by Fuse
That was the emperor Elmesia’s decision. Erald had no reason to disagree, although he still had his anxieties.
“I understand, Your Excellency. I will ensure no one impedes your participation. However, there is no guaranteeing your safety in that land. We must choose our attendees carefully.”
They knew Rimuru had engaged in armed conflict with the Crusaders not long ago. The battle, which ended overwhelmingly in Rimuru’s favor, reportedly featured far fewer casualties than what the world saw in Farmus’s invasion. It showed how confident the monsters were in this fight, although some criticized the demon lord for going easy on his foes. For someone who knew the inside truth, it was enough to make you swear off attacking Tempest forever, but there were plenty of clueless people out there looking to test their strength. This wouldn’t discourage them, and Erald was concerned Tempest would see more conflict going forward, not less.
It’s doubtful any of it will affect Rimuru himself, but law and order may fall apart in the forest soon. We can defend ourselves, but taking our sole emperor there?
Elmesia’s decision was final, and it was his job to accept it. It’d involve a lot of hard work, but he needed to be sure they were ready for anything.
“Fine. Then let us deploy some empire-affiliated forces. I’d like you to choose several from the Magus to guard me.”
The Magus were a group of high-ranking military officers called the Knights of Purity and vested with the full authority of the emperor. They acted as her mediators, and their ranks were open only to those who could trace their bloodline far back into nobility. The Magus were hailed as the strongest force in Thalion…and yes, Erald was part of them. Now the emperor was asking him to deploy a group who was kept a strictly guarded secret from other nations. It was a job he approached with dead seriousness.
“…Very well. I will send out the word at once.”
The visit to foreign lands was set in stone, with word quickly being reported across the empire. Soon, Archduke Erald would find it fiendishly difficult to get a decent night’s sleep.
In the headquarters of a trading company in the Kingdom of Blumund, Gard Mjöllmile was starting to wonder if this constant stream of visitors would ever end.
As a merchant who held sway over a litany of commercial ventures, Mjöllmile had a knack for accurately judging people with a single glance. Some people came to him purely in search of money; others arrived seeking new business ventures. Occasionally, he’d see nobles who’d fallen on hard times, approaching him with all manner of fishy-sounding offers. He was sick of dealing with them all, but sometimes he’d actually see people with real, concrete money-making ventures for him. That was why he refused to leave this job to someone else.
These facts were on his mind as he shooed away yet another charlatan and asked the next client to come in. This was a well-dressed man, but Mjöllmile wasn’t fooled. The fabric of his clothing was of decent quality, but the style was outdated. He couldn’t afford a custom outfit in the latest fashion, so he was making do with last year’s model. No, this man wouldn’t be worth his time. He was one of those hard-luck nobles, and he had already approached Mjöllmile once before, attempting to palm off random junk as pricey antiques he’d let him have for a song.
Doubtlessly, he was here on another get-rich-quick scheme—but still, he was of noble blood. Mjöllmile had checked into him enough to know that for a fact, so he couldn’t just show him the door on sight. That sort of behavior could lead to lèse-majesté, and then he’d have to worry less about his financial ledgers and more about his life. It made the job tricky for him, to say the least.
Ah, here we go again. The two of us, trying to outfox each other…
So Mjöllmile heard him out—and just as he thought, the story made him wish he’d hidden under the table. This man (the Viscount Cazac was his name) was seeking a financial investment so he could use slaves to open a shop for him. The merchant saw, to be brutally frank, no chance that it would ever succeed. Employing attractive female slaves wouldn’t be nearly enough to make the business work. Cazac needed to thoroughly analyze the market, his client base, and his potential location, not to mention employee costs.
Telling him all this, of course, was like explaining calculus to a pig.
“Huhhh? Why can’t you decide on a location for me? And you speak of employee costs? Now what sort of fool pays their slaves?!”
The viscount wasn’t interested in hearing any of Mjöllmile’s objections. “Payment” wasn’t exactly what he meant, only that slaves need food like anyone else. And clothing, and a place to sleep. Not to mention the up-front costs for them would be far from trivial. If you wanted a slave attractive enough to catch the eye of most people, the money you’d need to expend on the search could buy you a decent house. It’d be a far more effective use of funding to just hire part-time staff, much like Mjöllmile did with the public-fronting stores he ran in Englesia.
As he saw it, all beauties age over time, and thus it was too difficult to make back your investment on forced labor in situations like that. If you were aiming for quick profits running a sexually themed establishment, you needed to be even more careful laying the foundations, or else your place would become a hive of disease—which, again, would make both Cazac and Mjöllmile criminals.
The merchant sighed to himself. There was no way in this lifetime that he’d ever accept such a hazardous proposal.
“Yes, indeed, my good viscount, you have a discerning eye. I must take my hat off to your wisdom. However, regarding the slaves you mention, I fear it may be difficult to procure them at this time, would it not? Human trafficking is banned in this kingdom, and even if you turn to the illegal trade, I fear you may not find the quality you are looking for, you see.”
He tried his best to make his rejection sound as inoffensive as possible. It didn’t work.
“Ah…well, about that. I actually have an in. I’ll tell you about it, too, if you’re willing to invest. But you know, I have to keep this discreet… All I’ll say for now is that there’s a certain elf in the picture.”
The way Cazac never missed an opportunity to put on airs rankled Mjöllmile, but he had the willpower to retain his composure. A master merchant like him could never physically reveal his disdain for his customers. Anyone who did was below third-rate in this trade and incapable of ever pinning down a large-scale deal.
But this elf-slave talk piqued Mjöllmile’s interest. If he was telling the truth, that was beyond a luxury commodity. But even before that, Mjöllmile was a man with some influence in the underground, running a not-so-legal outfit and not afraid to engage in some dirty work now and again, albeit no more than he knew he could get away with. That was why he instructed his staff in this outfit to never stray past that one, final line in their work, even though he knew he’d get off scot-free as their boss either way.
Mjöllmile knew full well just how dangerous elven slaves were.
An elf? Only serious organized crime would get mixed up in that!
Elves were exceptionally long-lived. Many boasted mesmerizing beauty. They were intelligent, and most of them were well versed in magic. If an elf had been enslaved, it must have taken some extremely underhanded means. Enslaving an elven citizen of the kingdom was impossible— So did they find one hiding in the forest, or…?
Mjöllmile had an idea what this could be. He had heard about monster hunts, where rich people seeking exotic pets hired hunters to capture monsters in the forest. But if a demi-human had been snared by one of these hunters—and an elf, no less—quite a few nations would never let that go by without comment. The Dwarven Kingdom would immediately look into it, and the Sorcerous Dynasty of Thalion was even ruled by an elf. If word of this got out, it’d be a huge controversy. This wasn’t a small-time pickpocket or fraud; it was the kind of thing that could trigger an international standoff.
If he was dealing with a noble with no qualms about sticking his hand into the fire like this… There had to be somethin
g backing him up. Something huge, fearsome, and not afraid to kill for profit. Mjöllmile’s nose told him that getting involved would be dangerous.
His mind raced, thinking of a good excuse to turn down Cazac’s offer. He came up with nothing. But just as he was at his wit’s end:
“Yooooo! Mollie! Doing well?”
Someone opened the door and stepped right into their meeting, a beautiful young girl (or boy?) with golden eyes and silver hair that had a tinge of blue.
“Who are you, and how dare you interrupt my important business meeting?!”
As Cazac bellowed at the boy, Mjöllmile realized who the intruder was, stunned. There was no way he could forget that face, the face of the champion who’d saved his life—the demon lord Rimuru himself. He knew this was the leader of that nation of monsters, and hearing he had become a demon lord shocked him to the core. But he really did it. He was part of the Octagram, recognized by his fellow demon lords—and for some reason, he seemed to take a liking to Mjöllmile.
They’d often meet up, occasionally working together on potential new business ventures. Recovery potion sales, for example. Mjöllmile was still the exclusive vendor around here, and he was now earning stable profits from his work. Just as things settled down with that, Rimuru approached him about developing a new type of food, “ramen,” brought in from his own world. This was already on sale in a handful of restaurants, and the feedback was encouraging so far.
Now, more recently, Rimuru had had him taste test something called a “burger,” talking about building a “chain” of restaurants specializing in their production and sale. Mjöllmile had agreed to test the concept, and right now he was busy assembling and educating a staff, as well as finding a location and outfitting it with everything needed. He had wanted to report back to Rimuru about his progress, but his demon lord duties kept him fiendishly busy. It had been about a month since they last spoke.
“Well, well! If it isn’t Rimuru! I thought you said you were too caught up in this or that crisis to come visit?”
Mjöllmile, surprised at this sudden appearance, couldn’t help but ask. After all, Rimuru had a thundering horde of Crusaders to deal with at the moment. He even advised the merchant to avoid Tempest for a while, as it’d be too dangerous for him. Fuze, guild master for the Kingdom of Blumund, was still cursing himself over his failure to stop Hinata, the Saint. So why was the lord himself here? All these thoughts immediately pushed Viscount Cazac out of Mjöllmile’s mind.
“Stop! Please, stop! The master is seeing another visitor!”
He could hear the voice of one of his servants, someone too new to know who Rimuru was. Upon catching sight of him, the servant stopped in his tracks and just stared at him, slack-jawed. It was a rather pathetic sight to see—but Mjöllmile couldn’t blame him, since he himself might be doing the same if he didn’t stop himself. It was fine if they were talking or scheming over something, but when Rimuru was his normal self, he was just so touchingly attractive, a completely different person.
“Rimuru, you said?”
Mjöllmile ignored Cazac. Rimuru, finally noticing him, gave him an awkward look.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were busy. I’ll be waiting over at your manor, all right? See ya!”
The sound of Rimuru’s voice brought Mjöllmile abruptly back to consciousness. He began to feel honest pity for Cazac, the viscount who told a demon lord “How dare you” to his face.
If Rimuru wasn’t so easygoing, I doubt the viscount would be breathing right now…
What you don’t know can’t hurt you, as they say, although Mjöllmile wondered if he should make an exception at the moment.
But Cazac spoke up again, his voice raised. “Look, you little boy…or girl? What are you, Mjöllmile’s mistress or the like? Do you realize you’ve both interrupted my meeting and listened in on confidential information? Do you understand the consequences of your indiscretion, hmm?”
Oh, by the gods, what is he saying…?
Mjöllmile, seeing Cazac eye Rimuru up and down with lecherous intent, could feel his heart stop.
“Oh, I apologize about that, sir. Nobody stopped me from barging in, so… Sorry.”
Rimuru was cheerfully apologetic. But Cazac was too high-handed to forgive him.
“Hmm… You know, I like your face. Look, you could use a little instruction on how the world works, I’d say. How would you like me to look after you?”
Great. And now this.
Why do I have to deal with these utter fools, day in, day out…?
Mjöllmile was beyond exasperated and well into the realm of anger. Life seemed too ridiculous to be worth it at the moment. He could handle the scorn of bush-league nobility. But treating Rimuru, a man he owed a life debt to, like some harlot was unforgivable. Cazac’s behavior had crossed the line and then some.
Yes, picking a fight with a noble would put Mjöllmile at a disadvantage, in the eyes of the law—but did that mean he should just sit there and take it? No. He was willing to be modest with rabble like this because it’d be a pain for him otherwise, but open hostility deserved to be treated in kind.
The merchant steeled himself.
“Cazac, you are being rude to the individual who saved my life. Why does some viscount think he can get away with riling me?”
“Wh-what?!”
“There will be no more business between us. I don’t want to see you in here begging me for anything again!”
“H-how dare you! A merchant, rebelling against nobility… Mjöllmile, have you gone mad?!”
“Hmph! Anyone willing to work with criminal groups and trigger cross-border crises is nothing but trouble to me. You’re liable to bring those kind to this city, too. Better to stamp out that pestilence before it can happen, I’d say.”
“M-Mjöllmile! After all the favors I’ve done for you… I’ll make sure you regret this!!”
With that, Cazac stormed out of the office, spotting the servants who had come in to see what the racket was about and figuring now was a good time to leave.
“Pfft. This child, thinking he rules the world…”
“Uh, Mollie? You sure you’re okay with riling that guy?”
Rimuru, meanwhile, was as breezy as always. He really is like nothing on this world, Mjöllmile thought as he relaxed. It’s just as I thought when I heard of his ascension. He never changes…
He then dismissed all the other potential clients in his waiting room. In this world, there were certain opportunities you couldn’t afford to miss. He wasn’t foolish enough to misread the truly important things. He was a capable merchant, and he understood the importance of finding diamonds in the rough. But he also knew that some things were vital enough to abandon everything else for.
And really, he couldn’t find it in himself to make Rimuru wait any longer. Not because Rimuru was a preferred, profit-making customer of his. He knew Rimuru helped him out in his time of greatest need, and he thus felt an obligation to never betray him. To him, there was no such thing as a job more important than dealing with Rimuru.
Has he come up with another scheme? he thought, growing excited as he instructed his staff to handle all other pressing matters for him. But in just a few moments, Mjöllmile’s frustrating days of listening to endless strings of confident men and swindlers would come to an end, marking the start of a new chapter in his life.
Mjöllmile guided me over to his manor. When his butler caught sight of us, he almost fell over himself bowing to greet me. I’d been here several times before, so he must have recognized me. I keep telling him he doesn’t have to do that, but ah well. Mjöllmile, meanwhile, paid it no mind, smiling ear to ear as he gave instructions to his servants. I imagine he’d provide the same tea and snacks he always did.
“Um, sorry,” I said. “I guess I kind of interrupted your work?”
Mjöllmile chuckled. “No, no, Rimuru. I had wanted to cut ties with that dunderhead for a while now. He kept barging into my office with all these outrage
ous schemes, using his noble title to bully me around…”
He winced, then explained the whole story to me. So that freaky-looking dude back there was nobility? I could fully extinguish my aura at this point, so I didn’t need a mask or anything when traveling to human towns. I broke the thing when I ascended anyway, but I still kept it in my pocket, unrepaired, for the memories.
That’s why the guy must’ve thought I was female, but I wasn’t about to be upset about that. I knew how to read a situation and go with it, unlike Veldora and Shion, and I went easy on him because he acted pretty high-born. That was the right decision, I guess—but if Mjöllmile wanted him out of his life anyway, maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.
“But what if the nobles start getting hostile with you? Wouldn’t that make life difficult?”
“It would, but that man, Cazac, is nothing but a parasite. Today he came in saying he wanted to deal in slaves. An elven one, even…”
“Elven?!” I fired back, surprised. I saw a bunch of elves in that Dwarven Kingdom nightclub. Elen had some elven blood in her, too. They were treated as demi-human, not monsters, and slavery was likely outlawed around here.
“Uh, Mollie”—I had taken to calling him that; Mjöllmile was a mouthful—“Mollie, wouldn’t that be a…?”
“A crime? Yes, very much so. He was asking me to be an accomplice to a crime. And I’ll admit, I’m not exactly clean as a whistle, but not even I am brazen enough to enslave an elf.”
“Ah. What’d happen if people found out?”
“Good question. Cazac has his viscount title to fall back on. Blumund’s a small kingdom, but that means the noble class isn’t that extensive. Even someone like him has a fair amount of clout.”
He was a viscount? No wonder he kept insulting me like that. That would put him above the Baron of Veryard, Fuze’s friend, and I can see why it’d be so much trouble for Mjöllmile.