A Mesugaki Never Backs Down (5)
After a short rest, color had returned to Frey and Arthur's faces.
Nana and Carl were used to forced marches far worse than this, so it didn't faze them — but the same couldn't be said for those two.
Honestly, kids these days just don't have any grit.
If they spent a single day under Knight Commander Forsell's training regimen, they'd be thinking, well, at least he lets us sleep.
Maybe later, when I find the time, I'll sweet-talk them into trying the Aln family training. If I tell them they'll finally understand how I got this strong, don't you think they'd bite?
"So, Lucy Aln. What is it we are to do now?"
When we first stumbled into the 34th floor's Safe Zone, you looked like you were about to die, Arthur, and now you're already itching to go? How very admirable. I simply must applaud the enthusiasm.
'We're going to hunt monsters!'
"We're going to slaughter some pathetic monsters, obviously."
"...Huh?"
My plan was extremely simple.
We'd go back and forth between the 34th and 35th floors, hunting monsters the whole time.
At our current level, this was the most efficient spot in the entire dungeon.
The monsters in the thirties were armed orcs, and whether it was something in their nature or not, they came in absolutely overwhelming numbers. These were creatures that won through sheer quantity rather than individual strength.
Under normal circumstances, that made them a terrifying concept — the tyranny of numbers. But from a gamer's perspective? Completely different story.
When I say "they spawn like crazy," what I really mean is "they're perfect for grinding."
If we hunted orcs until the moment the dungeon kicked us out for the day, wouldn't our levels climb quite a bit?
"That's all?"
When I explained my plan, Frey asked with an air of profound disappointment.
"Fighting a bunch of orcs is just tedious."
"I concur. Is battling orcs truly an experience befitting a party of our caliber?"
What on earth did you two expect?
You enter a dungeon, it's either dungeon-clearing or grinding. There is no third option.
And another thing.
Those two came sprinting all the way here looking half-dead, and now they have the nerve to whine about it? You seem to think grinding is easy work.
The most brutal, soul-crushing part of any RPG is the grind, you know.
Try it once and you'll see the difference firsthand!
'Boring or not, you'll find out when you try it.'
"Boring, you say? Truly? Are you certain?"
Something in my words must have registered, because Arthur stole a nervous glance at me — but Frey was a different beast entirely.
She had no hesitation whatsoever about voicing her opinions, and she nodded her head with perfect confidence.
"Of course. No amount of orcs would ever pose a problem."
'You're sure about that? No matter how many there are?'
"Pathetic swordswoman. You're really sure? Even if hordes of worthless orcs come pouring at us, no problem at all, right?"
"Yes. Obviously."
You did just nod your head, didn't you?
Which means you've officially consented to the forced march that's about to begin. Am I right?
Well then, I suppose I can now work you and Arthur to the bone with a completely clear conscience.
Thank you, Frey. Thanks to you, I feel like a tiny little weight has been lifted off my conscience.
'Then let's get started!'
"Shall we get moving, then? I don't see any whiners here who'd claim they can't keep up."
Roughly three hours had passed since the hunt Lucy had described began.
Arthur was forced to admit that he had overlooked one crucial fact.
Lucy Aln had been born and raised — and trained — in House Aln, the most renowned martial family on the continent.
The training administered by House Aln was legendary for its brutal intensity. Even knights with considerable reputations to their names routinely buckled under it, breaking down and fleeing in sheer terror.
And Lucy had trained alongside those very knights in that very place.
There was never any chance that a woman like her would treat a simple orc hunt as anything less than a training exercise.
When she had first laid out this forced march, Lucy Aln had used the word slaughter.
At the time, Arthur had assumed she was simply being her usual arrogant, self-assured self.
He had been wrong.
No word in any language described their current situation more precisely than slaughter.
"Four worthless orcs up ahead. Surely none of you scrubs have fallen behind me?"
"Three squealing pigs around the corner."
"Six this time? You think you'll win by swarming, do you? Coming from such losers, that's precious."
Combat. Combat. And combat yet again.
Arthur had lost count of how many orcs they had felled. All he could estimate was that the number comfortably exceeded a hundred, even by the roughest reckoning.
Needless to say, fighting orcs themselves posed no particular difficulty.
With Lucy Aln effortlessly absorbing the orcs' assaults from the front line, and Frey precisely severing orc necks the instant an opening appeared, what could possibly be hard about it?
Arthur simply flowed between vanguard and rearguard, lending support where it was needed, and the party swept to victory again and again.
No matter how many orcs swarmed them, they were still just orcs.
At one point, Frey even began charging off on her own to annihilate entire orc packs before sauntering back as if nothing had happened.
In the early stages of the hunt, Arthur had thought the orc-hunting almost laughably easy.
But that was only true for the first few battles.
However effortless a fight might be, repeated over and over, fatigue begins to creep in.
Unable to move as they had at the start, the difficulty of each engagement climbed, and the coordination between party members began to creak at the seams.
The more their timing slipped, the longer each battle dragged, and the faster their stamina drained compared to the beginning.
Any sensible party would have called a rest long before reaching this point — but Lucy Aln did no such thing.
"Tired already? And here you said it was nothing. The Pitiable Prince really does have scrub stamina, doesn't he? Want me to carry you? Shall I pat your head and coo at you?"
That was all the response he got when he suggested they rest.
Ordinarily, Arthur would have prioritized cold judgment over his own pride. But there was something strange about Lucy Aln's words — a peculiar force to them.
The thought of losing to this woman, of all people, was simply unbearable. Gritting his teeth, Arthur answered that he was fine.
By the time the battle count passed twenty, conversation between the party members had died entirely.
Lucy Aln kept up her briefings and her commands, but no answers came back.
They no longer had the strength to respond.
Frey's sword had grown sluggish compared to the start, and Arthur's judgments lagged a beat behind, turning wrong more often than right.
Eventually even Lucy — the strongest of the three by a wide margin — began to make mistakes.
And by the time the battles had numbered nearly thirty.
They had hit their absolute limit.
Arthur could feel the mana lingering in his body drained to the dregs. Frey made no sudden movements at all, simply drawing in breath after ragged breath. And even Lucy Aln herself was showing signs of exhaustion.
Everyone was crumbling.
"Professor Carl. Is this truly acceptable?"
Safe as this dungeon might be, that only meant they were free from the threat of death. Wounds and injuries were another matter entirely.
If they pushed this broken-down party through an endless forced march, someone was bound to be seriously hurt.
At Arthur's words, Frey — standing between them — perked her ears up as well.
Pride kept her from saying it aloud, but she was exhausted too.
"Is there a problem?"
Arthur had spoken hoping to be talked out of it, but Carl's answer fell far short of his expectations.
"You claim there's no problem with this forced march?"
"None. This is training that pushes the body to its absolute limits — one of the experiences they must have."
Carl explained.
A party could not control every situation it encountered inside a dungeon. The notion that one could rest whenever the need arose was nothing more than a fantasy.
"It would be lovely if a Safe Zone conveniently appeared every time we needed one, but reality rarely unfolds so kindly. There are times when a party will not encounter a single Safe Zone until the dungeon is fully cleared."
"And this is training for such a time?"
"Yes. Which is why I have not intervened."
That insolent, arrogant girl who did nothing but mock everyone around her — she had actually considered all of this?
Hearing Carl's words, Arthur turned his gaze forward. There, putting on a valiant show of composure, walked Lucy at the head of the party.
Come to think of it, she was the one suffering most of anyone here.
Always positioned at the vanguard, absorbing the brunt of every enemy assault, she carried the heaviest load precisely because she had the most stamina of them all.
And yet she had not spoken a single word about resting.
Lucy Aln was driving herself into hell by her own hand.
She had said they were going to gain experience. So this was what she had meant.
"Forgive me. That was pointless griping. I ask you to forget it."
"Of course, Your Highness."
Having received a clear answer from Carl, Arthur took one long, steadying breath.
Right. At the very least, he still had the strength left to complain about it. He could not collapse before Lucy Aln did.
What would she say if he did?
The leveling was slower than I'd hoped.
There were a whole pile of problems, but the biggest one was, unsurprisingly, stamina.
Back when this was a game, I never had to care one bit about my party members' fatigue.
They simply didn't know how to say they were tired.
But now that reality had set in, everything was different.
Arthur and Frey were people. No matter how far beyond the bounds of ordinary humans they might be, they had limits.
They couldn't hunt at the same pace at the end of the day as they had at the beginning, the way party members had in the game.
Until now I'd muscled them into keeping the pace, but their limits were starting to show. Even Frey — who'd spent the early hours charging off on her own — flinched at the shoulders every time I announced more orcs ahead. Time for a break, I figured.
'Everyone. Shall we take a break?'
"Hey, you scrubs back there. Your legs are shaking like jelly — you sure you're fine? Bow your heads nicely and I might just let you rest."
"I'm fine."
"No problem."
I'd expected them to throw their hands up in grateful relief, but Arthur and Frey's answers caught me off guard.
"I can still move."
"Orcs are trash. Still easy."
You both look like you're about to drop dead from exhaustion, and it's fine to push further? Don't tell me it's because you can't stand the thought of losing to me.
Well. Either way, if they wanted to keep suffering, I had no reason to stop them.
Astonishingly, Arthur and Frey stuck with my forced march right to the very end.
Carl led them through a few brief rests along the way, but that was all. By the final stretch, simply standing upright was a struggle for them — yet they gritted their teeth and followed behind me anyway.
Thanks to them, I was able to hunt right up until the dungeon forcibly ejected us for the day.
The result: three levels gained in a single day.
In other words, I was now level 18.
Way too slow.
I'd suspected I might not hit my target in one day, but I hadn't expected it to be this dismal. And given that leveling only gets harder the higher you climb, I was looking at devoting several more days to nothing but grinding.
Ordinarily I'd have marched right back into the dungeon tomorrow for more of the same, but unfortunately I had a prior engagement.
Tomorrow, I had business on the streets of Soul Academy.
As a gamer worthy of the title, how could I possibly miss the moment the main quest kicks off?
Now, I wonder which evil god will be spending this entire first year at Soul Academy raising hell.