Chapter 110: What Should Be Done, What to Aim For, What to Rely On
Sunraku: "Sigh..."
In the end, Fiddler Crab—hard-countered and massacred—was beautifully turned into crab hotpot. And Rust, who slaughtered me with a machine that was a blatant rip-off of Kings Gambit, was wearing a truly brilliant smile.
Rust: "Looking forward to working with you."
Mold: "Ah, no, I mean... sorry."
Sunraku: "Nah, it's fine, it's fine... I got careless on that one."
Well, if you can pull off a late-throw in rock-paper-scissors and you've got the motivation to win, of course you're gonna build a counter. Mentally swearing that I will absolutely build a machine that counters Kings Gambit someday, I turn back to Rust.
Sunraku: "You played me pretty well there... but the main event is still to come, right? It's true that I—or rather, myself and two others, the three of us—share ownership of some sci-fi-ish equipment. If I can convince those two, you might... might be able to use it."
In other words: convincing just me is meaningless. If Rust wants to wear the Enhanced Armor—and by extension, pilot the Tactical Machine Beasts—she'll have to convince Oikatzo, who's strangely strict about odd things, and Pencilgon, who is essentially the final boss. In that regard, bringing Unique Monster intel as a bargaining chip rather than just words... is not the wrong call. For starters, I can shut Oikatzo up with this, since he hasn't managed to trigger a Unique himself. The odds of him finding one while I'm logged out... If he did find one, he'd probably become even more annoying... so he probably hasn't. The problem is Pencilgon. Convincing someone for whom "seventy percent poker win rate" is a realistic figure is no ordinary feat. More often than not, you find yourself having agreed to terms that somehow end up entirely in her favor. Given all that, the Unique Monster intel is certainly a strong card. But if you ask me:
Sunraku: "It lacks a decisive finishing blow."
Rust: "A decisive blow?"
Right. Not many people know this, but scenarios that connect to Unique Monsters have 'EX' attached to them. And there's another piece of info that, as far as I know, only I'm aware of right now. That's exactly why I believed their vague intel about "something that might connect to a Unique Monster" in the first place.
Sunraku: "Just to check—can I hear the details of this scenario that leads to 'Ctarnidd of the Abyss'?"
Rust: "...Mold."
Mold: "Right, right... Let's see. The Unique Scenario 'Strike the Apostle of the Abyss' can be accepted in Fifticia. The content involves tracking a ghost ship at the request of an NPC—the self-proclaimed 'Great Pirate Stude.'"
Sunraku: "Ah, you can drop the formal speech."
Mold: "Oh... then I'll take you up on that. We only managed to accept this scenario in Fifticia, but at the time, we got intel on that ghost ship—the 'Crying Innsman.' According to that self-proclaimed great pirate, the ghost ship offers the humans it abducts to the 'Master of the Abyss.'"
Master of the Abyss... I see. Certainly, on its own, that does seem like it has a high probability of connecting—through a different Unique Scenario—to the true prize, the EX Scenario. But this alone isn't enough. If "might" can't be used as a bargaining chip, then I have to turn that speculation into certainty.
Sunraku: "As I thought, it lacks a decisive blow..."
Rust: "So what is this 'decisive blow'?"
Sunraku: "Scenarios directly involving Unique Monsters have 'EX' attached at the end. So if you want to use it as a bargaining chip, you can't just say it 'might connect' to a Unique Monster. You need the decisive proof that it 'connects' to a Unique Scenario—specifically, an EX Scenario."
In other words:
Sunraku: "Unless you clear this 'Strike the Apostle of the Abyss' and trigger the Bonus Unique Scenario, it won't work as a bargaining chip."
Emul: "Ah! It's Sunraku-san... wa!"
I log into Shangri-La Frontier—which somehow feels incredibly nostalgic—and load Emul onto my head as she leaps at me with a byo! But then I hear some shocking news.
Sunraku: "In Rabituza... there's a human besides me?"
Emul: "Hai na! Big Bro Ceecrue brought them, saying they're 'a truly splendid human, de gozaru!' ...wa!"
Sunraku: "Is that so... Is that so..."
So someone's come here—which means a player other than me has fulfilled the flag conditions for "Invitation from Rabituza." And that, in turn, means a player has appeared who has a high probability... no, an almost certain probability of reaching the Bonus Unique Scenario "Epic of Vorpal Bunny."
Sunraku: "This is bad... This is very, very bad..."
A trump card only exerts its absolute, transcendent effect over other cards precisely because you're the only one holding it. If that player were to, say, spread information about "Invitation from Rabituza" across the internet, the advantage I hold could scatter like mist. I'm just one player in SLF, after all. I can't exactly impose a gag order on another player—especially not a total stranger I've never even met, unlike with clanmates or friends. Damn it all. To think someone would actually clear the absurdly, insanely high-difficulty flag conditions for that... What do I do? If I don't scheme like Pencilgon, my trump card could be revealed to every single player in SLF. What a nightmare. I'm already sitting on an unexploded bomb in the form of SF-Zoo. If it gets out that Rabituza has a Bonus Unique Scenario, even Schwarz Vulf and Library might mobilize. Should I consult Pencilgon? No, before that, I have my promise with Rust and Mold. But even before that, the highest priority is dealing with this other person who's entered Rabituza...
Sunraku: "Gaaah! My head's a mess!?"
Emul: "Pyaaah!?"
I shake my head violently, and Emul—perched on top—shrieks. But right now, I'm in no state to care.
Sunraku: "Emul, do you know the name of this other play—no, pioneer?"
Emul: "Umm... if I remember right... Big Bro Ceecrue called them 'akitsu akane-dono'... wa."
akitsu akane-dono... Akitsu Akane-dono? If '-dono' is the honorific, then the name itself is "Akitsu Akane"? At the very least, it's not a name I've heard throughout my entire time playing. Sure, trying to identify a single person out of SLF's player base—which boasts thousands of times, if not tens of thousands, the population of Constipation—is like searching for an ant's contact lens in the desert. But... damn it, I'm so panicked my head won't work right.
Sunraku: "Sorry, I'm gonna go sleep one more time."
Emul: "Fweh!?"
Sunraku: "I'll get up right away!"
Emul: "That's still called sleeping... wa!?"
Sunraku: "A nap! It's a nap!"
I log out and immediately search the internet for "Invitation from Rabituza" and "Bonus Unique Scenario." After about five minutes of digging, I confirm that this information hasn't been made public online yet. I log right back in. With Emul—still flustered—on my head, I leave my room and sprint down the corridor.
Sunraku: "Emul, this Akitsu Akane person... or this Ceecrue. I want to meet them. Where are they?"
Emul: "Akitsu Akane-san is in her room... she said she'd sleep until Da—... the Chief gets back... wa. Big Bro Ceecrue just wanders off somewhere, so I don't know... wa."
Tch. So I can't meet them right away. Time is money, they say, but with every second that passes, I feel like impatience is scorching my body. To be so worked up over a situation I can't control with my own power... No, calm down... calm down...
Sunraku: "That's right—this is just RNG. It's a matter of whether I can pull the RNG roll of 'the player known as Akitsu Akane doesn't spread the information.' ...Aaaaargh, damn it, I can't see it as anything but an absurdly low RNG roll!"
Emul: "What is this 'RNG'... wa!?"
Sunraku: "It's the rule of the world!"
As I shout that, I slap both cheeks with my hands at nearly full force to calm myself down. Compared to other games, SLF excels in the realism of its "sensations"—but since excessive pain is regulated game-wide, what I feel stroking my cheeks isn't pain but something closer to numbness. I can't exactly say I've calmed down, but at least my thoughts have room to breathe. Brooding over things I can't change won't change anything. I'll do what I can. The heap of things I need to do, things I should do, things I don't need to do... More tangled than a ball of yarn after a cat's played with it—I lay out, align, and sort the fragments of my thoughts, constructing a more strategic play chart.
Sunraku: "Emul, for now, I've got something I absolutely have to do, so I need to go solo."
Emul: "O-Oh..."
Sunraku: "Therefore, Emul, I am issuing you a critical mission."
Emul: "Cr-Critical... Leave it all to me... wa!"
After parting ways with Emul—having conveyed my orders—I sprint toward Bilac's workshop, frantically sorting through everything I need to do.
Sunraku: "Bilac! Is that thing finished!?"
Bilac: "O-Oh... it's you... hehehe... it's done, alright... my greatest masterpiece... and its name is—! 'Gil—"
Sunraku: "This is it! Great work, I'm taking it!"
Bilac: "Wha—!? You, just let me talk a bit more—"
Sunraku: "I'll shower you with an hour of gratitude along with a field report later! See ya!"
From behind me, an echo of pure rage rings out: "Why youuuuu... yaaaaah... yaaah...!" But I ignore it. Ignore.
Sunraku: "From here on out, it's a Real-Time Attack...!!"
For that, there's just one thing I need to do. Having asked Emul to tell me about a certain place... I dash straight toward it without a second thought.