The chieftain of the Lizardman Tribe nodded once upon hearing the battle situation.
Four days had passed since his meeting with
Tomorrow was the day of the promised rendezvous. There had been no major casualties so far, and if things held, they could make it through to tomorrow without issue.
The attacks from the Orc Tribe had been nothing short of ferocious.
Relying on sheer numbers, every corridor was flooded with orcs. No matter how labyrinthine the natural dungeon might be, it meant nothing before the swarms of orc soldiers pouring through.
The best they could manage was setting traps in specific passages and whittling down the orcs' numbers little by little.
Still, thanks to the dungeon, actual damage had been kept to a minimum. The maze branched in countless directions, and the escape routes and emergency corridors were all still intact.
The units taking the brunt of the orcs' arrows were rotated regularly, adjusting things so the number engaging at any one time was kept to a minimum.
He didn't intend to be smug about his own command.
It was only because hope existed—because reinforcements were coming—that everyone was able to endure.
In truth, those who had fought orcs directly were stunned by their strength.
They were on an entirely different level from ordinary orcs.
So far, a single Lizardman could handle up to three. But the orcs' strength seemed to be steadily increasing.
There was no doubt. This was proof of their being under the control of the Orc Disaster.
The warriors had been strictly ordered to rotate immediately upon taking injury. If they were wounded and killed in battle, it could lead to the orcs growing even stronger.
They had to hold the defensive line carefully and with absolute certainty.
Just one more day.
If they could link up with the reinforcements, they could use the terrain to their advantage and pick off the orcs one by one.
At the very least, they'd be able to free up personnel currently tied down in defensive positions and redirect them to attack.
Harboring such hopeful thoughts, the chieftain felt the faintest trace of relief.
It was then that the report of
Gabiru was furious.
What was this!? The proud Lizardmen, cowering like cowards in their lair, hiding from a bunch of pigs?!
He nearly lost himself to rage.
But it was fine now. He had returned. Once again, like true Lizardmen, they could fight with pride.
That was what he believed as he made his way to the chieftain.
"You've worked hard, Gabiru. Were you able to secure cooperation from the goblins?"
"Yes! Around seven thousand of them, I've secured their cooperation and they're standing by."
"I see… With that, we just might manage."
"Then let's deploy immediately!"
Having finished his report to the chieftain, Gabiru eagerly pressed the question.
Now that he was back, there was no reason to let the pigs do as they pleased. The chieftain had been waiting for him—he was sure of it.
And yet— "Hm? No, we're not deploying yet. While you were gone, an offer of alliance came in. The allied force is scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Tomorrow, we'll hold a joint strategy meeting upon rendezvous and launch a full offensive!"
It came completely out of nowhere. Something he'd never anticipated, straight from the chieftain's mouth.
What did he say? The chieftain was telling him he hadn't been waiting for him?
That dissatisfaction made Gabiru uncomfortable.
Relying on reinforcements of unknown origin, some allies they'd never even heard of, over himself…
"Chieftain, if I go out there, I'll crush those pigs with my bare hands! Give me permission to deploy!"
He demanded it, indignant. But— "Absolutely not. Everything hinges on tomorrow! You must be tired as well—rest and prepare for tomorrow."
Not a shred of attention paid to him.
Gabiru's mind went white with rage. Prioritizing some outside reinforcements over him! Unforgivable.
"Chieftain—no, Father! Enough! It's clear you've grown too old to see what's right in front of you!"
"What did you say, Gabiru!? What do you think you're doing!?"
Until now, he had endured it—because the man was his father.
It was true. There was much about him worthy of respect. He could sincerely acknowledge that.
But refusing to recognize him—that was unforgivable.
His era had come. That was all there was to it.
Gabiru nodded to himself and sent a signal to his subordinates.
"Father, your time is over! From today forward, I will be the new chieftain of the Lizardman Tribe!"
He declared it aloud, proud and triumphant.
At that signal, goblins flooded into the chieftain's chamber.
They leveled stone spears at the chieftain and his personal guard.
Gabiru's own elite Lizardmen stood unflinchingly at his back.
"Gabiru, what is the meaning of this!?"
Perhaps unable to grasp the situation, the chieftain's voice rose in alarm. A rare sight.
That only stoked the fire of Gabiru's sense of superiority.
"Father, you've done enough! Leave the rest to me and enjoy a comfortable retirement!"
He had his subordinates disarm the personal guard and the chieftain himself.
And then he took the spear—the very symbol of the Lizardman Tribe, the weapon his father had carried.
That spear.
The magical weapon: Water
Power seemed to flow into him. The magic spear wielded by the strongest warrior among the Lizardmen. It was truly a weapon befitting him.
Glancing at his father and the personal guard, he said: "Leave the rest to me! I know it'll be uncomfortable, but bear with it until the fight is over, won't you?"
"Wait, Gabiru! I won't allow this reckless behavior! At the very least, wait until tomorrow!!!"
Ignoring his father's shouts— "You're an eyesore. Take them away!"
He ordered his subordinates accordingly.
Of course, he had no intention of killing anyone. He simply didn't want them getting in his way.
The chieftain had struggled against these enemies, but he—Gabiru—would crush them decisively.
Without question, this was the kind of event that would establish him as the new hero standing at the pinnacle of the Lizardman Tribe.
Once he did that, even his father would recognize him and praise him with pride!
His heart soared with excitement.
Gabiru's faction, with goblins in tow, moved to seize control. Before long, a report of their success would surely arrive.
That would be the time to deploy.
The notion of his own defeat never so much as crossed Gabiru's mind.
His father the chieftain's warnings didn't reach his ears in the slightest.
Of course, those who had become part of Gabiru's faction from the start celebrated this change of guard with cheers.
Even those who had been locked up overnight were among them.
Gabiru was buoyed by their voices as he settled heavily into the chieftain's chair.
Before long, Gabiru's era would begin.
Defeating the orcs beforehand? He regarded it as nothing more than a minor inconvenience…
How could this have happened…
The chieftain was tormented by regret.
He had been warned not to act rashly. That warning had been referring to exactly this kind of situation.
He had thought his own side's discipline was solid.
Never did he imagine his own son would betray him…
If this continued, things would end badly.
If this continued, the Lizardman Tribe would be destroyed before tomorrow even came.
Steel himself, he looked to the captain of his personal guard.
His other child—Gabiru's sibling.
The captain noticed the chieftain's signal and nodded.
"Go!"
The moment the chieftain shouted it, the captain of the personal guard broke free of his restraints and ran.
This situation had to be conveyed to their allies.
That envoy—the man who called himself Souei—had made no effort to hide his Demon Aura.
That meant once he left the labyrinth in the lair, it would be possible to determine which direction he'd come from.
Pinning his hopes on that slender possibility, the chieftain sent the captain away.
Gabiru's subordinates tried to restrain him. But perhaps they had no intention of harming a fellow tribesman—he managed to escape with relative ease.
The chieftain himself had to remain here. To take responsibility.
He prayed that the captain of the guard would be able to rendezvous with the allies safely.
Just five days.
They hadn't even been able to keep that promise of five days. He lamented his own inadequacy.
And he desperately wished that, having failed to keep their promise, they would not be abandoned.
The alliance had been proposed because they held value—some worth. He prayed with all his heart that this incident had not erased that worth.
Gabiru would surely want to strike out immediately.
If that happened, there would be no reserves left to rotate the units holding the corridors.
Facing an orc horde that grew stronger by the minute, with no way to rotate—defeat for the defensive forces would be a matter of time.
The women and children of every clan had been gathered in the central chamber of the labyrinth. If the defenders fell, there would be no one left to protect those non-combatants.
Who could have predicted this… But wallowing in despair wouldn't help.
He himself would have to become the final bastion of defense.
The chieftain steeled his resolve.
To buy even a little more time. That was the most he could do now.
—————— A vast meeting room.
The table was a masterwork carved from aged fragrant wood.
A round table of considerable size, large enough to seat ten or more.
Twelve chairs had been prepared, each one an extravagant creation—something even royalty might struggle to own.
The floor was covered with a luxurious carpet that looked as though artisans had spent over a decade weaving it.
The walls were adorned with fantastical paintings, as though the work of some heavenly artist.
Simply selling a single item from this room would fund a noble lifestyle for ten years.
Near the entrance to this room.
A man dressed like a clown stood waiting.
And then, addressing the seemingly empty room: "I am truly grateful that you have taken the time out of your busy schedules to gather here today!"
He bowed deeply, greeting them with utmost courtesy.
Carefully, meticulously, ensuring he didn't dampen the mood of those inside.
Today's guests. Supreme beings who must never, under any circumstances, be angered.
Without warning, a shadow appeared on one of the chairs.
A thin silhouette—impossible to make out any details.
"What sort of entertainment have you prepared for us today? I've been bored to tears. Could you get on with it already?"
A girl's voice returned the greeting.
Moments before, the room had certainly been empty. But now, several presences could be felt seated upon their respective chairs.
"Guha ha ha ha! No need to rush—it'll start soon enough, won't it? Something about the birth of a new 'Demon Lord,' right?"
"Hee hee hee. A Demon Lord, you say? I've had more than my fill of those already! Even if more Demon Lords appear, it won't be any fun."
"Oh, don't say that. The ruler of the Great Forest of Jura is gone, isn't he? A new ruler is needed, surely?"
"If you want, I wouldn't mind taking over that whole region myself."
"Hmph. It's precisely because people like you start saying things like that that the Non-Aggression Pact was signed!"
"Shut up! I know that already."
So they babbled, these capricious and willful beings.
The clown-like man standing at the entrance couldn't even wipe the sweat that beaded on his forehead.
Not that he actually had any—he was a demon, after all.
"Then, if I may, ladies and gentlemen—I would like to explain the setup. Would that be acceptable?"
He called out tentatively.
The previously noisy conversation stopped dead, and all eyes focused on Gelmud.
Silent pressure.
Had they taken offense at being addressed by someone of Gelmud's lowly standing?
He was gripped by anxiety. Their moods alone could erase him from existence in an instant…
Unconcerned with his unease— "Just get on with it! I told you I was sick of being bored, didn't I?"
He had been permitted to continue.
Relieved, Gelmud began his explanation.
The seeds of discord he had sown throughout the forest. Some had been plucked before they could sprout, but several had taken root.
He had wanted to plant seeds among the higher species as well—such as the Ogre Tribe and the Treant Tribe—but unfortunately, he had passed on that opportunity this time.
He still lacked the power to control them.
However, he had been able to pass judgment on the Ogre Tribe members who had refused his "Naming."
That was satisfaction enough for now.
"Then, let the performance begin!
A coalition of the forest races to stand against the threat of the Orc Disaster!
The one who survives this battle earns the right to ascend as the new 'Demon Lord'!!!"
Yes.
This time, Gelmud had been entrusted with orchestrating the birth of a new "Demon Lord."
Upon receiving this commission, he had been elated. If things went well, he could produce a "Demon Lord" who would obey his every command.
And so he had prepared methodically.
The inter-species war that was supposed to take place another three hundred years from now.
But Veldora's disappearance had occurred far faster than anyone had anticipated, throwing his plans into disarray.
He had intended to stage a war involving goblins, Lizardmen, and Named Monsters born from various other species…
But fortune had not abandoned Gelmud.
The Orc Disaster had appeared. Completely unforeseen, yet perfectly usable.
A Demon Lord obedient to his command.
It was practically a fixed match, but under the circumstances, he could live with that.
When the orc army defeated the Lizardmen and goblins, the Orc Disaster would be recognized as the new "Demon Lord."
The troublesome Ogres had been disposed of first.
Now, there were no remaining variables.
The Treants were harmless as long as their territory wasn't encroached upon.
Everything was going according to plan!
Until now, he had feared the Demon Lords who controlled him—but now he would be the one pulling the strings.
That moment was almost within reach. The birth of a Demon Lord loyal to his command!
Gelmud concealed the excitement in his heart as he continued explaining the program…
Clear as day in his mind's eye was the image of himself commanding the Orc Disaster.
His ambition was on the verge of realization.
He believed it without a shred of doubt.
It's Gabiru's turn!
Once again, the protagonist doesn't get his moment. Please wait just a little longer.