Dungeon Crafting (8)
"...My child. ...rise."
Even with that beautiful voice filling his mind, Frete's consciousness remained sunk in a deep, dark slumber.
"My child. You still have work left undone. Wake."
Perhaps the scenery he had engraved into his eyes was simply too beautiful for Frete to bear. Or perhaps he had been too busy searing that vision into his memory. Either way, one thing was certain: his mind was mired in a swamp so deep that even his own goddess's earnest call could not pull him out.
"My child... *sigh*. Wake up already! You swore you would paint the portrait of the child Armadi has monopolized all to herself and keep it for your own! I was saving my voice just so I could offer you guidance on that, and this is what you pull on me! Up! Uuuup! Waaaake uuup!"
"Huh?!"
Jarred awake at last by his goddess's near-desperate shrieking, Frete clutched his throbbing head and let out a long, ragged sigh.
What on earth had happened to him? Why had he been lying unconscious, fast asleep, in a place he had never seen before?
...Ah. Right. I had reached the forest where Lady Rina resides, in order to paint the portrait of the Young Lady Arln. And the moment I arrived, I came face to face with the young lady in that scandalously revealing outfit, and I... engraved her figure into my eyes.
I...
"Khuck—?!"
Frete nearly keeled over a second time as Lucy's image replayed behind his eyelids, but someone had struck the back of his skull and forced him back to consciousness before he could slip under again.
"Do not faint on us again, you frail little pervert."
"...Lady Rina."
Rina — sovereign and caretaker of this vast forest, a being whose authority within her own domain rivaled that of a god — glared down at Frete without the slightest attempt to mask her displeasure.
"You had the gall to interrupt the pleasant time I was sharing with Lucy, and then you compounded the offense by bleeding all over the place and collapsing, stealing even more of our time together."
"...I am truly sorry."
Her fury was far too justified for excuses, so Frete offered none and simply bowed his head in apology.
"By the way, Lady Rina. The Young Lady Arln—"
"She declared that wasting time idling about was unacceptable, and has gone outside to train."
According to Rina, she mentioned taking a light lap around the forest and would return before long. Frete managed a hollow smile at that.
Considering the sheer scale of the forest under Lady Rina's stewardship, a single lap was hardly a distance anyone could call light.
Truly, what terrifying physical ability — and to think she is only a first-year at the Academy.
"One might well call your misfortune a kind of blessing, you know. Thanks to it, a sweat-drenched Lucy will one day trample this face beneath those smooth, soft, plump little feet. Ahhh. Bliss. Sheer bliss, just to imagine it. I cannot contain myself — I long to burrow this very tongue into every crevice between her toes."
Frete could only offer a bitter smile at Rina's melting, thoroughly grotesque expression.
I am well aware that I am not a normal man myself, but Lady Rina exists on an entirely different plane. I suspect I shall never catch up to her.
"Then I had best make preparations before the young lady returns."
Yes — the setup had to be ready so that portrait work could begin the instant she arrived back. Who knew how many hours capturing that beauty on canvas would demand of him?
Frete moved to rise from the bed — and failed. The moment he shifted his weight, a fog of mist spread across his shoulders and pressed him firmly back down into a seat.
"Before that. There are matters we must discuss, you feeble pervert."
"...Unless the matter is extraordinary, I would have answered you all the same without the theatrics."
"What purpose do you, and the goddess you serve, have in approaching Lucy?"
A beast's raw ferocity carved itself into Rina's eyes, and the pressure bearing down on Frete's shoulders redoubled. It was force enough that even Frete — who ranked among the strong as a full apostle of a goddess — felt himself straining against it.
Frantically channeling his divinity, Frete barely wriggled free of the crushing weight and hurried to speak.
"As one who devotes himself to beauty and art, I intend only to extol the young lady's beauty. No other purpose exists within me."
"And the goddess you serve? Does she share that sentiment?"
"How could an incompetent apostle such as myself presume to know the whole of my exalted goddess's will? But it was she herself who commanded me to spread the young lady's beauty far and wide, so I doubt her intent differs greatly from mine."
Even long after Frete finished speaking, Rina held his gaze in silence. At last, her eyes cooled like water left to go stale, and she posed her next question.
"If Lucy were ever placed in danger, would you readily come to her aid?"
"Of course. She saved my very life, after all. And how could I possibly stand by and watch while a miracle such as her vanishes from this world?"
Should that beauty — the very beauty his own goddess did not hesitate to praise — ever face ruin, how could Frete simply sit still? Even if fear gripped him, his goddess would be there to push him forward. And so, without question, Frete would come to Lucy's aid.
"One last thing. You harbor no lecherous designs on Lucy, do you?"
"I hardly know what you take me for. Before I am a man, I am an apostle of the Art Order. How could filth such as I ever defile a masterpiece like her?"
Even as the pressure mounted around him, Frete scoffed. The other suspicions he could abide, but this one struck at the very core of his pride — he could not have remained silent if he tried.
"Tch. Honest to a fault, aren't you."
The instant Rina clicked her tongue, the mist smothering Frete dispersed as though it had been a mere mirage, vanishing without a trace.
"If you have further questions, ask them quickly. I have much to prepare."
"The apostle of the Evil God — the one you took into custody. What has become of him?"
"The Order is interrogating him as we speak. Those entangled with evil gods frequently maintain connections to one another even when they serve different masters. As we erase the remnants of Tariki, we are probing for traces of the others as well."
"Is he in any state fit to be shown to Lucy?"
"...Mm. No. His condition is far too gruesome to place before a young lady so noble and pure."
Frete remembered Lucy's face — pale and queasy as she stared at that corpse. She was dignified and resolute, and for that very reason, delicate and frail as well. The horrific could not be shown to her. He had no intention of leaving so much as a scratch upon the masterpiece called Lucy.
"I will see to it that whatever intelligence we extract from the man reaches you, but I doubt there will ever be an occasion to show you his face."
"A wise choice. There is no need to heap further burdens upon Lucy's mind."
"Anything else?"
"From here on, my questions turn intensely personal. Might you be willing to part with a painting of Lucy?"
"I cannot. I have already promised that the painting will serve as part of my private collection."
"I did not ask for it free. I propose a trade — a portion of my hidden collection, in exchange."
"...Might I hear the terms of this trade?"
"It concerns Lucy's—"
After spending so long running on neatly packed dirt roads, running through an actual forest felt like an entirely different experience.
There were no properly maintained paths, so there was plenty to watch out for, and weaving between the obstacles that kept popping up along the way was genuinely fun. The forest air was crisp and refreshing. The tiny birds and cute little animals that flitted past every so often were a treat too.
But best of all was soothing the tiger-like things that pounced out of nowhere with a swift knuckle rap to the head — and then getting to pet them to my heart's content afterward.
Thanks to all that, the gloom that had been weighing on me since morning had lifted quite a bit.
When the pervert apostle had keeled over spraying blood from his nose, every dark thought in the book had crossed my mind — but at this point, I was almost grateful the bastard had passed out when he did.
Granted, the very first thing I felt whenever I pictured that scene was still pure revulsion.
Wiping the sweat from my face with a towel pulled from my Inventory, I pushed open the door of the mansion — fully expecting the face-obsessed fox to come bounding out with some bizarre nonsense spilling from her mouth.
But the face-obsessed fox didn't show herself even as I stepped inside.
That's odd. Normally she'd be sniffing at the air with a dopey grin, trying to lick my skin by now. Maybe, since her true body is here, she's actually showing some restraint for once? I was mulling that over when voices drifted out from deeper in the corridor.
A man's and a woman's voice, alternating — so the pervert apostle and the face-obsessed fox were having a chat? They were deep in some deadly serious conversation, serious enough that neither of them had noticed me arrive.
Curiosity got the better of me. Killing my footsteps, I crept slowly toward the voices.
"Ooooh. So this is..."
"Uh... amazing..."
Pride was practically dripping from the fox's voice. Was she showing off some divine power of hers or something?
"This concentrated fragrance is simply divine."
"Enough! That's quite enough! Anything beyond this point waits until our deal is concluded!"
Deal? What deal?
"...Lady Rina. Could I not. Could I not pay the price with... something else?"
"What nonsense is this! Fabric steeped in Lucy's sweat can only be traded for a portrait of Lucy and nothing else! Spout such drivel one more time and I shall cast you out of this forest myself!"
...
The moment I grasped exactly what was happening in that room, the corners of my mouth curled upward, and I drew my mace from the Inventory.
<"Whew. Young lady! That so-called Inventory of yours is far, far too cramped for comfort!">
"Grandfather. Quiet, please. Just for a moment."
<"...What in the— no. Never mind. I shall hold my tongue. Pay me no heed whatsoever.">
I kicked the door open and strode inside. My eyes landed on the face-obsessed fox, clutching a towel — almost certainly one I had used before — to her chest, and the pervert apostle clinging to that very towel for dear life.
"...Uh. Lucy? Uh. When did you get here? Ah! This is, I mean, you see—"
"Y...Young Lady. First things first, how about you put the mace down? Let's talk. Let's talk like the civilized intellectuals we are."
"Die♡ you worthless, revolting pieces of trash♡"
Ever since I set foot in the world of Soul Academy, I had lamented my own weakness many, many times.
From the moment I lost my first sparring match and bit down on my lip, all the way to the moment I stood helpless before the brink of death — I muttered it over and over. If only I were just a little stronger.
And here I was, lamenting it yet again.
If my power were even a smidgen more outstanding, I could have sent the two pieces of garbage in front of me straight off to that pervert Chief God's side!
No, seriously, the more I think about it, the more it makes my skin crawl.
When exactly did the face-obsessed fox swipe the towel I'd wiped my sweat with?! And why on earth was the pervert apostle thrashing around so desperately trying to get his hands on it?! What is actually wrong with them? What is so fundamentally broken about me that these deranged perverts keep swarming around me like flies?!
"U-um. Young lady."
As I was solemnly taking stock of my own karmic debts, the face-obsessed fox — sprawled flat on the floor beneath me, serving as my chair — ventured a cautious word.
"R-rewards are all well and good, but if you could just return the towel..."
"Can't a subhuman pervert whose every breath is a waste of air even manage her one job as furniture?♡ Shut it♡ your voice alone makes me want to puke♡"
"Haaah. Well, this has a certain charm of its own..."
Doing my best to ignore the face-obsessed fox wriggling beneath me, I lifted my head — and the pervert bastard, who had been quietly watching me, hurriedly ducked his gaze.
Why is a man who serves a god such a complete lunatic? Shouldn't an apostle carry at least the barest shred of reverence? I wonder what his god thinks, watching him carry on like this.
...Ah. Right. I remember now. That crow goddess presiding over beauty and art wasn't exactly sane either.
A greedy deity who tried to hoard anything and everything beautiful, blessed with god-tier illustration skills yet infamous as a public nuisance crow — what on earth was there to expect from a goddess like that?
As I clutched my forehead and heaved a sigh, the pervert apostle stole a furtive glance at me.
So he does have at least some awareness that he did something utterly unhinged? Ha. Fine. Let's think positive.
Reframing the situation: I now had a perfectly legitimate pretext to shake this pervert bastard down for jewels.
"Hey♡ you pervert bastard♡"
"You called?!"
"I am veeery~veeery~veeery~ kind-hearted♡ so for you, an unrecyclable subhuman pervert-trash bastard, I'll make the special exception of granting exactly one chance to earn my forgiveness♡"
"What must I do?! I, Frete! On the name of the goddess I serve, I swear I shall do anything!"
"I don't really get it, but people absolutely adore the jewels made by perverts like you, don't they?♡"
At the mention of jewelry, Frete blinked, chin still resting in my hand as I propped my face on it.
"What♡ so a revolting pervert bastard like you dares to strut around calling himself some kind of artist?♡"
"No, that is not it at all. It is simply that — granting you accessories of my own making to wear is, from my standpoint, its own reward. I was in the midst of agonizing over how much I could even justly charge."
For a split second my mind went white at how matter-of-factly the words had left his mouth, and I had to claw my consciousness back together.
"Ha♡ Like I'd ever wear something a pervert bastard like you made?♡ Dream big, don't you♡ Maybe figure out your place in the world before you go shriveling up?♡"
"What?! Young Lady! Please, reconsider! At the very least, look upon my work before you decide!..."
Watching him beg for mercy in a voice soaked with tears, like some courtier in a period drama, sighs escaped me of their own accord.
Someday, when I've grown far, far stronger than I am now — before I go off to grind the evil gods into paste, I'm dealing with the face-obsessed fox and the pervert apostle first.
Yeah. That feels right.