Demiurge turned to face him. “Of course, I understand that, Cocytus, but wouldn’t you like to be loyal to Lord Momonga’s son as well?”
“AH. THAT DOES SOUND PRETTY GOOD…” Cocytus imagined giving Momonga’s child piggyback rides. But he didn’t stop there. He imagined giving him fencing lessons, drawing a sword to protect him from the oncoming enemy, and taking orders from him once he’d grown up. “OH, HOW WONDERFUL… I CAN SEE IT NOW, JUST WONDERFUL… HE CAN CALL ME UNCLE.”
Demiurge averted his eyes from Cocytus and his uncle fantasies, wincing a bit. “I’m also very interested to see to what extent children could be of use in a plan to strengthen the Great Tomb of Narazick. I wonder. Mare, want to try making some babies?”
“Huh? What?!”
“That said, I suppose there’s no one for you to do it with… If there are any humans, dark elves, elves, or closely related species out there, I’ll capture one for you, so how about it?”
“Huh? What?!” Mare thought for a moment and then nodded. “If it would be useful to Lord Momonga, then…sure. But how do you make a baby?”
“Right, I’ll tell you when the time comes. But hm, if we go off performing breeding experiments on our own, Lord Momonga might scold us. Nazarick’s upkeep costs must be pretty precariously balanced.”
“Y-yeah. Once I heard that a single Supreme Being was spawning minions here on a very strict budget. If we make the population jump weirdly, we’re sure to get scolded. I-I would hate for Lord Momonga…to scold me…”
“Well, same here. No interest in getting scolded by a Supreme Being… If we could build a ranch somewhere outside of Nazarick, that might work, though…” Leaving off there for that idea, Demiurge tossed a question at Mare about something that no one had mentioned yet. “By the way, Mare, why are you dressed like a girl?”
He tugged at the edges of his skirt as if to hide his legs even a little more. “Th-this is what BubblingTeapot chose. She said I was a boy, so I don’t think there’s any mistake about my gender…”
“Hm, she must have put some thought into it. Then, that must be the proper attire for you, but…I wonder if all little boys should be dressed the same way?”
“I-I’m not sure about that.”
Although they had mostly disappeared, once one of the Forty-One Supreme Beings’ sacred names came into things, all one could do was accept the judgment. That meant that the way Mare was dressed was the most correct way within the Great Tomb of Nazarick. If anyone was going to tell him to stop dressing that way, it would have to be another Supreme Being.
“I guess we need to consult Lord Momonga. It may very well be the case that all boys should dress that way… Cocytus, are you quite ready to come back to us?”
At the sound of his colleague’s voice, Cocytus emitted a sigh of contentment from the bottom of his heart and then shook his head several times. “WHAT A LOVELY NOTION. IT CERTAINLY IS SOMETHING TO HOPE FOR.”
“Oh yeah? Good for you… Albedo, Shalltear, are you still fighting?”
The pair still staring each other down looked up when he called to them. But the one who answered Demiurge’s question was standing off to the side looking exhausted—Aura.
“The fight…is over. Now they’re just—”
“The issue is simply who will be his first wife.”
“We concluded that it would be bizarre for the absolute ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick to have only one queen. But now we have to decide who his primary will—”
“That’s very interesting, but tell me more later. More importantly, Albedo, could you give us some orders maybe? We’ve got a lot of things that need to get moving.”
“Yes. Yes, you’re right. I need to give orders. Shalltear, let’s discuss this further at a future date. I’m sure it will take more time than we have now, anyway.”
“I have no objections, Albedo. There’s nothing that will take us so long to discuss as this.”
“Okay. Very well, I’ll come up with our plan going forward.” Albedo had put on her captain of the floor guardians face, and all the guardians responded by bowing their heads in respect.
They bowed, but they didn’t kneel. She was worthy of respect as their captain, but she was not absolute. There wasn’t that much of a gap in status between those created by the Forty-One Supreme Beings. That said, it was the Forty-One Supreme Beings who had bestowed upon her the rank of captain, so she was given the respect appropriate for her position—and no more. Their behavior was a manifestation of that belief. And it didn’t bother Albedo, because she knew it was a most correct way to think.
“First…”
Chapter 3 | The Battle of Carne Village
1
There was so much stuff randomly lying around the dressing room adjacent to Momonga’s private quarters that there was barely anywhere to walk—from things like robes that he could equip to full suits of armor he had bought but then threw in there after discovering he had no use for them. And it wasn’t just protective gear. There were weapons from staves to great swords, too—really just all kinds of things.
In Yggdrasil, players could create infinite unique items by inlaying existing items with data-containing crystals that defeated monsters dropped. Players who preferred a certain style often stocked up on those type of items.
Which explained this room.
Momonga casually chose a great sword out of the pile of countless weapons. It wasn’t sheathed, so its silver blade gleamed in the light. The letter-like markings etched into the blade’s cheek also caught the light and were clearly visible. He moved his arm up and down, testing the large sword’s heft. It was extremely light—like a feather. Of course, it wasn’t because the sword was made out of light material. Momonga was just that strong.
As a magic user, he had high magic ability points and low physical ability points. Even so, by the time he hit level 100 he’d amassed quite a few physical ability points as well—so much so that it was a cinch for him to bludgeon lower-level monsters to death with a staff.
The moment Momonga attempted to slowly change to a fighting stance, the sound of metal hitting something hard rang throughout the room. The sword that should have been in his hands had fallen to the floor.
The maid standing by immediately picked up the great sword and offered it to him, but he didn’t take it. He just stared at his empty hands.
This.
This was confusing.
The existence of NPCs who behaved as if they were alive made him think this world wasn’t the game, but these odd physical limitations made it feel like it had to be.
In Yggdrasil, since Momonga had never learned a warrior class, it would have been normal for him to not be able to equip a great sword. But if this were a real world, common sense said he should be able to “equip” anything.
Momonga shook his head and gave up thinking about it. He didn’t have enough information, so no answer would come, no matter how hard he racked his brains now.
“Clean this up,” he ordered the maid and then turned to face the large mirror that practically took up a whole wall. In it was a skeleton wearing clothes.
If the body you were used to changed into some weird other thing, you’d think you’d be frightened. But Momonga wasn’t frightened at all. It didn’t even feel unnatural. He felt like there must be some reason for that beyond the fact that he had logged so many hours in Yggdrasil with this body.
He also felt that in addition to his looks, his mind had changed quite a bit, as well. First, there was that thing where whenever his emotions fluctuated in a big way, it was like something suppressed them to level him out. And his desire had weakened. He didn’t feel like he wanted to eat or sleep. He didn’t not feel sexual desire, but it didn’t build even when Albedo pressed her softness up against him.
Assailed by the feeling he’d lost something very important, his eyes unconsciously moved near his waist. “I lost it before I even got to use it, huh…?” The emotion went out of his extremely quiet utterance partway through.
He had the awfully levelheaded thought that perhaps especially the mental changes could be the result of an undead’s perfect resistance to psychic attacks.
Right now, I’m an undead body and mind with the vestiges of a human clinging to them. That’s why when my mood changes past a certain point, it gets suppressed. He wondered if there was any danger of going completely flat if he continued being undead.
Of course, even if I have changed, it doesn’t mean much. No matter what this world is like, or what kind of being I am, I still have my will.
Besides, there were beings like Shalltear. It might be too soon to blame everything on being undead.
“Create Greater Item.” The moment he cast the spell, full plate armor covered him from head to toe. It was rather expensive looking—the fluted type, gleaming raven black, with purple and gold accents.
He tested some movements. His whole body felt heavy, but it wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t move. He would have thought there would be gaps between his body and the armor, considering he was all bones, but it fit perfectly.
So, just like in Yggdrasil, I can equip an item if I create it using magic? Impressed, he looked through the slit in his close helmet at the mirror and saw a splendid warrior standing there—it was impossible to take him for a caster. He nodded emphatically and swallowed despite the lack of spit. He felt like a child who was about to say something he knew would make his parents mad.
“I’m going out for a bit.”
“The guard is ready for you,” the maid replied promptly, but…
This. He hated this.
The first day the honor guards trooped after him, it was a little overwhelming. The second day, perhaps because he’d gotten used to them, he’d wished he’d had someone to brag to. And the third day…
He suppressed a sigh.
It was too much—walking around with an entourage, receiving deferential bows from everyone he met. If he could just let them follow him without thinking too hard, he might have been able to endure it, but that wasn’t possible. He had to act the part of ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick and never show even a hint of weakness. For a regular guy like Momonga, it was mentally exhausting. Even if any large emotional fluctuations reversed to level out, it still felt like his brain was being simmered on low heat.
And then there were the beautiful (you could probably say “super beautiful”) women who waited on him constantly, practically never leaving his side. He would have thought that as a man that would make him happy, but he ended up feeling more like his personal space was being invaded.
This mental fatigue must be another vestige of my humanity.
In any case, it was no good for the ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick to be so mentally burdened in this crisis. There was the danger he might commit an error in some critical situation.
I need to recharge. Having reached that conclusion, Momonga opened his eyes wide. Of course, his face didn’t move at all—the flames in his eyes just burned brighter. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m going to go make some rounds on my own.”
“P-please wait, my lord. If something should happen to you while you are out alone, we would not be able to die as your shields.”
Faced with someone who had resolved to give up her life if she could protect her master, he felt heartless for trying to go on a solo walk just to relax.
Still, it had been a little over three days since they’d found themselves in this strange situation, about seventy-three hours. After presenting himself with the dignity of the master of the Great Tomb of Nazarick for that long, his entire being was begging for a rest. So, although he felt bad, he racked his brains for an excuse.
“There is…something I must do in utmost secrecy. I will not allow any escorts.”
A brief silence.
After what felt like an awfully long time to Momonga, the maid answered, “Understood. Be careful, Lord Momonga.”
Her buying his excuse felt like a stab in the chest, but he dismissed it. There’s nothing wrong with taking a little break. I’ll go see what it’s like outside. Yes. It’s crucial for me to see where we’ve been teleported to with my own eyes.
The more he thought about it, the more excuses he came up with, probably because he was aware that what he was doing was wrong. Shaking off the nagging guilt (which manifested almost like someone was holding him back by his hair, not that he had a scalp), he used his guild ring.
He’d teleported to a large room. There were long, narrow stone platforms for laying out corpses (not that there were any now) on either side. The floor was made out of some kind of polished white stone. Behind him was a staircase that descended until it reached a large double door: the entrance to the Great Tomb of Nazarick’s first level. The torches in the sconces built into the walls were unlit; the only light was the pale glow of the moon coming in through the main entrance. This was the part of the Tomb closest to the surface, the Central Mausoleum.
Even though just walking across the spacious room would take him outside, Momonga couldn’t move his feet—he’d encountered something that unexpected.
Across the room he saw a crowd of grotesques. There were three types of monsters—four each for a total of twelve.
One of these types had hideous demonic faces with fangs. Their bodies were covered in scales and their strong arms were equipped with sharp claws. They had long snakelike tails and blazing wings of flame. They fit the image of a demon very well.
The second type of monster had female bodies sporting black leather bondage gear and crow heads.
The final type was a demon that wore armor open wide in front to display their magnificent abs. If it weren’t for their bat wings and the horns sprouting from either temple, they wouldn’t even look like monsters. Although their faces were those of beautiful men, their eyes glimmered with a desire that could never be fulfilled.
Their names were Evil Lord Wrath, Evil Lord Envy, and Evil Lord Greed.
All of their eyes turned at once to focus on Momonga, but none of the monsters made a move. It was a gaze worthy of the word—their eyes exerted an almost physical pressure.
All these monsters were a level somewhere between 80 and 90 and had been positioned as guards around Demiurge’s residence, the Red-Hot Shrine where the gate to the eighth level was. Normally, undead mobs under Shalltear’s control would be stationed this close to the surface, so why were Demiurge’s bodyguards here?
With the appearance of a demon—who had probably been there behind them from the beginning, but difficult to make out in the shadows—that mystery was solved.
“Demiurge…”
When his name was spoken, a puzzled look appeared on his face. It could have been either that he wondered why his lord and master was in such a place or that he was surprised by the appearance of an unfamiliar monster.
Momonga bet on the smaller chance and continued walking. Even if his true identity hadn’t been revealed by him standing there, it was too suspicious to remain. He decided to walk along the wall and try to slip past the demons without paying them any attention.
He knew painfully well that their gaze was following him. He wanted to look at his feet, but he willed his weak spirit into submission and walked proudly, chest out.
When the distance between them had closed, the demons, as if by previous arrangement, all got down on one knee and bowed their heads. Bowing at the front of the line, naturally, was Demiurge. His movements were so smooth and refined he reminded Momonga of a nobleman out of a story.
“Lord Momonga, what in the world are you doing here without your guards? And what are you wearing?”
They’d seen through him instantly.
He figured there was no helping the fact that he got caught by the one said to be most intelligent in all of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, but he realized it might have been obvious, anyway, because he had teleported. Only someone with a guild ring could teleport freely within the Tomb, so it was a dead giveaway.
“Ahh, we
ll…I have my reasons. And as for why I’m dressed like this, I’m sure you already know.”
There were various shades of emotion crossing Demiurge’s graceful features. Several breaths later, he answered, “My apologies, Lord Momonga, but I am unable to fathom the depths of your profound—”
“Call me Dark Warrior.”
“Lord Dark Warrior…?” Demiurge looked like he wanted to say more, but Momonga endeavored to ignore it. He knew it was an embarrassingly generic name, but it fit right in with the other monster names.
There wasn’t any deep reason for the name change. Now the only ones present were Demiurge’s underlings, but they were all right near the entrance. There would probably be lots of minions coming through and he didn’t want them all calling him “Momonga, Momonga.”
A light of understanding had gone on in Demiurge’s expression. What had he decided Momonga was feeling? “I see… So that’s why!”
Huh? You see what? Momonga stopped himself from asking.
He was just an ordinary guy. He couldn’t imagine what line of reason Demiurge had used or what kind of conclusion he had reached with his overflowing wisdom. He just stood there under his close helmet in a nonexistent cold sweat hoping his true intentions wouldn’t be found out.
“Lord Mo—Dark Warrior, I have grasped one part of your profound intentions. It is certainly a show of consideration befitting our ruler, however, it would not do for me to overlook you being out without an escort. I deeply understand what a bother this must be, but I beg that you will pity me with your mercy.”
“I suppose I have no choice. I will allow one guard to accompany me.”
An elegant smile spread across Demiurge’s face.
“I appreciate you granting my selfish request, Lord Dark Warrior.”
“You don’t need the ‘Lord’ with ‘Dark Warrior’…”
“Surely you can’t be serious! Such a thing would be unforgivable. Of course, if it were for an infiltration mission or I was on a special mission and had orders from you to that effect, I would obey them, but do you think there is anyone in all of Nazarick who could refer to you, Lord Momonga—I mean, Lord Dark Warrior—without ‘Lord’?”
The Undead King Page 11
