Nemea (4)

"Haa... fuck."

I grimaced at the mission paper again, the campfire snapping and popping in front of me. Another mission stacked behind the first one. I genuinely hadn't seen that coming — not even a little.

"I'd already mapped out my whole schedule. Now I have to scrap the entire thing."

I'd followed the original orders, killed the Beast King, and a new mission had popped up in its place. Which meant there could be more of them waiting down the line, didn't it?

"No wonder the bag was stuffed with blue orbs."

The supply bag they'd issued me at the start had held three blue orbs and three red ones — blue for a successful mission, red for a failure. I'd figured the extras were spares in case one shattered. They weren't.

"They really aren't going to give me a single second to breathe, are they."

On top of that, unlike the Beast King assassination, this arson job came with a time limit. I had five days to rally at the Paniotipa Granary.

If things had gone according to my original plan, I'd be kicking back in a city near Pista Castle right about now, wasting pleasant hours with the party. A plague was raging, sure, but it hadn't reached our side of the region yet, and since we'd come all the way out east anyway, I'd intended to treat it like a vacation and rest before moving on. Five days to rally, though, meant I wouldn't get a single day off.

Pista Castle was an eastern city sitting close to the central region, where the capital of the Ferdium Empire lay. Keep heading south from there and you hit the Paniotipa Granary. To make the time limit, we'd have to hire a carriage from a nearby city and ride the whole way. On foot, we wouldn't stand a chance.

"If they'd told me to torch the place by myself, I'd have told Montblanc to go fuck herself and run."

I'd piled on a mountain of stats fighting the Beast King, but even so, burning the vast Paniotipa Granary by myself was impossible. Officially, the granary belonged to the Blood King, Agan Tapoa. The real owner was Falcon, eastern administrator of Palos's Bird — which made the Blood King Falcon's direct subordinate.

The grain this region produced in a single year was enough to feed five neighboring cities for twelve months. Its importance didn't need explaining, which was exactly why two of Falcon's fairies were stationed there alongside the Blood King himself. Falcon was a power on the same level as Montblanc, the southern administrator. That meant Falcon's fairies were, without exaggeration, in the same class as Montblanc's. Two monsters of that caliber, plus the Blood King — an 8-Star superhuman in his own right. Three superhumans estimated at 7-Star or higher, and a roster of strong fighters under them, all sitting on that granary. Hitting the place solo was a fantasy.

Whether I ought to call it luck, I wasn't sure, but Montblanc knew all of that perfectly well. This arson mission wasn't mine alone. Fairies she'd dispatched would be coming, and other subordinates were gathering too. That made it a mission I could actually work with.

"Yeah, but even if I pull this one off, that means I've still got another mission after it, doesn't it?"

Three blue orbs, three red. I'd smashed one blue after killing the Beast King, which left two. One of those was for the arson job. One remaining. One more mission after this.

"Yeah. Keep it up. Karma has a way of coming back around."

I muttered it to myself, Montblanc's face drifting through my mind. She'd pay for working me like a dog. Sooner or later — and I'd make damn sure the bill was steep.

"Fuck."

I crumpled the mission paper into a wrinkled wad, stuffed it back in the bag, and stared at the fire. I wanted nothing more than to chuck the damn thing into the flames.

"Tch... should've brought Aquaril along, at least."

I was the only one on watch. The others had offered to take a shift, but I'd wanted to sort my thoughts and revise the plan, so I'd told them to sleep and taken it myself. Now that the thinking and the planning were done, I was bored out of my skull. If even one of my fairies ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had been sitting here, I'd have had her on her knees giving me a blowjob already. Waking the sleeping girls for that, though, was a bit much even for me, so I let it go.

Oh, right. Come to think of it...

Watching the fire in silence, I suddenly remembered the new traits I'd picked up.

Status window.

"Huh..."

I stared at the two new traits and let out a hollow little laugh, because I genuinely didn't know what else to do with my face.

...Getting mythic-grade traits was this easy?

Mythic was not an ordinary rank. It sat on the same tier as Unique — the highest grade there was, a rank of which only one of each existed in the entire world. And I'd just picked up not one of those traits, but two.

Was the reason traits never dropped for me because it was all buildup for this?

There were two ways to obtain a trait. You were born with one, or you earned one through relentless training and dungeon clears. I could say with a straight face that I'd cleared more dungeons than most Masters, and yet traits had almost never appeared for me. The best I'd managed was the rare-grade Hard Counter. I'd been wondering about that dry spell for a while, and then two mythic-grade traits dropped in my lap at once. A stupid thought crossed my mind — that my trait potential had been holding out this whole time, sitting on a fat stack, just waiting to cash out.

I've become a god of absolute defense.

Untearable Leather had given me a body that didn't take wounds. It didn't erase the force of impact entirely, but it slashed incoming damage by a full ninety percent. A measly ten percent wasn't going to put me in the ground.

A trait this broken, this easily? Isn't this a little too easy mode? Or maybe I'm just that much of a monster?

I was in such a good mood the delusions just kept rolling. Anyway. Back to the point. I'd picked up mythic-grade traits, and it had been absurdly easy. If I hadn't had the Uroboros's Avatar class — if I'd been a Master who'd grown the normal way — I would've been the one who died in that dungeon, not the Beast King.

The Beast King was strong. That much was true. But as a condition for obtaining a mythic-grade trait, he fell well short.

Hnn. Whatever. Good news is good news. I'll take it.

I shrugged and turned my attention to the other mythic trait that had come along with Untearable Leather.

Nemea Summon, huh...

The effect was as straightforward as the name. It did exactly what it said: it let me summon Nemea.

...Should I try it once?

I hadn't summoned her even once since obtaining the trait. I was alone on watch, and morning was still a long way off. Trying it now wasn't a bad idea at all.

"Nemea Summon."

I pulled on the power sleeping inside the trait, eyes still on the status window.

Golden light erupted from my body in a rushing hiss and gathered into a single mass. When the glow faded, a petite girl standing a little over four and a half feet tall was in front of me. Nemea. That brilliant golden hair was impossible to miss.

"...You."

She looked around, bewildered, then found me, and her face went hard. From the look of it, she'd already figured out that I was the one who'd summoned her.

"Should I say long time no see? Anyway. Good to see you again, Nemea."

"Nh...!"

"Hm?"

The moment I said her name, Nemea flinched. I tilted my head. What was that about?

"What? You sick or something? What's with you all of a sudden?"

"...It is nothing. More importantly — why have you summoned me?"

"Huh. Come to think of it, your voice isn't booming all over the place anymore."

"What?"

Back when she'd been trapped in that seal, every word out of her mouth had sounded like there were speakers mounted on every wall. The sudden surround sound had thrown me off more than I cared to admit.

"What are you talking about?"

"Nah, nothing. Anyway. So — why'd you come out?"

"...?"

Nemea ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cocked her head at the question, then gave me a look that said she genuinely did not understand a word of it.

"Did you not summon me yourself?"

"Yep. I summoned you."

"...?"

I nodded, perfectly agreeable, and this time her head tilted the other way. She was staring at me like I was some kind of lunatic.

"You haven't the faintest idea how to hold a conversation. Or perhaps you've taken leave of your senses."

"Pffthahaha!"

The look on her face — that deeply furrowed scowl — broke me. I'd poked at her for a minute to get a read on her personality, and I'd gotten it fast. Nemea was dead serious about everything, and she could not tell a joke from the real thing. And that type, as a rule, was the most fun to mess with.

"And now you laugh on top of it all... It would appear I have taken the hand of a very strange man."

"Alright, that's enough messing around. Let's have an actual, productive conversation."

"Messing around? I have not jested with you even once."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Just sit down here."

"....."

I patted the ground beside me. Nemea shot me a look ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that made it very clear she did not approve — then sat down next to me anyway.