This Goddamn Life (6)

Earthgrad.

That was the name our ancestors gave this place, a hundred years ago, when they first opened their eyes at the very bottom of the Tower.

They had no idea where they were. They simply lived, day after grinding day, spilling blood against the monsters — just to survive, just to see another dawn.

Food was scarce. Weapons were scarcer. And still the monsters came, never tiring of the slaughter.

If you asked anyone which monster had threatened humanity the most in those days, you would get the same answer from every last soul.

Goblins.

They were the monsters that had taken root on the Tower's second floor.

I won't waste my breath reciting that tired old lore about them having a child's strength while being clever and sly. I have no idea where that dogshit setting even came from, but thanks to it, those of us actually living in this world have had one hell of a time. On top of that, the goblins here may be small, but a single one is more than a match for a grown man.

The records say the Tower's monsters grow weaker the lower they dwell, and dumber the higher they climb.

We humans were weak. These days, beings called Awakeners have appeared as if by miracle, forming hunters and pushing toward the upper floors — but in the beginning, we couldn't even handle goblins. And among monsters, they were exceptionally intelligent. Humanity was stranded on Dawnfall, the lowest floor, while the goblins inhabited the floor directly above: the Ruined Kingdom.

Goblins may be the weakest of monsters, but they possess physical abilities to rival an adult man, and mana so faint it doesn't even register on human-made detectors.

Orcs, at least, are a better deal. They'll chew you up alive, sure — but they lack the intelligence to take captured humans as playthings.

"Hm?"

I was heading into the mountains when I spotted someone down in a pit — one of the holes we dug to catch boars. I thought, please, please don't let it be her. And of course, as naturally as anything, the Saintess was stuck in the damn hole.

She was covered in dirt, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she didn't look hurt. Granted, they say she can't see a thing, but for someone who's supposed to be the Saintess to fall into a trap like that — and for us not to find her — well. The undergrowth was thick enough that you wouldn't spot her unless you got close.

"Don't tell me that's the damn Saint— I mean, is that you, Saintess?"

The moment she found me, her face lit up like she'd just met her savior.

"...?"

But the expression I made in return was the exact opposite. I'd just been thinking she was pretty, in that heroine sort of way, when I saw what was in there with her.

A deep rumble rolled through the earth.

A massive coalescence of mana, glowing blue. From the far side of it, wind from another world came blowing through — and the ground around the pit was stamped with more small monster footprints than I could count.

"Fuck...! Why the hell is that here—"

It was a Gate.

Wedged into a tunnel barely wide enough for two or three people, a small Gate of unknown origin stared back at me. Judging by the tracks, the monsters had already climbed the walls and gone up. And now that I was looking properly, the Saintess could have climbed out of that hole whenever she damn well pleased.

It was a pit for catching boars. Shallow enough that a person could get out without any trouble.

The reason she hadn't was that she was holding the Gate shut with her own power — so that no more monsters could come through it. So that nothing else could crawl out of that hole into our world.

...Like an idiot.

Most of them had already come through a long time ago. A few monsters were still visible on the other side of the holy wall she'd thrown up, sure — but if I were the Saintess, I would have run straight to the church, or to anyone, and told them a Gate was here.

"Goddammit."

I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The mountain was a no-smoking zone, but given the circumstances, I didn't have much of a choice.

I followed the goblin tracks. They led deeper into the mountain — a place people rarely went, because the boars came through so often. Which made it a perfect spot for those bastards to build a nest.

"That goddamn Saintess..."

The village was in an uproar. The Saintess, who'd come back with me, had ordered the evacuation of the villagers as the first and only priority. Which meant that right now, aside from the bare minimum of nuns left to stand guard, even personnel from the other churches on the seventh floor were out moving the nearby residents to safety.

"Two junior nuns have not returned. They've likely headed for the nearby mountain."

And they hadn't even been properly armed.

Unless it was an emergency, nuns were not permitted to gear up at will. A gun was that kind of weapon. At best, they'd have a single sidearm between them — enough to put down an ordinary hunter, sure, but against monsters? Against goblins moving in numbers? That was a different story entirely.

"You mustn't, Ruina. We have a duty to prioritize the evacuation of the villagers. One person per resident is sufficient for that. To save those two, we would need to mobilize at least ten."

Yeah. Facing goblins that moved in packs with a handful of people was suicide, plain and simple. A high-end B-Rank hunter, or anyone A-Rank and above, could probably solo the whole thing like they were starring in an action movie — but hunters like that were all on the front lines, fighting monsters. Even if we requested support from the Holy Order, it would take half a day at the minimum.

...By then, it'll be too late.

"Hah..."

The alert currently in effect across the 7th Floor Area was Level 2 — an unknown monster threat. Which meant I could at least bring my personal weapons.

The action on the submachine gun clicked as I checked it.

Beyond that, I had two grenades and a dagger. More than enough firepower for goblins — except their numbers could swell from a few dozen to the hundreds. And the terrain was a rugged mountain, thick with trees. Taking them on alone in a place like that was suicide, plain and simple. If I got lucky, I might just manage to run. If I didn't, I'd end up as their toy.

"Ruina, have you lost your mind?! You intend to go looking for them alone? Please wait just one hour. We have requested support from the Hunter Administration. They will arrive shortly!"

I armed up and went anyway.

Sorry, Mother Superior. You even used an Inscription to treat me today — and here I am, walking straight into a suicide mission.

I tapped the cigarette against my boot.

"A year at the longest. Maybe just today."

I wasn't a hunter. I wasn't a heroine like the Saintess. Was a miracle of God really going to fall on someone like me?

No. Not a chance. If miracles existed — if the god looking down on us in this world were a decent one — I never would have been born here in the first place.

I flicked away what was left of the cigarette with that question. I crushed the butt under my heel until not a spark remained. Even if I had to burn, I couldn't burn the mountain.

A sharp crackle tore through the air.

Nuns were supposed to move in groups. They had guns — powerful weapons excavated from humanity's ancient ruins — and with those, they could even face monsters as strong as orcs.

...What a godawful prayer.

But even then, they could only barely manage it by grouping up and using tactics you'd expect from an army. One on one, their individual strength was nothing. Still — having a chance of winning and having no chance at all were two different worlds.

I kissed the cross. And I prayed. That someday, I would put a bullet through the god of this goddamn world.

"Release Inscription."

A crack of light split the air. The inscriptions carved into my body flared, burning blue.

His blade sank home.

"Groooargh...!"

The monster's head came off, and its death cry died with it.

"We got it! ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠That's incredible — taking down a griffin all by yourself."

The mage caught up a beat too late. With that, the hunt was over. The monster that had appeared this time had taken quite a while to put down. Perhaps he'd been too impatient. Originally, he shouldn't have needed to comb through the entire Floor 10 just to hunt something like a wyvern. He should have killed it in a single stroke — but her face had flashed through his mind at the wrong moment, and he'd only taken the leg.

"Living up to the name of Hero, I'll give you that. Leaping up and taking the head of a monster even arrows couldn't touch."

The archer drawled it like he was already bored. The Hero didn't care. The only thing on his mind was whether she — waiting for him at the church — would be upset that he was so late.

He had done as she'd asked. He no longer killed people. He was on the Tower's front line, putting down the dangerous monsters that appeared there. And still, every time she looked at him, she got angry. She condemned him.

"That flower. How would a woman see it?"

The taciturn Hero finally opened his mouth. He pointed at a purple flower blooming beside the griffin's corpse, and asked his companions — the archer and the mage.

"An evening primrose? I've never seen one with purple petals. Why the sudden interest?"

The mage tilted her head.

"You're a woman. That's why I'm asking you."

"Even if you ask me that, I don't really..."

She'd never seen a purple evening primrose in her life, but the fact that this silent Hero had gone so far as to open his mouth about it was strange enough on its own. Was it a rare medicinal herb? A poison that could drop even a giant monster in a single dose?

"Spit it out. I don't like wasting time."

"Eek?!"

Killing intent rolled toward her the moment she hesitated. The mage felt the chill of it and stepped back. That was just how the Hero was. No one knew where he'd come from, but he was immensely strong and immensely ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cruel — a man who did not fit the name Hero in the slightest. The world called him that. His companions did not. If they ever held him back, he would cut them down in a single stroke — comrades who had fought monsters at his side for years, or not.

"It's a pretty flower. Most women would be happy to receive it, I think. You should try giving it to her."

The archer stepped in front of the mage as he said it. The Hero heard him, withdrew the killing intent, and even smiled — just slightly — as he carefully picked the flower.

"Is that so. She'd be happy, then."

"I hope she'll be glad too."

The flower was the same color as her hair. Looking at it, he felt he could keep waiting until the day she truly opened her heart to him. Whether that took a year, or ten. Even if she tried to die when her lifespan ran out, he could always force the Herb of Immortality down her throat, so that old age could never take her. If he did that — someday — she would open her heart to him. The Hero believed that without a shadow of a doubt.

In a burst of motion, he was gone. He had thrown everything he had into a dead sprint, racing for the portal that led to the lower floors.

"Whoa... he's fast."

"I wonder if he'll be all right."

"All right how? He's obviously going to give that flower to the purple-haired nun on the seventh floor, right? He'll get chased off like always. I could tell you that with my eyes closed at this point."

"No. That's not what I mean."

The archer shook his head at the mage's question. If it were just a matter of getting thrown out, that would be fine. The nun at the church really did hate him — but it was only hatred.

"I had something to tell him, but he left without hearing it. That's what worries me."

"Tell him what?"

The archer figured that a man like the Hero wouldn't notice until someone pointed it out. The mage beside him apparently hadn't seen it either — but the archer's eyesight was better than the Hero's, and that was enough to catch the underside of the petals the Hero had missed.

"That flower he just picked. It had griffin blood on it. If someone handed you a bloodstained flower, what would you think?"

"...A death threat? Wow. That nun really drew the short straw, ending up in a guy like that's heart."

A curious purple evening primrose. But those purple petals were soaking through with red blood.