Chapter 191: Salmon Head Advice
Originally, we'd planned to head straight out to take on the "Barnacle" after this, but with the unexpected event flag we'd just picked up, we had to change course. We returned to the vacant house serving as our base—specifically, the relatively large house crammed with me, Araba, Emul, and Stude.
Rust: "Mold... you idiot... you absolute moron...!"
Mold: "I said I'm sorry!"
Sunraku: "Whoa, holy shit, there's three Kaisen-Ohs. Think they'll do an Ultimate Fusion Ultima-Kaisen-Oh or something?"
Araba: "Kaisen-Oh?"
The whole mess started when Mold missed his footing, slid down, and got spotted by a fishman. Whether he drew a bad RNG roll or what, the fishmen just kept swarming... A full-on army had formed—a monster parade rivaling the one I'd found Emul in, with three rare enemies even tagging along.
Sunraku: "Yeah, I'd rather not drag all of this back to base..."
Mold: "I-I'm sorry... ow, ow ow..."
Rust: "Moron. Moron."
Right. The place we're heading to now is also my respawn point, so... if I just go die somewhere convenient, that should work.
Sunraku: "Alright, I'll go dump those guys somewhere far away."
Mold: "Huh?"
Sunraku: "I'll just find a spot, die, and respawn back. You two go on ahead."
Rust: "I see. Got it."
Mold: "No, really, sorry to put this on you..."
Sunraku: "It's fine, it's fine."
If you just look at the situation, I'm exactly the kind of character who stays behind alone to hold off the enemy so his friends can push ahead. Well, considering I'm literally planning to die and respawn, that's pretty much spot on.
Sunraku: "Switching weapons is a pain, so barehanded brawling works fine, right? ALRIGHT, YOU BULK-VALUE ROTTING FISH-PASTE BASTARDS, FOLLOW ME!!"
It's the Great Ruluiath Marathon! Leave the lead runner to me.
But my scheme—I was just starting to entertain the idea of doing a full lap around the outer edge of Ruluiath—was utterly and completely destroyed by that thing, which suddenly loomed out from around a corner.
Sunraku: "Y-you're...?!"
That form. That face.
A half-certain impulse swirled in my chest. Before I knew it, I'd readied my weapon and was closing the distance to the thing that had noticed me. The thing ahead of me, the massive swarm of fish behind me—even if it meant committing the folly of placing myself in a pincer, I couldn't allow myself to break away.
I have to take this thing down. No matter the cost. Sorry, Rust and Mold—looks like I'm gonna be a little late getting back to you... Ah, that line actually sounded kind of cool! Wait, no—isn't that the kind of line you say when you're raising a death flag...? Whatever.
Sunraku: "UOOOOOOOOOH!"
There are some fights a man just can't run from!!
Rust: "...He's late."
Mold: "Maybe he ran into some trouble... Ah, he's back—?!"
Getting tossed around in a dangerous game of group-tossing by rotting fish paste (a state where they fight over bait and launch you upward) delayed my death... The sensation of being grabbed by countless hands is a pretty unique experience, but I'd rather not do it twice.
Mold: "What on earth... WHOA!?"
Araba: "S-Sunraku-san..."
Oi, oi, Araba, don't ready your sword. Emul, stay. Stay. Honestly, reacting like that just from seeing someone's face—isn't that a bit harsh? Well, I knew this would happen, but still. So, what should my first words be?
Sunraku: "..."
I slowly rise from the bed where I respawned, planting my two feet firmly on the ground and standing up. As if reacting to that, everyone around me takes a step back. I confirm this, then take a deep breath... Ah, it reeks of fish.
Sunraku: "I am the Fairy of Fatty Tuna."
Mold: "Baffho—!"
Rust: "Nn-kff."
Yes. That's exactly what I declared—with the head of a salmon.
~ Please wait a moment while the confusion subsides ~
Mold: "That's salmon... that's just salmon... nothing to do with tuna... nff, nf-fufufufu..."
Sunraku: "Rust, Mold's broken."
Rust: "Mold has a really low threshold for laughter. He'll probably be laughing about this for three days just from remembering it."
That laughter threshold is way too low. What is he, helium? ...Well, the cause is me, but still.
Mold: "What... is that?"
Sunraku: "This? It's an item called the 'Richman King Salmon Head Mask.' It's flagged as an item, but you can also equip it... Well, it's basically a joke item."
Mold: "What's its effect?"
Sunraku: "It smells fishy."
Mold: "...! ...!"
Mold's started slapping the floor and convulsing, so I'll ignore him for now and check the other reactions.
Sunraku: "Here, Emul—let's put it on your head."
Emul: "I-I refuse, wa! It looks fishy and the dorsal fin looks like it'd poke me, wa! Actually, the eyes are dead and it's incredibly creepy, wa!!"
Sunraku: "The fact that its vision actually works is a mystery in itself."
What kind of optical physics is going on inside this salmon head? Well, it's a game, so I guess I should just let that slide. Also, it smells fishy.
Araba: "I was certain you'd been turned into one of them... You've occasionally moved in ways that seemed like it, after all."
Sunraku: "How rude. I'm just bending my arm to the absolute limit of its joint range, that's all."
Biological instincts mean I'll resist going too far into self-harm territory, but bending my arm in a slightly horrifying direction is something I can incorporate into my battle style. It's surprisingly handy, actually.
Sunraku: "Where's the brat, Stude?"
Araba: "I haven't shown him that yet. I thought we'd do it once you got back."
That's welcome news—it means he's still under the bed. Heh... hoo... hmm... fuhihi.
Sunraku: "Vaaaaaaooooooeeeeeeaaaaaaahh!!"
Stude: "GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!?!?"
Sunraku: "I'll drag you down to the world of the deaaaaad!!"
Stude: "NOOOOOO!! I DON'T WANNAAAA!! HIIIIIEEEEEE!!"
A party trick combining the know-how I picked up from clearing countless zombie games and the deep, bass-heavy voice I earned in a certain game where they called me the "Mage of Dead Steel"—my impression of the violent monsters that show up near the end of a zombie apocalypse. Stude, peering under the bed at a salmon shrieking at him, falls into a state of sheer panic. His body thrashes wildly, desperate to escape that spot as fast as possible, and then—he slams his head hard, goes limp, and stops moving.
Sunraku: "Oh shit... no, wait, no polygon scatter, so he's not dead, he's not dead..."
Emul: "You've dealt a fatal wound to his psyche, wa!"
It's fine. Humans are surprisingly mentally resilient creatures. As long as misfortune doesn't chain together, they'll generally bounce back...
-
His father was abducted by fishmen and is missing, probably dead.
-
Through his own reckless actions, he wandered into a monster nest.
-
A salmon head peers in at him: “I’ll turn you into a seafood parent-and-child bowl too.”
Sunraku: "Hoo... that's a triple combo right there."
Rust: "So... he's passed on, then..."
No, wait, Rust—he's not dead, he's not dead. Stude can still pull through. Right? ...Right?
I received a most gracious piece of advice—thinly veiled as a threat—that, given the time and place, I'd have no right to complain if someone friendly-fired me. So, reluctantly, I switched my equipment back to the original bird head. I'd tested whether it might have hidden effects, like canceling the hostile flags on the rotting fish paste mobs, but they just hoisted me up and killed me like normal. So I already know it's got no meaning beyond a gag.
That said, the salmon head actually has subtly higher defense... like, twenty times the bird mask. Twenty. If you asked me whether twenty tissues could block a dragon's breath, I'd just laugh and say that's not how it works.
Rust: "Mold, snap out of it already."
Mold: "I-I'm fine... fufu..."
Sunraku: "You're way more of a giggler than I expected..."
On the grounds that waking up to a salmon in front of you is just as terrifying as waking up to a shoebill stork, I've been quarantined to a corner of the room. Feeling lonely, I tilt my head—with Emul perched on top—left and right like a metronome. Meanwhile, Rust and Mold wake Stude up and show him the item in question.
Rust: "Wake up... Wake up, you shitty brat."
Stude: "Ugh... uhh... deep-voiced fish..."
Rust: "..."
Stude: "Fugyuu!?"
She just went and face-chopped him straight down the median line. Still, that seems to have snapped him awake—Stude opens his eyes.
Stude: "Ugh, uhhh... where am I..."
Rust: "Quit talking in your sleep. Look at this."
Stude: "...? It's just a cutlass... wait, THIS?!"
So it really was an event flag. Eyes wide, lips trembling, Stude stares at the cutlass—or more precisely, at the red whale emblem engraved on its hilt—as if devouring it with his gaze.
Stude: "Th-this, this, THIS! Wh-where did you?!"
Rust: "You're loud."
That's not just cold—that's straight-up Tabasco-level. You're the one who showed him the clue about his father, and now you're telling him to shut up?
Rust: "This was held by... um, a really strong monster in this place."
Stude: "Th-then... my dad..."
Rust: "Moping again..."
Man. These two are seriously bad at roleplay, aren't they? No, I get it. I really do. I understand the feeling of "why is this guy being so wishy-washy?" Hell, if there weren't any annoying penalties or game overs, I'd probably have kicked Fuckaria into a goblin nest with no equipment by now.
Roleplay isn't for everyone. Some people can naturally say the right thing in character, but most of the time, you have to play the role of the character who says the words the NPC needs to hear. In this situation, we're players looking at the story from a bird's-eye view, but we're also characters within that story. So at times like this, you've got to give them a push.
Sunraku: "Can't be helped. Leave it to me."
I don't know exactly how the event is supposed to progress. But at the very least, I'm pretty sure clutching a cutlass and sobbing isn't the right way to advance it.
Sunraku: "Boy. Are you really okay with this?"
Stude: "Huh?"
Behold: the NPC heart-manipulation technique, as taught by that scumbag pencil.