So now the ogres and I were one big happy family, more or less. I had a small group of loyal agents working under me. They had evolved into ogre mages, and they had regained a fair number of their ancestors’ abilities.
When they first evolved, I had guessed they were all through the wall and well into the top of the A-ranked range. But now that they were obtaining skills and getting used to their new bodies, their individual ranks were changing. Head and shoulders above the rest of the village in strength, but still, changing.
I had the feeling that my assigning jobs, or “classes,” to them had helped cement the exact amount of magical force each had to work with. The same had happened with the hobgoblins who were assigned classes.
In the end, success in battle had less to do with brute strength and more to do with how you matched up with your foe skill-wise. It was really my skills that defeated Ifrit, not whatever my slime body did for me. Seeing these ogre mages obtain unique skills in the same way was fascinating.
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I had a feeling that Shuna had forced my hand a little bit, but I didn’t mind. She did used to be a shamaness, I guess, so the class I gave her worked well enough for me. She seemed happy enough with it, too.
So now I had six ogre mages working under me, each with their own class. Benimaru the Samurai General; Shuna the Oracle; Hakuro the Instructor; Soei the Covert Agent; Shion the Royal Guard; and Kurobe the Swordsmith. I liked it.
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Gabil was finding some very receptive minds among the goblin villages he’d paid personal visits to. They didn’t need any lofty speeches about how strong he was—they were eager to follow him practically at first sight. That’s how the weaker races worked, he supposed. And if they showed any sign of defying him, he was ready to whip them into submission.
The chief’s orders no longer figured in Gabil’s mind. He had the able warriors of each village gathered together, bringing whatever food supplies they could scrounge up from their storehouses. They numbered seven thousand in all, dressed in flimsy leather armor and bearing crude spears with stone-hewn spikes. Not worth relying on in battle, but this was fine for now. The ones too scared to fight had already fled anyway.
“Elders!” he bellowed. “Are there any other villages in the area I should be aware of?”
The elders exchanged glances with one another, then one finally stepped up timidly to respond.
“Well…perhaps not a village, exactly, but there should be one other settlement, yes.”
“Settlement?” The elder’s choice of words rankled the lizardman. “What of it? What is so worrisome about this ‘settlement’ you speak of?”
The elders responded with an astonishing tale—the story of a goblin band riding direwolves. It made no sense to him. Those were strong monsters, those canines, roving in packs to rule over the plains. On their home turf, even the lizardmen warriors would watch their step. Why would they bend to the will of such a low-level species like goblins? It was preposterous.
And the elders’ tales grew even taller as they continued. Apparently, they were being led by a slime, of all things. Ridiculous, Gabil thought. The lowest level of monster there ever was! Maybe they could find a way to charm the minds of the equally stupid goblins, but direwolves? Come on.
Gabil needed to see it for himself. Perhaps there was a trick behind the founding of this “settlement” he could appropriate for his own ends. If all went well, perhaps even these alleged direwolves would join his side, turning the vast plains into his personal hunting grounds. So he sprang into action, letting his desires move him.
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The location Gabil was given bore no village. This annoyed him, but he let it slide. If he wanted to gain control over the direwolves, he had to expect a hitch here and there. Being released from any sense of duty to his lizardman superiors made it impossible for him to rein in his lust for power, but still, he knew patience was key.
Right now, the existence of his chief was nothing more than an obstacle on the way to his army’s objectives. If he could gain the cooperation of the direwolves, the other lizardmen would no doubt recognize their new king by then. The lords of the plains, paired with the king of the marshes? Who had anything to fear from those low-level pigs now, no matter how much of a mob they were?
Nobody. Gabil was sure of it. He would quickly suppress them, and then he would rule over the Forest of Jura.
And that, I imagine, would prove worthy enough a feat to place upon Sir Gelmud’s feet.
Picturing the joy his master would show him upon hearing the news made it easy for Gabil to remain patient. He already had men stationed at Lake Sisu, awaiting additional orders. Supplies were still tight, so they had to take action soon. There was no time to waste.
One of his men reported spotting fresh tracks in the area. He immediately placed an order. A group of ten elite fighters, himself included, would ride upon their hover lizard mounts toward their objective. Gabil didn’t even bother to hide their presence in the plains. The direwolves were a concern, but if they were doing the bidding of goblins of all things, they couldn’t have been any threat now.
I will need to train them, he thought, and bring them back to their former glories!
He had no idea what was waiting for him. His head was too full of pride at the idea of serving Sir Gelmud, the only master he truly loved.