Menesteil (6)
The day after clearing Floor 10 of Menesteil, I pushed on to Floor 11 — and immediately noticed that clearing the dungeon had become a far more pleasant experience.
And no, I'm not talking about the temperature. I hadn't even put on the necklace yet, so how would I be feeling any coolness?
What I meant was that the number of adventurers had dropped off noticeably.
There were several reasons, I suppose. Not many people had managed to punch through the gatekeeper boss holding down Floor 10, for one. And rumors about the strange anomalies in the Menesteil Dungeon had spread, making people hesitate to attempt a clear — that probably played a part too.
Either way, thanks to all that, I didn't run into a single adventurer all the way up through Floor 20.
You can guess what happens when there are zero variables in a dungeon run, right?
Still seething with stress from yesterday's heat, I gritted my teeth and speedran.
Through Floor 20 and beyond — all for the sake of finally getting my hands on that coolness.
“Ha. It's hell just trying to run, I swear.”
“Winded already? You're still far too green.”
“I'm an information broker, milady, not a knight.”
Having blazed through the dungeon by the shortest possible route and even delegated the boss room battles entirely to Carl and Alsaetin, I pulled out the necklace and put it on the moment I arrived at Floor 21.
The sweltering air that had been crushing down around me vanished, and a chill spread out from the necklace in its place. That cold seeped into the spaces between my bones, etching frost into them — but unlike when I'd first put it on at Floor 1, it didn't feel like it was going to freeze me to death.
If anything, the refreshment outweighed it.
The heat and the cold had clashed head-on, and in the end the cold won the judgment call — I got a light case of goosebumps out of it, but after two days of living inside a furnace, the chill was honestly a welcome change.
Yes. This alone feels like it's wiping out a decent chunk of the stress I've built up.
Energy surging through me, I clenched my fist and walked over to where Carl and Alsaetin were getting chummy, roughhousing with each other.
You two...
“Hey, losers. Not tired yet, are you? Right? Don't tell me you're a couple of pathetic scrubs floundering even harder than a little girl like me?”
“Of course not, my lady.”
“...Er. Are we going further down?”
Their reactions couldn't have been more different.
Carl, long since hardened by the hellish life of House Aln, nodded as if it went without saying. Alsaetin, who was still relatively close to a normal human being, could only tremble his lips.
Alsaetin. You're a little worn out, huh?
Can't blame you. We've been alternating between fighting and running, fighting and running, for hours straight.
I at least got periodic breaks, but these two had zero gaps to breathe, so of course they'd be turning pale about it.
But hey, listen. Getting down faster benefits you too, Alsaetin.
Right?
So allow me to light a fire under you.
“Really?♡ So you were just a weak little bug, weaker than me?♡ Well, I guess that's what happens to a back-alley scrub like you♡ Don't worry, I'll graciously find it in my heart to understand♡ Puhuhut♡”
When I laughed openly, right in front of his face, veins bulged across Alsaetin's forehead.
“...No. I can manage.”
“You can say you can't, you know♡ All you have to do is admit you're a weakling who can't keep up with a tiny little girl♡ It's not even a lie, so what's the harm?♡”
“It's quite all right. I will see it through.”
You said you'd do it, didn't you? I didn't force you into anything?
So don't come crying to me later about what a tyrannical boss I am?
Understood?
Lately, Charze — one of the receptionists at the Menesteil Adventurer Guild — had come to dread the approach of evening.
Evenings used to be his happy hour.
Sunset meant that in a little while, he'd get to clock out. A man who considered his nightly ritual — two big mugs of beer and a heaping plate of skewers at the tavern — the very definition of happiness, how could the coming of evening not delight him?
But the reason he'd grown to fear it of late rested entirely on the shoulders of one person.
BANG.
The door swung open, every adventurer's gaze in the hall snapping toward it before just as quickly scattering away.
Not because they lacked interest — because they didn't want to attract the attention of whoever had just walked in.
It was the same for the adventurers brawling in front of the reception counter, shouting things like why do you take so long or we paid for exclusive service here or you show up late and now you're rushing US?
These were men who wouldn't budge an inch from their posts for anyone. But the person entering the guild right now was the exception.
As the adventurers scattered like autumn leaves in the wind, Charze watched the little girl stride through the parting crowd and did his utmost to summon the softest smile he could manage.
“Lardass. Why do you have to look so much like a wild beast? I nearly threw you a feeding trough just now.”
“I deeply apologize for my face, my lady!”
Lucy Aln.
The only child of Benedict Aln, the hero whose name had echoed across the entire continent — and an unhinged maniac who bit and tore into anyone who displeased her, king or noble notwithstanding.
Charze had no idea what whim had possessed her to come clear the Menesteil Dungeon, but having been assigned as her dedicated receptionist against his will, he was forcing himself to endure each evening as his stomach threatened to burst open.
“Move faster, you sluggish lump of lard. Waste my time again and you'll be sorry.”
The one small mercy was that Lucy Aln wasn't quite as vicious as the rumors made her out to be.
Her mouth was absolutely filthy, and she seemed to take genuine pleasure in needling people until they burned with humiliation — but that was the extent of it.
She would laugh at the people trembling in fear before her, but she never went further than that.
On top of that, after she'd rescued a group of adventurers in the dungeon yesterday, a rumor had begun circulating among the guild's regulars that Lucy Aln was actually a decent sort who just had a trash mouth.
That she hadn't lived as a rabid dog only to suddenly gain some sense, as one mid-tier adventurer put it.
Of course, none of those rumors mattered one bit to Charze.
From his position — working day after day beneath Lucy Aln's sneering mockery and contemptuous gaze — she was simply a walking source of ulcers.
“You're even slower than you look, you know that? How does loot settlement take this long?”
“My sincerest apologies, Lady Aln.”
It was finally over.
Once this person leaves, I can finally prepare to go home in peace!
Charze, beaming with joy, reached out to hand over Lucy Aln's payment — then froze as he remembered something he was supposed to tell her.
“What is it, Lardass?”
“Lady Aln. A series of anomalous phenomena have been recurring in the dungeon as of late. There is a possibility of unforeseen danger, so we ask that you exercise caution when entering the—”
“Pfft.”
As Charze delivered his warning, Lucy Aln let out a snort of laughter and turned to regard him the way one might regard a court jester.
“Are you worried about me? Trying to get my attention? Oh my gosh, you're one of those creeps who likes little girls, aren't you? Pervert. Beast. Gross.”
“No, my lady! Never anything of the sort—”
“Wow, your face is all red. A loser lardass getting played by a little girl. That's just pitiful.”
With a giggle, Lucy Aln swept out of the guild, and Charze slammed his forehead down onto the reception counter.
Haaaaaargh.
I hate this.
I hate it so much.
When is that woman EVER going home?!
Menesteil is one of those large dungeons so brutal in environment that noble brats come here, throw a tantrum, and storm right back out — so why doesn't SHE complain even once?!
Just go home!
Throw a fit like the spoiled brat in the rumors and go back to your territory already!
Charze was dragging a hand down his face with a long sigh when he felt someone tapping his shoulder, and he looked up.
“Hey, Charze. Is it actually true that—”
“No! I said no! I like women who keep everything out in the open!”
“No wonder you can't land a girlfriend.”
“I told you I'm NOOOOT!”
Charze's bellow of pure indignation cracked the stiff, frozen atmosphere of the guild, if only for a moment.
But it didn't last.
The guild doors swung open once more, and silence settled over the hall again.
It was not Lucy Aln paying a return visit.
This time, the one who had come was Meg Georg — eldest son of House Georg, the family that governed Menesteil.
At the arrival of a noble with direct authority over the guild, every face inside hardened.
Charze's included.
The man who had been shouting at the top of his lungs moments ago now swallowed dryly and scrambled to bow to Meg Georg.
What the hell? Why is HE here — the guy who normally just lazes around the estate eating, drinking, and hiring women?
“Young Lord Georg! To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
The guild master came sprinting out in a panic, groveling for all he was worth, but Meg's expression remained indifferent.
What's with him? Normally he'd be chewing someone out for disrespect by now. That man's temperament is every bit as foul as his father's.
“I have words concerning the dungeon's rampage. I intend to assemble an investigation team, but—”
“Ah! Yes, of course! An exceedingly important matter! We had already begun making preparations for precisely that, my lord.”
“No. Give the fine details to the steward here. I have other business to attend to.”
So saying, Meg Georg turned his gaze to the window and looked out over the guild hall.
“I say, Guild Master.”
“Yes?”
“The girl who just left here — who is she? I don't recognize the face.”
Watching Meg Georg wet his lips at the thought of her, Charze ground his teeth against a crawly chill running up his spine.
Menesteil is a street of commoners and adventurers.
Why, you ask?
Look at the environment of the Menesteil Dungeon! What noble brat in their right mind would want to clear THIS place?!
I'm dying of the heat myself, so you tell me — do you really think your average pampered noble could put up with this swelter? They can't.
It's not that nobles never try to strike it rich by tackling a major dungeon — third sons of noble houses gunning for a reversal of fortune do exist — but those types usually look for somewhere more comfortable. They don't come to harsh, miserable hellholes like this one.
And so the proportion of nobles in Menesteil is overwhelmingly lower than anywhere else.
Naturally, with commoners and adventurers as the main clientele, the shops and markets here are catered accordingly. It's the exact opposite of the Academy's shopping district, where every restaurant is tailored to noble students — all refined elegance and luxury, obsessed with that whole “polished ambiance” thing.
That food is delicious in its own right, but if that's all you eat, day after day, the day comes when junk food starts calling your name.
That violent, almost brutal flavor that says to hell with savoring the ingredients' natural taste — if it hits good, it IS good.
So today, in pursuit of exactly that, I sought out a restaurant on the Menesteil streets.
After all, this is commoner territory — junk food is their specialty!
Grandpa. Grandpa. Look. Look at that. Isn't that incredible?!
Wow. Look at that guy tearing into a whole pig's leg. That is straight-up VIOLENT! It has to be amazing!
‹It is hardly a place suited to your palate, child...›
Grandpa! How long are you planning to stay locked in the old days?! You've gotta enjoy the new culture!
I was waiting for my food — having ordered noisily at Grandpa the whole time — when a group walked into the restaurant.
A man dressed in clothes that were expensive at a glance, dripping with ornaments and accessories, flanked by what looked like his personal escort.
That guy... that's definitely Menesteil's eldest son, isn't it?
The trash with a rotten personality and a taste for womanizing.
The designated cancer element of the Menesteil storyline.
Why is HE here?
This is the guy so high on being a noble and a talented mage that he holds commoners and adventurers in open contempt, right?
There's no reason for him to be in a place like this.
“Ah, so this is where you were.”
As Meg scanned the restaurant, his eyes met mine — and the corners of his mouth curled upward.
...What the fuck?
What is THAT?
What's with that revolting smile and those eyes that just made me swear out loud?!
Wait! Why are you walking over here?!
You don't know who Lucy Aln is?!
I'm Lucy, the rabid maniac of House Aln! Touch me and you get BITTEN!
Don't come over! I said don't come over!
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, beautiful lady. My name is Meg Georg, eldest son of House Georg, the family entrusted with governing Menesteil.”
The creep — clearly trying his damnedest to sound dashing — delivered his greeting in a voice thick with fake refinement, met my eyes, and smiled yet again.
Haa. God. Fucking. Damn my life.
Why is it that the people who come up to me first are always pedophile pervert bastards?