Chapter 2 Preparations For Battle Part 1

One month later…

The court was meeting at Valencia Palace in the Re-Estize Kingdom.

Gazef stood at attention beside King Ramposa III, who was seated on his

throne. The captain of the Royal Select spotted the six great nobles among

the many in attendance, and his eyes widened.

It was quite rare for all of them to appear at once.

The heads of those six noble houses possessed territory that was second

only to the royal family's holdings in size, and each had some field—whether

it was military might, financial assets, or something else—in which they

surpassed the king. Consequently, when the king summoned them, they often

made up some sort of excuse to be absent. In particular, Marquis

Beauleurope, the leader of the anti-king faction, never bothered to hide his

disdain, and for a time it seemed as though the kingdom might collapse from

within.

Next, Gazef's gaze turned to the three royal children who were present.

The most eye-catching was the youngest, Princess Renner Theiere

Chardelon Ryle Vaiself.

Then came the second prince, who had distinguished himself by working

with the king for the people during the demon disturbance, Zanac Valléon

Igana Ryle Vaiself.

Last was the eldest, Prince Barbro Andréan Yeld Ryle Vaiself, with his

magnificent physique and neatly arranged hair. Marquis Beauleurope was

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working to make sure this prince would be the next king. He was probably

attending the meeting at his request.

With Beauleurope of the nobles' faction present, the discussion was sure

to get stormy. To take his mind off the bleak worry he felt, Gazef observed

the other gathering great nobles.

Of the three nobles who stood in the king's faction, the one who caught

Gazef's eye first was the one wearing the most luxurious clothes out of

anyone in the court, Marquis Blumrush.

He was nearing forty years of age. The fairly good-looking noble's

domain held both gold and mythril mines, and the precious metals they

produced were enough to provide their owner with the greatest financial

power in the kingdom. But rumor said he was extremely greedy, willing to

betray even his family for a single gold coin.

In truth, Gazef had heard that he was betraying the kingdom and leaking

information to the empire. The only reason such a character was allowed to

go unchecked was because, essentially, they couldn't produce any definitive

evidence of wrongdoing. If they beheaded Blumrush, a member of the king's

faction, without proof, the nobles under him would undoubtedly turn against

the king. If he was taking advantage of that fact to sell intelligence to the

empire, it wasn't a stretch to call him a truly terrible human being.

Next, Gazef's eyes moved to the most youthful of the great nobles, the

handsome Marquis Pespea.

He had taken the king's eldest daughter as his wife and succeeded his

father upon marrying. His ability and personality were still relatively

unknown, but his father had been exceptional in both areas, so Gazef felt that

young Pespea would eventually grow to be similar.

Meanwhile, the eldest of the six great nobles was Margrave Urovana. His

hair was already completely white, and since he didn't have much left, it

looked like he had almost none at all. His arms and trunk were like withered

branches, but he undoubtedly still possessed the dignity of someone who had

many years of experience.

Margrave Urovana was the most fascinating of the nobles, as a person.

Standing next to those three were the attendees from the nobles' faction.

First was the central figure of their faction, Marquis Beauleurope, who

had the most land of any noble. He had numerous scars on his face and was a

leader like a warrior. Since he was now in his fifties, his robust body, once

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trained to eliminate any weakness, was nothing more than a memory of past

glory, but the life in his voice and his raptor-like eyes were vestiges of the

warrior in him. He was losing against old age as a fighter, but as a

commander, he was probably more talented than Gazef, making him a man of

unmatched caliber within the kingdom.

Next to him was Count Litton.

The fox-like man was a whole notch less impressive compared to the

other great nobles, so he was always trying to increase his worth in haphazard

ways. If he could expand his own power, the suffering of others didn't

concern him, which gave him a rather poor reputation among the other

nobles. That was why he attached himself to Marquis Beauleurope—to

escape the hostility of his peers.

The last was a man who currently belonged to the nobles' faction. His

blond hair was slicked back, and he had blue almond-shaped eyes. His

complexion was a special pallor reserved for those who rarely saw the light

of day. That combined with his tall, lean figure gave him the impression of a

snake. Age-wise he should have been just under forty, but his sickly skin tone

made him seem far older.

Gazef had mixed feelings about that man—Marquis Raeven; he looked

away from the noble.

What made the power struggle in the palace even more complicated was

the matter of who would be the next king.

Marquis Beauleurope and Count Litton from the nobles' faction and

Margrave Urovana from the king's faction nominated the eldest prince,

Barbro, while many, regardless of faction, backed Marquis Pespea, husband

of the king's eldest daughter. Marquis Raeven supported the second prince,

Zanac. Meanwhile, Marquis Blumrush acted as if the whole thing had

nothing to do with him.

This situation was the reason the king was still keeping the throne warm.

He suspected that if he named a successor as things stood, a civil war might

break out.

Up until recently, Gazef thought it wouldn't make a difference who

became king, but now he personally supported Prince Zanac. Alternatively,

he would have accepted the third princess, Renner, though it was a long shot.

The kingdom had never been ruled by a queen, so it was probably impossible.

"All right, let us begin."

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The king's tone of voice was just a touch different from the usual. Those

with sharp ears had surely already guessed the reason they had been gathered.

Those who hadn't caught on earlier assumed serious expressions when they

sensed the slight change in atmosphere.

"A herald came from the empire. Read the declaration he brought us."

In response to the king's order, the chamberlain standing by next to him

read the parchment. Essentially, it read as follows:

The Baharuth Empire recognizes Nazarick, the organization led by the

King of Darkness, Ainz Ooal Gown, as a country, and the two nations have

formed an alliance.

E-Rantel and its environs originally belonged to the King of Darkness,

Ainz Ooal Gown, and the Re-Estize Kingdom is unjustly occupying the land.

It must be returned to its rightful owner.

If you do not comply, the empire will assist the King of Darkness, Ainz

Ooal Gown, in his invasion of the kingdom to reclaim his territory.

This is an act of justice to liberate the land from wrongful rule.

The message was just so absurd. Complying could only be deemed

insanity.

"We did look back through the history of the kingdom, but there is no

record of an Ainz Ooal Gown occupying the E-Rantel area, so this claim is

naturally invalid."

"Then it's just some nutcase's nonsense—not even a real accusation," a

stirring voice barked.

As if they took courage from Marquis Beauleurope, who had a history of

military achievements, other nobles began to agree.

"The timing slipped quite a bit, but isn't this just the empire's annual

invasion? They always come up with some excuse. Maybe this time, they

simply couldn't think of anything, so they dragged out that caster's name.

'The King of Darkness' is quite a title… I'd like to get a look at this guy!"

Some chuckles went up in response to Count Litton's comments. It had

originated among his followers.

"However"—the count shifted his narrowed eyes, which could be

described only as fox-like, turning his gaze on Gazef with a hint of

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condescension—"I feel like I've heard this madman's name somewhere

before. Am I wrong, Captain Stronoff?"

"…It's the name of the caster who rescued me on the outskirts of E-Rantel

when I was there."

Count Litton broke into a sinister smile and said in an icy voice, "I see, so

he must have saved you because he thought you were one of his people."

Nobles here and there suppressed their laughter. No one admonished the

slight. Gazef was born a commoner, so most of the nobles' faction hated him.

The king might have spoken up if the insult had originated from someone

in his faction, but as Count Litton was from the opposing faction, he could

only furrow his brow.

"…Don't you think, then, that it was the empire that burned the farming

villages near E-Rantel? It seems like you thought it was the Theocracy,

Captain. And the one who rescued you was Gown, right? Couldn't he have

been in cahoots with the empire? As someone suggested before, perhaps he

was meant to be a spy all along? You didn't see the corpses of the ones who

had cornered you, correct?"

The powerful members of the six scriptures flashed through Gazef's mind.

At the same time, he saw Ainz Ooal Gown.

"…Regarding the corpses, it's as you say, Count Litton, but I don't think

there's any conspiracy. The ones who attacked when I was in Carne were

stronger than imperial knights could be. They were giving orders to angels,

so I have no doubt they were from the Slane Theocracy."

"Why would the Theocracy do such a thing?"

How should I know?

It would have been such a relief to be able to answer.

As Gazef struggled to come up with a reply, help came from someone

next to Count Litton.

"Who cares about the crazy caster? Don't we need to figure out how to

reply to the false emperor's declaration, Your Majesty?"

"Marquis Beauleurope is right. What we need to decide is the kingdom's

response."

"Permission to speak, please." Marquis Pespea stepped forward slightly.

"It's impossible to accept the emperor's declaration. It seems war is our only

choice."

The nobles became enthusiastic.

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"Ooh, so we'll drive them off, and then it'll be our turn to march into their

country!"

"Exactly. I'm sick of doing nothing but repelling the empire's advances."

"There can be no doubt. You're quite right, Marquis."

Their voices mixed with laughter. Everything they said was true, but it

was also what they always said.

For the past several years, there had been a regularly occurring war with

the empire on the Katze Plain.

In the end, the same scuffle, which always ended with the two countries

merely glaring at each other or the kingdom taking a little damage, would

happen as usual. That was the sort of relaxed idea that circulated among the

nobles—they were used to the fighting.

But— Gazef's warrior instinct screamed that he should speak.

"Don't assume that this war will stop at a dustup like before!"

The nobles looked accusingly at him, as if he'd ruined their fun.

"I see. So that's what my captain of the Royal Select thinks. Please

explain why."

"Yes, Your Majesty. It's…" Gazef's alarm bells were ringing because of a

certain person. "It's because of the caster, Ainz Ooal Gown."

"Ah. And you're the only one of us who has stood face-to-face with him,

so I imagine we should give your opinion some weight. But what basis do

you have for thinking that?"

Gazef was lost for words. He didn't have a good answer. It was simply…

what his warrior intuition was telling him—that making a poor judgment

about this war was dangerous.

"My king… Couldn't we give E-Rantel to the empire—no, to the caster?"

After a moment of silence, the insults started flying.

"Are you a coward?! For shame!"

It was the king's faction shouting him down.

"You're so indebted to His Royal Majesty, yet you would surrender his

territory? Since when is that imitation emperor your master?! What's more,

you haven't even answered His Majesty's question!"

Of course, Gazef could say nothing in response to those jeers; he would

have thought the same were their positions reversed.

"That's enough."

It was the king who gave him a hand.

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"But Your Majesty!"

"You're angry for my sake, and for that I'm grateful. But I would like you

to remember that our captain is not the sort of man who would betray me. He

has thrown himself into danger for me many times before. I can't believe he

would propose something that would work to my disadvantage."

The nobles who had shouted at Gazef bowed their heads to the king. Then

the king continued, addressing Gazef.

"Captain, you're my right-hand man, and I trust you. But I can't do that,

even if it's your suggestion. Handing over territory without a fight isn't

something a ruler can do. Besides, it would be unforgivable to do that to the

people who live in the area. It would break the people's peace."

Getting all the people out of the territory would be a nightmare. Even if it

were possible, they wouldn't be able to provide them the same standard of

living they enjoyed before. The end result would be forcing them to live in

harsh conditions.

"You're right, Your Majesty. Please forgive me for that foolish remark."

Gazef bowed his head. A foolish noble—someone who treated the people

of the land only as tools to produce wealth—would never have said

something like that. It was precisely because the king had so much

compassion that Gazef was devoted to him.

He recalled what he had said to his vice-captain six months ago when they

went to Carne.

Didn't you ever hope? Hope that a noble would appear in your hour of

need? That someone with power would come and save you?

Let's show 'em that there are people out there who will risk their lives

despite the danger, that there are strong who will protect the weak!

The Gazef who participated in the royal tournament wouldn't have been

able to say that. Back then, he agreed with his vice-captain's view: There

weren't any nobles who would put their lives on the line for peasants.

But then Gazef began serving the king up close, and for the first time, he

saw that there were nobles like that. The only problem was they were

powerless.

Sadly, many lives had slipped through his fingers. And there were many

times that silly aristocratic pride had caused issues.

Still, the man he served never became rotten. The king constantly labored

to build a country that made life easier for the people.

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Gazef was proud of King Ramposa III. If he wasn't, perhaps he would

have taken up Jircniv's offer that time and switched sides on the battlefield.

That's how he felt, but dark clouds massed in his mind.

The king's statement was true and just—that wasn't the issue. The king

had always been the kind of compassionate person who treated his subjects as

people. But Gazef knew there was another reason the king was using such

powerful words.

After the demon disturbance, the power balance between the factions had

shifted greatly.

The kingdom was split into two factions in a power struggle: the king's

faction and the nobles' faction. They had long been neck and neck, but now

the king's faction had expanded, and the nobles' faction had shrunk.

Since the king led the way in driving off Jaldabaoth, he'd given the

impression that he was a strong ruler, and many nobles switched sides and

began supporting him. He couldn't very well show weakness now.

Because…

"But I don't think the captain is wrong, per se—after all, we can avoid a

war by simply turning over a single city. Preemptively shielding his subjects

from suffering is also a king's job. Wouldn't a true king tear himself apart

before bringing his subjects sorrow?"

The one commenting belonged to the nobles' faction. There were a lot of

high-minded ideas bandied about, but most likely he was interested only in

chipping away at the king's domain. Someone from the king's faction

immediately retorted.

"That land is controlled directly by the king! If you want to give land to

the enemy, give your own!"

That sparked its own reaction.

"What are you talking about?! The empire is demanding the area around

E-Rantel. What would we achieve by giving away my land way off in some

other direction?! Think for a moment before you speak!"

As a result of the king's faction growing more powerful, the nobles'

faction had grown weaker. In order to remedy that, their attempts to hinder

the king had increased.

That was the cause of another one of Gazef's anxieties. Because the

balance between the factions had shifted, the efforts to chip away at the

king's power had grown. The kingdom was liable to break apart in conflict.

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And that's why the king was appealing to his strength—to not allow his

opposition any chance to revolt. There was nothing wrong with that, but…

…wasn't it incredibly dangerous for anyone who wasn't allowed to show

any weakness?

Gazef was lost in thought until he was brought back to his senses by the

intense gazes from some nobles in the king's faction. Their eyes questioned

whether he might have defected to the nobles' faction, since he had proposed

giving away the king's land. They stared with disapproval: Have you

forgotten all that you owe the king, commoner?!

"Hmph! All you need to do is ask the king to swap the E-Rantel area for

your land. Then you could give it away!"

"Do you think it's so easy to trade land? Fool!"

"You're the fool!"

The childish squabble immediately drew the whole meeting into a clamor.

In the past, any debate would have ended in a draw. But the king's faction's

voices grew louder, and the nobles' faction's voices grew fainter.

Before, the king might have stopped this himself, but it didn't seem like

he was going to this time—because the king's faction's voices were louder,

of course.

Anyone would find it hard to call a halt to a situation where they stood to

gain. Plus, there was also the matter of the pent-up discontent.

Seems like he's being fed sweet poison.

Gazef sensed the cold, dark will harbored in the eyes of the nobles'

faction members, and it sent a chill up his spine.

This was all because of Jaldabaoth's attack.

Under the circumstances, having the king lead the charge was the best

possible move at the time. If it weren't for that, the line would have

collapsed, and the adventurers would have been wiped out. They would have

lost the Blue Roses, leaving the kingdom in the direst of straits.

But looking at the current situation, Gazef had to wonder if there had been

a better option they could have chosen.

How would this court meeting have gone if the factions had been on equal

footing?

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I don't know. But what'll happen if we lose the battle with the empire?

Will someone argue we should resist to the end? Or maybe they won't? It's

possible the king's faction will abruptly lose power, while the nobles' faction

will gain, but does that mean the balance will be restored? Or will it

collapse…? Will a war that rips the kingdom in two break out…? Are we

going to be all right?

He had the awful feeling that they were being manipulated. Even though it

seemed as though they were making their own decisions, maybe they were

being strung along somehow.

Could Sir Gown have planned all this…from the very first time I met him?

No, I'd like to think that can't be true. We only talked briefly, but I didn't get

that feeling from him.

Though the caster Ainz Ooal Gown had become his enemy, Gazef didn't

have a bad enough impression of him to address him without the "sir."

He might actually be a peaceful rul— Oh, ack. I can't be thinking disloyal

things like that.

"Can we bring the shouting match to an end about now?"

The nobles knew who the gloomy male voice belonged to, so they quieted

down.

That should have been the king's job. That someone else should stop them

made Gazef bite his lip.

That victory was so sweet.

He thought it would be all right. But would the king forget that sweet

nectar? Would the king Gazef was so proud of fade away? He couldn't

completely clear the worries from his mind.

"Your Majesty, if we're certain the empire will invade, we need to prepare

ourselves."

"Marquis Raeven, His Majesty can go alo—"

But Raeven interrupted the nobles' faction member and spoke again.

"Hold on. If His Majesty's army was defeated, how far do you think the

empire would advance? In order to protect my own domain, I'll be lending all

my strength to the king."

Silence descended.

The kingdom's soldiers were conscripted civilians; the gap between them

and the professional knights of the empire couldn't even be measured. The

only way to win against the empire's quality military was to overwhelm it

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with quantity. That's how they had fought for the past several years. If they

lost even when they committed large numbers of soldiers, it went without

saying what would happen.

Prompted by Marquis Raeven's remarks, the nobles' faction members

must have imagined imperial knights invading their territory.

The first to declare their support were the ones who had domains between

the capital and E-Rantel. Then those who were close to them. Soon, all of

them had agreed.

"All right. Then I'll make sure our response to the empire doesn't arrive

too soon, so until our declaration of war is delivered, gather your men! I'm

sure the fight will take place in the usual location. Gather there. Naturally, I'll

go, too," said the king.

"I'll accompany you to the battlefield, Father!"

The one who spoke was Prince Barbro, who had been standing by silently

up until that very moment.

"…No, no. The first in line for the throne doesn't need to be there. I'll

go."

It was the second prince, Zanac, across from Barbro, who answered.

Barbro's response was crystal clear.

"We don't need you!"

It was a harshly hostile tone.

Zanac's suggestion wasn't wrong. It was awfully dangerous for both the

king and his eldest son to go to battle. Surely even Barbro understood that.

But the reason he refused was because he saw his brother as an enemy.

That was also due to the demon disturbance.

During the demon disturbance, Zanac had patrolled the capital and was

praised by many of the kingdom's people. Meanwhile, Barbro never left the

palace. Consequently, the number of nobles supporting Zanac sharply

increased.

Zanac wasn't terribly good-looking, so the gap between his appearance

and his courage made him stand out. And conversely, Barbro, with his

splendid appearance, was presumed to be a coward. To erase that harmful

rumor, Barbro wanted to stand on the battlefield and demonstrate to the court

his bravery.

As his physique would indicate, Barbro was a decently capable warrior.

That being said, he was ultimately counted among those who needed to be

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defended; he wouldn't have had a chance at defeating Princess Renner's

attendant, Climb, who trained till he was practically coughing up blood. But

he was still the best swordsman in the royal family. If Zanac swung a sword,

his body would be pulled around by the weight of it alone. Barbro refused to

be seen as less courageous than such a weakling. Marquis Raeven once said,

What's the point of members of the royal family being skilled with a sword?

but Barbro knew that he wasn't as smart as Zanac, so he wanted to avoid

losing in the area he could be proud of: his abilities.

More than anything, he didn't want to fall behind in the contest for the

throne.

Gazef's stomach pained him when he thought about the dangers lurking

within the kingdom.

He was thinking that if the king retired, he would follow him and live as

his personal guard, but that could be tricky.

Was it wrong, as the king's loyal retainer, to not save the lives he could if

he continued working as the captain of the Royal Select? He also wondered if

the king would even allow him to follow in his footsteps.

He could leave the position up to someone else, if there were someone as

strong as him around, but he couldn't think of anyone. In terms of power,

there was one person, but he didn't think that man would agree to succeed

him.

I wonder what Brain will do now. What's on his mind these days?

Brain was currently serving Princess Renner directly, but Gazef had the

feeling he might suddenly go off somewhere. If he disappeared, it would

surely be to improve his swordsmanship. It was a lifestyle that appealed to

Gazef somewhat, as someone whose duties required him to stay in the palace.

He recalled how sharp Brain's sword was.

They had sparred after the demon disturbance.

Both gave their all in the bout, but it ended with Gazef's victory. Still,

every time his hair fluttered in the gust of a sword slash, he keenly sensed the

long hours of training Brain had put in.

He even had the feeling that in a few years Brain would surpass him.

If he succeeded me as captain of the Royal Select, I could focus on

training the younger generation… Then the kingdom would have a chance at

producing some outstanding warriors.

"I agree!"

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Marquis Beauleurope's voice brought him back. Now wasn't the time to

be mulling over the distant future.

"With your permission, I would offer you some of my strongest soldiers;

they can double as guards. What do you say, my king?"

"Hmm, Captain, what do you think?"

Gazef couldn't very well announce that he hadn't been paying attention,

so he pretended to think for a moment. He purposely ignored Marquis

Raeven's raised eyebrow.

It seemed Marquis Beauleurope was suggesting that Prince Barbro, whom

he supported as the next king, go to battle. But he didn't know for sure, so

there was only one thing he could say.

"As Your Majesty wishes."

The king nodded deeply, and Gazef felt somewhat guilty.

"Ah, I see… That's fine… Then you can come, too."

"Yes, Your Majesty! I'll cut off that fake emperor's head, Father, you'll

see!"

Hearing Barbro's energetic response, Gazef prayed the busy days to come

would send his worries out the window.

Marquis Raeven was one of the six great nobles and more adept than anyone

when it came to politics. Some might assume the office where he shrewdly

exercised his abilities would be gorgeous, but in reality, that wasn't the case.

Most people would no doubt be surprised to learn that many of the decisions

that plotted the course of the kingdom were made in such a cramped little

room.

All the walls had bookshelves, lined with neatly organized books and

labeled parchments—a testament to their owner's character. But that wasn't

why the room appeared small. Well, it was certainly one reason, but…

The biggest factor was hidden from view.

Marquis Raeven's residence was built in brick with stucco coating, like

most nobles' mansions. Then what was special about the office? It was like

any other room in the building.

Except that it was surrounded by a layer of copper plate built into the

walls to prevent eavesdropping, surveillance, or targeting.

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The room had no windows, so it felt rather cramped, but in a costperformance sense, it was big enough for his purposes, so he had to make do.

Having returned from the palace, Marquis Raeven went straight over to

the only chair in the room, set behind his massive desk, then dropped roughly

into it. It was the careless way someone who was utterly exhausted would sit.

Then he covered his face. No one who saw him would think he was the

most powerful great noble. He looked much more like a tired middle-aged

man.

When his blond bangs drooped slightly, he pushed them out of his face.

Raeven leaned back in his chair and grimaced.

Perhaps because he had relaxed a bit, the stress that had built up during

the court meeting came bubbling up as anger. It easily hit critical mass and

became a roar that echoed into the void.

"They're all idiots!"

Not a single one of them understood the situation. Or if they did and they

were allowing events to continue this way, that made them terrible

conspirators.

The kingdom was actually quite cornered.

Due to the empire's frequent harassment, all sorts of dangers were

gradually piling up, as exemplified by the looming food shortage.

The only reason the massive cracks weren't visible yet was because the

nobles were convinced that they had to endure only until they drove away the

other faction.

The empire could field professional warriors—knights—but the kingdom

had nothing like that. In order to resist the empire's invasion, they needed to

round up ordinary folks and create an army of conscripts. Consequently, that

left the villages shorthanded for a season.

The empire understood that, naturally bringing them to target the harvest

season.

It went without saying what a problem it was to have male workhands

absent from the fields during the busiest season. Some probably thought the

answer was to simply stop recruiting so many commoners. But unless the

kingdom gathered several times the numbers of the imperial knights, who

were both disciplined combat professionals and well outfitted, their conscript

army would be defeated all too easily.

Actually, there was one time the kingdom suffered greatly because it

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didn't draft enough men. At the time, Gazef led a successful counterattack

that managed to take out two of the "previous" Four, so the fight ended with

both sides hurt. Still, it could probably be counted as the kingdom's defeat,

considering the resulting drop in its national power on top of all the lives lost.

And yet…

"That trash is betraying us! Those other idiots are consumed in a power

struggle! And these morons are sowing discord!"

Marquis Blumrush, one of the six great nobles, was betraying the

kingdom and selling intelligence to the empire. Nobles were fighting among

themselves in the king's and nobles' factions. The princes were competing

for succession.

Marquis Raeven let out all his resentment as he pounded his desk.

"And then there's the king! He's no fool, and I know he isn't acting in his

own interests, but how thoughtless can he be?! If he doesn't turn over the

throne soon, the fighting will only worsen! Princess Renner created this

advantage for the king's faction, so he should have passed his authority to the

next generation and been done with it!"

The one who suggested that the king should join the battle during the

demon disturbance had been the Golden Princess, Renner.

As a result, the influence of the king's faction dramatically increased. If

the king had abdicated in favor of Prince Zanac right then, it probably would

have gone smoothly, but…

"This is all because he took pity on his eldest. I empathize, but what's

important here? Isn't there anyone with a brain who can do a little thinking?"

Actually, those people existed, but most of them were already in Marquis

Raeven's faction.

Instead of gathering all of them on his side, he wished he had strategically

placed them in the other faction to manipulate it from within. Not only did he

regret his past self's mistake, he practically ripped his hair out at the fact that

there didn't seem to be any smart nobles in the opposition.

"They're all so weak!" He howled, thinking of the nobles no more

intelligent than goblins who could see only the food dangling in front of their

eyes. "But—what should I do? Think!"

Breathing raggedly, he racked his brain.

He had to think of a way to keep the kingdom going despite the ordeals

that were sure to continue.

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"First, the upcoming war with the empire is a significant risk. Ainz Ooal

Gown is said to be quite powerful. We should assume we'll take at least ten

thousand losses and think about where to go from there. At the same time, we

need to get the next king into power…"

He organized his thoughts by saying them aloud. Really, he would have

liked to have someone to consult with. That was precisely why he was

supporting Prince Zanac.

The second prince was Raeven's sole ally in the royal family—well, he

had found another in Princess Renner. Their alliance worked because they

understood the current dangers in the same way and plotted their course

accordingly with an eye on the future.

If he could get Prince Zanac onto the throne, at the very least the weight

on his right shoulder would be lifted.

"…He said he would make me his prime minister, and it probably wasn't

a joke, so the weight on my left shoulder will probably stay the same. Even

so, the kingdom's situation should improve."

Marquis Raeven's goal for the near future was to ensure Prince Zanac

became king. If he failed, the kingdom would be one step closer to ruin.

"Now I have Princess Renner's help, so things should become slightly

easier in the future…"

Muttering his ideas and strategies as he pondered, Marquis Raeven sighed

deeply.

Sometimes he wanted to leave it all behind.

On more than one or two occasions, he entertained the idea of simply

destroying everything out of frustration.

He was building a castle in the sand, but there were children running

amok. Under those circumstances, destructive desires probably couldn't be

helped. But there was a reason he was able to endure.

Knock, knock.

The sound came from lower on the door. For a moment, Marquis

Raeven's face was completely out of character. It was almost like his

expression had melted—the corners of his eyes lowered and his lips relaxed.

"Oops, that won't do. Can't be looking like that."

He forced himself to pull it together, smacked his cheeks lightly, and

fixed his messy hair. Then he raised his voice so the person on the other side

of the metallic door would be able to hear. He made sure his voice was gentle

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and not angry.

"Come in."

The speed at which the heavy door opened indicated how much the person

who pushed it had waited for that moment.

A child appeared.

The adorable, innocent boy's cheeks stood out pretty and pink against his

white skin. He was probably around five years old. He ran across the room to

Marquis Raeven's lap.

"It's not very becoming to run indoors," a woman's voice called after

him.

Her face was beautiful, but there was something melancholic about her.

The most fitting word was perhaps cheerless. The quality of her clothing was

good, but the dress was a somewhat somber color.

She bowed her head to Marquis Raeven and then smiled faintly.

When was it that my wife finally began to smile?

He suddenly recalled how things used to be.

When the marquis was younger, there was a time when he harbored the

ambition that any talented youth would: acquiring the throne.

The irreverent dream of usurping the crown.

To a young marquis who was confident in his quick wits, that was what he

considered the most appropriate life goal. He devoted himself to his

ambitions. He expanded his influence, collected wealth, made connections,

defeated his political rivals…

Taking a wife had been merely another means to an end. If being married

would increase his standing, he didn't care what sort of woman became his

bride. In the end, it was a beautiful yet cheerless person who came to him, but

he didn't mind; the important thing was the connection to her parents.

Their life as a married couple was normal.

Rather, it was Marquis Raeven's personal idea of normal. When he

married her, he paid her the attention he would give any other tool, but there

was no love at all.

Then something had changed him.

The marquis's gaze shifted to the child at his knees.

When he had first heard they were having a baby, all he felt was that it

would be but one more tool. But when the newborn squeezed his finger,

something inside him broke.

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The baby reminded him less of a squishy miniature human and more of a

monkey. Raeven never thought he was cute or anything like that. But when

he felt that faint warmth through his finger, somehow everything else seemed

absurd.

He suddenly felt like the throne was no better than garbage.

At some point, without his realizing it, the man who had once burned with

ambition was dead.

He also recalled his wife's expression when he thanked her—he could

never tell her, but it made him laugh whenever he remembered it. The

thought, Who are you? had been plain on her face.

Of course, at first, she probably thought it was merely a temporary change

because she had borne him an heir. But the difference in how he acted

eventually became so strange that she began to wonder if the marquis had

gone mad.

Apparently, given a choice between her husband up until that point and

her changed husband, she preferred the latter. Her mood had begun to change

as well. Essentially, they became a normal couple.

At the moment, his child was trying to scrabble up, so Marquis Raeven

picked him up.

The boy laughed as the marquis brought him into his lap. He felt the high

temperature particular to small children through his clothes. The moderate

weight felt comfortable, and a peaceful satisfaction filled his heart.

Now Marquis Raeven had only one goal.

I want to pass on my domain in perfect condition. It was a typical goal of

a noble father.

He gazed gently at his child in his lap and asked, "What'sa matter, Baby

Lee? Smooch, smooch!" There were only two people in the world who had

seen the great noble scrunch up his lips and say, "Smooch, smooch."

One of them, the child, squealed in delight.

"Dear, using baby talk with children isn't good for their language

development."

"Hmph! Nonsense. That's only an unfounded rumor."

Though that's what he said, internally he knew he shouldn't do anything

that might harm his son's education.

He was sure that since this was his child, the boy was bound to be gifted.

Well, it was perfectly fine if his son wasn't, but it was only natural for a

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parent to want to encourage their child's strengths. At the same time, he

certainly didn't want to be a bad influence on his son. But the one thing he

couldn't give up was the loving nickname.

Avoiding his wife and her slightly troubled expression in his field of

vision, Raeven addressed his son again. "C'mon, Baby Lee. Hmm? What's

wrong? Is there something you wanna tell Daddy?"

"Eh-heh-heh-heh. Umm…"

The child cupped his hands to his mouth as if he was sipping tea,

intending to tell a secret. Seeing this adorable act, Marquis Raeven felt the

corners of his mouth soften affectionately. Nobody would believe that this

face belonged to the man known by many as a snake.

"What is it? Will you tell Daddy? Ohh, I wonder what it is."

"So for dinner today…"

"Uh-huh?"

"…we're having something you like!"

"Wowww! That makes Daddy soooo happy! …What is it that we're

having tonight?"

"Gabura fish meunière," his wife responded.

"I see. Oh, what's da matter, Baby Lee?!" he asked in a hurry upon

noticing the boy's sulky face.

"I wanted to tell you!"

Marquis Raeven felt like he had been struck by lightning from behind.

"Oh nooo… Er, I see. Sorry, Baby Lee, that was all Daddy's fault… Why

did you tell me that?"

In response to his furrowed brow and question, his wife put a hand over

her face—the gesture seemed to say, What am I going to do with you?

"Baby Lee, will you tell me, then?"

The pouting boy turned his head away. In response, Marquis Raeven put

on a violently shocked face full of such despair it seemed like he might

choose death.

"Sorry, Baby Lee. Daddy's a dummy and already forgot. Could you tell

me?"

From the way the boy was peeking at him, he could tell it would take only

a little more coaxing.

"Can you tell Daddy? I might cry!"

"Okay, umm, it's your favorite fish."

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"Oh! Daddy's so happy!" He smothered his boy's pink cheeks with

kisses. It must have tickled, because the child giggled innocently.

"Oookay. Let's go eat!"

"The meal has not been prepared yet."

"Ah." After all the buildup, it was a bit of a disappointment, and he

looked discontent. It would be simple to tell the cook to hurry it up, but

preparing a meal involved various steps and doing things in order with the

correct pacing. The cook couldn't make an excellent meal for him if he threw

off that rhythm out of pure selfishness.

Dissatisfied though he was, he didn't give any orders. He wanted to feed

his son food at its best.

"All right, your father is busy working. Let's be on our way."

"Okay!"

Marquis Raeven couldn't hide how lonely he felt when the boy's

energetic voice rang out.

"Oh-ho! Hold it right there. I finished my work already."

"Really?"

"Yes. Don't worry. It's already done."

"…Is that true? You're not just putting it off until tomorrow?"

"…"

Though his wife's eyes were icy, he didn't move to put the boy down. On

the contrary, he squeezed his son tight. He felt the child's body heat—so

warm.

"…I was getting bogged down anyway. There's nothing left that needs to

be done today."

It wasn't just an excuse. It was true he didn't have any pressing matters

that needed attending.

Perhaps his wife sensed that. She nodded a few times.

"I see… It seems like things have been rough."

"They are. I don't need any more manual laborers, just brains."

"What about my younger brother?"

"He's quite the brilliant fellow, but he's busy taking care of your home

estate, isn't he? I couldn't call him here and put him to work. Is there anyone

else you can think of who could help out?"

He'd asked her this over and over, and the response was always the same:

There weren't any nobles who could handle things with skill comparable to

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Raeven.

If there were, he wouldn't be struggling so much. His only other option

was to comb through the people. If they had a national education program

like the empire's, things may have been different, but without that, it was

painstaking to search out hidden genius. All he could do was follow up on

rumors of exceptionally bright individuals, then negotiate with the master of

the domain they resided in.

How much time and effort would that take? As he was sitting there

disappointed, his son in his lap piped up to say he had an idea.

"I know, Daddy! I'll help you with your work!"

"Wow! Thanks, Baby Lee! Ahh, I love you so much!"

The cute remark brought another flurry of kisses to the boy's cheeks. This

time was sheer bliss for the marquis.

These moments allowed him to relax and forget the demands of his dayto-day tasks.

He wouldn't hesitate to give his life to protect it.

2

Two months after the empire's declaration, it was the season of white breaths.

In villages around the kingdom, the people had transitioned from outdoor

to indoor work, and there weren't many out and about. Not many of them

were busy during these months. That was true for adventurers as well, even if

it seemed like they worked year-round without taking time off.

Occasionally a starving magical beast would appear in a village or a

sudden job would come in, but in general, there were not many requests.

Searching for uncharted ruins or exploring secluded regions was too

dangerous at this time of year, too. That made it the adventurers' off-season.

They put their efforts into training, leisure, or side jobs.

But in Fortress City E-Rantel, things were different. It was filled with a

heated confusion.

That said, it wasn't occupied by the same hustle and bustle as other cities

in the kingdom. The excitement was born not of liveliness but a different

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emotion.

The source was the outermost of E-Rantel's three walls.

Countless people had gathered there. Most of them didn't look very

impressive. The majority were probably commoners. But their numbers were

astounding. There had to be two hundred and fifty thousand people.

It wasn't as if E-Rantel always had that many residents.

Certainly, as a city that stood on land where three countries met, there was

a lot of traffic: Goods, people, money, and all variety of other things were

coming and going. A city like that inevitably grew.

Even so, two hundred and fifty thousand in a single district was

unrealistic.

Why were so many people gathering there?

Watching some of the young people provided a simple explanation.

Many of them were training with bladeless spears. Outfitted with dented

steel armor and shields, they practiced thrusting into wooden and straw

targets.

They were training for war. Yes, the people gathered there—two hundred

and fifty thousand of the kingdom's subjects—were conscripts for the war

against the empire.

Energetic cries overlapped in the air. Of course, there weren't many who

shouted eagerly. Most were frightened of the upcoming deadly battle and felt

compelled to train by the knowledge that they wouldn't make it home alive if

they didn't.

But not everyone was taking the exercises seriously.

War with the empire happened every year. That left many people feeling

despondent. Lacking any motivation, one person was simply lying on the

cobblestones in an inconspicuous corner. The gloomy man next to him was

complaining. Another had curled up, hugging his knees.

There were more of that sort in the older age brackets.

These soldiers had no fighting spirit; their only wish was to make it home

alive.

That was the reality of the kingdom's army. But what could be done?

They had been ordered to come, robbed of their time, and forced to

participate in a fight to the death that entailed very little reward. Even if they

made it back alive, the instability in their basic lifestyle would continue to

grow due to the time they lost—it was like a rope tightening around their

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necks.

Surviving meant only that they were destined for a slower death.

A wagon drove past the soldiers. The cargo bed bulged with a huge

amount of foodstuffs.

Common sense would say accommodating 3 percent of the kingdom's

entire population in one city and supplying them was practically impossible,

but E-Rantel was the forward-most base in the fight against the empire and

the place where the kingdom's troops were being mustered.

The conflict with the empire had been repeated so many times that making

preparations for two hundred and fifty thousand people had become

laughably routine. The food storehouse was massive. It was probably the

largest building in the city.

There was a constant stream of supplies being carted out.

The lethargic people eyed the wagon with fear, as if they were watching a

god of death drift past.

That was the mood that possessed those who knew what was about to

happen.

Transporting so much food could mean only one thing.

War with the empire was near.

E-Rantel, within the innermost wall…

The mansion of Mayor Panasolei Grouzé Day Rettenmaier stood in a

central location. It was a splendid residence, worthy of someone with the

mayor's status, but it was several grades inferior when compared to the

building next door.

That was the city's magnificent, honored guesthouse. It was opened only

when the king or an equally important personage visited.

Currently occupying one of the rooms within was a group of men made up

chiefly of Ramposa III and the great nobles.

Gazef stood silently next to the king, who sat on a simple throne.

In the center of the room was a large desk around which mainly nobles

gathered, frowning at a large map that had been laid out. On top of the map

were several markers, as well as countless scattered papers—the list of

commanders, reports from reconnaissance units, records of previous battles,

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information about monsters that appeared in the area, and more. Almost no

water was left in the jug the server standing by in the back of the room held.

That was an indication of how heated the debate had gotten.

In fact, the great nobles' faces, which were dignified and shaped by

history, seemed deeply fatigued. The bigger the army became, the more

meetings—and a greater variety of them—were required. Basic things could

be delegated to the staff serving under them, but for matters the nobles had to

arrange themselves, the leaders needed to have detailed discussions.

Their honor was on the line; they couldn't bear to bring shame upon

themselves, so there had been a considerable amount of work to do.

But that was finally over.

The one who showed the least fatigue of all present, Marquis Raeven,

spoke.

Rather, he was always the one speaking out front. They may have called

him a bat that flitted from one side to the other, but no one doubted his

intelligence. These bipartisan meetings always went the most smoothly when

he presided over them.

"I know you've all been busy, so thank you for coming. With this, our

current round of preparations has been completed on time. Now, let's make

our plans for this war with the empire."

Marquis Raeven looked around at everyone and held up a piece of

parchment so they could all see it.

"Several days ago, we received this declaration from the empire. It states

the location for the battle."

Specifying a location for battles was something opposing groups from the

same race sometimes agreed to, since sites of battles had the potential to end

up as cursed ground where undead would spawn. When both armies agreed,

the contest for superiority would be held in a place neither country found

problematic.

Of course, it was true not all wars went that way—on the contrary, those

sorts of arrangements were rarer than not—but the kingdom and the empire

had been agreeing on the site of their battles for several years.

It was the result of both countries seeing eye to eye on a common issue.

Unless they coordinated, any new territory they fought at and won could have

undead spawning nearby, which was a serious issue. Even if they somehow

managed to defend against the undead, the land itself could be cursed,

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making the whole endeavor pointless.

Relieved sighs could be heard around the room upon Marquis Raeven's

announcement—they could now treat the coming war as an extension of the

past wars, since the same procedures were being followed.

"So the battlefield is—"

"Oh, don't make a fuss about it, Marquis Raeven. It's the same place as

every year, isn't it? Where else could it even be?"

"Yes, Marquis Beauleurope. As you say, it's the same place as previous

years. The foggy, cursed land of the Katze Plain—the northwestern part."

"…Since they chose the same place as usual, do you think their plan of

attack will be the same as well?"

Some were probably thinking that these arrangements were proof that

despite the declaration about the caster Ainz Ooal Gown's country, the

empire's real motive behind that nonsense was to simply create a casus belli.

If that was all, Gazef might have agreed. But Marquis Raeven shook his

head.

"Sorry, Marquis Blumrush. Things likely aren't that simple. We've

received reports that the empire has mobilized quite a large number of

soldiers. I had my former orichalcum-ranked adventurer team investigate, and

while they weren't sure about the exact numbers of soldiers, they counted

coats of arms for six corps."

"Six?!"

The room was overcome with exclamations.

The imperial knights had a total of eight corps, and the most that had ever

participated in previous wars was four. But this time they would be deploying

one and a half times that amount.

"Are they…serious?" one noble asked with an anxious look on his face.

Six corps meant sixty thousand men. The kingdom had two hundred and

fifty thousand, giving them the overwhelming numerical advantage. In terms

of individual fighting power, however, the kingdom couldn't hold a candle to

the empire.

"I don't know, but we should probably consider it something different

from the simple single clashes of past years."

Up until now, the war generally consisted of two hundred thousand

against forty thousand. The empire would charge, and the kingdom would

react. That was it. The empire's goal was to slowly exhaust the kingdom in

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the long term, and forcing them to exhaust their provisions was one part of

that.

If that was their aim this time as well, they wouldn't have needed to

mobilize sixty thousand. In other words, they had some other objective. It

would be a mistake to treat this the same as their past fights. That was how

Marquis Raeven saw it.

"It was a good idea to increase our numbers this time."

Unfortunately, the increased manpower also created the headache of

increased war expenses.

In past years, the empire had timed their attack to coincide with the

harvest season, but this year it was winter, so there were additional costs

involved, such as procuring firewood.

The king was supposed to cover those costs, so if the king's faction hadn't

gained more influence recently, they wouldn't have been able to gather

enough contributions, and his power would have dropped significantly.

"But, Marquis Raeven, don't you think they could just be mobilizing more

soldiers than usual to maintain face in front of their ally, that caster who calls

himself a king? The empire took the lead in declaring war on us. If they

didn't mobilize a large army and actually fight us, it wouldn't be good for

appearances."

"I think there's certainly a chance that is the case. Also, we haven't

received any word from Ainz Ooal Gown. It's possible that this is entirely the

empire's initiative and Ainz Ooal Gown has gotten involved somehow. It

could even be against his will."

If that was the case, Gazef would be extremely happy, personally

speaking. What a relief it would be to not have that great caster as an enemy.

But that line of thinking was too optimistic.

Gazef had kept his mouth shut until this point, but now he spoke. "May I

say something?"

"Go ahead."

Having received the king's permission, Gazef stated the worry on his

mind.

"I don't think that theory is very likely. Given the letter we received from

the Slane Theocracy, I just can't imagine this being a superficial political

move."

All the nobles looked annoyed.

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The area around E-Rantel was of interest to three countries, so whenever

the empire and the kingdom had their scuffle, the Theocracy would declare

war as well. The notices they sent always claimed that the E-Rantel area

formerly belonged to the Theocracy and that the kingdom was unjustly

occupying it. Every year, the Theocracy demanded the kingdom return the

land to its rightful owner and said it was a shame the empire and the kingdom

were up in arms over a right that wasn't even theirs to fight over.

Both countries wanted to tell the Theocracy to stay out of it, but since the

Theocracy had never actually mobilized any forces, they interpreted those

letters as nothing but talk.

But the latest one was quite different.

The Theocracy has no records on these matters, so it is difficult to

determine, but if Ainz Ooal Gown truly once ruled those lands, then we

recognize the validity of his claims. That was the content of the letter that had

been delivered to the kingdom.

To the nobles, it was a preposterous, infuriating statement that deserved a

curt response of, Don't butt in and spout this irresponsible nonsense. But of

course, some of them grasped the real meaning contained within the message.

They understood well enough.

The Slane Theocracy's statement implied their diplomatic position: We

have no intention of antagonizing Ainz Ooal Gown.

That meant one of the three most powerful countries in the region was

concerned about taking on a single caster.

Well, that made sense. Gazef continued his line of thought.

"A squad from the six scriptures was handily wiped out… I'm not saying

Ainz Ooal Gown did it on his own, but the Slane Theocracy probably doesn't

want to make an enemy of someone who wields that much power. If this

conflict really is entirely the empire's ploy and Ainz Ooal Gown only

happened to be involved, I don't think the Theocracy would make such a

statement."

"Hmph. What can one caster do anyway? We number two hundred and

fifty thousand."

Count Litton cracked a derisive smile and laughed at Gazef's caution.

Gazef kept himself from furrowing his brow. That caster was immensely

powerful, and the role he could play was astoundingly major. But at the same

time, he understood what Count Litton was saying.

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If he didn't know better, he would have thought the same thing.

For example, the empire had Fluder Paradyne, a great caster whose name

was known far and wide. He was said to be able to use fifth- or perhaps even

sixth-tier magic, but no one knew the details.

That was because Fluder had never participated in battle against the

kingdom, so his magic had never wreaked havoc on their army.

Furthermore, though everyone knew sixth tier was awesome, it was

simply reality that they didn't grasp exactly what that meant.

That was true even for the captain of the Royal Select, who had been

through a great many battles.

To someone who wasn't a caster but a noble who knew of magic only

academically, it must have been even harder to fathom. In fact, many

kingdom nobles were of the opinion that Fluder wasn't such a big deal. They

thought the empire hyped him up for appearances. The tendency to think that

way was especially prevalent among higher-ranking nobles who didn't have

much contact with adventurers or other occupations that used magic.

Count Litton must have been one of those. It was clear he considered

casters a type of commonplace magician. Of course, the priests he ended up

calling when he was sick or injured were somehow different.

"…I don't think we should feel safe in mere numbers. If this caster used a

flying spell and an area-of-effect attack, we would be in deep trouble. It

would also be a problem to be hit with long-range attack spells. But I doubt

the empire would waste a specialist like that. It is treating him strangely,

though. I don't think it would go to these lengths if he was a mere caster. We

should be wary," Margrave Urovana murmured solemnly.

His hair was already completely white, and his face was covered in

wrinkles, but it still definitely held the particular dignity of a person with

many years of experience. His age was part of the reason, but each word he

said carried a weight that Count Litton's had not, and even Litton himself had

to nod in agreement, albeit reluctantly. But there was someone who had a

rebuttal, and that was Marquis Beauleurope.

"Hmph. Who's Ainz Ooal Gown anyway? Like Litton said, what can he

do on his own? If he comes flying through the sky, shoot him down with

arrows. If he attacks at range, we'll do the same. What can one measly caster

do?! Casters only change the course of an entire battle in stories!"

"…With all due respect, some of the bards' heroic sagas are true…"

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"Apparently, you haven't heard, Captain, but flashy stories get people's

attention. When bards are busy exaggerating, sooner or later, the story

becomes something that is far from the truth. And stories are apt to change in

major ways when passed from teller to teller besides."

"But if we prepared with a unit of casters who can cast Fireball—"

"Is it possible to round up a big group of people who can use Fireball,

Captain?"

"I…doubt it."

Fireball was a tier-three spell. Even the empire, with its magic academy,

would probably have difficulty gathering a large number of casters who could

use that.

"Then isn't that your answer? Magic is just one weapon. No matter how

powerful he is, this caster won't be able to change the course of the battle on

his own! You're a good example yourself, Str—Captain Stronoff. No one can

defeat you in a duel, but neither can you make short work of an army tens of

thousands strong."

What Marquis Beauleurope was saying was true. Gazef couldn't find

anything to argue against.

Moreover, Gazef had heard doubtful tales of ten thousand soldiers getting

killed with a single spell only in stories. Even the old woman Ligritte Belzú

Kaurau, one of the Thirteen Heroes, didn't have that much power.

But Gazef was still worried.

Isn't he just speaking from ignorance if he doesn't actually know any

amazing casters?

"…What about dragons?"

"Marquis Blumrush… The caster is a human, I presume? Why do you

bring up dragons?"

"O-oh, I was just thinking, since one of them could take an entire human

army…"

"There's no point in bringing up dragons when we're talking about

humans. Your premise is wrong in the first place! What are you thinking?

Being so frightened of a single caster"—Marquis Beauleurope glared in

Gazef's direction—"jumping at his shadow? Shouldn't you be ashamed, as a

noble of the kingdom?! Though…I do understand your worries, Captain…

We should probably assume this Ainz Ooal Gown's individual fighting

power is equal to five thousand men."

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"F-five thousand?!" Count Litton's eyes grew large. "Five thousand in

one… Isn't that a bit of an overestimation? Surely half that amount is fine."

"I'm assuming that the captain is equal to a thousand men. If the captain is

on guard against this enemy, five times that amount makes sense…because I

trust the captain's eye."

"Thank you."

I wonder if Ainz Ooal Gown's combat ability is really equal to only five

thousand, but assessing it as anything higher seems unlikely. It's better to

thank the man and keep him happy. With those thoughts, Gazef bowed to

Beauleurope.

"Can I say something?" Prince Barbro, who had been silent up until now,

spoke. "…There's something that has been on my mind for a while. Couldn't

we send adventurers to war? They're working in the kingdom, so it should be

a simple matter of drafting them as royal subjects. Why are we still not

allowed to pull them into battle? There isn't any law against it."

The great nobles exchanged looks. As overseers of their domains, they

knew how valuable adventurers were. That's why they didn't think in the

way Barbro did.

Gazef felt that the king was at fault for this remark. If he had given Barbro

a domain and had him run it, this question would never have come up.

Marquis Raeven cleared his throat.

"Prince. First, aside from copper plates and whatnot, do you understand

that adventurers are stronger than soldiers?"

"Yes, I know that. That's why they would be able to do such wonderful

things for us if we drafted them. The empire's knights would probably be a

piece of cake for them."

"Without a doubt, I'm sure. But if we did that, then our enemy—the

empire, this time—would draft adventurers to fight back. When that happens,

we wouldn't see adventurers clashing with adventurers but rather adventurers

killing the weaker soldiers. If that happens, losses on both sides will increase.

Many more of the weaker people will die. So we've decided that we won't

borrow the adventurers' power; thus, we're avoiding military escalation. It's

also forbidden in the Adventurers Guild rules."

For the same reason, they couldn't hire workers, either. Although in their

cases, it was also a matter of them being more expensive than adventurers as

well as untrustworthy.

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"Ah. I don't like it, but I understand. Then what if the city gets attacked?

If they still didn't help us, that would be unforgivable as people of our

country, no?"

"I understand what you're saying, Your Highness. But it's hard to tell

whether they consider themselves subjects of the kingdom or not. Many of

them live as travelers. More than anything, if an adventurer dies in battle,

that's a loss for the country and a greater loss the greater the adventurer.

Specifically, those losses would increase the possibility that monsters appear,

and we don't have the adventurers to deal with them. Hence, the separation

between the military and adventurers."

"…Earlier, Marquis Raeven was saying he enlisted retired adventurers as

soldiers, didn't he? Former orichalcum ranks or something. That's fine?"

"Apparently, that's not an issue. The Adventurers Guild has rules, but

they don't apply to people who have left the guild. That's why he was able to

hire them."

"…I don't know. I just don't like this."

Some of the nobles chuckled in agreement.

"But that goes through orichalcum rank. For adamantite, it might be

different. Currently, in the kingdom, we have two adamantite-ranked teams,

but…"

There was no one present who hadn't heard of the Blue Roses, who had

taken action during the demon disturbance.

"…before their era in the spotlight, there was another adamantite team.

They retired, but they don't appear to have been hired by anyone. Right,

Captain?"

"That's right. There were four members. One runs a training hall to train

select students in swordsmanship. Two went off traveling together. The last

one is an old woman who at one point belonged to the Blue Roses but later

disappeared."

Recalling each memorable character, Gazef counted them on his fingers.

He had been walking in the royal capital when his master, who had seen

his fight in the royal tournament, dragged him to the training hall for a hell of

forced study and sword technique drills.

It was because of that training that Gazef, who had been a simple

mercenary, was able to better serve the king, but that said…

No, thinking back on it now, those are good memories.

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"I see. I heard there's an adventurer team in the city called Raven Black. I

thought perhaps their caster, Beautiful Princess Nabe, could face Ainz Ooal

Gown, but I suppose it won't work out, then."

The idea itself was a good one, but the Adventurers Guild was sure to

oppose it.

Several nobles began to disparage the guild:

They're nothing but commoners. Who do you think is hiring adventurers

in the first place? If you're a loyal subject of the kingdom, it's only natural to

cooperate. And so on.

To those at the top, anyone who didn't bow to authority was unpleasant.

But it was also true that without adventurers, fighting off monsters would be

practically impossible.

If the Adventurers Guild moved away, the kingdom would slowly fall into

ruin, unable to exterminate the larger monsters that appeared. That was surely

what would happen, even with Gazef around.

Monsters had a wide range of special abilities that required a wide range

of attacks, defenses, and healing to exterminate. That was why adventurers

were indispensable. Of course, it would have been a different story if, like in

the empire, they had casters and rangers incorporated into their army.

"No, that's brilliant, Your Highness! Doesn't sound bad at all!"

It was some baron who had shouted.

His status was definitely not high enough to be in the room, so his

presence meant he had to be someone's flunky.

"Beautiful Princess Nabe may have an insightful opinion as a caster. At

the very least, perhaps we should send a messenger to talk with her!"

Voices of agreement sounded, albeit sparsely. Most of them were lowerranking barons. Since they were all supporting Prince Barbro, they must have

been lackeys of one of the nobles' faction members.

They didn't seem to notice that anyone with a decent sense of tact wore a

bitter expression.

"You should go, then." The king sounded tired as he gave the order. "Sir

Momon is an adamantite-plate adventurer, though. Don't do anything to

upset him."

"Yes, Your Majesty! I, Nosmartz, shall carry out this royal order without

fail!"

"All right, then. Do take care to respect Sir Momon," the king repeated

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and then dismissed him with a wave of his hand. The noble who had received

the order exited the room, brimming with confidence.

It seemed like he didn't realize that he would be cast aside the instant any

trouble occurred.

Marquis Raeven sighed. "Well, we got off topic… Where were we…?

Oh, right. I believe we were talking about how much fighting power Ainz

Ooal Gown has. I'd like our common understanding to be that he, on his own,

is equivalent to five thousand soldiers, if there are no objections…?" He eyed

Gazef.

"No, no objections."

Gazef felt like double that still probably wasn't enough, but he knew it

would be a challenge to get anyone who hadn't witnessed his power to

believe that.

"All right. Then can everyone send their troops to the area of Katze Plain

as specified by the empire?"

Each noble gave their assent as Raeven looked at them in turn. When he

faced Marquis Beauleurope, the man answered loudly.

"Of course it's no problem, Marquis Raeven! I can move my army at

once. And Your Majesty, I have one proposal—if I may? There's something I

would like the prince to do for me."

There was only one prince present. All eyes turned to Barbro.

"It's said that the caster Ainz Ooal Gown showed up and saved Carne. If

he was just playing at chivalry, that's fine, but it's also possible he was

making some sort of strategic move. I think we should send an army and

speak with the people there. I'd like the prince to command that endeavor."

"Marquis!"

Barbro glared sharply at Marquis Beauleurope.

"Silence." It was the king who spoke. "That's not a bad idea. My son, I

hereby order you: Go to Carne and speak with the people there."

Gazef desperately worked to keep his eyebrows from moving.

He didn't think it would be possible to get information about the caster

from Carne at this point. And wasn't it a bad idea to split up their forces,

even slightly?

"…If it's an order, then I have no choice but to obey. But please know

that it's not what I want to do."

Realizing the king had no intention of retracting his command, the prince

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bowed his head, though he didn't attempt to hide his displeasure.

"For the army that will go to the village, I'll lend you some of my elite

troops. Please also allow me to gather some nobles to accompany Your

Highness. I imagine five thousand is enough?"

"Aha, so you're wary of a detached imperial unit? You're always so

perceptive, Marquis Beauleurope."

Gazef understood Marquis Raeven's comments, but he wondered if the

empire would really pull such a stunt after specifying the location of the

battle. In a normal war, that would be elementary strategy, but to send out a

detachment after promising a definitive battle would simply earn contempt

from neighboring countries. The empire would be hanging itself.

"I doubt it will require that many soldiers, but it's your proposal, Marquis.

I'll leave the numbers up to you."

"I'm grateful, Your Majesty. There is one more thing…"

Marquis Beauleurope paused for a moment, less to take a breath than to

make sure everyone was listening.

"Who will lead the army in this war? I have no problem taking command,

if need be."

The atmosphere shifted.

That was a disquieting remark. He was asking the king a question, but the

content of it was something else entirely. He was putting invisible pressure

on the king to hand over command authority.

When asked whether King Ramposa III or Marquis Beauleurope would be

the better commander, most of the nobles would choose Marquis

Beauleurope. He was also responsible for raising a full fifth of the kingdom's

army—fifty thousand men.

Additionally, he had an elite corps. It was a band of professional soldiers

inspired by Gazef's Royal Select.

Their combat ability was high. They weren't as strong as Gazef's men,

but they could still fight evenly or better against the empire's knights. What

was particularly surprising was how many there were—some five thousand in

total. If they fought the Royal Select, they would probably win a crushing

victory with sheer numerical superiority.

If the king wasn't present, command would no doubt go to Marquis

Beauleurope. But the king was present. In which case, Ramposa III

commanding was only natural, but the members of the nobles' faction

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probably wouldn't accept that readily.

Gazef's expression grew stern in response to Marquis Beauleurope's

pressuring question, but although the marquis saw that, he didn't pay him any

mind. To Marquis Beauleurope, Gazef was merely a peasant who could

handle a sword. He couldn't even stand the fact that anyone who wasn't a

noble was attending the meeting.

"…Marquis Raeven."

"Your Majesty!"

"I entrust you with command. March the army safely to the Katze Plain. I

leave the formations and positioning after that up to you."

"Understood." Marquis Raeven accepted the royal order with a bow.

Marquis Beauleurope's desired command had been swiped, but he couldn't

complain if it was Marquis Raeven. Everyone knew how he excelled, so it

was hard to criticize Raeven in a harsh way. More importantly, he had an

incredible number of connections. Even some of the nobles under Marquis

Beauleurope were indebted to him. Criticizing him in front of them could

make them question Marquis Beauleurope's capabilities, so he had no choice

but to agree.

"Marquis Raeven, I'll entrust my army to you as well. Let me know if you

need anything."

"Thank you, Marquis Beauleurope. I will."

The king had managed the situation brilliantly. Gazef couldn't have been

more satisfied if he had done it himself.

"Is there anything else?" He waited briefly for any answer, but no one

responded. "…Then begin preparations for war. You'll be departing as early

as tomorrow. It will probably take two days to reach the battlefield. Make

sure to prepare carefully. You are dismissed. Marquis Raeven, the rest I leave

to you."

"Understood, Your Majesty."

Everyone left the room in order to make their departure arrangements, and

the only ones left were the king and Gazef.

Ramposa III slowly rolled his neck in a circle. Even Gazef could hear it

cracking. It had to have been awfully stiff—the look on his face said it must

have felt good to stretch.

"You must be tired, Your Majesty."

"Indeed I am."

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Gazef winced. Miniature versions of the kingdom's two rivaling factions

had been there moments ago. The fatigue the king felt had to be quite serious.

But there were people who had suffered more than King Ramposa III.

"I think it's about time…"

As soon as Ramposa III spoke, there were several knocks at the door.

Then it slowly swung open and someone who had been waiting came inside.

It was a man with a face that was not much to look at—the best description

was probably overweight bulldog. His hair was thin enough that his head was

reflecting the light, and the hairs that were there had turned white.

His body was round, with an overgenerous amount of fat around his

abdomen and so much flesh gathered under his chin it left onlookers in

disbelief.

No, he may not have been much to look at, but there was a gleam of

wisdom in his eyes. Ramposa III greeted him with a deeply sympathetic

smile.

"Thanks for coming, Panasolei."

"Your Royal Majesty." The mayor of E-Rantel gave his master a

respectful bow. Then he shifted his gaze. "It's been a while, Sir Stronoff."

Panasolei was a noble, but he was extremely polite to Gazef, a commoner,

and paid him respect. It was precisely because he was that sort of man that he

was dispatched to such a key location.

"Well, if it isn't the mayor. Thank you again for your assistance that time.

And thank you for helping treat my men's wounds. I had to report back to the

king as soon as possible, so I rushed off without offering a proper thank-you.

My apologies for that."

"No, no, please don't trouble yourself. When you were attacked, I

understood what a major incident it was, so I didn't find it strange at all, nor

could I have."

They bowed repeatedly to each other, and the king's cheerful laughter

echoed out.

"Panasolei, not going to do that snorting thing this time?"

"Your Majesty… There's no point in putting on that act with people who

won't underestimate me. Or do Your Majesty and Sir Stronoff think I'm the

kind of man who actually does that sort of thing?"

"Sorry, sorry. I was only joking. Forgive me, Panasolei."

"No, as your subject, I spoke too harshly. Please excuse my rudeness,

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Your Majesty. Now then…shall we begin?"

"No…" The king hesitated before responding. "No, there should be one

more coming. Shouldn't we wait for him?"

"Oh? Then should we get the matter of expenses for the city's provisions

out of the way? I can also explain the calculation of national strength a year

out based on materials the marquis provided."

"Yes, I'd like to get anything that will give me a headache out of the way

first."