The Founding King's Shadow
"They're finally coming."
The apostle on the third floor smiled as the signal from the believer assigned to the first floor went dead.
"And the sword?"
"A few more minutes of final adjustments and it'll be ready."
The apostle turned his gaze to the place where Galayg stood driven into the stone—the legendary blade said to have been wielded by the founding king of the Halrot Kingdom. There, a slime-like mass of people who had been kidnapped and forced into unity had swallowed the sword whole, while several cultists poured the power of an Outer God into the writhing mass.
"Heh heh heh. If the plan succeeds, we can offer this entire world to the Great God of Unity. And even if things don't go as smoothly as hoped and we settle for the bare minimum, we'll still have a territory of our own."
As the apostle grinned with mad delight, a dark-skinned dark elf watching from the corner with open distaste finally spoke.
She had chocolate-colored, springy skin and a silver-blonde ponytail that made each color throw the other into sharper relief. Her features were refined and striking—a beauty by any measure—yet the venom in her expression and the sheer pressure she radiated made it clear that no one approached her lightly.
She was an archer clad in slim silver armor cut for agility and ventilation, leaving her elbows, underarms, and inner thighs bare. The armor fit her so perfectly that even fully armed, the lines of her body remained unmistakable. Custom-forged for her alone, it traced the deep curve of her narrow waist and the full, resilient swell of her chest.
"You'll keep your promise, I trust?"
"Of course. We are not like the gods of this world—we do not lie. When this plan succeeds, it will take time, but we will possess the power to return you to your original world."
"……"
The dark elf woman tightened her grip on a bow that looked to have been forged from the same metal as her armor, her brow furrowing as if she were drowning in self-loathing.
To think I have to work with these disgusting creatures just to get back to my own world…
If she had been a good person, she would have chosen death before ever considering an alliance with the likes of them.
I cannot vanish like this. I will return to you no matter what, Master!
Yet for all her sense of duty not to simply cease existing, she had never been a virtuous soul even in her original world—and so she did not stop cooperating with these cultists.
"Combat on the second floor should begin soon. I would ask you to provide covering fire."
"…Understood."
The dark elf snatched the unnervingly crimson orb the apostle tossed her way. A sphere refined from human beings—repulsive beyond words.
I don't know how they came by this kind of technique, but they don't feel like the source of it. More like they're using something someone else taught them.
She did not want to swallow it. Even if she had counted among the wicked in her original world, something this sickening was still too much.
But… if I, a summoned being, am to avoid vanishing…
She was a summon her master had called forth through some medium. Without a supply of mana, she would simply cease to exist. Torn away from the master who should have been feeding her power the moment she fell into another world, she had no other answer.
The dark elf forced the orb down her throat, fighting back the urge to vomit as she swallowed. At once, the mana she had burned shooting down the airship flooded back into her, strength surging through every limb.
"Huuuuh."
She exhaled, brow still knotted with self-disgust, then looked up the stairs leading to the second floor and drew her bow.
Expecting the real fighting with the cultists to begin from the second floor onward, the special unit advanced with every contingency in mind. They fully anticipated ambushes from the narrow stairwell—cultists lying in wait to swallow them whole, or clinging to the ceiling only to drop and engulf them. Ordinary attacks were one thing; the mere act of being swallowed was a threat all its own.
So they checked above and below, left and right, with painstaking care. Midway through that cautious advance, one of the mages turned carefully toward Kaisent.
"You there."
"Yes?"
"That magic you used inside the cultists' bodies—what exactly was it?"
The mages of this world understood the nature of both mana and inner energy as a matter of course. Martial artists from countless other worlds found their way to Zelsdad, after all. But the magic Kaisent had used to stop the cultists from regenerating had felt like neither mana nor inner energy.
"That wasn't magic. It was the power of a magic item."
"A magic item?"
"I'm sorry, but that's all I can say. You're a mage yourself—I'm sure you understand why."
"Hrm…"
Faced with Kaisent's firm refusal, the mage wore a brief look of dissatisfaction. But he would have done the same in reverse, so he contented himself with the explanation that it was the effect of a magic item and turned his attention back to their surroundings.
Whew. That was close.
Lillian and Priscilla had warned him not to explain everything if other mages asked. When the man had frowned, Kaisent's heart had hammered so hard it nearly drove him mad. For someone as timid as he was, earning the dislike of anyone who wasn't an enemy was deeply uncomfortable in every possible way.
Still… this is strange. In a place this narrow, even if you know an attack is coming, it's hard to deal with. So why aren't they pressing?
Kaisent was far from alone in finding the cultists' passivity odd. Everyone felt it. And so, without a single interruption or trap, they reached the second floor—where a dozen or so cultists waited in a crane-wing formation, sealing the entrance.
Naturally, none of them still looked like ordinary humans. Each had absorbed something else. One wore the tough hide of a monster. Another had a tail tipped with a venomous stinger growing from the base of his spine. Another had multiple arms grafted on. Yet every face among them carried the solemn, weighty charisma of high nobility.
"You… you… you sons of bitches!!"
"Not even the gods will save your souls!"
The knights abandoned all pretense of dignity and spat raw curses at the sight.
"Heh heh heh heh. Knights these days have such vulgar mouths."
"Indeed. I should have drilled them harder before I died. A pitiful state of affairs."
The cultists launched into the kind of conversation that began with "back in my day." Their faces and voices belonged to the founding meritorious retainers who had built the Halrot Kingdom alongside the first king. Those buried here had been preserved by magic, and so the cultists now possessed their faces and memories intact.
"How dare you wear Duke Conrad's face and spew that filth!"
"Not only Conrad, either."
"!!"
As the knights seethed at the cultists wearing the faces of the founding heroes, a heavy, charismatic voice rang out—and someone else stepped into view.
"Ah…!"
"Kh…!"
There stood the first king of the Halrot Kingdom—a man every knight of Halrot would know on sight. Durden Galayg appeared before them in a body of densely packed muscle.
"I, Durden Galayg, first king of the Halrot Kingdom, command you. Kneel, all of you, and receive my orders."
The cultist who had absorbed every scrap of Durden Galayg's knowledge radiated a charisma indistinguishable from the real first king's, demanding obedience. That a man who had risen from low nobility to the throne should overwhelm those who merely inherited a crown was only natural.
"Draw your swords, all of you! Did we not foresee exactly this?! We have all received the king's own writ of absolution!"
The knight captain forced them to remember the royal document prepared for this very contingency—the king's own hand guaranteeing that no crime would be charged for desecrating the remains of the founding retainers or even the first king himself.
"When I heard the lich was dead, I still held a thread of hope."
"Instead we've drawn an enemy worse than anything we expected."
When they had known nothing of the cultists who served the God of Unity, they had expected to fight undead versions of the founding retainers and the first king. Instead, thanks to the cultists' ability to absorb their victims' memories, they now faced the gifted talents who had raised a kingdom from bare earth.
"O Dawn that purifies all things!"
"Power of decay for the sake of the cycle!"
Unlike the first floor, this was a fight that demanded everything. The holy knights and clerics unfurled divine spells and reinforced themselves.
"Pattern Three! Purge the cultists!"
The knight captain's order followed at once, and everyone charged.
Both sides had formed lines, but fighting a line battle against cultists who had absorbed the knowledge and experience of true masters was far too optimistic a judgment.
"Arty! Guard my side!"
"Understood."
Kaisent pulled back from the melee under Arty's protection. The other mages likewise moved to safer ground with their assigned escorts. A mage's true work began only after both sides had locked together and the battle had stalled.
"Hahahahaha! Knights these days are soft!"
"Quite right!"
"How long have we been dead, and this is all the growth you can show?!"
"Shut up!"
"Filthy cultist bastards!"
"I'll kill every last one of you!"
The cultists deliberately used the personalities and speech patterns of the founding retainers they had absorbed, mocking the knights at every turn. Rage sharpened the knights' assault—but it also made their attacks simpler, and even outnumbered, the cultists handled the coordinated strikes with ease.
"Damn it! Get out of the way!"
"You get out of the way! Your holy power is interfering with ours!"
People who had been enemies until days ago were suddenly forced to cooperate, and the lack of coordination was painfully obvious.
"Huuup!"
And among the cultists was one who did not merely overcome the numerical disadvantage—he crushed it. The cultist who had absorbed the first king Durden's corpse wielded a different blade in place of Durden's beloved Galayg, yet still unleashed Durden's swordsmanship in full.
"Kh!"
"Hold the line!"
Those facing the first king were driven back helplessly by a sword style both ferocious and tyrannical. It was not mere strength. Each stroke poured out mana, crushing the fighting spirit of every enemy in range.
"Haaaah!"
"Yah!"
Yet two people refused to yield even under that assault. Lillian and Priscilla, both risen to the Master rank, weathered the first king's heavy, razor-edged blows and even managed to counterattack.
"Hnh! So there are a few worth something!"
"Don't put on airs with the first king's manner of speech, cultist!"
Until the Saryeong Kingdom had destroyed her own, Lillian's kingdom had shared a border with Halrot, and border skirmishes had been constant. Once a powerhouse like Akina Karayden had taken the margraviate, those clashes had only grown fiercer, and relations between the two nations had never been warm. Even so, Durden, first king of Halrot, was a man worthy of respect. Watching cultists use such a figure as they pleased filled Lillian with open hostility; she swung her greatsword in threatening arcs and poured on the pressure.
"Putting on airs? Heh heh heh."
But the cultist who had absorbed Durden only smiled, as if Lillian's fury amused him.
What is that reaction?
The mockery belonged to the cultist himself, not to Durden. The problem was the direction of the laughter. A cultist had no reason to feel fondly toward Durden—but a sneer like this still carried a wrongness that set her on edge.
In any case, as the melee with the cultists locked into a stalemate, the mages waiting in the rear began to make their presence felt.
Killing intent!
Kaisent, about to offer support like the other mages, felt murderous intent locked onto them and frantically scanned the surroundings.
What? Where is it coming from?
No matter how he looked at it, the cultists locked in the melee could not be targeting them. Then, from the stairway leading to the third floor, he felt a fierce current of mana—and witnessed an astonishing sight.
Arrows of pure mana, almost certainly loosed from the third floor toward the second, were plunging in a steep dive, raining down on them.
"The sky! Defend!"
With a wider sensory range than the other mages, Kaisent shouted the warning and ducked behind Arty.
"Ugh!"
"What in—gahk!"
The mages too slow to react to Kaisent's warning were riddled with holes by arrows diving straight at them. Those who responded in time raised defensive magic and survived.
"Wh-what is this?!"
"They're coming again!"
The mages who had barely lived through the ambush could only focus on defense as more arrows from the third floor dove at them once more.
I can't even see them—and they're still aiming straight at us!
Arrows that suddenly changed angle mid-flight and plunged were startling enough. That they locked on with perfect accuracy despite having no line of sight was more startling still.
While the mages poured everything into defensive magic and could no longer support their allies, the next volley of arrows shifted targets and poured down on the special unit members locked in the melee.
"Arrows!"
"Dodge!"
Unlike the mages, the knights were agile enough to abandon the pressure they had been applying and scramble clear. From then on, whenever the mages tried to aid the knights, arrows flew at the mages; whenever the mages focused on defense, the arrows flew at the knights—over and over.
"Kh! If we could just close properly—!"
"Hahaha! Attack harder, descendants of mine!"
"Can you truly call yourselves the knights who represent Halrot with only this much?!"
"I said shut up!"
The knights burned with rage and humiliation as the cultists who had absorbed the founding retainers' memories berated them. But under arrow fire that found them with perfect accuracy even in the chaos of melee, they could not concentrate their attacks.
"Hyaaaah!"
One knight, fiercely loyal to the royal house, threw caution aside and committed fully to the offensive—
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
The archer, as if surveying the entire field, predicted the knight's movement. The diving arrows punched into his arm and shoulder.
"Gyaaaah!"
The moment the knight was pierced by mana arrows and dropped out of the fight, a nearby cultist wrapped both arms around him.
"S-spare me…!"
The knight thrashed with everything he had left—and was absorbed into the cultist's body. After that, no one else dared to attack recklessly.
This is bad. At this rate we'll be caught in a pincer from front and rear.
The knight captain had no idea how long those holding the entrance could last, and the thought of wasting time like this made his eyes dart with anxiety. The cultists, of course, knew that the longer this dragged on the better it was for them, and so they fought defensively.
The one bright spot is that the Masters from the Wolf Mercenary Group are pulling their weight.
The knight captain and the strongest of the holy knights had thrown themselves at the first king, Durden—but the legend that he had founded Halrot by sheer force proved true. His skill was overwhelming. Without Lillian and Priscilla, several of them would already have fallen.
Then Lillian, forced back from Durden by the arrow fire, looked through her helm toward Kaisent. Sensing her gaze, Kaisent met the eyes behind her visor and felt her will.
Those arrows—only I can deal with them.
Having blocked or dodged the mana arrows again and again, Kaisent had felt how they were formed. He took hold of the bow on his back.
I still don't know how they're sniping this position so precisely. But the direction the arrows come from is fixed.
He would have liked to seal the entrance itself with the power of his gloves—but against arrows strong enough to punch through an airship, he had no confidence he could block more than three times.
"Arty! Brace my legs hard!"
Kaisent climbed onto Arty's shoulders as he shouted. She gripped her master's thighs and locked him in place without a tremor. Confirming that Arty's immense strength had stabilized his stance, Lillian signaled Priscilla, and the two of them charged from either side.
"Hup!"
"Haaaah!"
With battle cries they swung at Durden. When he tried to counter Lillian's crushing greatsword, Priscilla slipped into the opening and thrust. The coordinated assault of two Masters who had spent countless hours refining their partnership was not something even Durden could casually brush aside.
I can feel it!
I can feel Lillian's intent!
Ever since Kaisent had embraced them, the two women had begun to sense each other's will—and now they moved as one body.
Heh. My turn at last.
Watching from the side, Noriyoshi prepared to unleash his true power. A grim situation where only a handful of strong fighters struggled to turn the tide—this was exactly the moment for the protagonist to shine!
And while I'm at it, I can raise the heroine's affection, too.
Wanting to show Priscilla—who was locked on Durden—a cool protagonist moment, Noriyoshi readied himself to intercept the diving arrows from the third floor.
Fwoooosh! Thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip!
But before Noriyoshi could move, arrows of blue mana streaked from the rear of the special unit, intercepted the enemy shafts mid-flight, and annihilated them.
"!!"
"!?"
Noriyoshi and the knights turned toward the ally who had shot down the enemy arrows—and there stood a slender boy of androgynous charm, planted on a golem's shoulders.
"I can't hold this forever!"
At the sight of Kaisent intercepting the arrows with a face that looked frankly terrified, every member of the special unit except Noriyoshi burned their self-loathing into fuel for rage. That a boy so young had been forced to step forward and protect them—that they had shown such a pathetic face—filled them with shame and humiliation.
"A boy younger than my own child is covering for us! If we still can't put these cultists down after this, I swear on my house's name—I will kill every one of you and then myself!"
"Uwaaaaah!"
"Fuck! Getting protected by a damn kid?!"
"Die already!"
Under the knight captain's lashing, people who had been enemies only days before forgot their hostility and began to coordinate their attacks.
"You! I'll take the right!"
"And you stay out of my way!"
The holy knights, who until now had been unable to fully exert themselves because their holy powers clashed, threw pride aside and unleashed a ferocious assault on the cultists who served an Outer God.