Chapter 2 Butterflies Caught In a Spider's Web Part 1

A number of workers gathered at the count's place before dawn. Including

Hekkeran and the rest of Foresight, who were the last to arrive, there were

eighteen. They were all skilled workers from the imperial capital who had

been rounded up for this job.

The teams observed one another with appraising eyes, keeping a short

distance between groups. The way they all turned simultaneously to look at

Foresight when they arrived was quite a sight, in a way.

"Ah, I've seen a few of these faces around. Or actually, didn't we just run

into Mr. Beetle over there on the Katze Plain?"

"Huh? Didn't I tell you at the inn? Gringham's team got the request, too.

Did I not say that? I'm pretty sure I said something to that effect… But

anyhow, behold this concentration of the empire's most famous workers! A

round of applause for our requester's deep pockets!"

"We can do without the applause. More importantly, it looks like the team

leaders are over there."

Though the workers were split up by team, three people had gathered to

exchange information.

"Gringham's there, so yeah. Okay, I'll go say hello."

"…What the—! Ugh. He's here, too? Ahh, I see. So those elf girls are…

He's the worst. Drop dead, shitbag," Imina snapped. She was only

murmuring in a low voice but with enough hostility that Hekkeran and the

others quickly looked around.

"Miss Imina!"

"I know, Rober. We're teammates for this job… I just don't want to see

his face."

"I don't like that guy, either."

"When it comes to like or dislike, I'm not fond of him, but we still have to

watch our attitudes."

Hekkeran got in between Imina, whose face said, Oh, be quiet, and

Roberdyck, and he playfully shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, hey, I gotta go

say hi, so don't talk like that now. I won't be able to keep it off my face!"

"Good luck, leader."

At Roberdyck's cheer, he pulled a face and said, "Ya, sure, it's just me."

Then he approached the other three leaders.

The first one to greet him as he neared was a worker in silver full plate

armor. Since the armor was bizarrely rounded and had huge shoulders, it

made the man look less like a person and more like an upright rhinoceros

beetle.

Judging from the horn jutting out from the forehead of his close helmet,

that's what he was going for.

However, one thing he probably wasn't going for was the impression that

a child had stood a rhinoceros beetle up on two feet—his legs were short. To

put it kindly, he stood with his short, stout legs planted firmly on the ground

—like a dwarf warrior might.

"As I suspected, thou hast come, Hekkeran."

"Hey, Gringham. Yeah, the terms were pretty good."

He raised a hand to wave at the other two. The greeting was a bit relaxed

for the situation, but they didn't seem to be offended. The four of them were

wildly different ages and experience levels, but they were all capable

workers.

"If you only brought"—Hekkeran looked at Gringham's team and counted

before continuing—"five people, where are the rest of your members?"

"They're resting, washing away their fatigue. And due to the injuries

incurred during the recent work in which thou also participated, various

repairs and purchases need be made."

This man, Gringham, was the leader of Heavy Masher, a large worker

team of fourteen.

Naturally, there were benefits to having so many members. Since they

could take a number of different approaches to any given job, Heavy Masher

could act very practically. It was a major strength to be able to customize the

team to fit individual requests.

But there were also drawbacks. Since rewards were shared, each

member's take was smaller. And it also took more time to make decisions, so

they were less agile.

With those pros and cons, depending on the workers' personalities, it

wouldn't be surprising for a team that big to split apart, so the fact that

Gringham could hold them all together was an indication of his excellent

management ability.

"Hmm. Sounds tough. Maybe you should join our team; then you won't

have to get cursed for making so much without them."

"What a daft proposal. A leader must reward his team when their work is

done. So, albeit unfortunately for thee, we'll take the liberty of achieving

excellent results."

"C'mon, gimme a break. And you can totally talk like normal, you

know!"

Gringham flashed a smile.

Sensing some negative sentiment, Hekkeran shrugged his shoulders and

turned to another man. "I think this is the first time we've properly met."

When Hekkeran offered his hand and greeting, the man took it.

He had strong, firm hands.

His tapered eyes moved to focus on Hekkeran.

"Foresight. I've heard a lot about you."

His voice was cool, like the clear ringing of a bell. Well, it did go with his

looks.

"You too, Tenbu."

There were probably no workers who hadn't heard of this genius warrior.

He was undefeated at the arena. In one sense, his team, Tenbu, was made up

of just himself—which is why Imina had made such a face when she saw

him.

"I'm happy to be teaming up with a genius swordsman said to be equal to

the kingdom's strongest, Gazef Stronoff."

"Thank you. But perhaps you meant that soon he will be equal to me, Elya

Uzruth."

"Ohhh, well then!"

Elya smiled faintly, producing an expression that could be read as

arrogance. In response, Hekkeran blinked several times to conceal the

emotion that threatened to appear in his eyes.

"I'll be expecting a lot out of your sword in the ruins."

"Yes, please do. I just hope there are some monsters in there who will put

up a fight." He patted the weapon on his hip.

"We don't know what kind of monsters are in there. Could be dragons!"

"How terrible. If something as powerful as a dragon showed up, we might

be in for a tough battle, but I'll show you how to win."

Hekkeran smiled with his mouth only, saying, "I see, I see," and

continued to suppress his emotions while observing the reaction of the

remaining leader in his peripheral vision.

Given the rumor that Elya could win against an orichalcum-rank

adventurer in a duel of blades, it wasn't so simple to declare his response

simple bragging. Besides, it was good to have confidence in one's skills and

crucial for workers to emphasize their abilities.

Of course, that was only if one didn't try too hard and fail.

Dragons were the most powerful race in the world.

They flew through the sky and loosed their "breath." Their scales were

hard, and their physical ability was unequaled. As they aged, they learned to

use magic. They boasted life spans to which those of humans could never be

compared, and the wisdom they accumulated was enough to make even sages

prostrate themselves before them.

It was precisely because they were so strong that they appeared in stories

so often, whether as an evil enemy or an ally to the hero.

The Thirteen Heroes' adversary in their last adventure had been a divine

dragon. Heroes' ultimate opponents were often dragons.

If Elya was arrogant enough to suggest that they take on a dragon just

because it came up in conversation, the only possible response was shock.

His theatrical delivery might have indicated a joke, but unfortunately his eyes

were dead serious. How inflated could his ego possibly get?

Considering that they didn't know what kind of monsters were in the

ruins, Hekkeran was sure judging Elya's mentality a liability to the team was

the right move. I should keep my distance from him.

Collapsing is his prerogative, but if he leans on us, he'll be a burden,

Hekkeran noted with a faint smile, and he decided to amend their handling of

him—they would use him and dump him.

"So those are the members of Foresight, huh? Ohh?" Contempt and

prejudice appeared in Elya's eyes when he saw Imina.

It was rumored that Elya was from the Slane Theocracy, a religious nation

where they believed humans were most sacred. Its citizens tended to consider

those with nonhuman blood to be a notch inferior.

To a man like that, the idea that the half-elf Imina was participating in this

job on the same level as him was probably offensive. This is why people think

that rumor is true… But if he was from the Theocracy, he'd have a baptismal

name. Oh, right, but some people say he discarded it…

Grumbling in his head, he made sure to say something, as well. "…Hey,

make sure you keep your hands off my teammates!"

"Of course. We're comrades for this job. I'll be good."

"I want to believe you."

Elya was like a child with power who had only matured in size, or rather,

his mental unbalance was palpable. Hekkeran had given his warning, but he

still got bad vibes that didn't let him rest easy.

"What? Please do. Then, getting back to our original topic, I'd like to pass

on taking command during our trip. Barring extremes, I'll follow the orders

of whoever leads the group, and I don't mind being the vanguard in a fight.

I'll conquer everything with my katana."

"Okay, got it."

"…Then I'll be getting back to my team. If you need anything, please call

me."

Elya bowed and walked away.

Hekkeran nearly scowled when he saw the multiple women waiting for

him, but he couldn't let his feelings show. There were times when other

people knowing one's emotions was a disadvantage. If he was going to get

caught in that kind of spot, he wasn't fit to be a team leader.

He buried his reaction and erased his expression.

Shifting his gaze as if averting his eyes from something unclean, he

greeted the last remaining team leader.

"Hello, sir. You're looking well."

"Hallo, Hekkeran. You're lookin' fine yourself!" The whistling quality of

the man's voice was due to the fact that he'd lost most of his front teeth.

Palpatra "Green Leaf" Ogrion…

His nickname came from the armor he wore, which sparkled like a leaf

covered in morning dew. It wasn't made from metal but from the scales of a

green dragon. Palpatra's team had successfully hunted the beast. Of course, it

hadn't been such a big one, but dragons were beyond what workers and

adventurers could usually handle.

Palpatra was an eighty-year-old man.

Most people in this line of work retired in their midforties—the faster

ones got out before they even hit forty. The number of adventurers dropped

abruptly past age fifty. As expected, people who did this harsh work sidled up

next to death couldn't ignore their physical decline.

And actually, although he was an exception, he had still fallen quite far

from his peak—during his heyday he was said to have been orichalcum rank.

And yet, he remained on the front lines.

Palpatra was so old, but he was still working. Most of the people in the

industry respected him.

"That one seems a mite risky, eh?"

Palpatra's wrinkled face grew even more wrinkly as he lowered his voice,

and Hekkeran voiced his agreement. "Right? I don't care if he wants to

destroy himself, but I'm not interested in going down with him."

"It's true that he's strong, but that sort of overconfidence can spread to

fellow travelers. It's extremely dangerous." Gringham emitted a low groan

that seemed to say, What do we do with this guy? There was probably no

worker who didn't think that, faced with Elya's attitude.

"Actually, how strong is he? I haven't been to the arena lately…"

"Thou knowest not? I do. And thou, sir?"

"Just stories—I haven't seen him with my own eyes. If I ask my

teammates, they might know something. What's the standard anyway? If we

say Gazef Stronoff is the peak, then where would someone everyone knows,

say, the Four, rank?"

"The knights nicknamed Heavy Bomber, Unshakable, Lightning, and

Storm Wind? It's hard to rank them. They're certainly not as strong as the

captain of the Royal Select, but Gazef Stronoff being on top is also in the

past. With the passage of time, new powers will emerge."

"Are you saying Uzruth could be one of those? Is he really that strong?

Actually, I've never seen the Four up close. Probably the most powerful I've

seen is the emperor's direct report, the captain of the Silver Guard. He's

pretty tough—equal to the Four, maybe?"

"The strongest I know are the Council State's dragonlords. Humans could

never defeat them."

"Some say there are five, but some say seven… Oh, but we're trying to

figure out a yardstick to use to rank Elya, so let's limit it to human fencers

only."

"In that case, most of the Argland Council State's fencers get excluded

because they're subhumans. Same can be said for the martial kings of the

arena. Then how about the female holy knight of the sacred kingdom Roebel

with her divine swords? That said, when it comes to pure fencing ability, I'm

not sure…"

As a worker, it was extremely important to gather information about who

was strong for carrying out jobs. If someone got in the way, knowing who

they were could make the difference between a win and a loss. Of course, a

warrior would end up learning about others in the swordsmanship world as a

matter of course.

What was happening right now was the same thing. The conversation that

had started with the question of how strong Elya was had gradually gained

steam and was turning into an exchange of powerful character info. It

resembled a group of kids going, That guy's strong!

"The Slane Theocracy's overall level is high, but I don't hear many

rumors about exceptional individuals. Even if they have them, they're faith

casters, so they don't count."

"One of the top-ranked adventurers in the kingdom is a woman warrior.

What about her?"

"Oh, you mean 'pecs, not breasts'? She's strong, yeah. But I heard she

lost to the captain of the Royal Select in a formal dual."

"…I heard she nearly killed someone who called her that. Hya-hya-hya!

What a terrifying woman!"

"Once you start listing names, it gets hard to keep it to just sword users.

The city states have the Brave Warrior and the Dark Knight. The Dragon

Kingdom has 'Furious Flash' Celebrate from the adamantite-rank adventurer

team Crystal Tear and 'Deep Red' Optix from the worker team Blazing

Crimson. In the kingdom…Brain Unglaus?"

The conversation paused for the first time.

"Brain Unglaus? Who's that?"

"Thou have not heard? He's a well-known swordsman in the kingdom…

And thou?"

Hekkeran shook his head. He'd never heard that name before.

"Thou knowest not, hmm?" Unable to hide his disappointment, he spoke

in an indefinite tone as if digging up old memories. "This happened a long

time ago, but I faced him in the quarterfinals of the kingdom's royal

tournament. At the time, I was nowhere as strong as he."

"Was that the tournament that Gazef Stronoff won?"

"Indeed. In the end, Unglaus lost to Stronoff, but their dual was worthy of

close attention. They were both truly model fencers. I kept thinking things

like, How'd he block that? and Oh, in this situation you can curve your blade

to strike… I can only say I was lucky to witness it."

If a man of Gringham's caliber was saying that, and Brain held his own

against the warrior said to be strongest in any nearby kingdom, then he must

be one first-rate fighter.

There are a lot of tough guys in the world I've just never heard of…,

thought Hekkeran admiringly.

"Hmm. So then who do you personally think is stronger, that Unglaus

fellow or Uzruth?"

"Uzruth," Gringham answered immediately. "Compared to Unglaus at the

time of the tournament, definitely Uzruth. I saw him recently at the arena, so

I'm confident."

"In other words, he's equal to the captain of the Royal Select a few years

ago? He's that strong?! Whoops." Hekkeran lowered his voice after getting

so excited he'd been shouting.

"I see. Unglaus, hmm? I guess I should make sure to keep up to date on

the kingdom… Speaking of which, have you heard the big news? About the

third adamantite-rank adventurer team?"

"Of course I have, sir."

"Ah, sorry. I haven't."

"Hekkeran…thine ignorance will endanger thy team."

"I realize that, but I can't go around gathering info on kingdom

adventurers. That'd be a waste of money."

"Hya-hya-hya. You got some mettle! I like you."

"Sir, I'd like to get your opinion: I've heard the rumors about Momon of

Raven Black, but are they not overblown? Did his team truly beat a giant

basilisk with only two people? With no one specialized in healing…?"

"Whoa, that can't be true."

It would be nearly impossible to kill a giant basilisk with two people. Not

even an adamantite-rank team could do it.

"So we agree, Hekkeran? The more information I gather, the more

suspicious he appears. There is even one story that says during the incident in

the kingdom he slayed a demon over two hundred difficulty in one blow.

This is merely my theory, but dost thou think perhaps the kingdom

adventurers' guilds fabricated the stories and promoted him to adamantite in

order to increase their own influence?"

"Could be. The appearance of a high-rank adventurer is major. But would

the guild really fudge his rank like that? They can be pretty stubborn."

"Depends on the city. Each guild master is a little different. The head of

the guild I had back when I was an adventurer was the nastiest variety. I

socked him right in the face! Hya-hya-hya! That's why I'm a worker now!"

Palpatra laughed heartily.

The story of how he became a worker was notorious. There probably

weren't any workers in the imperial capital who didn't know it. Anyone who

went drinking with him heard it over and over.

"Still, I doubt they would do that."

"So you're saying those things are true?"

"It's hard to believe. Even giving them the benefit of the doubt—although

common sense says a difficulty rating over two hundred is already fishy—he

wouldn't be able to defeat something so strong in one blow. If anything,

maybe the rumor is exaggerated? A high-difficulty demon appeared, a few

teams took it on, and the team that dealt the final blow was Raven Black?"

"That's more plausible."

"Anyone stronger than orichalcum rank is crammed into adamantite, so I

wouldn't be surprised if there were someone that strong. There has to be a

wide range of adamantite abilities."

"So Hekkeran shares my opinion, but thou, sir, deem the stories true?"

"Hya-hya-hya! Well, not all of them!"

"So seeing is believing? I'd like to meet him someday…sort of…"

Just as the other two were agreeing with Hekkeran, they heard the sound

of flesh being struck and a woman's stifled scream.

The eyes of all the workers present gathered on one point. Several who

expected an emergency were already lowering their hips to take a combat

ready stance.

The scream had come from a woman on Elya's team who was now

collapsed at his feet. Given the circumstances, no one had any doubt that he'd

knocked her down. Looking up at his face twisted in anger, she begged for

forgiveness, frightened.

As Hekkeran suppressed the disgust welling up from the pit of his

stomach, something flashed across his mind and he turned hurriedly to check

on Imina.

Just as he imagined, all emotion had drained from her face. The only thing

he sensed was a dangerous energy, as though she might attack at any

moment.

He hurriedly signaled to Roberdyck and Arché next to her that they

should intervene.

Personally, he felt the same as Imina, but he couldn't go sticking his nose

into other teams' business. Not that it wasn't possible, just that if he were

going to do it, he'd have to be ready to take full responsibility for the

outcome. Several members of other teams were grimacing in disgust, but for

the same reason as him, none of them moved to do anything, either.

Somehow, reason won over. Imina made an obscene gesture at Elya's

back and spat on the ground.

"…I guess he's only equal to the captain of the Royal Select when it

comes to fencing. It'd be great if he were his equal in humanity, too, but I

guess that's too much to hope for. Well, shall we call that good for the small

talk?"

"Yes, you're here now, so we have some important things to decide."

"Who will act as overall commander? He's already declined."

A silence fell.

There were four teams total. Certainly, they were an impressive force, but

without someone to unify them and give direction, they wouldn't be very

well coordinated. It didn't matter how many arms one had; if they couldn't be

used at the same time, it was the same as having one.

Managing these teams with their different personalities would be difficult,

and doing it without getting complained at would be nearly impossible.

Whoever took charge would be hated by the other teams if their orders led to

failure or they were suspected of prioritizing their own team's reward.

Frankly, for how much skill it demanded, the job had more cons than

pros.

Knowing that, the team leaders remained silent and tried to gauge one

another's moods. They seemed to want to push it on the one who brought it

up.

After the lull had lasted about a minute, Hekkeran finally said, looking

exhausted, "Honestly, we're probably fine without an overall commander,

right?"

"Isn't that just putting off the issue? We'll have a problem once a battle

begins."

"I propose taking turns. That should get us through this with the least

discontent. I think we can confer once more when we arrive at the ruins…"

"Ahh."

"Right."

Hekkeran and Palpatra agreed to Gringham's suggestion.

"Then shall we take turns going in the order we arrived?"

"What should we do about Uzruth's team, Tenbu?"

"That little punk won't care if we skip him. There's no way he's qualified

anyway."

"I agree, sir. Then I, from Heavy Masher, shall take the liberty of leading

first."

"Thanks, Gringham."

"Counting on you, young'un!"

"Yes, sir. That said, the chance of any savage monsters appearing within

the empire is as good as nonexistent. The problems will start once we enter

the kingdom, especially as we near the Tove Woodlands."

"Ahh, maybe we should have gone in reverse order!" Hekkeran jokingly

cradled his head in his hands, and the other two laughed quietly. Then they

immediately tensed up and turned to face a man walking toward the group of

workers. Everyone else was already looking his way.

It was finally light out, and the count's butler was approaching across the

lawn. His back was straight as he walked—the appropriate posture for one

serving a count.

When he arrived before the workers, he bowed. No one responded in kind,

but he took no notice and began to speak. "It is time. Thank you very much

for taking on the count's request. Two men from the house will accompany

you. There will also be a total of six adventurers to guard the wagons and so

on. Your destination is an area of unexplored ruins located in the kingdom—

what seems to be a tomb. You will stay there to make your survey for three

days. Additional compensation will depend on what my master gains from

the information you bring him and will therefore be decided at a later date.

Are there any questions?"

The butler didn't say very much that was different from the request they'd

already heard. The only new information was that there would be adventurers

attached as guards.

They were interested in where the tip on the ruins had come from, but

every worker knew the difference between questions that would get answered

and questions that wouldn't. Anything that was likely to be shared they

would have heard already at the request stage.

Besides, if it was a clean job, the count would have used adventurers. The

requester was sure to be tight-lipped about a dirty job, and it was safer for

everyone not to ask.

"…Very well. I will lead you to the wagons we have prepared."

There were no objections, and everyone followed behind him.

The members of Foresight brought up the rear.

"That piece of shit should die. Whaddaya think? Should we kill him?"

Unable to hold back her hatred for Elya, Imina began spewing it into

Hekkeran's ear the moment she was next to him.

Was her voice lowered because she was seething or because she had

retained some self-control? He couldn't tell, but he hoped it was the latter.

"I'd heard the rumors, but he truly is a despicable man, isn't it?"

"The worst."

The other two didn't hide their disgust, either.

That was only natural for Foresight. With a woman like Imina as a

member, the things Elya did were unforgivable to them.

All the members of Elya's team besides Elya were women—elf women.

If that were all, neither Imina nor her teammates would have taken issue.

But there was a reason they unanimously declared him a vile bastard.

Although all the women had the minimum amount of gear, the material

and make of it was shabby. That, and the long elven ears that should have

been sticking out from under their cropped hair had been sliced off.

They were in that condition because they—all of Elya's team members—

were elf slaves from the Slane Theocracy.

The empire's slavery system had changed a lot under the previous

emperor. They had slaves in name, but the slaves' actual status was

somewhat different. There were also still some slaves, however, such as the

subhumans made to fight in the arena, for whom nothing had changed.

The elf slaves Elya had with him were that kind.

The Baharuth Empire, Re-Estize Kingdom, and Slane Theocracy were

made up of nearly 100 percent humans and had a more exclusionary attitude

toward nonhuman races than other countries in the area. For that reason, even

other humanoids—like Imina, who was a half elf—found them difficult to

live in.

The only exception was dwarves. Up in the Azerlisia Mountains that ran

along the border between the Baharuth Empire and the Re-Estize Kingdom

was a dwarf kingdom. Since the empire traded with them, the dwarf race was

a properly protected class.

"I feel bad for the elves, too, but our job right now isn't to save them."

Imina sighed deeply. She knew that logically. Her emotions just couldn't

keep up.

"Let's go," Imina replied simply and walked out in front as they increased

their speed a little to catch up with the others. Then everyone's eyes popped

open in surprise.

The butler had led them to the two rather large covered wagons that were

being prepared for the trip to the ruins. A group of people was loading them

with supplies. They must have been the adventurers the butler had mentioned.

The plates around their necks sparkled gold.

Their surprise wasn't at these people, but at the horses that would pull the

wagons.

"Sleipnirs…"

Voices gasped in astonishment.

Eight-legged sleipnirs were bigger than normal horses, as well as superior

in terms of muscular strength, stamina, and mobility, which is why they were

considered the best magical beast on land.

Of course, that made them worth a lot—more than five warhorses. It was

rare for even nobles to possess them.

But the count had two hitched to each wagon for a total of four. Probably

he'd considered the possibility that they could be lost over the course of the

adventure, so all the workers could do was applaud his resolution. Or does he

think there is enough treasure in the ruins that we'll need sleipnirs to carry it

all back?

Some of the others must have been thinking the same thing. There were

several audible gulps.

"Please use these wagons. Food and other supplies are packed inside.

We've also employed some adventurers to guard the wagons and your

campsite. Please bear in mind that their contract strictly prohibits them from

entering the ruins."

Hekkeran left his friends and jogged over to Gringham, thinking they

needed to have a meeting right away.

"'Scuse me, Gringham. There's something I want to talk to you about."

"What is it? Did something happen?"

"It's about how to split up the wagons. Do you think my team could be

separate from Tenbu?"

"Huh? Oh. I understand thine anxiety. About her, right? Then my team

will go with Tenbu."

"Thanks a lot."

"Make no mention of it. For this job, we're companions. I'm not

interested in having any spats before we even begin our survey of the ru—"

"Do you think we'll be okay with gold-rank adventurers? We'll have

problems if we get back and our base is destroyed or monsters slip past them

while we're sleeping."

The pair turned in the direction of the loud voice whose sudden comment

had been launched like a fireball.

It was Elya shouting in the butler's direction, but at the sound of his voice

—he hadn't even tried to be discreet—the adventurers stopped loading the

supplies as if time had frozen.

When looking up, there were always farther heights, and no way to tell if

one would be able to climb to them or not. To people who nevertheless

advanced step-by-step, Elya's comment was utterly offensive. They, too,

lived in a struggle for power, so having a job end with their abilities in

question—especially by the requester—would impact future jobs. They

needed to show off their capability in an indisputable way.

The man who hurled this abuse, considered unforgivable by the workers

and adventurers alike, was a person who couldn't put himself in other

people's shoes—which is why he went on without even noticing how sour

the atmosphere had gotten. "No, I understand that they're fine for carrying

luggage. I'm only concerned about whether they can keep danger away or

not."

For crying out loud. Nothing good will come of this tension. I imagine

they'll just take it since this is for work, but still…

It was true that all the worker teams present were probably mythril

equivalent; in other words, they were stronger than the adventurers. Still,

there were things that were all right to say and things that weren't.

Somebody make him stop, even if you have to hit him.

The workers' eyes were hard as they glanced at one another, and

Hekkeran ran over to Imina. She'd be in danger if a sword fight broke out.

But the one who struck wasn't any of the workers. "Sir…Uzruth, correct?

We assure you there will be no problems."

"That's assuming we work together, right? If that's the case, then it makes

more sense…"

"No, it's because someone even stronger than all of you will also be

accompanying you. Momon—"

Responding to the butler's icy voice, a warrior clad in full plate armor

poked his helmeted head out of one of the wagons. Up until then, he must

have been carrying supplies set on the cargo bed farther in.

"Allow me to introduce you. This is Momon, from the two-person

adventurer team Raven Black, an adamantite rank. His teammate Nabe is also

here. These two will accompany you and guard your camp. Will that be

satisfactory?"

The atmosphere underwent another dramatic change. The highest rank

possible for anyone adventuring to attain… With proof of that ultimate

strength before their eyes, the workers were rendered speechless.

Mollified by the genuine reactions of the workers to the appearance of the

most elite adventurers, the gold ranks returned to loading supplies. The one

who seemed like their leader, wearing a smile that seemed almost deliberate,

addressed the raven-black warrior. "We'll do the rest, so would you go ahead

and get to know the workers? We'd like you, as our leader, to have a meeting

with them about our security plan."

"Got it. If your team is fine with that, then I humbly accept your proposal.

That said, I think your team should lead the security planning. You have

more people. It seems like it would be easier to have you guys do the bulk of

it."

"Humbly?! What are you saying? And we could not possibly disrega—"

"No, I insist that you take point on security. Utilize us well! Nabe." With

a faint chuckle he stepped lightly out of the cargo bed. An astonishingly

beautiful woman followed behind him.

Where a gorgeous woman appeared, a fuss was certain to follow. But

there existed a level of beauty that didn't allow for that. Those who saw a

truly beautiful woman could only stare.

"Hekkeran, she's…"

"Yeah, Rober. I was thinking the same thing. We saw her in the northern

market. That's…Momon of Raven Black. And his sole teammate? The rumor

that they took out that huge giant basilisk doesn't seem to be an

exaggeration."

"A giant—is that true?"

"Supposedly. Not only that, but I heard from Gringham that he killed a

difficulty two hundred demon in one hit."

"Surely that's a lie. Difficulty two hundred is in a realm where it's

impossible for humans to win. Did you mishear one hundred?"

"Even that would be amazing. But somehow it doesn't seem like a lie

when you see how he carries himself."

Hekkeran felt he'd been able to grasp Momon's personality from the

warrior's short exchange with the guy who must have been the gold-rank

team's leader. He seemed to have the proper presence and charisma of an

adamantite-rank adventurer—Hekkeran thought he could grow to like him.

"Before we get to know one another…there's something I'd like to ask

you."

Momon didn't speak very loudly, but they could sense his courage in his

deep voice.

"Why are you going to the ruins? I know you got a request. But unlike

adventurers, who have a hard time turning down a job if the guild insists, you

guys aren't tied to anything, so why did you accept? What motivates you?"

The workers all looked at one another. No one knew who should say it,

and it ended up being a member of Palpatra's team who spoke.

"That would be money."

It was a perfect response—because there was no greater reason. The

workers hadn't been debating the answer but trying to figure out why

Momon, who must have already known something so obvious, would even

ask.

Seeing that the other workers were vocalizing their agreement, Momon

asked another question. "Does that mean the amount of money offered was

worth your lives?"

"Yes. The offer was enough that it made sense to take it. And we can

expect additional compensation depending on what we discover in the ruins.

I'm fairly certain it's enough to justify risking our lives." It was Gringham

who answered.

"I see… So that's your decision. Got it. My apologies for the utterly

nonsensical question. Do forgive me."

"You don't need to apologize over that… No worries."

"Hya-hya-hya! Seems like that's it for your questions, but can I ask one?"

"Go right ahead, sir."

"I'd like to get confirmation on the rumors. Will you show us the truth of

the one that says you're exceptionally powerful?"

"Ah-ha. 'Seeing is believing'? Okay, that's fine. If it will help you be

satisfied with our protection, I'll show you my power. But in what way

should I display it?"

"I suppose having you spar with someone would be best."

Everyone's eyes gathered on—

"And I said it, so you should fight me."

"What? Sir…I'm terribly sorry, but I'm not very good at holding back. I

don't intend to hurt you, and I'm not confident I can be a good sparring

partner at your level…but if that's all right, then…?"

"Hya-hya-hya-hya! Well, you are adamantite rank! I'm not even thinking

about hurting you."

A faint chuckle came from beneath Momon's helmet. "That's only

natural, sir. It's what you call a clear gap in ability. I'm strong. Stronger than

any of you. That's why I'm adamantite rank!"

Full of overwhelming pride, he seemed to be peering down at them from

high above, but no one was offended. That must have been how much power

his presence held. The words he spoke and the terrible authority he exuded,

as if he'd racked up more than a few kills, were very persuasive.

"…Amazing."

"...Yeah, amazing."

Delirious voices commented here and there.

Many women fell for strong men. And many men fell for them as well, in

the sense of respect. Like moths fluttering around a flame, people knew that

if they got too close they would get burned, but they still couldn't resist. For

those who lived in this world of blood and steel, strength was like a massive

bonfire.

"Hya-hya-hya! No one doubts that you're adamantite rank! Still, how

about we get a taste of what you can do? Here, the wagons are in the way.

Can we use that big open space over there, sir?"

Having gotten permission from the count's man, Palpatra led the group

over onto the lawn. The workers went with him, of course, but so did the

adventurers and the butler.

"I don't think Palpatra can handle him."

"That guy is crazy strong."

"Mm, rather than strong, it's more like he's on another level completely.

Doesn't he seem even stronger than both of the empire's adamantite teams?"

"Yeah, you're right. The members of Argenti all have rare classes, so their

abilities are uncommon, but in terms of power they lose out to the more basic

classes. I hear the Eight Ripples are so great because of their numbers and

excellent teamwork."

Argenti was a team whose leader was a bard who'd reached the realm of

heroes. All the members had unusual classes. Eight Ripples was a nineperson team. Some people said that each individual member hadn't reached

adamantite rank, that they were only so strong due to their large team size,

but others said that by working together they achieved things even other

adamantite ranks couldn't.

Still, one had to wonder if either of them were truly worthy of being

called adamantite—humanity's last resorts, who made the impossible

possible.

Hekkeran could hear his teammates whispering about those things behind

him.

And it wasn't just those three. If he concentrated, he could hear all sorts of

conversations. The most common topic was speculation about how good a

fight Palpatra would be able to put up. Not a single person thought he would

beat Momon, because although it had been only a short time, they all

considered Momon's aura enough to convince them he was adamantite rank.

As he was walking, lost in thought, someone fell into step beside him. The

noisy metal armor was enough for him to know who it was without looking

up.

"How do you think their fight will go, Gringham?"

"I pity Palpatra, but Momon is not likely to lose. It's more about how well

Palpatra will be able to persevere. Dost thou not wish to reserve the next

round?"

"Seriously? Count me out. What about you?"

"I decline. I am satisfied by the display of his superior presence. I do hope

however to get some training while we're on the road."

"Me, too—oh!"

The pair looked out at the lawn where Momon and Palpatra were staring

each other down at a distance.

The gleam in Palpatra's eyes was not that of an ordinary elderly man but a

veteran warrior.

His determination gradually mounted, morphing into excitement; the

atmosphere was no longer one of a friendly bout.

Everyone watching was anxious and sticky with cold sweat.

"…This can't be good. Palpatra is taking this seriously!" Gringham

inadvertently dropped his forced manner of speaking.

"I get that he's fighting an adamantite-rank adventurer, so he has to go at

him like he means to kill him, bu—" Hekkeran, next to Gringham, gasped as

he moved his eyes to the dark warrior facing Palpatra.

From Momon, he felt nothing.

In his stance with both arms dangling down, there was none of the

fighting spirit one would expect from someone who was about to clash

swords. Like an adult facing a child with a sword, his calm was clearly

visible.

"Wow, he's amazing! Palpatra's hitting him with that much killing intent

and he's not reacting at all. He can't not notice it—he's just at the peak of

warriordom. Is that Heights of Nothingness?!"

"Enlightened Mind? Or maybe Realm of the Wandering Priest? He must

be awfully sure of himself to look so composed despite the gap between their

weapons. Yeah, I'm just amazed."

Palpatra's spear was a magic item with a tip carved from a dragon tooth.

Meanwhile, Momon was holding a wooden staff he'd borrowed from one of

the adventurers; it didn't look enchanted at all. A magic weapon could have

all sorts of effects, like increasing sharpness, boosting the abilities of the one

equipping it, or dealing additional damage. At this stage, from a weapon

standpoint, it was possible to say Palpatra had a huge advantage.

"Nah, that can't be true. The gap between them won't be filled by a

weapon. And Momon's armor seems more enchanted than Palpatra's. Plus,

the items he has equipped are probably more magical, too. Overall, there's

either no gear gap, or Momon is ahead."

"Don't be too hasty. Haven't you heard the rumor that the total value of

the magic items Palpatra uses surpasses what adamantite-rank adventurers

can afford? He's fulfilled tons of requests over the years. He's probably

earned the most rewards in the entire empire!"

"Nah, nah, wait a—"

"No, you wait!"

As the two of them chattered on, the combatants' will to fight hit critical

mass and the battle began.

"Okay, here I come!"

"Come at me, sir, but don't overdo it. This is an important job, r—?"

Without letting him finish, Palpatra charged with elegant power and speed

one would never expect from an eighty-year-old man. Meanwhile, Momon

didn't even hold up his staff.

"Dragon Tooth Thrust!"

Hekkeran's eyes widened as Palpatra didn't hesitate to use a martial art

for his opening move.

He whipped his spear, thrusting to deliver two piercing strikes, like

dragon fangs. The attack included a special effect that dealt additional

attribute damage. This was a more advanced version of Drill Thrust, which

Palpatra had developed over forty years ago. Known for its good balance, the

martial art had been learned by many fighters.

The type of Dragon Tooth Thrust he used was Blue Dragon Tooth Thrust

—to deal additional lightning damage.

What's that old man thinking? Sure, you have access to healing magic,

but you still wouldn't normally do something like that in a friendly spar!

Even grazing someone clad in metal armor with a lightning-imbued

martial art would be extremely effective; the choice showed Palpatra was

going all out.

Though the attack should have been troublesome for a warrior wearing

metal, Momon nimbly dodged it. Despite his raven-black full plate armor, he

moved so lightly it was like he had wings. More surprisingly, he didn't jump

out of the way or make any large movement; he evaded it completely while

barely moving from where he stood.

No way! I can't imagine what his dynamic visual acuity and physical

ability must be!

"Wind Acceleration!" Palpatra used another martial art.

You're overdoing it, you old fart! Did your age hit your brain?

"Dragon Tooth Thrust!" He assaulted Momon again with the same art as

before. This time the tip of the spear was imbued with snowy chill—White

Dragon Tooth Thrust.

A total of four chained moves in less than the space of a breath.

The spectators were stunned.

Of course they were. Not a single one of the attacks so much as grazed

Momon's armor.

Palpatra jumped way back. The beads of sweat on his forehead weren't

from exerting his body to attack but from the immense mental pressure of

wielding his spear in a battle he couldn't win.

"Wow!"

"He's even stronger than you, Hekkeran."

"Of course he is, Arché. Don't even compare me to him. That's what an

elite adventurer is. He's the very top. That's the power of an adamantite

rank."

"So is it my turn now?"

Momon held up his staff and pointed its tip at Palpatra's eyes. Meanwhile,

the spear Palpatra had been grasping was now leaning against his shoulder. It

wasn't a combat stance, but the stance of someone who no longer had any

will to fight, of someone who'd given up.

"Magnificent. Stop, stop. Not only can I not win, I can't even scratch

you."

"Oh?"

At Palpatra's declaration of surrender, the onlookers sent up an admiring

moan: "Whoaaa." Momon was truly overpowering. The gap in strength might

as well have been that between an adult and a child—he'd shown them that

vividly.

Everyone who had watched began chatting, sharing their impressions,

wondering what school of footwork he used to dodge, and so on. Leaving

them, Hekkeran and Gringham approached Palpatra, who was wiping the

sweat from his forehead and talking with Momon.

"You're already finished, sir?" His tone and manner had changed

abruptly. "…Weren't you about to get serious there?"

"Hya-hya-hya! What a thing to say to an old man like me. I was being

serious! That was me being serious, Sir Momon."

"Oh, er, please excuse me."

"Oh, please don't apologize. I'll feel even worse. And you don't have to

stand on ceremony with me. We should assess each other based on strength,

not years lived. It feels quite awkward to be treated with so much respect by

someone as overwhelmingly strong as yourself."

"I see. Then I'll relax a bit. By the way, stopping here is pretty

dissatisfying for me. If there's a next time, I'll attack first. Anyhow, I have to

load the wagons, so I'll be going now."

"Why not let the others load the wagons? That's not a job for you, is it?"

"No, I disagree. No matter what status you hold, when you're given a job,

you should do it well."

With that, Momon walked back toward the wagons, and the peerless

beauty followed behind him.

The two who arrived just as he was leaving ended up watching him go.

His broad shoulders…

"Hya-hya. You look like you want to ask something."

"What did you think of him, sir?"

Palpatra's wrinkled face screwed up. It might have been a bitter smile, but

it seemed like something else, as well.

"He's strong. No, I knew he was strong because he's adamantite rank. I

just had no idea he was this strong. The second we faced each other, I had the

feeling that no matter where I tried to hit him, he would block it."

Hekkeran had felt the same thing—that Momon would easily stop and

counter all his attacks. Even if things went according to plan, that armor

would repel all the attacks anyway—that was all he could imagine. Palpatra,

who had faced him directly, must have experienced the feeling more

intensely.

"So that's…adamantite rank…"

"Yep, that's adamantite. He's a being in a realm only a handful of people

will ever reach. Ah, he really is magnificent—beautiful. That's a height I'll

never make it to… You must be pretty satisfied having seen it, though?"

"Truly! I have a better understanding of how you both move after

watching that match. It would have been impossible to observe so calmly if I

had been the one facing him. Apologies, sir, but I really wanted to see Sir

Momon attack."

"Impossible. He didn't seem very interested in attacking me. He had no

desire to fight. Probably it's as he said, that he's not good at holding back. He

probably thought hitting me would kill me just like that."

If that were true, some might have found it arrogant. Palpatra, old though

he may have been, was a fairly skilled warrior; it could be argued that

Momon had underestimated the veteran without even seeing what he could

do.

But the reason he could do that was because he was an adamantite-rank

adventurer.

"Well, can't be helped. The gap in our abilities is just that big. It was

frustrating at first, but even if he stuck to defense, once he dodged everything

I threw at him, I couldn't really say anything."

They'd been shown the meaning of strength.

He had chosen a weapon he wasn't used to, with totally different heft and

balance, because he was that confident. The gap between the two men was

that big.

Palpatra walked off, mumbling, "I'm beat, so tired." He was headed, of

course, for the covered wagons.

As Hekkeran watched him go, he heard a quiet voice.

"I couldn't make it to that realm even in my younger days. So that's

adamantite… So high above me…"

Palpatra's shoulders looked so small. In comparison, Momon looked

enormous—they could sense his power.

"So that's the most elite rank, adamantite…"

"Yeah, just amazing."

There was no lack of people who agreed with their admiring comments.

2

A single carriage raced like the wind over the cobblestones of imperial capital

Arwinthal.

Pulling the resplendent carriage was an eight-legged magical beast known

as a sleipnir. Two able-bodied warriors were seated in the box, and on the

roof—the cargo bed had been renovated—crouched four people, including a

caster and a warrior with a crossbow, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

Naturally, the reason this rolling defense force, a security detail that was

arguably overkill, could go openly down the street was due to the standing of

the people inside.

One look at the crest of three crossed staves carved on the side of the

carriage was enough for someone with a little education to know whose

carriage it was and who was inside. That was why the knights guarding the

street didn't challenge them.

Inside the carriage were three men. In their robes, they all looked like

casters.

All three were well-known names in the empire's magic world, but their

attitudes clearly indicated a hierarchical relationship. The most superior of

them had white hair.

Just as Gazef Stronoff was known far and wide as a warrior, there was no

caster in the region more famous than this elderly man. He was the great

caster, the strongest, most elite in the empire—"Triad Caster" Fluder

Paradyne.

Sitting across from him were two of his leading disciples, who were so

skilled they had good command of tier-four magic.

Though they'd just left the imperial palace, the atmosphere was ruled by

an oppressive silence. One of the disciples cautiously spoke, unable to bear it

any longer.

"Master, what do you intend to do about His Imperial Majesty's order?"

Silence reigned over the carriage once more. But it didn't last long. Fluder

answered in a voice that was profound in its quiet. "It's His Imperial

Majesty's wish. As a retainer, my only choice is to carry it out and

investigate. But it's too dangerous to try with magic. We'll start by sifting

through the records, then we'll summon demons to gather intelligence."

"You don't know him, then, master?"

Fluder closed his eyes and waited a few seconds before opening them

again. "Alas, I do not. I've never heard of this immensely powerful demon,

Jaldabaoth."

The previous month, a horde of demons had attacked the capital of the

kingdom. As far as he had been able to gather, Jaldabaoth and the demon

maids who attended him were terrifying beings who might as well have been

from another dimension.

Due to this demon disturbance, the order of imperial knights who attacked

the kingdom every year hadn't marched. Usually invading when one's enemy

is exhausted is the proper way to wage war.

But there were two main reasons the empire was invested in this fight.

One was to exhaust the kingdom. While the empire had a standing army,

the kingdom's troops were conscripted. For that reason, whenever the empire

mobilized soldiers, the kingdom had to mobilize even more—they were at a

disadvantage when it came to the quality of individual soldiers. The empire

timed their attack for the harvest period to force the kingdom to draft farmers

so they would have a shortage of able hands in the fields. The long-term plan

was to make the crops go to waste.

The other reason for the campaigns was to chip away at the power of the

nobles within the empire. Nobles who opposed the emperor were made to

cough up funds via a special war tax. Naturally, if they refused, their families

were ruined for suspected treason. In the end, it was only a difference of

being tortured slowly or killed swiftly once and for all.

The reason the empire hadn't moved this time was that the emperor—

Jircniv—had judged that since the kingdom had done them the favor of

wearing themselves out, it was unnecessary for the empire to do anything.

Besides, the empire's nobles in the opposition had already lost most of their

teeth.

There was just one problem.

Where was Jaldabaoth, the perpetrator of those truly demonic deeds? And

what kind of being was he? Both of those things worried him.

It was only natural that Fluder, the most capable caster in the empire,

would be tasked with investigating.

"Then there's the one who routed the demon, Momon of Raven Black,

and his companion, Beautiful Princess Nabe. I'm very interested in them.

And the mysterious caster Ainz Ooal Gown. Have the retired heroes been

stirring? Perhaps a war as fierce as the one with the evil spirits two hundred

years ago is about to begin…"

"…Is it?"

"I don't know. But only a fool prepares for war after it breaks out. A wise

man makes arrangements in advance."

Soon the carriage reached its destination.

Spacious grounds were enclosed by a thick, high wall with several

watchtowers guarding both the interior and exterior. Mixed patrol groups of

select knights—of the eight orders of imperial knights, the most elite first

order—and casters were making their rounds.

Looking up, the emperor's personal guards mounted on magical beasts,

the Imperial Air Guard, and elite casters on watch using flying spells could

be seen.

This place was the symbol of the empire's power, the thing they'd been

pouring most of that power into since the previous emperor: the Imperial

Ministry of Magic.

The soul of the empire's magic activities—manufacturing the enchanted

arms provided to the knights, developing new spells, performing

experimental research to improve the standard of living with magic, and so

on—could be said to reside here. And the one in charge of it all—although he

wasn't minister of magic—was Fluder.

The carriage proceeded across the grounds and eventually stopped before

the tower at the farthest reaches of the compound.

They had passed by a variety of differently shaped buildings on their way,

and a great many people were bustling in and out of all of them. Only this

tower had hardly any visitors. Its security, oddly enough, was incomparably

tight.

For starters, the knights guarding this tower looked different. They

weren't knights of the first order like the ones who could be seen patrolling

the grounds.

Enchanted full plate armor enclosed their bodies head to toe, in their

hands they held enchanted shields, and slung on their hips were enchanted

weapons. Their crimson capes featuring the imperial crest were also, of

course, enchanted.

The magic those items were imbued with wasn't strong, but even the

empire couldn't outfit ordinary knights with this much magic gear. More than

anything, mere knights wouldn't be assigned to guard one of the empire's

critical agencies.

They were the most elite knights and therefore belonged to the emperor's

personal Imperial Earth Guard.

The casters next to the knights were just as impressive. They had fought

in many battles and honed their combat skills, so they seemed every bit as

powerful as the veteran warriors.

The entrance to the building was additionally fortified with four stone

golems easily over eight feet tall. They fulfilled their guardian duties with no

food, rest, or distraction.

The only people allowed in this place, which was protected as well as the

emperor himself, were the more advanced tier-three casters or, in rare cases,

research casters with specific errands. Of course, Fluder and the pair of

leading disciples were among those with entry permission.

Returning the knights' and casters' deepest bows with a light wave of his

hand, Fluder entered the tower. Upon following the hallway leading straight

back, he and his disciples came out at the top of a funnel-shaped space. Many

casters were working there industriously. The one who seemed to have the

highest status hastened over to Fluder, flustered.

"Anything?"

"Nothing, master." The disciple swallowed, and his Adam's apple

undulated.

His response was both good and bad news.

Nodding just once with a subtle expression, Fluder turned around to look

at him, the deputy head of this place. He was one of the famous Chosen

Thirty, the thirty disciples Fluder taught personally.

"I see. So you can't get them to spawn naturally yet?"

"No, we still can't get even skeletons of the lowest tier to appear

spontaneously. Now we're experimenting to see if we can get zombies to

spawn by placing corpses nearby."

"Hmm, hmm." Fluder stoked his long beard and gazed at the scene below.

There were a little over a dozen skeletons—working fields.

They raised their hoes and plunged them into the dirt. The movements of

each skeleton were exactly the same. Looking from the side, they all

overlapped—they looked like a single monster.

This scene of utter synchronization, like a group of people doing aerobics

together, was the empire's huge, secret project—undead labor.

Undead needed neither food nor sleep, and they never got tired. They

were the perfect workers. Certainly they had low intelligence, so they

couldn't do anything beyond what they were ordered and nothing too

complicated, but that could be solved by giving them detailed instructions

from nearby.

The benefits of unleashing undead on farmland with orders to execute

were unfathomable. By lowering labor expenses, the price of produce would

decrease, farms and fields could be larger, injuries could be prevented—this

project was truly dreamlike.

Similar plans using summoned monsters or manufactured golems had

been proposed, but undead were the most cost-effective.

Naturally, there was a reason they couldn't execute this perfect-seeming

plan on a large scale: opposing forces led mainly by the priests. They were

against it on the grounds that giving orders to embodiments of death, the

antithesis of life, sullied the soul.

There were other, even more religious reasons, as well. They argued that

from a spiritual standpoint, using even the corpses of criminals was

desecration because once their punishment had been carried out, their souls

were wiped clean. That was problematic.

Perhaps if they had been in the middle of a food shortage and many

people were starving to death, the ministry would have had more leverage.

As it stood, however, the empire had a great supply of food, and there were

no signs of labor issues, either.

And so the priests opposed the project.

The ultimate goal was stronger soldiers. If the empire relied on undead to

meet production capacity, they could use their human resources for other

things and possibly discover powerful knights.

There were also concerns that human workers would be laid off if undead

labor became the norm; worries about whether undead would really obey

humans forever; fears that with countless undead around, the balance

between life and death would collapse and stronger undead would spawn

spontaneously—but these were things not only priests but anyone who heard

about the plan would think.

This facility existed to verify each concern and solve the problems.

"You haven't discovered the fundamental cause?"

"No, my apologies, master."

Why did undead spawn naturally? Their pursuit of the answer had major

implications for the future.

The Katze Plain was known as a cursed land, covered by a mist that only

cleared during the war between the kingdom and the empire. The spawn rate

there was so high that skeletal dragons, one of the most powerful undead,

capable of neutralizing all magic spells, could appear.

Even if the empire eventually conquered E-Rantel and its environs, they

didn't want an expanse of land where undead were constantly popping into

existence in their territory. Knowing the process by which undead spawned

would surely be useful for governing the area. Perhaps they could stop them

from spawning ever again.

"I see. Understood."

The deputy bowed, relieved there was no rebuke, and Fluder set off,

walking around the outside of the funnel-shaped room.

By the time he reached the door on the opposite side, the number of

leading disciples behind him had grown.

The knight guarding the door pushed it open for them, and the party

continued inside. It was another hallway similar to the previous, but this one

was completely empty—not a person to be seen. The air smelled dusty, and

the light seemed to be in a losing battle with the darkness.

Proceeding straight down the eerie corridor, they came upon a spiral

staircase extending below.

They passed through several doors on their way, but their clacking

footsteps didn't echo for very long. They went perhaps five floors down, but

the air seemed much heavier than that.

It wasn't simply because they were underground. This much was clear

from the hard expression born of anxiety worn by everyone in the party,

including Fluder.

Their faces were grim as they reached the deepest floor, a large open

space. The atmosphere was so tense they were practically bracing themselves

for combat.

Everyone's sharp eyes were gathered on the single thick door. This door,

so imposing it seemed to be a division between worlds, was fitted with layer

upon layer of physical and magic defense so it wouldn't break or open easily.

It was a door that would not permit escape.

The doors they had passed through on their way here also hinted at the

danger lurking in the depths. They'd been built as barriers so that if the threat

behind this thick door made a move they could seal it away or at least buy

time.

Fluder spoke in a hard voice to warn his disciples. "Don't let your guard

down." His words were brief and to the point, which was what made them

terrifying.

The casters accompanying him all bowed low. Fluder gave the same

warning every time they came here. Still, knowing what was beyond the

door, they couldn't crack a smile.

Across this threshold was the ultimate undead. There was no doubt that if

it was released, an unprecedented disaster would befall the imperial capital.

Several of the disciples began casting protective magic—not only pure

physical defense spells but also mental protection. After an appropriate

amount of preparation time, Fluder eyed each of his disciples' faces to make

sure they were ready.

With a nod, he spoke the words that unsealed the room's entrance.

As the magic took effect, the heavy door slowly groaned open.

Darkness made it difficult to see inside the room, but something like a

chill radiated out of it, and a couple of the disciples shivered. Even with

magic items to protect them from environmental effects, the sheer hatred of

the living that emanated from inside was enough to make their blood run

cold.

An audible gulp resounded throughout the hall.

"Let's go."

At Fluder's signal, magic light created by the disciples chased the

darkness from the room. The banished gloom seemed to gather at the edges

of the light and grow even deeper—that's what it felt like.

With Fluder in the lead, the party entered the room where the presence of

death hung in the air.

It wasn't a very large room, so the light shone to the back almost

immediately.

Against the far wall was a giant pillar that stretched up to the ceiling.

Shaped almost like a gravestone, it drew the eyes. But something else drew

them even more strongly: the thing immobilized and crucified to it.

The undead's whole body was bound in chains far thicker than a human

thumb, so it was completely restrained. The ends of the chains were secured

to the cobblestone floor. Not only that, but huge iron balls were attached to

the undead's hands and feet.

Nothing would have been able to move under those conditions. The

incredibly thorough restraints showed how wary the casters were of this

opponent. It was why even after seeing those fat chains, some of the members

of the party had lingering concerns—thoughts like, Couldn't it easily break

through those chains and escape?

It looked like a knight clad head to toe in black armor, but it definitely

wasn't human.

The first thing one noticed was the being's hulking physique. It was well

over six feet tall.

The next was that black full plate armor. It had a pattern like blood vessels

running over it and sharp spikes jutting out here and there like embodiments

of violence. Its helmet had horns like a demon and an open face that left its

rotting features visible. In its vacant eye sockets, its hatred for living things

and anticipation of slaughter burned red.

It wasn't alive but dead. If it weren't, the amount of malice toward living

things it was emanating would have been impossible.

"The death…knight…"

One disciple who had come to this place for the first time murmured the

legendary undead's name. It was an undead so legendary few had even heard

of it.

The red glow in the death knight's eyes appeared to blink and move to

size up the casters. No, they couldn't know how its gaze was shifting just

from the flickers of light. But their shivers told them they were being

watched.

The casters accompanying Fluder were a handful of capable ones who

could use at least tier-three magic. But even they couldn't stop their teeth

from chattering.

Even with the mental protection magic, the fear that welled up inside them

couldn't be stopped. Still, the magic was probably the only reason they were

able to stand there and bear it instead of running away.

"Steel your hearts. The weak will perish," Fluder warned them and

approached the death knight.

In response, the undead tried to stamp its feet as it seethed with murderous

intent.

The chains gave an ear-piercing screech, but the monster's body barely

moved at all.

Fluder thrust a hand toward it.

His incantation rang out in the magically illuminated room. It was an

original spell of his own creation, an improvement on Summon Sixth-Tier

Undead.

"Obey me!"

The spell finished casting, and Fluder's voice melted away.

But the death knight's eyes still contained a hatred for the living.

Everyone could see the magic had failed.

"So I still can't control it?" There was audible frustration in his voice; it'd

been five years, and he still couldn't dominate this undead.

The monster had been discovered in a region famous for frequently

spawning undead, the Katze Plain.

The company of imperial knights who encountered it were not familiar

with the monster type, but they had their orders, so they initiated combat as

usual. It was ten seconds later that they realized they'd been both hasty and

foolish; the imperial knights, known for their great strength, were awash with

fear and despair.

The battle was overwhelmingly one-sided—their opponent was too

strong.

Many knights had been mowed down before they finally judged that they

had no way to deal with the monster and called for a retreat.

Of course, they couldn't just leave a monster like that out there. Especially

after seeing the fallen knights turned into undead, it was clear that giving

their opponent time would lead to serious damage.

Following a clamorous debate among top imperial executives, they

decided to play their trump card as their first move: They would mobilize the

strongest power in the empire—Fluder and his disciples.

And as is evident from the fact that the death knight was restrained in this

basement, the battle ended with Fluder and company's victory. But the only

reason they could win was that the death knight couldn't fly. They carpetbombed it, shooting Fireball over and over until its movements slowed, and

eventually Fluder, who was attracted by its overwhelming power, was able to

capture it.

With it tied up here, he was trying every method that had worked to

control normal undead—all sorts of spells and magic items—to conquer it.

"It's too bad… If I could control his monster, I would be the greatest

caster, surpassing even…"

One of the Thirteen Heroes, tamer of the dead Ligritte Belzú Kaurau—he

would far exceed her.

Really, Fluder didn't yearn for power so much. His true wish was to peer

further into the abyss of magic. This was just one part of that process.

His disciples didn't know that. That's why their attempts to comfort him

missed their mark.

"Master, I think you've already surpassed her."

"Absolutely. The Thirteen Heroes are in the past, master. They can't

compete with you where you are on the frontier of contemporary magic."

"I think you've already surpassed the Thirteen Heroes, as well, but if you

could control the death knight, you'd be the greatest power in all the empire."

"They say an individual can't win against a mob, but that is only true

when the individual is weak. This death knight is the strongest individual…"

No one could see Fluder's little wry smile, because he was standing at the

head of the group. All they could see was the hatred in the eyes of the death

knight.

"But if even you can't control it, master… How strong could this death

knight be?"

"Hmm…I don't know. Theoretically, I should be able to. So I must be

lacking something. Does anyone have any ideas?"

His query was met with silence.

It was possible to control undead using magic. One of the Thirteen Heroes

had done it. With Fluder's ability, he could dominate fairly upper-tier

undead. Maybe he would even be able to control the one before them as well.

But that was simplistic thinking; magically controlling undead was more

complex. Domination and destruction of undead was fundamentally the realm

of priests, who borrowed the power of the gods. Fluder was trying to

shoehorn magic in as a substitute for divine power, so it was no wonder there

were all sorts of discrepancies.

"I don't mean to insult you, master, but…"

One of his disciples spoke up hesitantly, and Fluder gestured for him to

continue.

"Perhaps you aren't powerful enough? For instance, if there were a

seventh tier of magic, maybe it could be summoned from that realm?"

"That is certainly a good point."

"I heard that adventurers give monsters numerical difficulty ratings. What

if you thought of it along those lines?"

"I heard that those numbers are really rough and pretty pointless once you

figure in age and physique," another disciple chimed in.

"But even though it doesn't work for unknown monsters, there's no easier

way to conceptualize difficulty, is there? The numbers are based on

adventurers' battle impressions and a wide range of other data, so they can't

be completely off the mark."

"Then don't you think it would be useless for the stuff of legends like a

death knight?"

"That reminds me, master. There's that mysterious volume full of

information about monsters. It's not in there?"

"No, it's not." Fluder stroked his beard. "There might be a complete

version in Elyuentiu, but the only one circulating is incomplete."

Puzzled, one of the disciples turned to the one next to him and asked a

question. He spoke softly, but the room was a knot of silence. It sounded

much louder than it was. "What in the world is Elyuentiu?"

"The name of a city!"

"I know that. It just seems like a weird name."

"Yeah… I looked it up once. Apparently, it means 'tree at the center of

the world' in the language that was spoken in those parts in ancient times."

Fluder struck the floor with his staff as a warning to the two disciples who

had started chatting without permission. They were in the dangerous presence

of a legendary undead—they couldn't let their guard down here.

They heeded the warning immediately, and silence ruled the room once

more. The only sound was the death knight's chains straining as he tried to

break them.

"It's unfortunate, but I have nothing left to do here—at least for today.

Let's go."

"Yes, master."

Several voices containing a hint of relief answered, and Fluder left the

death knight's presence.

Even the mighty Fluder couldn't keep his footsteps the same speed going

in and coming out. With that gaze pounding his back, his footsteps quickened

in spite of himself. Of course, that went for his disciples as well.

As Fluder walked through the darkness, he recalled his disciples' earlier

conversation.

Elyuentiu…

The capital of the country the Eight Kings of Avarice had built and the

only of its cities still standing. It was also the city defended by the Thirty City

Guardians equipped with incomparably powerful magic armor.

If the magic items left behind by the Eight Kings of Avarice are really still

there, thought Fluder, I could probably use them to advance my skills. They

were fantastic magic items no one could acquire; the only ones permitted to

carry any of them were the Thirteen Heroes.

A dark flame flickered in Fluder's heart.

The Thirteen Heroes. Heroes of old. Even though he should have been

powerful enough to stand among them, they were permitted, yet he was not.

In what way was he inferior?

Hoping to put out the flame sputtering within him, he summoned

comforting thoughts. The position he held, the things he'd built… They

weren't inferior to the Thirteen Heroes' accomplishments. On the contrary,

his position among the empire's casters surely put him ahead of them.

But once lit, the black fire—envy—wouldn't be extinguished so easily.

He wasn't jealous of strength, wit, or ability; he envied the pioneers who got

the chance to peer into the abyss of magic.

Fluder was an elite caster. Everyone acknowledged that, and probably the

only ones who could be considered his equals were the Thirteen Heroes. But

he couldn't give orders to the death knight, and he could only use up to tier

six of the supposed (data was not terribly reliable) ten tiers of magic. Those

realities rubbed the truth in his face—that he was still far from the abyss.

He was getting on in years.

As he was a psychic caster, one of the trees of supernatural secrets he

mastered was forbidden curses. Because it was forbidden magic, it couldn't

be used, but use it Fluder did, and he stopped his aging. Of course,

considering the tiers he had mastered, the spell was too difficult for him.

He'd forced it to cast by fusing it with a ritual.

Because he had tried to make the impossible possible, there were clear

distortions in the power; if he had cast it perfectly, he wouldn't age at all, but

Fluder still felt the effects of time in a lesser way.

For now, things were working out. But the distortions were growing, and

eventually the spell would fail.

Yes, Fluder would die before peering into the abyss of magic.

If he'd had a highly skilled mentor, he might have reached this point

much sooner. But no one had come before him—he was forced to blaze his

own trail.

He took a casual look over his disciples, the ones who were coming down

his trail.

This fueled the flame of his envy, and it grew.

He was more skilled than anyone present, but how old had he been when

he reached the level his disciples were at now? He didn't even need to think

about the answer. He had definitely been older. What a difference between

having a predecessor and not.

Why have I no master?

Fluder tried to crush his usual thoughts with others.

It's fine. My name will go down in history as a pioneer. All the great

casters who come after me will owe their success to me. My disciples are my

treasures. And if one of them surpasses me, their power will be mine as well.

As Fluder consoled himself, he turned his thoughts to a specific disciple,

although she wasn't with him anymore. I wonder what tier she could have

reached…

"Arché Eeb Rile Furt…"

She was an outstanding girl. She'd mastered tier two at such a young age

and had already begun tier three. If she had kept going at that pace, she

probably would have reached Fluder's level eventually, but for some reason,

she had needed to quit…

At the time he thought she was so foolish and felt only disappointment.

"That was a mistake."

Maybe he'd let a big one get away.

Where is she now? He almost wanted to try to find her.

If she could use up to tier three, he could probably promise her a decent

position.

But he had things he needed to do.

Fluder recited the words to open the heavy door.

Like the disciples surrounding him, once he'd stepped outside, he

breathed in and out a few times. The atmosphere in the room, filled with the

death knight's imposing presence, was heavy. Even though they'd been

breathing, it didn't quite feel like the air had been reaching their lungs.

"Master!" A deep, thick voice called out to him. It was one of his leading

disciples, who was also a well-known adventurer. Because of his experience,

he was made a deputy director of facility security matters.

"What happened? Is it an emergency?"

"No, not an emergency. Some adamantite adventurers are here requesting

an audience with you."

Fluder gave the man a dubious look.

He hadn't made any appointments. As the top caster in the empire, Fluder

had a lot of work to do. Adding to that the time he set aside for his personal

magic research, and he had no free time. He couldn't just nod his head yes

because someone said they wanted to see him. The only person in the empire

he would see without an appointment was the emperor.

But dismissing them outright would be too hasty. Adamantite-rank

adventurers were heroes; despite being individual actors, they couldn't be

ignored—not even by the great caster Fluder. He couldn't treat them coldly

when he might need to request them to procure rare items for him.

"Is it Argenti? Or the Eight Ripples?" He named the two adamantite-rank

adventurer teams from the empire.

But the disciples shook his head. "No, it's a two-person team called

Raven Black. They presented their plates as proof."

"What?!"

Raven Black was the newly famous kingdom team. Although they were

only two, they'd achieved hero-level results. Most recently, they'd singlehandedly repelled Jaldabaoth, who had been rampaging through the royal

capital.

Why do they want to see me? Several doubts surfaced, but his desire to

discuss magic with the high-level caster Beautiful Princess Nabe overruled

them. He immediately did away with his doubts.

Then he remembered, in his capacity as the emperor's retainer, that his

master, Jircniv, wanted to see him. I guess I can do that after the meeting,

thought Fluder as he gave orders to his disciple. "Show them in. I'll be there

as soon as I'm ready."