The Showdown with Arthur (6)
"You came prepared."
Luka's voice carried the tone of a compliment as he watched Arthur's party finish clearing the first floor.
"I never imagined a group of first-years could clear a dungeon this cleanly."
It was neither sarcasm nor flattery — pure, genuine admiration.
Having served at the Academy as a professor of combat for several years, Luka had met countless incoming students. A great many of them had come wrapped in talk of being prodigies, of being the next great hope. And yet not a single one had ever shown such polish from their very first dungeon run.
Which was only natural.
In dungeon clearing, experience was everything. No matter how many tools one carried, they were meaningless without the experience to wield them. It didn't matter how long a party had trained together, how much intel they had gathered, or how thoroughly they had stocked their supplies — if they couldn't put any of it to proper use, what was the point?
But these three were different. The trio centered around Arthur had delivered a clearance so immaculate it would have put the Academy's upperclassmen to shame.
"I believe that is thanks to His Highness's thorough preparations," said Matthew, the priest, and Jackal nodded along in agreement.
And yet Arthur himself — the object of all this praise — hardly looked pleased.
"There were too many small mistakes. We could have cut the time down further."
The first floor was supposed to be easy, sure, but they'd broken through in roughly thirty minutes and he still wasn't satisfied?
What a driven one, aren't you.
No wonder he'd earned a reputation as a genius despite such mediocre bloodline.
Having gained confirmation that Arthur was every bit the talent he'd hoped, Luka smiled deeply to himself.
This year's freshmen have quite a few interesting ones, don't they.
The three standing here, of course. But there was also Lady Kent, Lady Partan, the Saintess — and Lucy Aln. That was just what stood out at a glance; there would be many more whose talents had yet to bloom.
It makes the title of professor worthwhile.
"Your Highness, there is no need to rush. How could Lucy Aln possibly be faster than us?"
Jackal's suggestion that they could afford a more leisurely pace drew an agreeing nod from Luka as well. However gifted Lucy Aln might be, she was still a first-year. She hadn't prepared with Arthur's obsessive thoroughness, nor had she assembled a party of people more talented than his own. How could she possibly be faster?
"No. There is no room for carelessness in a contest. An overwhelming victory beats a loss born of complacency. We move."
But Arthur shook his head. Even knowing they held the advantage, he refused to let his guard slip.
Talent, and an iron will to match. If this man had been born with proper blood, the kingdom would have flourished.
Thinking so, Luka followed after Arthur's party.
Lady Aln, in my judgment, this contest is yours to lose. Your talent surpasses the Third Prince's, but unfortunately, that arrogance of yours has ruined the match. Will this humiliation of defeat break you, I wonder — or will it make you grow? Given the blood of House Aln, the latter seems more likely, but I find myself hoping for the former. A broken person is so much more susceptible to temptation.
Vishy, hanging off Lucy's shoulder like a sack of luggage, was pale as a ghost.
There were many problems. First, Lucy Aln's speed — she moved so fast it wouldn't have surprised Vishy if she outpaced a carriage horse. Second, being slung over her shoulder meant there was no stability whatsoever. And above all, the real problem was that Lucy Aln seemed to have forgotten she was even carrying a person, pulling off every manner of outlandish stunt as she went.
She was doing it right now, in fact.
Lucy Aln spotted the headless executioner blocking the path and charged straight at it without slowing. Then, the instant the executioner raised its axe, she darted backward.
BOOM!
The instant the axe — the kind meant to split a man in half — came crashing down into the floor, Lucy Aln slipped past the executioner and pressed onward.
Feats that looked a hair's breadth from outright suicide were, for Lucy Aln, as routine as eating meals. Under the circumstances, Vishy couldn't help but be unsettled in body and mind, even hanging as she was from Lucy's shoulder. At this point, she deserved credit for nothing more than not throwing up.
"Lady Aln! Could you PLEASE go a little more safely?!"
"Shut it, background character. We're not gonna die anyway, so why're you such a scaredy-cat? Are you a little baby who wets the bed 'cause she's scared of the nighttime potty run?"
Vishy had begged, and Lucy Aln's answer was absolute.
Who told you nobody dies in this dungeon?! Even if I know that, scary is scary! Don't you think YOU'RE the weird one, throwing your life around like pocket change, you maniac?! You absolute monster of a lunatic!
Vishy grumbled inwardly and let out a sigh.
Still, it wasn't as if she was being left behind on purpose. Compared to Lady Kent, she really was nothing but dead weight. Lady Aln was a monster in her own right, but Lady Kent was no less so.
How am I supposed to keep up with this troll of a lunatic... huh?
"Lady Aln?!"
"What."
"Lady Kent is—"
Lady Kent had her sword raised against the headless executioner. The blank, expressionless eyes fixed on a single point made her intent perfectly clear.
The moment Lucy Aln saw it, she sprinted over, seized Lady Kent by the nape, and hauled her back.
"Useless scrub swordsman! Is your head a chicken's?!"
"But it looked strong."
"Save the empty-headed charging for when you're ALONE, you bantam rooster!"
Lady Kent gazed after the headless executioner with something like regret, but she didn't lunge at it again.
Much happened, one way or another, but their clearing pace was still astonishing. The ten minutes it had taken them to clear the first floor was purely because they'd been considerate of a certain piece of luggage named Vishy. Once Lucy Aln began running in earnest, her dungeon-clearing speed was in a league far beyond that.
The second floor took all of three minutes. The floors after that were faster, if anything — never slower.
Roughly forty minutes after entering the Academy Dungeon, the boss room of the tenth floor revealed itself.
Standing before the boss room, I caught my breath.
Carrying a dead weight while sprinting really is quite the workout. Maybe I'll add more weight to my morning jogs from now on.
Scanning our surroundings as I thought it over — Karl was fine, of course; House Aln had put him through far worse, but the other two were a different story. Frey, who had come on her own two feet, looked utterly spent, and Vishy, the moment I set her down, started dry-heaving on the spot.
You're both so weak.
Vishy I could forgive — she's an NPC who barely warranted a mention in the game. But Frey gassing out over this? Isn't that a little off? Where did the majesty of the strongest close-combat character in the game go?
Reality really does make certain things inconvenient. When you're playing a game, you never have to worry about an NPC's stamina.
Ugh. I'm doing a SPEEDRUN here and I'm wasting time like this. The timer is ticking with every single second, people!
"My lady, there's no need to rush."
As I stood there with my arms crossed, anxiously eyeing the two of them, Karl offered his advice with a smile.
"Your clearing pace is transcendent, my lady. You could rest here for a full hour and the Third Prince still wouldn't catch up."
Now that you mention it, I suppose. Brilliant as Arthur might be, he was ultimately just an NPC. No need to be desperate, the way I'd be in a speedrun race against another veteran player.
Thanks for the advice, Karl.
"Useless. Spare me the worthless advice."
"Ahaha. My apologies, my lady."
Once we'd rested a while and Frey had caught her breath, I opened the door to the boss room. Vishy? She still looked half-dead, but she was fine. Watching from the back was more than enough for her anyway.
Waiting inside the boss room was a familiar face: the Golem Knight from the entrance exam's boss room. This one carried a spear instead of a greatsword, but the difficulty was about the same at best.
"I'll go first."
No, you won't. No need.
"Scrub swordsman. Don't do things you weren't told to do. Before I put a collar on you."
From the sub-space pouch Alsaetin had lent me, I pulled out one of the items I'd prepared in advance.
Ta-da! The Corrosion Potion!
One hit of this and golem-type bosses are done for! Sure, deeper dungeons have insane monsters that carry corrosion resistance as a matter of course, but that's a conversation for when I'm high-level. There's no way a beginner-tier boss has anything like that.
The spear-wielding golem's movements lurched under its own massive weight. Because of it, it failed to dodge the potion bottle I hurled and took the hit square on.
The golem, drenched in the Corrosion Potion, reddened its eyes and began to move. The sight of the knight golem advancing on its ponderous frame, making the very floor tremble, was menacing indeed.
But so what? You got splashed with corrosion potion and your hide's gone soft as mush. At this point even that runt's little sword swings could peel your armor off, no? And our mad dog's teeth will bite in even deeper.
'Frey. Charge.'
"Useless nuisance dog. Bite."
"Woof. Was that good?"
Frey answered with an offhand joke, then threw herself at the golem.
"So, the other day, you see..."
"Oh my, oh my."
Joy had joined the tea party for the sake of her relationships with the other noble daughters, but she couldn't focus on the conversation at all.
Lady Aln. What on earth gave you the confidence to refuse what I prepared? I don't doubt your skill, but still — clearing blind, with no information, and clearing with intel in hand are entirely different things. And your opponent isn't some nobody, it's the Third Prince! A man of genius talent! Facing him with no preparation at all and nothing but bravado to show for it. If you lose, who knows what His Highness will make you do! Ahh, I can't stand this.
"Lady Partan?"
"If you'll excuse me, I should step out to the dungeon for a moment."
"Are you worried about the Third Prince?"
"You worry over nothing. Of course the Third Prince will beat that arrogant Lady Aln."
THAT'S exactly what I'm worried about!
Joy screamed it internally, but outwardly, she only smiled. And because she smiled, not a single noble daughter at the tea party thought to stop her.
Once outside, Joy headed for the dungeon entrance without a moment's hesitation.
The only people who could observe what was happening inside the dungeon were the professors of Soul Academy. But there was one piece of information open to students as well: how far the top hundred students of each year had cleared.
Right now, more first-years hadn't entered the dungeon than had. So the moment anyone stepped inside, their name would shoot up the rankings. Check the rankings, and she could see exactly how the contest between the Third Prince and Lady Aln was unfolding.
"What the—?"
"It went up AGAIN?!"
"Is there some kind of fraud going on?"
"That's impossible."
The moment Joy, thinking such thoughts, reached the dungeon entrance, she heard the murmur of the crowd.
What? What's going on?
Unable to make sense of the scene, Joy grabbed a student standing nearby and fired off a question.
"You there."
"L-Lady Partan! My apologies for not greeting you sooner—"
"Never mind that. Why is everyone acting like this?"
"W-well, I think you'll understand if you look at the very top of the first-year dungeon clearing rankings."
The rankings? Is the Third Prince carving out record after record on the strength of his thorough preparation?! Lady Aln! THIS is why you should have listened to me!
Joy checked the rankings with a scream trapped inside her chest.
#1 Lucy Aln : Floor 20
...Am I under some kind of hallucination magic?
Floor TWENTY?
Not floor two?!