Anomaly (2)
Following Vivian’s excited lead, we stepped out into the street to find the town wrapped in nervous tension.
The merchants looked especially miserable. As it turned out, the monster had appeared right across the wasteland, cutting off the main route to the Duke’s Castle—the largest trading hub in the entire North—and grinding transport to a dead halt.
"Orabeoni, what do you think that monster is?" Vivian piped up, her eyes sparkling like a little detective piecing together a case. "Could it be demons again? Ah! Maybe it's a minion of the high demon Father killed?!"
"Who knows..." I replied lazily, reaching out to pat her head.
Piecing together the chatter of the passersby, the creature’s identity seemed pretty obvious: a field boss. The real issue was where it had chosen to settle. It had planted itself smack in the middle of the road we had just traveled to get here.
In other words, if we headed back the way we came, running into it was guaranteed.
"What do you want to do?" Weller asked, having clearly reached the same conclusion.
I took a swig from my flask, swallowed, and let out a long sigh. "What else? We wait until somebody clears it out."
"Hmm... True. With Vivian along, there's no reason to court unnecessary danger." Weller nodded in agreement, then promptly scooped Vivian away from my side. "Vivian?"
"Yes, Sister?"
"You said you wanted to tour the town, didn't you? What do you want to see first?"
"Huh? But... is that really all right? Everyone looks so frightened and grim..." Vivian murmured, casting a worried glance across the restless, murmuring crowd.
Weller let out a faint chuckle and stroked her hair. "There's no need for us to worry. Handling stray monsters is work for adventurers and knights."
"Sister," I chimed in, "aren't magic corps supposed to deal with them, too?"
"Ha! Do you honestly think those stiff-necked knights would ever deign to cooperate with magicians? Ignorant brutes, the lot of them. If their blades don't cut through something, they just assume they didn't swing hard enough and hack away with even more muscle."
"Good grief, that knight prejudice of yours... As if you're any different."
"What did you just say?"
Ignoring Weller's icy glare, I reached out and pulled Vivian right back to my side. "Vivian."
"Yes, Orabeoni?"
"You're curious about what that monster really is, aren't you? Want to go find out?"
"Really?! There's a way to know!?"
"Of course."
"Then I want to go! Tell me, tell me!"
I threw Weller a smug, lopsided grin. At the realization that Vivian had chosen me over her—and at the sheer gall of me swaying the girl—furious embers flared to life in her dark-rimmed eyes.
"Sister! You want to know too, right? What kind of monster it is!"
Weller, on the verge of biting my head off, froze dead in her tracks the moment she met Vivian's innocent, pleading gaze.
"*Sigh*... Fine. We'll do whatever our little Vivian wants." Having conceded defeat, Weller came up beside me and jabbed her elbow sharply into my ribs, scowling with deep dissatisfaction. "So, how exactly do you plan on figuring it out?"
"By asking the people who already know, obviously."
"What? People who already know? Ah, you mean an intelligence guild?"
"An intel guild... Well, that wouldn't be bad, but wouldn't someone who saw it with their own eyes know far more?"
Following that logic, our steps led us straight to none other than the local Adventurer Guild.
It was a massive structure that easily dwarfed the surrounding buildings in both footprint and height.
"...I suppose that's not wrong," Weller muttered, tapping Vivian gently on the back as the girl stiffened before the towering entrance. "No need to be so nervous, Vivian. Adventurers might talk big, but at the end of the day, they're nothing more than uneducated common dregs."
"Y-Yes, Sister!"
"Great parenting," I remarked dryly. "Teaching her all the finest aristocratic habits, I see."
"Got a problem with it?"
"Good grief..."
Shaking my head at Weller's belligerent glare, I pushed open the heavy guild doors and stepped inside.
The interior was packed. Scores of rowdy adventurers were shouting, checking the commission board, or shoveling food into their mouths. But the second we crossed the threshold, the entire hall fell dead silent, replaced by an uneasy sea of probing stares.
"Nobles? Since when do nobles come here in person?"
"Nah, no way. Must be proxies."
"Wait, aren't those... people from the ducal house?"
"What? Seriously? Don't even look their way."
"Wait, were the bastards who bolted yesterday running from them?... Hold on, isn't that Cacciola?"
"Holy shit, it really is Cacciola. She vanished so long I thought she was dead. Why is she traveling with them?"
"What the hell are high-and-mighty nobles doing in a dive like this?"
"Who knows. A special commission? If the payout's fat enough, maybe we take a shot?"
Dozens of rough adventurers whispering and glaring from every angle carried a tangible, stifling weight. Of course, among our group, the only one actually intimidated was Vivian.
"Eep..."
Young and sheltered, Vivian squeaked softly and shrank behind my back. Weller's expression instantly turned murderous.
"How dare these insolent mongrels...!"
"Sister, chill out," I warned. "You're not a fighting rooster. Why do you pick a brawl every five seconds?"
"They frightened Vivian!"
"Ugh, this doting sister complex is unreal..."
Taking another swig from my flask, I staggered forward with uneven steps. The adventurers took one look at my sluggish shamble and instinctively parted like the red sea, allowing us an unobstructed walk straight to the counter.
"How may I assist you?"
"......"
The receptionist was a bald, heavily muscled middle-aged man.
"The world really has gone to hell," I muttered under my breath. "How could you stick a hulking, grim-faced bloke behind the front desk? Has the sacred code of tavern hospitality fallen so low?"
"...Employing female receptionists in a place like this tends to cause far too many incidents, my lord."
"What, sexual harassment?"
"If it stopped at harassment, we'd consider it a good day."
"...Right. Uneducated, bottom-feeding dregs indeed."
A few nearby adventurers bared their teeth and glared at my blunt insult, but the instant Muriel and Rebecca let loose a fraction of their chilling killing intent, those roughnecks shrank back like kicked dogs tucking their tails.
"Whatever. The receptionist's face doesn't matter anyway. I'm here to buy information."
"Information... you say? We are not an information brokerage."
"You'll sell it if the money's right, won't you? That monster that surfaced in the wasteland—you've got reports on it, don't you?"
"...We have reports, yes. However, releasing that information falls outside my authority."
"Then whose authority does it take?"
"The Guildmaster's."
"Go fetch them, then. Ah, do you need proof of identity first? Muriel, got anything on you?"
"My apologies, Master," Muriel replied evenly. "To prepare for contingencies, I do not carry items that could identify my affiliation."
"Figures. What about you, Sister Weller?"
"You mean the ducal seal? Of course I have it. But shouldn't you be carrying your own seal, at the very least? Without it, who on earth would ever recognize you as a direct scion of the ducal house?"
"Cut the lecture and just hand it over."
Smirking faintly, Weller reached directly into her deep cleavage and fished out a dazzling, gold-embossed seal.
My face twitched into an involuntary scowl.
"Sister... Seriously? First artifacts, and now this? Why do you keep shoving things in there like a vulgar exhibitionist? Are you just dying to brag about your cup size?"
"Ha! Where I choose to keep my belongings is entirely my business. Besides, it's surprisingly secure, my dear dim-witted brother."
Holding out the seal without a hint of shame, she left me utterly defeated. What was the point of arguing with a woman so thoroughly drunk on her own arrogance? Better to just let her live however she pleased.
"Er... *cough*, identification verified," the receptionist choked out, terrified to even touch the seal that had just emerged from a noblewoman's bodice. After inspecting it with his eyes alone, he practically bolted toward the upper floor.
A few moments later, he hurried back down and bowed deeply with practiced deference. "Please follow me to the upper floor. The Guildmaster will receive you."
"Excuse me?" Weller's brow twitched dangerously. "Coming down to guide us in person would have been the bare minimum courtesy, and you dare suggest—!"
"Sister, knock it off," I cut in. "Stop acting like a walking stereotype. Flaunting your rank just makes you look cheap."
"What did you say? Do you have a death wish?!"
"*Sigh*... Lira. Please, keep an eye on her."
Suddenly singled out, Lira flailed in panic. "Y-Yes?! Me, my lord?! Handle Lady Weller?! H-How on earth do I do that?!"
"...Good question. How does anyone handle that?"
Throwing Weller one last pathetic look, I hurried up the stairs before she could detonate. The receptionist led us straight into a spacious reception room, where someone was already seated, waiting for our arrival.
"...Hm?"
The moment I saw her, a flash of deep familiarity struck me.
"Welcome. I am Vanes Clock, Branch Manager of the Adventurer Guild here in Illusion Tail."
As she rose from her chair and offered a polite bow, long, platinum-silver hair spilled smoothly over her shoulders like liquid starlight. Tall, with an athletic, strikingly contoured figure, her face was set in an expression as frigid as permafrost.
It was a poker face, certainly, but fundamentally different from Muriel's. While Muriel's deadpan mask carried an undercurrent of quiet allure, this woman's emotionless countenance radiated heavy, unyielding authority.
"Well, well..."
I never imagined I would run into Vanes Clock in a place like this. So she had been serving as an Adventurer Guild branch manager during this period, had she?
Taking a seat opposite her, I leaned back and held her gaze. "Pleasure. I am Stanashila Aljen."
"I have heard rumors of your renown. It is an honor to meet the famed seer and divine vessel."
Her icy expression didn't shift by an inch, yet her words and tone remained impeccably respectful.
"Hey. Branch Manager," Weller snapped, dropping into the seat right beside me with a pointed glare. "Are the rest of us invisible to you?"
"Forgive my oversight. You are most welcome, Lady Stanashila Weller, Lady Stanashila Vivian."
"...Hmph. Your manners are passable, even if that stiff face of yours isn't."
Unfazed by Weller's barbed remarks, Vanes Clock calmly returned her attention to me. "I understand you are seeking information regarding the monster that has emerged in the wasteland."
"That's right. As detailed as possible."
"Under normal circumstances, releasing this intelligence would be strictly restricted... but for the scions of House Stanasila, an exception can be made. Provided, of course, that you do not disseminate the information elsewhere."
"That much is easy. Don't worry, our lips are sealed."
"That is reassuring."
"I was lying, though."
"......"
Vanes stared back at me with those piercing silver eyes for a quiet second, then gave a singular, calm nod. "I see."
"No reaction at all? Boring."
Still, seeing that she was the exact same Vanes Clock I remembered brought a quiet wave of fond nostalgia.
Academy Professor Vanes Clock.
Naturally, she was one of the recruitable heroines in the original game. Renowned for hiding an astonishingly soft, fragile heart beneath an imposing, stoic exterior, she had enjoyed massive popularity among players—a textbook definition of the *gap-moe* archetype.
Behind that icy front, she was probably screaming in panic and sweating buckets on the inside right about now.
"I can hand over the intelligence immediately. I had it prepared in advance."
Brushing off my blatant insolence without a shred of visible irritation, she slid a thick bundle of documents across the table. I picked up the stack and began scanning through the pages.
"Hmm..."
The report was far more thorough than I expected. The monster's appearance, size, attack patterns, durability, behavioral habits, operational radius... It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say it contained every scrap of data currently ascertainable.
"......"
And just as I suspected, the monster stalking the wasteland was indeed the Predator Root—a field boss born when a cluster of subterranean Mole Roots underwent violent, corrupted mutation.
"...Wait."
The further down the parchment my eyes traveled, the deeper my brow furrowed. "Vanes Clock. Are you sure these numbers are accurate?"
"The report was compiled from reconnaissance teams deployed directly to the site. While I cannot guarantee absolute precision in every metric, the figures should represent close approximations. We are continuing to receive real-time updates as well."
"Is that so..."
I read through the specific entries once more.
A grotesque monstrosity formed from tangled, writhing roots taking the shape of a colossal humanoid—that matched the game's setting manual down to the letter.
The problem was the sheer scale. According to the document, the thing stood nearly seventy meters tall.
In the original lore, the Predator Root averaged around thirty-five meters. Seventy meters was literally double its intended size. That blew far past the threshold of an acceptable margin of error.
What was worse, the report noted that the creature was constantly bleeding a thick, black haze into the air like a localized fog... But the Predator Root I knew never emitted any kind of miasma. It was simply a physical brute—a field boss designed to crush players beneath staggering vitality, impenetrable defense, and raw destructive power.
"A black haze, huh..."
There was no need to overthink it. Demonic interference was written all over this. High demons possessed several esoteric methods to empower or enslave monsters.
The real issue, however, was the target: a field boss.
Had a demon ever buffed or enslaved a field boss before? Could they even do that in the first place? If it were some low-tier dungeon boss from an early-game zone, maybe. But field bosses possessed an inherent weight and tier of combat power that couldn't be easily commandeered.
At least in the game, such a scenario had never occurred. Even racking my brain through every obscure corner of the setting manual yielded nothing. There was zero precedent for a field boss being hijacked and mutated by demons.
"......"
An entirely unprecedented, abnormal anomaly. And as a rule of thumb, absurdly abnormal phenomena could only be orchestrated by an absurdly abnormal entity.
Instinct flared like cold needles against my neck, immediately bringing my recent conversation with Cecilia to mind.
At her request, I had provided the method to purge the demonic curse afflicting Cardinal Perdio Hadim, and I had heard afterward that the Demon King's Fragment was successfully extracted from his body.
...If it was a Demon King, there was no way they wouldn't notice something happening to a fragment of their own soul. Considering that Perdio Hadim had been cursed in the first place because an actual Demon King had abruptly manifested out of nowhere...
"...Ha."
Don't tell me this was the Demon King's handiwork?