Farming must be stopped.
This abandoned land is a cursed, desolate wasteland.
There's no way something like farming could succeed in a place like this.
That sort of thing is for humans.
It doesn't suit us, the demons.
Therefore—
Everything must be thoroughly destroyed.
And all the demons of this land must die, fall into ruin like us, lose the blessing of reincarnation, and become wandering ghosts doomed to endlessly roam the surface world.
Only then, will I be a little less unlucky.
That's why farming must fail.
Without fail!
Fikamir, aide of the 1st Star Master of the Demon King's army, looked around with a firm gaze.
A vast expanse of land, prepared to be used as a potato field.
And on one side, an enormous pile of compost.
The stench was enough to make his nose sting.
"...."
For a moment, Fikamir wondered.
I've already died long ago.
So I'm in a state where I've lost my body.
Naturally, I don't have a nose either.
Then why… Why am I suffering because of this foul smell?
"Um, General? Isn't this a bit… strange?"
Just as Fikamir was about to be slightly perplexed by the fact that he was smelling something, unexpectedly, one of his subordinates spoke up cautiously.
"I know this might sound strange, but… it seems like there's a smell."
"......."
Fikamir flinched.
And silently looked at the subordinate.
With a gaze that said, You too?
The subordinate, who had followed him for a long time, understood the meaning behind that gaze.
"Could it be that… you're experiencing it as well, General?"
"...Mm. Yes. Surprising and absurd as it is."
"To be honest, it's horrible."
"Indeed. It feels like my non-existent nose is about to fall off."
"It's like the smell is clinging to my whole body."
"That's right, General. This is serious. We can't even bathe, can we?"
"What if we go back smelling like this and get ostracized?"
"...Tsk!"
Fikamir frowned, casting a fierce glare.
His flinching subordinates shut their mouths.
Fikamir spoke.
"I know what you're all trying to say. It's horrible. It's wretched. I've never smelled something so vile—neither in life nor in death."
It was an honest truth.
He looked at the source of the stench, the compost pile, with the corners of his eyes twitching from disgust.
"....But we have a duty."
Fikamir's voice took on a solemn tone.
"Our Lord has commanded it. That the farming attempted by Demon King Credos on this land must be thwarted. That everything he has built for farming must be destroyed."
"......."
"But look at you now. Have you forgotten your noble mission just because of this stench? Is that all your so-called loyalty and pride amount to? No. We must not let that happen. We must… Wait a second—Ueekk…"
"......"
"Urgh, damn this smell… Uweeeeek…"
"........"
"...Kuh… ptoo! Ahem! Anyway, from this moment, we carry out the command from our Lord. No more whining."
"Understood, General. What should we start with?"
"That vile compost heap."
Barely managing to suppress his gag reflex, Fikamir pointed at the compost.
"Judging from this overwhelming stench, that compost must possess deadly toxicity."
"Then what… what on earth was it made for?"
"Most likely, it's a weapon. A trap designed to repel those who approach with impure intentions, aiming for the crops."
"...Indeed!"
"You speak wisely, General."
Fikamir's subordinates were in awe.
Come to think of it, it really did sound plausible.
A heap with such a tremendous, vile stench. It was impossible to imagine any other use besides repelling enemies.
Though, among them, one subordinate dared to offer a… different theory.
"...Um, General? What if, hear me out, the compost was actually made… to be spread on the field?"
"What?"
"I just had this sudden thought. What if the various nutrients in the compost are used as nourishment for the plants to grow…"
"......"
"S-Sorry. That was a pointless comment…"
"...Wahahah! Pointless and ridiculous it may be, but that was an amusing thought."
"R-Really…?"
"Indeed. Quite the imaginative notion. You might have a future as a storyteller."
"Thank you, General."
"It's fine. Don't blame yourself. Plants that grow by absorbing such horrific stuff… It's the kind of tale that belongs in hell, but a fresh idea nonetheless."
"........"
"But now it's time to get to work. Let's deal with the compost first."
"How should we handle it?"
"Spread it over every inch of the field."
A chilling venom laced Fikamir's voice.
He gave the order with a tone as merciless as it was thorough.
"Picture it—the secret weapon he created to repel intruders, now being spread all over the very field he cultivated. Imagine the fury and despair Credos would feel."
"It would be tremendous."
"Wouldn't it? Carry it out."
"Yes, sir!"
A total of 300 ghosts of special assault force swarmed the compost heap. Each one summoned the mana of the dead and exerted physical force. They grabbed armfuls of the compost, clutching it tightly.
And of course, the wave of gagging sounds that erupted was an inevitable side effect.
"......U-uweeemaaack—"
"Guweeeek…"
"Oogh, oooooogh, ooooongoooogh…"
"Krrrhhhh… BWAAAAAGHH—!"
But they all endured.
For the mission entrusted to them by their Lord.
For the hopeful future of the 1st Star Legion.
They held back the violent nausea that surged within.
Fikamir shouted valiantly,
"Spread it! As evenly as possible! Wide! Without mercy, thoroughly!"
"...!"
Everyone responded in silence.
And moved.
Overflowing malice!
Burning hostility!
Exploding Hatred!
Carrying every imaginable savage emotion, the compost, aged and pungent like the soybean paste at Grandma's house in autumn, was forcefully scattered across the vast land. Occasionally, someone who couldn't hold back their gag reflex actually vomited for real—an added bonus.
"Everyone, endure…! It's not over yet!"
After a series of trials (?), once the compost had been completely spread, Fikamir shook off his utterly ruined body and gave the next command.
"Now it's the field. Destroy the field itself."
"Just the compost… wasn't enough?"
"Of course not!"
A ghostly blue flame flared in Fikamir's eyes.
"Do you think we're done just by spreading this vile compost on the field? No. That won't do. All we did was scatter compost across the surface! Think carefully. What if Credos simply scrapes away the topsoil mixed with compost and gets rid of it… wouldn't all our blood, sweat, and effort go to waste?"
"…Ohh, indeed."
"A truly farsighted vision, befitting the General."
Everyone was once again in awe of Fikamir's words.
His logic was, as always, sound.
The compost, surely made as a weapon to repel intruders—was it really enough to just scatter it on the field? Would that alone ruin it?
No.
If it's just on the surface, it can be scraped away.
"Which is why we… now tear the field apart!"
"So the vile compost becomes thoroughly embedded deep within the soil?"
"Exactly. That's it. Once that happens, not even Credos could salvage this land. He'll be forced to give it up. Farming would suffer a serious setback as well."
A field soaked in vile compost.
Soil corrupted deep beneath the surface.
How could anyone build success on land like this?
Fikamir was thoroughly pleased with his own scheme.
And gave the order.
"Move, all of you. There's no time. Dig up the earth, overturn it. Leave not a single inch untouched. Thoroughly!"
"We heed your command!"
Morale surged high.
They were already bodies sacrificed to the compost.
There was nothing left to hold back now.
The 300 ghosts of the special assault force all moved at once.
They slipped into the ground.
Then, they circulated mana through their entire bodies. With sudden bursts of physical strength, they began to spin themselves. And as they moved, they plowed through the field.
…KWAKWAKWAKWAKWAK!
The soil, from the surface down to about a meter deep, was churned up like a blender—living, no, undead drills!
Of course, it wasn't easy.
"…H-Haaah, haah!"
"T-Too hard! I can't… go on, General!"
"Endure. Hold out. Remember our noble mission!"
"...Uwooooooooh!"
The 300 ghosts reignited their will. They wrung out the last of their stamina and mana. They burrowed through the soil, circulated their mana, spun their bodies, and pushed forward.
Faster.
Stronger.
Fiercer!
Everyone's mana is rapidly depleted.
But no one stopped.
For their noble mission.
For the future of the legion.
They used up every last drop of mana.
And then, began their heroic ascent.
"...G-General… this is… my limit…"
"I… I'm finished as well…"
"To have served you, General… was an honor…"
…Sparkle.
Like mayflies burning their lives in a single day.
Like the final flicker of a dying candle.
The ghosts of the special assault force vanished one by one like smoke. They rose into the sky. They had been overworked past their limits, forced to ascend.
Fikamir watched, taking in the noble sight of his loyal subordinates departing. A single tear welled in his eye. A man's tear was tribute enough for those who fulfilled their mission and departed!
"......."
Finally alone after sending off all his subordinates, Fikamir turned his head.
The faintly brightening eastern sky.
Beneath it, the vast field churned into chaos. And from every inch, the deep stench of compost wafted relentlessly.
"......"
My loyal subordinates.
No—true heroes.
Your sacrifice was not in vain.
Though I shamelessly survived, from this moment on, I will watch with my own eyes the result of our mission, and pass it on to all future specters.
The brilliance of the tower of achievement built upon your sacrifice. The grand result it yielded. I will witness it clearly with my own eyes, report to our Lord, and raise your names to the highest!
...Ssssslip.
Feeling both sorrow and pride for his fallen comrades, Fikamir slipped into the shade of a boulder and hid.
And waited.
For the morning to brighten further. For Demon King Credos to arrive here. To see his devastated field and cry out in sorrowful rage.
He waited with hope.
With fervent longing.
Thanks to that, he didn't have to wait long for the moment he had hoped for.
Though it came in a form he never could have imagined.
And from a completely unguarded rear.
Grab!
Something—an enormous hand, with monstrous strength—snatched Fikamir's nape with a crushing grip.
Fikamir's eyes widened in utter shock.
It was then.
"Well, well, what do we have here? A snail hiding out?"
"......!"
A face slid up beside his—close enough to brush. A filthy expression that would make you cry for your mom even in a dream. And to top it off, a deadly sideways glare shot straight at him!
'Demon King… Cre…dos…?'
It was unmistakable.
And the moment he realized it—
…Chill!
Goosebumps began to twerk mercilessly across Fikamir's shoulders.