Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon? On the Side: Sword Oratoria, Vol. 4

by Fujino Omori, Kiyotaka Haimura

  Endless training substantiated with physical ability and combat skill.

  —There’s no end to this.

  As her flurry of strikes continued, each one punctuated with a tempestuous screech, Aiz found herself in awe of the soldier’s features.

  There had never before been an opponent she couldn’t best once she unleashed the power of her wind—save that monster hybrid Levis, whose mere existence surpassed human knowledge.

  But even she was paling in comparison to the boaz before Aiz now.

  This wasn’t just endless, it was preposterous.

  He was practically a god.

  This talent, this steadfast exertion, this unwavering determination—he was every bit the modern-day hero.

  Ottar the Warlord was, beyond a doubt, the epitome of greatness.

  “Hnngh!”

  “Guhh—!”

  Not missing a beat, the flash of Ottar’s sword caught her armor of wind.

  With one direct attack, he overcame her current and Desperate, cleaving all the way to Aiz herself.

  The staggering force carved Aiz’s thin frame into the Dungeon floor. Once more, she was propelled backward, fists clawing at the ground, hurtling over the top of the downed prum girl until finally—she hit the wall.

  Stepping away from the edge of the room, she set aside her sword.

  The current was with her. Her golden eyes pierced the soldier on the other side of the room, the man himself bewildered by her response.

  She would use it. She would finally use it. Her secret weapon.

  The voices—?

  From deep, deep within that passageway of darkness…

  The voices had stopped.

  The constant roar of the mad bull, the desperate cries of the boy fighting for his life—all of it.

  Aiz’s face contorted like a child on the verge of tears. She found the hilt of her sword once more, gripping it tightly.

  —Out of my WAY!

  Heart screaming, she cast her trump card.

  “—Li’l Rafaga!!”

  The wind flashed.

  A divine wind shot forward, making a beeline toward Ottar, so massive that it could never be used outside the Dungeon walls.

  The speed at which that leviathan wind sliced through the room made Ottar’s eyes widen.

  Muscles protruding from his massive shoulders, he gripped his sword in both hands.

  The boaz soldier swung his great silver weapon down diagonally at the incoming strike.

  “Huuurrrrrraaaaaaaaaaahh—!”

  He roared.

  Voice exploding from his throat like the crazed call of a monster, he met the cyclone head-on.

  It was the first time the soldier was forced to use both hands, to rely on his full strength.

  Aiz’s vision became a blur of wind, and she saw Ottar’s armor get torn from his frame.

  The impact was incredible. As the air current raged and the ground sank beneath his feet, a tremendous explosion rocked the room.

  The recoil from the resulting shock wave sent both of them flying.

  The two attacks had neutralized each other.

  “…”

  Aiz looked up in a daze from where she’d landed on her rear end in the middle of the room.

  The control she’d been able to keep over her strength for so long, the promise she’d made to herself never to use it against another person—

  —She’d broken it.

  She’d used her finishing move.

  Her pure, unfiltered strength.

  “…”

  Ottar silently peeled himself off the passageway wall before returning to his place in front of the entrance.

  He’d lost his armor, a section of his battle clothes was ripped, and scrapes littered his cheeks and shoulders, but that was it.

  Tossing aside his sword, now heavily damaged, he grabbed a new one from its place poking out of the ground.

  The wall towered over them, calm and composed.

  The single path behind him was still so far, far away.

  “…Ngh!”

  She didn’t let the shock afflict her for more than a moment.

  Grabbing Desperate from where it had stabbed into the floor, she renewed her charge.

  Ottar responded in kind, his sword at the ready.

  “Let me through!”

  Sweat flying, she cut at him ruthlessly with unrelenting strikes of her blade.

  Ottar didn’t respond. It was only through his continued ripostes that he made his resolve known.

  The armor-less, injured soldier versus the unscathed yet single-mindedly slashing girl.

  Step after step, their violent dance continued in an attempt to see who would yield first—when suddenly…

  “—?!”

  Thunk! There was the sound of someone leaping, and Aiz saw a shadow fly over her head, straight toward Ottar.

  Down came the double-edge blade with a ferocious, air-splitting slice. The boaz responded in surprise, raising his sword to meet it.

  “What in the world is goin’ on here?!” Tiona cried out in surprise after landing back on the ground, her attack deflected. She wasted no time setting her sights on her companion’s opponent.

  Aiz could do nothing but stare in shock at the Amazonian girl who’d caught up with her, flourishing her oversize weapon.

  “The Amazon…!”

  Aiz took off at once, as the berserker immediately prepared her next attack, and for the first time a crease formed between Ottar’s brows. His defense was already shaken by the sheer destructive power of the Amazon’s Urga, and he was late in responding to the incoming rain of sword strikes.

  His endurance waned. He grabbed for his third sword—a long one, this time—and wielded it in his left hand as he used it to push back the leaping Tiona.

  Only…

  As soon as she was gone, he was met with another shadow, this one speeding toward him along the ground. Ottar gritted his teeth.

  “Boar bastard—!”

  It was Bete this time, delivering a full-bodied kick to the man he’d always considered his rival.

  Ottar raced to defend himself. No sooner had he blocked the kick than he was met by a pair of whirling Kukri knives.

  “Gnngh…!”

  “What in the world is going on here?!” demanded Tione in a voice identical to her sister’s as she joined the fray.

  It was four against one now. A trio of first-tier reinforcements.

  It reminded Aiz of her moonlit battle against the black-clad attackers, only now it was time for the city’s strongest adventurer to experience the relentless waves of attacks from Loki Familia.

  From Urga’s wild swinging to Frosvirt’s incessant thrusts to the quick, intersecting slashes of the Kukri knives.

  Even the impenetrable defense of the unshakable Level 7 was liable to start coming apart at the seams.

  “Nngh!”

  Aiz took advantage of that split-second opening and dashed forward.

  She dived toward that single gap behind the boaz’s mighty frame.

  “—Oooaaaarrrggh!!” With lightning-fast reflexes, Ottar steered his longsword toward the side of Aiz’s head—

  Only to find a pair of fang-like silver boots digging into his steely arm.

  “Just try and look away from me, porky!”

  “Vanargand…?!”

  Bete’s kick effectively put a stop to Ottar’s attack.

  Riding on the assistance of her companions, Aiz charged, disappearing down the passage the boaz had been so adamantly guarding.

  —I’m through!

  Scraping together every last ounce of strength she could muster, she raced down the path.

  “…!”

  Ottar’s features distorted upon witnessing the golden-haired, golden-eyed girl rush past him.

  As he staved off the incoming attacks of Tiona and her friends, the natural-born soldier could tell already that even if he were to follow in immediate pursuit, there was no way he could overcome the
godlike speed of the Sword Princess before she reached her destination.

  “And here I was just thinking that my thumb was awfully itchy. I suppose this is all part of the bargain, as well?” The voice of a boy came from the direction of the standard route leading to the eighth floor, directly opposite the opening Ottar and the others were occupying.

  The boaz narrowed his eyes at the blond prum and his long spear.

  “Hey, Ottar.” Finn posed, almost as though greeting an old friend.

  “…Finn?” Ottar silently lowered his weapon.

  Around him, the trio of first-tier adventurers remained at the ready. From behind Finn emerged another—a high elf of unparalleled beauty.

  Realizing he was more than outnumbered, the boaz conceded, his fighting spirit gone.

  Their opponent having lost his malice, Tiona, followed by Bete, took off after Aiz down the passageway.

  “Riveria! Help that prum girl!” she called.

  “We still have no idea what the hell is even going on!” Bete shouted.

  “Y-you two…!”

  As Tione’s face twitched at her sister’s (and comrade’s) temerity, Finn and Ottar faced each other. The two familia captains began to speak. Tione couldn’t leave the one she cared so much about, and Riveria was already at work tending to the blood-covered prum.

  “As Bete so eloquently put it, I’m still a bit foggy as to what’s going on here. Would you mind filling me in on why exactly you chose this time and this place to take up arms against us, Ottar?”

  “There’s no incorrect time and place to challenge an enemy.”

  “Indeed. Then would it be safe to take this as the will of not only your familia but your god, as well? Is Lady Freya hoping for all-out war between us?” Finn asked with a smile, to which Ottar remained silent.

  The sharpened tip of the prum’s spear gleamed in the Dungeon’s light.

  “…I was acting independently,” he finally uttered, voice low.

  Abandoning his weapons, he began walking forward. Even as Tione’s eyes narrowed into tiny points, he proceeded toward Finn and the others undeterred.

  He walked right past Finn, Tione, and Riveria, who had finished casting her healing magic on the downed prum and was waiting beside Finn with one eye closed.

  “So long as you’re going to form your little clique, I’ve no chance of winning,” the boaz said coolly the moment he passed them by.

  “Good to know. We’re not keen on taking up arms against you, either,” Finn replied.

  Saying nothing else, Ottar made his exit, taking the same path Finn and the others had.

  He proceeded down the narrow, dim passageway, leaving his long-standing foes behind.

  “This failure will come back to haunt you,” he muttered to himself, still losing blood from the abrasions littering his body and his fist curled as tight as a boulder. The self-condemning words dripped with profound significance.

  Eyes pointed straight ahead, he didn’t look back.

  “We’ll just say you were oblivious to your own incompetence.”

  From behind him came the far-off roar of a crazed bull echoing throughout the Dungeon, accompanied by the shouts of a certain set of adventurers.

  “Remove your shell, renounce all others, and confront the adventure. Focus on nothing but the path ahead.”

  His eyes flashed at these final words.

  “Only then can you win her favor.”

  Light up ahead was leaking its way into the single dim passageway.

  “…!”

  Aiz hastened at the sight, and she practically flew down the path.

  Plunging into the room, her field of vision expanded instantly, eyes first locking on to the minotaur in the middle of the room, and then the boy lying faceup on the ground a good distance away.

  Aiz’s breath caught in her throat.

  The minotaur making its way toward the boy quickly became aware of Aiz’s presence. At the same time, Aiz checked the boy for signs of life; relief flooded through her when she confirmed the faint rise and fall of his chest.

  A flurry of emotions welled up in her own chest, but she pushed everything away and became the Sword Princess again in an instant, steering her gaze toward the minotaur.

  …?!

  The aberrant beast, equipped with an adventurer’s sword, came to a stop at Aiz’s overwhelming intensity, its fur bristling.

  She didn’t even pause to ascertain the situation. She rushed forward, placing herself in the bull’s path with her back to the downed boy.

  The remnants of her Airiel created a soft breeze, fluttering the leaves of the flowers growing from the room’s floor.

  “—”

  She felt a presence behind her. A gasp.

  The boy had woken up, no doubt. Tossing aside her grief and sorrow, she reinforced her grip on the hilt of her sword and stared daggers at the bull in front of her.

  “G-guwoh!” came the clearly terrified noise from the monster, to which Aiz did not respond.

  Her silence revealed the anger in her armor-clad chest.

  And as that anger built, her current began to dance as well, stirring the grasses of the room with tiny, subtle shudders.

  The spirit of her honed blade swirled together with the wind.

  “There she is! Aiiiiiiiz!”

  “Tch, all that for this boring thing?”

  Tiona and Bete, quickly followed by her sister and the others, made their way into the room, footsteps echoing and eyes veering toward the minotaur.

  Aiz still had no idea what was going on. What were Ottar and the rest of Freya Familia trying to pull? Had they somehow tamed the minotaur? She did know one thing, though—she would take care of this monster and she would do it now. She wasn’t about to let the boy be injured further.

  Rustle, rustle.

  There was a sudden fluttering from the grasses directly behind her.

  Throwing a quick glance behind her, she saw the dazed boy, the worn-out Bell, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

  “…Are you all right?”

  —Are you all right?

  Just like the first time they’d met.

  She’d said the same thing to him when she saved him from the minotaur.

  A sigh of relief passed between her lips.

  “…You fought well.”

  —You fought very well.

  Slightly different this time.

  Back then, she’d added a few words of praise and sympathy, the boy having survived his fight against the minotaur.

  Kindness filled her heart.

  “I’ll take care of things now.”

  —And take that thing out.

  Canceling her magic, she instead directed all her power into the sword in her hand.

  But the moment her foot touched the ground to rush forward…

  Suddenly…

  Huh?

  A resounding thump rang from the ground.

  And it wasn’t from Aiz.

  It wasn’t from the minotaur, either. Or from Tiona and the others.

  Thud, came the noise from someone.

  And they were right behind her.

  As they kicked themselves up from the grass.

  “?!”

  Aiz spun around. At the same time, a hand grasped hers.

  Her golden eyes widened in surprise.

  He was standing.

  The boy had recovered and risen to his feet.

  Despite the cuts littering his body, his rubellite eyes were glinting, staring past Aiz and focusing on the minotaur.

  She could feel the heat radiating off his hand, currently clasped tightly in her own.

  “…No.”

  Aiz gazed in astonishment as he pulled her back.

  Propelled by sheer will, he advanced in front of her.

  “I don’t need Aiz Wallenstein to save me anymore!” he bellowed from the depths of his lungs.

  As though showing off. As though declaring his will. As though hoisting the flag of his unyie
lding ambition.

  At the sight of the boy, obsidian knife readied in his hand, the minotaur’s eyes widened—before crinkling in savage mirth.

  Coming to some kind of accord with the boy, it turned its large sword in Bell’s direction.

  Why? How…?!

  This was unbelievable.

  Aiz had told herself so many things.

  That he was just a boy.

  That he was kind, innocent, a child.

  That he didn’t have the makings of an adventurer.

  —So how?!

  And regardless.

  He had risen to his feet.

  That same boy.

  That same child who would never have what it took to be an adventurer had risen to his feet via pure determination.

  “Gngh!!”

  Blood pouring from his unarmored limbs and frame quivering, the boy awoke from within.

  This was his enemy and his alone, and he unleashed his attack, brutal and pitiless.

  No—!

  —Wait!

  Aiz launched herself forward, the words forming between her lips, when—

  She saw another back overlap the boy’s. A back she hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

  “—Stay there, Aiz.”

  It was her father’s, from the last time she’d seen him.

  “—”

  The back of the man who’d left her with those words, wind sword in his hand, before leaving for battle was overlaid atop the boy’s.

  The boy and the hero were one.

  Eyes opened wide, she found herself unable to move.

  It felt like her heart and body weren’t connected. Little Aiz was frozen in place.

  —Ah.

  Then she understood.

  As she was confronted with that image, as her memories came to life before her, she understood all too well.

  He’d broken free of his mismatched mold and become an adventurer.

  He’d taken his first step along the path to becoming a hero.

  “I challenge you…!”

  Thus, the boy…

  …Faced the adventure.

  The same way her father had thrust himself into that jet-black vortex.

  The boy faced that mighty bull of red.

  His fight with the minotaur rekindled the image from her past that had been seared into her eyes forever.

  Aiz couldn’t stop him. She simply stood there, rooted to the spot.

  She was unable to move, incapable of even uttering a sound.