Episode 3. Phantom Thief (1)
This is a story about a game. Therefore, no matter what the players accomplish within it, nothing changes. And likewise, no matter what trials the players face inside the game, nothing changes. In the end, the only world where one can truly live is the one outside.
Someone felt tremendous regret about that fact.
Campaign: Proceed with the story.
What a beautiful, wonderful world. A world that draws you in the more you learn about it. Everyone in it is such good people. And yet, to think they all originated from someone's imagination.
Enter a name.
Someone gazed upon that world and felt great regret.
Sephirah
That regret invited yet another player into this world.
They say dawn in the snowfield is unbearably harsh. Even on ordinary days, the cold creeps up from your fingertips, so it's only natural that once dawn breaks, even the locals can't move about freely.
That's why, generally speaking, no one dares to step outside at such an hour.
Exceptions? There are probably three kinds that come to mind right away for most people. Those skilled enough with their bodies to endure it. Those wrapped in expensive gear to ward off the chill. And those fully acclimated to it.
"Yaaawn..."
Claire, a small resident of the snowfield, fiddled with her staff and let out her exhaustion. Cold air rushed into her mouth as she yawned wide on purpose, exhaling it slowly. Thanks to that, she finally shook off some sleep and managed to meet her companion's gaze again.
"I'm sleepy."
The one she'd locked eyes with was, of course, Aiden Oliver.
"That's the first thing you say when you see me?"
"Then... hello?"
"..."
Aiden's expression held a world of thoughts. How to put it? She couldn't quite read his mind perfectly, but it was the look you give someone strange. No words, no grimace.
Claire averted her eyes a bit and asked, "Should I just greet you normally next time...?"
"Aren't you cold?"
But in that moment, their words overlapped and blurred. Claire's voice had been much softer, so Aiden seemed not to have caught it properly.
"Oh, yeah. I'm fine! I wander around at this hour a lot, so I'm not really bothered by the cold."
"If you say so."
Claire answered nonchalantly, but Aiden still eyed her suspiciously. Her outfit was little more than stereotypical nun's garb—thin enough that anyone would scold her for trying to freeze to death.
"If you wandered like this every dawn, you'd get used to it too, old man."
"I don't."
"Too bad. It's fun, though. This time of day is the chilliest, but a walk clears your head sometimes..."
The simple greeting had stretched into a longer chat. They hadn't talked this much even when they had all the time in the world before. Aiden decided to at least keep walking.
"Let's move for now. We won't warm up standing around."
"Ah, I walked here to meet you, so I'm kinda tired already."
"Time to guide me."
"Can't we take it easy a bit...?"
"Claire."
"Yeees..."
Claire stretched her arms out, loosening up, then resignedly started leaving footprints in the snow. She headed straight for the ruins the thieves had claimed, her torch lighting the path in place of the moonless sky.
It was a little later when Claire spoke up again.
"Do you always make money doing stuff like this, old man?"
"Usually... yeah, pretty much always."
"Sounds tough. Did it have to be this kind of work? Must be dangerous."
"Guess sitting around thinking was even harder."
"You say it like it's someone else's story."
Fortunately, Aiden was talking about himself. It was tough and grueling, sure, but he'd chosen it himself. So maybe solving problems with muscle suited his temperament, or something. His old memories were fuzzy anyway.
"How much farther?"
"Not long. Super soon."
Claire wasn't exaggerating; soon after their talk trailed off, they hit an uphill slope. It wasn't quite a full hill, but high enough to overlook without strain. Flickering torchlight danced amid the ruins below.
"Pretty, right? Don't you like how the lights sparkle? Huh?"
"Lights that pay out every time I knock someone down."
"No romance in you, mercenary."
Claire teased, but Aiden wasn't entirely devoid of romance. Sure, they looked pretty from afar. He agreed. But up close? A bunch of criminals. Once that sank in, any lighthearted thoughts evaporated.
"That's... what, just some forgotten corner ruin they took over, y'know?"
"Hm."
"Any idea why?"
"No clue."
Thieves and a fully excavated ruin. Odd combo. Grave robbing? Maybe. But ruins like that were mostly crumbled—useless as a base. And with excavation done, nothing left to loot. Proximity? They'd be better off pitching tents.
"Got any guesses?"
"Nope. No reason to care, anyway."
"..."
Strange. Nothing wrong with her words, but why did it feel off?
"Kidding. I did hear something."
"Having fun?"
"That's why I drive the nuns crazy back at the convent."
Claire shrugged proudly, owning her bad-nun status. How much did they hate her?
"It's just hearsay, but they're trying to open a door in the ruins."
"Hearsay, huh."
"Yeah. The last excavation team left a big door sealed with cipher magic they couldn't crack. Overheard some thieves who came to harass us... probably legit."
Despite her casual tone, Claire's intel was gold. How useful it'd be exactly? They'd see on-site. But for a small-team op, every scrap mattered. Bluffing potential, even.
"So, what's the plan?"
"The senior or predecessor should decide."
"Frontal assault or infiltration. That's it."
"Hmm..."
Claire pondered.
"Nothing more specific?"
"Nah. No one's been inside."
"For real."
Claire pondered more.
What's easier?
She mulled it over, but no clear answer. Not an info broker, no experience. So...
"Let's sneak in. Don't want it getting messy."
"Won't be easy either way."
"No, I didn't say that 'cause I think it'll be easier or anything?"
But Claire was already looking away. Stealth was usually simpler, sure.
"I've got something in mind. For real."
"Hm."
Aiden studied her face, then nodded. Seemed her pride wasn't letting her bluff.
"Alright, let's hear it."
"How long do we have to hole up in this dump?!"
One of the masked group trudging through the snowfield bellowed. His voice, distorted by the mask's magic, was genderless and echoing.
"Wanna give some hopeful words, but no timeline. Nobody's cracked the door yet."
"Beg the boss to learn how to quit."
The presumed man sighed deeply.
"I wanna live."
"Then chill. We're not the ones getting stiffed on pay."
"It'll end eventually. Feels like it's close."
A chorus of modulated voices. A newcomer might clutch their head from the disorientation, but these guys were adapted enough to chat casually.
Voice-altering masks hid faces and tones—perfect for crooks. And these mask-wearers heading back to base? Lowly thief grunts, naturally.
"But it's getting risky now. Rumors say a yeti-hunting party's coming to the village soon. We might not make it."
"Scared of getting spotted on patrol? Nah. They won't glance our way. Busy folk."
Another grunt nodded. The yeti-hunt dispatch rumors were widespread. But so what? High-and-mighty types wouldn't play hero for justice. If spotted, negotiate with coin and vanish.
"You're all so laid-back."
Did they really think that shallow? Mercs weren't all aces, true, but dismissing only the elites as threats?
They realized too late someone was watching.
"Wh-who are you?!"
"Watch out!"
As drilled, grunts stayed alert for enemies and prepped support calls. One foe visible, but allies could be anywhere. They backed against boulders and ice, facing the single target.
Good so far.
Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling.
Suddenly, a clear bell chime rang in the ears of the ten-or-so grunts.
"What the hell?!"
"A nun! It's a nun!"
They scanned wildly but couldn't spot the deliberately hidden nun.
She's in our blind spots, but that means no big moves!
Similar thoughts flashed; they hunkered deeper into cover. Support call ended. Soon, reinforcements would swarm, time be damned. Survive till then—that was the grunts' goal.
Come on, you slowpiece of junk...!
The one-use magic tool for support hummed to activation.
Just hold out. Hold out...
A voiceless village, footsteps echoing.
Crackle...
In that instant, the red-glowing alarm winked out without warning. No normal shutdown—not a good sign either.
What the...? Why?
As one grunt thought that, a voice amplified their vague dread.
"...No."
"What the hell?!"
A hooded mercenary raised his sword. A grunt clutching his staff aimed it at the merc.
But nothing happened.
"The magic...!"
Like the useless trinket in his hand, the magic fizzled.
