bookworm

That will not be a problem,” said Diablo. “Moss is capable of managing hundreds of squadrons at once.”
“Yes, that’s what Soei told me as well,” added Benimaru. “Moss was working with him in intelligence gathering, but it sounds like he can also handle inter-squadron contacts on the side.”
He can? What an incredibly useful demon!
“Well, want to name him unit leader, then?” I offered.
“I…would feel bad for him if we did.”
“Indeed. Given Testa’s temperament, it would be a tragic situation for him. It hardly matters to me, of course, but I cannot help but feel a twinge of sympathy.”
“…All right. Let’s make Testarossa the provisional leader for now.”
Not only Benimaru, but even Diablo voiced pity for Moss. I could read between the lines well enough, so I withdrew my nomination.
For now, the Western Deployment would focus on its primary peacekeeping mission. Barring extraordinary circumstances, deploying them elsewhere would only be done as a last resort. Testarossa would lead them, but this was meant to be temporary—I made it clear that we’d replace her once someone suitable came along.
Next, the Magic-Born United. Why don’t I appoint Benimaru for that?
“Personally, I would suggest Sir Rigur,” he said.
Oh, Rigur? True, Rigur had experience leading a security force, and his over-A power was nothing to sniff at. But he was also an assistant to Rigurd, and I wasn’t sure he had time to lead a full army.
If at all possible, I wanted to settle this war with our standing forces alone—but right then, we had no idea how much military strength the Eastern Empire had ready. We had our spies en route but hadn’t gained any intel within imperial borders yet. Still, based on the snippets we learned about their training exercises, current estimates stated that at least three hundred thousand troops were going to be deployed. There was even a chance they’d send out over a million, a truly massive force.
If it came to that, we couldn’t afford to keep the Magic-Born United on ice. Along those lines, I had no issue with Rigur’s command, but I was still anxious. Managing a ragtag army with essentially no rehearsal was a dangerous job for anyone.
“…Hmm. I really do want to leave this to you, Benimaru. And in the future, we can call this mixed force the Red Numbers. I’d like you to select some captains from Team Kurenai to make this force into a coherent unit. We’ll make them into the Fourth Army Corps, and I want you to be their direct commander.”
I’d call them red because they’d stop anyone in their way. Get it? My first dad joke in a while!
…
Right. I’ll just keep that one to myself. Don’t want to kill the mood.
Despite all these ridiculous thoughts, I managed to retain my composure as the briefing hummed along.
“Very well. In that case, I accept the appointment.”
It looked like Benimaru thought I might ask that of him. He seemed ready to agree, not letting it faze him at all. He has the unique skill Born Leader, letting him cover for any lack of refinement among his forces, so he was the perfect person to lead a motley bunch like this.
So in addition to being my supreme commander, Benimaru was just appointed leader of the brand-new Red Numbers. That left the Volunteer Army.
“Now, what do you intend to do with the Volunteer Army?”
Benimaru winced. “Ah, there’s the problem.”
These volunteers included a large number of humans. Employing a monster as commander, Benimaru worried, could lead to unnecessary dissatisfaction among their ranks.
“Good point. If word starts getting around that humans can’t advance in the land of monsters, that’s gonna hurt our image.”
“Anyone with such insipid thoughts is a weakling. A loser,” Shion cut in. “They would never make anything of themselves anyway. You have no need at all to worry about them!”
“Shion, I… Okay, maybe I don’t, but if someone doesn’t know much about us, that’s gonna sound an awful lot like the truth to them.”
“True. Humans can be a fickle bunch to deal with.”
Shion may not appreciate it too much, but a brand image is a precious thing to maintain. It’d be ridiculous if we let this issue make us out to look discriminatory, so I thought it required serious debate.
“But is there really anyone suitable for the role?” Diablo asked. There wasn’t, really. That’s why Benimaru was so troubled.
“I hear you there,” I replied. “These are volunteers, besides. We didn’t even plan for them.”
“But we can’t let them go idle,” said Benimaru.
No, we couldn’t. I appreciated the humans’ ardor to serve us, and I didn’t want to let that go to waste. But if we wanted to make good use of them, we needed a talented commander. This Volunteer Army was even more ragtag than the Magic-Born United—the Red Numbers—and if you asked me who could make them into a united force, Benimaru was about all I could think of.
So now what…?
“How about Girard, in Soei’s force?” Benimaru suggested.
“No way,” I said. “We picked him up as part of a secret arrangement with Englesia. I’m sure he won’t want his face seen in public.”
I didn’t hear what kind of deal Testarossa struck with him, but having Girard bump around where everyone could see him had to be a bad idea. He’d been branded a traitor to all humankind. If we didn’t treat him as dead—at least in public—it’d set a bad example for everyone else. I didn’t have any duty to cover for him, but there was no need for him to take center stage for us, either.
“Strengthwise, I’d have no complaints, but it’s not very realistic, no…”
Benimaru didn’t seem too serious about pushing for him. I suppose he just lobbed the idea out for its own sake before he moved on to the next one. Restricting it to human beings was a pain, though. We went through several names, but none of them seemed to really fit.
Suddenly, Shion spoke up.
“Perhaps we could enlist the Crusaders for a little help?”
Benimaru and I looked at each other, then back at Shion.
“I— I’d hardly think so.”
“No, that wouldn’t be a—”
“Then how about Sir Masayuki?” she countered before I could tell her it wasn’t a good idea.
Masayuki. Hearing the name struck me like lightning.
“That’s it!” I shouted.
“Amazing, Shion!!” Benimaru hollered in tandem.
That was the exact moment we decided to appoint Masayuki to be our Volunteer Army’s leader.
This was decided, of course, without consulting the guy himself, but it was one decision that pretty much anyone would agree with. The only one less than convinced was Masayuki.
“Why me…?”
He brought a hand to his head when I gave him the news. But I didn’t have much to say to him. As sad as it was, this was war. What people wanted didn’t factor into it. I know I was thinking the opposite a moment ago, but I couldn’t worry about Masayuki’s feelings here. After all, things ought to be fine if I leave the Volunteer Army in his hands. In times like these, he was a valuable ally to have.You know, I think I’ve gotten better at using my Chosen One unique skill, too. I’m not getting showered in praise after everything I do, like before. But now I’m not able to use it when I want to, so please don’t expect too much of me, all right?”
He was really being a sore loser about it, trying to weasel out any way he could, but I knew that wasn’t the truth. After all, Masayuki was as popular as ever, and he still wielded massive influence around the world.
“But don’t you want to show off to Kenya and the gang?”
“I, um…”
If he accepted the job, I was willing to let him teach whatever weird stuff he wanted to the kids and bask in their adulation.
“Hey, it’ll be all right! You can do it!”
“But…”
“No buts! I helped you out when you had to face off against Bovix, remember?”
Masayuki’s party had already made it past Floor 50, where Bovix had served as guardian. During that expedition, I used my avatar to put my thumb on the scale a bit, softening up the guy enough so they could defeat him and take all the credit.
“That did save my hide, yes…”
“So do we have a deal?”
“All right.”
Between coaxing him and soothing his ego, I finally got a yes.
“You have been a big help to me, Rimuru. I really did wanna pay you back sometime, so…”
He still didn’t sound too enthusiastic, but he took the job of Volunteer Army general anyway. We received no complaints from those volunteers, either—in fact, the reaction was more like “All right!!” and “Victory is ours!!” and so on. To them, it was like going in with twenty points already on the board. No matter how much of a hangdog expression he gave me, there was no turning back.
“I knew this would happen…”
Masayuki said he had more control over the Chosen One skill these days, but what did he mean by that? Maybe my hunch was right, and he was lying…or maybe some of Masayuki’s real luck was operating on him, skill or not? That’d be even more of a surprise, actually. Leon was the opposite—everything he did tended to make him look as bad as possible. This was apparently the case even back in his Hero days; I guess it can be hard to fight your true nature.
“Now, now… I’m sorry all this got decided without you, but think about it! You’re gonna be a banner who’ll inspire the entire army!”
I tried to commiserate with him as much as I could—but regardless, Masayuki the Hero was now leading our twenty thousand (mostly) human volunteers.
So the corrected organizational chart had fifty-two thousand troops on the right wing and fifty thousand on the left. Benimaru was at the very top, the generals of each army corps below him.
We thus had over a hundred thousand soldiers to work with, but I was still iffy on whether we could take the imperial force with that. No need to panic, though. All our preparations were continuing on apace. We had one hundred and fifty thousand troops in the Western Deployment to back us up. Each of the Western Nations was prepping support units from their respective knight corps. As a final, final defensive line, we’d get the Western Nations’ army set up as well. The total would be over two hundred and fifty thousand, I was told, and if push came to shove, I’d be relying on them.
This was the figure we cobbled together from all the mercenaries and support troops, but it was hard to tell if it was a lot or a little. Testarossa had cajoled and threatened the Council into cooperating with us, not that they had much choice—if we lost, after all, it’d be their turn next. We wouldn’t be tapping into any of these forces unless things looked pretty grim for ourselves.
Regardless, we had the terrain advantage, as well as Veldora and additional support from demon lords like Luminus and Leon. Even Milim agreed to pitch in; the Beast Master’s Warrior Alliance serving Carillon would be ready to deploy at a moment’s notice.
Plus, as my personal trump card, I had the Black Corps under Diablo at the ready. Benimaru had full command over the entire military, so honestly speaking, the hierarchy didn’t give me direct control over any force. In practice, though, the Black Corps took orders from nobody but Diablo and the three demonesses under him. They were a fully independent army, totally out of Benimaru’s control.
That was the sum of our forces. And we hadn’t factored in what moves Yuuki would make.
“A war, huh?” I muttered to myself in my room. Did the Empire really want to conquer the Western Nations? Guy had used the term game to describe his motives. It sounded like there were some connections there—some kind of restless ulterior motive pointed at the Empire. But even so:
“No matter who comes along, if they lay their hands on our little paradise, I’ll crush them.”
Those were my true feelings. I had no intention of making the same mistake twice. I’m a demon lord, and I can’t afford to put the wrong things first.
Meanwhile, as Rimuru and his companions were preparing for war, the Eastern Empire was doing much the same thing…except they spent far more years preparing. Slowly, carefully, step by step, their preparations for a grand offensive took shape. Before long, the Empire would wake from its long, long slumber…and only a small amount of time remained until the storm began.A LOOK INSIDE THE EMPIRE
The Eastern Empire, officially the Nasca Namrium Ulmeria United Eastern Empire, was one of the oldest nations in the world. Its history extended back centuries; as the story goes, it had already laid the foundations for an empire as early as two thousand years ago.
Its roots can be traced back to the small Kingdom of Nasca, a realm that had spent many years absorbing and merging with the Magical Kingdom of Namrius, followed by the Eastern Federation of Ulmeria, to create the current Empire. In the background of this conquest was the massive, overwhelming military Nasca cultivated—and now, under the name of the United Emperor Ludora Nam-ul-Nasca, the Empire had enjoyed a reign of power for the past two millennia, never allowing its annexed nations to rebel. Every member nation was the full and complete vassal of the Empire, subject to its absolute rule.
This was how the Nasca Namrium Ulmeria United Eastern Empire—generally referred to as the Eastern Empire—operated.
It was said that the aim of the Empire’s leader was absolute dominance, and that was reflected in its unbroken imperial bloodline—the current emperor had been granted the name Ludora as well. No matter how things worked in practice, the emperor always preferred absolute power, according to conventional wisdom.
The military, too, adopted this “might makes right” approach, taking a unique stance and guaranteeing promotion for anyone who could prove their power. And even now, as the rumors among the Empire’s subjects went, the only reason the Empire had not plowed through the Forest of Jura yet was because they were still not prepared for it.
Approximately 350 years ago, the Empire attempted, and failed, to subdue Veldora the Storm Dragon, costing it an entire city. Those who managed to rile that fickle dragon were not given the time to regret it as they perished with that city. It was among the largest in the land at the time, boasting a population of a hundred thousand—a fortress city nestled against the Forest of Jura’s east side. The Empire had taken a century to build it up as a beachhead for the invasion of the forest; it was a military base, ready to expand the Empire’s territory once they made it through Jura.
Driven with ambition, the military leaders of the time came up with a plan, one that would take them beyond the forest. It was the fervent desire of the Empire, cultivated over a hundred years, and despite its prosperity, there was only one reason why it had dreams of territorial expansion—because the emperor willed it. There was no other motive, and none of the citizens voiced disagreement.
The plan proceeded smoothly, the Empire’s armies building themselves up in order to prove their might. Then, in the name of the emperor, the order was given to begin the invasion. But thanks to a foolish idea that occurred to one squadron leader, the entire operation was crushed. If we’re going through the Forest of Jura anyway, reasoned this leader, we might as well tame its master. No giant lizard is going to be a threat to us. It was an incredibly ill-advised decision, and it led them all to their destruction.
What he and his troops did, exactly, has never been accurately reported. Anyone who could’ve recorded the incident, or stored those records, was turned into ash. And so the dream of the Empire, the ambition of its emperor, was burned to cinders.
That brought us to the present day. The Empire spent a long time laying low, tending to the wounds Veldora gave them, but the emperor never gave the okay to continue the invasion. Trespassing into the Forest of Jura was never permitted; the power they spent 350 years building up patiently waited for its chance to roar.
Now let’s turn our attention to the Empire’s political structure.
In the Empire, there exists a political administration and a military branch—the two wings supporting the emperor’s rule. The emperor personally serves as both the sovereign of the political administration and the commander in chief of the military—a massive amount of power for one individual to wield.
This administration contained a House of Lords, a legislature populated by the nobility who enjoyed a great deal of power—on the surface. In reality, though, the nobles were given no decision-making rights. They were granted prestige and vested interests, but they played little more than a bureaucratic role, rubber-stamping the will of the emperor.
This House of Lords was a hereditary system, its members becoming lords without any vote required. No matter how lofty their personal ambitions were, it was impossible for them to gain the power to make them a reality. All imperial territory was the property of the emperor, who lent it out to the nobility and let them manage it, but no more.
The nobility was supported by teams of highly educated government officials. These were the bureaucrats who proposed plans and policies, with the full backing of the emperor behind them, and they subsequently all made pledges of loyalty to their leader.
The same was true of the military. Since the emperor himself (and not the state) had authority over them, it was a de facto personal force owned by him alone. Even regional cities annexed by the Empire lived by this rule; all private property was seized, then lent back by the emperor. The defense forces protecting these lands were similarly on loan from this emperor, provided solely out of his personal compassion.
This policy successfully quelled any rebellion out in the Empire’s far reaches. It was made possible by the overwhelming difference in national power. The Empire was willing to accept surrender, but this came at the forfeiture of all other rights. Anyone who objected to this could expect a violent purge—they would be thoroughly eradicated, ensuring no one would harbor similar ideas again.
That was how order was maintained across the Empire. The carrot and the stick—terror against overwhelming military might, and guaranteed safety upon becoming an imperial subject. These two tactics were thoroughly managed in equal measure, preserving peace in the Empire for generations.
Normally, it would be impossible for a single person to rule over a nation this vast. In fact, look over the past two thousand years of history, and you won’t find a single occasion where the emperor’s rule was ever put into question. Power always remained at the top after every transition. No matter how you thought about it, it was strange. If you chalked it up to the great work of the emperor, it essentially meant he was a god, a being beyond the human realm.
We now turn to the Empire’s military force, broadly divided into three main divisions:
The Armored Division:A force of mechanized soldiers, managed by teams of technicians. This was a modern armored force possessing tanks and more, symbolizing the technological might of the Empire.The Magical Beast Division:A collection of beasts taken from around the world, inside and outside Empire territory. Controlling and wielding their powers made this division a symbol of the Empire’s power.The Composite Division:A collection of off-spec mechanized soldiers and crazed magical beasts incapable of group activity. They are too focused on themselves to function as a group, but their powers are a wild card, and together they could become a serious threat. They symbolized the heart of the Empire, still beating young.If the Western Nations relied primarily on swords and sorcery, the Empire’s focus on magic and science made it the pioneers of a new era.
The presence of otherworlders played a mighty role in the Empire’s expanded military. One imperial subject took a particular interest in these visitors, and the cosmic knowledge they held. He was named Gadora, a great sorcerer who served in the imperial palace for many years, and despite his wizened appearance, he was an energetic man. He had a thirst for knowledge, not just magical, either, and he relished chatting with people from other worlds.
Through them, he learned that this other world also consisted of multiple countries—and unlike this one, the inhabitants found ways to overcome differences in opinion and language to live together. There was no magic in that world, causing it to grow and evolve in quite a different direction from this one.
Gadora had lived for a long time. Whenever he approached the end of his natural life span, he used the self-invented Mysterious Arts: Reincarnation to resurrect himself over and over again. It allowed him to observe otherworlders over many years, granting him huge stores of knowledge and even a command of several languages from the other world. Whenever a new otherworlder came along, he’d always have them brought to him, and he’d put them under his protection. The Empire had been collecting more than just magical beasts from around the world, and Gadora advocated for otherworlders in the imperial court, receiving permission to do with them what he wanted.
Otherworlders with special skills or knowledge were welcomed in the Empire, and their population was far beyond that of any other nation in the world. That explained why the Empire’s culture and characteristics were so heavily influenced by them. Many of these people had unique skills as well, and the Empire conducted much research on them. In this aspect as well, their military technology had developed to the point that it was surpassed by no one.
In the Empire, the profession of knight was obsolete. The concept of fighting cavalry had gone away; instead, the military adopted new tactics that took advantage of their modernized weaponry. Soldiers whose very bodies had been mechanized were known as mechaknights, treated as the star players in imperial battle.
These characteristics played out most vividly in the Empire’s Armored Division, but otherworld knowledge also played a role in the Magical Beast Division. The otherworlders had brought with them knowledge of DNA—deoxyribonucleic acid, a macromolecular organic substance that contained the genetic information for living beings. This knowledge made it possible to analyze the powers of magical beasts on a scale like none before—and that further branched out into other research. Finally, the Composite Division was home to a large number of powerful otherworlders, each wielding their own unique skills, and one derided their battle strength at their own peril.
It was the masterful manipulation of factors like unique skills and otherworld technology that let the Empire create such an insurmountable military. It was no exaggeration to say that Gadora’s passion for the subject had expanded the force’s strength all by itself.
In addition to the three main divisions Gadora helped cultivate, there was a paramilitary force charged with guarding the emperor himself: the Imperial Guardians, a small company of only a hundred, and one of the few forces left that called their members knights. The uninformed observer would assume this custom to be a relic carried over from antiquity, but that was not the case. After all, the Imperial Knights who staffed this troop were the best of the best, handpicked from those who stood above the pack in each division. Some were otherworlders, even, proving that the Empire didn’t discriminate based on bloodline or birthplace. To the very end, the motto of the Empire was “might makes right,” and there was no better evidence of that than what was illustrated here. These knights gained their position purely through power alone, not the blood or influence gained over generations.
As a symbol of their superiority, all members of the Imperial Guardians were granted Legend-class weapons and armor. The very best equipment, handled by the very best fighters, created a tremendous synergy effect, giving this team of a hundred more pure fighting power than an entire division. They were also guaranteed the best treatment in the Empire—every one of them was a high-level military officer, and in special missions, they were afforded at the least the authority of an army colonel. They were the pride of the military and the greatest force in the whole Empire.
So the Empire had, in essence, four military divisions. Each of them could only be led by those with a convincing talent for the position—they needed to be recognized as “the strongest” by anyone who saw them. How did they prove this? By rank-based duels within the divisions.
The system allowed lower-ranking members to challenge their superiors, under the arbitration of a third party, and these rankings were thus in a constant state of flux. The duels had to satisfy a few conditions, of course, before they were accepted. They were forbidden during military maneuvers, and witnesses were required for them to be certified. Also, if you challenged someone and lost, you had to wait a year before mounting another challenge. The same was true if you killed your opponent, but the higher-ranked defender was allowed to kill a challenger without penalty, so this contest wasn’t something you embarked on lightly.
In a way, this was the ultimate embodiment of the Empire’s “might makes right” credo—subjugating your opponent with overwhelming force. The fact that the Imperial Guardians saw no end of would-be new members challenging their way in showed that this imperial ideal was etched into the very hearts of its subjects.
Ranks within the military were therefore strictly defined, but Gadora didn’t count in this hierarchy. He held a unique position in the realm, treated as a kind of non-imperial stranger by the Empire.
Appointments to the Imperial Guardians were deliberated over by a panel that Gadora wasn’t a part of, and the commander of each division was picked from the Guardian roster. Whenever one stepped down, a replacement would be picked from this group of a hundred. Anyone who wanted to move up among the Guardians had an equal chance, so those with real ability wouldn’t get buried under the masses. They were free to hone their powers, silently waiting for a chance to emerge into the spotlight.
Appointed to the very top of the Guardians was the Marshal, while the three people under them were the three Generals of the Guardians. You automatically became Marshal if you hit the number one spot in the pecking order, while Generals of the Guardians were named by a committee consisting of the emperor, the current Marshal, and Gadora. It took more than brute strength to run a military force, after all. Still, any General who became a division commander was always going to be the strongest member of their division, since (by definition) everyone serving in one was going to be weaker than an Imperial Knight.
To outside observers, the Marshal and their Generals stood at the peak of the Empire—and if the Imperial Guardians received Legend-class gear, this quartet naturally had to own something even better. These were the Empire’s greatest hidden treasures, the most potent of gear, used to suppress other nations in ancient times—God-class gear, in other words.
Possessing multiple examples of semi-mythological gear quite literally meant you were supporting the very dignity of the Empire. This was the ultimate in weaponry and armor, items an average person wouldn’t even be allowed to touch. It was said one needed to have certain capabilities to so much as pick them up—only when the gear accepted you, it was said, would it unleash its true force.
The greatest of power, supported by the ultimate in gear. Truly they were invincible, the foundational rock the Empire was built upon.
And then—something changed in the Empire.
For the first time in decades, a commander actually lost a ranking challenge—and with that, the colossal responsibility of keeping the disorganized Composite Division a coherent force. He was felled by a man who had made a truly historical rise through the ranks, having enlisted for the first time not even a year ago—mowing down one experienced fighter after the other without a single loss.
Now the young man stood at one of the Empire’s loftiest peaks. His name was Yuuki Kagurazaka, and with his rise, the pace of human events would rocket into high gear.