Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon?, Vol. 11

by Fujino Omori

  Hermes had always carried out his clients’ orders calmly and obediently, but here on the top of the tower, he laid bare his true feelings.

  “What will happen if we overturn thousands of years of hatred and destiny? Even Zeus would probably say it’s preposterous.”

  He gazed at Bell and lowered his voice.

  “The mavericks’ hero. Nobody wants that!”

  Hermes spread his arms wide and smiled down on the stage where humans and monsters were playing out their opera.

  “It’s time to get back to the basics of heroism, Bell.”

  The god continued to speak.

  “Kill the monsters. Kill them and save the people. Make your comeback as a hero.”

  As if he were offering a beam of light from the heavens or pointing out the path to salvation, he pressed his atrocious divine will on the boy.

  “Forget the Xenos.”

  Ouranos had tasked Hermes with suppressing the disturbance. He was to be the emissary who calmed the chaos in the city and delivered the Xenos to the Dungeon.

  But Hermes had no interest in that.

  Because he was in a position to use the chaos, he had skillfully manipulated it. That was all.

  “If you kill just one of them, you’ll see reason. You may suffer, but one day you’ll get back on your feet. Lady Freya and I won’t let you get bored.”

  Hermes’s divine will was that Bell cut his ties to the Xenos, who would lead him straight to ruin. He had the confidence to drive his hero into battle—the unshakable egotism to lead him into the finale that the deities were longing for.

  Controlling human destiny was the gods’ favorite game.

  He would make Bell break his connection with the monsters and walk forward as the hero of the people and the favorite of the gods.

  The divine will of Hermes was focused on that one goal.

  “If you don’t do it, then your dear Eina will die.”

  Hermes laughed, narrowing his yellow-orange eyes.

  The ever-intensifying fight was pushing the boy toward a choice. The only possible choice, the one the god had prepared for him.

  Before the god’s eyes, the final act was playing out on that grand and ridiculous stage.

  Why, why, why?!

  The fangs that threatened Bell and the claws that pursued Eina once again wounded Bell.

  He deflected the next blow and parried it with his knife, injuring Gros. There was no way he could hold back when the gargoyle was trying to kill both Eina and him.

  Again and again, other adventurers tried to support Bell, but they were thrown back. Gros’s stone wings deflected arrows and flung away anyone careless enough to get close to them. They functioned as two extra arms, both blunt weapons and shields in one.

  “Bell…!”

  At the sound of Eina’s hoarse, pained voice, Bell’s face twisted in distress. The adventurers, Guild staff, and townsfolk were all watching his every move and praying that one of his blows would strike down the menace.

  Gros.

  As he repelled claws with knife, Bell’s gaze met the gargoyle’s inscrutable stone eyes. He was so confused and sad he wanted to scream. But his voice could not penetrate those ears. His mind raced futilely. The Divine Knife trembled.

  He had to make a decision. The decision was like a curse, for if he did not make it, he would lose a person he cared for deeply. It wasn’t even a choice.

  He tried to think carefully about the situation, but in the face of Gros’s fierce attack, his thoughts quickly came to a dead end.

  As he muttered “Why?” over and over, he remembered Wiene’s words.

  You know what Lido told me? It might not be possible right now…but he said that if people like you exist, then our dream might come true one day!

  Our dream.

  The dream of the Xenos—of Gros.

  …Thank you. You have…my gratitude.

  Gros had said that to him.

  Perhaps it was only Bell’s imagination, but he could see the Gros of that earlier moment on top of the monster who faced him now with such genuine bloodlust in his eyes. He must be mistaken to see volition behind the claws and fangs bearing down on him.

  It was as if he knew that Bell did not want to fight him and was telling him not to hesitate—

  “Loki Familia has arrived!!” an adventurer shouted.

  Upper-class adventurers with the emblem of the fool engraved on their armor rushed into the plaza and flew at the winged monsters.

  “!!”

  The gargoyle began to feel anxious.

  Bell Cranell must be the one to take down the monsters attacking the people. This was how they would clear their debt to the boy. It would not do for Gros to utter his last words on a pile of ashes, his contract with the god unfulfilled.

  Realizing he could delay no longer, Gros spread his wings and flapped. Flying parallel to the ground, he launched his special attack. Astonished, Eina and Bell could neither escape nor defend themselves—he was forcing the boy to respond and throwing away his own life in the process.

  “Bell?!”

  “Tulle!”

  Hestia and the Guild staff cried out in unison.

  “Assume your positions!” Finn shouted. As other members of his troop prepared to shoot their arrows at the winged monsters, he readied his spear to pierce the gargoyle.

  “Now, Bell!”

  Standing above the crowd of people holding their breath, Hermes pulled the puppet string—his divine will.

  It was the instant before Gros’s deadly blow landed.

  Bell brought down the hand holding the knife.

  “Are we really doing the right thing, Fels?” Lido shouted.

  They were inside Knossos, the maze that Daedalus had dreamed up.

  Hermes had indeed kept his promise. After Gros and the others flew off, he had delivered the Xenos through the door to Knossos, making use of feints and clandestine routes so Loki Familia would not discover them along the way.

  “If we’re just thinking about Bell, then this may be the better option. But how can we abandon Gros and the others? It…feels wrong for us to return without them!” Lido cried at the top of his lungs. He had stopped walking as the group headed dejectedly for the Dungeon they had come from.

  Rei and the others did not respond.

  “You’re wrong, Lido. I believe in him,” Fels said.

  In an attempt to conceal the anger in the voice emanating from the depths of the hood, the mage did not turn toward Lido.

  “I believe that foolish boy can overcome some god’s trivial divine will—”

  “—!!”

  The gargoyle rushed at Bell and Eina with a roar so powerful the people watching shrank at the sound. His fanned-out wings tore through the wind as he glided straight toward them.

  Bell looked at the approaching gargoyle and his twisted claws that resembled giant stone spears. Everything before his eyes seemed to alternate between standing still and speeding up. The screams echoing toward him from the outside world sounded very far away.

  He heard Eina gasping in terror behind him, helpless to defend herself against the monster’s charge.

  The gargoyle’s intent to kill was real.

  If things continued on this trajectory, those stone claws would surely drown Bell and Eina in a sea of blood.

  His instincts were screaming for him to slash the monster with his knife, to plunge its point into the magic stone in that chest that was so perfectly exposed as it charged toward him, to transform the monster’s intent to kill into a pile of ash.

  The shouts of the adventurers and the shrieks of the masses, too, urged him to kill the monster.

  The god’s divine will pulling the strings affirmed the voice of his instinct.

  It was the instant before Gros’s deadly blow landed.

  Bell brought down the hand holding the knife.

  —

  But.

  The boy’s consciousness turned away from the monster before his eyes an
d focused instead on a scene deep within his heart.

  It was as if he were being guided by a flash of light—perhaps grasping a bolt of lightning deep within himself and pulling it up.

  The door to a faded childhood memory flew open.

  Do not leave your decisions to other people.

  It was the voice of his grandfather.

  The same goes for ghosts and gods. I, for one, will never tell you to do anything.

  His grandfather’s advice was speaking to him.

  Do not take orders. Decide for yourself.

  His grandfather’s eyes were pleading with him.

  This is your story.

  His grandfather’s smile had taught him that long ago.

  “Errrgh!!”

  Bell shouted out in revolt against the absurd reality all around him.

  Without even knowing what he was doing, he tore off the strings of the god’s divine will that had wrapped themselves around him without his knowledge. His heart, filled with the memory of Wiene’s dream and Gros’s gratitude, thrust aside the choice that had been forced upon it.

  “UOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

  Time, which had stretched to its limit, returned to its normal pace, and the world regained its color.

  The monster’s claws were on the verge of skewering both Eina and him.

  He made his choice.

  He chose to believe.

  “—”

  He slipped his knife into its sheath, spread his arms, and waited.

  Hermes stared from above. Gros widened his stone eyes in astonishment.

  In the next instant, confronted by Bell’s defenseless form, the gargoyle aborted his charge and flew away from them.

  “—Wait!”

  Finn reacted faster than anyone. High above the plaza, to the great surprise of his troops, he shouted at them to halt their attack. His blue eyes were glued to the gargoyle that had stopped its charge. His shock seemed to spread to the people watching from below in the plaza, for the same feeling swept through their hearts.

  Hestia, Lilly, Welf, Mikoto, Haruhime, Ouka, Chigusa, Shakti, and even Eina all felt the same emotion.

  Bell had neither killed the monster nor allowed Eina to die. Instead, he had chosen a third, exceedingly foolish path.

  The eyes of the sweat-drenched boy met those of the stunned gargoyle. For an instant, time stopped.

  “…”

  As for Hermes watching from his perch on the tower, he put his finger to the brim of his hat and pulled it down, as if to hide his wide yellow-orange eyes.

  “Aah, so that’s how it will go…He really is an idiot.”

  A queer, incomprehensible silence had descended on the plaza.

  The emotion in the countless eyes fixed on Bell was shifting from shock to a suspicion that he did have some sort of deep connection with the monsters after all. It was a spark that could light the fire labeling him an “enemy of the people.”

  The instant the crowd awoke from its collective daze, a storm of outraged shouts and chaos would likely erupt.

  “Well then. Asfi, do it.”

  Hermes would not accept this outcome.

  In a corner of the plaza where his whisper fell, a shadow lurked. The invisible Asfi withdrew a flying needle inscribed with a spiral, so red it seemed formed from blood.

  It was a Crizea, a magic item designed by Perseus to stir monsters into an excited, brutal frenzy. During Dungeon expeditions, it carried the risk of increasing their strength, but it also caused them to attack one another. It was not difficult to imagine what it would do in a place like this.

  Hermes had prepared for the current situation. He had predicted the boy might act in the same stupid way as he had five days earlier.

  Following her patron deity’s orders, Asfi fixed her green-blue eyes on the gargoyle.

  “…I won’t ask your forgiveness.”

  For just an instant, her gaze landed on the boy facing the gargoyle.

  As if he sensed her presence, he started and glanced back toward the place where the invisible woman stood.

  She was about to shoot the crimson needle.

  Urged by instinct, the boy’s feet prepared to run.

  In that moment, the only figures who moved were Asfi, Bell—and Finn.

  “—”

  The prum’s thumb had never throbbed so strongly.

  It was blaring an alarm that something was approaching.

  Finn alone lifted his head. The next instant—

  “UOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

  A monster’s battle cry shattered the still air.

  With no warning, the man appeared before him.

  “—”

  He stopped in the dim alleyway. He was forced to.

  The commanding figure was holding a large sword. He was a warrior in perfect physical form.

  He knew immediately.

  With only one arm, he would lose. No—even with two arms, he might not prevail. That’s how powerful the man before him was. More powerful than the soldiers who had made his blood boil and perhaps even more powerful than the golden-haired, golden-eyed swordswoman who had severed his arm—.

  At the same time, there was something familiar about the man who stood before him. He had rust-red hair and eyes of the same color, which gleamed like a fierce wild boar’s. It was not a memory so much as a throbbing of his heart, though he could not remember what it was. But he was certain of one thing. This warrior would kill him.

  As he stood before this extraordinary figure, he smiled.

  He was grateful for this meeting, even though he knew it would lead to certain defeat. His entire body was buzzing. Struggle was the only way to overcome the hunger. All the more so if his opponent was as powerful as this. Even if he were chopped to pieces—well, that was one of his wishes. There was no reason to flinch from it and no meaning in turning away.

  He brandished his ax and stepped forward on his strong legs.

  “…”

  In response, the warrior slowly raised one arm and pointed.

  “That which you seek lies ahead,” the man said.

  He stopped.

  He opened his eyes wide.

  He looked behind him, where the warrior had pointed. The sky stretched wide over the land, and voices echoed from afar. It was the sound of battle. Among them, he felt he could hear the voice of the thing that drove him on.

  He turned his gaze forward again. Unexpectedly, the warrior was gone. But that was a trivial matter now.

  He began to run, as if he had found his direction. He rushed forward.

  He gave no thought to concealing his too-large presence. Tossing aside the screaming hunters in his way, he obeyed only his pounding heart and his hunger.

  Crushing the cobblestones under his feet, he bounded to the top of a building beside the road.

  “—”

  In the middle of the plaza, fighting in the midst of people of all races, was—the white-haired boy.

  A flash of light ran through his heart at the scene before his eyes. It was a brilliant white flash that restored all other scenes.

  He was awakened. He was brought back to life. He quivered.

  Ah!!

  That’s it! That is it! His dream, his desire, his yearning!!

  The answer he had been searching for!!

  At last, he had found it. He took in everything surrounding it.

  There were many hunters, and he was face-to-face with a brother.

  No, there was not a chance he could accept this. This alone he could not allow.

  Could he hand over this chance to someone else? Could he leave it to another? This was his once-in-a-lifetime opponent. Rematch. Rematch. Rematch.

  He was born for this and this alone.

  His blood surged. His body filled with rage. His hunger called forth a tremendous power within him.

  A great joy and an even greater hunger for battle welled up inside him. He let out a battle cry.

  “UOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

  A tremendous roar that shattered all hesitation, all sorrow, and all artifice rang through the air.

  CHAPTER 7

  THE RETURN OF THE HERO

  When that battle cry thundered through the air, every first-tier adventurer in Orario reacted instantly.

  The golden-haired, golden-eyed swordswoman looked up at the sky over the northwestern sector and started to run.

  “!”

  The Amazonian twins lifted their weapons and took off running without a backward glance.

  “It’s here!”

  “Let’s go!”

  The swift-footed werewolf dropped what he was doing and sped off.

  “Sounds like it’s near Finn!”

  And then there was Bell.

  “—”

  His crimson eyes took in the monster.

  Destroying, crushing, smashing.

  In an instant, the black beast had charged past any adventurers unfortunate enough to be standing in his way.

  He stunned Hermes, stole Asfi’s moment to intervene, amazed the goddesses, and trampled onto the stage that the god had prepared, crushing it to pieces.

  The townsfolk did not even have time to scream. He plunged forward with such speed that the arrows Braver ordered his troops to fire had no effect, and even the spear he threw himself did no more than mar the beast’s skin. Forward he charged—toward Bell.

  The boy was his sole target.

  “—?!”

  “UOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

  The minotaur’s majestic jet-black form was covered in blood.

  Before this hair-raising apparition, Bell reverted to pure instinct.

  He thrust Eina away with all his force, and then, desperate to escape the figure charging toward him and the deadly blow of the Labrys held in its single upraised hand, he crossed his arms and leaped backward.

  An explosion of cobblestone fragments flew from the ground where the blade of the minotaur’s ax made contact, releasing an overwhelming shock wave and wind blast.

  Bell’s body transformed into an arrow cutting through the air, crashing through the buildings behind him with the force of a river overflowing its banks as he was driven from the plaza.