Chick Out of the Cradle (1)
Chick Out of the Cradle (1)
At present, the external threat menacing humanity comes down to one word: monsters.
Not that civil wars between humans have vanished.
On the contrary, they're frequent enough—but no longer do we tear at each other on a global scale like before the Great Cataclysm.
The reason is simple. Nobody has the leisure for that. Even now, in what's called the era of peace, that holds true.
Even now, somewhere, people praise the passing of the Dark Age and the Chaos Period and the arrival of an era of peace.
They have every right to.
The Chaos Period... Compared to some forty years ago, the difference was heaven and hell.
People dying to monsters is a given. But the old days, when a monster pack would slaughter thousands in a single night—that was far rarer now.
Dungeons spawning and collapsing is dangerous. But the old days, when dozens of dungeons would erupt in a chain, wreck the surrounding area, and vomit out monster legions—that's uncommon.
I've never seen news of a high-rank monster rampaging and wiping out an entire city. In the past, that was apparently fairly routine.
So it's no wonder people think peace has settled in, by many measures.
Among the factors that ushered in that peace,
Siyoram was indispensable. And in the eyes of the unsavory elements who wished the world to be full of chaos, Siyoram was one of the greatest thorns in their side.
Founded well over a hundred years ago, Siyoram had naturally weathered countless schemes to bring it down.
According to the original records, there were invasions by great monster armies, and I recall plots by turncoats who'd teetered on the edge of conquering the cradle. Not a single one of those attempts had truly succeeded. Not one exception. Every scheme was thwarted.
Siyoram's defenses were renowned worldwide.
The 11th Iteration—the Diamond Warrior, whose specs exceeded the norm—had still found Siyoram immensely difficult to breach. So much so that he nearly failed.
The defenses were so formidable that even that iteration had to smash through nearly half of them and flee.
Thinking back, that had been a large part of why I'd willingly stepped into the cradle.
That bewildering first day.
Whatever else, I'd thought I'd be safe once inside. I'd thought I could grow. I'd thought I could buy myself time to think, at least, and so I'd walked in.
'The cradle...'
On the way to the Gate Terminal to go out.
Which meant—temporarily—I was taking steps to leave the cradle.
As I fiddled with the edge of the Sky Wing Feather, toying with it, I felt a strange resonance. Even more so when I thought about the name Siyoram.
Cradle. That thing you lay a baby in and rock to soothe it or lull it to sleep, right?
A cradle is baby furniture. Obviously there aren't any sharp or dangerous elements. On the contrary, its role is to be a fence that separates and protects the baby from outside threats.
In that case, was I now a baby crawling out of the cradle on my own limbs?
The analogy felt a bit... pathetic. Casting myself as a baby was somewhat embarrassing. But compared to the genuinely strong, I probably was about that level.
Even Professor Atra alone could handle me as easily as subduing an infant.
'I've set my goal.'
In Siyoram, I was certainly safe. I also grew as fast as realistically possible, and bought myself time to think.
'I'm going to break the curses.'
I genuinely cannot live like this. It's unavoidable that people die someday... well...
...Except for a few special cases like immortality, it's an unavoidable fact that people eventually die. But I didn't want to live with the joys of life restricted like this.
So I'd cultivated strength to break the curses, and now I was briefly leaving the cradle to find a way to bypass the Curse of Silence.
'Am I being too hasty?'
It had barely been a month. I haven't lived all that long, but a month isn't exactly a long time to properly prepare something.
Wouldn't it be fine to invest a little more time? In just a few more months I'd be stronger than I am now...
Every now and then, I got the sense I was being impatient. Was it because the Curse of Short Life meant I never knew when I might die?
I wasn't consciously aware of it, but there seemed to be another reason, too.
Before that musing ended, the structure of the Gate Terminal entered my spatial perception.
'Ngh...'
At the same time, tension spiked hard. A bead of cold sweat trickled down the nape of my neck.
I still hadn't forgotten the incident at the Gate Terminal.
The day I'd checked the gate with clumsy spatial perception, observed something, and felt in my bones the sense of crisis that my head would burst and I'd die.
'Is that...'
Would it still happen now?
Before, I'd have naturally assumed so, shut off my spatial perception, and navigated only by hearing and touch.
I didn't want to gamble with my life. If anything, since my spatial perception had grown, the odds of dying might have gone up.
But lately, my thoughts had changed.
Spatial perception was the unique ability I'd used the most, and the one I'd grown most accustomed to. By that measure, my understanding of it had steadily deepened.
'Hoo...'
I shook off the thoughts with a sigh and moved my feet. I reshaped the Sky Wing Feather, which had been fluttering in cloak form, into a coat.
The space surrounding the Gate Terminal came into my perception. I pushed past it.
I perceived the lounge and other facilities where the crowds were thin. I pushed past them.
I didn't fold up my spatial perception. I kept walking.
And then, a blue vortex entered my range.
'......'
Space was undulating. A fierce current and flow of space that burrowed toward the center as though whirling, then surged back toward the edges.
It was a sensation similar to a dungeon entrance yet consciously different.
It was also similar to the spatial movement the Vice Headmaster had performed a moment ago, yet different. The Vice Headmaster's method was to bore a small hole in space, achieve its purpose, and then seal it; the gate, by contrast, looked as though it had punched a large hole and then fixed it permanently in place.
The method might differ, but the result in either case was a connection between two different coordinates in space.
That wasn't the important part.
I steadied my resolve with a deep breath.
A sense I'd gained from understanding spatial perception. Now, just maybe, I could perceive it a little.
I took in the information I'd been forcibly pushing aside.
The space between spaces. I drew in the information of the void gaping in between.
...
...And nothing much happened.
'?'
I tilted my head and operated my spatial perception.
I could feel a blank. The space between spaces. That void that felt somehow abnormal was full of mana.
It was slightly different from ordinary mana. Its mana concentration was so dense it rivaled the inside of a Tower, and the mana was relatively pure and clean.
Beyond that, I sensed nothing special. No sensation of my brain being smashed to pieces. No awareness of something staggering.
Just mana was there. Nothing else.
'...What.'
The result felt anticlimactic compared to how I'd steeled myself.
I blankly examined the void for a moment, then figured I'd be wasting time if I stayed like this, so I headed to the desk to go through the procedure.
"Identity verified... Your destination has been set to the Edinburgh Gate Terminal. Are there any changes?"
[No, that's correct.]
The procedure was simple. Since I'd already arranged an outgoing application beforehand, all it took was a quick verification.
So there was no waiting time, either. I headed straight for the swirling gate.
'...Ngh.'
Once more I stared into the void. Still no stabbing headache. Something felt off...
It was an uneasy feeling. I wondered if there was something I was missing, but nothing in particular came to mind.
I pushed my body toward the gate. The dizzying sensation of crossing the void and moving enveloped me.
First, I arrive at the Edinburgh Gate in Scotland.
From there I take a train north, looking for hidden pieces I remember along the way. Finally, I reach the small northern city of Sipnaha and find the Confession Necklace.
It seemed a reasonable plan.
* * *
Most superhuman groups take the form of clans.
A clan refers to an organization formed when various superhumans gather for their own interests, safety, and the like.
A clan is a for-profit group pursuing its members' interests, and in that process, it sometimes violates ethics or rules.
The clan based in Sipnaha, 'the Guardian of the Northern Mountain,' was no different.
They hadn't committed some massive violation. They hadn't committed some atrocity that betrayed humanity.
They'd simply put off dealing with a single Grade 4 Dungeon.
The interior was a cave. The monsters appearing were all standard 7th Rank—Red Hounds, Red Leaf Hounds, and the like. No traps or anything. A simple dungeon where only Red Leaf Hounds appeared.
Red Leaf Hounds were unremarkable.
Even a low-rank hero could subjugate several of them alone, and a party led by a mid-low-rank hero could sweep them without trouble.
The reason for keeping the dungeon alive rather than expending the effort to annihilate it was simple.
Red Leaf Hound pelts fetched a high price.
Their heat-retention effects were outstanding, and with a little processing, the texture was excellent.
Being monster pelts, they had a basic defensive effect, and processing wasn't difficult either. In short, a tidy source of income. There was no reason to wipe out such a gold mine.
Plenty of clans maintained several of these kinds of 'farms.'
It wasn't strange. It was commonplace.
So how had they ended up in this situation?
- Cruunch, craaack!
"A, aaaargh...!"
Low-rank hero Gerard McLay clutched at his now-empty sleeve and writhed. More than the pain, the dizzying sense of loss hammered his reason.
Grisly sounds echoed through the cave and reached his ears.
Gerard lifted his trembling eyelids and looked toward the source of the sound.
Objectively, the Guardian of the Northern Mountain wasn't a clan you'd be ashamed of. Its numbers and ranks were decent. One flaw was the lack of a powerhouse to represent the clan, but it had plenty of mid-high-rank skilled fighters. Managing a dungeon of this level was simple.
A mid-high-rank hero. A grade that could join a major clan's subjugation squad, or hold a seat in a lesser clan.
- Crraaack!
Mid-high-rank hero Robert Brand's neck was crunched between thick fangs. His flailing limbs trembled, then went rigid.
Even in the gloom, he could clearly see the severed head rolling into the massive maw.
Then came a chewing and swallowing sound. That had been the source of the grisly noise a moment ago. From the severed neck, blood gushed like a waterfall and soaked the ground.
- Grroooh—
At the beast's harsh breath, the pooling blood rippled for an instant. In the monster's hand, the one that had just chewed up a head, dangled Robert's corpse.
The monster raised its arm. Blood poured from the upside-down body. The monster opened its mouth again and caught the falling blood.
He watched the monster gulp down human blood like a drink. The blood it failed to catch soaked into its fur, but the fur was already stained a dingy red.
When it stood upright on two legs, its frame looked three times that of a grown man; even through its matted red fur, the thick, muscular hide was plainly visible.
Red Leaf Hounds walked on four legs, not two. They might be larger than ordinary canines, but they were never this huge. Never this powerful—strong enough to chew up multiple mid-high-rank heroes.
The Association analyzed a monster's species and slotted it into a standard rank. From the lowest at 8th Rank to the highest at 1st Rank.
After analyzing a monster's strength, they recommended which grade of hero or hunter should subjugate it. But they always stressed never to trust that blindly.
It's only a standard, they said, because exceptional individuals can always appear.
'A variant...'
That thing must be one such exception. An individual born beyond its species' limits, and one backed by a living, active dungeon.
As the edges of his vision steadily darkened, the monster took a step. The corpse it had been holding in its hand had long since been drained.
The beast's breath drew close. Even as his consciousness faded, he could feel the enormous appetite in that breath.
Gerard knew instinctively what would become of his body next.
- Gulp
"Ughk..."
A huge hand closed around his torso. The hand was so enormous that only Gerard's feet and face were left exposed to the air. Along with a dizzying pressure, his body was lifted and dangled in midair.
A foul breath struck his face. Then its thick jaws split wide open. Between the fangs, all manner of torn flesh and bone shards were plainly visible.
'You rotten bastards...'
This was an absurd end.
With the profession of hero, he'd known there were plenty of ugly ends possible, but he'd never thought he'd meet one himself.
He was supposed to be someone called a hero, and his end was nothing more than monster feed.
'You told me not to worry about your stupid farms...'
Along with belated regret—
- Crraaack!
Gerard's upper body was chewed up and swallowed whole. An end so swift he never had a moment to feel pain.