Chapter 79
Chapter 79
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: Audience with the Great Demon King
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"Are you prepared?"
"Yes! And you, sir?"
"We've already grasped the enemy's strengths and weaknesses. The key is to strike at the precise timing and pull back. The opponent has such outstanding defenses, after all."
"Keep that in mind. Then, may the shining courage on the wings of the Three-Headed Eagle..."
"Be with us."
The revered Swordmaster Blaho of the Sion Dukedom and his direct superior, the Minister of Military Affairs Baron Walter, recited the Sion Dukedom knights' creed in low, resolute, and solemn tones.
The two warriors, radiating a murderous aura like men facing a duel to the death, advanced without hesitation. The lowly minions coming the opposite way didn't even dare to block them—they scattered in panic or plastered themselves against the walls, begging for mercy.
The magnanimous duo paid the minions no mind.
Their target was solely the wicked overlord who lorded over those wretched underlings.
Swept up in courage welling from the depths of their hearts—not forced—and a sublime elation that felt like breaking through their limits, the two pressed forward, ever forward.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
At last, they halted. A massive door loomed before them.
Whooooosh—
A jet-black ebony door, swirling with what seemed like a sinister, ominous dark aura.
"Hoo, hoo."
The two steadied their breaths, then exchanged glances filled once more with steely resolve.
"Here we go."
"Ancestors, bless us."
Knock knock.
Creeeak—
"Come in, you two."
"We... we see the Great Demon... no, Handler."
"Oh, hello. What brings you both here together? And why the long faces? Are you ill?"
"It's not... we're not ill, exactly. The thing is..."
Bang!
The ebony door slammed shut, sealing the two heroes inside the Great Demon King's labyrinth—or rather, Handler of the Sion Dukedom's office.
Gahhh! What the—!
Ahh! This wasn't our plan—!
No, Handler! Sir Yonas! Don't get mad right away—let us explain in detail first...!
Ugh! We're already short on budget, and now you're talking about forming a new unit?
No, it's just the initial costs—if we...
Roars and screams erupted from the Great Demon King and the two heroes locked in a desperate life-or-death struggle, piercing through the ebony door.
The terrified underlings—no, the bureaucrats—didn't dare approach; they held their breaths and avoided even looking that way.
In any case, they were fated to pull all-nighters yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
It was the gradually warming summer.
* * *
The duel ended—for now—with victory on the heroes' side.
Handler Yonas's sturdy shield and his silver tongue, as devious and sharp as his youthful axe-wielding days as the "Twin-Axe Murderer" Smirnoff, shattered under the sudden pincer attack when Smirnoff barged in.
But the Swordmaster and Minister of Military Affairs didn't claim total victory either.
The Monster Hunting Corps would recruit only from the Black Eagle Legion and the Zanstrick Mercenary Group for now, with the precise budget to be set based on the first hunt's results.
Even so, the two heroes were satisfied.
They understood Yonas's irritation and anger, but to these born soldiers and knights, this was the perfect opportunity to give the dukedom's elite troops real combat experience.
It was also the golden chance to equip the entire dukedom force with superior weapons and gear one or two levels better.
Thus, amid the Great Demon King's lion's roar that left them with what felt like internal injuries and blood trickling from their ears, the two grinned and thumbs-upped each other.
And so, amid the various commotions, the Sion Dukedom's Monster Hunting Corps was formed and began recruiting volunteers.
"Huh? You too?"
"Ah! Young master too?"
In front of a tent set up at one side of the Black Eagle Legion's encampment, Piyot and Miska—the youngest of the Zanstrick Mercenary Group—startled upon running into each other, then grinned.
"I'm learning directly from Master Blaho, so of course I have to sign up."
"Our captain Stella said she's joining, so I have to follow. But what about the little young master?"
Piyot gave a wry smile at Miska, who glanced around looking for Sirvan.
"Sirvan's nephew's been off lately. Makes sense, with what happened to his father and brother."
"Tch. Yeah, he didn't know at all, but hearts are funny like that. Still, that's when you gotta keep busy and move around."
"I know. I suggested it, but he seemed worn out. Says he'll stick by Brother Yonas, learn, and gain experience there."
"Ah, right—he's set to become duke in a few years. Isn't that for the best? If he does well, he can reclaim the family honor too."
"Yeah. He's struggling now, but that kid can pull through. Anyway."
Piyot scanned the surroundings and tilted his head.
"I figured almost all the Zanstrick mercs would sign up, but I don't see that many."
At that, Miska's face fell.
"Tch! The traitors got lured away by the Three-Headed Eagle Castle maids already. They wanna settle down in Sionia."
"Three-Headed Eagle, not Three Venom Tails. Anyway, good for them. Guess they'll switch to castle guards full-time. That'll boost the existing guards' strength a lot."
"What kinda warriors are those wimps? Seeing them grinning like idiots wrapped in skirts every day already spells doom. Hope they drop dead from exhaustion in bed."
"Didn't you say your dream was to die in bed? Seducing elf girls..."
"Ahh!"
Miska suddenly let out an exclamation, startling Piyot.
"Wait—didn't you say the mountain keeper elves are joining the hunting corps too!?"
"...Our fief from the ancestors is just in the mountains—we're not mountain keepers. But I don't think many elves are signing up? Their main job is driving monsters out of the Echo-less Forest and Brandin Mountains, after all."
"Huh!? No way—that can't be true, right? Tell me it's a lie. But then... no naked elf big sisters to hunt with..."
"...You've not changed a bit, in all sorts of ways. Ah, looks like elves over there."
At Piyot's chin-point, the dejected Miska whipped around.
Sure enough, a group with lean, toned builds—different from the burly mercenaries and Black Eagle Legion soldiers—was approaching.
"Huh?"
"Hey, check that out."
"Whoa..."
The mercenaries and Black Eagle soldiers waiting in clusters of three or four near the tent began murmuring.
The Zanstrick mercs, and even the Black Eagle Legion troops, had no reason to gawk at elves anew.
Yet these elves marching orderly toward the tent in full elf warrior gear inevitably drew everyone's eyes.
"B-big... big s-s-sisters..."
Miska's face went slack.
Indeed.
Among the elf warriors striding straight toward where Piyot and Miska stood were several female warriors.
"Young master, young master—go talk to them."
Miska whispered urgently in a low voice. But Piyot had no such intention.
Having spent time with Priel and other elf warriors, Piyot had learned the "common sense" of elf society.
And one of those differences from human society was...
Whistle!
"Hot damn! Chest might be a bit flat, but those thighs and ass lines are killer! Hey, miss! How about a one-on-one spar later, just us? My sword's pretty long and thick, y'know? Shame you got nothin' to brag about up top."
A Black Eagle Legion veteran thrust his hips forward and back in a lewd motion, hands on waist.
Wahahahaha!
The men around burst into laughter.
Among sword-for-hire types—mercs and soldiers alike—this level of teasing and joking was everyday fare.
Step.
The elf female warrior receiving the legionnaire's gaze stopped.
Her comrades paused too, but soon continued without a care, stopping right by the tent.
Piyot gave a light nod to Priel among them.
But everyone's eyes locked on the lone elf female warrior standing apart from her comrades.
Meanwhile, the legionnaire kept thrusting his hips, and the elf female warrior took a large step toward him.
"Ooh! Right now? Hell yeah—I'm proud of my boy here; you hit the jackpot with this dad. If you weren't my kid, you wouldn't get this kinda treat!"
The legionnaire patted his crotch and joked around.
Even bigger laughter exploded everywhere, and in the meantime, the distance between the elf warrior and legionnaire closed.
At last, facing him, the elf female warrior parted her red lips.
"What did you just say?"
Piyot was surprised at her extremely fluent Obla Kingdom tongue.
Most elves in the dukedom were proficient in the kingdom language, but their sing-song accent and slightly awkward word choices often emphasized their racial differences.
This elf warrior was different.
"Huh? Oh, said my thing's long and thick. I stake the Black Eagle Legion's honor on it—it's true!"
The legionnaire even saluted sharply, but the elf female warrior stared blankly.
"Not that. Repeat what you first said to me."
"Uh... what'd I say? Can't remember..."
No way he forgot what he said moments ago.
But brazenly rehashing his body critique with the subject right in front of him seemed a bit much, even for a cheeky bastard.
Especially if that subject was a warrior from the dukedom's blood-allied elf tribe.
"Repeat what you first said to me."
"Well..."
"If your memory isn't carp-level, there's no way you forgot. Say it again."
"Uh..."
Finally realizing he'd picked the wrong target, the legionnaire hemmed and hawed, then threw caution to the wind and shouted.
"Chest might be a bit flat, but those thighs and ass lines are killer! Miss, that's a compliment. No lie—the best body's I've seen in my life is like yours... Uh... ugh!?"
Mid-excuse, the legionnaire yelped, eyes bulging.
Gah!?
Whoa!
Everyone else too.
Piyot and Miska gaped in disbelief.
The platinum short-haired elf female warrior had shrugged off her brigandine, leather-finished on the outside.
"Ah... uh..."
The legionnaire, eyes glued to her upper body clad only in a thin sleeveless shirt, mumbled incoherently.
"Thanks for praising my figure. But as you see, your compliment has an error. My chest isn't flat."
She spoke the truth.
Not huge, but the swells rising over her thin shirt let everyone see their exquisitely beautiful shape just from the outline.
"Lady Stella Gosan. Stop fooling around and come over here."
"Yes, Brother Priel North Mountain."
A brigandine—metal plates linked inside, leather outside—is no lightweight armor.
Yet Stella, who had lifted it with one hand to bare her chest, promptly donned it again and walked to her comrades as if nothing happened.
Step, step, step.
Her platinum bob gleamed like scattering gold dust under the midday sun as she strode proudly, goddess-like.
(To be continued)