Academy Dungeon Conquest (3)
Phoebe had gone dungeon delving a handful of times before, alongside the holy knights of the Church.
Passing the Academy's examinations required knowing how to conquer a dungeon, if only for that reason alone, she'd had no choice but to set foot inside one.
It hadn't been dangerous, though.
She was the Saintess of the Church of the Main God—how lightly could anyone accompanying her possibly be armed? These had been men skilled enough to command their own knightly orders, escorting her through low-floor dungeons.
If anything, it would be more accurate to say Phoebe hadn't conquered dungeons so much as she had toured them.
But the people who trained her were exceptional, so she had learned properly what a standard dungeon conquest was supposed to look like.
And the approach she knew was a far more careful one.
A dungeon is a space that always begins in the unknown, so you advance with every possibility accounted for in advance.
What monster might appear, and from where?
Could there be a trap down this passage?
Is this even the right path?
Can our stamina hold up through the next fight?
Granted, crushing every variable under overwhelming skill was always an option, but under normal circumstances you had to move the way one crosses a frozen lake—slowly, and with dread.
Lucy Aln's dungeon conquests were nothing like that.
Her version was a play with the script already written.
Upon the stage called the dungeon, a director, playwright, and leading actress all rolled into one—Lucy Aln—was staging a theatrical performance.
You couldn't call this conquering a dungeon.
Everything unfolded exactly as Lucy dictated it would. How was that a conquest?
"Ten steps ahead, corner turns to the right. Three scrub Orcs, dead ahead. I'll take point and bowl them over on the way through."
Lucy issued the order without so much as confirming whether a monster even waited there, yet not a single person raised an objection.
Phoebe didn't either.
And sure enough, the moment they rounded the corner, three Orcs were waiting for them.
When she'd first entered the dungeon, Phoebe had doubted Lucy's word. No matter how gifted Lucy might be, she'd thought it impossible to issue commands with the certainty of a verdict in a dungeon brimming with countless variables.
But Lucy had turned the impossible into the possible as if it were only natural.
At first, Phoebe dismissed it as coincidence.
Yet when that coincidence repeated itself ten times, twenty times, coincidence hardened into inevitability.
Within the dungeon, Lucy possessed something like divine omniscience—knowledge granted by a miracle of God.
Having watched that miracle unfold again and again, Phoebe couldn't help but arrive at a certain thought.
Is this what it means to be Armadi's Apostle?
Can one beloved by Armadi truly bring about things like this?
"Huek—!?"
Phoebe's reverie collapsed the instant Lucy slammed into an Orc.
She was riding on Lucy's shoulders, which meant any shock Lucy absorbed, Phoebe absorbed right along with her.
After Lucy stomped the sprawling Orc flat beneath her armor and marched past it, Phoebe felt her stomach lurch and quietly cast a miracle of motion-sickness prevention on herself.
Hoo.
Being carried was unavoidable, I suppose, but it isn't exactly comfortable, is it?
Though I suppose it's far better than trying to keep pace with Lady Aln on my own two feet.
Phoebe had refused at first.
Saintess or not, she was still the Saintess. Charged with maintaining at least a modicum of dignity and grace, the notion of being slung over the shoulders of someone half her size like a sack of laundry was not one she could easily accept.
'Are you sure about that? With your scrub stamina, Saintess, you'll collapse halfway there~?'
'I'll be fine.'
Determined to endure however punishing it might be, Phoebe soon had to admit she'd been arrogant.
Her legs refused to obey, her lungs burned so badly she couldn't draw a proper breath, and with every third step ending in a fresh faceplant against the stone floor, her head naturally lowered itself in shame.
There are things in this world that sheer willpower alone cannot overcome.
And so Phoebe swallowed her humiliation and climbed onto Lucy's shoulders—only to realize that until that very moment, Lucy had been slowing her pace out of consideration for her.
Uuu. Joy.
You knew it would be like this, so why didn't you tell me anything?
If you'd warned me in advance, I wouldn't have had to sprawl on the floor in disgrace, and I wouldn't have been a burden to anyone.
Don't tell me you were setting me up on purpose, Joy?
If you simply forgot, I'll let it pass—but if this was deliberate, you will be receiving a sermon!
"More monsters."
Whether Phoebe resolved anything or not, Lucy's feet never stopped, and the dungeon conquest proceeded without a hitch.
Floor 10.
Floor 20.
Floor 30.
Floor 40.
Floor 50.
Floor 60.
As the floors climbed higher, the dungeon grew larger, and their pace slowed bit by bit—but that was all. The party's speed never truly faltered.
Even now, sprinting at a pace comparable to a warhorse, they were still conserving their stamina.
Meanwhile Phoebe, perched on Lucy's shoulders, was being worn down by nothing more than bracing against the jostling.
So this is what happens when the two most gifted martial talents on the continent are driven to their absolute limits, is it?
How on earth does Joy keep up with these people on a normal day?
I understand now why Lady Kent told me to hang in there before we entered the dungeon.
This is not something ordinary people can endure.
And so, just before the boss room on Floor 70, Lucy set Phoebe down on the ground and looked around.
"Hey, scrub swordswoman. You okay?"
Finally!
Finally, does she mean for us to rest a little?
Phoebe hadn't opened her mouth while dangling there like baggage, afraid of being a nuisance, but she'd been one step away from collapsing from sheer exhaustion.
Which meant that right now, she craved rest more than anyone else present.
Phoebe swallowed hard and studied Frey's expression.
Strangely enough, Frey seemed to be deliberating.
What is there to deliberate?
Just say we should rest and move on.
However miraculous Lady Aln's and Lady Kent's stamina may be, they are still first-years at the Academy.
Even with perfect knowledge of the dungeon, sprinting without rest will lead to an accident.
So we must rest. Absolutely must!
"I'm fine. Good as new."
But what came out of Frey's mouth was the exact opposite of Phoebe's hopes.
Good as new?
You've been sprinting at full power all the way up seventy floors—how can you possibly be fine!?
You're panting as we speak!
What if you make a mistake against the Floor 70 boss?
True, every boss so far had been so thoroughly prepared for by Lady Aln that we crushed them without a proper fight, but this time might be different.
If Lady Aln is suggesting we rest, there has to be a reason!
Phoebe was busy communicating all of this to Frey through her eyes alone when she caught Lucy's gaze, flushed crimson, and dropped her eyes to the floor.
"Then let's keep moving."
At the words that slipped from Lucy's lips, Phoebe resigned herself and cast her healing magic once more.
It was little more than a stopgap, but without even that, she couldn't bear it.
How I wish the Floor 70 boss would turn out to be a genuinely nasty, difficult opponent.
At least then we'd be forced to rest, half against our will.
But Phoebe's hopes went unfulfilled yet again.
"Intruders will be disposed of."
The moment they entered the boss room, the boss hurled an enormous spell—which Lucy's scroll promptly nullified.
Then Lucy unsealed a second scroll, and the very same colossal spell the boss had unleashed detonated once more—blowing the boss's head clean off.
The entire process, from start to finish, took barely a minute.
Far too short a span for Phoebe's battered body to recover.
With the boss's corpse sprawled across the floor behind them, Lucy stepped in front of Phoebe, and having surrendered everything at this point, Phoebe climbed onto her shoulders without the slightest hesitation.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
By the time roughly half a day had passed since we entered the dungeon, we stood before the door to Floor 100 of the Academy Dungeon.
Part of me wanted to charge straight in and clear it, but Phoebe's condition wouldn't allow it.
Her divinity magic was indispensable for conquering Floor 100 comfortably, after all.
If we went in while she was hanging off my shoulder like a corpse, unable to manage so much as a proper word, who knew what variable might rear its head?
There was still time before the Academy Dungeon closed, so a short rest was in order.
The moment I set her down, her legs buckled and she crumpled straight onto the floor.
It was oddly fascinating to see the Saintess in such disarray—something I'd never once witnessed back when this was a game.
In Soul Academy, she had always carried herself with flawless saintly composure.
Well, the Saintess was human too, I supposed. Tired and spent, there was little she could do about it.
Taking my eyes off Phoebe, I glanced at Frey. She was worn out, certainly, but not so exhausted that she couldn't keep moving.
Training alongside me really had built up Frey's endurance considerably.
Early on, she'd lacked the stamina and needed to stop and catch her breath every few stretches of the run—now she gritted her teeth and hung on to the very end.
Thanks to that, despite Phoebe being dead weight in the party, our conquest speed was blisteringly fast.
Which, in turn, meant Phoebe hadn't managed a single moment of rest and was dying inside—but what could anyone do about that?
That outcome was sealed the instant she nodded along and volunteered to join the dungeon conquest.
If she hadn't wanted to experience hell, she should have refused from the start.
Shouldn't you have given fair warning beforehand?
Not like any law says I have to, does it? I'm blameless here. If she's sore about it, she should've done her own research before signing up.
And besides—I always reward hard work with a proper gift.
I'm handing her the title of First Clearer of the Academy Dungeon, aren't I?
That's actually a pretty hefty honor. It even raised your reputation and standing quite a bit in the game.
On top of that, there's a reward granted specifically to the first clear party—more than generous compensation for a day spent turned to mush.
It's rough now, sure, but down the road she'll look back and go, Ah. Lady Aln had it all planned out from the beginning. and be grateful. Probably.
As the rest stretched on in silence, Phoebe—still sprawled across the floor—straightened herself up, her face flushing red.
So she's finally come back to her senses.
Her stamina would need more time yet to recover, but she seemed capable of holding a conversation, at least.
'Phoebe.'
"Yes, Scrub Saintess?"
"...Nyehet?!"
At the sight of Phoebe biting her tongue mid-answer, startled out of her wits, an involuntary chuckle escaped me.
I was starting to understand exactly why the Mesugaki Skill made me call Phoebe the Scrub Saintess.
Every now and then, she really does just go and pull something utterly scrub-like out of nowhere.
'Don't worry, Scrub Saintess. I'm not about to make you move. Just sit there and listen~♡ No need to panic. I'm not telling you to get up. Just stay right where you are and listen.♡'
"Oh my. Did you think I'd make you move? Pfft. How truly scrubby of you. Don't worry—I wasn't. Just sit still and listen, please."
Because this time, Phoebe's role matters.