Temporary Companions and the Promised Development 1
The 40th floor, which they'd never even considered challenging thanks to the supply unit's past trolling and the abysmal conditions, turned out to be nothing special.
It was an undead floor, so one might have expected hordes of zombies, grotesque and bothersome infected like the tumor trolls, doppelgangers evolved enough to act like real humans, or new monsters gestating and birthing from production trees they hadn't managed to root out—
None of that happened, leaving the viewers so bored they were practically squirming in their seats.
If you had to point to a change, it was just that the lizardman skeletons—which used to average thirteen to fifteen—now swarmed in packs of eighteen or nineteen. The higher floor meant more monsters and slightly tougher ones, so fights simply took longer. Naturally, that was not the kind of change the viewers wanted to see.
"On the other floors, boss monsters just wandered around out in the open. Don't tell me the floor 40 boss is hiding? Granted, something like a hatchery roaming around in plain sight would be weird… Looks like the floor 40 boss might not be a combat type at all—maybe some kind of non-combat production entity."
Mana stones were piling up nicely in the inventory, but the quest wasn't progressing—a frustratingly ambiguous situation. Even if Han Se-ah was growing impatient, exploration was Grace the archer's job, so even a brilliant and reliable genius mage could only trail along quietly and endure the furious chat window.
The one real change was that Katie, who'd gone sullen after running into undead again instead of doppelganger bandits, kept edging closer and closer to Grace and me. It looked less like love and more like fondness and camaraderie, but the way the viewers on the other side of the camera took it was a little different.
Just reading the chat, you'd think the game had been renamed from Heroes Chronicle to Love and War Online.
"After what happened on floor 30 last time, I figured floor 40 would have something amazing too…"
"Isn't it better that there isn't? A boss monster means the Demon King's power is that much stronger."
"Or you could look at it the other way—hunting those boss monsters and steadily whittling down the Demon King's forces. Doesn't that sound good?"
While I snuck glances at the chat, Grace, who had glued herself to my side, and Katie, who'd sidled up until the distance between us had narrowed, carried on the conversation.
In a game world that treated the word "inventory" as the name of a magic spell, it was strangely amusing to see terms like regular monster, elite monster, and boss monster settle in like industry jargon. It wasn't just our party and Han Se-ah—the guilds had started throwing those words around too, which only made it weirder.
Grace, with her somewhat ordinary-citizen streak, seemed to prefer steady progress and found the idea of a suddenly overwhelming enemy popping out unpleasant. Katie, who had a quiet streak of middle-school-syndrome theatrics, seemed to think facing a mighty foe and claiming glory was the better path.
Well, as an adventurer, Grace's take was the sound one—but as a streamer's helper and overpowered transmigrator, I was more comfortable with things going Katie's way.
"What do you think, Roland?"
"Me? Facing a powerful enemy is easier. As a senior adventurer I should say Grace is right, but personally, I'd give Katie's side the nod."
"Well, you are Roland—the one people talk about as Highest-grade, past Upper-grade. I heard a bard was trying to make a song out of your story."
When I laid out my personal thoughts without filtering them, Grace nodded. I'd half-expected her to sulk at not having her side taken, but she was still a woman who wore the big-sister title well. Her slender eyes curved prettily, full of intent to tease me right back.
That said—bards? How did those annoying sasaeng-stalker types even know what was going on inside the Tower?
In Heroes Chronicle, a bard meant a wandering adventurer. On Earth, the things wanderers had to watch out for were wolves and bandits; in a fantasy world, you added monsters to the list. Without at least the bare minimum combat power of a Lower-grade adventurer, declaring you'd sing your way between cities and territories just meant becoming a monster's next meal.
"A bard is making a song about Roland?"
"Yeah. When I went to the market street on floor 35 for arrows, there were a few adventurers with lutes. Every single one of them was talking about Roland."
Like an unknown aspiring singer working part-time to make ends meet and busking whenever they had spare time, bards earned money as adventurers and wandered around singing. The problem was that, true to the medieval era, concepts like human rights barely existed.
To make it as a bard, you needed looks and a good voice—but you also needed the hero you sang about to be famous. Success meant being the first to sing about a renowned adventurer or knight and riding that fame. But if you made up lyrics on a whim, you could get beaten for "deceiving the nobility," or the song's subject might hold a grudge and put a blade in you.
The horrific result was that every last bard ended up a stalker. The ones who sang the truth were stalkers; the ones who sang lies were spreading falsehoods—a medieval lose-lose. How was anyone supposed to like that?
"Haa… Bards. Annoying pests latched on."
"You don't like bards?"
"It's not that I dislike them—they're just a hassle."
Grace and Katie tilted their heads at my words. To them, a bard was probably just a wandering singer who brightened dull days, or a performer a household paid to invite.
But to me, bards were nothing but vicious stalkers I wanted to thrash a few times behind the guards' backs until they could never sing again. An Upper-grade adventurer fooling around with noble ladies in the capital had apparently been such entertaining material that they'd clung to me relentlessly. A commoner who saved a knight, a vanguard who never retreated before the enemy, a man who soothed lonely noblewomen and left coolly afterward… of course bards would love that.
As far as I was concerned, I'd just been living it up with the broken body I'd gotten as compensation for being thrown into another world. To the bards, I must have looked like the perfect trifecta of chivalry, heroics, and romance.
"There was this thing that happened in the kingdom's capital a while back… One bard wanted so badly to claim he'd met me that he followed me all the way to my lodgings. When I asked the innkeeper, he said every single guest on my floor was some shady character who'd shown up carrying an instrument."
"Whoa… So all of them followed you to the inn?"
"Th-the ones who were already there…"
"There weren't any. The moment they found out I was staying there, they even paid extra to buy the rooms off the guests next door."
Having only ever heard bards' songs and now hearing about their stalking, the two of them parted their small mouths in shock. Irene, who'd been close by as we moved in formation, also let out a small, appalled "Oh my…"
Talking about bards as we walked, something alien finally appeared before us. Not a lizardman skeleton, not a zombie crocodile, not an explosive tumor troll—something pitch-black.
"…What is that?"
"It's got scales. Some undead subspecies of lizardman?"
"Looks like floor 40's elite monster mutated."
Its lower half was a long serpent's body; its upper half was a human male covered in black scales. Thanks to the snake lower body, it had towering height, broad shoulders, and a muscular chest, and it held a long trident—looking plenty threatening.
Apparently, instead of the vine-snake that was floor 40's named monster, we were getting something like a pitch-black naga warrior. I'd heard the naga lived deep in the jungles of the kingdom's south, but this was my first time seeing one in person.
If lizardmen were agile scimitar-wielding swordsmen, naga were cavalry that raced through swamps using tridents and their serpentine lower halves. I didn't know how becoming undead had changed them, but at least their strength didn't seem diminished.
"Because it's an elite monster, maybe? It showed up alone."
Like a knight issuing a challenge to single combat, the naga blocked our path and leveled its spear. I'd heard they were teal-colored snake-people who lived in wetlands, but contamination as undead had turned this one black—it felt almost like a Death Knight.
Zombies, skeletons, explosive tumors, infected carrying tentacles—and now a Death Knight? At this point it really felt like an undead variety pack.
I wasn't the only one who thought it looked like a knight. Katie drew her sword and stepped forward with full confidence. Unlike the other undead, this one was openly aiming a trident and showing off its martial skill, and that seemed to have spurred her on.
"Roland! I'll take this one. It's my first time seeing something like this—I want to try a probe."
"Fine. But the second it looks dangerous, I'm stepping in."
Even as she declared she'd fight alone, she showed no displeasure at my insistence on intervening. Named monster or not, even if it looked like a knight, she wasn't stupid enough to demand fair play against the undead—so of course.
The thing was huge and black and radiated intimidation, so Katie advanced slowly, keeping her tension high.
"Hu…man, aaan?"
"It can talk. Does that mean it still has intelligence?"
Less a knightly duel and more a Western standoff where anyone might suddenly jump in, Katie measured the distance under a thick tension.
A named monster on floor 40 would be Intermediate-grade at minimum, and if they were unlucky, it might be enhanced enough to project mana like an Upper-grade adventurer. And if it could open its mouth and speak in that slow, unpleasant voice, its intelligence was probably considerable—unlike rotting undead.
Imagining various dangers—the black naga unleashing aura like an Upper-grade, or setting traps and waiting with that remaining intelligence—Katie slowly leveled her sword and gauged the angle. No arrogance, no underestimation of her opponent: the textbook image of an excellent adventurer swordsman.
"Looower, your weapon, human. I dooo, not, regard you, as an enemy…."
"…What?"
The naga set down its trident first, rendering Katie's caution completely pointless.