Hall of Fame (7)

Everyone turned it down, so the Skeleton Mage's Mana Heart ended up mine.

They were giving up a treasure that raised the mana stat by a full five points — over a smell. My party members had gotten far too comfortable. Back in my day, if something promised even a single stat point, I would have swallowed it even if it was sewage water. You hear me?

Not that I had ever actually drunk sewage water. It was a figure of speech.

There was nothing to gain by dragging this out, so I consumed the mana heart on the spot.

The effect was unmistakable. My mana stat, which had sat at eighty-two, climbed to eighty-seven. In exchange, agility dropped two points — from ninety-five down to ninety-three.

Losing those two points stung, but I could make them up later with Growth Stones, or by raising my level and converting Potential.

"....."

"Um... Master, you okay? You still alive in there?"

"...I think I'm dying."

"Urgh! Don't open your mouth, Master! The smell!"

"....."

She asked if I was okay, so I answered her — and Oralisa gagged, then bolted. I had forced that reply out through a stomach that was already trying to climb up my throat. Ungrateful little brat.

"Master, this is warm water. Drinking it should settle your stomach somewhat."

Aquaril arrived with a cup she had heated over the campfire. Of course it was Aquaril. She really was the only one with any class... wait, huh?

"....."

I stared at her, unable to keep the disbelief off my face. A tiny clothespin was clamped onto her pretty nose.

She nodded. Twice.

I nodded back in thanks and took the cup. Warmth seeped through the ceramic into my palms. I did not drink. Anything that went into my mouth right now would come straight back out.

Five full points of mana was no small thing — but the price of swallowing a rotting heart was steep. Even cracking my lips a fraction let that rancid stench roll over my tongue.

Fuck. Honestly, this has to count as a status ailment, right? This is food poisoning. This is textbook food poisoning.

The reek kept rising. My guts churned like they wanted me dead. And still Molt (Lv.4 / Mythic) refused to fire — because the system had decided that what I was feeling did not qualify as a status ailment.

A shit ruling, and no one to appeal it to. An outrage unbecoming of good sportsmanship.

Should I just kill myself?

That would let me trigger Molt. The stench and the nausea would vanish with it, wouldn't they?

"Alan, you doing all right?"

Kanisia left Abraham's side and came over to ask.

"No, I am not all ri—"

"Ah — don't open your mouth. Shut it. You stink."

"....."

She started waving me off the instant my lips moved. Shit, that actually stung a little. When we got back to Littleberry, I was going to spank her until her ass looked like a baboon's.

Since I had been forbidden to speak, I scratched the question into the dirt. How's Abraham?

Kanisia gave a wry smile.

"He just fell asleep, thanks to you. Abraham and I both thought we'd gotten pretty strong... but there really are a lot of bastards out there stronger than us."

"....."

She sat down beside me, her face bitter.

Abraham had taken the fifth match in the Hall of Fame. His opponent had been Savage Giliva (★★★★★).

Savage Giliva was a monster with a man's body and a monkey's face — the second I saw it, Sun Wukong from Journey to the West popped into my head. A spear-wielding ape-beast with the Darkness attribute, so I had sent Abraham, who held the counter element.

Even at 5-Star, Abraham carried the trait Light Warrior (Common), which cut incoming Darkness damage by fifty percent. I had figured that, given enough time, he would grind out a clean win.

I had been half right.

Abraham had the physical stats you would expect from a Warrior-class fairy at Master level, but he had no single blow that could put the thing down. The fight degenerated into a long, ugly slugfest. Giliva hit harder, but it could not punch through Abraham's overwhelming defense. Abraham took the win — and a beating severe enough that I had to put Multi Heal on him afterward.

"Abraham's—"

"The smell."

"....."

I wrote in the dirt again. Should we boost Abraham's attack power?

"I don't know... Abraham will have taken something from today's fight. I don't think that's for us to argue over. The Abraham I know will make the right call."

Her faith in him ran deep.

I changed the subject, nodding at the armor she was wearing. The armor. You like it?

The armor Kanisia wore now was not the one she had been using. It was the reward Abraham had claimed after killing Savage Giliva.

It was a little small for a man of Abraham's size, and I had wondered why he had picked it — until I realized he had chosen it for his master. A loyal fairy, through and through.

"Yeah. I like it. That idiot. He should have picked something he needed."

She grumbled toward the tent where Abraham was sleeping, but the thought of him putting her first had softened her mouth into a smile.

The next day, we entered the Hall of Fame again.

"Nngh... a 6-Star monster..."

Kanisia let out a low breath at the window hanging in the air. The pressure was starting to tell.

Humans and monsters were not graded by the same rules.

For Masters and Fairies, you pushed to the level cap, offered up enough Gold as tribute, and your rank went up. Simple as that. Monsters were different. Nobody knew what standard their ranks were measured against — and I didn't either. Even back in Fairy Masters, the game had never once spelled out how a monster's star rank was decided.

The point was this: because the systems were different, a higher rank did not mean something could not be killed. The dungeons we had already cleared were full of monsters ranked above us, and we had put every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠last one of them in the ground and walked out with decent loot. There was no reason to freeze up just because the number on the other side was bigger.

"Hmm..."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Who do I send?

Oralisa and Abraham were out. Oralisa was an Archer — her defense was paper. One mistake, one hit allowed, and she was dead. Abraham still had not fully recovered from yesterday's injuries.

That leaves me, Kanisia, or Aquaril.

The list narrowed itself.

Combat style...

Osan the Mad fought with no regard for defense — pure, single-minded offense. On top of that, he had a berserker's trait: the more wounded his body became, the higher his combat power climbed. Blood and battle had cooked his brain, so mental magic and traps could catch him — but he hit hard enough to power through that kind of thing without much trouble.

It has to be me.

I made the call after only a moment's thought. I was the strongest member of this party. My stats sat anywhere from ten to more than twenty points above everyone else's. And more than that, I had Molt — I could die and get back up.

I would go in, take the measure of Osan the Mad, and then decide whether we even attempted the seventh chamber.

"I'll take this one."

"Huh? I could go."

"What can I say. My blood's just boiling all of a sudden."

I tossed the party a half-assed explanation and walked into the arena.

A wet, ragged growl rolled across the sand. Krrh... krrh... krrh...

Osan the Mad stepped into view.

The body was human — honed, powerful, and mapped with old wounds — and an iron helm hid the face completely. In his hands he carried a crucifix-shaped executioner's blade.

I can't stack wounds on him. Will-o'-the-Wisp (Lv.6 / Rare) is off the table.

The more injured he became, the stronger he got. A hit from Will-o'-the-Wisp applied Burn, and Burn ticked as a DoT. That was the last thing I needed. Use it, and he would balloon in power before I could blink.

I had to kill him in a single stroke, with as little damage to his body as possible.

A roar tore out of him — KRAAAAAAH! — and the instant the window vanished, Osan the Mad came at me. True to a thing that lived for blood, he did not bother to take my measure. He just charged, raving.

Lust Release.

I threw myself backward and triggered the skill bound to the bracelet coiled around my wrist — Corrupted Blessing (★★★★★★). ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The same skill Gigaesingwan, the boss of the Catacomb, had once used on me.

I ignored it and swiped the window away.

KRAAAAAH—!

This fucker's fast!

In the sliver of a second that the prompt had blocked my vision, Osan the Mad was already standing in front of me. His arms went up. The executioner's blade came down.

"Alan!"

"Master!"

"Watch out, Master!"

"Lord Alan!"

Shouts erupted from beyond the arena. Lust Release had sharpened my hearing to a knife's edge; I caught every voice.

Don't piss yourselves over this, you idiots!

A thunderclap of impact. I twisted my body and let the blow scream past. The strength behind it was monstrous — the floor split open with a crack that rang through the chamber.

Neck. Heart. Neck. Heart. Neck. Heart... Heart.

I slipped the attack as if it were nothing and drove my sword at one of his vitals — the heart. That iron helm wrapped his entire head. I did not like my chances of taking the neck in a single cut.

Any ordinary man or monster would have tried to get out of the way of a thrust aimed at the heart.

KRAAAAAAAH—!

Osan the Mad was not ordinary. He threw his chest wide open, as if daring me to bury the blade — and swung his own sword at me in the same breath.