ACCOMPLISHMENTS AND PREPARATIONS

Several months had passed since the summit and Guy’s sudden visit.

Time had flown by so fast—it had already been a year since I became a demon lord. The Walpurgis meeting; the duel against Hinata; the Founder’s Festival; and then the fight against Maribel and the Rozzo family. So much had happened that the year seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

Even after the second annual Tempest Resurrection Festival—a much quieter affair than the first one, held with only my closest friends—the Empire still showed no signs of movement. According to Soei and Moss, however, supplies were being constantly transported to the main cities near their military borders. At this rate, even I could see the writing on the wall. War was just about to kick off.

Given our assumption that conflict was inevitable, we had grown far stricter with our entry checks for people visiting Tempest. We couldn’t put out the welcome mat for everyone and their dog like before. Now we only let in adventurers or merchants with the proper identification, as well as those with legitimate referrals or the like. This was out of concern for spies, but we had another reason as well—a sort of classification system.

We were visited by far more than just humans, and each had their own qualitative differences. Those of unidentifiable origin often tended to be pretty uncivilized, and if we let a lot of those folks in, we wouldn’t be able to handle them all. We could make it clear that hostile behavior around town was forbidden, but at the end of the day, we couldn’t really stop some fool from storming in and going out of control. There was a barrier over town, yes, but it was tough to block every single kind of magic. That was the difference between a town of humans and a town of monsters.

So after discussing matters with Gazel, we decided to follow the lead of the Dwarven Kingdom. When we granted someone entry, they’d need to first learn the basic Tempestian rules and regulations. An intake, basically.

If someone wanted to relocate to Tempest, they’d need more formal schooling. We’d ferry them to a site built for that very purpose and teach them there; they’d receive an entry permit only upon learning an employable trade or skill. Shion’s troops were a good fit for this job—if any would-be residents got violent, they could put ’em back in their place well enough. It’d help us catch imperial spies, too, so I thought this system was gonna be a permanent part of how things worked around here.

During the visitors’ intake, we’d gauge each visitor and ask them why they want to enter Tempest. Preventing swarms of penniless people from rushing in was another way to stave off trouble around town.

We had a lot of regular lodging around the coliseum, but they were used by the destitute. The more well-off merchants and nobles were shown to neighborhoods with fancier quarters. For the real upper crust, meanwhile, we had our five-star facilities, the best the city of Rimuru had to offer; this was where we pointed visitors looking to recuperate at our health spas. They say that memories are priceless, but you ain’t gonna get away with that in our nation. As much as I wanted people to enjoy their travels, you had to pay what you had to pay.

Our price ranges ran the gamut. Your run-of-the-mill lodging started at thirty silver coins a night; the wealthier merchants and lower-level nobles could afford places that began at one gold coin. From there, the sky was the limit, really; we had rooms available that cost ten gold or more a night—wait, why am I prattling on like some travel agent?

My point, though, is that we could provide services for a wide swath of social classes. I wanted tons of people to see us as a vacation destination, so we were also working hard on PR, giving out high-end lodging to our most active merchants or people who made it past Floor 10 of the Dungeon. The Dungeon-runner clientele really loved that—everyone knew how great the food was at those places, so it really built up enthusiasm. Even one meal there cost ten silver coins and up. Considering the very cheapest accommodations ran around three silver, that must’ve felt superexpensive, but sometimes you want to splurge a bit, and sometimes you come across easy money in the Dungeon. Providing people a way to spend that cash was our job as proprietors.

Getting past Floor 10, by the way, generally meant you were an adventurer ranked C-plus or higher, capable of beating a B-rank black spider when part of a group. Doing that solo would rank you at least a B, so I figured it’d be fine to let them have some extra perks. Socially speaking, it’s equivalent to being knighted in one of the smaller kingdoms—a B rank from the Guild meant you could find work as a knight in well-nigh any country.

Recognizing people for their abilities like that naturally helps them mind their manners a little more. Besides, a B-rank adventurer probably has a decent amount of money to their name already, labyrinth junkie or not. Elen’s party was pretty destitute, but that’s the exception to the rule. Plus, if they do start trouble in town, they wouldn’t have anywhere to go. The upper-class district was surrounded by a moat and heavily defended; as we explained to visitors, if you’re kicked out once, you’re never getting back in again. Nobody’s gonna attempt crime once they’re aware of that, so along those lines, I thought we were doing a good job projecting a clean image.

Meanwhile, the merchants—being merchants, after all—were clamoring to get in, seeking Tempest-branded weapons and crafts to sell. Some of them were doing a very brisk business, and a lot of them were pretty loaded. More and more of them were using our fancier lodging without having to be plied with free nights.

To people like these, we sold the battle gear crafted by Kurobe’s apprentices and the handiwork made by Dold’s—all high-quality, of course, and all well reviewed. The merchants would also buy a lot of the more unusual equipment picked up from the Dungeon’s treasure chests, something I wasn’t thrilled about but tolerated for the time being. I made sure anything really dangerous from there didn’t leak out to the general buying public.

All this stuff would then get sold across the continent, helping to boost our nation’s image. Perhaps thanks to that, we had started to see a larger general audience of Dungeon guests as of late. Word of mouth really is a powerful thing.

You might wonder why we focused on this stuff when the danger of war was so close, but that was that, and this was this. Even I knew that I was being pretty self-indulgent…but as much as I was on alert for the danger to come, I didn’t fear it. No point giving up on living a normal life. You just gotta keep building up what you can.

So the capital was growing at a decent rate, as was our international transportation network.

Following Benimaru’s negotiations, Momiji and the tengu tribe had pledged their support. We now had a mountain tunnel completed, and the paving work was done as well, save for a few spots. We had also handed over construction on the highway between Tempest and Thalion to the laborers Archduke Erald brought along with him, so we’d have a direct route to there before much longer.

Work had begun on a railroad track to the Kingdom of Farminus, and it was proceeding along at a feverish pace. The track was already complete to Englesia, wrapped up on time, and the same was true for the Dwarven Kingdom—they even finished the lodging town located on a stop along the way. This was built on a spot past the Forest of Jura, right where it intersects with the Great Ameld River; it was a perfect rest stop, and it saw use as a base of operations during highway construction. The track was built alongside the river, so it was a fine place to serve as a midway point. We had enlisted the monsters living nearby to build the town, and there was no reason to let it go to waste post-construction, so we outfitted the buildings some more and made it into a full lodging stop. (Going forward, I want this town to become a major city and terminal hub, so I’m sure it’ll grow in importance as the years go by.)

The highway to Eurazania had now been fully widened. It was still unpaved in spots but fully navigable from start to finish. The merchants had been bugging me to get the paving done, because the route was jarringly uncomfortable on a high-speed wagon—but even so, it was incomparably safer and more convenient than what existed before. Lights kept the whole highway illuminated for night travelers, and the automatic magical generators at regular intervals formed a barrier that kept hostile monsters at bay.

Thus, in less than a year, we had a full transportation network pretty much completed.

Practical testing had begun for magitrains traveling to the Dwarven Kingdom and Englesia, letting us tabulate data and work out issues. The track tests were all done, so now we were beta testing the trains on the field. They maintained an average speed of around thirty miles an hour and could carry an unprecedented amount of cargo at once; it’d pretty much rewrite the history of logistics in this world, I figured.

Now we could transport food without it spoiling en route. That was bound to enrich cuisine across the board while reducing the number of people going hungry in times of famine. I was once again reminded how logistics like these were a must-have in order to expand our country’s influence.

Along with this data collection, we were also considering the magitrains’ operation cycles in detail, a trial-and-error process as we worked out our first public schedule. The track between Tempest and Dwargon extended some 620 miles; at thirty miles an hour, it took twenty-one hours—less than a day—to go from one end to the other. By comparison, Englesia was around 180 miles away, so you could reach it in six hours.

These figures, of course, reflected a pretty hefty safety cushion. In theory, you could run these guys four times as fast and load them with over a thousand tons of goods, based on our calculations…but these magitrains were without precedent. If we ran them at full power and something came up, we wouldn’t be able to deal with it.

For now, we’d see how things would go. All transportation, of course, has its glitches, and we needed to factor rest time in as well. Magitrains could run for only so long at a time, so we weren’t doing overnight runs for the time being—besides, we couldn’t assign day and night shifts to mechanics and operators unless we could handle replacement parts and other maintenance overnight.

We currently had twenty locomotives in operation. Each one could pull two freight cars and three passenger cars, making them six-car trains. Our passenger cars each held eighty seats but could hold a maximum of 150 people—although, I figured we shouldn’t allow that, since it’d force people to stand for hours on end. Thus, if we aimed for over two hundred passengers per trip, that’d put us at 80 percent capacity.

That left the question of just how much to charge per person… But wait a minute, why did I have to micromanage down to that level?! I’d just leave that to my old pal Mollie. I’m sure he’d work it out. It was just a matter of time before we’d go into full operation, and once we had more of a track record, I thought we could boost our capacity a bit, adding to the convenience. Maybe we could aim for ten-car trains running sixty miles an hour—I thought that was doable. Definitely not a dream—something we’d really see happen before too long.

…So really, we’d accomplished an incredible amount in a year. Announcing all these successes was bound to surprise and excite people the world over, I thought. It’d make the future brighter for us all, and it’d also show everyone how hard I was working and how useful our nation was. Lives would be more fulfilling. We’d enjoy better food and take in more entertainment from all around the world. In effect, I’d be promised a life full of fun, something I never could’ve thought about when I was first reincarnated as a slime.

If it wasn’t for the whole Eastern Empire thing, I could devote myself to my hobbies without a care in the world, but…

Suddenly, I had an idea: Why not team up with Veldora (plus whoever else wanted to join us), declare war on the Empire, and immediately assault them? I knew about the army of angels that’d attack us if our civilization grew too developed, but I didn’t even have any idea where they were. Attacking them first was gonna be difficult, but not the Empire. If they were preparing to strike us and not even trying to hide it, I couldn’t help but think—who could complain if we just did ’em in?

Part of me was just being impatient, I knew, but with this sort of thing, it was always easier to attack than defend. If the Empire was aiming to annex the Western Nations, there was no reason why they had to attack the Forest of Jura along the way. They could always decide to just ignore us. Everybody knew Veldora was revived now, and if you did even a little research, you’d realize that opposing us meant making an enemy of the Storm Dragon. It was up to the Empire to decide, and situations like these put us under a lot of stress.

So was it even possible for them to stage a direct invasion of the West?

There was no sea route. Not even a fleet of dreadnought-class warships would keep you safe against the giant sea monsters lurking there, and fighting on their turf was too risky to be tenable. There was no guarantee you’d have a safe voyage in the first place, and knights were at a terrible disadvantage in sea battle.

How many ships would you need to transport the massive number of soldiers involved? And even if you managed to land them over in Farminus, it wasn’t like Yohm and his forces were clowning around. They were fully prepared to ambush them and defend their lands. Unless they established a beachhead on the first attack, the Empire couldn’t send any reinforcements. They’d have the royal Farminus force in front, sea monsters in the back—it’d kill their morale, and we’d score an easy tactical victory.

Could the Empire ignore Farminus, then, and advance through northern Englesia? That, we concluded, would also be difficult. North Englesia was a playground for demons. Guy didn’t seem too interested in stopping them entirely, and Testarossa’s underlings were currently defending the area. You had a bunch of belligerents waging battle over there at regular intervals, so if the Empire staged an invasion, we predicted they’d be sitting ducks, essentially.

Between this, that, and the other thing, a naval invasion seemed reliably out of the picture. What about on land? There, the Empire had two options: go through the internals of the Dwarven Kingdom or traverse the Dragon’s Nest within the Canaat Mountains.

The latter option was off the table from the start—too risky. Staging a large-scale march across peaks higher than Mount Everest was suicidal, no matter how much you prepared for it. You couldn’t train an entire infantry force to be expert mountain climbers, and even if you could, you had hordes of dragons—A-rank monsters—waiting for you beyond. Common sense dictated that not even the most epically stupid leader would pick that route.

How viable was the Dwarven Kingdom route, however? I had Hinata check into that, based on Raphael’s suggestion, and she reported that a large force could theoretically navigate through it. Gazel wouldn’t allow it, though, so if they actually made an attempt, the Empire would have to attack Dwargon before it ever reached the Western Nations, and that was an incredibly reckless thing to do.

The Dwarven Kingdom, officially neutral in international affairs, retained a well-trained standing army for its defense. They were outfitted in cutting-edge armaments; as the adage went, there was no such thing as a weak dwarf in a fight. Besides, the whole of Dwargon was designed like a natural fortress; all they had to do was guard the entrances, and they could keep any large force from storming in.

Out of the three main entry points—dubbed East, West, and Central—the Empire would hit East or Central. The West exit connected to Farminus, so there was no need to keep an eye on that. The East portal, nestled on the border with the Empire, was the most dangerous one, but Gazel was no fool. He had concentrated his armies here, having them look into the Empire’s moves. If something went down, I’d head to the scene as well, but overall I thought we could leave Dwargon in Gazel’s hands.

That, all in all, was the current situation for Tempest.

In conclusion, the only real choice the Empire had was to pass through the Forest of Jura. And before my briefing with Benimaru (now part of the daily routine), my mind was in a spin over it.

If they selected a route through the forest we protected, the Empire’s biggest bottleneck would be the presence of Veldora. They could never beat him head-on, so we guessed that they’d prepare a decoy force to try to lead him astray. I needed to remember that as I thought about our nation’s defensive preparations.

Within the Forest of Jura, there were three routes suitable for military activity. One of them, however, was in a region near the Dwarven Kingdom. If the Empire threw caution to the wind and invaded there, they’d be boxed in by dwarven and Tempestian forces on all sides. The Empire must’ve known how dangerous this route would be, so I didn’t feel we needed to be too alert for activity there.

Thus it was likely that they’d take one of the remaining two routes. But was it really that simple? It was never a good idea to split up your forces against a large foe, so perhaps we could station Veldora on one route and our full army on the other. That’d make us prepared for a potential decoy force—but I was no trained military officer, and even I could come up with that tactic. I doubted a professional would take such a simple approach.

But maybe the Empire was looking down on us. Maybe they’d try taking an overwhelming force and mow down whatever they ran into, whether it was Veldora or an army of monsters. Or maybe they’d try something sneakier and more unorthodox, like make the main force the decoy and send out teams of guerrilla-style fighters who could group back together once they made it out of the forest. If so, well, it was impossible to monitor every single path in the woods. If we deployed recon forces, they could wind up casualties depending on the size of the enemy they ran into. What if they had teams of paladin-class fighters on the prowl out there, like Hinata and her soldiers?

If we wanted to consider all those possibilities, there just wasn’t enough personnel to cover all the plausible invasion routes. It’d be risky to make a move only when we knew the Empire’s aims, so I wanted to avoid that. If we fell behind, there was a chance we’d never recover. That’s what I was on the lookout for—but the problem was that we had no idea what moves the Empire was making.

In war, surprising your opponent gave you an advantage. Make a move your enemy didn’t account for, and that alone often led to victory. We’d have to consider every possibility…but now I was going around in circles. This wouldn’t work. All this thinking was just frustrating me. Maybe we really should just go and attack them after all, huh? Wouldn’t that be the right answer—declare war, then go crazy on them the next instant?

We had no guarantees the Empire would move the way we predicted, so there was no point pondering this any further. I really thought the most rational approach was to attack without waiting for them to move. It’d give us the initiative, and we wouldn’t have to worry about all this other stuff… Not that I’d do it, but…

Thinking about it like this wouldn’t produce an answer. It was best to play this kinda thing by ear. Yeah. I like the sound of that—it makes me seem so capable. Let’s go with that.

And so coming to pretty much the same conclusion I did about every other problem in my life, I reached out for one of the cream puffs Shuna brought for me. Whenever I’m doing serious thinking, I start craving something sweet. Even if I overindulged, there was no way I’d ever get bored of it. If I did, well, I’d just play it by ear then.

“What, just for you? That’s not fair.”

I was satisfying my thirst with some of Shion’s tea and enjoying the cream puff when Benimaru finally showed up. We were in my office, a bit later than usual for our now-daily briefing. I asked him to prepare for the Empire battle we were picturing, and it kept him really busy, but I wasn’t narrow-minded enough to carp on him about being a little late.

What? Why don’t I give him a hand? I got no idea what you’re talking about. This is no space for amateurs.

“Get some tea for Benimaru, too, Shion.”

“Right away!”

Benimaru, having experienced trauma at the hands of Shion’s cooking, always kept a wary eye on her. Tea was all right, at least, but even then he never let down his guard. Classic Benimaru.

“Thank you very much,” he said to me. “All that work makes you crave something sweet, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, kind of. We have access to a lot more sugar now than before. Hopefully, things can stay peaceful around here.”

“You’re right. But if it comes down to a conflict, well, we can simply wipe the floor with them.”

Confident as always. I was glad to see that, but hopefully he wouldn’t forget to at least try to avoid conflict.

“Here you go!” Shion said, offering Benimaru some tea. She refilled my cup as well, the aroma already putting me at ease.

“So how is Diablo faring?” Benimaru asked me.

“Oh, he’s mediating again today.”

“Again?”

“Yep. Again.”

Yes, Diablo was back on mediator duty, because Ultima and Carrera just couldn’t stop causing trouble on a daily basis. It’s not that they didn’t get along; they were just driven to compete with each other on Every. Single. Little. Thing.

Yesterday it was about a criminal transport; before then, it was over how to handle a suspect in custody. Sometimes they’d argue over food on the menu; sometimes they’d squabble over who would purchase a new outfit first. It’d be one thing if they kept it to verbal sparring, but when those two went at it, it turned into a street war that would make even the yakuza balk. Once it reached that point, only Diablo could stop them—if he sent his underling Venom in, he’d just get his ass kicked. No innocent bystanders had been hurt yet, but they had become notorious enough that people bet on the outcomes of their fights…which was great and all, but I couldn’t let this stand.

So I’d send Diablo out to handle them, but perhaps it was time to consider a more permanent solution. Otherwise, I feared Diablo was gonna blow his top before long.

A little while back, Diablo took Ultima and Carrera into the Dungeon. This was nothing cute, like a date; as he passionately explained to me, it’d be a chance to give them a thorough combat education. He used that space (and the immortality it provided) to beat the crap out of them, but apparently not even that taught them a lesson. In fact, fighting Diablo seemed to fill them with joy. Why did demons have to be so damn belligerent? I was really starting to wonder how much more I could handle.