1

The Abyssal Shaft capture team filled a week with planning.

Reinforcement of their campsite; several dozen recons in force. Elimination of all non-boss-level enemies that could be subjugated. The unit made all the preparations they could think of, then headed into battle again.

Noticing that his breathing was growing shallow, Federico forced himself to draw in air.

The scene that spread before him was almost exactly the same as last week.

It was the overwhelming shape of the huge, dark purple figure enshrined in the center of the enormous coliseum: Ruseato of the Seventh Garden.

The arena that had been the site of the ferocious battle a week before was quiet, and not even clouds of dust were visible.

Keeping his attention on Shiroe, the party leader, Federico waited for the signal.

He thought the taciturn young man had changed quite a bit over this past week.

After that defeat, he’d begun to speak with all the members of the group frequently. He’d known the man was a knowledgeable Enchanter, but over that week, his skills seemed to have grown even sharper. He had a new staff which seemed to have come from storage, and Federico and the others had soon grown used to seeing him equipped with it.

This was no time for grumbling. They’d do whatever it took to boost their chances of victory. Federico and the others thought that in this situation, Shiroe had responded to them very well.

During the week, the raid team’s provisions situation had taken a turn for the better. That was thanks to Shiroe’s group as well.

They’d donated generously from their Magic Bags, which meant that both the amount and the quality of their meals had improved. Voinen, the amateur Chef in charge of meals for the team, was grateful. Some wondered whether Shiroe’s cadre had just been holding back on them until now, but there weren’t many such opinions, and they soon disappeared.

It was also true that Silver Sword had been treating the outsiders as guests. It wasn’t the sort of thing said outsiders could unilaterally blame them for wondering.

Besides, the annihilation had counted for a lot.

“Death” was horrifying and painful, but sometimes it bound people to each other. It wasn’t that they’d gotten along badly with their friends from high school or college, but this raid team was something special. Sharing that bitter experience had been significant, to the point where “friends” seemed like a less accurate description of their relationship than “comrades in arms.”

You can’t make friends with guys you hate, but…

Federico bit his lip and thought.

You can’t keep on hating comrades in arms.

This had been true with regard to Shiroe, and with regard to Demiquas as well.

Azalea, who was sitting with his eyes closed in apparent meditation, lightly raised his right hand.

Using Soul Possession, a Summoner special skill, he’d possessed a summoned servant monster and had gone on reconnaissance in its form. He must have released it: He shook his head two or three times, then delivered a brief report to William: “Still on standby, no change in position. No other enemies sighted.”

The result was just what it had been during repeated reconnaissance sessions over the past week.

The raid bosses seemed to have learned to work together, but they each had their own ideas and preferences, and their cooperation wasn’t perfect. These were words that Shiroe of Log Horizon had spoken several times over the course of the week. When you talked to him, he seemed to be a mild-mannered, philosophical young man, but if you believed the rumors from Akiba, he was a sinister mastermind who’d control even the armies of hell.

Either way, it’s not much of a problem, Federico thought.

It was true that Shiroe was introverted. His cross expression seemed to put up a wall. His explanations were complicated and roundabout. However, these were trivial flaws. The Silver Sword members weren’t qualified to talk about other people. They were a group of social rejects, all of them warped to some extent. Shiroe might be an eccentric, but in terms of Federico’s friends, he was a sensible sort.

Shiroe chanted keywords briefly, and a spell activated. It was the Elixir spell. This Enchanter support spell raised the base power values of the recovery spells its targets used.

His companion Voinen had turned the palm of his left hand upward and tested Heartbeat Healing. Warmth and a vivid green light showered down on Federico. The recovery amount actually had increased. Shiroe was moving along, casting support spells in sequence, and Federico sent grateful thoughts at his back.

The time for preparation was over. From this point on, it was Silver Sword’s time.

This was the continuation of the night when William had yelled as if he were spitting out his words.

A short countdown. Naotsugu launched into a run first, as if stealing time from the “zero.” The Second party’s guardian outstripped the other members by a wide margin, heading for Ruseato of the Seventh Garden all alone.

Not yet. Not yet…

Keeping their eyes on William’s left hand—which he’d stretched out horizontally—and the battlefield, Federico and the others sat tight. Gazing at Naotsugu’s back, they waited for the first attack.

“Castle of Stone!!”

Right in front of Ruseato, Naotsugu raised his shield and shouted. It was the absolute special skill of the Guardian, one that negated all damage. Using this ten seconds of bare invincibility, Naotsugu made it through the first big attack Ruseato launched, Hearken to the Moonlit Funeral Bell.

“Now!”

With a yell, William broke into a run.

Federico followed him so fast that they seemed to race.

Hearken to the Moonlit Funeral Bell and Kneel Before the Dark Silver Post were attacks from Ruseato’s Black Knight mode that could be described as certain-kill techniques. Unless you were the top tank—Dinclon—and loaded up with support and recovery, it would be tough to defend against those two attacks. Shiroe’s friend Naotsugu had gotten through one of them with a single Castle of Stone. In the previous battle, they’d learned that Hearken to the Moonlit Funeral Bell’s recast time was ninety seconds. In other words, Ruseato wouldn’t be able to use it again for another eighty-seven seconds. Right now, he had no powerful ranged attacks. Kneel Before the Dark Silver Post was a threat, but that targeted single players. Federico and the others could use this opening to move, safely and completely, to their designated locations.

For raiders, this was a natural team play, but the sight of a Guardian from a small guild pulling it off perfectly made the corners of Federico’s lips rise.

Even now, death was frightening.

However, their morale was higher than that.

In the instant when he charged shoulder to shoulder with his comrades, and the instant when they pulled off a difficult team play, Federico’s heart soared up like a glider riding the wind. It was probably the sort of emotion the world would have ridiculed as childish, but, to borrow the words of the guild master that Federico acknowledged, the world could go to hell.

The yell that night was a letter of challenge, thrown at the world, and just as it said, we’re doing this by choice.

Since coming to this other world, Federico had died many times.

Many times, he’d been taken back into those dark memories. He’d experienced his regret and despair all over again.

However, his Silver Sword comrades had never once appeared in those memories. When he’d talked to the companions around him, they’d said the same thing. That made Federico happy. Some people might say that, since it had been a game, that was only natural. Even so, he felt as though it was proof that, to him, Silver Sword was a place to belong and a group of friends he’d never been ashamed of.

…Friends.

It had been a long time since he’d started getting embarrassed about using the word.

At this age, thinking about where the line between “friends” and “acquaintances” fell was a pain in the neck, and even if he’d settled on definitions as far as the words were concerned, human relationships would only be what they were. Federico, a brand-new member of adult society, thought that getting particularly friendly and taking special care to avoid people were equally futile.

When he’d heard the word friends from his guild master, a mere high schooler, he’d teared up. The experience had startled him, because his own feelings were a mystery to him.

He might get back to the old world someday.

Maybe he’d return to a life of shuttling back and forth between his house and the office, remember this situation, and think that preparing to die had been ridiculous.

That wouldn’t be a bad thing, but if asked whether they could stop in their tracks right now, the answer would have been an emphatic “No.” This was a raid zone, and they were raiders.

“Viper Slash”

Leaping high into the air and using the dark purple gauntlet as a foothold, Federico swung his flamberge sword into Ruseato’s arm. Viper Strike didn’t inflict much damage, but the “blood loss” icon appeared, and Ruseato’s attack hit rate went down. The drop was 4 percent.

Raiders would never say “only four percent.” That 4 percent might save just as much in recovery spells. It might hold down MP consumption and let them keep fighting, and if Federico let his vanity do the talking, it was a 4 percent that might increase their chances of winning the battle.

Having picked up the role of tank from Naotsugu, Dinclon advanced.

He was one of the mildest-looking guys in Silver Sword, but he was fortified from head to toe in fantasy-class Fantasmal equipment, and his defense was on a level with “Black Sword” Isaac’s. In sharp contrast to his usual kind voice, Dinclon was screaming in a way that made Frederico’s eardrums tremble. It was War Cry. It had been extended through item effects, and it raised the status abnormality resistance of everyone around him.

Alongside the juddering vibrations, strength infused Federico’s body.

Compared to last time, Ruseato seemed almost sluggish. Circling around its back, he kept hitting it with a series of attacks, putting all that strength behind them. Quickly performing special, close-combat skills every which way and piling on damage was an attacker’s role. In terms of this particular strategy, the initial sprint was extremely important.

At the western edge of the coliseum, about ten meters away from the battle that surrounded Ruseato of the Seventh Garden, two subdued, metallic sounds rang out.

Ragoumaru, Silver Sword’s Samurai, had used Steel-Cutting Sword.

As their advance investigations had shown them, when one of the bars in the gate was severed, it created a gap that a human-sized figure could pass through with relative ease.

Watching this out of the corner of his eye, Federico kept attacking.

Not there yet.

The attackers redoubled their efforts all at once, and their ferocious attacks inflicted considerable damage on Ruseato. There wasn’t much Ruseato could do at this point. Naotsugu had negated the badly damaging attack it should have been able to rely on, and it didn’t have an attack that could break through Dinclon’s formidable defense.

If it asked its friends for help, Federico and the others would be thrashed promptly, but Ruseato hadn’t even lost 10 percent of its HP yet. It couldn’t possibly call for help yet… But even as he thought this, Federico bit back the fear he held inside.

There were no guarantees. They didn’t know when those two raid bosses might force their way in. Or if a different boss might appear, too—there were no guarantees about that, either. All they had were the zone map they’d confirmed through their reconnaissance, and guesses regarding the guardians’ system of cooperation.

As time crawled by, Federico and the others attacked and held out, waiting for the operation to begin.

They wanted to win.

Working only from that desire to persevere, they desperately piled on attacks.

Federico’s herculean strength swung his beloved sword, Breath of Muspell, like a small typhoon, connecting with Ruseato’s armor again and again. Under the red-hot onslaught, the grotesque armor cracked like crystal, and the flying shards of glass cut Federico’s bearded face. But that didn’t bother him.

Up until now, Federico had never thought of himself as that sort of person, but apparently he liked things to be fair.

He’d realized that during this past week.

His desire to win wasn’t due to the fact that he wanted to vanquish this tough enemy, or to win glory or treasure. There wasn’t a shred of anger or hatred involved.

He only wanted one thing: a just reward.

This was a raid that William wanted to win so badly, his eyes had filled with tears.

It was a battle in which Silver Sword had faced death time after time and pulled through.

He didn’t want to think it had all been in vain. He didn’t want to think that their attempts had been foolish and pointless. If that were the case, it would be far too tragic.

He bore no grudge against Ruseato. On the contrary: He actually respected it.

All Federico and the rest of Silver Sword wanted was proof, plain and simple.

You aren’t wrong. You were right, and you were tough.

That proof was the only thing they wanted.

“Threshold!!”

At William’s sharp cry, the buffers and healers started running, detouring. Ruseato of the Seventh Garden was changing. Its cracked armor sloughed off as if it were molting, and its body turned the color of snow: It was transforming into White Knight mode.

The shattered black armor became a shadow-colored swamp and spread, generating countless warriors. The boss’s trap zone restricted the movements of all the Adventurers who were inside of it: It was a sticky ranged attack that bound their ankles. Avoiding that area, the raid team changed their formation.

“Hurry! Shiroe’s group is the shock team!”

Obeying William’s orders, the unit dived into the passage beyond the gate, one after another. At its other end was Ibra Habra of the Third Garden.

Federico’s group’s counterstrike had begun.

2

Demiquas was part of the group that had leapt into the western passage first.

The high-ceilinged granite passage, which was decorated with enormous columns, continued in a straight line. Further down, the passage was misty with twilight, but through reconnaissance, they’d learned that the flaming serpent Ibra Habra was in a great cavern at its end.

Demiquas looked around restlessly, but Naotsugu had taken off running straight ahead. Dem followed after, as if chasing him.

As a Guardian, Naotsugu protected his body with metal armor, and to Demiquas, he seemed like a sluggish turtle. He looked like he was hurrying desperately, but his speed was only half Demiquas’s, who wore light equipment. If Demiquas got serious and used Phantom Step or Wyvern Kick, he could leave him behind in the space of a breath.

However, if he did that, Dem would end up charging the raid boss first. In order to avoid that, although it was really irritating, he had to stay behind with the turtle.

The party was traveling in a column, with Naotsugu and Demiquas in the lead.

The First party had put Dinclon, the team’s main tank, at the back and was retreating, blocking the shadow warriors as it went. They probably couldn’t move fast. While the main defensive party was dealing with the enemies that followed them, it was Demiquas’s group’s job to take the lead in their place.

The beginning of the strategy was simple.

During that hellish annihilation, Ibra Habra of the Third Garden and Tartaulga of the Fourth Garden had opened the lattice gates and appeared.

Their sizes wouldn’t allow them to pass through a gap in the bars. In addition, those gates, which were like enormous cages, could only be opened from inside the passages.

If this had been ordinary raid content, both gates would probably have been unlocked after they’d defeated Ruseato of the Seventh Garden, but the current situation was different.

This strategy took advantage of the dungeon’s construction.

In short, the point of the strategy was to isolate and imprison Ruseato in the coliseum. With the gates down, Ruseato couldn’t get into the passages from the coliseum. It couldn’t chase the party that had run into the western passage. Of course they couldn’t state positively that it wouldn’t break the gate down and get in that way, so they’d lured it into White Knight mode, where its offensive abilities were low. They’d taken into account the fact that when in White Knight mode, Ruseato couldn’t move unless all the shadow warriors were destroyed.

They’d already scouted the conditions beyond this point, using a stealthy summon beast to sneak in through the gap in the gate. They’d been filled in on the strategy, with explanations tailored for several different situations. In the very luckiest situation, things would go like this:

Practically speaking, since Ruseato couldn’t get through the gate or destroy it, it had been rendered powerless. Tartaulga, the frost giant at the end of the eastern passage, might be able to open the east gate and get into the coliseum, but for the same reason as Ruseato, it wouldn’t be able to open the west gate. For all intents and purposes, they weren’t part of the active forces. Demiquas’s group would defeat the fiery serpent Ibra Habra, advance past it to reach the very deepest part of this zone, and conquer the dungeon.

However, none of the raid members thought they’d be able to win that easily.

Even if they defeated Ibra Habra, there was no guarantee that there wouldn’t be another raid boss beyond it. According to Shiroe, the dungeon was built in such a way that if you took enough of a detour, it would be possible to get this far from the eastern passage without going through the gates. If the battle got difficult for Ibra Habra, there was no doubt that Tartaulga of the Fourth Garden would come running immediately.

In the first place, the idea that neither Ruseato nor Tartaulga could destroy the iron gates was no more than wishful thinking. They would probably slow them down, but they had to consider the possibility that they’d break through. And, once they had broken through, the gates would have been destroyed, and they wouldn’t be able to use this strategy again.

That was right: Demiquas and the other Adventurers might be able to resurrect, but the situation was changing constantly. They’d never get the same opportunity twice. The members of Silver Sword knew this, and as they ran down the passage, there was great tension in the air.

Dammit!

However, that was only natural.

There was no such thing as a stable, perfectly predictable future. That was how the world worked, and even grade school kids knew it. There were unstable elements in every plan, and the danger that someone else would intervene was always there. Wake up on Sunday morning and eat breakfast while watching TV: How many times did even simple things like that go the way you’d planned? As long as you were alive, plans would fall apart; that was just how it went.

Here in Elder Tales, they’d forgotten about that entirely. They’d gotten it into their heads that this was a game, and they’d assumed everything would go the way they wanted. Since they could do anything, they’d gotten the illusion that it was okay to do anything.

And then Shiroe had flattened them.

Demiquas had learned his lesson: This place, where things didn’t always go according to plan, was reality, beyond a doubt. However, even after he’d learned that, he’d fallen for the illusion over and over again. He’d been deceived by the world’s humble, gamelike surface. That had been the case this time as well. He’d steeled himself over and over, warning himself never to let his guard down, and yet, as if it were a leaky faucet, his caution had drained away, and he’d underestimated things.

In other words, I got careless and lost. I lost because I sold them short… I lost because I treated them lightly.

He remembered a skinny girl looking at him, her hands on her hips.

Her expression was sour. She probably despised Demiquas. That was only natural. Demiquas had done terrible things to the People of the Earth. He hadn’t actually killed any of them, but he’d gotten violent and sold them and forced them to work. There was no way they’d like him. The difference in their health was the only reason they never tried to punch him.

She was a girl like chicken bones, not sexy at all. She’d fixed intense, glaring eyes on him, and had smiled sardonically. If all you’re going to do is talk as if you’re my master, hurry up and kill me. She’d said that all the time. If you’re not going to kill me, then get out of my way. I can’t clean with you there. She’d told him that, too.

That time, Demiquas had lost completely.

When People of the Earth died, they died. This was the only life she had, and she knew it, but she risked it anyway. She was betting her entire paltry existence in order to get her own way. Demiquas’s cheap life really couldn’t hope to equal that.

He’d underestimated this other world.

He’d thought it was just a game and gotten conceited, and that was why he’d lost to Shiroe.

Before he’d managed to straighten out that mistaken impression, he’d lost to this Person of the Earth, who should have been powerless.

He’d lost to Silver Sword, too. They’d rolled him the first time he’d run into them in the tavern, and had made him lick the floor many more times after that. And then the Briganteers had been wiped out.

Then he’d lost to the raid bosses, too, and if that had been all, there might still have been hope, but he’d even lost to William as a guild master. Even after being annihilated like that, that gaming addict still had twenty friends who’d follow him.

Demiquas had been left with nothing.

The passage, which had been pieced together from white stone, abruptly came to an end.

The ceiling, which had been high to begin with, rose to the height of a six-story building: They’d leapt out into a large, round, natural space. It was a huge cavern with a thirty-meter radius, shaped like an upright egg.

The area was made of ochre rock with vivid orange spots. A sloping road several meters wide had been built into the rock wall, making it possible to walk down it in a spiral. There were blue puddles of water in places. The colors in the cave were startlingly bright, and it was illuminated by white light.

“That smell…”

“Yeah, hot-springs city.”

Naotsugu answered Shiroe, who was behind them, and Demiquas understand what he meant. It was the smell of sulfur. If these vivid rocks had been colored with sulfur and chemicals, it made sense.

The group ran down the spiral outer gallery. Ibra Habra was lying on the floor of the great cavern; it seemed to be asleep.

That was probably how this raid boss looked when it was on standby.

As they’d discussed in previous meetings, Naotsugu leapt down the last section of slope, heading for the great serpent.

He didn’t have much support, but they didn’t have enough extra time to make careful preparations, and were acting accordingly.

With Tetora’s Reactive Heal and Voinen’s Heartbeat Healing at his back, he charged. Even to Demiquas, it was a brilliant rush that betrayed no hesitation.

As if to shake free of the self that seemed liable to cringe back, Demiquas also leapt into the air. The members of Silver Sword followed suit, jumping down one after another and joining the fray.

Immediately, it turned into a melee.

The cave-like road that sloped downhill from a corner of this great cavern was probably what they were after. At its end was the deepest part of this zone, the goal. However, there was no convenient gate at the cave’s entrance, and they couldn’t split their group up any further. They had to dispose of Ibra Habra here, and they had to do it before Tartaulga showed up as reinforcement.

The long-range attack party loosed ice spells in rapid succession, as if they were impatient.

Demiquas swore, but Naotsugu seemed to have managed to hold the boss.

It was like a firestorm headed straight for him, a scene more like some sort of disaster or accident site than a monster. In the midst of this, the “city” fiend in his metal armor belted out an Anchor Howl, desperately wielding his sword to whip up aggro. Even Demiquas had learned that right now, when the battle had just begun, the aggro the monster directed at the tank was unstable. The attackers wanted to inflict damage as quickly as possible, and he could understand that, but if they got hasty, the target might get switched and they’d have an accident on their hands.

“Fortress Stance! Lemme see what my new shield and armor can do!”

Naotsugu lowered his hips solidly, standing as if he were shouldering a wall. The technique, which made a blue aura erupt from beneath his feet, was a defensive attitude of the sort Guardians—aka “armored scarecrows”—were particularly good at. While he held up his massive shield to restrain the enemy, he paid out attacks from behind it with a longsword. In exchange for taking his mobility, this technique improved his defense, which wasn’t something martial artists like Demiquas had.

However, Demiquas also had an ability Naotsugu lacked: the wings known as maneuverability.

“Uoooooooooh! Aura Saber!”

From midair, Demiquas brought down a kick armed with golden light.

The attack drew a large arc like an ax, stabbing into the flaming serpent’s blazing outer hide. There was no way it wasn’t working. The characteristics of the Aura Saber special skill made it possible to inflict damage that wasn’t really affected by defensive power. Besides, thanks to the Druid’s Energy Protection, the damage from the flames was considerably reduced. At the very least, he wouldn’t end up near death every time he attacked.

Demiquas used Wyvern Step to dodge the compact-bus-sized tail Ibra Habra of the Third Garden swung around at him. He leapt into the air, then unleashed Wyvern Kick, as if trailing an afterimage behind him.

Wyvern Kick.

And another Wyvern Kick.

Heavy impacts that seemed to pierce through his brain traveled up from the soles of his Sturm Assaulter Sabaton Boots, which seemed to have been carved out of lumps of metal. If he’d done this serial strike attack in Susukino, he could have reduced a ruined building to a genuine mountain of rubble. And it wasn’t just him. Beside Demiquas, who was punching through with green light, Federico swung his flamberge over and over, and the other close-range attackers from the raid team were holding fast to Ibra Habra. From the monster’s perspective, it must have looked like midgets swarming a giant.

Suddenly, Demiquas’s feet began to shine silver.

It was Shiroe’s reinforcement spell, Keen Edge.

Damn bastard!

Demiquas clicked his tongue in irritation. He would have liked to spit, but the heat from the fiery serpent had left his mouth bone-dry. Instead, since Ibra Habra had come around in front of him, Demiquas slammed his elbow into the underside of its enormous jaw. Tiger Echo Fist. Its hit rate was bad, but when he was up against a huge raid boss, it was possible to use even this technique any way he wanted.

A reptilian eye, white and cloudy as moonstone, looked down at Demiquas, turning inorganic murderous intent on him.

“Wide range, get back!!”

At William’s order, the front line backed away all at once, but Demiquas stood tall and crossed his arms in front of his eyes. He was planning to block the flame attack with those arms.

This wasn’t out of contempt or carelessness. It was Demiquas’s way of showing his resolve.

As he was engulfed by the storm of flames Ibra Habra spat out, Demiquas never even blinked.

3

In front of Naotsugu, flames roiled. Unlike when viewed on a game screen, the venomous crimson seemed sticky, and it swallowed Naotsugu up like a raging beast.

However, even in the midst of that purgatory, Naotsugu narrowed his eyes and maintained his stance, leaning slightly forward.

True, his entire body was hot. Of course it was: He was being burned by flames. However, on the other hand, that heat was only about what he would have felt if he’d gotten naked on asphalt under a blazing midsummer sky. There was a sizzling sensation on his skin, but it was nothing he couldn’t get through.

There were currents and waves in the flames, and Naotsugu observed them calmly. When he spotted a gap, he sucked in a huge lungful of air. He’d been holding his breath, as if he were swimming underwater. He’d done it out of caution, to keep his lungs from burning, but if it was like this, he probably wouldn’t be lethally injured even if he did breathe some in.

Besides, that big-headed Monk’s pretty awesome.

Tetora’s Reactive Heal, Voinen’s Pulse Recovery, and Touko’s Damage Interception barrier were all currently active on Naotsugu. These pseudorecovery spells were called “class heals.” That last range burning attack, Merciless Banquet of Purgatory, had been powerful. The Kannagi’s Damage Interception barrier had negated about six thousand of its damage, and he’d regained about nine hundred with the Cleric’s Reactive Heal, but even so, with damage on this scale, they weren’t enough. It wouldn’t have been at all odd for that last attack to put Naotsugu at death’s door.

Demiquas had been the one to shoulder that damage for him.

It had probably been Covering, a special technique that took over damage for group members who were a short distance away. Demiquas, a Monk, had more resistance to attribute attacks than Naotsugu did, and the sheer amount of his HP was high. If the damage was spread out like it was now, Naotsugu could stay on the front line. Naotsugu’s opinion of Demiquas went up, just a little.

“Awright, one more! Taunting Blow!”

In order to earn more aggro, Naotsugu hit Ibra Habra with a special attack.

This huge, fiery serpent was definitely scary. When its enormous head came at you, it was like facing down a charging dump truck, and its dark red, gaping mouth had the aggressive impact of construction equipment. Since all this came your way at the speed of a train wreck, your legs went weak, and your vision narrowed.

However, as if to shake off that force, Naotsugu drew his lips into the shape of a smile.

It was just bravado. He didn’t really have the leeway to smile.

That said, leeway was always vague. If you thought you didn’t have it, you didn’t; and if you thought you had it, you did. Even when you had all sorts of time on a three-day weekend, you’d never have the leeway to clean and polish the kitchen, and when book-balancing hell meant you had to sleep at the office, you had enough leeway to search convenience stores for their new, private-brand pudding. It was like that.

And so, if he managed to smile, he’d have leeway. Even if he didn’t have it, he’d generate it.

Believing this, Naotsugu swung his sword again.

He shouted a taunt, raised his shield, took a defensive stance, and didn’t give an inch.

He was smiling fearlessly. To Naotsugu, that was what the first defender in a raid did.

“Okay!”

Naotsugu’s short yell must have told William everything. He issued an order from the rear ranks: “Circle around to the left and inflict damage!”

Naotsugu’s smile deepened. Just as he’d thought, William understood.

Well, it had been more than three weeks since they’d first invaded Abyssal Shaft. That time had made it possible for them to understand each other. By now, Naotsugu could tell what William was thinking. William must be able to tell what Naotsugu wanted as well.

Recovery spells washed over Naotsugu one after another, and his HP began to rise.

In spite of Demiquas’s quick-witted move, his total HP had fallen to 30 percent or so. Unlike Demiquas, who’d stepped in to shield him temporarily, Naotsugu had been targeted by powerful normal attacks without a break. Scales that stood on end like spikes were fired at him over and over. Recovering Naotsugu’s HP to reduce the damage from that, and to get him ready for the big next attack, was necessary for the safety of the entire team. Consequently, Naotsugu didn’t stand on ceremony, either.

In the midst of the astoundingly fierce battle, Naotsugu was remembering the past.

Of course, compared to this other world, it might have been just a game, but Naotsugu had been the Debauchery Tea Party’s main tank. It wasn’t that he had no raid experience. On the contrary: The Tea Party had gone on a shocking number of raids. In the first place, when it came to raids, Kanami had tended to disregard even victory and defeat. The woman had considered raid battles to be on the same level as removing obstacles to sightseeing. She’d even meddled in raid captures on an overseas server just “to see new vistas,” so there was really nothing to do but laugh.

“Hoh! Hup!”

His new equipment, Armor of Silver Oath, had been reliable. The connections all over his body were smooth, so it felt stable. There were no parts that flapped and bounced up. Guard of Lionheart was brilliant, too. Compared to what they’d been before, the shocks transmitted to his arm had softened remarkably. If things were like this, he thought he could probably keep this fierce battle up for hours. If he guided the points of light that sparkled in his vision to the center of the shield, he could repel even Ibra Habra’s tail without backing up. He could feel that his defense had risen considerably.

“I’m nowhere near done yet! Bring-it-on city!” he yelled roughly.

“Yowzers! Naotsugu, you’re really into this!”

Tetora, who’d come in close again before he was aware of it, called to him musingly.

Leaning forward even farther to shield Tetora from the flames, Naotsugu yelled back: “Leave it to me! This’s nothing!” Tetora set a hand on Naotsugu’s shoulder and jumped up, then called to the great hall in a carrying voice.

“Hey, team! Are you into this?”

The fighting was fierce, and no voices responded to Tetora. However, everyone was watching her. Of course they were: Since they were attacking Ibra Habra of the Third Garden, the target they needed to defeat, they were watching Naotsugu, who was taking all of its ferocious attacks by himself, and Tetora was yelling at the battlefield over his shoulder.

A rumbling echo filled the cavern. It was the raid team’s will, responding to the little idol’s question with desperate effort from each member. Swords and axes were brought down in rapid succession, and ice and lightning attacks battered the enormous monster.

Smiling at the cacophony, Tetora thrust the baton in her right hand high into the air, an expression of defiance on her face.

“Okay, here we go! C’mon, everybody, do your best! You can do your best, so do it!”

Tetora’s brave voice rang out so well it nearly made them forget they were underground. After rising to the heavens, her voice showered down over her companions.

High in the air, light swelled, and a rainbow-colored aurora appeared. Curtains of light shimmered, holding countless falling stars inside, and gentle music played. Aurora Heal was a special spell. Of the many recovery spells held by the three recovery classes in Elder Tales, Aurora Heal was the only spell geared specifically for raids. Its recovery range included every one of their companions that were gathered under the aurora, and even if there were a hundred of them, it administered healing light to all of them.

“That’s-real-generous city!”

“Of course it is: I’m an angel!”

Beaming, the Cleric paid out spells in rapid succession, twirling around as she did so. Her speed was even greater than that of the Silver Sword Recovery classes, who had to be very skilled. She was probably getting support from Shiroe to do it, but it was a magnificent display of raiderly behavior.

As if riding that momentum, Naotsugu also paid out attack after attack.

So far, everything was going without a hitch. Apparently, as Shiroe had anticipated, Ibra Habra of the Third Garden had lower maximum HP than Ruseato of the Seventh. It also couldn’t recover by changing its shape. Ibra Habra’s specialties were ranged attacks and an area of scorching heat that made you lose health just by getting close to it.

However, since they’d anticipated that, the team had changed into all the fire-resistant equipment they had with them, and they were being supplied with appropriate support spells. Ibra Habra had prodigious HP, but they’d already shaved away half of it. If they kept on inflicting damage this way, they should be able to defeat it.

Not that I’m gonna help it out by getting careless.

Even as Naotsugu kept a close eye on the fiery serpent’s movements, he paid attention to the situation around him.

“Great job!”

“Yeppers, just leave it to me!”

He wasn’t only talking to Tetora. He was sending a message to everyone around him.

They could trust their shield. The feeling of confidence that he was still fine was necessary for a raid tank.

If it had been possible to solve difficulties with the simple emotions “We can do this” or “We should be able to do this,” no one would ever have trouble. They wouldn’t need Shiroe’s plans. However, on the other hand, one single thought of “We’re losing” or “We might lose this one” could lead to actual defeat in raids.

If it was to energize his comrades, he’d raise a shout or even put on an act.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and a soft warmth that was completely different from the heat of the flames spread through his body. Tetora’s Small Recovery was at work. In order to exercise her Cleric’s recovery abilities to the greatest extent possible, this little hand had come to the front line, where flames raged, and kept Naotsugu company with her usual cheerful backchat.

Tetora understood, too: This trifling dialogue turned into power for the entire group. Naotsugu knew this, and it put him in a good mood. He managed to give a real smile, instead of one that was just meant to reassure everyone.

“Naotsugu, have you fallen for me?”

“Absolutely nyet!”

“Isn’t this the scene where we get set up for all sorts of interesting future developments?”

“You-just-shot-the-whole-thing-to-heck-with-that-line city.”

The tail was thrust at them like a spear. As Naotsugu used the points of light his shield showed him to deflect its tip to the side, he answered Tetora’s playful query in the negative. The question made him worry whether she really understood. Wanting to demand that she give back the warm feelings he’d had up until a minute ago, Naotsugu shot a sidelong glare at Tetora.

“I have a report for you, Naotsugu.”

“At a friggin’ busy time like this? What is it, huh?”

“Well, if it wasn’t a time like this, it would be hard to bring up.”

Tetora was wriggling restlessly, purposefully saying “Fidget, fidget” out loud, but Naotsugu kept on fighting ferociously. As he used his hands and feet to deflect broken sulfur rocks so that they wouldn’t go Tetora’s way, he humored her, tentatively: “So? What is it?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m joining Log Horizon.”

“Huh?”

Passing the stage where he could get by with looking at her out of the corner of his eye, Naotsugu turned.

There was Tetora, her expression as full of self-confidence as ever and her cheeks flushed red.

“Liar city.”

“I’m serious.”

“Why?”

“To play with you, Naotsugu.” The self-proclaimed idol snickered mischievously while firing off several Heals in a row. She was in an incredibly good mood. Every time she cast a recovery spell, she tapped at the armor over Naotsugu’s side in a kittenish gesture, of which he really didn’t approve.

“Whose permission did you get to make that happen?!”

“Why, Shiroe’s.”

“Hey, Shiro! That-was-uncalled-for city!”

…But they couldn’t just keep telling funny stories like this.

Ibra Habra had reared upright like a theme park monument and it opened its mouth wide, inhaling. Air and fire were sucked in with a roar. It was the preliminary action necessary for Merciless Banquet of Purgatory, the massively damaging ranged attack that they’d lasted through a short while ago.

“Here it comes!”

“Vanguard, fall back! Federico, stay there and keep debuffing. Cut down the damage!”

Naotsugu and William yelled it almost simultaneously.

Their formation changed yet again. The raid team’s close-range attack unit rolled back like the tide.

They were getting out of the firestorm’s range of attack to reduce the overall damage. Decreasing the damage meant more than making things easier for the healers; it was also important if they were going to save their MP.

However, the formation shift was disturbed.

Azalea, the Summoner from the Fourth party who’d been conducting long-range attacks, tripped and fell on what looked like open ground, then screamed something, although Naotsugu couldn’t make out what it was. At that warning, William snapped out an order: “Dinclon to the rear!!”

With speed that didn’t leave time for even a hasty reorganization, a new battle began.

There were two openings in this huge subterranean cavern. One was the white granite corridor up above, through which Naotsugu and the others had entered. The other was the cave passage that extended from the lower part of the cavern.

An enormous savage warrior wearing a coarse pelt, the pale frost giant Tartaulga of the Fourth Garden, had appeared from that cave passage and joined the fight.

4

Saying there was no disturbance in the great hall would have been a lie.

After they’d experienced that devastating annihilation earlier, this was only natural. However, that frozen instant was immediately dissolved by William’s exhortation.

The Guardian Dinclon, Silver Sword’s pride, leapt forward like a bullet, rushed at the frost giant and used Castle of Stone. A club that seemed as if its diameter alone might be several meters wide swung at him sideways, but the elf warrior slapped it down as if it were a joke and took up a position in the entrance to the passage. As you’d expect from a seasoned raider, there was no wasted motion in his actions.

Pushing up his glasses, which had been jostled out of place by the exercise, Shiroe wiped away the sweat that dripped from his forehead. Now his second prediction had come true.

Apparently Ruseato of the Seventh Garden wasn’t able to open the gates in the coliseum. However, Ibra Habra and Tartaulga, who protected their own positions to the far east and west of the coliseum, could enter it, and they could also go through inner passages and reach each other’s locations without entering it.

Even if they outwitted Ruseato, they’d have to deal with the fiery serpent Ibra Habra and Tartaulga the frost giant at the same time. That had been within his predictions. Considered in ordinary terms, that would have meant a stalemate. There was no full raid anywhere that could stop attacks from two raid bosses and not be destroyed. Their attacks were far too overwhelming.

But was that really the case?

In the instant when he’d awoken, Shiroe had doubted it, and had hit on this plan.

Part of the reason Silver Sword and Shiroe’s group had been annihilated in the coliseum showdown was because they’d been confused by a situation they hadn’t anticipated—the raid bosses joining forces—and their teamwork had been disrupted. However, if you looked at the damage on its own, the reason was because they’d taken a wide-range flame attribute attack from Ibra Habra and a wide-range cold attribute attack from the frost giant Tartaulga simultaneously. Either one would have been a lethal attack as far as the rear guard was concerned; if they took both at once, death was their only option.

However, if it had been just one of the two, wouldn’t the vanguard have been able to last through it?

Shiroe remembered Ruseato’s attacks, and he didn’t think a raid boss in the same zone would have attack power that far surpassed that. It might be more than that, but it couldn’t possibly be double. He concluded that it wouldn’t be impossible to last through attacks from either Ibra Habra or Tartaulga.

The conclusion Shiroe had reached was that, provided the raid bosses’ ranges didn’t overlap, it would be possible to bear up under their attacks, and this formed the framework of his strategy.

This vast underground cavern was spacious enough to allow for that. Naotsugu had positioned himself by the southwest wall and was holding back Ibra Habra’s attacks, while Dinclon, the Guardian who’d supported Silver Sword, had Tartaulga pinned at the entrance to the corridor in the northeast.

The two shields adjusted their positions, protecting each other from ranged attacks.

This position adjustment was fairly harsh. Each of them had their own dedicated healers, but that wasn’t enough. It was necessary for several mobile healers to recover Naotsugu and Dinclon, traveling back and forth as needed, but the distance between the two was too wide, and they tended to be too late. The farther apart they were, the greater their safe zone against ranged attacks, but then the recovery spells wouldn’t reach them.

If they tried to keep the distance to a bare minimum, the safe zone that kept them from getting caught up in ranged attacks from either boss in this huge cavern was bound to disappear. For the rear guard spellcasters and archers, it would turn into a touch-and-go battle where they had to make constant, fine position adjustments to keep away from the ranged attacks that both bosses would keep sending at them.

However, on hearing Shiroe’s strategy, William had smiled a hero’s smile and told him:

I bet we’ll win, Shiroe.

Now, as if to prove those words, even as “Mithril Eyes” launched nonstop attacks so rapidly they seemed to be an unbroken line, he was issuing rapid-fire orders.

Shiroe also held nothing back as he fought.

This was no time to stand on ceremony.

True, they’d manage to check the attacks from the two terrible raid bosses. However, it had been done through Dinclon’s use of his surefire technique, Castle of Stone. For that reason, in the first battle, they’d gone with a strategy that let him avoid using that technique. In order to stabilize the combat situation, they had to support the two shields with recovery spells; there were only six Recovery classes on the team, and this meant going through their MP at a furious pace. Having anticipated this situation, the members had used their spells in moderation up until now, but if they kept trying to economize from this point on, the vanguards would probably lose their lives. This was a tightrope battle now: If the shields fell, the front line would crumble, and if that happened, they’d be wiped out immediately.

If that happened, their hopes in this zone would be dashed.

“Federico, attack power decrease buff, ranged attack decrease buff.”

“On it.”

“Miss Tetora, increase your recovery output.”

“I can’t raise it any higher!”

“I’ll support you. —Force Step!”

Shiroe fired a special support spell at Tetora. It accelerated all the recast timers she had. The speed increase was a little under 20 percent, but that certainly wasn’t a small number. Aurora Heal’s recast time was generally six hundred seconds. If he kept Force Step up without a break, she’d be able to use it again in 480 seconds. This would increase the speed at which her MP was consumed, but Shiroe supplemented this as well, using Mana Siphon. It was an Enchanter special control skill that gave the Enchanter’s own MP to a companion.

In a party battle where they were hunting in the ordinary way, MP could be recovered with relative ease by resting. As such, it was easy to disregard Enchanters’ ability to control and recover MP.

However, Shiroe loved that rare characteristic, and he’d cultivated it constantly.

In the midst of the dizzying sensation of MP loss, Shiroe kept on attacking, gauging and supplying MP. He provided Recovery classes like Tetora and Voinen with recovery reinforcement, and attackers like Federico and Demiquas with attack reinforcement. Experiencing the battlefield with all of his expanded senses, Shiroe turned his attention to the details.

“Over here!”

Voinen plunged an arm into a puddle that seethed with the smell of sulfur and released a long chant. It was a particularly unique variety of the servant summonings that Druids used. The light that stretched from his fur arm guard spread its branches high into the air, as if seeking the atmosphere, then suddenly turned green and solid. It was Life Sequoia, a summoning technique that Druids—whom nature and the spirits served—could contract with on high-level raids.

“Team Four, close in!”

As if even William’s order hadn’t come fast enough for them, spellcasters gathered in the shade of the great tree.

This summoning technique, Life Sequoia, manifested as a leaf-covered redwood tree with magic power. Its shade was filled with green light, and it continuously recovered the HP of allies in the area. The amount of recovery was several rungs lower than the Heals the actual Druid used, but it had the supreme advantage of being able to recover all the companions who were close to the tree over the long term.

Shiroe calculated.

The sharp eyes behind his glasses held combat operations beyond what Minori had performed, and his thoughts stretched toward the future.

Twenty-four people was four times as large as the party of six that Minori had handled. However, simply quadrupling the number of people made the combinations of their special skills and actions increase explosively. He examined each of these possibilities, pruned them away, picked them up, or combined and “read” them.

Each single swing in his companions’ attacks; each drop of recovery.

The changes in enemy threat level brought about by the surging accumulation of weakening spells, or “debuffs.” The invisible remaining aggro, and the flexibility of the action options its leeway gave them.

Inside Shiroe, his companions’ constantly changing HP was like an equalizer panel.

Shiroe sensed the currents in the battle’s shrinking time line and differentiated them.

“Naotsugu, speed up!”

“Roger that!”

“Voinen, fall back.”

“Understood.”

Individually, each was only a “sentence.”

Strung together, they became “text” that had an objective.

Naotsugu’s face rose in the back of Shiroe’s mind. Tetora’s smile, too, and William’s wry, obstinate grin. Federico, Voinen, Demiquas. The members of Silver Sword.

Unconsciously, Shiroe nodded deeply.

He understood what William had said.

The battle had become a “story,” and had reached Shiroe.

It was a march to stir up hearts that seemed about to falter and keep them moving forward.

Shiroe had brushed against the thing William had called a secret. It had been made of the same stuff as the old, familiar peace of mind that had surrounded him in the Tea Party.

Shiroe had released all of the calculations he called a full-control encounter, and a humming spell flew from his White Staff of Ruined Wings. Karma Drive split the air like a great bird, striking Ibra Habra and ejecting a burst of countless shining icons.

Fifteen percent…Sixteen percent…Eighteen percent…

Shiroe bit his lip, focusing his mind.

Voinen’s Servant Summoning: Life Sequoia had been a good move. With that spell, they could cover more than 30 percent of the HP of a total of ten people.

The fiery serpent’s Merciless Banquet of Purgatory ranged attack seemed to come roughly once every 180 seconds. They’d get through the next one with Voinen’s Mercy Rain and Life Burst. The next one would be in 360 seconds. They’d negate it with Naotsugu’s Castle of Stone, since its recast time would be recovered. For the one after that, in 540 seconds, Tetora’s Aurora Heal would have recovered.

In the midst of concentration so deep his field of vision seemed to have lost all color, Shiroe finished his reading.

Before they reached 720 seconds, it would be possible to destroy Ibra Habra of the Third Garden. The effect of Shiroe’s Karma Drive would recover the MP of companions who’d landed critical hits on the serpent. If that output shifted the damage, they’d be able to finish off Ibra Habra in seven hundred seconds at the latest.

After that, they’d turn all their fighting power on the frost giant Tartaulga and take it down.

In terms of their remaining MP resources, this was a battle with very little leeway, but they could win by a narrow margin.

It might be thin ice, but it was the possibility of victory.

He’d keep the calculations that could get them there uninterrupted until the very end. Shutting his overheating heart into an icebox, Shiroe made a request:

“Keep the damage output at this level, please.”

“You heard Machiavelli, people! Get the lead out, crush ’im! Don’t you dare hold back!!”

Just as William issued that order to the group, ominous black clumps dropped into the hall.

Plop.

Plop.

They stuck to the ground, then stood up and, with inhuman movements, leveled their weapons.

An advance party of shadows—warriors born from fragments of Ruseato of the Seventh Garden. Their fighting potential was far below the boss’s, but even so, they could take on several Adventurers easily.

Choking back a scream, Shiroe hastily looked up. What he saw was jet-black darkness, seeping out of the gallery that led to the coliseum. The darkness, which had spread across the ceiling, hung down, forming drops like heavy oil, and then released the shadow warriors.

True, Ruseato probably couldn’t get through the barred gate.

However, the dark, human-sized soldiers it generated had slipped through the gap in the gate, just as Shiroe and the others had, and had appeared on this battlefield.

5

This wasn’t a development Shiroe hadn’t seen coming.

The shadow warriors were kin produced by Ruseato. Shiroe had anticipated that, and once the battle had begun, they would follow the Adventurer party in here. However, he’d expected a handful of warriors that had escaped defeat. The stain that spread over the ceiling was vast, and there were far too many of the shadows.

The number of shadow warriors generated is equal to the number of people who inflicted damage on Black Ruseato.

Shiroe was the one who’d seen through that.

In this battle, they’d finished subjugating all the shadow warriors who had pursued them out of the coliseum by the time they began their attack on Ibra Habra of the Third Garden. As that was the case, the number of shadow warriors serving Ruseato should have been zero.

Then, since Shiroe and the others had moved on, there shouldn’t have been anyone left to inflict damage on Ruseato. Ruseato shouldn’t have been able to generate shadow warriors again. There was no reason for this many to exist—

At that point, Shiroe arrived at a single possibility:

Ruseato had run itself through with its own halberd.

Having inflicted damage, it had created one shadow warrior.

Then that warrior and Ruseato itself had inflicted damage on the black armor again, gaining two more kin. Then they’d repeated the process. Ruseato had obtained an army by sacrificing itself—something which hadn’t been possible before—and that army was the black shadow that had seeped out of the passage.

“Vanguard!”

That thought left Shiroe in less than a moment, and his mouth screamed instructions.

Just a little longer. He wouldn’t ask for seven hundred seconds. If they had six hundred seconds, they could defeat Ibra Habra. Then they’d have excess manpower. They had to buy that time.

How long had it taken them to reach this great cavern? How much time had passed since they’d started fighting? If Ruseato created shadow warriors once every two hundred seconds or so, and their numbers kept doubling, how many were there now? Thirty-one. At most, sixty-three… The answer to his calculations came at once. If it was the latter number, all he had for that was despair, but it if was the former, they probably still had a slim chance. Even as he was embarrassed by that probably, Shiroe yelled:

“Charge and kite them—”

This maneuver was the equivalent of a suicide order. Junzou of Silver Sword was on the verge of responding to Shiroe’s order—the order to drag shadow warriors along behind him and run—but a powerful raider jumped out and beat him to it.

“Gwaaaaaaaaaaaah! Move it! Phantom Step! Wyvern Kick! Aaaaaaaah! Taunting Shout!!!!”

Pulling off a two-stage jump as though he’d managed to find a foothold somewhere in midair, Demiquas leapt into space like a rocket, then spun like a top, screaming. It was the howl that the warrior classes used to taunt. Although it was only for an instant, Shiroe saw that Demiquas had captured the attention of all the shadow warriors.

As Shiroe and the other raid members looked up, the long-haired Monk, who’d shifted from his moment of stasis into a fall, seemed to be looking for Shiroe, an expression of rage on his face. He moved so fast that Shiroe lost sight of him, and in that instant, his stance fell apart.

With no idea what had happened, Shiroe rose up, then felt himself yanked backward at overwhelming speed.

“!!”

He knew Naotsugu was yelling something. However, in the midst of the receding scenery, he couldn’t catch the words.

Apparently he was traveling through the enormous cavern at tremendous speed. As if he’d been thrown into a washing machine with a giant drum, Shiroe went through a series of abrupt accelerations and slowdowns.

A shadow warrior suddenly appeared in front of the stunned Shiroe and attempted to bring its great scythe down on him, but his vision rolled sickeningly, and the warrior was blown away. The culprit was a huge greave with a fiendish silhouette.

“Get lost! Phantom Step!!”

Leaving behind a group of enemies that was about to close ranks, Demiquas leapt into the air again.

He had Shiroe by the scruff of the neck and was swinging him around.

“What are you—”

“Shaddup, ya damn four-eyes! Wyvern Kick!”

The hot, stinking blood that splattered across his cheek calmed Shiroe down.

He didn’t know whether Demiquas was planning to smash up the raid and get revenge on him this late in the game, or whether he actually had an idea that could help them win. However, it was a fact that Demiquas had grabbed Shiroe by the back of the neck and was treating him like prey he’d bagged.

Still, this situation… This might not be bad…

If you looked at it from another angle, Shiroe was fixed artillery that had been equipped to Demiquas.

Once he’d realized that, there was just one thing to do. Shiroe scattered Enchanter spells, the ones that were ridiculed for being weak, around the area.

Demiquas was probably using Drag Move. It was a special technique meant to be used on one enemy in a group; it made them target you, regardless of aggro, and you dragged them along as you moved. Either that, or he was using his arm strength, which was past level 90, and simply carrying Shiroe like luggage. With Adventurers’ extraordinary health, this would be possible. It could be either one.

However, the important thing now was to tear the shadow warriors away from the main raid team.

“Head for the northeastern passage!”

“Shove it! What’re you bossing me around for?!”

“Mind Bolt!”

“Damn Enc!”

Still, even as he swore at him, Demiquas seemed to have changed his course.

He kicked the black, smooth, featureless shapes away, bulling through them, and headed for the passage even as countless enemies targeted him. Shiroe put together information from his violently rocking field of vision. He’d managed to confirm about twenty warriors. If he took the ones outside his field of vision into account, there were probably around thirty. If Demiquas stood still, even if he had support from recovery spells, he’d be rendered unable to fight in fifteen seconds. Without support, it would be half that. Shiroe didn’t even want to think about what it would be like for him, but the answer to that had been clear ever since he started playing Elder Tales: He’d be lucky to last three seconds.

“Shiroe, hey!”

A shadow had been bearing down on him, its attitude low, ready to leap at him, but its head swelled, then burst like a watermelon.

William had sniped it and finished it off.

“You don’t need to cover for us. Defeat Ibra Habra, please.”

“Look, Machiavelli—”

“William! Take down the enemy!”

Shiroe didn’t know what his voice had managed to convey to that proud guild master, and he had no confidence in how much emotion he’d managed to load into it. Even so, William squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, his expression anxious, then yelled: “All attack units, concentrate your damage on Ibra Habra! Sorcerers! Don’t hold back! Let ’er rip!”

His field of vision flowed as if it were melting, and they dodged past Tartaulga’s club.

Ducking his head away from the overwhelming mass that grazed the back of his skull, Shiroe noticed the white film that was approaching their feet.

“That’s Tartaulga’s Midnight Sun. It’s going to disrupt your movement; use fire and—”

“The hell do I care?! Lynx Tumbling!”

Ignoring Shiroe’s advice, Demiquas ran as though scoffing at the frozen binding spell. With Lynx Tumbling in him, Demiquas ran up, using the club that had been brought down as a foothold, reached the frost giant’s craggy arm, then its shoulder, and kept right on going. Because of the horribly cold air, Tartaulga’s breath was always white. Demiquas slammed a foot into its cheek and sped up even further.

This man-powered roller coaster began to run with all the safety devices removed, taking an insane course that would have sent all its opening day riders to the hospital.

Loop, tornado, slalom. Dragging several dozen shadows behind him on invisible threads of aggro, Demiquas launched into a terrifying escape sequence.

Behind them, Shiroe heard a voice scream. He didn’t know what it had said. However, he thought it might have been words of encouragement. This was Silver Sword, and the words they’d send at a fellow raider who was leaping into the jaws of death were pretty much a given.

They barreled into the pitch-black passage, and the sounds of the raid battle grew fainter. There were 580 seconds left in the subjugation battle in that big cavern, and it had to go on. Once that ended, they’d need to rescue Dinclon, who was fighting the frost giant.

That meant the two who were racing through the dark passage weren’t able to let their guards down for a moment.

For the past little while, Shiroe had been firing the few attack spells he had, one after another.

Astral Bind and Nightmare Sphere. If he hit the shadows with spells that had motion obstruction and petrifying effects, he could delay their pursuit by a few seconds. He couldn’t pull in many of them, but his mantle was getting wet and heavy with sweat because of Demiquas, and if he didn’t reduce the pressure from their pursuers, Demiquas’s HP wouldn’t last. Just like his HP, Demiquas’s MP was falling rapidly. It was the price of his reckless escape. In any event, it was a stroke of luck that the passage they’d leapt into went downhill. They were both still alive, and the passage went on into darkness.

“Don’t use Wyvern Kick for a while, all right?”

Demiquas ignored Shiroe’s request.

They could see the first of the shadow warriors, but they seemed to be about thirty meters away. Shiroe abandoned an attack spell he’d started to cast—they were getting out of range—and switched to support spells that focused on transferring MP to Demiquas. In a situation like this, they needed mobility more than attack power. Shiroe concentrated on switching spells, and Demiquas ran flat-out, carrying him away, into the depths of the darkness.

Shiroe didn’t know why Demiquas had taken him and run.

As it had turned out, their kiting, which had made good use of restraining spells, was going very well, but he couldn’t be sure whether that had been Demiquas’s plan or not.

Shiroe didn’t understand this outlaw’s thoughts in the first place, and he couldn’t begin to sympathize with him.

Even now, after they’d lived together on this long raid, although it had faded, stubborn, deep-seated doubt remained.

In ruined Susukino, Demiquas had subjected the People of the Earth to tyranny.

Of course he had no intention of saying that all the blame lay with Demiquas. The confusion and misunderstanding of the Catastrophe had probably given him the impression that this place was just like the world of the game. You could also take the view that he’d been driven by terror, and, to hide that fact, had taken things out on others. He’d heard later that, even when Elder Tales had been a game, the Briganteers guild had attracted players with bad manners. Maybe extreme actions stemming from tough talking within the group had become habit.

Shiroe felt a certain persuasiveness in all these circumstances, and he was capable of understanding them. However, even so, deep down, he wasn’t convinced.

Demiquas had abused People of the Earth and violated their rights. Shiroe had heard he’d even sold them.

On top of that, he’d stalked Serara and frightened her badly.

Those were tastes Shiroe didn’t possess. He couldn’t understand them, and he didn’t think he could forgive them.

He didn’t like this guy. That had always been Shiroe’s evaluation of Demiquas.

Apparently, while he’d been thinking these things, quite a lot of time had gone by.

All Shiroe could see was the dark passage that flowed past him. He didn’t know how much distance they’d put between themselves and the shadow soldiers, but he didn’t think it would be a good idea to widen the gap too much. Demiquas had taunted and attacked them mercilessly. He didn’t think that army would forget their aggro, but worst-case scenarios did happen. If the shadows turned back and made for the big cavern again, this raid would fail. Even now, it wasn’t clear whether they’d managed to draw out all the soldiers.

“Stop; you’re getting too far ahead. Wait a little.”

But as if he couldn’t hear the words, Demiquas kept running.

Irked, Shiroe had to yell for him to stop over and over before he finally did. Demiquas had rubbed him the wrong way, and Shiroe raised his voice, objecting:

“What are you thinking?! If you keep going this way…”

Before he could get the rest of the words out, Shiroe was thrown into the passage and rolled, coming to a stop when his back struck the wall. As he opened his eyes partway, rubbing his arm by the passage wall, Demiquas spoke to him.

“Hey. Enc. Say my name.”

Giving in to his irritation, Shiroe drew a breath, intending to call him “Dental Care”; then he looked up, and chose silence.

Feeling as if he were seeing Demiquas for the first time, Shiroe searched for the continuation of the words he’d lost.

Demiquas was leaning in to look at him, his expression stern and resolute. He’d opened his eyes so wide they looked as if they might pop out, and it was clear he’d spit out those words because he was hanging on to something he could never give up.

Thanks to that expression, the protest Are you seriously asking stupid questions when we’re under this much pressure? had disappeared from Shiroe’s mind.

It was likely that everyone had a wish they couldn’t give up, just as William did.

Shiroe had one. If he hadn’t, he probably still wouldn’t have been affiliated with a guild.

Even Demiquas had one.

In the midst of time that was moving slowly, Shiroe thought, speculated, and discovered that the anger inside him was very similar to self-hatred. During the Catastrophe, Shiroe had felt the helplessness of being unable to do anything, and he’d been so excessively repelled by it that he’d taken it out on Demiquas, who was leaning on the fact that he couldn’t do anything and acting like a despot.

Of course Demiquas had done things that couldn’t be forgiven. Shiroe had had to rescue Serara. However, did he have the right to judge Demiquas? That was doubtful. Shiroe was Shiroe; he wasn’t the law.

Besides, even if I did have the right to judge him…nobody should have the right to steal someone’s name.

Shiroe realized he’d been stubbornly refusing to say Demiquas’s name.

He wasn’t like this outlaw. He wouldn’t acknowledge him as a fellow human.

That was the attitude he’d taken.

“Demiquas.”

“Yeah.”

“—Demiquas, I can’t stand you.”

“Back at you, Shiroe of Log Horizon.”

Shiroe and Demiquas had finally come to an understanding.

They’d reached an understanding about the fact that they couldn’t reach an understanding.

And so, Shiroe was about to say, but he wasn’t able to continue beyond that.

The outlaw had set the palm of his hand against his chest, and when it moved—slightly, yet brooking no argument—Shiroe’s body flew through the air as if it was some kind of joke, then rolled down the passage again. He’d curled himself up, and he rolled like a soccer ball, winding up at a great steel door that was closed, coldly and tightly.

“Shiroe, you die on the other side of that. I’m busy fielding these guys.”

Tossing the words over his shoulder as if to shut down Shiroe’s argument, Demiquas broke into a run again. Cloaked in green light, at the end of the dark passage, he blinked two or three more times, then drifted, like a comet.

All sorts of feelings he couldn’t put into words layered one over another, and Shiroe was left alone in the dark passage.

6

Beyond the door was a garden that overflowed with dazzling light.

A gear that was easily ten times as tall as Shiroe turned slowly. Wheels that were made of bare framework meshed intricately, interlocking with flywheels and lifts, controlling an immense cycle.

The purpose of this huge space was clear at a glance.

Down a channel that was like something out of Escher’s trick drawings flowed an impossible amount of gold coins.

The gears, pistons, and flywheels were an immense mechanism for controlling all that gold.

A gallery of white stone wound its way through the giant machine. A brook flowed in the gallery; it was bursting with greenery, and a riot of flowers bloomed. Shiroe advanced, sometimes crossing small arched bridges or passing ponds which held heavy layers of sunken gold coins.

This garden was the vortex of gold he’d predicted.

There was a noise like a vast number of bells ringing, and he looked in its direction. A huge, iron, box-shaped vessel the size of a bus tipped and leaned, following the motions of complex chains. When it tilted, the countless gold coins inside it spilled onto a round sorting table underneath it. The sound of bells was made by those hundreds of thousands—no, those millions of coins.

The only word for the sight was marvel.

The channel, which resembled a stairway, moved mechanically. If Shiroe took a single hemp sack of coins from it, he’d probably double his assets. He tried to visualize just how much gold might be in this garden, then realized it couldn’t be done and sighed.

The amount of gold coins here was vast beyond imagining.

Even so, the single contract he’d brought along didn’t seem insignificant to him.

If he compared the two, it was probably trivial. Up until last year, Shiroe might have gotten discouraged. However, things were different now. When Shiroe had come down the Abyssal Shaft to the very deepest part of the Depths of Palm, he’d been prepared.

“—Welcome. I am not glad to see you, but I suppose I must say it.”

The individual who was waiting for Shiroe, there in the avant-garde garden that jutted out of the enormous lake of gold, looked like Kinjo. Shiroe narrowed his eyes, examining him in detail, but he wasn’t able to spot any differences. He’d been waiting here for Shiroe, with an angel fashioned from crystal at his back.

The angel was Ur of the Ninth Garden, the final raid boss that guarded Abyssal Shaft. Its height was only about four meters, which meant it was small compared to the previous enemies, but its fighting power was by no means inferior. In short, although it would be one thing if all the members of Silver Sword attacked it, if Shiroe fought it by himself, it would simply be suicide.

Or, no, even if all the members had made it here, the team would have been exhausted by their series of battles, and they might not have been able to win. However, ignoring that threat, Shiroe gazed at the young man in front of him.

The color of his collar badge is different, but that’s about it… I really can’t tell them apart.

This Kinjo looked like the Kinjo from the snowbound cabin, and he also looked like the Kinjo who’d greeted him at that party in Akiba. He looked like the Kinjo who was in charge of managing the bank services in Susukino as well.

Kinjo was probably that sort of person. The Kunie clan must also be that sort of clan.

Shiroe guessed that the roots of the Kunie clan must have been People of the Earth who had been bank employees and their supervisors, who had had dedicated uniforms and dedicated models, back in the days of Elder Tales. He saw fear and wariness in those eyes, and pride.

Well, of course he’s scared. Even if he’s got Ur of the Ninth Garden with him, an Adventurer has invaded… It looked like a hopeless fight to us, but it must have seemed just as hopeless to him.

Shiroe tried to imagine it.

A squad of more than twenty undying members who simply would not give up, surging into your headquarters.

Once there, they mounted a zombie attack. Even if you wiped them out, they got back up, conquering little by little. Nothing could be scarier. Both the fear and the wariness were only natural. It was probably pride that kept him standing in the way, even now. That pride was the will to protect the People of the Earth and Yamato.

The Kunie clan had adhered to the words of their progenitor and guarded Yamato for a long, long time.

Shiroe, who had been from modern Japan, couldn’t begin to fathom their unity and loyalty.

“I came to speak with you, Kinjo.”

“Since you’ve made it this far, it is our duty to hear what you have to say.”

“……”

At Kinjo’s hard voice, Shiroe froze up.

He’d seen it coming. This was his punishment for having harbored doubts and created unnecessary friction. Shiroe had shut Kinjo into a shell of hostility. For that very reason, the young man in white told himself, remorsefully, he had a duty to give him a thorough explanation.

“Is it all right to assume that this stream of gold coins is what I thought it was?”

“…Yes, that is correct. In accordance with our agreement, we will disclose it to you. All the gold coins in Yamato are produced here and return here. A supremely ancient technology that even we are unable to understand or control circulates the gold. From this vast torrent, coins are distributed to dungeons and monsters. This mechanism is the secret that lies in the darkness of Yamato. It is something unspeakable that the Kunie clan has kept secret for centuries.”

At those words, Shiroe noticed something else.

To ordinary People of the Earth and the nobles of the League of Free Cities, the fact that the Kunie clan had managed this mechanism might seem like a betrayal. They might think they’d been providing funds to goblins and orcs.

Shiroe, who knew the Elder Tales game, didn’t think this. He understood that it was just a system, and that it wasn’t good or bad. However, the People of the Earth had fought against the demihumans for a very long time, and he wasn’t sure what they’d think. If this fact were to be revealed, a movement to expel the Kunie clan might break out all across Yamato. It might even develop into riots or a massacre.

Kinjo’s wariness was only natural. Shiroe hadn’t given it enough thought.

“Neither I nor the others have any intention of revealing the truth of this zone or its existence to anyone else.”

Even as he wondered uneasily how persuasive his words would be, Shiroe spoke to him.

“—As you have reached this place, in accordance with our progenitor’s rules, you may take the gold with you.”

However, the things that were going on in Shiroe’s heart didn’t seem to have gotten through to Kinjo. In a voice that was as hard and wary as ever, he delivered a practiced-sounding statement.

“In the course of our long history, a portion of our progenitor’s writings have been lost. Even we no longer know whether you will be able to take one thousand gold coins from this place, or one hundred million. However, the tradition is to communicate our progenitor’s words to you.”

Kinjo gazed at Shiroe with eyes that seemed to blaze like flames.

No one was swinging a sword, but this was a clash that might surpass, and would certainly not be less than, the battles he’d come through before.

Feeling that gaze with his entire body, Shiroe forced a swallow, although his mouth was dry as dust. It made him aware of his own weakness. He’d managed to behave so nonchalantly during the Round Table Council affair, but now the strength was draining out of his knees, and it felt as if he might sit down right where he was.

However, he remembered William’s profile as he’d howled. Akatsuki’s worried expression as she looked up at him. Naotsugu’s consideration as he joked around, trying to make him smile. Nyanta, who watched over him attentively; Minori and Touya, who trusted him; Isuzu and Rundelhaus.

What he felt now wasn’t weakness.

I want them to win, Tetora had murmured.

When you wished for victory for someone else’s sake, and you thought of the pain of having failed, you wanted the best so much it hurt. Shiroe the solo player, who’d been able to be irresponsible because it was just him, no longer existed. Shiroe hungered for results more than anyone else. He wasn’t able to understand others’ feelings well, and this was the only way he could pay them back.

“‘The gold of the Kunie is treasure that brings both fortune and misfortune. Great wealth lies not in wealth. Beware the beast in thy care. It shall destroy the world.’”

Kinjo’s words sank into Shiroe. Several interpretations spread like ripples, then grew quiet.

The poem could have been taken as a sinister prophecy, but Shiroe saw it as a benediction.

Deep in his heart, he felt warmth and a gladness that he’d come here.

Shiroe and Kinjo spent long moments surrounded by the distant, ringing sound of countless bells.

Slowly, Shiroe took a single contract from his Magic Bag. Then he ripped it in two. Before Kinjo’s wide eyes, the torn contract turned into softly shining flames, then flew away like a flock of butterflies.

Then, from empty space, gold appeared.

“What’s—”

“A contract was just established and fulfilled. The Round Table Council does not seek wealth.”

As Shiroe spoke to Kinjo, he was smiling faintly.

It was the continuation of what he’d really wanted to say, the talk that had failed at the snowy lodge.

“We don’t even need the rights to the guild center. I think we have enough power to live peacefully in Akiba at this point. I’m grateful to the system that gave us that opportunity, but it’s time for it to end. The conclusion we reached is that even if more trouble occurs, we should resolve it using different methods. —By being established, then torn up, this Contract Technique is complete.”

Kinjo seemed bewildered, unable to grasp his meaning. Shiroe puffed out his chest.

He was proud of the fact that the Round Table Council had been able to agree to this, that it wasn’t just something he himself wanted.

“We transfer all rights to the town of Akiba, including the guild halls, Temple and commercial center, to the Yamato server itself. In addition, by destroying the contract, I have made the transfer permanent.”

There had been a lot of difficult behind-the-scenes negotiations and long discussions on the way to this point.

Some had held the opinion that cancelling rights they’d purchased was sheer foolishness.

However, after reconciling various merits and demerits, they’d arrived here. The purchase of zones that could be bought and were linked directly to sanction functions could only be described as the seeds of discord.

In the first place, zone purchases themselves yielded no profit. Since there was a possibility that someone would buy them someday and would push disadvantages onto them—in other words, that they would be attacked—not buying them wasn’t an option. As a result, the Round Table Council had used nearly all of its budget and loans from the major guilds to purchase the Temple, the commercial facilities, and Akiba’s aboveground urban zone.

However, now the maintenance fees had become a problem.

It had been one thing when it was just the guild center, but the cost of the Round Table Council’s real estate assets—which included the town of Akiba—had swelled to over ten million gold coins per month in maintenance fees alone. This was a big financial burden.

There was an assumption that they would be attacked, and the burden came about as a result of defending against it. That was the structure. A faction centered around Shiroe and Henrietta had explored various possibilities in an attempt to reduce that burden, and had gone through many debates. This expedition had been the result of it all.

“This is… Then you say this money is the cost from when those were purchased?”

“Yes. ‘All gold is produced here and returns here,’ correct? Since the contract has been fulfilled, the funds used for purchase returned to the ground at my feet, in exchange for the written contract. Just as I expected.”

“Did you come here to explain that, Master Shiroe?”

“In a way, yes.”

“In that case, the matter of financing—what of that?”

Shiroe’s glasses had slipped slightly, and he pushed them back into place with a fingertip.

“That’s the main issue. We would like to purchase all the aboveground zones in Yamato: forests, mountains, lakes, adjoining marine areas, et cetera. Then, as I’ve just done, we would like to immediately destroy the contracts for all of our purchases and transfer them. As I’ve demonstrated, if we return the ownership rights for the purchased zones to Yamato, the money used for the purchases is returned… The land of Yamato should return to Yamato’s hands.”

Kinjo clenched his fists so hard they were white. He seemed to be desperately controlling his agitation.

“We can’t process all the building-sized zones, and for now, we think they should be fine as they are. However, at the very least, we would like to fix all field zones so that they can never be owned. Besides… The People of the Earth can’t purchase zones.”

This was a thorn that had been piercing Shiroe’s heart for a long time.

“This situation is abnormal. The Round Table Council doesn’t want to become the spark that starts a war. We aren’t denying the act of owning territory. However, we think contracts between people should be enough. We don’t need the zone purchase system now… And so please lend the Council the necessary funds. Loan us money to return to this stream, so that we can get by without destroying ourselves.”

7

The ground was rough rock that stank of sulfur.

Thinking that only an idiot would lie down in a place like this, William lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. When he turned his head to the side, he saw charred arrowheads and rags dyed strange colors on the ground. It might have been somebody’s equipment. It was in wretched condition.

He was so tired his whole body felt puffy with heat, and even that small movement seemed to be too much trouble. The great cavern was eerily silent, and the sounds of hissing steam and dripping water echoed loudly.

The present—which was smelly, hot, painful, listless, and disgustingly dull—was a moment of supreme bliss. William knew the liquid flowing down both sides of his nose wasn’t blood, but he didn’t even think about wiping it away. He’d pulled his bow so much that his arms had gone on strike, and anyway, the companions who were lying on the ground here and there were probably crying, too.

They’d won.

They’d gone through massive amounts of resources, and some comrades had been rendered unable to fight. At times, it had been a cycle of resurrection spells and bouts of unconsciousness. When Demiquas had come back, covered in blood from head to toe and pursued by shadow warriors, a premonition of defeat had crossed his mind. However, the fact that they’d already defeated Ibra Habra of the Third Garden had paid off. At that point, the Second party had plunged into a delayed battle in the passage, and they’d wrenched a high-wire victory out of the coarse melee.

He couldn’t do a thing anymore. If black-armored Ruseato had appeared in this great hall now, William knew he’d be beaten with no trouble at all, as easily as an infant. The members were all torn up. They were covered in mud and dirty water, burned with ice and flame, completely exhausted—and they also shone.

Sitting up slowly, William looked around the cavern and laughed.

His laughter was quiet, but before long, it rang out cheerfully.

They’d won.

How awesome is that? he thought.

He was too happy for words. The earlier frustration and self-reproach and unease and even the despair were all being washed away.

“Awesome, that was great!” he yelled in exhilaration. William thought his lack of vocabulary was a bit sad, but that only lasted a moment as well.

“That was totally awesome! My friends are awesome, they’re all completely awesome!!”

Federico, who was lying down, was waving at him.

Dinclon had stuck one of his hands into a puddle and was cooling it off. His bangs were all limp and floppy; it wrecked his handsome face.

Odiso was lying facedown, moving a thin rod like a bus guide’s flag. A small Alraune abruptly appeared and, after getting scared and dithering a bit, dragged a canteen of water out of Odiso’s belongings and passed it around to everyone.

Only a few of the members could move, and even then, shifting positions and sagging limply seemed to be about all they could do. Put without exaggeration, Silver Sword was currently just short of annihilation.

Still, even if they’d been nearly wiped out, a win was a win.

Yeah. Seriously awesome.

All William could do was repeat awesome, awesome in his heart, over and over, as if it were the only word he knew. His comrades seemed to sparkle, dazzlingly bright, to the point where it stung his eyes and he couldn’t look straight at them. He was absolutely positive it wasn’t because he was tearing up.

“We won.”

“Yeah.”

“We won.”

“We actually won, huh?”

Small mutters and responses like these were being repeated around the vast space.

On hearing them, William was so happy he could have burst. He was bad at talking, but his companions’ murmurs sounded like they didn’t know any other words, either. The thought that there wasn’t much difference between them entertained him.

“Hey, guild master.”

“What?”

William responded to Federico’s hoarse voice. Federico sat up, moving like a semi-invalid. “That. That over there,” he said, pointing at a mountain of treasure with his chin. It was the fortunes left by the fiery serpent Ibra Habra and Tartaulga the frost giant. A mountain of gold coins, jewels, and other items that could be traded for cash, several dozen material items, and “phantasmal items”—fantasy-class weapons and defensive gear. Since they’d defeated two bosses, there was quite a lot of it.

Most of the equippable items were nontransferable. William, the raid leader, would have to hold on to them for the moment, then divvy them out among the members.

When it came to dividing up items, there were several methods. You could look at total raid participation up to the present and have members compete with achievement points, or you could decide on a priority order among the members able to equip those items, or you could have the members who wanted them play rock-paper-scissors for them and leave it up to fate. These methods were an issue that all raiding guilds dealt with through repeated trial and error.

Fantasy-class items were powerful, and raids were often conducted specifically to acquire them. Masterpieces with special signatures and abilities that couldn’t be obtained any other way commanded respect from the whole server. Sometimes, as with the name “Knights of the Black Sword,” they even became a guild’s glory.

There were many guilds that had collapsed due to the way they divided rewards. Consequently, all guilds took the greatest possible care regarding management and reward division.

Since the era of the game, Silver Sword had used the point system. This was a method in which members used achievement points from the number of raids in which they had participated to place successful bids on items. However, when they’d defeated a boss that was completely unknown and had never been defeated before, the items weren’t distributed by points. Instead, that privilege was customarily left to William, the guild master. Distribution according to the points system felt fair, and members found it hard to complain about it. On the other hand, items went to whoever wanted them, provided they spent points, which meant that items could end up with owners who weren’t optimal from the perspective of improving fighting power.

Specific distribution by William was an arrangement that gave newly acquired, powerful equipment to apt members, so that they could conduct future captures efficiently.

His body had finally recovered, and William whipped it into action, stood, and approached the mountain of treasure. When he opened multiple layers of acquisition windows and the information was displayed, he saw rows of items that the raid bosses had dropped. Each and every one of them was the sort whose might was apparent in its name.

Well, of course. This was the first time anyone on the Yamato server had tackled a raid that was over level 90 straight on and gotten through it. After having scaled a peak he’d aspired to, William felt surprisingly calm.

Lynkeus’s Eye.

Absolute Fire and Ice Blade.

Ouroboros Scale.

All were appealing. Everyone who’d participated in the raid would be able to confirm this information from where they were. Each of them sat up, checking windows that floated in empty space or looking in William’s direction. In the midst of their hopeful gazes, the silver-haired young man thought for a while. Then he turned and spoke to his comrades.

“Moon Katsura-Flower Charm. This thing.”

It was a charm fashioned from intricately carved metal.

Four stylized flower petals bloomed, rather proudly, in a circular frame.

“I want to give this to Machiavelli-with-Glasses.”

Just then, a certain feeling faded rapidly from the area. It was a type of strained hostility, and it was also an edgy tension they’d been feeling ever since they entered the zone.

Federico’s nose twitched as if he were sniffing the air. Then he muttered, “It’s gotten kinda warm.”

The members of the raid team understood, more clearly than if someone had explained it to them, that their capture of this zone was over. Technically, they hadn’t subjugated Ruseato of the Seventh Garden yet, but it wasn’t necessary anymore. The zone’s hostility toward William and the others had vanished, and it had turned into a safe area.

“I guess he did something.”

As he spoke, Dinclon raked up his dirty bangs with his fingers.

Just as he’d said, Shiroe seemed to have succeeded in the negotiations he’d predicted. William had thought he’d pull it off, but at the idea that he’d really done it, he felt himself break into a smile again.

“Listen up: This is a good item. Its resistance and ability value boost are both top-class. That’s why I’m giving it to Machiavelli. He’s not Silver Sword, but he fought alongside us, and he’s a comrade.”

The answer that echoed in the great cavern was agreement.

As he listened to that proud chorus, William began to hand out the next trophy.

8

Four days after they’d said good-bye to William’s group:

Shiroe and the others alighted on an elevated road that was covered in greenery. As the griffins flew away (they’d exceeded the time limit), Shiroe, Naotsugu, and Tetora waved to them, then slowly began to walk over asphalt from the Age of Myth.

“Honestly! You’re so cold, Naotsugu.”

“I. Am. Not! My armor’s heavy, so the griffin doesn’t like carrying two riders.”

“So you say. Pull the other one. I bet you really have that spot reserved for somebody, don’t you?”

“Ow. Ow! What’s with that comeback?!”

“Heh-heh-heh! I am an idol, you know!”

As he listened to the two of them cheerfully horsing around, Shiroe looked up at the sky.

It was a bright, peaceful winter sky. Due to the season, it would probably only last another hour or two, but the sunlight poured down on their path.

After that, he’d met up with William and the others, left the Depths of Palm and traveled with them to Susukino. In a complete turnaround from the beginning of their journey, they’d traveled together in an amiable mood.

Demiquas seemed to have undergone some great emotional change. His curt attitude was the same as ever, but he’d stopped flaring up at the Silver Sword members. As before, he didn’t talk to Shiroe’s group, but Shiroe wasn’t bothered by it.

Every night of their return journey, they talked with the Silver Sword members about all sorts of things. Most of the conversations were very practical: They exchanged information about various things that had happened after the Catastrophe.

They hadn’t talked about their life stories or discussed their worries.

Silver Sword knew most things about Akiba’s current situation. For Adventurers in this world, who were able to telechat, as long as you had acquaintances, it wasn’t hard to get information about distant places. However, Silver Sword didn’t know much of the latest news about production or inventions. Thinking it wasn’t the sort of thing to hide, Shiroe made an effort to share their results in those areas. In return, Silver Sword gave him information on things as well, such as new materials they’d seen on their raids in the Ezzo Empire.

What both parties spent the most time talking about was the vast amount of material items they’d obtained on this raid. Shiroe had taken some, but most had remained with Silver Sword. If they wanted, Shopping District 8 and Grandale would probably come up to Ezzo to do business with them. Silver Sword needed to use these trophies as capital to replenish the material they’d used up.

Every night, as they sat around a campfire and ate their provisions—which were nearly gone—they talked about various aspects of their trophies, about equipment that might be possible to manufacture new, and about future courses—in other words, they talked about the exact same things they’d talked about when Elder Tales had been a game, and that was all.

However, Shiroe and the other participants felt a deep satisfaction.

They’d won their way through a very painful raid battle.

They didn’t need unnecessary conversation. This was fine.

Naotsugu polished a new equipment piece he’d acquired, humming as he worked; Tetora sat on a rock, smiling brightly, legs swinging; and even Demiquas participated, his mouth set in a dissatisfied line, lazily using his elbow as a pillow. Shiroe looked at this, then returned to his discussion with Silver Sword. After all, it was the only souvenir he could leave on this short journey.

Theirs was a fulfilled, triumphant return.

He’d spoken briefly with William, too.

William had said they’d stay in Susukino. Giants appeared in Ezzo as field raids. This was the same as it had been in the Elder Tales days, but he said that sometimes new monsters joined them in the attacks. Speaking awkwardly, “Mithril Eyes” told Shiroe that they’d repel these and recover their fighting power, preparing for further raids. William added, at the end, that he was also worried about Susukino.

Shiroe nodded, agreeing with those words. There was nothing about the decision that he could object to. William was a fine guild master, and Shiroe thought the resolution was a good one.

“Add me to your friend list,” William said.

Friend lists were one-way streets for both parties. Even if you’d added someone, they might not have added you. If you’d registered someone, you could contact them, so ordinarily, no one asked the other party to register them in return. If you only wanted to contact them, you could just add them to your own list, and that was all it took.

As a result, Shiroe understood that William’s words meant, If anything happens, contact me.

He was quite possibly feeling self-conscious: William’s expression was even sourer than usual.

“You’re already on it,” Shiroe answered.

“That’s fine, then,” William responded, and raised a hand.

That had been the end. They’d simply parted ways with Silver Sword, the group William led.

In Elder Tales, there weren’t many top group players who conducted raid captures. No matter how large the guild, the size of its leading-edge raid capture group was limited. There had been fewer than five hundred of them on the Yamato server. The number wasn’t large enough to feel sorry about parting with them. They were always running beside you, and you could fight together again anytime. Shiroe had learned this from William.

This might be another world now, but that probably hadn’t changed. When he’d lived on Earth, Shiroe thought, that sort of relationship had been there, too; he simply hadn’t known about it. Although he couldn’t sense them, he had lots of unknown companions who were fighting the same way he was fighting. To Shiroe, this was no small discovery.

Even now, he had many companions who weren’t affiliated with his guild.

Their biggest objective in returning to Susukino had been Li Gan. He’d made himself right at home in an inn, and his attic room had been bursting at the seams with materials. He was surrounded by books that had been brought in from who-knew-where and unintelligible notes he’d probably written himself, and he seemed very excited.

Apparently, he wouldn’t be able to leave Susukino for a while longer. He seemed to have made progress in his research on the intercity transport gates. Shiroe and the others said good-bye to him, then left Susukino. Li Gan said he’d need to investigate the other gates soon, and they had plans to meet up in Akiba.

Then they’d traveled through the sky by griffin, and had finally reached Lesswall. If the griffins had been able to hold out for another thirty minutes or an hour, they’d have made it to Akiba easily, but they’d fallen just short. That said, it wasn’t far enough that they’d have to set up camp and put it off until tomorrow.

If they walked for a while to stretch their legs, then summoned their horses, they’d reach Akiba after dusk. Naotsugu and Tetora knew this, and they seemed carefree.

“Whoa, hey, hold it, don’t climb that!”

“If I wait, then may I climb? Respond, please.”

“What-are-you-a-kid city?”

“Children don’t smell half this sweet. Heh-heh-heh.”

“Where did you learn a line like tha—uh, huh? Ri-right.”

Naotsugu abruptly broke off his comedy routine, pushing Tetora away with a “Sorry, my bad!” then took off running, too impatient even to summon his horse. Tetora, who’d landed bottom first, pouted a bit. Looking dissatisfied, the idol came up beside Shiroe, then twirled around.

“It isn’t going well. Maybe I’m not charming enough.”

“Don’t tease him too much.”

“If it wasn’t ‘too much,’ it would be boring.”

Chest puffed out, Tetora’s face was so proud it nearly shone. Shiroe shrugged his shoulders.

“When are you going to tell him you’re a boy?”

“That’s a secret until he figures it out for himself. It’s more fun that way.”

“In that sense, this just might be an important time for Naotsugu…”

With regard to Miss Mari, Shiroe continued silently. The people in question seemed to think they were keeping it under wraps, but the fact that Naotsugu and Marielle’s relationship was developing was something Shiroe and Nyanta were tacitly supporting… That said, their support was purely mental: They had no intention of meddling.

“Understood, sir! Just you leave it to me!” Tetora was beaming, and Shiroe sighed, unsure whether Tetora understood or not. He knew the kid was really the type who could read atmospheres, but being able to read them was one thing, and whether or not he acted accordingly was up to him.

It wasn’t that momentum hadn’t been a factor, but Shiroe was the one who’d let him join the guild. He did think he might have inadvertently made life rougher for Naotsugu.

That said, aside from the way he tended to overdo it, Tetora definitely wasn’t the sort of talent who could be turned away because of his personality or ability. He’d really wanted to join, and he’d also come recommended by a friend.

“I wasn’t in Susukino because Kazuhiko ordered me to be there, you know.”

“I’ll trust you on that.”

“Besides, I think…you’re probably more able to help people than I am, Shiroe.”

“Log Horizon isn’t a charity.”

“But the world isn’t hard-boiled enough to let you stay uninvolved, is it? It really is a problem.”

You’ve got that right. Shiroe was forced to agree with Tetora’s oddly world-wise opinion.

He’d bought the guild center in order to protect Akiba from a disturbance he couldn’t yet see.

But knowing that wasn’t enough to resolve the issue, he’d bought up more zones.

However, once he’d done it, he hadn’t been able to pay all the maintenance fees, and in that case, he’d thought it would be better to dissolve the contracts and convert them into zones that couldn’t be privately owned.

For that to happen, he had to free the rights of ownership to the whole Yamato server from the system, in perpetuity.

His first idea hadn’t been that strange.

It had been clear to everyone that the zone ownership system was a potential source of future trouble. Shiroe had thought that since he’d been the first one to use it that way, it was his responsibility to set matters right.

However, it had taken a long time to carry out that plan; he’d had to use a variety of connections, and had ended up going all the way to the Ezzo Empire and the depths of the earth. This world really was difficult to deal with.

Still, it’s not as if that’s anything new.

Now that he thought about it, things weren’t much different from the way they’d been in the days of the Debauchery Tea Party.

Once he started to move, all sorts of unexpected things happened. In the midst of it, he was made conscious of his lack of power. It had been a while, but looking back, he saw that it had happened every time. He remembered KR’s irresponsible words: That’s just the stars you were born under. Don’t give up!

“Aaaaah!!”

Once they made a big detour around a crumbling, dangerous section of road shoulder and skirted a mountain of rubble, their view opened up. Tetora pointed down the road, got excited and broke into a run. Ahead of them was a group wearing coats in all sorts of colors, waving at Shiroe. Tetora charged at them at a furious pace, then seemed to have started some sort of ruckus with Naotsugu, who was desperately making excuses.

Smiling wryly but feeling warm inside, Shiroe kept walking slowly.

The Captain, Minori and Touya, Rundelhaus and Isuzu: They had come out just to welcome them back. There were Crescent Moon League members there, too; while Naotsugu, at his wits’ end, was being hugged from both sides by Marielle and Tetora. Henrietta bowed to Shiroe silently with a gentle smile. Serara was there, too, standing happily next to Nyanta. Shouryuu and Hien were there as well.

As he began to approach the waving group, Shiroe sensed a presence and turned around.

“Have you grown a little?”

“That’s mean, my liege!”

His passing comment seemed to have made Akatsuki mad, but she did look slightly more grown up. She was wearing a shawl over ninja clothes he hadn’t seen before, and she really did seem kinder and braver than she had when they’d parted on the shore.

Unable to understand why that was, Shiroe gazed steadily into the small, adorable face, but… “Don’t be rude, my liege,” Akatsuki said, and circled around behind him.

Shiroe, whose eyes had begun to follow Akatsuki down past his side, abruptly realized that this scene was just like it had been before, and he felt his mood grow gentle.

Akatsuki had fought on a battlefield of her own.

Just as he’d seen on that white shore, Akatsuki must have reclaimed something, too.

She’d gotten just a little stronger.

The world was moving.

While Shiroe had been working hard, his companions had been fighting just as hard in other places. Just as Shiroe had sensed in William, even if he couldn’t see them, he had countless companions running beside him. The realization was encouraging, and it made him feel as if he’d been rescued somehow. After a long journey, Shiroe had returned to Akiba and had been reunited with the companions who’d kept up the fight while they waited for him.

Once Shiroe noticed the feeling, he wanted to share it with them; he searched for words, but his quiet happiness kept him from finding the right ones. However, there was no need to hurry. He’d have all sorts of time to tell them.

Akatsuki was gazing up at Shiroe through her eyelashes, as if she was waiting for him to speak.

“I’m home, Akatsuki.”

“Welcome back, my liege.”

The lost swallow had returned to the branch where it could rest its wings, the treasure it had won through protecting others safe in its breast.

Even if he’d made mistakes, her stubborn guild master had made her wish come true, and had returned.

For now, with the smiles of children showing their trophies to each other, they simply welcomed each other home.

<Log Horizon, Volume 7: The Gold of the Kunie—The End>