Eventually she made up her mind, raised her left hand, and opened it.
A scroll rose from her palm like it had bobbed to the surface of a lake. She’d been keeping the scroll inside her body. Originally, it had been given to her to use for communication in case of an impending crisis. At this point, due to Demiurge’s research, their prospects for low-tier scroll creation were fine, but back when Solution was dispatched, they hadn’t been, so this Message scroll was designated for emergency use only. She judged that this was a situation in which she should use it.
She unrolled the scroll and unleashed the spell it contained. The item scattered to pieces that turned to ashes. Before they could fall to the ground, they had completely disappeared.
As the spell took effect, Solution sensed herself connecting to the other person with something that felt like string and spoke. “Lord Ainz, are you there?”
“Solution…? What in the world is it? If you’re contacting me, it must be some sort of emergency?”
“Yes.” She paused for just a moment. She hesitated due to her loyalty to Sebas, and she wondered if she hadn’t simply misunderstood. But her faithfulness to Lord Ainz won over.
And although they should be acting in order to maximize the gains of the Forty-One Supreme Beings, Sebas’s current actions could be interpreted as contravening that.
That was why she wanted to get their master’s opinion. “It’s possible that Sebas is a traitor.”
“What? …Agh!! …Er…how could that be? Ahem. Quit joking around, Solution. I won’t stand for such claims without proof… Do you have any?”
“Well, I’m not sure it can be called proof, but…”
Chapter 4 | Congregated Men
1
3 Late Fire Moon (September) 4:01 AM
The exhaustion that had built and built inside Brain hit him all at once, and from the moment he entered Gazef’s house, he slept deeply for almost an entire day. When he woke up, he ate a light meal and fell asleep again.
He didn’t want to admit it, but the reason he could rest so well inside Gazef’s house was that he felt safe. He knew that if Shalltear attacked, that monster would easily defeat even Gazef. But still, the fact that he was at his onetime rival’s house, which seemed like the securest place in the world to him, relaxed Brain in a way that allowed for this much unguarded rest.
Light slanted through the shutters onto Brain’s face.
The sunlight shone through his eyelids and woke him from a sleep so deep he didn’t even dream.
After he opened his eyes, he squinted in the bright sun and held up a hand to block a ray.
Sitting up on the bed, he hurriedly took in his surroundings like a baby mouse. The plain room contained only the bare minimum of furniture. The gear he’d been wearing was piled in one corner.
“So this is the room the captain of the Royal Select offers his guests, huh?” he commented snarkily at the empty room. Relieved no one was around, he stretched. His joints popped audibly, his stiff muscles relaxed, and his circulation improved.
He let out a big yawn.
“…He must have one of his men stay over now and then. This room is probably a letdown…”
The reason nobles lived showy lives wasn’t only because they were fond of luxury. It was to keep up appearances.
Likewise, if a rank-and-file soldier’s superior lived in a splendidly furnished environment, it would spur him on to apply himself in pursuing promotions.
“Eh, I guess it’s none of my business,” Brain grumbled. Then he snickered—not at Gazef but at himself.
If he was capable of considering such trivial things, perhaps he had healed a little from the two great shocks his mind had suffered.
He remembered the image of that powerful monster and couldn’t keep his hands from shaking.
“Yeah…” The fear clinging to his psyche wouldn’t come off so easily.
Shalltear Bloodfallen.
An absolute power that even Brain Unglaus, who had sacrificed everything he had to study the blade, couldn’t begin to approach. A monster among monsters possessing all the beauty in the world, or so it seemed. A possessor of true strength.
Just remembering her summoned a fear that permeated his entire body.
As a slave to the terror that the monster would come after him, he’d been on the run in the capital with almost no sleep or rest. He’d kept moving, never getting enough rest, ruled by the worries that she would show up while he was sleeping or slink out of the darkness as he ran down the road at night.
The reason he’d thought to flee to the capital was that if he hid himself in a place with lots of people, he would be harder to find. But he hadn’t anticipated that the punishing psychological exhaustion of his severe fugitive lifestyle would find him wishing for death.
He hadn’t anticipated running into Gazef, either. Or had the faint hope that Gazef could do something unconsciously pointed his feet in the captain’s direction? He didn’t know.
He had nothing.
He opened his hands and they contained nothing.
He glanced at the pile of gear in the corner and saw the katana he’d acquired in order to wrench victory from Gazef Stronoff’s grip.
But what would be the point in beating him? Now that he knew of a power infinitely greater than them both, what significance did their low-level competitions have?
“Plowing fields…probably would have been more meaningful.” As he mocked himself, he sensed someone standing outside the door.
“Unglaus, seems like…you’re up?” The voice belonged to the master of the house.
“Yeah, Stronoff. I’m awake.”
The door opened wide, and Gazef walked in. He was fully outfitted.
“You really slept, huh? I’m surprised how well you rested!”
“Yeah, thanks for letting me have a good break. I feel bad.”
“No worries. But I have to head to the castle for now. When I get back, tell me what happened to you.”
“…It’s an awful story, though. You might end up like me.”
“Still, I can’t not hear it. If we talk over drinks, I should be able to handle it… Till then, make yourself at home. If you want some food, just let the help know and they should feed you. And if you’re going out into the city… Do you have any money?”
“…No, but if it comes to it, I’ll just sell some of my items.” He held up his ringed hand so Gazef could see it.
“Are you sure? Those are pretty valuable, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
He had obtained them to defeat Gazef in the first place. What purpose was there in treasuring them now that he knew that all his efforts were pointless?
“Well, sometimes you can’t sell expensive items so easily, and it might take time for the buyer to get their money together. Take this.”
Gazef took out a small cloth pouch. When he put it in Brain’s hand, there was a clinking sound of metal on metal.
“…Ah, well, thanks. I’ll borrow this, then.”
2
3 Late Fire Moon (September) 10:31 AM
Sebas walked, wondering what to do about the five men who’d been tailing him ever since he left the house. He wasn’t going anywhere in particular. He’d set out with the belief that getting moving would change his mood and help him find a good idea.
After a little while, he saw a crowd of people in the road up ahead.
There were voices that could be described as neither shouts nor laughs and the sound of something being struck. People in the mob were saying things like “He’s going to die” and “Maybe we should call a soldier…”
He couldn’t see through the throng, but it was clear that some sort of violence was being committed.
Sebas thought he would take a different street, went to change direction, hesitated for just a split second—and then proceeded.
He was heading for the center of the crowd.
“Excuse me.” With those two words, he wove his way
in. Apparently shocked, in awe of this figure slipping by them with unexpected agility for an elderly man, the people he passed by stiffened.
There seemed to be others trying to reach the middle of the crowd—he could hear voices saying, “Let me through!”—but they struggled, unable to break through the mass of people.
Having propelled himself to the center with no trouble, Sebas learned with his own eyes what was going on.
There were several poorly dressed men kicking something.
Sebas strode silently forward to within arm’s length of the group.
“What do you want, old man?” One of the five men realized he was there and loudly challenged him.
“I thought you were making a bit of a racket.”
“Are you lookin’ for trouble, too?”
The men swiftly surrounded Sebas and revealed what they’d been kicking in the process. Was it a boy? He was lying limply on his side and bleeding from either his nose or his mouth—it was unclear which. Perhaps because he’d been getting kicked for so long, he was unconscious but apparently still alive.
Sebas stared down the men. Their bodies and breath reeked of booze. And their faces were red from something other than exercise.
You’re drunk, so you can’t keep yourselves from turning violent? “I don’t know what started all this, but how about you leave it at that?” Sebas asked with a blank expression.
“Huh?! This kid’s food stained my shirt! I’m not about to let him off the hook!” One man pointed to something. Certainly, there was a faint stain on the shirt; however, these men’s clothes were all grungy anyway. Considering that, the spot was barely visible.
Sebas looked at the one who seemed like the leader of the five young men—the butler had the senses of a distinguished warrior, so he could pick up differences humans would overlook.
“Hmm…this city isn’t very safe.”
“Huh?” One of the men felt ignored at Sebas’s distant comment and made a noise like he was offended.
“…Leave.”
“Huh? What’d ya say, old man?”
“I’ll say it again. Leave.”
“Why you—!” The leader got red in the face, balled up his fists—and crumpled to the ground.
Many of the surrounding people were shocked—including the other four men.
What Sebas had done was simple. He’d made a fist, struck the man’s jaw with pinpoint precision—at a speed on the very edge of human perception—and rattled his brain with a high-velocity hit. He could throw punches faster than humans could perceive, but if he did that he wouldn’t be able to scare anyone, so he’d held back.
“Do you still want to fight?” Sebas asked quietly.
His composure and strength had overcome the intoxication clouding their minds, and they all apologized as they backed away several steps.
Sebas felt they were apologizing to the wrong person, but he didn’t say anything.
He looked away from the fleeing men carrying their unconscious friend and went to take a step toward the boy, but his foot stopped midway.
What am I doing?
What he needed to do was think of a way to solve his problem. Only an idiot would make more trouble for himself at a time like this. Wasn’t the whole reason he was in his current predicament because he’d acted so compassionately without thinking?
I saved him for now. I should be satisfied with that. With those thoughts in his mind, Sebas approached the figure on the ground. He touched the limp, immobile boy’s back and poured chi into him. A full-powered infusion would have easily healed him completely, but that would definitely have drawn too much attention.
He stopped at the minimum and pointed at someone when their eyes happened to meet. “…Take this child to the shrine. His breastbone may be broken, so take care when you carry him. Put him on a board and try not to bump him around too much.”
When the man nodded at the orders, Sebas set off walking. There was no need to elbow his way through the crowd. The wall of people neatly parted for him.
Right after he left, he sensed that the number of people tailing him had gone up.
There was just one problem—their identity.
The five who had been following him from the mansion had to be Succuronte’s henchmen. So who were the two who joined after the incident with the boy?
The sound of the footsteps and stride length indicated adult males, but Sebas had no idea who they might be.
“Well, thinking about it won’t get me an answer. I guess I’ll…catch them?”
Sebas continued walking, turning down dirtier and dirtier streets. He was still being followed.
“…Are they even trying to hide themselves?” There was no indication they were attempting to conceal their footsteps. Is it because they don’t have that ability, or is there some other reason? Sebas cocked his head and decided he should simply find out. Once the presence of other people had dwindled, right when Sebas was about to make his move, the hoarse—but still young-sounding—male voice of one of his pursuers called out to him.
“Excuse me!”
3
3 Late Fire Moon (September) 10:27 AM
Climb was thinking as he walked back to the castle.
He replayed that morning’s session with Gazef in his mind several times, ruminating on what he could have done to put up a better fight. Around the time he decided on some tactics to try if there was a next time, he discovered a crowd of people making some angry shouts. Two soldiers were watching awkwardly from nearby.
From the middle of the crowd, he could hear a ruckus. And it belonged to no normal voices.
Climb took on a firm expression and strode toward the soldiers. “What are you doing?”
The sudden call from behind startled the soldiers, and they turned to look at Climb.
They were equipped with mail and spears. Over the mail shirts, they wore something like a surcoat with the kingdom’s coat of arms. It was the typical appearance of a kingdom guard, but these two didn’t seem highly trained.
First of all, their physiques were not particularly built. Plus, their beards weren’t neatly shaved, and their mail shirts weren’t polished, which made them look rather unclean. Overall, they seemed sloppy.
“And you are…?” one of the guards asked in a voice that implied confusion and anger at the sudden call from someone younger than him.
“I’m off-duty,” Climb declared, and the man’s consternation showed on his face. Probably because an obviously younger boy seemed to be suggesting his rank was higher.
For the time being, the soldier appeared to judge that taking a humble approach would be smart and straightened up. “There seems to be some sort of disturbance.”
Climb repressed the urge to reprimand them with an I got that much! Unlike the soldiers guarding the castle, the ones patrolling the city were commoners, so they hadn’t been through as much training. They were essentially peasants who’d learned to use a weapon.
Climb moved his eyes from the nervous soldiers to the cluster of people. Rather than expecting these two to do something, it would be faster to act himself.
Maybe he was exceeding the authority of his position by sticking his nose in their business, but he wouldn’t have been able to explain to his compassionate master if he stood by while people suffered.
“You guys wait here.”
Having made up his mind, Climb forced his way into the mass of people without listening for a reply. Even if there was a small gap, he couldn’t slip through. No, it would be strange if there were a human who could.
As he desperately elbowed his way through, nearly getting shoved aside, he heard a voice from the center of the crowd.
“…Leave.”
“Huh? What’d ya say, old man?”
“I’ll say it again. Leave.”
“Why you—!”
This is bad.
They were going to lash out again, this time at an old man.
When Climb popped out of the crowd, fl
ushed after frantically pushing his way through, the first thing he saw was an elderly man—and the men surrounding him. There was a child who looked like a tattered rag at their feet.
The elegance of the well-dressed older man indicated he either was a noble or served one. The robust men around him seemed drunk. A glance was all it would take to tell who was in the wrong.
The man who seemed to be the strongest curled his hands into tight fists. The difference between that man and the old one was overwhelming.
He had a stocky body, bulky muscles, and a violent temperament that wouldn’t hesitate to shed blood. If he hit the older man, he could easily send him flying. The people around them who realized this released faint screams at the thought of the tragedy about to befall the old man.
Climb was the only one among them who sensed something was off.
Certainly, the other man looked more robust, but Climb had the feeling that the absolute power he sensed belonged to the older one.
That momentary distraction meant he lost his chance to stop the violence. The man balled up his fists—and collapsed.
Surprised voices sounded all around Climb.
The old man had made a fist and whacked the drunk’s jaw with terrifying accuracy—at quite a high speed. It was a punch that even Climb, who had trained his eyes to follow fast movements, could only just make out.
“Do you still want to fight?” The old man’s deep, quiet voice asked the question.
His composure and sudden display of strength were incredibly sobering for the drunk men. No, even the spectators were overcome by the elderly man’s drive. The men had completely lost the will to fight.
“U-uhh, we’re sorry.” They all apologized as they backed away several steps. Then they picked up their friend from his awkward position on the ground and fled.
Climb didn’t feel like pursuing them. Mesmerized by the old man’s straight posture, he couldn’t move.
His spine was straight as a sword. Any soldier aspired to cut a figure like that.
After touching the boy’s back, perhaps palpating to examine him, the old man asked a bystander to take care of him and walked off. The crowd parted in a straight line, creating a path, and no one took their eyes off his back. That was the effect of such poise.
The Men of the Kingdom Part I Page 16
