The next morning, the adventurer and titled Champion Freyja Deus Gastolfo; her maid in service, Lazalisa; along with myself, an Otherworlder; and my elven wife, Laualliuna, gathered together in an impromptu, four-person band as Dark Lord vanquishers. I’d wavered over whether to ask Éa, Shuna, and (the person inside) Bel to join us, but in the end, I decided against it, not wanting to risk my party members sustaining any injuries over this nonsense. Frankly, I didn’t even want Lana coming, but leaving her out would sort of defeat the point, so there was no choice but to bring her.
“So, Champion, may I ask how you plan to attack?” I asked.
“Pay close attention, young apprentice.”
“………” Just out of Freyja’s sight, Lana puffed up her cheeks, annoyed. Clearly, she didn’t like hearing me speak deferentially to Freyja.
“Lana and I will cast an extra-special, extra-unique, super-duper humongous gargantuan spell and destroy the Dark Lord, along with the rest of the meadow, to the ground in one fell swoop.”
“My lady Champion, did you not hear what I said at breakfast?”
“Breakfast? Oh, that oily stew with crushed potatoes and seafood. It was superb. The tea, I give zero points, but one cannot expect greatness in that respect from a humble peasant’s kitchen.”
I’d explained while we ate, but it must’ve gone in one of this dense girl’s ears and out the other. Her cheeks still puffed, Lana glared at Freyja. “Okay, let’s go over this one more time. The area by the dungeon is covered with red flowers planted by the Dark Lord. If we disturb them, they will disperse deadly poison that’ll travel far and wide, devastating much more than the meadow.”
“Inevitable casualties, I’m afraid.” Like hell it’s inevitable.
“Milady, this meadow abuts the Kingdom of Remlia’s farmlands. Should your actions ruin these fields, your honor as a Champion and the honor of the Gastolfo name will plummet to the depths of hell. Also, claims of restitution would be sent out to your family as well.”
“……Well then, what would you have me do?”
“Don’t ask me, milady,” the reptilian Lazalisa replied curtly.
Mages from the Hoense School tended to have a few screws loose, and it looked like Freyja was no exception. Was that what happened if you became good at exclusively one thing?
“I have a promising idea. May I propose it?”
“Yes, of course, umm……Zortenmorgen?”
Not wanting to deal with the trouble of correcting her, I let the name stand. “First, I’ll lure the Dark Lord out and lead it away from the dungeon. Once we’ve created enough distance, you, my lady Champion, will entrap the evil ruler with your spells, then the two of you will use your magical prowess to deal the final blow and vanquish the ghoul. How does that sound?”
“Positively primitive.”
Looking serious, Lana shot daggers of hostility at Freyja. The Champ remained blissfully unaware.
“May I offer my own opinion?” Lazalisa asked.
“Yes, go ahead.” I was all ears.
“Master Souya, from my observation, you do not appear to be a vanguard. I take it a bow is your weapon of choice, but I fear arrows will inflict little damage on Gormlaith. I would be more than happy to serve as our decoy and guide the Dark Lord away.”
“No need to worry,” I assured her and unsheathed Agaccion—without laying a finger on it, I motioned for it to move. Freyja’s and Lazalisa’s faces lit up with astonishment at the sight of the sword suspended in midair. “This is Agaccion the Holy Blade, the legendary sword passed down through generations in the Church of St. Lillideas—or rather, an enchanted replica we fashioned with technology from my world. I call it Flamesgrein. One flick of my hand, and it will unleash an unparalleled onslaught upon my enemy. It also protects me and will cut down my foes of its own accord. With this in hand, I do not imagine I’ll face quick defeat, even before the Dark Lord.”
Actually, this was the real Agaccion the Holy Blade, but I couldn’t tell that to just anybody. After stealing it from its previous owner, a hero, I’d scraped all the silver-colored coating off the sword to reveal a blade of deep red, like a diamond in the rough. This was just my theory, but I had a feeling that Ellusion, or rather its hero, had stolen it from yet another master like I had, as evidenced by the silver camouflage. Something about this crimson blade must have posed too great a threat to a hero’s honor to wield uncovered.
“It’s marvelous,” Lazalisa cooed, her face flushed as she stroked Agaccion, caressing it almost erotically with her fingers. “This scarlet sword blade carries the scents of the stars. I sense a nostalgic yet mystifying power residing within. And yet, for the life of me, I cannot fathom how it was made. Though crude at first glance, it is a work of rare beauty.”
Freyja rapped her spellbound maid with her staff. “There you go again, drooling over inanimate objects. Stop this foolishness at once.”
Lazalisa snapped out of it, immediately returning to her usual expressionless face. “Apologies, milady. Lord Souya appears confident he is up to the task, so I will leave the role as decoy to him. Instead, I shall guard you and Lady Lana.” Did she have a soft spot for all insentient items? Or maybe a sword fetish?
“Okay, let’s review the plan once more.” A very happy Lana came to stand by my side. “First, I’ll rush in and engage the Dark Lord in swordplay, then guide it to the mark I made last night. Then our Champion of Light will trap the ghoul, and together with Lana, you guys will finish them. Lazalisa, you’ll stay with them to handle any unanticipated attacks. And that’s it.”
“Well, I suppose it will have to do,” said Freyja. A look of scorn instantly clouded Lana’s visage. The elven mage became exponentially more expressive whenever Freyja was around.
“Shall we?”
So we set out for our date with the Dark Lord, the four of us treading softly in a line. Wanting to relieve some of the tension before our battle, I started chatting about completely unrelated topics. We talked about Lana’s and Freyja’s days at the Hoense School and of the historical structures they had destroyed. For a second, I thought I caught Lazalisa throwing me a sultry look, but my untrained virgin eyes were unsure. That had to be it.
“So these red flowers are the poisonous ones, right? I didn’t think they could be so dangerous the last time I saw them,” Freyja noted as she skirted carefully around them.
Compared with the day before, more thistles covered the meadow. These flowers had a special ability to mature and blossom very quickly when rooted in cursed soil. Once they purified the cursed energy, they withered and died, leaving seeds in their wake. These then also rapidly germinated, drawing out the tainted nutrients in the soil to grow and bloom. This cycle would repeat until all the evil energy had been drained from the land.
Crimson mortalis, Gormlaith had called the purifying plants. However, she and the goblins could not take credit for their creation. During her previous life, the Dark Lord had discovered the seeds, which proved too ancient to date accurately. Given that normal thistles also grew in this world, clearly someone had intentionally bred and developed this iteration of the flower. The cleansing seeds’ tumultuous and ironic fate led it into the hands of an evil overlord of all people.
A single black shadow stood amid the deep-crimson-painted meadow, waiting for us.
“Lana, Lazalisa, Nu…whatever your name is, umm, Lana’s husband-in-training!” The fact that Freyja wasn’t necessarily wrong irked me. “Show some spirit! The moment of truth is upon us!!”
The shadow coalesced into the figure of a small but intimidating cloaked skeleton. Blue light smoldered in her eye sockets. Hanging from her neck was a testament to the royal slaughter committed, and in her right hand, she clutched a monk’s khakkhara staff topped with metal rings. This was the mighty Dark Lord, Gormlaith: curry fanatic, flying-rabbit lover, and ruler of the goblins. It was thanks to her diligent care that so many flying rabbits thrived in the meadow; she regularly fed them, cured their ailments, supported their proliferation, and eradicated their predators in the area. Very few other animals could withstand being touched by the skeleton’s frigid hands like these cold-hardy hares. It all made sense.
Anyway—