Following the audiences with the representatives of the monster races dwelling in the Great Forest of Jura, the greeting ceremonies with delegations from the surrounding nations went off without a hitch.
The previous night, representatives from every nation had gathered together, and though the formalities were unfamiliar to them, the banquet was held without incident.
A fine state of affairs.
From each nation's delegates, I had truly received nothing more than pleasantries.
All the substantive discussions and requests were being listened to, compiled, and handled by
It seemed an unspoken rule had been established that no one was to raise practical matters directly with me.
Well played.
What a capable bunch.
Honestly, even if someone came asking for aid or support, the best I could manage was an "Oh, sure?" If we were going to maintain good relations going forward, I had no objection to providing support where possible — but I think they anticipated that attitude and made sure to handle things themselves rather than letting me get involved directly.
"Don't go agreeing to everything!" was the message, I suppose.
And they were right. Whether I could or couldn't deliver on something aside, the governing body responsible for coordinating and executing those things simply didn't have the hands to manage it all.
They'd be overwhelmed if I kept piling additional tasks onto them.
Everything was being handled more smoothly than I had expected, and I'd started to get a little too comfortable relying on them.
So, the only ones I actually held real conversations with were the King of Blumund and the Dwarf King.
The day before, the King of Blumund had requested an audience the moment he arrived, and he offered me an apology regarding the elves.
I say "apology," but it wasn't anything overly dramatic.
He promised to strengthen future management and confirmed that the treaty would be upheld without fail — which amounted to a tacit apology for the previous incident.
Though it was a small kingdom, the king himself had taken the trouble to come in response to the invitation. That, in itself, was apology enough.
The Dwarf King had arrived during the previous day.
Apparently, he'd spent the daytime touring the town's development progress.
He'd been observed studying the sewage treatment facilities with great interest.
He'd also been seen gazing intently — practically devouring the sight — of various facilities I'd had built on a whim, and the
railway
under construction.
That was why there had been no opportunity to meet during the day.
But at the banquet the night before, as I sat there like a decorative lump, he came over to me and said:
"It's been a while, Rimuru... No — Lord Rimuru.
This sake is excellent! You must teach me how it's made!"
I'd been observing the assembled crowd while maintaining my human form, but he approached me with a mug of
barley ale
in hand and opened with that, right off the bat.
His purpose, however, didn't seem limited to alcohol alone.
He'd been drinking quite a bit, but his eyes were sober. He probably just hadn't wanted to say anything publicly with representatives from other nations within earshot.
None of the other delegates interrupted — whether they were deliberately holding back or simply wouldn't dare speak to me while the Dwarf King was present, I couldn't say, but it made for pleasant conversation.
The other nations' representatives were all minister-class officials.
None of them could bring themselves to interrupt while a king of a major nation was speaking to me.
And besides, the lingering fear hadn't entirely worn off. The annihilation of the Falmuth army was now recognized as fact by every nation.
Approaching me took courage under those circumstances.
Moreover, the other guests — wealthy merchants though they may have been — were commoners. Or, if they had ability, they were of low-ranking nobility. None of them could realistically cut in ahead of their respective delegations.
In the end, the only one who approached me was the Dwarf King.
I exchanged inoffensive pleasantries with the Dwarf King, and that was that.
The Dwarf King's goal was likely to demonstrate our friendly relationship for all to see.
The result would be that the shrewd among the attendees would recognize my value not just as a Demon Lord, but as a trading partner and business associate.
It was the Dwarf King's own form of supporting fire.
Well, the calculation that wealth would flow into the Dwarf Kingdom if the
monster nation
prospered was undoubtedly part of it, but it was still a welcome gesture nonetheless.
No important conversations took place the night before, but I had an enjoyable time.
—————————————————
And now.
A night had passed, and the sky was perfectly clear.
I'd planned to blow away even the clouds to guarantee clear weather, but it turned out unnecessary.
The venue: the newly completed colosseum.
A circular arena capable of comfortably seating ten thousand spectators.
The spectator seats had overhanging roofs designed to block direct sunlight.
That dome-like canopy covering the seats in a hemisphere had a skeletal framework with a thin membrane stretched across it — like a bony exoskeleton draped in skin.
I'd put quite a bit of creative effort into giving it an eerie atmosphere, if I do say so myself.
The purpose was simply to provide shade, but nobody would ever guess that.
The crowd murmured in astonishment, gazing upward with uneasy expressions.
Among them were a few eccentrics who seemed thrilled.
The seats were packed.
Every last one was filled.
Myormail had handled the arrangements, personally inviting the spectators. Not a single detail had been overlooked.
If the battles finished early, they'd apparently organized tours of the newly built
underground labyrinth
as well.
I was a little worried about whether they could manage to guide ten thousand people smoothly, but apparently every available hand from the
monster nation
would be deployed for that purpose.
I'd leave it to them.
It seemed like people were working hard behind the scenes in ways I didn't even know about.
Outside the colosseum, there were even food stalls.
They were selling skewers, yakisoba, and other standard festival fare.
There was even shaved ice.
I was so amazed at how much preparation had gone into this that amazement gave way to exasperation.
Ah, I want to eat yakisoba. I remember having that thought, and I also recall
But, well... during that conversation, I'd transmitted the memory via Thought Communication, but recreating the exact taste should have been difficult.
No — she must have used her analysis of her Unique Skill to force a recreation through sheer determination. Since powdered ingredients were available from wheat, it may have been easier to reproduce than expected.
She'd even managed to recreate sushi, so perhaps there was nothing truly beyond her reach.
The flat ground surrounded by the spectator seating was the battlefield.
There, massive stones had been processed and embedded in the floor.
Hard rock, cut into two-meter squares.
They were laid out meticulously, like a go board.
The gaps between them were packed with an adhesive cushioning material, so it would appear as a single seamless stone platform.
Magic power had been infused and sealed in a membrane-like layer across the surface, further increasing its strength.
Even ordinary hard rock possessed over three hundred times the hardness of concrete.
The material laid across this floor would have roughly ten thousand times the strength of concrete.
And it was two meters thick. Even a nuclear shelter would be impressed by this level of sturdiness.
I hadn't actually tested it, but even a direct hit from a nuclear-class spell should pose no problem.
Physically reinforced to this degree, with the additional support of magical reinforcement, it had become a structure practically impossible to destroy.
The magic circle drawn upon this floor defined the combat zone.
Since it would also be used for future combat training, it had been made considerably expansive.
The magic circle extended all the way to the feet of the spectator seats — it was a large-scale formation.
Within that great circle, a slightly smaller circle with a diameter of roughly five hundred meters had been inscribed.
That was the stage for today's martial arts tournament.
Combat would take place inside, protected by double barriers — though in reality there were more layers than two.
This time, I'd asked the Holy Knights for their cooperation, and they'd set up a Holy Barrier as well.
It was a precaution to ensure stray attacks wouldn't reach the spectators.
Since it was a barrier designed purely to block passage and not to restrict abilities, it wouldn't suppress anyone's powers.
Magicules weren't being sealed either, so high-output spells could theoretically cause it to waver — but that was handled by a separate barrier.
My
Ultimate Skill
"King of Vows"
—a absolute defensive wall.
Honestly, this alone would have been sufficient, but I didn't want to show it off, so I decided to use the Holy Barrier as cover.
I didn't think anyone would notice.
It was set to activate only in an instant — only when an attack powerful enough to breach the Holy Barrier came through.
With that level of preparation, there should be no issues.
Even holy-attribute attacks, which had previously been completely unpredictable, could now be anticipated to some degree. I felt confident there would be no problems.
The arena was filled with an electric atmosphere.
Which made sense.
Martial arts tournaments existed in this world too, apparently, but nothing on this scale.
The Englassia Kingdom held one annually, determining winners by adventurer rank.
During my time there, the timing hadn't lined up, so I'd been unaware of it.
That said, it was held at the royal training grounds and was essentially a festive affair.
Unlike this colosseum, with its tiered seating arranged as a proper spectator venue, general spectators could only watch from rooftops, pillars, or elevated vantage points at a distance.
This time, screens on all four sides would project enlarged real-time footage of the battles.
Optical magic made magnified projection a trivial matter.
Since it was done with magic tools, it required minimal effort. Good advertising.
This kind of diligent, unglamorous work was the hallmark of a former
office worker's
nature, one might say.
Now then — it was almost time.
I stood up and picked up the
amplifier
.
"Hello, I, ahem — I am the Demon Lord Rimuru.
.........
Actually, forget it, that's too much hassle.
I'm Rimuru the Demon Lord. Nice to meet you all.
Yes — I'm very pleased that you've accepted my nation's invitation.
We plan to hold various events in this country going forward, and I hope you'll enjoy this, the first of many.
I want to live in peace with humans.
I believe that rather than fighting each other, humans and monsters will have a better future if we work hand in hand.
I'm sure some of you are wary of me because I'm a Demon Lord, but I'd like you to honestly convey what you think and feel to your countries.
I have no intention of forcing my views on you.
If you think we can cooperate, I'd be glad. But if you can't trust me, that can't be helped.
That's for your nations to decide.
I will absolutely never attack a nation simply because it refuses to cooperate.
However — if anyone tries to impose inequality on us because we're monsters, or launches a war under the pretense of a subjugation, I will show absolutely no mercy.
These words, too, come straight from the heart.
They may be taken as a threat, but I mean every word.
I hate war, but if someone picks a fight, I won't hesitate.
Through the martial arts tournament beginning today, I believe you'll gain some understanding of this nation's military strength.
Along with my words, I ask that you relay this to your lords.
And with that — in the hope that you will make a wise decision — I declare this tournament officially open."
Was I too blunt?
Ah, well. It didn't matter.
At the end of the day, I was an upstart — there was no way I could deliver the kind of eloquent address befitting royalty or nobility.
And yet.
From across the arena, scattered applause rose up.
Not just from my subordinates — some dignitaries from other nations, wealthy merchants, and even strangers I had no connection with were clapping.
For now, that was enough.
If everyone had believed me from the start, that would have been far more unsettling.
Our intentions had been made clear.
Now it was simply a matter of seeing what response that would draw.
And so, the preliminaries of the martial arts tournament began — launched not by any grand fanfare, but by the applause that filled the arena.
—————————————————
Now then — the format for this tournament's preliminary round was a Battle Royale.
We'd trimmed the applicant pool down considerably, leaving roughly one hundred and fifty participants.
We needed three more entrants for the main tournament, so we had to select them from these one hundred and fifty.
We'd divide them into groups of fifty and designate one winner from each group as a main tournament qualifier.
One match in the morning, two in the afternoon.
I say "match," but it was a Battle Royale.
Luck would play a major role.
Since the groupings were assigned randomly by registration order, allies could cooperate — but only one person per group would earn a spot.
Well, let's see how it plays out.
With anticipation building, the very first match began.
The fighters entered the arena.
Every single one had a face full of character.
Among this group, I spotted two familiar figures.
Ox-Head
and
Horse-Head.
They'd probably entered in competition with each other and been placed in the same group by coincidence.
Having both of them advance to the main tournament was no longer possible. I'd make the winner a floor-30 boss. They could even take turns if they wanted.
Well, all of that depended on seeing how strong they actually were.
The two of them were already rampaging through the surrounding monsters in an unstoppable frenzy.
There were several A-rank magical beasts in the mix, but as expected, upper-tier species still dominated — in this particular lineup, those two stood out.
And then, after clearing every other monster from the field, only the two of them remained.
The entire process hadn't even taken ten minutes.
The spectators were wild with excitement over the ferocious monster-on-monster combat.
After all, opportunities to watch battles between monsters of this caliber at such close range were exceedingly rare.
Ox-Head and Horse-Head squared off in the center, glaring and hurling insults at each other.
"Hey, Horse-Head. We shoulda just settled this between us from the start.
Our long rivalry ends today. Prepare yourself."
"Don't be ridiculous, Ox-Head. I'm the one who'll be working under Demon Lord Rimuru!
You should just retire and live out your days in peace."
And then, abruptly, their battle began.
The prelude was over — this was the main event.
Both were power-types, wielding shield and axe, shield and short spear respectively, delivering a violent spectacle.
They were far better suited to fighting with their own bodies than relying on sorcery.
Ox-Head swung his massive axe with full force, bringing it down like a hammer. Horse-Head caught the blow on his shield and shoved it back.
The moment Ox-Head's posture faltered, Horse-Head's spear thrust shot forward — but a backstep dodged it effortlessly.
It had taken only ten minutes to whittle the field down to the two of them, and now nearly twenty minutes had passed in an evenly matched exchange of blows.
A hundred years of rivalry had produced a contest where victory seemed impossible to call.
The spectators were utterly captivated by the fierce battle.
Of course they were — a clash between A-rank powerhouses was something most would never witness in their entire lives.
The combat was spectacular, and the drawn-out battle was a testament to how evenly matched they were.
An exciting fight. But the conclusion came without warning.
"This ends now!"
Both fighters moved to finish it.
Ox-Head hurled his great axe with every ounce of strength. The strike was imbued with enough destructive force to shatter rock, and it was expected to overwhelm any weapon meant to block it — taking the opponent down along with their guard.
But Horse-Head grinned fearlessly.
Using a
Flash Thrust
technique, he closed the distance in an instant.
He caught the just-thrown axe with his left arm. His left arm exploded into the air.
But Horse-Head had plunged into Ox-Head's guard, assuming a posture for an unavoidable
Flash Thrust
.
A strategy of sacrificing his left arm to seize victory — it seemed Horse-Head had won the bout, and then—
"How naive!
Thunderstrike Horn!"
With that cry, he drove his horn straight into Horse-Head's skull.
The horn had elongated to more than twice its original length, piercing Horse-Head's right eye and right arm.
That was the decisive blow. With his right hand struck, the trajectory of his
Flash Thrust
went wide.
Furthermore, the horn's attack had delivered an additional jolt of lightning that sent blood boiling through Horse-Head's body.
It was Ox-Head's victory.
Wait — was Horse-Head still alive? But... to not be wary of such an obviously suspicious horn — was that Horse-Head's own fault?
Apparently, Horse-Head was very much alive.
He was seething, vowing to win next time. The guy was nothing if not spirited.
But the match was over.
First to advance: Ox-Head.
A fitting match to kick things off.
After the lunch break, the next match began.
The food stalls outside seemed to be popular, which was good to hear.
Some had even taken carriages back to town to eat and return. Everyone had their own way of doing things.
Now then, the next set of fighters entered the arena.
Oh! — I nearly blurted out loud, because I knew how this match would end in seconds.
I recognized all three of them.
A tall, slim but tightly muscled figure.
A large one with a physique like a suit of muscle armor.
A large one whose bulk could only be described as fat.
They were the sons of
Banquet of Demon Lords
.
Those three possessed Magicules rivaling the former Demon Lords.
Their combat skills were rough, which was why
Even compared to Ox-Head and Horse-Head, they were on another level entirely.
Honestly, it might have been better to have all three in the main tournament.
If they hadn't trained, they'd serve as good punching bags — but if they had, I couldn't afford to be careless. Maybe?
In such a short time, they probably hadn't powered up that much.
Then again, the shirts they were wearing had
"WE ARE SHION'S PERSONAL GUARD!"
— or something equally idiotic — printed on them. What were they thinking? Were they stupid?
I wanted to demand an explanation, but if you didn't know better, Shion would look like an
intellectual secretary
.
It was the classic case of being completely deceived by appearances.
Or maybe they were
perverts
who'd been beaten into awakening. A world I had no desire to explore.
The result was exactly as expected.
They took down everyone in under a minute.
The eldest brother would advance to the main tournament. He was probably the strongest of the three.
And so the second match ended without any real drama — but for the spectators, it was anything but anticlimactic.
The colosseum was in a frenzy, the atmosphere electric.
These weren't just A-rank fighters — they were Demon Lord-class combatants.
In short, the most fearsome magical beasts that any merchant would know of had been completely overwhelmed in an instant, and even without understanding their true strength, the sheer gap in power was evident.
The crowd was buzzing with excitement, shouting over each other.
After all that yelling, the barley ale tonight must taste especially good.
Now then — the final match of the day.
I turned my attention to the last group of fighters.
Unusually, there were humans among them.
They didn't seem to be Holy Knights — would they be alright?
"Hey, there are humans in there. Is that going to be a problem?" I asked Myormail, who was standing nearby.
"Oh, those individuals are apparently quite famous.
They're said to have won the A-class martial arts tournament in the Englassia Kingdom.
They're the Hero of the West and his party, and they apparently declared their intention to subjugate a Demon Lord."
"A Demon Lord... that would be me, wouldn't it?"
"Hrm? Is that so?
Well, in any case, when I explained that they needed to win the tournament before any such discussion could take place, they insisted on participating...
So I granted them permission to enter as general participants.
Naturally, I collected an entry fee of twenty silver coins per person.
Truthfully, we haven't even verified whether they're the real deal...
If they are authentic, then as befits a Hero, I hear they're quite formidable.
Rumored to rival the Captain of the Holy Knights in strength!"
Rival the Captain — so they rival Hinata?
That kid? No way.
He was clad in golden armor, his entire ensemble pure white.
Long golden hair tied back — he certainly looked the part of a heartthrob. Five companions flanked him.
The Hero's party, then.
If they were real, this could be interesting.
The match began.
The Hero being in a party was advantageous — or rather, overwhelmingly so — and they charged forward.
From various points across the spectator seats:
"Hey, is that the Hero of the West?"
"Oh! It's Masayuki! The Hero of the West, Masayuki!"
"As expected of one called the Swift Blade — what a beautiful fighting style..."
The voices began to ripple through the crowd.
Wait — Masayuki? Could it be... he's from another world?
Now that they mentioned it, I looked more closely. It was a wig.
That golden hair — a wig? Now wasn't the time to harp on that.
The Swift Blade — the guy hadn't even drawn his sword yet. He was just standing there while his companions did all the fighting.
His teammates were putting on a show, but the Hero himself hadn't done a thing.
And before I knew it, the match was over.
Through his companions' efforts, Hero Masayuki had won without lifting a finger...
His teammates knelt before him, and Hero Masayuki advanced to the main tournament.
Was this okay? What if he was just some kind of con artist...
The spectators' enthusiastic cheers were flying everywhere.
He seemed incredibly popular, which made me a little worried.
If this was just protagonist privilege — being lauded for doing absolutely nothing — then the main tournament could get very messy.
I hope it'd be fine. Just a little, I found myself worrying about Hero Masayuki.
And so the preliminaries concluded, and the main tournament competitors were all decided.