Black Sheep

I wandered every corner of the weathered arena, looking for someone to fight.

….

I already knew the odds of finding an opponent were slim, so I took my time, disappointment soaked into every step. Behind the rubble of a fallen pillar. Through grass grown up to my ankles. Even the gaps between columns where vines hung down like curtains. Anywhere a single person might have hidden, I looked, and I didn't miss a spot.

Only after I'd combed the arena from end to end did I stop. I chose a pillar snapped off at a convenient height, used the debris as a foothold, and hopped up lightly. Then I dropped onto it with a mournful look and sat.

My last Einherjar….

The truth was, I'd figured out a while ago that this wasn't a game. The UI that had always floated in the corner of my vision was gone. Even so, I'd been clinging to a shred of hope….

I let out a long sigh and stared blankly ahead. Where a field of golden sand should have spread, there was only earth and grass now, and a single shaft of sunlight fell straight down upon it. The light was intense to an almost uncanny degree—stronger than reality, and stronger than the sun of Einherjar, which had been modeled on that reality. Then again, with two ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠suns hanging overhead, one large and one small, it figured.

For a moment it occurred to me that ending up in a bizarre world with two suns was the bigger problem, but the thought vanished almost at once. To me, Einherjar mattered far more than the number of suns. A reality where I couldn't swing a sword to my heart's content didn't interest me in the slightest, whether a hundred suns rose or none at all.

"This definitely isn't inside a game…."

I muttered it under my breath and grabbed a handful of my fluffy hair, shaking it in front of my eyes. Black hair so thick that, gathered up, it could cover my whole body. Hands so small and slender they didn't look remotely capable of swinging a sword. Even the short legs dangling beneath the pillar. All of it was exactly the avatar I'd used in Einherjar.

If this isn't inside the game, why am I still an avatar?

I thought about it for a moment, but no answer came. I didn't know a single thing to begin with; turning it over would only multiply the wild guesses. I dropped the question quickly, closed my eyes, and lazily swung the legs hanging in empty air.

How long had I been doing that when a wind came—a breeze that pleasantly stirred my hair? Strangely, I felt as if I could trace, with perfect clarity, every path it took across my skin.

My eyes flew open.

The feel of the wind… it's different.

I was in an avatar body, so of course it wouldn't match the wind I'd known in reality. That much I could let go. But it didn't feel like the wind in Einherjar either. A sensation several times sharper than reality—sharper, even, than the game.

Then the wind blew again. As I felt its currents coiling around my arms and legs, a thought struck me all at once. What would a sword feel like, swung inside a sense this clear? How much stronger could I become inside a sensation this vivid? And this place wasn't a game—but it wasn't reality either, was it? Wasn't an otherworld with two suns in the sky just another Einherjar?

I'd thought I would never get to play Einherjar again. But Einherjar hadn't been far away at all. I could swing a sword again. And inside a sense like this. For someone who had gone all the way to America just to play the game, that was a temptation I couldn't resist.

I jumped straight down from the pillar and walked. Past the half-collapsed columns, beyond the weathered ruins of the arena, into a forest of strange white leaves. As I went on, I felt the presence of beasts beyond counting in the woods, as if they were welcoming me. A smile I couldn't hold back tugged at my mouth as I drew my blade and pressed deeper into that forest.

In the heart of a forest striking for its white leaves, I rummaged through a pile of corpses, picking out the usable bones and gathering them up. The air all around me reeked of blood, but it didn't bother me much. It was a smell I'd breathed until I was sick of it back in Einherjar. If anything, I felt as if treasure had been laid out in front of me.

I turned over a claw I'd pulled from a huge forepaw, studying it this way and that. It was as long as my forearm, tapering into a sleek curve toward the tip. When I flicked it with a finger, it rang clear as metal. The sensation ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of cutting these things down the first time was still vivid—a heavy resistance traveling up the blade and into my palm. They didn't even compare to the beasts I'd cut through in Einherjar. And yet, measured in accelerated time… they were only about the level a ranker in their two-hundredth year of Einherjar could handle.

The problem was the sword. No matter how well I used one, a sword was a consumable in the end. Even if I read the grain of the hide and cut while avoiding bone, hacking beasts like these apart day after day would chip the edge or snap the blade sooner or later. This wasn't Einherjar, where a fresh sword was waiting in my hand at the start of every match. I needed a substitute ready.

Fortunately, the claws on the animals here were big enough, light enough, and tough enough to serve as blades. I gave one a light swing.

"Pass."

I tossed the claw onto the heap piled beside ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me—only the hardest, most usable claws and bones, sorted out and stacked. …I might have gathered a few too many. But the more weapons, the better. That's just how it is.

Still, the animals here are strange.

I'd been genuinely shocked when I first entered the forest. Starting with something like a rabbit, every last thing that lived in the woods had charged me—all day long, night and day, without a single rest. A grotesque trait worthy of another world. Well, if I thought of it as a special PVE event match with zero queue time, it wasn't so bad. A PVE event, especially, and it had been a long time since the last one.

"Tastes awful…."

Muttering, I spat onto the ground the hunk of flesh I'd been chewing all this time. Even back on Earth, I'd been so busy with Einherjar that I rarely bothered with proper meals. In practice, I'd only eaten enough to avoid a forced logout over my health…. Even I could tell my diet now was a problem. A life of forcing down raw meat that hadn't even been cooked…. Were there no humans in this forest? If there were, I could get food from them. But as far as I could see, it wouldn't be easy for humans to build any kind of civilization in a place like this. The animals attacked indiscriminately.

Well. I'll just call it the price of getting to fight as much as I want….

Soothing the pang of regret, I started picking through skulls instead. Ever since my Einherjar days I'd wanted a mask-like cosmetic, and regrettably the company had never once shown any intention of giving me one. But this wasn't a game anymore, which meant I was free to slap whatever I wanted on my head! I turned a skull of a suitable size this way and that, then, half as a joke, pulled it down over my head.

"Oh."

The size fit to an uncanny degree. My fluffy hair seemed to work as a cushion, and it wasn't a bad fit at all. Still wearing the skull, I turned toward the heap of claws.

…?

An artificial glint flickered at the corner of my vision.

A human?

It passed in an instant, so I couldn't be sure, but it had definitely looked human. I narrowed my eyes and focused, and a faint tremor reached me. A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠single presence, moving away from me. The first thing I'd met in this forest that was moving away.

A human!

I broke into a run straight toward that presence. Human or not, it didn't matter. If it wasn't human, hunt count +1. If it was, scoring something good to eat +1. Either way, nothing but upside.

I hope it's human.

Expecting a proper meal, I put a little more strength into my toes.

Deep in the forest of white leaves, Scout—his whole body shrouded in foliage—was staring hard toward the far side of the woods, eyes strained. By rule, every scout was recalled to the village during the Season of White Leaves. He had come out anyway because an anomaly had occurred, one he couldn't possibly ignore. During the Season of White Leaves, monsters surged in without rest, day and night. This time, strangely, there had not been a single attack. It was too unsettling to dismiss as mere luck, so the village had sent him—the fastest of them—to scout.

"This can't be real."

And now the anomaly filled both his eyes. A banquet of corpses occupied one whole side of his vision. A bleak clearing in the middle of the white forest was buried under the carcasses of monsters big and small.

If it had been nothing but corpses, it wouldn't have been much of a problem. The trace of a turf war between monsters, or the wake of some predator's pass. But this was different. The bodies had been split into two piles with clear intent. On one side, sharp claws and long bones were heaped like a mountain. Everything else lay strewn about like garbage.

…Strange.

It was an extremely strange thing. No matter how he thought about it, nothing in this forest should have been capable of a slaughter like that. A monster would eat the meat and leave the bones. A human would take the bones and the hides, and the edible flesh as well—humans rarely discarded a monster's corpse. Then what, exactly, was this?

He turned his gaze in a hurry. His eyes swept down across the field of corpses and stopped at last in one place. In a corner of that field, a bundle of black fur was squirming. It clung to one huge carcass, busily tearing something free.

Is that the monster that did all this…? Small.

It looked like a sheep that had grown far too much wool. The distance was considerable, so he couldn't be certain, but that was how it looked.

A black sheep?

Staring fixedly at the black sheep, he began to write his report.

The purpose of the hunt isn't feeding. Play, or collecting… is that it?

Having set the report in order that far, the man put on a grave expression. Putting the facts so far together, that black sheep was… combat power at Danger Level 4, more than the village could subjugate on its own. A hunt whose purpose was not merely to feed. Mass slaughter. A picture-perfect, utterly unmanageable Play-Type Predator.

And an individual that powerful is that small. I have to tell the village, fast. One wrong step and they'll be wiped out without even knowing why!

At the end of the report he hurriedly wrote a final line, sealed it, and left it in the designated place—so that even if he died before he could make his report, someone would find it.

He cleared the spot as quietly as he could and looked back at the black sheep one last time.

In that instant, as if on cue, the black sheep turned toward where he stood.

A grotesque figure, wearing a skull it looked as if it had just torn free. Even at this distance, he felt as if their eyes had met.

No way….

He was this far away. Surely he hadn't been spotted. The thought had barely formed when the black sheep broke into a sprint straight at him.

Scout flung aside all his gear and ran through the forest. But the distance between him and the black sheep only closed by the moment. The only sound was the wind, drawing slowly nearer. It was coming at tremendous speed, and yet there were no footsteps, which made it all the more grotesque.

When he realized he couldn't keep running, he reached into his clothes, gripped a dagger, and turned.

…?

There was nothing behind him.

"A-am I alive?"

The mutter had barely left him when a single drop fell onto his head. He wiped it away with his hand. What smeared across his fingers was red blood.

He looked up. The black sheep was hanging from the tree above him, looking down.