Chapter Text
I stared over the training field, where goblin men and women were practicing with wooden pikes and shields, maintaining formation against the dire wolves’ powerful gusts, resisting their attempts to [Intimidate] them, and smiled to myself. Rigor strode out between them, patting each of them on their shoulders and saying, “Excellent work! That concludes practice for today. Same time next week, everyone.”
The assembled crowd dispersed into the sunset, returning to their homes with sweat on their backs and smiles on their faces. I hopped up to Rigor. “Do you think they’re any good?”
“They know how to hold formation and be somewhat staunch in the face of fear,” Rigor said. “That’s about the best you can hope for from civilians, I think. The next step would be teaching them to march and regroup.” Kaijin had recommended that we trained our citizenry into a militia that could support our warriors, since we had relatively few people who could fight. The councils had agreed, so Rigor had been training them in batches of a hundred, in four or five rotating shifts a day, nonstop for two weeks. Despite it, he seemed just as energised as when we began. “At the very least we won’t be defenceless if our warriors are away for whatever reason.”
I nodded. It was an additional weight off my back, and the villagers seemed happy to learn to defend themselves, too. Of course, we made it clear that anybody who didn’t want to fight wouldn’t be forced to.
Haruna came up to me and tapped my form. “Eh?” I said.
“My lord,” she said, “the adventurers Kaval and his party have arrived.”
“Already?” I asked. “They’d normally arrive one or two days after the appointed time.”
“It seems they ran into no distractions this time,” Haruna said, “and they’ve fully memorised the path to our town as well.”
It only took them months. “Take me to them,” I said.
She led me to our guest cottage, set aside specifically to receive the adventurers, and announced me as I made my way inside. The adventurers nodded greetings at me, smiling faintly. “Rimuru,” Kaval said. “What news?”
“I believe that’s your job,” I said, sidling up to them. “What’s the guild been up to?”
“Monitoring the orcs,” he said, “and looking into the Dragon’s disappearance, as always.”
“You still believe they’re connected?” I asked.
“The guildmaster seems to think so,” Kaval said. “We’re only stopping here to rest a night—we’re embarking the next day to investigate the cave again.”
“We brought markers with us this time,” Guido said, crooking a grin, “so hopefully we don’t get as lost.”
“You’re always so busy,” I said, feeling somewhat guilty for not telling them I was responsible for their endless workload, but… it was probably for the best that nobody knew.
“It pays to be,” Kaval shrugged.
“I also can’t help but notice that we keep running into you, instead of the supposed other adventurers meant to scout our town. Any news on that?”
“The first ones should be arriving in two days or so,” Kaval said. “Fitz finally managed to scrounge a competent enough party together. A swordsman named Basson should be at their head. Wiry, wizened fella: chestnut skin, wavy black hair, red eyes, a scruffy beard that looks like he tried to shave it with a dull blade. He always wears this bronze amulet on him, too. Can’t miss him.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I said. “And… has Shizue returned to Inglessia?”
“She has,” Kaval said, “and won’t be back for another two weeks, at least. Did you manage to get her exile lifted, by any chance?”
“No,” I said. “The townspeople want a hard guarantee that there won’t be a repeat incident, and from I can gather, I don’t think she can provide one.”
“Fair enough,” Kaval frowned.
“If you need your equipment repaired,” I said, “Kaijin should be free and at his shop right now.”
Kaval blinked. “Thank you. That’s awfully generous of you. What do we owe it to?”
“Information,” I said. “As long as you keep providing, the town will too.”
“I like the sound of that,” Kaval smiled, rising from his seat. Guido and Ellen followed after him, bowing their heads at me. I was about to follow them too when a different goblin—one of Haruna’s staff—tapped me to grab my attention.
“We have a guest, Lord Rimuru,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “I was about to accompany them to Kaijin’s place.”
“No,” the goblin said. “Different guest.”
“Can’t the councils handle them?” I asked.
“They already are, but…” she hesitated. “He’s a lizard, claiming he’s from the Sihsu tribe, and he’s asked to speak with all the leaders of the village.”
I frowned; we had many more leaders than could be counted on two hands, and what was that about a lizard? “Who else is going?”
“A few of the tribes have sent their councillors,” she said, “including elder Rigurde, I believe.”
“I’ll meet them,” I said. “Where?”
“North entrance,” she said, pointing me in that direction.
I trudged, an uneasy feeling growing in my not-heart. The lizards have been sharing intel with us about the orcs’ movements for a while now, but usually it was our messengers who went to their lands to retrieve it, not the other way around. Something must have happened to necessitate them sending one of their own to meet us like this. It didn’t bode well.
I arrived to find a gathering of elders and some youths staring down a lone lizard wrapped in stiff, padded clothing. It was my first time seeing one of their kind: this one had green scales, a mane of red hair, and slitted yellow eyes, with razor teeth protruding from his gums. He turned his snout up as he looked us over. “So many,” he said. “And is that a slime? Are there truly so many figures of influence in this village?”
“This is less than a tenth of them,” I said. “We’re a town of five thousand, after all.”
He nodded, “The better for it, I suppose,” before producing a horn from his belt and blowing into it.
A great rumbling followed.
A troop of twenty or so lizards, all mounted on bipedal raptors, stormed forward from the forest. They stopped just short of trampling us, rearing their mighty mounts who barked into the skies. A few of the elders jumped back, startled by the display. I frowned. Rigurde did too.
Their entrance was… extravagant. Was it meant to intimidate us? Whatever the case, this smelled of trouble.
“Heed me, goblins!” the lizard at their head spoke, a proud mane of dark brown hair billowing behind him. A small pair of wings sprouted from his back—a distinguishing feature among his wingless peers. “I am Gabiru of the Sihsu tribe, and I have come here as your saviour!”
“Excuse me?” I said. “What do we need saving from?”
Gabiru frowned. “Have you not heard? The orcs have begun marching north, bringing with them a force of at least a hundred thousand. The various goblin tribes of our homeland have been clamouring for our protection. I had assumed you would be as well.”
“A hundred thousand…?” Rigurde asked. “These are orcs we’re talking about, and you’re describing them as though they’re an invasion force. It can’t be possible.”
“But it is!” Gabiru declared. “We already have reports of them trouncing the goblin war bands neighbouring their homeland of Orbiq in a coordinated show of force. If they are marching north, it won’t be long until your village is caught in their sights as well!” He pounded his steel breastplate. “But worry not, for you won’t be fighting in this war alone! Enter me!”
“Um,” I said, “you’re proposing an alliance?”
“Of sorts, yes,” Gabiru said. “My homeland of Sihsu has been gathering the disparate goblin tribes of the forest, so rife with petty feuds, and united them under one banner! They shall serve as infantry in our battle with the orcs, crushing them with their sheer numbers!”
I frowned. “You mean to say, you want us to act as fodder.”
“But it is the role of goblins,” Gabiru sighed dramatically, flapping his wings, “weak as they individually are. However! Our lizard warriors will, of course, endeavour to assist them where we can! It is, after all, the duty of the strong to protect those beneath them!”
“We’ll have to deliberate this,” Rigurde said. “Give us a week, and we’ll send a messenger to you bearing our decision—”
“Oh ho ho!” Gabiru barked an annoying three-pronged laugh. “I believe you mistake me. I am not exactly asking.”
“You’re conscripting us?” I asked. “Who are you to do that?”
“I am Gabiru!” he declared. “Chief Warrior of the Sihsu tribe, proud brother of my sister the Guard Captain, and prince heir of the lizard Chieftain! A name was bestowed upon me by the great magus Gelmud, who recognised my potential as a hero, and I have grown from a mere lizard to a valiant dragonewt! I am a defender of the innocent, a scourge of the wretched, a light in the—”
This guy had an awful lot of bark. “Can you actually protect us? Because it sounds like you’re rounding us up to die.”
“Is it not better to fight as a united front?” Gabiru frowned. “That is the reasoning behind my proposal. Alone, the goblins are weak, but together—”
“I’m asking if you can protect us,” I said, growing impatient. “Why should we follow an idiot like you into battle?”
The surrounding lizards gasped. Gabiru’s face darkened. “Idiot, you say? You dare insult my pride, slime?”
“If you have nothing to back it up with,” I said, “I’ll continue to do so.”
He scoffed. “I suppose a practical demonstration is in order. Very well!” He swept his cape back, retrieving a two-pronged spear from one of his attendants. “Send forth your best warrior, and marvel at my martial prowess!”
The goblins looked among each other. “Best warrior?” one elder asked. “Who’s that?”
“Should we send Rigor forward?” a youth replied. “Or would you like to take this one, elder Rigurde?”
“I have no interest in tormenting an insect like him,” Rigurde said, prompting more gasps from the surrounding lizards. “My son will dispatch of him. But before that…” Rigurde narrowed his eyes. “Gabiru, you mentioned something about a magus named Gelmud?”
“That’s Lord Gabiru to you, goblin!”
“… Right,” Rigurde sighed. “Well, did I hear correctly? You were named by Gelmud?”
“That is correct!” Gabiru declared. “I presume he must have named you as well?”
“No,” Rigurde said, “but he named my late son. He died in battle to a dire wolf.”
Gabiru’s eyes turned soft. “My sincere condolences. It is no small thing to lose a son.”
Rigurde grunted. “He told you it was because he wanted you to be his champion, I’m assuming.”
“Indeed!” Gabiru said.
Rigurde’s frown only deepened. “He told my son the same thing. Turned him from a goblin to our old tribe’s very first hobgoblin.”
“Hm?” Gabiru said. “A mere hobgoblin as a champion? Surely, he must have been joking.”
I somehow got the feeling that Rigurde didn’t trust this Gelmud very much. He crossed his arms and shook his head. “I thought it was strange, too, but it did help us survive, so for the longest time I hadn’t questioned it. Thanks for answering my question, though. That’s all I really wanted to know. We’ll be kicking your arse now.”
“Oho!” Gabiru laughed. “Such boisterous words! I hope you are prepared to eat them!”
We summoned Rigor, the goblin seeming confused at the request, “Aren’t the lizards our allies?” but accepting it nevertheless. He grabbed the new steel mace Kaijin had crafted for him, as well as a wooden shield, and fell into a fighting stance in front of Gabiru. The lizard looked him over, snickering. “Scrawny for a warrior,” he said. “Nothing like your father.”
“I try my best,” Rigor shrugged. “I’ve been eating more lately. Gained some weight.”
“A dedication to the art!” Gabiru smiled. “An admirable quality! Too bad it will not save you.”
The lizards counted us down, and the moment the horn sounded, Gabiru vaulted forward on his spear and thrusted at Rigor’s head. The goblin raised his shield to block, only for Gabiru to land with his feet on the wood and kick him back, following up with another thrust. The off-balance Rigor barely managed to block again, the spear nicking his forearm. He clicked his tongue.
“He’s not a complete pushover,” Rigurde noted. “I wonder if my son can beat him.”
“You’re saying there’s a chance Rigor might lose?” I asked.
“We’ll see,” Rigurde said. “The lizards are a proud tribe of warriors, at the end of the day. I expect there is some truth to this Warrior Captain’s boastfulness.”
The fight continued for a while, with Gabiru constantly on the offensive and Rigor stuck in defence, lacking the range to counterattack. I frowned at that. Rigor wasn’t exactly well-versed in fighting with a pike or staff, but still—bringing a mace to a spear fight was evidently a bad idea. It was a good thing he had his shield.
Gabiru, for his part, was beginning to show off, flourishing his spear before each thrust and practicing elaborate flying katas, to the deafening cheers of his henchmen. It seemed that, despite his aggravating personality, this guy was pretty popular. He kept up his attack, getting more and more aggressive, sometimes rushing in to melee with his spear shaft, close enough for Rigor to hit him, but the goblin never did. “Fight back!” Gabiru called.
“If you insist,” Rigor said, before lunging forward with incredible speed with his shield raised over his head, keeping low to the ground. The surprised Gabiru thrusted wildly, the spear glancing off Rigor’s shield and being forced into the air as the goblin brought his mace down on one of the dragonewt’s webbed feet. It crunched. Gabiru screamed, and began hopping up comically on one foot before toppling uselessly to the ground. Rigor pressed his mace against the dragonewt’s forehead, smiling. “You got cocky.”
“Y-you caught me off-guard!” the dragonewt sputtered. “That’s all!”
“If you can be caught off-guard by a goblin,” Rigor said, “how can we expect you to lead us against an army of orcs? A blunder born of overconfidence will likely spell our deaths.”
“W-well, that… I…”
“We’ll consider an alliance,” I said, “if you come back in a week, and as long as we aren’t led by you.”
“W-well, maybe we won’t come back at all!” Gabiru said. “Have you ever thought about that!?”
“You won’t pass up an opportunity to recruit five thousand hobgoblins,” I called his bluff. “Now then, would you like a potion for your foot?”
Gabiru hurled phlegm at me. It slid off my membrane. This insolent little…
“I shan’t be returning!” he declared, beckoning his attendants to help lift him up onto his mount. “You will regret the day you spurned my generous hand! You hear me? From this day forth, you are hereby excommunicated from the Sihsu tribe!” Without turning to look back, he spurred his raptor forward, his attendants tailing in his wake.
The elders frowned at each other. “Does he have the authority to do that?” one asked.
“He did say he was some kind of prince,” another said.
“A hundred thousand orcs…” a youth said, frowning. “Do you think it’s true?”
“Coming from his mouth,” Rigurde said, “I somehow doubt it.”
“Still,” I said, “we know now that the lizards are concerned enough about this orc invasion that they’ve stooped to conscripting goblins. That’s probably reason to worry.”
The elders agreed. “What should we do?”
“For now,” I said, “we bring it up to the councils, and start thinking about gathering allies as well. Who else besides the lizards can we reach out to?”
***
“Grasse,” Basson said, “are you sure you were given the right map?”
“It’s not incorrect,” Grasse said. “It’s just poor quality.”
“That Kaval…” Basson grumbled. “It’s not enough that he gets lost every adventure—he has to cause others to get lost, too.”
“You talk about him like you know him,” Grasse frowned.
“We used to do a lot of joint missions together,” Basson said. “Cut ties with him a while back, though; it’s why I’m surprised he referred me for this job.”
“Maybe he owes someone money,” Grasse shrugged, “and thinks he’s buttering you up.”
“He knows I’m not that dumb,” Basson said. “It’s gotta be something… else…”
He was interrupted by a towering man… no, not a man—horns on his head, and greenish skin—ambling out of the trees, followed by a similarly towering woman with purplish skin, hauling a massive backpack on her shoulders. They raised their arms as they approached. “We come in peace,” the man said.
The other four members of the party tensed their shoulders. Only Basson seemed unconcerned by the display. “Ogres?” he furrowed his brow. “Did we somehow wander into their territory?”
“It looks like they’re alone,” Grasse replied, “so probably not, right? We couldn’t have gotten that lost.”
“I don’t know…” Basson said. “We’ve been travelling for a few days longer than Kaval said it should have taken. Maybe we walked past our mark? It’s not like ogres are known to wander.”
“Exactly,” Grasse said. “The fact that they haven’t attacked us on the spot means we haven’t wandered into their territory—they’re encroaching on ours.” He shook his head. “A bad sign for the safety of the forest. Another byproduct of the Dragon’s disappearance.”
Basson frowned and called back to the ogres. “What brings you here to us?”
“We could ask you the same thing!” the ogre man replied.
“What are you doing…?” Grasse whispered. “Why are you talking to them?”
“They seem friendly,” Basson whispered back. “No need to risk a fight, right?”
“They’re monsters,” Grasse said. “This just seems like the precursor to an ambush. We should run, or attack first.”
“What if they aren’t alone?” Basson said.
“Your weapons look like they’ve suffered some wear and tear,” the ogre man said. “May I perhaps offer you my services, in exchange for your human coins?”
“What do you need human coins for?” Basson asked.
“To buy goods from any other humans we come across,” the ogre said.
“We don’t have that much on us,” Basson replied.
“That is alright,” the ogre said. “We don’t require much.”
“We should attack,” Grasse whispered. “They’re trying to get us to disarm ourselves.”
“You’re being paranoid,” Basson said.
“So, will you purchase my services?” the ogre asked.
“Will you attack us if we say no?” Grasse asked back.
“Of course not,” the ogre said. “We’d part ways the same way we met: in peace.”
Basson nodded, unsheathing his sword. “This was melted by a black serpent’s acid a few days ago. It could use a touch-up.”
“Liam!” Grasse barked.
The ogre grinned. “I won’t disappoint.” The ogre woman set down the backpack she was carrying and began unloading tools from it—hammer, anvil, what looked to be a portable furnace—and laid them out before the ogre man. “Your blade?”
Basson handed it over, to Grasse and his comrades’ horror. The man quickly went to work, heating the sword over some coal and hammering away at its deformities and cracks, straightening it out. Basson let out a low whistle. “You work fast.”
“It’s a simple job,” the man replied. “Would your comrades like their arms repaired as well?”
None of the others responded, hands hovering over their weapons. The ogre woman scowled at them. Basson sighed. “They aren’t very trusting of monsters.”
“Understandable,” the blacksmith said. “We do get into fights a lot.”
Eventually, the blacksmith finished his work. Basson raised his sword to the sky, watching it catch the sun’s rays and reflect his face. “Decent.”
The blacksmith smiled. “Two silvers will be adequate recompense.” Basson threw the blacksmith a pair of silver coins, which he pocketed. He bowed, the woman helping him pack his things, before turning to leave—
—when an arrow lodged itself into his shoulder. He howled in pain and stumbled forward, the ogre woman catching him and throwing a lethal glower back our way, drawing her mace. Basson swivelled around to see who it was that fired it, only to realise it had come from one of his own comrades, who was nocking another arrow. “Stop!” he screamed. “What are you doing!?”
“I’ve had enough of this rubbish,” the archer said, before firing his arrow—
“They might not be alone—!”
… It splintered in mid-air, missing its mark. A different ogre had jumped out of the trees to intercept it, a blade in his hand. Blue hair, bluish skin. He was followed by a group of three more—elderly, large, and short—all emerging from the trees and stepping between their wounded comrade and the adventurers, who held their weapons in front of them. Some had begun to shiver, glancing backwards. Two ogres was something they could handle, but six…
“Are you alright?” the ogre with red hair asked the blacksmith.
“Fine,” the blacksmith groaned. “Just need herbs and rest.”
“I warned you not to approach them,” the ogre with red hair said, “or to take us with you.”
“I thought they would have assumed we meant them harm if I did,” the blacksmith said.
“They were always going to assume that,” the elderly ogre said.
“We have to run,” Basson said. Grasse nodded, but just before they could sprint for the trees—
“You have wounded our comrade,” the ogre with red hair said, “despite his show of goodwill. I will ensure you pay for that impudence with your lives. Now, ready your blades.”
… Oh, god.
***
“You’re sure you saw correctly?” Rigor asked Gobta, mounted on his wolf. “Ogres don’t usually wander in this direction.”
“Is it that difficult to just believe me?” Gobta asked. “They were headed to Sihsu Lake; I heard one of them say it.”
“Envoys to the lizards, then?” Rigor asked. “If a hundred thousand orcs are gathering to invade the forest… Maybe the ogres are looking to form an alliance?”
I listened to the conversation with half an ear—or technically none, I guess—and mused over the most recent intel Kaval had given me: two days from now, a swordsman named Basson would visit the town with a scouting party. But five days had passed, and still no sign of this friend of his. Had something happened?
My train of thought was interrupted by a scream from the distance, followed by a great climbing pyre. The goblin riders turned their heads at once. “What the—” Rigor said.
“Oh god,” Gobta said, “is it that crazy lady again?”
“Shizue should be in Inglessia right now…” I said. “Some kind of fire monster?” Another scream, followed by a vague rumbling in the ground, like something had crashed into it with great force. “We should investigate,” I told them. The goblin riders nodded.
We raced for the source of the noise, arriving at the edge of a small clearing where a pair of humans were bleeding out on the ground, one’s gambeson was on fire, and another two were in front, weapons held in front of them to fend off what looked to be… other humans, but with horns and strangely coloured skin…? “Ogres,” Gobta said.
“And adventurers,” Rigor said.
I noticed something about one of the adventurers holding a sword at the front. He was familiar. Chestnut skin, Kaval had said, wavy black hair, red eyes, a scruffy beard that looks like he tried to shave it with a dull blade. He always wears this bronze amulet on him, too. I noticed said bronze amulet on the ground not far from that swordsman, its chain snapped. Following an instinct, I called out, “Basson!”
His head snapped towards me. It would seem as if I was correct. “Who’s there?!”
“A friend of Kaval’s!” I called back. “You were supposed to meet us three days ago!”
“Your name is Basson?” one of the ogres—with red hair and reddish skin—said. “Move aside. We have no quarrel with you. Let your comrades pay due penance for their crime.”
“Can’t do that,” Basson said, shakily gripping his sword. “Is there no chance you can let us go?”
“Were you thinking of letting our friend go if we hadn’t appeared?” the ogre asked.
“Hey, friend of Kaval’s, mind helping us out?” Basson said.
“Should we intervene…?” Rigor asked.
Basson was an adventurer sent to scout our town and determine if we were a threat. If he were to go missing during this mission without explanation… “Let’s talk the ogres down.”
“Can we do that?” Rigor asked.
“Whoever you are in those trees,” the red-haired ogre said, “we have no quarrel with you, either. Do not intervene, lest you become yourself an enemy.”
“We have no quarrel with anyone!” I called back, stepping out of the tree line. The ogres froze upon seeing me and the goblin riders on our dire wolves. “But we happen to know Sir Basson here, and it would cause us great trouble if he and his comrades were found dead.”
“You’re…” Basson balked, “the goblins and wolves he was talking about…”
“I deliver my final warning,” the red-haired ogre said. “Do not intervene.”
I spat a dose of healing medicine at the two humans bleeding out on the ground, as well as the human now with burns across his neck and torso. They blinked at their vanished wounds, bewildered. “Take your comrades and run,” I said. “Our town is to the southwest of here.”
The adventurers gathered themselves and sprinted for the tree line, with Basson nodding his thanks at me. One of the ogres—blue haired, bluish skin—rushed after them, his sword drawn. I hopped over to intercept and expelled [Paralysis Breath] from my form, causing him to flinch and freeze in place.
“Sorry,” I said. “Like I told you, we can’t really afford to have them die, so—”
The red-haired ogre scowled at me. “You make light of my warnings, let our assailants escape, and now you assault my scoutmaster.”
“I mean,” I said, “I only paralysed him, so—”
“Ogre clan!” the red-haired ogre bellowed. “Pay them back!”
“Look, if we could just talk this out—”
But the purple-haired ogre had already launched herself at me, her mace arcing wide. I managed to shoot myself out of the way as she pounded the ground where I had stood, shattering it. That was close—
A piercing sensation in my side. The elderly ogre had jumped out of nowhere at blinding speed to slash through me with his sword, causing some of my ooze to splatter against the dirt before evaporating.
DAMAGE REPORT: SIX PERCENT.
The elderly ogre continued to slice at me with a flurry of blades, which I pulled out my [Body Armour] to block. Meanwhile, the red-haired ogre was throwing fireballs at the goblin riders around me, the purple-haired ogre was swinging her mace at my dire wolf, and the pink-haired ogre at the back was… chanting something?
One of the goblin riders fell off his wolf, without reason, slumping into the dirt. The wolf stared at him, confused, before joining his rider on the ground. Then, another goblin rider, then another. All falling like dolls.
“Sleeping charm!” Rigor called out, pointing at the pink-haired ogre at the back. “Mage!”
The elderly ogre delivered one final powerful thrust into my armour, fracturing it. I reeled back from the sheer force. He wound back for another thrust…
A bola wound around his arms, about to bind them together. He barely managed to react in time and slip them out. Gobta rode up behind me, swinging another over his head. “Come get some!” he hollered. The elderly ogre narrowed his eyes at him, levelling his blade.
The pink-haired mage, meanwhile, was chanting another spell into her baggy sleeves, eyes locked on Rigor. “Wolf!” I called out, and he responded, taking me into his jaws and—sensing my telepathic intent—threw me bodily at the mage. The red-haired ogre scowled, hurling a blast of fire my way, but it bounced harmlessly off—it was nothing compared to Shizue’s. I arrived at the mage’s side and blasted her with my [Paralysis Breath], but when I tried to do the same to the red-haired ogre guarding her, he jumped out of the way.
From the shadows of the trees, the blue-haired ogre I had paralysed earlier in the battle jumped out and swung his sword at me. I reacted with my [Acid Spit] and managed to melt a part of it, but it still struck me, sinking into my flesh.
DAMAGE REPORT: NINE PERCENT.
At this point, the state of the melee was utter chaos. Ogres and goblins were bleeding out of their arms and thighs—one of the goblins had broken his leg—and wolves were fanning the winds to fend off their attackers. I noticed that none have really died in the battle—the ogres had not attacked the sleeping goblins, instead focusing on the conscious ones. “You aren’t killing us!” I shouted. “I choose to believe that’s by choice!”
The red-haired ogre returned a glare at me, flame eating his hand. “It is an ogre’s dishonour to kill a sleeping foe.”
“Please,” I said, “let us talk this out.” He ignored me, hurling more flames my way. They scorched the grass surrounding me, but I remained unharmed. I thought back to something Rigor had said—about ogres not usually wandering in this direction—and his theory as to why that might be. “You are envoys sent to the lizards, are you not?” I called out. “Shouldn’t you prioritise your mission over a petty grudge?”
“You know nothing of us,” the red-haired ogre snarled.
“I know that you’re looking to forge an alliance with them,” I said. “I know you’re concerned about the orc threat. We are, too! Instead of fighting, we should join forces—”
“Shut up!” the red-haired ogre snapped. “You…” he hesitated, “You are foes of the orcs…? I… No! You let those humans go. They tried to kill my friend.”
“They were sent to investigate the town we hail from,” I told him. “If I hadn’t let them go, the humans would have killed us.”
“That…” the red-haired ogre hesitated again. “That’s none of our concern!”
I breathed a private sigh of relief. He seemed somewhat amenable to reason, at least. “I’m only trying to look out for my people. I’m sure you know that feeling, too, seeing as you’re seeking aid from the lizards. So, let’s continue along that vein, and cease this pointless fighting. That way, we both get to live to fight another day. After all, the orc threat won’t resolve itself.”
The other ogres and goblin riders had paused their fight, confused, to listen in on the conversation. The red-haired ogre grimaced, letting the silence stretch on for a full minute, before sighing. “We aren’t seeking their aid,” he said. “We are seeking asylum. Our village was destroyed.”
I frowned. “By whom?”
“The orcs,” the ogre said. “This supposed common enemy we share.”
“Ogres, destroyed by orcs…?” Rigor asked, lowering his sword. “How is that even possible?”
“Do not dig your fingers into our wounds,” the red-haired ogre snarled. “They were an army of ten thousand, all armoured and equipped with steel weaponry, against our mere three hundred. That we managed to inflict them heavy casualties before falling was itself a proud feat…” He gritted his teeth. “Only the six of us remain.”
“Armoured?” Rigor balked. “So the reports were true?”
“Do you take me for a liar?” the red-haired ogre barked.
“N-no,” Rigor said, “it’s just… hard to believe. The number we’d heard was a hundred thousand. Orcs aren’t exactly known to take up weapons to begin with, and to see so many of them acting as a cohesive fighting force, much less a well-equipped one…”
“It’s the truth,” the elderly ogre said. “I could scarcely believe it myself, but they marched under a commander, like an army would.” He paused to stroke his wispy beard. “Although, their ranks were disorderly and prone to routing, so it would appear they still lack experience.”
“Still,” I said, “that doesn’t sound so great.”
The clearing fell into another tense silence. “A hundred thousand…” the red-haired ogre said. “Our earliest scouts had reported a similar number, though they claimed the larger force wasn’t as well-armed. We had assumed there had been some mistake.”
“This intel is from the lizards,” I said, “so it’s probably reliable.” Although, there was the very real possibility that they had made that number up to scare us into joining them, but if the ogres were also confirming it…
We needed allies. Fast.
The red-haired ogre sighed. “If what you say is true, then… as frustrating as it is, you’re likely right in that we have no reason to fight each other. We ought to be conserving our strength.”
I smiled to myself. Another diplomatic win.
“We’ve wasted enough time here,” the ogre said. “We’ll be departing for the lizards’ home now, if you have nothing else you wish to share.”
I thought back to the lizard captain who barged into our home. “There is one thing,” I said. “You should probably take care that they don’t use this opportunity to coerce you. They tried to do that with our town.”
“Coerce us?” the red-haired ogre asked. “In what way?”
“As in, forcing you to fight under them,” I said.
“We intend to fight in any case,” the red-haired ogre said. “If nothing else, to avenge our fallen brethren. We’re prepared to die to achieve that.”
“That’s no good,” I frowned. “There’s no point in letting the dead shackle you. You should fight to live.”
“You dare presume to lecture us?” the red-haired ogre growled. “We have nothing left to live for but our burning grudge. Our families, our friends, our community, all trampled in the wake of the orcs. You’re able to speak so flippantly only because you’re fortunate—you still have something to return to.”
Pity took hold of me despite myself. “Then, can’t you find community with the lizards?”
“The lizards will not welcome us into their lands as one of their own,” the ogre said. “They are no kin to us, bound by no honour but that of a necessary alliance. They will wield us as living weapons, as they should.”
That sounded about right. “You’re… pretty intense, aren’t you?” I said, an idea cropping up in my head. “Are you really okay with that? You don’t have to be with kin to find community. I mean, just look at us. Goblins and dire wolves, who were some months ago killing each other as enemies, now fighting together as one.”
The ogre frowned. “What do you expect of us?”
“I’m asking if you’d like to see what it’s like,” I said, “to be part of another community—one that won’t treat you as disposable outsiders.”
“You’re inviting us to join you instead,” the ogre said.
“You are pretty strong,” I told them, “and frankly, now that the lizards have excommunicated us, we need all the help we can get.”
“You are foes of the lizards as well?” the ogre asked.
“Not foes, really,” I said. “More like, allies who don’t see eye-to-eye.”
The red-haired ogre contemplated for a moment. “You are of considerable strength yourself. A rare thing for a slime.” He turned back to his compatriots; the purple-haired ogre shook her head, scowling, but the rest of them simply shrugged. “I will hear out your terms,” he said
“We don’t have any,” I said. “We just want allies.”
“Do you expect us to work under you?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” I said.
The ogre contemplated further. “Then, answer me one more question.”
“Shoot.”
“Exactly how strong are your forces, slime?” he asked. “Are they equivalent to those of the lizards?”
“We have around a hundred evolved dire wolves and five thousand hobgoblin villagers, a majority of which have been trained up as a militia in their spare time, with around one thousand specialised warriors of a calibre you see here.” I gestured at Rigor and Gobta.
“The lizards have around ten thousand,” the ogre said, “though from what I’ve heard, they’re barely able to hold their own against even a novice from our clan, whereas your force fought toe-to-toe with the six of us…” He turned to the wolves, wrinkling his brow. “Not to mention your mounts. They’re evolved, as well?”
“Yes,” I said. “They did so upon receiving their name.”
“And who named them?”
“I did.”
“You named a hundred dire wolves?” the ogre frowned.
Yeah. And I passed out for my trouble. “That, and I’ve named each of the five thousand goblin villagers.”
“They’re all named?” It was the purple-haired ogre who spoke up. “You bluff, slime.”
“You can drop by our town and see for yourself,” I said. “You can decide then whether or not you want to stand with us. Unlike the lizards, I have no intention of forcing your allegiance.”
The ogres looked amongst themselves, before turning to the red-haired ogre—it seemed he was their leader—to make the decision. “Very well,” he said. “We will accept your hospitality, if only for a while. May this mark the beginning of a fruitful collaboration against the orcish scourge.”