Chapter 1: Heir to the Throne

The night was blue.

An awfully cold wind whistled across the wasteland, grating in her ears. In all likelihood, it was the moon’s fault. The gleaming moon, so radiant that the stars paled in comparison, cast an almost blindingly bright light onto the ground below. That light did not discriminate—it was fair and equal in its uncaring mercilessness.

It’s a big lie when they say the night is black.

The girl let out a secret sigh as she gazed upon this scene from the window. She was sitting in bed, hugging her knees against the bitter, freezing cold. Relieved by the meager heat her own life produced, she expelled another faint sigh.

She was here. That was an indisputable fact. But at the same time, the knowledge that she was the only one here assaulted her.

She felt uneasy—yes, uneasy. She was scared of everything.

Of tomorrow. Of what was to come. Of the future. Of the past.

But even if she voiced that uncertainty, no one would come to help her. She had no choice but to face things alone, to handle them herself.

The night is blue, not black.

Then...what about the dungeon? What color was its darkness?

Scale, the city with no night, stood far off in the distance. It would provide her with no answer.

Nor, of course, would the moon.

§

That day, Scale’s morning began not with the ringing of temple bells but with the sounding of a great many trumpets.

People crowded into the Temple of Cant, which wasn’t a common occurrence. Of course, many came and went from the temple every day. Its massive doors had hardly ever closed. Most visitors were adventurers, there either to treat their companions’ wounds or to request a resurrection. It was rare for the common folk to go there to pray—and even rarer for adventurers to go grieve at a lost comrade’s grave.

And yet on that day, throngs of people pressed into the temple, forming orderly lines. Not even the god Kadorto, who loomed over them, had ever claimed so many believers in this land.

That said, were all the temple-goers happy to be there? Hardly.

The officers of the Royal Guard stood in lines, flanked by groups of adventurers. As curious onlookers watched, the adventurers fidgeted awkwardly, glancing at one another. These were the familiar faces of those who stood at the forefront of exploring Scale’s dungeon. Even if the adventurers had not spoken directly to one another, everyone had heard a rumor or two about everyone else. And of course, they knew one another’s faces too.

“It’s almost like we’re here to be awarded a chevron of rank or something,” Sezmar of the All-Stars quipped, cackling at his own joke.

The man, always in good humor, was a constant source of exasperation for Sarah, who stood next to him. Though admittedly, when she had seen the handsome Sezmar in his finest clothes that morning—looking like a knight out of a painting—she’d finally started to reevaluate her opinion of him.

I guess if he’s still the same guy on the inside, how he looks on the outside ultimately doesn’t change anything...

“Now’s not the time to be so relaxed...” Sarah chided him.

“You can’t blame me,” Sezmar replied. “They called us here, so we couldn’t exactly opt out.”

“Well, yeah, that’s true, but still.”

For her part, Sarah had pulled out the robes of her sect, which worshipped the Goddess of the Land. Though she was wearing them for the first time in a while, they still fit her body without issue thanks to the elven blood flowing through her veins.

Alongside Sezmar and Sarah, High Priest Tuck was wearing a military uniform from some era long past, and Moradin had also donned unexpectedly sharp attire. The only ones wearing their usual garb were Prospero and— No, wait, had Prospero always owned such a fine robe? Then, actually, the sole All-Star who had dressed the same as usual was Hawkwind, and even he didn’t look so bad.

Honestly, he looks like he’s used to this kind of thing. He acted almost like he’d been to such a ceremony before.

In contrast, there stood that “son of a shoemaker,” Schumacher. He just waited there silently, looking out of place in ordinary clothes. Though he’d done what he could to tidy up his appearance, he owned no formal attire. As for the rhea girl who was jabbing him in the thigh teasingly with her elbow, well, she wasn’t much different. And this was to say nothing of the other members of Schumacher’s group: the red-and-blue twins, the black suit of armor, and the ranger girl...

Besides those two parties, other adventurers were present as well.

There was Elsarion of the Gale, an elven swordswoman whose face was so beautiful that rumors spoke of her possibly being a princess from another land. Elsarion’s followers were all beautiful women as well, though that only served to make the princess stand out all the more. Her elven mithril chain mail, which did nothing to hide her figure, was the same armor she wore in the dungeon. Yet there was such an elegant confidence in her bearing that it put even the Royal Guard to shame.

Pretty people have got it so good... Sarah thought, twitching her long ears—as if she weren’t benefiting from her looks in the same way.

Next, Sarah lowered her line of sight and saw some dwarves who resembled mountain bandits. This was Mugar’s party, and in line with tradition, it was entirely made up of dwarves from his clan. That was certainly one way to choose companions, but... Well, they had survived and even made a name for themselves as first-rate adventurers. Their skill was not to be questioned—they were old hands, as High Priest Tuck might have called them.

Ironheart Sabata, Britomart the Silver Spear, the sage Rodahl who “walks the empty plain,” Aria of the Stars and Frost... The denizens of Scale would invent these epithets for high-level adventurers to amuse themselves, then tell tales of their feats. Sarah had heard a rumor or two about each of these adventurers, just as she knew the irresponsible gossip that circulated about her own group...

They came from a myriad of places, races, and occupations—their equipment, ages, genders, and alignments varied wildly. But the adventurers gathered at the Temple of Cant all had one thing in common: Most couldn’t have cared less about being there, and their lack of interest was readily apparent on their faces. Sarah, of course, was one of them.

None of them had business at the temple, so for what reason were they summoned?

“His Highness the Crown Prince will soon arrive. You must all stand at attention and pay due respect!”

That was the reason.

Sarah sighed. She stood up just straight enough to comply and put on a vaguely serious look.

I don’t see why he’s bothering after all this time...

Some prince from the Royal House of Llylgamyn had come to offer words of encouragement to the adventurers. But they’d been ordered to come to the temple. Of course they were going to have a somewhat cold reaction.

Okay, sure, the town of Scale was inside the kingdom of Llylgamyn. But that didn’t mean even a single adventurer in town obeyed the crown. They hadn’t exactly come here to adventure for the sake of the royal house. Fame, fortune, honor, deeds of arms, exploration—whatever it was they’d come here for, they were challenging the dungeon for their own reasons.

What difference was it going to make to them if some prince trotted out to offer words of praise?

Adventurers didn’t like others telling them what to do...

“This guy thinks he’s so important... What would someone who’s never set foot in the dungeon even know about it?”

“They say the crown prince is pretty good with a sword.”

“By inland standards. That won’t get him anywhere—not even against a kobold or an orc.”

“I wish he’d take a page out of Prince Alavik’s book...”

It was perhaps a bit cruel to expect him to measure up to that legendary prince who had challenged the dungeon on a quest to strike down the demon Davalpus.

Sarah perked up her long ears, focusing on what other conversations she could overhear.

“Honestly, getting called in by a royal is just ominous...”

Despite their misgivings, the whispering adventurers had gathered because this was the Temple of Cant. They might’ve had no respect for the royal house, but if a call came from the temple, that changed things. After all, offending the temple, and by extension Kadorto, was quite literally a matter of life and death for them. It was only with the blessing of Kadorto, ruler over the circle of transmigration, that they were allowed to return from the abyss of death to the world of the living. So if, for any reason, they were to be excommunicated by the Temple of Cant... The thought alone was horrifying enough.

Ainikki, the one who had gone to the trouble of summoning them in the name of the temple, was all smiles. She held her beautiful, lily-white hands in front of her, level with her hips. They rested one on top of the other, as if she were showing them off. The pose was almost like that of a saint.

Sarah’s friend, a ring sparkling on her finger, was in awfully high spirits of late, but...

She’s really screwed us over here.

Even as Sarah was pondering such idle thoughts, there was another peal of trumpets, and the doors to the hall of worship were pushed open. Knights of the Royal Guard, clad in flashy armor accented with gold and silver, appeared from behind the doors, but it was not those dignified knights who truly caught the crowd’s attention. No, their focus was captured by the beautiful boy the knights were protecting. He strode forward in a stately manner, and it would be appropriate to say that he looked like he’d walked straight out of some young maiden’s dream.

The prince had a slim, lithe body, and he wore a tight-fitting silken tunic. His waist, upon which a gem-encrusted belt hung, was so slender that it provoked envy in the eyes of women. From the waist down he wore culottes—for horseback riding—along with a pair of boots, leaving the lines of his body readily apparent. But with his bold steps, reminiscent of a horse, along with the flapping of the cape that hung from his shoulders...

He’d make a pretty picture.

What most caught Sarah’s attention were the boy’s facial features. Under his silver crown was a head of fiery red hair. Pale, white skin. And two blue eyes, like bottomless pools.

“They look alike...” Sarah murmured without meaning to.

“I bet,” Sezmar replied with a laugh.

The boy strode over to the golden throne that had been placed at the feet of the statue of Kadorto. He sat down as though it were perfectly natural for him to do so.

“I am Festin, crown prince of Llylgamyn. All of you have truly done well exploring the dungeon day in and day out!”

His voice was a little too sharp and threatening—as though it might cut those listening—to be described as gallant. As he looked down, both literally and figuratively, on those who stood lined up at the bottom of the dais, it was clear he possessed a gravitas that belied his young age. He was fourteen, maybe fifteen...? From the moment of his birth, the prince had surely been raised to act this way.

But while that glint in his eyes, like that of a wild beast, was the same...

He’s not cute the way she is.

Sarah didn’t say that out loud. She wasn’t one to bring trouble on herself. And regardless of what the other adventurers were thinking, they made a show of bowing their heads too.

Crown Prince Festin nodded with satisfaction. He then signaled to one of his attendants with his eyes. That retainer reverently unfurled a scroll made of parchment and began reading off the names of adventurers like it was an inventory list.

The first to be called was Schumacher.

The shoemaker’s son looked around awkwardly before stepping forward—he lacked any real semblance of confidence that he’d been the one called.

Crown Prince Festin peered at him, gave a slight snort, and then nodded. “They say you were the first to fight the red dragon. Well done.”

“Um, uhhh, thank you...for your...kind...words?”

The prince sounded like he was just reciting words off of a script, and Schumacher responded more or less in kind. But if one of the two had put more feeling into their acting, it was probably the latter.

The burrow-dweller girl was smirking at how tense Schumacher was. Rahm-and-Sahm and Coretas were as inscrutable as ever. And as for Shadowwind, she seemed overcome with emotion for some reason.

It was plain to see that these “words of encouragement” would not do them any good in their future adventures. The adventurers who were called up to the dais one after another, and even the crown prince who was speaking those words himself—everyone understood this. This was all an act, carried out for the benefit of someone somewhere.

Being the one in power is tough too, huh?

Not that that made Sarah any more inclined to play along out of sympathy.

“Could you try to look a little more interested?”

Sarah glanced to the side. The whisper had come from Prospero, who had his hood pulled back.

I see even you had the sense to take your hood off here, she retorted with just the look in her eyes.

Prospero, however, seemed unfazed. “He’s a handsome prince,” he shot back. “If you can catch his attention, you could be made the saint of a nation.”

Sarah gave Prospero a good hard kick in the shin, then struck the snickering Moradin with her heel. Thank goodness rheas were so kickable. And they didn’t stand out when they jumped up and down in pain.

“Next, Lord Sezmar of the All-Stars!”

“Yessir!”

Sezmar stepped forward confidently. Apparently, that actually was his real name.

But did he do anything worthy of praise?

“You are always leading the way in the exploration of the dungeon and have even set foot on a new floor. That is a truly commendable accomplishment.”

When did we do that...? Sarah wondered for a moment before it came back to her. Oh, right. Finding him down there was so much more impactful that I forgot all about it...

It felt like that had been a while ago, yet also like no time had passed at all. How much time flowed by while they were in the dungeon? No one could say for certain. In Scale, people couldn’t help but feel like time was a nebulous concept. If you went and stayed in the royal suite by accident, a whole week could go by without you even noticing it. Well, that was just a joke—anyone staying in the royal suite already had more money than they needed.

So what about him...?

“Next, Iarumas of the Black Rod! Step forward!”

The crown prince had loudly called the name of the adventurer she’d been thinking of.

But there was no response.

The adventurers in the hall of worship began looking around, half to kill time and half out of exasperation.

He really wasn’t there.

“Iarumas of the Black Rod!” the retainer repeated. “You have been called to step forward!”

“Is this Iarumas not here?” Crown Prince Festin asked irritably, tapping his finger on his knee.

“He is indeed absent,” whispered Ainikki, who was standing behind the prince. She still had a smile on her face for some reason. “His party has been away exploring for several days now.”

“You told him in advance that I would be coming, didn’t you?!” The crown prince couldn’t help but rise from his seat.

Ainikki’s expression was thoroughly amused. “You see, he left before I could tell him...”

The temple grew noisy, the prince’s retainers panicked, the priests ran around, and the adventurers shrugged.

In the middle of all the ruckus, Hawkwind stifled a laugh and murmured, “Nice work...”

§

“I-Is it going to be okay...?” Berkanan whispered timidly, her voice echoing in the darkness of the gloomy burial chamber.

Instead of a response, she heard only the squelching sound of wet boots. Iarumas was standing in a sticky puddle of blood, amid the scattered remains of a pile of monsters. After a few moments, he said, “I’ll tell you what happens when you go to a parade ceremony: They take all of your things and also all the credit for whatever you did.”

But that didn’t mean they had to stay underground, roaming around forever... This wasn’t the first time Iarumas had said something that made no sense. Berkanan had long since given up on understanding him. That was probably just how high-level mages like him were.

The ones in all the old stories were that way... And grandmother was always saying things I didn’t understand too.

They were having this exchange on the fourth underground level of the dungeon. The group had charged into a chamber and vanquished the monsters that had been lurking there. The fight had gone the same as any other, with Berkanan desperately swinging around her Dragon Slayer, and now that it was over, she had time to catch her breath. Since the battle hadn’t worn her down much at all, it was fair to say that they’d made short work of the monsters. However, she didn’t have any awareness of that fact herself. She was still timidly looking around from under her wide-brimmed hat.

Iarumas likely hadn’t noticed her behavior, but he shrugged his shoulders anyway and added, “I don’t want Regnar getting ahead of me.”

“Regnar...”

If Berkanan recalled correctly, that was the name of the girl in Rahm-and-Sahm and Shadowwind’s party. She was a tiny rhea with white hair who used a thin sword. Hers was a distinctive look. Though Berkanan didn’t know anything about the class—strider—that the girl identified herself as belonging to.

I guess not all rheas are simple, easygoing folk...

Both Orlaya and Regnar were far from what their race’s reputation would have led her to expect. The same went for Rahm-and-Sahm, those red-and-blue twins. She’d never known that gnomes were that kind of race. There were a lot of varying accounts—one horn, two horns, that they were like goats or sheep, that they were short or tall...

As for Coretas, the adventurer clad entirely in black armor, Berkanan still didn’t know much about them. Then there was Shadowwind. Berkanan was convinced that she and Shadowwind could get along...and she hoped that they would.

Knowing all of this, Berkanan had trouble believing that any of these girls were “evil.” However, Schumacher and his party’s policy of killing whatever got in their way and pushing onward was commonly considered an “evil” alignment. They didn’t hesitate to sacrifice their companions and would even cut down demoralized, fleeing enemies. It was all about maximizing efficiency and results. Naturally, this was “evil” in the common parlance of Scale, not in the more proper sense of good and evil.

So they’re not bad people.

Berkanan looked down at her big sandals and fidgeted her toes.

“Is Regnar...-san an...acquaintance...of yours?” she asked.

“Who can say?” Iarumas responded.

“Oh, I see,” Berkanan murmured weakly.

Up ahead, Raraja and Orlaya were fixated on a treasure chest. They both looked serious and were arguing back and forth in hushed tones. Orlaya’s fist shone faintly with a green light, which dripped down from her hand into the chest.

“CALFO said it was a crossbow trap, you know?” Orlaya said.

“Yeah, well, you can’t fully trust that spell... Looks like a poison needle to me,” Raraja countered.

“Your guess isn’t any more of a guarantee...”

“I don’t wanna think that both of us are wrong...”

The two of them were sitting shoulder to shoulder. Berkanan frowned a little at that. She shook her head to dispel the haze filling her heart.

Well, it’s fine.

Yeah, that was right. It was good that the two of them were getting along. Nothing for her to frown over. Or...it shouldn’t have been.

There was enough going on down here that she didn’t have the emotional leeway left to worry about the king—or was he a prince?—up on the surface. The two in front of the chest didn’t either. Nor did Iarumas. They were all only thinking about themselves...

Right?

“Woof!”

When Berkanan looked over, Garbage, who was practically clinging to the wall, let out a low growl. The redheaded girl was keeping her distance from the chest for some reason. She glared at it through narrowed eyelids. This was a habit she had picked up recently—after their last trip to the fourth level.

Berkanan chuckled as she realized why Garbage was behaving that way. Instantly, the girl snapped at her.

“Bow!”

“N-N-No... I wasn’t making fun of you.”

“Grrrr...”

“I’m just...as scared...as you are...”

“Yap! Yap!”

Garbage’s barks practically demanded that Berkanan not lump the two of them together. Berkanan hurriedly waved her hands in an attempt to calm the girl, but...

It’s true that if we don’t stay focused on what’s in front of us, we’ll die...

She believed they’d grown stronger. However, this wouldn’t be the dungeon if possessing strength was enough to put her at ease.

“Nice! Got it open!” cheered Raraja.

“And the trap was a stunner... You’re kidding, right?” Orlaya said in disbelief.

“Man, I’m glad I made that call...”

As Orlaya scowled, Raraja wiped his brow and then laid his hands on the chest’s lid.

“Arf!!!”

Suddenly, Garbage took off with a bark. Without hesitation, she poked the chest with her devil-slaying sword, and then, seeing that there were no problems—

“Yap!”

—she kicked it as hard as she could. The lid fell open with a loud clunk.

“Woof!”

“Why, you...!” Raraja shouted. “Here I thought you’d settled down a little, and now this is how you’re gonna act?!”

Garbage didn’t seem to care. She planted her foot on the chest and snorted.

Orlaya’s eyes had gone wide, and she’d let out a momentary “Eek!” when Garbage had first charged in, but she quickly assumed a look of exasperation.

“Well, let’s see what’s inside.”

Iarumas began walking over, his equipment clanking heavily as he moved. Berkanan hurried to follow him with big, lumbering steps. Although, to her perception, they were small and quick.

Basically, their days of adventure were proceeding without a hitch.

§

Despite what Iarumas had said about not wanting to fall behind, the party wasn’t rushing, nor were they being lazy in their exploration. He preferred to proceed through the dungeon at a steady pace, throwing the Creeping Coin, reeling it in, and meticulously filling in the map.

“So can’t we just take the elevator all the way to the bottom?” Orlaya had once complained.

She must’ve gotten sick of repeatedly passing through the Monster Allocation Center in order to ride the elevator. Instead of disembarking at every floor to gradually explore the dungeon, couldn’t they just take the elevator all the way down?

Her tone had been thoroughly bored, and Iarumas had met it with a shrug.

“If you want to, I suppose.”

“But...there’s a reason we don’t, right?”

“Of course,” he’d replied with a smile. “If we get wiped out down there, no one would come collect the bodies.”

This was a worry that frontline adventurers—Orlaya could scarcely believe she was one of those—always had to cope with. It was an all-too-obvious fact within the dungeon: If their party was annihilated, their corpses would remain on the front line. Only groups with the prowess to reach the front line would be able to retrieve them. And since a corpse took up one of the slots in a party, retrieval teams were further limited to those who could afford to leave space open while venturing into the depths.

This was the reason adventurers formed clans—organizations made up of multiple parties, including powerhouse groups and support teams.

Goerz’s clan—as much as Orlaya didn’t want to remember it—had been a good example of that. They had gathered so many adventurers, all for the purpose of supporting Goerz.

But in Scale right now, all of the frontline adventurers were in individual parties, not clans. At least, this was true of all the front-liners Orlaya had direct knowledge of: her own team, the All-Stars, and that son of a shoemaker’s group...

All other famous adventuring parties in Scale operated as six-man teams.

Well, it’s a pain, after all...

To manage other people, she meant. Orlaya scowled as she recalled the troubles she’d faced during her last exploration. It was already bad enough dealing with six people, and a second party would raise that to twelve, a third to eighteen, and then a fourth, and a fifth...

She didn’t even want to think about it—especially when all groups in a clan needed to keep up so that they were only slightly inferior to the strongest party. Time was an infinite resource inside of the dungeon, but that wasn’t the case outside. It was a pain in the butt to keep all parties growing evenly in skill.

If a group wanted to push forward into the dungeon, a single, tight-knit team of six people was enough. They would have enough equipment and experience to go around.

But...what if they were wiped out?

That was, in all likelihood, a worry that Schumacher’s team and the All-Stars dealt with too.

It was what made this a competition.

Thinking about it that way, Orlaya should’ve almost been grateful that no one knew what awaited them in the abyss. Though they were all in a hurry to go farther, deeper, caution dictated that they all move at around the same pace.

“Well, it’s always possible to get picked up much later,” Iarumas reasoned. “Even if you’re left there for a decade or two, eventually someone might come along and retrieve you.”

Orlaya looked even more disheartened by that—as did Berkanan and Raraja. Garbage was the only one who didn’t. That doglike girl was the same as ever.

“Yap! Yap!”

A bundle of energy, she took point as the party progressed down the dungeon corridor. Occasionally, Iarumas or Raraja would pull her back, but there was no stopping her momentum. The only thing that could make her hesitate now was a treasure chest, and who even knew how long that aversion would last.

“Woof!”

Having found the next chamber, Garbage started barking to let them know where it was. Iarumas seized her by the cloak, ignoring her protests, and stopped outside the thick door. Following his example, the others also came to a halt.

“Do we charge in?” asked Raraja.

“Why not? We can still afford to keep going today,” Iarumas replied.

They had uncast spells, and their concentration (hit points) hadn’t been ground down significantly. There was room in their inventory. And they weren’t hauling any corpses. It was fair to say that they were in almost perfect shape—a nearly ideal scenario.

“What’s our marching order?” Orlaya inquired sharply, hand on her hip.

“A-Am I...in the front...again?” Berkanan asked, her tone hesitant.

Although bishops were not as good in the front row as pure priests, they could certainly fight in that position. Berkanan wouldn’t have felt right hiding behind the tiny rhea girl, though. Still, the fact that their party had expanded to five members was giving Berkanan a little more breathing room.

It wasn’t easy to talk in whispers with Raraja, Garbage, or Iarumas.

“Well, we’ll do the usual,” Iarumas said.

“Righty-o...” Raraja replied, drawing his dagger. He gripped the hilt, letting it settle into his hand.

Basically, this meant that their front line would be Raraja, Berkanan, and Garbage. Raraja and Berkanan would hold off the enemies’ attacks while Garbage rampaged. In the time since this group had come together, their tactics hadn’t changed all that much, but...

It’s sure gotten easier, thought Raraja.

“Arf!”

“I didn’t say nothin’.”

Unquestionably, one reason for their success was the sword in the hands of the girl who was unhappily being held by the scruff of her neck—this was Hrathnir, the demon-killing sword of the legendary diamond knight.

Honestly, Raraja didn’t put much faith in Hrathnir. It wasn’t that he doubted it—no, it was just that the legend itself wasn’t much help during their adventures. The one thing he’d accepted was that the sword was incredibly sharp, and Garbage, the leftover monster snack, seemed pretty happy swinging it around.

“I’m good whenever you are,” said Raraja.

“Oh, m-me too...!” Berkanan added.

Rushing to follow suit, Berkanan belatedly pulled out her Dragon Slayer and got into a fighting stance. Her sword usually served in place of a staff. Its blade hadn’t shone in a long while, and this time, it seemed it was no more enthusiastic. That meant no dragons lay beyond the door.

It’s surprisingly convenient... thought Orlaya, glancing at the Dragon Slayer with her sole remaining eye. How many dragons could there be in this dungeon? Not many, she reckoned. But regardless, knowing for a fact that there weren’t any in the burial chamber narrowed down their list of potential enemies by one.

Well, not that it matters... Orlaya thought before murmuring the spell of sleep, KATINO, repeatedly in her head.

KALKI, the blessing spell that could protect her companions, belonged to the same spell level as DIOS, the miracle that could heal them. MATU, which was like a double-strength KALKI, was a second-level spell like CALFO or MONTINO. (Rest in pieces, Goerz!)

Because both overlapped with other important spells, she couldn’t use up those slots easily. That made KATINO convenient. No other first-level mage spell was all that important, so she could use KATINO unreservedly. That was why it was so highly valued in the dungeon. The same went for DILTO and SOPIC, which were second-level mage spells.

The test of a spellcaster’s quality was how they used their limited spell slots.

Thinking of it that way...

I get why this guy uses DILTO so often.

Orlaya glanced at the black-clad Iarumas, who was standing beside her in the back row. This inscrutable mage, or fighter, or whatever class he was supposed to be, was undoubtedly a superb spellcaster. It wasn’t just a matter of ability (level). Orlaya had the vague sense that he’d been through so much more than the rest of them.

In the dungeon, not even a high degree of ability was sufficient to ensure survival. If she didn’t want to die in the depths, then she needed to squeeze whatever small insights she could out of this guy’s knowledge and experience.

“There’s no problem on my end either,” Orlaya murmured snippily. She held at the ready her meager equipment, just a mace and small shield. “Ready when you are.”

“Okay,” said Iarumas. He released his grip on Garbage.

“Awoooooo!!!”

The girl bounded forward, kicking down the door and rushing inside. It was a tense moment—one even Iarumas felt. And he enjoyed that.

They saw no monsters in the thin gloom that consumed the burial chamber—but the room wasn’t empty. The adventurers sensed a bizarre presence standing upright in the darkness.

It then appeared before them.

At first, it just looked like a pale blue light. Light that appeared human in form...

“Kafaref tai nuunzanme (Stop, O soul, thy name is sleep)!!!”

Acting before the enemy could, Orlaya’s sharp but charming voice cut through the chamber. A thin, white mist spread out, engulfing the room in a magical and supernatural miasma, ensnaring enemies and robbing them of their consciousness.

But, no, the figure of light seemed to grow in intensity, as if dispelling the thin mist.

KATINO doesn’t work!

Orlaya clicked her tongue, a gesture rude and unbefitting of her appearance. Iarumas was no doubt smirking behind her. He’d talked about this while giving her a lesson.

Some demonic beings deflected spells. But spells cast on yourself always worked.

She should have gone with KALKI. Or DILTO. Because if she had cast darkness over the area, their enemies couldn’t have resisted.

She’d fallen one move behind. Anger, urgency, confusion, regret. Wasted time. It was vexing.

But more than anything, she should have been able to tell by this presence—by the stench alone. At the time, she had been impaled by thorns of flesh, her head full of haze. But even so, she had interacted with such creatures with sickening frequency, had she not?

Thanks to that, she could see what it truly was...

“A demon...!”

“Awoooo!!!”

Hrathnir began to hum.

Garbage wound back her petite, delicate body and then unleashed her power into the chamber like a whirlwind. As she swung her sword, around which a vacuum blade was wrapped, the light let out a voiceless shriek and backed away. It was something like a gas cloud—a bewitching presence trying to envelop Garbage.

“Nuh-uh...!”

Raraja jumped in between the two and parried with his dagger.

Disgusting...!

A warm, moist feeling, like someone running their tongue over his flesh, snaked up his arm. The horrifying thing was that he liked the way it made his spine tingle. When he’d deflected the blow with his dagger, he’d felt something soft, bouncy, almost like...

“Wh-Whaa?! A-A woman...?!”

Yes, it was the flesh of a woman.

Berkanan, who was flailing her sword around and screaming, stopped for a moment. Her eyes widened—a woman. Even Raraja, who had never touched a naked woman (with the exception of corpses!), instinctively knew what it was.

In the darkness of the dungeon, there lurked a woman more beautiful than any he’d ever seen.

The most attractive woman Raraja had ever known was Sister Ainikki of the Temple of Cant. Silver hair, a voluptuous figure noticeable even through her habit, and a face that was both beautiful and charming...

But the being he now faced in the burial chamber was even more alluring.

Flaming red hair. A laugh that tickled his ears. She spread her legs and beckoned to him—a woman with skeletal wings.

“This is no joke...!” Iarumas shouted, snapping Raraja back to his senses.

An uncharacteristically intense hatred seethed in Iarumas’s voice. He seized the groggy Raraja by the head and threw the thief boy backward. Then he looked down at Berkanan, who was just standing there, pigeon-toed.

“As if we’re going to take on a bunch of succubi!” he spat distastefully.

“Eek...?!”

Iarumas seized Berkanan’s big body by the arm, and he pulled her, stumbling, away from the dream demons. That left only Garbage. Because she was swinging Hrathnir around, the succubi couldn’t get anywhere close to her. Iarumas headed in the girl’s direction, barking an order back at the blinking Orlaya as he did.

“Orlaya, drag Berkanan along and get out of the room—now!”

“I-I know what to do...!”

When Iarumas was shouting like this, there could be no refusal. Any doubts she had could wait. Orlaya used her tiny hands to pull Berkanan up and then dragged her toward the door.

As for Raraja—well, surely he could stand up on his own...!

“Come on, hurry... Get up!” Orlaya shouted at him.

“I-I know...! Hold on, w-wait for me...!”

Though she had put on muscle, Berkanan’s body was still flabby. Her butt stuck out as she practically tumbled from the room.

“Are they that dangerous, Iarumas...?!” Raraja shouted, standing with his dagger at the ready, prepared to protect the two girls behind him.

“They’re seriously annoying enemies...!”

“Woof?!”

Carrying a protesting Garbage over one shoulder, Iarumas swung his saber around with his other hand. The blade leaped free from its dark sheath—that black rod—and mercilessly buried itself in a succubus’s breast.

Ichor, not blood, spewed forth. The beautiful woman was nothing more than a demon.

The other women reached out, horrifying expressions on their faces, but Iarumas leaped back, almost like he was dodging something filthy.

“Rrrooo?! Yap!”

“We’re getting out of here!”

“Arf?!”

Iarumas threw the barking Garbage out of the chamber, then ran down the corridor.

“Whoa, wait...?!”

Not wanting to be left behind, Raraja followed. The door slammed shut behind him.

It was all over in a single round. A dizzyingly short battle.

§

“Honestly, this town is beyond help...!”

A sharp voice cut through what should have been silence within the Temple of Cant.

The redheaded crown prince seemed to stamp the floor in indignation with each step he took through the temple halls. A group of maidservants followed behind him. These noble girls exchanged worried glances.

Only a fool or a hero would approach a fearsome dragon of their own volition.

Which was she, then? This nun—the lone person who continued to smile happily as she stood in the presence of the prince.

“The merchants’ guild sets the price of bread and wheat as they see fit! This is a problem!”

“That’s because in Scale, food comes from the outside, while gold comes from the dungeon,” Ainikki explained. Her tone was unintimidated. If anything, it actually sounded mirthful. “If they were to set the prices too low, there might actually be a monetary surplus, and that could cause the economy to collapse.”

“I know that,” the prince replied with a snort. “But it’s not the adventurers who’d be troubled by that, now is it?”

The incident with the red dragon had been a good example of this phenomenon. Back then, when the flow of gold from the dungeon had slowed, the livelihoods of Scale’s citizens had nearly collapsed.

If people came to rely on a pot of infinite riches, what would happen when a lid sealed that wealth away?

This went beyond Scale alone. Whether the Kingdom of Llylgamyn wanted it or not, they had jurisdiction over the dungeon. If the government just sat back and watched, then they would be the ones ruined when a stopper was put on the abundance that flowed from Scale.

It’s inevitable that transport costs will raise prices, but I’ll have to talk to the merchants about what they’re charging for food and clothing.

The more he thought about it, the more Crown Prince Festin’s frustration grew. No, it was more accurate to say that he was thinking to suppress his frustration. He had been like this for a while now—ever since the parade ceremony had ended. The crown prince made no attempt to hide his annoyance, but at the same time, he did not allow it to impede his duties.

The maidservants milled about, taking care of his needs. Only Ainikki, assigned to him by the temple, seemed to be enjoying herself.

Crown Prince Festin kept thinking as he walked.

Ultimately, there’s one solution to all of this—adventurers.

The kingdom—and the crown prince—had only learned about what had happened after it was all over.

Damn those accursed priests of the Fang Temple... Whether it was due to their secretive nature or some scheme of theirs, they hadn’t sent back any information.

Adventurers, adventurers, adventurers. Everyone was being jerked around by them.

But the world didn’t revolve around adventurers alone. Especially not that redheaded—

“Hee hee...”

He heard a faint giggle. The crown prince’s footsteps, which did not try to hide his displeasure, came to a stop.

“Does my behavior amuse you, Sister Ainikki?”

“No,” Aine replied, her eyes narrowing in amusement.

The crown prince’s gaze was as sharp and cold as ice, yet she was unafraid. She accepted his glare like a willow tree bends with the wind.

“Hearing you speak about how much everyone is troubled... Well, it makes me think that you don’t often get so upset.”

After a long pause, the crown prince let out a sigh. It was a deep exhalation, like he was expelling everything that had built up inside of his body. Then, massaging his brow, he forced everything that was loose about himself to come taut. He was like a string, stretched to the point of breaking—and Ainikki just watched him gently.

“It’s true... I’ll acknowledge that it’s not like me to behave this way.”

“Are you upset by the adventurers’ attitudes?”

“Yes. I’m greatly displeased,” Crown Prince Festin answered, his tone cuttingly sharp. “If the royal house can’t control the adventurers, then who can?”

He spoke not to blame others, but to acknowledge his own responsibility.

The dungeon was the domain of myths and legends. Those who challenged it and returned to the surface with their lives had already strayed outside the realm of humanity. However, someone needed to control the adventurers—even if that notion seemed unreasonable, rash, reckless, and downright absurd to anyone who had ever known an adventurer.

The royals of this kingdom had to do it, and if they couldn’t, then they were too soft... It seemed that the crown prince had discovered the reason the adventurers took him lightly. He found this not in others, but within himself.

He wasn’t majestic enough. He wasn’t experienced enough. He wasn’t old enough.

These were all problems time would solve, but...

There isn’t enough time, it seems.

In all of recorded history, there hadn’t been a single person, not even among the elves, who’d had enough time to satisfy themselves.

Ainikki didn’t dislike Crown Prince Festin. In fact, she found him quite palatable. To struggle so desperately in search of the things he lacked—this was fundamentally the act of a man who sought to raise the value of his own existence.

“I don’t think anyone is taking you lightly.”

“I can’t imagine otherwise.”

“They just don’t know, that’s all.” Ainikki held up a finger that was as white and unblemished as that of a newborn infant. “They think the royals and nobles live extravagant lifestyles, just swaggering around—”

“People like that exist only in the delusions of the common folk.” Crown Prince Festin frowned and snorted. Perhaps he thought she was mocking him? “Although, there are always exceptions,” he admitted.

“Yes.” Ainikki nodded her head, still smiling.

The people up top had to swagger. If they didn’t give orders, the country wouldn’t run. No one would obey a person who bowed their head obsequiously and flattered them.

But that didn’t mean that those above could look down scornfully on those who were beneath them...

“By the same token, adventurers just swing their power around against a bunch of small fries and then act all pleased with themselves...” Ainikki said, noting with satisfaction the thoughtful look on the crown prince’s face. “That’s not something you’ve been thinking about, is it?”

He gave no response.

Ainikki glanced at the prince’s attendants. Male and female alike, their faces were marked with bewilderment, hesitation, and—

“However, when adventurers face death in the dungeon...everyone is equal.”

—fear.

Not of the crown prince. Of Sister Ainikki.

I don’t blame them...

As people from the outside, they couldn’t have seen an adventurer before, let alone talked to one.

Then what of this crown prince, his tiny body so full of ambition? He did not show fear—did not tremble. He carried himself with confidence. What was it that supported that backbone of his?

“What is important...is who you are and what you are trying to do,” Ainikki said, deliberately choosing not to probe that question but instead leading his thoughts by the hand. “Because even if you cannot decide how you are born or how you will die, you are free to decide how you are going to live.”

The redheaded crown prince was very quiet. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then gulped. Finally, he forced the words out.

“Does this apply even to a child cast away by its mother, bound by chains in a prison where only death awaits?”

“Yes, of course,” Ainikki answered without a moment’s hesitation.

Even a child who would perish not long after taking its first breath. Or a prisoner on the executioner’s block, soon to be decapitated. Even in those few short moments of life, a person was free to choose how they lived.

They could cry. They could struggle. They could give up. They could howl with the full strength of their emotions.

Ainikki believed from the bottom of her heart that therein lay the value of life.

“Of course, it’s no different for a crown prince, you know?”

He was quiet for a moment before saying, “That’s disrespectful.”

“Not at all,” Ainikki said, her laughter ringing like a bell. “I say it with respect!”

§

“Wh-What was that...?”

The question was born of exhaustion, tension, and confusion. Raraja sat down, wheezing and out of breath, his back against the door.

“Grrruff...!”

Everyone except Iarumas—and Garbage, who was kicking the black-clad adventurer in protest—was more or less in similar condition.

It wasn’t like Iarumas to show such emotion.

“Succubi,” Iarumas muttered. “They’ll come and drain you of your essence whether you like it or not.” He flicked their ichor from his blade like it was excrement, then returned the saber to its sheath. “Just see what happens if you let them touch you. If you’re inexperienced, they’ll drain you of everything until even your soul is lost.”

“Eek...!” Berkanan let out a terrified shriek.

Having her soul taken, devoured, by a demon—never to return. She thought back to her experience returning from the abyss of death after her encounter with the dragon, but she considered this a greater horror still.

True death—she couldn’t imagine what that was like.

“Arf! Ptoo...!”

“First of all, do you know how much effort it takes to regain the essence they drain from you?” Iarumas asked vexatiously, letting Garbage continue to kick him as she pleased.

If the monsters were undead, he’d have cast ZILWAN to dispel them without hesitation, but that didn’t work against demons.

Raraja was taken aback as he watched Iarumas grumble and whine.

Never knew he could make a face like that...

He often thought of the man as inhuman—an automaton or some other being that existed solely to explore the dungeon. That was what the guy was like, but even he had things he hated, huh... If anything, Raraja was actually amused by this.

That was probably why something Sister Ainikki had once said suddenly popped into his head.

He was unable to hide his smirk—the expression of someone who’d suddenly located a weakness—and he asked Iarumas, “What happened to you, man? Did you get drained to death by one of those succubi?”

“Don’t be stupid. Who’d ever choose to go at it with those whores?”

“What a vulgar conversation,” Orlaya grumbled, scowling with undisguised displeasure.

Something was irritating her: Berkanan. The big girl stood right next to Orlaya, mumbling, her head hung and her face bright red.

She was too innocent. Too pure. She lacked the stains of sin.

In truth, Orlaya was just venting her anger—she was sure that Raraja would prefer a girl like that. Besides, she hadn’t missed it. Raraja had started to approach the succubi in a daze.

Just what did those succubi look like in his eyes?

The thought of it thoroughly disgusted her—regardless of whether they had looked like rheas to him or not.

“If you act like such a slack-jawed moron, they’ll drain you to death for real,” Orlaya said to Raraja.

“I haven’t been letting my guard down...!”

“I don’t know about that.” Snorting indignantly, Orlaya turned her clouded eye to glare at Iarumas. “So, what now?”

“We go back up,” said Iarumas. “Our luck’s run dry. We’re pulling out for today.”

“Oh, yeah...?”

Orlaya shut her mouth. She didn’t even attempt to say anything more in response. She watched idly as her companions began rummaging through and checking their bags, making preparations to head back.

This is no joke...

Her tiny body shuddered.

Having your soul sucked out...was no joke. She never wanted to go through it again.

But more than that...

Succubi... Dream demons...

They were otherworldly beings, a variety of demon, just like the greater demons had been...or at least, she assumed that should be the case. Succubi were beings that crept into human minds and hearts through dreams. For them to manifest in physical form like that...

Well, I guess it’s possible.

But did they really appear in such numbers and gang up on people like that? Could it be that, because all of those greater demons were summoned, the gap between dimensions was still wavering? Or was it because of where they were? Was the dungeon...that close to the other world?

Or perhaps...

At the bottom of this place...

Something lingered there. Was that it?

Orlaya looked down at her feet. Her vision was vague, unreliable. If she let her focus slip, the dungeon became a world of nothing but white lines on darkness, and she was left with no idea what she was standing on.

“Woof!”

“I’m going now...”

Uneager to ponder that question, Orlaya responded to Garbage and then stepped forward to walk alongside Iarumas.

He wanted to get back to the surface in a hurry—this wasn’t something that happened often.

§

A welcoming party... Don’t see that often.

In Orlaya’s eye, they looked like a horde of shadows arrayed with the dark red sun as a backdrop. Her halved vision couldn’t decide whether it was a dawning or setting sun.

They stood on the edge of town—at the exit from, or entrance to, the dungeon—with the wasteland outside Scale spread out behind them. In the light of the bloodred sun, the outlines of their matching suits of armor were reminiscent of dark mountains. At a glance, it was clear they had good equipment—by inland standards, at least. No matter how famous the smiths who had forged their armor might have been, inside of the dungeon it was all just “plate mail.”

But Orlaya didn’t think it was bad armor. It was better than leather armor, at least, and it could protect as well as elven chain.

“You’re Iarumas of the Black Rod?” a high-handed voice demanded. It was a unilateral tone that seemed to slash down at them from above.

Emerging from the wall of knights surrounding him, a diminutive figure stepped forward with footfalls that seemed to kick down at the earth with his fine boots.

“Your Highness...!”

Some of the knights hastened to stop the boy, but he waved his hand as if brushing away insects and made them stand down.

“You made me curious about what kind of people would ignore a summons from the Temple of Cant.”

“We were busy delving at the time,” Iarumas responded with a faint smile. “Did something happen on the surface?”

“You’re being rude,” the redheaded boy spat without attempting to hide his displeasure. His pair of clear blue eyes seemed familiar, somehow.

Iarumas’s insolent attitude—the norm for him—had really rubbed this boy the wrong way.

Orlaya could sense Berkanan, standing behind her, shrinking into herself without even meaning to. By contrast, Raraja stepped forward to put the girls behind himself. He was apparently trying to act the part of a boy.

Orlaya snorted. Well, let him do as he pleased.

That only left Garbage, the leftover monster snack. As long as she didn’t suddenly charge in...

“Grrrrrr...”

Hm?

Orlaya cocked an eyebrow at Garbage’s growl of displeasure.

It wasn’t all that unusual for this stray dog to make apparent her like or dislike of a person she’d only just met. However...

“You cur...!” one of the Royal Guard shouted, reaching for the sword at his hip. “Do you act this way knowing you are in the presence of His Highness Festin, the crown prince of Llylgamyn?!”

“I’m just finding that out now,” Iarumas replied. And then, he did something surprising.

He dropped to one knee and lowered his head. It was a masterful performance.

“Huh...?!”

Raraja hurried to copy him, and Berkanan hastily followed suit. Compared to those two, the way Orlaya placed her hands over her chest and gave a slight bow of her head was at least somewhat more tolerable. She had her parents’ education to thank for that. Sister Ainikki, for whatever reason, had strict views about that kind of thing.

The problem was—

“Arf!”

—Garbage, who just stood there, arms crossed, with a snort that said, “What do I care?”

“Hey!” Orlaya called out—short, sharp, quiet. Not even she knew whether it was Iarumas or Garbage she was speaking to. She was pulling on the hem of Garbage’s cloak but also thinking, Iarumas, you’re supposed to be her guardian, aren’t you?

“Hmph.”

The prince approached and stared openly, without restraint. He peered closely at the redheaded stray dog of a girl’s face.

“So this is the dragon slayer, Garbage?” he murmured. “Her appearance certainly matches the rumors.”

He might as well have ended that statement by spitting, “The filthy beast.”

Garbage groaned loudly in protest.

Are they similar?

Though it was just a vague inkling, Orlaya couldn’t help but think that. It wasn’t a matter of outward appearance. To Orlaya’s eye, people appeared somewhat hazy. She also felt that she wasn’t in any position to go around talking about how other people looked.

But the way the crown prince stood, ready to snap his fangs at anyone he didn’t like without hesitation—it was similar to her, somehow.

After taking some time to stare at Garbage’s face, Crown Prince Festin eventually pulled away and scowled. It was a look of terrible hatred, and the crown prince forcefully changed the subject.

“Now then, have you any excuse for yourself? Iarumas—or whatever you’re called.”

“I am truly honored to have been graced with the time of one so busy as the crown prince,” Iarumas responded quietly, his head still bowed. “And yet,” he continued sharply, “exploration is the primary duty of an adventurer. And as it is adventurers that Your Highness is seeking, we cannot neglect that.”

If the crown prince’s voice struck like a sword from above, then Iarumas’s was like a snake lunging up from below.

“Do you think that is going to work with me, you cur?”

“I’m only telling you the truth...”

“Damnable adventurer...” the crown prince muttered.

So that’s how he really feels, huh...? No, maybe not, Orlaya thought, her face still downturned.

She was used to this. She had to bite back a laugh at how composed she felt. It wasn’t so bad—unlike with Goerz, there was no violence coming her way. She remembered hearing that the royals and nobles were trained not to let their emotions show. That was partly a matter of etiquette, but also because it was disadvantageous in politics.

As a case in point, the rhea girl was currently guessing at the prince’s intentions.

In light of that...

A crown prince is acting like this?

His readily apparent irritation, which he made no attempt to mask, was more than a little unnatural. This wasn’t a play or farcical book, so surely it couldn’t be that the crown prince was just a fool.

Was it because Iarumas hadn’t answered his summons? Was that what was causing this attitude?

Surely that can’t be it.

Iarumas often rubbed people the wrong way, but this was such a small thing... Nothing the crown prince should have reacted so strongly to.

Iarumas’s demeanor right now showed that he was being respectful in his own way. He wouldn’t curry favor with the crown prince. But he also wouldn’t deliberately slight him. That was why he had knelt and bowed his head.

They each had their own positions. One, an adventurer—the other, the crown prince. That was all there was to it. Surely the crown prince wasn’t petty enough to get angry and call that disrespectful.

So the real cause had to be...

“Gruffff!”

Suddenly, Garbage barked and snapped her teeth. She wasn’t doing it to protect Iarumas. She probably just hadn’t liked the crown prince’s earlier attitude.

That was how the girl was. Orlaya knew it all too well.

“Tch...!”

So, when the crown prince openly clicked his tongue and pulled back, she became certain of it. The source of the crown prince’s irritation...was Garbage.

“Enough. Report to the Temple of Cant tomorrow. You’d do well not to disobey, for your own good.”

“Right...”

The crown prince turned on his heel and began walking away so quickly that it was like he hadn’t even listened to Iarumas’s response.

The knights shouted “Your Highness!” and hurried to follow his wild steps, which were so unbefitting of a royal.

Orlaya watched him go with a sense of satisfaction. It was a good feeling to “understand.” Berkanan, on the other hand, must have felt differently. She put a hand over her infuriatingly large bosom and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Th-That was tense...”

“Iarumas...” Raraja glared resentfully at the man. “Couldn’t you have handled that... I dunno... Better?”

“Princess Margda, Queen Beyki, or Queen Iris wouldn’t have spoken like that.” Iarumas slowly rose to his feet and met the complaint with the invocation of a few unfamiliar names. He shrugged his shoulders, then added, “What? You look like you suddenly aged a few years.”

“That’s ’cause you just shaved them off my life...!”

“There’s no need to act so nervous. In terms of actual power, you’re stronger than him, you know?”

“Huh?” Berkanan blurted out. Orlaya simply sighed.

It was common knowledge in this town that those who made visits to the dungeon reached heights of power beyond human comprehension. But even beyond that...

“Someone who’s slain a dragon shouldn’t be saying ‘Huh?’ to that,” Orlaya reminded her sharply.

“W-Well, yeah... You may be right, but still...” Berkanan’s refutation was awfully weak.

This is the problem with her... It was one of the things that irritated Orlaya about her oversized friend.

Berkanan’s lack of confidence. Her purity. Her deference to men. And the unreasonable anger Orlaya felt knowing that men probably liked those things.

She decided to take her irritation out on Raraja. She wouldn’t have felt right going after Berka.

“You’re not scared too, are you?” Orlaya snapped at him. “It’s not funny...”

“Well, you never know... I mean, yeah, sure, he looked wide open to attack.” There was a hint of surprise—of disbelief—in the way he spoke. He clenched and unclenched his hand, then shook it. It was the same hand that had been grasping a dagger just moments ago. Neither the royal guard nor the crown prince had seen Raraja pull his blade.

“But we were outnumbered... Isn’t that why you bowed your head?” the boy asked.

“I don’t know about that,” said Iarumas. “Maybe it was just too much trouble not to.” The man mussed Garbage’s red hair as he patted her on the head. Then, ignoring her “Yap! Yiiip!” of protest, he turned toward the wasteland where the sun was setting. “Still, I’m surprised. How did he know that we’d be coming out...?”

The answer to Iarumas’s question came from the direction in which the knights had just departed.

“Well, I did offer to pass along a message for him...”

Sister Ainikki. She glowed golden against the dark red backdrop of the setting sun.

Is there any time when she’s not beautiful?

That was something Orlaya found herself thinking every time they met in the Temple of Cant. The nun had also been in high spirits lately, which only made her prettier.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Iarumas said with a throaty laugh, but he nodded as if he were satisfied.

Ainikki would naturally have been able to guess when they would emerge. After all, she was the one who’d gone to all the trouble of telling them in advance the day and time of the crown prince’s arrival.

So a guess like that... Well, even Orlaya could have managed it.

“Well, aren’t you two close...” the rhea muttered. This was a mix of sarcasm, exasperation, and her honest feelings. She let the sentiment sit on her tongue and rolled it around inside her mouth.

But anyway... We’ll have to go to the temple tomorrow. Unless we mean to defy the crown prince.

Knowing that, Orlaya wanted to head back to the inn and take an immediate dive onto her cot. Even the straw of the stables would have been fine—anything was a step up from the sleeping spot Goerz had prepared for her.

“All right,” said Orlaya. “If we’re done here, I’d like to hurry back, okay?”

“Woof!!!”

“If we don’t, Garbage is going to run away.”

She said that, though the redheaded girl was no doubt after food in the tavern.

“I suppose so,” Ainikki replied with a soft smile. She was quick to agree at times like this. “I also have a number of things I’d like to talk about concerning tomorrow...”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose you would, yeah,” Iarumas, the least likely of them to be concerned about that, said with a slow nod.

Ainikki’s words seemed to be implying something, but... Well, it wasn’t worth dwelling on.

Garbage, huh?

“Arf?”

The redheaded girl with Hrathnir strapped to her back turned as if to ask, “What is it?”

Orlaya simply gave a wave of her hand. “It’s nothing.”

“You know, I don’t think I feel all that confident about talking to a prince...” said Berkanan.

“Just nod your head and agree whenever it’s appropriate.”

With that, Orlaya started walking. She didn’t want to think about all of this bothersome stuff anymore. It was just exhausting. Garbage’s situation, the crown prince’s situation—she’d deal with those things once they came out into the open. That would be good enough.

“But still...”

That was why Orlaya took these words of Raraja’s, which he’d murmured in a cautious tone, and pushed them outside the bounds of her consciousness.

“Why’d he come all the way out here just to demand that we go to the temple tomorrow?” the boy continued.

There could be no answer. His words were swept away in the winds that blew across the wasteland.

It was a shrill wind—like the wail of a banshee.

Chapter 2: Strange Animal

Ahh, damn it...!

That night, in the Temple of Cant...

The bedroom was far simpler than the not-quite-believers—which is to say, the adventurers—would have expected it to be. Though priests of the temple solicited hefty donations, this was absolutely not something they did in order to make a profit in the material world. But if they were going to invite such an important guest, they needed to provide a room with proper furniture...which included a bed.

The redheaded youth was curled up in said bed, irritably biting his fingernails. This wasn’t proper behavior for a crown prince—Festin himself knew that all too well.

“Curse those Priests of Fang... They even managed to hide it from me... Damn it...!”

A scene from just hours before played back in the crown prince’s mind. Those clear blue eyes, like bottomless pools...

That animal...!

He hurled this insult at her in his mind, not out of simple irritation or arrogance—

What do I do...?!

—but out of fear.

Everything about her resembled him except for those eyes. She had glared at him. Glared with the eyes of a wild dog that might, at any moment, sink her fangs into him, tear out his throat, and then feast on his entrails.

The light that burned in those eyes, like devil fire, felt to him like the greatest proof of her identity.

The descendant of the overlord...!

That same blood flowed in his own veins. But... But...

She was his father’s bastard daughter. The red-dragon-slaying diamond knight. There was something inscrutable about her, like she’d suddenly stepped out of a fairy tale.

And now she was closing in on him. Festin felt chilled to the bone.

What should I...do...?

That girl, taken on her own, was not so horrifying. But Festin had the whole of Llylgamyn’s history hanging over him. Women of the royal house of Llylgamyn had always been symbols of ill fortune.

This wasn’t limited to only Princess Margda, in whose time the demon Davalpus had attacked the royal palace. When Queen Beyki had ascended the throne, the kingdom had faced a calamity that could have destroyed the entire world. In Queen Iris’s time, her cursed sister Sorx had become a witch who’d brought disaster upon the kingdom. And as for Princess Dalia...

The crown prince winced at the thought. At this point, this was the stuff of myths and legends—the finer details of these incidents had all been effaced by the passage of time. Surely no one outside of the royal family remembered the specifics. No, even within the royal family, it was impossible to learn the full truth.

It was all just a legacy now—but that legacy was a cold blade threatening to gut Festin.

He wrapped his arms tightly around himself for protection. That elven nun’s—Sister Ainikki’s—words swirled around in his head.

“Because even if you cannot decide how you are born or how you will die, you are free to decide how you are going to live.”

Free? How so?

Destruction was approaching, and he was unable to run. What freedom was there when all he could do was stand rooted in place?

What could he do other than be afraid? What, besides putting up a strong front while people pointed their fingers and laughed at the absurdity?

How would she tell him to live and to die? How, when there was nothing more terrifying than death itself—and not knowing what awaited beyond?

I shouldn’t have come.

Scale was a town built on death. A town built on the dungeon, monsters, adventurers, seemingly infinite wealth, and a mountain of corpses.

Those clear blue eyes were seared into his mind—they’d felt like the embodiment of death itself. Fixed on him, piercing, ready to swallow him whole... Those blue eyes.

What was waiting? What would become of him?

He didn’t know—and that terrified him.

His slender frame trembled in bed. “Ugh, damn it... It’s because the window’s open. The window—”

The crown prince cursed and slowly rose from his bed. His movements were too soft, fragile, and sensitive to be called those of a boy.

§

Man, nights in Scale sure are chilly.

The Royal Guard of the House of Llylgamyn always had to stand at attention, and they were forbidden from speaking except as their duties required. That was the degree of responsibility and ability required of those put in posts where they would be protecting royalty.

Thus, the halls of the Temple of Cant—including the one in front of the bedroom that he was guarding—were protected by royal guards who were faithful to their duties. The way they stood in the gloom, in full armor and carrying halberds, made them look like statues.

But inside his own head, he had freedom. Even as he stood there in a line with his compatriots, not moving a muscle, his mind was turned toward the void.

His Highness sure is passionate...

He had no issue whatsoever with that noisy crown prince. What good was youth without motivation? Especially in one who shouldered the future of the state.

The age of legends was long past, but the Kingdom of Llylgamyn had once been a great nation, claiming dominance in all directions. It was said that those times had been accompanied by war and strife, but they were far in the past now. Reclaim the thousand-year kingdom—that was the attitude that was beginning to spread within the nation.

And then, there was this dungeon.

It was little wonder that the crown prince would encourage its exploration. The dungeon had appeared all of a sudden, and it might just be what brought glory to the Kingdom of Llylgamyn once more.

The man even understood the suspicious—yet loyal—Priests of Fang who frequented the palace. Though as a member of the royal guard...he did worry about what might happen if monsters were to well up from the depths of the dungeon. He’d heard just recently that a terrifying red dragon had appeared. And he’d heard of the adventurers who’d slain it...

But were those adventurers...?

He’d heard that the dragon slayer hadn’t been present in the temple, but even so, the adventurers he’d seen had been different from what he’d expected. Seeing them gathered like that, they’d been no different from any other person.

A bunch of scoundrels—that had been his impression.

Adventurers had originally been wanderers drifting from place to place. In the past, they’d outfitted themselves with miscellaneous equipment, gotten into skirmishes with mountain bandits, and ransacked ruins. They’d been the kinds of folks who’d wandered back and forth along the border between mercenaries and grave robbers.

The term had started shifting to instead describe those who challenged the dungeon, but... This royal guard couldn’t imagine them being anything like the powerful figures who’d been able to fight the monsters in the legends. But that said, the order of knights that had once been sent into the dungeon had gotten wiped out. If he considered that...

We’re just lucky we weren’t ordered to go in there.

More importantly, there was one perk that came with this position: the maids attending the crown prince. The girls who had joined him on this royal visit were from good families in Llylgamyn, and each one was impeccably beautiful. Their families were likely hoping that the prince would make mistresses of them, so not even the royal guards were allowed to interact with them much. But right now, guards and maids both were sleeping under the same roof, and they could exchange pleasantries when they passed by one another.

The guard perked up his ears, listening for even the slightest sound while he stood there, rigid as a statue. Just imagining that he heard those girls whispering put him in a pretty good mood...

That was when it happened.

“Hm...?”

The royal guard’s ears picked up the tiniest, slightest of sounds. A pitter-patter, truly light. It was like some kind of footsteps.

A priest from the temple...?

No, that wouldn’t make sense. Those feet couldn’t belong to an adult.

An acolyte in training, perhaps? That was possible. But...would one of them come here?

The royal guard’s hands naturally tightened their grip on his halberd. He tensed his stomach muscles, preparing to call out and challenge the intruder’s identity.

But...

“Whuh...?”

The thing that appeared...was a little bear. A statue of a bear. Ridiculously small, like a stuffed animal. It rounded the corner with its little steps and began walking his way.

Am I dreaming?

Had he carelessly fallen asleep while standing at his post? His sense of reality receded, and the darkness around him pressed in.

As the guard stood there, overwhelmed, the bear spoke clearly.

“‘I’ve got a million of ’em.’”

“The heck’s that mean?”

Was the guard asking his coworkers standing beside him, or did the words just slip out due to his surprise?

Whatever the case, an instant later, his consciousness twisted upside down—and then disappeared.

§

“It’s getting awfully chilly...” Sister Ainikki murmured, her sharp eyes turned out the window and into the unlit darkness beyond.

It was abnormal for her, born in the frigid lands of the north, to ever feel cold. The elven nun didn’t notice that, though, as she walked down the temple corridor by candlelight. Thinking back to the darkness of the dungeon, she knew that the dark was no enemy for an adventurer with a light source.

Aine moved like a colorful gust of wind. She raced from grid space to grid space in a single step. Those steps—mixed with the faint sounds of her breathing—echoed in the silence of the temple.

That was all that reached her long ears.

No priests were up praying through the night; no adventurers would arrive this late to request a resurrection.

It’s so quiet. Almost as if someone cast MONTINO...

Something cold and heavy, an aberrant presence, pressed in toward the Temple of Cant. The temple was of key importance to explorers of the dungeon. It was a place that could carry out the miracle of resurrection on the surface, which would have normally been impossible. There could be no facility more meddlesome to their enemies—if such enemies even existed.

It was said that in ancient times, after the adventure in the proving grounds, the great wizard had returned from deep underground to assault the temple. But for that reason, the Temple of Cant had not just been indulging in a peaceful existence. The god Kadorto preached that one mustn’t live without purpose, and Ainikki believed that from the bottom of her heart.

No matter what happened, death was no more than the result of life. Thus, even if death were to befall her this very moment, Aine would not feel panicked. She had no fear. If anything, she felt joy.

However...

How long will it take...?

Aine bit her lip slightly, counting each step in her head as she advanced down the hallway. In contrast to the dungeon, where one’s sense of time was nebulous, on the surface, it flowed past moment by moment. She couldn’t get used to the sensation.

How long would it take her to reach the floor and the room she was heading to? How much time had passed since the individual who exuded that aberrant presence had crept into the temple?

Hopefully, she wouldn’t be too late. She had no choice but to believe that as she advanced...

She wished she had the sense of her lifespan that her distant ancestors had possessed—back in the days when they’d lived secluded in the forests.

The only things Aine had now were the beautiful face that came from her bloodline, the priest spells she had learned during her training, and the sword techniques that had been passed down from generation to generation. Those things, along with the spiked mace and shield that she had equipped in her brand-new hands—and a ring. That was about it.

Though I could also say that’s more than enough.

Aine raced up the stairs, not step-by-step, but with one step upon each landing.

“Hrm.”

With a swish of her habit, she came to a stop. The boots enveloping her lithe legs clicked against the stone-tiled floor. Those blessed flames that should have been lit in the hallway had all been extinguished. Darkness had swallowed the corridor.

Within that darkness, she sensed blurry outlines—the crown prince’s honor guard. They were standing at attention without moving in the slightest. Not even to breathe.

“That can only mean...”

They were dead.

Of course their postures were rigid—frost had descended over their pallid bodies, freezing their bones to the marrow. Or perhaps some had been turned to stone instead. Horrifyingly, so had the armor they wore.

She touched one she thought might be all right. His body toppled over—his head rolled off the neck and bounced like a ball.

It’s been cut off.

Strangely, all of these knights...still had ordinary expressions on their faces. They probably hadn’t gotten the chance to notice what was happening until their last moments, when there’d been no time left to feel fear.

“May you rest in peace at God’s side.”

Without hesitation, Ainikki used up a few precious seconds to offer a prayer for these dead men.

How wonderful it was. Their souls had reached Kadorto without becoming lost.

I hope mine can do the same.

Ainikki made a sign in the air with the fingers that were holding her mace and then decisively proceeded deeper into the hallway.

The strange scenes continued...

The first thing that Ainikki’s changeling ears heard was silence. No rustling of clothes. No breathing. Nothing. As if the very air itself had died.

Every last one of the maids who would have normally been around the crown prince, attending to his needs, had vanished. There were clothes scattered around, like they had gone away somewhere—vanished.

Ainikki tread across those beautiful, expensive garments scattered on the floor. Her movements were graceful, like a fairy jumping from stone to stone to cross a river, and she gave no indication that she felt the heavy burden of her equipment.

She was heading deeper. That was where the special bedroom for the Temple of Cant’s important guests was located.

With each step, she exhaled a white breath. The cold seemed to slice at her skin. No, this wasn’t just cold air—there was something strange about it. It was clear by this point that the source of this aberration lay beyond the thick, luxurious doors that stood before her.

As the air poured out from between the cracks around the doors, Aine kicked them in without hesitation, then sprang into the room.

“Eeyahhh!!!” She let out a shrill battle cry as she charged toward the source of the evil air, striking at it with the weapon in her hand.

It wasn’t that she was unconcerned with the prince’s safety. But this was a room inside the Temple of Cant. If he was fated to die, then die he would. The same was true for her—and also for the enemy...

“Ha ha ha! To think that you’d try to kill me before even challenging my identity.”

It was a strange animal indeed.

It spoke in a high-pitched voice, like that of a child, and it had slipped out of the way of Aine’s strike—her mace had impacted the stone tiles with an explosive sound, leaving a round depression in the floor.

A slime?

No, that couldn’t be right. Obviously, as monsters that lurked in the dungeon, slimes were massive in a way that transcended human understanding. However, the Temple of Cant wasn’t the sort of place that a being as lowly as a mindless ooze could’ve crept into.

Aine suppressed her surprise and looked with wide eyes at the form of the enemy lurking in the darkness. That thing, which moved as if it were crawling across the ground, had already raised itself up. It was now standing in front of Aine.

A shadow wearing a skull mask... That was what it looked like, at least. Had it appeared to move like a slime because of the cloak that covered its entire body?

Is it an assassin...of some sort...?

The thing seemed to writhe and sway unstably as it slid—it was certainly no mundane spy.

“Are you sure about this?” the shadow inquired. “If you kill me, it’s going to bring trouble for you later.”

“Whether I choose to interrogate you, torture you, or punish you, considering political implications is not a part of my duties.”

“Hmm. Well, no, I suppose not.”

Idle chatter and nothing more. Aine’s ears twitched busily as she shuffled her feet and inched closer, gradually closing the gap.

The window to the room was wide open—the cold night air flowed in. Had that been its point of entry?

The crown prince...was not here. Only a bed in a state of disarray remained.

He’s been kidnapped?

In that case, the intruder could have pulled out immediately. Why was it still here? There was no need to go around killing the guards in the hall for show either...

“Heh heh heh heh, you’re racking your brain over it. You’re making me jealous—thinking about other things when you have me right in front of you... Like this!”

“Hahh... Ngh?!”

Aine instinctively raised her shield. That reaction saved her life.

The incredible slash from the intruder—powerful enough that it could’ve lopped her arm off through her armor—forced a groan from her.

And then the follow-up attack...didn’t come.

At some point, an abnormally large scythe had appeared in the hands of this enemy that slid soundlessly across the floor. That must have been the weapon it’d used to behead and bring death to the royal guards.

Then was the freezing air caused by a spell? It was a possibility. But what about the petrification? Was there magic that could turn a person to stone? There were traps that could do it. Did that mean there was a spell too?

Maybe Iarumas-sama would know.

That man’s face wasn’t one she should’ve been calling to mind at a time like this. Aine smiled slightly.

“You people say that death is something joyous, don’t you?” the intruder asked. “Well, I bet seeing this is making you go weak in the knees, huh?”

Even through the skull mask, Aine felt like she could see her opponent sneering. This thing wasn’t fit to be called an assassin. No, it was more like...

A joker.

There’s no need to take it on seriously...!

“Mimuarif nuuni fozanme (O stone with a heart, reveal your proper form before the light.).”

“Tch...! What an old-fashioned spell...!”

The spell Ainikki had chanted let her glimpse more than the slight sneer on the enemy’s face. The light of MANIFO! Kadorto had answered this devout believer’s prayer with a display of power.

This magic, which had once bound the dragon of red death, was a second-level spell—only a novice spell in the dungeon. But many priests’ eyes would go wide if you told them that. They’d insist MANIFO was fifth-level, an experienced mage’s spell, even by dungeon standards...

Yes, it was truly old-fashioned magic. Ainikki’s clan still handed down a number of forgotten spells from long ago. MANIFO was one of them.

It went through...!

Ainikki sensed that she had accomplished something through an act of God. The spell shone a light on her opponent, making it go rigid as a statue.

“You wish!”

“Whah...?!”

Or, that was what she’d intended to happen.

The thing let out a whirling breath as if it were whistling, and that breath morphed into a blizzard that assaulted Aine. Pellets of ice mixed with a blast of air so cold it could freeze the soul—the frigid shards pummeled and tore at her.

Seeing bare flesh and blood peeking through the nun’s habit, the enemy let out a high-pitched cackle. “It’s a shame! I’m fond of the meat of plump women like you. You have such firm legs, and they’re never limp.”

“You’re talking nonsense...!”

With the blood of the frozen lands running in her veins, Ainikki wouldn’t kneel to the cold. She charged into the blizzard with a shout, slamming her weapon into the monster without hesitation.

“Oops...!”

“Ah...!”

Her failure to finish it off wasn’t because she’d let her guard down but because she’d been surprised.

The moment the enemy leaped out of the way, its cloak lifted with a swish. This revealed something—soft flesh hidden underneath.

The underdeveloped legs of a young girl.

“Wha...?”

In that moment, when Aine witnessed something unexpected, she fell just one move behind. The enemy didn’t miss this chance. It did a somersault and bounded out of the wide-open window.

“Oh, no...!”

Ainikki freed her mace from the stone tiles. She rushed to the window and leaned out of it. Even the strange animal’s footsteps were already out of earshot—it had flown away into the night.

“Goodness gracious,” Ainikki murmured after some time. “Whatever am I to do about this?”

There was a hint of frustration in her tone. She let out a short sigh.

Where had that thing come from? And why? It had taken the crown prince...which meant he ought to be okay. In all likelihood, that had been no assassin. It had been nothing short of a demon—one that took the form of a jester.

Ainikki frowned and let out a sigh. The sound of it vanished into the wind. The shrill night wind, like the cry of a banshee, was coming from far away.

From the edge of town.

From the dungeon.

Chapter 3: Out of Bounds

The next day, the House of Llylgamyn issued a royal proclamation.

There are signs of a coming catastrophe. The divine revelations of the Goddess of the Land speak truth. The crown prince’s royal visit was meant to test those revelations.

Now, enlightened to the truth, His Highness has ventured into the abyss of the dungeon on his own initiative. We promise that the one who rescues the prince and averts the catastrophe will receive all the glory and wealth they could hope for.

O promising adventurers, redouble your efforts at exploration...

The town crier gleefully darted down the main street. His usual day’s work involved little more than announcing the latest price for bread set by the royals and nobles. He was practically a nonentity in Scale, but today, he felt unbelievably motivated. After all, there wasn’t a single person in town who didn’t listen to news about adventurers.

He swaggered almost like a hero making his triumphant return, and his booming voice provoked a variety of reactions.

“It’s just advertising—an act put on by His Royal Highness.”

“Still, him heading into the dungeon himself’s quite a choice...”

“He’ll just take one step onto the first level then come back, don’t you think?”

“And yet they say he really is nowhere to be found.”

“It’s true—no sign of his guards heading back either.”

“Well, isn’t that a big deal?”

“Whatever the case, it’s nice that there’s a reward.”

“Surely can’t be better than dungeon treasure, though.”

“All of that stuff’s just politics...”

There were those who expressed a cynical view, those who spoke genuine praise, and those who took the news with a grain of salt.

People who lived in the dungeon town had, perhaps, lost interest in honor and glory. But it was different for those on the outside. Soon, more folks would aspire to become adventurers. And seeing that, the adventurers on the inside would change their minds—they wouldn’t want casual newcomers acting all high and mighty. For the first time, an objective had been established within that black hole from which infinite wealth and monsters flowed.

The dungeon—and Scale—were suddenly a whole lot livelier.

People of all stripes sought to delve into the darkness of their own will—and were swallowed up.

Scale—and the dungeon—were monsters fattening themselves on the people they devoured.

§

“So, he was actually abducted, right?” asked Sezmar.

The woman who was the master of Durga’s Tavern acknowledged his question with a quiet nod. “That would be correct, yes...”

Not many were aware of this private room in the back of the tavern where adventurers gathered. But those who knew that the master of this place, Gil, was effectively the lord of Scale also knew about the room. The chamber of commerce, or Gil herself, would convene secret meetings within—adventurers who attended would be invited to deal with troubles in Scale.

Hate to say this, but... Sezmar let the soft, opulent chair creak as he enjoyed the moment. I really love getting called to this place.

There was no reason for him to show reservation. This was just a room in the back of a tavern—one he knew like his own home. No one would complain if he relaxed—right?

Sezmar turned to a fellow adventurer. “I don’t think we’ve talked much, have we?”

“Ahh... Well, no... We haven’t,” the man answered cautiously. His burned face was wrapped in bandages.

The man’s name was Schumacher, though Sezmar only remembered him as the son of a shoemaker. But he knew what the man was.

“You took on that red dragon, right? You ought to hold your head high.”

“Oh, please, stop,” the man said bitterly. “I just charged in, got burned, and lost.”

“Well, the problem’s that most guys don’t get to the ‘charging in’ part.” Even Sezmar hadn’t challenged the dragon, after all. “No need to get all stiff,” Sezmar continued. “An adventurer’s ability (level) is everything. Your age and accomplishments don’t even factor into it.”

Schumacher made a face like he wanted to say, That’s hard to hear, coming from one of the All-Stars, but he remained completely silent. Ultimately, he gave up on saying anything to Sezmar and turned to Gil instead.

“What’s the criteria for being called to this meeting? Do you have to have a party that’s made it through the Monster Allocation Center?”

“That, and you need to be an adventurer I’ve decided I can trust.”

Sezmar laughed—this unpretentious appraisal from Gil had brought a sour look to Schumacher’s face. Well, Schumacher had been immature back then. Even now, he was just managing to maintain a thin facade over his inexperience.

But eventually he’d catch up. He’d make a fine party leader.

Sezmar glanced at the last of the three adventurers who’d been called to the room. “How are you feeling about this, Mifune?”

“Don’t call me Mifune,” the man murmured, holding his dark staff. “But this development is exactly what I would’ve wanted.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Having an objective makes the adventure worthwhile.” He said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then the corners of his lips curled up sarcastically, and he added, “Though, the fact that we’re rescuing an abducted prince is a little lacking in style.”

In short, this was the reason Gil had called a meeting with the three of them. It was to reveal the truth behind the royal proclamation—the adventurers’ true mission—and request that they continue exploring the dungeon.

And indeed, it was a request—she knew that the people of Scale couldn’t order the adventurers to do anything. There was no reward the city could possibly offer them, so they had to rely on the adventurers’ goodwill, greed, and initiative.

In that sense, Gil was a smart woman to have called in these three specifically.

The free knight, Sezmar, leader of the All-Stars.

Iarumas of the Black Rod, who dragged Garbage the Dragon Slayer around with him.

Schumacher, who had challenged the red dragon and continued fighting to this day.

These were adventurers who had recently made names for themselves in Scale and in the dungeon.

“If a princess had been abducted, then we’d really be in a fairy tale, huh?” said Sezmar.

“It’s been a regular occurrence for the quest giver to be a princess or a queen,” Iarumas replied.

“You say that like you’ve been there.”

Iarumas didn’t explain. He just shrugged and remained quiet.

Cautiously, as if trying to gauge their responses, Schumacher asked, “You two planning to accept?”

“There’s no accepting or not accepting,” Iarumas replied candidly—like he was casually taking the first step into the dungeon. “The main premise was always to reach the bottom level. Now there’s an objective and a reward for accomplishing that. But the delving itself hasn’t changed.”

“Sure it has,” Schumacher muttered. “We know an enemy abducted the prince. And we’re definitely gonna have to fight whoever that is.”

“Just one more thing to look forward to.”

“Look forward to...?” Schumacher echoed.

“Ainikki was hopping mad,” Iarumas explained. “Defeating the enemy first and watching her pout over it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“A woman, huh?” grumbled Schumacher. Judging by the look on his face, he felt like someone, somewhere, must be laughing at him. In plain terms, he said, “If I’m gonna do this, I’ve gotta think it through. I don’t want to go charging headfirst into a dragon again.”

“That’s the spirit, that’s the spirit!” Sezmar exclaimed with unbridled mirth. He was a man well aware of his own strengths. “However, there’s no way of knowing where the prince is in the dungeon, or even how many floors it has. Charging in is the only thing we can do.”

“So I’ve just gotta pray as I go?” Schumacher spat. “That’s not funny.”

“Ultimately, you have to take whatever the adventure throws at you,” said Iarumas.

Schumacher crossed his arms and groaned in irritation. “Even if that’s true, I said I don’t want to charge in without a plan, didn’t I? I need to be ready.”

“Hmm, there’s some logic to that,” Iarumas of the Black Rod acknowledged easily—Schumacher visibly deflated. “Regardless, if we all act in lockstep, the enemy will take everyone in one fell swoop.”

“You’re saying that we don’t all need to approach this the same way...?” Schumacher asked.

“That’s what L’kbreth says.” Iarumas dropped the name of the dragon god like they knew each other. Turning to Sezmar, he added, “You have no problem with that, right?”

The free knight waved his hand. “I’ve never been in a position to tell others what to do anyway.” Then, clapping the two adventurers on the shoulders, he continued frankly, “We’ll each do as we like. No interfering. And when the time comes, we’ll cooperate. We’re working toward the same objective here. Let’s stay positive!”

After considering this for some time, Schumacher sighed. “I guess that sounds reasonable,” he said. “If we can rely on you guys, that’s about all we could ask for.”

“Sure, rely away. ’Cause I’m gonna be relying on you guys too.”

Though Schumacher was already rubbing his shoulder in pain, Sezmar didn’t hesitate or hold back as he slapped that same shoulder once again.

Iarumas’s eyes narrowed with amusement as he watched the two of them. Then he silently rose from his seat—the gesture clearly communicated that he was done with the meeting. For him, the tavern was just a rest stop before an adventure. They really had nothing more to talk about. Adventuring took place inside of the dungeon—not in the tavern.

As Gil saw Iarumas leaving, she flipped through the list of names in her head, then called after him. “Excuse me, Iarumas-san. I’d like you to speak to an adventurer on my behalf...”

Iarumas came to a stop—his boots seemed to kick against the floor. He turned around. The way his eyes gazed out at her from beneath his cloak had always intimidated Gil just a little bit.

He doesn’t see people as people, she thought.

Name, race, sex...and class. Abilities and skills. Those were the things his eyes were appraising. There were times when she thought he was just like her. But at other times, she was certain that those eyes saw something different than what she saw.

Right now... Who could say?

“Will it be Elsarion and Mugar next?” he asked softly.

She let out a small sigh, then added, “And Aria-san too.”

“Very well.”

“Thank you.” Gil offered him a smile.

With a single nod, Iarumas turned and departed—this time, without looking back.

Iarumas had understood that he wouldn’t be the only one called in. He’d figured that out long ago.

§

Even amid the bustle of the tavern, he didn’t have to search for long to find the two people he was seeking. Six elves and six dwarves, a total of twelve people, all clumped together in one spot—it would’ve been harder for them not to stand out.

“Oh, we’ve finally been called, have we?” asked Elsarion. “There was no need to trouble anyone else, surely.”

“Listen to you...” Mugar griped. “We know you people look down on us. It’s your attitude.”

The way those two reacted when Iarumas called out to them... Well, it wasn’t anything beyond his expectations.

Elsarion spoke to Mugar like she was admonishing some poor child. A soft smile adorned her beautiful face. “I cannot see how you would blame us for that when we are so much taller. We must all recognize our respective strengths and shortcomings.”

Mugar allowed this comment to pass with only a smile—one like that of a beast baring its fangs. It was actually an admirable show of restraint on his part. “Iarumas, you’d better get ready. You’ll be needing corpse bags for these elven lasses soon enough.”

“Yes. If the time comes, please do. We are not so miserly that we would skimp on necessary expenses.”

Accepting the dwarf’s provocation like a willow bends with the wind, Elsarion rose from her seat with a picturesque motion that wouldn’t have been out of place in a painting. But the way Mugar moved was so robust and heavy—he seemed like he could’ve easily broken her in half.

The willowy elf and the stony dwarf exchanged glances.

As Iarumas watched them stare each other down, he idly thought, Elves and dwarves haven’t gotten along since the age of myth, but why are these two on such bad terms?

The other elves and dwarves were glaring at one another too. Was it really just that they didn’t get along?

Though, for Iarumas, who didn’t think about compatibility beyond a person’s alignment, the answer wasn’t of much interest. Elf and dwarf—good aligned and evil aligned—both fighters. To Iarumas, that was all there was to it.

The one other thing he took note of, much like Gil, was that they had the ability to make it through the Monster Allocation Center. That was all he needed to know.

While the leaders were staring each other down, the other elves and dwarves had a little exchange.

“Even if you are a bunch of stubborn dwarves, I would hope you wouldn’t misunderstand what Elsarion-sama is saying...”

“If we let ourselves get angry at every thing some haughty elven lass says, this world wouldn’t have any booze left in it.”

“If you want to apologize to us, then bring around a bottle, and we’ll give it some thought.”

“Well, if you are indeed noble heroes deserving of that kind of treatment, then maybe we will consider it.”

In the end, the two sides decided to call it even.

With a slight shake of her long ears, Elsarion let out a small sigh. Her beautiful face turned toward the black-clad corpse collector—upon it, there was no hint of the contempt she’d shown for the dwarf. Though, from her perspective, perhaps all non-elves were to be looked down upon equally.

“Iarumas, might I ask something of you?”

“You might—but whether I’ll do it depends on what it is.”

“Could you deliver this to Sister Ainikki for me?”

Elsarion pulled out a clear bottle filled with an amber liquid. Iarumas accepted it and held it up to the light of the tavern’s lanterns. The fluid inside sloshed around.

“I don’t mind,” he said with a nod. “I meant to drop in on her anyway.”

“Please also let her know that this is to thank her for the resurrection the other day.”

“What? You’ve already used the corpse bags, then?” Mugar gave a guffaw that rumbled like a landslide. “So, which of these lasses spilled their guts and kicked the bucket? Hm?”

The dwarves crudely examined the five elven girls—their stares were enough to make the women tense up.

Elsarion let out a nasal laugh as she interceded to protect her comrades. “We’re too delicate to be rolled out of the dungeon like boulders the way you dwarves are.”

Mugar scoffed. “Listen to you talk. Really, it’s just because you’re all so frail.”

“I’ll pray that your souls are lost because you disrespect Sister Ainikki.”

“That nun of yours likes our dwarven beer more than any elven wine. There’s no worry of that.”

The elven warrior and the mighty dwarf stared each other down for a while as they sparred verbally. Then, suddenly, they turned away at the same time, as if they had coordinated it, and walked side by side toward the door in the back of the tavern.

The ways they walked—one seeming to swim through the crowd and the other cutting through it—stood in contrast.

“Now then...”

Where is the other one? Iarumas turned to gaze at the crowded tavern.

Adventurers of differing alignments didn’t mingle. That was an unspoken rule.

But there were exceptions to every rule. Like in this tavern, for example.

Anyone, whatever their alignment, be it good or evil, could share a table here. Though it went without saying that they couldn’t venture into the dungeon together...

“That’s why, ultimately, there’s more to learning a spell than just remembering the true words.”

“R-Right. I...understand that. I do...”

“You need to create a space in your head...”

“...for memorizing the true words.”

This was quite a strange group. With a rhea, a human, and two gnomes, sure, there was inevitably going to be some variance in height. But even considering that, the difference in stature and figure was incredible. The four of them were sitting at the same round table, heads leaned together, as they pored over a single spellbook.

This was the sort of sight that could only be found in Durga’s Tavern.

“That’s why, even if Raraja were to say KATINO, it wouldn’t become KATINO. That’s the key thing here.”

“Hey, did you just make fun of me?” Raraja, who had been chased off by the other four, heckled them from a neighboring table.

“I’m not making fun of you. Though, I do think you’re an idiot.”

“What’s the difference, then?” Raraja grumpily rested his head on the palm of one hand, but he didn’t really make any more fuss about it. Though he was bickering with them out of boredom, he was also listening in on this lecture about spells—even though he couldn’t understand it. Thieves didn’t use spells, but when adventuring in the dungeon, no amount of accrued knowledge was too much.

Only one person present wasn’t listening to the conversation at all.

Garbage had never been interested to begin with. She was sitting at the same table as Raraja, scarfing down a plate of food.

Eating, sleeping, rampaging, being caught by Ainikki or Sarah—when she was allowed to do those things, this doglike girl was quiet enough and didn’t cause trouble for Raraja.

The same went for the others here—though that went without saying for members of Schumacher’s party. After all, evil adventurers always did whatever they wanted.

Like Rahm-and-Sahm were doing now.

“Arf!”

Garbage raised her head and let out a single bark. She must have noticed Iarumas approaching. In line with her personality, it was an awfully curt greeting: “Oh, you showed up.”

There was a slight delay, then Raraja noticed that Iarumas was there. A longer delay, then Berkanan and finally Orlaya looked up at him. In the hazy vision of Orlaya’s sole remaining eye, every adventurer might as well have been a vague shadow.

The gnome twins bowed their heads with their usual dazed demeanor. Iarumas wasn’t even sure they noticed him.

“Studying?” he asked.

Orlaya gave a little snort. “Yes, because someone refuses to teach me spells.”

Iarumas looked over her shoulder to see that she had a thick tome of spells open. It was one book of many that had been written by an ancient wizard... The book of DILTO.

He’d filled so many pages before finally revealing even a single true word of the spell.

Had the writer been inept? Were true words that hard to understand? Or were the readers so foolish that he had felt the need to explain things exhaustively?

Iarumas didn’t really care.

“I-I think he has been...teaching us, I mean,” Berkanan murmured weakly.

“How to use them, sure...” Orlaya shot back, her tone sharp. In her case, she was dissatisfied—but she wasn’t complaining. Even that bit of knowledge was incredibly valuable, and it was something you couldn’t pay for in gold.

There were several stages to truly “learning” a spell—or so Orlaya figured.

First, there was learning the spell itself. In the literal sense, that is. You couldn’t get started without doing that. Next came the true words. These words of power had to be carved into your head with accuracy and precision. Then there was knowing when to use the spell during an adventure, as well as the ways in which it could be used.

Fighting monsters was tense, but even just being inside the bizarre space of the dungeon frayed the nerves. True words were no use unless you could keep them in your head and chant them accurately while in that black abyss. It was only after getting through all those steps that you could cast a spell during an adventure—that you could say you had “learned” the spell.

It was no wonder that priests of the Temple of Cant could only perform their miracles in the incense-filled shrine room of the temple. It was difficult to focus the mind inside the dungeon and chant spells successfully without relying on books or scriptures.

That was why it was possible that a high-level priest might not be able to cast MADI...

But regardless of whether there’s anyone like that...

It was a sixth-level spell—one able to heal any wound instantly. But could anyone actually cast it?

“DILTO, huh?” asked Iarumas. “A cool spell to focus on. Nice choice.”

“Well, given what happened before...” Orlaya mumbled. “I’ve been thinking it has its uses.”

Raraja immediately took the chance to tease her. “It’s been bugging her that she messed up with KATINO.”

Berkanan’s “L-Leave her alone...” delivered the finishing blow.

Orlaya’s single eye glared at the two of them. She instantly began searching for faults in her companions. In her hands, a single shortcoming could be expanded into a hundred problems.

“You messed up identifying the trap too!” she shot back at Raraja.

“But I disabled it fine, so what’s it matter?!” Raraja countered. “And your CALFO also misidentified it!”

“CALFO is only a backup. It’s a huge problem that our professional thief got it wrong! For starters—”

“Hmph...” Garbage glanced at the others who’d started yapping back and forth, then went back to eating. It wasn’t right for her, the boss, to get involved when her minions were squabbling. That was how she felt. If anything, she wanted to advise the intimidated Berkanan to leave them to it.

Iarumas felt the same way. Being able to talk to one another without holding back was good for the party. So, he decided to take care of a small obligation first.

“Looks like they made you join them.” He crouched down next to the round table where the gnomes were staring into space—he wanted to meet them at eye level.

It was a slightly respectful consideration. Highly unusual for Iarumas. But these twins had recently found something he’d been searching for—that was one reason for his respect.

“No...” one twin said, shaking her head.

“...it was time very well spent,” the other finished with a nod.

“Your leader should be returning soon,” Iarumas told them. “Go ahead and welcome him back.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll do that.”

“May you and your party...”

“...stay safe on your adventures, Iarumas-sama.”

The two rose from their chairs simultaneously, bowed, and tottered off. By the time the red-and-blue twins vanished into the bustling tavern, Orlaya and Raraja’s fight was over.

Iarumas picked up the spellbook from the table. “So, where’s the owner of this book?” Unspoken was the implication that Iarumas already knew who it belonged to.

“Oh, um...” Berkanan replied on behalf of Orlaya, who was catching her breath. “Behind you... That table over there... Sh-She’s a woman. And a mage...”

The woman who had been called rose silently. She was dressed like a mage, but “elegant lady” was a more apt descriptor. Delicate and ephemeral, her beautiful face was perfect—were it not for her eyes being covered by a bandage and her mouth being clamped shut in a straight line.

“Aria, huh?”

The woman said nothing.

Hers was a well-known story. Aria of the Stars and Frost—her eyes had been gouged out and her tongue and teeth removed. Few had witnessed the three gaping holes in her face.

Iarumas had, though.

“Sorry to have troubled you.”

He was met with silence.

“Gil’s calling for you. In the back room.”

Again, she said nothing. But Aria was a mage who skillfully manipulated the true words—she could communicate with others. She was a woman who could make you reconsider the very meaning of words. Or perhaps, like Garbage, make you think that words were a trivial thing.

Aria silently took the spellbook that Iarumas held out to her. She dipped her head in a graceful bow. Then she headed to the room in the back with steps that seemed unlike those of an adventurer. They were rather out of place in a tavern. But it scarcely needed to be said what would happen to any ruffian who underestimated this graceful young woman who could neither see nor speak.

After watching her go, Berkanan quietly murmured, “I was surprised because she didn’t say anything... But she let us borrow her book, so...she’s not a bad person... Right?”

“No, she’s not a bad person,” Iarumas said with a laugh. “Though she’s not a good one either.”

Orlaya objected that he didn’t have to say it like that. Though personally, if someone were to describe her as a “good priest,” she would’ve probably looked pretty amused by it.

As Iarumas was thinking idly about that, Raraja rested his cheek on the palm of his hand and smirked. “I didn’t realize you knew so many people, Iarumas.”

Outside of Sezmar and Aine...and maybe Catlob.

Iarumas, who might not have realized that he was being mocked about his circle of friends, simply shrugged. “I don’t involve myself when there’s no need to. And when there is, I do.”

“Need to...?” Raraja echoed.

“When you work as a corpse retriever, it gives you a lot of opportunities to meet other adventurers.”

Well, of course it would.

Noticing the dubious look Raraja was giving him, the corners of Iarumas’s mouth turned up, and he nonchalantly added, “In fact, I’ve carried her corpse before. Naked.”

“N-Naked...?!” Raraja blurted out.

Berkanan blinked repeatedly. Orlaya unfairly kicked Raraja in the shin.

Listening to the boy’s cry of pain without any change in expression, Iarumas continued. “Regardless, it doesn’t change what we’re going to do.”

“About...the prince’s royal proclamation?” Berkanan whispered, glancing worriedly—she was always worried—around them.

The question was more or less her talking to herself, but Iarumas answered anyway. “Yeah. This just means that we have a new, additional objective. It gives us something to work toward.”

“Mm-hmm... Mm-hmm.” Berkanan nodded, clenching her fists tight. She clearly intended to do her best.

Meanwhile, Raraja rested one elbow on the table as he sulkily rubbed his shin. This was normal behavior for him. Orlaya was next to him looking unamused—she restlessly knit and unknit her fingers.

“I have some minor business to attend to. And once that’s done...” Iarumas looked at the members of his party—he could call them that. “We go to the dungeon.”

Garbage, who’d been scarfing down food, looked up from her plate, her face a sticky mess.

“Arf!!!”

§

There was a satisfying smash as club struck iron ball—the crowd around the diamond roared.

The knight had deflected the deadly ball that’d been aimed right at his head, and he ran, swinging his weapon at a fielder who tried to stop him from getting on base.

Another satisfying crack. Jumping over the fielder he’d knocked head over heels, the knight touched first base and dashed for second.

But then a HALITO flew in from the stands. A mage in the crowd—either a fan of the other team or a drunk—was to blame.

Boom! A roaring explosion blew away the runner and several fielders with him. The hot wind reached the crowd, making their eyes and skin sting. But even the sound of the explosion was drowned out by their applause.

It was another rip-roaring game of Wizball.

When Sister Ainikki was not at the Temple of Cant, there were a limited number of places where she could be found. The weapon shop, the tavern, the casino, or—the Wizball park.

And there she was, sitting sullenly in the middle of all the fans who were stamping their feet with excitement.

Iarumas easily slipped through the crowd, then slid smoothly into the spot next to her soft behind. Ainikki pursed her lips as she noticed him sitting down next to her.

“How unusual,” she said.

Her face remained turned toward the field—she only flicked her eyes to the side briefly to glance at Iarumas.

“It’s not often that you come to this sort of place, Iarumas-sama.”

“Because I haven’t had a reason to,” Iarumas whispered in response, watching the game with disinterest.

Iarumas had hardly ever gone looking for Ainikki before now. For him, the world had been divided into the dungeon, facilities relevant to it, and everything else. The training grounds, the inn, the tavern, the temple, and the weapon shop—he was the sort of man who wouldn’t have been terribly troubled if there were nothing else.

Yet this same man had come all the way to the Wizball park to find Ainikki.

Aine had been in a foul mood, but in light of this development, she motivated herself to talk to him. She liked to think she had the good sense not to take things out on other people.

“That was an absolute blunder,” she said.

“Are you talking about the game? I don’t really understand it very well.”

“You already know, don’t you?” Sister Ainikki puffed up her cheeks with her lips still pursed.

“I wanted to ask more about that absolute blunder.”

“You already know, don’t you?”

“That’s all the more reason.”

Perhaps it’s all right for me to be angry about this...? thought Ainikki. Iarumas was looking straight at her. Feeling his gaze, she averted her eyes.

Ainikki had long since learned what kind of man he was. She knew that it would probably be best if, instead of saying what she wanted to say, she said what she ought to say, but...

Ainikki struggled with that for some time before she finally exhaled, releasing the emotions that had been swirling around inside of her.

“I didn’t really remember anything after it happened...”

Having said that, she launched into a rough summary of the preceding night’s events. Of course, Iarumas already knew—he’d been the first to hear about it from her. Though to be more precise, he’d been the first after she had reported it to the palace and the higher-ups in Scale, but, well, that was a trivial difference.

Sarah had heard too... That was also of no interest to Iarumas. He was always focused on what was in front of him—and on clearing the dungeon. That meant that now, he was focused on the abducted prince...and the one who had abducted him.

In other words...

“The strange animal...huh?” he murmured.

“I think it was some sort of demon... That’s the only way I could describe it.”

Iarumas didn’t praise Ainikki’s actions, nor criticize them, nor offer words of comfort. Relieved but also disappointed, Ainikki lowered her eyes to the field once more. The battle teams were switching offense and defense, with the players trading positions.

I hope he can endure it, Ainikki thought as she kept half an eye on the game, then gave a side-glance to Iarumas.

“I doubt you care, but I found the crown prince not entirely unlikable,” she said.

“I wouldn’t say I lack interest,” Iarumas replied, shrugging. “I’m interested for now, at least...regardless of whether or not I’ll still care later.”

“Because the dungeon is involved, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Honestly now...” Though Ainikki said that, her tone didn’t carry the exasperation those words might suggest.

“By that same token, don’t you try to save everyone?” he asked.

“Oh my.” With a sparkle in her eye, Ainikki chuckled slightly and cocked her head to the side. “You might not think it, but I’m rather picky about who I extend my hand to, you know?” She then teasingly added, “Were you not aware? Instead of those who can stand and walk on their own, I focus on those who have lost their way—particularly, those who’ve lost their way but are trying to move forward.”

“And I’m one of those who’s gotten lost?” asked Iarumas.

“I would say you’ve finally gotten back on your feet and have started walking.”

Iarumas laughed in a low voice. “You’re not wrong.”

Suddenly, a high-pitched metallic noise rang out from the field.

“Oh my. A home run,” Ainikki murmured.

She immediately ducked—the iron ball flew past her and collided violently with the person sitting behind her. They heard the sound of flesh and bone being crushed and flattened. A scream. But those things were just another part of the fun for the crowd, which erupted in cheers, standing up to stomp their feet and raise their hands in the air.

“It seems luck isn’t on my side today...” The elf let out a world-weary sigh.

There would always be days like this. Of course, she knew that all too well. The skies couldn’t always be clear. Life was the same way. But even knowing that—it was exhausting when days like this came one after another.

But Iarumas probably didn’t pick up on Ainikki’s melancholy.

“Ah, I nearly forgot this,” he grumbled, pulling a bottle from his cloak and placing it in the nun’s soft lap. “From Elsarion. As thanks for the resurrection.”

“Oh my! Mead!” Sister Ainikki’s ears shot up, and so did her spirits. She held the bottle of amber liquid up to Scale’s cloudy sky, and then, finally, a soft smile appeared on her face. “Lovely. I’ll gladly accept it.”

“Please do.” Iarumas gave a single nod, then rose from his seat.

Fortunately, the person who had been sitting behind him had just been carried away after being bludgeoned by the iron ball—there was no one to complain about Iarumas obstructing their view.

Ainikki looked up at his dark cloak. “You’re going already...?”

“Yeah.” Iarumas nodded once more. “I’m finished here.”

Honestly, that was probably all there was to it.

Iarumas’s cloak swished as he took a few steps forward. Then, as if remembering something, he turned. “If you have the time, pray that I won’t trip and fall.”

“In that case, I’ll pray that you get lost and turn back.”

Sister Ainikki chuckled and made a show of putting her hands together. On one of her beautiful white fingers—there was the faint sparkle of a ring.

§

“Huh? That’s weird...”

Ironheart Sabata’s whisper was as dry as the hot air of the desert town where he’d been born. In the dungeon gloom, his white garb made him look almost like a priest or a mage. But from his agile movements, the dagger at his hip, and the crossbow on his back, one could infer what he actually was.

This holy warrior of Almarl—a fedayeen—gazed down the stonework corridor with unwavering eyes. He was focused on a single stone wall. He could touch and feel it. There was no doubt the wall was there, and yet...

“Is something the matter?”

A female knight, not much larger than a thumb, peered up at him. He crouched down to look into the eyes beneath her large helmet.

“Well, there’s supposed to be a passageway here,” he explained. “That’s how I remember it, and it’s what my map says.”

“I cannot imagine that your map is mistaken, Sabata-dono. That means it may be a dungeon trap.”

“It doesn’t make sense that it would have caught you too.”

Sabata didn’t waver at all in the face of her gaze, which harbored absolute trust in his skills. The fairy knight placed a hand over her ample—at least relative to her size—bosom and proudly said, “Then allow me to scout the area, for I am unaffected by floor traps.”

The girl’s wings flapped without sound as she danced around. She wore armor that looked like a toy and carried a needle almost as if it were a spear.

No one learned that this fairy was the veteran valkyrie Britomart of the Silver Spear without being surprised. Fairies, whose lifespans had shortened to be equal to humans, were a tiny race that lived deep in the woods. They were pure and innocent beings, a people brimming with curiosity, but they were also timid. It wasn’t all that common for one of them to make their way into town...let alone become an adventurer—and one who relied not on spells or stealth, but on fighting with weapons!

Nonetheless...

Whether a person was a hero or a child, once they were inside the dungeon, they were no more than the weakest of the weak. Thus, even a fairy could fight like a hero, if only they could just throw themselves into the dungeon believing that...

But at the very least, there was no doubt that those translucent wings granted the effect of the floating spell, LITOFEIT. Be it a spinner, teleport trap, or chute, floor traps wouldn’t affect her.

But Sabata shook his head and said no as he pulled the map out of its tube. “Let’s move together. I don’t want to end up using the services of a corpse retriever again.”

“Urkh...” Britomart’s charming features flushed red, then drained of color. “Yes, you’re certainly right... It seems I may have been a touch hasty.”

Perhaps it was only natural that a young maiden such as her would shudder at the thought of her body being played with as if it were a doll. A corpse couldn’t pick and choose who would haul it back up to the surface. And there was no telling what they might demand as payment—or might have already taken as payment—until after the resurrection. Not every corpse hauler was like Iarumas. Not every one of them would treat the corpse strictly as a dead body.

Britomart had never even considered the possibility that her body might simply rot away in the dungeon. She believed it was simply impossible that her soul would be lost.

“Then do we take an alternate route around?” she asked.

“Yeah, let’s look for another way,” Sabata replied.

Aria, who had been listening to her companions talk, rose without a word.

Ironheart Sabata, Britomart of the Silver Spear, and Aria of the Stars and Frost—those were the only adventurers currently in this passage.

It wasn’t like there were no solo adventurers. And there were parties that might be down members or those assembled on a temporary basis. But a party that was always fixed at three members? That was unusual—even in Scale.

The reason, quite simply, was for training. When trying to hone one’s abilities—or gather a fortune—the fewer members in a party, the better. At least, that’s how it was inside the dungeon.

If a person wanted to reach the bottom no matter what, then they would party up with like-minded adventurers. These three, who had become acquainted as they’d moved from party to party, almost like mercenaries, had that one point in common. And now, all three were high-level adventurers whose names echoed throughout the dungeon.

But...Britomart longed for “more.”

“As a knight, I aspire to something like slaying a dragon.” The fairy held up her spear, which was taller than she was, and vibrated the exposed wings on her back to turn around in midair.

“Like Garbage and Berkanan, huh?” Sabata showed no great emotion when he spoke the name of the girl who shared a homeland with him. He discussed her like any other bit of small talk. “It’s true—I hear their names a lot lately.”

“If I avert the catastrophe in accordance with His Highness’s orders, then I, too, shall be a hero.”

Britomart seemed positive about aiming for the bottom of the dungeon—about challenging greater depths. This little fairy dreamed of the day she’d be a famous hero.

Sabata would say nothing on the subject, but Aria thought it was a good dream to have. If you had to dream, why not let it be a good one?

“Did something happen?” Sabata asked Aria quietly.

She shook her head and proceeded in silence. The woman had nearly been executed—fingers smashed, ears destroyed, eyes gouged out, tongue and teeth removed. But now she had a warrior from a distant land and a fairy as companions, and she was venturing into territory that, to mages, contained the stuff of myth and legends.

Aria felt as if she were already a character in a heroic tale. It was like a dream. There was no need for her to cross the end of the corridor and step into the abyss.

Not yet.

Though, it was probably different for Iarumas.

Chapter 4: Oops

Were there this many before...?

Raraja observed carefully and cautiously.

When he’d descended from the edge of town into the dungeon, he’d seen adventurers loitering in the space directly below the stairs down to the first level. That, in and of itself, was utterly unremarkable in Scale. However...

“You’ve got your weapons and armor, yeah? O-Okay, let’s go...!”

“Anyone available for an impromptu party? We’re not picky about alignment. As long as you’re a mage!”

“Identify! Is there anyone who can identify items here?!”

“Help... Heal me... I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna—”

Man, there’s a lot of them.

This was far more than Raraja had ever seen at one time. Some had miscellaneous new equipment. Others were outfitted with old stuff that looked like it had come out of a warehouse. And it wasn’t just youngsters. Mixed among them, there were also those who looked experienced—albeit, only in the outside world.

Some challenged the dungeon in high spirits with tense looks on their faces, while others had somehow come this far still searching for companions. Then there were those who’d brought in junk or who had gotten injured and been abandoned on the verge of death.

This was the first floor of the dungeon, so all of them were adventurers.

“These must be wannabe adventurers,” Orlaya said with a snort, tossing her prickly comment out into the crowd for anyone to hear. “The kind who think they’ll kill some monsters easily and make a name for themselves in no time. It’d feel weird to them if they couldn’t.”

“Y-You say that, b-but I’m, um...a newbie...or wannabe adventurer too, right?” Berkanan asked timidly.

What’re you saying? You’ve slain a dragon. Orlaya’s singular eye seemed to say this as it stabbed into her. For whatever reason, the rhea was incredibly upset. Berkanan shrank even further into herself.

“Yap!”

“There’s no need to think about them,” said Iarumas.

The only ones who acted on that advice literally were Iarumas himself and that feral dog of a girl, Garbage, who stood with her sword resting on her shoulder. The leftover monster snack must’ve decided that the riffraff here were weaker than her, since she showed no particular interest in them. She ran through the crowd vigorously, as if demanding they make way—the crowd parted for her.

Following behind at a leisurely pace, Iarumas dispassionately added, “If any of them lives to reach a higher level, then they’ll come to our attention on their own.”

“Is that how it works?” asked Raraja.

“It is. That’s how it was with you, wasn’t it?” Iarumas complimented Raraja—why did Raraja think it was a compliment?

The boy fell into an awkward silence. He brushed off Orlaya as she smirked and poked him in the ribs with her elbow. As those two started bickering behind them, Berkanan started getting flustered too.

It sure is lively, Iarumas thought. They hadn’t moved a single space since entering the dungeon, and things were already like this.

There was a kerfuffle behind him, Garbage noisily barking “Arf!” up ahead, and here he was, sandwiched in the middle—a position, it occurred to him, that he hadn’t been in in some time.

Thinking about it, perhaps he had once stood in this sort of position as he’d walked through the dungeon.

“Yap!”

“I know,” Iarumas said, quickening his pace. “You’re going to run into something.”

“Yiiip!”

Honestly... Well, it’s no matter. If our front line weren’t so energetic, that would be a problem for our other companions. Besides, she’s the Diamond Knight. I need her to be brave, or it leaves me in an awkward position.

Iarumas followed the redheaded girl as she led the way, charging into the dungeon.

“Woof!”

Having made it out of the crowd, Garbage turned unerringly to the path they took daily. Ever since their last exploration, the party had been using the elevator in the dark zone. They took it down to the Monster Allocation Center on the third level, and from there, they switched over to the other elevator.

It was a familiar—even nostalgic—method for Iarumas.

Orlaya grumbled every time, though. “Isn’t there an easier way?” Her bare feet trod lightly over the stone tiles, and she boarded the elevator with determination. Being afraid was one thing, but whether she could press on despite it was another matter entirely. It seemed this rhea bishop was incredibly irritated by the fact she was afraid.

It’s good that she has spirit.

That was why Iarumas said no more. If she came to a stop and couldn’t keep advancing, he’d think about what to do then.

“Whah! Waf!”

The elevator came to a stop with the cheery chime of a bell. The door opened, and the first to jump out—though it went without saying—was Garbage. Raraja followed, then Berkanan lumbered out, then Iarumas, and finally, Orlaya.

Iarumas smiled faintly as Raraja seized Garbage’s cloak when she started to take off.

“You brought your map, right?” he asked the boy.

“Of course I did!”

Ignoring Garbage’s yelps of protest, Raraja patted the map bag that hung at his hip. It was crafted from quality leather, so it made a nice sound when he did. With regular use, it had begun to exude a slightly dignified aura, but it wasn’t worn out.

I got him a good one, Iarumas thought briefly.

“So, what’re we doing today?” asked Raraja. “Moving onward?”

“If I’m being honest, I’d prefer to fill in everything first,” Iarumas murmured, almost to himself, as Raraja unfurled the map. “It makes me extremely uneasy—moving on to the next level when there are still gaps.”

Regnar’s party, or more accurately, Schumacher’s, was probably focused on making progress rather than filling in the map. Iarumas couldn’t deny that he felt hesitant about letting them get ahead, but...

It wasn’t in Iarumas’s nature to get worked up over a pointless rivalry. He couldn’t change the way he adventured, even if he tried.

“We’ll go with our usual marching order. Enter the burial chambers we haven’t opened, kill the monsters, and open the chests.”

“G-Got it,” Berkanan’s tone was frightened, but she put up a strong front. “I-I’ll try my hardest!”

“We don’t care whether you’re trying your hardest or not—as long as you don’t mess up,” Orlaya needled her.

“R-Right,” Berkanan replied, her false cheer deflating.

“Hmph,” the little rhea snorted. She scowled with annoyance. “Anyway, what I’m saying is, just do it like you normally do. Come on, Raraja, hurry up and get going already.”

“I’m the one you’ve gotta yell at?”

Raraja wasn’t as annoyed as those words might’ve made him sound. He tossed the coin onto the stone tiles.

“Wouaff!!!”

It wasn’t clear which came first: the clink of the coin or Garbage’s bark. But things played out as usual from there.

The girl dashing off, the sound of the coin, the footsteps of adventurers.

In the middle of their ragtag group, Iarumas gazed vacantly into the white lines and black darkness.

An opponent that Ainikki let get away, huh?

Whatever was lurking in the dungeon, that information alone was enough to make him look forward to finding out.

“Okay,” Iarumas said. “Today, we go to the fifth level.”

§

“Eek?!”

“Hyah, ahhh...?!”

The burial chamber was dense with strange plants, their vines restlessly twisting and writhing. Garbage had rushed in first, and Berkanan had followed, only for both to be instantly ensnared.

“Eek, ah, eegh?!”

This was one time when Berkanan’s massive body worked in her favor. Her slow, lumbering gait had delayed her entrance, and she was thus able to thrash around and escape from the attack.

It was Garbage who used up a lot of her stamina (hit points) this time. A girl wrapped up in vines—those words could sound erotic, but the reality wasn’t. Those plants undoubtedly meant to kill her. Her delicate body creaked as the vines tightened around her arms and legs, hoisting her into the air.

“Grufffff...!!!” Garbage couldn’t hold in a cry of pain. The vines tightened around her slender throat, forcing hoarse moans from her.

“Wh-What are these?!” Raraja asked, ready with his dagger. “Some kind of ivy or grapevines?!”

“Strangler vines!” Orlaya shouted instantly.

“Oho,” Iarumas muttered when he heard her. Impressive she could see it without LATUMAPIC. The girl was learning well. Iarumas gave her a passing mark.

Strangler vines, as the name suggested, were plants that choked the life from prey and derived nutrients from their remains. There was no good or evil in that. Only the intent not to let their prey—adventurers—escape.

“Spells aren’t very effective, and there are a lot of them,” Iarumas continued. “Despite that, they don’t provide much experience either—they’re a pain to deal with.”

“I know that!” Raraja shouted. “But what are we gonna do?!”

“Either run...” Iarumas said, looking at Garbage, who was struggling with the vines wrapped around her, “or get wiped out, I suppose.”

“What a pain...!”

“I told you they were.”

Raraja spat venomously as he pounced on one of the plants wrapped around Garbage. His dagger cut through the vines, but fresh ones grew from the stump again and again. There was no end to it.

“Uh, uh...! I-I’ll help...too...!”

Berkanan lumbered forward, taking up a position behind Raraja. Perhaps she had decided it would be too difficult to free Garbage using the Dragon Slayer that she wielded in place of a staff. She instead used her large body to swing around the sword and protect Raraja as he did the work.

“Crorf...! Argggghh...”

Garbage was foaming at the mouth, convulsing, and writhing in agony as she suffocated. Seeing this, Orlaya bit her lip.

What now...?! What was a spellcaster to do at a time like this?

Wait... She knew! Yes, that was it!

“Daruila tazanme (O darkness, come).”

The supernatural darkness of DILTO covered the chamber—covered the strangler vines. The vines’ movement visibly slowed, and Raraja’s blade slashed through them so fast it was amusing.

The boy’s eyes widened, and he let out a cheer. “Nice one, Orlaya!”

“Never mind me! Hurry up and do something about Garbage...!”

“H-Hahh...!”

Berkanan let out a nasal, goofy-sounding cry as she joined in with the Dragon Slayer. At this point, it was like hacking through the brush with a giant machete. The scales of battle had clearly tipped in their favor.

“That was a good call,” said Iarumas.

“Yeah, kinda,” Orlaya responded with all the prickliness she could muster. She didn’t want to let anyone see how excited she was to have “learned” the spell. Especially not this man, who was her teacher in the magical arts. Her pride wouldn’t allow it—she wouldn’t let him catch her celebrating like some sort of simpleton.

“The dungeon’s shining faintly...so I thought that losing that light might be hard on them.”

“I don’t understand how the scholars’ reasoning works, but...” Iarumas was being strangely roundabout in the way he was talking, but Orlaya detected a slight exuberance in his voice, and it made her stare. “Those things are apparently classified as monstrous beasts, not plants.”

“Huh...?!”

Iarumas let out a throaty chuckle at her confusion. He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, by the same token, you would think that slimes would be in the same category as slime mold or ordinary mold, but they’re treated like animals.”

“I don’t think I buy that...”

What’s with that? Orlaya pursed her lips in protest of these unreasonable classifications.

But even so...

That’s valuable information too. This man spat out tidbits of knowledge one after another, as if he had only just recalled them—without a care as to whether the person listening would pick them up or not. It was up to her whether she could use them to grow. Though this was a rather harsh method of instruction...

It’s better than nothing, I suppose.

He was treating her more than well enough.

Of course, Orlaya—and Iarumas—weren’t just doing nothing. Or rather, “doing nothing” was what they were doing. While the front-liners put up a good fight, they were conserving their resources and focusing solely on defending themselves.

Sometimes, that was what a spellcaster’s job entailed—because this adventure was more than just this one battle, and they weren’t the only ones in the party.

“Ooh, hah! It’s about time...you got out of there by yourself, Garbage...!” The vines made unsettling noises, like flesh being torn, as Raraja chopped them up.

“Ahem...! Cough...!” After some hacking, the light came back to Garbage’s glazed eyes. “Wheee...!”

From there, it was entirely her show. In the hands of the enraged Diamond Knight, the demon-slaying Hrathnir howled with her.

“Arrrrgggghhhhhhh!!!”

The fires of indignation that burned in her eyes as she roared quite eloquently expressed the sentiment of “Now you’ve gone and messed with me!”

As her body twisted in midair, the blade of wind that could cut through anything it touched howled and howled and howled.

There was nothing a bunch of moving plants could do now. They were mowed down, chopped up, and scattered—in mere seconds.

“Wooooof!”

“You were angry... But you’re feeling better now...I guess?” Berkanan breathed a sigh of relief as she watched Garbage tread on the mulched remains of her enemies with a loud bark.

Raraja, on the other hand, scowled with annoyance. “Her being in a good mood’s trouble in its own way.”

“Ah ha ha...”

That said, the battle was now over.

Raraja headed over to the treasure chest that had, at some point, appeared in the dark chamber. It had been nowhere to be seen during the battle, but it now sat out in the open like it had always been there.

What an odd phenomenon... That might be too simple a way to sum it up, but such was life in the dungeon. It was just the kind of place this was, and you just had to accept it.

“Rooooo...” Garbage whined. As Raraja was trying to unseal the chest, she sniffed around cautiously, seemingly probing it.

Orlaya was amused to see just how wary the redheaded girl was—she seemed concerned that it might explode again.

Now that the battle was over, Orlaya reflected on the fact that it had been finished in no time. It was almost disappointing how easy the battle had been. There had been a lot of vines, yes. If they could overwhelm the party with numbers, then they were dangerous, but that was all...

Iarumas’s comment about them not giving much experience had been as incomprehensible as a lot of the things he said, but she felt like she kind of got it. Fighting monsters like these probably wouldn’t do much to hone the party’s skills or ability to focus.

Iarumas suddenly spoke up, as if he could hear Orlaya’s internal monologue. “Let me say, for clarification’s sake—though they can resist spells, it’s not as though casting repeatedly isn’t still an option.”

“That’s way too much of a luxury...”

“A real luxury is being able to be picky about your methods.”

Orlaya let out a sigh as she noticed the slight smirk on Iarumas’s face. In short, he was saying there might be situations when they had to just keep firing spells. She needed to keep every possibility in her head. And, of course, that included “doing nothing.”

She couldn’t go thinking that she wanted to resolve everything herself, to hog the spotlight, to not feel right unless she was able to do so...

That’s totally childish.

This small desire that still lingered deep inside of her prickled like a thorn she just couldn’t pull out. That was why it had bothered her.

The prince had come. And then the proclamation had been issued.

It’s probably not as simple as that.

There was more going on in the background. The kind of thing the country needed to act on... Something important.

That made her feel uneasy. She worried the others were going to come down with a case of hero syndrome.

Well, what of the scene that was hazily reflected in Orlaya’s single eye?

“Yap!”

“I told you not to kick it, didn’t I?!”

“I-It’s dangerous, you know? Um, there could be a trap...”

“The way you say that, you’re assuming I messed up in disarming it.”

“Huh? Oh, s-sorry...?!”

“Yiiip!”

Garbage was doing her own thing, like always. It was almost refreshing to see. Berkanan was also the same as ever—timid, jumpy, lumbering, bowing and scraping. But the fact that she hadn’t changed her demeanor in the slightest was actually a sign of how strong her nerves were. There was no way she realized that herself though, and that was for the best.

And as for how Raraja felt deep down, well, how should Orlaya know?

Huh... I guess I worried in vain, she thought as she let out a secret sigh. No, she hadn’t been worried. Surely not. Why was there any need for her to worry?

The proclamation. She’d thought this boy might get all fired up and rush off alone again. That he might try to save the prince with no regard for himself—the same as he’d done for Orlaya when he’d pulled her out of that mound of flesh. And if he did that, she didn’t want to get caught up in it... Surely that was what she’d been thinking. That was why she’d been a bit worried, but from the look of things, there was no sign he’d do anything of the sort.

Maybe out of relief, Orlaya started to feel awfully upset and irritated. “Open it up already. Or what, do you need me to cast CALFO for you?”

“Oh, just shut up and watch... And you already cast a spell earlier, so keep some in reserve, would ya?”

“I hate to tell you this, but CALFO is a priest spell, and DILTO is a mage spell. They’re counted separately.”

Hearing Raraja snark back at her crabby comment made Orlaya grin. That was why she didn’t think much about how Iarumas might be feeling.

§

This is insanity.

Who were those words directed at? Not even the man himself was sure.

At the adventurer gleefully killing monsters inside of the dungeon? Or at the guys who’d ordered him to slip in among the monsters and kill her? Or perhaps at himself, for bowing his head and obeying that order?

He lay low in the dense brush, letting out a muffled sigh.

It was all so absurd.

How was he supposed to kill a girl who’d driven off a horde of lesser demons, slain a red dragon, and carried a demon-slaying blade?

It must be so easy to only have to say “kill her.”

Well, no... Perhaps she could be killed.

By the dungeon. The dungeon itself might be able to do it.

The only thing that could kill a being beyond the realm of human knowledge was another being that also transcended the realm of human knowledge—it was like how they’d just finished so easily chopping up those bizarre plants that strangled people to death.

He watched as they tread over the corpses—the man couldn’t help but think of the vine’s remains as that—and then rummaged through the treasure.

It has to be done.

The man gripped a shard of an old amulet in the palm of his hand.

They, the Priests of Fang, did not have many of them left at this point. A number of those precious items had already passed into the hands of that black-clad man, Iarumas of the Black Rod. It was horrifying to think of them in the possession of some random adventurer or miscellaneous thug, but...

More than that, that redheaded dog of a girl, the bastard princess, was at his side.

The return of the terrible overlord... That accursed being’s resurrection...

If nothing else, they had to stop the catastrophe centered around this dungeon from coming to pass.

The Priest of Fang’s expression was a conflicted mix of emotions: his sense of duty, tragic heroism, and determination. He needed to summon a terrible monster. He didn’t know what monster, or what it was like, but he tried with all his heart to imagine it. He needed a monster that could break through the obstacles that loomed in front of him, remove the threat, accomplish his goal, and allow him to return alive.

That was the kind of convenient thing he wished for as he grasped the amulet.

He couldn’t have known this, but what he was doing now...was quite similar to the great wizard of old. In order to escape the dungeon that had become a dimensional prison, the great wizard had sought all sorts of power.

Thus, this result may have been an inevitability.

“Ask and it will be given to you.”

“Huh...?”

There was a slight whish, and the man’s vision tilted, then faded away.

To the very last moment, he never realized that he’d died.

No one else noticed either.

Ever.

§

“Whew...! What do you think of these?”

The lid of the chest fell back with a clunk, and Raraja wiped the sweat from his brow. Even within the gloom of the dungeon, the gleam of gold coins was unmistakable. Mixed in with them was hazy, unidentified equipment and a potion bottle.

Raraja picked up a piece of equipment. He had no clue what it could be.

Orlaya had been crouched down a short distance away, watching him work with her cheek resting on the palm of one hand. She pursed her lips and replied, “What do I think? I won’t know until they’re identified.”

“Arf.”

Next to her, Garbage was sitting around, looking bored. She had long since lost any interest in what was inside the chest.

Murmuring, “Well, yeah, I know that,” Raraja began stuffing the items into his sack.

Though this was obvious, there was indeed a limit to how much he could carry. He couldn’t haul infinite items around while exploring the dungeon, so it was important to choose what to keep and what to toss. If possible, Raraja preferred to delve with as many potions and scrolls as he could take.

Though, that costs money...

Raraja kept examining the contents of the chest as he posed a question to those behind him. “Food and miscellaneous goods don’t count, but we can only carry up to eight pieces of equipment per person, right? Why is that?”

“And it doesn’t matter how big or small they are,” Iarumas added in a murmur. He sounded amused for some reason, like he always did. “That’s about the most items that a single person can manage inside the dungeon.”

“I-It’s not like you’d die if you carried more than eight...or anything like that...right?” Berkanan worriedly whispered, her voice timid and frightened.

She must have been recalling the party size limit of the dungeon. A group larger than six would die. No one knew why that was, but it was the truth as far as they had been able to observe.

“You might.”

“Eek...”

Iarumas’s casual remark elicited a feeble cry from Berkanan.

“People don’t like their bishops wearing equipment for that very reason...” Orlaya explained, touching the priest’s robe that clung unreliably to her skinny body. “It gets in the way when we identify items.”

That was why, back when Goerz had been keeping her as his pet, he hadn’t given her more than a single scrap of ragged cloth to wear. Or rather, that was one reason—not that she wanted to know there was that kind of demand for her scrawny body.

Narrowing her one eye, she glared resentfully at Berkanan. Lumbering, timid, and with nothing to do. Aside from carrying the Dragon Slayer in place of a staff and having a massive body, everything about her looked appropriate for a mage.

“I’m amazed you can stand on the front line looking like that.”

“I-It’s not like I’m doing it because I...” Berkanan trailed off without finishing the sentence. She lowered her eyes to her sandals.

That fainthearted attitude aggravated Orlaya terribly, but she knew her anger was misdirected. So, she let the big girl off with a short snort. Orlaya’s frustration was probably with herself.

“Hey, do you want me to identify them? Or not?”

“It can wait until we get back to the surface, can’t it?” Raraja replied. In the unreliable phosphorescent light of the dungeon, he peered through the liquid inside of the potion bottle. “Don’t know about the potion, but if any of the equipment’s cursed, that’d be no fun.”

“You’re learning, I see,” said Iarumas.

Raraja scratched his nose awkwardly. That had been a compliment—or it’d felt like one to him.

“All right then, Berkanan. You take care of this.”

“O-Okay! I’ll carry it...!”

As Raraja handed her the potion bottle, Berkanan thrust out her ample chest with pride and then hurriedly stuffed it into the oversized bag she was so fond of.

Now that I think about it... Orlaya looked at the party with her single eye, and it suddenly occurred to her—wasn’t Iarumas the only one wearing much equipment? What about Garbage...?

Suddenly, Garbage raised her head...and let out a low growl like a dog or cat might.

“Grrrrrr...!”

“Hm?”

It happened in an instant.

“Surprised you!!!”

“Gih—?!”

Orlaya’s tiny body went flying. She only realized what was happening as she slammed into the dungeon wall. She heard a sound like a twig snapping.

“Ah, gagh, ah...?! Eagh, high, hih...?!”

The pain was so intense that she couldn’t even breathe.

Raraja and Berkanan both cried out.

“Orlaya?!”

“A-An enemy...?!”

They were both seasoned adventurers—their delayed responses weren’t because of inexperience.

It was their formation.

The burial chamber had seemed so expansive mere moments ago, and yet now, the room was suddenly so tight that they couldn’t pass each other easily. If they were going to move forward or back, they could only do so one at a time.

Naturally, Garbage was the first to move from the back row to the front row.

“Arrroooooo!!!”

The redheaded girl hollered as she sprang forward, the sword in her hands shining in the darkness.

There was a bright flash—

“Oops!”

“Rufff?!”

—that never came.

The strange animal wrapped in rags bounced like a ball and avoided Hrathnir.

Garbage’s eyes went wide. She growled vexatiously. Only the stone tiles had felt the sharpness of her demon-slaying sword.

As she swung the blade with her small frame, the recoil lifted her into the air, and she twisted her body. It was a move that seemed to defy the laws of physics.

The dragon. The demons. Goerz. Unlike with those previous foes, this time, it wasn’t size or her weapon that was the problem—this was purely a difference in skill.

Garbage had no way of avoiding the scythe that came at her from an absurd angle. The only thing to do was defend against it.

“Mimuarif seenzanme peiche (O invisible wall, become a billion shields)!”

Iarumas formed magic signs with one hand as he chanted a spell. MASOPIC, the crystal barrier, made a high-pitched sound as it deflected the scythe, saving Garbage’s life.

“Ahh...!”

Garbage’s eyes widened at this incomprehensible sight. She flipped over and landed on the ground. Even if the girl didn’t understand what had just happened, she knew that this enemy had disrespected her. A low growl rumbled from her throat.

Iarumas glanced at Garbage, then over to Orlaya, who had collapsed against the wall.

“Retreat,” he said in the same tone as ever—dispassionate, yet amused somehow. “Drag Garbage along with you.”

“Wh-What’re you gonna do...?!” Raraja shouted, holding his unsheathed dagger ready to strike.

“I’m the one in the front row now. I stay until the very end.”

“Stay?!”

The blood rushed to Raraja’s head, mixed with his thoughts, and swirled around inside his skull. There had been nothing happening just a moment ago, and now they were in this desperate situation. What was going on?

He wanted to throw a temper tantrum and just give up on all of it. But if he abandoned thinking like that, it was all too clear what would come of it. That was why he restrained his impulse to shout and instead desperately tried to comprehend the situation.

Look at what’s happening...!

Iarumas was in good shape. Garbage was fine. There was no problem with him either. Orlaya was the only one who’d been taken out.

And Berkanan was next to Orlaya.

“Orlaya...chan!”

Berkanan’s face was all scrunched up with panic. She was losing her head to a disgraceful degree. But as the situation progressed, she took firm action to protect her companions.

In between wheezing and coughing up dark clumps of blood, Orlaya managed to curse, “Da...mn...it...all...”

She didn’t know what was happening to her, but that was actually for the best. If she had been aware, she wouldn’t have been able to keep herself alert. She was in a sorry state. The rhea lay there on the ground, and it was pitiful to see how small she looked.

Her tiny, meager body had been ripped in half.

Orlaya was only alive because she still had her consciousness (hit points). She panted raggedly but kept drawing breath. She wasn’t dead yet.

Raraja bit his lip as he saw Berkanan nod.

What do we do...?!

Iarumas and the enemy stared each other down, neither taking a single step.

They didn’t move—they couldn’t.

Iarumas held his black rod—no, his saber in one hand, and the other hung at his side. Would he go in for a slash or start chanting again? It was impossible to tell what his next move would be.

Raraja recognized this scene from somewhere: the battle with the dragon of red death. It seemed so long ago now.

If Iarumas didn’t move, neither could his opponent.

Raraja raised his voice. “Berkanan, carry Orlaya!”

“R-Right...!”

Berkanan hurriedly scooped up Orlaya’s body as if she were carrying something precious. The little rhea girl...gave no response.

“Garbage!” Raraja shouted.

The redheaded girl did not respond.

“Garbage!!!” he shouted again—angry, pleading. He didn’t know what would happen from here, but they couldn’t survive without a pure front-liner in their party.

Survive—yes, survive. It was hard to imagine Iarumas losing, but Raraja didn’t intend to die.

“Garbage!!!”

“Wooof!”

On his third call, Garbage stopped glaring at the enemy and turned. Taking off at a run, she passed Raraja and even overtook Berkanan, who was carrying Orlaya. Then, with a single glance back, she growled, “Rrrruff!”

“I know...!”

In all honesty, Raraja didn’t know exactly what she meant. But he could be sure she wasn’t happy about this.

“You people can’t handle yourselves, so I’ll come along...”

He hated to admit it, but she was right.

Raraja and the others ran away.

§

That left one man and one creature. Or perhaps two people.

“I was so sure you’d cast DILTO.”

“I’m holding it back.”

“Could cost you your life, y’know?”

“Maybe.”

The two left behind in the burial chamber chatted casually, like old friends meeting in the dungeon by chance and saying, “Hey, how’ve you been?”

But Iarumas didn’t know this monster. He hadn’t seen one like it before—but that said, the appearances of monsters changed over time. As did their abilities. Whether he had vague memories of the past or not, he couldn’t rely on them much in the dungeon.

It’s a real pain.

Yet despite that thought, Iarumas’s features twisted into a smile. He hoped things would progress smoothly, without problems, and he would grow irritated and click his tongue when something unexpected happened.

But when everything went exactly as expected, that was boring. Hoping for smooth sailing, wishing for trouble that defied the expectations, and fantasizing about overcoming that adversity...

Honestly, this is how an adventure should be.

He was truly pleased beyond measure.

“Feel free not to answer,” Iarumas said, “but were you the one who attacked the temple?”

“You worried about that sexy nun?” It smiled in the darkness of its cloak. “I made her cry real good.”

“She was pretty upset.”

“Losing your head over love, huh? Ha ha ha! Don’t get jealous.”

The conversation continued. But that was because each was trying to read the other’s moves. No...

“I don’t know about that,” Iarumas replied. “I may be the one to make you jealous...”

The monster couldn’t predict Iarumas’s moves... Surely, behind that smile, it was thinking about what the adventurer could do.

A monster’s abilities were more or less fixed. Their souls were bound to the dungeon by a pact that forced them to live and die there again and again—or so some said. It wasn’t clear if there was any truth to it. But it was a fact that monsters didn’t grow. Not even the beastly marauders, who had strayed from the path of being human.

They were not like adventurers.

Between yesterday and today, today and tomorrow—no adventurer remained completely unchanging, be it in their abilities, equipment, or remaining spells.

Therefore, as long as Iarumas didn’t move...neither could the enemy. Because it didn’t know what he would do.

Fight, parry, spell, run, take back, huh...

Casting a spell was the option most likely to turn the situation around. But Iarumas was well aware of the folly of using magic against an unknown enemy. No matter what he cast, there was no point if it didn’t work. And there were many enemies in the dungeon that spells didn’t affect at all.

If his spell was nullified, he would have wasted a precious turn for nothing. And if he’d cast an ineffective seventh-level spell... Just thinking about that kind of waste made him shudder.

Compared to that, using MASOPIC to let Raraja and the others escape had been the less severe option.

Now then...

He opened the notebook in his head. It was old and tattered, with the binding coming undone. Iarumas knew a number of strange animals: medusa lizards, gorgons, gaze hounds, trolls, were lions, were panthers...

But this one spoke. That narrowed down the potential candidates.

A high-level monster that spoke, was highly intelligent, and had also been able to put up a fight against Ainikki...

A manticore, then? Those had spell resistance. Or maybe a chimera... He recalled they were strong against fire. Both were cobbled together from different animals, but they didn’t have to be animal in form.

There were displacer beasts too... Or perhaps... No, whatever it was...

“Shahhh!!!”

His chain of thought was broken by the enemy—the strange animal. Having taken the initiative, it slid across the floor of the burial chamber like a shadow, closing the gap between them in no time.

“I won’t let you get away! No!”

“Figured it out, huh?” Iarumas smiled thinly.

In order to flee, the black-clad man took advantage of his center of gravity being tilted backward and jumped to the rear. He somehow moved in time to block the pouncing enemy’s scythe.

The strident sound of metal clashing against metal rang out as Iarumas’s saber did a good job of defending its master. The scythe blade swung through, taking advantage of its curved form to slide along in a graceful arc.

Iarumas let loose a sharp whistle. That had been a close one. If he hadn’t had the focus (hit points) to see through it, he would’ve died.

Iarumas shuffled his feet as he landed and pivoted that momentum to go on the attack. He drew his sword back with a shout of exertion, then thrust it straight forward again.

“Heh heh, I don’t mind a little swordplay, but...”

At that moment, Iarumas heard the sound of a whirling wind. He instinctively tried to gain some distance, but the enemy acted faster. From beneath its tatters, a pair of lips peeked out ever so slightly, as if to blow a kiss.

“A breath attack, huh?!”

By the time Iarumas noticed, it was too late. A frigid flame threatened to tear him apart. The pale blue blaze wrapped around him, rapidly draining his body of warmth.

This...was not good.

“Chuzanme re tauk (O magic screen, become a wall against spells)!”

“Ha ha ha! It’s too late to cast CORTU!”

As Iarumas thrust out the hand that had formed the magic signs, an invisible force field blocked the blue flames and their freezing cold.

The enemy immediately followed up with an attack. Iarumas dodged out of the path of the scythe that would have reaped his life. The only direct physical damage he had taken was from its freezing breath. But his focus was being ground down.

Should his next move be to restore his lost stamina and willpower? He considered it as he stepped on the stone tiles, recovering his stance.

Nah.

Generally, battles between adventurers and monsters—especially experienced ones—did not go on for many rounds. It wasn’t a matter of time. It was the density of thought that was different. Each and every move steadily built on the last to settle the battle within just a few exchanges.

Iarumas’s hand, holding his black rod, hung loosely at his side. He gauged the distance with each step. His empty hand, formed into a magic sign, was like the mouth of a cannon pointed toward his enemy...

Yes, the eyes beneath the tatters were following Iarumas’s left hand. He saw that.

It will work!

“Haah...!”

As Iarumas swung his left hand, the enemy came dancing through the air.

His aim was off. In the gloom of the dungeon, he saw a pale, silvery crescent—like the midday moon.

Iarumas remembered.

“A flack...!”

§

“Dammit!”

Raraja ran wheezing through the dungeon gloom. He was frustrated—but not at having run away. There was no shame in an adventurer doing that.

What bothered him was that he hadn’t been able to come up with a single way to resist.

They’d slain a dragon, slipped past demons, and fought Goerz to get this far.

But it’s still not enough... Not at all!

He’d been relying on his mental map as he’d fled. But had he chosen the right paths? He was facing the opposite direction on the way back, so everything he saw was different.

Iarumas had told him once—if the place he was seeing, the map, and the coordinates didn’t match, then his pathfinding was meaningless.

That was absolutely correct.

“Ra-Ra... Raraja...kun...!” Berkanan cried out after him between wheezing breaths.

Her breasts, which were appropriately large for her body, were swaying wildly. Though she had built up stamina as an adventurer, she was still exhausted and out of breath. But of course, that was not the fault of the little rhea girl she was carrying on her back.

“Wh-Wha...? What...? What are we going to do...?!”

“I’m thinking about it now!!!” he snapped at her.

She let out a little “eek” and gulped. Raraja clicked his tongue in irritation.

He hadn’t really meant to yell at Berkanan. His head was just so packed full of thoughts that he had no space left to consider what he was going to say.

Anyway, first, we get to a safe spot... And heal...!

Orlaya would die if she got hit by another surprise attack or a spell. Of course, even if they healed her, her base stamina was low. It wouldn’t make much difference. In fact, there was even the option of not healing her, but...

“We’ll stop and treat her somewhere... There was a potion or something, right?!”

“Oh, y-yeah...!”

As Raraja barked orders, Berkanan hurriedly nodded her head. Then...

“Yap!” Garbage gave a short bark. She was running ahead of the group with Hrathnir resting against her shoulder.

Enemies? No, she would’ve been the first to rush in swinging if that were the case. So if it wasn’t enemies...

“Safety, huh?”

“Orlaya-chan... I-I’m setting you down, okay...?!”

In place of a response, there was only hoarse wheezing.

Orlaya was alive—that was enough for now.

Garbage was gazing around with her hand on Hrathnir’s hilt. Leaving her to stand guard, Raraja moved into action. He pulled Ainikki’s specially made holy water out of his pack and began scattering it across the floor. It had, of course, been Iarumas who’d taught him this method for warding off monster attacks while they camped.

Raraja couldn’t do it with that man’s skill or precision, so he didn’t know exactly how much it would help. But not doing it simply wasn’t an option.

Raraja came up short in everything. He didn’t have enough leeway that he could afford to be picky about what he did and didn’t do.

“Orlaya-chan, a-are you okay...? You’re...not, right? Um... Uhh...!”

Blood oozed out of Orlaya’s body—her flesh had made far too little noise when Berkanan had set her down on the stone tiles.

Berkanan’s clothing was stained a dark red too, but she seemed unconcerned with herself and instead cried out, “She’s bleeding...! And not responding!”

“Have her cast a spell, and if she can’t, use a potion! A potion of healing...of DIOS!”

“G-Got it...”

“Humm...”

Berkanan rummaged through her pack, while Garbage looked at Orlaya with a snort. Raraja was momentarily annoyed by how normal the redheaded girl was acting, but he quickly shook it off. If she was acting as she usually did, that meant the situation wasn’t bad enough to freak out over. Not yet, at least...

“O-Orlaya-chan, you’re...not okay, huh? C-Can you cast spells? Or do you need a potion...?”

As Berkanan spoke to her, the near-dead Orlaya cracked open her eye. Her blurry iris was even more fogged over than usual, and it was unclear whether she could see much of anything.

But she was conscious. That encouraged Berkanan.

She perked up her ears so as not to miss a word that might come with the hoarse breaths leaking from the rhea girl’s dry lips.

“Medi...cine...”

“M-Medicine... Medicine, okay. I’ve... I’ve got that...!”

Hurriedly bending her massive body, Berkanan thrust her hand into the bag she was carrying. A small hand, filthy with blood, grabbed her large arm and squeezed so tightly that it hurt.

“The... The unidentified one... Use that...first...”

“Orlaya-chan...?!”

“If I die...then all you’ll be left with is a random potion with an unknown effect...right?!” Orlaya shouted like she was spitting up blood. Her shoulders heaved with each onerous breath. Her unfocused eye glared at Berkanan.

She’s right.

Orlaya knew far more spells than Berkanan. Her skill played into that, but it was also because bishops could cast both mage and priest spells. Given that, it made sense to conserve those spells by using potions. And if the unidentified potion turned out to be a potion of DIOS, it would be a big help.

“D-Don’t be reckless...” Berkanan stammered.

“I have to be...or I’m finished!”

Orlaya’s tone was more desperate and sharp than Berkanan had expected. After a few seconds of hesitation, Berkanan quietly handed over the potion Orlaya had given her earlier.

With short, labored breaths, Orlaya grasped the little bottle in her heavily bandaged hands. For some time, she focused her one eye on the thick liquid inside of it.

“Ngh...!”

She ripped the cork out with her teeth and sloshed the whole thing down her throat all at once.

“Orlaya-chan?!”

Instead of responding, Orlaya raised her voice, venting her frustration. “Haaah...! Ugh... Not having much stamina to begin with is a real help at times like this!”

Everything had changed from a moment ago—that much was clear. The flame of her life had been as precarious as a candle flickering in the wind, but now, it had completely recovered.

It had been a potion of healing—of DIALMA. More powerful than DIOS, it was a great miracle of healing that belonged to the fifth level.

Still, it can heal this much...?

Orlaya looked closely at her hands and at the pale, scrawny body that peeked through her torn clothes. A thin layer of skin was growing over the new wounds that had been carved into her scarred figure. But more than that, she must have lost blood too. Even if, as a rhea, she hadn’t had much life in her to begin with...

It couldn’t have been a potion of MADI, could it?

MADI—the miracle told of in legends that healed all wounds. It was hard to imagine that a potion of that spell existed, but...

Still, this was huge.

“Th-Thank goodness...” Berkanan murmured, slumping to the ground weakly. “I’m so glad, Orlaya-chan...!”

“Sheesh, what’re you crying for?”

I’m the one who almost died.

But Orlaya bit back those harsh words. This infuriatingly large friend had been genuinely concerned for her. She’d never once thought that Orlaya should just die. Really...

It’s so annoying.

Orlaya reached out toward that wide-brimmed hat, which had dipped down unusually close to the rhea’s eye level—although it was still a bit higher—and gave it a tug.

“Bwagh?!”

“C’mon! On your feet! Raraja put up a barrier, but this is still the dungeon... Garbage!”

“Wuff.”

“You called?” Or maybe “Still alive?” That was the kind of casual response it was.

Glaring resentfully at the girl as she tottered over, Orlaya checked herself over from head to toe.

No wounds...

“Raraja, are you injured at all?!”

“No! You’re the one who almost died!”

“Don’t look at me, you idiot!” she shouted, pulling on her torn priest robe and holding it over her body with her arm.

Regardless, if she was acting like that, she would be fine—or she ought to be. As Orlaya managed to tie the torn ends of the fabric together to fix up her appearance, Raraja sighed.

“So...in the end, we’re not worn down at all, I guess?”

“In the...end.” Berkanan sounded like she had wanted to say more, but she just nodded and murmured, “Yeah... I think you’re right. I didn’t use any of my spells either.”

“If what you mean to say is that we’ve recovered, then well, I suppose so,” Orlaya added crabbily.

Raraja crossed his arms and groaned.

What should they do? Wait? Head back to town? Or go back to where they’d come from?

He didn’t have to think for long.

“Welp... Let’s head back to Iarumas.”

Garbage was the first to respond. “Yiiip!”

She’d looked bored with Hrathnir still resting against her shoulder, but her eyes sparkled at the suggestion that she might be able to get revenge. She just couldn’t stand letting that thing do as it pleased and get away with it.

Raraja was of the same mind as Garbage. He nodded firmly and began readying his equipment. He didn’t hear Orlaya clicking her tongue quietly over how he was acting like the leader when no one had put him in charge.

“Are you out of your mind? That thing could still be there.”

“All the more reason for us to head there in force.”

Dagger, map, gloves, and boots. And a gold coin tied to a string. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. These were all the cards in his hand. He didn’t know if they’d help to take out the enemy.

He gave a dry, cringing smile. “Though I’m not sure we can do anything...”

“Hmm...”

Orlaya’s murmur was neither for nor against this course of action. Raraja didn’t force her to make a decision—he instead looked at the silent Berkanan. “You can say no if you want, y’know?”

“Urkh! Ah!” Berkanan got flustered, her voice strangely shrill. “I-I... I... I’ll go too...!” Her big hands clenched powerfully, her knuckles white as she gripped the Dragon Slayer’s hilt.

Having been paid no mind—having been subjected to one-sided violence. She could accept neither of those things. Berkanan had always been held down by that kind of unreasonable, unfair treatment. She wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. There was no reason for her to allow it, not even once.

“Yap! Yiiip!”

“You’re starting to get it,” Garbage seemed to say as she slapped Berkanan’s big butt.

“Eek?!”

It didn’t do much damage. Berkanan just blushed and laughed it off with a shy smile.

Orlaya let out an exasperated sigh. “So what am I supposed to do as the one who’s against it?”

“Well...” Raraja gazed up toward the ceiling. Assuming, that is, that the dungeon even had a ceiling. “You can go back to Scale on your own...or camp here and wait, I guess?”

“I’m not doing either of those.” Orlaya said sharply. She rose shakily to her feet.

Berkanan rushed to support her, but she brushed off the big girl’s hand and leveled a finger at Raraja.

“I hope you’ve got a proper map drawn, of course.”

§

“Aroooooooo!!!”

Garbage vigorously kicked in the door—who’d closed it and when?—then rushed into the room.

The chamber was quiet, with nary a sound aside from that of the door falling down.

“Woof...” Garbage scrunched up her nose and looked around.

“Is the battle...over?” Berkanan asked in a whisper, trying to hide in Garbage’s shadow. She stood behind the redheaded girl, who was smaller than she was, her eyes timidly wandering.

“Dunno,” Raraja murmured, making sure not to let his guard down.

Dammit.

He could see now why Iarumas stayed in the back row. Uh, not that he was sure the man thought about it the same way he did.

Orlaya was the only one defending the back row now. The girl wasn’t wearing much of anything in the way of armor. If they were taken by surprise again...

For some reason, when he glanced back, his gaze met Orlaya’s single cloudy eye.

“What?” she snapped, glaring at him.

“Nah... It’s nothing,” Raraja responded curtly. He bit his lip. He didn’t have time to be thinking about unnecessary things. Not with everything else he needed to consider right now.

It’s a bit cold.

Raraja shuddered at the bone-chilling cold. Unlike the usual chill of the dungeon, the air in this burial chamber was freezing. It was similar to MADALTO, which he’d been subjected to during their battle with the greater demons.

“You scared?” Orlaya challenged him.

“No way...” he shot back, noticing Berkanan shivering and moaning as he did.

He appreciated Orlaya sniping at him now. If he just stayed quiet and in his own head, he felt like he might stop where he was.

“Berkanan, go look over there. If you find Iarumas, good. And if not, well, then it probably means he won.”

“O-Okay...!”

“Garbage, you—”

“Arf!”

“—are not even listening.”

They split up to search the chamber.

Burial chambers seemed both larger and smaller than they were. Perception was vague, blurry, and uncertain here. Something could be right beside you one moment, and in the next, it would suddenly be so far away that you needed to squint to see it.

If someone tried to march an army in here...

It’s probably true when they say that you’ll die if you venture into the dungeon with a group larger than six. That was what Raraja thought.

Iarumas was nowhere to be seen.

“Honestly, that guy...”

What was he doing getting lost? After a short curse, Raraja heard a faint voice.

“Yap!”

Garbage. She’d let out a short, sharp bark.

Did she find him?

There were no monsters in a chamber without monsters. It sounded stupid when put into words like that, but it was a rule of the dungeon. Raraja remembered it as he rushed over to Garbage.

The other members would soon join them. There was no need to worry about...

“Whoa, whoa, whoa...!”

Iarumas was indeed there. He was sitting with his back to the wall, holding his black rod. It was a position they saw him in often. Garbage stood in front of him, sword in her hands, snorting as if unamused.

The other members would soon join them.

Raraja felt as if he were sinking into a pit.

“Whadda we do about this...?!”

There was nothing above Iarumas’s shoulders—just the stone wall of the dungeon.

There, a single word had been written in dark ichor.

“Oops!”

Iarumas had been decapitated.

Chapter 5: Camp

“Iarumas? The corpse hauler? Haven’t seen him.”

“I see...”

Sister Ainikki stood on the edge of town, her melancholy expression looking picturesque in the evening light of the wasteland.

The adventurer she had called out to undoubtedly counted himself a fortunate man. It wasn’t often she spoke to someone without corpses, let alone outside the temple. Next to this bit of good luck, he didn’t even mind having come back from the dungeon with a poor haul. He had heard rumors of a nun—one who looked an awful lot like this one—who enjoyed casting TILTOWAIT in the gambling den, but...

Well, rumors are just rumors.

The adventurer racked his nonexistent brains, hoping to make her like him more. It might win him favor with Kadorto, and talking to a beautiful elf was one of the joys of life.

“Well, knowing him, he’s probably being slowed down by dragging four or five corpses behind him.”

“He doesn’t bring corpses back for me nearly as often these days, though...” Aine replied with a somewhat strained smile. She murmured, “But that’s a good thing...” before asking, “In that case, has anything changed inside of the dungeon?”

“You ask that, but there’re probably only a few things that haven’t changed...”

However, this adventurer understood the rules of the dungeon. He was well aware they were all drawn from experience, but...there was indeed a series of rules. Monsters inside burial chambers had chests, but wandering monsters didn’t. (Kind of obvious, if you think about it!)

Even in a place so far removed from the ordinary, there were some things that reigned absolute. So, if she was asking what had changed, well...

“If I had to reach for an answer, well, it’d be that our thief got lost even while looking at the map.”

The slender little girl standing next to him raised her voice in protest. “I told you—that’s not what happened!” A pair of cat ears sat atop her head, and a long, curling tail twitched at her rump. The felpurr thief flattened her ears like her ancestors would’ve and let out a low growl. “The layout of the dungeon changed. It was totally different from the map.”

“You made a mistake drawing it, right? And that’s why we couldn’t find the stairs.”

“Nuh-uh. It’s the dungeon that’s wrong!”

“That’s the spirit. Well, anyway, we were able to make enough on the upper floors, so we called it a day, sister.”

“I see...” Aine’s long ears swayed, and she smiled. “Thank you for your time. May your path lead you to a good death.”

“Please pray I’ll have a long path before that.”

The adventurer left with a goofy grin—the catgirl and his other companions followed behind him. Aine watched as they melted into the crowd of other adventurers and then vanished into Scale. Every adventurer was unique, yet when they were in a crowd, they all bled into one faceless mass.

It must be the dungeon that makes their lives and deaths sparkle.

With a sigh, Aine turned her eyes toward the monstrous maw of the dungeon. Many descended and were swallowed up, never to return. The number of those had gone up since the royal proclamation had been issued...

Thou must not forget thy death. And yet thou must not fear thy death.

That warning from the old, forgotten scriptures passed through Aine’s head.

Had Iarumas finally met his end?

And Garbage? And Raraja? And Berkanan and Orlaya?

If they had, then that would be a sad thing, but also joyous.

Even so...

In light of her recent failure, Ainikki couldn’t just innocently hope they had been welcomed by God. Their lives—and their deaths—could still grow in value. They still had things to accomplish.

Aine believed that with all her heart because it was also the embodiment of her faith.

Thus, she didn’t mind bringing their remains before God now and asking him his opinion.

She tightly clenched her hands—the skin there was as glossy as a newborn baby’s.

What concerns me is...

The adventurers had said the layout of the dungeon was changing. Ainikki wasn’t that knowledgeable on the subject, but she knew of something that could make it happen.

Those things that Iarumas was seeking. Shards of something that had wasted away.

He called it the amulet, but...

If that’s what I’m up against, will I really be able to make it there by myself? Of course, she would need to unseal the equipment she kept in an armor chest, which included that executioner’s sword, the Blade of Baking.

Sister Ainikki would gladly accept the embrace of death—but she had no intention of leaping into its arms like a young maiden in love. The god Kadorto did not approve of weighing the pros and cons before going to one’s death. Though at the same time, he would not be pleased if one were to pass through the gates of death recklessly without reason, sense, or a plan.

In between those two extremes lay the road to glory, which everyone sought.

“I hope that the All-Stars have returned...”

As she was mumbling to herself, a gravelly voice spoke up. “Oh, dear, would this mere priest not be up to the task?”

As if prying open the jaws of the dungeon, a large figure arose from the darkness.

“Oh my!” Ainikki’s eyes shone. “Well now...!”

He was large in both height and width, and also thick. The man was a mass of muscle. Any adventurer in Scale who had ventured into the dungeon multiple times had likely seen him, even if they didn’t know his name. But even if they hadn’t seen him, they had undoubtedly heard his name.

The sage Rodahl who walks the empty plain—the man was not so much a priest as a monk.

“Were you administering treatment again today?” Aine asked.

“Well, you know, I wouldn’t feel right just accepting alms,” the man replied with a lighthearted laugh. “This is also a part of my training.”

“Thank you for your hard work,” Ainikki said with a smile and a bow.

He was one of the priests who provided free healing in the space next to the stairs that led down to the first level of the dungeon. Not even Aine knew the details of the holy symbol that hung from his neck, but she recalled that it was from an old sect. Molrog, she believed, was the name...

Aine wasn’t really one to judge people for following a different god than she did. The followers of the Goddess of the Land just tended to avoid her on their own.

“Still, you’re waiting for Iarumas, huh? He’s a lucky man.” Rodahl wore a look of curiosity on his chiseled features. “Well now, could this be about love?”

“No...” Aine furrowed her brow, her eyes wandering as she searched for a response. “I heard the banshee’s cry just the other day, after all.”

“Ahh, that is a symbol of ill fortune. Although, ignorant monk that I am, I still have yet to hear it myself...”

How much of what he said was a joke? How much was serious? He was inscrutable—as hard to pin down as a cloud.

Ainikki avoided telling him everything. Though he was a high-level adventurer, Rodahl had not been called in by the owner of Durga’s Tavern.

There was just one reason for that.

He was solo.

No matter how skilled he was—no matter how capable—Gil had been hesitant to reveal the truth to a solo adventurer. In that sense, perhaps it was a good thing that Iarumas had met Garbage and Raraja.

“Are you not aware of anything, Rodahl?”

“If you mean about Iarumas, he passed by. On the first level. It looked like he was going to delve deeper.”

“I see...” Aine’s eyes lit up. “And how long ago was that?”

“Who can say?” Rodahl gazed up to the heavens. “Time is unreliable in the dungeon, after all.”

The sky in Scale was often cloudy. But the bloodred color of dusk was visible clearly.

“I think it might have been five days ago, but it could have been five years. Though five minutes ago seems unlikely.” Rodahl continued, choosing his words with a caution that reflected his thoughtful sobriquet. “However, he was not carrying much with him. If he wasn’t able to return before his supplies ran out, then...”

“He ran into a problem.”

“That, or he may simply be obsessed with his exploration.” The words were empty comfort, but Rodahl said them with a gravelly laugh. “Incidentally, this humble priest knows nothing about all that talk of the dungeon’s layout. I’m only ever near the entrance to the first level.”

“I’ll bet.” Aine smiled. “Thank you for taking the time to tell me.”

Ainikki bowed her head with practiced grace. Rodahl waved his hand and said to think nothing of it. After that, she watched him tread away, then let out another sigh.

It’s not good that I look like my head is in the clouds.

Her earlier defeat—and yes, it was clearly a defeat—was having more of a lasting effect on her than she would have thought. It wasn’t like her at all. Normally, she was more decisive than this.

She could think about what to do later, when it came time to do so. For now, she needed to be in top form and do all she could.

With that decided, Sister Ainikki’s stride became strong and decisive. She turned on her heel and began walking straight toward town.

But then—

“What’s wrong, sister? You’ve got a face like you’re about to unleash MALIKTO on your boyfriend.”

—there was a cackling laugh from behind her.

§

“Wouaah!!!” Garbage howled.

“Wah, ahhh?! Wahh...?!” Berkanan’s battle cry followed with a nasal timbre.

Hrathnir demonstrated its might, while the Dragon Slayer was as unmotivated as ever. But of course that was the case—they were facing an army of the horrifying denizens of the demon world.

“BAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Taller even than Berkanan, the red demons with goatlike horns swung their four arms around as they hollered. They rushed in to torment the adventurers, coming in numbers so great that they dyed the dungeon gloom a dark shade of red. Taking even one direct hit from them would have been fatal, but since these were demons, a physical blow wasn’t the only danger.

“MO (Mimuzanme) LI (Lai) TO (Tazanme)...!”

The demons cast spells as easily as they breathed, and Orlaya raised her timorous voice to send back true words of her own.

“Daruila tazanme (O darkness, come.)!”

The supernatural darkness of DILTO covered up the lesser demons as the lightning of MOLITO struck the adventurers.

“Ewwk?!”

“Auhhh...?!”

“Kh, uh...?!”

“That burns...! Dammit...!”

Garbage yelped. Her cry was followed by the girls’ screams and Raraja’s cursing.

He didn’t intend to complain about Orlaya’s choice of spells. He knew that the spell that sealed an enemy’s magic, whatever it was called, didn’t work well against demons. He also knew that this wasn’t the case with DILTO. But more than that, he figured he ought to be glad that the spell she’d cast—through chattering teeth, as her complexion drained of color in the face of the onrushing demons—had worked at all.

“Take that!”

Boldly lunging forward, Raraja abandoned his usual parrying and spun his dagger around to hold it in a backhand grip. He put his other hand on the pommel, then ran into the enemy as hard as he could—stabbing it!

“BAAAAAAAAA?!!!”

“If you can’t dodge, then, yeah, it’s gonna hit!”

The demon wasn’t as slow as a kobold now—it was as slow as a slime. Raraja slipped under its flailing arms and buried his blade deep into its flesh.

“EEEEEEEEEEKKK?!”

With a dying scream, ichor erupted from the goat-headed demon. Its body crumbled away and dissolved into mist.

That saved Raraja the trouble of pulling his dagger free, but the battle wasn’t over.

“Grooooowl!”

Hrathnir roared as Garbage swung it, unleashing its vacuum blade into the void. It produced a gust with so much pressure that the air became visible, shining like a pale blue tempest as it violently diced up demons deep in the darkness.

“BAAAAA?!”

“Wouah!!!”

“Don’t run in too far by yourself, Garbage!”

She really is the linchpin!

If it weren’t for Garbage gleefully charging the enemy, the party would have long since been slaughtered. Raraja had to acknowledge that. Or rather—

“Wahh! Yahh...! Yah! Th-There...! Eek...?!”

—he had to acknowledge that if any of them had been missing, even Berkanan, whose wild swings weren’t hitting much of anything, then they’d all be dead.

Berkanan stood out no matter what she did. She drew the enemy’s attention but didn’t go down easily. Though that was hard to imagine given the timid, hesitant way she swung her sword...

“Raraja, there’s no end to them!” Orlaya snapped sharply from the back row.

“I know that!” Raraja shouted back at her.

Garbage had just shredded one demon to ribbons with a single swing of Hrathnir, and another dark-red figure was already pushing forward. Was it because of the demons’ power to summon more of their own kind? Or was it something else? Raraja didn’t know.

What he did know was that, yeah, there was no end to them. Which meant that eventually, the party would get worn down.

Just as Garbage was about to leap gleefully toward the enemy, Raraja grabbed her by the scruff of the neck.

“Whah!” she cried out.

“We’re going!” he shouted, ignoring any objection.

Garbage struggled. But even though her morale had been high, that didn’t mean she wasn’t worn down at all. Open cuts oozed all over her scrawny body, and the blood seeping out hadn’t been washed away, even after she’d practically been bathed in demonic ichor.

The wounds were far from fatal. But it was clear that her focus (hit points) had been ground down.

“E-Even if we run, which way do we go...?!” Berkanan half blubbered.

Raraja was about to say something, but then he let Garbage loose.

“Yap?!”

“Follow her!”

He didn’t know how this feral dog of a girl sorted her priorities, but he knew that she had a soft spot for Berkanan. With the big girl whining, Garbage would probably let out a resigned snort and then restrain her behavior a little. He was just going to count on that.

Glaring at the demonic figures closing in on them, Raraja growled, “It’ll be a pain if we have to fight the next wave of them! Get going!”

“R-Right...!”

“Arf!”

With a resigned bark, Garbage took off running, and Berkanan followed. Raraja listened to the sound of their footsteps to confirm their retreat as he began slowly backing away.

Orlaya was the only one still right behind him. Her sole eye wavered uneasily. She watched the demons deeper inside the burial chamber as she whispered, “You’re sure we can’t rely on maps?”

“I might just be bad at mapmaking!”

He didn’t have to say that loud enough for Berkanan to hear. But still...

Well, I’m sure Berkanan already realizes it.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have asked him which way to go. Whether it was a sign of intelligence or not was up to interpretation, but in terms of how fast she could think, Berkanan was a mage all right.

“Just go already,” said Raraja. “I’m not going to hang around and fight!”

“I was never counting on you to.” Orlaya tossed that spiteful comment his way before she turned and ran off.

Once her footsteps were a good enough distance away, Raraja took off too—but before he did...

“C’mon, we’re going, Iarumas!”

He grabbed the hemp rope tied to the corpse bag the man had been stuffed inside and dragged him along without hesitation or mercy.

A corpse was a corpse. And in the dungeon, it was nothing more than that. Raraja had no intention of treating it with care, but he wouldn’t abandon it either. That was how Iarumas had always been.

Not having a head makes him that much lighter, though!

There was a loud whoosh as a demon’s arm swung down, striking the edge of the corpse bag.

“Uh-oh!”

They wouldn’t want the cost of resurrecting the man to go up even more, so Raraja gritted his teeth and pumped his legs. As he fled, his face broke into a grin.

I’m really thinking about the cost at a time like this, huh?

It was incredibly pathetic and strained—but it was definitely the smile of an adventurer.

§

“This situation is the worst.”

“O-Oh, you’re just gonna come out and say that...”

“If me staying quiet would fix it, I’d be fine keeping my mouth shut, you know?”

“I-I didn’t say you should...”

“Woof...”

Later, in an unfamiliar burial chamber, the adventurers set up camp away from the pile of viscera and puddle of blood left behind by the enemies Garbage had slain—she’d decided they were weak.

They’d long since given up on the map. Raraja didn’t have the spare mental capacity for it, and there wasn’t any point in drawing one anymore.

When they turned and looked back, paths that should have been there were gone. There were walls where there should have been doors—doors where there should’ve been stairs.

At first, he had suspected a teleporter or something of the sort. But this was clearly something else.

Someone was doing it—likely that dancing silhouette. He had no doubt that, even at this very moment, it was silently transforming the layout of the dungeon.

“That said...” Raraja groaned. He had tossed Iarumas’s body aside and was lying spread-eagle on the stone as he tried to catch his breath. “Given that we haven’t all suddenly found ourselves inside the walls, it looks like it can’t do anything too ridiculous.”

Orlaya scoffed. “This situation is already ridiculous enough, surely.”

“I-It might...just be playing around. Um... With us as its toys...”

“That’s entirely possible...”

Orlaya figured that Berkanan’s speculation, mumbled as it was, was likely correct.

And hold on, the way she’s acting...

She was the usual timid Berka. In other words, she was acting the same as ever. Maybe she actually was pretty gutsy?

Compared to that... Orlaya peered down at her own tiny palms, though she didn’t have to look to know they were quivering. As she thought about Raraja’s actions earlier, she had to reflect on how pathetic she’d been back when she’d tried to be the leader.

Then there was Garbage, arms crossed, looking down with boredom at the corpse bag lying at her feet.

I’m the most shaken up here, huh...?

Iarumas had died.

Orlaya had never particularly felt like she was relying on him—yeah, she had never felt that way. She glanced over at the corpse bag, then shifted her sitting position so that she could hug her knees.

I need to get my facial expression under control... she thought. Why were Raraja and the others so unperturbed?

Naturally, Orlaya couldn’t have known. Setting Garbage’s experience aside, for Raraja...

This is the second... No, third time? I can’t get used to it...

This was the second time Iarumas had died. It was also the second time Raraja had found himself in an unknown part of the dungeon. If he counted the time that Garbage had been teleported away right before his eyes, then that made this the third time he’d lost a companion.

He couldn’t say he was getting used to it, but he was also less flustered than he would’ve expected himself to be. Compared to when he’d been walking the dungeon alone in search of the Gold Key, he was still better off... Or so he believed.

Though Raraja’s own state of mind perplexed him, he managed to steady his breathing. He soon sat up.

“Wh-What do we do next?” Berkanan asked hesitantly. “Do we just...camp?”

Camping, like they were doing now, didn’t mean taking a break, of course. It meant waiting until someone—who?—came to rescue them from the depths.

Time was no issue. The concept was already ambiguous inside of the dungeon. It felt as though they could wait ten days, ten months, or even ten years without eating or drinking a thing. He’d never tried it before and didn’t want to, but...

Can we actually count on anyone to come find us...?

Raraja couldn’t think of anyone.

Would the All-Stars act on their behalf? Or Sister Ainikki?

They probably would. It was a possibility. He wouldn’t deny that, but...

Only six people could act together at one time in the dungeon. If six adventurers came to save them, then...

It’d take several trips back and forth, yeah.

They could also split up the party, but...would that “dancing silhouette” let that opening slip by? And if it could mess around with the dungeon’s layout, was it really going to leave an open path to their location from above? That seemed hard to imagine.

“Either we take that thing down somehow or make our way back to the surface on our own... That’s what I’m thinking.”

“I figured that’s what it might come down to...” Berkanan nodded. “There’s no telling how long we’d have to wait...”

“And we don’t have Iarumas’s head,” Raraja said with a casual laugh. Berkanan just smiled vaguely. She was humoring him.

Even if they brought in a corpse without the head, the Temple of Cant would still perform a resurrection ceremony...he assumed. There might be discussion of how much of a tithe they had to pay, but if they piled up enough gold, the priests would probably complete the ritual.

So sure, they’d do it, but as for the chance of success...

I wonder about that.

Could even an act of the great god Kadorto make a head spurt from that stump? Wouldn’t even a god shake his head at that? It seemed like raising ashes would be easier.

But even then, the weight wouldn’t be right...

In that case, was his soul already lost? A true death, leaving no option but burial. Though if Raraja called that a failure, it would upset Sister Ainikki...

As he was thinking about all of this, Orlaya narrowed her cloudy eye and glared up at him from between her knees.

“So, are you having fun hand-waving about how we’re going to do it?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

Orlaya didn’t respond to that—she just clicked her tongue. Raraja quickly caught hold of his spinning thoughts and got them back on track.

“The ‘how’ of it is important, but the other big question is ‘where,’” he said. “We’ve gotta figure out where that thing is first...”

“I...um...” Berkanan raised her hand hesitantly, waggling the toes that poked out of her sandals. “I m-might have some idea...how.”

“What?”

“Um, I think Garbage-chan’s sword...might be able to manage it...”

Everyone’s eyes focused on Berkanan. She shuddered, as if startled by the attention. Then, squeezing the Dragon Slayer she carried in lieu of a staff, she unconfidently added, “I-I mean, that thing...dodged it. I saw that. Which means...well, you know...”

“You’re saying that a hit from her sword might deal some serious damage to it?”

Instead of trading blows with Garbage, it had dodged her blade. Knowing the enemy’s personality, or what little they had glimpsed of it, it was possible that it had simply been teasing them. Or perhaps its power would have utterly overwhelmed them, so it had seen no point in trading blows.

But they couldn’t reject Berkanan’s idea outright. Because...

“It’s Hrathnir, after all...” Orlaya murmured.

“Yap?” Garbage’s head snapped up as if she’d been called.

Clear blue eyes, like bottomless pools. An aged blade clutched in slender arms. This was Hrathnir, the demon-slaying sword.

The Diamond Knight of their generation had been ignoring their conversation to rummage through Iarumas’s belongings. Considering the way she was now chewing on the dried meat she’d been looking for, maybe she was indeed pretty exhausted...

But still, we have a way to kill it.

It wasn’t clear how they’d land a hit with Hrathnir, but if they could, that thing would die. And what would they do if they couldn’t? Well, there was no point in thinking about that.

“Now we just have to figure out where it is...” Raraja said.

“Even if we go looking, the dungeon’s a mess...” Berkanan mumbled uneasily, her eyes wandering beneath the wide brim of her hat. She seemed to think the walls might press in and crush them all at any moment. But setting that worry aside—the fact that she could set it aside was very much like Berkanan—she continued, “B-But...if it’s not chasing us, then...it’s lying in wait somewhere...don’t you think?”

“You say that, but if we don’t know where, then... Ah.”

Raraja had a sudden realization. He slowly approached Iarumas’s corpse bag.

Garbage stared at him sharply.

“Woof...!”

“I’m not gonna take it from you.”

“Arf...”

“That’s fine, then.” Content with the effect of her intimidation, Garbage went back to chewing on her dried meat.

Raraja ignored her and began rifling through the headless Iarumas’s equipment. If he had brought his usual equipment and tools with him, then...

“It’s not like a corpse can use it... Iarumas won’t complain if I borrow it for now. Probably.”

Raraja had grabbed a ring—the Ring of Jewels.

“What’s that?” Orlaya asked crabbily. She had been watching him closely. “I’m sure it’s no ordinary ring...”

“Oh, I know this one!” Berkanan exclaimed with delight. “It can cast DUMAPIC, right?”

“It contains DUMAPIC?!”

“Which means we can figure out our location,” said Raraja. “Better than nothing, right?”

As she watched Raraja drop the ring into his pocket, Orlaya’s eye widened, and she let out a groan. That thing was a genuine magic ring. Did he have any idea how valuable it was? Even if the spell sealed inside of it, DUMAPIC, was incredibly basic...

Honestly, it’s enough to make me lose my sense of things.

The spell would tell them their current location without error. That didn’t sound like much, but in the world outside, it was one of the ultimate secrets of mages.

She wasn’t sure how useful it was, but knowing that spell was the sort of thing that could get you hired as a court magician. And yet, here in the dungeon, DUMAPIC was treated as a mere first-level spell...

If you were to say that all it does is reveal the caster’s position, then well, it’d be true.

But that didn’t change the fact that it was useful in the dungeon. Just knowing where you were was...

Just knowing?

Having thought that far, an idea suddenly struck Orlaya.

“KANDI!”

“Whoa?!”

“Eek?!”

“Yap?!”

The other three all jumped in surprise at her sudden outburst.

Acting like she hadn’t noticed, the rhea bishop began raving excitedly. “Honestly! How did I forget it all this time?! Well, because I don’t use it all that often, but still...!”

KANDI was a second-level priest spell, after all. And while it was technically only one step up from the basics, it was definitely nothing to sneeze at.

MONTINO, MATU, CALFO.

There were a lot of valuable spells at the second level. Usually, there was no way she’d waste one of her spell uses on KANDI.

As for its effect...

“Do you know...?” Raraja glanced at Berkanan.

“No, I don’t.” She shook her head vigorously, and her wide-brimmed hat flopped in tandem.

Raraja didn’t even look at Garbage. “So, what’s it do?” he asked.

“It tells you the location! Of dead bodies!”

“Huh? But the body’s...”

Already here.

Raraja trailed off. He’d already come to the answer. But Berkanan had gotten there a moment faster.

“Um, Orlaya-chan, you’re saying it can find Iarumas’s...”

“Right!” Orlaya’s solitary eye lit up proudly. Her twitching cheeks rose in a bold smile. “With it, we can find the location of that thing that has his head!”

§

“Kafaref nuun darui (Follow the spirits of the lifeless ones)...”

As Orlaya’s charming yet austere chant flowed over them, invisible waves brushed against their skin and passed through their bodies. The inscrutable sensation made Garbage cry “Ewk?!” but that had no effect on the result of the spell.

Raraja and Berkanan gulped as they watched.

“Okay,” Orlaya said with a nod. “I’ve found the head’s location. Assuming it doesn’t run around, that is.”

“’Kay, now it’s our turn... Uh...?”

“It’s ‘Dauk mimuarif peiche (O cloth, spread out, show my place).’” Berkanan whispered the words as Raraja held up the ring, and magical power spread out once again.

“Eek?!” Garbage was apparently not happy about it—she jumped back for no good reason before baring her fangs.

“Rrrruff!”

“Yeah, yeah, deal with it,” Orlaya chided her. “If we don’t know where your prey is, you can’t do anything...or, no, I guess you can.”

The redheaded girl seemed ready to go kicking in doors at random.

Orlaya let out a sigh. “So, how did it go?” she asked. “Did you figure it out?”

“Well, probably... I think it’s nearby. If we can travel in a straight line, that is.”

“Now it’s just a matter of luck, huh?”

On a sheet of graph paper, they plotted their current coordinates, which Raraja had found with DUMAPIC, and the coordinates for Iarumas’s head that Orlaya had discovered.

This was no map. It was a completely blank page.

But like Raraja had just said, the two points weren’t that far apart... Still, that fact couldn’t be relied upon in the dungeon. Even without that dancing silhouette rearranging the layout, it wasn’t easy to head straight toward an objective. If it were, then this wouldn’t be the dungeon.

“It could be that our enemy’s made it impossible to find it, right?” suggested Raraja. “Like with areas that are only accessible by stairs or an elevator.”

“B-But it probably just...wanted to make us take a long route around...” Berkanan said, glancing at Raraja to see his reaction. Her hands tightened on the Dragon Slayer, as if she were clinging to it. “I don’t think...it’ll stop us from coming... Because, um, well...it wants to mock us in person.”

“I suppose...running around and hiding from us is pretty uncool, yeah,” Raraja agreed with a nod.

That was what Goerz would’ve done. If people had looked down on him, he would’ve been finished. It was fine to be seen as crafty. But being perceived as a coward was fatal.

Raraja didn’t understand the social relationships between monsters, but they probably had hierarchies similar to wild beasts, at least. And this one had the intelligence to speak too. It was fine with mocking them, but it wouldn’t stand being mocked in return...

“Right...?”

“Arf.”

Garbage glared at him. “What? You picking a fight?” But Raraja casually brushed it off. Well, the monster probably wasn’t less sensitive than Garbage.

“I’m not able to waste any more second-level spells, though,” said Orlaya.

We can do without CALFO at this point.

They couldn’t afford to go opening chests anyway. And if they did, then that was Raraja’s responsibility. Having decided that, Orlaya started thinking about what spells she had left.

“As for other preparations...” Raraja slid his glove back on. “What else is there to do?”

“U-Um...” Berkanan blinked her big eyes. “G-Going over our strategy...maybe?”

“Is there anything to plan beyond charging in and killing it?” Orlaya murmured with a laugh. Her remark was half resignation, half desperation. Even if she pushed back on the idea, she was the one who had proposed using KANDI, and it was she who had cast it. “If only I could use MAPORFIC... It has a long duration.”

“Well, no point crying for things we don’t have.”

“So you’re saying that there’s nothing we can do about our lack of a plan?” Was Orlaya being sarcastic because of how uneasy she felt? She bit her lip. “Fine... Let’s go. Just make sure you keep a tight leash on Garbage.”

“I dunno...”

“Woof...” Garbage barked. Perhaps she felt insulted... Or was it tension because she sensed the coming battle?

Berkanan bent over a little in her unwieldy way. She had a pitiful look on her face.

“L-Let’s do our best...”

“Yap!”

Garbage’s confident response seemed to say, “Leave it to me.” The girl never let those who mocked her go unanswered. It was clear she wouldn’t be satisfied until she shut that “strange animal” up.

Raraja looked around at the rest of the party, then tugged on Iarumas’s corpse bag. There was no telling what might come in handy. Of course he was bringing it along with them.

“Okay...” Raraja took a deep breath. He psyched himself up, slapped his trembling knees, and shouted, “We’re going!”

“Aroooo!”

Before he’d even finished speaking, Garbage was already bounding out of the chamber. Her eyes searched left and right as she trod over the door she’d kicked in as they’d entered.

“Wuf!”

Then, without paying any mind to whether her companions were keeping up, she raced off—out of sight.

“It’s that way...I guess?” Berkanan ventured hesitantly.

“I showed her the map beforehand, but there’s no telling whether she actually understood it!” Raraja immediately took off, chasing after Garbage.

From here, it was all down to luck—or rather, Garbage’s instincts.

Ugh! Have some compassion for how we feel! But as he chased the redheaded Garbage, who’d shot off like an arrow, Raraja was smiling. He had his misgivings—had his fears. He was clueless about how this was going to work out. But even so, he pressed forward.

Raraja had never thought of himself as a leader. He didn’t consider himself a hanger-on either, but he’d had the vague sense that Iarumas was their leader.

But then again, had the man ever actively tried to pull them toward something? The one who had always charged ahead was this redheaded dog of a girl, right?

Does that mean she’s the leader of this party?

“Yeah, not a chance!”

“Wouaah!”

§

“Wou! Wouaah!”

Bisecting foes in a single stroke, brushing enemies aside with ease, the demon-slaying holy sword Hrathnir let out a howl. It wasn’t clear what the blade in the hands of the Diamond Knight was feeling, but Garbage herself was in high spirits. The hilt moved as if alive, threatening to slip from her palms, but she held on tight and whirled it around. The vacuum blade flew through the air, shearing through demons and making them dissolve with a splash of ichor.

She would then spring into the vacated space without hesitation, kicking off the stone tiles to dance through the air. Unable to restrain the power of her big sword, she twisted herself around with the recoil and momentum, swinging the blade as if dancing with it.

“BAAAAAAAAA?!”

The red goat-heads were no match for her now. What were these ridiculous four-armed things? Insects? They tried moving their arms in curious ways, but she hacked them all off. Even if she ran into that big blue one, she’d be able to carve it up right now—this was what the redheaded girl seemed to declare as she growled and bared her fangs.

But that said, her current prey was that “strange animal.” She needed to pulverize it.

Still, she was disappointed in that dark guy. Letting himself get taken down. The noisy one, the tall slow one, and the little one had seemed flustered too. Yeah, as the strongest of the bunch, she needed to carve a path for them.

“Yap! Yiiip!” she barked without looking back.

Garbage rounded corner after corner, continuing down the corridor.

No, she wouldn’t get lost. The sword in her hands, this new broadsword she’d pulled on a lower level, was tugging her in the right direction. It was pretty convenient. Though she wasn’t going to tolerate its self-centered behavior, she didn’t mind this tendency when it was useful to her.

Garbage was able to pull the sword close, though it felt like it was going to get away from her, and she continued racing through the dungeon. She would kick down or cut through anything that stood in her way—and then go where she liked.

Garbage was in a great mood.

“Augh! We shouldn’t have left it to her!”

“Haaah, haaah, haaah... Sh-She’s too fast...!”

“Hey, hurry up! They’re coming from behind us too!”

However, the three who had to keep up with her were experiencing nothing but trouble. That was why it was fortunate, and perhaps surprising, when Garbage suddenly slowed down.

“Grrrrrr...!” The girl let out a low growl, her bare feet sliding to a sudden stop on the stone tiles.

That move meant—no, there was no need to think about it.

“New enemies...?!”

Raraja leaped the last few steps forward, rushing to stand at Garbage’s side.

He spied silhouettes in the black depths of the dungeon corridor. They weren’t the goat-headed forms of lesser demons. For one thing, they only had two arms. Their figures were slender and petite. They were delicate. They walked quietly.

“They’re...” Berkanan caught up to him, wheezing as she gulped lungfuls of air. “Women...in robes?”

Before them stood a group of beautiful girls clad in robes, or perhaps some kind of negligee. They moved with elegance and refinement. Their faces bore vague and inscrutable expressions. Even in the darkness, he could tell how beautifully fair their skin was.

For a moment, Raraja was reminded of the succubi they’d encountered before. But these women were different. The succubi were demons, and it had been clear at a glance that they’d been inhuman. These women, however, didn’t exude that demonic feeling...

Well, what are they, then?

“W-Wahhh...!”

Berkanan was the first to react. The girl was timid, but she still ran forward with a desperate scream, Dragon Slayer held high.

“Berkanan?!” Orlaya called after her in bewilderment.

But even in her confusion and fear, Berkanan showed no hesitation.

They’re like that person...!

It wasn’t clear in what way, exactly. But on the night when she had first held the Dragon Slayer, she’d faced an adventurer. Feeling the same sort of presence from the women, Berkanan sucked in her stomach and swung her sword. Of course, Berkanan’s moves were practically amateur, so she didn’t reach them, but...

“Grrroooowl!!!”

It still worked out in her favor.

Garbage leaped forward, not wanting to lose to Berkanan. Their foes were a bit far away. But that was no big deal for Hrathnir. The wind from the holy sword became a vacuum blade, racing through the air to chop up the women.

“Woof...!”

However, her blade went completely off course. It was like an invisible force field emanating from the women’s bodies had turned the wind aside. As the big slash tore through the air, the women giggled and retreated.

Orlaya’s eyes widened at the mysterious way their arms were moving.

“BAMATU?!”

A miracle of protection—a third-level priest spell. If these women could use it so easily, just how capable were they?!

“They’re spellcasters! I don’t know how advanced...but definitely high-level! Priests!”

“What’d you say...?!”

That’s bad news!

Raraja didn’t know what spells priests had access to. But just knowing they were spellcasters made him massively more wary. And they were high-level too.

If they blast us, we’re finished...!

He didn’t have to think hard to remember the violent explosion Iarumas had unleashed. There wasn’t any time for delay.

“We need to use spells too!”

“Huh, oh, MONTINO—”

“No, the sleeping one...!”

This was another thing that worked in their favor. Raraja hadn’t really thought about it beyond, “Well, if they’re not demons, then magic should work on them, right?”

Hearing this bold decision made out of a lack of deeper knowledge, Orlaya bit her lip, then did as he said a moment later.

“Kafaref tai nuunzanme (Stop, O soul, thy name is sleep)...!”

“Mimuarif bearif darui (O all life, proceed into death)...”

Orlaya’s chanting of KATINO overlapped with the women’s MABADI.

Two similar yet dissimilar spells. One affecting the soul—the other affecting life. They flew past each other and struck the opposing sides.

“Ea...gh, igh, ah...?!”

“Eek?!”

The spell forced screams from Orlaya’s and Garbage’s mouths.

Unlike fire or lightning, there was no visible spectacle here. Raraja felt something catch deep in his chest. His breath was short—his vision flickered. His head grew hot, and he was overwhelmed by a feeling of exhaustion that could rob him of consciousness at any moment.

If this keeps up, I’ll die...!

This was something lethal. Fear of impending death rushed up from deep within his heart. It was like the spell had carved a chunk out of his life.

Raraja came close to collapsing, but he was able to endure it by falling against the wall with his shoulder. Garbage dropped to her knees, moaning, and he heard Orlaya’s legs give out behind him.

However, on the other side of Berkanan, who was leaning on her sword, he saw a number of the women keel over.

But not all of them...!

“Berkanan!!!”

“Urgh, gh... Urgh...!!!”

She was about to faint as well, but hearing Raraja shout, Berkanan acted a moment after everyone else had. She took hold of her sword with moves that seemed faltering, unsteady, and from anyone else’s perspective, sluggish—but she felt she was acting with desperation.

Here, in this very moment, the dragon-slaying sword truly became her staff.

“Ka... Kafaref tai nuunzanme (Stop, O soul, thy name is sleep)...!”

Berkanan chanted a second KATINO in between labored breaths. She thought she’d done a brilliant job.

She always felt that way. You did well. Good work. That was pretty impressive for you.

And it always came back to bite her—as if life itself was saying that whatever she’d done wasn’t that big of a deal.

But not this time.

“Ah...”

She tumbled forward, and as she peered through the gloom with her foggy vision, she saw the women dropping to the floor one after another.

It felt too pathetic to call this victory—but a win was a win.

“I...did it...!”

Still collapsed on the stone where she had fallen, Berkanan wept.

§

“Hey, you dead...?”

“Uggghhhhhh...”

That had been close. When Raraja called out, Garbage immediately answered. She was crawling on the floor, but she soon got up like a wounded beast, never letting her guard down as she did. She exhaled ragged breaths through her bared fangs.

The light hadn’t gone out of her clear blue eyes, but they were blurred and a bit clouded. This might have been the first time Raraja had seen her so weakened.

Not that I’m in much better shape myself...

“Garbage’s fine... How about Berkanan and Orlaya...?”

“O-Ohh... I-I’m... Fi-Fine...!”

Speaking in between sobs, Berkanan got up.

Raraja let out a sigh. “You saved us at the end there. If you hadn’t pulled it off, another spell from them would’ve killed us.”

He got only an inexplicable moan in response. Well, as long as she understood what he was saying.

That left...Orlaya.

Raraja scanned the area and soon found her, tiny and easy to miss. She was sitting on the floor, as if her legs had failed her. Already small, she’d shrunk into herself even further, and she was trembling.

Raraja stood up from the wall he was leaning on. His quiet steps made Orlaya’s shoulders flinch.

“Guess you’re alive, then.”

After a long pause, she said, “Yeah.”

Her voice was thin and weak. Orlaya kept her face pressed to her knees for some time. After rubbing it there for a moment, she started to quietly rise to her feet.

She’d almost died earlier, and just now, she’d almost died again. Her body always ached from the marks the curses had left on her, but now she was even more spent than usual, and her face looked pale. The corners of her eyes looked red and wet...but Raraja decided to write that off as just his imagination.

“Sorry, would another spell have been better?”

“No. It worked, so...it’s fine, really.”

After agonizing over it for a moment, Raraja offered his hand to Orlaya. She stared at it with her one eye, then hesitantly shook her head.

“I’m fine... I can stand... On my own... All by myself.”

“Sure.”

Raraja quietly waited as Orlaya finished standing on her shaking legs.

Now what do we do...?

He was far from relieved. His plan had been naive. No, he’d been aware that this was possible. Or he wanted to think he’d been.

They’d taken serious losses... Losses? No, they’d won. They’d gained nothing. But they could move onward. No, no...

“Anyway, we need to recover first.”

Telling himself to calm down, Raraja went digging through their stuff. His own, Orlaya’s, Berkanan’s, and Iarumas’s. They didn’t make Garbage carry anything, so he didn’t have to think about hers.

He managed to gather up a number of potions. They’d have to heal as much as they could with them.

“Garbage, drink this, even if you don’t like it.”

She sniffed the bottle Raraja offered her as he drank one himself.

“Ewwww.” Garbage’s face twisted into a look of displeasure. Though, she had apparently drunk a potion of DIOS once before. Had it been during the battle with that fire dragon? Iarumas must have made her drink it.

Raraja could feel the blood flowing to his fingers and toes as he pushed the bottle toward Garbage. The girl looked thoroughly displeased, but she reluctantly started to drink.

“Roooo...” She took several large gulps, then let out a snarl.

She didn’t like it, but what did he care? He turned to the others.

“C’mon, you two drink.”

“Okay.”

“’Kay...”

Orlaya, whose eye seemed out of focus, and Berkanan, who was lying on the floor, both managed to get their potions down somehow.

Regardless of whatever other medicinal effects the potions had, they seemed to return lost heat to the body—all four of them were now warm with life.

Finally, Raraja felt a little relieved. Things weren’t as bad as they could have been. It wasn’t like he’d fallen through the floor all the way down to the bottom.

Now that he had his composure (hit points) back, he wondered about the unconscious women.

“Groooowwwlll...!”

Having already drained the bottle, Garbage planted her foot on one woman and pointed Hrathnir at her. It wasn’t so much a sign of wariness as...a show of superiority, probably. But whatever it was, Raraja was glad that she was staying on her guard.

Seeing Raraja approach, dagger in hand, Orlaya and Berkanan followed.

“Those were priest spells just now, yeah? They don’t look like failed adventurers, though...”

“Dodgy priests,” Orlaya grumbled, remembering something unpleasant, “aren’t that unusual, are they?”

“They look like...maids from a palace or something...” said Berkanan.

“Court ladies?” Orlaya murmured. She pursed her lips at how ridiculous it was. Or maybe, as a show of false cheer. “What would they be doing down here?”

“I-I don’t know... I’m as lost as you are...”

Berkanan, by contrast, was her usual self. She started crying.

Well, what’s it matter?

After a lot of thinking, Raraja gave up, shaking his head when he couldn’t come to any sort of conclusion. There were rabbits in the dungeon too. So why make a big deal over a bunch of court ladies?

“So, are we all ready to go?”

“Give me some time.” Orlaya sighed. “I know what I said earlier, but my legs are still aching.”

“Me too. What happened just now, well... It surprised me...” Berkanan murmured unconfidently. “I’m glad it worked out, though...” As she spoke, she kept glancing over at the redheaded girl. “If Garbage...doesn’t mind, I think I’d like to rest too...?”

“Wouah!”

Garbage was obviously raring to go, but Raraja didn’t even consider it. If he tried to match her pace, then they really would end up going nonstop to the bottom of the dungeon.

“Okay, another break it is. The vote’s three-to-one, so don’t you complain about—”

Gurgle.

That sound cut Raraja off.

Everyone—except Garbage—tensed up and looked in the direction of the noise.

It had come from the fallen court ladies’ mouths. They looked like beached fish as a dark-red liquid gushed from their lips.

Blood...?

No, that’s not it.

The dark-red slime stared back at them.

“Eek...?!”

Was it Orlaya who screamed? Or Berkanan?

Garbage barked, “Yiiiip?!” as she jumped away from the women and brandished Hrathnir in both hands.

Meanwhile, copious amounts of red ooze poured from the women’s mouths, noses, eyes, and ears, gushing outward and staining the floor of the dungeon.

Ooze with eyes. Masses of dissolved flesh.

Each one took shape, turning their mindless—but hostile—gazes on the adventurers.

But it was more than just that. The oozes were absorbing the women’s bodies, stretching and twisting into warped humanoid forms.

Garbage bared her fangs at the crawling things—a wolfish smile.

“Groaar...!”

Raraja cringed and let out a groaning laugh. “This’s bad!”

His earlier suggestion that things weren’t as bad as they could have been...meant that there was still room for the situation to get worse.

Chapter 6: MALOR

“Take this! Mimuarif laizanme re (Go flying)!!!”

And so, salvation came from above.

An ear-grating cackle sounded in midair, and true words were mockingly chanted. This voice became a flash of bright white light that tore the fleshy mass apart, then suddenly formed into a rhea in front of Raraja and the others.

A pair of fiery red eyes looked out from the depths of the rhea’s cloak—they seemed to lick the monsters all over as they scanned the area.

“Seriously, though? A blob eyes? If we’re doing this anyway, you could at least throw a xeno at me. I’m disappointed here.”

“Huh...?”

Raraja couldn’t keep up with what was going on. No, had anyone been able to? Not Berkanan, not Orlaya. Not even Garbage had been able to detect the girl’s arrival.

Bare feet. A white cloak. Braided hair that was white bordering on silver. In one hand, she held a thin sword. The albino rhea didn’t even hide her sneer.

“Also, Iarumas sure is in a sorry state. ‘Now you’ll have to use KADORTO!’ as they say.”

Raraja recognized this rhea girl. She wasn’t looking at them—and even if they entered her field of vision, she wouldn’t see them as people. Raraja knew those eyes—lifeless, merciless, and fair.

They were the same as Hawkwind’s...or perhaps Iarumas’s.

“And...?” Regnar the strider whispered with a hideous smile stretched across her charming face. “How long are you going to make me wait?”

Two more people suddenly leaped down out of the air.

“If you’re going to do something, could you kindly tell us first?!” shouted a fighter who was wrapped in bandages. He slashed at a nearby monster. His strokes were rough and haphazard, but his weapon, a Sword of Slicing, certainly lived up to its name. His blade cut diagonally across the court lady, who was becoming one with the meaty blob he’d attacked. She was bisected, her spine severed.

The corpse crumpled. Blood sprayed all over. And a black shadow used that as cover to follow up.

“Eeyahhh!!!”

The shadow’s voice was filled with excitement—her black hair was tied back with a blue ribbon.

Launching a surprise attack from behind, Shadowwind quickly swung the dagger hidden on her back. The very next moment, her blade was buried up to the hilt in the crown of a court lady’s skull. The dead woman’s eyes rolled into the back of her head.

The dark red ooze—a blob eyes—wasn’t capable of manipulating a dead body, so it thrashed around, gushing out of the court lady’s mouth.

As Shadowwind launched a series of follow-up slashes to finish it off, she gleefully murmured, “Shifting Blade, Mist Slash...!”

Regnar overheard her and was quick to toss out a mocking taunt: “If you’re going to shout things like that, let’s see you lop some heads off. Bare-handed.”

“Bare-handed?!” Shadowwind cried out pathetically. But even as she did, she didn’t leave herself open. Though she had just killed a woman, she showed no sign of being shaken up. Instead, she lunged toward her next enemy.

And there were three more adventurers still—black, red, and blue.

Rahm-and-Sahm had descended into the dungeon with the armored Coretas protecting them. With perfectly mirrored gestures, the gnome twins looked at Garbage and the others, then reverently bowed their heads.

“It’s good to see...”

“...that you’re all in one piece.”

“You came to save us...?!” Berkanan’s tone was more delighted than surprised.

The red-and-blue and blue-and-red twins nodded. They were holding up a single rod—light crimson and shaped like a flame.

They chanted true words as if whispering to one another.

“Mimuarif hea lai tazanme (O flames, submit to my will and dance).”

Instantly, the orange of MAHALITO burst from the tip of the staff and swept across the battlefield.

“SKREEEEEE?!”

It wasn’t clear which of the twins had chanted the true words and which had swung the Rod of Flame. But the gnomes mercilessly directed the inferno toward the women—the monsters. Blob eyes weren’t especially weak against fire, but the same couldn’t be said of the women’s bodies. They thrashed around, dancing madly as they sizzled in the raging flames, then dropped like flies.

Regnar mercilessly carved up the ooze that escaped from the holes in their bodies. “Weren’t we supposed to be saving these ladies?” she asked.

“I do believe it is too late for that...” Shadowwind replied.

“Either way, we don’t have time to worry!” Schumacher shouted at them, swinging his sword at an enemy. “As long as we drag them back to the temple, nobody can complain!”

The tide of the battle turned in an instant.

As Schumacher exterminated the blob eyes, his face was tense, ghastly. Meanwhile, Raraja and the others were completely cut off from the battle. That was partially due to exhaustion, but it was also because they were taken aback.

Regardless, the focus of the battle had already shifted. There wasn’t a huge difference in ability between the two parties, though Schumacher’s group currently had advantages that Raraja’s didn’t.

The lack of hesitation to harm enemies. Having a full six-person party with no one missing. Not having gotten worn down on their way here. Seizing the initiative. All of it piled up, resulting in the monsters running around in confusion as the adventurers attacked.

“Arf...”

Raraja snapped back to his senses when Garbage let out a bored snort. She had still been raring to go, and so she obviously didn’t feel like she’d been rescued. If anything, she’d lost interest after seeing how quickly the fleshy oozes went down.

Then, as Raraja raised his head, his gaze met with the albino rhea standing in the middle of the carnage. That woman, too pale to be of this world, glanced at him and narrowed her red eyes.

“What’re you staring for?”

“Uh, um, er...”

With a revoltingly vile smile on her charming face, Regnar mockingly told him, “We aren’t doing this for free!”

§

“So, you took the job?”

“Yeah.” Regnar smirked as she nodded at Schumacher. “Like how you quietly took a job from Gil without letting your big sis know.”

“You don’t have to come along if you don’t want to.”

“You’re going to ditch me in the depths of the dungeon so I get all messed up? I like your style.” Her cackle echoed through the first level of the dungeon.

How long ago had Schumacher developed his headache? The flow of time inside of the dungeon was unreliable. It felt like it had been minutes and like it had been days.

That was also why, when there was a request to rescue another party, it didn’t make sense to wonder whether they would be able to make it in time. No, the real question was whether or not they could locate those missing.

Still, though... Iarumas’s party hasn’t come back yet?

Schumacher felt a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. He scowled, ready to lash out. This wasn’t an inconvenience, exactly. But he did think of it as extra trouble that had come his way.

This wasn’t like heading out on a request from Gil—and from the royal family—to save the crown prince. But then again, Schumacher wasn’t sure why he had taken that job either.

Well, maybe it had amused him. If he traversed the dungeon to save a member of the royal family, then that would mean all of those other guys were lower than the prodigal son of a shoemaker.

With an expression that was a mix of self-mockery, cynicism, and humor, Schumacher looked over his shoulder at the other members of his party.

“You guys don’t have to come either, y’know?”

Shadowwind was the first to reply. “Well...having been informed of the situation, I think you would be in a sore spot without me.” Despite her cheery tone, she was saying some dangerous things. “And that being the case, I believe it’s safest if I come along!”

“You’ve got a debt to repay, after all,” Schumacher shot back.

“W-Well, of course! And I will...by distinguishing myself in battle!”

Getting needlessly worked up like this and charging in is what gets her killed, Schumacher callously concluded as he glanced at Shadow.

In the time since she’d become his companion—no, he didn’t feel right calling her that. Rather, since she had joined his party, she had already died multiple times. The only reason he ever asked the Temple of Cant to resurrect her was out of a sense of obligation and because he had the financial leeway to do so. If she turned to ash, he planned to abandon her—so actually, it made sense to make her work off the debt.

Schumacher smiled cynically as he noticed a little of his past self in his thoughts. Noticing this smile, Rahm-and-Sahm stopped whispering to one another and looked up at him.

“We have...”

“...things of our own we want to do.”

“So...”

“...don’t worry about us.”

There was a paucity of emotion on the twins’ faces—their tone was inscrutable.

Well, if they’ll come along, then that’s fine. They had long since earned enough to pay off resurrecting one of them, but there was no such thing as too much money.

“Are you okay with it too, Coretas? If you wanna back out, now’s the time.”

“I don’t mind,” came a muffled whisper from inside the armor’s helmet. “I need to go to the depths of the dungeon anyway.”

“Well then, that settles it.”

They were a motley crew, and Schumacher had no idea what any of them were thinking or what their objectives were.

And that includes me.

That was why he didn’t hesitate to share the info Gil had given him with the rest of his party. The monster that snuck into the temple, the missing court ladies, the abducted crown prince, and the changing dungeon... He got straight to the point.

Compared to some nebulous “bond” of camaraderie, he felt safer leaving his back to people who were coming along for their own interests and objectives.

“From what people are saying...”

“...the stairs that lead...”

“...to that level of the dungeon may...”

“...or may not have vanished...”

After listening to the twins’ whispers, Schumacher clicked his tongue. “Or so the rumors say,” he muttered. Rumors about the dungeon weren’t to be trusted until you had gone and verified them for yourself.

We’ve got nothing reliable to go on here.

“Coretas, cast KANDI for us,” said Schumacher.

The black helm shook up and down in response. The party waited as this mysterious bishop began quietly chanting.

Though he couldn’t speak for the other members, Schumacher was feeling anything but calm. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes closed underneath his bandages. Whenever he did that, the tingling feeling, as if his cheeks were burning, came back. It was infuriating...

Even assuming we knew their location, if the rumors that Rahm-and-Sahm heard are true, then it’ll be difficult to get to them.

Would they be able to deal with the enemies there? And what if the people they were going to save were already dead...? Do we just bring back the corpses, then? That was a whole headache in and of itself...

“Schumacher-dono!” Shadow’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Coretas-dono claims to have discovered their location.”

Schumacher opened his eyes. “Where are they?”

“Lower than the Monster Allocation Center...”

“The fourth level?”

Coretas’s old helmet, a Helm of Hangovers, shook from side to side.

“The fifth...!”

This time, the black helm nodded up and down.

“The fifth level, huh?”

Schumacher let out an involuntary groan, which obviously, the rhea didn’t fail to notice. She sidled up to him and peered up at his face from below.

“What’s got you so scared?”

“I just think it’s a pain.”

Schumacher shook a dismissive hand at those red eyes and that sneer that seemed to see right through him. If he let people look down on him, he was finished. Especially her.

It would have been cute if Regnar had picked up on that and acted a little more nobly, but her smile only deepened. “Ohhh, is that all?”

“Huh...?”

“I said, ‘Is that all?’ You know the coordinates, right?”

Having said this, Regnar threw him a nasty smile. With one hand, she thumped her chest, which was small even by rhea standards.

“Well, you just leave it to big sis.”

§

Can I leave it to her?

Schumacher wanted to go back and punch himself for having thought that. He should’ve meekly done as she said. He wasn’t eager to experience that sensation—like having his whole body wrung out and stretched like a dishrag—ever again. He wanted to praise himself for having been able to swing his sword right after falling through seemingly infinite space.

The battle had ended.

The dungeon corridor was stained dark red with gore, and the heavy stench of death filled the air.

As he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, Schumacher took a sickening breath in, then out. At the edge of his vision, the girls were getting together, noisily rejoicing over one another’s survival. It was humorous to see the tall Berkanan stoop a little, bowing her head to the gnome twins.

Next to them, Orlaya was talking to a smugly smiling Shadowwind.

“Well, well, it is good that you’re all right!” Shadowwind exclaimed. “Well worth us having leaped down, swords swinging!”

“I’m amazed you people made it here! Was there a warp zone or something?” Orlaya asked.

“Well, I cannot say I understand it either, but Regnar-dono did something or other.”

“Something or other...”

The patchwork rhea girl’s single eye widened, but she bit back whatever she was going to say. She must have decided it wasn’t good to reveal too many of her party’s cards. After a long silence, she settled on, “Thanks. You really helped us out.”

“Think nothing of it!” Shadowwind said proudly.

Beside her, Coretas was casting a healing spell. DIOS or DIAL.

I don’t care which, as long as we’re not using potions... Schumacher thought. Orlaya was being as meek as a kitten and letting Coretas tend her wounds. If only our rhea could be a little more like that.

“Oops, did you just make fun of me?”

The albino rhea was looking Raraja’s way as she trod atop the fallen court ladies’ bodies, either patrolling the area or wandering aimlessly. She was having a blast splashing through the bloody puddles barefoot, and she still carried her thin saber on her shoulder. The way she seemed to mock everything but herself reminded Raraja of something—that strange animal.

“Well, anyway, you’re lucky you didn’t get petrified,” she said. “They’re a real pain to deal with, you know.”

“You’re saying those monsters were dangerous...” Raraja murmured in a small voice. It wasn’t so much a question as seeking confirmation. He should have been badly worn down, yet he still looked at Regnar with a serious expression, not wanting to let a single bit of info slip past him.

“Well, they’re not that big of a deal, I guess—there are more dangerous ones out there.” Regnar gave a mocking snort as she jumped down from one of the corpses.

She headed toward the redheaded monster’s leftovers—Garbage.

“Whah! Grrrrrrr...!”

Garbage lowered herself and growled, attempting to intimidate the white shadow approaching her.

“I’m not gonna take it. I can’t use it anyway. It’s of no interest to me. But...” Regnar circled around, unconcerned by Garbage’s attitude. Her eyes widened at the sword on the girl’s back. “That’s Hrathnir—or rather, a magic sword, isn’t it?”

What was Garbage doing with that?

The rhea let out a cackle of genuine amusement. “So taming one of them’s an option, huh? Well, you’ve shown me something interesting, so I guess that’s nice. Yep.”

“Are you satisfied?” Schumacher asked, having judged it was time. His voice came out deeper and raspier than he’d expected. “If so, we’re heading back topside. With that spell you used before...”

“Whaaa...? I don’t wanna,” Regnar whined.

You don’t wanna?!

Raraja was shocked. Uh, not that he’d been counting on it or anything. More precisely, it wasn’t her refusal that surprised him, but the reaction of those around her—of her party.

Schumacher let out a deep sigh, while Rahm-and-Sahm and Shadowwind both seemed unconcerned. He couldn’t see Coretas’s face, but the armor showed no outward sign of being flustered either. If anything, it was Berkanan, who was listening in beside them, who started anxiously looking around.

Everyone was just accepting a firm, unwavering refusal from one of their companions. That would have been unthinkable in Raraja’s party.

“Sure,” Regnar continued. “I could go to the surface, sleep at the inn, and make several trips. But that’s all work I’d be doing. I don’t wanna.”

“Go figure.” Schumacher was quick to nod. He began massaging his brow, grinding his fingers into his bandages. “But what if the stairs are gone, like some of the rumors suggested?”

“If it comes to that, I’ll think about it then. Honestly, if we’re going to split the party, it’s going to come down to what kind of girls that thief boy is into. And that’ll be a bloodbath.”

Regnar let out an ear-grating cackle. Schumacher didn’t dignify it with a response. He peered around at everyone with a dry, anxious gaze.

“The front-liners are me, Garbage, Raraja, Regnar, and Shadowwind... Can Berkanan manage it too?”

“Huh? Uh, m-me?!” Berkanan cried. She hadn’t expected her name to be called, and she hurriedly nodded her head. “Y-Yeah, I... I can... I think...I can...”

“In that case, let’s split the front-liners three and three. I’m sure your back-liners must be exhausted, though...”

After some thought, Raraja made up his mind. “Uh, actually, about that...”

Everyone’s eyes suddenly stabbed into him. The pressure made him want to let out a whimper. He heard Orlaya whisper, “Idiot.” He was okay with being thought of as a fool, but not with being treated like one.

Well, it’s fine.

“We’re going to stay here. Stay...and take that thing down. That’s the plan.”

“Huh?” Regnar was dumbfounded. In the shadow of her cloak, her bloodred tongue slid across her lips. “You’re serious? You people, take on a flack? Are you mad?”

“I’m serious... Very serious. As for sane, I’m not so sure...”

“You’re a boy, all right,” Regnar said, whistling. “What’s your call, Schumacher-kun? Bet that struck a chord with you, huh?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

This woman doesn’t hesitate to stab me straight in the heart. Since they were in front of another party, Schumacher held back the urge to click his tongue.

A reckless challenge. Death. The red dragon. Miserable defeat. A heroic battle that unfolded before his eyes.

You’re not one of them, Regnar was telling him with a laugh.

Not again, he thought.

But he didn’t say it. Instead, he kept as calm and level of a tone as he could. “We’ll heal you. But that’s all. We’re not going to fight with you, and we won’t be collecting the bodies either.”

“I know that...” Raraja replied. “We’ll handle it ourselves.”

Fine, then. Schumacher nodded. Because it was impossible anyway. If they moved in a group of more than six, they’d die. Even talking like they were now was probably pushing it. It seemed like Raraja understood that.

“But,” the boy continued. He looked over at the smirking Regnar. “Just now, you said ‘flack,’ didn’t you?”

“Maybe I did...?”

“So you know about that thing?”

“And you want big sis to tell you all about it? Sounds a little too convenient for you...”

“U-Um...” Berkanan hesitantly raised her hand and interjected. This time, everyone turned to look at her. She seemed to flinch a little at that. But standing in the middle of the bloodstained corridor, Berka frowned, and in a quivering voice, she said, “Whatever we end up doing...can we go somewhere else first...?”

§

Though she grumbled about how much of a bother it was, Regnar was quick to answer. “Fleck are, well, some poorly understood kind of demon.”

The two parties had moved separately, and both had entered a nearby burial chamber. They’d thought there might be monsters, but there’d been no sign of any. That could happen sometimes, apparently.

With everyone in the chamber, they’d spread holy water on the floor to create a magic circle. And once they had set up camp, they’d looked around at one another.

That was when Regnar had begun to speak of that incomprehensible...strange creature.

“Demon? Um... Like the goat-heads? Or the big blue thing?” asked Raraja.

“Yep. No one really knows what it is. Not even me. But it’s definitely that kind of thing.”

Raraja wasn’t sure why she’d changed her tune so quickly. Was it because Schumacher had said, “Just tell them”? If so, why was that enough?

This albino rhea was probably the only one who knew her reasons. There was no way to read another person’s heart—that was why Raraja was earnestly grateful that she was telling them. He focused on listening.

“Orlaya-chan, do you know about fleck...?” asked Berkanan.

“I’ve heard the name... Some kind of legendary...demon.”

“It’s said to be...”

“...an immortal demon.”

Shadowwind flinched. “Eek... Sounds formidable...”

Each girl reacted in her own way.

Immortal.

“Did you think I didn’t know how to kill an undead king?”

Iarumas’s words flitted through Raraja’s mind. The bearer of the black rod was now inside of a corpse bag.

“Could the spell ZILWAN kill it?” Raraja asked.

“Don’t worry. It’s immortal, not undead,” Regnar replied with a smirk. “That thing comes back to life even if you kill it.”

How was that not something to worry about?

Wait...

“That means it can be killed?”

“If you can pull it off, yeah.”

From the sounds of it, fleck were horrifying monsters. Whether you called them demons, devils, or something else, they were not of this world.

Immortal, indestructible. A flack’s breath was a hellish blizzard, and its movements were like a reaper’s scythe as it scattered curses. It could also manipulate people like puppets, and it enjoyed using them as pawns...

A malicious creature from fairy tales—that was what a flack was.

Now that it had come up, Raraja remembered it too. A flack had been the demon in one of his childhood bedtime stories.

That sort of being was in this dungeon—and they were about to fight it.

Raraja’s smile was strained. It was already tough enough taking on a fire dragon. But we were able to kill the dragon, so we might just be able to take out this flack too.

“Well, if you remember the stories, you must know what its weakness is, right?” Regnar prompted.

“Huh? Um, uh, if I remember, it’s...” Berkanan put a finger, disproportionately slender for her large size, to her lips and thought about it. Based on what grandmother told me... “Magic...?”

“Yep.” Regnar nodded, having gotten her point across. “Despite being a demon, it’s weak to magic.”

But even so, it would take more than just any half-baked spell to stop it. And if they couldn’t stop it, they would die.

But...

What if it wasn’t half-baked?

Raraja’s eyes naturally turned to Garbage.

“Agn, agn, hanggg... Arf?” She peered back at him, gnawing on the dried food the twins had given her. The look in her eyes said he couldn’t have any.

It seemed his earlier guess wasn’t wrong. The key...would be Hrathnir.

“No doubt about it...” Raraja muttered.

Berkanan nodded happily. “A-All that’s left...i-is how we’re going...to land a hit on it, right?”

“We’re betting everything on Garbage, huh?” Orlaya laughed dryly. “I guess it’s a bit late to complain about that.”

Seeing the four of them like this, Schumacher was silent. But he quickly noticed Regnar staring at him from beneath her cloak. Whatever she was thinking, he knew she was mocking him.

As if to brush her gaze aside, he pulled a single blue candle from his pack. He’d picked it up in the dungeon, and though he didn’t know what it was for, he didn’t really care.

“Anyway,” Schumacher said, “we won’t help you. We’ll wait here until this candle burns out.”

If they wanted to join back up or collect their dead companion, they had until then to do it. That was what he was telling them without explicitly saying so. Their sense of time was unreliable in the dungeon. The candle might burn out in no time at all. But even so, he felt obligated to stick around that long.

“Whaaa,” Regnar groaned, unenthused by this prospect, but Schumacher didn’t care. If she didn’t like it, she could go back alone. That was the kind of party they had.

It seemed Raraja picked up on Schumacher’s intentions too. The boy nodded, a serious expression on his face.

Still, we’ll have to think of something...

Wasn’t there anything they could do beyond just, y’know, going in and fighting it? Raraja crossed his arms and looked around the chamber.

“Stone... Turned to stone...” Berkanan was murmuring something, perhaps thinking about the flack’s traits. If the flack was weak against magic, then as the party’s mage, she had to do something. Orlaya could help too. But would the two of them be enough? Wasn’t there something more...?

Spells, huh?

Finally, Raraja turned his serious expression toward the red-and-blue twins. “Okay, I want to ask...just one more thing...”

“Hm?” Rahm-and-Sahm looked back at him curiously, tilting their heads to the side with mirrored motions.

§

“Aww, there they go. You’re so irresponsible, Schumacher-kun.”

“It’s not my problem.”

Raraja and the others had left the chamber and faded into the dungeon gloom. Only the sound of a corpse bag scraping along the floor lingered in Schumacher’s ears.

With a sideways glance at the albino rhea, Schumacher dismissively murmured, “What’s it got to do with us whether they live or die?”

“I don’t want to get hit by the sister’s MALIKTO, you know?”

“This is all on them.”

Yeah, it was their own fault. Schumacher had given them an offer that guaranteed (if such a thing was possible in the dungeon!) their survival. They had instead chosen to progress deeper and fight the monster. That was all there was to it. He didn’t think it foolhardy—nor did he think it clever. He felt no anger about their choice and no disappointment.

He had given all the support he could. He’d even healed them. If they died after that—it was on them. He wasn’t responsible.

But Rahm-and-Sahm, Shadowwind, and Coretas had seen them off. The girls seemed reasonably invested in Raraja’s party.

Schumacher felt nothing. Was that because he hadn’t been as involved with them...?

Nah.

Berkanan had saved his life. So had Garbage. Raraja too. If Iarumas’s party hadn’t come when he had challenged the fire dragon, he would’ve died—scorched by the dragon’s flames. His very soul might have been lost. And even if he had been lucky enough to linger, who would have carried his body to the temple and had him resurrected? Would there have been any value in it?

No.

Schumacher was certain of that. The idiot son of a shoemaker, a novice fighter, had no value in this dungeon...or in Scale. If he’d been the one making the call, he would never have resurrected himself. Even before asking the great Kadorto, he knew that he wasn’t worth the tithe he cost.

Schumacher was discovering the value of life here in the dungeon.

It was money.

Measuring everything in terms of gold lacked style, but it was the most accurate, fairest measure that he could think of. He would resurrect those who were worth bringing back. He’d earn the money for the tithe and pray for a miracle. In a sense, that may have made him a faithful devotee of Kadorto.

He had no value of his own. Unlike Rahm-and-Sahm, Shadowwind, Coretas...and Regnar.

That belief, akin to resignation, had taken root inside him—it expressed itself as a sense of humor and a cool head. The more he became aware of it, the more his lips twisted into an exhausted, cynical smile.

“But you surprised me, Regnar,” Schumacher muttered.

“Me? What did I do?”

“You accepted the request from Sister Ainikki.”

“Ohh, that.” She nodded, then nonchalantly said, “I’ll always need a subparty, right?”

The audacity to calmly declare herself the center of things. Schumacher was a little envious, but he settled for shrugging slightly instead of responding.

Then, a surprisingly soft voice spoke from underneath Coretas’s old helmet.

“Good luck.”

May the blessing of KALKI be with those adventurers.

Chapter 7: Flack

In all honesty, it had been fooling around.

It had completed the mission it had been given all too easily, so it had decided to tease them a bit. Especially now that, unexpectedly, it had found such interesting toys.

It had done this over and over since long, long ago. It was a bad habit, sure, but if it gave up on playing around, what joy would be left?

Some said it did not belong to a race—that it was instead a singular entity. Others said that it was but another variety of otherworldly monster.

The descriptions of its appearance, its power, everything about it, were fuzzy and varied wildly. Even it didn’t really know what it was. Still, it wasn’t so immature that it would die if it didn’t know what it really was.

Only one thing that could be said for absolute certain...

It was called Flack.

§

“Oops? Looks like blob eyes won’t do it... Or maybe not.”

Flack spoke to itself in the darkness of a burial chamber as it felt a sensation like strings being cut. Blob eyes were terrifying monsters. Lesser adventurers would have been overrun by them. And unlike this guy, who’d been leading them, those kids had been awfully green.

Flack casually kicked around the man’s head like it was a ball.

Maybe I should’ve taken the body too? But it was kind of bulky, so whatever.

“I wonder how they won... Was it Hrathnir? Curse that sword.”

In the dungeon, if the unexpected didn’t happen, that would be unexpected. And they’d only had one means of turning that desperate situation around. That’s why Flack was certain of it. It would be too arrogant to say it came to that conclusion because of complacency or because it had let its guard down.

The difference in power between Flack and those kids was steep. No one seriously reconsidered their plan of action because an ant wandered into the room.

Besides, the gulf between heaven and earth was filled with things people would never dream of. Only the holy dragon L’kbreth had believed in cooperation between good, evil, and neutrality.

They’ll come here soon.

Flack wouldn’t have minded running. It could have beaten a hasty retreat.

But...well, think about it. Where’s the fun in that?

“Hard work deserves a suitable reward.”

Chuckling in the back of its throat, Flack loosely grasped the shard. The ancient magic that had once resided in it had long since been shattered into thousands of pieces, and this one carried only the lingering dregs of what it had once been.

But even so, it held a tiny mote of power—mastery over the dungeon, and a little more than that.

The problem with people was that they mistook the shard for just a superior piece of equipment...

The dungeon changed its form at Flack’s will. If they wanted to come, let them. It was just a matter of welcoming them.

After preparing a path, Flack held its scythe at the ready and waited.

Eventually, the adventurers came.

They moved the same no matter how many months and years passed, kicking the door in with a bang and storming into the room.

Flack greeted them theatrically, its eyes narrowing slightly beneath its tattered rags. “Heh heh. You’ve come to cast away your lives in the dungeon, boys and girls...”

The redheaded dog of a girl charged in first. On her back was that vexatious demon-slaying sword, Hrathnir. Following behind her was the tall mage who carried a Dragon Slayer. And in the very rear, the rhea bishop—not even worth consideration.

The issue was the dark-cloaked man carrying a staff. Whuh?

“Isn’t that what they call trying to be clever?”

“Yiiip!!!”

As Garbage charged in barking, Flack dodged nimbly out of the way. It danced through the air, kicked off the dungeon’s rafters, and sped up.

It was impossible. Iarumas could not have been revived.

Of course, high-level miracles like DI or KADORTO could resurrect a person inside the dungeon. However, that curse-riddled rhea girl wasn’t good enough to cast them. It was possible Iarumas had brought in some magic item or other, but...

I’ll play along with it—see where this goes.

Did they have some kind of plan? No matter how silly it was, Flack was curious.

As its shadow danced overhead, the adventurers scattered. Out of all of them, the black-cloaked one was the fastest. Flack already knew who it was.

Winding back with its scythe, it swung wide with its slender arms.

“So, what kind of fun do you have in store for me, Raraja-kun?!”

§

Whoa?!

That was, indeed, what was going on.

Raraja dodged just in the nick of time, avoiding the scythe that sliced through the stone floor as if it were a soft loaf of bread. The move sent him awkwardly tumbling across the ground. Iarumas would have looked way cooler dodging the strike. The man’s cloak was infuriatingly heavy, old, and an odd smell clung to it.

The smell of blood and ashes, Raraja thought vaguely.

Under that cloak, the boy gripped the staff with both hands and got ready.

He knew. He knew it all too well.

This silly disguise would never fool anyone.

When he’d first suggested it, Orlaya had given him a look of exasperation, or perhaps resignation, while Berkanan had considered it seriously and given a comment or two in response. But, well...

The first move’s done!

He’d managed to draw the monster’s attention. Now came the second attack.

“Roaaar!!!”

“Ngh... Ah! Whoa?!”

Raraja desperately dodged, dodged, and dodged some more. It worked because Garbage charged in, swinging from behind, and Flack had to deal with her too. The scythe in Flack’s hands spun around as if dancing, and then the next thing Raraja knew, the blade was racing toward him.

Regardless of the flack’s stance or posture, Raraja felt like the scythe always seemed to aim for his neck. Each time he ducked under that arc of death, cold sweat dripped off of him. He could practically hear his focus (hit points) being ground down. Even if it didn’t lop his head off, he couldn’t let the scythe so much as scratch him—not now that he knew he was battling a flack...

Can’t get turned to stone!

Much like everyone knew dragons could breathe fire, the powers of the demonic fleck were common knowledge. Raraja couldn’t imagine what would happen if he got petrified. When he’d asked about the iron body spell, MOGREF, Berkanan had just given him an ambiguous smile.

“Oh, come on! You’re not going to tell me that your only plan was to catch me off guard by wearing that costume, are you?” Flack taunted.

“Raraja...!”

The boy ignored Flack and glanced quickly toward Orlaya. She was on the edge of the battlefield, her face tense as she watched him fight. Berkanan stood next to her, moaning, as if she might burst into tears at any moment. The big girl’s mouth was twisted into a frown as she desperately held her ground. Unable to endure the weight of the Dragon Slayer in her hands, her knees were bent into an unsightly stance. It was so bad that Orlaya unconsciously reached out to support her.

Flack let out an exaggerated, nasal laugh.

“Shut up!” Raraja shouted. “You worry about yourself!”

“Groooaar!!!” Garbage bellowed from behind Flack as she pounced.

But Flack did a somersault to avoid Hrathnir and its vacuum blade.

“Oops!”

And even as it tumbled through the air, Flack thrust its scythe toward Raraja.

“I tire of this,” it complained. “You’re not any fun, so I say it’s time we put an end to things!”

Awkwardly holding the staff with both hands, Raraja’s mouth twisted in a look of desperation.

“Eat...this!!!”

Flack didn’t even try to dodge his swing. What did the demon have to fear from such a strike? The thief boy, wrapped in Iarumas’s cloak, had no real training in magic or martial arts.

Is this all he can do?

What an anticlimactic denouement. To say the demon was disappointed was an understatement. But it was always that way when the flack’s playtime came to an end. Though its hopes had been betrayed, it had enjoyed the process. That was something, at least.

Flack was already thinking about how to petrify the whelp, then torment and kill the three girls.

The incoming staff, thrust out in front of its eyes, was of no consequence to—

Wait... Staff?

An instant later, Flack’s vision was engulfed in the orange flames of MAHALITO.

§

“YIKEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS?!”

“Ha ha!”

Raraja wore a triumphant grin as Flack doubled over, clutching its face.

Indeed, Raraja had figured out long ago that he was just an insignificant thief. There was no way he could’ve tricked Flack by simply donning the black cloak and holding a staff. Raraja’s ruse had been seen through immediately. He’d been attacked and then forced to defend—and only as an afterthought while Flack also dealt with Garbage. He was only alive because Flack had been pulling its punches and playing around.

No one needed to tell Raraja that. He already knew. But the boy had made it through the Monster Allocation Center. And so...

“Yeah, I’ve got a Rod of Flames too!”

Raraja fought the reflexive urge to lean back—he dug his feet in and kept the staff pointed toward his target. Fire spouted from the tip of this Rod of Flames, which had been slathered with black ash.

It was a different beast from Iarumas’s saber. Raraja couldn’t wield that thing.

That was why he’d talked to Rahm-and-Sahm. He’d wanted pointers on how to use the rod.

“There’s nothing to it, really.”

“Just hold it and take aim.”

“If you shoot, you’ll hit.”

“That’s how it works.”

So all I need to do is make sure it hits.

Raraja had been racking brains he didn’t have. He could try all the tricks in his thief’s repertoire, but, well, Flack would still see through him. He just had to accept that was gonna happen.

But if Flack thought the disguise was just a childish trick, it would work—that had been Raraja’s bet.

And if it didn’t work? Well, then he’d just die. That was all. There was no helping that...

“GAAHHHH?!”

“Howwwwwl!!!”

As Garbage pounced, Flack let out a monstrous scream. Hrathnir’s holy blade shone brilliantly in the darkness. It flashed as it struck Flack’s body—green slime gushed forth.

“Eek?!” Garbage let out an involuntary squeal as her face was drenched in it.

Flack took advantage of the brief opening to bounce away like a ball. Even as the creature hid its charred, smoking face with the palms of its hands, pale white skin peeked out from under its rags.

Raraja followed the constant spray of green blood with his staff, but he couldn’t keep up. Flack kicked off of the wall, the ceiling, and the rafters, flying around the room like a colorful wind.

Then, finally breaking free of the flames, Flack touched down on the stone tiles and lunged at Raraja.

“It’s not right for one pip-squeak to bully another!”

“Whoa?!”

Flack closed the gap like a streak of lightning, and in the blink of an eye, it was almost upon Raraja. Under the demon’s tattered rags, its burned, swollen face was rapidly healing—its eyes were clear and blue, like bottomless pools.

“Kafaref tai nuunzanme (Stop, O soul, thy name is sleep)!!!”

Before Raraja had time to process this, the girls’ voices echoed throughout the burial chamber. The pair supported one another—they held up Berkanan’s magic sword in lieu of a staff, their hands overlapping as they chanted. The colorless magic they unleashed expanded, filling and reverberating through the chamber, then struck Flack all at once.

“Guhhh?!”

“Yeah! The spell works, all right!” As Flack staggered, Raraja hurriedly jumped back. “Nicely done!” he couldn’t help but cheer. That was obviously meant for the girls behind him.

Ultimately, Raraja had little more than shallow knowledge. Someone else—his companions, the real spellcasters—had to be the stars here.

“I-It...worked?!” Berkanan seemed incredulous of her own success.

“And pretty well too, given that we didn’t have time to practice!” Orlaya added with a confident smile.

It’s a good thing we asked Rahm-and-Sahm for some pointers!

“You’re actually pretty good at casting KATINO...” said Orlaya. “I’m surprised.”

“H-Heh heh...” Berkanan smiled bashfully. That kind of girlish response would’ve normally irked Orlaya, but...

I’ll let it slide for today!

“C’mon, everyone’s piling on that thing!” Orlaya exclaimed. “You move up too!”

“R-Right, got it...!”

With all the earnestness of a dog wagging its tail, Berkanan tightened her grip on her magic sword and stepped forward.

“Wooof!”

Not about to fall behind, Garbage let out a bark and swung Hrathnir. The demon’s movements were slower now, so she must have judged that she could take it out.

Of course, she didn’t understand that everything had been leading to this moment. She didn’t know that her companions had staked everything on her and Hrathnir—that their entire strategy hinged on her landing a decisive blow.

Garbage understood just one thing: If that monster couldn’t bounce around, she could stab it real good.

“Argh, this is taking forever! So annoying!!!”

All the composure vanished from Flack’s voice, replaced with irritation. Out of wariness of Hrathnir, the demon had to focus a large amount of its attention on Garbage. But as it did, the Dragon Slayer swung toward it, accompanied by a nasal cry. The sword was as unmotivated as usual, but its wielder was all fired up. The blade wouldn’t get any sharper—it wasn’t like it felt obligated to do so for her. But it wasn’t getting duller either. That made Berkanan a difficult foe to ignore.

Flack dodged, parried with its scythe, and deflected or turned her blows aside. But upon its slender white limbs, which peeked out from under the rags, cuts appeared, more and more every second. Green blood flowed.

Flack’s scythe swung around with as much freedom as ever, and the sound of metal striking metal echoed off the walls of the chamber, but...

It’s slowing down!

It was losing its refinement. Weakening. Focus fading.

Call that what you will, but if they missed this chance to take it down, they wouldn’t be able to win.

Raraja cast aside Iarumas’s cloak, held the Rod of Flames aloft, and shouted, “Orlaya, cast a spell! Anything will do!”

“You’re pushing it off on me?!”

Though it betrayed a lack of composure, Raraja and Orlaya smiled without knowing why, bantering like idiots. Had Iarumas been around, he would’ve said that this was the key to neutrality, all while wearing that usual faint smile of his.

If winning was as easy as acting serious, everyone would do it. But it wasn’t.

“Hey, you’ve gotta pay attention to me too!” Raraja yelled tauntingly at the flack.

“Why you...petty thief! Don’t act so cocky!”

The boy raced across the room, pointing the Rod of Flames at Flack as it fought Garbage and Berkanan. Flack carelessly tried to jump out of range, so he immediately took aim and fired a MAHALITO. The flames that burst forth were nothing compared to what he’d seen from the dragon of red death. But even so, having a rod that he could use to swing fire around like a whip...

“This is crazy...!”

Well, it was more than exciting enough to bring a grin to Raraja’s face.

If he messed up somehow, and this didn’t work out, one of them would surely die.

Don’t get cocky, huh?

The demon was right. But even though he registered that warning, Raraja felt a numbing excitement that sent tingles down his spine.

And then, there was the rhea in the back row.

“Well, no point in conserving healing spells,” she muttered. “If we die, it’s over anyway.”

The other three’s brilliant battle felt so distant when viewed through her bleary vision. She watched them calmly, as if from a bird’s-eye vantage—but the only things that entered her mind were darkness, white lines, and battle information.

Did she think this fight had nothing to do with her? Orlaya’s lips twisted, and she reached out her hand as if grasping for a star.

She didn’t want to. It brought back awful memories. But...

Fine, I’ll do it.

She never wanted to become an accessory that tottered along behind him, singing his praises just because he’d saved her.

“Mimuarif tauk (Grant us the protection of the great air)!”

The spell MATU wrapped Raraja and the others in armor made of air. However, even as she felt her spirit burning, Orlaya’s will refused to let her tongue stop.

“Mimuarif tauk (Grant us the protection of the great air)!”

Her throat was raw. She noticed a flicker in the back of her eye. But even when she felt like she might cough up blood, she chanted again.

“Mimuarif tauk (Grant us the protection of the great air)...!”

No, not yet...! More! We need more!!!

“Mimuarif tauk (Grant us the protection of the great air)...!!!”

MATU, MATU, MATU, MATU, MATU, MATU, MATU, MATU, MATU, MATU, MATU.

It’s still not enough. Not yet...!!!

“Kafarefla kafi (The blessing of God be with us)!”

In all her life, Orlaya wasn’t sure she’d ever been so serious when praying to God. The only other time was, perhaps, when she had prayed for HAMAN against the unseen being. But at least in this moment, she had no doubt that these were the most serious prayers she’d ever uttered.

“Kafarefla kafi (The blessing of God be with us)!”

Answering her will, the god Kadorto granted Raraja and the others some small protection.

Blades, spells, and breath weapons would be turned aside. Kadorto knew that the line between life and death could be paper thin.

“Kafarefla kafi (The blessing of God be with us)...!”

KALKI, KALKI, KALKI, KALKI, KALKI, KALKI, KALKI, KALKI, KALKI, KALKI, KALKI.

Orlaya kept on chanting, imagining herself as nothing more than a spellcasting machine. She did not think. She stilled her mind and entered the same command repeatedly.

Stacking weak spells to strengthen them was another trick she’d learned from Rahm-and-Sahm. Only, she was doing it alone now. That was all.

In order to protect her allies with magic that was guaranteed to work, she’d use up all of her remaining spell slots. At this point, she didn’t even know if she was still on her feet or if she’d collapsed. Her head felt fuzzy—did she have a body of flesh and blood, or was she merely lines of text? Her soul was being audibly ground away.

But not in vain.

How many times do you think I was forced to do this?!

Orlaya kept shouting true words, even as blood flowed from her single eye.

“Kafarefla kafi (The blessing of God be with us)!”

Her prayers would not stop. And they were most definitely reaching Kadorto.

“Bwaaaahhh!!!”

Flack forced freezing breath from its lungs, but Garbage pushed right through the middle of it. Though the cold mercilessly assaulted her slender body, she was shielded by layer upon layer of divine protection.

And even wreathed in frost, Hrathnir’s blade still gleamed like a diamond.

Garbage danced forward with a howl, swinging a sword unsuited to her diminutive stature. As she planted her foot on the ground, the built-up snow scattered. The wind that wrapped around her blade tore away the ice coating the metal.

“Wouaaaahhh!!!”

A single strike. Deep, heavy, fast.

Direct hit.

With a slashing sound, Flack’s body went flying. Green blood sprayed out.

“OOOOOOOOFFFFFFF?!”

An inhuman scream tore from Flack’s lips. Which meant...it wasn’t dead yet.

“I’ll make you wish you’d died back then!” it roared.

There was just one in the back row: a frail rhea bishop. Just like during their first encounter. Flack fixed its aim on her.

The confidently mocking smile it’d worn earlier had been wiped away. Flack was a demon that lived forever—but that only made it more humiliating when it was injured by those it had underestimated. This monster would spend eternity living with the facts that had been carved into it by this motley gang of adventurers. It couldn’t remain sane unless it avenged that shame.

And it could redeem itself just a little—by taking the girl it hadn’t been able to kill back then, when luck had first started to turn against it.

Was it slammed into the ground? Or did its feet kick off the stone? It was impossible to tell, but nonetheless, the demon started running.

The only accurate way to describe its movements was “like a strange animal.” Those ferocious, beast-like motions were unthinkable for a humanoid. It pumped its arms and legs, sliding across the floor of the chamber like a shadow as it closed in.

No scream leaked from Orlaya’s lips. Exhausted in body and soul, she collapsed onto the stone, huddling there, staring blankly as she watched “death” approach.

It was like she was accepting it. Welcoming it.

Garbage wouldn’t make it in time. Raraja couldn’t get there either. And so...

“Hyah...!”

Crying out with a voice that was watery with tears, Berkanan practically tripped over herself as she ran out in front of the demon. She brandished the Dragon Slayer, shouting something incomprehensible.

In an instant, Flack’s scythe slipped past her sword and struck down the mage who’d become a shield.

A clear metallic sound rang out—and an instant later, the big girl toppled over without a word.

Clunk. A thud, dull and heavy.

“Berkanan...!”

Was it Raraja who shouted? Or perhaps Orlaya?

Either way, someone else, seemingly unconcerned with the big girl, was taking a totally different course of action.

“Aaarrrrrrf!!!”

It was Garbage.

With a roar of anger, she used every mote of strength in her legs to spring into the air, and her petite form danced as she flew. Her whole body bent like a bow, with her sword wound so far around her that it touched her back. She held on with both hands and swung all the way through.

That sword was Hrathnir, slayer of demons. Treasured blade of the Diamond Knight. One of the mightiest swords in the world.

There was a long distance between Garbage and the flack. Too far for a sword to possibly reach. And yet, that mattered not one bit to her.

When she decided to kill something, it would end up dead.

Hrathnir responded to her intention. The raging wind wrapped around its blade carried immense pressure. It twisted the very space around it as—

“Awooooooooooooo!!!”

—it was unleashed.

The impact sent a shock wave through the dungeon, making it seem as though the whole burial chamber had been blown away, but no noise of impact could be heard at all. The vacuum blade of LORTO had been faster than sound.

“GAAAAAAAAAAAA?!”

That was the demon’s last cry.

Torn apart by that blade, Flack’s body was blasted away even farther. It crashed into the wall of the chamber.

And that was the end of it—it moved no more.

§

“Berkanan...!”

The moment he saw that the battle was over, Raraja headed to the mage girl’s side. She’d been turned to stone—stone! What could he do? Would bringing her to the temple be enough? No, if she’d broken when she’d fallen over, wouldn’t her soul be lost for good?

He forced his exhausted body to obey, tripping over himself as he ran. Orlaya was already crawling in the same direction. She probably didn’t have the strength left to stand. Raraja shuddered at the way she seemed to be clinging to Berkanan.

“What happened to her?!” he asked.

“You can see for yourself,” Orlaya replied in a tone he didn’t really recognize.

The rhea’s face was a mess. Was she crying?

Raraja gulped. Then he bent down so fast it looked like his knees were giving out and gently touched Berkanan. He wasn’t used to touching a girl’s body of his own volition. Her flesh was cold, hard. None of her usual softness remained.

Berkanan’s body had completely turned...to iron.

“Huh?”

“Well... In a way, iron’s sort of like a rock...”

This was the iron body spell, MOGREF. Raraja’s mind went blank—he stood there in a daze for some time before falling over backward, like all the air had been let out of his body.

“What the heck?”

“And even after pulling this off, she’ll still say she has no confidence in herself as a mage. That just makes it more infuriating...”

It was little wonder that in that moment—in that brief instant—Berkanan hadn’t been able to block. She’d been using her Dragon Slayer as a staff to cast a spell.

Mimuzanme gainre’einfo (My body is a heartless statue of iron).

Iron couldn’t be turned to stone. It already was a kind of stone. Of course, that wasn’t enough to ward off a petrifying curse on its own.

She’d gotten lucky, no doubt about it. But even so...

“She coulda said something to us first...”

Raraja gazed up toward the ceiling with a deep, deep sigh.

So tired...

He felt none of the excitement of victory, nor was there a feeling of relief. All that was left was a sense that it was “over.”

But that was only because he wanted it to be over. Nothing was finished yet. They were still inside the dungeon, after all.

The road home lay before them. Were Schumacher and his party still waiting? Well, even if they were, they would still have to split up the party so everyone could return to the surface. If they were lucky, they could all take the elevator. In the worst-case scenario, they’d have to climb floor by floor. That was a dizzying prospect.

Oh, but...before that...

“We’ve gotta look for Iarumas’s head...”

“I suppose we do...”

Orlaya’s voice was devoid of all energy. It’d been a long time since he’d heard her sound like this.

“As long as Garbage didn’t cut it up along with Flack, it’s probably lying around here somewhere, don’t you think?” the rhea girl suggested.

“We’re gonna have to drag the corpse back with us, huh?”

If Iarumas had been with them, would they have gotten by without all this trouble? It was possible. But it was also possible that, even with Iarumas, it would’ve been such an intense battle that he would’ve died anyway.

Regardless, it had been one hell of an experience. One that Raraja never wanted to repeat...

As he and Orlaya sat there listlessly, a feeble-sounding voice spoke up.

“Uh, ah... H-Huh... Um, I...”

Sluggishly, Berkanan sat up, like one might when getting out of bed. She looked around sleepily for some time, then jumped up suddenly as the situation dawned on her.

“O-Orlaya-chan, are you okay?! Raraja-kun?!”

Having misunderstood when she’d spotted the two of them on the ground, she bent over Orlaya and clutched her small body.

“If you’re going to worry so much, then don’t do that kind of reckless thing in the first place...” Orlaya grumbled, resentfully complaining that Berkanan was “heavy,” and “soft,” and “crushing her.” Even if she had wanted to resist, she lacked the energy to even flail her arms and legs.

Raraja slowly sat up before Orlaya could redirect her ire in his direction.

As for Garbage...

“Arf!”

In short, she was triumphant. The girl held Hrathnir over her shoulder like it was no more than a stick, flaring her nostrils as she puffed up her meager chest with pride.

At her feet lay—was that Iarumas’s head?

Once Garbage had gotten enough of exulting in her victory, she snatched up the severed head and trotted over to the rest of the group. Raraja didn’t know if she’d gone looking for it or had just come across it by chance. But whatever the case, she’d definitely found it.

As he gazed into those proud, clear blue eyes, Raraja suddenly felt an intense sense of déjà vu.

That face...

In the midst of battle, he’d caught a glimpse of Flack’s face under the rags.

White skin, red hair—and a pair of blue eyes, unfathomable, like deep pools. That had been...a girl who was the spitting image of Garbage, hadn’t it?

“Wait, that’s right! What happened to Flack?!”

He looked around—but there was ultimately nothing there except a pile of rags, a dark stain on the stone tiles where Flack’s corpse should have been, and a line of poisonous-looking green ooze leading away from it. It was like the trail of a slime that had crawled away, or like something had run its tongue across the tiles. The trail snaked out of the burial chamber, disappearing under a door that led deeper into the dungeon.

“Wouaaaf!!!” Garbage barked irritably.

She slammed Hrathnir down on the rags without hesitation, stabbing it into the stain on the floor.

But there was nothing left. She’d let it escape—or perhaps driven it off?

“Crouahh...!!!”

No...

Raraja reached out carefully toward Garbage’s feet as she stomped indignantly.

There was one other thing left.

The shard. What seemed to be a fragment of an incredibly old amulet was stuck there.

Raraja carefully scooped it up and clutched it in the palm of his hand.

This means...

Nothing was over yet. The battle would go on. And so would the adventure.

Exploring unknown floors, fighting unknown monsters, dying...and being turned to ash.

It just goes on and on...

Would Iarumas keep on doing this?

Would the adventurers keep on doing this?

Would he?

It’s a mug’s game.

But even as he thought that, Raraja realized that he had no intention of leaving the dungeon. At the present moment, there was just one thing he could be certain of.

He had survived.

And that’s enough, Raraja figured.

Chapter 8: Return of the Wizard

O DI...

As he floated through the endless darkness, he thought he heard a faint voice. It felt incredibly distant, yet so close, like waves rolling in and out.

He could ignore it. Or he could listen. Either way, it melted into his body.

I’m fine like this, he thought. I did all that I could, didn’t I?

O KADORTO...

But even if he sank into the water, eventually, his lungs would beg for oxygen. He could not resist because it wasn’t up to him—his body would act on its own. As long as his soul hadn’t burned out entirely, God would not allow his life to end.

Murmur—chant—pray—invoke!

With a gasping breath, Iarumas’s eyes flew open.

For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. He thought it was the Temple of Cant. The ritual room in the Temple of Cant. Though, not the temple in Scale. Another one.

But...he soon realized that wasn’t the case. A soft weight rested on top of him. Silver hair spilled out of a nun’s habit, smelling of incense. And peeking through those strands was a pair of ears that were long, like bamboo leaves.

The white hands clasped over him in prayer were unblemished. One finger was adorned with a simple ring.

“Aine, huh?”

“Yes. I am indeed Ainikki.”

The elven nun looked as if she had been practically clinging to Iarumas’s body as she prayed. She slowly lifted her face. Her features were marked with joy, relief, and her unchanging beauty.

“You turned to ash, you know?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Iarumas smiled. Ainikki arched her eyebrows.

“That’s not the point.”

“I know.”

Really now. Sister Ainikki sighed at this response—it was all too typical of Iarumas. It was something to be pleased about, though. But before anything else, she needed to tell him something.

“God is telling you that there is still greater potential for your life.”

She continued with her usual heartfelt sermon about how he must redouble his efforts. Iarumas had no idea just how wonderful of a thing this was. How lamentable...

But even when she told him, he just shrugged his shoulders. “Wouldn’t it have been more joyous if I’d been accepted into the city of God?”

Sister Ainikki’s pale green eyes pierced straight through Iarumas. “How much value is there in a life whose loss goes unmissed?”

“Hmm,” Iarumas murmured. “You may have a point there.” He nodded. But there were a number of things that were more important to verify than his own potential. “If I’m here, then that means...my party came back alive. Is anyone else dead?”

“No one.” Ainikki shook her head slightly, her mirth unchanging. “Everyone has been working to heighten the value of their lives. It’s a wonderful thing.”

“Yeah, that’s nice... They did a good job.”

He’d have to ask later how they did it. After all, the monster they’d faced was... Oh, wait.

I should’ve told her that first.

“That thing really was a flack,” Iarumas said in an offhanded manner. Then, after some thought, he added, “Sorry, but we haven’t saved the crown prince yet.”

“Really now...” This time, her sigh leaked out, even as her lips formed a small smile. “Yes, yes. I’m well aware!”

“Oh, I see.” Iarumas spoke as though it were no big deal. Ainikki didn’t know whether to be pleased or upset.

Far more had happened than he’d thought! Sister Ainikki huffily told Iarumas all about it as he silently lent her his ear.

They did good.

When she’d told him that no one was dead, he’d assumed they’d been resurrected. But no, that wasn’t it. They had returned victorious and alive, without any of them even being turned to stone. That had to have earned them a lot of experience.

He didn’t mind being indebted to Regnar’s party, or more accurately, Schumacher’s. Adventurers had to support one another. He had already come to that realization during the time when he’d quested for the orb on Mt. Scale.

“I’ll need to pay them back at some point.”

“Of course you will!” Ainikki said firmly, thrusting out the beautiful curves of her chest with a harrumph. “Debts must be repaid!”

Iarumas picked up on the fact that she also meant the cost of his resurrection. But surely that wasn’t all. He owed a debt to Ainikki as well.

Nothing is over yet.

Flack hadn’t been destroyed. Iarumas knew what that thing truly was.

It was a slime that lurked in the abyss of the demon world. But it was also a jester. And jesters didn’t act on their own. They always had a master.

Flack had fled into the depths, where the mastermind awaited. The prince/princess had yet to be saved. Iarumas had died in a battle with Flack, and his companions had hauled his corpse back to the surface.

When you boiled it all down, that was all that had happened. It wasn’t a win or a loss.

Like always...

It’s an adventure in progress.

With that in mind, Iarumas felt that there was just one thing he ought to do.

“Shall we?”

“Yes,” Ainikki replied with a firm nod. “We will indeed!”

The two adventurers shared a nod, then headed for the bottom of the dungeon.

§

“And that’s why you’re lounging around in the tavern, huh?”

“Don’t pick a fight.”

Even in the bustling tavern, his ears picked up the sharp voice of that sneering albino rhea girl. Schumacher stared at Regnar as he sipped from his mug. He no longer got irritated by her teasing, but it was still unpleasant.

“Why not? Big sis’s gone out of her way to share a drink with you, y’know?” With a slight jump of her tiny body, she sat down in the seat next to Schumacher. She leaned against him—her flesh had a feminine softness to it.

Schumacher scowled. A scent wafted into his nostrils—the smell of ashes.

“If you’re worried about something, let’s talk about it. I’ll hear you out.” Her bloodred eyes were fixed on Schumacher. The same mischievous look as ever flitted within them, but he felt, more than usual, that she was actually looking at him.

That was why Schumacher decided to open up to her—just a little.

“I’m not particularly worried.”

“Huh?”

“I’m thinking about it.” He took a sip of ale, then licked his lips. “How far can I go?”

He’d come far enough that he wasn’t going to chicken out now.

The dragon of red death, seared into his brain. His friends, turned to ash, unable to be resurrected. The companions who’d left him.

When he was left all alone, he was still just the son of a shoemaker. He’d continue confirming the value of his life inside the dungeon.

He didn’t seek wealth. Or fame. Or deeds of arms. Or women.

How far can I go?

That was all.

Iarumas had died. The All-Stars had yet to return. What about him?

He had to keep pressing forward. Even if that meant climbing over the corpses of Rahm-and-Sahm, Shadowwind, Coretas, and Regnar. Even if those girls were reduced to scattered ashes.

“But I never again want to charge forward without thinking.”

“You’re free to give up, you know?” The red eyes that had been staring at Schumacher’s burned face, as if searching for something, grew clouded. “I’ll just keep on delving on my own.”

She would point and cackle, then forget him. Regnar told him as much, then let out an ear-grating laugh. Her laughter sounded hollow.

This girl...

What had she been doing before he’d invited her to join him? Had she been delving into the dungeon alone? For a long time? Walking around inside of the gloom? Schumacher could imagine a little white silhouette roaming the darkness.

Had she been cackling to herself, alone, all that time? If so...

It’s none of my concern.

He only had to think about himself. He already had his hands full enough with that.

“Don’t be silly,” Schumacher practically spat. “There’s a lot of things you don’t like, but you’re too valuable to lose. You’re sticking with me to the very end.”

Regnar was silent. Her eyes sparkled like those of an innocent girl. Their red depths gleamed.

“All right,” she said in a whisper, her soft lips parting. “That’s the kind of boy I like anyway.”

§

“Don’t hunch over! Stand up straight!”

“R-Right...! Um, s-sorry...?”

“Honestly, you’re so unnecessarily huge!”

Two girls were chatting noisily near the well behind the adventurer’s tavern. Berkanan, who was large even when sitting down, was desperately fighting with her black hair—and with the smaller Orlaya. Normally, Berkanan kept her hair tied back, but it was now spread out and covering her body almost like a cloak.

Unfastening her hair, washing it, brushing it, rubbing in scented oil, and then braiding it again. It was a lot of work to do all by herself, and today, Orlaya had volunteered to do it for her. Though, the rhea girl had insisted she was doing it as practice for moving her fingers...

It’s probably her way of thanking Berkanan. That was what Raraja was idly thinking as he sat on the back porch of the inn.

It bothered Orlaya in her own way—or that was how Raraja understood it. Berkanan had saved Orlaya from near death at the risk of her own life. But it was an action she had undertaken as an adventurer to help the entire party return alive, not just to save Orlaya. Because of that, Orlaya didn’t know how she should show her gratitude.

This was the result.

“Even if you’re an adventurer, not taking care of it is just laziness... I’m not pulling your hair, am I?”

“I-It doesn’t hurt. Yeah... It’s fine...”

“Dammit, why’s your hair so silky? It’s pissing me off...”

Even as she grumbled, Orlaya washed Berkanan’s hair, and Berkanan acted incredibly meek.

But well, if they’re getting along, I guess it’s fine, huh?

Raraja didn’t feel like worrying or thinking about it any more than he already had. In all honesty, he felt totally drained.

They’d wandered around the underground dungeon, dragging Iarumas’s corpse until they’d returned to the surface. Then, at the temple...after turning Iarumas to ash once, they’d successfully resurrected him.

He’d done all he could.

When he thought about it, he realized he couldn’t move another step. He didn’t want to do anything. It wasn’t that his thoughts had slowed down. He just had no idea what to do next.

As he lay down on the stone steps of the porch and rolled onto his back, a dull color spread out across his field of vision. The skies of Scale were covered with thick, lead-colored clouds again today. He wanted to just lie here for a while.

Iarumas had told him something once: If you spent days in the royal suite, it would feel like you’d aged years.

Right now, Raraja felt like he could understand what the man had meant. This mental and physical exhaustion wouldn’t fade from a brief rest in the stables. It felt heavy, as if it were pressing down on his very existence.

“Arf.”

He heard Garbage’s footsteps trotting over—though he’d heard her bark first. The redheaded dog of a girl’s face appeared upside down in his field of view. She stood as if straddling his head, looking down on him from above.

“You’re in the way,” or “What’re you doing?” That was probably what she was saying.

“You’re sure full of energy...”

“Woof!”

This generation’s Diamond Knight answered him with confidence. But Raraja knew she’d been incredibly frustrated and angry since that battle.

It made him think.

If we’d lost Iarumas...

What would he have done? What would he do?

Knowing Garbage, she would’ve delved into the dungeon again to take that thing down. She was always the one to decide where she was going. No one else could get in her way.

Orlaya would’ve likely gone as well—gritting her teeth and complaining like always. Berkanan too...probably. Hesitantly and slowly, while clutching her Dragon Slayer.

Then...what about him?

He’d probably delve too. Head into the dungeon once more. Why was that?

To defeat that monster...Flack? To show the others he could? For wealth or fame?

None of those seemed right. So...

“Because...I’m an adventurer, huh?”

“Whah?”

That was kind of unsettling too. He felt like he was becoming something unknown—something even he didn’t understand.

With a slight grimace, he sat up on the stone steps he’d been lying on. Garbage nimbly pulled away, then scurried around beside him.

Red hair. Blue eyes. Slender white limbs. The figure he’d seen through those tattered rags flashed through his mind.

What was that girl?

He wanted to find out for himself. And perhaps...to save her. At the very least, it was a more concrete goal than “Because I’m an adventurer.”

“Actually, it’s no fun just braiding it like normal... What style do you want?”

“U-Um... Actually, I’ve never really...thought about hairstyles...”

“Well, let’s try some. For starters...”

Orlaya and Berkanan were still bantering noisily over by the well.

Okay. Raraja clutched the shard of the amulet in the palm of his hand. Then, with a glance at Garbage, who was looking toward the well with disinterest, he said, “Once they’re done, it’s probably your turn next, y’know?”

“Yap?!”

§

“Good grief. Maybe we’ve delved a little too deep?”

No one responded to Sezmar.

How long ago had they all laughed together, joking, “This is the kind of place we’d find Iarumas,” before opening a new door in the dungeon?

The door looming before them now was thick and made of iron.

How long had it been there? How many months? How many years?

Yet the door was glossy, without a scratch. It shone as if someone had oiled it. Perhaps it would open with a light shove.

That was the reason—that was why all six All-Stars were oppressively silent. They could feel the demonic aura leaking through the gaps in the door. It was thick, like paint, with many colors mixed together—that was the kind of illusion it inspired.

“Hey... Is it okay for us to open this?” Sarah asked cautiously.

“Clearly not, no matter how I look at it...” Prospero replied definitively, shaking his head. The priest and the mage, each adept in their own fields of magic, were both reacting this way.

Even Moradin, whose face was marked with the easygoing attitude of a rhea, let out a “yikes.”

“They say some rings are best left untouched,” he said. “What do you think, High Priest?”

“I’m in agreement... Although, we may be forced to touch it,” the dwarven bishop answered cautiously. His voice sounded tired, as if he’d aged a few more decades. “Because if there’s a door, that means there’s something behind it...”

“If the abducted prince is through here, don’t you think it’s already too late for him...?” Sarah whispered. She shuddered, clutching her shoulders as if to ward off the cold. “Either way, I don’t want to die along with the info we have. Let’s head back for now, okay?”

“Good call.” Sezmar raised the visor on his helmet, then looked up at the door once more. “If we mark it on our map, we can come back here. So before anything weird happens, let’s—”

Pull out, he meant to say.

But before Sezmar could finish, a colored wind blew past the adventurers’ feet. Like a crawling shadow, like a green ooze, and like the naked white flesh...of a redheaded girl.

“Wha...?!”

Who had murmured that? Everyone was slow to react. Before they could stop her, the girl clung to the door.

“I’ve returned! I’m back now! Please, open up! Please, let me in!!!”

An unusual number of painful-looking sword wounds ran diagonally across the girl’s body. Dripping green blood, they were clearly fatal. And yet, she was still alive.

Not only that, the wounds were closing, as if they were being stitched together, and they were healing.

Her voice grew higher, stronger—finally, she shouted a name.

“Davalpus-sama!”

In an instant, there was a thunderous noise, and the doors were seemingly blown open from inside. The demonic aura rushed out like a muddy stream, with all six adventurers caught in the middle of it.

The roaring pressure alone made it impossible to stand. They couldn’t see anything.

“Eek...?!”

High Priest Tuck, Prospero, and Moradin dug in their heels. The delicate elf girl was blown away.

“Oops...!”

“Eee...ee...eek?!”

Sezmar, who kept his good humor even at a time like this, caught Sarah with a gauntleted hand and pulled her close. Sarah trembled, her features tense. What was she feeling? Fear, relief, embarrassment...or something else entirely?

“Th-Thanks...!”

“Think nothing of it!”

Putting Sarah behind him to keep her safe, Sezmar spun his arms in circles and said “all right” as he pumped himself up.

Now’s the time to put my life on the line!

This man never doubted that always being positive, cheerful, and lighthearted was one of his strong points. As he drew his Were Slayer, he called out to the black-clad spy standing next to him.

“You want to go back topside?”

Hawkwind let out a low laugh. “If we can make it there.” He assumed a bizarre stance while holding a shuriken.

Sezmar let out a jovial laugh in response. “Well, I don’t know what’s here, but bring it on! I’ll take you!”

The dark-red tumor that burst forth from deep inside the door engulfed the adventurers.

It wouldn’t be until some time later that the people would learn the truth...

The cursed hole of Davalpus had opened once more.

Afterword

Hello, it’s Kumo Kagyu! Did you enjoy Blade & Bastard Volume 5?

This volume was about a subject that no work based on Wizardry can avoid addressing: clutching your head as you stare at the dead body and wondering what to do after an unlucky critical hit!

It kinda happens a lot in Wizardry. When playing the games, you would hope that the auto-save hadn’t triggered and say a prayer as you press the reset button. (With the recent remake, you can also cheat by keeping your save data in a separate file...)

Anyway, I wanted to write about that sort of situation, and that’s how we ended up with this story. But since I know some people read the afterword first, I won’t say who it happens to.

Moving on, since it’s been announced now at this point, there’s an anime adaptation coming. What a surprise, huh? It’s the first Wizardry anime since the OVA. Invite us, O dungeon world of magic and murder!

Honestly, I’m excited more as a Wizardry fan than as the original creator. If people go on to play the games after experiencing this work, nothing would make me happier.

In that sense, I’m nervous—there will be people whose first exposure to Wizardry will be through Blade & Bastard.

Yeah, that’s a big responsibility...

That said, the story’s already been written, so all I can do is trust in the team and leave it to them, while also thinking, Please take good care of the Wizardry anime! Doesn’t that put me in a position similar to Wizardry fans?

At any rate, here we are on volume 5 already. It’s sort of like the first half of the new development that continues from volume 4.

There are lots of adventurers outside of Iarumas and the gang, and that is true to the world of Wizardry. All sorts of parties will be showing up. It makes me want to go to the training grounds and generate lots of adventurers. That said, there’s something troublesome about that tactic: When you spread things out too much, you get stuck because no one’s a high enough level...

So, I think the next volume will continue following Iarumas and the party.

Please keep on supporting me.

See you again soon.