by Mamare Touno
“Hey, hold up. What was that stuff you said about a community of Fools on the moon? I thought that was a pretty epic-sounding idea; is it true? And there were monsters called Geniuses, too…”
“Are those Eternal Moths a type of Genius, then? But why are they takin’ everybody’s MP? Are they eatin’ it?”
Shiroe had already reported an outline of Roe2’s letter to the Round Table Council. In fact, this trouble had come up just after he’d made that report. The crisis had been so exquisitely timed that they were practically bound to doubt him.
Even if that’s not right, it may not be far from the truth, Shiroe thought. In her letter, Roe2 had said they were collecting Empathiom. Of course there was no conclusive proof, but when he combined the contents of the letter, the sequence of events up till now, his experience on the moon, and Li Gan’s story, he could imagine something.
These Geniuses probably weren’t ordinary monsters.
From what he could see when he looked through the reports, they were intelligent. They could anticipate the Adventurers’ movements and lay plots. In fact, that was the monsters’ distinguishing feature.
If he believed Roe2, these were beings that were “using” monster bodies. They could probably think of them as creatures that were making use of the shapes and capabilities of Elder Tales monsters but were more problematic.
“Geniuses, huh? I’d heard stories about ’em, but…”
“No, we don’t yet know for sure whether these are the Geniuses themselves or not. It’s strange that such a huge horde should appear so suddenly.”
“They take MP from your physical body, don’t they? Should we call it ‘the soul-stealing disease’?”
Beside Shiroe, who was deep in contemplation, Roderick spoke, tracing letters in the air as he did so. The soul-stealing disease. According to the Spirit Theory, MP was the vehicle of the soul. If that MP was being taken, then yes, you could say the soul had left the body.
If the theory was correct, this attack had unintentionally proven that People of the Earth and Adventurers were the same. Although there had been a day’s difference, both had sustained damage. That meant that both had MP and souls. Shiroe sensed a warped humor in the idea, and he smiled wryly. It wasn’t as though that evidence would resolve the current situation.
“Yes, but some folks are just fine, y’know? Our Henrietta got attacked, but she only got a li’l bit dizzy.”
“Isn’t that due to the level difference?”
“No, we can’t say that. Damage occurred even among high-level Adventurers.”
“So this is about the difference between those who fall asleep and those who don’t, you mean…?”
Besides, if the Spirit Theory and the presence or absence of souls were connected to this incident, that raised new questions. The difference between those who fell asleep after being attacked and those who did not… Shiroe thought there had to be some sort of secret there.
However, as he ignored his doubts, the conference moved on.
“So nobody’s dying, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“If we die, we can resurrect at the Temple. However, it doesn’t work that way with sleep. We don’t know if we can break free of this slumber by dying and resurrecting, either.”
“That’s worrisome.”
In a way, Riezé’s words spoke for everyone present—worrisome was an apt way to put it. It didn’t seem like a catastrophic crisis, but they couldn’t find a way to combat it.
“Where are Calasin and Isaac, and Soujirou of the West Wind?”
“We’re having the first two continue to guard Maihama. Souji’s out scouting.”
“Maihama had it awful, didn’t they?”
“They were holding a social debut, and lots of lords were gathered there, after all.”
“Duke Sergiad, too?”
“How are the other cities doing?”
“Plant Hwyaden seems to be protecting Minami. We’ve received reports that there is no great confusion there. Silver Sword is guarding Susukino. The city’s population is small in any case.”
As Shiroe answered, he visualized the strategy terrain map in his office. Plant Hwyaden’s defense was tight in Minami, the Kansai-area player town. It had more frontline personnel than Akiba did, and it probably wouldn’t fall easily. Susukino had been a fortified city to begin with. With the city’s outstanding defense and its small People of the Earth population, Silver Sword was probably more than capable of routing their enemies.
Shiroe was more concerned about small territories and settlements where only People of the Earth lived than he was about those central cities, but at this point, he wasn’t all that worried. The Eternal Moths seemed predisposed to attack major cities. In East Yamato, the reported attacks seemed to have been concentrated on Akiba, Maihama, Susukino, and Yokohama.
In general terms, monsters had intelligence appropriate to their forms. When this was a game, insectoid monsters that looked like moths had spawned in designated spawning zones and had simply prowled the area, attacking victims indiscriminately. The mere fact that they were attacking big cities made it clear that something about this situation was very unlike Elder Tales.
“What are we going to do about Shibuya?”
Ains, who had been silent for a while, asked about Shibuya as if he’d made up his mind about something.
“Shibuya?” Woodstock asked dubiously, but Ains didn’t even look at him. He faced the center of the round table and kept speaking, as if he were squeezing the words out.
“I hear Li Gan has informed us that the ruined broadcasting station in Shibuya is live. Shouldn’t we hurry to investigate it?”
“Gimme a break; at a time like this? People are getting hurt over here.”
Michitaka was the first one to object. His big, solidly muscled body was trembling, clearly betraying emotion. As Ains looked at him, Ains’s own expression turned sorrowful, almost as if asking for forgiveness. But still he kept speaking, resolutely.
“I know it sounds heartless, but if they’re only sleeping, there is no immediate danger to their lives… Isn’t it our job to attempt to break through this while we still have the manpower to do so?”
“But—!”
“We’ve been driven further into a corner than we think. The rogue guard, the flavor text becoming real, the tensions between East and West, and now this incident, plus the new threat of the Geniuses… I don’t think we have the wherewithal to be altruistic at this point, do you? Isn’t that arrogance? We’re at the end of our rope.”
Shiroe had had a hunch that Ains would say that.
There were victims among the Adventurers. At this point, there were only about a dozen, but there would probably be another Eternal Moth invasion tonight. Shiroe couldn’t muster the optimism to hope that there would be only two days of attacks, after which the trouble would clear up on its own.
He understood Ains’s sense of impending danger. Up until now, the Adventurers’ altruistic spirit had been supported by their outstanding combat abilities and wealth, both of which were based in their immortality.
This crisis shook the foundation of that immortality. If they lost consciousness and became vegetables, neither their immortality nor their combat abilities would have any meaning. Both the People of the Earth and the Adventurers would be nothing more than powerless, perpetually sleeping shells.
The fact that the situation hadn’t developed into a panic yet was probably because not many Adventurers had registered what that sense of impending danger really was. It was likely that there were still a lot of people who felt, on some level, that it wasn’t their problem. Once they caught on, the desire to escape was bound to plant opinions like Ains’s in them.
Fists clenched, Shiroe endured the silence that filled the conference room.
Finding a certain name on his friend list, he lasted through several tense minutes before a cool, bell-like tone notified him of an incoming message.
He’d issue
d a quest before this meeting, and apparently, his reliable younger friend, who delivered results no matter what was going on, had accomplished it.
“Mr. Shiro, we found it. The Eternal Moths’ nest!”
Shiroe nodded. Soujirou seemed to have sensed this; he reported the results of his scouting expedition in a voice that was tenser than usual.
“Erm… Please don’t be disappointed, all right? It’s in Shibuya. The entire town of Shibuya is a dungeon. According to the zone settings, I mean. The core is the Shibuya broadcasting station ruins. You know: the low-level dungeon. The area’s turned into a raid zone. Its new name is Fortress of the Call. It looks like it’s going to be tough to clear.”
In a way, that’s what I was expecting.
He’d designated Shibuya as the very first area to scout precisely because he’d known.
He was also certain the fight that awaited them would be harder than anything he’d anticipated.
The Geniuses were intelligent monsters. They were bound to have picked up on the situation over here as well. If he were a Genius, how would he attack Akiba? How would he shatter the town’s hopes? The answer was clear.
The Geniuses had created a dungeon in Shibuya. When he murmured that news as an impromptu report, a commotion ran through the Round Table Council. Turning pale, Ains slumped down into his chair.
“A raid? This is a Raid-rank Genius?” Marielle murmured, stunned.
Shiroe nodded.
The enemy had taken the transmission facilities that could communicate with the moon.
3
In the chilly morning air, Shiroe was depressed.
Members of the Round Table Council and the D.D.D. supply division were busily running up and down the broad avenue. They had decided to dispatch a raid unit. The preparations for that, the members they’d selected, and their surroundings were all enveloped in a hurried atmosphere.
Shiroe sat in the shade of a tree, watching everything.
There were no people around him. From time to time, he responded to telechats requesting confirmation of prepared materials, but he was deep in thought.
They’d already finished organizing the capture team. He wasn’t fully satisfied with the formation, but it had been the best he could do.
The unit was composed of the smallest possible number of select members. This was because they hadn’t been able to ignore the voices that called for them to prioritize guarding Akiba and Maihama. As a result, they’d ended up choosing only Adventurers who were close to Shiroe—including all the members of Log Horizon—and only the ones who’d fought the Eternal Moths and proved their resistance to sleep. This meant they’d decided to take Minori’s group, who were midlevel players, and he felt uneasy about it.
Yet, the situation was unstable, and they weren’t able to invest their most elite members.
Even if they decided to prioritize returning home, there was no guarantee that the transmission facilities in the Shibuya ruins would actually prove to be the key. It wasn’t even a question of whether they’d be able to secure them safely. If they did secure them, would they work properly? Even if they were able to use them, would sending a transmission to the moon really lead to a return home? At this point in time, the only answer to all these questions was “maybe.”
On the other hand, if they made protecting the People of the Earth their objective, at present, they couldn’t be certain the Shibuya raid would help them do that. Soujirou and the other West Wind Brigade members had informed them of the emergency, but there was currently no known solution. They hadn’t yet investigated the interior of the former ruins, now a raid zone known as Fortress of the Call: The entrance was sealed, and even Soujirou’s group hadn’t been able to get inside.
Because of that, he couldn’t say their forces were sufficient. Still, that Soujirou, Riezé, and other Adventurers with plenty of raid experience had said they’d participate had been a stroke of good luck.
But all this wasn’t actually the source of Shiroe’s melancholy.
Shiroe had sunk deep inside himself. His thoughts were torn and confused, but if they could have been summed up briefly, that summary would have been that he didn’t feel quite satisfied.
An enemy had appeared. They were headed out to defeat it. Put into words, that was all this was. However, it wasn’t a situation Shiroe had created. Danger had appeared, and they were going to eliminate it, so the initiative lay with the danger. To Shiroe, that in itself felt vaguely off. When he traced the feeling of unfocused dissatisfaction back further, it took him all the way back to the words he’d said to Captain Nyanta.
I think we should go home.
Of course, he hadn’t said those words thoughtlessly. He’d worried and hesitated before choosing them. However, in the end, no matter how far he went, it was only “should”: Shiroe couldn’t say that he wanted to go home, but he also couldn’t say that he didn’t. He’d simply come to the conclusion that, taking all of Yamato’s present circumstances into consideration, it was probably the correct move, something they should do.
It was an answer that the circumstances made nearly automatic, and it held nothing of Shiroe himself. The situation had the initiative, and he’d given the only answer he thought was likely to be correct under the circumstances.
There was a murky feeling inside Shiroe. It wasn’t something unrecognizable; on the contrary: It was an emotion he was very familiar with. There was a situation he couldn’t do anything about, and when he tried to deal with it rationally and logically, the answers appeared on their own.
There weren’t many answers. In most cases, there was only one.
This state was practically routine for Shiroe. His parents had both worked, and when they were away at their jobs, he’d had no choice but to eat meals by himself. If they moved house, he’d had to go with them. There was a certain, specific problem or situation, and in it, there was always only one answer that was meaningful and valid. This was sense so common that there was no need to give it any real thought.
Shiroe’s correctness, common sense, and choices helped the people around him, and there had been many times when they’d headed off trouble before it began. Those choices had made it possible for him to “do well” both at home and in school, but as a result, he’d had to walk for ages over the asphalt late at night. What he was feeling now was the same thing he’d felt back then.
That common sense was terribly suffocating, but he thought, That’s just what answers are like, in the end; I doubt there’s any help for it. It had always been like that before, and it probably always would be.
The true shape of his irritation was his anxiety and hesitation.
He thought he’d said good-bye to those days on that lunar beach, but he was still carrying this pain. Determination alone wouldn’t be enough.
Right now, Shiroe had no other answer.
“Master Shiroe.”
Li Gan, smiling bashfully, had poked his head halfway out and was beckoning to him.
Standing up from his place in the shade, Shiroe went closer, dubiously. At that, the Person of the Earth sage dashed out of the ruins, spread both arms wide, and spun around, showing off his equipment.
“What do you think? Does it look good? Am I fully prepared now, too?”
Li Gan wore an enormous box-shaped knapsack that seemed to be made of metal on his back, and he was smiling. When he reached around behind himself and fiddled with the meters and pipes attached to the box, the pulse of the magic stone grew stronger.
“Well, you know. The history of Miral Lake is nothing to sneeze at, is it?! We have proper equipment for individuals as well, Master Shiroe. This is a barrier generation device, created during the time of the Alv War. I do believe I’ll be able to accompany you, I do indeed. You see?!”
As Li Gan spoke, he seemed to be enjoying himself as much as ever, regardless of the circumstances. As if provoked by his words, a little white steam went up from the magical device, as if it were excited.
�
�What, you’re coming too, guy?” Naotsugu had been passing by, and as he spoke, he set his large shield down in the square.
“Yes, I am. There seems to be a special seal set on the entrance to Fortress of the Call. Master Shiroe has asked me to break its spell.”
Li Gan scratched his head, seeming a little self-conscious.
Shiroe felt deeply apologetic about this.
This Person of the Earth researcher didn’t have very much HP. He wouldn’t be able to be part of the raid capture unit; Shiroe was planning to have him come with them in a safe position. He thought this dungeon, the broadcasting station ruins, would be relatively safe compared with ordinary raid zones. From what he could gather from the attacks, most of the monsters would probably be Party rank, not full Raid rank. Still, naturally, that didn’t mean there would be no danger.
“This sort of situation is unprecedented in the history of this world. As one who has inherited the name of Miral Lake, I have a duty to see it through to the end.”
That was how Li Gan responded when Shiroe had apologized.
Even though he was beaming, there was strength in his expression, and it told Shiroe that he wasn’t doing this out of a mere sense of obligation. Li Gan had things he wanted to do and learn, too, and he felt it was worth risking his life to do so. To Shiroe, right now, that attitude was dazzling, and it made him a little jealous.
“Well, and in any case…”
Possibly because he was embarrassed, Li Gan scratched his head repeatedly, smiling awkwardly.
“I did admire this sort of thing, just a little. They’re called ‘dungeons,’ aren’t they? And it’s ‘exploring,’ correct? And ‘adventure’! I call myself a Lore Master, and as you’d expect, we scholars have a particular, instinctive desire to see things we haven’t seen before. My research into world-class magic has made progress, you know. I tell you, strange things really do exist. There are moments when research you thought was unrelated suddenly connects, out of the blue. It’s possible the maximum and the minimum in magic may be—”
“I’m in full equipment, too, hon!”