Conquest Prep (9)

<...I do not understand this. That strike should not have been something you could turn aside with mere skill?>

Some time after I batted away the skeleton's descending blade, Grandpa murmured those words under his breath.

He was right. Under normal circumstances, there was no way I could have blocked that attack. The only reason parrying had worked this time was, above all else, the fact that this was a trial.

If the me of the past hadn't hammered the skeleton's attack timing into my body through sheer repetition—if he hadn't left me a moment to reset my stance after every swing, if he hadn't telegraphed his wind-ups so openly—I would have collapsed powerlessly at his feet.

In other words, this was a stunt only possible because it existed inside a system. I could probably manage something similar even in a real fight, but the thing waiting at the end of it would be the image of a girl whose shield had been blasted to pieces, trembling in sheer terror.

It's called a miracle, you know.

Because I knew exactly who he meant, I credited this feat to the Pathetic Chief God. No matter how absurd the claim, the moment you attach a god's name to it, it acquires a certain persuasive weight.

'Yes?'

'...Sorry, what? What are you talking about?'

Come on, Grandfather. Why would I ever call you Grandpa? If anything, you're practically my teacher!

You didn't hear it, did you!? You were just so overwhelmed by the miraculous scenery that you let it slide!

Damn it! If you heard it, you should have said so right then and there!

'I'm sorry!'

Maybe the mesugaki skill had my head riding a little high, because the words just slipped out! I'm so sorry!

Instead of making excuses, I offered an honest apology, and Grandpa let out a chuckle. Huh? Grandpa? You're not mad?

'I... guess so?'

Uh-oh. Uh-oh-oh-oh.

So that's what he'd been hung up on this whole time!?

'Being even isn't actually modern slang, though.'

Phew. Thank goodness I'd threatened him so thoroughly at the start. It saved the situation. Otherwise, one of two things would surely have begun: an endless lecture, or a training session straight out of hell. Quite possibly both at once.

It felt like the mesugaki skill's mental corruption had grown stronger. No matter how high my spirits ran, I had never once slipped up in front of Grandpa before.

This was not a good sign. One careless step, and I would become the kind of person who says things like this—sincerely, inside and out: "A pathetic little scrub who gets pinned down by a girl♡ Did you really think you could beat me?♡ I'm crying, I'm sooo~ sorry~♡ Puhaha!♡ Too bad~♡ If only you were a little stronger, you might've managed to snap one of my fingernails~♡"

...

...Haven't I said something awfully similar lately, though? Under the convenient excuse of "needing to provoke the target"...

Hold on.

Could it be... I'm already corrupted beyond saving?

I was still grinding my lips together over this sense of crisis when a voice came from in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠front of me.

It was the skeleton. The one who had swung his sword with a fair measure of sincerity just moments ago was now speaking in a gentle voice, as if to say that the trial was the trial, and this was this.

"I cannot deny your skill. I congratulate you. You have passed the trial."

'Thank you, Lord Garad.'

"You got utterly beaten down, so why are you the one talking like you came out on top? Ohh, I see. Your pride got crushed, so you're coping with a moral victory? Sorry~ Mr. Hero~ I just didn't know any better~"

I could see the skeleton's hand trembling. So it wasn't that his anger had subsided—he was desperately fighting to keep it buried.

If I pushed even a little further here, he really would start swinging that sword with genuine killing intent. Time to shut my mouth.

"...Your reward for the trial. Ankir."

I looked at the shield the skeleton held out to me—the shield that still kept its pure white, despite hundreds of passing years.

The moment I laid eyes on it, the corners of my mouth melted into a grin all on their own.

The me who had first arrived in this world was a clueless little kid who knew nothing of the value of arms and armor. Thanks to my in-game knowledge I could at least tell that hearing the name meant it was a big deal, but I'd had no ability to judge the real thing. I was, after all, a modern human who would have gone my whole life without ever touching a proper weapon.

But the me of now was different. A year of possession—countless swings of my mace, countless blows caught on my shield—had taught me to recognize the worth of a weapon at a glance.

That shield bearing the name Ankir was an armament that anyone who ever raised a shield would covet and yearn for.

The instant I reverently received it from the skeleton, I felt the divinity dwelling within me grow clearer still. The armament bestowed by a god's herald was raising my standing another notch higher.

Mm. Mithril Shield, would you like to rest in the inventory for a while? You've worked so hard all this time, so I'm giving you a break. I would never abandon you! Got it? Rest up for a bit~

Having tossed the mithril shield I'd grown fond of—now retired—carelessly into my inventory, I tried on Ankir. The shield's size adjusted itself on the spot, settling into exactly the dimensions I pictured as ideal.

Kyah!This is what a god-given weapon feels like! Awesome!

A satisfying, well-balanced heft the moment you raised it. A pleasant feel when you closed your hand around the grip. Not a single part that caught or dragged as you moved. And above all, the divinity flowed through it flawlessly!

Nothing like when I'd been lugging around that mithril-junk shield!

With this, I bet I could pull off Grandpa's reenactment cleanly, too. Ah. What do I do, though? I want to try this out in real combat right this second. I want to catch an attack that's genuinely trying to blast me apart.

While I was beside myself over how much more I liked Ankir than I'd expected, the skeleton spoke with a smile.

"O beloved of God. One such as you will surely overcome the many trials my friend Karon left behind. Should you find them, I encourage you to attempt them. They may not match the armaments of the self-styled holy knight you carry, but they are nonetheless items of worth."

I know that already. A "self-styled holy knight," you say? That's Grandpa you're talking about, right?

'...I'd rather not die, thanks.'

I had no idea what that "black history" was, but bringing it up felt like a surefire way to get run through with a sword for real, so no thanks.

"May blessings follow the road you walk."

The skeleton who believed itself to be Garad offered the most impeccable of parting bows and returned to its seat. The moment he settled into place, he and the throne crumbled away together, and with a grinding groan, the door opened once more.

With that, the trial was over.

— Ding!

When I heard the message chime, I flinched for an instant—but thankfully, this one hadn't come from the evil god.

Haah. Pathetic Chief God! If you're going to hand out a reward, do it after we've gotten out of here! Do you have any idea how terrifying that ding is?! I can't exactly complain when you say it's a reward, but at least show some restraint next time!

Then again—a reward? Wasn't getting Ankir into my hands already more than enough? And now I get something extra on top of that? It probably won't be anything huge. Maybe it'll nudge my stats up a little, like when I cleared the trial Luka prepared.

...Huh?

Hold on. Just hold on one second. I've seen this before. I have definitely seen it—back when I conquered Menesteil. That moment the evil god barred my escape from the dungeon, the message window had been corrupted like this. Which means what I'm looking at now is... a notice that the evil god was about to intervene. My prediction had not been wrong.

Strange characters had flickered across the message window, and then, without warning, black words surfaced over them.

Scarcely after the message window scattered, the underground chamber where only a faint glow had lingered sank into a darkness so complete that not even a hand's breadth ahead could be seen.

A hollow laugh escaped my lips. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Did it know I'd caught on to the truth of the Burrow Duchy? I thought I'd covered my tracks pretty well, but apparently not.

Unlike moments ago, there was a weight of earnestness in the way Grandpa called to me. This was not the ridiculous old grandpa, but the hero Ruel speaking. Listening to him, seriousness settled into my heart as well.

'Yes.'

I poured the divinity I carried into Ankir—the apostle's divinity grown all the purer for having surmounted the trial. At once, light bloomed from the pure white shield, spreading a warmth like the sun itself through our surroundings.

One step. And another. Darkness, fearful of the light, began to retreat.

This was the authority that Ankir possessed: the power to drive out corruption. As the trial chamber brightened to the brilliance of high noon, the world regained the five senses it had lost.

"...Huh."

"Finally back with us? Clumsy junior."

The scene the light revealed was Luka, dagger raised to strike at us, and Carl standing in his way.

This was another annoying part of conquering dungeons tied to the Evil God of Darkness—fail the resistance check, and you get devoured on the spot.

As the corruption fled, Luka came back to himself, blinking rapidly, then hastily lowered his weapon.

"What in the..."

'That was a trick pulled by the Evil God of Darkness.'

"A trick pulled by a creepy pervert bastard, more like. Controlling a girl's body like that—what was he even planning to do? It's disgusting. Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it."

But something was off here. Given that Tariki's power was still meager and Luka was a considerable strongman in his own right, resisting should have been the natural outcome. Just how much sin has this guy piled up in his heart to be this vulnerable?

Worried that he might go berserk again if left alone, I took Luka's hand and used Touch of Armadi. With Ankir in my possession now, I could drive out the residue that hadn't managed to seep in.

Perhaps he felt the divinity traveling up through his hand—Luka stared blankly at me for a moment, then bowed his head deep.

"Thank you, my lady."

I couldn't answer him. The moment I opened my mouth to reply, a new message appeared before my eyes.

So he didn't just throw a petty tantrum—he seized the whole dungeon?! Did I offend you that much? With barely any power to your name, you pull a stunt like this.

But hey, listen. If you were going to do it, you should've done it sooner, you idiot. Now that Ankir is in my hands, your little trick doesn't mean a thing.

Oh. Don't tell me—you heard me saying I needed a place to try out my new shield, and decided to grant my wish? Kyah! So you weren't the Evil God of Darkness after all, but the God ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of Kindness? How could anyone be this considerate!

As your reward, I'll show you something fun. A circus where every trap you've prepared pops like cheap fireworks! It'll be so entertaining that the curses will fly out of my mouth on their own—so look forward to it!

The moment I dismissed the window while calling the layout of this maze back to mind, Carl suddenly clutched at his own chest.

"Ugh! My lady! I think I've been infected by the evil god's power too!"

The look I gave him was salty beyond all words.

The tone was stiff. The gestures were awkward. Anyone could see he was putting on an act. And what was even more revolting was how transparent his motive was. Was it that envious to you, you perverted piece of trash—that I took Luka's hand and purified him?!

Seriously gross.

"You're seriously gross."

"That's it!"

At my heartfelt remark, Carl's body keeled forward. Ha. I honestly have no idea what to do with this guy.