A One-Sided Massacre
The encampment had been erected like a crude embrace around the Moonlight Tree Forest. Viscount Nerim frowned as he watched the people gathered there milling about in small clusters, chatting noisily.
"It's truly repulsive," he muttered, his gaze filled with the kind of disdain one might reserve for filth in the gutter. Most of them were mere mercenaries lured by the promise of fat paychecks. When his eyes landed on the camp merchants hawking their wares and the slave traders staring at the forest with naked greed, he shut them tightly.
"There are far too many parts of the empire that need to be carved out one day."
"It's all because His Majesty the Emperor is so incompetent," came the reply.
"Are you seriously committing treason against the imperial family right in front of me?"
"Nobody cares anyway, do they? The First Prince spends half his time cursing out his father."
The viscount's face twisted at the utterly flippant remark coming from his side. Part of him wanted to demand accountability for the insult to the royal house, but the man speaking was far too high-ranking to reprimand. Disguised as an ordinary knight, he possessed snow-white skin stretched over a muscular frame, dull golden hair, and sharp eyes. He looked like any common thug you'd find in a back alley, yet he was one of the empire's few Master-level powerhouses.
The First Prince's blade. The youngest Sword Master in the empire. An orphan with a mercenary background, he had plenty of flaws, but the sheer weight of his title as a Sword Master more than covered for them. Viscount Nerim, who had been tasked by the talent-hungry First Prince with bringing this man along under the pretense of a fantasy-series magic tool, studied him carefully. He wondered how someone who looked like he belonged in a back alley had ever become a Sword Master. Surprisingly well-spoken and polite to his elders, yet his appearance undermined every positive trait.
Feeling uneasy, Nerim reminded himself of their objective here.
"Keep it in mind, Duke Payran. Our goal is to safely escort the High Elf back to the Elf Kingdom."
"I know. That's why I'm here, isn't it?"
"This isn't something to take lightly. Besides the incompetent nobles, there are plenty of dangerous players in these parts."
"You mean the Second Prince's faction, the imperial separatists, the warlocks operating in the shadows, and the rest?"
"The North is far more dangerous than any of them."
"Huh." Unlike Payran, who looked on with interest, the viscount's face remained grim. "The Second Prince's faction? They're our political rivals, so of course they'll be troublesome. The separatists grow bolder the more chaos grips the empire, and the warlocks need no explanation. But the North is on another level entirely."
"Are they really that dangerous? From what I've heard, not that many adventurers have come down from the North to the Central region."
"You saw those adventurers slaughtering mercenaries at the entrance yourself."
At the viscount's words, Payran's gaze shifted toward the entrance of the Moonlight Tree Forest. A mysterious moonlight blocked the only path leading into the woods, and countless corpses lay scattered around it. Among the dead were skilled mercenaries and even knights who had arrogantly declared their family names before demanding duels. They had all been fools, but their strength was genuine. And every last one had been killed by adventurers.
"They certainly hit hard," Payran admitted. "Given that every day up there is a struggle for survival, comparing them to the soft knights of the Central region almost feels like an insult."
"Which is exactly why we need to hurry. Once our informants find a hidden path into the forest, you must slip in unnoticed, locate the High Elf, and persuade her."
"By promising to evacuate all the other races in that forest to a safe location, right?"
"If the Summoner of Edenberg, who has been gathering the other races in the North, comes down here and rescues the High Elf to establish diplomatic ties with the Elf Kingdom, our entire plan will have been for nothing."
"For someone called a summoner, the feats he's shown in the Central region don't sound like anything a summoner would do."
Payran stroked his sword with eyes full of fighting spirit. He had loved fighting since childhood and possessed a violent nature, but he had found ways to channel it. One of those ways was clashing with strong opponents, and he had long wanted to test himself against an adventurer from the North. Especially the Summoner of Edenberg, who somehow sniffed out warlock hideouts like a bloodhound, destroyed them, and accomplished incredible feats. And himself, who had trained in the Demon Realm—comparable to the North—seeking out and fighting powerful beings. Just imagining the battle sent a thrill through him.
"Just in case, even in the worst situation..." the viscount began.
"I know, I know. Don't fight the summoner if he shows up, right?"
"Even the great emperor who led the empire to its golden age hesitated to openly defy the North. Do you want to end up like the current emperor, who tried to control their food supply, got dragged up North, and came back a broken man?"
"That part really is fascinating. Just how incompetent do you have to be to think controlling food supplies would tame the North?"
"...That's why they call him the Tyrant King."
Payran clicked his tongue, thinking of the emperor who clung to life in his sickbed by grasping the cardinal's hem. He suppressed the fighting spirit that had risen within him. As much as he wanted to ignore the viscount and fight, he couldn't. Whatever his past, he now belonged to the First Prince's faction. To maintain the support for the orphans promised in his contract with the prince, he had to restrain his battle lust.
The viscount, watching him, let out a small sound of admiration.
"I must commend the director of the orphanage for raising you so properly."
"If you're grateful, increase your donations to the orphanage. If it weren't for Mother, I wouldn't even be using polite speech with my elders."
"I'm already doing that, aren't I?"
They turned their eyes from the filthy encampment and continued their idle chatter until—
A faint vibration rose from the ground, growing stronger with each passing second.
"Hmm?"
"This sound..."
While Viscount Nerim looked puzzled by the tremor, Payran's expression hardened slightly, as if sensing something.
"Has the entrance barrier cast by the werewolves finally lost its effect?"
"No. The source of the sound is coming from behind the encampment."
At Payran's words, the viscount whipped his head around. The sun had fully set beyond the horizon, making it hard to see, but by channeling mana to his eyes through his family's breathing technique, he spotted a group approaching. Smooth black chitinous exoskeletons, six legs that never stopped moving, sharply honed pincers, and eyes glowing crimson. When he identified the horde of giant ants, each at least two meters long, Viscount Nerim's face turned deathly pale.
"Those are...!"
"You know what they are?"
"War ants! Northern monsters that form colonies of at least several thousand!"
"Holy crap, what kind of monster comes in the thousands?"
"Each individual has the strength of a knight-apprentice! Their special and higher variants are even stronger! How did they get here?!"
Payran whistled at the viscount's explanation. Whether the humans were panicking or not, the war ants advanced in perfect formation, pushing forward those from the rear that were dripping a highly ominous liquid. The belatedly discovered sentries rang the alarm bells as the ants prepared what looked like a coordinated volley, but it was too late.
WHOOSH!
The liquid fired from the ants' abdomens traced arcs through the air before slamming into the wooden barricades. The wood melted like slime on contact, releasing toxic gas. Several nearby mercenaries clutched their throats in agony and collapsed. Soldiers frantically grabbed their weapons and rushed to engage the war ants, but tragically, their spears and swords never reached the acid artillery before their own heads were severed.
"Kiiik."
"Kick."
Three bipedal creatures appeared after decapitating dozens of soldiers, their red eyes gleaming as they surveyed the encampment. Their forms were far closer to human than the ants, and Viscount Nerim's face grew so pale it seemed he might faint.
"Higher variants!"
"I can tell just from the name. Silver-rank by Northern standards, right?"
"The fact that they're here means their queen must be nearby! We have to find the queen immediately!"
As the viscount grew frantic, forgetting all about the High Elf in favor of locating the queen first, Payran stared at the ants with a strange look in his eyes.
"I don't think we'll need to find the queen."
"What?"
No—Payran was looking at the man standing behind the ants. A Gold-rank adventurer radiating overwhelming presence even before the ants appeared, carrying a massive sword-spear over one shoulder. The Summoner of Edenberg. Argo.
He approached as casually as if taking a stroll, glanced at the war ants rampaging through the encampment, then issued orders to the adventurers behind him.
"Just clear a path. The commission is more important than dealing with these things."
"Yes, sir."
The adventurers answered briefly and leaped forward, slaughtering their way across the encampment alongside the war ants. Payran, watching from afar, let out a small whistle of admiration.
"Look at that momentum. I'd lose if I fought him."
"Damn it...! The summoner is already here! Just how fast did he move?"
"If you run straight to the target location without resting for a few days, the timing would be about right."
"Hah!" The viscount's face filled with disbelief at Payran's words, but he quickly accepted it. Denying the reality when the proof stood before their eyes would have been foolish. He gathered the bewildered members of their faction.
"Everyone, stay sharp! The summoner's top priority is rescuing the High Elf! Do not interfere with their path—fall back!"
At the viscount's command, the recovered personnel slowly retreated. The summoner, who had been walking while loosely directing the war ants, turned his gaze toward them. An overwhelming pressure bore down, as if a colossal being were looking down upon them. For a moment, everyone felt as though the world itself was crushing them. The summoner briefly glanced at Payran, who wore a smile full of fighting spirit, then turned his head and continued toward the forest. The crushing pressure vanished.
"Haa!"
"Huff!"
The knights, finally able to breathe freely again, gasped for air. The viscount looked at them and wiped away cold sweat. The man had merely looked their way, yet most of their forces had been completely overwhelmed. He had expected it, but the gap was far more severe than anticipated. He couldn't suppress a groan.
"...What a monster."
This wasn't a fight—it was a one-sided massacre. He didn't know where the man had summoned those monsters from, but several hundred knight-level creatures had inflicted devastating damage on the encampment in a surprise attack. It was fortunate the request took priority; if the assault had continued, everyone in the camp would have been annihilated.
As he clutched his trembling heart and tried to regain his composure, Payran dropped a bombshell beside him.
"I couldn't beat that guy alone. We'd need both of our old men to even have a chance."
"He's that strong?"
"It's not just him. The things he summons look ridiculously powerful too."
When the summoner's gaze had turned their way, Payran had felt countless eyes watching him, as if through an illusion. The fire dragon that could burn everything, the giant from the eternal frozen lands, and many more. Having gauged their strength from the aura they emitted, Payran looked at the summoner—no, at Argo—with regret as the man entered the forest.
"Maybe I should have gone North after all."
If the First Prince hadn't made such an attractive offer, he would have headed North. But when he thought of the children laughing and playing happily at the orphanage, Payran cleanly let go of that lingering attachment. Even if he could return to the past, he would make the same choice.
Returning to his usual demeanor, Payran looked at Viscount Nerim.
"So, what now? With that guy here, our plan seems completely ruined."
"...We'll go with the contingency."
"Contingency?"
Perhaps because he served as a strategist in the First Prince's faction, he had prepared alternative plans for when things went wrong. He gathered his close aides and explained.
"It's known that the Summoner of Edenberg is close to the First Princess's faction, but strictly speaking, he isn't affiliated with her. And he hasn't had any particular conflicts with our side either."
There was certainly some accumulated dislike, but if they approached with a humble attitude, it could be offset. "You plan to take a friendly stance toward the summoner?"
"Something like that. We're not the only ones targeting the High Elf."
At the viscount's words, Payran's gaze turned toward the dismembered corpses. Most of them belonged to hidden warlocks or their collaborators. He didn't know how they had singled them out so precisely, but the enemies' true forces weren't present. The summoner likely knew this too. Since they didn't know what schemes those warlocks might attempt, having even one more collaborator would be advantageous. The more troops protecting their numbers without losses, the better.
The viscount, completely unaware of the Water Realm's existence, racked his brain to find some connection to the High Elf.
I half-ignored the bastards in the encampment and strode confidently straight through the front, walking along the forest path filled with moonlight.
"Aren't we killing the rest?"
"We can deal with them later. Right now, sending the High Elf to the Water Realm for protection is more important."
I quickened my pace as I answered the informant's question. When I had observed the encampment earlier, there had only been one Master-level expert—or Gold-rank by Northern standards. Given the importance of a High Elf, there was no way there would be only one. Moreover, the way that man had acted suggested he was more focused on protecting his own faction members than fighting.
Despite his thuggish appearance, my instincts told me that Master wasn't a bad person.
It's obvious that complicated political elements are involved.
The clean aura and clear eyes of the faction members under that Master made it plain without even needing to ask. They were undoubtedly trying to rescue the High Elf amid the chaos and stack up favor with the Elf Kingdom. I'd confirm the full story later. For now, I increased our speed.
"We don't know when those sinister warlocks might target the High Elf, so let's send her to the Water Realm first and think afterward."
"Then I'll guide the way. Shall I share the information I've gathered to keep things from getting boring?"
"Sounds good."
I focused on the information the informant provided while sinking into thought. A High Elf held immense value as a sacrifice. When I considered how warlocks were constantly watching for any chance to obtain even a single strand of her hair, sending her to the Water Realm would put my mind at ease. Once she was there, I could use Phase Escape to flee even in the worst situation.
Bring all the Sword Masters and Archmages you want. It doesn't matter if I just use Phase Escape.
I inwardly mocked the warlocks and praised my past self for choosing the Summoner class. Remember this: summoners are invincible, and Phase Escape is divine.