Prepping the Raid (1)

When the time came for everyone to head back home after everything had wrapped up, Phoebe said her cheerful see-you-tomorrow and then kept glancing at my face, looking oddly uneasy.

Wondering what more she could possibly want to say, I was holding my silence when she spoke up, carefully.

"Um... my lady? Was I... of help to you today?"

So that was what she'd been worrying about. A snort of laughter escaped me before I could stop it, and after a few chuckles I answered her.

'Of course you did.'

"I couldn't even sense the evil god's energy. If a pathetic excuse for a saintess like you hadn't helped, what does that make me?"

"...Ah! No, that's not what I meant! It's just... um..."

Watching her flounder, I could really feel how much she'd changed from the saintess I'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠known. The girl in the game was the kind of character you'd have to dig through a guidebook to catch flustered.

Was it because I was a god's apostle? Or because she'd made a mistake the game-version saintess never would have?

Either way, I didn't hate seeing her like this. Compared to a saint so detached from the world that she might as well be made of marble, this more human Phoebe made for much better friend material.

'You were plenty of help, Phoebe.'

"You helped plenty. For a scrub saintess, anyway."

"...I'm glad to hear it."

After Phoebe, her burdens lifted, walked off with a bright smile, I waited until I was absolutely certain the sound of her footsteps had faded into the distance.

Then I let out a war cry loud enough to rattle the walls of my room.

A dungeon. And not just any dungeon—one that never existed in the game. One unique to this world, stitched together from a hundred overlapping variables. A dungeon I'd never gotten to clear!

Gramps had told me before to think of entering that mansion as clearing a dungeon, but now it was a literal dungeon raid?!

Hehe. Hehehehe.

I couldn't hold back the unhinged giggles bubbling out of me.

A brand-new dungeon. How sweet does that sound?

It's been years since Soul Academy came out. After wringing every last drop of content out of it, I spent my days desperately scrounging for any way to keep enjoying the game—and those days are finally being rewarded!

No. No time for celebrating.

First things first: figure out what I need to prepare to raid that dungeon!

I pulled a blank notebook off the shelf and started scribbling down everything I currently knew.

The first premise to establish: the Burrow family is in Nakrad's grasp.

When we went to see him, Duke Burrow said his illness had all but recovered. If we assume that illness was his body resisting the evil god's taint, then his "recovery" means the corruption has swallowed him whole.

If even the duke got consumed, there's no way the rest of the household came out clean.

Well, though. I don't think we're talking about the entire Burrow family being under his control.

Nakrad spent the whole first semester getting pushed around by me—he never managed a single proper operation. There's no way he has the power to wrap an entire ducal house around his finger.

In most cases, trapping people in an eternal nightmare is about his limit. The number of people he can handle at once tops out at maybe three or four knights, plus a handful of the evil god's lackeys?

And given that the knights would have lost their minds entirely, I could probably handle it all by myself.

I've got the layout of the Burrow estate memorized, so that's no problem. The traps Nakrad likes to set are all more or less the same, so I can deal with those too.

Hmm. So in the end, the real problem is the boss fight.

Going by the structure of the other dungeons that guy has created, the boss fight will go something like this.

First, the mid-boss: the Inferior Young Master. He shows up first, then the fake boss—Duke Burrow—reveals himself. It looks like everything's been resolved, but there's actually one hidden stage left.

The true final battle. Against Nakrad himself.

I'm the one who has every dungeon-clearing route in Soul Academy memorized.

Sure, every dungeon has its own quirks, but no two dungeons are completely different. The theme of the dungeon. The one who created it. Who the boss will be. Why the dungeon exists.

Feed those variables in, and you can roughly piece together what the interior will look like.

Once I'd organized everything in my head onto the notebook, I flipped to a fresh page and turned my thoughts to all the things I'd need to prepare going forward.

I'd already stowed everything remotely useful into my Inventory before heading to the Burrow estate, so I had no reason to sweat the small stuff. Just the essentials.

First, beefing up my personal specs. At minimum, I need to be able to stall against Duke Burrow for a while.

And my party members...

Like I'd let other people butt in on the sacred work of clearing a brand-new dungeon! Unless something was truly impossible solo, I'd be moving alone.

And then, the gear I'd need to gather.

A means of detecting the evil god's mana. A wedge to keep that son of a bitch Nakrad from running. And...

Before I knew it, I'd filled an entire page just listing things as they came to mind.

My heart wanted to procure every last item, but that would take far too long. The faster this whole affair got resolved, the better.

I'd resolved to pick out only the absolute necessities—but this one looked necessary, and so did that one, and my hand froze.

Uuugh. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Now what? What do I give up here?!

<Lucy.>

'What?'

'Huh?'

That's true. Rotted as it is, a church is still a church.

They know perfectly well that failing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to perform even their most basic duties costs them the support of every nation on the continent, so they would be a tremendous help in driving the evil god's touch out of the Burrow ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠family.

<And if the Church sits ill with thee, thou couldst call upon thy father. Craft him a justification to march, built upon the saintess's testimony, and everything resolves itself with ease.>

That's true too. However much stronger Nakrad has gotten since the first semester, it's only "stronger than the first semester."

He's nowhere near a match for Benedict's might. If Dad marched on the Burrow house, it would be over before lunch.

<Why insist on solving everything alone? Why throw thyself into danger by thyself this time, when thou couldst simply ask for help?>

There was real worry threaded through the old man's lecturing tone—a wish that I wouldn't put myself through needless danger.

And that was exactly why I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth.

How am I supposed to look someone in the eye—a person who worries about me that sincerely—and say, "Because I don't want to hand the one piece of content I finally found after crossing into this world over to someone else"?

Even I can tell that sounds certifiably insane. What would he do hearing it out loud?

And to be fair, that wasn't the only reason—but the rest wasn't something I wanted in my mouth either.

I was still fumbling for an answer when Gramps pressed me, almost accusatory.

<Did the Chief God perchance command thee to resolve this alone?>

He didn't. The scrub god hadn't issued a single instruction. The quest window was still just sitting there, tallying rewards from the last quest.

<If not that—then hast thou confidence to bear whatever deaths thy actions may bring about...>

"Now, now, old man. That's quite enough of that."

It was the Face-Connoisseur Fox who cut off Gramps's interrogation. At some point she'd climbed onto the desk, and she stood there with one of her dainty paws pressed against the mace.

"Nothing has even begun yet, and yet here thou art fretting over shadows."

<Master of the Forest. Thou knowest not the danger of the evil gods. When they are involved, there is no telling what may come to pass. And so—>

"The child who has nearly died at the hands of an evil god more times than either of us can count—dost thou truly think she does not know him?"

<...>

"Thou art being tedious, so allow me to ask in thy stead. The question thou ought to be asking is not why she makes such a choice. It is whether she has confidence she will succeed in making it."

The fox, uncharacteristically stern, pressed Gramps hard, then turned her gaze toward me.

The meaning in that look wasn't hard to read. She wanted me to answer her question.

'I'm confident.'

"What do you take me for? Obviously I'm confident."

The Inferior Young Master. Duke Burrow. The knights inside the mansion. Nakrad. The Evil God of Darkness. Every single one of them was an opponent I'd already knocked down countless times.

If this were a game, these are the kind of mobs you could beat to death with your bare hands in your underwear.

It wasn't even a situation where I had to throw myself in blind—I knew the danger, I had time to prepare, and then I'd face them. How could I possibly fail?

There's no way a rotten-water hardcore veteran of Soul Academy would fumble something like this.

- Ring.

Before my mental declaration had even finished echoing, a chime sounded and a blue window bloomed into view.

...Ha.

Oh scrub god of mine. You've been sitting there waiting for me to make up my mind?

You were eavesdropping on me this whole time?!

Ugh. Seriously, gross.

Not that the complaining stopped the smile spreading across my face—because whatever else he was, this guy was backing my choice.

"Well then, I shall take my leave—"

I snatched the scruff of the Face-Connoisseur Fox's neck as she peeled her paw off the mace and tried to bolt.

"Wh-wh-what is the meaning of this! This one has done nothing to thee this time—"

'Um...'

"Hey. Face-Connoisseur Fox. Since when have you been able to talk to Gramps?"

Because I definitely never heard a single word about that.

The day after I resolved to raid the Burrow Duchy, I used a Teleportation Circle to visit the Arlen Estate and headed straight for the church. There was a favor I needed to ask of Johann.

"The mistress of House Artea, you say? Ah, yes. I do hold ties with her, just as you say, my lady. If I were to invoke my own name, a private meeting would be entirely within reach."

And that favor was this: Isabel Artea. I intended to take back the stone tablet from the very person who'd snatched it away while I was swallowing my pride to obtain it in the first place.

To overwhelm Nakrad, I needed something only that tablet could procure.

Of course, prying the tablet out of her hands wouldn't be easy. Isabel has a fanatic's obsession with anything connected to the Chief God—she would never simply hand over a tablet steeped in His divine energy.

But I was confident I could get it from her.

Because last night, as my reward for uncovering the Burrow family's plight, the scrub god had given me an item—one of those rare treasures that lets you feel His divinity on your own skin.

Isabel Artea could never, ever refuse this.