The Unforeseen Variable
I took a swig of liquor and drew deeply on my cigarette, letting the sting of harsh alcohol and nicotine dissolve my brain into mush.
My limbs went comfortably slack, heavy with pleasant lethargy. My heart thudded in my chest, louder and slower than usual, while the cozy warmth flushing through my body and the haze clouding my thoughts washed reality away, leaving behind only blissful drunkenness.
Humming softly, my dizzy, soaked mind dredged up some unrecognizable tune from the chaotic slurry of my consciousness.
"Pfffft..."
"Alzen, are you all right? You're drinking so much it's genuinely worrying."
"Mmgh... 'm fine, Ma."
"..."
Through my blurred vision, I saw Pitra pressing a hand to her temples. Snickering, I habitually tapped the communication artifact.
"Fa-ther~ How're things goin' out there?"
—Tone down the drinking, Alzen.
"Aw, c'mon... As long as the job gets done, who cares~"
—Give me the next coordinates.
"Mmmnyah... Le'see... Which one was it again...?"
—I just eradicated the fifth armory.
"Ah~ Aaah... Wow, look at you go, so fast. Hehehe... As expected of the continent's strongest Sword Master..."
*SLAM!*
The sharp bang of a hand slapping down on the table jolted me, and a red glass vial was shoved right under my nose.
"I cannot bear to watch this any longer, Alzen. Drink this potion."
"...Aw, Ma. The whole point of drinkin' is to get drunk... If I chug that, it'll..."
"Haaah..."
"Mmph—mrmph?!"
The glass mouth of the vial was rammed straight between my lips, and sickly sweet liquid poured down my throat in a relentless torrent.
"Ghhk—glggh...!"
I tried with all my might to shove her arm away, but to my utter shock, she was stronger than me. No, wait—this wasn't just raw physical strength; she had to be reinforcing her body with mana.
"..."
Still, wasn't this a bit much?
Damn this useless body. How did it make any sense for a grown-ass man with four working limbs to be overpowered by his own mother?
Gulp, gulp!
I felt cold reason snapping back into place, my consciousness clearing with agonizing precision. A deep scowl carved into my face.
"Phew... I will remember this."
"My, how terrifying."
The potion's efficacy was infuriatingly magnificent. It snatched away the languid, hazy euphoria that had wrapped my mind and body in an instant, and now it was even pumping fresh vitality through every fiber of my being.
"Tsk..."
Clicking my tongue, I reached for the bottle of booze.
"No. You have had quite enough."
Snatching the bottle away with practiced agility was none other than Pitra Stanasila.
"Hand it over. I need it. I won't drink until I'm wasted this time, so..."
"I cannot fathom what you mean by 'needing' it. Alcohol is meant for brief moments of joy or sorrow. It is not something to be guzzled day and night like water, the way you do."
"...That's exactly why I need it. Give it here."
A sudden wave of awkward discomfort washed over me—the exact sort of flustered agitation that strikes when an absolute stranger acts overly familiar.
"'Why' what? What possible reason could you have to drink like this? You'll think much clearer with a sober head, so absolutely not today. Put it down."
Crack. The fragile sanity I had fought so hard to maintain fractured right down the middle.
An alien place. Alien people. An alien world. And an alien body. Dragged here without warning, I hadn't grown used to any of it, nor did I have the slightest desire to. Enduring this suffocating isolation, carrying the crushing weight of another man's existence—it was utterly impossible to bear with a sober mind.
I truly marveled at those possessor protagonists in transmigration stories. How the hell did they endure such grotesque sensations and circumstances? Some of them even stayed behind in those worlds, settling down and starting families with the heroines... Did they even realize that any children born from that union belonged to the stolen body, not their own soul?
It was practically self-cuckoldry, a bizarre form of voluntary brood parasitism. And when they eventually grew old and died, not a single trace attesting to the possessor's existence would remain anywhere in the world.
Was it some noble spirit of sacrifice? Or were they just deliberately turning a blind eye?
Regrettably, I didn't possess that kind of mental fortitude.
The alien surroundings, the stolen body and life forced upon me, the arbitrary objective of reaching the "game's ending" crammed down my throat—it all reverberated through my skull like a discordant symphony of despair, helplessness, and madness.
Ah! What the fuck did I ever do wrong?!
Why did I have to suffer this horrific punishment that even death couldn't relieve me from? The sheer injustice and suffocating frustration drove me half out of my mind.
"...Mother. I am begging you. Give me the alcohol. I need it. I really do."
I pleaded earnestly, desperately. My face and my posture screamed that I couldn't survive without it, that I was incapable of functioning with a clear mind.
Flinch.
Looking at me, conflict flickered across her face. Softhearted as she was when it came to her family, her resolve seemed to waver. If I just pushed a little further...
"Ahem! No. I'll let you drink all you want tomorrow, but today—"
Before she could even finish her sentence, the last frayed thread of my patience snapped clean in two.
"GIVE IT BACK RIGHT FUCKING NOW, YOU CRAZY BITCH!"
By the time my senses caught up, my feet had already shoved off the floor, and I was lunging through the air straight toward her. Her eyes went wide, her posture freezing in surprise. For all her prowess as a high-tier magician, she hadn't anticipated such a deranged reaction and had been caught completely off guard.
That was all I needed. The liquor. As long as I could pry the bottle from her grasp, nothing else in this godforsaken world mattered.
*THWACK!*
"Guhk—?!"
A sudden impact slammed into my flank, violently jolting my vision.
"Haaah! *Cough*... *wheeze*?!"
My eyes blinked against the dizzying blur, and before I knew it, I was staring flat at the ceiling. I had curled into a tight shrimp, hands clamped instinctively over my battered ribs.
"Lord Alzen...?"
Gasping for breath at the voice in my ear, I forced my head up. There stood Ternien, her fist still extended and a stunned expression on her face; Vivian, sitting on the bed with wide eyes and both hands clamped over her mouth; and Pitra, wearing an expression so complicated it defied words.
Resignation, regret, pity, heartbreak... A tangled knot of emotions washed across her face.
"Urgh, *huff*..."
I couldn't catch my breath. A dull, heavy pain like a thick awl bored into my side, radiating outward and setting my whole body trembling. Yet even in that agony, a white-hot fury flared in the back of my mind.
"Ternien... *Guh*... You damn wrench... Were you trying to kill me...?"
"I-I apologize, Lord Alzen. But... be that as it may, lunging at Lady Pitra and spewing such profanity was entirely out of line."
"*Pant*, *wheeze*... My, what an upright... true knight you are."
A cynical smirk twisted the corner of my mouth. Unnerved by my retort, Ternien let out a quiet cough and averted her gaze.
"Haaah... Fine. Mother. I apologize for my foul language. It slipped out."
"...Yes. I see."
Clink.
The bottle was set down beside my head. Yet her fingers remained clamped firmly around its neck, refusing to let go.
"Alzen. Why do you need alcohol so desperately?"
"To forget reality."
"..."
Her expression turned even more pained. So did the faces of Ternien and the other escort knights standing nearby.
Hm? Ah.
Only then did it dawn on me how easily my words could be misinterpreted. Naturally. Whatever words came out of Kang Han-gil would never reach them. No matter how much I screamed, cursed, or wept, all their eyes and ears would ever perceive was Stanasila Alzen.
So to them, this merely looked like the Duke's third son, disillusioned with his life, drowning his inferiority complex and self-loathing in liquor.
"Pfft..."
The sheer absurdity of my pathetic state made me let out a crooked laugh as I snatched the bottle from her hand.
"Haaah... Fine. Drink. Go on, drink yourself to death."
Her complaint was laden with faint resentment, regret, worry, and affection. I just grinned and nodded.
"Yeah. I wish I could, honestly."
*SMACK!*
She slapped me across the back.
Damn, that stung like hell.
—Is it over?
Once the commotion had somewhat settled, Urtega's low rumble echoed from the communication artifact.
Ah, right. I was in the middle of a call with him.
"Whew... Yeah. All done. No problems here."
Gulp!
—Understood. Then give me the next coordinates.
"Coordinates...? Ah, the armories... We're good on armories now. You don't need to destroy any more."
—What do you mean?
"The only ones left are the ones near the Duke's Castle. If we send the knights to loot them clean, it'll give us a massive boost. Conveniently enough, all the undead have clumped together, leaving the city hollowed out. Perfect timing to move fast."
—Then is my role finished?
"No, no, of course not. You need to keep Cambello's attention locked onto you, Father. You really think that bastard's going to ignore the remaining armories? He's probably seething with rage right about now."
Gulp! Ssssk— Hwooo...
I gulped down more alcohol and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. My heated body relaxed into a loose slouch, and the throbbing ache in my side eased.
"Haaah... So, Father, I'm gonna need you to swing your sword somewhere else for a bit. Somewhere Cambello can't possibly ignore."
—Give me the coordinates.
Even though I deliberately withheld the nature of the location, he pressed for the position as if the details didn't matter.
"Hehehe. Understood."
After reciting the coordinates to Urtega, I immediately switched on the other communication artifact.
"You listening, you worms?"
—Yes! We hear you!
—Do you have orders for us, my lord?!
Hearing the knights' instant, loyal replies, I let out a dry smirk.
Did they have any clue? That the person issuing them orders was an utter stranger, detached from House Stanasila by about a million light-years?
"Combine into three-squad units and move to the coordinates I assign."
—Understood! What are our objectives upon arrival?
"Scrape up anything useful and bring it all back."
—...Pardon?
At their baffled tone seeking clarification, I let out an exasperated sigh.
Wasn't there an artifact that could transmit entire thoughts directly into people's heads? There hadn't been one in the game or lore books, but now that this world had become reality, maybe something like that existed... I'd have to shake down the Magic Corps later.
Gulp, gulp!
Enduring the sheer annoyance of it all, I gave them a brief rundown. When their awed cheers filled the channel, I promptly shut the artifact off.
"Phew..."
BAM!
"I finally finished it, you bastard!"
The door flew open, and a red-haired woman barged inside, proudly thrusting forward a glowing, pillar-shaped device she held bundled in her arms with a triumphant grin.
The second daughter of the ducal house, Weller Stanasila.
"Oho. You actually pulled it off, Sister?"
"Damn right! This is the Mana Wave Blocker! It still has room for improvement, but I've confirmed with my own eyes that it repels dark mana without fail! This thing is an absolute masterpiece!"
Looking at the device she had crafted with sparkling eyes, she seemed almost like a child boasting about a shiny new toy.
"Impressive. As expected of you, Sister."
"...That's it?"
"...What else do you want?"
When I tilted my head at her evidently disappointed reaction, she let out a heavy sigh.
"Forget it. Now that I think about it, I didn't even need to come show you in the first place. Go on, keep guzzling your booze. I'm going to install this."
"Be my guest."
I waved her off.
Once the Mana Wave Blocker was in place, the Duke's Castle would be substantially safer from dark magic and the undead horde.
"Now, all that's left is..."
Sipping my drink, I let the gears in my head slowly turn. As victory drew incrementally closer, a faint smirk crept onto my lips. Still, I forced myself to stay on edge so I wouldn't get careless. High Demons were notorious for flipping the board upside down at moments just like this.
"No, seriously, this is pure bullshit."
Sure enough, Cambello showed up dragging an enormous, unforeseen variable into the mix.
"Where is the one they call the Sword Master?"
A hazy, indistinct silhouette abruptly materialized outside.
Drifting like a specter, the entity gave a casual flick of its blade—and the castle's outer wall split clean in two.
"...Are we screwed?"
Watching that horrific display of martial might through the window, I let out a long breath.
The sudden appearance of a second High Demon made my head pulse with a throbbing ache.