by Fuse
As I observed all this, a thought struck my mind. You know, this country’s defenses alone could take out a nation or two all by themselves, couldn’t they? Nearly every solder left on defense duty was the equivalent of a B rank, after all. Your garden-variety magical or paranormal beast wouldn’t dare lurk nearby.
Overall, the rule of law and order had really taken hold around here. But that made me worry about monsters coming out of the city, potentially causing havoc somewhere else. It might be better, I thought, to check up on that. So I dragged Veldora and Shion back to town, riding on the back of Ranga.
The moment I entered the city, the local residents and patrolling soldiers immediately took a knee at the side of the road, forming a path for me to follow. It was all so expertly choreographed. I had no idea when they learned how to do it. What’s up with that? I thought—only to find Diablo approaching me from the other end of the path. He gave me a sincere smile, one brimming with joy, as he exchanged glances with Rigurd.
“Welcome back, Sir Rimuru!”
“It fills us with joy to hear of your induction into the Octagram! I am so glad to see you back here safely!”
I appreciated that from Rigurd and Diablo, yes, but…seriously, what’s going on here? And how did you guys know I was crowned a demon lord? That had to be the first time anyone used the term Octagram in this world, too. I should know—I thought of it myself. The questions just kept piling up. Wasn’t Diablo supposed to be out conquering the Kingdom of Farmus right now? Why was he here roping the entire town into doing this little dance number for me?
Starting to feel a little ashamed about all this, I finally decided to ask. “It’s simple, Sir Rimuru,” the smiling Diablo replied. “We had asked Lord Veldora to keep us updated.”
I squinted at Veldora. He immediately averted his eyes. Dude. Come on, man. I don’t know what he’s guilty of yet, but he’s guilty of something.
After I put the screws to him a little, Veldora quickly revealed the truth. It turns out that he agreed to play Tempest informant in exchange for three dessert dishes at the next meal—and he held up his end of the bargain, telling Diablo about everything that happened in the Council.
Now it made sense—why they knew about me being a demon lord and about the Octagram name we had adopted. Maybe I should go so far as to praise Diablo for his data-gathering skills. Even if a person was smart enough to consider paying off someone as powerful as Veldora, only a select few would dare attempt it. Of course, Veldora deserves a lot of credit for actually agreeing with that nonsense, but still, I like this kind of proactive behavior. If all parties involved were pleased, I saw no need to harp on it.
Still…
“Veldora, do you even need to eat?”
“Wh-what kind of nonsense is that, Rimuru?! It’s not a matter of needing to eat or not. I eat because I want to. You hardly need to eat, either, do you?”
Gah!
He had a point. I don’t have much of a leg to stand on here. Shuna’s cooking had improved by leaps and bounds lately, and we had a variety of desserts on offer these days. We managed to perfectly re-create the cream puffs I found in that Englesian café, and we were even inventing things like custard pudding now. The larger array of alcoholic beverages available also contributed to the invention of new taste-tempting treats.
I was having Yoshida, the café owner, help with this, developing new recipes and so forth; he readily agreed, happy to gain access to the drinks we made. “Now,” he gleefully said, “I think I can make a lot of things I couldn’t before.” We already had a few test dishes laid out for our dinner tables; Veldora had tried a few of them during the celebration right after I resurrected him, and the results looked like they honestly shocked the guy.
You sure you should be so easily plied with food like that, Veldora? And all it took to make Milim putty in my hands was just a bit of honey… You know, maybe I could conquer the world with a well-stocked kitchen instead of all these military forces.
As I thought about this, Shion and Diablo were exchanging a few words with each other.
“You did serve as Sir Rimuru’s guardian, did you not?”
“Of course I did! And thanks to that, now we all know you aren’t needed as long as I am around. But what about the task Sir Rimuru gave you?”
“Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh… All is well. I intend to brief Sir Rimuru about it personally.”
Their smiles didn’t even reach their eyes; the rivalry was still as intense as ever, I could see. If I left them to their own devices, they’d be at it all day.
“Guys, can you knock that off?”
“Yes.” Rigurd nodded. “I am sure Sir Rimuru is tired. I believe Haruna has a meal prepared for all of you. We can talk once you are suitably refreshed.”
Thanks, Rigurd. I’m loving this new air of authority you’re giving out.
So I had him lead me through town.
Everyone we passed by was all smiles, ready to go into full-on party mode at the drop of a hat, but Benimaru and his team still weren’t back from their mission. The full celebration could wait until later. For now, I could rest in the knowledge that one thorny problem, at least, was solved.
Thus, I decided to sink into my hot-spring bath, enjoy the food Haruna prepared for me, give myself a mental recharge, and then listen to Diablo’s report. The battle with Clayman ended in total victory for me, and that just left the establishment of Yohm’s new kingdom and our future wrangling with the Western Holy Church to deal with. There would be new negotiations to consider shortly—with the Beast Kingdom of Eurazania, with the Winged Nation of Fulbrosia, with the Dragon Faithful who worshiped Milim—but those all looked bound to end on friendly terms, so there was no need to fret much about them now.
“So,” I asked Diablo as I enjoyed some post-dinner tea, “what have you been up to? I asked you to destroy the Kingdom of Farmus and install Yohm as its new king. If you abandoned that job and came back here, should I assume that to mean you need more resources?”
I was back in slime form for the first time in a while, relaxing in Shion’s lap as I enjoyed the roundness of her breasts over my head. I think that made my question sound even more serene than I intended. If Diablo needed help, I figured someone like Soei could provide it. We had some leeway again for a change; no need to make Diablo fend for himself.
Shion was laughing above me, going on about something like “Oh, I would say being your tea fetcher is the ideal job for Diablo, my lord. Allow me to conquer that kingdom instead!” and so on, but I ignored her. I just couldn’t see her as up to the task. It was probably her way of lending Diablo a helping hand, but I wasn’t listening—and as it turned out, it wasn’t necessary.
“No, Sir Rimuru,” he said as he refilled my cup, “no resources will be necessary. Everything is proceeding smoothly and according to plan.”
Drinking tea in slime form was a bit tricky, so I simply decided to lie back and enjoy the aroma as I prepared to receive his report. Ahhh, bliss. A bliss that abruptly ended with the next thing he said.
“First, I restored all of them to their original condition. Reducing them to inert slabs of meat was proving rather, ah, inconvenient.”
Slabs of what?! What’s he talking about? Shion shivered a little, picking up on my confusion. Wait, was that her interrogation method…? Hoo boy. Better shut my imagination off before things get too dangerous. I had paid a visit to the interrogation room exactly once, warning her not to “go too far” with the three prisoners we held in there, but…well. I honestly didn’t care if Shion killed them, back at that time, so I didn’t push the issue too much. Bit late to regret that now, I suppose.
Things were already looking dicey here, but I kept up a brave face, hiding my turmoil as I encouraged Diablo to continue.
The first thing Diablo did, as he dutifully explained to Rimuru, was restore Church archbishop Reyhiem and palace sorcerer Razen to health.
This was conducted on the way to Farmus, in two wagons surrounded by a
team of mounted guards. Diablo was seated with the three prisoners in one of the wagons—well, “with” wasn’t exactly right, because although the wagon could comfortably house six passengers, Diablo was the only visible figure inside it. The other three had been packed inside boxes on the floor. As, well, living slabs of meat.
What Shion had done was render them into a form almost too hideous to describe, something far removed from anything recognizably human. She had done so in tiny incremental steps to ensure nobody died, slowly and repeatedly exposing their musculature to the outside air, delicately scraping the meat off their bones. To put it less delicately, Shion was using those three to help her learn how to filet human beings alive—while ensuring the subjects felt no physical pain at all. This was Master Chef, Shion’s unique skill, which pushed them all right up to the brink of death, only to revive them with healing potion so she could start her research over from the beginning.
The sight and sensation of having that repeated over and over, seeing their bodies be disassembled and reassembled—all painlessly—broke all three of them for good. You could see it in their anguished expressions—when you could make out their faces at all, what with all the other exposed guts and viscera in the way.
Returning them to Farmus like this, all of them could tell, was a bad idea. So Diablo began to put together a solution, if rather reluctantly. “What a pain,” he groused. “The laws governing their continued existence have been so twisted and warped that healing magic hardly works on them at all.” But the experience also opened his eyes to the power of arts and other unique skills, something that goes beyond mere magic. Even with his all-but-complete knowledge of magic and its rules in this world, he had found a new surprise to play with. It delighted him.
Thus, in that wagon trundling its way to Farmus, Diablo successfully banished the remains of Shion’s force as it was applied to the three prisoners. Reyhiem was first to be revived, followed by Razen. Diablo had no particular order in mind for this, but when it came time to tackle King Edmaris of Farmus, he stopped.
“Oh, thank you, thank you…!”
It was Reyhiem who found his voice first.
“But enough about us,” Razen added. “My king… Please, bring my king back to what he was…”
Diablo rewarded this blind loyalty with a restive glance…and laughed.
“Ee-hee-hee-hee-hee… You, asking favors of me? You understand that the payment for this is dear, very dear?”
There was kindness to his smile—but not a shred of warmth to his eyes.
“Ah… N-no, I…”
Razen turned pale with fear and regret—
—and then he remembered. Diablo, sitting calm and composed in front of him, was not a demon to trifle with. An Arch Demon—or really, nothing even as approachable as that. An Arch Demon would be a threat, enough of one to perhaps spell doom for any smaller nation it pays a visit to. That’s how they earned their Special A rating, qualifying for Calamity status. Their magical force made any half-hearted effort at a magic barrier bend to their will. The fierceness of their aura could blow the defensive fortifications of an entire city away in a single onrush. All that, plus magical spells that crushed anything they encountered. Any adventurer who didn’t rank at least an A themselves had no chance of handling an Arch Demon—simply standing in front of one would be forfeiting their lives. Even Razen would hesitate to confront one.
But that didn’t even compare with Diablo. There didn’t seem to be any aura coming from him at all; he looked merely human. Only his eyes were unique. One glance, and they were unforgettable, like golden moons in the dead of night with slashes of crimson red down the middle. It was alarmingly eerie, but otherwise, he was no different from anyone else—meaning he could simply walk right through any fortifications a city might use to block a lesser demon’s approach.
If humans had any advantage over demons, it was in knowledge and wariness. Monsters could be intelligent as well, but the smarter they were, the more they wanted to show it off—usually in the form of their aura, which they used as a sort of magicule-driven calling card. That was what made barriers sensitive to such energy surges so effective against them. But what about a monster that hid its aura? A Calamity that just appears, in the middle of the street? Razen didn’t even want to imagine that scenario.
A demon smashing through a magic barrier, while regrettable, could at least be anticipated. It’d buy you time to shore up your forces and launch a counterattack. But if that demon could ignore the barrier entirely…anyone could see that it was no laughing matter. Any monster like that would be arch-demon-level or higher. That was Diablo, one of the first Primal Demons.
But there was something even scarier than that. That was the fact that Diablo, this ancient and fearsome demon, was in servitude to another master. The master of all those monsters, with the strikingly beautiful golden eyes and silver-blue hair—shining so bright that you could almost see through him. Fleeting, but possessing power beyond anyone’s recognition. Someone worthy of being called a demon lord.
His mind was filled with sheer terror as he watched this lord massacre an army of twenty thousand, but when they met later, he felt a different emotion. When Razen was being taken away as a prisoner of war, the way this demon lord regarded him… It was like glancing at a pebble on the road. The moment those golden eyes spotted him, Razen was practically intoxicated. Gone was the pain racking his body, the fear of imminent death. And then he understood. There are things in this world that were never meant to be touched. A voice from the heavens booming “Don’t go overboard.” It must have warned Razen then. Don’t count on your chances. Taking on a being who counts a Primal Demon among his servants—no wonder your nation has fallen. To a demon lord like that, destroying Farmus single-handed would be too simple.
Razen remembered it all. Ignoring the lurching and jolting of the wagon, he got out of his seat and kneeled before Diablo.
“Of course I understand. And I hope I can…er, that you will allow me to join you as even your lowliest servant! I swear that my body, and my soul, is yours to utilize. So please, please offer some pity to King Edmaris…”
He was staking all his loyalty on this request. Diablo greeted it with a placid nod.
“Very well. I suppose even someone like you is considered relatively powerful by human standards. I am sure you have your uses. Besides, I had no intention of killing him unless Sir Rimuru ordered me to. I will be glad to free him for you. But…”
However, if the monarch wanted to go back to the way he remembered himself, he would have to work for it. He would need to be shown to the kingdom’s nobility, in the horrifying form he was in now, to show to the world the foolishness of bending a bow against the Rimuru Diablo was so devoted to. Razen waited nervously for Diablo to continue, while Reyhiem was too terrified by the oppressive atmosphere to move an inch.
“But I will let this go just one time. Depending on your future behavior, not only your king’s life, but the very breath of existence that blows over the land of Farmus may be snuffed out.”
He meant it literally. Diablo’s will—meaning, Rimuru’s will—was to be followed, or else. Razen, and Reyhiem, and even King Edmaris in his exposed, twisted, boxed-up form all knew the intent behind the statement. All three were fools, but they were not idiots. Whether they liked it or not, they understood Diablo wouldn’t hesitate to act on that threat. The only way they could remain alive, it was clear now, was to give Diablo their full support.
“Of course, sir! Give us any order you seek! We will cooperate to the best of our ability!”
Reyhiem threw his head close to the floor in a humiliating kowtow, a mental hair’s breadth away from licking Diablo’s boots.
“You have our loyalty, my lord!”
And Razen had already made up his mind. Whether the king was safe mattered little by now. The only thing that had kept Farmus, and its royal lineage, safe for this long was Razen’s pride in his job. Even Edmaris, in all his anguish and desp
eration, could see that. Now, Razen had forsaken him—and thus, forsaken Farmus.
But the king knew it was the best choice available. Defying the demon lord meant the destruction of the nation. King Edmaris had two choices left: pledge his allegiance to the demons or attempt a resistance and be cut down immediately. And the good king was not foolish enough to make the wrong decision at a time like this. Thus, for his last official act as leader of the Kingdom of Farmus, he made the right move.
“As the final king of Farmus,” he declared, with some reluctance but still loudly and clearly, “I promise I will provide any support you require, Sir Diablo.”
Diablo had pledges from all three of them. At that moment, behind the scenes, his Tempter skill was doing its work, ensuring that each one would be in his servitude.
“Don’t worry,” the demon gently whispered with a smile. “Do what I say, and I will make sure you do not suffer for it.”
The land of Farmus was in a state of mass confusion that day. Their lord, King Edmaris, had returned in a shocking state of affairs.
There, in the royal castle’s audience chambers, the collected nobility of the nation gasped in horror. There, atop the throne, a box had been reverently laid upon the cushion. Inside was…a cube of meat, a nauseating mixture of geometry and biology with the king’s face buried in the center. It was alive, its eyes a tad glassy as it stared out of the box, but fully conscious nonetheless.
“Shogo! What madness is this? Why is His Majesty in such a miserable state?!”
“Hear! Hear! And what of the other two? What happened to our royal armies?”
“And what of Folgen?! What is our knight captain doing?! How could this ever have happened with Sir Razen overseeing matters?!”
Panic spread as the noblemen began to shout over one another, fervently trying to mask their fear. Razen, taking the form of Shogo, could hardly blame them.
