IN THE LAND OF DESTINY

So everything was set. After giving my final instructions to Veldora, I waited for an envoy to direct me to the Council site. I didn’t know where it was, so I’d be going along with Ramiris—who, by the way, also didn’t know.

I asked why, and she had replied, “Because someone always comes to take me there!” Which made sense, I suppose, in its own way. The way she always got lost, wherever she went, I guess it’s just a given that she had a guide. If someone doesn’t really feel like memorizing a route, they never will, no matter how many times they repeat it.

Either way, I figured someone would be teleporting in to guide us, so I decided to wait for that.

It was almost an hour before midnight when I was contacted—not by an envoy, but by Benimaru.

“What’s up? Some kind of problem?”

I was expecting the worst, but Benimaru instead had a request for me. Battle had just begun with the enemy, and we already had a full gauge of their capacity.

The gifts Benimaru earned from my awakening had upgraded his class to Oni. This was a type of spiritual life-form, along the lines of the dryads—Benimaru, in other words, had reached the same lofty heights as Treyni. Shuna, Soei, and Hakuro were all Onis as well, which put them about as high up on that ladder as you can go.

This was wonderful, but the issue was the skill Benimaru obtained. The unique skill Born Leader was geared toward granting enhanced control over his powers, as befitting the naturally aggressive Benimaru. No matter how much of it he unleashed, he could keep himself from rampaging out of control. Its secret lay in Compute Prediction, which could fully read the flow of power in his body and prevent bursts of waste.

It was also useful in battles between large armies, not just in duels. He could sense the flow of power among his forces, reading his chances for victory like a prophet. If things were looking bad for his side, he could instantly send orders to his forces and change his strategy. It was almost like cheating. In a battlefield, the correct conveyance of information meant everything, and this allowed him to command his full army without a single miscommunication.

Right now, the combined forces of thirty thousand were under Benimaru’s command, and he could move them as smoothly and easily as his own limbs. These thirty thousand elites were no also-ran army, that’s for sure.

What’s more, the Born Leader skill also came with the Inspire Forces effect, adding bonuses to the forces he led that boosted their power by some 30 percent or more. That meant the entire army was nearly a third stronger. We weren’t losing out in troop numbers; we had better-quality fighters… We weren’t disadvantaged in any way. If we could get that bonus, too, then hell, all the better.

And with all of that, Benimaru could see from the start that victory was ours. Once he did, he had a bright idea for a new strategy.

(…So that’s why I wish to attack the main enemy force. Soei’s ready to go as well, and so I thought that, if Clayman’s castle is indeed beyond that cloud, we might as well lay waste to it, too.)

That Benimaru. Brimming with confidence.

(Isn’t that dangerous? You’ve only barely begun fighting. We don’t know how this’ll turn out yet…)

(We’re fine. I am stationed over here. It would be Soei and Hakuro striking the castle…)

(Wait, my brother!!)

Shuna had interrupted our Thought Communication as she was preparing some tea. Um, this was supposed to be a secure line? She broke in there a little too easily for my tastes.

(Er, hello, Shuna. What did you want?)

I could hear Benimaru’s voice jump several octaves.

(Don’t ask me what I want, my brother! The demon lord Clayman is dangerous! He has the power to bend people’s minds! If Soei or Hakuro fell victim to that…)

(No, they’d be perfectly fine against—)

(You can’t!! If you insist on sending them in, then I’ll join them!)

Whoa, whoa. Shuna’s usually a lot more chill than this. What’s gotten into her?

Benimaru and Shuna continued to argue as I sat there in shock. As my friend in my previous life put it, there’s no way a man can ever win against his younger sister. Benimaru was no longer brimming with confidence at all. The all-out assault from Shuna sent him reeling.

The next thing I knew, Shuna was beaming at me. “All right, Sir Rimuru! Give me your orders to move out!”

Um, how do I respond to that…?

I didn’t want to send Shuna anywhere lethal, but she did have a point. No matter how unlikely, I’d never want Soei to be thought controlled. I wanted to keep them from doing anything dangerous, but taking a castle to rob the enemy of an escape point was a classic strategy. With Clayman gone for the Walpurgis Council, now would be the perfect opportunity.

Still… I mean, as long as I made sure Clayman didn’t get away, we’re good, right? And it’s not like I wanted to kill every single one of the magic-born working for him.

(…You have nothing to worry about, Sir Rimuru,) Soei chimed in. (I promise I will keep Lady Shuna safe.)

(And with me around,) Hakuro added, (it will be no problem to at least peek into the enemy’s stronghold. They might be holding Lord Carillon there. I feel we need to investigate.)

My Thought Communication was getting worryingly busy. Shuna must’ve recruited them both to convince me. It was rare for her to act so selfishly, so I could understand why they wanted her to have her way this time. The fact Carillon was last seen being taken in the direction of Clayman’s castle also intrigued me.

“I am terribly angered by all this, Sir Rimuru. It is hard for me to contain my feelings. What Clayman has done is unforgivable!”

Dahh… Yeah, I get that. I know I’m not the only one who felt a little helpless against him, back there. And I can see how Shuna would resent being left waiting around on the home front.

(All right. I’ll let Shuna join in. But Soei and Hakuro, I want her safety to be job one for you. And if their HQ has more defenders than you predicted, put safety first and just bring back intelligence for me. Even if you discover Carillon, don’t reach out to him unless you’re sure it’s safe. Got it?)

(Thank you for accepting her request.)

(I will be fine,) Shuna replied. (I can simply teleport out if something happens.)

(Indeed.) Hakuro laughed. (If anyone might be taking their sweet time in there, I imagine it would be me.)

(All of us have resistances to spirit-based attacks,) pointed out Soei, (so I imagine we will not waste much time. And with Lady Shuna there, there is nothing to be concerned about. If we do discover Lord Carillon, we will think over matters then.)

That put my mind at ease a little. Certainly, with Shuna’s unique skill Parser, she’d be able to identify any attacks aimed for her mind—and with Spatial Motion also in her arsenal, I didn’t see that much to worry about. She didn’t have that much magical energy to tap, but the skills in her quiver were excellent.

Soei was right about Carillon as well. He might not be there at all, so there was no point harping on the issue.

(All right. You have my permission, then, but always make sure you’re on top of the situation over there. Just in case, I’ll have you begin operations at midnight, just after the Walpurgis Council begins.)

(((Yes sir!)))

So now I had a three-member team attempting to infiltrate Clayman’s base of operations.

It was just before midnight now, so I decided to take a moment to ask Veldora about the demon lords. “I have no interest in such little gnats,” he began (of course), but he still had a fair amount to say about them all—except for Leon, who ascended to the role after he was sealed away.

Given his penchant for violent rages across the countryside, Veldora had fought against a demon lord or two in his time. Around two thousand years ago, he attacked and destroyed a city of vampires, which naturally earned him the anger of legions of those creatures—a chase he apparently loved. One of them, a female vampire, was particularly beautiful (and beautifully dressed) and boasted strength beyond all her peers. When the dust finally settled, her cadre of vampires disappeared from the scene, and Veldora didn’t know what had happened to them.

“What was her name…? I believe it was Lu, erm, Lurus? Or Milus? Regardless, I never treated her that seriously, but she was a rather challenging plaything for me, so I would be wary around her. She can’t take a joke, do you see?”

I think that was more Veldora’s fault than hers. Anyone would be a little pissed off after their homeland was burned to embers. Of course, that was millennia ago; maybe she’s mellowed.

“Ooh,” interjected Ramiris from adjacent to me, “didja know that guy Valentine’s a demon lord now, too?”

This Valentine had apparently taken over the original one’s role about 1,500 years ago. I can only hope time’s healed wounds between these vampires and Veldora.

Daggrull, the demon lord giant, was another keen rival of the dragon’s. They had tussled several times, with no clear victor ever being crowned, and if Veldora bothered to remember his name, he must’ve been a pretty mean match. This guy had the power—or the guts, at least—to take on a dragon type. Probably a standout among the demon lords. Better watch for him.

Our conversation moved on to the topic of demons. Veldora had apparently dispatched several groups of demons in his time—a practice he found fun, since even if you incinerated them, they always resurrected to an even stronger form over time. A bunch of great playmates for him, really.

Not even he had fought the lord of these demons, however. This king held his domain in a castle on the frozen tundra of the northern continent, a place so frigid that he never bothered to make the trip.

“It is far too cold up there! What’s the need for me to pay a visit? Kwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

That sounded pretty evasive to me, but he refused to give up any more details. No need to think about that now, though. It would be going pretty far out of his way to storm the place.

“Yes, well, Guy isn’t any pushover,” Ramiris observed. “Me, him, and Milim are the oldest demon lords you’ll ever find!”

That’s doesn’t mean much coming from Ramiris. Suddenly Guy sounds like nothing special at all. But ah well. I’ll back-burner this guy.

So how many demon lords does that leave remaining? I had already met Milim, Ramiris, and Carillon; we had just discussed Valentine, Daggrull, and Guy. There was Frey, the one who Phobio said had dealt the decisive blow to Carillon. There was Leon to think about, along with my current target, Clayman. So one more…

“Mm? I couldn’t say.” The allegedly sage Veldora was useless.

“Oh, you must mean Deeno!” Ramiris cried. “He’s even more of a goof-off demon lord than I am!”

I suppose he and Ramiris were two peas in a pod, then.

“We are not!”

I’ll just ignore that.

So that’s ten, some of whom had a bone to pick with Veldora. I’d need to keep that in mind as we discussed matters. Many seemed far more capable of defending themselves than I thought. Using this wimp Ramiris as a baseline could land me in deep trouble—maybe it was better to assume Milim was par for the course with them. Even after my evolution, I was leery about my chances of beating her in battle. We had sparred a few times, but she wasn’t being at all serious about it. I needed more data. In sparring mode, I could totally take her on now, but I couldn’t be cocky until I knew what she was more fully capable of.

I still couldn’t believe that Milim de facto approved of rubbing me out. There’s got to be something behind that. She’s not the type to backstab her friends or be mind controlled like that, and there was never gonna be any negotiating with her. There had to be some reason—a reason of her devising, too.

…Well, no point dwelling on it. I’ll figure it out when I see her.

As we talked, I felt a wrinkle in space erupt out of nowhere. Here comes our ride, I thought as this huge, bombastic, ominous-looking gate appeared. Pretty fancy. Me, I usually just kind of ripped a hole in time and space, so maybe I could learn from this. Once I had a concrete image in mind, it’d be easier for me to whip up a gate like this next time and teleport through it.

Regardless, the door opened, revealing a green-haired woman in a dark-red maid’s outfit. She bowed her head toward Ramiris. “I have come to take you, Lady Ramiris. And is this your guest? I’ll be happy to guide you together.”

Then she stood by the gate and lowered her eyes, eliminating her presence as much as possible. A well-trained pro at the servant biz, it felt like.

But something concerned me. She was exuding just as much overpowering force as Diablo at his best. She was a demon, a high-level one. Regular demons could only climb so high up the latter. No matter how long-lived they were, an Arch Demon was about the most they could hope for. Anything beyond that required a certain trigger…which, in the case of Diablo, was me naming him. This let him break out of the base demon framework entirely, evolving him from an Arch Demon to a so-called Demon Peer.

“Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh. I have no interest in strength,” he had said at the time, “but now I see there is always something higher to strive for. Perhaps I should try to make more of an effort at this?”

He had “no interest” in strength, but he had a hell of a lot of interest in fighting. As he put it, he had been too content with himself before, since becoming too strong would squeeze all the fun out of battle. Was he kidding with me? Because if he wasn’t, that’s just scary.

And now I had this other Demon Peer here, this maid. Or more like a maiden messenger from the underworld, I suppose. With the kind of anime and manga I consumed way back when, a maid was more a type of battle unit than anything—and with her being a Demon Peer and all, she was clearly one deadly woman.

“Oh, hey! Haven’t seen you in an age, Mizeri! How’s Guy doing?”

Ramiris clearly wasn’t afraid of her. In some ways, it made her even scarier.

“…It is not upon me to worry about the condition of my master…”

“Ah. Haven’t changed a bit, have you? Well, that’s fine.”

She fluttered her way into the gate, the rest of us following behind. We had to hurry, or else we’d get shut out. If I wasted any more time here steeling my resolve and wound up missing my ride there, I don’t know how I’d ever explain that to Benimaru and the rest.

So this maid Mizeri works for the demon lord Guy? The lord of the demons, and one of the oldest demon lords to boot. If he recruited Demon Peers as doormen, that said a lot about his power. Probably shouldn’t try riling him, then…unless the times called for it.

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.”

Neither could successfully rile up Phobio. More than anything, he regretted letting his short temper steer him straight to failure in the past. So, once the greetings were over, he quickly stepped forward and instantly closed the gap between them.

“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.”

“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.

Siti Dara

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