485: The Sickness of a Pioneer Village
Liz and I were both ‘averting’ our consciousness. If there was anyone who could notice the two of us in this state, then it was dangerous.
If that were to happen, then we would have entered into combat at that point, but we finished our preliminary reconnaissance without incident.
I rendezvoused with Liz, who had been acting separately, on the roof of a private house.
“I’ve finished counting. There are fourteen of them.”
“Same.”
It was a small village. To develop and to settle, while also conducting a survey. That was a pioneer village. Though it was called a pioneer village, since they were ‘reusing’ the residential areas of the humans, it wasn’t that difficult, as long as you didn’t mind a ‘haunted property.’ Though it had been neglected for a long time and was in a state of disrepair, it was easier to restore a place that had once been a farmland than to clear it from scratch.
The problems were probably that since there was no town or market nearby, it was difficult to replenish the daily necessities that they couldn’t produce themselves, and that there was little entertainment.
They would survey the climate, the vegetation, and the fauna, and if it seemed promising, they would increase the number of people, and if it seemed hopeless, they would survey the next candidate site. Since the preliminary survey had shown that there were almost no ferocious beasts or magical beasts near the human settlements, there was no great danger—or so it should have been.
They did not, for the most part, anticipate thieves. They were rare—so rare that there was no need to take countermeasures. The crimes that occurred in Listrea were mostly emotional entanglements, and they were impulsive. A sudden fit of anger, or an inability to hold back. And then, honor and pride.
That said, if a thief were to appear, then they would be hunted down, even if it meant combing through the grass. —Because they knew that, there were few fools who would turn to thievery. Life was long. —Very long.
The idea of living a short, thick life was, for the most part, not in the nature of a long-lived species. Precisely because they had a long time, they would think of using it meaningfully, with honor and pride. They did not like a battle, where there was a possibility of losing their long life. Even the beastmen, who could be called belligerent, sought honor, and to protect their pride, and to increase their own strength, and to prove it. Though I thought that the fact that hunting and fighting were the fastest way was rather belligerent.
But there were exceptions everywhere.
Crimes for money—trivial crimes—also existed, as a matter of course. And now, here.
For now, I lowered my posture and waited.
“Rebecca has arrived.”
“Yes.”
I could see that she was using an illusion spell. A loli with white skin, elf ears, and black clothes, even in the wide world of Listrea, could only be Rebecca Stagnet. Samarkand and Harken were also famous, but Rebecca’s fame, combined with her special appearance, was in a class of its own. The elves were now an extinct race.
So, a disguise was necessary. She was disguised as a Dark Knight in black armor, about two sizes larger than her usual self. Samarkand and Harken were in the role of attendants… as usual. Layla was hiding her face with a dark brown hood.
Through the blood contract, I gave Samarkand permission to release the seal—an ‘order.’ Though it was limited to a short range, it was a means of communication that could not be caught by any detection means. But since it couldn’t send a message, we had to decide on the meaning beforehand. Now, it was a signal that the reconnaissance was over and that the preparations for the suppression were complete. Incidentally, if there was no signal, then I had strictly ordered them to ‘prohibit a forced entry for some reason,’ such as the presence of a hostage.
“Well, well… it’s rare to run into another patrol. And at this hour.”
The other party was, to my surprise, in a navy military uniform. A male dark elf. He seemed to be pretending to be on patrol, in case a visitor were to come—and he was not just impersonating the Lord of Disease, but also the Listrea Demon King’s army.
The charges were piling up. Just to impersonate the army would probably be a rather serious crime.
I was glad I had used [Optimization]. I was a little irritated by the farce.
“Is there… anything unusual?”
Rebecca (the Dark Knight) opened her mouth. Her tone was the same as usual, but her voice was that of a man. And yet, the fact that I knew it was Rebecca—was strange.
“Not really… it’s a peaceful place.”
I wanted to wipe them all out. Right now.
“…I see. Who is in charge?”
“Over there, but…”
“I want you to call them. I would like to share some simple information. And is there a well? I would like to replenish our water.”
“The well is over there… but as for the person in charge… it is difficult.”
He was trying to evade, with an insolent politeness.
“Call them.”
“Huh?”
“I said, call them.”
Rebecca, too, seemed to have gotten tired of the farce. Though not all of them, there were a few villagers, and they were watching the proceedings, holding their breath. The tension in the air was rising—
“…What is it?”
A voice that broke it. A deep bass, as if from the depths of hell.
The hem of a pale, translucent, dark green hooded robe fluttered.
A layered pale green robe. A shoulder cloth with runes embroidered in gold thread. A fang, a disc, and a vial, three kinds of amulets, hung from his neck. In his hand, a wooden staff, with a blue, octahedral gem ‘set at its tip.’ In the shadows of his hood, a black mask, with an orange, eerily glowing pattern and ‘two eyes’ carved into it. The emblem on the clasp of the hood at his chest was a ‘serpent in love with a dagger.’
Was this a game of spot the difference?
It was clearly—yes, clearly—a stage costume. Not of the Lord of Disease, but of the Lord of Venom. The play, ‘The Serpent in Love with a Dagger,’ was also being performed by other groups, with permission. It was probably faster to use that.
Originally, the protagonist of the play, the Lord of Venom, was in a gray zone, where ‘everyone vaguely guessed who the model was, but it was a matter of etiquette not to say.’ Because that was a story of the fictional Kingdom of Listore. With my permission, and with the permission of Your Majesty the Demon King, though it was private, it was made to look very similar.
And on top of that, it was changed just a little. In fact, the design of the magic circle on the amulet was also different. Incidentally, the clasp on my hood was also, usually, the same ‘serpent in love with a dagger’ as the fake. It was holding a dagger, but the design was a little different. Some of them were also sold as merchandise. When Clarion had offered to give me one, I had said, “I want to support you by buying the merchandise,” and I had had her buy it for me.
Today, it was the original, the ‘serpent with a dagger in its mouth.’ It was something I usually kept in my luggage, as a charm.
“…Lord of Disease… dono.”
Rebecca (the Dark Knight) feigned surprise. No, she might have been surprised by the cheapness of the costume. The reason she hadn’t added ‘-sama’ was because I was now officially retired—and because she was probably the only one who called me that. No, really, Rebecca only added ‘-sama’ to the Lord of Disease when she was being thoroughly and insolently polite, with a sarcastic exasperation.
“Why—are you here?”
The fake Lord of Disease answered.
“The fact that the Sixth Army has been disbanded is just a front… it is just a pretext for the Lord of Disease to act in secret…”
“That’s what he says.”
“This is getting interesting.”
I whispered to Liz. My half-baked [Optimization] was about to break.
Rebecca (the Dark Knight) asked again.
“…What are you doing… in this village?”
“It is classified. Leave the rest to the Sixth Army.”
Layla clenched her fists and looked down. At that sight, just as my patience was about to reach its limit, Rebecca’s (the Dark Knight’s) form wavered.
“The Sixth Army—huh?”
A cool, cold, and deliberately unchildish, hard voice. In the morning sun, the delicate silver tiara glinted, and the frilly skirt fluttered, and the low heels of her short boots dug into the bare ground.
Rebecca, who had dispelled her illusion spell, declared, in her own form, with her own voice.
“The Sixth Army is no more in this country. And I cannot bear to have anyone other than us use ‘that’ name.”
Rebecca, too, seemed to have reached the limit of her patience.
