by Fuse
Today, however, the lizardmen were greeted with news that had the potential to affect their people’s very future.
The orc forces were here, and they were advancing on Lake Sisu.
The chief, upon hearing this, still managed to retain his composure. “Prepare for battle!” he bellowed. “We shall kick these pigs back to the abyss they came from!”
He was supremely confident, but that didn’t mean he would rest on his laurels. Along with the attack order, he sent the call to gather as much accurate information on the orcish army as his people could find. They had to have a grip on their numbers, to start.
One average lizardman, carnivorous and ferocious in battle, ranked around a C-plus. Their battalion leaders would probably manage a B-minus, maybe a few up to B, even. Perhaps around half the tribe would serve in battle, and half would be a formidable presence in any war.
The conventional wisdom was that a fully armed knight corps from one or another of the small kingdoms around the forest was a solid C-plus threat. In most of these kingdoms, the military consisted of at most five percent of the overall population—usually more like one percent, unless they were involved in protracted warfare. A lizardman force ten thousand strong, exhibiting the teamwork and synchronization the race was known for, would offer no hope for a kingdom whose population numbered beneath a million.
And this would be a fight on their home turf. The chief liked his chances.
But there was still something that bothered him. The orcs had no problem with going after weaker opponents, but they never dared to defy those higher up on the food chain. Lizardmen were not weaklings. They were “higher up,” as it were. Goblins would be one thing, but what was making them act so fearless against lizardmen?
The question gave birth to a small seed of doubt in his mind, one that even now stabbed against the chief’s heart. He was a bold man, but he was also careful—a balance anyone who wanted to lead such a fierce tribe had to have. And the chief’s concerns wound up being all too perceptive.
“The orc force numbers a total of two hundred thousand!!”
The spy team’s report to the chief and his council of tribal elders sent a thrill of fear across the great cavern. Its content, delivered amid halting breaths by the lizardman warriors, froze everyone in place.
“Ridiculous. That couldn’t be possible!” one of the elders scoffed.
The chief agreed—he would have said the same, if so many others weren’t in attendance. He had a duty to be a rock for his people, unmoved by every ill tiding that greeted them. He couldn’t believe it, but he couldn’t simply say so. If the report turned out to be accurate, he would have to accept it and come up with countermeasures.
“Is this true?” he ventured.
“By my very life, it is, my lord!”
“Very well. You may go and rest.”
He gave the warrior a composed nod and ordered the lizardmen, who no doubt had run at full speed day and night to deliver the news, out of the chamber. The sight of the chief, as sage and reserved as ever, must have relieved them a bit—so much so that they fell to the ground, right where they stood, too exhausted to continue. It was all the proof the room needed that their news was true.
Two hundred thousand? It is insanity…
Watching their fellow warriors carry the spy team away, the chief found himself forced to reassess the situation. The orcs were certainly a fast-multiplying race in terms of numbers, but he doubted even they could assemble such a huge array of fighting men and women in one place.
How could they even have the logistics to supply two hundred thousand hungry stomachs?
It would be a gargantuan effort, keeping those supply lines fed. Transporting all that food couldn’t have been feasible for such an undisciplined rabble.
“These orcs are selfish louts,” one of his advisers whispered to him, “not a care in the world for anyone but themselves. How could anyone have wrangled them into a single cohesive unit?”
That’s the question, the chief thought. Even the most gifted leader couldn’t control a force of two hundred thousand at once, not unless they had absolute control over them all. A thousand at once would be about the practical limit. Orcs were D-ranked monsters with intelligence beneath that of humans. They cared little for anything that wasn’t directly in front of their faces. They were foolish, to a man, and the word cooperation didn’t exist in their vocabulary.
The chief had his hands full managing all the lizardmen who served him, which numbered around twenty thousand. And that was a race that, by and large, lived in harmony with one another. Add a zero to that figure, and it was simply beyond comprehension.
“Is there some manner of genius class among them leading the forces?” the chief said to himself.
“It could hardly be the case,” his adviser replied. “Anyone capable of maintaining order among them would need to be a unique monster, and I have never heard of more than one such creature appearing at the same time.”
“Indeed,” another chimed in. “The idea of multiple unique monsters of your caliber, my lord, being born among the orcs… Impossible to think of.”
The chief nodded as they each shook their heads in disbelief. No. It makes little sense. But there is no point denying facts. If I am to assume this report is valid, what are the orcs capable of doing?
Even if the orcs did have several unique monsters like the lizardman chief, would they have it in them to work together toward the same objective? Assembling an unheard-of force like this would require some other presence, something pushing all those talented, unique monsters to strive for a common goal without going at one another’s necks. Such a uniquely charismatic leader would mean that even low-level orcs could not be trifled with. In fact, they could be a threat like none before.
Should I take action under the assumption that such a superior leader is among them? Do the orcs have it “in” them, so to speak…?
Wait. Could it be…?
Reaching a certain point in his own logic, the chief grew visibly agitated. The thought was something he wished to banish from his mind, but he couldn’t. Someone capable of ruling over such a force. Someone said to be born only once every few centuries…
“Could there be an orc lord among their ranks…?!”
As soft as the chief’s whisper was, it transmitted loud and clear to his people despite the rising commotion. Those who understood it fell quiet, eventually silencing the entire cavern.
“An orc lord…”
“But surely…”
“If, by some chance, this were the case…”
The elders who served as the chief’s advisers were similarly unable to shake the possibility. An orc lord was the stuff of legend, and in their thoughts, indeed capable of commanding a six-figure army. The more they mulled over the idea, the less they could imagine any other reason for this state of affairs.
“If… If, somehow, they have an orc lord among them, that would certainly explain why they have come together in this way…”
“But for what purpose?”
“Does it matter at this point? The only question is whether we can defeat them or not!”
The cavern was in an uproar once more, the advisers exchanging opinion after hostile opinion.
Whether we can defeat them or not…?
Fighting on a plain would put the outnumbered lizardmen at a heavy disadvantage. The marshes, however, were their backyard. With a careful hand and the right traps set in place, they had every chance at victory.
Or they thought they did.
If this was just a simple orc horde like any other, the chief knew how to dispatch them any number of ways. But if an orc lord truly had been born, it wasn’t so easy any longer. If they were this outnumbered, they would need to maintain high morale and overwhelm the enemy with their teamwork. The chief knew it was possible, what with their knowledge of the local lands, but that strategy wouldn’t work against an orc lord. An orc lord was a monster, through and through, one w
ho could sniff out and consume the very fear that lay in his allies’ hearts.
The chief thought to himself, How can we escape this dilemma? If this orc-lord thing turned out to be a nonexistent threat, he could ask for nothing else. But nonetheless, he felt compelled to take every measure he could before the confrontation came.
He would need backup.
The chief, his mind made up, called for one of his men. This man’s name was Gabil, and as prudent and thoughtful the lizardman chief was, not even he could see the sheer amount of fuel he would soon add to the flames of this chaos.
The pallid goblin chieftains gave each other nervous looks as their meeting began. There were fewer attendees than before—which made sense. Many had fled in the face of this unprecedented threat, one that could dramatically change the Forest of Jura for all time…
It all began with the direwolf attack. That, and all the goblins who abandoned the villages that the named warriors belonged to. Despite this desertion en masse, the named fighters successfully fended off the wolves.
A savior among them had used his unfathomable strength to protect them. Not only did the named fighters overcome the direwolves’ threat, they made them do their bidding; and now they were attempting to rebuild. The villagers who had professed a desire to fight with them in a tribunal some time ago were now gone, moved to the village run by this savior.
Goblins, those petty, trifling little things, had no hope of survival unless they lived in groups, coming to one another’s aid. But even after all that happened, there was no way these goblins, after abandoning their kin like this, could drive a stake into their pride and beg for forgiveness.
No matter how much, deep in their hearts, they truly wanted to.
Some had already verbalized as much, in fact. But if they sought to join them now, they would no doubt be treated little different from slaves. Thinking of it that way, it was completely impractical.
Fortunately, this savior gave no indication that he wanted to swallow up the villages that surrounded his. Perhaps they could just maintain the status quo, living as they did before. That would be best, yes.
But life wasn’t that kind to them. One day, out of nowhere, a small group of orcish knights dressed in full plate mail came to visit.
“We are knights with the Orcish Order! As of this very moment, this land is under our valiant orc lord’s control. We shall grant you maggots the chance to remain alive, if you wish. You must collect all the food provisions you can within several days and bring them to our headquarters. If you do, we will spare your lives and treat you as the slaves you are. If you do not, we will provide no mercy. We offer no terms of surrender to those who defy us. Think well before you take action! Gah-ha-ha-ha!”
Their one-sided declaration complete, the orcish knights boldly took their leave.
Orcs were, at best, D-ranked monsters. Stronger than goblins, yes, but not overwhelmingly so one-on-one. This kind of strength was beyond anyone’s knowledge.
Some unknown, terrifying thing was happening to the Forest of Jura—everyone was sure of it now. Something that portended dark things for not just this village, but every other one in the surrounding area. By the time the villages had assembled and learned that the exact same declarations had been made to them all by the orc knights, desperation had fully taken hold. At that moment, the goblins all realized there was nowhere to go.
The orcs wanted the goblins to supply their food, that much they knew. They wanted it from them so they wouldn’t have to worry about procuring it themselves. Otherwise, they would have razed the goblin villages at first sight, burning them to the ground.
They claimed they’d spare their lives, but if they were going to confiscate every scrap of food they had, what was the difference? They’d either starve or be killed. The difference was between a certain death or an infinitesimally small chance at survival—no matter how much they gritted their teeth, the goblins had nothing but utter annihilation waiting for them in the wings.
Their battle-ready forces numbered less than ten thousand. There was no way to make contact with their comrades in the outer lands, unaffiliated with the tribal elders. There was nothing to be done.
Just as they found themselves at this impasse, they were greeted by news that forced their hand even more. A lizardman envoy had come to visit.
Was this a glimmer of hope? The goblin elders scrambled to meet this messenger, a lizardman named Gabil who claimed to lead his tribe’s warriors. The arrival of a named creature made them swarm around him, like a savior sure to extract them from this horrible predicament.
“I want you,” this savior told them, “to swear your loyalty to me. Do it, and your futures shall be bright indeed!”
The elders immediately decided to trust in him. It was the classic mistake of the weak, grasping at anything that could possibly aid them. Some of the goblins suggested that it’d be preferable to rejoin their old brethren instead of being ruled by the lizardmen, but they were in the minority. The vote was cast, and they were now under Gabil’s beck and call—having no idea that this effectively set their fates in stone…
Gabil, warrior lord of the lizardmen, had taken one hundred fighters with him out of the marshlands via a direct command. The chief had given him his orders—orders he was not particularly fond of. He was a named monster, and his nameless chief was using him like a pair of oxen yoked to a wagon.
And even if this chief was his own father or not, it was starting to test his patience…
He knew he was chosen. Special. It was a source of pride for Gabil, and the main source of his self-esteem.
And “chosen” he was. He had encountered a certain monster in the marshes, and that monster gave him a name.
“You have potential,” this figure told him. “In the future, I could imagine you being my right-hand man. I will be back to see you someday!”
Thus, he was named Gabil. He remembered it like it happened yesterday—the event, and the monster, Gelmud. He saw Gelmud as his true master.
He may be my father, but what reason do I have to let a nameless minion boss me around for all time? I need to rule over all the lizardmen someday. I have to, for Sir Gelmud’s sake!
Was this how things should be? It couldn’t be, or so Gabil thought. It was a side effect of wanting to be recognized by his father—the ever-stern figure in his life, the great leader of all lizardmen. He was letting his pride overcome him, but he didn’t have the vocabulary to realize that.
What now, then…?
The chief had ordered him to travel around the goblin villages and seek their cooperation. He was allowed to threaten them to some extent, but he was expressly forbidden to do anything that could turn them against the lizardmen. A tepid idea, Gabil believed. What works with goblins are shows of strength. It always does. As far as he was concerned, his way would work just fine—he had all the power he needed for it.
Yes! What need do we have for a chief so weak-minded that the mere thought of an orc horde makes him quiver in fear? Now is my chance to seize control of the entire tribe!
It seemed the perfect opportunity. But it wouldn’t be easy to bring the lizardmen to his side—lizardmen who valued power, but also solidarity, above nearly everything else. The chief held control over all his citizens, all the way down to the lowliest muck sifter, and Gabil knew few would side with him at first.
He thought, still, that he could cobble together enough soldiers who would be loyal to him. The goblins, for example. Low level, yes, but they would perform well enough as living shields. A significant number of them, and even they could pose a threat. Strength lay in numbers, he knew, and ten thousand sounded like a very useful figure to him.
“Why worry about the orcs? With my powers as the strongest warrior among the lizardmen, they are but a trifle. And I could seize this opportunity to make my father abdicate once and for all!”
“So,” one of the warriors with him chimed in, “the era of Sir Gabil is soon at hand?”
&nbs
p; “Mmm? …Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Indeed, indeed!”
“Very good, my lord! And I promise that we all shall follow you to the end of the world!”
Gabil gave him a confident nod. In his mind, his future as the new chief and great leader of the lizardmen was already a matter of fact. Then, perhaps, his father would finally see him for who he really was. For now, though, he would need to be discreet. Lie low and wait for the right opportunity. Building his forces came first.
So he traveled to the goblin villages. One by one, he put them under his command. They had apparently made contact with the orcs already, and that was enough for them to treat him as some kind of benevolent god. It only served to boost his already burgeoning confidence—which made things move in unexpected directions.
I am the true hero here! Gabil thought. His actions grew bolder, riskier. His inflating ambitions were famished, and soon they needed to be fed.
Several days passed.
I had worried at first that Benimaru and the ogres might not get along so well with my people, but I guess I had nothing to worry about. To hobgoblins, ogres were a rank or two higher on the pecking order—but the goblins had the capacity to accept them as their own. And since ogres weren’t too keen to pick on those who were weaker, they were practically worthy of worship as far as goblins were concerned.
With Kurobe making swords, Shuna sewing clothes, and Soei gathering hellmoth cocoons, I had everyone humming along, really. Benimaru and Hakuro were down in the underground cavern, which I had told them about. “Training,” they called it. Which was fine by me—in their evolved forms, I’m sure they had new abilities that needed testing out.
Shion had mentioned where they were when we were out surveying the structures currently under construction around town. Or to be exact, I was being held close to Shion’s chest as she walked around. She had volunteered to be my secretary, and I had no reason to turn her down, so she was now serving as my transport in the place of Ranga. I could’ve transformed into a human, but—really—being a slime was a lot easier. I definitely didn’t have any impure motives like enjoying the sensation of being sandwiched in between her breasts or anything.
