Bunny Girl Heading for the Summit (3)

The spider smacked its lips and lunged at me.

It must have found me utterly delicious; saliva streamed from its gaping, torn-open mouth.

I had heard spiders were the shut-in type that rarely left their webs.

Apparently swapping its head for a human one had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠brought a few minor personality changes.

Using trees and silk as stepping stones, the thing charged and thrust its massive forelegs at me.

They looked less like a spider’s and more like a mantis’s.

With things turning out this way, I couldn’t exactly hold back on body reinforcement.

If I thrift it and end up hurt, I’ll look like a complete idiot.

My life was already one black-history day after another.

I already had more shameful moments I wanted erased than I could count; no need to add another.

If I got careless and died in a place like this, I would never rest easy.

The creature’s foreleg split my grand ambitions clean in half.

My lofty plan to solve the ghost story with pure brains had gone up in smoke, yet not a single scratch marked my body.

I caught the spider’s forelegs in both hands and held firm.

Its legs trembled violently in my grip.

After several failed attempts, the human-faced spider’s eyes began to shake instead of its legs.

A silent conversation flowed between us.

— Well? You coming to your senses? Feeling like something’s a little off about this situation?

— Um… Teacher? I’m really sorry. I just thought you were tasty prey. It was all my fault, so could you maybe just let me go?

— That’s going to be tough. If I let you go, other people might die.

— No no no… I have to eat to live too, you know. The world is survival of the fittest, right? If you really think about it, it’s your fault for smelling so delicious—hey! Let’s not do this!

— Sorry. Just take it as survival of the fittest on your end too.

Its intent traveled up my arms.

At first it had clearly meant to slice my neck clean off.

It had planned to cut through my defending arms in one stroke and pop ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my head free.

Even the Anomaly Management Bureau’s intel said human-faced spiders took a special interest in human heads.

But as our standoff dragged on, its thoughts must have shifted a little.

It strained with all its might to push me back, yet nothing went its way.

A touch of panic set in; it acknowledged my superior strength and tried to pull away—only to find that impossible as well.

Only then did the human-faced spider realize this had never been a standoff at all.

A contest of strength had never even begun.

The thing had simply had two of its forelegs seized by me.

No matter how frantically it backpedaled on its remaining six legs, my hands never so much as twitched.

Being human-faced means I can read every expression. Any second now it’ll start sweating cold sweat.

Oh, really?

For once, good news.

I had been worried this thing might raise a racket while fighting.

If it had screamed, I would have planted a fist in its face on the spot.

With the constellation’s guarantee, every other concern vanished.

No more need to drag out a pointless standoff.

I slowly began to pull it toward me; its remaining legs scrambled desperately backward.

Of course, “desperately” was not a synonym for “successfully.”

Its legs only kicked up innocent fallen leaves and left scratches on the ground.

Its body, meanwhile, was pulled forward with perfect honesty—and perfect smoothness.

I guarantee its two legs would tear off long before it ever overpowered me.

Anyway, now we were locking eyes from much closer range.

Judging by its expression, even this creature was capable of feeling fear.

Its slightly parted mouth even began to tremble.

“That’s it, good girl. You came along so quietly, so I’ll finish this without pain.”

If it could have screamed, it probably would have been shrieking Kyaaak—kyaaaaaak— already.

But the fact remained that it had been dragged over in silence.

A peaceful death was the least I could grant it.

Anomaly or not, I had no hobby of tormenting others.

I was the sort of clean-hearted person who even killed mosquitoes in a single merciful strike.

In our line of work, that practically made me a saint.

If Confucius and Mencius were still alive and saw my nickname, they would surely declare it a punch filled with benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and compassion.

A brief gust swept across the mountainside.

I set off again ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠along the open hiking trail.

Something like blood stuck to the soles of my shoes, which was a little unpleasant.

Surprisingly, anomalies are not always evil by nature.

The dictionary definition of anomaly is simply “something abnormal, strange, and bizarre.”

Nowhere does it say they must be hostile or harmful to humans.

Most anomalies are indeed harmful, true—but not one hundred percent of them.

Some have no interest in humans at all; others are even beneficial.

A prime example is the lantern used in the Dedication Bureau’s lighting ceremony.

The Danjangjiae anomaly attacks everything in sight, and rumors circulate that constellations themselves might be a kind of anomaly.

I know. I don’t think you’re an anomaly. Though I do think it’s rude in a lot of ways.

Now she was even getting pouty.

I spent a meaningless stretch of time soothing the constellation’s mood.

Anyway, beneficial anomalies are called spirit beasts.

Depending on form they might be called divine beasts or spirits, though those cases were rare.

To earn the title of divine beast you needed to be at least the size of the Hogukryong of the East Sea.

The important point was that an anomaly’s involvement did not automatically mean something bad.

Most of them were full of thoughts about killing or eating humans, but exceptions existed.

“Gold thread and Dangsan tree… so this is Hoewolsan’s Seonangdang.”

Exactly this place.

The existence of the Seonangdang was one such exception.

Since ancient times, Korean shamanism had regarded the Dangsan tree as a sacred being.

And a Seonangdang was the equivalent of a temple in other religions.

Belief this old and auspicious was not easily twisted even when mixed with anomalies.

Conversely, when a religious anomaly caused trouble it was always a big shot… but luckily that did not apply here.

Hoewolsan’s Seonangdang was a safe zone guaranteed by the Anomaly Management Bureau at 99 percent reliability.

The moment I stepped inside, I offered a greeting to the Dangsan tree.

I didn’t know much about energy.

At any rate, it meant there were no dangerous anomalies here.

I gave the constellation a half-hearted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠agreement while scanning the surroundings.

Nothing serious, but one irregularity stood out.

The backpack that was supposed to be under the Dangsan tree was nowhere in sight.

An anomaly wouldn’t have taken it, so it had to be the work of a survivor who had passed through.

Had they really carried off the entire bag?

Well… that could happen.

An ordinary person stranded in a place like this would naturally feel terror.

A human driven to the extreme thinks only of their own survival.

If they had taken the backpack just in case, it wasn’t that strange.

From the perspective of those coming after, it could be called selfish.

I wouldn’t deny it, but I didn’t feel like condemning them either.

They just wanted to live that badly.

They couldn’t help it.

Working rescue, you run into every side of people.

If you start seeing those sides as the bottom of humanity, you’ll end up hating people someday.

My job wasn’t something you could do while hating people.

I just needed to do what I could.

First, find the survivors’ messages.

The paper I finished reading was damp in places.

A few sheets lay discarded, crumpled into tight balls.

I touched the water stains left on the paper with my fingertip.

The distinctive clammy feel of wet paper met my skin.

In other words, I was still not too late.