The Paladin of the Sacred Kingdom Part I Page 4

  The next arrow Pabel nocked was silver. It was also blessed with holy power.

  “Very good. Allow me to make my first move as well. It’s not a very exciting present, but I’d be happy if you’d accept. Tier-ten magic: Meteorfall.”

  Pabel sensed something coming from overhead at a speed that was impossible to evade. When he looked up, he saw a ball of light.

  A giant red-hot boulder—but even bigger.

  As the light enveloped his entire field of vision, he saw, for a moment in the blinding brilliance, his wife and daughter.

  He knew it was a hallucination. His daughter was old enough to choose her path in life, but he saw her small, held tightly in his young wife’s arms.

  No, if I don’t say she’s still young even now, she’ll ki—

  •

  The meteor that fell on the wall through the tear in the sky caused a massive explosion. The thunderous sound was enough to echo in the pit of every single person’s stomach. The huge blast swept everything away and shattered the fortifications.

  As the dirt that had been blown in the air fell back to the ground, the obscuring cloud gradually settled.

  Once the dust cleared, the first notable sigh was of the crumbled wall—it couldn’t even be called ruins.

  As for the fate of the soldiers, one look at the gouged-out wall was enough to know.

  There was no way for mere humans to live after being subjected to such a cataclysm.

  Of course, Demiurge knew better than that. There were humans who could survive. The fools who had set foot in the sacred land created by the Supreme Beings, the Great Tomb of Nazarick, had been such people. But he had done his due diligence and made sure no humans like that were here.

  “Now then, I think that’s more than enough.”

  Demiurge brushed his suit off. He hadn’t gotten very dusty, but perhaps a few motes kicked up in the impact had floated his way. And maybe he smelled a bit earthy. No, even if he didn’t feel that way, he probably still would have made sure his clothes were clean. This suit was a precious gift from his Creator.

  Naturally, Demiurge had plenty of other outfits, but that didn’t make it acceptable to neglect taking care of this one.

  The thought of his great Creator made him smile with joy beneath his mask; then he turned to face the humans in their shameful state.

  If he launched a follow-up attack now, his enemy’s confusion would only deepen, and if he then sent the subhumans in, a complete collapse of the defenses would be a simple matter. But that wasn’t why he had used magic just now.

  Demiurge had an extremely limited repertoire of spells. On tier ten, there was only one other he could use. His true value lay in skills; he had cast the spell to save energy, but the scene before him was already quite pitiful.

  No one attempted to counter—they were desperate to gather information and reorganize.

  I didn’t even kill their commander… And this disarray doesn’t seem to be caused by them finding it strange that I didn’t try to cripple their chain of command… Are they all right over there?

  Demiurge turned his back to the humans and started strolling back toward the camp his slaves were building.

  He wasn’t even on guard against an attack from behind him.

  He already had the information he needed; that was why he could be so relaxed.

  Demiurge was strong.

  Among the floor guardians, he may have been near the bottom, but he was confident he would win in a fight—because he understood that fighting should only start after victory was assured. Unless he was ordered otherwise, he knew better than to fight if he wasn’t absolutely sure he would win.

  There was only one person Demiurge couldn’t win against—in other words, he wouldn’t be able to prepare a scenario where he could definitely come out on top. That being was the ultimate, the apex, the one who held everything in the palm of his hand, he who possessed a greater intellect than Demiurge, who could conspire in unimaginably crafty ways, and whose foresight seemed to stretch into eternity.

  The highest ruler of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, Ainz Ooal Gown.

  Yes, the only one he couldn’t best was the Supreme Being to whom he had devoted himself.

  Creating a huge number of undead is part of his scheme. Once that plan is in place, Lord Ainz will be untouchable. What a terrifying being. And everyone else must surely understand the joy of being ruled by one such as—

  The thud was the first unexpected thing that had happened so far, and Demiurge turned around to see what had caused it.

  A man was slowly rising to his feet. He must have jumped off the wall.

  “He’s dead! The man I wanted to defeat is gone!” the man said, drawing a sword with two hands.

  Demiurge searched the data he’d collected based on the man’s appearance. The answer came up instantly:

  Threat Level: E—a worm.

  Chance of Miscalculation: E—none.

  Importance: E—guinea pig.

  In other words, he was trash. But since he was one of the powerful Nine Colors—not that all of them were strong—Demiurge thought he would be useful as experiment material if taken prisoner.

  “Rrrraaaghhh!”

  The man charged at him with a battle cry.

  How slow. Far too slow. If this is all the speed you can muster, shouldn’t you use your head a bit more? Maybe try casting Silence and approach quietly to close the distance a bit…

  The man came running—at a leisurely pace—across a distance Demiurge’s colleagues would have closed in the blink of an eye.

  According to the data he had gathered, this dim-witted man had a skill that enabled him to land a blow many times stronger than his usual attack whenever he broke a weapon. That was why he held one sword in his hands and had more on his hip.

  How should I kill him? Since I’ll be taking him back, it would be better to do it neatly— Oh, he’s finally here?

  After taking care to stay back far enough to avoid getting spattered even if the man’s blood spurted, Demiurge issued an order. “Slit your throat with that sword.”

  There was a thudding noise.

  The eyes of the man who had sliced his own neck open were filled with confusion. When the light faded from his eyes, leaving only cloudy glass marbles—that was when he collapsed with a thud.

  Screams of grief could be heard from atop the wall.

  Demiurge approached the man, hooked a pointer finger on the back of his collar to lift him up, turned on his heel, and went back to his camp.

  Upon his return, the representatives from each race—though none of them held any authority—gathered before him.

  Demiurge had mentally divided the subhumans into two categories.

  On one side were the bloodthirsty types who fed on humans. They willingly submitted to power and followed him out of positive emotions. On the other side were those who followed him out of negative emotions such as fear.

  The ones he chose were from the latter group.

  “You assembled rather slowly.”

  And then he grabbed the shoulder of a random subhuman from the group. It was a zerun. He tore its shoulder skin right off. Though Demiurge was one of the least powerful floor guardians, he was still capable of this sort of feat.

  With an incoherent shriek, the subhuman who had lost its skin (and a chunk of flesh) fell to the ground in agony.

  “All right, please begin your attack. Don’t cause too much damage. The real fight begins on the other side of the wall.” Demiurge’s demeanor suddenly changed, and now he spoke to them kindly.

  The kindness he showed to members of Nazarick was genuine. He was tenderhearted when dealing with his friends. But the kindness he showed outsiders was the sort of care that a useful tool would receive.

  Having received their orders, the subhumans rushed back to their groups. The one who had fallen was no exception.

  They had been told that a happy outcome awaited only those who obeyed Demiurge’s orders and got exc
ellent results. And they’d also been told that those who achieved the opposite would find an appropriate future awaiting them.

  With a gentle smile, Demiurge watched them set off.

  “All right. I suppose it’s time to move on to the next order of business. Demons.”

  He activated one of his skills and summoned a large number of disposable demons. To him, they were an extremely weak variety, but summoning stronger ones would mean not being able to field as many. In this case, the most important thing was that the Sacred Kingdom soldiers would spread the word that they were being attacked by demons. For that, he needed numbers.

  “Listen up. You’re to support the subhumans. And drive the humans off in a clever way. Don’t do anything stupid like killing every last one and leaving none to return home.”

  The low-level demons nodded and flew into the air.

  Though summoned monsters shared the knowledge of the summoner to some extent, it was never terribly detailed. Only assuming they could perform basic tasks like differentiating between friend and foe was the best bet. For that reason, it was important to give orders at the time of summoning.

  All right…I hope the chips fall where I want.

  Demiurge had employed his intellect to plot out various scenarios, calculate dozens of potential developments, and prepare contingency plans that would achieve his aim. He had anticipated things might go slightly awry. But sometimes a real idiot would show up and do something utterly unexpected.

  Someone as wise as Lord Ainz can probably predict even a fool’s moves, but…I’m not quite there yet. I do hope Lord Ainz enjoys this…

  The thought made his pulse quicken. What would he do if this show he had spent so much time planning for the amusement of his supreme master failed to please?

  People of the Sacred Kingdom, I beg you from the bottom of my heart: Entertain Lord Ainz—with your pathetic lives. That said, I wonder how I can tweak this plan in order to get the best results.

  Like a student waiting for feedback from a professor he admired, Demiurge’s breast blazed with anticipation and excitement as he smiled.

  I study Lord Ainz’s actions to improve and devote myself even more fully to him. What joy!

  To Demiurge, who was born to serve the Supreme Beings, there was nothing more fulfilling than doing his best for his master.

  “Ahhh, I can’t wait…”

  3

  News quickly spread that an allied subhuman army—a huge one—had defeated the largest, sturdiest, most well-garrisoned central fortress. Word that they had gotten past the wall raced throughout the entire Sacred Kingdom.

  The commander of the subhuman alliance was Evil Emperor Jaldabaoth.

  He was the demon who had gone on a rampage in Re-Estize, and now he had ripped through the Sacred Kingdom’s defenses with his devastating magic like it was so much as paper.

  The subhuman alliance was made up of sixteen races, and their total head count was estimated to be over a hundred thousand. Their great war host had run into difficulties breaking down the wall and destroying the fort, so its advance had stagnated.

  Upon hearing that, the highest authority in the Sacred Kingdom, the Holy Lady, invoked the National Mobilization Order.

  Since the Sacred Kingdom extended north and south sandwiching a bay, when it mobilized an army, it necessarily raised two: the northern army and the southern army.

  The armies gathered at their respective strategic hubs—the cities of Karinsha in the north and Debonay in the south. Meanwhile, they observed the enemy’s actions for several days.

  Then the scouts observing the wall reported something that made the situation more tense.

  The subhuman alliance army is advancing west in full force.

  Estimating arrival at northern fortress city Karinsha in a few days.

  “I see. So this will end up being the battlefield.” It was the Holy Lady, Calca Bessarez, who spoke.

  She was quite a few steps down the line of succession—and it was usually males who took the throne—so she never should have become the supreme holy ruler, but she received the crown for two reasons.

  One was her physical beauty. Her blooming features, sometimes praised as the Roebel’s greatest treasure, combined formidably with both her charm and her determination. She also had a reputation for her long hair often likened to shimmering golden thread. It practically looked like an angel’s halo graced her head, and not a few people who caught sight of her gentle smile spoke of her as a saint.

  The other reason was her high aptitude as a faith magic caster. After being recognized as a prodigy who acquired tier-four spells by the age of fifteen, she became ruler with the backing of the previous holy king and the shrines.

  And in the ten years since, though some complained she was too soft, she had reigned over the kingdom without making any mistakes serious enough to be called mistakes.

  But her rule was not, in fact, uncontested. Coals were smoldering.

  “I understand your sorrow, Your Holy Majesty. But the people who live in Karinsha knew what was at stake. Even back…er, ahem! This city has been the main battleground before, once in a previous conflict. It boasts a stronger wall than anywhere else.”

  The one comforting her was a woman with brown hair.

  Though she had the same regular features, the steely glint in her sharp eyes imbued her with a chilly atmosphere. She wore silver full plate armor and a white surcoat. Both were historic items passed down from the commander of the paladins. And there wasn’t a single person in the Sacred Kingdom who didn’t know the name of the sword at her hip.

  It was one of the famous Four Holy Swords, Sacred Sword Safarlissia. Those four blades of legend were counterparts to the Four Swords of Darkness said to have been possessed by one of the Thirteen Heroes, the Dark Knight: Evil Sword Humuris; Demonic Sword Killineiram; Canker Sword Coroquedavarre; and Death Sword Sufiz. Incidentally, the other Holy Swords were Justice Sword, Pure Sword, and Life Sword.

  Anyone gifted with such a weapon would have found it tempting to rely on its strength and slack on the fundamentals. For that reason, this woman didn’t carry this sword around very often. She wore it now because she knew she would have to face the impending fight with indomitable resolve if there was to be any hope of victory.

  Her name was Remedios Custodio.

  She was Calca’s close friend, and as the commander of the paladins, said to be strongest in all their history, she provided military backing for the Holy Lady’s authority. She was also White of the Nine Colors.

  “Right, right. Plus, we had all the noncombatants evacuate, so they won’t be in danger. The only issue after the war is who will pay for it all!”

  The source of an unsavory “oh-ho-ho-ho” was a different person.

  The slant of her eyes and the shape of the corners of her mouth were a bit different, but she bore a strong resemblance to Remedios. Still, those subtle distinctions resulted in a dramatic change in the impression she made. She seemed like she had a hidden agenda—to put it unkindly, like she had some scheme up her sleeve.

  This was Remedios’s sister, two years younger than her, Kelart Custodio.

  She was a high cleric and head of the clergy.

  Her magical ability allowed her to use up to tier-four faith spells—or rather, that was her cover story.

  The public had no idea of her true ability; those close to her knew she could cast tier five as well.

  Incidentally, she was not one of the Nine Colors. Though she was subordinate to both the influence of the shrines and the Holy Lady, due to various considerations for the balance of power, the country thought it politically wise to avoid bestowing a color on her.

  Together, these two were known as the genius Custodio sisters, the right and left hand of the Holy Lady.

  Since many nobles suspected that Calca, despite being a woman, had ascended to the throne thanks to the Custodio sisters working behind the scenes, unfavorable remarks were often aimed at all three of them.
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  They had cleared plenty of bad rumors, but there was one—that since they were all unmarried and had never even gone around with men, they must have been in some inappropriate relationship together—they couldn’t get rid of no matter how many times they denied it, which pained Calca.

  “Hearing that makes my head hurt. It’s really just a lot of trouble if we win and don’t stand to gain anything.”

  “But there are reports that the subhumans are well outfitted this time. Couldn’t we sell their gear or something?”

  “Exaaactly…is what I’d like to say, but I can’t agree, honored sister. You say we could sell the gear, but to whom? You aren’t thinking this through. We’d have to sell them to another country, and no one will want to pay premium prices for subhuman gear. Plus, we should avoid furnishing the armories of our neighbors until we finish rebuilding the battered section of wall. I especially don’t want the Nation of Darkness flooding in.”

  “Oh? You’re against the Nation of Darkness? I never heard anything about that at court…”

  “None of the priests like them. Do you feel differently, Your Holy Majesty?”

  Calca thought for a moment. As a person of the cloth, as the holy ruler, she hated it. But as the head of a state…

  “A sovereign’s job is to care for subjects. And to give them peace. If their king is capable of that, then why should I mind?”

  The sisters exchanged glances in front of her.

  “Care for people? A thought like that would never enter an undead’s mind.”

  “I agree with my sister. I hardly think an undead could have compassion for the people the way you do, Your Holy Majesty.”

  “You’re both so harsh. You mustn’t bad-mouth someone you’ve never even met.”

  The two of them, at a loss, wore nearly identical expressions. Yep, they’re sisters, Calca thought, and she suppressed the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth to speak in a more solemn tone.