Chapter 58
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 58
Chapter Title: 8th Floor - Lv. 159 Brigade Headquarters (3)
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The Goddess of Chaos had spent many long years living as an Exile.
And for several times that length of time, she had sat upon her divine throne, watching worlds rise and fall.
The server persists even after all its Exiles vanish.
Though entry becomes impossible without any Exiles belonging to it, she could still observe it as a god.
A closed world. An abandoned world.
NPC. What exactly is that? If the continent's inhabitants asked whether they truly fit the game-like concept of an NPC, the answer would undoubtedly be yes.
They lack the qualifications to clear a game called the Labyrinth.
They have no discernible past.
They are created beings.
They are worlds and characters born alongside the emergence of a new tutorial.
But can one say they lack life? Even now, she wasn't sure.
The goddess had a personality that set aside difficult matters for later.
The God of Chaos was inherently a deity rarely worshipped by any race.
Occasionally demons might serve her, but that was a rare occurrence tied to the opening of new servers.
Besides, demons were powerful yet few in number and shunned by others, making it hard to call them a proper faction in most cases.
'I should have sat upon the Throne of the God of War. Tsk.'
One couldn't choose their throne. No one knew which seat awaited at the end of their trials.
'If it had been war, I might have been able to help this one quite a bit.'
The thought slipped into her mind unbidden.
The goddess was a little surprised by it.
When was the last time she'd entertained such notions?
Even as a veteran goddess, emotions were gradually fading from her existence.
She was merely mimicking them from memory now.
'It's downright embarrassing to say this after all this time.'
That was all she'd thought.
She'd grown tired of waiting for challengers who never came.
So she decided to choose death herself.
She surrendered to the flow of the throne, letting departing faithful slip away without resistance, quietly awaiting oblivion.
It wasn't difficult.
She meddled annoyingly, played pranks, toyed with them for amusement.
That was simply the nature of the Throne of Chaos and Freedom.
Eons passed.
After sending away her last devotee, she thought herself ready for dissolution.
Divine suicide.
But when the moment arrived, she realized something.
From the depths of instinct, something she thought long dead surged forth.
A childlike whimsy she'd buried under the weight of time—or believed she had.
She agreed it fit her, but personality was somewhat bound to appearance.
Perhaps she'd spent too long in this youthful form.
Suddenly, that outburst of childishness burst into tears, craving life.
And so devotees returned, death was postponed.
Now, for the first time since becoming a god, she felt attachment to her followers.
The party leader who grumbled but quietly took care of everything.
The little one who giggled and kept her company.
The giant serving her with a sincerity she'd never known.
The hunter suspiciously fond of fairies.
Not bad at all. Not lording over a massive church to assert divine dignity, but watching closely like comrades side by side.
It would have been even better if she could stand among them with spear in hand.
Wouldn't that have brought them closer to clearing the Labyrinth?
The strangely ideal party truly seemed so.
"O Chaos! Have I reached the exit?!"
A somewhat spiritless angel's prayer echoed from somewhere.
Compared to the leader or kid's half-hearted prayers, it was properly formal.
This one was commendable too.
An angel devotee was a first in her endless years.
Lately, life felt a bit fun.
She wanted to keep watching what this party would do next.
Days that drove home the fact that even gods were once human.
The dwarf merchant was now vehemently against approaching the battlefield any further.
Circling wide around it was dangerous too.
You couldn't tell where the battlefield began or ended.
As we prepared to head back to the rock dwarf village, it was time for farewells.
The merchant made one final offer.
"Those long things on your back—thinking of selling them?"
"Sorry, but these are off-limits."
He nodded as if he'd expected that and departed without pressing further.
He seemed to know something about these flashy items Exiles sometimes carried, whatever they were.
Releasing firearms into the continent now would be a poor choice.
Future-imported goods given to rock dwarves or handed to that merchant would accelerate progress.
Too big a variable. Reducing uncontrollable variables is Roguelike basics.
"Alright, let's slowly scout the situation and head into the castle."
He said it would take unknown time. We'd walk, detouring far around the battlefield.
The Orc Empire's army wasn't besieging the castle.
Perhaps confidence they'd punch through eventually, or lack of skill for siege tactics.
As night fell, fighting lulled to a standstill.
Greenskins worshipping the Gods of War and Savagery never ambushed or struck from shadows.
Only goblins—barely considered proper devotees—were permitted that.
Greenskins believed night fighting was for the weak.
Thus, we could approach the east gate under the darkening sky.
The west gate was under assault.
"Halt! Who goes there?!"
Torchlight reached identification range, and a tense sentry's voice rang out.
I shouted back.
"Exiles!"
"What?!"
Exiles were typically human.
At least, that was the common perception on this era's continent.
Most Exiles spent early stages in medieval-like times.
Parties starting in modern, future, or ancient even floors were unlucky outliers.
Or fortunate farmers of other-era gear.
In any case, human factions welcomed Exiles in crises.
Same species equated to same nation here.
"Those two look like they're from the East."
The east gate commander eyed the Girl and me. He clearly knew little of Exiles.
The type who couldn't grasp we came from entirely different worlds.
I just nodded calmly.
"Got any requests?"
"Hm? Requests? Didn't you show up here for work?"
A subtle undercurrent of hostility.
Brimming with heard prejudices. The tiresome, weary sort.
"Just asking since there's nothing else. How much do you know about Exiles?"
"That they're scum not worth dealing with."
"No other rumors?"
The guard captain groaned and called over another soldier—one scribbling on a slate with chalk.
They stepped aside briefly, conversed, then returned.
The Girl heard it.
She said they were discussing our treatment.
His brain trust, apparently.
"Fine, we'll treat you as mercenaries for now."
"Many mercenaries around? I'd like contract terms upfront."
Money mattered. With this scale of war, all future even floors would tie closely to human history.
Orc side had human hero units too, so we needed funds.
"Hm, best ask the mercenary captain for that."
Meant there was a boss.
More organized than expected.
Night Crows aside, this continent's humans seemed to have strong factions.
I bowed simply and slipped away.
A soldier guided us to the mercenaries' quarters.
More like a tent city on open ground than proper lodgings.
War atmosphere thick. Castle wasn't small, so mercenary numbers weren't either.
The captain was a bald giant wielding a massive axe—dead ringer for our youngest.
"Exiles? Fine. Do as you like. I want no ties to Exiles. Just follow orders when we move together sometimes."
"Of course, that's no issue."
"Hm, most trustworthy attitude of any Exile I've seen. And you there—I like you. Feels like reuniting with a nonexistent little brother."
The youngest grinned sheepishly.
They looked like twins, after all.
Thus, we secured a rough foothold.
In wartime, Exiles might be shunned but never outright rejected.
Greenskins would likely raid tomorrow.
Sentries only watched for goblin assassins.
Time for me to handle my business.
The Hunter had mercenary experience and knew the ropes.
"Even so, we've only worked together a bit."
"Nothing'll happen till I return anyway. Traveling as a group draws trouble."
Even non-Exile mercenaries moving in packs at night irked lords; worst case, knights came.
Fantasy medieval knights weren't to be underestimated. Tanks in modern terms.
Real medieval? Cost and status like tanks.
In fantasy, literally and physically so.
"Watch the kids then."
"Heh heh."
I moved without the party.
Night was vampire time.
If active ones lurked, now was it; otherwise, night to find lairs.
Ridiculously, vampires always infested spots where other races attacked human lands.
Predators, yet picky ones surviving only on human blood.
Destined partners with humans, ironically guarding their food.
The Night Crow branch was in a thoroughly hidden spot.
Not some shadowy secret society—state-sanctioned, but tucked away to deter casual snoopers.
Ordinary mercenaries or soldiers wouldn't know.
I did.
I'd been Night Crow once.
Of course, contacting them amid Greenskin assaults was risky.
Might run into greedy old-timers.
Still, no one knew vampires better than Night Crows, barring vampires themselves. Lycans next, maybe.
Castle sizable, so back alleys weren't close.
Streets quiet but residents not panic-stricken.
They'd repelled invasions successfully so far. Mood wasn't grim.
Taverns open as usual, workshops lit.
Outskirts farmers fretted, but city folk lived normally.
Magical flames burned in streetlamps.
Night fully draped the walls.
Even dingy slums shrouded in darkness.
No light pierced without magic; pitch black ahead.
I lit a flame on my fingertip.
Advertising "mage" deterred riffraff.
One vagrant reaching into his cloak scowled and vanished into shadows.
Slums had taverns too. More than elsewhere, even.
Night Crows nested in those.
Among shabby dives, I sought the cleanest-looking.
No signs, of course. Exterior mark was key.
Three misses, fourth hit.
"Ugh, they hid it ridiculously well. Well, they assume members know."
Better than game days—no entry without high favor and referral.
Grumbling, I entered. Dimly lit by few candles, musty with worn tables.
Drunks sprawled, chattering or snoring.
Some carried fresh-blood-scented weapons.
Not even mercenary caliber—volunteers hoping for pay from guards.
I approached the languid owner, set down my pendant.
He irritably covered it with a cup.
"Do that more discreetly."
Sleight-of-hand like a master three-card monte as he pocketed it.
Checked authenticity behind bar, returned.
"Sir Dusban's item. So you're the one?"
"Rumors spread here already?"
"With the knight blabbing delightedly every day. No Crow unaware. Wait a moment."
Cheap ale appeared before me. Not for drinking, surely?
Dwarf merchant's liqueur was superb; dwarf ale gag-worthy. Dwarves took booze seriously.
Mouthy type, yet blabbing everywhere.
I shook my head, sniffing the fumes, as owner returned.
Alone.
Contact via back channels, not overt.
Branch heads usually loitered in halls pretending to be patrons.
I scanned rear tables casually.
One raised a hand knowingly.
Snow-white hand, out of place.
Youthful jawline peeking from hood.
Closer, hood contents clear. Distance-blurring spell, apparently.
A fairy between youth and boy smiled welcomingly.
"Long time. Still human, so no Barbaroi remnants? What floor now?"
The fairy mage grinned.
"22nd. Here for vampire trouble—got info?"
I bluffed back with a smile.
Seemed likely. Pivotal point deciding human fate. Orc Empire mighty, fairies surely involved.
No Exile-born would miss this event.