Chapter 55
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: Orders for the Frontline
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A military carriage came to a halt at the main gate of a colossal castle, a fortress boasting an insane size of 120 square kilometers, with gates so large even a dragon could pass through without trouble.
Rireu and Alter disembarked first, asking if they could head to their quarters to wash up.
Rireu, being an elf, had hair that wasn't greasy and gave off little scent of sweat. But Alter, an old human who had spent most of his time on watch under the scorching sun, reeked from head to toe.
“Of course. Go on ahead and rest. I can deliver the report by myself anyway.”
After sending Alter and Rireu to their quarters, I asked the guards at the main gate to gather the leaders of each race.
The leaders assembled in the conference room shortly after.
The operation to reclaim the Akilliptus Forest Zone and establish an outpost was critical, one that could heavily sway the tide of the war between the continent’s people and the Mazoku. Thus, the three kings and one emperor had dropped whatever they were doing and rushed over.
...To be honest, it was still a bit overwhelming. But what could I do? There was no choice but to get used to it.
“Oh! You’ve returned, my friend!”
The Dwarf King, a wine glass in one hand, beamed at me. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and the tips of his thick fingers were caked with iron dust.
Moreover, instead of his usual ornate attire, he was dressed in thick, sturdy work clothes. Hammers of various sizes and purposes were tied to his waist, and his gloves were covered in spatter from metalwork.
It seemed he had come straight from his workshop.
“...I know you are busy, but I wish you would maintain a minimum of decorum in an official setting such as this.”
The Elf Queen, dark circles heavy under her eyes, chided the Dwarf King for his disheveled state.
“Who has time for such pathetic formalities? Our soldiers are dying on the battlefield. I’d rather spend that time forging one more sword.”
“...To think the leader of a race doesn’t even know how to dress for the occasion and circumstances.”
“I am well aware of the circumstance that we are at war.”
“I wish you would also acknowledge the circumstance of this being an official meeting. Are you not aware that you are the face representing the dwarves?”
“...”
“...”
Normally, the argument between the Elf Queen and the Dwarf King would have lasted another ten minutes. However, I had heard they had been incredibly busy lately. Perhaps because their minds and bodies were worn from consecutive all-nighters, their dispute came to an end as they each quietly covered their eyes and sighed.
“...Well then, General Bin. It seems everyone is ready to listen. Please report on the status of the Akilliptus Forest Zone operation.”
The emperor, after clearing his throat at the surprisingly quick end to their squabble, addressed me.
His voice held a faint metallic rasp. It seemed he, too, hadn't been sleeping properly.
The entire atmosphere within the castle felt heavy and subdued.
“...Ah, yes, sir. I will now begin the report on the reclamation of the Akilliptus Forest Zone and the construction of the outpost.”
I relayed everything that had happened in the forest zone, leaving nothing out.
From the extermination of the Mazoku, to the smooth progress of the base construction, to meeting a spirit there and receiving its protection, and the incident that occurred while cleansing the forest in return...
“...You received what in return?”
The Orc Chieftain, who had been listening quietly, cut in and let out a laugh of disbelief.
“Rex obtained an artifact as a reward for clearing a dungeon, and I acquired a staff-shaped artifact through the lightning spirit.”
“...”
A momentary silence fell. Thankfully, it wasn't an uncomfortable one.
The leaders of each race simply seemed at a loss for words, captivated by sheer astonishment.
“...Ha! The Sword Saint swore he’d become a monster on par with himself within three years. It seems he wasn’t just talking nonsense.”
The first to break the silence was the Dwarf King, who raised his wine glass with a laugh, still in his work clothes.
“It’s only been about two months since he joined the party, yet at this rate of growth...”
“An artifact... When you say Rex, are you referring to Belzark’s son? I heard he was brought in after being infected with Mazoku blood, but to think he obtained an artifact.”
The leaders of each race accepted my report with surprising ease.
I had expected them to be dumbfounded and grill me with questions about a report that I’d just ‘brought back two artifacts.’
...Do they think a genius mage they're sponsoring is just expected to pull this off?
This was pressuring in its own way.
“You said you also obtained an artifact. Do you know of its effects? If you need a place to test it, just say the word.”
The Elf Queen gazed down at me, her expression one of disbelief at my shocking achievement, before quickly regaining her composure and speaking.
“Ah, the effects of my artifact? I have a rough idea of its abilities. Thank you for your concern.”
“Is it useful? I understand that not all artifacts bring only positive effects.”
Having lived a long life, the Elf Queen seemed to have some knowledge of the nature of weapons known as artifacts.
“Well, it’s a bit ambiguous...”
“Ambiguous? Have you not tested it yet?”
“No, that’s not it...”
“Why bother with a long explanation? Just show them me and the problem will be solved.”
An unnecessarily warm bolt of lightning, emitting a faint glow, shot out from my right hand.
The leaders of each race frowned at the sudden, unfamiliar voice in the conference room and immediately went on alert.
“...This is driving me crazy.”
I didn't have the courage to stop this insane stag, so I just covered my face and let out a sigh.
The warm lightning flowing from my right hand gathered not far from me and the round table, soon taking the form of a massive deer.
“A pleasure. The name’s Dajin. I am the lightning spirit that whelp mentioned earlier.”
I shook my head at Dajin, who was looking down on the leaders with a haughty expression, and said with a sigh.
“...Please, just read the room.”
Seeing the deer suddenly crash the solemn meeting and try to cause a scene, I sincerely wished the bastard would just drop dead.
Would it feel like this if I were reporting on rising sea levels to the presidents of the United States, China, Russia, and France, and suddenly decided to breakdance?
Acapella, at that.
“...This is.”
“I’ve seen a fire spirit, but a lightning spirit is a first.”
“Beautiful.”
“Are you borrowing the spirit’s power?”
The leaders of each race seemed to realize what Dajin was at once.
Anyone with a decent education, even if not a mage, would have at least heard tales of the five great spirits that form the foundation of magic.
I explained to the emperor and the kings the power the staff possessed, and its 'price.'
At first, they looked dumbfounded at the news that I could borrow the power of a transcendent being like Dajin. But when I continued, explaining that its power diminishes the farther I am from the forest, making its actual strength only around the 8th Circle, their expressions turned to disappointment.
...I had the same look on my face when I thought I had a nuclear bomb in my hand.
Everyone reacts the same way.
“Dwarves are all so cute. You’re the king? Where’s your crown? And what’s with your appearance? You’re so grimy, you look like you’ve been rolling in a mud puddle!”
“Ha, I just came from my workshop. If you saw me in my fine clothes, Spirit, you might just faint from shock!”
The Dwarf King laughed off Dajin’s rude remarks, who had taken an interest in him.
“...Well, anyway. This concludes my report.”
I quickly wrapped up my report and stood up, trying to deal with the nuisance Dajin as fast as possible.
“No, remain seated for a moment longer.”
Just as I was about to rise, the emperor, who had been watching me in silence, spoke.
“Ah, yes...”
I awkwardly settled my half-raised backside back into the chair and replied hesitantly.
“...Your Majesty. No matter how grim the situation in Vellaland is, this seems too premature.”
“Don’t you think he needs more time to grow? If we were to lose this boy...”
The Chieftain and the Queen, as if guessing why the emperor had stopped me from leaving, added their own remarks from either side.
“I am aware. I have made this decision knowing all of this. It was made after careful consideration, so I ask that you trust and follow me.”
Despite the two leaders’ negative reactions, the emperor’s eyes were filled with great conviction.
“...Well, if you put it that way, I have no complaints.”
The Elf Queen, after a moment of thought at the emperor’s firm tone, backed down.
What? What’s going on? Why is everyone so serious?
“The current situation in Vellaland is not good. There has been almost no progress in the Maltiel hunt for a month, with only meaningless skirmishes and a war of attrition continuing.”
The emperor used a strong, dignified tone, unlike his usual gentle and warm manner of speaking.
...I have a bad feeling about this.
“Originally, Sir Bin, the plan was for you to officially join the party’s main force after completing all of Alter's lessons. However, in light of your tremendous growth rate, and highly valuing your ability to command a spirit at will, I hereby command you...”
Uh.
“As soon as you have finished your preparations, you are to depart for Vellaland, join the Sword Saint’s party, end the stagnant war of attrition, and bring me the head of the Overlord Maltiel.”
“...”
Excuse me?
“Wai—uh... what?”
I was so flustered I almost questioned the emperor's command. Or did I already? I couldn't tell.
No, was questioning it even the important part right now? Of course, it was important, but in this situation, it felt like it wasn’t...
“You possess sufficient strategic value. And you even have the favor of a spirit.”
The Elf Queen, who had been watching me with pity, offered her simple condolences.
“...Pardon?”
The Elf Queen, of all people, is consoling me?
What kind of mission did I just get assigned?
“We should reconsider... He’s not yet fully fledged. Vellaland is a dangerous place. A place where even those with outstanding combat experience face death every single day...”
The Chieftain lowered his head and whispered into the emperor’s ear, as if trying to keep me from hearing. But thanks to the orc’s characteristically massive chest and vocal cords, his voice, no matter how softly he tried to speak, clearly reached my ears.
“Don’t you worry about that. This one will make sure he doesn’t die.”
Dajin, who was stroking the Dwarf King with warm lightning, must have also heard the Chieftain’s worried whisper, as he suddenly chimed in.
“...For real?”
I stared at Dajin with suspicious eyes.
Dajin nodded with a sly grin.
This bastard. Is that a yes or a no?
“Ooh! Is that true...?!”
The Dwarf King looked up at Dajin, who was stroking his head, and asked loudly.
Dajin, still wearing a wicked smile, whispered to his pet... no, to the dwarf, “Of course.”
It looked like a blatant lie. That bastard just seemed to think it would be fun to throw me onto a battlefield.
“I will give you one week to resupply.”
...What?
“Take a few capable subordinates with you. A reliable infantry is essential for a mage.”
This being a time of war, I had no right to refuse the order.
...Should I run for it now?
* * *
The sky was pitch-black. The sound of groans was incessant. His nose, long accustomed to the smell of blood, could no longer detect its metallic tang, but the occasional screams of agony would never let him fall asleep.
A mage with jet-black hair, a wine-colored robe spattered with mud and blood, a mud-caked grimoire, and trembling fingers, tried to smooth back his constantly falling hair as he gasped for breath.
He sat inside a makeshift tent, but through the torn fabric, he could see the clouds moving.
Watching the dark, ominous clouds that looked ready to unleash a downpour at any moment, he felt a tightness in his chest.
“...Lord Bel, a letter from the emperor.”
Bel.
That was the name of this mage with jet-black hair.
A mage in his mid-thirties belonging to the Sword Saint's party, and a 9th Circle archmage who held the prosperity and future of the School of Flame on his shoulders.
“Leave it there.”
With a trembling hand, Bel picked up the letter resting on the broken desk. Lacking a knife to cut the seal, he had no choice but to rip the tough envelope open with shaking hands.
Bel quietly read the contents of the letter, then approached the Saintess, who was lying on a cot in the tent, staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Read this.”
The Saintess, with a deadpan expression, took the letter from Bel and began to read.
“...A newbie is being assigned here, it says.”
The Saintess didn't reply, only letting out a deep sigh.
“That kid, how old is he?”
Bel Artois asked, glancing at the subordinate waiting at the entrance.
“I heard he’s about sixteen or seventeen. His exact age... they said it’s hard to find out, given his background.”
“Hah, seventeen at most. Then he’s never seen a real battlefield.”
“...I suppose not.”
The Saintess folded the letter and, with her eyes closed, quietly agreed with Bel.
“...”
The black-haired mage, Bel, silently looked up at the rough ceiling of the tent before, as if suffocating, he pulled a pipe from within his robe and placed it in his mouth.
He opened the flap of the messy tent and stepped outside, snapping his fingers. The tobacco packed at the end of the pipe ignited, and a cloud of acrid smoke enveloped Bel’s face.
“He’s too young to see something like this.”
Before Bel’s eyes, a true hellscape unfolded.
The mud had soaked up so much blood that it was stained completely red. From a nearby medical tent came the wails of countless wounded, and occasionally, a severed arm or leg, rotten and decayed, would come rolling out.
Corpses were piled high in a corner far from the tents. Sometimes, crows or rats would move among the bodies, desecrating them, but no one had the energy to walk over and shoo them away.
A little farther off, countless soldiers and mages with gaunt faces stared blankly at the sky.
There was no trace of hope for life in their eyes. Every so often, a soldier whose mind had broken would scream and swing his sword at his comrades.
...Beyond the soldiers staring blankly from the trenches, lay countless corpses of Mutants.
There, the mud had taken on a bluish-green hue.
Corpses, blood, flesh... Bel and the Sword Saint had yet to decide what to call the green lumps clustered on the mud.
It was too thick to be called flesh, too viscous to be called blood, and yet, something occasionally twitched from within those massive clumps, so it couldn't be called a corpse.
“...How shameful.”
After taking a deep drag from his pipe, Bel quietly lamented his situation.
The sky was still pitch-black, and his nose could no longer detect any stench.