Proof of Worth (5)
Is it time?
Cecil, who had been shuttling between the front line and the middle ranks to support the others, wrapped both hands around his greatsword.
He drew in a breath, and as he exhaled, black mana came pouring out; before long, his greatsword was sheathed in it from tip to hilt.
Aura. The exclusive province of warriors who had crossed a certain threshold—a technique that was, in effect, the very qualification of a knight.
Talented students tended to awaken their aura around their second year at the Academy, but that was merely an imitation of the real thing. The thick, heavy aura Cecil commanded belonged to an entirely different order.
His aura was already so formidable that even active-duty knights struggled to endure it—it would not be an exaggeration to call it complete.
"Your Highness!"
His preparation for a single decisive strike complete, Cecil raised his sword high in answer to his subordinate's shout.
- Kuoooooh!
The yeti, which had obstructed their climb through the dungeon until now and now barred their path as a weakened boss, sensed the threat in Cecil's blade—but there was nothing it could do about it.
Cecil's party members, flanking the yeti on either side, granted it no freedom whatsoever.
"Here I go."
Cecil's swordsmanship was far too sound for him to be above aiming for the head of an opponent who could not even move.
The single blow he unleashed landed, as if it were only natural, dead center on the yeti's skull—and split the creature in two.
"As expected of the Second Prince!"
"One strike..."
He had felled in a single stroke an opponent whose hide was so thick that even afterimages were difficult to leave upon it. It was only natural that the others looked upon the Second Prince with awe.
Cecil himself, the very architect of this feat, clicked his tongue at the poor texture of the kill.
He would have preferred something harder. That way, Lucy Aln's pace in reaching this point would have slowed considerably.
"Barson. How long did it take us to clear the tenth floor?"
"Thirty-five minutes, Your Highness."
Thirty-five minutes. By any average measure, that was speed to spare—but Cecil found the situation far from satisfactory.
His opponent this time was that Lucy Aln. The girl whose knowledge of dungeons was said to surpass even his eldest brother's.
"Everyone. I trust no one needs rest just yet?"
"Of course not, Your Highness."
"Compared to the dungeons outside, this was practically a stroll."
"We've cleared how many dungeons by now? This much hardly tires us."
It amounted to a declaration of forced march, yet every member of the Second Prince's party welcomed it.
Everyone here was a veteran who had stormed countless dungeons at Cecil's side.
Having already exceeded the dungeon-clearance quota demanded of second-years, and piling up achievements as if to test their own limits, less than an hour of movement amounted to nothing so much as a warm-up to them.
"Good. Today we clear at least half of the Academy Dungeon."
Lucy Aln. I know not how far you and those around you have grown until now.
But so long as I possess the blessing you are rumored to hold—the ability to grasp every structure of a dungeon—I will stand superior in all else.
This contest will end in your utter defeat.
Arthur could not hide his unease at Lucy Aln's audacity.
She had insisted on clearing the dungeon alone—when even bringing the three most exceptional people around her would have been barely enough!
And this was no ordinary opponent. This was a contest against his second-eldest brother, and yet she carried on with such reckless eccentricity. Did she think that made any sense at all?
His second-eldest brother was not a man to be taken lightly!
He was only ever compared to others because their eldest brother existed beside him.
With martial talent so overwhelming that the current Knight-Commander himself acknowledged it as genius, and with the experience of clearing countless dungeons since entering his second year at the Academy, Cecil was without question an intimidating opponent.
Lucy Aln or no, surely that was not someone with whom one could afford to hold back—not by any means. So why!
"...Haah."
Of course, Arthur understood perfectly well why Lucy Aln had made that choice.
Impossible as it was to imagine from her usual remarks—rough beyond tolerance, enough to furrow every brow—or her thoughtless-seeming actions, Lucy Aln was someone who cared for those around her.
She granted favors readily, joined in when companionship was called for, and when asked for help, she pondered what aid would suit best before offering it. Above all, the moment someone near her fell into crisis, she appeared and helped with her very life on the line.
And if she thought her problems might become a burden to others, she would not so much as ask for help—she bore everything utterly alone. That was who she was.
Look at what happened when she insulted their eldest brother.
Even in dire straits, she never reached out a hand to those around her. She tried to shoulder it all by herself.
It would surely be the same this time.
Lucy herself had claimed that clearing it alone was simply faster and more convenient—but Arthur did not believe a word of it.
Wasn't that a statement divorced from common sense by several miles? Obviously it's an excuse.
An excuse she offers so as not to bring harm upon me and the others around her.
Taking responsibility for one's own deeds is commendable. Still, it would be nice if she also acknowledged that the people around her worry.
No—really, in the first place, couldn't she simply refrain from causing problems?
Then there would be no need to earn anyone's worry, no burden on anyone, nothing she had to shoulder alone. Why, oh why, does she keep stirring up trouble?
Someone of your caliber knows what wise judgment is. You know full well which path leads to things going well.
And yet why do you carry on as though desperate to court incident and disaster alike?
"Phoebe... aren't you worried?"
Arthur, who had been pressing hard at the bridge of his nose with sigh after sigh, lifted his head at Joy's voice.
"You mean Lady Aln, I take it?"
"Yes. I thought that since you care for her so much, Phoebe, you'd surely be worrying terribly—but you seem remarkably composed."
Just as Joy said, Phoebe had lately followed Lucy Aln about in a manner plain for anyone to see.
She was always at her side at mealtimes, beamed and greeted her whenever they passed, and struck up conversation without end. It had gotten to the point where rumors circulated that Lucy Aln was the Saintess's favorite.
From someone like Phoebe, worry for Lucy would have been the natural thing—yet her expression now was so very serene.
"However it may look, I'm worried sick inside, you know?"
"You... you are?"
"It's only that I trust Lady Aln more than that, so I can be at peace. I believe she would never make a judgment like this without reason."
The instant Arthur heard Phoebe's words, a single thought flashed through his mind.
What if—just what if—she had some circumstance that made causing problems unavoidable?
What if there existed a reason she could not help but earn the hatred of everyone around her?
Yes. That would be the more sensible explanation. For a woman possessed of more than sufficient wisdom to keep causing problems, this explanation fits far better.
"The rankings are coming up."
Arthur's rapidly accelerating train of thought was severed by Frey's voice.
The rankings of those currently clearing the Academy Dungeon. The names of those leading the race.
The party began at the bottom of the list, working their way up name by name—but a considerable stretch of time passed before the names they sought appeared.
Lucy Aln, and Cecil Soladin.
Of those two names, Cecil's appeared first.
His name, written at the very top, laid bare exactly how the competition stood.
"As expected of the Second Prince."
"So that's what happens when he truly sets his mind to clearing the Academy Dungeon."
"He strutted in so confident he'd go alone, yet I see no sign of Lucy Aln's name anywhere."
"My—my money! My bet!"
Current floor: 28.
Barely two hours had passed since they entered the dungeon, and he had already broken through a quarter of it.
Arthur understood why the crowd around them was buzzing.
It was a record of such crushing, overwhelming dominance that it might well be engraved into the Academy's history.
No matter how exceptional Lucy Aln was, catching that record alone would be—
"...Huh?"
The murmur near the dungeon entrance did not last long before it turned to dead silence.
The moment Cecil Soladin's name dropped one line, a new name was engraved above it.
Lucy Aln.
Current floor:
57.
"Isn't something wrong with it?"
"An... error?"
"Should we go ask the professor who manages this thing?"
It was a number that leapt clean past the word overwhelming and made one doubt whether the record was true at all.
"PUHAHAHAHA!"
As everyone around him blinked at him, Arthur burst out laughing without meaning to.
The commotion cutting through the heart of that silence drew every eye in the vicinity, but Arthur cared nothing for it.
Was it a misunderstanding, then?
Was I mistaken all along?
You were simply faster alone—only by casting off the dead weight of us could you move at your true pace, so you went in by yourself—that's all it was?!
I can't even imagine how bewildered you must have been when we refused to believe your word!
...Still, you will ask, won't you.
Why someone as wise as you keeps causing problems. Whether you do it on a whim. Or whether there is some circumstance that leaves you no other way.
⟨I am of the opinion that this does not count as clearing a dungeon.⟩
Where in the world is that coming from, Grandpa?
⟨How is this clearing a dungeon?! This is violating the dungeon! This is an insult to the very soul who conceived it!⟩
Apparently my manner of progressing through the dungeon did not sit well with him—around the time I passed Floor 50, Grandpa suddenly raised his voice.
I could understand where he was coming from, I supposed.
Super jumps riding on monster attacks. Blasting through lava-sealed passages to carve out the shortest route. Crossing the forest by riding the rampaging giant-wolf pattern. Ascending to the next floor without even bothering to fell the boss, exploiting its pattern outright. Walking into the boss room and killing the boss before the encounter even properly began, using the monsters' own instincts against them—the list went on.
I had unfurled, in reality, the whole catalogue of techniques I'd used as casually as breathing inside games, so I could see how absurd it must look from Grandpa's perspective.
I could count on one hand the number of times I'd actually swung my mace, and here I was already sprinting toward Floor 60. No wonder he wanted to ask what kind of "dungeon clearing" this was supposed to be.
But there was one thing Grandpa didn't know.
Back when this was a game, I could have pulled off plays far more outlandish than these.
Because this world is reality, I couldn't carry over the bug-exploit playstyles from the game verbatim, you see.
Phasing straight through walls, teleporting up several floors at a whim, killing a boss with a single step. If any of that had been possible, I'd have cleared this dungeon long ago with time to spare. What a shame, truly.
Lost in such thoughts, I stepped into the Floor 60 boss room, came face to face with a chimera stitched together from a multitude of living things—and raised my shield.
Grandpa.
⟨What is it now.⟩
This time, I'm going to show you that thing kill itself with its own attack pattern.