Paladin of the Holy Kingdom
Chapter 4: The Siege
Part 1
Winter’s end was a long ways off, and the air was cold, though he did not feel it. That was thanks to his fur. His entire body was covered in lustrous black fur, and wearing a set of clothes on top of that would provide for excellent insulation. He would not shiver even if he wore a suit of metallic full plate armor instead.
However, he was shivering for a different reason now.
That reason was anger.
Calling that tremendous anger “wrath” would not be too far off.
A low growl escaped him — like that which a carnivorous beast would make — and he clicked his tongue in embarrassment.
For members of his race ― the Zoastia ― making animal noises was proof that they could not control their emotions; a shameful display for an adult.
However, that was only among fellow members of his species.
Anyone else who heard that growl leak from between his sharp teeth would have been trembling in fear or frozen in terror.
He turned his back on the human city which he had been staring at just now and returned to his camp.
Their supreme commander was Jaldabaoth, their ruler who wielded overwhelming might. Many races were gathered beneath him, and many pointless disputes broke out between them every day.
The forces of the Demihuman Alliance were divided into three main detachments.
The first were the 40,000 troops arrayed against the Southern Holy Kingdom’s military.
The second were the 50,000 troops responsible for managing and guarding the camps which held prisoners from the Holy Kingdom.
The third were the 10,000 troops responsible for scouting the Northern Holy Kingdom, recovering various resources, and other miscellaneous tasks.
The personnel here comprised 40,000 of the 50,000 troops allocated to managing the prison camps.
It was only natural that with such numbers in attendance their campgrounds would be bustling, yet nobody blocked his path, and he did not stop or even slow his pace.
Surely there was nobody in the world who would dare stand in the path of a massive, rolling boulder.
Nobody present dared stand in his way, given the air of dominance around him.
He walked as though he were alone in a wasteland, and soon a particularly ostentatious tent came into view.
There were demihuman soldiers standing before it, but they were not guards. They were there to heed the orders of the tent’s occupants. In other words, they were servants.
They fearfully cleared a path for him, and he savagely pulled aside the cloth hanging over its entrance, whereupon the five demihumans within immediately glared sharply at him.
The demihumans within could be counted among the top ten members of the demihuman forces, demons excepted. While he could feel the physical weight of their gazes upon him, his calm demeanor did not change in the slightest.
As a fellow member of those ten beings, he instead snorted and plopped himself down onto one of the empty seats. That said, his bestial lower body meant that taking a seat was more like lying down.
Although one of the five nodded lightly to him, he paid that person no heed as his eyes fixed firmly on the demihuman occupying the seat of honor.
Said demihuman was a being that looked like a snake that had grown arms.
The scales on its body had a wet sheen to them and threw off a bizarre riot of colors that did justice to its nickname of “Rainbow Scales.” Not only were they beautiful, their hardness was said to rival those of Dragons. In addition, it possessed high-level magic resistance and was equipped with a large shield and a suit of enchanted plate armor. When one factored in its warrior prowess as well, said being might well qualify as the toughest entity in the Abelion Hills.
This demihuman was Rokesh of the Nagarajas. He was the demihuman who had been appointed as commander of this detachment by the Demon Emperor.
Resting beside him was his favored weapon, the Trident of Desiccation which possessed a dreadful power.
“―Why aren’t we attacking yet?”
He directed the question to Rokesh in a subdued tone.
It had been a full three days since they had reached the city which the pitiful human resistance had taken over, yet not even a skirmish had broken out since then.
“…I know the human walls are troublesome, but surely they’re nothing in the face of our numbers, aren’t they?”
This was especially true for those members of the Demihuman Alliance who could completely disregard the existence of such walls. There ought to be no difficulty if said individuals were carefully managed.
“Frightened, are we?”
“Demon Claw-dono.”
A vicious expression bloomed on his ― Vijar Lajandala’s ― face as he was addressed with the title of “Demon Claw.” He swept his eyes over the other member of his species who was present before turning back towards the Nagaraja.
The title of “Demon Claw” was known throughout the foothills, and had been for almost two centuries now.
This was not because Zoastias were a long-lived race but because the title was passed down through the generations.
To him, this title was something he had inherited from his father. He knew very well that it was inappropriate for him at the moment. That was why he had to build his reputation in the upcoming series of battles. Yet, he had not been able to prove his strength ― as the inheritor of the title ― to the world so far.
Everyone he had beaten so far was weak. There had not been any who could take more than a single blow from his enchanted two-handed battleaxe, “Edge Wing.”
This state of affairs could not be allowed to continue.
He could not allow this war to end while others still knew him as a mere minion of the archfiend Jaldabaoth. He needed a chance to make a name for himself as a warrior, and now was the time.
However, Rokesh still did not intend to attack. Vijar’s dissatisfaction with that decision was why he spoke to the former in that way.
“They say the Grand King used to hold that city. Don’t tell me you’re scared just because the enemy has someone who could defeat him?”
The Grand King ― the king who had led the Bafolk to greatness.
He had been one of the top ten demihumans, like himself.
Vijar was confident that he stood on even footing with the Grand King, despite the latter’s annoying martial arts which could break weapons. Anyone who could beat the Grand King must surely be a worthy opponent.
“I’ll deal with her, so why aren’t we attacking yet?”
He could think of only one person who could defeat someone of the Grand King’s power.
It must be that female human paladin from the rumors. If what they say is true, she might have been able to beat the Grand King.
He sketched a hazy image of a paladin with a glowing sword in his mind.
“Vijar-dono. The fact that you, a commander, would say such things despite coming in late without a word of apology makes me… don’t get so excited, I know, I know.”
Rokesh waved him off in a relaxed fashion.
“My my. Ignorant chicks do make a lot of noise even when they know nothing.”
The person who was snickering just now had four arms. She was the queen of the Magilos, a woman with the moniker of “Iceflame Lightning” ― Nasrene Bert Kiuru.
Vijar wrinkled his brow.
He felt that he could beat her in a melee fight, but Nasrene was adept at magic, so he was afraid she could turn the tables on him in some unexpected way if it came to a fight. Even so, he ― as an inheritor of the name “Demon Claw” ― would not be able to face his ancestors if he meekly let someone call him a chick.