Hard Work Leaves No Regrets
Technicians never run short of work.
Their job is not merely forging the custom weapons hunters commission. Everything that had transformed Antico from a place of nothing but trees into a vast, livable city existed because of skilled hands like theirs. The defensive walls ringing Antico against monster invasions. The dust-caked cannons that had waited in the Association warehouse for a day exactly like this one. All of it was the work of technicians.
Hunters and technicians were bound together by a bond that could never be severed.
Rumble-rumble—
The wheels of a cannon a technician was hauling creaked and groaned. The people of the workshop district had thrown themselves into the effort, lining cannons along Antico's entrance one after another—but years of disuse meant every last one needed oiling.
Could they finish everything before the time came?
Why had the Alberoelva, which had barely stirred until now, suddenly begun advancing on Antico? No one knew. But whatever the reason, the answer everyone had settled on was the same: they would stand against it.
And Matillo knew that answer as well.
"Still at it, huh."
"Doesn't he ever get tired?"
"…"
That an old man who rarely left his workshop—who seemed to have washed his hands of the world entirely—had come out at all was a marvel even among the district's craftsmen. Matillo worked harder than he ever had, harder than anyone. He cast rest aside and kept going, wiping dust from the cannons, checking the primers on the shells.
"Matillo, sir. Please take a break."
Colpo stepped in, unable to watch any longer, but Matillo only shook his head. If anything, the sight of the others washing off sweat and resting only irritated him further.
Matillo rose from his crouch in front of a cannon. Not to rest. He turned and jabbed a finger at the technicians taking their break.
"Hey. You lot think this is hard?"
"S-sir—"
Of course it was hard. Autumn had cooled the air somewhat, but Antico's peculiar humidity went nowhere. Rough physical labor like this left bodies drained and slack in no time. Hauling multi-ton lumps of metal out of the Association warehouse and into position had left every joint creaking.
"Do you even understand the situation we're in? Is this the time to be sitting around? We need to finish this as fast as we can. Finish, then go back and do maintenance all over again."
One of the resting technicians bristled and shot back.
"Come on, sir, we're working hard too. Why do you have to talk like that?"
"You little—"
"Matillo, sir, please stop. Please. Why fight over something like this?"
Matillo's eyes went wide as he started forward, and Colpo caught him and held him back. A man as solid as Matillo could have shrugged Colpo off without effort—but Colpo had always treated him well, and seeing him step in like this made Matillo pause, steady his breath, and look at him properly.
Sweat had soaked through the bandana on Colpo's head. Matillo's gaze shifted. Now that he looked, every face was running with sweat, exhaustion written plain across them all.
Only then did Matillo realize he had let his emotions swallow him whole. The situation itself was crushing stress for him. Every step of this process was dragging the catastrophe of Crete back into his mind. He still could not feel safe. And he had been trying to dump that feeling onto everyone else.
One of the technicians let out a sigh.
"Fine. We'll do it. We'll just do it…"
The resting technicians rose from their seats. Matillo watched them. Going back to work was good, but… was this what he had wanted?
He blinked, then gently lowered Colpo's hand from his shoulder.
"…Forget it."
He crouched in front of the cannon again, took up a rag, and began wiping the dust away with meticulous care. Colpo looked at him with a bitter expression, then grabbed a rag of his own and settled in beside him.
Matillo glanced at Colpo sitting next to him and said gruffly,
"What'd you come over for?"
"I'll work with you."
Matillo shrugged.
"Feeling awkward 'cause some old man barked at you? Or did I just look pathetic?"
"I know you're not just any old man, sir. And you don't look pathetic."
"…Brat."
Colpo worked in silence, lifting a shell onto his palm and rubbing it with a dry cloth. Matillo glanced at him, then slid a hand into the cannon's barrel. As he slowly swept the dust from inside, he spoke.
"Hey, Bandana."
"It's Colpo."
"Ah, names are hard to remember. Anyway—is it rough?"
"Well, it'd be a lie to say it isn't. We moved cannons. Six of them. If two hadn't been rusted out, it would've been eight."
"Yeah. They were heavy, all right."
"I genuinely thought my arms were going to fall off."
Colpo rubbed his still-trembling arms. The cannons had large wheels, true enough—but they were still enormous masses of iron, each weighing several tons at the least. And it hadn't been just the cannons. Since morning, every technician in Antico had been grunting and straining to haul the crates of shells as well. Of course it was exhausting.
Matillo, still wiping dust from the mouth of the barrel, opened his mouth.
"Still. What you're feeling right now is nothing."
He muttered it low, for Colpo alone.
"Even when it's hard, you keep working. Don't end up regretting later that you didn't try hard enough. If you give it everything you've got, even if you fail, you won't have regrets."
Colpo tilted his head at Matillo's words.
"Have you ever been through something like that, sir?"
Matillo answered roughly.
"Wouldn't be saying it if I hadn't."
Colpo faltered for a moment at that, then went back to his work. He didn't press Matillo further. Digging into something like this would have been rude. Matillo didn't offer anything more either.
But Matillo's eyes were fixed on something far away.
No matter what he said, the words he spoke always came back like a boomerang and stabbed him. Matillo was living with regret. That regret drove him without rest.
It was still vivid in his mind. The monster soaring high above, blazing brilliantly in the sky. People screaming and burning to death in that light. Buildings collapsing and falling. Memories being destroyed. Even after ten years, those images remained so sharp that Matillo still floundered inside them.
So he could not stop. He could not lose this city he had come to love.
Then, abruptly, someone stopped in front of him.
"…Matillo."
Matillo lifted his head. The first thing he saw was a white, slender hand marked with small scars. Next, white hair stirring gently in the breeze. And those peach-pink eyes that somehow always drained the tension from a room, shaded beneath the sunlight.
Alice had appeared out of nowhere.
"Hello, Hunter."
"Ah, hey. Uh… Bandana."
"Why does neither of you ever remember my name?"
Colpo protested in a voice thick with grievance, but no one paid him any mind. Matillo looked at Alice and said,
"What is it, brat? Can't you see we're busy?"
"I know, I know, but…"
Alice trailed off. Matillo frowned at her drawn-out hesitation.
"So. What do you want."
Alice glanced at Pina watching from a distance, then turned her eyes toward the workshop technicians. She couldn't exactly say she'd been grabbed by them on her way past. The technicians had clasped their hands and begged her. They hadn't wanted a clash with Matillo either. If anything, they were worried about him working himself into the ground like this. If he collapsed from overwork, they'd be too swamped to do anything about it—and given the circumstances, looking after him properly would be nearly impossible.
Alice calmly sorted through her thoughts. What could she say? What words would get Matillo to rest, even for a little while…
"I-want-to-see-my-greatsword."
Alice spat the words out like a machine. Matillo's eyes went round as he stared at her.
"…What?"
"Ah— I-want-to-see-my-greatsword."
"Whoa…"
Colpo looked at Alice with an expression of pure horror. Alice blinked several times with a complicated look on her face, then rolled her eyes. Matillo caught the direction of her gaze and turned his head. His eyes met the technicians', and he pieced the situation together and snorted a laugh.
"…Hey, brat. Go learn how to lie somewhere. I told you. You're too honest for your own good."
"Was it that obvious?"
"Yeah."
So they wanted a break badly enough to cook up a scheme. Matillo was more exasperated than angry. It wasn't that he couldn't empathize with their suffering. But compared to the agony of the tragedy that would come later, the hardship of the present was a drop in the ocean—or so Matillo had always believed.
He looked at Alice.
"Brat. Where were you headed?"
"The Association."
"The Association? Haven't they assigned teams yet?"
"No, they have. But Pina wants to switch…"
"That so? What team were you on originally?"
"Suppression team."
Matillo nodded. Of course Alice would be on the suppression team.
"Well, combat's a bit early for that little helper of yours. Have her help with the technicians' bombardment instead. Ask them to reassign her that way."
"…Then what about my helper?"
"You need one even for this?"
"Umm…"
Alice couldn't quite answer. Matillo watched her and laughed.
"Hey, there are plenty of other hunters. Just sync up with them."
"…Yeah. I guess so."
"Come for the greatsword four days from now, in the morning."
"That's the day of the hunt."
"I've got work here too. Should be finishing up around then."
"Right… Okay then."
And with that, Alice left. Matillo watched her go, then stood and laid his rag on top of the cannon.
"Hey, Bandana."
"…It's Colpo, sir."
"Want to take a break?"
"Oh—for real? So even you get tired eventually. Guess age really doesn't lie."
"Forget it. Let's keep working."
"I'm moved by your mercy, Matillo, sir. But why the sudden change of heart? Is it because of that hunter?"
"Yeah."
It was true. Perhaps he had been looking at the future with nothing but pessimism. He had been projecting his own failure onto this place. But Matillo now believed Antico would not fail.
Because she was here. Because Alice was here.
Colpo looked at Matillo's contented face and muttered as if he'd figured it out.
"I knew it. She really is your granddaughter."
"She's not."
"Gah—"
Matillo smacked Colpo upside the head.
Time passed, and the day arrived.
The sun rose once more, but not even the sound of birdsong could be heard. Every living thing had sensed the threat and fled. Silence blanketed Antico.
The branch director of the Antico Association stood atop the wall and surveyed the situation. Every preparation was complete. The Master Hunters had been unable to send support, but he judged what they had to be enough. He glanced toward the front of the wall and gave the order.
"From this moment, we stand ready for the assault."
Technicians mounted the cannons into the embrasures of the wall.
Creeeak—
Wheels that had been meticulously maintained turned smoothly as the cannons settled into place. Crates of shells were set beside each cannon; the shells were heaved up and loaded into the barrels.
Matillo glanced at Pina standing beside him. She swallowed hard, unable to tear her eyes from the forest beyond the embrasure. She was so tense her fists were clenched tight, cold sweat beading on her skin.
"Hey, kid."
"Ah— y-yes…"
"Don't tense up so much. Get that wound up and you won't be able to do a thing."
"R-right…"
Pina steadied her breathing. Matillo offered her further advice.
"Trust the hunters standing out front."
He pointed beyond the embrasure, to the space before the wall. Hunters had gathered there—hunters bold enough to stand against the Alberoelva. Those who could not stood behind the wall and supported them. There was no shame in it. Each person simply did the work that suited them.
Even those who could take the front were mostly mid-tier hunters who hunted intermediate monsters, so their numbers were few.
Alice stood among the hunters before the wall. With the Bloodhorn Sword Kerato strapped across her back, she waited at the very front for the Alberoelva. To the other hunters, her presence was immensely reassuring. A true model of what a hunter should be. A new light. A monster slayer. Even facing the high-grade monster about to appear, she showed not the slightest sign of being cowed.
"…H-hey, Alice. Long time no see?"
There were those who knew her personally as well.
"…Cook?"
"…I mean, I am a good cook, but I'm Cheiler. Cheiler."
"Right. Cheiler."
He was a hunter she had met back when they took down the One-Eyed Luga-lac. Alice's eyes widened at the familiar face after so long.
"You were still in Antico."
"No Scudo or Nab, though… and it looks like Noah's not here either. Everyone's moved on. Well. That's how it is for hunters."
Cheiler made conversation with Alice to ease the tension. Still, the Alberoelva showed no sign of appearing.
Thud—thud—
But… gradually, a sound began to reach them. Footfalls that shook the earth. Someone exhaled hard through their nose. Hearts hammered of their own accord; fists clenched. Hands trembled. Eyes darted everywhere.
When? Just when was it going to show itself?
Then someone pushed through the undergrowth of the forest. As the brush shook, hunters atop the wall drew their bowstrings and trained their repeating crossbows.
"…Hold!"
The branch director stopped them. What emerged from the brush were survey hunters under the research director—hunters who had gone out to track the Alberoelva's movements.
"It's dangerous—it's too dangerous!"
They brushed leaves from their clothes as they spoke, then rushed straight to the hunters before the wall, grabbing hold of them.
"The Alberoelva… the Alberoelva wasn't the problem!"
The branch director demanded urgently,
"What on earth is going on?"
"D-Director, right now a monster—a monster we've never seen before is coming!"
"What?"
AAAAAAAAA!!
A monster's roar cut through their exchange. Trees in the forest splintered and crashed down. The Alberoelva had arrived.
Alice set her stance—then her face fell, and she frowned.
"…What is that?"
The Alberoelva that arrived was in ruins. The miniature garden it carried on its back was shattered, and one of its legs—torn by something—had been stripped of hide entirely, blood dripping steadily from the wound. The creature collapsed weakly onto its side.
BOOM—!
The roar that had shaken the earth a moment ago had not belonged to the Alberoelva.
BOOM—!
Something stepped onto the Alberoelva's shell and revealed itself. Alice's eyes met its own, and she drew a sharp breath.
A face and form that resembled the Alberoelva, yet were distinctly different. A sovereign that did not stockpile energy, that carried no heavy shell, that hunted living things as it pleased. Inside the stripped shell, carapace plates rose like blades. Every time the creature moved, they scraped together with a harsh metallic rasp.
A monster that had appeared because Miteraos's power was incomplete, and the axis of time had twisted.
KRRRRR!
The creature shoved the Alberoelva's body aside with its foot. The fallen Alberoelva rolled away as if pushed. Color returned to Alice's face, which had gone cold. She gripped the jet-black hilt.
If it was a monster, it would fall.
"Fire—!"
BOOM—!
Shells flew. The recoil drove the barrels backward, and the acrid stench of gunpowder spread. The Ancient Alberoelva flinched at the assault. Fragments of carapace clattered to the ground, but the damage was far from fatal. The creature raised its shell-blades sharply and roared.
KRRRAAAAA!!!
The battle had begun.