fulfilled in this space he had been given as if it were his castle.
But several minutes after welcoming one first-time customer, he realized a lot of that depended on the character of his clientele.
Gulp, gulp, gulp, ahhhhhhh!
Thus his customer downed one drink after another. As the sous-chef absentmindedly polished a glass, he thought, If you want to drink like that, there are more appropriate places for it. The ninth level had lounges and bars. There was no need to guzzle here.
She slammed her glass—a rather large one—down on the counter. The sous-chef desperately suppressed the urge to scowl.
“Next!”
In response to the order, he filled her glass—full to the brim with Spirytus and some Blue 1 on top. Then he gently offered it to her. “It’s called Tears of a Lady.”
The woman looked doubtful, but when he told her the name he’d improvised, her face lit up at finding a drink she’d never seen before. “So the blue spreading out in there is her tears?”
“Yes, that’s right,” he gracefully lied.
She picked up the glass, put it to her mouth, and chugged it in one go with the smooth motion of someone drinking coffee-flavored milk right after taking a dip at the bathhouse.
Then she slammed the empty glass on the bar just like before. “Phew, I’m a little drunk.”
“That’s what happens when you drink so fast. Perhaps you should go home and rest for today?”
“…Nah, I don’t wanna go home…”
“I see…” He tried to polish a glass and shrank from the woman’s obvious disapproval. If there’s something you want to say, then say it. This is why women are such a pain in the ass. This bar is meant for gentlemen dandies, not obnoxious women. I could just bar them from entry…or not. It would be disrespectful to the Supreme Beings. But what a bad idea this was…
He’d invited her here himself. She’d looked so forlorn walking along the hall of the ninth level that he’d gotten worried and approached her—and this was the result. In retrospect, he certainly regretted it. But now that he’d welcomed her into the bar as a customer, he needed to give her some degree of service as the bartender. Even if I give her random made-up drinks!
Bracing himself, he asked, “What’s the matter, Mistress Shalltear?”
He doubted it was just his imagination that she seemed to have been waiting for him to ask. “Sorry, I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. He frowned in spite of himself. But since he was a myconid, she didn’t understand his facial movements, so she didn’t respond. She just toyed with her glass on the bar with a finger.
“I’m a little drunk.”
“…I see.” That’s impossible but okay.
Shalltear seemed to think she was truly inebriated, but he could say with confidence that she was not. Drunkenness was a status like being poisoned, so anyone with total resistance to poison would never get drunk. Naturally, as an undead, poison didn’t work on Shalltear, so she wouldn’t get intoxicated from alcohol. Most of the patrons of his bar either removed their poison immunity item or just enjoyed the atmosphere, knowing they wouldn’t get a buzz.
But it must have been the truth that Shalltear thought she was drunk. Drunk on the atmosphere, perhaps.
As he wondered what to do, the glorious sound of what could be called a heavenly intervention rang out. He turned and bowed his head slightly. “Good evening.”
“Hey, Peckii.” The newcomer who called the bartender by his fungus-inspired nickname was one of his regulars, the assistant butler Éclair. He was accompanied by the male servant who carried him under his arm.
Éclair was quietly deposited on a chair as always. He was only about three foot three, and the bar chairs had high legs, so he had trouble sitting down by himself.
When the sous-chef looked at Shalltear, wondering why she hadn’t greeted the pair even though they sat right next to her, he saw she was staring at the counter and mumbling something. The words he could faintly hear seemed to be an apology to the Supreme Being Ainz Ooal Gown.
Éclair gave his order in an affected manner. “I’ll have the usual.”
“Yes, sir.”
The usual could mean only one thing—the cocktail using ten liquors of ten different colors, the Nazarick. It looked exquisite, but flavor-wise, one glass was plenty. The regulars were fond of it and thought the name fit perfectly, but it wasn’t something that could be recommended to others. He’d experimented with ways to try to make it taste good, but he didn’t have much hope for the possibility.
He mixed the ten-colored cocktail with a practiced hand and set it in front of Éclair.
“You there, miss. This is for you.”
The next thing he heard was the glass tipping and spilling everywhere.
Éclair must have wanted to slide the drink down the bar to her, but that was a move only dexterous people or characters in a manga could do. It was not something a penguin could pull off.
The sous-chef picked up the fallen glass and let out a sigh of relief after examining it and finding no nicks. Next he wiped up the alcohol that had spilled across the counter and said quietly with an angry look, “Could you not smack drinks with your flippers? If you insist, then warn me and I’ll pour into a glass with a wider base.”
“…My sincere apologies.”
Noticing this comedic display, Shalltear seemed to finally realize Éclair was present and raised her head. “Oh, Éclair. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“It has indeed been a wh… I see you every time you come to the ninth level.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But it’s rare to see you here. I thought Demiurge was about the only guardian to come here, although he did stop by for a quiet drink with Cocytus the other day.”
“Really? Huh.” Shalltear’s eyes widened upon hearing of her colleagues.
“But what’s wrong? You look so distraught.”
“It’s noth— No, I just failed spectacularly. So I’m drowning my sorrows like the terrible guardian I am.”
Éclair looked perturbed and mouthed, What’s with her? to the sous-chef. But the sous-chef didn’t have an answer, so he just shook his head.
He wanted them to enjoy their drinks, though, so he brought up an unexpected topic. “Okay, for a change of mood, how about some apple juice?”
They both gave him blank looks.
“It’s made with apples from the sixth level.”
Perhaps that single detail piqued their interest; they both indicated they would have some. This genuine response satisfied him very much.
What appeared on the bar was completely normal apple juice, two glasses. He’d glanced at the servant, but the man had wordlessly refused as always. Of course, Éclair had a beak, so he remembered to give him a straw.
“The flavor is refreshing.”
“It’s not bad, but it lacks some oomph…mainly because it’s not very sweet, I guess?”
Those were their impressions after they’d drained their glasses in one go.
“Well, that can’t be helped. I tried eating one, but it just didn’t have as much honey flavor as the ones stored in Nazarick.”
“There are apple trees on the sixth level? I don’t remember any being there.”
But Shalltear remembered something. Before the sous-chef could reply, she supplied the correct answer. “Are those the ones Lord Ainz brought in? I heard from Albedo that he wanted to test whether we could grow outside fruit in Nazarick as part of the plan to replenish our supply of consumables.”
The sous
-chef had heard it, too. He’d received orders to see if it was possible to make ability-boosting food with various outside ingredients. “Yes, I heard if it goes well he plans to build an orchard. But you don’t think they’re sweet enough?”
“It’s not undrinkable. It might be good for those times when you want a lighter sweetness.”
“…But who’s growing them? Aura and Mare are outside. Did they leave it up to their magical beasts?”
“No, no. A dryad Lord Ainz brought in is doing it.”
Éclair and Shalltear wore contrasting expressions of Who? and Ah! respectively.
“I see… Is this what he meant by getting the right man for the job? Had he already come up with this back then?”
“What do you mean? Someone new joined Nazarick?”
Shalltear answered Éclair’s question. The sous-chef had met the dryad, but he hadn’t heard the backstory, so he was all ears.
Apparently Lord Ainz had brought it along to some kind of fight to test the guardians’ teamwork. Then there had been a promise, and it came back to reside in Nazarick. Now it was an apple farmer.
“So Nazarick is changing and growing stronger bit by bit, huh?”
The sous-chef and Shalltear expressed their agreement.
The sous-chef was just the sous-chef, so he didn’t know any details or what the plans for the Great Tomb of Nazarick’s future were, but he understood well enough that Ainz Ooal Gown, the last remaining Supreme Being, was trying to accumulate power in this world.
“Oh. So that means there could be more new members of Nazarick, like the dryad…right?” Shalltear sulked at Éclair. “That sucks… I don’t want grimy outsiders strutting about in this sacred place.”
The sous-chef felt the same way. The thought of anyone not created here entering the Supreme Beings’ realm made him frown. But there was one thing more important than his opinion. “We have to just accept it. It’s what Lord Ainz decided.”
Any judgment of the Supreme Being Ainz Ooal Gown was absolute; if he said something white was black, then it was black.
“I-it’s not like I would go against anything Lord Ainz decided!” Shalltear shouted, flustered.
The other two nodded.
The Lizardman Heroes Page 4