Chapter 28
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Floor 3 - Lv.18 Gamer (6)
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If you've ever seen a fairy. Especially if you've laid eyes on a petal fairy.
As long as your race is 'human', you can no longer claim to be handsome.
They're more beautiful than succubi, handsomer than incubi.
No wonder 'Fairy Trap' has become a proper noun.
I kicked the guy who suddenly started spouting nonsense.
I'd planned to kill him, but I changed my mind. I need to keep him alive.
The difficulty on even floors scales proportionally with the number of party members entering at once.
Up to four is standard, but from five onward, it ramps up a stage. It's a gimmick to prevent human wave tactics.
That's why I'd held back on recruiting anyone extra.
I have no idea what'll happen if I drag this useless idiot along, but I can't let him go.
It was a clue I'd never spotted in all my 97 years.
Are you an NPC?
I hope to hell you say no.
You're the only being in this world who knows the me from outside.
Of course, it's a letdown that it's a punk like you.
But I'm in a do-or-die spot after 97 years of despair. I've grabbed a shot at breaking free.
To stop any potential suicide, I quickly patted him down and tossed all his miscellaneous weapons.
He looked baffled as they clattered to the ground one by one.
"What? Huh? What're you doing?"
"I've got a ton of questions for you. Bet you do too, right? Let's see... what's your nickname?"
It wasn't a game built for proper online co-op.
But nicknames stick around in the rankings.
"......Provence."
"Couldn't crack the top 30, huh? Just another wanderer."
"You remember that?"
"What, you think that's all I did while eating?"
"Game......"
He'd said he wasn't in the top 30, but that's no skill to hang your head over anywhere.
Just look at my playtime—you can tell the game's pretty damn old.
And yet it gets steady updates.
Its hardcore gameplay keeps the user base niche but solid—not huge, not tiny.
If you got dragged in here knowing all that, your adaptation speed would blow other Exiles out of the water.
But if you're still fumbling around like this...
"Didn't even hit one year as an Exile, did you?"
"......About two years."
Less talent than I'd guessed.
"......You're pulling that 'oh, what a loser' face."
"Nah, just realized you're straight-up trash at this game."
"Die! You bastard!"
I easily sidestepped his furious haymaker.
"But come on—faking ten times the experience? A 20-year vet?"
In movies, they always knock folks out with a hand chop to the neck.
Truth is, that's tough as hell. An uppercut's way better.
At the mention of 20 years, he started to say something.
I didn't listen. I'll tie him up and chat when he wakes.
Knocked him out clean.
Then, an eerie sense of wrongness.
I raised my left arm to block. Way too close.
Slashed deep.
Not severed, but damn near. No real difference.
Perfectly clean cut.
Ambush proc triggered.
I parried the follow-up with my dagger too.
Ting! We traded a blow.
I hopped lightly over his incoming leg sweep and fired a kick.
He dropped low to evade.
Then [Stealth] kicked in again.
I hurled a dagger from my belt at his predicted path.
One clipped him, but he blocked with a tiny shield on his wrist.
He rematerialized at a distance: a creepy guy in a black hood.
I got it then.
"You're the 20-year vet."
Of course. No half-baked know-it-all like that could dream up a layer occupation plan.
No living outlaws left around the Girl.
She finally stopped running.
It felt a little like heading home.
The camp was basically a refugee slum—shabby folks, nothing new to her.
Unlike Uncle's world, it was a scene she'd often seen back on her Earth, her Korea.
Guns and cannons don't work means modern weapons are useless.
In that world, a handful of superhumans were key military assets—strategic weapons, even.
Not many of them.
The Girl had been treated the same.
Not exactly cause for joy.
The payoff came when the people she'd saved showed gratitude.
She felt that now.
Her foes weren't monsters, true.
But to her senses, outlaws and evil humans barely qualified as human.
Her parents scolded her plenty for it.
All people are people.
Dignified in their own right.
Really?
Eventually, she stopped asking out loud.
Just lived with it.
Of course, weakness doesn't guarantee goodness.
Weak and evil? Dime a dozen.
No—probably more common.
Taking up evil to survive...
Who could blame that?
So the Girl drew her line.
Save the weak suffering injustice right in front of her eyes.
At least count them good in that moment.
She knew she couldn't be responsible forever after.
No one could.
So she'd do her best.
Just like now.
Weak folks getting bullied.
The Girl saves them.
The most satisfying moments of her life.
And yet, back in her world, it was a mindset tough to fully share.
Lonely, maybe.
Her parents were kind, she got along with her siblings.
Still, no one shared her thoughts.
If anyone did, it'd be among the criminals she'd busted.
That's why she kinda liked life as an Exile.
Uncle's way of thinking was her ideal hero.
If you can't save everyone, save the one in front of you.
Rational. Emotional.
Wait—what?
Her thoughts halted there.
Back on Floor 2, Uncle had casually talked about wiping out the fairy and the orc.
Were those NPCs people?
Even if not NPCs, were non-humans people?
Hmm...
What even counts as a person?
Fine. Giving up.
The Girl quit thinking.
Instead, she looked toward her trusty first love.
Right on cue, blood sprayed.
"What the—?!"
She screamed.
Uncle's arm had nearly been hacked off.
She hadn't even held his hand properly yet!
She started to rage—but then remembered healing potions exist.
This Labyrinth rocks!
Uncle counterattacked coolly. His foe couldn't hold and fell back.
Two Exiles faced off.
The Girl wasn't worried.
If that first strike hadn't ended it, the enemy had no shot now.
Her trust was absolute.
Across the way, the Hunter was watching too.
No panic, even with their leader clearly wounded bad.
Their eyes met.
The Hunter smirked.
She smiled back.
No need to jump in.
Come to think of it, she'd never properly seen Uncle fight.
A few minor scraps didn't count.
Never witnessed him going all out.
What would it be like?
More curiosity than worry or surprise filled her.
Though she figured a single arm wouldn't force him to get serious.
Bleeding's bad, but I can wrap it up in time.
That punk's got potions jingling on him—kill him, loot 'em, no issue.
Then he whipped out a vial.
Shook it tauntingly.
"Need this? I'll leave it right here."
Plunked it down in front of himself.
Stepped back.
Wiggled his fingers.
Psycho little shit.
Plenty of outlaws like him. Truth is, any 20-year vet angling to hold a layer's usually off his rocker.
"Normal" here means not normal even for an Exile.
That little show? Probably "come at me with your best shot."
Not cool at all—after landing an ambush wound, figures he's got the edge absolute.
Twenty years grinding, confident in his skills, but only flexes when safe? Pure slime.
I didn't bite—instead, [Stealth].
He vanished too.
Stealth vision's got drawbacks: narrows, darkens.
Why assassin mirror matches come down to gut feel.
Gut feel?
Pfft. I can track him blindfolded.
He probably can too.
Just can't pinpoint attack moments like I do.
He leaked intent a hair, stealth flickered.
Slashed his aim point.
Shrill metal screech—weapons ricocheted.
Bleeding'd expose me anyway, if briefly.
Caught a smirk on his lips.
Like, "Damn, he respects my skill! Quitting the assassin game. Good boy."
I snorted and blinked.
True to 20 years, he clocked the situation instantly.
He'd pinned my spot. But I'd already snatched the arming sword that gamer punk dropped.
"Impressive. Felt the wall against me, huh? Abandoning the assassin duel. I'll give you credit."
Crazy bastard.
Yanked an arrow from my quiver, chucked it like a dart.
He panicked.
"What?! Hold up! Arrows are bullshit! Dagger only!"
"The fuck you on about."
He grunted and stealthed. But it was a lightning arrow.
Krarung!
"Gaaargh!"
Got a sure win? Why gamble on shaky odds with any risk of loss or damage?
Might dodge and charge.
If so, I'd meet him with the arming sword's reach advantage.
Assassins assassinating assassins? Rare setup.
Mirror match popping up is a joke. Picked up weird habits somewhere.
Strode up to the convulsing fool and sneered.
Even spasming, humiliation twisted his face.
"C-coward..."
"Huh? What? Can't hear loser-dog barking?"
"Dog like... me to shit like... you."
Sigh. Time to top off that fragile ego.
Self-esteem's key to keeping your head straight.
Leaned in, whispered.
"Hey. I'm 97-year vet. Who's the shit?"
"Hmph. Bullshit... in moderation."
Won't buy it, huh. Gave the goddess a quick ping.
「Sigh, even so—you're wasting a god on pranks?」
‘But teasing trash like this is fun, right?’
「Fair.」
As her sole believer, I'm naturally a grand warrior and high priest.
Got conversion rights.
Clasped hands in prayer pose.
Suddenly a devotee of chaos, he rolled his eyes in sheer what-the-fuck.
[The Goddess of Chaos testifies on her throne that the Exile before you is indeed a 97-year veteran.]
"Y-you... insane... fuck."
How's 97 strike others?
I know the vibe.
20-year or 30-year vets? Been there, done that.
Like a soldier counting down his final enlistment days.
Insanely impressive... but what the hell? That vibe.
Plus an unbeatable, terrifying aura.
That shift from baffled eyes to sheer terror?
Exquisite.
Then I stabbed him through.
God, it feels good.
Games are for screwing over the other guy.
「Your personality's rotten.」
‘But I'm warm to you, our goddess.’
「Spit some honey first, you bastard...」
Hold up.
Blood loss? Dizzy as hell.
Stumbled—then the rushing Girl chewed me out.
First time getting slapped with a healing potion splash.
Anyway, Floor 3 was peaceful again. And I'd uncovered a fresh lead on the thing that's haunted me all this time.