The Amphibians' Calamity (Binding)
There stood unusual frogs, each the size of an adult male, striding proudly on two legs and brandishing spears carved from wood.
“Churrrrrrk!” “Kieeeeeeek!” “Gurrrrrrk.” “Gwaaaaak!”
They poured out every bizarre cry imaginable, tongues lolling in clear excitement as sticky drool spilled from their mouths. These valiant warriors marching on Grindel were known as Frogmen—2.5-tier entities commonly encountered on the twentieth floor of the Green Zone. Any frog-like noise heard there after dark could be safely blamed on them.
They possessed a peculiar trait. Despite being monsters, they crafted and used tools and lived in tribal societies. That was why, even at a relatively low 2.5 tier, hunting them was no simple matter. Frogmen rarely left their territory, and if one of their own was wounded their eyes would roll back as the entire pack charged in for a lynching. Even a successful hunt would be ruined by the rest of the horde interfering with maseok collection, not to mention how their sticky mucus corroded equipment. Their hunting grounds also lay in a remote corner. For all these reasons, adventurers rarely bothered exerting themselves to hunt Frogmen.
The Frogmen’s primary domain was the “Hand,” a secluded section of the twentieth floor of the Green Zone. Once the entire torso of that floor had belonged to them, but they had lost a territorial dispute to suspiciously fishing-obsessed adventurers in the past. Swallowing both their former glory and their own mucus, they had retreated to a corner of the layer.
But that was yesterday’s story.
Last night, inside a colossal cave located at the middle finger of the twentieth floor of the Green Zone.
“Gurrk.”
A low croak reverberated with solemn weight from the deepest part of the Frogmen’s territory. A figure four or five times larger than an ordinary Frogman—truly a giant—slowly rose. The tribe’s great warrior, bearer of the titles “longest surviving” and “most powerful.” The Frog Champion.
Yet he was no longer a champion in the sense of supreme warrior. As the giant lowered the massive body he had just raised, a heavily wrinkled Frogman approached. The elderly shaman tapped the champion’s shoulder twice with a wooden staff, then placed a crown woven of leaves and twigs upon its head. A comical sight: a tiny crown atop a giant frog’s skull. To the Frogmen, however, this was a gravely important rite.
“Gwak gwak!” “Gurk.”
Once the Frog Shaman—the great elder of the Frogmen—finished the ceremony, translucent mucus coated the small crown and hardened like stone. Then a chorus rose from every Frogman who had witnessed the grand coronation.
“Kiek, kieeeeeek!” “Gwak gwak gwak!” “Chik! Chik! Chiiiiik!” “Gegwaaaaaak! Gegwaaaaaak!”
The great Frogman king who would reclaim their lost lands.
“Gurrrrrrrrrrk!!!”
The mighty resonance celebrated the birth of the Frog Lord.
“Jeez, can you make those damn frogs shut up?!”
“Ugh, seriously! Those crazy frog bastards…! I can’t even kill them all!”
“Let us sleep, you lunatics!”
“Ugh… so sleepy…”
“…Night fishing’s canceled, I guess.”
The adventurers lodging in Grindel that night could not fall asleep.
According to Hans, the twentieth floor of the Green Zone was a safe zone so free of monsters that adventurers had built a village there. If that was true…
“Gwaaaak!!!” “Kieeeeeek!!!” “Chiiik! Chiiiiik!”
Then what exactly were these bipedal frogs surrounding us? Had a whole convention of cosplayers picked the wrong era?
“Hmm.”
I flicked my Injector and studied the profoundly stupid faces of the frogs. From beside me came Hans’s distinctly guilty voice.
“…Ugh. Mr. Raven. I’m truly sorry.”
His dark complexion suggested he believed he had dragged us into danger.
“Magic Swordsman. This isn’t your fault, so there’s no need to look so guilty.”
“Mr. Raven…!”
Coming to the twentieth floor of the Green Zone had been a decision made by all of us, not just Hans. Besides, even safe zones could spawn surprise monster waves. In a roguelike game this would simply be a random event. If anything, the flight up here had been boring; this was perfect timing. A light warm-up before we got serious about fishing.
“Yeah, nyang. The problem is those lunatics who suddenly lost their minds and charged out together. Mr. Hans did nothing wrong, nyang!”
“More importantly, Hans. Do these frogs look like any threat to us?”
“Uh…”
At his contractor’s words, Hans glanced at the Frogmen who refused to approach easily while warily watching me and Sion, then burst into a hollow laugh.
“No.”
“Exactly. We have Raven-nim and Sion-nim with us, after all.”
“That’s right, nyang! Mr. Hans! Just trust this body and the crow, nyang! I could wipe out twenty whole carriages of these 2.5-tier monsters, nyang!”
Twenty carriages? Wasn’t that a bit much? As expected of a veteran—exaggeration was their specialty. Yet our pure-hearted Hans seemed to believe her; his eyes sparkled as he let out a small sigh of admiration.
“So reassuring… Is this what a real party feels like?”
It’s not a normal party, but it is genuinely reliable. After all, it contains an outstanding assassin for single combat and a great demon specialized in mass slaughter.
“Assassin?”
Hmm? Assassin? Who?
Surely she didn’t mean—
“Are you talking about a thief?”
I glanced at Sion as I spoke. However—
“Ass…assin?”
Her eyes had sunk and her expression turned stony, completely unlike her usual self. She lowered her head in brief thought, then quietly muttered something. Suddenly she spread both hands wide, lightly clenched them into fists, and calmly addressed the sword in Hans’s grip.
“…This body is a Pathfinder, a great pioneer who reveals the unknown of the dungeon, nyang. I am not an assassin who goes around slitting the throats of decent people, nyang.”
Therefore—
“…It would be wise to watch your words from now on, Magic Sword.”
What?
As she spoke, Sion swiftly crossed her lightly clenched fists in front of her chest. Then—
Swish.
With a razor-sharp sound, blue lines traced across the bodies of the surrounding frogmen, and—
Splash!!!
Wet blue petals scattered in every direction. The frogmen could not even scream before the utterly stealthy strike turned them into dozens of chunks of flesh that collapsed to the ground. Sion lightly tugged her fingertips to recall the wire, shook off the blood, and quietly spoke while gazing at the corpses.
“…Nyan. This area is cleaned up, so let’s hurry to Grindel, nyang. It sounds noisy over there, so it looks like these creatures launched a group assault on the village, nyang. This body will head to the eastern great bridge with the adventurer and Hans to provide support, nyang. Crow, I’m leaving the rest of the bridges to you, nyang. Understood, nyang?”
I nodded.
Heavy killing intent flowed quietly from her half-lidded eyes, and an overbearing tone threaded between every nyang. We could say nothing; we simply obeyed our leader’s command in silence.
So twenty carriages really wasn’t an exaggeration?
Our leader was a far scarier cat than she appeared.
Yes, that is why I came to provide aerial support on our leader’s orders. I couldn’t raise a single objection; that terrifying expression made it clear I’d be thoroughly scolded if I disobeyed. To instill fear in the demon of terror—truly the dignity one would expect from the veteran I chose.
That said…
“Jeez, what the hell is that in the sky?!”
“Monster! It’s a crow monster!”
“Stop it from coming down!”
“Rear support! All units change targets! Highest priority is the weird monster floating in the air! Aim for the wings and drop it into the lake!”
Why exactly were they attacking me when I had come to provide aerial support? I would appreciate it if they stopped the friendly fire immediately.
The adventurers who had been successfully holding back the frogmen assault spotted me hovering overhead and suddenly began shrieking, firing arrows and spells in my direction. The shouts of “crow monster” suggested they had mistaken me for an enemy.
Wasn’t I a fairly famous demon?
To be unrecognized despite my title of Mad Demon—a moniker too embarrassing to boast about. The chaos-loving soul that fed on attention seethed black.
Then I suppose I’ll have to teach them.
Exactly who I am.
“Filling.”
Pyrophobia: Fear of Fire
A black bullet materialized inside the cylinder in response to the chant. Sensing it, I quietly looked down at the ground. Frogmen were leaping about frantically with superb mobility, swinging crude wooden spears. Several swam swiftly across the lake, launching poison darts. Their swimming ability was impressive, as expected of frogs.
That’s right.
The opponents are frogs.
And frogs are amphibians. What are amphibians? Creatures that can inhabit both land and water—those are amphibians. They are the origin of amphibious life, remarkable beings that crawled from the sea onto land and achieved revolutionary evolution. Yet even they had a weakness: dry climates. It sounds nice to call them amphibious, but to put it bluntly they are incomplete life forms that are neither fully one nor the other. They developed lungs to function on land, yet those lungs are imperfect; therefore most amphibians rely on cutaneous respiration.
Which means they are vulnerable to fire.
Just as a human’s nose clogs and breathing becomes difficult in dry air, these adorable amphibians would struggle to breathe if fire dried their skin and hardened their mucus.
Yes, do you understand? I am the calamity of the amphibians. Fire Punch Raven.
“Then, shall we.”
It’s been a while since I made grilled frog…
“Hmm?”
I had flown rather high to avoid the adventurers’ magic and arrows. Yet for some reason I felt a gaze on my back.
I turned my head. There—
“Who are you.”
“….”
—stood a green-haired elf extending one hand toward me. She silently scanned me from head to toe as though appraising me, then quietly murmured.
BIND
Srrrrrrng!!!
Dark-red iron chains erupted from the book floating in mid-air and bound my entire body.
“Hmm…”
Bondage play. Not exactly my preference.
I lightly tensed my arm to gauge whether I could break free, when that familiar beautiful voice spoke again from ahead.
“…Who are you?”
“That’s…”
What I should be asking, you crazy elf. Can you undo this?