That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, Vol. 3

by Fuse

  “Carillonnnnn… Breaking our promise not to get in each other’s way…” Milim was stewing next to me. Phobio, meanwhile, averted his eyes, as if afraid of her.

  The proud sub–demon lord was just a pale imitation next to a real one. Feeling her seething next to me, I reasoned that just about anyone who came here would’ve wound up the same way. I’d definitely need to ask her about that promise later, too; that sounded important.

  Now that we had gotten everything out of Phobio, I asked him to take his leave.

  Milim’s presence meant that Phobio had no power here, so he glared at the two of us, barked out “You will regret this!” and took his crew out of the city. I told him to relay a message to Carillon, telling him to contact me at a later date if he wanted to negotiate with us, but I doubted he’d ever receive it. When I left that job to Phobio, I knew he’d only provide whatever info made him look good. It’d be better for him to tell the truth, given how his mission was a failure and all, but that was Phobio’s business.

  I’d better get as much info as I can from Milim about this Carillon’s personality and other traits, so I can be ready to deal with whatever he’s got. But how to bring up the topic…?

  “All right, Milim. I’d like some more details.”

  “I can’t let you do that! We made a promise that we wouldn’t meddle with each other, so I can’t even tell you, Rimuru.”

  Ah, thanks for revealing you’ve got a secret, then. Now we had a grown-up and a child trying to outwit each other—and honestly, I liked my chances.

  “Oh no? Was this a promise that you’d keep things a secret from each other?”

  “—No, nothing like that. Just not to meddle—”

  “No? Well, it’s fine, then, isn’t it? I mean, Carillon’s obviously told his minions all about you, huh, Milim? Besides, we’re BFFs, and we gotta help each other out, y’know? And I just figured, I better know what I can about demon lords besides you, Milim. Plus, if I don’t know what kind of promise you made, how can I make sure I don’t accidentally start meddling, huh?” I put a special emphasis on BFFs.

  “Yeah…but…BFFs…”

  Just one more push. I decided to offer a toy to cheer her up.

  “Oh, right— How about I make you a weapon sometime? I can’t help but worry about my BFF, so…”

  “Wah-ha-ha-ha-ha! You’re right! Being BFFs is the most important thing, huh?”

  And down goes Milim. Just way too easy.

  I kept my lips from spreading into a maniacal grin as I nodded with the breezy confidence of a grown-up.

  So I successfully extracted what I wanted from Milim—information on three other demon lords besides her, and what they all wanted; what happened just now; and what was happening behind the scenes. Quite a bit about the mysteries I was concerned about.

  But—wow. Demon lords, trying to create a puppet demon lord of their own… Milim was in on it just to alleviate her boredom, but this was a pretty serious operation, wasn’t it? And if I’m getting in the way of it, then no wonder they’re after us.

  “This…will soon involve other demon lords, will it not, Sir Rimuru?”

  “A sordid state of affairs. We had best bring this up with Treyni at once.”

  “Not a problem! With Sir Rimuru at our side, we have nothing to fear from any of the demon lords!”

  All of us (save one) were holding our heads at this disaster.

  The gale that blew in with Milim’s attack was growing in strength, and it was creeping ever closer to Tempest.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE CONGREGATION

  The Kingdom of Farmus was a vast nation, a sort of front door leading to the assorted nations to the west.

  These nations had no direct ties to the Eastern Empire. Instead of official relations, they had powerful merchants who took it personally upon themselves to distribute in-demand goods between the two lands. Most of this informal trade went through the Armed Nation of Dwargon, which (publicly, at least) was neutral and thus gave their tacit consent to the goods going to and fro between them.

  Part of Farmus’s territory was adjacent to the Dwarven Kingdom, meaning that anyone who lived in one of the so-called Western Nations would have to go through Farmus to reach Dwargon. That is, unless they were willing to brave a path through the Forest of Jura. The Farmus path was far safer and more monster-free, and even with the tariffs and fees applied, it still resulted in a more profitable journey. No merchant in their right mind would opt out of it.

  This all meant that not only rare Eastern Empire goods but also high-quality dwarven weapons and armor could be obtained by the Western Nations through the informal trade market with Farmus. It had made Farmus’s capital of Marris a well-funded and burgeoning trade city, home to people from all over the world, and earned it the nickname of the “front door” to the west. It also meant the kingdom’s coffers were full to overflowing, both from the taxes charged to traders and the revenues from the more well-heeled merchants, paid in exchange for assorted services.

  Among the nations of the west, it was certainly either the richest or very close to it.

  Nidol Migam, Earl of Migam, was indignant.

  Farmus was, indeed, a rich kingdom, but so much power was tipped toward its central government that practically none of those riches reached the nobility tasked with running its more remote regions. Redistribution of wealth was an alien concept around here, and the earldom of Migam never seemed to see any relief from the taxes they were expected to collect from their citizens.

  As with other nations, they were taxed based on their agricultural harvests—and yet, they were also charged with defending their borders against the threats posted by the forest. That was the current source of the Earl of Migam’s indignation.

  “Have you ever heard something so ridiculous?” he spat out, recalling what the finance minister had just told him. Simply remembering it made his blood boil: The Storm Dragon has vanished, and thus, the central government’s special support payments will be ending, as of today. And that was that—no back talk allowed. After being summoned to the capital. After being forced to wait for three hours.

  That stipend had been a huge aid to them, certainly. The earl’s lands went right up to the Forest of Jura, making it a keystone of Farmus’s border defense. But that wasn’t just Migam’s problem. It was a problem that loomed over the entire country.

  “And yet…of all the patronizing things they could have done…!”

  Nidol was so angry, he couldn’t help but verbalize his thoughts. There was too much to consider. He had to think about how he would keep the earldom going.

  Sealed away or not, Veldora the Storm Dragon was a special S-ranked monster and thus ignored at one’s own peril. With the disappearance now public knowledge, it was perhaps understandable that such “special”—i.e., provisional—support payments no longer made sense.

  But the timing couldn’t have been worse. The Storm Dragon was just as much a threat to the monsters, too—and no more dragon meant no more overlord to keep them in check. They needed to strengthen their border forces, if anything, for all the new monster activity—and then they lost their budget for it.

  That, in a nutshell, was what angered Nidol at the moment.

  The government might have a point, but to the Earl of Migam, that didn’t matter.

  How do I protect my land now…?

  Mercenaries cost money. Adventurers from the Free Guild couldn’t be trusted, when push came to shove. Now was exactly when the government should be extending a lifeline to him. They were talentless fools, completely failing to grasp the situation.

  If, heaven forbid, Nidol Migam’s lands were swallowed up by hordes of monsters, it’d cost Farmus all the trust placed upon it by neighboring countries and large-scale merchants. It would be the government that would pay the price for that, and right this minute, it was setting itself up for doom.

  The earl continued to curse his superiors under his breath. None of this was his own respo
nsibility. He knew that, but still…

  He sighed in his wagon, his mind a tad more settled. No one left but the royal family to press upon… He recalled the face of the king. It filled him with despair. The sheer avarice of that man would never allow him to care about the fate of some patch of frontier land. It would be blasphemy to say that out loud, but those were Nidol’s honest feelings.

  Without the pretext of the Storm Dragon to prop him up, the Earl of Migam might be forced to raise taxes, even.

  His territory bordered only two other areas: Central Farmus and the forest. There was no reason to prepare for invasion from other countries, and thus no need for a permanent standing army. The earl’s territorial force, tasked with driving off monsters and magical beasts, numbered no more than a hundred or so knights.

  The number made Nidol wince.

  Technically speaking, the earl had been taking the special stipend and pocketing it. The payments were meant to keep up strict patrols across the border with the Forest of Jura, but in this far-off region with no need for a large army, all they had to worry about was handling monsters. With the rise of the Free Guild over the past decade or so, too, the costs of dispatching monsters had gone down a great deal.

  Thus, this whole disaster was something of a comeuppance for the earl himself, payback for failing to enact the measures he should have. He was aware of that, but it was still a bitter pill for Nidol to swallow.

  It all began with a missive from the Western Holy Church. The official announcement that the Storm Dragon had vanished came via magic courier, and it forced the Earl of Migam to take action.

  The Western Holy Church was the state religion of the Holy Empire of Lubelius. It worshipped a single god, Luminus, as its absolute deity, and served as the headquarters of what was generally the largest religion practiced across the Western Nations. This broad faith was for good reason—there were paladins within their armies, holy knights who each boasted A-ranked powers and beyond, and they were trusted and revered as reliable experts in the slaying of monsters.

  The Church’s central creed revolved around eradicating monsters from the world, and thus whenever a smaller nation had an issue with such creatures it couldn’t handle alone, the Church would send Crusader paladin forces to aid them.

  Such a virtuous organization, working for the good of the faithful, would never send false information to its people. The Church was already alerting him about monsters growing more active in the forest—it had to be true, Nidol concluded. So he reluctantly sought to reinforce his own force of knights. A hundred would be enough to simply patrol the forest, but should the monsters fall out of control, being unprepared for it would be a problem. His knights needed to stay in place—that was his conclusion.

  So citing emergency provisions, he called in retired knights and the like, successfully beefing up his force to three times its original size. But that still didn’t quell his fears. It would take at least ten years, he thought, for a new pecking order to make itself known among the monsters. Relying on retired knights to weather that long, long decade would be tough.

  Requisitioning Free Guild adventurers would place pressure on his financial affairs. Calling for an emergency draft was a last resort. For now, he would have to hope for a healthy crew of volunteers.

  The adventurers would gladly take up a monster-slaying role around the forest, but that came at a price—a price that ballooned depending on the danger rank awarded. Having them permanently stationed in Migam was out of the question, but if the worst happened, he still needed to consider tapping their resources. He had already used up most of the government’s special stipend, but his earldom was not facing a financial crisis yet—for the most part, those funds went toward his personal entertainment anyway.

  Right now, while the retirees were back on the force, Nidol figured he needed to raise a new generation of young knights at once. It was, he imagined, the best measure he could take at the moment. So he funneled all future special stipend funds into the force, along with some of his own money—no point scrimping now.

  And it seemed to work. Over time, it seemed like it would all come together. And then the central government summoned him and took his funding away. Who could blame Nidol for losing his temper? Not that being a lazy, embezzling ruler would earn him much sympathy…

  In his wagon, as he returned home, Nidol continuously racked his brain, figuring out what he should do next. His mind was full of financial issues. There was no more space in it for the even thornier problems awaiting him soon enough.

  Upon arriving back at his own earldom, the Earl of Migam was greeted by a request from Franz, the local guild master, for a meeting. The earl agreed to it, wanting to discuss how to defend the land going forward, and they arranged a conference the following day.

  The guild master was practically breathing down his neck, pleading that now was no time to act slowly. Franz was usually a calm, even-minded leader, and seeing him in such a lather was a concern. It made Nidol fear the worst, so he ignored the usual procedure and immediately gave permission for the meeting.

  “This is an unverified report, but it is said that an orc lord has appeared.” The next day, Franz offered only a brief hello and told him.

  “…What did you say? An orc lord?! And what do you mean, unverified?”

  It almost made the good earl faint on the spot. This was a serious crisis, and only his rage kept him going as he confronted Franz.

  Unperturbed, Franz continued his report, stating that adventurers from the kingdom of Blumund had heard rumors of the orc lord.

  “I would like your help in gauging the nature of this threat. To be exact, I would like you to send out an exploratory force for us.”

  There was nothing unusual about this request from the serene guild master to the half-hysterical earl. The Free Guild was not a charity, and it was unaffiliated with any government. They existed in cooperation with, but not within the framework of, the earldom.

  “If you would like us to handle this investigation, we could accept that, at a special emergency price…”

  “Silence! You money-grubbing weasel!!”

  Look who’s talking, Franz thought, remaining silently composed. He knew the matter needed looking into either way. Franz had a duty to keep his guild members safe; he wasn’t going to expose them to dangerous missions without a suitable reward.

  Normally, monster-hunting requests like this would need to follow a certain procedure. A town or village would file an official request, providing all the relevant information to the Free Guild. The guild would then use eyewitness accounts and the like to assign a danger level to the monster (or monsters) in question, sometimes sending appropriate personnel to further examine the issue.

  Guild regulations dictated that for particularly dicey jobs, pre-evaluation was even more vital to ensure the right rank was assigned. If you wanted a monster slain, you needed several adventurers (guild rules stated three or more) of similar level or higher to tackle it.

  Promotions were awarded to members based on their ability to defeat a given target one-on-one, but based on safety considerations, such duels were not the norm during guild business. This was because even if a group of adventurers went against a monster, if the level disparity was significant, they would most likely be wiped out—or at best, eke out a victory at the cost of several deaths and severe injuries to the survivors.

  This all meant that Franz couldn’t just throw a posse of brave men and women at a monster the moment it was spotted.

  Normally, they’d have the time to take a more gradual approach—but they were being swamped. Monsters were showing up more and more frequently lately. The time lag between taking a request, sending people out to handle it, and coming back was turning into a problem. There were starting not to be enough adventurers to go around.

  They needed some kind of organization that could patrol the villages, tasked with handling monster duties without having to file a formal request. And they didn’t have
that, so instead, Franz asked the earl for more intel. It was all perfectly normal.

  Having this situation so politely and thoroughly laid out for him made the earl fall into silence.

  He didn’t want to deploy his own knights to keep his own town safe, but he couldn’t just leave the countryside villages to fend for themselves. As long as they paid taxes, the earl had a duty to protect them all—even as it squeezed the noose tighter around his neck. Franz’s guidance was perfectly logical, and Nidol could mount no objections to it. This lack of guild personnel was likely the reason Franz requested this meeting in the first place.

  And what about that orc lord? This beast of a monster that consumes everything it comes across? That was nothing to ignore, either. He would have to file a full report with the central government and ask for reinforcements—and as a result, gathering more information was job one. Reliable intelligence was the only thing that would make that bureaucracy take action.

  So an investigation was a must—and an urgent one.

  “And another thing, I have another unidentified report, and one I find rather difficult to relay to you…” Franz’s voice was grave as the Earl of Migam fretted over what to do with the expeditionary force.

  His face was embittered enough to make the earl fear the worst.

  “Enough bluster. Give it to me.”

  “My pardons, sir. The orc lord’s armies reportedly—”

  “His armies?! He’s already built up that much of a force?!”

  “Yes, I am sad to say. And they are reported to number…approximately two hundred thousand.”

  “…What? Can you truly be serious?!”

  Nidol was shouting at the top of his lungs. It did nothing to affect Franz’s facial expression. He was not one to make jokes, and the earl knew this was the truth. But it was tough to take. It was just too far separated from reality.

  “And how sure are you about this?” he asked, silently praising himself for not fainting on the spot.