Territorial Dispute
"Can you explain how the hell this happened?"
"It started last night when Lady Silveryia missed the morning briefing..."
"Enough."
He'd seen it coming. That cocky little punk had been openly scheming to climb over him—no way he'd pass up a golden opportunity like this. Especially when Silveryia herself had handed it to him on a platter.
"..."
Even in this urgent moment, her face flushed faintly as memories of last night's shameful indulgence flooded back.
"Lady Silveryia? Are you all right? Surely your condition hasn't..."
"Ahem, I'm fine. But I never imagined he'd be that stupid—blithely overstepping his bounds like it was nothing."
Was she scolding him for taking the soldiers because he was the adjutant? No. She was scolding him precisely because he was the adjutant.
It sounded contradictory at first glance, but there was no other way to put it.
An adjutant was the strategist, the brains of the army. No one could fault him for leading troops in battle. But with the unit's supreme commander—Silveryia herself—alive and well before their very eyes, dragging off half the entire force for some massive operation without her approval, and executing it behind her back? Even if he was the son of a high noble and bore the title of adjutant, the commander of this unit was unequivocally Silveryia.
Yet he'd marched off with half the soldiers, without a single report, the moment she skipped the morning briefing—like he'd been waiting for it.
"Anyone but a fool would know scaling that peak head-on is no easy feat!"
And hadn't he been the one leading the charge to set up camp on this shortcut path?
Did getting chewed out last time turn his brain to mush? As Silveryia seriously pondered this, Kandor spoke up.
"He claimed rocks kept raining down from the peak nonstop, so we had to neutralize it before our casualties mounted further... That's what he said, at least."
"He's just trying to seize the peak and use the glory to strut around me, boost his own fame. Something like, 'Even the hero of the northwest front couldn't take it, but I did.' But did you even hear what I told you last night?"
"..."
"What's with the silence?"
"N-no, it's nothing."
Was she always the type to drag things out like this? Kandor tilted his head at the oddly changed Silveryia overnight, then snapped back to attention and began his morning report.
The orc commander and his ilk were plotting to lure us in—that was the very issue she'd discussed with him right before succumbing to her filthy lusts last night. What the hell was that adjutant thinking to pull this idiotic stunt?
"He just pretended not to hear."
"What?"
"Even when you said it was intel you'd brought yourself, he shot back, 'You're so unwell you skipped the morning briefing—how credible could anything you saw yesterday be?' And then... well, I think you can guess the rest."
Kandor had softened it plenty, but Silveryia could easily picture the adjutant's smug, punchable sneer.
"What are your orders?"
"Sound the alert across the entire army. Battle stations. We're heading to the base of the peak to stand by."
"Pardon?"
"Mark my words: if he brings back even half his men alive today, that'll be a roaring success."
"Yes, ma'am!!"
With that, Kandor left Silveryia's side and vanished somewhere. At the same moment, the remaining forces in camp sprang into orderly action.
"..."
She wanted to abandon the adjutant if she could, but the 2,500 soldiers who'd followed him were innocent. Ignoring the throbbing ache that flared every time she glanced at the peak, Silveryia went to fetch her horse.
--------------
"What the fuck is this thing?"
Ever since the hero dropped by our position yesterday, this weird shit had appeared on the back of my hand.
It looked like a pink button. I woke up this morning to find it etched there. Last night, my hand had burned hot enough to jolt me awake—some pink glow flashing like a damn alarm clock. I smacked it like I would a clock, it went quiet, and I passed out again. Woke up to this freaky tattoo.
I should've clocked the anomaly right then, but I'd been deep in a steamy dream of a bombshell who looked just like the hero putting on a fountain show. Brushed it off.
Now it creeped me out—this popping up overnight. So I rounded up the crew.
"Hey, anyone here know even a smidge of magic? Raise your hand."
Most were bruisers who'd been through hell, but surely one knew some magic. I scanned the faces—blank stares, dogshit expressions all around. Fine, I'd figure it out slow-like and crash again.
"Boss! Boss! I know what that is!"
"Oh? Goblin shaman? You know this thing?"
The goblin shaman—replacement for the one from my flashbacks who got reduced to a single toe. This guy originally knew zilch about magic or shamanism. One day, strolling through the woods minding his business, human bitches shoot arrows at him for no reason. He dodges, but clips his balls. Ironically, that's when he awakened mana and became a shaman. Unique and pitiful.
Consequently, his hatred for humans—especially human women—is unmatched continent-wide. Torturing them is his specialty.
I showed him my hand. He peered intently.
"This! This is a succubus geas!"
"Huh?"
Succubus? I eyed the goblin like he was spouting bullshit. He flailed his limbs desperately.
"For real! Don't know the details, but it's a mark linking someone. What or who? Why? No clue. But this pink glyph and shape? High sorcery succubi used centuries ago, trading their lives for it!"
"Yeah? But I'm fine—no issues."
"It's not on you, boss. You're not the target. You're just the one the cursing succubus tapped for a favor."
"Spill the details. Sounds fun."
The goblin shaman—Goju for short—shrieked his explanation.
"Succubi let anyone plow their cunts, but mutants pop up who do this 'love' crap!"
"Hm?"
"Goes too far—if betrayed, they go nuclear. This geas? Mutants cash in their lives for revenge on betrayers!"
"How's the revenge work?"
"Fuck if I know! Succubus's call!"
"Huh... You're smarter than you look."
"While kin were banging tail, I studied human mage tomes."
Damn, felt kinda bad now. Goblin or not, this literate fucker grew on me. I ordered him to stick by my side (he loved it).
"Anyway, what do I do with it?"
"When the succubus spots her revenge target, you'll instinctively know what the geas is for!"
Goju finished, then added:
"But exactly how it's used? Only parties involved know. Recommend not messing till then! Your body's safe, guaranteed!"
"Cool. But why you so hyped?"
Too hyped. Goju squawked evasively.
"Sticking by you ups survival odds! Ogre shows, you fight—I just die!"
"What about shamanism?"
"Casting shamanism or magic? Interrupt, and we're fucked!"
Ah, eunuch bragging about pounding mid-cast? Sketchy, but point: strike during transform.
"Interrupting casts ain't cowardly?"
"We're Demon King's army! Bit of dirty works fine!"
True that!
Knowing this freak mark's harmless, time to play more?
Then a horn blared from somewhere.
"What the—?"
No fucking way. Nah, after all this, no way even pissed-off humans come here?
But:
"Boss~ Boss~! Union bastards incoming! They're here!"
The watch below screamed. My lunatics below lost their shit.
"Humans?!"
"Union's here—keeeek!!"
"Boss called it—they're coming!!"
Oh shit. Big trouble. Way too soon—humans crashed the party early.
My 400 psychos, peaceful these past days, now groveled and chanted my praises.
"Boss! I'll follow you forever—aaak!"
"Aaaah! Right right right!"
Why'd I bullshit them? Goal unchanged: lose battles to discharge! Yeah, discharge! What else?! Why else play cool before my whiny 400?
For efficient defeat and discharge! That's why the lies till now.
Orc bullshit becomes reality? My fault?
Teaching that bat-kid to chuck rocks? Snowball of life rolls opposite my will.
Rock-tossing evolved to boulder barrages. Humans, desperate from hits, storm us for finale?
Sigh escaped. This ain't it. Who pulls this madness?!
Just encircle below—done! Why braindead climb?
Someone'd ask: humans swarm up, you lose numbers anyway—why play hard?
True, we're 400, they're... thousands. Glancing below: 2K easy.
Looks bad, but we're not human. Key point. That's the error.
I erred, they err too.
I failed to predict my crew's "fun game" was peak-rocking human camps. Underestimated their power.
I'd neutered them via "pets shitting indoors" logic—but monsters ain't human. My lazy human benchmark birthed this.
Now those fucks repeat my error.
Fine. Wreck the union as warning. No more climbs.
I beckoned my gathered minions.
"Men, I delivered humans to your mouths as promised. How you enjoy? Your call."
-Raaaaaaaah!!!!
400 maniacs roared. I snatched a nearby rock.
"Men... let's make hell."
Honestly, if they won't eat from open mouths, smash their skulls till they do. My punishment for you picky fucks. Take it nice.
-Boss posing is gross!
"Shut it! I know—pair bigs with smalls!"
-Big what, small what?
"Bigger than me: big. Smaller: small!!"
Might as well make climbing impossible forever.