Persua?sion
The moment I got my hands on the legendary relic, the Holy Guardian Fortress, a specific dungeon flashed through my mind.
The Bottom of Rancor. It was an eerie subterranean labyrinth crawling almost exclusively with vengeful wraiths whose attacks centered on psychic disruption and mental assault.
Normally, its difficulty was rated upper-intermediate. But with an artifact like the Holy Guardian Fortress—which granted overwhelming, near-total immunity to mental interference—that difficulty plummeted straight down to lower-intermediate. Hell, it plunged all the way to bottom-tier.
Perhaps because it possessed such an obvious exploit, the dungeon's rewards were notoriously mediocre.
It dropped an accessory set known as the Absolute Ring Set. Strictly speaking, its performance wasn't terrible, but severe limitations and arbitrary restrictions made it practically useless past the early game. That was precisely why players back then had mockingly nicknamed them the Civilian Slaughter Rings.
Yet this wasn't a game anymore. This was reality.
The odds were high that those arbitrary system restrictions had been loosened, or stripped away entirely.
If my hunch proved correct, the value of those rings would be... Well, even then, they probably wouldn't stay viable into the late game. Still, that actually made them feel all the more fitting. I wasn't the protagonist; I was just an aristocratic rascal looking for self-defense tools. For my purposes, they would be more than enough.
"Vivian, you in here?"
Clang!
The moment I pushed the door open, two pairs of eyes locked onto me.
One belonged to Vivian, whose round eyes widened in surprise. The other belonged to the ducal house's second daughter, Weller, who sat right beside her, glaring daggers my way for reasons unknown.
"Huh? What the hell? What business do you have barging in on Vivian?"
Weller bristled with open hostility the second she laid eyes on me. I scowled at her shrill, prickly voice.
"What's got your panties in a twist, Sister? What are you even doing here anyway?"
"Can't you tell by looking? I'm teaching Vivian magic."
"Magic...? Hmm."
Come to think of it, Vivian's original skill build had definitely leaned toward Magic Swordsman.
"Then is Brother Berga teaching her swordsmanship?"
"What kind of bullshit is that? Our Vivian has zero interest in vulgar blade-swinging. Right, Vivian?"
"Um... y-yes. That's right, Sister."
Unable to withstand Weller's suffocating pressure, Vivian offered a strained, nervous smile while quietly reading the room. Weller immediately pulled the girl into a smothering hug, cooing over how adorable she was.
I couldn't help tilting my head in disbelief.
"She's not learning swordsmanship?"
As a default heroine, Stanasila Vivian had been an extraordinary prodigy who brandished high-tier bladecraft and devastating spells in tandem from the very moment she first crossed paths with the protagonist. Knowing her innate talent, her sky-high potential, and the absurd stat distribution the system had blessed her with, I couldn't help thinking what a tragic waste this was.
If anything, she should abandon magic before she ever abandoned the sword. Forbidding her from touching a blade was practically throwing a once-in-a-century talent into the gutter.
"Look at that. Another narrow-minded spell-slinger burying true genius in the dirt."
"What? What did you just say to me?"
Weller's eyes flared with lethal fury as she snarled, but I ignored her murderous scowl and focused entirely on Vivian's uneasy smile.
"Hmm..."
Granted, the future was no longer set in stone. Now that the ducal house hadn't been obliterated, the timeline had morphed into an unpredictable, cloudy kaleidoscope. Perhaps there was a timeline where Vivian grew up to become a pure mage.
"Hey! Why'd you shut your mouth all of a sudden?! I asked what you just muttered, you bastard!"
"Quiet down for a second, would you, Sister? Vivian."
"Yes? Yes, Orabeoni."
Fidgeting with her fingers, she looked up, her innocent gaze meeting mine.
"Have you ever held a sword?"
"Well... no, never."
"Hah. Then neither Father nor our brothers have ever tested your aptitude with a blade?"
"No..."
"Unbelievable. What kind of backward nonsense is this...? God, spell-slingers really are the absolute worst. Personalities, values, common sense—every single thing about them is completely twisted."
"Hey! Stanasila Aljen! What the hell do you think you're doing?! Are you deliberately picking a fight with me?! Do you want to die?!"
"Eep?!"
Pushed past her boiling point by my relentless mockery and dismissive shrugs, Weller shot to her feet. A tempestuous storm of violent mana erupted around her slender frame.
She was truly terrifying when she lost her temper.
"Lady Weller. Please, compose yourself."
Right on cue, Muriel—who had been standing quietly in the background like a specter—stepped cleanly between us, shielding me and completely neutralizing that murderous pressure.
"Good grief... See? Not a single normal person in this damn family. How is it that every last one of you is a certified lunatic? Tsk, tsk..."
"What did you say...?! Yaaargh! Aljeeeen! Do you really want to die today?! Should I kill you right now?! Fine, I'll put you out of your misery! Get over here! I'm going to slaughter you this instant!"
Like an overpressurized boiler blowing its iron lid, Weller flew completely off the handle. Complex geometric magic circles began rapidly tracing themselves across the empty air. Clicking my tongue at the unhinged display, I caught Vivian by the arm and tugged her toward the hallway.
"Vivian. Do you want to learn swordsmanship?"
"Huh? Uh..."
"Vivian! Don't you dare listen to a single word that damn delinquent spews! It's all garbage, pure unadulterated bullshit! Hanging around him will only ruin your life!"
"Man, you're giving me a headache. Muriel, buy me a minute. We're stepping outside to talk."
"...Understood, Master."
"Hey! Where do you think you're taking her?! Get back here! Urgh...?! Move! Out of my way, you insolent wench! Do you have any idea who you're daring to block?!"
Leaving Weller's furious screeches behind, I slipped through the doorway with Vivian and clicked the door shut. The thick mahogany instantly stifled the screaming inside.
The vibrations, however, traveled straight through the architecture.
The heavy frame and stone floor rattled like an earthquake had struck the wing... That crazy woman. She was actually slinging high-circle spells indoors.
"Vivian. Let me ask you again."
Seeing her fidget anxiously with her gaze glued to the trembling door, I took her soft cheeks in both hands and gently turned her face back toward me.
"Do you want to learn swordsmanship?"
"......"
Her hesitant silence made me furrow my brows.
"You can be honest with me. Did someone drill some weird nonsense into your head?"
"Um... is it really alright for me to learn the sword? Even though I'm a girl?"
"...What? What does your gender have to do with anything?"
"Well... they told me that noble ladies aren't supposed to learn violent things like swordplay."
"Who told you that?"
"Father... Mother... and Sister Weller..."
"Aigoo... Goddamned medieval fantasy tropes."
I had temporarily forgotten the societal background of this world, but it truly operated on that archaic mindset. Beneath the surface, this culture universally viewed women as delicate creatures meant to be shielded and guarded. Because of that, noble daughters weren't even permitted to stroll outside the estate unchaperoned, and everyone around them treated that gilded cage as common sense.
That held true even though the existence of mana allowed women to match or surpass men in sheer physical lethality.
Then what about the high aristocracy, who hoarded esoteric secret arts and downed precious elixirs like water to cultivate power whenever they pleased? Were they exempt from such rigid notions?
Not in the slightest. If anything, the aristocratic prejudice was far more suffocating.
Men were blades to be tempered and honed sharp for the battlefield; women were exquisite flowers meant to cement political alliances, secure diplomatic goodwill, and carry on the bloodline.
That was the reality of high society. Not every noble family thought that way, of course, but it remained the prevailing doctrine across the empire. Above all, unlike men, scars on a woman's face or body were treated as permanent, ruinous flaws—which led noble households to actively ban their daughters from drawing blades.
"Haaah..."
I see. If the ducal house didn't crumble into ash, this was the sterile, stifling route Vivian was doomed to walk.
"Vivian. Forget every single word they ever told you."
"Pardon...?"
"Just tell me what you actually want. The sword—do you want to learn it?"
At my quiet question, she tightly bunched the fabric of her skirt in her small fists. She wrestled with herself in silence for several seconds before tentatively lifting her chin.
"...Yes. I want to learn. I want to wield a sword coolly, just like Father."
"Is that so...? Good. I'll convince Father for you."
"Really?!"
"Of course. And even if my persuasion falls flat, don't worry. One way or another, I'll make sure you learn proper swordsmanship."
"Uh... is it really okay for me to do that?"
"Why wouldn't it be? Have some confidence in yourself. You possess the kind of talent that gives you the right to do whatever you want."
Perhaps as a courtesy to the player base, all the default heroines designed by the developers possessed absurd, god-tier stat ceilings. In Vivian's case, reaching 8th Circle Archmage might be an uphill climb, but her innate talent guaranteed she would breach the threshold of Sword Master before the story reached its climax. With the right investment, she could even ascend to the realm of a Demi-God.
On top of that, she was that rarest of anomalies: an innate genius who possessed supreme compatibility with both bladecraft and the arcane arts. Letting a diamond like that rot in an embroidery parlor would be an unforgivable sin.
"Thank you so much! Orabeoni!"
"Whoa, hey..."
She threw her arms around my waist in a sudden tackle of affection, looking up at me with starry, adoration-filled eyes. Her gaze was so blindingly bright that I had to awkwardly turn my head away.
It was an unprompted outburst, but considering I had cleanly secured the first stepping stone toward earning her trust, it wasn't a bad outcome at all. If I dragged her along on this dungeon expedition, she would attach herself to my hip even more firmly.
Approaching such an innocent child with cold, calculated ulterior motives gave me a slight pang of conscience, but... I had to do whatever it took to reach the peaceful ending. I needed to forge an unbreakable bridge to the protagonist's camp.
"Ahem. Anyway, Vivian, that's not the only reason I came looking for you."
"Yes? What is it, Orabeoni?"
"I'm planning to take a little excursion soon. Want to tag along?"
"An excursion...? Like... a picnic?"
"No. A dungeon raid."
"A dungeon raid...?!"
Her already dazzling eyes widened until they practically fired beams of raw, starry-eyed excitement. A chuckle slipped past my lips despite myself.
Well, she was still young. It was only natural for a kid her age to harbor wild curiosity and romantic dreams about heroic adventures.
"So, you want to come? For the record, I've already secured Father's permission."
"I want to go! Take me with you!"
"Deal. Start packing your things. We're setting out in a couple of days."
"Yes, Orabeoni!"
Accompanied by the girl who was practically bouncing on her heels from sheer joy, I pushed the study door open and stepped back inside.
Weller and Muriel were still locked in a tense standoff. Half the surrounding furniture had been reduced to splinters, and a faint smell of ozone and singed wood hung heavy in the air. Yet miraculously, neither woman had suffered so much as a ruffled hair. Just how the hell had they been fighting in here?
"Aljen...! What lies did you just whisper into Vivian's ear?!"
"Nothing special."
Shrugging nonchalantly, I shot Vivian a discreet wink. The little girl nodded emphatically, clapping both hands over her mouth to seal her lips shut.
Knowing Weller, Vivian probably wouldn't be able to keep the secret for long... but frankly, it didn't matter either way.
"Muriel. Let's go."
"Yes, Master Aljen. Pardon my intrusion, Lady Weller Stanasila. Please forgive my earlier insolence."
"Ha! You think a polite bow makes up for—Wait! Hold on! Aljen! Don't you dare turn your back on me! Hey! You little bastard! I told you to stop right there?!"
Ignoring Weller's shrill, hysterical screeching, I quickened my stride down the carpeted corridor.
"Man, what an exhausting woman. Wouldn't you agree?"
"......"
Gulp!
"Khhhaaa~"
Tipping back my silver flask, I took a burning swig of high-proof liquor, then lightly patted Muriel on the shoulder.
"We're heading out to conquer a dungeon in a couple of days. Make sure you're properly geared."
"What manner of preparations should I prioritize, Master?"
"We'll be dealing almost exclusively with spectral wraiths that spam relentless mental assaults. As long as you prepare counters for psychic interference, we'll be fine."
"...That hardly sounds like a matter to discuss so casually. Is that dungeon not excessively perilous?"
"Relax. As long as I have this, it's a walk in the park."
I hooked a finger under the chain around my neck and lifted the gleaming Holy Guardian Fortress. Muriel let out a long, weary sigh.
"Haaah... Relying entirely on a single accessory to conquer a high-tier dungeon fills me with immense unease."
"What, you don't have faith in your own skills?"
"My concern is not for myself, Master. It is for your safety."
"I told you, there's nothing to worry about. They didn't slap the word 'Fortress' onto this relic's name just for decoration."
My swagger wasn't baseless arrogance. This sacred relic was the absolute, conceptual hard counter to any entity specializing in psychic warfare.
"...Did your persuasion of Lady Vivian conclude smoothly?"
"Yeah. She's still at that impressionable age where adventure sounds thrilling. She jumped at the invitation without a second thought."
"Mm... Will this truly be alright?"
"Told you to stop worrying, didn't I?"
Smirking, I gave the fretful maid a firm pat on the back, then tipped my flask back for another sip.
The very next morning.
Having finally pried the secret out of Vivian's mouth, Stanasila Weller came kicking down my door, practically breathing fire.
"Yaaargh! Taking Vivian to raid a dungeon?! What kind of sick scheme are you cooking up this time?! And what on earth did you say to her to make her suddenly demand swordsmanship lessons?! Just what kind of toxic filth did you pour into her head, you bastard?!"
"Ugh... Ow, my ears. You're gonna rupture my eardrums, woman."
Slowly unstopping my ears, I pulled a fresh cigarette from my pocket, lit it with a dry flick of my lighter, and flashed her a lazy, delinquent grin.
"What's with the morning tantrum, Sister?"
"Spit it out right now! Tell me what you're plotting!"
"Don't wanna."
"You... Seriously, do not test my patience today. Do you really want to see what happens when I get serious?"
"And what can you actually do about it, Sister? Father already signed off on the trip. Aside from throwing a hysterical tantrum and screeching like a banshee, what power do you actually have to stop me?"
"You little shiiiit—!"
In a split second, a lethal javelin of condensed glacial ice materialized in the air and shot toward my throat faster than the naked eye could track.
Whoa, this crazy bitch.
She actually fired it.