Field Trip Preparations (2)
In the world of Soul Academy, any forest of respectable size was home to a being who could rightly be called its master.
Revered as gods in the distant past, these beings possessed power far beyond that of ordinary creatures, and to those they acknowledged, they would even grant blessings of tremendous benefit.
It went without saying, but entities once worshipped as gods would not grant a meeting to just anyone.
Only when someone proved worthy of it would they permit the face-to-face.
The conditions varied from spirit to spirit—in Siluf Forest, for instance, the Silver Wolf demanded strength.
In the game, you could only meet her face-to-face once you reached a certain level threshold.
Something along the lines of: you show promise, and are worthy of an audience.
Which was exactly why I hadn't worried in the slightest.
I'd been grinding levels steadily, so I figured I'd have no trouble earning the meeting.
I hadn't thought being acknowledged would be especially hard, either.
Even by the game's standards, my current combat power was top-tier.
Putting up a good fight against the Silver Wolf would be far easier than dealing with Nakrad, after all.
But who could have predicted this variable would come up!
"I heard about it myself just recently. Saithil Forest it is, apparently."
'Why, though?!'
"Pathetic. What's the reason?"
Saithil Forest! That's the place you're supposed to visit in the second semester!
Why did the order of the forests suddenly get swapped?
"From what I hear, it was a matter of security. There have been so many incidents at the Academy this year, after all. I'm told they judged Saithil Forest better suited to guaranteeing the students' safety than Siluf."
Ah. So that's the reason, huh?
After his story trailed off, Karl said he couldn't guess at any deeper circumstances—but I had a pretty good idea.
To put it simply, the Master of Saithil Forest is more cooperative than the Silver Wolf.
If you want to keep students safe from all sorts of trouble, Saithil Forest is the better option.
If safety's the reason, then there's no way to argue with it.
Ha. Damn it. This is bad. Genuinely.
What's that? Even if the forest changed, couldn't I just get acknowledged by that forest's master instead?
In theory, sure.
But flip it around for a second.
Being a total veteran, I have every single method for meeting and earning recognition from each forest's master memorized.
So why do you suppose I'm agonizing over this?
The condition for meeting the Master of Saithil Forest is Charm.
Simply put, it means things like beauty and grace.
Raising that stat isn't something you can brute-force the way I've been doing, just throwing myself into endless combat.
You have to pay attention to grooming, attend social gatherings to cultivate elegance, hire private tutors to round out your education.
Of all those things, what have I actually done so far?
Nothing. Not one thing.
Everything I've done until now has been leveling up, raising stats, and grinding skill proficiencies—all for the sake of combat.
Not a single action exists in my history that was taken to raise my Charm stat.
What that means is: the Charm stat I have right now is exactly what it was the day I created this character!
What do I do?
At this rate, the Master of Saithil Forest won't acknowledge me.
I could bring along Phoebe or Joy, who started with high base Charm, and at least manage to lay eyes on her—but if that accursed face-obsessed fox doesn't actually acknowledge me, none of it means a thing!
No good. I can already see the pathetic Chief God's torment slithering its way toward me, slow and smug.
"My lady? Are you quite all right?"
'Be quiet for a second, will you?'
"Pathetic. Zip it."
"Very well, my lady."
Think, think. I can't just sit here doing nothing.
I have no idea what humiliating failure penalty awaits me if I flop, and I have zero desire to find out.
Truthfully, my resources aren't bad.
I have Alsaetin owing me debts, and the Newman house is in a state where I can use them however I like.
Securing the means to raise my Charm is more than feasible.
What matters now, then, is figuring out how much Charm I actually need.
After turning it over in my head for a while, I lifted my gaze and looked up at Karl.
Since I can't see my status window anymore, the easiest way to gauge my Charm is to watch how NPCs react.
NPC reactions shift with your Charm stat, you see.
Specifically, low Charm gets you cold responses, and high Charm gets you friendly ones.
'Karl. Am I pretty?'
"Pathetic. Am I pretty?"
"Why ask something so self-evident, my lady? Your appearance is nothing short of that of an angel descended from the heavens. That skin of yours—"
'That's enough.'
"Stop it, it's gross, you pathetic lolicon."
Right. Ask Karl, and this is obviously the answer you get.
Don't ask me how it happened, but he's a guy who hypes up his own master.
I've never done anything for him, so how his affection got this high is beyond me.
Now, whose reaction should I check?
Asking just any random NPC won't get me a decent answer.
Forget Charm—my reputation itself is the problem.
People turn green the instant they hear the name Lucy Aln. You think they'll give me an honest answer to "am I pretty?"
Who around me could actually evaluate me objectively?
Joy's affection for me is too high, so objectivity is off the table.
Frey will just say something weird.
Phoebe will only say nice things, so that's meaningless.
Vishy, Avery, and Alsaetin will all read my mood and hand me sugar-coated flattery—excluded.
Which leaves... Arthur, I suppose.
Hmm. He'd be about right for this.
Thanks to our previous all-out brawl, he holds no grudges against me—but his affection isn't especially high either.
Judging my current Charm off his reaction would give me the most accurate read.
Ever since his defeat to Joy at the midterm examinations, Arthur had thrown himself into honing his skills without rest.
He had never been one to slack off even before, but of late, the intensity of his efforts had grown all the sharper.
At the time of those midterms he'd grumbled and made every excuse under the sun, but a loss was a loss all the same.
Had Arthur merely scored a little higher—had he, at the bare minimum, managed to post results surpassing Lucy Aln's—none of it would ever have happened.
Having endured endless mockery over that defeat, Arthur resolved that next time he would press Joy down into second place, and flatten Lucy Aln's pride along with her, and he was giving it his utmost.
The only real problem was that Lucy Aln kept running further and further ahead of him.
"First clearers of the Academy Dungeon."
The first students in the Academy's long history to achieve a first-clear in the first semester of their first year.
Lucy Aln.
It had been foretold from the start.
She held the entirety of the dungeon in the palm of her hand.
To her, the Academy's dungeon had never been more than a place she could conquer at will.
The result was only natural.
"Gifted as she is, she could afford a little laziness—yet she keeps leveraging her strength toward ever greater heights."
She was running toward a place no one else could ever hope to catch up to.
"But one day, I will take victory over Lucy Aln. That much is certain."
It might have sounded arrogant, but never once had he thought his talent inferior to anyone else's.
He, too, was a star destined to shine.
No matter how brilliantly Lucy Aln blazed, the day would come when he overtook her.
And then he would ask her.
What she'd meant, by what she'd said back then.
"Me? Pitiable Prince. Aren't you dreaming big, you pathetic loser who gets beaten down every single time."
Absorbed in these thoughts with his fist clenched, Arthur cautiously turned his head toward the voice at his back.
And there stood the very opponent he'd just sworn to defeat.
Lucy Aln, clad in the Academy uniform, gazed up at him with her eyes half-lidded as always.
"...How much did you hear?"
"From the beginning. Fufu. Feeling a little insecure, are we? Pitiable Prince?"
He'd been lost in a rare moment of sentiment mid-training—and she'd been listening the whole time?!
Seized by unspeakable embarrassment, Arthur whipped his head away, hiding his burning face.
"What brings you here?"
"I have something to ask. Oh ye pathetic prince who feels inferior to a girl."
"...Compose yourself. My apologies."
Accustomed as he was to mockery on account of his princely station, Arthur still could not withstand the way Lucy treated him like a toy.
Lucy laughed heartily at his flushed face for a good while before finally seeming to accept his surrender with a nod, and she produced the matter she'd come about.
"Say, Pitiable Prince. In your pathetic princely eyes—how do I look? Am I pretty?"
"Hah? What manner of question is that, all of a sudden?"
Pretty?
She shows up out of nowhere with no warning whatsoever, and she asks that?
"Just answer. Or shall I reenact your little monologue, Pitiable Prince—"
"No—wait! I shall answer!"
Curse it all. Of all people, my humiliating weakness had been exposed to the one person before whom I absolutely must not show a chink in my armor.
Please, let her not torment me with this later.
What was the question again?
Whether she was pretty?
Arthur smoothed his face and let his eyes fall upon Lucy's.
Objectively speaking, Lucy was beautiful.
Even by his own judgment—Arthur, who had grown up in the palace and committed the world's countless beauties to memory—she held up.
Despite training fierce enough to make even seasoned knights blanch, her skin remained flawless and snow-white.
Her scarlet eyes sparkled as though rubies had been set into them.
Her hair shone like crimson silk, so much so that he caught himself wanting to reach out and stroke it.
Standing there in silence, Lucy Aln looked for all the world like a doll crafted by the most skillful of artisans—unmistakably beautiful.
Beautiful enough that even if one scoured the entirety of high society, only a precious few could stand comparison with her.
It was a fact he could not deny.
And yet Arthur could not bring himself to tell Lucy she was beautiful.
For who knew what insufferable words might come spilling from those tiny lips the moment he did?
"You're... passable, I suppose."
"Really?"
At Arthur's brusque answer, Lucy's face fell with visible disappointment.
Ah. Um.
Did I blunder?
Hateful as Lucy Aln may be, she is still a highborn lady. Calling her merely passable—was that not a breach of courtesy?
"Th-that was a jest. You belong, decidedly, among the beautiful."
"Hmm. You mean that? Pitiable Prince?"
"I do."
"Got it. Then train hard, okay? Even if a pathetic Pitiable Prince could never beat me."
"If your business is concluded, then be gone!"
"Ahaha. Got it. I'll be off, then."
Arthur watched Lucy's retreating figure as she walked away with a light step, then let out a long sigh.
Did she truly come all this way to ask just that one thing?
Hee hee. If words like beautiful came out of Arthur's mouth, then my Charm stat can't be all that low.
If he'd go so far as to say it outright, I'm comfortably above average.
At this level, items should be able to cover the rest just fine.
Okay. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Pathetic Chief God! No matter how hard you try to screw me over, I'll break through anyway!
Because that's what a veteran does!