Nightmare Interference
Crow Vein was tormented by nightmares. And as is typical of those plagued by nightmares, he did not realize he was dreaming.
"Get the hell out of my way, you bastards!"
Crow's face was filled with impatience. The road ahead was blocked by a mass of blood-red monsters. Beyond them, he could see his brother gradually accumulating wounds and collapsing. Riven Vein's entire body was already covered in injuries, and all manner of monsters swarmed around him without pause, attacking relentlessly.
This couldn't go on. At this rate, his brother would die again.
Their relationship couldn't exactly be called warm. Riven wasn't the type to treat his younger brother with gentle affection, and Crow wasn't the sort to meekly obey his elders. Still, even if they weren't close enough to be called affectionate brothers, their bond wasn't so cold that Crow felt nothing toward the blood relative who had died a miserable death.
No matter how indifferent he acted on the surface, no matter how he claimed that such things were inevitable for warriors, the gloomy emotions piling up in his heart refused to fade easily.
"Damn it! Run! I said run! Don't die, brother!"
Normally, even out of pride or embarrassment, he wouldn't have shown this kind of attitude. But the Crow in the dream had no room to worry about such things. He simply pushed forward desperately, trying to help his brother.
Yet the enemy's numbers were endless, and his limbs grew heavier by the moment. It was no surprise. If even his brother had fallen so easily, what chance did Crow have?
Crow Vein was buried beneath the horde of blood-red monsters, his scream of despair echoing—
"Aah, is Crow giving up? Is he really giving up? What a shame, everyone! As expected, the bean line is hopeless!"
……Wait a second. Did he just hear something that pissed him off?
"Well, that's what happens with battle-crazy characters. I knew it from the moment he started using dual swords. A man needs some weight to him. What's the point of speed if there's no power behind it!"
No power? You crazy bastard. Does swinging two lumps of iron freely with both hands look like nothing to you? Most people would lose their grip from exhaustion mid-swing! The fact that I'm still going is impressive enough!
"My prediction is that his performance in bed is probably just as lacking! From today onward, everyone should look forward to the exploits of Crow Rabbit instead of Crow Vein! I predict that in the time it takes to press the mouse—no, the magic communicator button three times, everything will be over!"
"—This little shit, I've heard enough!!!"
—Guoooorgh!
The blood-red mass that had been crushing him like a press was sent flying by a single kick as if struck by a cannonball. But Crow had no attention to spare for such trivial matters.
"Where are you! Where the hell are you spouting that nonsense from! Come out right now!"
"Who is this? Do I know you? Besides, fights should be between equals. You and I are a bit… Go, my subordinates! Deal with that thug who doesn't know his place."
Ah, and don't touch the lower half. Poor thing.
The moment he heard that final, mocking addition, reason evaporated from Crow's mind.
The strength of enemies encountered in dreams is heavily influenced by the dreamer's own perception. Under normal circumstances, Crow would never have been able to break through the army before him. Endless numbers. Superior regeneration. Limited time. It was an opponent that embodied everything Crow found troublesome, but the real problem was Crow's own perception.
In reality, Crow had been unable to help Riven—his brother. The fight had already ended in a place unrelated to him.
As long as he unconsciously knew he "couldn't help," even if Riven were close enough to assist, Crow wouldn't be able to. The situation for helping simply wouldn't arise.
But… what if his attention was diverted elsewhere?
"I'm going to kill you, you bastard!! What the hell are you guys! Move!"
Left and right. The blades in both hands danced brilliantly, blooming like flowers. He paid no mind to vital points, no feints to deceive the enemy, no pauses to catch his breath. He simply swung with brute force and speed—slashing, slashing, slashing, slashing, and slashing again.
It didn't matter that such speed and movement were impossible in reality. This was a dream, after all.
In many ways, it was a mess, but Chrome Midas's method of resolving incidents was generally like this.
<><><>
If someone in a world without the concept of CPR suddenly pressed on a collapsed person's chest, compressed their ribs hard enough to break them, or blew air into their mouth, they might be called crazy or even arrested. But if you still wanted to save them, you had to do it. Because otherwise, they would die.
Similarly, in emergencies, there were times when procedures, morals, and norms had to be ignored. Of course, if this ability awakening failed, no one would actually die… but if you're going to do it, isn't it better to succeed?
A slightly rude action might make his friends uncomfortable, but they'd understand later—
[I'm going to kill you, you bastard!!!]
[Where the hell are you hiding!! Come out right now!?]
[—■■■■■■■!!!]
………….
"They won't remember any of this when they wake up, right? Otherwise, this could get awkward in several ways."
"Then you should've stopped midway. From some point on, it looked like you were enjoying yourself."
"Oh come on, enjoying it? I merely sacrificed myself for my friends' awakenings. I'm a principled person who values dignity and decorum."
"If your spirit of sacrifice is that thorough, then it shouldn't matter if they remember, right?"
"For the sake of their mental health, it's better they forget unpleasant things."
It wasn't because he was scared. Honestly, the others reacted more or less as expected, but Rabaul had been terrifying. Why did he suddenly go berserker? Grendel did that sometimes too—was it a northern tribal trait?
And what he'd done wasn't much. He just teased Crow about premature ejaculation, joked to Pino that if she abandoned them now he'd curse her every night as a vengeful spirit, told Rabaul that hiring smart people with money was easier than cramming information into a thick-headed rock, and gave a few other pieces of advice here and there.
One unexpected thing was that more people had been willing to talk than he'd anticipated. They always called him a shady merchant or wicked Midas, yet they'd trusted him more than he'd thought. They could've shown that trust in their attitude normally.
Anyway, the only ones left were Ligret, Fiore, and Lady Lyla's three mirrors……
"Wouldn't those three be fine even if left alone?"
"Scared?"
"No, I was just thinking that interfering in such an important event of confronting one's own heart might be a bad thing."
"If the friends who just heard your 'advice' heard that, they'd probably die of high blood pressure from sheer joy. Honestly, if you don't want to do it, you don't have to. It's your choice."
Damn it, when he put it like that, it made him want to do it even more. He hadn't known he had such a contrarian streak.
Chrome first examined the rectangular mirror—sturdy, reinforced with metal in places, looking like it could double as a weapon. Inside, Ligret and Ligret 2P were engaged in a fierce brawl…… No, how long were these two going to keep fighting?
If they were going through the classic "fight against yourself" event, they should win gracefully and awaken. What were they doing enjoying the fight itself?
Haa, no choice then. He'd have to lend a hand here.
"Hey, brown-haired human weapon over there! Is that all you've got!?"
[Keep talking.]
"Sorry. I won't interfere, so enjoy your time."
Shit. Look at that chill. That voice just now had been real. If she remembered the dream's contents, she'd probably slit his throat in her sleepwalking state. Ligret was more than capable of it.
Chrome turned his gaze to the next mirror. Its frame was shaped like flowers and vines, pure white. Inside was a beautiful lake, and at its center, bathing—
"Hooh!"
Chrome immediately flipped the mirror face-down.
"Alright, moving on then."
[Wait! I object! Isn't staring blankly the standard reaction in that situation!?]
"You want me to pour oil on myself and jump into a fire pit? Besides, I haven't even spoken yet—how did you know?"
[While making various things in the dream, I somehow felt big brother's gaze. I thought it might be fun to hook you if I could.]
Was this the whole "when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back" thing?
Chrome asked out of courtesy.
"Do you need help?"
[Yes! …is what I'd like to say, but there seem to be people more urgent than me, so I'll pass for now. Please take care of me in reality instead?]
"Got it."
Well, he didn't know if Fiore would remember this anyway.
Finally, Chrome approached the last mirror. Its frame was adorned with lavish gold and jewels, a work of art in itself. Yet it radiated such a menacing and dangerous aura that its beauty was overshadowed—precisely why he'd saved it for last.
The princess's mirror welcomed him.