Clowns' Grave (4)

A ghost clown slid straight through my body. Strength drained from my legs like someone had pulled a plug, and I nearly buckled. What a shitty feeling.

"Guh?!"

"Hyaaaaah!"

But I could take this much. I roared and slashed at the ghost clowns wheeling through the air around me.

"Kikikiki!"

They burst out laughing all at once, as if ridiculing how pointless my attacks were, then came at me even faster.

"Damn it!"

My breathing, which had stayed even against the thief clowns, turned ragged. Fighting something that could fly wherever it pleased, with nothing but my own two feet on the ground, was a hell of a lot harder than I'd thought.

"Kh!"

I thought I'd dodged it — I hadn't, not quite. One of them grazed the arm holding my shield. The limb went stiff and tingling, numb as if it had been paralyzed, and the shield slipped from my grip.

"Master, I'll help ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you!"

"Stay back!"

Aquaril drew her sword, worried enough to come running, but I stopped her. Without a single offensive skill to her name, she'd be no help at all if she charged in.

Almost time...

I checked the ghost clowns' positions, then spun around and sprinted for the treasure chest. They tore after me from every direction.

Now! Temptation!

I scrambled up onto the treasure chest, activated the skill, dropped my body low, and bolted back the way I'd come.

"Kikikiki!"

The ghost clowns flying in from the other angles were yanked together by Temptation's taunt, bunching up in a single spot. I stretched out a leg and stomped the floor tile jutting up in front of the chest.

Click.

Something gave under my heel — and then the world caught fire.

Scorching flames erupted from the traps mounted on both sides of the treasure chest. I rolled clear of the blaze, came up on my feet, and stared at the ghost clowns writhing in the inferno.

And then I said it.

"Did I get them?!"

Hmm... so he really doesn't have an offensive skill. What kind of skill stone would even be useful for him?

Arms folded, Kanisia watched Alan Han fight with careful attention, and nodded to herself. At the same time, she turned over which skill stones would actually suit him.

She had already sparred with him once. She knew he was still far too weak. Raising him to her level would take a mountain of Growth Stones — and skill stones to match those numbers.

High stats alone did not make someone a powerhouse that other people looked up to. A true strong one needed skills and experience that lived up to those stats.

What's the level on that taunt skill of his?

During their last duel, she had watched a mere 2-star Alan yank her own 3-star attacks toward him with a taunt. Even skills that shared the same effect varied wildly depending on grade and level. A high-level Common skill would outperform a Level 1 Special any day of the week.

Level 6? Level 7? His taunt is probably a low grade, so it has to be up around there.

She still didn't know him well, so she assumed the skill's grade was low and its level was high to compensate. That wasn't a failure of insight on her part — it was the natural conclusion. He had only learned today that throwing extra people into a dungeon raised the difficulty. Anyone that ignorant of the basics had to have been clearing dungeons alone, and not many of them.

If she funneled him Growth Stones and skill stones and they ran dungeons together, he would catch up to her in no time.

I want to raise him up already.

Kanisia licked her lips, watching Alan fight the ghost clowns. She liked him. She intended to help him grow as far as he could go.

Most Masters did not treasure their Fairies. They treated them as well-honed weapons, or as toys for working off lust. That kind of behavior sat badly with her.

They were a different race, yes — but in the end they were people, the same as anyone. They hurt when they were wounded. They felt things.

The world said a Master was a being chosen by the gods. Then the Fairy a Master summoned was a gift from those gods. A blessing, bestowed by a divinity that wanted the world to become a better place. And the Masters of this age did not treasure that blessing.

She had seen far too many of them, and she despised every one. Even Grause — the Bloodfather King, the man she had sworn to spend her life with — had become just like the rest.

But Alan was different.

During the test, Alan had stood before her with his Fairy at his side. He had volunteered for the dangerous role of the shield. You did not see that from the Masters of today. He was also gentle with Aquaril, treating her as something precious. At the drinking party he had praised her over and over, going on about what a fine Fairy she was. Aquaril, sitting right there and hearing every word of it, had flushed as red as a ripe persimmon.

On top of that, his combat sense was sharp and his instincts were excellent. And perhaps this was the real reason Kanisia had decided she wanted to raise him... he was extremely handsome. Alan's face was exactly her type.

Looks. Personality. Ability. Everything clicked into place.

Flames roared up around the treasure chest.

"Oh!"

Kanisia's eyes lit up. Alan was using the trap installed around the chest to attack the ghost clowns. Finding a mechanism you would never notice without looking carefully was one thing — turning it against them was another. That was no ordinary display. And gathering the ghost clowns on top of the chest with his taunt? He must have been certain the trap was the kind that belched fire.

A genius.

She judged him a genius. That was not something a person with little dungeon experience could pull off. But if he had that much experience, he should have been stronger than her — and he wasn't. There was only one explanation that fit: Alan was a genius.

I should start getting ready myself.

Kanisia had cleared Clowns' Grave more times than she could count. She knew perfectly well that falling into a flame trap would not be enough to kill those ghost clowns.

"Kikikiki!"

"They're not dead?!"

Sure enough, Alan looked stunned that they were perfectly fine in the middle of the fire.

"Kh! Master!"

Despite his order to stay at Kanisia's side, Aquaril finally drew her sword and started running toward him. Even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a command from the Master she held above the heavens could not make her stand still when his life was on the line.

She didn't need to.

Magic Javelin.

The moment Kanisia invoked her second skill, three spears of condensed mana took shape behind her and launched.

"Kik?!"

Unlike the sword Alan had been swinging, Kanisia's mana spears did not pass through the ghost clowns. Before Aquaril could even reach him, they punched through all three. The specters that had given Alan so much trouble vanished on the spot.

"Uh..."

"Not bad, Alan."

She flashed a smile full of confidence at the slack-jawed look he turned on her. And she didn't see it — when Alan turned his head back, he was grinning.

The treasure chest held a Clown Mask with a Cognitive Decline effect — Common, 2-star — and five hundred thousand Gold.

Honestly, it should have gone to Kanisia. I was the one running the dungeon, but she was the one who had actually cleaned up every ghost clown guarding the chest. She liked her drink and she had a wicked streak, but she wasn't some twisted woman.

"Just take it. It's not like it's worth much anyway."

She was a cool one, I'll give her that.

"Hmph..."

Thanks to her, everything in the chest — item and Gold alike — was mine. It wasn't a fortune, but if I kept scraping together every last coin like this, it would add up to real money someday... right?

But what the hell am I supposed to do with this?

I turned the 2-star Clown Mask over in my hand. White base, red lips ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and nose, purple painted around the eyes. It was identical to the masks the monsters in this dungeon wore.

Fuck. What the hell am I supposed to actually do with this?

I scowled at the item window. A Level 1 Cognitive Decline that proc'd at a ten percent chance, on a mask I had nowhere to wear in the first place. Was I supposed to use this or not? And hoping people wouldn't notice you while you were walking around in a clown mask — that was just shameless.

Tch. Would it have killed them to just slap a stat boost on it? The last thing I picked up was a chance-based skill proc too.

You needed at least a thirty percent trigger rate before something like this was worth the slot. Both the Clown Mask and the Horned Snake Scale Gloves Aquaril was wearing right now fired their skills at ten percent or less.

Better than nothing, I guess... ah, whatever. I'll find a use for it later. Or I'll sell it and pocket the change.

"Take care of this for me."

"Yes, Prince Alan."

"....."

I handed the mask to the porter and froze solid at the title. Prince? That's so fucking cringey! My muscles just seized up!

Now I get why Kanisia told me to call her by name.

How anyone in this world could hear themselves called Prince or Princess and stay sane was beyond me. I shook my head and started walking again.

"Master? Why did you give the mask to that man? You have—"

"Shh. Let's keep that our little secret, alright?"

"??? Yes, I understand."

Aquaril tilted her head, clearly not following why it needed to be a secret, but it was her Master's word, so she nodded anyway.

If word gets out that I can use an inventory, I'm finished.

The fact that I could store things regardless of weight would send shockwaves through the continent. Supply lines decided wars, and with me around you could move and restock provisions without breaking a sweat. And that was just the start. Stuff the inventory with gunpowder and you could pull off a bombing without leaving a shred of evidence.

If even I could think of that many uses off the top of my head, other people would think of worse. The moment anyone learned I had an inventory, kings and queens would start scheming to claim me.

No — them trying to claim me would be the optimistic version.

The easiest move was to kill me, so that nobody could use the inventory's power at all. Which meant I had no intention of telling a soul, unless that soul belonged to a Fairy who knew how to keep her mouth shut.

My blade sheared through.

"Kik... kikiki!"

"Hah... that one was a pain."

I took the head off the Bandit Clown — the mid-boss ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of Clowns' Grave — and let out a breath. Unlike the thief clowns with their soft, yielding flesh, this thing's body had been almost as hard as stone. Even so, it couldn't hold out against Alan and Aquaril attacking together. Its head came off.

There was no getting around it: as the dungeon's difficulty climbed, the monsters came in greater numbers and hit that much harder. It was starting to wear on us.

"How about it? Want to rest a bit before we go on?"

"Nah. Keep moving. Didn't you say we were drinking when we got home?"

I shook my head at Kanisia's offer and pushed forward. It was hard, but I could take it.

We kept advancing, and before long only the boss room was left.