Second Semester Finals (4)
Toby, who had grown up in a mercenary corps since the day he was born, had good instincts.
Or rather, it would be more accurate to say he'd had no choice but to develop them.
Failing to read the mood around him with gut feeling meant getting beaten black and blue by the older mercenaries as a matter of daily routine. If he wanted to survive, his talent simply had to bloom.
Having lived that kind of life, Toby could feel the back of his neck turning ice-cold under Lucy's gaze right now — a gaze that seemed to be sizing him up.
Something had gone wrong.
He'd poked something he should never have touched.
Toby wanted nothing more than to turn tail and bolt right that second, but it was already too late. A predator that had once locked onto its prey would never, under any circumstances, let it go.
The moment you entered a beast's sight, the only thing left to do was pray its fangs never pierced your throat.
"What's the matter? Dumb golem? Your language function broken or something?"
"May. May I share my theory about the second room?"
"Pfft. You can't even remember what you just said and have to ask again? You're an even more useless pile of scrap than I thought."
The moment Toby heard Lucy's laughter, blood rushed up his neck — but he desperately crushed his anger down.
Hold it in. The instant I lose my temper here, it's obvious where my life is going to roll.
"...There are several reasons I concluded the wolf we faced in the second room was an illusion."
First was the strangeness he'd felt when crossing blades with it directly. The sensation was less that the sword couldn't bite in and more that his own arm refused to move — which was anything but normal.
From that moment on, Toby had suspected this wolf was no ordinary foe.
"Next is the strangeness I felt when I saw my comrade get thrown out."
"Fed-up golem. Have you seriously never cleared the Academy's pathetic excuse for dungeons? If you fall into danger, it just naturally ejects you outside."
"That only happens with wounds severe enough to kill. The second dungeon was different. Despite bearing injuries that would never warrant expulsion, he was forcibly ejected all the same."
In a mercenary corps clearing a dungeon, you usually took the vanguard role. Someone had to enter first, identify the dungeon's characteristics, and pin down its difficulty.
No matter how thorough your preparations, absolute safety in an unknown dungeon could never be guaranteed. Injuries and deaths were an everyday occurrence in mercenary work.
Because of that experience, Toby knew the difference between a fatal wound and one that wasn't — and by his judgment, the blow his friend had taken back then was clearly not a fatal one.
And yet his friend had been cast out of the dungeon. Simply because the wolf's fangs had touched him.
"Based on those two facts, I became certain the wolf was no ordinary being, and I worked to uncover its true identity."
Toby, who had flailed desperately to survive even at the cost of feeding his comrades to the wolf, succeeded in finding every anomaly hidden within the dungeon.
The numerous magic circles he discovered while combing every dark corner of the cavern. The patches of fur the sprinting wolf left behind in some places but not others. The oddly small footsteps for a wolf of such enormous size.
He'd found several other peculiar details as well.
Yet even after unearthing all those clues, Toby failed to clear the dungeon. The wolf had caught up to him before he could reach the answer.
"Even so, my efforts weren't wasted. Thanks to all the clues I found, I was able to arrive at the answer, however late."
If that enormous wolf were an illusion —
If it were nothing more than a fantasy inflated from the shape of a small wolf —
Then every anomaly discovered in the dungeon could be explained at once.
His arm refusing to move. His comrade being ejected despite wounds that were anything but fatal. The traces that didn't match the wolf's outward appearance. The numerous magic circles.
All of it.
"Hmm. Fed-up golem, you'd already made up your mind that that slippery wolf was an illusion from the start, hadn't you?"
"That is correct."
"Then go clear it yourself? Why not enter the dungeon? Don't tell me you're scared you'd wet yourself the moment you came face to face with the wolf?"
"My party members said they didn't want to go back into the dungeon."
Toby had wanted to verify it himself, but circumstances hadn't allowed it — which was why he'd come to Lucy in the first place.
Unable to clear it himself, he'd at least wanted confirmation on whether his answer was right or wrong.
"I don't know when I'll be able to challenge the dungeon again. But I wanted to soothe the frustration of being unable to enter such an enjoyable dungeon, even if only like this."
"...You said enjoyable?"
"Yes. I've cleared countless dungeons growing up in the mercenary corps, but it's been a long time since one gave me this much fun puzzling through it. If it were up to me, I'd still be inside one right now."
On this point, Toby wasn't flattering anyone. This was his honest truth.
Naturally generated dungeons, test dungeons from the various academies, dungeons crafted by every dungeon studies professor — he'd cleared them all indiscriminately, and even from his standpoint, the dungeon Lucy had designed was genuinely fascinating.
"Hmm. I see, I see. Fine, then. Pervert golem. Come see me again after the exams are over. Kind, sweet me will graciously find you some party members."
"...I'm sorry? That really isn't necessary—"
"Don't tell me you're refusing my generosity? A fed-up pervert golem, of all people?"
The instant Toby saw the faint crease forming between Lucy's brows, he realized he had no choices left.
If he nodded no here and got on Lady Aln's bad side, he'd be bullied by her at the Academy, and beaten half to death by his father over the break.
That would be a problem.
"...No. I'll gratefully accept."
"Good. That's more like it."
At that moment, Toby judged he had picked the best option available in the worst possible situation.
That belief did not survive long.
"...Lady Aln. You want me to take this commoner with me? The young ladies I'm currently partying with would make that... rather difficult."
"Oh-ho. You've grown bold enough to refuse my orders now, huh, scrub noble? Fine. If you're going to do as you please, I'll do as I please too."
"No! No! That's not it at all! Understood! My lady! I shall embrace this commoner! ...Ugh. Why do I have to suffer because of this damned commoner."
Lady Lumley's glare burning into the back of his head was so piercing his stomach felt ready to spring a leak.
So he'd been marked by Lady Aln, and earned the open hatred of Lady Lumley.
One single mistake, and now both count's daughters had it out for him.
The shape of his academy life to come was painfully easy to imagine.
And even if he left the Academy and returned home, he would not be safe. If his father ever learned that two count's daughters had marked him, then he would surely—
...
Maybe I should just run away from home.
Arthur's party had challenged the dungeon's second room at the cost of skipping lunch, but their attempt ended in failure.
They hadn't been swept away helplessly the way they had in their first encounter with the wolf — but neither had they managed to get past it.
Still, it hadn't been a complete loss. In the process of desperately struggling against the wolf, they had uncovered several clues: the fact that the wolf's fur wasn't merely absurdly tough but outright impossible to bite into by design, and the fact that magic circles had been installed throughout the cavern.
"If we'd managed to analyze one of the magic circles, things would have gotten a lot easier."
Arthur could feel himself drawing, inch by inch, closer to the truth of the second room — and yet he remained unsatisfied.
That wolf was merely the barrier of the second room.
If they were floundering this badly there, how hopelessly lost would they be once they passed into the third and fourth rooms?
At this rate, forget getting revenge on Lucy Aln — all he could picture was a future where he'd be hearing her jeering laughter by the time the finals ended.
Tch. Maybe it's time to gamble. Risk my life analyzing the magic circle.
"Your Highness."
While Arthur was anxiously gnawing at his fingernails, Phoebe — who had noticed his urgency — stepped up beside him and spoke.
"Please don't be so anxious. Aren't we steadily moving forward, one step at a time?"
"...That is true, but still."
"Sometimes moving slowly is what gets you there faster."
At the sound of Phoebe's gentle voice, Arthur felt the fire that had been burning in his chest moments ago quietly settle.
So this is what the Saintess of the Church of the Main God truly is.
Just having her stand beside me telling me it's all right, and I can calm down this completely.
Arthur closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and organized the jumble of information that had been running wild through his head.
The latest failure had gathered the clues. All that remained was to form a few hypotheses and test them one by one.
If he simply proceeded methodically, they would surely clear the second room before long.
Having finished sorting out his thoughts, Arthur opened his eyes once more and bowed his head to Phoebe.
"You're right, Saintess. There's plenty of time left. There's no need to be so anxious quite yet."
"I'm glad I could help."
"Let's rest a little longer, make sure we're fully prepared, and then enter the dungeon again—"
The moment Arthur tried to say let's go in, a commotion broke out in the distance.
He turned his head to see what was happening, and knew the source of the uproar at once.
The wooden board erected at the very center of the Dungeon Studies Examination Hall — the board that showed who was leading among the dungeon's challengers — had changed.
[Avery Lumley's Party: Clearing Floor 3]
"...What on earth is going on here."
The fact that the second room had been cleared was no great shock.
A dungeon, after all, was a place built precisely so that someone would clear it. The only question was when — it was only natural that someone's hand would break through eventually.
Yet despite knowing this, Arthur had shown his surprise because of the name attached to the second room's conqueror.
Avery Lumley.
Daughter of the Lumley count's family.
Her ability sat somewhere in the upper-middle tier — deserving of the label "talented," certainly, but nothing beyond that.
The same went for the people around her.
Neither so hopeless they couldn't be watched at all, nor so exceptional they drew the eye — just mediocre. That was what Avery Lumley's party had been.
So how did a party like that seize the lead ahead of the monsters of the third year, ahead of Frey — ahead of me?
While Arthur was drowning in bewilderment, Avery's party emerged outside the dungeon, apparently having failed to clear the third floor, and people immediately swarmed around them.
"Incredible, my lady!"
"As expected of Lady Lumley! I always believed in you!"
"How on earth did you defeat that wolf?!"
"...Ohohot! This is the power of me, you see!"
Amid the chorus of praise and curiosity, as Avery reveled in her laughter, what Arthur scrutinized was the composition of that party.
The three noble girls including Avery Lumley were nothing special.
The one who stood out was the male student with the stiff expression who fit in that place like a sore thumb.
Toby — that was his name, if he remembered correctly.
The son of some mercenary commander, admitted to the Academy alongside Frey under a martial arts specialization.
He'd crossed weapons with the man in sparring class before, so Arthur knew his skill well.
He had real talent, sure — but not to the level of Frey or Lucy.
He was no genius capable of single-handedly compensating for the mediocrity of those three.
Which meant —
"Force isn't what's needed to clear the second room."
From examining the composition of a party that had just cleared it, Arthur had caught a vital clue. He bit his lip lightly as he studied Toby's thoughtful face, then turned back toward his party members.
He wanted nothing more than to charge into the dungeon this instant and explain the insight he'd gained the moment they cleared it.
But the Saintess had just advised him not to rush. He couldn't.
It's all right. It's only the second room so far, isn't it?
The one who crosses the finish line last is the one who wins in the end.
Don't be hasty, Arthur Soladin.
"Everyone, look over here. I think I've got a rough idea of how to clear the second room, so allow me to explain."