Chapter 136
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 136
Bathory smiled, stroking the back of Melju's neck. When Melju shot a pleading look at Patrick, he deliberately avoided her gaze, his jaw clattering as he spoke.
"Since Lady Bathory is being so helpful, shouldn't we show her a small token of our appreciation?"
"What do you mean, Sir Patrick? Why would you say such a thing to Us? We have a very bad feeling about this..."
"With skin this fine, whatever flows inside is bound to be pure. Alright, Patrick. I'll take this Demon King, then."
A conversation Melju couldn't follow unfolded between them.
Bathory was no philanthropist. She had already tried to obtain Rene's blood during the Knecht incident but had failed due to Rene's stubborn refusal.
Under the circumstances, the alternative Patrick came up with was Melju. Bathory was always searching for exotic blood to drink as a delicacy, so the blood of a Demon King was bound to be an enticing snack.
"I just need to drop the goods off in Room 4, right? I'll be resting here for a few days. Oh, and don't worry about the butlers—they'll all be sleeping hanging from the cave ceiling."
"You don't even need to ask. Please, make yourself at home."
"Then let's get acquainted in the same room for the next few days, little Demon King."
Melju tilted her head up and saw Bathory’s fangs poised over her neck. Only then did she finally realize what was happening.
"Sir Patrick, you sold Us! You sold Us out!"
"I've been training you every day, haven't I? Just think of it as tuition."
"We made you so much popcorn! We made so much for you!"
"Ah, it is heartening to see you sacrifice yourself for the Boss. I should find a good stonemason through the merchant guild and have a monument built in your honor, Lady Melju."
"We have no need for such a thing! Sir Patrick, do you truly have no blood or tears? How could you sell Us like this!"
"Regrettably, as you said, Lady Melju, I literally have neither blood nor tears."
Tearfully, Melju began to beat Patrick's armor with her fists.
Perhaps because the magic tool's effect was so potent, every time Melju thrashed, waves of mana vibrated through his very bones.
But her minor resistance didn't last long. The moment Bathory stroked Melju's cheek, the little Demon King shuddered and froze.
"About the mirrors—they only work when my mana touches them. Before that, I'll just have a quick taste of our Demon King. You can go on ahead."
"Still, I hope you won't take too long."
As Patrick walked away, Melju continuously pleaded with her eyes for salvation. Wondering how to respond, Patrick decided there was nothing for it and replied with a bright smile.
"Hang in there."
Regrettably, Melju's screams faded to silence once he was past Room 4.
*
When he emerged from the three-way fork and arrived at Swallow's room, he found a land of snow.
"……"
Bathory stood still, blinking. On closer inspection, it wasn't actually snow, but so many white things filled the room that it was easy to make the mistake.
Swallow was nowhere to be seen. Just as she was about to ask Patrick about it, Swallow's head popped out from the white mass, apparently reacting to her presence.
"……What is all this?"
Swallow, who had been blankly shoveling the white things into his mouth, hesitated at her question and turned his head toward Patrick.
"What was it again, Patrick?"
You didn't even know?
"Lady Melju called it popcorn."
So what on earth is that?
Bathory was about to press further but held her tongue with a sigh.
Seeing Swallow munching on it, it seemed to be food, but since Bathory had little interest in food other than blood, there was no reason to ask further.
The important thing was that this popcorn, or whatever it was, filled the room and completely ruined its intimidating atmosphere.
They really have no intention of running this dungeon properly.
Perhaps her pitying look was too obvious, because Swallow noticed her gaze and grumbled in response.
"You keep coming here even though no one invited you."
"Huh? Patrick invited me, though."
Resentful that his subordinate had caused him to lose this war of nerves, Swallow glared at Patrick.
As if expecting this, Patrick leisurely pointed to the full-body mirror, his posture conveying a silent message: It's all for the Boss's own good.
Despite being a skeleton, his expression was remarkably dynamic. Swallow's expression soured, and he launched his second verbal attack at Bathory.
"Aren't you supposed to be guarding your dungeon?"
"The dungeon should guard me. Why should I guard the dungeon?"
"Ha, does that even make... Actually, it does."
He had tried to find a flaw in her logic, but he was utterly defeated.
Indeed, the relationships between the boss monsters and their dungeons were fundamentally different for Cheite Castle and the Primordial Core. Swallow was in the Primordial Core to stop humans from reaching its depths. Cheite Castle, on the other hand, existed solely to protect Bathory.
Cheite Castle was a living fortress animated by the mana Bathory infused it with. Its rooms shifted constantly, and its traps were always changing. Even if she were away for a long time, humans wouldn't be able to infiltrate it easily.
"Just don't disturb me while I'm eating and sleeping."
Perhaps too tired to argue, Swallow buried his head back in the popcorn.
With a flash of a victorious smile, Bathory approached the full-body mirrors placed before Swallow. As she infused them with mana, the surfaces of the three mirrors glowed blue.
After inputting the coordinates Patrick had given her, she plopped down next to Swallow.
"……Your job is done. Why aren't you leaving?"
"I came to hang out too."
Perhaps because the coordinates were difficult to calibrate, the images on the mirrors flickered and shifted.
"So, you chose to stand by in the end," Bathory said, calmly watching the mirrors.
"It's a hassle."
A sound escaped him that could have been a laugh or a sigh.
In any case, refusing would have made things even more troublesome.
If he had refused and killed them, the remaining Orcs of Nilkumbal would have run rampant. And if he had simply refused and sent them back, Kurak wasn't the type to give up.
Naturally, a force running wild at random was far more troublesome than one moving systematically.
Since he had no reason to stop them, he simply let them be.
"The humans running around on subjugations lately have been getting annoying, and I don't like Kurak either, so it's great if they fight each other."
"……I heard you put a time limit on Kurak's raid of the merchant guild's supplies. What was that about?"
"I thought it would be more interesting."
"……Is that all?"
"And I'm curious to see how far Kurak can go."
As if refusing to take any more questions, Swallow whipped his gaze back to the mirrors.
Lowering her head to hide her expression, Bathory narrowed her eyes.
What is he planning?
She couldn't tell if this was a simple whim or a careful calculation. Swallow was like that sometimes—unpredictable. If he was acting with a purpose, what on earth was he preparing for?
Thinking about this will only give me a headache.
Bathory raised her head. Once the retainers who had moved the mirrors withdrew, Patrick, who had been lingering nearby, quietly sat down next to Swallow.
"Oh, it's showing properly now."
The flickering images stabilized, each of the three large mirrors settling on a different landscape.
Lying flat on the snow-like pile of popcorn, Swallow watched the mirrors, grabbing and eating handfuls of the stuff.
The center mirror showed a lush forest. The figures of humans and Orcs could be seen confronting each other across a castle wall.
*
Stepping up to the battlements, he looked down from the castle wall onto the vast plain below.
Far in the distance, out of arrow range, were countless flags. The massive army packed tightly beneath them looked as if they would charge at any moment.
The commander's flag at the very front fluttered ominously, its red fabric visible even from this distance. He scanned the axe and giant fangs embroidered on the banner before lowering his gaze.
Tens of thousands of Orcs, by a rough estimate. The giant beasts they had bred. And, looking up, wyverns and phantom beasts swarming noisily through the sky.
"That must be their main force."
Count Carlyle, the Lord of Felstein, was certain as he scanned the scene.
The Empire's high command had not yet provided clear information about the enemy, but he didn't need to wait for their report.
Their goal was undoubtedly to bring down the Empire, and they intended to trample this place on their way.
The Orcs had set fire to every village they passed. The columns of smoke rising high into the sky were so blatant that other villages could gauge the army's route of advance just by watching them.
They showed no interest in the Empire's peripheral territories, sticking only to the most direct route to Riaze. And Felstein just so happened to be located on that shortest path.
Since so many troops were stationed here, this was the place they would have to target most intensively. It was safe to assume this was their main army.
The enemy's main force is at least twenty times larger than ours.
If one calculated the actual combat troops, the gap widened to dozens of times. They were severely outnumbered...
"What are our food supplies?"
When Count Carlyle asked, the Defense Captain waiting beside him answered immediately.
"We have plenty of food stockpiled for the winter, my lord. There will be no shortage."
"What is the status of conscription?"
"We've integrated most of the subjugation squads in the territory without any issue."
"I understand some subjugation squads were operating outside the territory."
"We've sent carrier pigeons to inform them that the drawbridge is closed and that they should head to other villages."
"Good."
Even while talking to the Defense Captain, the Count kept his gaze fixed on the plain.
His gaze swept over the front of the enemy army before settling beneath the commander's flag. There, he saw what must be the leader of the Orc army.
Is that Kurak, the boss monster of Nilkumbal?
"How is the morale of the residents?" Count Carlyle asked, his voice more cautious.
The Orcs burning villages on their way here was not just a declaration of war, but also a psychological tactic meant to slowly tighten the noose.
Therefore, he was quite worried about the atmosphere in the territory.
"The soldiers are brimming with morale, my lord. And there's no sign of defeatism among the residents, either."
"Good. Prepare boiling oil to be poured at any moment, and cut down trees in the territory to prepare rolling logs."
"Understood, my Lord."
"This will be a long war."
Though they were numerically disadvantaged, the Count was certain they would not lose.
"...We may be the first gateway, but they are sloppy," the Count muttered softly.
As it was a key strategic point on the road to Riaze, the castle's defenses were solid.
The moat surrounding the castle was twice as deep and wide as those of other fortresses, making it difficult to fill. The ground was too hard for easy tunneling. Above all, the garrison was an elite force with real combat experience.
Furthermore, a siege was not a battle decided simply by the number of soldiers.
The defenders' high morale likely stemmed from their confidence in facing the situation head-on.
The Orcs' preparations were poor.
Their siege preparations were sloppy. Compared to their tens of thousands of troops, their number of siege weapons was severely lacking.
He could see barely twenty battering rams and siege towers, and the number of trench-filling carts, catapults, and ballistas was just as pathetic.
To exaggerate only slightly, it made one wonder if they even intended to fight properly.
In that state, what was the use of having so many soldiers? It would only accelerate their food consumption.
Once reinforcements from the capital arrived, they would cut off the enemy's supply route. If Felstein could just hold out, the enemy's starvation was a foregone conclusion.
"They're fools, staking the fate of that massive army on magic."
The Defense Captain beside him laughed heartily. As a former mercenary, he was skilled at reading the tide of battle. The Count, also from a military background, shared his opinion.
As expected, they came relying on magic.
Indeed, while the Orcs had few siege weapons, they had a large number of shamans.
The impact of magic in a siege was greater than one might think. Depending on the situation, it could shake a castle to its foundations. Magic was truly the strongest and most versatile siege weapon of all.
So their intention is to shake the castle with magic?
But.
What a pity.
The Orcs were out of luck. Or rather, Felstein was in luck.
The Count turned his head. Standing behind him, next to the Defense Captain, were five knights.
—They were the ones who had sought him out of nowhere, introducing themselves as paladins.
At first, he'd thought they were insane.
Even the most ignorant commoner knew the Empire suppressed religion, yet these men, who seemed somewhat educated, claimed to be paladins.
If they spoke out of turn and angered a high-ranking noble, they wouldn't just lose their status as subjugation squad members—in a worst-case scenario, they could be assassinated.
I was going to kick them out, thinking they were lunatics, but...
He raised his head and looked up at the sky.
It was gloomy, so overcast that no sunlight could penetrate. And that weather—was not a natural phenomenon.
One of the so-called paladins had used weather-control magic.
Their skills, at least, are the real deal.
They were too skilled to be dismissed as mere lunatics. In fact, they possessed the official insignia of A-rank subjugation squad members, and their actual abilities undoubtedly exceeded even that.