That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, Vol. 2

by Fuse

  The women and children of each tribe had been evacuated to a chamber deep in the heart of the maze. They would then have nobody to protect them.

  How did this happen?

  Wailing about it now was pointless.

  I will have to be the cornerstone of our final defense. I have to…at least…buy them a little more time…

  Just a little more time. That was the best he could offer right now.

  On that day, the marshes were completely covered in orcs. An observer in the air would have seen them swarming for the cavern entrances like so many ants.

  But even that was only a small part of the horde. Many were still in the forest, making their way toward the marshland region. And the main force, marching northward along the river, was still coming. They faced no resistance, nothing preventing them from covering the marshes and descending upon the caverns like an avalanche.

  Now, though, there was a commotion in one small corner of the horde—the first clash between orc and lizardman out in the marsh.

  In these lands, the lizardman was king. Powerful in combat, they were capable of nimble, quick movements in the muddy, overgrown swamps they called home. That was how the battle began—a handful of fighters hiding in the tall grasses, sneaking up on a clutch of orcs.

  Everything was going exactly as Gabil had hoped. His father, the former chief, and all those still loyal to him were shut up in a large underground chamber, and now he was back on the surface to reorganize his newly united troops, taking full advantage of the twisty access paths that crisscrossed over one another inside. The defensive forces were still in place—Gabil planned to wrap up the fight before they exhausted themselves.

  He didn’t have an exact bead on the number of troops at the orcs’ disposal, but judging by the natural abilities of the two races, he figured there was nothing to worry about unless they were outnumbered ten to one or so. So what if they were throwing a ton of orc bodies at them? That didn’t change the core fundamentals of this matchup.

  Plus, he had ordered his fighters to take a stick-and-move approach, dealing a blow or two and quickly falling back, just in case. Staying on their toes like that would let them regroup as often as necessary, readying themselves for the next strike.

  Over time, it would cull the orc numbers drastically, dealing them a decisive blow. The orcs on the inside would lose contact with the outdoor forces, and with that, they’d be forced to retreat.

  The lizardmen’s natural agility in these marshes made that strategy possible. Gabil was no talentless fool. He lacked his father’s ability to instantly gauge the entire theater of war in one glance, but the way he led his fighting men and women was worthy of praise. He had inherited a lot of talent from the former chief. Lizardmen were naturally attracted to the strong, the powerful—merely talking a big show wouldn’t be enough. Gabil’s men loved him, and the love proved that he was more than just bravado and mindless courage.

  But would it be enough?

  The final line of defense, the forces tasked with guarding the largest underground chamber, numbered a thousand strong. That room was now filled with nothing but women and children—noncombatants. The grown women could fight if it came to that, but there was no use relying on them. That was why a thousand fighters were defending them, spread out across the assorted hallways linked to this room.

  Each defensive line planned to gradually fall back over time, grouping en masse around the site of the final stand. Everyone else—seven thousand goblins, around eight thousand battle-ready lizardmen—was under the direct control of Gabil. The new chief believed they could win in straight combat, without using whatever geographical advantages the labyrinth offered. Thus, only a skeletal defense team was left inside, every remaining available soldier sent off to the marshes.

  The initial strike came as a complete surprise to the orcs, who found their battalions cut off from one another and heavily damaged. The stragglers who managed to flee the lizardmen were subsequently isolated, making them ripe for the picking by the gangs of goblins. For a bunch of freshly minted soldiers, they performed magnificently, following Gabil’s orders to the letter. As they should have. Their lives were riding on this, too.

  It was hard to predict in advance, but the armies under Gabil were showing a remarkable amount of synergy. So far, so good.

  Behold! Gabil thought. There was no need to fear this herd of pigs at all. My father’s age has clouded his mind. He fretted far too much about matters. Once he sees what I am capable of out here, I am sure he will recognize me as the new chief. We’d best clear the marsh of these pigs before long…

  Gabil wanted this to be decisive. He wanted no room in his father’s mind for doubt about his son’s superior abilities. And even now, the cheering he heard in the distance seemed to indicate he was on the right track.

  Look at that! These orcs could never hold a candle to us lizardmen!

  He liked what he saw, as he surveyed the marshes before him. But this would be the end of his streak of luck. He had been expecting piles of dead orcs, and their foes’ morale subsequently crumbling. He was not aware of what made the orc lord a truly terrifying foe. His father did—and now, that single difference of opinion was making its presence known.

  Splish, crunch, splish, crunch.

  The orcs appeared to be advancing over the bodies of their kindred, on all fours, attempting to gain purchase over the muddy land. It was only when one grew closer that the truth became clear.

  It was actually a banquet, a feast upon the dead, and it was enough to make an observer’s hair stand on end. Even the most seasoned fighters on the lizardman side felt sick to their stomachs viewing it.

  An eerie aura began swirling around the orcs. One fighter, rearing back in horror at the scene, lost his footing. The orc soldiers immediately seized upon his body, dragging it through the mud, ripping all the limbs off. The first lizardman casualty of the battle, and the turning point for the entire war.

  The orcish infantry gnawing on the bare flesh were transferring the lizardman’s abilities to the orc lord himself. It would not be a perfect duplicate like the ones Rimuru could engineer with his Predator skill, but it had one advantage: It could give the caster not only the consumed victim’s skills, but also their innate physical traits. Whatever the orc lord managed to absorb from the body, he could then feed back to the rest of his army.

  This was known as the Food Chain, another ability unlocked by the Ravenous skill. It let the orcs function both as a horde, and as a single conscious entity. Ravenous did not work the way a well-trained direwolf pack did, but the effects it could have on an enemy could be just as devastating.

  It was exactly why the lizardman chief feared, above everything else, losing any of his men in battle. Doing so meant losing any inherent advantage his species brought to the table. Even if the orcs couldn’t fully seize the skills of their foes, they could still gain some feature of the lizardmen—and it would instantly be gifted to every member of the horde. Perhaps they’d grow webbing around their feet, letting them more freely move through the mud. Or perhaps scales would spontaneously appear over the more vulnerable points on their bodies, boosting their defense. They were little changes, yes, but they would have dramatic effects on how the battle would turn out.

  “Do not fear them!” Gabil shouted. “Show them the power we enjoy as the proud lizardman race!”

  It was enough to inspire his men that little bit further. They knew they were fighting on familiar territory, and they were certain they had the mobility advantage. The orcs would be too bogged down to catch up with them. And even if they were outnumbered, a nimble attack on their flank would cut them off, just like before.

  Or so they thought…

  Matching the army’s movements step by step, the orcish army stayed in formation, following their foes unerringly. They were now perceptibly quicker than before.

  Huh? The orcs are moving differently…?

  But by the time Gabil noticed, it was already to
o late. With newfound speed, the orcs spread out to the left and right, enveloping the advancing lizardman force.

  In perfect order, the twenty-thousand-strong force had completely sealed off the escape route Gabil’s men used to have. The new chief had pushed his men too far into the fray, placing too much confidence in their mobility and figuring they could easily get away if need be. But right now, Gabil’s force was pitted against the ten-thousand-strong splinter force that had attacked the ogres, plus another thirty thousand, the advance force from the main horde. Half that number were now behind the lizardmen.

  It gave Gabil pause, but only for a moment. He decided to try breaking through the army in front of him. If things turned against him here, the lizardmen would be surrounded on all sides and annihilated—to say nothing of the much slower goblins. And while Gabil didn’t see the goblins as much more than cannon fodder, he wasn’t heartless enough to simply abandon the whole lot at once.

  “After me, men!” he shouted as he began to run forward. “We’re breaking through the orc encirclement!”

  If this was a typical orcish army, one not under the effects of Ravenous, Gabil’s desperation tactic might have had a chance. But now, that was only a hypothetical. The reality was much harsher.

  In a moment’s time, the powerful attack the lizardmen launched at the orcs before them ended with a whimper. And at that moment, the lizardman army—and by extension, Gabil himself—doomed themselves to defeat.

  The encirclement was almost fully complete now, and more orcs from the main horde were flowing in. There was no refuge from the enemy, in any direction. They were like a bug surrounded by a boundless number of army ants. As much as they wanted to resist, they were doomed to fall sooner or later.

  Gabil was not incompetent. In an instant, he recognized the dilemma his army faced. But as for why it had happened—that was beyond his intellectual skills. He knew they had been the overwhelming favorite, and all of a sudden, their attacks were having next to no effect. It was unthinkable to him.

  Yet, he pressed on, trying everything his army was still capable of doing. He called for his troops, attempting to rally them back into position. The goblins were almost hysterical, and their panic was beginning to affect the lizardmen as well. He had to prevent that, no matter what, because once panic took over, the entire chain of command would fall apart. Then came defeat, and then annihilation.

  He considered a retreat, but only for a moment. He knew there was no escape route left. Even if they could punch their way through this encirclement, there was no place to escape to anymore.

  Once he had wrested control from his father, he had ensured that all the troops under his command had exited the caverns safely—but the caverns were too tight to let them all back in. It would be a stampede if he gave the order, the entrances quickly becoming choked with crushed and mangled goblin bodies, and they would be left waiting for death at the orcs’ hands.

  Assuming they could even reach the caverns now. There was always the forest to flee to, but with the orcs suddenly quicker on their feet than before, all the forest offered was a future where they’d be chased down and picked off.

  So no retreat. Gabil could understand that much. And now, finally, he understood why his father had taken such a conservative approach. He knew how impossibly stupid he had been.

  But it was too late for regrets. What could he do right now? Not much. Nothing, in fact, apart from rallying his forces and doing whatever he could to calm their anxieties.

  “Gah-ha-ha-ha!” he shouted gleefully. “Don’t you start panicking on me, boys! I’m right here with all of you! We could never lose to these pigs!”

  By now, he was having trouble believing it, but he had to say it anyway. His troops needed inspiration, even as their fates were quickly catching up with them.

  Haah…

  The chief, too, was full of regret—regret that he couldn’t convince Gabil that the orc lord was a real threat and not some fairy-tale bogeyman. Now he realized that his son needed things explained in more concrete, visceral terms. He didn’t place enough importance on that, and now he hated himself for it.

  This is all my fault, he thought. If he had a more accurate idea of what the orc lord could do, perhaps Gabil would have been a bit more careful. But that didn’t matter anymore. The chief sighed as he quelled the thought from his mind.

  He still had things to do. His brethren were still in that large underground chamber, anxiety all over their faces.

  In that chamber, there were four wide routes to the marshlands, along with one escape route behind them. That route connected directly to a hilltop near the foot of the mountains. It would be the long way to the forest, but it was safely away from the marshes themselves—and the corridor was a straight shot, ensuring that women and children could evacuate through it without getting lost.

  Which meant that the four pathways at the front of the chamber were the main worry right now. The forces that had been launching attacks at the interior orcs had slowly, but surely, retreated back through them all. The final line of defense deployed in each one numbered around fifteen hundred at this point; not all the platoons had made it fully inside yet.

  The orc numbers were high. With so many, they would discover this location soon enough. Before they did, the chief at least wanted the entire force back there, if he could.

  He shot a glance back at the escape route. This was a large chamber, but it was now crowded with so many lizardmen that the space felt cramped. If the orcs swarmed in here without warning, he doubted they could all flee in time. They had best start evacuating now, while things could still be kept orderly. It would take just a single spark, a moment of panic, to plunge this room into chaos.

  But what if they did all make into the forest? Would the orcs simply find and massacre them over there? It seemed plausible. And even without the orcs, the forest presented an unclear future for everyone.

  For now, they needed more time. Time to wait for reinforcements, despite the chief having no idea if they were coming or not.

  But the chief didn’t get to enjoy the dream for long. The sounds of battle began echoing from a corridor, accompanied by the smell of blood mixed with sweat and metal.

  They’re here…

  Anxiety pervaded the chamber. The chief sprang into action, bringing the women and children to the rear of the chamber and positioning those who could fight up front, just in case the orcs had broken the blockade. The fighters formed an arc ahead of them, readying their spears far earlier than they expected.

  All four corridors in front should have been fully blocked off. The lizardmen were instructed to pick off the orcs as they appeared, giving them no quarter regardless of how much weaker they were. The hallways were narrow enough that only a few orcs could engage at once, a welcome advantage. In a one-on-one fight, a lizardman could make quick work of any orcish soldier—and this formation, the chief thought, offered them at least a few advantages.

  Things worked as the chief thought they would, at first. The orcs were stronger than normal, it was true, but the lizardmen were handling them well enough.

  The forces assigned to each of the four corridors devoted themselves to staving off the hordes. They took turns at the front lines, ensuring they were careful with their work, but not even they could last forever. The corpses piled up near the exits, but the orcs simply consumed them and kept pushing forward. It was such a horrid sight that even the hardiest of the lizardmen couldn’t deny the fear it began to strike in their hearts.

  Then, the decisive moment came. A yellowish aura covered the orcs.

  What on…? the chief thought, just as an even greater nightmare attacked him. The orcs used to be a level below the lizardmen in strength. Now, it was disturbingly even. The difference wasn’t dramatic, but it was more than enough to destroy the equilibrium from before. Quickly and efficiently, it removed any advantage the lizardmen enjoyed up to now.

  Observing the battle, the chief realized they’d be lu
cky to last the day like this. The reinforcements would come after three days, if they came at all. It was untenable, and already they were losing good lizardmen at the defense lines.

  They had to get the women and children out. It beat waiting for their doom in there.

  “Listen to me! I will have to ask you all a favor. It is a grim one, but it must be carried out, or else the history of our people ends right now, on this very day. We must survive. And I will provide you the time to do it!”

  Escape was pointless. It would just extend the misery they all experienced before their ultimate deaths. He knew that…but there was still one final dream he could hope for.

  “You must get out of here, now, and place your trust upon the monster known as Rimuru! Now, go! Go, all of you!”

  “Heh-heh-heh-heh! The path is blocked, my friend!”

  A group of orcs walked out from the escape route, firmly crushing the chief’s final hope. They were orc knights, clad in full-plate armor—and as they entered the light, screams began emanating from one of the four outer corridors.

  Appearing behind the shouts of pain was a hideous-looking orc, his body covered in jet-black armor that was spattered with blood from head to toe. This most unusual orc was a bizarre sight, the fires of insanity burning in his eyes.

  Is that…the orc lord?!

  The chief was stunned as he beheld the figure, far larger than even the orc knights. But if anything, the truth was even worse.

  “You will all serve as an offering to our mighty orc lord,” the orc in black intoned. “We will not let a single one of you escape.”

  Now the chief knew who he was. He was not even the orc lord, just another one of his servants—and yet, all this power he wielded. He was an orc general, and now he was here, a heavy long-handled halberd in his hand. The mere sight of him called to mind a boundless hellscape of despair.