Chapter 67: Putting Feelings Into a Moment, Part 14
When Sunraku resumed dealing with Wethermon the Tombguard and Oikatzo broke off to face his own opponent, Oikatzo's first impression had been "a dump truck with legs." But now, after taking in its full form, his revised assessment was "a rampaging tank."
Perhaps designed to match the color scheme of Wethermon's armor, its steel body — white and black like its master's — was massive enough to crane your neck at. Through the gaps in its armor, you could see bundles of tubing that looked exactly like artificial muscle, reminiscent of dump-truck tires. Even for a pro gamer with riding experience — albeit limited to in-game Cavalry Crisis — the question wasn't how to ride it. Before that, the question was: "How am I even supposed to get ON this thing?"
Oikatzo: "This thing runs all over the area scattering missiles and lasers?!"
Pencilgon: "In my entire life, I think the experience of feeling like a bowling pin about to get obliterated is a pretty rare one."
No kidding, Oikatzo muttered, but even as he said it, he was already studying the giant mechanical horse — Kirin — as it began to move.
Oikatzo: "Sunraku's hanging in there. No way I'm just gonna stand around as the respawn-item caddy...! Found it — a boarding hatch!"
He sprinted toward Kirin's hind legs. This wasn't some slapdash game with sci-fi elements tossed in haphazardly. This was a game where the setting had been crafted with an almost insane level of detail, perfectly recreated, and balanced alongside genuine gameplay. If the devs were going to plant hints for players to exploit within the bounds of that setting, where would they put them? Oikatzo's guess was dead-on: he'd found a maintenance-crew ladder.
Because Sunraku had been forced — for various reasons — to invest stat points into Technique and the like, Oikatzo's own point allocation had resulted in speed roughly equal to Sunraku's. He scrambled up Kirin's back before its eyes could even lock onto Sunraku.
Oikatzo: "A horse needs a bit and bridle, doesn't it...? Rope Puppet — Snake!"
The skill Oikatzo deliberately voiced aloud to guarantee success wasn't from the Monk job tree. It belonged to the Archaeologist — the seeker who relies on ropes and a touch of magic to uncover the unknown, to search for wisdom. The rope, animated by the skill to move like a living serpent, coiled itself around Kirin's neck. Oikatzo gripped it tight, effectively fitting the beast with a bridle.
Oikatzo: "Never thought I'd end up using my sub-job Archaeologist like this... Time to show you the technique that got me third place in Cavalry Crisis nationwide, you wild horse!"
With earth-shaking rumbles and roaring thunder as his starting gong, Oikatzo's long, long rodeo began.
The Scales of Price.
A Unique Item owned by the NPC-run trading company, the Golden Scales. Even Pencilgon — a level 99 player who had seen countless Uniques — was forced to label it with a single word: "broken."
Pencilgon: "Oi, oi. I've already fed you thirty million Mani worth of items and you're telling me there's still room? What an absolute glutton."
Into the left dish — the Offering Dish — Pencilgon had loaded as data a colossal volume of items: everything she'd gathered throughout her entire playtime, plus high-value items acquired through trading, buying, and selling. The combined market value: thirty million Mani. Naturally, the left dish was tilting so hard it nearly touched the ground.
Pencilgon: "Rate's a hundred thousand per point. Please, Scales-chan... 'The Scales preserve balance. Turn value into numbers, grant strength unmatched...!' That was the phrase, right?"
Unique Items had their own particular annoyances — a slavish devotion to their own lore. In this case, different incantations for different uses. Pencilgon activated the effect that could become her trump card on this board.
Unique Item: The Scales of Price. A Unique Item kept as the symbol of commerce by the NPC trading company, the Golden Scales. By placing items into the left dish — the "Offering Dish" — the user receives various blessings from the right dish — the "Blessing Dish" — in proportion to their value. This could be gold coins equivalent to the sale value of the items offered... or — with the considerable limitation of being temporary — the granting of additional stat points that could even exceed the level cap.
Pencilgon: "My entire fortune. Bonus stat points. Total: 300 points... Take it all, you thief!"
Two windows appeared before Pencilgon's eyes. One was a toughness-specialized brawler build. The other was a freak build — specialized in Technique and Luck, looking like it had no idea what it wanted to be. Into both, as an opening salvo, fifty points each were hammered home.
Sunraku: "WHOOOA?!"
Suddenly, Wethermon the Tombguard's attacks seemed to slow down. The sensory disconnect was so extreme I couldn't help letting out a stupid yelp. But I immediately realized I was wrong.
Sunraku: "So that's what all those elaborate preparations were for...!"
I dodged Wethermon's blade with a body that responded far more obediently than just moments before. Right after, another jolt — like being lightly tapped from inside my own body — hit me, and the sensation of shortness of breath vanished.
Sunraku: "Diagonal slash. Rising slash. Spinning slash."
I sidestepped to dodge the diagonal, used my Marsh Dagger [Revised II] to parry the rising slash, then leaped three steps back to escape the round slash's radius. In the instant his attacks paused, I closed the gap in a single burst and activated Drill Piercer with my right-hand dagger. My target wasn't the torso. It wasn't the face.
Sunraku: "Focused strike!"
It was the hand gripping that massive blade — a blade that looked like some kind of blue crystal, almost fragile at first glance. The fingers. The spiral effect, now more ferocious than ever, grazed across Wethermon's fingers — frozen in the recovery frames of his round slash — and the multi-hit strikes burst forth.
Yes, Wethermon the Tombguard was tough. Attacking normally would shred your weapon's durability in no time, just like what almost happened to my Empire Bee Twinblades. But the weak points of heavily armored monsters have been a settled matter since ancient times: the joints and the extremities!
As if backing up my attack, power surged through my body. The Marsh Dagger [Revised II] was definitely carving into Wethermon's fingers. But it wasn't enough. The spiral effect dispersed, signaling the skill's end. One more step — just a little more — and that loosened grip on the blade would open. What do I do? This is what I do. I tossed my left-hand dagger upward, took one more step forward, and activated In-Fight. The effect wreathing my left hand was the light of Luck — a value of 74, converted into damage through stat correction, hammering down not on Wethermon's loosened fingers... but on the hilt of his sword.
Sunraku: "Hand of Fortune!"
The blade slipped cleanly from Wethermon's grip and flew into the distance. Before Wethermon could even react, I caught the falling dagger, slammed it into my inventory, and secured Wethermon's sword where it had stabbed into the ground.
Sunraku: "Hah! A swordsman without a sword is like curry without roux! Sucks to be you, you plain-rice bastard!"
I knew it already, but I couldn't put it in my inventory as an item. The weight in my hand told me I lacked the qualifications to swing this thing — the stats required to even lift what felt less like a sword and more like an oversized greatsword. But I didn't knock the sword away because I wanted it. Spoils of war come from drops. What mattered was depriving Wethermon of his blade. That hyper-speed iai, the lightning strikes — all sealed. Now it's round two. The best you can do bare-handed is probably that cloud-arm AoE attack...
Wethermon: "Tidal Rush."
Sunraku: "Raaaaise?!"
I underestimated him! I underestimated the power of plain rice! Damn, is this what they call the dignity of a staple food... wait, calm down. What the hell is "the power of plain rice"?
A grab attack launched from a sudden close-in so fast I wasn't sure I could match its speed even with Best Step and Skate Foot running simultaneously. What happens if those wide-open palms seize me? I don't need to think too hard about that one. He wouldn't even need to throw me — just squeezing would probably kill me. It was luck that let me dodge it the first time. But my positioning was bad.
???: "............"
???: "............"
???: "............"
Amid the roaring rodeo of Kirin and Oikatzo, the three of us fell silent. Crap — I'd been so focused on dodging that I'd ended up way too close to Pencilgon.
Wethermon: "Ti... dal..."
Pencilgon: "Uwaah!"
Sunraku: "Knew it!"
When there's something you absolutely don't want an enemy to do in a situation like this, strong enemies are kind enough to do it almost every time. You can shove that kindness in the trash.
Wethermon switched targets to Pencilgon. I swung the purloined sword and slashed his back with his own blade, trying to steal the aggro back. How about it? It's chip damage — practically a soft-throw — but you just got slashed in the back with your own weapon. You still going for Pencilgon...?
Wethermon: "...Rush."
Sunraku: "Guh!"
An impact to the throat. A floating sensation wrapping my whole body. Crap, he grabbed me. No — but if I bought Pencilgon time to disengage, then this was the right call—
Sunraku: "GWEB?!"
The world flipped. The world went dark. The world went bright. All in an instant. Judging by the fact I'd been resurrected... did he throw me headfirst into the ground in that split second? Damn it. I felt like I'd been tossed into a washing machine running full blast and then crushed along with it in a hydraulic press. Tear of Rebirth — thrown by Pencilgon as she retreated — brought me back. I scrambled away, putting distance between us.
Sunraku: "Maybe I should've let him keep the sword..."
The reach is shorter, but getting grabbed at a faster timing than he could swing a blade means I'd have to completely rework my already barely-held-together strategies. Being told to tear down a painstakingly built plan and rebuild it from scratch... it breaks your spirit.
Sunraku: "Fine, I'll do it! Let's make this a life-or-death chanbara... Wait, that's just a straight-up death match."
Wethermon: "Severing Wind."
Sunraku: "Tsaaaaai!!"
What a lethally sharp retort. If it weren't me, I'd be dead. The still-ongoing rumbling was proof Oikatzo was keeping up the rodeo. If I keeled over here, I'd never hear the end of it for generations.
Oikatzo: "NNNNNAAAAAAAAAHHHHH?!"
Oikatzo had succeeded in mounting the Tactical Mount Kirin — but mere seconds later, he realized all his preparations had been pointless.
Pencilgon: "K-Katzo-kun, are you okay?!"
Oikatzo: "I'b BIIIIIIINE!"
Pencilgon: "...What language is that?"
This was beyond getting thrown off. This was like clinging to a roller coaster with no harness. To put it another way, he felt like a doll being shaken by a small child. Riding this thing? Out of the question. All he could do was cling to the rope and pray he didn't get flung off.
(Crap... the centrifugal force...!)
Just when he thought he'd been hurled left, a terrifying force blasted him right. He barely scrambled back onto Kirin's back, only to be launched straight upward and swung around midair. And worst of all — every time he failed to land back on Kirin's back properly, he took damage. So simply holding on wasn't enough. If he hadn't been using the regen-effect items Pencilgon had given him in advance, his death count would be even higher.
(And I've already died twice as it is. Unlike Sunraku, one death for me could be fatal.)
Pencilgon's instant resurrections were the only thing keeping this manageable. But if Kirin was left unchecked for more than ten seconds, what awaited was pure chaos: that colossal mass rampaging freely across the entire field.
Through his violently shaking field of vision, Oikatzo refused to let go of the rope, his mind racing at full throttle to find some way — any way — to adapt to Kirin's movements.
(Dammit. This is supposed to be Sunraku's specialty...!)
Oikatzo — pro gamer Uomi Kei — was often misunderstood because of his playstyle, but in truth he was a rigid, dyed-in-the-wool theoretician. He gathered every scrap of intel on his opponent, then decided in advance: "What do I do in this scenario?" "How do I force them into using this move?" "What's the optimal response?" Only then would he apply those answers in live combat. He was the polar opposite of some trash-eating bird-brain who'd just "charge in and figure it out on the fly."
In that respect, this Wethermon the Tombguard operation was a terrible match for Oikatzo. The available intel wasn't nearly enough to satisfy him, and the nature of the fight meant no rehearsals — one-shot, live performance.
(What do I do... I didn't expect it to rampage this hard. Posture control's basically impossible...?)
He felt like a yo-yo being swung around wildly. At this rate, the rope's durability — the "Rope" weapon usable by Archaeologists — would hit its limit before long.
Oikatzo: "Ow!"
The moment his hip slammed hard against Kirin's neck, Oikatzo received a revelation.
(...Ah, I see. I'm getting thrown around because I can't brace myself.)
The scales gleamed. The rope danced. The half-naked figure flitted across the field. Two minutes remained until the twenty-minute mark in the battle against Wethermon the Tombguard.