The Master Blacksmith (4)

The deeper we pushed into the Demonic Realm, the denser the monsters became. Fifth- and sixth-class beasts were so plentiful you had to shake them off your boots, and every now and then something fourth-class or higher prowled past in the distance.

The monsters themselves posed little threat, but every breath pulled demon qi straight up my nose, and that was another matter entirely. Imagine wandering around with a lit cigarette clamped between your lips, and you'd have the right idea.

Before Count Grimscale's castle sprawled a settlement so vast it could have passed for a fortress in its own right.

It looked like what you'd get if you took a beast pen and blew it up to the size of a city — a squalid, seething sprawl where packs of orcs and goblins roamed the streets in heaving crowds.

The demons had a habit of enslaving any monster weaker than themselves. Word was they especially favored races with a bit of intelligence, like orcs.

Still, though…

There had to be a good thirty or forty thousand heads down there.

No wonder Father was struggling. When you put monsters to work as your citizenry, the sheer weight of numbers was on another level entirely.

I reached into Sanpedla's Travel Bag and drew out a single talisman.

The transformation art could only mimic a living creature I had personally laid eyes on. And even then, it copied nothing but the surface — the shell, not the soul. No abilities came with it.

When the technique unfurled, I became a young demon standing at one hundred eighty-three centimeters, all sharp eyes and arrogant sneer.

Demon Viscount Zephet.

My ticket straight to Count Grimscale's door.

"Halt!"

I had just reached the gates of the monster city when a wall of burly orc warriors barred my path.

"Just where do you think you're crawling to, daring to come here!"

The orcs twisted their faces into snarls and bunched up to menace me — then they registered my identity, and their expressions flipped in an instant.

"Forgive our discourtesy, Great One!"

"…Yes. A truly colossal discourtesy."

I said it in a voice cold enough to frost glass. Demons were the ruling race over monsters; playing the arrogant tyrant was exactly the right move.

"We're sorry, Great One — we caught the smell of a human, and, well…"

"Save the excuses. Move."

"Y-yes! Right away!"

The orcs hauled the palisade gates open to either side. Beyond them, the approach was carpeted with spike traps meant to gut any cavalry charge.

And what emerged from that palisade was… surprisingly respectable.

From the outside it had looked like nothing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠more than a pigsty, but within there were actual houses, a public square, even a market lined with shops.

"Fresh chicken! Fresh chicken here!"

A squat kobold merchant hawked poultry from a reeking stall, while off to one side —

"Smash his skull in!"

"Break him! Break him to pieces!"

Hulking orcs brawled to the roaring approval of a packed crowd. Down the alleys, tattooed mercenaries sat in lazy clusters smoking, and through the market quarter a goblin merchant worked the passersby with practiced charm.

"O Great One, just have one look at this. A truly serviceable slave has just come ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in."

"An outrageous deal! Take a full set of human knight's equipment, free of charge!"

The goblins seemed to be the resident brains of this creaking, rotten world. Schemers who'd rolled their dice one time too many and gotten beaten to death for it were a dime a dozen.

I passed through the market and headed straight for Grimscale's castle. A single knight in full plate stood guard at the gate.

"One moment, if you please."

Of all things, the knight was human. Caroi had told me about the traitors of the Demonic Realm — that even among humans there were defectors, men who had abandoned their kind to aid my father, just as he had betrayed the demons.

"Your name?"

"Viscount Zephet."

"Viscount Zephet…"

The knight's narrow eyes swept over me from head to toe.

News of Zephet's death surely hadn't traveled yet. I was, after all, the man who had killed him — and I'd burned a distance-chant the moment I returned to the duchy to get here this fast.

"The Viscount's Awoken Ability is 'Avatar of Fire,' I believe. Would you demonstrate it for me?"

"Watch your tongue, human. You forget your place."

I glared at him like I meant to swallow him whole. But unlike the orcs, this one didn't flinch. My intimidation didn't so much as graze him.

"I have sworn my loyalty to Count Grimscale. I am merely doing my duty. I ask for your understanding."

He was absolutely resolved to verify my Awoken Ability. And he wasn't alone — above the gate, heavily armed soldiers lined the wall, all of them staring down at me.

Well, this is inconvenient.

I'd come reasonably well prepared, but I wasn't deranged enough to kick off a rampage in the middle of tens of thousands of monsters.

"Fine. Take a good look."

I raised a hand and kindled the Samadhi True Flame.

"My deepest apologies. Please, pass through."

The knight stepped back a pace, deference flowing off him now without a single crack.

I swept past him and entered Grimscale's castle. The Count's keep was magnificent enough to trade blows with the imperial palace itself.

"Hm?"

A shifty-eyed goblin stood in the doorway, wrinkling his nose and sniffing the air.

"What's this? The scent of soft, tender human whelp…"

He gave me a long, careful look. I fished out the first excuse that surfaced in my head.

"The smell of the slave I just purchased, I imagine."

"Ah, forgive me — I hadn't realized that was to your taste, Great One."

The goblin grinned unpleasantly.

"I am Zagnak, the household steward. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

"Viscount Zephet. Is the Count inside?"

"He is. I shall show you to the reception chamber first."

I followed Zagnak toward the reception room. Deeper in the castle, minotaurs in full plate armor stood sentinel — fourth-class by any bestiary, with the strongest among them said to brush against third.

"Something to drink?"

Zagnak asked.

"Nothing."

Just in case, I repeated myself.

"Bring me nothing at all."

I had zero interest in learning what demons liked to eat and drink. I'd already seen far too many things in that market that no one should ever have to see.

Once Zagnak slipped out of the room, I drew five Barrier Talismans from Sanpedla's Travel Bag and pressed them into every corner of the chamber.

What I called the turn-the-enemy's-home-field-into-my-home-field operation.

I'd just finished setting the last of the formation when—

"Viscount Zephet. My master bids you enter."

Zagnak had returned. I followed him toward the Count's chambers.

The main hall was guarded by warriors in crimson armor. Their skin was corpse-pale, their pupils a luminous red.

"Your first time here?"

Zagnak asked. I couldn't exactly say yes, so I gave a vague tilt of the head.

"That is the 'Grim Red.' The vampire knight order. They slaughtered human knights by the thousand. Unless you are the 'Shield of the North' himself, you will find no match ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for them."

His explanation set my curiosity alight. Knowing full well how strange the question would look, I couldn't resist asking anyway.

"And what manner of creature is this Shield of the North?"

"A fine question."

The goblin steward didn't suspect me in the slightest. If anything, he seemed beside himself with delight just to be having a conversation at all.

"The human race's leader. Mindlessly, monstrously strong. No matter how great a one may be, my advice is to steer well clear of that man."

"He's human all the same. In my hands, he's a dead man."

Sorry, Father.

"Here we are. The Count awaits you within."

Zagnak led me to the chamber at the corridor's end. I pushed the door open to find a hulking figure well over two meters tall watching me with eyes that seemed ready to burn me alive.

Demon Count Grimscale.

The very man who had brought House Reine crashing down — and one of the generals who commanded the demon armies.

Grimscale's body was encased in a hard, chitinous shell, which I took to be his Awoken Ability, the Impenetrable Carapace. Countless knights had gone to their graves because no blade could punch through that thick hide.

"Didn't expect you to come all this way. Word was the Demon King had entrusted you with an important task."

The Count spoke in a voice like a rumble from a deep cave.

"That very task is what brings me, Count. As you know, the Demon King is nothing if not thorough."

The Count seemed acquainted with Zephet, though evidently fuzzy on the details of his assignment — so I improvised, letting whatever came out carry the conversation.

"Hm. That he is."

The Count nodded.

"If you happen to be headed to the Demon King's castle to make your report, do me the favor of carrying a message. Tell them I did not simply feign deafness to the mobilization order out of some treacherous ambition."

Mobilization order?

Did that mean the Demon King was gathering his nobles together?

That thread needed pulling later. I slid into the stance of a man basking in the king's favor and kept the ball rolling.

"As it happens, the Demon King did remark that the Count alone has been slow to answer the call."

"A misunderstanding, I assure you. My loyalty is firmer than any man's. I loathe that false king every bit as much as the next demon. It is only that I cannot empty my territory — and there is good reason for it."

A false king — so there was a second Demon King, then.

From the sound of it, the demons had their own tangled political mess brewing. Taken at face value, two rival Demon Kings meant a schism in the ranks.

"And what reason would that be?"

"I hear that with the Shield of the North away, that fool of a second son of his — one Chris — is commanding Stormrock Fortress in his stead. The chance to end this war has finally arrived. How could I possibly pretend not to see it?"

That, I could not allow.

What the seven imperial provinces had barely managed to hold was now being watched over by a wine-soaked playboy. Which meant Grimscale throwing his full weight into the offensive had to be stopped at all costs — one wrong step, and the front line we had held for ten years could come collapsing down.

"The Shield of the North's absence is good news indeed."

"Isn't it? Which is why you must put in a good word with the Demon King for me."

"Well, a human lordling is something we can trample whenever we please. What matters above all right now is the false king, is it not, Count?"

First, I needed information on the fake king. Just how formidable was he, that the Demon King would go so far as to issue a mobilization order to deal with him?

"The false king?"

The Count frowned.

"Is he really all that? He calls himself king with his own mouth, but the forces he commands are pitifully few, no?"

So the false king commanded fewer followers than the Demon King. Which meant there was a decent chance his personal strength rivaled the Demon King's own.

"A thin following today means nothing. What matters is tomorrow."

"No arguing the man is trouble. There are even quiet rumors he has connections among the humans. I'm not saying we shouldn't strike him — only that I'm asking for a little time."

The Count pleaded his case.

"Look here, Zephet. I cannot go on living like this. Every time I think of the Shield of the North, my stomach turns so violently I can hardly force food down my throat. I ask for so little. Give me half a year, and I could wipe Stormrock off the map entirely. Can the king truly not spare me even that?"

"Hmm…"

I stroked my chin, feigning deliberation.

The Count's posture was remarkably humble — even though Zephet technically ranked below him.

He seemed willing to defy the Demon King's temper itself if it meant crushing Stormrock. I'd gathered roughly what I'd come for, which made this the perfect moment to put his eagerness to work for me.

"The truth is, I've achieved no small success in the capital."

"Oh?"

"When the King receives my report, I expect his mood will be excellent. At that moment, I believe I could press your circumstances upon him quite firmly."

Color bloomed across the Count's face.

"And you'll want something in return, I imagine?"

"Naturally. I should stand to gain something as well, shouldn't I?"

"Name it. Anything within my power, and it's yours."

"I ask for very little. The chance to lay eyes on the Count's sword would be more than enough."

I gestured at the blade hanging at Grimscale's hip.

"My sword?"

The Count asked, puzzled.

The Impenetrable Carapace was, after all, purely a defensive power. It had been the Count's blade that cut down my uncles.

Ruka had warned me specifically about his weapon. It was a peerless sword bestowed personally by the Demon King, she'd said — an ultimate item that even she would struggle to forge.

"Is the Count's sword not the famous blade the Demon King granted with his own hand? It's an honor the likes of me could never even dream of. I simply wished to take it in with these two eyes."

"You really are remarkably free of greed."

The Count burst into a hearty laugh.

"A request like that, I'll grant a hundred times over. Come, then. Closer. Have your look."

He dragged the scabbard free of his belt and drew the blade. I stepped to his side and examined it.

Truly, the words famed sword rose unbidden. Even the capital's hall of masterworks had held nothing of this caliber.

"May I touch it, just briefly?"

"Of course."

the Count said, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Generous with his words he may have been, but his grip on the hilt never loosened for an instant.

I reached my hand toward the peerless blade. And the instant my fingertips brushed the steel, I murmured the item's activation word, low and quiet.

"Storage."

In that instant, the peerless sword vanished — sucked clean into Sanpedla's Travel Bag.

The Count stared at me, face frozen in disbelief. When a person is shocked badly enough, the mind briefly wipes itself blank. That was precisely the Count's condition at this moment.

"Y-you…!"

He jabbed a trembling finger at me, then—

"What in the name of madness is this?!"

—unleashed a lion's roar that shook the walls.

"Madness, you say? I simply removed the thing that irritated me most."

He bored into me with his eyes. Suspicion burned in them, fierce and bright — and suspicion hardened into conviction, and conviction curdled at last into raw horror.

"Don't tell me…!"

I smiled.

I'd been fighting to hold back that smile for quite some ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time now.

"Aren't you a little slow to catch on?"