Part 1: The Human Sloth, Frondier (3)

CRUNCH!

“Got it!”

I clenched my fist at the sight of the shattered target.

I was in the training rooms. Some people used them for strength training, others for testing magic, and still others for trying out techniques. In any case, anyone could use them freely as long as a room was available and they had permission.

Since no one outside could see what was happening inside, I could use Weaving here to my heart’s content. Right now, I was running target practice, one of the programs available in the private rooms. It was usually used by people with ranged weapons; all you had to do was hit the targets in the distance.

On the lowest difficulty, the targets simply stood still. As the difficulty increased, they grew more distant, hid and reappeared, moved however they pleased, and eventually even reacted to incoming projectiles and dodged them.

Naturally, I was humbly sticking to the lowest difficulty.

Incidentally, the targets were magitech holograms, so breaking one didn’t actually destroy anything. The sound effects and graphics were just extremely convincing. When you landed a hit, the program even displayed where you’d struck and how much damage you’d dealt. Very convenient.

I was practicing throwing woven daggers. As long as I could produce the phenomenon of a hit at the instant the dagger reached its target, even a thrown woven dagger could damage an enemy. In other words, invisible ranged attacks were possible.

Weaving could affect reality for only a split second. It appeared briefly at the moment of cutting, blocking, or stabbing, and that was all. That made it less effective in close combat, because even blocking an opponent’s attack lasted only an instant. Unless I redirected or knocked aside the attack at that moment, the enemy’s sword would pass straight through my weapon or shield and cut into my body.

That applied to shields and swords alike. With a shield, I would have to parry every single attack as though I were playing a game. With a sword, a halfhearted block wouldn’t do; I would have to deflect or knock away every blow. I wanted to avoid close combat on that insane level of difficulty if at all possible. The ideal solution was to take down my opponents entirely from a distance, whether with a bow, a dagger, or anything else.

But this tactic had one fatal flaw.

“... I can’t hit shit.”

Me.

I was nothing but a gaming addict, and Frondier had done nothing but fucking sleep. Our combined shitty instincts seemed to create a truly horrifying synergy.

Still, if I gritted my teeth and kept landing even one hit in ten, or one in twenty...

[A Skill Has Been Created.]

[Created Skill : Throwing Technique]

[Throwing Technique]

? Grade : Common

? Description : Throw objects to hit a target. Higher proficiency grants an accuracy bonus.

? Current Proficiency : Lowest

I could acquire a skill.

It wasn’t much, but neither Frondier nor I could be expected to have any talent for combat itself, so I had to rely on skills. Incidentally, even a kid around ten could acquire the Lowest proficiency in Throwing Technique with enough effort.

... Let’s keep at it!

* * *

That evening, with the moon bitten down to a crescent, I finished practicing and left the training rooms. I stood still in front of the entrance and watched the time pass. There was something I needed to check.

Things had been so hectic right after I entered this game—no, entering it had already been a hectic ordeal in itself. No, I was simply a scatterbrained person to begin with... Anyway.

Those chaotic days had made me briefly forget something.

It hadn’t occurred to me at first. But once the thought came to me, it grew until I couldn’t put it out of my mind. Today, I had to confirm it.

I was waiting for someone. I was waiting at the training rooms because I knew he would be here. I’d checked the date on my smartwatch, too. Today was definitely the day, and it was about time for him to appear.

WHIRR

The automatic doors to the training rooms opened. I turned my gaze to the boy emerging from within.

... There he was.

Blond hair reflected the moonlight cleanly, and blue eyes shone vividly. His features were so perfectly arranged that it seemed only natural they should look that way. Anyone who saw him would notice the atmosphere around them change.

Aster Evans.

A first-year at Constel, the hope of humanity who would one day shine brilliantly.

The protagonist of this game, Etius.

“... Hm? Hello?”

Aster saw me and gave a slight nod.

This was probably his first time meeting me as Frondier. ... Even if it wasn’t, he likely wouldn’t remember me.

I bowed my head in greeting. There was no reason to do anything that might arouse unnecessary suspicion. I hadn’t waited here to talk to him. I had waited to see him.

After a brief glance at me, Aster continued on his way. A short walk brought him to a fork in the path. The left led to the library, the right to the dormitories.

I quietly watched his retreating back. When he reached the fork, he turned right.

Having confirmed it, I lowered my gaze in despair. Now I knew for certain: this game would be far less straightforward than I’d imagined.

Etius.

As I’d just mentioned, Aster Evans was its protagonist. Naturally, being a game’s protagonist meant he was the character the player controlled.

... Which, put another way, meant that no one knew what Aster Evans was like without a player controlling him.

There was an event scheduled for today. If Aster went to the library, he would meet the librarian and receive some information from her. The information itself wasn’t what mattered. The encounter was unusual enough to let him form a close relationship with her.

It raised what you’d generally call her affection.

Since the librarian continued to help in all sorts of ways afterward, every player naturally headed to the library. ... Because they knew about the event where you met her there. As players, they knew something Aster Evans himself could never have known.

No one had ever beaten Etius. Naturally, everyone who attempted it guided Aster along the optimal route, reaping as many benefits as possible.

... There was no way the Aster Evans here would follow that route.

It was an optimized route built up through countless retries and information shared by countless people. Aster knew none of that. Even five miracles wouldn’t lead him down that path.

I’d played as Aster more times than I could count, yet I knew nothing about him. Aster Evans without a player controlling him—I had no way of knowing where he would go.

“Nothing for it.”

My original plan had simply been to grow stronger and become Aster’s companion. While he developed just fine on his own, I would master my own methods and add to his fighting strength. Frondier hadn’t originally been one of Aster’s companions, so if I grew strong and joined him, even the simplest arithmetic said it could only be a net gain.

That had been my thinking, but now the plan had changed. The Aster here wouldn’t develop “just fine on his own” to the extent I’d expected. He wouldn’t follow the veteran players’ route. For now, he was only missing something minor—the librarian’s information. Eventually, though, he would miss out on all sorts of weapons, armor, Artifacts, and experiences that would improve his abilities.

No one had ever managed to beat this game, but I couldn’t imagine beating it without Aster. So from now on, I would have to subtly steer him toward the veteran players’ route.

I couldn’t make sure he got everything. It was fine to skip a few characters like the librarian, whose only help was providing information. I knew most of that information anyway. But he absolutely had to go through the essential events.

It would take far more work since I wasn’t controlling him directly. Still, I had to find a way to make it happen and make Aster stronger, while growing stronger myself.

... Right. I also had to rank in the top ten of my year before this year was out.

I’d do that, too.

... Right. Aster had just skipped the librarian event.

“... Whew.”

I sighed.

This goddamn game.

“... I’ll do that, too.”

Everything Aster missed from here on out—I would have no choice but to pick it up myself.

* * *

I opened the library door. There weren’t many people inside, and a quiet, relaxed atmosphere befitting the place hung in the air. A few students who saw my face, however, widened their eyes and avoided me.

Frondier and a library must have seemed like quite a mismatch. In truth, nowhere in Constel suited him. It was an educational institution meant to develop skills and cultivate knowledge. How could it possibly suit Frondier, who didn’t want to do anything?

I quickly scanned the area for the librarian. She was silently working at her desk. Brown hair, round glasses, an unassuming face. In contrast, she had a voluptuous figure and a beauty mark beneath her left eye.

The moment you saw her face, you thought she looked exactly like a librarian. Then her figure and the occasional sultry expression wiped that thought away.

The librarian, Ms. Einen.

If you became friendly with this teacher, you could get the latest news circulating through the school, along with all sorts of miscellaneous information. That might not sound like much, but this game was so full of unhelpful design and unfairness that every scrap of information was precious to a beginner.

... Well, to a beginner, anyway. She was actually far more important to Aster than to me. But since Aster had missed this event, I couldn’t simply let it pass.

‘Though my coming here won’t trigger the event.’

Since things had turned out this way, I might as well gather all the information Aster missed. If the opportunity arose, I could share it with him as appropriate.

Now, how should I go about this? My reputation was probably well known among the teachers. Einen likely knew about Frondier, too. In other words, I had to befriend her with her affection for me already in the negatives.

“You’re Frondier, aren’t you?”

But Einen spoke to me first. On seeing my face, she even beckoned me over.

... What was this about?

I approached, bewildered.

“I never thought I’d see you somewhere like this. What brings you here?”

“... There’s a book I’m looking for.”

There wasn’t. But I couldn’t exactly say, “You’re the one I’m here for.”

“Hmm. Good timing, then. Want to take a look at this?”

Einen took something out from beneath her desk. It was a newspaper.

I wanted to ask what I was supposed to look at when she’d just plopped an entire newspaper in front of me, but one glance told me. The front-page story caught my eye.

[A Party Discovers a Divine Relic. A Dungeon Near the Solgitov Domain?]

A photograph accompanied that headline. It showed a tree branch inside a transparent case.

A tree branch. Its shape was familiar.

“Everyone called this ‘Mistilteinn.’”

That was right. When I’d first entered the world of Etius, a teacher had shown me a tree branch on a Wizerview. This looked exactly like it.

“I hear you told Jane this wasn’t Mistilteinn?”

So that teacher’s name was Jane.

I nodded quietly. Einen gently pressed me, as though testing me.

“Well? It’s in the newspaper, and before long, it’ll be on the Wizerview news, too. Everyone who’s seen it says it’s Mistilteinn. The whole empire will be buzzing about the discovery of a Divine Relic—something most people would struggle to see properly even once in their lives.”

It would. Anything that had been used by a god’s hand held considerable value, no matter how trivial it was. And Mistilteinn was anything but trivial.

Baldur, known in Norse mythology as the “perfect god.” The mistletoe branch that had killed him was Mistilteinn. One couldn’t dream of putting a monetary value on it, and even among other Divine Relics, only a handful could rival it.

Someone had discovered a Mistilteinn that matched the image everyone knew, and I had said, “Mistilteinn doesn’t look like that.”

In other words, Einen was asking me this: Could I still stand by my opinion now that things had come to this? Could I say once again that my words hadn’t merely been bluster or nonsense?

A faint hint of mischief showed in Einen’s smiling face. She probably thought I would back down. Or dodge the question, deny what I’d said, or start stammering. Whatever form it took, she was expecting to see me flustered.

But...

“My opinion hasn’t changed.”

“...”

At my firm answer, Einen’s smile vanished.

“Mistilteinn doesn’t look like that.”

I knew. Not only did I know what Mistilteinn looked like, I even knew the true identity of the “fake Mistilteinn” inside the transparent case pictured in that newspaper.

‘... But I could use that.’

I’d been wondering how to approach Aster naturally. If I played this right, that could solve the problem. Once this story appeared on the news, Aster was certain to take a particular interest.

Because the god behind Aster’s Divine Power was Baldur himself.