Hell Mode: Volume 7, page 25
Thwump!
The next moment, the walls of the mansion were torn open and a beast with long, sharp horns appeared in front of Zehni and Spachax. She had no hair, and her entire body was covered in scales, but her long, slender legs and lean body more closely resembled those of a horse than those of a dragon or lizard.
“Falnemes,” Zehni groaned loudly. The name sounded familiar to Spachax.
“The Goddess of Arbitration? I don’t believe it,” Spachax said.
“That’s right. I am Arbitration Goddess Falnemes.” The horned beast, or rather, Falnemes, the Goddess of Arbitration, introduced herself in a calm, feminine voice. “By order of Creation God Elmea, I have come to judge you, Merchant God Zehni, for your abuse of faith.”
“Eek! Please forgive me!”
The Merchant King watched in shock as Zehni cried out and knelt down with such force that he rubbed his head against the plush rug, just as Spachax had done earlier.
“It is time for judgment,” the Goddess of Arbitration said, pointing the long, sharp horn that protruded from her forehead at the Merchant God and slowly approaching him.
“Witness my power, oho!” Just before her horn reached the Merchant God, who was still lying flat with his head against the carpet, he suddenly stood up and raised one of his hands above his head. “My sacred treasure, give me the strength to crush my enemies, oho!”
Whoosh!
A gold coin appeared in Zehni’s raised hand and instantly swelled into a gigantic disc. He grabbed the rim and tried to slam it sideways into the Arbitration Goddess’s horn. However...
“How foolish.” The Arbitration Goddess stepped back faster than Zehni could move, then quickly moved forward again. She made for the giant gold coin that Zehni had swung off target, piercing it—his divine vessel—with her long, sharp horns and skewering his body.
“Gwuagh?!”
While still impaling the groaning Zehni with her horns, the Arbitration Goddess slowly raised her head and lifted the Merchant God’s body almost to the ceiling of the mansion. Then, with a slight shake of her head, she left only the giant gold coin on her horn. Zehni’s golden body slammed against the wall and slid down it, slumping when it touched the floor.
“This is the end.”
“Eeeek! Whatever you do, p-please don’t erase me, oho! I repent!” Zehni’s round face contorted as he begged for his life, but the Arbitration Goddess rose onto her hind legs and slammed her front hoof down on the Merchant God’s head, a grotesque squelch filling the room.
The body of the Merchant God, his head now crushed, turned into a pile of gold coins whose color quickly faded to a dull gray. It turned into dust and disappeared.
“I’ll be taking this.” The Arbitration Goddess muttered to herself and slowly turned to face Spachax. The trembling Spachax’s frightened eyes met the cold gaze of the Arbitration Goddess.
“Please forgive me!” Spachax jumped to his feet and knelt down with such force that his head once again rubbed against the plush rug. “F-For Lord Elmea’s sake, I’ll make the most splendid church, better than any other! S-So please...!”
Falnemes was silent for a while as she looked down at Spachax, who bowed repeatedly.
“Allow me to deliver your words to God of Creation Elmea,” she said before walking out of the mansion through the destroyed wall.
After this encounter, Spachax was so afraid of the Arbitration Goddess that he used Zenitex Merchant Kingdom’s financial and labor powers to an absurd degree to repair the church in Teomenia. The expenses ran sky-high, finally causing a peasant rebellion and civil war to break out. This ultimately led him to lose his title as Merchant King.
＊ ＊ ＊
Falnemes returned to the Divine Realm and headed to Elmea’s church. When she reached the hall where the God of Creation was waiting, she placed the Merchant God’s divine vessel with a hole in it in front of Elmea.
First Angel Merus, who was standing at Elmea’s side, watched the situation unfold.
“I have cast judgment on Merchant God Zehni and collected his divine vessel.”
After hearing Falnemes’s report, Elmea slowly nodded.
“Was the Merchant God out of control this time as well? It seems to be a recurring issue. I hope his successor does well.”
Once Elmea had finished speaking, Merus stepped forward and picked up the large gold coin—the Merchant God’s divine vessel.
“Thank you, Arbitration Goddess, for your hard work. Please do take a rest...”
Just as Merus was about to offer words of praise, Elmea opened his mouth as if he had remembered something.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Falnemes, there’s one more thing I’d like to ask you.”
“Whom should I judge?” Falnemes asked matter-of-factly.
“It seems that a Demon Lord has been born among the monsters. However, it seems to be different from usual. Please look into it. Of course, should you find that they are violating my principles, I shall leave it to you to cast judgment.”
“With all due respect, Lord Elmea, the Goddess of Arbitration has just returned home. This task is far too—”
“Understood. I shall be off.”
Merus tried to voice his objection, but Falnemes had already turned and was leaving the church. Elmea silently watched her go.
Side Story 3: King of Shura Bask’s Craving
Approximately twenty years before Allen was certified as a Rank S adventurer, a man who possessed the four-star Talent “Asura,” a part of the Swordsman line, was admitted to the Academy. He showed great promise, but was uncooperative and did not get along well with others, a fact that was often pointed out by his homeroom teacher. After assaulting that very teacher for their harsh criticisms, he left the Academy and became an adventurer.
This man hated interacting with people and spent his days challenging dungeons alone without a party. He quickly improved his skills, and by the time he was in his mid twenties, he was able to defeat a Rank S monster all by himself.
The Adventurer’s Guild found this to be sufficient grounds to recognize him as a Rank S adventurer, a title that conferred various rights and privileges that the Guild would accommodate the exercise of. Though this process was quite the arduous task, the goal of bestowing a Rank S title was to make the adventurer, who was able to defeat a Rank S monster by themself and go against all rules of common sense in terms of power, retain the bare minimum ties to society. They were encouraged to recognize the hope that their power had given to the rest of the world and gain a sense of responsibility.
Guildmaster General Makkaron, who had already become the head of the Adventurer’s Guild, was the one to certify the man as such.
“This is your adventurer’s ID card. Also, as a Rank S adventurer, your alias will be ‘King of Shura.’ Is that okay?”
The man did not seem to be listening to Makkaron and was fiddling with the adventurer’s ID card he had received. A normal adventurer’s ID card had an emblem embossed on it that indicated the rank, but his had an emblem made of gold embedded in it.
“Whoa, it’s so shiny and gold,” the man remarked. “Does carrying it make you stronger?”
“There’s no such effect,” Makkaron replied. “It’s just proof of your status.”
“What? How boring.”
The man was shirtless, with two leather belts hanging from his shoulders that crossed over his chest. A large sword sheath was fixed to each belt with studs, and he was carrying two large swords on his back. He had a wide belt around his waist with several pouches hanging from it, and into one of them he threw his new adventurer’s ID card.
“Later.”
Just as the man was about to leave the room, Makkaron called out to him.
“You have received a summons to the battlefield from the emperor of Giamut.”
“Again? I’m not interested in—”
“I have heard that some commanders of the Demon Lord Army have valuable items.”
“Huh? Are you serious? Then I guess I’ve gotta take those,” the man replied with a grin.
This smirking man called himself Bask.
＊ ＊ ＊
At the time, the Empire of Giamut was unable to withstand the invasion of the Demon Lord Army; its defensive lines were slowly pushed south every year. Even its most well-protected fortresses were not safe, as hundreds of thousands of Rank B or higher monsters would sometimes swarm them, either felling them or forcing them to be abandoned.
Bask was sent to one such fortress. He was too late, however, and it fell before he could reach it.
The soldiers and allied officers who were able to escape encountered Bask as they withdrew to the city south of the fortress. One officer asked him to retreat with them and help defend the city, which was the last stop on the supply route to the fortress, but he merely remarked that he found the idea boring. Instead, he headed to the fortress alone.
For the next three days, the city was shrouded in despair. Its outer wall was over ten meters high, but even that was unlikely to be able to stop the swarm of monsters that had attacked the fortress. Of course, there were some who thought of fleeing the city and moving south along the army’s supply route to the previous relay point, but the Demon Lord Army moved far quicker than expected. If any of them were caught, they would certainly be killed.
The soldiers who had escaped the fortress suppressed their fear and continued to keep watch, but in the afternoon of the third day, one of them spotted something approaching the town from the direction of the fortress. Using a scope magic tool, he quickly learned that the lone, slow-moving figure was Bask, who was supposed to have been heading toward the fortress.
“It’s Lord Bask! He’s alive!”
The officers of the allied forces opened the tightly closed gate and greeted Bask, whose body was covered in dried monster blood.
“I’m so glad you came back alive...”
An allied officer, regretting that he had had no choice but to watch as Bask made his way to the fortress, approached him in tears. But Bask merely passed by him with a troubled look on his face. He dropped what he had been holding in front of the assembled soldiers, and they all froze at the sight.
It was the head of what appeared to be a high-ranking demon. On top of that, it had a clearly horrified look on its face, as if it had been exposed to something terrifying just before its death.
“There was nothing there. This guy had nothing interesting on him. That bastard Makkaron lied to me,” Bask grumbled to himself.
However, his complaints were drowned out by the cheers of the surrounding soldiers. Overjoyed by the fact that the Demon Lord Army unit that had occupied the fortress had been destroyed and that they and the city would no longer be attacked, they failed to notice his dissatisfaction.
“You’re just as the rumors say, Lord Bask, King of Shura! You’ve accomplished a splendid feat! Tonight, we celebrate!” an officer exclaimed.
Bask’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah? I could go for some good grub. Monster meat tastes like shit.”
Word of Bask having defeated the Demon Lord Army unit that had occupied the fortress spread quickly throughout the city, and the night was much brighter than the one before. More bonfires were lit throughout the city than on the defensive walkways along the tops of the outer walls, food stores that had been secured in anticipation of the siege were opened, and meat and booze were distributed throughout the city.
By far, the most boisterous was the banquet honoring Bask held in the town square. A large plate of grilled meat was placed on a simple table made by resting a wooden board over some barrels of liquor. Bask sat in front of it and ate whatever he could get his hands on, while soldiers and town residents got drunk as they reveled in their newfound freedom. They all enjoyed drinking and eating to their hearts’ content as they watched him voraciously chow down.
“Truly, thank you so much, Lord Bask. Please eat as much as you want,” the elderly mayor of the town said while pouring liquor into Bask’s mug. He was so overcome with emotion that tears rolled down his cheeks.
Bask nodded silently while chewing on a mouthful of meat, then downed the booze in a single gulp. He did not say a word, partly because his mouth was full, but also because he was not the friendly sort. After all, he did not particularly enjoy being appreciated or praised by others.
In addition to the old man, many other residents came and took turns pouring alcohol into Bask’s mug. Bask never responded, as he was busy wolfing down grilled meat and thinking about what he was going to do next.
While he was deciding whether to believe what Guildmaster General Makkaron had told him and stay in the northern fortress for a bit longer, awaiting the new invasion of the Demon Lord Army that would soon arrive, a young, fat officer called out to him.
“Oh, you must be Bask. You’ve truly done well this time.”
This man was different from the retreating officers Bask had met on his way to the fortress. He staggered toward Bask’s table, accompanied by what appeared to be his entourage of soldiers, and stood in front of Bask, spilling alcohol from the wooden mug in his hand. A member of his entourage took a small barrel used as a chair from a nearby resident and placed it behind the officer. The officer sat down on it and held out his mug for another soldier to fill.
However, Bask simply continued to eat without responding.
“Hey, you! Answer him!” one of the soldiers shouted at him.
“This man here is the heir apparent of Count Buchtan!” another added.
“Now, now,” Officer Buchtan said, trying to calm his men. “I hear Bask is an adventurer. He probably just doesn’t know what manners are.”
“Hmph. You’re annoying,” Bask spat. A bitter look came to his face as he remembered the displeasure of having gotten into a tussle with an aristocratic child and their lackey back at the Academy. Bask, who had no desire for any interpersonal attachments or to have to listen to anyone, particularly disliked nobles.
“In any case, you’ve produced excellent results,” said a drunk Officer Buchtan, getting back on topic. “Would you be interested in serving under me? Once this war is over, I will be taking over as count.”
War was a place for warriors to demonstrate their power. It was also a place for aristocrats, who wanted to show off that they had the financial resources to maintain powerful private armies, to find new potential to further bolster their forces. For soldiers, performing in a manner that attracted the attention of the nobility led to advancement in the ranks; some of the soldiers present looked at Bask with admiration when Officer Buchtan made his offer.
Thus, Bask’s response was something no one could have predicted.
“Not interested,” the King of Shura said curtly.
“Huh? I couldn’t hear you quite well. What did you say?” Officer Buchtan asked.
“I said I’m not interested.”
Officer Buchtan looked at him blankly for a moment and grinned, misunderstanding Bask’s words. “I see. Not satisfied with being a foot soldier, are you? I’ll specially appoint you as my knight guard...”
The noble gulped and quickly fell silent when he was met with Bask’s glare.
“Get lost,” Bask spat. “You’re making the food taste bad.”
His words made silence settle in on the rowdy celebration.
“Wh-What did you say?!” Officer Buchtan shouted.
In response to Officer Buchtan’s sudden shout, one of the soldiers standing behind shouted out as well. “H-How dare you use that tone toward Master Buchtan!”
He pulled out the sword from his waist and tried to stab Bask in the chest. It pierced only the wooden mug that Bask held up in front. The King of Shura twisted his wrist. The sword, unable to withstand the swift and powerful movement, snapped in two with a dull metallic sound.
“Hmph. Weaklings.” Bask stood up and tossed the mug aside, the sword still piercing through it.
SHINK!
Quick as a flash, Bask used one of the large swords on his back to slash at the attacking soldier, slicing him, table and all.
“What?!”
Everyone present was shocked and stiffened up for a moment.
“Tch! Have you gone crazy, Bask?!” Officer Buchtan exclaimed. “Everyone, take down this traitor!”
The soldiers hurriedly drew their swords and surrounded Bask. However, because they were drunk, they forgot who they were up against.
“What the hell? You’re all weak, so stop being a pain in the ass.” Bask pulled out another greatsword from his back and swung it at the nearest soldier, killing him instantly.
The one-sided slaughter ended about an hour later. Bask had killed everyone who raised a weapon at him. He had chased Officer Buchtan and his henchmen through the city, cutting them down one after the other and painting the city with blood. Not once did he attack the frightened townspeople or the unarmed soldiers who had fled. Finally, the future count had been cornered near the outer wall of the city.
“W-Wait a minute!” Officer Buchtan stammered. “Let’s put this matter behind us! Water under the bridge! I know! I’ll make you the commander of the knights! So—”
The man’s neck was cut clean through with a single stroke of Bask’s greatsword.
“Hmph. Weakling,” Bask spat.
He walked away, leaving behind the residents of the city who stood dumbfounded after having witnessed the nightmarish carnage.
＊ ＊ ＊
Several years after he disappeared from the battlefield in the northern part of the Central Continent, Bask was found on the Garlesian Continent, located to the southwest of the Central Continent. Lehmciel, a birdkin nation, existed on this continent where nonhuman races had created their own countries, following the example created by Albahal.
That night, the cries of the birdkin queen and princess echoed through the royal castle of Lehmciel’s capital.
“F-Father!”
“You brute! Let go of His Majesty!”
The queen and princess were in the hallway leading to birdkin king’s bedroom, and in front of them was Bask, who had just come out of that bedroom and was holding King Uron by the back of his neck. Behind the two stood spear-wielding soldiers who had responded to the king’s crisis and were ready to stab Bask to death if they had the chance.
