Vol 3 Chapter 35 – Boyhood: Autumn at Thirteen・Part 13

It’s truly fun to cast a mountain of skills during setup—chanting like a never-ending sutra—and take the enemy down.

It’s the worst when you’re on the receiving end, though.

In a tabletop RPG, there’s a setup phase—what you’d call a preparation window—during which, before anyone moves, you can perform various preparatory actions. You might toss out light buffs or make a quick reposition, but if you attempt something complex it can take ages. (Sometimes you just rush in and smash someone, though.)

But when you look at the end result, it’s actually pretty simple.

We end up at a disadvantage, and the climactic battle starts in the enemy’s favor.

Before I could even raise my sword, a light dizziness hit me. At the same time, the space warped, and in an instant the six animated corpses that had been lined up in two columns snapped into battle formation.

Countless systems have skills that let you move during setup or force a favorable formation…but isn’t that a bit childish, guys? In this long, narrow room, two lightly armored animated corpses stand as the vanguard, with a heavily armored swordsman crouched behind them, ready to charge…

“Wh-Why are you behind us!?”

Then two more animated corpses teleport in behind us to encircle—no matter how you look at it, that’s overkill.

“Mika, catch yourself on your own!”

“Huh…uwaa!?”

Instinctively, I shaped a <Te>, grabbed my friend by the collar, and hurled her left. I figured it would be easier to deal with them if they were spread out instead of surrounding us.

Mika can raise a barrier from repurposed building materials, but it’s just wood—hardly something that can withstand repeated sword blows. Better to pull her out of the mêlée so she’s no longer a target.

Besides, it seems they want to duel me directly.

[gurgle, gurgle…]

A lightly armored animated corpse—fresh enough that the decay is minimal and she could almost be called beautiful—charges in. She spews thick, black, decayed blood from her mouth while sprinting low, twin daggers ready. It’s truly horrifying. The fact that five of them are identical down to the thin wound carved into their necks suggests that was the cause of death.

It’s a sharp, lightning-fast thrust. Stepping in and opening her whole torso—not just her arm—she achieves a reach that belies the daggers’ short length. With that technique, their brevity is no hindrance. It’s the mark of a master fully exploiting an easy-to-handle weapon.

At the same time, a dwarf Florescence vaults over her back. Half-skeletal, he seems even lighter for it—and though it feels wrong to say—he floats like a feather, wielding a curved blade like a scythe, angling for an overhead strike.

From behind comes the scrape of armor. Two more animated corpses, warped into position, charge with a spear and a greatsword. Good thing they didn’t target Mika—she’s frail and lousy up close.

We’re in a rough spot: four experts, an encirclement, and my stamina’s running low. Looked at alone, it’s already checkmate or one move short.

But maybe they’re underestimating me.

“No holding back, then!”

If the opponent chants a sutra during setup, I’ll chant one—major or minor—right back.

With <Raikō Hansha> and <Kan-Ken>, judging which strike lands first—and fatally—is easy. On top of that, I have four times the hands of a normal person. If they swamp me with pure numbers, I’ll just cry myself to death…

This straightforward swordfight feels like they’re begging me to go all out.

[gurgle…]

First, I tackled the female animated corpse slashing at me—using an <Invisible Hand> to smash her knee and force her head into the ground. The hand can’t disassemble five bodies at once, but toppling someone bent forward for a thrust is trivial.

[crack!?]

A scream escaped as her momentum drove her into a fierce kiss with the floor. Her neck dangled by a thread—crushed by the impact. A nearly severed neck is only a minor injury for an undead, so I’ll finish her later.

Next, I extended a “hand” from the ground as a foothold, leaped up, and intercepted the dwarf slashing down.

Had I simply blocked, that arcing blade would’ve taken my neck or wrist, so I parried with my left dagger, released the Okuri-ōkami, and with my now-free right hand grabbed the dwarf’s throat—little more than bone. The jolt of our collision made the desiccated vertebrae click, but I ignored it. I dismissed the foothold “hand,” summoned another in midair as a second platform, spun, and flung the dwarf onto the spear of the charging lancer.

“Bullseye!”

As planned, the dwarf impaled himself on the spear, and though the spear is light, a body’s weight bends the tip. His reflexive thrashing keeps the lancer from pulling free, driving it in deeper. Nice—keep it up.

I dismissed the “hand” and landed on my heel, stomping with my full weight on the collapsed female’s waist like a frog underfoot. Dry bones snapped in chorus, the crunch under my sole oddly pleasant. By crushing her pivot point, I’ve neutralized that corpse—for now.

“Tate, yoko, juu, ou, combination…”

I heard a ragged chant between coughs. Probably threw that one too hard—apologies later. Two heavily armored corpses, their pincer failed, were already on the move, so I’d better clean up fast.

Controlling the “hand,” I let the dwarf go midair, then recalled the Okuri-ōkami, swinging twice to sever the female corpse’s finger. The digit—still gripping a dagger—fell like a caterpillar, gifting me a sidearm.

“The steel thorn marks rejection: this side is ours, beyond here is theirs.”

Listening to that sing-song chant, I shaped another <Invisible Hand> to snatch the dagger. I’m now a triple-blade fighter—no, four-blade if you count the fairy knife in my left hand. Odd—I suddenly feel weaker.

Illusions aside, I clashed with the lone greatsword-wielding corpse. Perhaps avoiding friendly fire, he thrust low; I caught the strike on my blade’s flat, sliding us into a hilt-lock.

[ugh…]

What brute strength. The meshed blades groaned, ready to crumble. My bones buckled and my flesh screamed, but the enemy ignored it—dirty trick.

Still, this isn’t an arm-wrestle. How is a petite swordswoman like me supposed to overpower that?

I need to be smarter. I’m no ordinary swordsman.

There was a dull sound as the dagger pierced his armor and gambeson. No need to look—I’d driven two daggers into his left flank and right knee.

Even a powerhouse corpse is helpless once key muscles are severed. The force behind his sword faded…

…Or so I thought. He threw his full weight onto the blade, barreling forward. With an arm and leg crushed, he lunged, body and sword together, intent on flattening me. Are you really a corpse!?

I couldn’t let that adult weight and armor crush me, so instead of digging in I pivoted, spun, and staggered clear…

“Ow!?”

Just as I escaped, a tremendous shock and pain tore through my back.

The stabbing pain had to be the spear’s tip. My armor and gambeson stopped most of it, but it still hurt like hell. And that impact…

[clank…clank…]

Damn it—the dwarf corpse was still gouging me while impaled!?

A hand yanked my collar, and as the spear withdrew, the dwarf clung to my back. Tiny hands crawled around my neck, searching for a place to bite. So this is what zombie-movie extras feel like?

“N-no…don’t underestimate me!!”

“We’re over here! You go that way! Don’t cross the barricade!”

My shout overlapped Mika’s chant as it finished. Sung like a Mother Goose rhyme, it felt absurdly out of place here—next time I want it in a sunny plaza.

First, though, I need to eject my unwanted rider.

I hurled myself backward, sandwiching the dwarf between wall and body. Even adult dwarves barely reach a meter: light and naturally brittle. Animated corpses may gain strength, but their bone density doesn’t rise. This half-skeletal dwarf was brittle even by dwarven standards.

Just crushing him between gambeson, flesh, and wall delivered plenty of damage.

I felt bones and rotten flesh crunch against my back. The grip on my collar slackened; crushed meat sloughed off, dripping decayed blood.

Out of the corner of my eye, the barricade rose—a wooden shield tangled in steel thorns and barbed wire. The two heavy-armored corpses smashed into it, impact absorbed, only to be wrapped as the wire moved with a will of its own.

They tried tearing free, but the steel strands stretched like spun thread, tangling tighter. In moments, each corpse was cocooned in metal. Until the spell’s power fades, they’re stuck.

[…scary]

My friend’s spell is savage—a frontliner’s nightmare. Who designs something that kills on a failed magic save?

Perhaps animated corpses, being inherently unnatural, accept magic so well… Still, imagining it used on me is chilling—straight out of a death-game horror flick.

While I shuddered, something heavy thudded to the ground. Mika had collapsed, head hitting the floor.

“Mika!?”

No answer. Parrying the greatsword, I saw her lying there, eyes screwed shut yet fluttering a hand to show she was conscious. Probably a brutal mana-overuse headache.

I’ve had that. Under Agrippina’s supervision I once tested my limits: at half mana, migraines; at a quarter, agony. They stopped me, but at about one-sixth I’d have passed out.

Mana’s nature—use it all and you die—is a lot like blood. Mages fight by bleeding life itself.

Thinking, weirdly, that it felt like mahjong, I kicked up the dwarf’s curved blade, hurled it into the lone remaining corpse, reflex-cut, and lopped its wrist.

They’re strong, sure. But moving like living swordsmen on reflex isn’t smart. Had they pressed with no regard for damage, I’d have struggled far more.

Disarming and dismantling a lone corpse felt as easy as dressing a shot-down bird. They’re similar in their lack of resistance—well, technically, I made it so.

“Now then…the main course.”

I sliced away congealed ichor, and my Okuri-ōkami gleamed—still eager.

Perhaps at my words, the innermost undead—who’d watched until now—rose calmly. He hefted the sword he’d cradled and swung it with speed that denied its weight, making the air seem to die.

It wasn’t wind raging; the razor swing sliced the void into stillness.

Uh…wait—he’s stronger than me, isn’t he?

A cold, greasy sweat trickled down my brow. Just two warm-up cuts revealed his level. I’m inexperienced, but I pride myself on gauging strength.

To me, he’s definitely strong. On par with Mr. Lambert…or maybe worse? Lambert was a monster, but did he feel this hopeless? At least I could trade blows with him…

His pressure and intimidation nearly crushed me. I clenched my teeth, gripped the sword my father left me, and rallied.

Level tweaks, balance patches—meaningless in this hellish dungeon. At its core stands a broken enemy. They knew this dungeon wasn’t for two early-teen apprentice PCs. My spirit broke long ago, but even broken I can grab it and forge it into a club.

In the corpse’s unshakable stride I saw intent. Approaching with noble gait, he raised his blade to his forehead—prayer, lament, benediction.

…Fine.

“Alright, bring it on, you bastard!!”

A GM who bungles difficulty—or kills out of spite—is basically a friend. So I’ll roll the dice with the usual insults and murderous intent.

Pssh, easy, easy—haven’t we always said?

All that matters is the crit, the crit. I braced myself, launching my character at full power…

【Tips】Critical. Automatic success—the miracle roll. On 2D6 it’s a 12; on 1D100, a 1–5. Even such low odds can thread a camel through a needle’s eye—hence it’s invoked whenever hope is barely possible.