Chapter 40
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 40
As he walked, mulling over Swallow’s excuses, a soft light filtering through the lush greenery brightened his path. He looked up. The forest of Graphenia, peaceful as ever, welcomed him. After confirming there were no signs of humans, Patrick ventured deeper. It was there, in the heart of the forest, that he encountered a reindeer so massive it could only be described as a sacred beast.
The creature emerged from between the ancient trees and approached him, but Patrick showed no reaction. He had been expecting this. He simply bowed his head in a polite gesture.
This reindeer was the avatar of the forest’s master, the witch Graphenia.
“Are there humans in the forest right now?” Patrick asked.
A characteristically high-pitched sound came in reply. The witch’s avatar offered its back, and Patrick mounted. With leisurely steps, the reindeer carried the Death Knight toward the edge of the forest, arriving at the highest hill in the area.
It was too low to be called a mountain, yet a bit too high to be just a hill.
The sun had already passed its zenith and was sinking toward the horizon. In a couple of hours, it would set completely, and darkness would fall.
Patrick turned his head. Between the reindeer’s massive antlers, the distant walls of Hastin were silhouetted against the setting sun.
Even from afar, Hastin looked desolate. Not a single wisp of smoke rose from within the castle walls.
“It might already be too late,” the Death Knight muttered.
The witch’s avatar silently turned its gaze away.
*
And so—
“I’m going to pay a visit to Hastin.”
Patrick’s single sentence brought the “peaceful” dungeon, which had been filled with Rene’s shouts and Melju’s screams, to a dead silence.
His voice, though not loud, was sharp enough to cut through their conversation at the perfect moment.
Rene and Melju, frozen mid-motion in a pair of ridiculous, dynamic poses, looked utterly absurd.
After a brief pause, Patrick cleared his throat deliberately to break the tension. As if on cue, the maid and the Demon King asked him the same question in unison.
“Hastin, you say?”
“…Hastin?”
“Yes. I feel we shouldn’t delay any longer.”
Letting his voice trail off, Patrick looked at Swallow. On the surface, he was speaking to Rene and Melju, but the answer he was truly waiting for was Swallow’s.
Perhaps sensing his intent, Swallow, who had been tossing and turning with a groan, spoke up casually.
“…Are you running away from home?”
“I’ve been telling you we need to go to Hastin for weeks. Just how thoroughly did you tune me out to come up with that response?”
The moment he finished, a hiccup echoed from behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Rene, startled by the mention of “running away.” Patrick quickly raised the newspaper he was holding, as if to hastily change the subject.
The print on the newspaper was so small and cramped that it was difficult to read. Swallow, massive as he was, merely tilted his head in confusion.
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if Swallow would have read it properly even if he’d held it right up to his face.
Patrick had only brought it for show—a prop to say, Look, I even have proof, so stop talking back and just listen! In that sense, it had already served its purpose.
“First, do you remember the things I’ve been nagging you about for weeks, Boss? How Riaze has reinforced its defenses, how the Empire’s Third Imperial Princess is in a coma, how the Lord of Hastin committed suicide—things like that.”
“Uh… yeah.”
That took you an awfully long time to answer.
Do you actually remember? No, did you even listen in the first place? A flood of heavy doubts washed over Patrick’s mind, but he decided to set them aside for now. Continuing with a spirit of tolerance, he pressed on.
“These are all the news articles related to Hastin that I’ve scraped together from human newspapers over the past few weeks. As you can see, there’s barely anything. If we exclude the news from before the day you left, Boss… look, there are only three pages left. Four articles in total. Four articles in three weeks—that is the sum of all news about Hastin currently in print.”
Hastin was a county. Even if Count Etarque wasn't an influential figure in the Empire, it was still a town of considerable size. And most of the newspapers Patrick had gathered covered news from Riaze and the western territories of the Empire.
Yet, in those very newspapers, there were only four articles related to Hastin over a span of three weeks.
Despite such a major incident, only four.
“Furthermore, not a single one of those was published within the last two weeks. I’ve searched every human newspaper I could get my hands on, and there has been absolutely no mention of Hastin. Do you understand what this means?”
“No clue.”
“Are you even thinking before you speak?”
Crack. A sound like bone snapping echoed from Patrick. Either his skull had cracked from the sheer stupidity of the answer, or his patience finally had.
“Sorry.”
Swallow offered a brief apology to Patrick, whose jaw hung open as if his soul—or at least a very deep sigh—was about to escape. The apology brought him no comfort. If he were a living creature instead of undead, he probably would have died of sheer frustration.
I must endure. I must endure. I have to stay ‘alive’ to run the Primordial Core. Wait, do I even have to run it? Can’t I just give up? After agonizing for what felt like an eternity, Patrick finally regained his composure through sheer self-hypnosis. He staggered, then snapped his head up, his eye sockets flaring with blue light.
“F-fine. You might not know. Ha, hahahaha. I-I will explain it to you, one by one, slowly… so listen carefully, Boss…”
At the malice lurking within his trembling voice, Melju let out a terrified “Eek!” from behind him.
“First… as I mentioned, the Lord of Hastin committed suicide. You know how absolute a lord’s power is within his own territory, Boss. That count is dead. Common sense dictates that obituary notices should continue for weeks. The highest authority in the territory has died, yet there are only three articles. And two of those are just the obituary itself. Isn't that strange?”
For all intents and purposes, it was as if there was no news about Hastin at all. The newspapers acted as if the territory of Hastin didn’t even exist in the Empire.
“…Patrick, what do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know. With no information, there’s nothing to go on. The only plausible scenario is that Hastin has been completely cut off from the outside world. Whether Hastin severed contact voluntarily or the outside world cut off Hastin, I can’t say. However, if it were the former, there would have been articles reporting the severed ties. Therefore, the latter is highly likely. And judging by the Empire's usual methods, there's a high probability that the Imperial Family itself is involved.”
Why they intervened didn’t matter. Swallow had no intention of destroying the Empire—in fact, he had no thoughts about it at all. He had no need to know the Empire’s goals or weaknesses.
But.
“We—the Primordial Core—need Hastin, do we not?”
When humans wanted to subjugate a dungeon above a certain level, they had to get approval from the lord of the nearest town. In the case of subjugation squads challenging a Great Evil Cave, it was common for the Imperial Family to intervene directly.
This meant that by simply keeping a close eye on Hastin, they could find out what size subjugation squad was coming for the Primordial Core, and when.
If they knew, they could prepare. It was a simple, logical necessity.
Hastin was necessary for the Primordial Core.
Strictly speaking, it was Swallow himself who had established the unwritten rule: ‘Avoid touching Hastin as much as possible.’ Of course, the very person who said that had then gone and smashed it to pieces.
“Since you’re the one who smashed the town to pieces, you know roughly how much damage you caused. For a town like that to go completely silent means something bad has happened. If we delay any longer, there’s no telling what might occur. We must go to Hastin.”
At the phrase “smashed the town to pieces,” Swallow pointedly avoided eye contact. Still, he seemed to be taking it somewhat seriously, as he let out a short, troubled groan.
“Besides, winter is coming,” Patrick added quietly.
It was a statement whose meaning everyone, including Melju, understood without further explanation.
To humans, winter meant hardship. For a town that relied heavily on agriculture, they wouldn’t survive unless they prepared thoroughly. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people in Hastin could die this winter.
“In terms of urgency, recruiting monsters for Rooms 1 through 4 should be the priority. However, since we’ve blocked two subjugation squads already, the probability of a new one invading anytime soon is low. Besides, winter, when humans are less active, is the perfect time to recruit monsters. It also happens to be when monsters exiled from their packs in the northwest migrate south.”
He was pressing his advantage, giving Swallow no time to think. As Patrick had intended, Swallow’s brain seemed to overload.
“Th-then, I guess you should go.”
“If we delay any further and Hastin falls completely into ruin, won’t things become even more complicated?”
“I-I suppose so…? Then, have a safe trip. Don’t overdo it.”
“I’ll go investigate in person first and formulate a plan based on the situation. I’ll be back as quickly as possible. Well then, I’m off.”
A few seconds of silence followed. Patrick turned around as if his business was finished. Behind him, a small sigh of relief could be heard.
‘What, so all I had to do was tell him to go?’ Swallow was probably thinking.
—Gotcha, Boss.
Grinning widely, Patrick quickly wiped the expression from his face and spun back around.
“But, you know, going alone seems like a bit much, doesn’t it? It would be great if someone could come with me.”
He smiled warmly. It was a completely different look from the devilish grin he’d worn just a moment ago. And yet, to Swallow, it looked like the most sinister smile in existence.
Only then did Swallow grasp the situation. He recoiled, his eyes darting around frantically. If one were to ask what an ancient monster struck with terror looked like, this was it.
His four pupils rolled back and forth between Rene and Melju.
He looked at Melju first. Meeting his gaze, she tilted her head as if to ask, “What is it?”
Melju is out of the question.
She wasn’t a monster belonging to the Primordial Core; she was just a freeloader. Even putting that aside, how could he send a Demon King who had just been guzzling alcohol in Riaze and could barely stand straight? Melju was dangerous. In magic terms, she was basically an explosion spell.
Having reached that conclusion, Swallow turned his head toward Rene. Right on cue, she asked him a question.
“Can’t I go with him, Lord Swallow?”
“No. No, no, no, no, no, it’s fine. You stay here. Really, it’s fine.”
Lady Great Explosion Magic, you help most by staying put. I’m begging you, please just stay put.
“While Miss Melju or Miss Rene could go, we don’t know how long this will take. So, how about you come with me, Boss? Hmm? Boss?”
The black monster’s expression froze solid. Excluding Rene and Melju, the only one left was Swallow himself. Since they had blocked the subjugation squads twice already, excuses like ‘I have to guard the dungeon’ wouldn’t work. In fact, if he said the wrong thing, he would only open himself up to a counterattack.
I’ve fallen completely into Patrick’s trap. Regret washed over him. I can’t escape. I’m being dragged away…
Standing on the brink of defeat, Swallow suddenly remembered something, and his eyes widened.
“…Right, it really is a situation where I should go. But Patrick, what can we do? I broke Demeura last time, so I can’t use Polymorph.”
“Ah.”
Patrick, who had been listening intently, froze. The words, “That’s true,” were muttered with a bewilderment that showed he hadn’t anticipated this at all.
“Indeed… without Demeura, you won’t be able to come with me.”
At that moment, Swallow was certain of his victory.
*
“You’re really not going to have a peaceful death.”
“I appreciate the curse, but unfortunately, I’m already dead.”
The forest was lush and green, but to eyes as dull as a dead fish’s, it held no beauty. If one were to physically embody the phrase ‘rotting away,’ Swallow was the textbook definition. Walking across the plains, he radiated despair from every fiber of his being.
The clanking knight beside him—Patrick—was the exact opposite. Though his helm hid his face, he was undoubtedly wearing an incredibly joyful grin, perhaps even smirking so hard his jaw ached. Swallow could guarantee it based on circumstantial evidence alone.
“Boss, doesn’t it feel refreshing to be outside after being cooped up in the dungeon for so long?”
Refreshing for you, maybe.
He swallowed the words rising in his throat and blamed himself. It was his mistake to underestimate Patrick. The skeleton was far craftier than he had thought.
“And you said it yourself, Boss. That it was a situation where you absolutely had to go, but you couldn’t because you didn’t have Demeura.”