Chapter 118: Embracing the Light of Ambition — Part 4
[I've got to exterminate chicken as an apostle of potatoes, and fly through the air with an anthropomorphized sword, and collect flower petals at an emperor-sponsored festival, and...]
Blacker than night, darker, deeper. The dev staff member in charge of this thing's graphics must've had an easy job—just color the whole body pitch black, no questions asked.
Sunraku: "Lycagon...!"
Ah, there's no mistaking it. A mass of data resources that even the Golden Scorpion can't hold a candle to. Though it should be nothing more than a Mob—just 0s and 1s draped in polygons—its entire body radiates an aura as if you've laid your neck upon the guillotine... no, an aura that brings death itself, more overwhelmingly than anything. Even now, far stronger than that day when I flailed pathetically and had my legs and torso torn off, victory feels hopelessly distant. The vision of seizing triumph from this thing blurs, vaguer than pixel art.
Lycagon: "Grrrrrrrr..."
Manifested from the shadows of night's darkness, Lycagon bathes in the moonlight yet remains utterly black, its golden eyes gazing down with utter disdain. Quietly, yet with a presence so boisterous it's deafening, its roaming golden gaze sweeps past the members of SF-Zoo, fixes upon Rei-shi, and finally settles on me. As expected, this is no mere AI that can only consider combat—it possesses a high-level judgment on par with NPCs.
Animalia: "All units, commence operation! Formation: Anti-Dragon!"
The staring contest between Lycagon and me—where I nearly found myself instinctively readying my weapon—was shattered by Animalia's sharp command. Confident, and having clearly come here fully prepared, the members of SF-Zoo move without any confusion. The glance Animalia throws our way is surely a warning: keep your hands off.
Psyger-0: "Sunraku-san."
Sunraku: "Let's pull back for now. Far enough that Lycagon won't turn its hate on us."
The battle hasn't properly started yet. The countdown before combat begins—those few seconds just before the blue signal lights up. Together with Rei-shi, I put distance between us and the imminent clash between Lycagon and SF-Zoo.
Psyger-0: "...Is this... really okay?"
Sunraku: "Rei-shi, how many times have you fought Lycagon?"
Psyger-0: "About three times... though... I was... instantly killed."
That's more experience than me. Should I be calling you senpai? Well, whatever.
Sunraku: "I've only fought it once, but... nine times out of ten, I can't imagine a monster like that getting cheesed to death. And if we stick our noses in carelessly and SF-Zoo ends up clinging to us even harder, that'd be a pain. So for now, let's just watch."
Even if this isn't the real deal, I can't believe Lycagon would go down that easily. Besides, there's something I want to confirm. They're strangers now anyway, so I’ll have them serve as poison testers without any guilt.
SF-Zoo. A clan whose members stand apart from the other top clans—their purpose being to immobilize monsters for photography, petting, and various other activities. And the composition of their members is equally uncommon.
Sunraku: "Five tanks... and no way, ten debuffers?"
And these aren't your ordinary tanks. Clad head-to-toe in heavy armor, each wielding a tower shield in both hands—truly pure wall-role tanks who have completely abandoned offense. Five of them, lined up in a single row like a fortress, guarding the debuffers behind them.
Psyger-0: "That's... SF-Zoo's basic tactic. The tanks... focus entirely on gathering hate... while the debuffs... stop the enemy's movements."
Sunraku: "Those iron-block daruma would be nothing more than stationary objects... I see—they force movement through skill assists."
With five, they can relay hate. If one or two are drawing the enemy's attention, the remaining three can work on recovery. And Mobs—unlike players—cannot ignore the tanks gathering hate. If they hesitate, a storm of debuffs comes flying from the rear... Refreshingly specialized against monsters to an extreme degree. I see—against a half-baked boss, they'd truly have no choice but to make their debut as a photography subject.
Sunraku: "That said..."
Psyger-0: "?"
That probably only works against enemies the tactic can restrain to some degree. Even with flawless aggro management, they’ve sacrificed so much mobility that...
Sunraku: "Wow. Heavy armor, bouncing like a soccer ball."
Lycagon the Nightslayer—this thing is, if anything, craftier than players. The tanks dispersing to avoid a mass wipe like bowling pins isn't a foolish strategy, but it was a poor move against Lycagon. Lycagon's form melts in an instant—like ice in fast-forward—and it appears from behind one of the tanks as if it had been there from the very start. Lycagon's shadow ambush—something I can only understand because I've both experienced it firsthand and now see it from a third-party perspective. No matter how defense-specialized you are, if you can't respond, you're nothing more than a sandbag. Having circled behind him, Lycagon sends one tank tumbling with a casual front-leg swipe before he can even turn around. That said, since they've poured everything into defense at the cost of mobility, a one-hit-polygon-splatter doesn't seem to happen. And their recovery is excellent. Almost purely through eye contact, one of the remaining four heads to the one who got launched, while the other three cluster together, drawing Lycagon's hate. Setting aside their near-total lack of offensive capability, this is ideal tank play. And the tanks' ability to halt the enemy synergizes terrifyingly well with the debuffers waiting in the rear.
Unidentified SF-Zoo caller: "First wave... fire!"
Four SF-Zoo debuffers: "Atlas Bind!"
First wave. Four of the ten rear guards activate the same spell. The system takes effect, seizing Lycagon's four limbs. Effects that appear to have erupted from the ground entwine themselves around Lycagon's legs, sealing its movement—though from the look of Lycagon's reactions, they won't hold it for long.
Unidentified SF-Zoo caller: "Pile on! Second wave, reinforce!"
But SF-Zoo doesn't end things there. The second wave—another four—activate their respective magic and curses. Chains, withered arms, ivy, petrification... further reinforcing the restraints on Lycagon's limbs that Atlas Bind had already locked down. Wait, those types of spells can stack? No—I should assume they deliberately chose spells that can. And here, having bided their time, comes Animalia.
SF-Zoo Member: "Leader!"
Animalia: "That completes the capture! Grasping Arms of the Underworld [Hands of Tartarus]!"
Wielding a staff that clearly stands out from the other members—likely a Unique Weapon—Animalia and one other activate their spell. The instant they do, the ground beneath Lycagon's left and right warps into a shape physically impossible, like a texture bug. And from that distortion, a massive arm suddenly bursts forth, seizing Lycagon's torso in an iron grip.
Sunraku: "Whoa, what is that?"
Psyger-0: "...It's an innate curse spell... from the Unique Weapon she holds, the 'Underworld Keystaff.' If I recall... it inflicts a thirty-second immobilization... on all living creatures..."
Sunraku: "Living creatures, huh..."
Psyger-0: "More importantly... at this rate... SF-Zoo is going to..."
Truth be told, I'm not particularly worried about that. It's not that I'm arrogant enough to think I could beat it myself—but at the very least, I know that method won't work. Lycagon has been restrained far more easily than I'd imagined, but that defiant expression on its face isn't one belonging to something that's been captured.
Psyger-0: "A-Are you sure...? I mean... even now..."
Sunraku: "Wait... it's coming."
Psyger-0: "Huh?"
That's right. That's it. I remember now. It was the same back then. I finally understand the conditions behind that attack. With just a tiny trigger, the pieces of information chain together within me.
Confirmed: Lycagon the Nightslayer merges with shadows, creating clones from them. Hypothesis: Lycagon the Nightslayer does not strictly merge with shadows, but with the darkness of night itself. Confirmed: The darkness of night is not the shadow of the ground, but the "darkness" of space itself. Confirmed: During that attack, Lycagon did not deploy any clones.
—Hypothesis. What if that attack wasn't an "invisible bite"? What if it was a "bite from an invisible clone"? And what if its activation condition is triggered by darkness—where even the light source of the moon vanishes and the starlight is too dim to illuminate? What if it's a surprise attack from a clone that has completely merged with the darkness of night...?!
Sunraku: "You're telling me to check the weather mid-battle...!"
Lycagon the Nightslayer. I've been misunderstanding that name all this time. It’s not "Nightslayer" because it attacks at night. It’s "Nightslayer" because the night itself attacks you.
The moment I arrived at that answer, the darkness itself struck Animalia.