by Fuse
That explained why Diablo’s attitude irked Saare so badly…but Diablo’s next statement made the Battlesage doubt his ears.
“…Reveal myself? Ah yes. I have so little interest in strength, I forgot to mention it. Indeed, as you say, I am not an Arch Demon. In fact, I have completed my evolution to Demon Peer. Rather similar, I think you’ll see,” he casually added, “but do try to remember the difference.”
That much really didn’t matter to Diablo—not as much as his name did. It was a trivial matter to him, but a massive crisis to Saare.
He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. What did the
demon before him just say? A Demon Peer? That was…purely the stuff of legend, unofficially classified as a disaster-level threat, and its force far exceeded anything else in the demon family. Not even a higher-level spirit could hope to catch a whiff of that kind of power. It would take multiple elemental lord–class creatures to deal with it.
Only a few very old tomes had examples of one interfering with this world, but it proved that they did exist. Just look at the strongest demon lord that ever walked the earth…
Oh.
Now it made sense to Saare. A demon who had lived for millennia and become a demon lord–class presence, like Diablo mentioned, could evolve into a Demon Peer via some kind of trigger. Of course that evolution would boost his force to such dizzying levels. The Red’s magicule count had ballooned to several times that of a regular Arch Demon, and he had all those extra years of experience, too. Truly, there was no limit to his strength.
The demon hunters’ leader, warily eyeing these events, had fallen unconscious the moment he heard the words Demon Peer. He was overcome—not with fear, but with relief. If he had actually fought that demon… That was too much to even consider. And the joy he felt, avoiding that fate, literally knocked him unconscious.
Nobody could blame the guy. Even Saare was taken by an all-encompassing desire to run away. And the scariest part? Some fool out there was insane enough to give such a rare Arch Demon a name.
What in the name of Luminus could Rimuru have possibly been thinking?!
Saare could feel a cold sweat erupt from every pore in his body. His instincts were sounding the alarm bells, the easygoing attitude of a moment ago now barely a passing memory. He knew how impossible this was.
If Diablo had given his name without hesitation like that, it meant there really was someone out there who had granted it to him. A masterless named creature would never be so eager to share his name, since it would expose him to falling under the control of someone else. It proved that the demon lord Rimuru really was behind this.
But could Rimuru, freshly ordained as a demon lord, even have the energy needed to name an Arch Demon?
There wasn’t much point pondering that question, but Saare couldn’t help but wonder. His mind was just attempting to escape reality at this point.
Then he felt something in motion next to him.
“What are you balking for, Saare?! Let’s you and I take out that sexy-looking demon together!”
Glenda was virtually screaming at him.
“No! Glenda, wait!”
Saare was already too late to stop her. Like the wind, she strode forth, sneaking up to Diablo without a sound and thrusting her black-bladed knife at him. It plunged straight into Diablo’s undefended heart.
“Ha! No threat at all!!”
Glenda laughed. She could tell that hit home. But sadly, Diablo had no intention of dodging that from the start.
“Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh… That is some commendable physical ability. Unfortunately,” he flatly stated, “physical attacks do not work on me.”
That was the truth. Diablo had acquired a trait known as Cancel Melee Attack.
Glenda quickly leaped back a safe distance. “Pfft! What a pain!” Then, ignoring Saare’s warning, she launched a barrage of quick attacks. Even she could tell he was a formidable foe; she no longer openly berated him like before, and she was treating this like a battle against a full-bore demon lord.
But it was all mere sport to Diablo. He was in a realm of his own, power-wise, and nothing Glenda busted out could ever affect him.
Now Glenda realized this—or to be exact, she had sensed as much from the start. Her real goals lay elsewhere.
Saare, resigned to his fate, steeled himself. Unable to abandon Glenda, he joined the battle, unleashing his spiritual force and boosting his physical skills to the max. Wielding the Demonslayer, a Unique weapon obtained through massive amounts of capital, he slashed at Diablo. It didn’t work.
“Dammit! Slashes don’t work on him?! Glenda, buy me some time so I can unleash my holy magic…”
Reasoning that only his strongest magic would knock this menace out, Saare asked Glenda for a hand. Glenda had no response. Diablo spoke in her place.
“I believe your female companion just fled?”
Saare had trouble understanding this at first. Turning around, disbelieving his own ears, he couldn’t find Glenda there. Diablo was right; she had fled the scene long ago.
“Damn herrrrrrr!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. It didn’t accomplish much. Glenda decided unilaterally to start this battle, and then she left Saare to deal with the fallout. It enraged him, but Diablo was right there, sporting his evil grin. It was time for Saare to worry about his own hide, not hers.
I can do this. I have to do this! I need to keep this going until Grigori returns!
With his hopes now pinned on his other stalwart companion, Saare roused his spirit. Grigori had gone to the city to lure the demon over to him. Their target was right here, and thus he should be back shortly. Believing in this, Saare plunged himself into this desperate battle—a fleeing wish that never had any hope of coming true.
As Saare faced these insurmountable odds, Grigori of the Three Battlesages was in a desperate situation of his own.
There, as he ran across the battlefield, he was greeted by a calamity from the skies. It was the mercenary force Yohm had brought on, seemingly fighting to protect the city gate. They were doing what seemed to be a fine job, fending off Farmus’s vanguard force.
This wasn’t the prey Grigori was supposed to be targeting. He had no interest in Farmus’s internal strife; it had nothing to do with him. He was only after the demon who killed Archbishop Reyhiem, and his intelligence stated that he’d be found working undercover in this town.
King Edward was accompanied by those specialists from the East when I saw him, he had thought. Unless they run off on him, I doubt I’ll have much work to do…
But now Grigori was faced with a much more present threat than a demon. It was a gigantic, fearsome wolf in his way.
The wolf, of course, was Ranga, wagging his tail with glee as he sprinted across the heavens. He was light, as light as a feather, and now his feet weren’t kicking against the ground at all. This was Skywalk, a technique only a small handful of magical beasts could hope to learn, and he had acquired it all too naturally.
To Ranga, however, this was a trivial detail. The waves of power released from his body were bringing him pure joy as he whirled around, feeling himself fill up with magical energy. His legs, covered in jet-black fur, were crackling with gold-colored lightning—his aura releasing electricity into the air, whether Ranga meant to or not. It was being controlled by the shining gold horns on his head, radiating a force like a crown, even as the lightning-infused fur shone black like a robe of darkness. He was the king of wolves, and now he had every bit of the majesty that title entailed.
Now he approached the speed of sound in the air, as he instantly sighted the group Diablo tipped him off about. Another moment, and he was back on solid ground—right in front of Grigori.
Accompanying Grigori was a small handful of the Lubelius Imperial Guard. The other five thousand with them were the second wave of Farmus knights sent by Edward as reinforcements.
One of the Farmus generals, an inexperienced member of the nobility, nervously
approached.
“S-Sir Grigori, your orders?”
Hell if I know, he thought.
All of Farmus’s top-notch knights were long gone, erased from the world during the previous attempt to invade Tempest. What remained were the also-rans, the fighters whose skills and brainpower weren’t enough to join in last time. None of them could think for themselves; they relied fully on Grigori, this wonder child from exotic lands, without even the slightest sense of shame.
“General Gaston, you tackle the forces lagging behind us. You saw them advancing from the ground and the sky, right?”
The observation made Gaston come to his senses. “Very well. What about you, Sir Grigori…?”
“Me? Isn’t it obvious? I gotta take that guy on. Python, Garcia, you two join—”
Join Gaston and keep him guarded is what Grigori wanted to say, but he was interrupted by a dark gale-force wind rushing by.
“Wha…?!”
At a speed that only Grigori could react to, Ranga charged right into the forces Gaston led.
“Dammit!” Grigori shouted. “That stupid dog!!” He thrust his halberd forward with all his might; Ranga easily leaped out of harm’s way, then began exercising free rein to wreck the whole troop. Leaping up and down, he kept attacking and attacking, piling up the casualties. Neither Python, nor Garcia, nor all of their many companions could avoid the feast of violence, sending them all crashing to the ground.
And before long, those fangs were being bared at Grigori himself.
Gobta and Gabil were chasing Ranga as fast as they could.
“Come onnnn, Ranga, you’re too faaaast…”
“Indeed. I fear there will be no assignments left for us at the end of this.”
“My brother,” interjected Soka, “please, enough whining. Continue the chase.”
They were all bickering at one another just like usual, but everyone knew they were good friends. Only the three of them thought they were hiding it.
“Right!” bellowed Gobta. “Here we go!”
“Got it!”
Gobta triggered Shadow Motion, accompanied by a hundred of his goblin riders. Gabil flew ahead, a hundred members of Team Hiryu joining him. Soka, meanwhile, returned to Hakuro to give the field commander his report.
As the first person on the battlefield, Gobta was greeted by the sight of heaps of soldiers lying in what felt like a single spot. The knights still in the fray were in a loose circle around Ranga, keeping a prudent distance and praying that Grigori could defeat this beast. The downed knights were all the talented ones—or at least, those courageous enough to engage Ranga and keep Grigori guarded. They paid for that dearly, all gathered together in a heap because Ranga was using his front paws to toss them over there, ensuring he didn’t accidentally trample them to death.
The faces of all the praying knights were strained with despair. Their cheers, loud and enthusiastic at first, were now replaced with stony silence. Grigori was already covered from head to toe in wounds. Victory, at this point, would be a dream wrapped within a dream. Even with Impervious, the steel-like protection covering Grigori, in Ranga’s eye he was just a slightly tougher chew toy than usual. The fact that he couldn’t be knocked out simply meant he had to endure the pain that much longer.
“Whoa!” The sight half panicked Gobta. “That’s, uh, that’s a bad wolf, Ranga! He’s gonna die if you do any more of that!”
“Yes,” Gabil agreed, “we must heal him at once!”
The order made Ranga freeze in place. Noticing the sorry sight around him, he hunched over, tail pointed straight down, shrinking down in size.
“Um… Right. But doesn’t this human wish to play for a while longer…?”
Grigori was unconscious, a broken halberd still in his hand, as Ranga ruefully prodded him with a paw. It was just too pitiful a sight for Gobta and Gabil to stand. Just imagining themselves in his place…
“Um, no, no, I don’t think so, Ranga…”
“No, indeed! Best stop this for now, or else Sir Rimuru will never let you hear the end of it!”
The mention of Rimuru’s name forced Ranga to give. Looking at the two of them with his sad eyes, he finally gave up.
“Oh no. He’ll be angry at me…”
The freed Grigori’s face was caked with drool, his limbs going off in assorted slightly off-kilter directions. Just slightly, mind you, but still in no angle the human body was designed for. He was pretty seriously banged up, in other words, and it was a wonder he continued to draw breath.
But Grigori survived it all. And with the healing potion Gobta provided, he made a full recovery before the sun set on the day. His body may not have paid the price for the experience…but his self-esteem certainly did. In later years, he came to be known in his homeland as the Canophobe Crusader, for reasons he refused to divulge to the general public.
For the remaining forces, Gabil promised not to pursue them further if they retreated, an offer that General Gaston immediately accepted. Word was quickly sent to the battered and bruised forces still attacking the town gate.
So ended the siege of Migam before it really began. And as he left the scene, Gaston could be heard shouting “Beat them? How could we possibly beat them?!”—a quote that became far more famous worldwide than he probably intended.
Come on, Grigori…! Come on! Get over here!!
Saare couldn’t have wished that any harder for himself. But he was in luck—Grigori was coming, draped over Ranga’s back. In fact, Saare’s wish was about to come true in just a few more moments. Grigori probably wasn’t going to provide the services he was looking for, but for Saare right now, ignorance was bliss.
Besides, he reasoned, this Diablo was just too ridiculous a demon to deal with. Here he was, one of the most powerful human beings on the planet, and not even he could fully plumb the depths of this guy’s force. There was no doubting Diablo now. He really was more powerful than the demon lord Valentine. Why would he bother going out of his way to kill Archbishop Reyhiem? A few well-planted threats from Diablo, and he could get literally anyone to worship the ground he walked on.
So why did I even have to deal with this…?
Saare was still expending every effort possible to fend off Diablo’s barrage, but he knew the end was near. His endurance, and his mental acuity, were about to be exhausted.
“Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh… Come on. Put in some more effort. Show me an interesting skill or two.”
And the demon was gleefully enjoying the sight, too. Saare just wanted to cry. From the bottom of his heart, he wanted to go home.
He had been praised as a genius. He was long-lived, thanks to his elven blood, and his dauntless effort helped him sharpen his fighting style to a fine point. His reward for this was the unique skill All-Rounder, which let him fully understand and acquire an opponent’s art after seeing it only once. It worked on the same principle as Hinata’s Usurper, just geared specifically toward arts.
It went without saying that actually using these arts required superior physical ability. Saare knew that well, and thanks to that, he had mastered a wide variety of skills, including complex magic/arts combinations that were among the trickiest moves out there to perform. Adding magical effects like that to his own aura unlocked access to some incredibly powerful sword slashes. Thus he preferred to use Spiritslash, a basic Battlewill move and also the ultimate way to enhance one’s physical ability. To this he would add whatever element his current foe was weakest against, letting him unleash a strike that could rip through almost any enemy.
That was a source of pride to Saare—and none of that worked here. Before he could even deploy the magic, Diablo analyzed its structure and disassembled it. It robbed Saare of his ability to bend the laws of nature—and without that, there would be no miracles today. Instead, giving up on magic, he opted instead to just fight with the Battlewill art Aura Sword.
“Dammit,” he bitterly whispered.
The most frustrating thing about all this was how
Diablo wasn’t even seriously trying yet. He could tell. The difference in magical skill alone was like comparing a grown adult to a newborn. The same was true in physical strength. Only in tactical skill, something that could be learned on the battlefield and nowhere else, could Saare safely consider himself close—but even then, Diablo was already closing the gap within the space of this fight. The speed of his growth was dizzying. If he wanted to, Diablo could’ve easily killed Saare right now.
And if he’s not, that must mean…
Diablo had no intention of ending his life. Which meant that someone else out there must have killed Reyhiem. But who?
Yes. Hinata never wanted to be involved with all this, and the incident occurred after she left—as if aiming for that exact moment. It’s so…
…so suspicious. Wait. Not even suspicious. It had to be the Seven Days Clergy behind this. Saare was sure of it. And just then:
(Saare, we’ve come to give you aid.)
(Rejoice! We shall destroy this demon together!)
(Hold the demon back for us. Our magic will take care of him.)
The air warped behind him as Saare felt a new presence, one bearing a stupefying amount of force. They were the members of the Seven Days Clergy—three of them in all—and despite the way they put it, the magic they were attempting to cast was far too dangerous to use in this space.
A good criminal always knows how to destroy the evidence. And in this case, the “evidence” was anyone who knew that Diablo didn’t kill Reyhiem. Which included the journalists on hand. They weren’t idiots—many of them had come to the same realization as Saare by now. It was the whole reason Diablo kept them around.
So if the Clergy wasn’t aiming for Diablo at all…
“Run! Get away!!”
Just as Saare turned toward the press and gave that warning, a massive fireball engulfed the entire area.
A white-hot bolt of force penetrated Hinata’s chest.
