by Fuse
—was stopped by the voice of someone who appeared in front of him.
At that moment, the arrival of this man, Soei, completely changed the destiny of the lizardman race.
Soei smiled a thin smile. He felt, truly, that he had served his master well. To him, this was nothing Benimaru could ever manage, whether he was son of the past king or not. The two had been rivals since childhood, and sooner or later Soei would have become his loyal subject, serving the lord that led the way for the entire ogre race.
But that was all in the past. Now, he had a new master in Rimuru. And the thought pleased him.
The ogres had enjoyed a long era of peace, undisturbed by any kind of conflict. To them, the monsters of the forest were nowhere near challenging enough—and as of late, they haven’t even had any rampaging lesser dragons to deal with. It was a good thing, Soei knew. But he could never deny that he wanted to make full use of all the skills that had been hammered into him.
Then his settlement was attacked by orcs. He cursed his powerlessness on that day. He had assumed their end would come quickly afterward—they were rudderless, unable to avenge their friends and family.
But now, he was happy, and thankful for his happiness. Under his new master, he had been granted a chance at vengeance.
He would never let his pride weaken his guard. That single defeat had taught him a great deal. Along with the humiliating memories, he had etched into his heart exactly how foolish he had been all along.
He had polished his Arts for his master, eliminating his foes, honing everything he had within him. Nothing delighted him more than having orders to follow. And now, Soei was ready to faithfully execute them.
Looking up at the silent man, the chief recognized him as the monster who had met with him earlier. The high-level member of the magic-born races who called himself Soei, the very one who had offered the alliance. He came for me? But we have no alliance forged yet. But, but… Doubts and questions swirled in his mind. Yet, the chief, near the end of his life, could do little. He attempted to speak, clearing the blood from his throat.
“Lord Soei… You have come for me? After we forged ahead, ignoring your advice…? By my very life, please, help the lizardmen—”
He tried his best to entrust his people’s future to Soei before he passed. But now there was another figure there. One he did not recognize before she spoke.
“Father, drink this!”
An aqua-blue container was presented to his mouth. The moment he felt the liquid passing between his fangs, his hideous-looking wounds were magically gone, as if nothing had ever been amiss. In a moment, it had brought him back to perfect health.
“Wha?!”
The chief sprang up, in a state of shock.
“My advice…? What do you mean? Well, it doesn’t matter. I want you to wait here until the appointed day arrives. And try to be careful. Neither my master nor I would enjoy it very much if you were to die on us.”
It sounded so out of place, this cold, oddly calming voice.
He’s saying he’ll keep his promise about the alliance? But…
“But now is no time for that,” he said. “The orcs…”
Then he realized something was off. The orc general, halberd still high in the air, had stopped moving. His face had an odd dark-reddish tint to it, his muscles bulging as he focused all his strength on the upcoming swing.
“That… What is the meaning of…?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve stopped him for now.”
Soei’s comment made the situation clear for the chief. But what did it mean…?
He gave Soei a wild-eyed look. He realized that this orc general, who had completely dominated him in battle a moment ago, was now rendered completely helpless before this envoy.
“What…? What are you…?”
“A pity, though,” Soei blithely commented as he looked at the frozen orc. “I had him captured, I was hoping to torture him so he would be of some use to Sir Rimuru…but it would appear he is sharing information with some outside source. I suppose I will have to kill him, then.”
For Soei, an information merchant of sorts, having data leaked out to the enemy deeply bruised his pride. That was why he always took the utmost care in observing the enemy. A blue light flickered in his eyes now, detecting minute shifts in the magicules in the atmosphere. It indicated he was using Observing Eyes, one of his extra skills, and that skill told him the orc general was transmitting what he saw to someone, perhaps through a crystal orb or other medium.
Soei decided it was better to kill the orc than to have his cover blown. But murder in itself did not interest him that much. So he decided to reveal a little more, in hopes of gauging the enemy’s movements.
“But just killing you would be boring,” he said with a mild smile, “so why don’t I have you relay a message as well? I assume whoever’s controlling you orcs is watching me now, right? Your turn is next. And we’ll make sure you will deeply regret making the ogre mages your enemy.”
And with that, Soei took his eyes off the orc general, no longer interested in him. His work was done, and it was time to take out the trash.
“Die,” he whispered. The next moment, the orc general was torn into millions of fine pieces by the Sticky Steel Thread Soei had wrapped around him.
Right there was the moment that the final form of Threadmaster, a battle move first conceived by Rimuru, was born.
The chief watched, stunned speechless. He tried to keep his mind from racing as he recalled what he had just heard. Then he turned to Soei, not bothering to wipe the sweat from his brow.
Ogre mage… He is among the ogre mages?!
He stared at him, as if looking at something his mind refused to parse. Then he recalled the power he had shown a moment ago. Now it made sense.
Perhaps I should have known. He is a legend along the lines of the orc lord. The next level of ogres…
Ogre mages were the evolved form of ogres, already high-level denizens of the forest. It made sense, then, that the force he exhibited was akin to a high-level magic-born. Well past A rank, and difficult to wrap one’s mind around. So few among the magic-borns ever made it to that point.
But something Soei said rang in the chief’s mind. He had said the ogre “mages.” Plural. There were more of them. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
My decision… he thought. My decision to accept this alliance was the best one I have ever made…
Then the chief sank to the floor. He was sure of it now. If the ogre mages were helping him, the lizardmen would absolutely be saved.
Despite having an orc general defeated in the blink of an eye, the orcish soldiers showed zero sign of panic. The battle continued at a frenzied pace as the guard chief used the recovery potions Soei gave him to tend to the wounded.
Soei wearily eyed the hordes. “We can hardly rest easy with these annoying flies around,” he said, as calm and composed as ever. “I might as well take care of them, too, while I’m at it. Give me one moment, please.”
Shortly after, Soei’s body appeared to disrupt into multiple images of himself. Five shadows leaped forward, each one identical to Soei, right down to his clothing and equipment. They were copies, made with his magical Replication skills, and each one silently began taking action.
Heading for the corridors, they stood before the lizardmen doggedly propping up the halls’ defense. One was stationed at each of the five exits out of the chamber, including the evacuation route. The lizardmen stared in awe at them but let them through regardless.
“You may rest for now,” each one said as he went down his individual paths. As they did, the lizardmen were greeted with an unbelievable sight. The orcish soldiers, who had seemed like demons from hell itself just a moment ago, were helpless as Soei mowed them down by himself. The same sight was unfolding in each of the corridors.
Demonwire Slash.
An efficient, glittering machine of death. In a moment, the Sticky Steel Thread deployed across e
ach corridor was infused with magic power, moving exactly how Soei wanted it to. There was no place to run from it, especially in these tight underground halls.
The moment he executed the move, the orcish soldiers found themselves instantly sliced and diced. It was perhaps lucky for them that they were incapable of fear. From the lead man forward, they were being massacred without even a moment of resistance. Soei showed them no mercy, no pity for even a second, slaughtering the orcs like a hunter reaping the lives of prey caught in his trap.
The orcs to the rear feasted upon the bite-size pieces of orc chopped up by the web-like network of string, ran full-steam forward, and got killed themselves.
The corridors were a twisty mass of passages, and now they were the sole domain of Soei. He had his wires laid out in a dizzying number of ways, and he could alter their locations at any time. To him, the orcs were simply bothersome pests that needed to be exterminated, far too frail to be considered truly enemies. His Replicants silently, efficiently, followed their orders as they carried out the carnage.
The lizardmen were too shocked to say anything. The scene before them played over and over again, filling them with awe and fright. It was strength on a completely different dimension, the work of a person whose power surpassed anything they could even envision in their imaginations.
Beyond this, Soei thought, the Replicants could take care of things themselves. He left the sixth copy there as a contact point, just in case, and then began moving again, undetected by anyone. He was on his way back to Rimuru, his master, seeking a new role for himself.
After Gobta and Ranga went on their way, Benimaru thought in silence for a moment.
“If I could ask,” he said to the hobgoblins within earshot, “can all of you use Shadow Motion?”
The tempest wolves, Ranga’s clan, could use it—what about their partners on the battlefield?
“Not by ourselves, like Gobta can,” replied one of the riders, who sported an eyepatch. “But if we’re with our partners, we can, yes.”
“Yeah! We’re one with our partners, body and soul!”
“Good to hear,” Benimaru said, nodding contentedly. “We’re going to slash our way into the encirclement from the outside, so I want you to Shadow Motion yourselves to Gobta. Sir Rimuru sent him ahead first so it’d be easier to transport the rest of you there.”
“Oh,” another hobgob commented. “Wow, Sir Rimuru’s pretty smart!”
“Yeah! So he had Ranga divert the enemy’s attention while he had Gobta shore up the lizardmen’s position?”
“And then we charge in, regroup with Gobta, and while the enemy’s confused, we turn the tables on them. Right?”
Benimaru nodded. There was a smile on his face, betraying his delight at everyone understanding Rimuru’s train of thought.
“That’s exactly it. And if you understand it, charge in there, now!”
““Yes, my lord!!””
Thus, the goblin riders began their first onrush into the war.
That left only the three ogre mages in the area.
Benimaru began to stretch out his body, not a trace of concern in his mind. As a fighter race who worked as mercenaries and such, ogres bore a particular emotional attachment to having a “master” to rely on. Earning a master to serve for the rest of their lives was the single sincerest wish they all shared.
That, and Benimaru’s warrior past changed his outlook on the world. He knew he tended to act selfishly most of the time. That was why he had hesitated to take over the role of ogre king, back in the day, not that it mattered now. Having such a lofty position would mean he would never have been allowed on the battlefield where death was a constant presence. Now, things were different. He could play a front-and-center role all day if he wanted. He liked where he was, and he had two of his friends with him, following him without complaint.
“It is coming soon,” Hakuro observed, stretching out his body to prepare.
“It is,” Shion chimed. “We must thank Sir Rimuru for providing this chance.”
They, along with Benimaru, saw Rimuru as their master. That was why they felt so safe relying on each other. They were working together for a common master, and Rimuru enjoyed his position leading them both.
“All right. Shall we kick this off, then? The first battle in the glorious victory we will eventually offer to Sir Rimuru?”
The ogres nodded at Benimaru’s words, and instantly, the three took off at top speed. They ran through the lush trees and grass, almost flying along the ground, the smell of water growing stronger in their nostrils. They were upon the marshlands in the blink of an eye, smashing through the orc hordes on the outer perimeter without dropping their speed for a moment.
A blast of energy shot out from Shion’s heavy sword. The orcish soldiers crowded in front of her were blown away before they realized what had happened—and the attack signaled the beginning of their battle.
Weak. That was Benimaru’s first impression. He didn’t have to bother lifting a finger as Shion and Hakuro cut down anyone foolhardy enough to approach.
To Benimaru, though, this wasn’t very fun. His two compatriots were masters of close-quarters combat. Shion also had the Art known as Ogresword Cannon, which let her unleash pure energy from the tip of her blade. From an overhead perspective, Hakuro worked in little dots of activity, while Shion fired lines of lethal bolts from afar. There was no room for Benimaru to do anything else.
“All right! You pigs standing in front of me; you had better run for your lives. Do, and I will spare you.”
None of the orcs flinched. They could hear shouts of “Die, bastard!” and “You will not ridicule us!” as they charged at the ogres, even more enraged than before.
“Prepare to die, then!”
Realizing his foes had no intention of fleeing, Benimaru casually thrust his right hand forward. A black ball of flame flickered to life above it, expanding to about three feet in diameter before he unleashed it. Realizing the danger, the orcish soldiers took evasive action—but they were too late. The fireball continued to expand and accelerate, faster than a hurricane, and the orcs were simply too slow to run from it.
Anyone who touched it was instantly incinerated, not even leaving a pile of ashes behind. But that wasn’t what made the dark fireball terrifying. Several seconds later, upon reaching a large clutch of orcs in front of it, the flame released all the energy it had stored inside. An area three hundred feet in diameter was suddenly cloaked in a dome of pure black, centered around the fireball. Then, a mighty rumble, low and loud enough to freeze the entire battlefield, and the blood of everyone in it.
The entire area was now quiet, robbed of the sounds of war that ruled over it just a moment ago. This was Hellflare, an incendiary attack that dominated like nothing before or since.
In his evolution, Benimaru had obtained the extra skills Control Flame, Dark Flame, and Ranged Barrier. Combining those with his own mystical skills led to this creation, an original skill exclusive to himself.
In a few seconds, the dome disappeared, leaving nothing but scorched earth behind. The marsh water in the area affected had vaporized, the very soil under it turned into glass by the heat. The transformation was stark, and the several thousand orcs who had been under that dome were all now a thing of the past, never knowing what had hit them.
And it all happened within a minute of the first flicker of flame from Benimaru’s hand.
This was the answer Benimaru had for this war. The evolution had turned him into a terrifying magic-born, one whose area-of-effect attacks could now wipe out entire regions at once. He grinned an evil grin.
“Open the way, pigs!” he warned, once again. Now these orcs knew fear. The Ravenous unique skill inoculated them to it to some extent, but Benimaru’s tactical strike was more than enough to stoke the fear at the deepest pits of their stomachs.
This was an attack they could never withstand, no matter what they did. It was on a level they had never experienced before. Mag
ic, they had measures against, but not even the orc generals, equipped with anti-magic full-plate mail, could survive the incineration. Innate resistances to fire, the orcs reasoned, were useless, and they were right—your garden variety of magical immunity wouldn’t work here. This attack was a fearsome antipersonnel weapon, equal to a high-level forbidden incantation.
There was nothing any of the victims could have done. And not even their ashes remained, robbing the survivors of the ability to consume the corpses and strengthen themselves. No orc soldier could handle a high-level magic-born, and his debut struck fear in their hearts.
In a panic, they began to stampede, totally out of control. Nothing could knock them back to their senses now; the only thing in their minds was running, quickly, anywhere away from there.
And it was that opening salvo that signaled to Rimuru and his forces that it was time to join the fray.
Tossing a glance at the chaos he had just unleashed, Benimaru began striding forward. He was perfectly casual, as if taking a stroll in the park, and the two ogres with him were the same. There was nobody left to challenge them, and now they could see the army that engaged Ranga and his comrades.
The orcish soldiers, to them, were no longer an obstacle.
Just as he had come to terms with his upcoming death, Gabil found himself saved. He turned around, intending to offer a word of thanks. These figures looked familiar, but it took a moment for the memory to return to his brain.
Ah! Yes! The ruler of that village that tamed the direwolves!
Gobta’s dimwitted expression matched Gabil’s recollection of the noble hobgoblin that had defeated him in battle.
“Ahh!” he couldn’t help but blurt out. “You! You are the master of that village, yes? Have you come to our assistance?”
Gabil had dismissed him as a scheming coward before, but now that his reinforcements were here, he figured he had the wrong impression all along. Gobta, meanwhile, wasn’t sure how to respond. What’s he goin’ on about? he thought, dumbfounded. This lizardman made so little sense to him that he decided not to grace his madness with a reply.
