Chapter 55

The military carriage halted before the main gate of the immense fortress, boasting an insane size of 120 square kilometers, a size so great even dragons could pass through with ease.

Lir and Alter dismounted from the carriage first, inquiring if they might enter the lodgings and wash off the road.

For Lir, being an elf, her hair was hardly greasy, and her body carried little scent of sweat. But Alter, a weary human, having spent the greater part of his time under the harsh sun, standing guard, emanated a truly ripe odor.

“Of course. Go on ahead and rest. I can deliver the report myself, anyway.”

I sent Alter and Lir ahead to the lodgings, then asked the guards at the main gate to gather the leaders of each race.

The leaders convened in the meeting room quickly.

The operation to reclaim the Achilliptus Forest and establish an outpost was of such critical import to the balance of power in the war between the continent’s people and the demons that the three kings and one emperor had abandoned their duties and rushed here.

…Frankly, it’s still a bit overwhelming. But what can I do? There’s no choice but to get used to it.

“Ah! You’ve returned, friend!”

The Dwarf King greeted me with a beaming smile, a wine glass clutched in one hand. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and his thick fingertips were coated in iron filings.

Moreover, he was clad not in his usual lavish attire, but in sturdy, thick work clothes. Hammers of varying sizes were strapped to his waist, and his gloves bore the splatter marks of hot metal.

He appeared to have come straight from some task.

“…While I understand you’re busy, I would appreciate it if you maintained a modicum of decorum at such official gatherings.”

The Elf Queen, dark circles deeply etched beneath her eyes, cast a scathing glance at the disheveled Dwarf King.

“What time is there for fussing with decorum? Soldiers are dying on the battlefield. I’d sooner forge another sword.”

“…That one who is head of a race cannot even dress appropriately for the setting and situation.”

“I am well aware that we are in the midst of war.”

“I wish you were also aware that this is an official meeting. Do you not realize you are the face that represents the dwarves?”

“……”

“……”

Under normal circumstances, the Elf Queen’s and Dwarf King’s bickering would have stretched on for at least ten more minutes. However, I had heard that they were both unusually occupied of late. Perhaps worn down from successive all-nighters, they each silently covered their eyes and sighed, bringing the argument to a temporary halt.

“…Well then, General Bin. It seems everyone is ready to listen, so please give us a report on the current situation of the Achilliptus Forest operation.”

The Emperor, surprisingly quick to move past their brief squabble, cleared his throat once before addressing me.

There was a faint metallic rasp in his voice. Perhaps he, too, hadn’t been sleeping well.

Somehow, the overall atmosphere within the castle felt heavy, weighed down.

“…Ah, understood. I shall begin the report on the recapture of the Achilliptus Forest and the construction of the forward base.”

I recounted everything that had transpired in the forest, leaving nothing out.

From the extermination of the demonic creatures to the smoothly progressing base construction, and even the encounter with the spirits there, receiving their blessing and, in return, the events that unfolded while cleansing various areas of the forest…

“…In exchange, you received what?”

The Orc Chieftain, who had been listening silently, interrupted, letting out a disbelieving chuckle.

“Rex acquired an artifact as a reward for clearing a dungeon, and I obtained a staff-shaped artifact through the Spirit of Lightning.”

“…”

Silence descended for a moment. Fortunately, it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.

The leaders of each race seemed simply stunned, momentarily at a loss for words in their surprise.

“…Ha! To think the Sword Saint vowed he’d become a monster on par with himself within three years. It wasn’t nonsense after all.”

The Dwarf King, still clad in his work clothes, raised his wine glass and chuckled, breaking the silence first.

“He’s only been in the party for about two months, and yet, with a growth rate like this…”

“Artifacts… Rex, is that the son of Belzark you’re speaking of? I heard he was brought in, infected by demonic blood, but to think he’d obtain an artifact.”

The leaders of each race surprisingly accepted my report rather quickly.

I had expected them to be dumbfounded by the report that ‘we retrieved two artifacts,’ demanding explanations and scrutinizing every detail.

…Do they perhaps think that a genius mage who receives their support should naturally be capable of this much?

This is a bit much to handle, even for me.

“You also obtained an Artifact, I hear. Do you know its effects? Tell me if you require a place to experiment.”

The Elven Queen, her expression betraying disbelief at my shocking accomplishment, regarded me before quickly regaining her composure and speaking.

“Ah, the effects of my Artifact? I roughly know what it does. Thank you for your concern.”

“Is it useful? I understand that Artifacts do not always bring positive influences.”

Having lived for eons, the Elven Queen seemed to possess some knowledge of the nature of Artifacts as weapons.

“Uh, it’s a little… ambiguous…”

“Ambiguous? You haven’t been able to experiment yet?”

“No, that’s not it…”

“Why are you trying to explain at such length? Just show me, and the problem will be solved.”

Uselessly warm lightning emerged from my right hand, emitting a faint glow.

The leaders of each race, their faces twisting at the unfamiliar voice that had abruptly appeared in the meeting hall, quickly entered a state of alert.

“…This is truly insane.”

I had no idea how to stop this crazy deer, so I simply covered my face and sighed.

The warm lightning flowing from my right hand gathered not far from me and the round table, soon taking the form of a massive stag.

“Greetings. I am Dajin. The whelp mentioned the lightning spirit earlier – that would be me.”

I shook my head, watching Dajin look down at the leaders of each race with an arrogant expression. I sighed and said,

“…Please, read the room.”

I sincerely wished that this thing would just die, seeing it suddenly barge into the solemn atmosphere of the conference room and try to start a ruckus.

Is this what it would feel like to be reporting on rising sea levels in front of the presidents of the United States, China, Russia, and France, only for someone to suddenly start breakdancing?

All of it unaccompanied, mind you.

“…This is.”

“I’ve seen spirits of fire, but a spirit of lightning is a first.”

“Beautiful.”

“Are you borrowing the spirit’s power?”

The leaders of each race seemed to recognize Dajin immediately.

Anyone with a modicum of education would have heard tales of the five elemental spirits, the very foundation of magic, even if they weren’t mages themselves.

I explained to the Emperor and the kings the power the staff held and the ‘price’ for its use.

At first, they wore stunned expressions at the notion of being able to borrow the power of Dajin, an entity that transcended all others, but that was followed by disappointment when I explained that its true power wouldn’t manifest far from the forest, limiting its effective potency to around the 8th circle.

…I, too, thought I was holding a nuclear weapon, and made that very same face.

Same reaction, across the board.

“The dwarves are all so adorable, are you the king? Where’s your crown? And why the state of you, all grimy like you’ve been rolling in the mud!”

“Ha, I came straight from work. If the spirit saw me dressed in my finery, she might just faint!”

The dwarf king laughed off Dajin’s impolite words, seemingly amused by the attention.

“…Well, anyway. That concludes my report.”

I hastily wrapped up my report, eager to restrain Dajin’s disruptive behavior, and rose from my seat.

“No, stay seated a while longer.”

Just as I was getting up, the Emperor, who had been silently observing me for some time, spoke those words.

“Ah, yes…”

I awkwardly replied, carefully returning my half-raised backside back onto the chair.

“…Emperor. Even with Valerand’s war situation being less than ideal, this feels…premature.”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to foster more growth? If, by chance, we were to lose this fledgling….” The Chieftain and the Queen each chimed in from either side, seemingly understanding why the Emperor stopped me from leaving the room.

“I know. I know all this and have decided. This decision wasn’t made lightly. I implore you to trust and follow my lead.” Despite the two leaders’ reservations, a potent certainty filled the Emperor’s eyes.

“…Well, if you say so with such conviction, I have no further objections.” The Elven Queen, after a moment of contemplation, relented before the Emperor’s unwavering tone.

What is it? What’s happening that has everyone so grave?

“The current state of Valerand is…unfavorable. The Malthael hunt has shown next to no progress for almost a month now, only meaningless skirmishes and wars of attrition persist.” The Emperor spoke not with his usual gentle warmth, but with a forceful, dignified tone.

…This doesn’t feel good, not one bit.

“Normally, Sir Veen, you would have fully completed Alter’s lessons before formally joining the first-string parties. But owing to your phenomenal growth speed, coupled with your ability to freely command spirits, I hereby decree….”

Uh oh.

“Upon completing your preparations, you are to depart for Valerand, join forces with the Sword Saint’s party, end the stagnant skirmishes, and bring me the head of Archduke Malthael.”

“……”

Huh?

“Wait, um…pardon?” I was so flustered, I nearly questioned the Emperor’s command. Did I already question it? I’m not sure.

No, is questioning it even the important thing right now? Well, it is important, just not that important for this specific case it seems…

“You possess considerable strategic value. Not to mention you garner the favor of the spirits.”

The elven queen, pitying my bewildered state, offered a listless word of comfort.

“…Excuse me?”

The elven queen, of all people, comforting *me*?

What kind of mission was I just saddled with, anyway?

“I think a reconsideration is in order… He is not quite ripe, is he? Valerand is a perilous place. Even those with exceptional combat experience face death’s precipice daily…”

The chieftain lowered his head, whispering into the Emperor’s ear as if to prevent me from hearing. But thanks to the orc’s characteristic massive pectoral muscles and vocal cords, his voice, no matter how softly he tried to speak, resonated clearly into my ear.

“Fret not, *I* shall ensure he does not perish.”

Dajin, who had been stroking the dwarf king with warm lightning, also interjected, having heard the chieftain’s worried murmur.

“…Really?”

I eyed Dajin with suspicion.

Dajin nodded, a devious grin playing on his lips.

Is this b*stard being serious, or not?

“Ooh! Is that truly so…!”

The dwarf king gazed up at Dajin, who was caressing his head, and asked in a loud voice.

Dajin, still wearing that wicked smile, whispered “Of course,” to his pet… no, his dwarf.

It looked like a lie to anyone. That b*stard just looks like he is trying to throw me on the battlefield just for his amusement.

“You shall have about a week to reorganize.”

…Excuse me?

“Choose a few useful subordinates to accompany you. A magician requires reliable infantry, you see.”

Given the state of war, I had no right to answer ‘no’ to that command.

Should he flee, even now?

* * *

The sky is a void of black. Around him, moans echo ceaselessly. His nose, acclimated to the stench of blood, no longer registers the gore, but the occasional, anguished cries keep him brutally awake.

Dark hair plastered with mud and blood, a wine-colored robe defiled, a grimoire soaked in mire, trembling fingers—the mage repeatedly swept falling strands of hair from his face, struggling to regulate his ragged breathing.

He was seated within a makeshift barracks, yet through the rent in the canvas, he could not escape the sight of the clouds shifting.

Gazing upon the ominous, somber clouds, pregnant with a downpour that felt imminent, a sense of constriction seized his chest.

“…Lord Bell, a missive from the Emperor.”

Bell.

The name of this mage, possessed of hair like a moonless night, was Bell.

A mid-thirties mage affiliated with the Holy Sword party, and a ninth-circle grand mage entrusted with the prosperity and future of the Flame School.

“Leave it there.”

Bell took the letter resting on the damaged desk with unsteady hands. Lacking a blade to sever the seal, he could only tear open the tough envelope with trembling fingers.

Bell silently scanned the contents of the letter, then approached the Saintess, who lay on a cot in the barracks, her eyes vacant as she stared at the ceiling.

“Read this.”

The Saintess, her expression devoid of life, received the letter from Bell and began to read.

“…A new recruit is to be stationed here, it seems.”

The Saintess offered no reply, only a profound sigh.

“That whelp, how old is he supposed to be?”

Bell Artua directed his gaze toward the subordinate waiting at the entrance, questioning.

“Sixteen, seventeen years of age, I believe. His exact age… difficult to ascertain, considering his origins, they say.”

“Humph, seventeen at most. So, he likely hasn’t seen a proper battlefield.”

“…Likely not.”

The Saintess folded the letter, her eyes closed, offering a soft agreement to Bel’s words.

“…”

Bel, a mage with hair as dark as night, silently gazed up at the rough, uneven ceiling of the tent, then, as if stifled, drew a pipe from within his robes and placed it between his lips.

He opened the tattered tent flap, stepping out into the open air, and snapped his fingers. The tobacco leaves bunched at the end of the pipe caught fire, and acrid smoke immediately enveloped Bel’s face.

“Too early an age to witness this, it seems.”

Before Bel’s eyes unfolded a true hellscape.

The mud had drunk so much blood it was dyed an utterly crimson hue. From within the nearby medical tents came the wails of countless sick and wounded, and now and then, a rotting arm or leg was severed and tumbled outside.

The corpses were piled high in a far-off corner, well away from the tents. Occasionally, crows or rats would weave among the bodies, mocking them, but no one possessed the strength to walk over and drive the scavengers away. Their strength was simply gone.

Further off, a multitude of soldiers and mages stared blankly at the sky, their faces etched with despair.

No flicker of hope for life could be found in their eyes. Now and then, a soldier, his mind fractured, would snap, screaming at his comrades and flailing with a sword.

…Beyond the soldiers staring blankly at the sky from the trenches lay a scattering of mutated corpses.

There, at least, the mud possessed a sickly, greenish tinge.

Corpses, blood, flesh… what to call the clumps of green matter that festered in the mud, Bel and the Swordsman had yet to decide.

Too dense to be called flesh, unflowing to be blood, and every so often, something within those enormous masses would twitch, ruling out the simple term of corpse.

“…Shameful.”

Bel took a deep drag of the pipe tobacco, then quietly lamented his own circumstances.

The sky was still an unyielding black, and his nose could detect none of the stench.