Located at the center of the Great Forest of Jura is a lake called Shisu.
Spread around Lake Shisu are wetlands.
And those wetlands are the domain of the Lizardman Tribe.
Countless caves dot the area surrounding the lake. They form a natural labyrinth, confounding any who dare enter.
Protected by this favorable terrain, the Lizardman Tribe had reigned as the rulers of the lake.
But on that day, a dire report was brought to the Lizardman Tribe.
The army of the Orc Tribe had begun its march toward the lake!
When the chieftain heard this news, she spoke without a shred of panic.
"Prepare for battle! I shall crush them!!!"
The chieftain possessed tremendous confidence.
If they were to fight on open plains, the smaller Lizardman Tribe would be at a disadvantage.
However, the wetlands were their own backyard.
If they set traps and acted cautiously, there was more than enough chance of victory.
Along with the order to prepare for battle, the chieftain also demanded accurate intelligence on the Orc Tribe's army.
They needed to know the enemy's numbers.
A chieftain's intelligence was far beyond that of a typical monster.
Fierce, carnivorous lizardmen each held a rank of C+ even as individuals.
Warrior commanders were equivalent to B-, and there were even individuals who ranked as high as B.
The Lizardman Tribe's warrior corps numbered ten thousand.
That figure represented roughly half the tribe taking part as warriors, but their combat ability was extremely high.
Employing the race's characteristic coordination and fighting as a cohesive unit, their military power easily surpassed the national forces of a small human nation.
And this battle would be fought on terrain that favored them.
There was no way they could lose! That was the chieftain's conviction.
Still, there were points that didn't sit right.
The Orc Tribe was, by nature, a race that preyed on the weak but never dared to challenge the strong.
The Lizardman Tribe was by no means weak.
If it were the Goblin Tribe or something similar, the reasoning would make sense—but why target us?
These doubts took root as tiny seeds of unease, piercing into her heart.
The chieftain was bold by nature, but she also possessed a measure of caution. It was precisely because of this careful, watchful nature that she could lead the Lizardman horde.
And those worries proved to be well-founded.
The report from the scouting party made it clear.
The Orc Tribe's army numbered a total of 200,000!!!
It couldn't be…! That was what she wanted to believe.
Orcs were indeed a race with strong sexual desire and prolific reproductive ability. But assembling an army of 200,000 seemed impossible.
How could they possibly procure enough food to feed that many?
And how could they rally the notoriously selfish and willful orcs into a single force?
Even the most powerful individual could rally at most 1,000 at the limit…
Even she herself was stretched to her limit commanding a tribe of 20,000.
Could it be that a number of exceptionally talented individuals had emerged and were cooperating?
But even then, someone would be needed to lead those talented individuals…
No way…
When that thought struck her, she was stunned.
She wanted to deny her own reasoning.
A being capable of commanding that many. That would be—something born once every few hundred years— An Orc Disaster!!!
But the more she thought about it, the more she could see no explanation other than that being's existence.
If, by some chance, an Orc Disaster had truly been born, then even with the advantage of terrain, victory was uncertain.
A straightforward battle would mean certain defeat. They simply didn't have enough numbers!
The chieftain deliberated.
What could she do to escape this desperate situation?
If her fears turned out to be unfounded, all the better. But she should exhaust every option available before the decisive battle began.
She should ask for reinforcements.
The chieftain reached this conclusion and summoned one of her subordinates.
That choice of representative would become the spark for the chaos to come.
He brought along one hundred subordinates.
Gabiru was none too pleased.
He was a "named" one, and the idea of being ordered around by an anonymous chieftain was intolerable.
He was a chosen being! That was Gabiru's pride and the wellspring of his confidence.
He had encountered a certain demon in the wetlands and received a "name."
"You've got potential! Someday, you could become my right hand. I'll come visit again!"
That was what the demon had said.
He could still recall it vividly.
There was no reason for him to remain the servant of some lowly Lizardman chieftain forever.
For Gelmud's sake, he needed to be the one to rule the Lizardman Tribe…
Gabiru pondered. Was it fine to let things continue as they were? Of course not!
Then what should he do?
The secret mission from the chieftain was to visit the goblin villages and secure their cooperation.
He was permitted to apply some pressure, but had been strictly warned not to provoke resentment.
Ridiculous! Gabiru thought.
Why not just dominate those lowly goblins by force? The chieftain was overconfident in her own power and assumed everything would go according to plan.
That's right!
What need was there for a spineless chieftain who cowered before lowly orcs?
Wasn't this the perfect opportunity for him to take control of the Lizardman Tribe?
So, what should he do?
The lowly goblins could at least serve as cannon fodder. If he gathered them up, their numbers would be considerable despite being fodder.
Even fodder, when assembled ten thousand strong, would be a force to be reckoned with.
Yes! Why hadn't he realized this sooner…
This was a golden opportunity. Now was the time to make his power known to the world!
The Lizardman Tribe, under Gabiru's command!!!
For now, he needed to act carefully.
Carefully, and without letting his guard down, he would watch for the right moment.
First, bolster his forces.
Gabiru set out for the goblin villages.
To quench the thirst of his own swelling ambition!
The chiefs of the goblin villages were holding an assembly, their faces pale.
The number of chiefs had dwindled compared to before.
It had all started with the attack of the Fang Wolf tribe.
Back then, they had abandoned the village where a named warrior resided—and that was where everything began.
The villages that had argued they should not have abandoned that village, that they should have fought together, had since joined that village's fold.
A savior had appeared in that village.
A being of unimaginable, tremendous power.
They had placed themselves under that being's protection and were working toward reconstruction using newfound strength.
Now it was too late to say, "Let us join you too!" — such shameless behavior was unthinkable.
No—they wanted to. There were those who argued for it.
But even if they joined now, they would likely be treated like slaves. That was the reality that kept them from making a decision.
However, reality was not so forgiving.
The Orc Tribe's forces had begun their advance.
Several chiefs argued for placing themselves under the Orc Tribe's control.
Rather than be ravaged, they should pledge cooperation beforehand and secure a guarantee of safety…
They sent emissaries, but…
The emissaries never returned. They were killed, and their severed heads were delivered back.
The Orc Tribe's envoy, while delivering the heads, had this to say: "Gwahahahaha! We won't accept surrender from insects like you! However…
If you become our slaves, we might spare your lives! Think carefully about that."
And then they departed at leisure.
There was no fury—because they had witnessed that overwhelming power.
Because they were certain that a single orc could slaughter their entire village.
An orc was normally a D-rank monster.
Though stronger than goblins, for a single one to be that overwhelmingly powerful was abnormal.
When that report was delivered at the chiefs' assembly, their despair deepened further.
They should have at least joined their fellow kin's service…
The orc had said they would spare their lives, but also demanded all of the village's food!
Not killing them, yet telling them to starve—those two things amounted to the same thing.
But even if every goblin fought back, the only outcome would be annihilation.
The total number of goblins who could fight didn't even reach ten thousand.
And the uncontacted kin in the untamed wilderness beyond the chiefs' council—there was no way to reach them.
There was nothing they could do.
Just then, an urgent report arrived.
The warrior commander of the Lizardman Tribe had come to visit their village!
Was this not hope?
Clinging to the last straw, the chiefs went to welcome Gabiru, warrior commander of the Lizardman Tribe.
A "named" warrior commander! He seemed like a savior to them.
The savior declared: "Swear loyalty to me! Do that, and your future will be bright!"
Let's believe those words!
The chiefs made their decision.
It was the mistake of the desperate, with no one else to turn to.
Some argued that becoming the Lizardman Tribe's subordinates was no better than becoming their own kin's subordinates!
But outnumbered and outmatched, they ultimately ended up under Gabiru's command.
This decision would determine the fate of the goblins from that point forward…
Hakuro was a master swordsman.
Unbelievably powerful.
For an old man, his presence was something else entirely.
Since I could also take human form, I decided to learn swordsmanship.
The last time I'd held a bokuto was in middle school during a kendo class, and I hadn't touched one since…
But I had perception a thousand times greater than normal!
Taking in his techniques should be a breeze!
…There was a time when I thought like that.
Since my child form made movement difficult, I took on my adult form and picked up a bokuto.
Come at me from any direction! Thinking this, I faced Hakuro.
Hakuro blurred—and in an instant— SPARRRRK!
A clean strike landed right on the top of my helmet.
It didn't hurt, and there was no damage. The helmet was a roughly made wooden prop with no defensive value.
The goal was to learn his movements, so a strike that produced a clear sound had been set up.
But even so…
It wasn't about speed—it was technique. An absolute gap in skill.
My abilities were probably superior in raw stats.
Unbelievable.
I hadn't been trying to be cocky, but I couldn't lay a finger on him.
So this is what a swordsman is! His strength was convincing enough to make me nod in acceptance.
In a real battle, things might play out differently, but if I fought without knowing his style, I would lose.
Even now that I knew, I'd probably lose if I slipped up.
And it didn't even seem like Hakuro was going all out.
Next to me,
But without my thousand-fold perception, I would have ended up the same way. No laughing at him there.
He'd been dealing with both of us simultaneously…
This old man…
Going from elderly back to youthful had apparently only made him more dangerous.
Just then— Clang, clang, clang, clang!!!
A piercing alarm echoed through the area.
Something must have happened?
The sound was coming from an alarm device that had been set up at some point.
Apparently, he'd developed things like this without me even noticing. He'd drawn inspiration from the traps I'd used before.
After finishing my training, I headed to
The moment Rigurd saw me, he rushed over.
"This is terrible, Lord Rimuru!
An envoy from the Lizardman Tribe has arrived!!"
That was what he reported, clearly in a state of panic.
Actually, now that I think about it, Rigurd always seems to be in a panic.
Setting that aside… the Lizardmen?
It seemed the trouble I'd been expecting might finally be here.
As usual, I'd make sure to stay calm and listen to the situation first!