Esherburn Mansion (1)
White light delivered me to the first floor of an antique mansion. The vast lobby was spacious enough for a ballroom dance party. Dim lighting and a gloomy atmosphere filled the expansive hall.
"Oh! You're here!"
As expected...
"Berga... right? I'm Rosalyn. Rosalyn Esherburn! You probably already know..."
The bright words of the twintailed girl didn't register in my ears. Wave 1. An incongruous number. And above all, a mansion—an utterly mismatched stage for a wave. I'd half-expected something like this. Still, I'd prayed it wouldn't be. My jaw clenched involuntarily.
"You. What were you thinking when you summoned me?"
"Huh?"
Rosalyn Esherburn let out a dumb little sound.
"Uh... well... um..."
Her eyes darted wildly. She was clearly flustered. But there was no helping it.
"Speak plainly, Rosalyn Esherburn. Why didn't you enhance your abilities?"
A world that implements even this crap?
I'd played it before. A limited-time gimmick wave in Fortress of End. An empty interior, with nothing but the commander standing alone. No soldiers, no walls. Yet the wave still crashes in. Defeat condition: the commander's death. Survive to the end or unravel the hidden gimmick—one or the other. In exchange, the commander starts with initial resources offering various options. Enhance your own abilities, or summon minions.
This girl with the fangs and red eyes was probably some vampire-like race. Normally, she'd have used blood magic or whatever to boost her own power. Or at least spent Cron on summoning kin. But no.
"W-Well... in the end... I'm all alone... so how was I supposed to... do anything...?"
This idiot blew all her precious initial resources just to summon me. Mercenaries aren't the main force in defense battles. They're just add-ons. In other words, the cost-performance on resource investment is abysmal. If Rosalyn had just enhanced herself, she could've swept Wave 1 no problem.
"Damn..."
Rosalyn crept closer, sneaking glances at my face.
"S-Sorry... but I..."
"That's not the point."
"Huh?"
"How did you summon me?"
"Wha...? What do you... mean...?"
Rosalyn panicked. No surprise there.
"Your initial resources surely weren't enough. Not for my price tag. Where'd you get the Cron?"
The summons were coming too frequently, beyond expectations. Commanders called me as if it were nothing. But that's impossible. I'm a high-cost unit, way above average. So where was all their Cron coming from? Wave difficulties and clear rewards vary by account, so I had no solid basis to judge. I'd just assumed they were on generous battlefields.
But gimmick waves are event content. Everyone starts with the exact same resources. Resources that could never summon me. I had to find out. If this world wasn't just a simple game. I needed to see the truth behind the curtain with my own eyes. My gut told me that would be the key to prying me from this dimensional rift.
"D-Don't think badly of me..."
Rosalyn read my expression and hesitantly spoke up.
"Fine. Just tell me the truth."
"I... sold my dad's... keepsake..."
What? Dad's keepsake? Sold it?
"Tell me the details."
"Well, my dad was kind of a... famous guy... And the alert window popped up with... sellable items..."
"Sellable items? Something like that exists?"
"Yeah, it said some of my stuff was sellable... but I couldn't sell the others... so I sold a small keepsake from Dad..."
"Tell me about the other sellable items. What else was there?"
"But Berga...? Can't you just save me first? Then I'll tell you everything. Promise."
"Refused. This conversation takes priority."
"B-But... the wave's... about to start."
Damn. Of all the timing.
"Got it, Rosalyn. Tell me what you can do."
"Me? It's a... secret..."
I couldn't take it anymore.
"You—! You—! I already know you're a vampire! Just spit out what you can do—blood magic, whatever! You think this is a joke? You begged me to save you! Stop wasting time!"
"Eek! Y-Yes!"
Whew. Maybe being around those soldiers earlier had me on edge. Seeing her snap to military discipline eased my mind a bit. Thoroughly terrified by my scolding, Rosalyn listed her skills without a stutter. Bat transformation and basic blood magic blast. That was it.
This is what you were hemming and hawing about?
"The blood blast... um... I can make it really big if I focus..."
"No need to explain. I know."
"Huh? How...?"
"More importantly. Bat form duration."
"Mm... Half a day easy... Honestly, bat form's more comfy..."
Agreed. The one moment of rapport since arriving at Esherburn Mansion.
"Can you talk in bat form?"
"Yeah... Kinda embarrassing, but yeah."
Embarrassing? What did that mean? Footsteps dragged closer, too close for questions.
"Transform into a bat. Now. Then cling tight to my shoulder. And absolutely do not let go. Got it?"
"Got it!"
Smoke enveloped Rosalyn with a whoosh, and in an instant, she shrank into a tiny bat. She flapped over—less a bat, more some mascot character.
The basics of a gimmick wave aren't defense—they're escape. But pure escape won't cut it. Once the wave reaches saturation, something massive will spawn. First things first: intel gathering. We could decide on a plan after that.
"Rosalyn. Anything popping into your head strongly? Or something you feel like you have to do?"
"Not yet—chirp!"
Chirp? So that's why it was embarrassing.
"Tell me the instant it does. Or any family heirlooms passed down? Basement or special rooms work too."
"Mm... No basement—chirp! But Dad always joked about a secret spot in the study—chirp!"
There it was. The Management Bureau bought Dad's keepsake. Gimmick wave. Secret spot. It all clicked like puzzle pieces.
"Where's the study?"
"Third floor, end of the hall—chirp!"
Crack! Scratching at the door grew frantic, then monsters smashed through the mansion's entrance.
"Grrraaaah!"
Ghouls. Undead. Lucky break—perfect matchup.
"Rosalyn, we're clearing the first wave now. Don't make a sound."
Shadow Step. Stealth was pointless. Ghouls react to sound. But I had throat-slitting. And Feather Step. I approached the ghoul pack slowly. My footsteps made no noise whatsoever. The ghouls, having lost their target, paused in the center. Dagger in hand, I traced a massive spinning arc.
My first strike in Esherburn Mansion. The ghouls' necks fell like rice stalks in a single sweep. Muddy brown blood sprayed in waves. Flesh burst open. The halted ghouls finally reacted, turning toward me.
"Rosalyn. You can talk now. And."
"Chirp!"
"Can you drain that blood?"
"Theoretically yes... No! Don't—chirp! Absolutely not—chirp!"
Theoretically possible, huh. If things go south, I'll force-feed her and power her up. Ghouls closed in from all sides. Front. A one-armed ghoul lunged—I slashed upward. The ones behind it and behind them lost their heads too. A brief gap opened; I took a short step forward. My body launched ahead, momentum sharpening my elbow like a spear tip. The ghoul's skull shattered on impact. I extended the elbow into a full swing. My dagger followed the line, slicing through resistance. I channeled the spin into my whole body for another slash. And another. A dark helix pierced the brown blood spray, advancing.
"Chirp!"
Rosalyn clung to my shoulder, gripping my clothes to stay put. We'd pierced the ghoul pack and reached the entrance. Outside Esherburn Mansion: barren dead trees, a sickly blue moon. A useless fence, dense ghoul hordes.
"Hoo..."
No time to breathe. We'd only broken through a section. More ghouls remained inside behind us.
"Graaaah!"
I slit the throats of the five at the breached entrance. They crumpled limply, but the rest surged heedlessly. Stiff joints couldn't clamber over their comrades' corpses. One toppled. Another on top. Soon the entrance jammed solid, arms flailing desperately. The first fallen ghoul, lower half crushed, crawled toward me on its upper body alone. I booted its half-rotted head and spun back into the hall, charging the remaining ghouls.
"Hoo..."
By the time I caught my breath, I'd piled a massive corpse mountain inside the mansion. Block the entrance with bodies. Kill the jammed ones. Let them block it again. Repeat until the ghouls couldn't break through the ghoul-made barricade.
"Now, to the third floor."
"I'll guide you—chirp! And... thanks—chirp!"
"No thanks meaner than empty gratitude."
"Chirp... sorry—chirp..."
"Save the thanks until we survive."
The study entrance screamed old-world elegance. Click.
"Locked."
"W-Wait a sec—chirp! I know where the key is—chirp!"
Bam!
"No time."
"It's my house—chirp..."
"You see the first-floor lobby stuffed with rotting corpses and still say that?"
"Chirp..."
The study was tidy. One wall bookshelves. Opposite wall, assorted ornaments. Center: a mahogany desk. The classic setup. My nose, steeped in decaying blood, eagerly drank in ink and dry paper.
"Come to think of it, Berga. You kinda look like Dad—chirp..."
More useless chatter... Rosalyn stared at a massive portrait. Child Rosalyn and her mother, who resembled her. And a sharp-eyed middle-aged man. Dust everywhere.
"W-Well... in the end... I'm all alone... so how was I supposed to... do anything...?"
Rosalyn had been alone in the mansion too. Why had the Management Bureau picked this lonely girl as commander? Without me, clueless Rosalyn would've faced the walking corpses solo. For real. A twinge of pity. But no time for sentiment. I'd already helped. Surviving the wave came first.
"Where's Father's secret spot?"
"No idea—chirp!"
You—! You—! Useless girl...!