Exhaling a small amount of air that crystallized in the low temperature, he brought his hands to his head, trying to put his thoughts in order, only to be interrupted by an unpleasant voice.
"Master?… Crr."
The tone was grating, and the rasping of the mask corrupted any aesthetic quality the words might have possessed, mangling them beyond recognition. The irritating voice belonged to one of his subordinates, a figure who could easily have passed for a giant. He wore a set of thick, dark clothes, his pockets stuffed with scissors, lengths of heavy cord, and needles.
Both he, the one who had been called Master, and his subordinate were Fallen. At present, they were discussing matters in a vast chamber, the closest thing to a human office.
Three large ebony bookshelves stood against the walls, packed with books bound in old, faded leather. Loose papers had been piled in mountains across the desks and furniture. And yet, not a single speck of dust marred the place.
In short, there was no sense of order whatsoever, but there was certainly a sense of cleanliness.
"Annoying." The Master took the documents his subordinate had just finished reading to him and, with a tired gesture, tossed them into the air. "Like a plague."
The papers drifted in an arc before landing atop the stacks of documents scattered across the furniture, making the room look even more disorderly. His subordinate, for his part, extended a hand as though attempting to stop the Master, but did not bother picking up the papers that had fallen to the floor.
"Damn heroes," the Master muttered.
He had no fixed name, just like all Fallen, which was why he had always liked being called Master. After all, was that not the proper way for a subordinate to address his superior?
It was simply normal.
Even so, despite being a Master himself, he was still subject to the orders of others. To be honest, it irritated him to have to follow such idiotic directives when they never seemed to lead anywhere.
"Ahhh! Losing both the mail and the supply crates makes us look bad," the Master said.
"Crr. But even though the situation is precarious, crr, that doesn't mean we've lost all means of communication with the front, crr," his subordinate reassured him.
"Tsk. What's most irritating is that they dared to trample on my authority."
Who did they think they were? Everything, everything, everything… How could they—
"Master."
"Mm?!"
"Crr! There's no need to get worked up. Crr. Crr. I-if you'll permit me, I'll handle the matter myself."
"You'll deal with the heroes, hm?"
The heroes, as most people preferred to call them, were beings summoned from other worlds. Blessed with all manner of abilities, the seven of them each represented one of the primordial styles of combat. Once summoned, they were trained and given a unique weapon that amplified their power. Placed under the care of different groups, they served as the spearhead of the races.
Though, in the Master's opinion, they were nothing more than a swarm of irritating flies.
"They attacked one of the routes we used for transportation. Ahhh, we lost several crates of mail, food, and weapons."
"I'm aware of that, Master, crr."
"Tsk. More importantly, they annihilated every Fallen who volunteered as sentries for the transport convoy. Each of those sentries possessed considerable rank and power. You understand that, don't you?"
"Even so, I—"
"Stop joking around! Someone as useless as you? Do you really think you could even buy time against a single hero?"
There had been five High Bronze sentries guarding the lost cargo, each possessing the equivalent power of eighty soldiers.
There was a considerable difference between how the races and the Fallen measured power. The races used Levels, with Level 1 being the minimum and Level 100 the maximum. The Fallen, on the other hand, used an entirely different system.
Known as the Rank System, it was divided as follows:
Copper: the average soldier.
Bronze: equivalent to 10 Copper soldiers.
Silver: equivalent to 100 soldiers.
Gold: equivalent to 500 soldiers.
Mithril: equivalent to 1,000 soldiers.
Platinum: equivalent to 10,000 soldiers.
Adamantite: equivalent to 100,000 soldiers.
Each rank was further divided into three subdivisions. Bronze, for example, consisted of:
Low Bronze.
Mid Bronze.
High Bronze.
If Low Bronze was equivalent to 10–39 Copper soldiers, then Mid Bronze represented 40–69, while High Bronze represented 70–99. It could never reach 100, because at that point, the soldier would be considered Silver.
The same applied to every other rank: Low Silver, Mid Silver, High Silver, and so forth.
Although the races used a different method of measurement, it was fair to say that even a single High Bronze sentry would never be able to buy time against a hero.
"Even among the Fallen, reaching Gold rank is extraordinarily rare. The same goes for the races. Very few individuals have ever managed to cross that threshold. It's almost as though it's an unspoken law of the world. The heroes, however, are always the exception."
They consistently hovered around Mithril rank, one step above the elite of the Fallen.
So saying something like I'll deal with the heroes was the declaration of a genuine fool.
Perhaps it was the heat of the moment. Perhaps it was loyalty. Perhaps it was simply ignorance of the enemy's capabilities. Whatever the reason, the Master could not allow a valuable asset to throw its life away for nothing.
"Do you think you can win? Your rank isn't any different from that of the dead sentries, is it?"
"Crr. That's…"
"Boooooring! How exasperating, how irritating, how damn annoying! Just forget it."
"I'm sorry… crr."
"First of all, who would've thought those brats would actually discover one of our routes? Not that the amount of supplies, the quality of the weapons, or the importance of the mail was particularly significant."
The compact supply packages contained little more than two rations of dried meat, two water vegetables, and a small amount of powdered seasoning. The weapons were nothing but old metal junk intended to be stored at the destination, while the mail consisted of brief instructions regarding changes in the guard shifts.
"Crr. If anything valuable was lost, then… Mmm. It was the convoy's sentries, who were only accompanying the cargo as passengers in the first place. The damage isn't substantial, crr."
The Master nodded at his subordinate's conclusion.
"We'll close that route. It seems they committed considerable resources to the attack, but no matter how many flies you move around, the result is ultimately irrelevant."
If the heroes could see how utterly pointless their efforts had been, what expression would they be wearing now?
The thought excited him.
Then why was the Master so angry? And why had his subordinate been so insistent on revenge?
"The most irritating part isn't the damage. It's the insult."
"Crr. Indeed, Master."
"Ha! That's how the saying goes, isn't it? If they wanted to crush me, they should have given it everything they had. The heroes made a mistake. I won't be so gentle."
The harshness of the Master's words made his subordinate tremble. Dropping to his knees, the giant lowered his massive body until it nearly brushed the floor, then declared before his superior:
"Crr! As a member of the Antler Forest Unit, crr, please allow me to be of use to you this time."
The Master could see the excitement coursing through the Fallen's enormous frame, so he decided to take him at his word.
"Consider it done."
As one of the largest armies in the world, it was only natural for its duties to be distributed among numerous brigades, though the Fallen preferred to call them guilds.
Each guild was responsible for different tasks, from infantry and facilities to transportation. There were even groups dedicated exclusively to dealing with the heroes.
Likewise, those guilds were divided into smaller units.
The Delivery Logistics Guild, for example, consisted of four units:
The Inverted Forest Unit: responsible for acquiring supplies from the few available supply points.
The Mist Forest Unit: responsible for collecting weapons and mail.
The Crystal Forest Unit: responsible for transporting personnel.
The Antler Forest Unit: responsible for storing and distributing supplies, weapons, and mail.
The Master was in charge of the last of these: the Antler Forest Unit.
It was true that his group had not been organized for combat, but that did not mean he would simply let this insult pass.
Irritated, the Master spoke.
"How dare they take up my valuable time. Disgraceful. They ought to consider their own carelessness."
His anger continued to swell until the grinding of his teeth became audible.
"I want you to find out the current locations of all seven heroes."
"I don't think that will be difficult, crr. But the Hero of the Dead and the Blade Hero, crr, may take a little longer."
"It doesn't matter. Once you have all their locations, tell me."
Ahhh~ How fascinating!
"Crr! As expected of the Master. You have a plan, don't you?"
"Do you take me for a fool?"
"Of course not, crr! But…"
"Tsk. Speak!"
"Crr… I-I don't think they'll give us the opportunity. I mean…"
When the Master twisted his smile into something grotesque, the words those above the Master never left his subordinate's mouth.
It was simple. Even though he was bound to obey orders, he disliked being reminded that there were Fallen above him in authority.
To be honest, the Master thought the central command within the inner walls ought to welcome his plan with open arms.
"Just do it."
"Understood. Crr."
"Are they all idiots?"
Perhaps attempting to soothe his master's mounting anger, the subordinate spoke again.
"Master, it's almost time, crr. Are you going to feed your pet today?"
The words pulled him out of his trance.
Right. That's a good way to let go of my anger. There's no point in getting too worked up.
The Master spoke.
"Midday already? I suppose you mean the adorable creature in the great hall. I've been neglecting it terribly lately."
He rose to his feet.
"You have a point. Cursing the heroes won't accomplish anything."
The thought of petting his cute little pet excited him, even if he only had a short while to spare.
What the Master liked most about his pet was its obedience. If he told it to be quiet, it would be quiet. If he ordered it to give him its paw, it would obediently offer it.
"Far better behaved than any other beast or animal," the Master whispered as he left the disorderly room that served as their conference chamber.
There was a significant difference between a beast and an animal. But, to put it simply, a beast was a being capable of using mana.
An animal was not.
"The adorable creature… It's the calmest of the three."
The adorable creature in the great hall was not his only pet. He had two others.
One for each meal of the day: one in the morning, another at midday, and another at night.
"But they're already getting a little ripe. There's no point in keeping them around any longer."
"Crr? Master, are you thinking of sacrificing them?"
"Ahhh, it happened recently. The adorable creature in the great hall finally went mad. What would you call it? An illusion? Mmm, well, let's say it's hallucinating."
"Wouldn't it be better to try bringing it back to reality? Perhaps, I don't know, if we used some kind of drug, crr."
The Master shook his head.
"If I did that, there's a very good chance it would break completely."
"Break completely, crr?… Forgive my clumsiness, but—"
"Ahhh! How should I explain it? The pet in the great hall has created a reality of its own. If I destroy it, then it won't have anything left. At the very least, I want to wait until we acquire some new offspring from the races. An elf would be ideal, though I wouldn't complain about a dwarf."
"Doesn't it bother you when it acts like that, crr?"
"I dislike how noisy it's becoming. But I let it do whatever it wants. It's my way of saying goodbye. Or you could think of it as a reward for being so obedient. It's also an apology for neglecting it for so many days."
He paused.
"Hm? Wait a moment… Am I not being excessively charitable?!"
"Crr! As expected of the Master. So kind."
"Ha! Stating the obvious isn't a compliment."
"In any case, crr, I hope you find a new toy soon, crr."
"Although this time, I don't want humans. They're either too weak or they enjoy trying to escape, aren't they, little girl?"
For a brief instant, an image appeared in his mind: a girl with cream-colored hair and a cold gaze illuminated by the faintest glimmer of anger.
"Tsk. I hate it when they try to escape."
Even so, the prospect of a new toy eclipsed everything else.
Once he had one, he wanted to embrace it, caress it, scold it, hurt it, torture it, consume it—everything, until he had reduced it to nothing.
Fascinated, ecstatic, excited? What would be the best way to describe my mood? the Master wondered.
The thought was so pleasurable.
To mix the beauty of the races' young with their exhausted faces was, without a doubt, an art.
And the pain—the pain that ultimately sweetened their bodies—was what brought him to the climax.
Contented. Yes. That's the right way to describe this warmth in my chest.
With his spirits restored, he stepped through the door toward the great hall.