by Fuse
So they were interested, then? Well, great. And if they were that enthusiastic about handling the food issue, let them, I’d say. Not like we had any other great ideas.
With all our most pressing issues covered, we ended the conference.
And that was the day my name was first written down in the annals of history.
The day our great alliance was formed was one which, I suppose, no monster would ever be able to forget. It was, after all, the day I decided that each and every one needed a name.
Which, yes, I said I would, and I was super-cool about it.
But why were they counting on me to come up with all those names…? I mean, yeesh, a hundred-fifty thousand orcs alone. Insane. It took me three days to come up with five hundred goblin names, guys! I couldn’t imagine how long it’d take to handle this job.
I gave serious thought to simply up and running away this time, but I still had all those orcish crimes to gobble up for them.
Orcs were D-ranked monsters by nature, but they were more like C-plus while the orc lord was still influencing them. So basically, this was just a matter of me taking in the magicules lost to the air after Geld’s defeat and breathing them back into each one. That way, I could “name” them all without exhausting myself in the process.
The problem I had, though, was what the names should be. Simply going down the alphabet wouldn’t save me this time. Maybe I could divide them by race or start giving out last names or something, but managing all that would be even more of a hassle.
In the end, the solution I came up with was as simple as it was beautiful. The perfect series, one that I could extend for as long as necessary, all the way to infinity.
That’s right: Numbers. It was a little like assigning an ID number back in my home world, but damn, did it make things easier for me.
So I had all the orcs in the marsh stand in neat lines before me. I was worried they might resent being given such unfashionable names without any right to say no, but the magic they had lost could directly lead to their deaths. They might decide to take matters into their own hands if it came to that, and then the village raids would begin.
The cause of this confusion was the orcs’ numbers. There were too many, in other words, and naming them would help with that, too. Evolving into a higher-level monster would do a lot to lower their reproductive rate, something I saw for myself with the hobgobs.
Now was no time for me to moan about my responsibilities. As Benimaru said, they always had the right not to be named if they didn’t want to. I spread the word, since it’d certainly save me some time, but not a single one took me up on the offer. So much for that.
And so the ordeal began. I decided to start by assigning a basic sort of “tribal” name to each one. I devised ten of these: Mountain, Valley, Hill, Cavern, Ocean, River, Lake, Forest, Grassland, and Desert. If you were part of the Mountain tribe, your name would be along the lines of “Mountain-1M” if male, “Mountain-1F” if female, and we’d just go from there.
What about the generations to come, then? Like I gave a crap. The first son born among the Mountain tribe could be “Mountain-1-1M” for all I cared. Simple. Though maybe it’d be nice to offer enough leeway for middle names and real word–based titles. I had a feeling things might fall apart a bit if two orcs from different tribes had a kid, too. But, hell, let them worry about that. I didn’t care.
And so I consumed some magic lost from each orc and used it to name each one in succession. They were already lined up by tribe, males and females separated, so things actually went pretty quickly. It still took time, but I no longer had to think up fancy names, so at least it was efficient. Wherever each orc was among the lines they formed, those were their names. It didn’t matter to me how each orc related to the next. If they didn’t mind, I sure didn’t.
So we breezed along; I gave the names and one member from each tribe wrote them all down in a ledger, just in case anyone forgot their own. That turned out not to be a problem in the least—it was that special for them all to finally be granted a name of their own. Having part of someone’s soul infusing the name you’re given must make a lot of difference.
The naming process continued anon. Once I got in the swing of things, it took maybe five seconds per orc, although I still lost time here and there. It was going to take a grand total of ten days and ten nights to wrap it all up. I had the Sage to thank for letting me pull that feat off, but I had a feeling that I’d never want to look at a number again for a good while to come.
Of course, while I was busy naming a small city’s worth of orcs, my ogre mages weren’t just screwing around. They were on their way to the treant settlement, guided by Treyni. I had left procuring our food supply to them, although privately, I had my concerns about how they’d come up with enough.
Treants were monsters that lived off water, sunlight, air, and magic. They didn’t need food in the first place. But they did produce fruit from the magic they didn’t need, which were beyond the reach of most—treants couldn’t set foot nor root outside of their own sanctuary, so they simply collected and stored the fruit on-site.
These were magical fruits, of course, and when dehydrated, they would never go bad. People called these dried treants, and as I found out later, they were considered rare delicacies on the public market, going for outlandish prices among foodies and the like. Considering how treants almost never connected to the outside world, you just didn’t see them all that much. But rarity alone didn’t dictate the prices—dried treants were packed with an intense amount of magical energy, enough to keep you alive and well for seven days at a time without even feeling hungry. A condensed drop of manna from heaven, in other words.
It was these dried treants that we were apparently going to receive a bountiful supply of, helping the orcs stave off starvation.
I wasn’t too worried about the transport process. Keeping up proper supply routes was always the thorniest part of waging war; starving the soldiers on the front lines quickly spelled total defeat. They needed to be fed, and that was always a logistical challenge—but these fruits didn’t take up much space at all.
The real problem was transport time, and the tempest wolves were ready to help with that—or to be exact, the starwolves evolved from them. As a newly minted tempest starwolf and leader of his pack, Ranga was able to evolve all the other wolves in his pack to regular non–tempest starwolf status. Each one was ranked around B, making them high-level magical beasts, and while we still only had a hundred, I had a feeling we’d be caring for more soon.
As part of his newfound skills, Ranga was able to summon something he called a Star Leader, an A-minus commander wolf that would serve as his representative during the transport effort. His take on Replication, I supposed; he could summon and dispel it at will. Geez, Ranga, you really don’t want to leave my shadow, huh? …Ah whatever.
It was worth mentioning that all the starwolves were now capable of Shadow Motioning themselves around. Not at the near-lightning speeds that Soei and Ranga could manage, but still far quicker than their feet could take them. That was the neat thing about Shadow Motion; it always brought you to your destination in a straight line, ignoring all obstacles in between. As a rule of thumb, the starwolves could traverse this straight line at around twice their regular speed.
With their enhanced strength, the starwolves would load up with the food at the treant settlement and bring it back. A regular caravan would take over two months to traverse the roundabout path one way; with them, they could do a round trip in one day. Crazy. We’d need to build a larger cart-accessible highway sometime, but at least that wasn’t a problem for now.
One little snag: The wolves’ hobgoblin riders couldn’t accompany them, since they could only remain in Shadow Motion space for as long as they could hold their breath. It’d be nice if they could be trained to fix that, somehow, but in the meantime they were helping me with the whole orc-naming process. I definitely didn’t want them idle while I was going thr
ough this ten-day-long ordeal.
Either way, we finally had a nice, clean solution to the most present problem facing us. I was satisfied.
Ten days later, I limped my way to the finish line. I could see nothing but numbers dancing in my head by the end, but the feeling of achievement was like nothing else. I mean, we’re talking 150,000 here, you know? Think about even counting that high, and you can get an idea of how much torture it had been.
By the time I had wrapped it up, they were already starting to distribute our new food supply. Fifty pieces of dried treant per person. Each one somberly accepted their ration, fully cognizant that losing it meant death.
The naming process had evolved each orc into a high orc. I didn’t use any of my own magic for it, so they didn’t need to see me as their “ruler” or anything. They entered the alliance under their own free will, and I could only hope that we remained on sunny terms.
In terms of monster strength, they had gone down from their former Ravenous-driven C-plus rank to around a C—which was still better than D, so I’m sure there were no complaints. Their intelligence had undergone a nice upgrade, too, and they had retained all their intrinsic abilities. The evolution, in other words, had made them far more adaptable to a variety of new environments.
Each of the tribes thanked me in turn and set off for their new homes, guided by a squad of ten goblin riders. We were planning to send tents and other supplies once they reached the area of their choice, along with technical instruction so they could build their own settlements. It wouldn’t happen overnight, but wherever they settled down, I was sure they’d have better lives than before, at least.
Treyni was sending notice to the races that lived near the areas where we were planning to have the orcs set up shop. She could teleport around magically, too, pretty much, so the notification process apparently went quickly. Nobody would be willing to turn down the request of a dryad (whatever they thought about it internally), so I hoped no major problems cropped up. We had deliberately chosen areas that weren’t populated by intelligent races, so I figured we’d be fine, but you never know.
Soon, the high orcs set off on the road to their new lives.
But we weren’t done yet. I turned toward the several thousand remaining souls.
It seemed that the orc general, along with the high orcs who directly served him, were insisting upon working directly under my command. I said yes, as reluctant as I was. I did need some spare hands to handle the work around there, and we were still chronically short on people to build the town. They wouldn’t number enough to put a major dent in our food supplies, either.
So I didn’t need to think too much about my decision, even though it meant a lot more people answering to me. Around two thousand, in fact—the remainder of the elite orc corps, numbering two thousand or so, decked out in their black full-plate armor. Their strength must’ve been what helped them survive this long.
If they were going to be my elite guard of sorts, I couldn’t very well put them in the same naming series as the rest. But if not, what, then? Given the yellow auras they emitted, I figured I’d name their tribe after that color instead.
Through the lens of Analyze and Assess—like Shuna, I could use it to analyze people to some extent via my eyes alone—I sized up the elite guard, then lined them up in the order I decided on. I then gave them numbers from strongest to weakest, without dividing them by gender.
Such was the birth of what would later be called the Yellow Numbers.
That left only the orc general to tackle. I had a feeling I’d have to contribute some magic of my own into this one. Fortunately, I already had a name picked out. Hopefully he’d be able to pick up where the previous orc lord left off.
“I hereby declare that you shall inherit the will of the Orc Disaster. You shall be called Geld from now on!”
“Yes, sir!!”
Our eyes met. His overflowed with tears. And the moment I gave the name, the orc general’s body was wrapped in a yellow aura as he began to evolve. At the same time, I could feel the magic flowing out of me. Oh crap. Not that much…
Once more, I was back in sleep mode.
—I have taken the wrong path. But I am happy now. In the end, I was fulfilled.
—Lord Geld, I…I will take your name, and your will. May you rest in peace.
—Indeed. There is no need for you to suffer any longer. You did not warn your father, and no one will blame you for that. I am here precisely because he survived, back then. And your crimes will disappear as well.
—Yes, my lord. By the name I have taken up, I swear to protect the one who has taken all our sins for himself.
—Indeed… I trust you will.
All the magic I put into that sent me into a deep sleep again. I suppose the exact level of consciousness I retained depended on how much magic I spent.
I felt like I had some kind of weird dream, but I couldn’t remember what it was. You’d think I would—I don’t need to sleep any longer, so any dream was bound to be pretty valuable. Couldn’t do much about it then, though.
I awoke to a situation that I probably should have expected by now. There were two thousand soldiers in front of me, now high orcs. Still ranked C-plus, since they were stronger than the rabble, I guess.
Geld, though…
“My loyalty is forever yours, my lord!!” he shouted as I groggily tried to get it together. I cursed him for being so damn ceremonious about everything.
Let’s see. He had evolved into… Whoa, an orc king? That’s pretty much the same level as an orc lord, isn’t it? Hmm. About what I figured. They were functionally identical, but Geld wasn’t as creepy.
He had also gained the unique skill Gourmet, which granted him abilities like Stomach, Receive, and Provide. The latter two were restricted to his own race, but apparently all two thousand of his troops had access to that Stomach. Maybe they could use that to transport supplies to faraway places? What a goofy skill. It could turn the entire transit industry on its side, to say nothing of military supply lines. The only limitation was volume, not type of item. It could store about as much as I could, but it couldn’t hold anything too big—in other words, about the size of an orc itself. A suit of armor was about all it could take in at once. (My Stomach had no such limitation.)
The ability to make his men consume the corpses of their comrades was gone, thankfully. No need any longer, I imagined. Not much point retaining a skill if the user didn’t want it, besides. The magical energy in him had also ballooned to the point where he was easily an A rank on the level of Benimaru.
Overall, if the demon lord Geld hadn’t lost his mind, he probably would’ve wound up turning into a magic-born person like this, a combination of reasoned intelligence and overwhelming presence. I was glad to have more powerful people on my side, but would it really pay for him to follow someone like me? I reminded him that this wasn’t exactly a salaried position, but Geld simply smiled and said that was no problem.
Well, if he said so. I’d feed and clothe him, at least. And if he decided to strike down his own path later, that was fine. I kinda doubted he ever would, though.
Thus, the Grand Naming Project ended.
Before I took my leave, I decided to wish the lizardman chief a fond good-bye.
“Hey. Sorry we never really got a chance to talk amid all this nonsense. Hope we can keep this ship sailing smoothly, huh, Chief?”
“Ah, hello there, Sir Rimuru! There’s no need to call me Chief like that. It puts me on edge to hear it from you!” he exclaimed in surprise.
I knew the monsters had other ways of identifying themselves, but I wasn’t delicate enough to pick up on that junk. His not having a name really annoyed me.
“Well, yeah, but… I know. You’re Gabil’s father, right? Why don’t you try calling yourself Abil, or something?”
I always had a tendency to blurt out whatever was on my mind like that.
“What?!” he exclaimed, half in shock.
An
d so, in the midst of a little friendly chitchat, it came to pass that I named the lord of all the lizardmen who walked the earth. Not every lizardman who existed—ugh, nothing that big again. Just the chief, I figured, and maybe others later, as kind of a reward for their exploits in battle or whatever.
That I inadvertently transformed him into a dragonewt just because he didn’t like “Chief,” well, who’da thunk?
Everything was now well and truly wrapped up. Only about three weeks had passed, but I felt like I was now a battle-hardened veteran. Really, I’m pretty sure I fought harder than anybody else in the marshes. These death matches were really trying on a body.
Let’s just go home and relax a bit.
Gabil was marched up to his father—Abil, the chief.
He had been hauled off to jail the moment the battle had ended, given one morning meal and one evening meal a day, and otherwise nobody said anything to him. That had continued for two weeks straight. His crime of rebellion was obvious to all, and he had accepted this punishment without complaint. He had had the best of intentions when he did the deed, but the results had almost brought the lizardmen to the brink of extinction.
This was all his fault. He recognized that, and he could neither make excuses for it nor intended to. He figured he would receive the death penalty, and the thought did not particularly bother him.
But when he closed his eyes, he could remember the incident. It was more shocking to him than anything; and it made the betrayal of the one who believed in him seem like a petty detail by comparison.
It was the magic-born disguised as a human being completely dominating him, and then taking on the demon lord himself. Even now, he could perfectly recall the sweet little child, his silvery hair flowing in the wind. It almost moved Gabil to tears, the sight of this creature standing strong to protect him. Any pain and anger he felt at Gelmud for turning his back on him was immediately whisked away.
