The Semester-End Party (5)
Every single time, I swear — Benedict just takes things way too far.
We've talked through the scrying orb almost three times a week, hasn't he?
It hasn't even been all that long since we last spoke, so why does he come charging at me all misty-eyed the second he lays eyes on my face?
And then there's his strength. The moment he pulled me into a hug over there, I genuinely couldn't breathe.
I tried my best to push him away with every ounce of strength I've grown since then — so how is it possible that his arm doesn't budge even a millimeter?
Is this thing even human?
I'm starting to think his seed was just different from the beginning.
...Oh. Wait. By that logic, I'm someone with a different seed too.
<The very people who were fussing over your exploits just now would probably agree that you are, indeed, of a different seed.>
Old me would have flat-out denied it, but after having my ears flooded with every manner of story while waiting for Benedict, I couldn't bring myself to shake my head.
The one who would carry on the glory of House Arln.
The one who would raise the kingdom's renown to new heights.
And perhaps — just perhaps — a monster who might one day surpass Benedict Arln himself. Listening to all that, I finally got a clear picture of how people actually saw me.
Looking back, I did commit quite a few insane feats, didn't I.
Me, personally? I figured this much was just the standard for a hardcore veteran of Soul Academy. But without any of that background knowledge, people would inevitably read it very differently.
<Listening to their chatter put a warm feeling in my chest. To think the child who once endured nothing but contempt would now draw gasps of awe from all who watch.>
Grandpa smiled like it was his own doing, but as the person actually involved, I couldn't laugh along so easily.
Everything except my personality was handed down by the Chief God!
I refuse to accept it!
The only thing that damn useless, pathetic, perverted Chief God ever gave me was the personality!
Everything else, I clawed into existence through sheer, death-defying struggle!
I mostly let the other stories wash over me, but when that particular topic came up, my mouth itched so badly I couldn't hold it in.
If Benedict hadn't come bounding out from way over there, I might have grabbed him by the collar.
"Lucy. Lucy. Are you listening to your Papa?"
...Ah. Damn it. He caught me nodding along while my mind was somewhere else. I thought if I just made vague listening noises, he wouldn't notice.
Rude, you say? I know! But what am I supposed to do! Listening to Benedict gush makes my skin crawl!
"Yes, I'm listening."
"No need to worry. My foolish Papa's gruff voice is pointlessly clear — to the point of being unpleasant, actually."
"Haha! Well, that's a relief!"
Even after I'd griped my fill, Benedict's fussing showed no sign of stopping.
Sitting in front of the food at Tierra Mas — the finest restaurant in all of Soul Academy — he was too busy singing my praises to so much as touch his plate.
Such a shame to let all that delicious food go cold.
Had I known this would happen, I would've just brought our dork along with us.
Then I could've at least watched his happy little smile.
"Lately, your Papa here has been suffering trying to resist showing up wherever people gather. No matter where I go, the praise for our daughter comes pouring in — what choice do I have but to endure it!"
They only compliment you to stay on your good side, you know?
Given the sheer scale of what Lucy's pulled off so far, what else would they do?
...Though honestly, since I'm the one who helped build that infamous reputation, it's a little hard for me to point fingers either.
"And when the minstrels come, oh, it's the same! The song composed by the Apostle of the Art Order to sing your beauty — how can something be so bewitching? Every time a minstrel visits, I step outside to listen, and every time I get scolded by the Head Butler for it."
Ugh. That pervert's song is that good!?
Good enough for minstrels to perform it in every city they visit!?
I want to write it off as Benedict exaggerating, but knowing that pervert Apostle's abilities when it comes to art... somehow I doubt it.
I have no idea what the lyrics are, and I don't want to know.
If I ever found out what kind of song about me was spreading across the continent, I'd be writhing in self-loathing for sure.
"These days I can barely keep up with the papers of the Dungeon Society. Your dungeon has drawn nothing but praise, and every time I read about it, a proud smile steals across my face!"
So that's how he found out.
Well, given that combing through Dungeon Society papers is basically a daily routine among the male nobility, there was no way he'd miss it.
As he launched into a detailed account of just how much acclaim my dungeon was receiving, a question occurred to me.
Had Benedict actually managed to clear it?
Did this mountain of a man — who looked like his brain itself was packed with muscle — really overcome the dungeon's mechanics on his own?
"Why ask such an obvious thing? What chance does a dungeon made by our own daughter stand against her Papa!"
Benedict declared this with total confidence, but I found it hard to swallow.
When you've got stats as broken as his, you're bound to be clumsy when it comes to solving mechanics.
Why bother thinking when you've got a body like that? Just smash everything and the dungeon will surrender on its own.
"The part I liked best was the segment that made me believe I'd slipped out of a dream. You read the human heart remarkably well."
But as I quietly listened to Benedict's account, I found myself actually believing that this man had cleared the dungeon.
The things coming out of his mouth weren't the kind of stories you could tell just from having read a strategy guide.
Overwhelming physical power and a sharp mind? What kind of broken game character is this? The balance is completely shattered!
<As I said before — that very criticism applies to you as well.>
"Well, I'm dumb though!"
If I were actually smart, would I be praying to the Dice God every single time I rolled my five-sided exam pencil?
<...Truly. There is no need to be quite so knightly about your self-deprecation.>
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I couldn't tell exactly what he was getting at, but it sounded like a jab — and just as I was about to snap at Grandpa, Benedict said something unexpected.
"Ah, right. Lucy. There was something I've been meaning to ask of you."
"A favor?"
"A favor? From the big dumb Papa — to me?"
"Yes. I hear that the Academy is open for people to experience the dungeon you made. Would your Papa be allowed to try it himself?"
Even now, long after the final exam had ended, the Dungeon Studies exam hall was still bustling with people.
The only real difference was who was doing the bustling.
During the exam period, this place had been packed with students — but now it was flooded with people who had come to experience my dungeon.
Which meant the grad students still had plenty of work on their hands.
No — actually, "more work" would be the more accurate way to put it.
The people they had to attend to had shifted from Academy students to individuals wielding real power and influence.
In a medieval fantasy world, who exactly is an ordinary person, the kind who can summon movers and shakers just by asking? You'd better believe these visitors were not that.
One wrong move with anyone in this crowd, and a grad student's neck could fly off — figuratively and quite literally.
Perhaps that was why the faces of the attendants serving guests had deteriorated into something only the word "haggard" could describe.
Just a few days ago these were the same people sobbing with joy that exams were over. I almost felt bad for them.
But hey, what can you do.
You chose grad school!
If you've decided to become a slave, walk the whole road to the grave!
"Count Arln! It has been far too long!"
"Oh,ohh. Viscount Mold. Indeed it has. Have you come to challenge the dungeon my daughter made?"
"Yes! After reading about it in the Society papers, I simply couldn't contain my excitement!"
"Heheh. It gladdens me to hear such enthusiasm. Ho? Count Lovi! I heard you'd been recuperating on your estate since the war ended."
"And that is precisely why I've come here to recuperate."
While I was busy pitying the grad students, Benedict was cheerfully trading greetings with the nobles in the exam hall.
Unlike his grave bearing during the Patran Festival, he radiated the warmth of a man reunited with old friends — so I suppose these people had genuine ties to him?
The nobles clustered around Benedict extended their greetings to me as well, standing at his side.
They smiled and prattled on — so beautiful, they'd heard so much about her extraordinary talent — but the moment I fired back a response laced with every variety of insult, their composure crumbled on the spot.
Granted, nobody actually blew up at me, what with keeping one eye on Benedict.
"Have you come to experience the dungeon yourself as well, Count Arln?"
"Indeed. It was made by my daughter, after all — I intend to clear it with these very hands."
"My word. If anyone can set a new record, it must be you, Count Arln."
"Arln's record, broken by Arln himself. How wonderfully romantic."
"Record?"
"Yes. Look over there."
What one of the nobles pointed to was the dungeon's speedrun leaderboard.
"Since the dungeon was opened to the public, many have challenged Lady Arln's record, but not a single soul has bested it."
Just as he said, every noble who took on the Academy Dungeon set out to topple my record.
"How can grown men fail to beat the time set by a mere little girl?" — that sort of thing.
Before long, though, those challengers learned just how high the wall of that record truly stood.
Despite countless people throwing themselves at it again and again, the record showed not the slightest crack.
Even now, second place trails the leader by a full minute. I hardly need to explain what the gap looked like in the early days of the open.
At some point along the way, someone started shouting that the record had to be impossible — but footage of me pulling off the speedrun existed, so that rebellion was crushed in an instant.
"My word. I didn't even dare dream of catching up."
"That record could only ever belong to Lady Arln."
"I keep challenging it, but every attempt only teaches me how magnificent she truly is."
The nobles ringing Benedict each let out their own awed declarations, but I couldn't relate in the slightest.
Maybe if they weren't all physically superior to me by miles.
I genuinely don't get it.
I basically handed them the answer sheet to the speedrun. Why can't they just copy it?
If these people simply mimicked what I showed them, they could clear it in far less time than me — couldn't they?
<My child. Ordinary people, you see, do not think in increments of 0.1 seconds when it comes to a dungeon's variables.>
"Which is exactly what's wrong with them! If you want to break a record, that's the level of effort you have to put in!"
Speedrunning is no joke!
If they won't even put in that much effort, then all their "magnificent" and "brilliant" talk does absolutely nothing for me!
If anything, these self-proclaimed experts just get under my skin and irritate me!
As the nonsense drifting in from around me nearly drove curses out of my lips and I bit them down hard, Benedict let out a laugh.
"Hmm. Then I suppose I'll have to work hard to become a father worthy of boasting about."
And so, after Benedict vanished into the dungeon's entrance—
I tore myself away from the nobles who made my skin crawl and sprinted over to the grad students.
To steal a scrying orb and watch Benedict clear my dungeon in real time.
Of course I was curious. How on earth would Benedict — a powerhouse so far outside the bounds of common sense — go about clearing my dungeon?
I plucked the scrying orb right out of a grad student's grip, gazed at Benedict standing in the training hall—
and blinked.
...Huh?
Why is he already in the first room?
He just walked in! When did he get past the corridor?
While I was still blinking at a speed that blew my expectations clean out of the water, Benedict drew his arm back behind him.
"Alright, let's try something a little dirty!"
And the instant his fist shot forward—
every single soldier and knight standing in the training hall crumpled to the ground.
And naturally, the door to the next room swung open.
"Um, excuse me. Grandpa."
<Yes?>
"You're telling me that thing counts as the same species as me? Or as my dad?"
How is THAT the same kind of human as me!? That makes no sense whatsoever!