Chapter 124: Embracing the Light of Ambition — Part 10
Author's Note: To be specific, daily uploads are gonna get tough from early December onward (Xenoblade 2 comes out). I feel like I could kill a whole day just staring at the Collector's Edition extras...
With a beaming, joy-filled expression, Akitsu Akane had essentially declared: "I fought my way through three whole areas and sprinted all the way here." I see—with enough skill to spontaneously trigger the Unique Scenario "Invitation from Rabituza," it probably wasn't that difficult. I don't know how she managed to persuade her, but the fact that she's partied with Emul means she didn't solo the bosses. Even so, she's way too fast.
Sunraku: "...I've got about a hundred things I want to say, but this really isn't the time."
Akitsu Akane: "Yes! So that's the rumored Lycagon the Nightslayer! I'm still an inexperienced Level 43, but I'll lend you my aid!"
Sunraku: "Yeah—... WAIT, WHAT!?"
Did I just hear something monumentally insane, or was I hearing things?
Sunraku: "Level 43!?"
Akitsu Akane: "Yes! I made it this far thanks to Emul-chan and Ceecrue-san!"
Ceecrue... that name rings a bell. If I remember right, he's one of Emul's older brothers—one below Bilac, going by the name order. So he's Vash's second son. That would put his level somewhere in the 90s. And considering Emul's nearly Level 90 herself, that means she's got what you could call excessive escort backup. I see—with that, breaking through something like the Clown Spider or the Humming Lich as a cakewalk becomes possible.
Psyger-0: "That's... um, wouldn't that be almost useless against Lycagon?"
Akitsu Akane: "Indeed! I can't be of any help in terms of fire support... but for emergency escapes—just like I did earlier!"
How do I put this—she's a type of gamer I don't see around me very often. How to describe her... it's like someone dumped gasoline on "freshness" and set it on fire. She's not exactly "muscle-brained," but there's a subtle similarity... yes, she's "athletic club type." The kind of gamer who believes "if I work hard enough, things will work out"—and then actually works hard and makes them work out. This breed of gamer, like me, has motivation directly linked to player skill... but on top of that, their performance spikes even further when given a clear objective. The type you often see among time attackers.
That said, this player Akitsu Akane has brought both advantages and disadvantages crashing down on us. The advantage is simple: the party gained a member. At Level 43—honestly, nearly useless in a fight against Lycagon—she can still fill in the gaps that inevitably form with just Rei-shi and me, using that mysterious substitution magic from earlier. And above all, bringing high-level Vorpal Bunnies along dramatically changes our tactical options.
But of course, there are downsides too. To be honest, Rei-shi and I weren't all that committed to beating Lycagon. Not that we were fighting on the premise of losing—but there was an unspoken understanding: "If even after throwing our trump cards at it we still can't bring it down, let's just call it quits." But now that Akitsu Akane has brought Emul and the others—NPCs who can't respawn—we suddenly have a "reason we can't afford to lose." This is no longer a fight to beat Lycagon. It's a fight where we must not lose to Lycagon. That fox-girl came charging here with reinforcements, collapsing our retreat route behind her. My plans—and my mindset—shift accordingly.
Sunraku: "Fffuuuuh..."
In the brief moment before Lycagon—which had been chasing Hollow Mirror's phantom—turns its attention back to us, I breathe out a sigh laced with weakness and steel my resolve. Our hand has grown by three cards. One of them I know well, but the other two still have plenty of black boxes. Still, I can piece together a strategy from what I can glean from the fragments. It'll be a slapdash rush job—steel beams exposed, flimsier than a castle built overnight—but if I swing it full force, it'll make a fine mass weapon.
Sunraku: "Akitsu Akane. For now, I want you to guard Rei-shi over there. Right now, Rei-shi is in the middle of preparing her trump card—and to pull it off, she still needs to land a few more hits on Lycagon. So until Rei-shi's set up, I need you to support her with escapes."
Akitsu Akane: "Yes! Leave it to me!"
Sunraku: "Also, sorry—but that rabbit draped limp around your neck... Ceecrue, was it? Give me a rough rundown of what he can do."
Akitsu Akane: "He's a samurai! A bunny one!"
Hmm. This feels like asking "what are the ingredients in this dish" and being told "fish! And vegetables!" Still, "samurai" probably means close-range class. So effectively: three front-liners, one rear support, one skirmisher. In that case, the optimal split is 2:3, escort-focused.
Sunraku: "Alright. I'll take Emul. You go with Ceecrue and guard Rei-shi... and assist. When it comes down to it, you don't need to land hits on Lycagon. Just help her out so she can land her attacks without fail."
Akitsu Akane: "Y-Yes! I'll give it everything I've got, body and soul!!"
Her eyes sparkling, Akitsu Akane accepts my party invite without a moment's delay. The groggy rabbits also approve, and with that, a five-member party—three players, two NPCs—is formed. Which means Akitsu Akane, Emul, and the others can't go home until Lycagon is beaten... or until Lycagon beats us.
Lycagon fixes its gaze upon us. Who exactly is that stare directed at? Annoying little me? Rei-shi, who escaped being chewed to pieces? Akitsu Akane, who snatched prey right from under its nose? What's clear is that from here on, it's the final round. And we—no, I—must clear this with zero party member deaths against the Unique Monster Lycagon the Nightslayer.
Hardship and tribulation—truly, like the trials imposed upon a hero. Unfortunately, the one in that position happens to be a half-naked deviant, and I'm filled with apologies... wait, hold on. If you go all the way back to Ancient Greece or around there, weren't there plenty of heroes who were half-naked, ripped, and heroically violent? So half-naked is fine! Thank you, BC!!
Sunraku: "Alright, let's go! Wake up, Emul—big job ahead! Or would a cat's paw have been more useful than a rabbit's?"
Emul: "A rabbit's paw is fluffier and cuter... wa! Wait—Pyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!? It's Lycagon... waaaaaaaaa!!"
Sunraku: "Hahaha! Just hold on tight to my head!"
Emul: "The ride is way too hard... wa! I want a cushion... waaaaaaah!!"
Sunraku: "Sorry, request denied."
You're probably gonna be sitting on this metal helmet seat a lot from now on, so get used to it through grit and guts. ...Oh, right. My bad, my bad. This party isn't three people and two rabbits. It's three people and three rabbits.
Once you've steeled your resolve, reasons you can't retreat and reasons you can't lose become motivation for a challenge run. Ironically, with the burden of Emul on my shoulders—or rather, on my head—my performance during this battle has hit its peak. Though she's a burden, she's an additional weapons-option-part: the magic artillery platform named Emul, clinging to my head, enables actions beyond what I could achieve with just the attacks from these two arms. By entrusting the firepower skills I'd otherwise need to use for pulling Lycagon's aggro to Emul's offensive magic, I can respond to Lycagon's sudden aggro shifts with a slap to the cheek to say "look this way." Occasionally a clone still slips through toward Rei-shi, but Akitsu Akane and the other Vorpal Bunny, Ceecrue, seem to be preventing the frontline from collapsing.
Sunraku: "Main body, right foreleg! We're jumping!"
Emul: "Hiiiieee— Magic Chain!"
Whether it's actually effective or not is another matter, but SF-Zoo already proved that binding spells do work on Lycagon. Emul's conjured chains of magical force entangle Lycagon's foreleg. Naturally, it doesn't have enough power to fully immobilize it—just enough to freeze its movement for a fleeting moment. But one second is enough to notice, to move, to respond. My body—granted tengu-like motion by Possessed by the Great Asura King—leaps and lands softly on Lycagon's foreleg. Springing off the foothold Lycagon itself so kindly provided, I grip Dual Crescent Moon with both hands, and its blade carves another moon across the canvas of jet-black fur. Even with a flash of the blade meant for the weak to challenge the strong, not a single drop of blood spills... At this point, with this absolute absence of blood, a different possibility comes into view.
Sunraku: "...Yeah, something's definitely off about this."
Age-rating walls aside, SLF substitutes bloodshed with polygon effects. Slash a flesh-and-blood Mob or player, and red polygons spray from the wound—sometimes blue or green, depending. But Lycagon produces none of that. No matter how deeply I cut, not a single fragment of blood polygon emerges. So let's shift perspective. It's not that Lycagon takes zero damage from repeated attacks—rather, we should consider that it's in a state where "blood doesn't come out" by design. And if you consider Lycagon's traits, the answer emerges naturally.
Sunraku: "That's not the main body. That's a clone, too."
Visible or invisible aside, Lycagon can produce clones. That physical form is, at most, a kind of control unit that can generate clones. In conclusion, we should assume Lycagon's true body isn't here at all. And if that's the case, then how we use the cards in our hand... changes.
Sunraku: "Emul! Shake it up!!"
Emul: "Hai na! Hmm... Mana Shaker!!"
That spell, in terms of raw physical destructive power, is absolutely and utterly negligible. Even one cast by Emul, who's on the threshold of the Level 90 realm, probably couldn't shave even a single dot of HP off a Level 1 newbie player. So what is this spell's reason for existing? Lycagon is now demonstrating its true worth. The instant the circular wave-like effect Emul fired struck Lycagon's shoulder, the point of impact collapsed—just for a moment—with a "fluctuation" that clearly didn't look like something that should occur on living flesh. Mana Shaker is highly effective against monsters whose bodies are constructed from magical energy, or monsters who "create" their bodies through magic. In other words...
Lycagon: "GARUA!?"
Sunraku: "Bingo! You can touch and be touched, but classification-wise, you're an intangible monster, same as a ghost!!"
Because it boasts a massive frame and crushes players like insects, this truth had been hidden from view: Lycagon's true nature. In short, this thing is a poltergeist. An intangible entity that can exert physical influence... Given the very principle by which it creates clones, it's hard to believe, but this thing can "materialize" shadows or darkness itself. To put it another way, the Lycagon before our eyes is like a wolf sculpted from clay, being moved by remote control. No matter how much you physically beat on it, unless you deal with the strings pulling it—in this case, a magic-based "force"—this Lycagon cannot be defeated.
(But if that's the case, something still doesn't sit right... If it were purely magic-class dependent, I'd get it, but this makes physical classes worth nothing more than meat shields. So then—are there two clear conditions? A magic route and a physical route?)
Physical classes: it takes work to whittle down that absurd HP, but you can harden up to some degree with equipment and gain maneuvering advantages through skill trees. Magic classes, on the other hand: you can whittle HP efficiently, but with fragile equipment and awkward footwork, once you're forced onto the defensive, you risk getting ground down. If so, there's still hope—after all, that last attack seems to have really, truly gotten under Lycagon's skin.
Emul: "Piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!! It's staring right at me... waaaaaaaaaaaa!!"
Sunraku: "Incredible. It just took every last bit of aggro I had."
Emul: "I want to go home... waaaaaaaaaaaa!!"
So what exactly is that Lycagon?