24: Reasons for Hatred
I had anticipated that an invitation from the Beastman Army, a faction known for their disapproval of the Lord of Disease’s methods, might result in a somewhat tense atmosphere.
However, I might have underestimated the extent of their hostility.
It seemed the carriage was surrounded.
And likely by armed beastmen.
“Master, I’m going out.”
“I’m coming too. Permission to exit.”
“…Very well. Considering the risk of the carriage itself being attacked… it makes no difference where we are.”
Liz disembarked first, and I followed.
We were already inside the encampment.
A small clearing enclosed by a wooden fence. Likely used for loading and unloading supplies.
There was nothing unusual about being stopped here.
Confirming our identity and purpose was standard procedure. Especially at a strategically important location like this.
—However, this was unusual.
Not only were spears and axes at the ready, but swords were drawn, and bows were strung with arrows.
“What is the meaning of this?” Liz spoke as my maid.
A beastman stepped forward. A young woman, judging by her appearance. Reddish-brown curly hair and matching cat ears. A feline beastman. She drew a double-edged sword and pointed it at me.
“—My family died because of the Lord of Disease.”
A sharp pang of guilt struck my chest. The memory of losing subordinates.
“He was my younger brother…”
…Ah.
I understood.
I understood what she was accusing me of.
Why her green eyes were filled with rage and hatred.
“Driven to a distant land and killed in a dishonorable battle… no, it wasn’t even a battle! It was a massacre!”
She wasn’t lying. She wasn’t wrong.
Everything could be interpreted through one’s own filter. There were no absolutes in this world.
“Kill the Lord of Disease!”
“Yes! Death to the one who defiles a warrior’s pride!”
The beastmen shouted, brandishing their weapons.
A spark of anger ignited within me.
“Silence…”
Liz stepped forward. In her hands, she held large fighting knives, seemingly drawn from nowhere.
The beastmen, intimidated by her presence, quieted down.
“I don’t usually introduce myself, but I’ll make an exception. I am a member of the Royal Guard, second in command of the Lord of Disease’s forces… the Darkling Blade.”
The sound of scraping metal accompanied a shower of sparks as she twirled the knives, reversing her grip, holding them crossed before her. Her red scarf wrapped itself around her arms.
“…The Royal Guard…”
“The Darkling Blade… Are you bluffing?”
“But… that is…”
Murmurs of unease rippled through the beastmen.
Nice one, Liz!
Maybe now we can talk calmly.
The thought was fleeting.
“—Anyone foolish enough to consider her an enemy has no place in the Demon King’s army. I’ll turn you all into fertilizer and make this Dark Forest a little bigger.”
Liz, stop.
Wasn’t that supposed to be a warning to calm them down?
I frantically looked at Samarkand. Say something sensible!
“I am Samarkand… You dare point your weapons at my master and insult her? Do not expect a painless death…”
Damn it.
Expecting a calm response from Samarkand, who adored me, had been a mistake.
And Samarkand had also drawn his scythe, his horns twisting and lengthening, his eyes glowing red. He was serious.
I sighed inwardly. I touched my mask, activating the voice-altering enchantment.
“Liz. Samarkand. —Lower your weapons.”
“Master,” Liz said, her eyes questioning.
“My master.” Samarkand echoed her sentiment with his gaze.
“That’s an order. Lower your weapons.”
Samarkand lowered his scythe.
“…I cannot comply.”
But Liz didn’t lower her knives.
“I have received a direct order from His Majesty: ‘Protect the Lord of Disease. Annihilate any enemy who dares to harm her.’ I apologize, but I cannot obey an order to lower my weapons in the face of the enemy.”
“—Where is the enemy?”
I slowly approached Liz, gesturing dramatically towards the armed beastmen.
“These are loyal soldiers of the Demon Kingdom, sworn to serve His Majesty the Demon King. The proud warriors of the Third Army.”
No one had died yet. I could still salvage this.
I looked into her eyes, my masked face close to hers, since she was slightly shorter than me.
“And we are the Sixth Army. —Tell me, what reason do we have to fight?”
And because I was a supreme commander, I understood.
Even if I died here, the Demon King’s army would survive.
But if even one of these beastmen, or Liz, or Samarkand died here… it could trigger internal conflict, even the collapse of the nation.
The duty of a supreme commander was to protect the Listrea Demon Kingdom from all threats.
Even if the threat stemmed from the folly of our own allies. Even if it meant sacrificing my own life.
I had to fulfill my duty.
“…Please,” I whispered into her long ear, softly enough that the sharp-eared beastmen wouldn’t hear.
“…Yes, Master. You are my master…”
Liz lowered her knives. But the beastmen didn’t lower their weapons.
“But Master, do you understand the situation?”
“Yes. But… someone reasonable is coming.”
I pointed towards the path leading into the clearing. More precisely, at the black-grey furred wolf beastman walking towards us.
His body radiated vitality, an aura of confidence. He wore a black, gold-buttoned coat, open at the front. I recognized him.
“What in the blazes is going on here?!”
His voice boomed through the clearing. He, too, was a supreme commander.
Lathus, the Broken Fang.
“Hello, Lathus.”
A member of the anti-Lord of Disease faction.
A warrior who valued pride and strength.
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