Chapter 56 - King of Hungry Ghosts (1)

Alon knew Myaon as a character quite well—better than he knew the other mercenaries. In Psychedelia, she became available to recruit into the protagonist’s party after visiting the labyrinth and clearing a certain amount of it.

Besides, when he first started playing, he had often recruited her because she joined at a high level even during the low-level stages. He had seen several of her personal events, so he could hardly claim not to know her.

"..."

Even so, her remark had been so unexpected that he remained silent.

"Interested?"

Myaon gave him a suggestive smile.

"So suddenly...?"

Alon briefly studied her face, its beauty undiminished by its scars, before slowly asking the question.

"Suddenly? This is already our third meeting."

Myaon continued, twitching the ears that marked her as cat beastfolk.

"By now, haven’t we learned everything we need to know about each other? I’ve learned that you’re strong, too."

"Ah."

A quiet sound of realization escaped Alon. Only then did his stalled thoughts begin moving again, for he had guessed why she was making this proposal.

'... Come to think of it, Myaon’s tribe worshipped the strong.'

It was a very old memory, of course, and had faded enough that he only recalled it now. But her tribe did have a custom of venerating the strong.

'Worshipping the strong... I think it literally meant feeling intensely attracted to someone stronger than yourself.'

Alon looked at the many scars scattered across Myaon’s body, markings that all but proclaimed which tribe she belonged to, then spoke.

"I’m sorry, but I’ll have to decline."

"Huh?"

Myaon looked a little disappointed at his answer.

But a moment later, she heaved a weary sigh, making it hard to believe she was the same person who had worn that suggestive expression just moments before.

"Well, nothing I can do about that. Ahh, being taken down in one move really made my heart flutter..."

Despite her deeply disappointed tone, she looked more like a salesperson who had failed to close a deal. Watching her, Alon found himself thinking anew:

'I knew beastfolk and humans had clearly different ways of thinking, but in this respect, they really are a little more... unusual.'

As he was thinking that, Myaon added,

"Well, let me know if you change your mind, just in case. I’m pretty attractive, you know."

Like a salesperson hoping for another opportunity, she said her piece and left.

"... Shall I dispose of her, Godfather?"

As Alon stared blankly after Myaon, he heard Rine’s voice. She had been silent until now.

"... Uh, is that really necessary?"

"She spoke obscenely to you, Godfather."

Alon pressed his lips together at Rine’s chilling words. She had not taken her eyes off Myaon, who was already some distance away.

'Wait... You want to kill her just for saying that?'

Realizing anew that someone even more unusual than Myaon was right beside him, he answered at once.

"There’s no need. She hasn’t actually done me any harm."

"Yes."

Rine immediately nodded and looked away.

'... Something about this feels strange.'

For some reason, Rine’s treatment of him seemed even more excessive than that of Deus or Seollang. Alon tilted his head, but then Argonia’s shout cut off his thoughts.

"Break’s over. Everyone, move!"

At the crisply delivered announcement, he rose and began walking down into the darkness once more.

####

About a day later, the Outer God expedition was making its way through the fourth floor after spending a night in the abyss-like labyrinth and continuing its journey.

'... I expected this, but it really is different from the game.'

Alon quietly clicked his tongue at the fact that they had only reached the fourth floor despite traveling for more than a full day.

Even allowing for their slower progress between floors because such a large group could not use the side passages, the difference between the game and reality was considerable.

In the game, defeating a set number of monsters naturally took you to the next floor. Here, monsters constantly emerged from the abyss, and dealing with them alone was taking more than a day.

'... I’m never coming back into the labyrinth.'

Making that vow yet again, Alon looked around.

The mercenaries, who had traveled in and out of the labyrinth countless times, occasionally exchanged jokes as though accustomed to this abyssal darkness. To Alon, however, it had already become a place he never wanted to visit again.

'... There is something good for mages around the fortieth floor.'

He briefly recalled information from the game, but soon shook his head and decided to give up on the item altogether.

If even reaching the fifth floor took more than a day, how long would reaching the fortieth take?

It was easy to realize that it would require an enormous amount of time.

How much more time had passed?

"We’re almost at the fifth floor."

As Alon trudged along in a daze, a mercenary’s voice from ahead drew his attention. In the distance, he could see a doorway shining as though it were the labyrinth’s exit.

Before long, they finally reached the fifth floor.

"... So this is the fifth floor."

Alon murmured expressionlessly.

But that was only his outward appearance. Behind his impassive face, he was astonished.

He could see the sky here, as though they were not inside the labyrinth at all.

And an exceptionally clear sky at that.

"..."

As he gazed at the green meadows beneath it and the many ancient, crumbling ruins left scattered across them, Alon thought:

'... This, too, is completely different from what I saw in the game.'

To be precise, the scenery resembled what he had seen in the game, but arriving here felt somehow different.

In the game, the fifth floor had merely been a save point where he could rest. Here and now, it was truly peaceful.

For a brief moment, he felt his weary heart ease, though he could not quite explain why.

"All right. After a short break, we’ll begin preparations immediately."

Argonia’s words reminded Alon of the purpose he had briefly forgotten, and he slowly reviewed the plan.

... Hoping the operation would proceed as intended.

####

Shortly after the Outer God expedition reached the fifth floor, the mercenaries finished their very brief rest, rose, and began preparations in earnest, following Alon’s instructions.

And as he watched their coordinated movements, Maverick clicked his tongue.

"... Tch."

Then he turned his gaze toward Alon.

"..."

Frankly, Maverick still did not like him very much.

No matter how he looked at Alon, the man did not seem particularly strong.

'What’s so damn impressive about a guy who pants after a little walk through the labyrinth?'

Watching Alon, Maverick recalled what Argonia and Himan had said a few days earlier.

No—more precisely, he recalled the state they had been in then.

Both had been sweating coldly and holding their breath in silence.

'What the hell are they seeing?'

Maverick had looked Alon over again and again, but still could find nothing special about him. Turning away with an expression of utter incomprehension, he suddenly sensed something strange.

"... Huh?"

It was a tiny question, yet tinged with déjà vu.

He pondered what it might be, and only after turning his gaze again did he realize what had prompted that feeling.

"..."

It was the noise.

He could no longer hear any of the bustling sounds his subordinates had been making as they prepared to carry out Alon’s plan.

As though time had stopped.

Only then did Maverick sense that something was wrong. Looking at the mercenaries, he identified the other source of that unsettling familiarity.

The mercenaries themselves.

Every one of them had stopped, though just moments earlier they had been chatting and trading jokes.

Like dolls.

Frozen in the very positions they had occupied while moving to prepare the plan.

Just as Maverick was about to speak, filled with an inexplicable, sickening bewilderment, the mercenaries’ bodies slid apart.

As though in slow motion.

Their lower halves remained like pillars as their upper bodies slid diagonally off and fell to the ground.

SPLAAASH!

Red blood soaked the ruins and the green meadow.

And—

"!"

His eyes widening at what had happened in an instant, Maverick saw it.

A goblin standing utterly unconcerned in front of the fallen mercenaries.

Dazed by the sense that he faced something irresistible, he met the eyes of the goblin gazing emotionlessly at him and understood several things at once.

The goblin before him had killed his subordinates.

The goblin before him was the Outer God this expedition had come to defeat.

He needed to draw his sword right now.

Yet despite knowing all of that, he could do nothing.

He could not shout in anger.

He could not draw his sword.

He could not even call for support.

He could do nothing at all.

His opponent was a goblin, a creature of which he had slain thousands.

Yet, paradoxically, he knew with absolute instinctive certainty that this thing was not a goblin.

The goblin’s—no, the thing’s intelligent gaze met Maverick’s.

He instantly recognized the emotions in its eyes.

Boundless ennui and arrogance.

It was bored, as though this situation inspired no feeling whatsoever.

And arrogant, as though looking down upon everything from above.

After he glimpsed those fragments of emotion, it pronounced its sentence.

"Who said you could meet my eyes without permission?"

A finger rises.

Slowly.

But surely.

It points at Maverick, as though marking out his approaching death with perfect clarity.

And the instant Maverick, unable to bear his terror, closed his eyes at the sight of that finger about to make a casual sweep, an emotionless voice rang out.

"Bitter Cold—"

CRAAACK!!!

The earth froze.

Ice crystals reached out greedily as though intent on swallowing everything in the world, surging over the grass like a wave and freezing everything around them.

"Crystallization."

CRUNCH!

Along with a chilling sound like something being squeezed tight came the voice again.

"Get a hold of yourself."

Opening his eyes at those words, Maverick saw a man from behind.

His black coat billowed in the frosty wind, and grayish-white mana streamed from his left hand like smoke.

Count Pallatio stood facing a crescent of ice and the goblin—no, the thing—within it, which twitched an eyebrow.

"..."

... Maverick could only stare blankly at his back, as though entranced.