Chapter 251: Slip, Slash, Scramble

We escape the Schwarz Vulf Hall. For some reason, the other clan representatives are trailing along behind us as the scumbags and I walk without any particular destination.

Five versus five. The dark side of Wolfgang amounts to four people. By the numbers, we’re one short, but…?

Sunraku: “Well, something’ll work out.”

Right, business is done, so I’ll log out for some dinner, then figure out what’s next… Yeah.

Sunraku: “Why am I being dragged into a back alley and pinned down like a captured alien, if I may ask?”

Pencilgon: “Mm, to put it simply…”

Sunraku: “Yes?”

Pencilgon: “I sold you and called them over.”

Sunraku: “Uwaaaah, let me gooo! This is a violation of the Geneva Conventions!”

Goddammit! Next week I’m already locked into pulling an all-nighter chugging energy drinks, and now this?! I need breathing room! I need time to breathe! Dammit, complaining won’t change the RNG. But I won’t crack under a little torture, y’know…!

Pencilgon: “For now, the ‘Library’ and ‘Team 10PM’ matters I can handle as clan-to-clan, but the ‘Saint’s Divine Guard’ has specifically requested you personally, Sunraku-kun.”

I can’t help but shed a tear for SF-Zoo being so naturally excluded, but I hope they stay strong. Wait, personally requested me? Nothing but bad feelings about this, but I suppose I can at least hear them out.

Josette: “Well, to get straight to the point, Saint-chan has taken an interest in you. So we, as her faithful shields, must answer her wishes…”

Saint-chan. Her formal name was something like Saint of Compassion Aegis Terra, right… no, wait, Landmine Saint? No, compassion, compassion. If she’s a landmine, that makes her a warmonger, not a saint. She’s the NPC who could supposedly cure the curse (Marking), right? One of the conditions Psyger-100 listed for the alliance way back when. Honestly, now that it’s evolved into a Lycagon’s Contusion and become truly incurable, I’ve got almost zero reason to go see her…

Sunraku: “Me?”

Josette: “Yes. Actually, we were searching for you on our own too, but we couldn’t find you. We figured if our clans got friendly, we might be able to nab you.”

Oikatzo: “A trap where you prop up a basket with a stick and bait it with a trash game—bet you’d get caught easy.”

Oi, shut it. What do you take me for? …Ah, but if it’s an unopened first-print copy of Galaxy Traveler, I might bite. That trash game somehow has a premium of two hundred thousand yen or something insane. The result of recreating the world with too much fidelity: a massive universe where map data periodically gets wiped, so you can never return to the same place twice—a forced once-in-a-lifetime encounter. About a 40% chance a meteor slams into your ship, so you have to time jumps near a suitable star system or you’re cosmic dust—a deadly gamble (mandatory). Roughly a 60% chance of encountering hostile species, so even though the crew preaches peace, the more the game progresses, the more your ship morphs into a battleship. And above all, if you don’t manage the mental care of the constantly snapping NPC crew, they stage a coup and force a game over.

If you ignore all that, it’s actually a pretty good game… Ah, forgot: also ignore the first-print bonus—a genuine planetarium device that syncs with the game to change star positions, making the new price a hundred twenty thousand yen. Ignore that too.

I bought the game-only edition, minus the 118,000-yen planetarium device, and played it. It was a game that truly swallowed you in nihilism. Like… running a marathon with no finish line until you die, or wandering a desert bigger than Japan searching for an ant’s contact lens… Ah, the Tannhäuser Gate and its star exploded, and the space battleship sails on…

Sunraku: “…Huh?!”

Sh-Shit, my thoughts drifted to the ends of the universe. This is bad. It was a goal-less void, but the gameplay itself was pretty fun, so I couldn’t find a stopping point. Spent about four months straight picking fights with the Galactic Empire and barely managed to pull my consciousness back to Earth. It’s now sealed away on a shelf as a display piece.

Josette: “…So, that’s how it is. What do you think?”

Sunraku: “Huh? ……Eh?”

Kyo the Ultimate: “Ah, that’s the Sunraku who’s not listening. I’m gonna have to punch him back to his senses.”

Sunraku: “I’m listening, I’m listening. So, we’re going to meet Saint-chan, right? Which planet?”

Josette: “I see, guess your friend was right and you weren’t listening… I was asking if your schedule was free the day before your representative match with Schwarz Vulf in a week…?”

Why the hell is everyone trying to cram their plans into one week from now?!

Sunraku: “No, no, no. That day, I’m heading to Rabituza to beat up Goldhuneenay’s offsh— go… ing… Ah.”

Josette: “Goldhuneenay?”

My mouth didn’t break, but it sure slipped, hahaha…

Josette: “………”

Professor: “………”

Everyone present freezes completely. I gently shake off the hands of Oikatzo and Kyotimate, who are grabbing my arms with serene smiles beneath my salmon head. Equipping the Lapistella Cloak, I make to slip out of the alley as naturally as can be…

—Grab.

Sunraku: “What can I do for you, you appearance-scamming old man?”

Professor: “I’d very much like to hear that story in greater detail, if you don’t mind?”

Sunraku: “Sounds like a hassle, so maybe another time. Apport!”

Kyo the Ultimate: “Ah, he ran!”

Oikatzo: “If it’s Apport, he should still be nearby! I’ll sever his limbs if I have to—we’re catching him!”

Sunraku: “No, that’s terrifying!”

Josette: “Found him! Over there!”

Goddammiiiiit! I’m a free fish who loves freedom! If a carp climbs the waterfall and becomes a dragon, what does a salmon become?!

…

Sunraku: “Huff… hahahaha… I got away… I am strong salmon…”

Emul: “Somehow, it feels like Sunraku-san’s Vorpal Soul is leveling up in a really pathetic way, desu wa…”

I’m shipping all the troublesome stuff that piled up today C.O.D. to Tomorrow Me. Hang in there, Tomorrow Me—I’m sending a cheer from the past to the future.

Yo, this is Tomorrow—no, Today Me. About those troublesome things shipped C.O.D. from Yesterday Me—I’ve decided to forward them to Tomorrow instead. Hang in there, Tomorrow Me. And so, having punted my problems into the great beyond, I dive headfirst into a different ordeal… and take a blow straight to the skull!

Rakuro: “Gahhh! I can’t wiiiiin!!”

I’m throwing myself at it with zero regard for style, and it’s perfectly countering me with just the absolute bare minimum of dodging—always just out of reach! What the hell is with that shitty AI?! Trace AI, my ass—no way, that’s clearly a TAS bot!

Weary of human relationships, I’ve come to a VR kendo dojo guarded by an insanely strong shitty boss to soothe my frayed heart, and I’ve been smacked in the face and sent crashing to the floor for the umpteenth time.

Rakuro: “Dammit… He’s a genuine master…”

Sylvia Goldberg was practically a human TAS too, but hers was the same as mine—reflexive movement pushed to the absolute limit for fighting games. But this swordsman who once existed in real life is different. To put it simply, he’s dodging on reaction.

It’s not that he’s reading my sword speed—it’s more like he’s reading my entire next move from my overall body movement. The moment I take one step, he sees exactly what attack is coming and handles it with the absolute minimum motion. In rhythm game terms, it’s like he’s completely memorized the chart. He knows what’s coming next, so he needs no flashy movements—the pinnacle of optimization.

Rakuro: “And of course, his actual swordsmanship is on a whole other dimension…”

The twin blades swing on optimal, shortest, fastest trajectories; their tempo is about 1.5 times faster than my ability to respond. How should I put it—it’s like a continuous flow of water. His swords never stop moving, and once he goes on the offensive, the unmanageable flurry crushes you.

Rakuro: “How is he even moving… Move the right shinai like this, the left like… Hmm?”

Footwork like this… Got it!

Rakuro: “I’ve seen through you, Ryuguin Fuga—bwuh?!”

Hadn’t seen through anything. Hell, he just accelerated the instant he stepped in… Wait, is this really without assists? Is he piggybacking off action-game processing or something?

Rakuro: “Guh… I’ll need a real countermeasure… You’re gonna regret this!”

I’m definitely winning next time!

…And so I got fired up, which is all well and good, but.

Rakuro: “First Sylvia Goldberg, and now this—why do absurdly overpowered humans like this exist…”

I try looking deeper into the man called Ryuguin Fugaku beyond just a summary, and they just keep coming. Tales of martial valor so outlandish I keep doubting whether I’m accidentally reading a fictional character’s backstory with the same name.

A lifetime record in official matches alone: 8,238 wins, 6 losses. The Ryuguin dojo apparently has a spot where the floor caved in under the weight of trophies this man won. Before the age of forty, he was such a ferocious swordsman that he’d send his opponent’s shinai flying… What exactly am I looking at here? A boss character’s profile?

Rakuro: “An AI that completely traces this… huh.”

Guess I’ll start by watching the six matches this living real-life Master of the Sword actually lost.

A half-naked woman (salmon head) being dragged into a back alley.

The urge to write a new story unrelated to SLF is welling up fiercely, but I don’t have enough time, skill, or brainpower, so someone please turn me into Machamp.