Chapter 157: Run Without a Shadow, Climb, and Raise a Ruckus

Normally… if you want to change a monster’s behavior patterns or thought routines, there’s no need for some weird, convoluted reason to be involved. You just tweak the program so that “instead of responding to Action A with the usual Countermeasure B, it now responds with Countermeasure C.” But this game… I have a sneaking suspicion (personal opinion) that not just special monsters like Lycagon and Wethermon, but even standard monsters are equipped with artificial intelligence. And the AI in this game genuinely thinks before it acts.

If that’s the case, one question arises. Back when I used the Inventoria transfer-escape movement trick to walk through the Crystal Nest Cliff, the devs patched it with frightening speed and turned me into mincemeat. And now, Atlanticus Lepnorca was lying in wait for me after I vanished via transfer—and if Araba hadn’t intervened, it would’ve successfully crunched me to bits. So, the question is: what exactly are the “thoughts” of these monsters, who had a transfer-escape countermeasure installed by the devs, that lead them to ambush me? That, I figure, is the secret weapon in our current situation—and the point where I get to dump a bottle of Tabasco onto the bitter experience I swallowed back then and mail it right back to the devs.

If I use the “fly-swatting” analogy I applied to the orca bastard’s mindset, my transfer escape equates to “a fly you’d been tracking with your eyes suddenly vanishing.” Normally in that scenario, you’d look around, consider you might have simply lost sight of it, and if you realize it was some inexplicable phenomenon, you’d mark the spot where the fly disappeared. And if the added thought pattern for these so-called monsters is “keep watch on the place where you lost sight of the target,” then—

Sunraku: “If it ‘misidentifies’ me… that ambush routine shouldn’t kick in…!!”

The Lethal Secret Art: Mirror of Fading is exactly what its name suggests—like the moon reflected on the water’s surface, it’s a skill that makes a phantom image appear in the eyes of your opponent. That sounds cool and all, but essentially, it’s a skill that dumps all the aggro you’ve built up at the moment of activation and leaves it behind at that spot. To put it more accurately, it’s a skill that creates a decoy holding all the aggro accumulated up to that point. Whatever the program’s internal processing might be, from the monster’s perspective, it didn’t lose sight of the player—it’s been tricked into thinking the player is still right there. Alright, devs, I’m about to answer my own question. Will the orca bastard realize that I—not just a decoy made of presence, but the real, genuine me—have vanished? If it were just me, I could manage somehow, but the fact that Araba, who can’t respawn, is caught up in this… well, that’s a slight cause for concern.

Sunraku: “Ahh, screw it—whether this works or not, I’m not getting anywhere standing still! [Transfer: Storage Space — Enter Travel]!!”

I transferred into the storage space, which I’m practically using as a temporary shelter more than an actual warehouse by now, and started a countdown. What I’m counting is the time until the aggro decoy left by the Lethal Secret Art: Mirror of Fading disappears, plus ten seconds. The plan is that the moment the leftover aggro vanishes, Araba will harass the orca bastard with everything he’s got and then break away from that spot. If my hypothesis is correct, once my leftover aggro disappears, the orca bastard’s next target should shift to Araba. If I come back and it’s lying in wait for me again… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

Sunraku: “Three… two… one… I’m counting on you, Araba… [Transfer: Reality Space — Exit Travel]!”

The gravity that had been supporting my feet acts again, trying to drop me. Thrown into the open air, I brace myself for the possibility of death while scanning my surroundings… and spot, about a hundred meters away, a dot swimming through the sky like a little fly, along with a blazing, burning speck.

Sunraku: “Alright, bingo! You watching, devs?! If you’re gonna patch this, give it a week, thanks!!”

I flip once in the air to right myself, then use Flit Float to execute an aerial landing and mitigate the fall damage. While I was gone from this world, the orca bastard must have rampaged—I land on one of the relatively intact buildings among the wreckage and start running. My parkour know-how is pretty flimsy, just the level of casually looking stuff up online, but I’ve watched videos of it plenty of times. And in this virtual reality… as long as I have an avatar that can realize my ideals, I can replicate it. In reality, the actual body mechanics and everything would probably be totally different, and it’s all just for show—but if the show is the same, then the result is the same.

Kick off walls, spring off roofs, roll through the air, run along the edges. I need to signal Araba the moment I reach the top. After that, all I can do is pray that the orca bastard’s thought routine picks the move I’m counting on. I kick off a wall, and before gravity can grab me, I grab the edge of a roof and haul myself up. I don’t jump forward—I jump sideways, use a crack running down the wall of another building as a foothold to kill my downward momentum, then drop down to a different building one story lower. Games from the early days of full-dive VR, with their whole “the player acts as a character moving their body in a virtual world” nature, tended to demand all sorts of ridiculously acrobatic moves. More recent games, which have gotten a bit more polished with full-dive tech, are gradually implementing countermeasures like motion assists or special auto-control motions… but well, what do you think a full-dive game from before those kindnesses were implemented was like—especially a trash game?

Sunraku: “Compared to that Collapsing Otherworld Stepping-Stone Time Attack, this is practically a paved walkway with handrails…!”

Yeah, that’s the gist. That shitty stage took me three days to clear, y’know… The randomly teleporting footholds were just too brutal. A foothold that popped up right in front of you would warp to in front of the goal two seconds later, so you had to wait for the RNG to finally spawn one within jumping range… RNG, are-enn-gee, rrrrrrrrrrrr—… Whew, let’s forget the nightmares. I’ve reached the destination.

Sunraku: “It’s got plenty of bumps and grooves, but what is this…? Is the material different from the other buildings? It’s so damn smooth, looks like a pain to climb…”

How should I put it—it feels less like a tower and more like some kind of decorated objet d’art. I stare up at the bizarre, mysterious design, then shift my gaze inside the tower, which is wide open, with no door. There, perhaps due to the effect of that “can’t-tell-if-it’s-underwater-or-air” zone, a humanoid figure—yet clearly not human—floats up from the ground like a celestial maiden. I see. The dress-like, hagoromo-like parts, the graceful lady-like silhouette… it definitely communicates, in an easy-to-understand way, that the creature it’s modeled after is a clione. The being that is one of the Blockers, looking as if a human shape had been sculpted from a transparent, jelly-like agar material, notices me peeking in and floats a gentle smile…

Gubaaah.

Sunraku: “…Seems like there’d be a high demand for that in the monster-girl niche.”

The Clione Blocker’s head splits open from the crown, as if cutting an apple, and the tentacle buccal cones—which had apparently been mimicking a human head—begin to writhe. It’s the kind of thing that, in certain niche genres, could probably become an idol… Yeah, if I can somehow get the orca bastard’s laser to pass perfectly through the doorway and hit that thing, wouldn’t it just blow the bastard to pieces?

Sunraku: “Nah, nah. If you chase two rabbits, and all that.”

I’d say the hunter who tries to chase two rabbits without drawing up a detailed plan bears some of the blame, too. Anyway, when you’re dealing with a two-target simultaneous quest, it’s basic sense to go stealthy and take them out one at a time. I tear my eyes away from the Blocker that’s doing… some kind of appeal routine, and run my gaze over the tower’s outer wall, searching for a decent-looking route.

Sunraku: “Put a foot on that outcropping there, grab that edge there… Alright.”

It’s just simple climbing, but with skill assists kicking in, it’s a tower that even someone other than me could probably scale fairly easily. I layer status buff skills onto my golden combo of Gravity Zero, Possessed by the Great Asura King, and Flit Float—skills I’m arguably overworking more than my attack skills—enabling a tengu-like, physics-defying range of motion, and begin the tower climb. Actually, exploiting walls and cliffs to brute-force your way through is pretty common (in games), so I’m fairly good at this type of climbing. If I tried it in real life, the best I could hope for would be missing my footing and slamming my lower back.

Sunraku: “Adjusting height… It’s almost the ‘time’ I told Araba about.”

Phase one of this plan begins with transferring my aggro to Araba. Phase two involves Araba drawing the orca bastard’s attention while I climb the tower. Then phase three: Araba, after shouldering the aggro for roughly a minute, will head for the tower at full speed the moment he receives my signal. In all likelihood, the orca bastard uses biting attacks or physical strikes with its crystal fins against close- to mid-range targets, unleashes its electrical discharge attack within about a fifty-meter radius, and fires that laser when the target is farther away than that. In other words, you might think it’s a bullshit enemy that won’t let the fight end even if you get over fifty meters away—but it seems our friend here is bad at hide-and-seek, so if you can hide well enough, disengaging from combat isn’t actually that difficult.

Sunraku: “So when you get an estimated fifty-plus meters away from the orca bastard, it’s going to use its laser attack… Araba!! Get over here, full speed!!!”

That said, if you want to put distance between yourself and the orca bastard—which is practically a flying monster, swimming through the air—there’s only one window of opportunity. A sphere of pale lightning, so vivid you’d have to be blind not to notice it even from a distance, expands with a flash and a roar. Thirty seconds to charge, a two-second gap before the hitbox activates, and then five seconds of active hitbox… Since it can move freely while charging, that gives you effectively seven seconds to put fifty-plus meters between you. Even if there aren’t many people who could pull that off in real life, here, it’s not all that difficult.

Araba: “Sunraku! I’m counting on you!!”

Sunraku: “Hell yeah!!”

Near the very top of the tower, I cling to the outer wall, using the upper frame of an unglazed window as a foothold. I flash a fearless grin at Araba, who comes swimming toward me at ferocious speed, then lock eyes with the orca bastard, which has just finished its electrical discharge and is searching for Araba’s figure.

Sunraku: “Sorry for stepping away—I’ll take you on now, you fish wannabe bastard…!”

Little Fly No. 1, Returns. The moment it registers that fact, the orca bastard doesn’t hesitate—it intensifies the flames and lightning wreathing its body. Bring it on, Atlanticus Lepnorca. From here on, it’s a game of chicken between you and me.

Clio Kutila: “Why?! Every single one of you! Why won’t you come inside!!”