Raid
Fine blinked.
As he looked up at the white domed ceiling, which rose higher toward the center, he thought, What do they call a construction method like that again...?
He was sure he’d learned it back in school, but it had been so long that he couldn’t remember.
Besides, he had never really cared much about architecture in the first place.
“Ah... an unfamiliar ceiling.”
Muttering the half-meme that players loved to toss around, Fine sat up, and the soothing sight of the temple greeted him.
Waking up here meant one thing: he had died.
“Gueeek...!”
“Uwooo...!”
The other raid members who had died alongside him were also coming to one by one, each making grotesque noises as they opened their eyes.
To anyone who didn’t know them, it would have sounded so bizarre it was almost enough to make one worry they were seriously ill, but Fine didn’t even pretend to listen.
It would’ve been one thing if they did that once or twice.
He knew it was just pointless nonsense, so there was no reason to waste energy reacting to it.
“Grrrraaah!”
As Fine ignored the raid members and checked his inventory, he suddenly heard a zombie-like sound in his ear.
“Ugh... aren’t you tired of that?”
“It’s my concept. Please respect it.”
“I need an exorcism.”
Well, if he needed one, he’d have to do it.
Fine tried an exorcism by force, but the zombie had already sensed danger and leaned its neck far back, retreating out of reach, so the attempt came to nothing.
...A mosquito?
That was exactly what the pests that plagued summer always looked like.
Buzzing by his ear, vanishing the moment you turned on the light, then reappearing the instant you gave up and lay down...
There, see? Now that he’d apparently stopped bothering, it was creeping closer again.
“Enough. Come here and sit down. All of you, too.”
Fine’s voice, calling them like a mother who had just found a hidden report card, drew the raid members in one by one.
Once he confirmed everyone had gathered, Fine opened his mouth.
“I’m not the only one who thought that was weird, right?”
“Heretics deserve death.”
That was one of Fine’s stream chat rules.
The heretics who broke the rule of “do not badmouth Hawaiian pizza” had been purged on a massive scale.
Fine sighed after punishing the unbelievers who popped up at the perfect moment.
“You people are pitiful for not understanding the appeal of Hawaiian pizza.”
There were a few with rebellious intentions, but that much he could forgive.
In the first place, the reason Fine had chosen that nickname and raid name wasn’t because he loved Hawaiian pizza to death; it was because he enjoyed watching people recoil from it. So he wasn’t angry in any serious sense to begin with.
Clap.
“You’re asking that like our raid being weird is some kind of surprise?”
“Can you even say that with a straight face?”
“What’s wrong with that? We’re already being called the taste-deaf raid.”
One step behind them, Lemony timidly raised a hand.
“I-I think I know what you mean. You’re saying it feels like a raid, right...?”
“Exactly.”
No one in the raid questioned Lemony’s words.
They had been joking for a moment, but they had all felt the same thing.
If the definition of a raid was simply “many people joining forces to fight a strong enemy,” then yes, this had already been a raid before.
But that wasn’t what Lemony meant.
“Instead of targeting the back line first, she attacked the person who had built the highest aggro, and she didn’t dodge or block our attacks. She also didn’t react at all until we attacked first.”
“There were also attacks that seemed to be patterns.”
In other words, Canaria’s behavior up until now had been exactly the opposite of what he had just described.
“It felt the same as when we fought other raid bosses.”
If the old Canaria had been an NPC who acted however she pleased, now she felt far more like the other bosses—like she was simply following the behavior script the developers had laid out for her.
“We’d need a few more tries to judge it accurately, but even from what we’ve seen so far, the difference is obvious.”
“I did wonder, ‘Is this really the same boss?’”
“...Wasn’t her old version better?”
“Huh?”
Everyone turned toward the raid member who had spoken.
Under the suddenly focused stares, he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly.
“I mean, it was cool. She had that feel of an impenetrable absolute powerhouse... and honestly, it was kind of unique, so I liked it. A shame, really.”
“Looks like even Demonins thought that was too much.”
Even difficulty had to stay within the bounds of common sense.
“Sitting there and taking hits like a scarecrow is one thing, but if she at least blocked and dodged sometimes, that’d feel more realistic. Honestly, though, it didn’t make sense. Not even the notorious Darkness Spirit or Royal Ring bosses are like that.”
“If you think of it as something they sealed away so it couldn’t be beaten at all...”
“Well, if that’s what it was, then maybe.”
In games, when the story or the worldbuilding wants to say something, it often doesn’t say it directly; instead, it delivers the message through a powerful enemy.
There were also many cases where the game staged what was called a “defeat event,” a scene where you were absolutely meant to lose.
When players faced enemies like that, did they rage, “This game is trash. How are we supposed to beat this thing?”
Not many did.
They understood.
To put it crudely, all of that existed to make the player feel hype.
“But Canaria isn’t the kind of NPC who serves that role.”
The NPC called Canaria did not fit the idea of being designed for that sort of dramatic presentation.
If she had been made for that purpose, she ought to have been immovable and dignified—so did it make any sense for her to slice people apart without mercy every time her eyes met theirs?
At least, that was what Fine thought.
“That’s fair. So I’m not really trying to convince anyone either. What I wanted to say is that she’s different from before. Everyone agrees on that, right?”
“Yes.”
“Her attacks really didn’t have any soul.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“...”
At someone’s question, Fine shut his mouth.
If he had simply wanted to point out the difference from before, there was no need to gather the raid members and have such a serious discussion.
When you worked together for a long time, there were things you could feel without saying them outright.
What was this person thinking right now? What were they feeling? Were they in good condition or bad?
And if Fine could tell, that meant the other person could read him too.
“Do you want to raid?”
“I’m still not sure.”
Fine, whose inner thoughts had been read perfectly, honestly laid them out.
“That’s why I gathered everyone like this—to hear your opinions. I wanted to know what the rest of you thought.”
There were plenty of reasons to want to challenge her again: competitiveness, curiosity, revenge.
And yet, why was it so hard to actually decide to try again?
Was I scared of overwhelming force?
That wasn’t it.
The memory of being cut down helplessly was still vivid, yes, but the changed Canaria no longer had that same oppressive power.
If anything, guilt might have been a more accurate reason.
Or maybe he was too aware of public opinion.
Having thrown out the opening, Fine fell silent for a moment and gave the others time to sort through their thoughts.
It might have looked like passing the responsibility around, but this was how he had always run his raid.
He listened to everyone’s opinions, then made the final decision himself.
“Fine, I’ve got a question...”
“Yes?”
Tap, tap.
As Fine drummed his foot while waiting for the raid members, Lemony addressed him.
“What is Journey doing right now? I don’t think she’s just sitting still...”
“Ah.”
Wouldn’t it be easier to just watch her stream directly if he was curious?
That thought crossed Fine’s mind, but he still told them what he had figured out about Journey’s current situation.
“Journey is—”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
“...You want me to help with the raid?”
“Strictly speaking, I’m asking you to help subdue her, but... yes. Yuki, you like fighting strong opponents, so I figured you’d definitely be...?”
“I’m refusing.”
“...Huh?”
Daeun blinked dumbly at the refusal, which came before she had even finished speaking.
“Do I look like some crazy bitch who runs at the sight of a fight?”
“...Weren’t you? ...Ah, sorry.”
Realizing her mistake after blurting out the words without filtering them, Daeun quickly met Yuki’s sharp glare.
“Ahem... even if you’re not a crazy bitch, you do like fighting, right? Right?”
“Yes.”
“So—”
“So.”
Thud!
Yuki jammed her greatsword roughly into the ground.
She leaned against the weapon, utterly unconcerned that the flying dirt was staining the hem of her pants.
“So I’m saying I’m not doing it.”
It had never been easy to talk with Yuki, but today was especially bad.
Daeun barely managed to suppress the urge to pound her chest in frustration.
Having a high level and having skill were two entirely different things.
But among the people Daeun knew, Yuki was the one with the highest level and the best skill.
Daeun had come because she thought Yuki would help, even if their coordination was rough around the edges, but now she was being refused without even getting a proper reason. It was maddening.
Had she sensed Daeun’s feelings?
Yuki, fiddling with the hilt of her greatsword, suddenly spoke.
“I already went to see her.”
“Where? ...Don’t tell me—?”
“Yeah. My master.”
“...Master?”
In the time since Daeun had last seen her, the way Yuki addressed Canaria had changed again.
The title felt strangely out of place, and Daeun made a faintly displeased face.
Regardless, Yuki’s calm voice continued.
“I went to see her and crossed blades with her, but...”
Yuki placed a hand over her chest.
“...my heart didn’t race.”
“...?”
“I don’t want to fight battles that don’t make my heart race.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
With words she couldn’t understand, Daeun’s mind came to a screeching halt once again.