Chapter 89 On the Road ④
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Beyond the bridge, the same red-rusted world went on. The whole place was swallowed by fog; everywhere I looked there were ruins marked with dark red stains.
We walked along a wide main road. On one side stood a museum, a concert hall, and a hospital. This used to be a quiet, high-class neighborhood near the city center, not the busy block of stores. There were only two-story houses with large gardens. In the garages were abandoned cars that looked familiar but slightly different in model, and old, weathered lawn mowers and broken children’s toys lay scattered on the grass.
”There’s no one here… I wonder if people used to live here,” someone said. It was rare to find a dungeon with such clear traces of human life. I felt my curiosity stir, but I pushed it down. I must not pay it any mind.
A woman’s voice shouted from a single-story house with a garage. It sounded like the kind of house where foreigners might hold a small home party; a tiny pool sat in the garden beyond the fence. Suddenly a person burst out of the entrance.
”Chokusho! A direct appeal!” she cried as she ran. “Please hear me!”
”Hey, what are you doing? That hurts!” someone answered.
”Please, this way. I beg you! I beg you with all my life!” she shouted.
She came toward us, leaping over the dry grass, pushing people aside as she went. She looked almost mad with desperation.
”Chokusho! Please listen! I ask you, noble one, to read this!” she yelled, shoving at the nearby townspeople as she shouted.
She carried a pole the height of her waist. The top had split into two prongs and a small white paper was stuck between them. The paper was folded into thirds like a letter in a Japanese envelope.
”Stop. You insolent woman, what do you think you are doing?” one of the Imperial Guards called out.
Two Imperial Guards planted themselves in front of me. Trash-san then pulled the middle-aged woman down onto the ground. He showed no mercy. The woman screamed. Trash-san watched her with a cold look, and the pole clattered from her hands to the ground.
”My life is not precious. Please, I beg you—read it for me,” she gasped.
”Shut up. Now is not the time for that. What are you thinking, coming here to make a plea to our poor, captured Young Master? Take her away and get lost,” Trash-san said.
”N-no, I won’t step back until you read it,” she cried.
”You still speak? If so, tie her up there. Someone, bring a sword,” Trash-san ordered.
She kept pleading, so someone pressed a knee to the back of the person she had been pushing. A choked, painful sound came from her throat. It was a much harsher and colder handling than I had ever seen from Trash-san.
I spoke quickly. “Trash-san, does she have a chokusho for me?”
”You don’t need to read it. She’s shameless and rude. I am truly angry,” he replied.
I felt a small shock, then memories of the custom came back to me.
”Which is it, osso (blood-letter plea for big social justice (tax, unfair jail, etc) or chokusho (personal sex-mercy plea)?” I asked.
”Young Master, I don’t need your pity,” Trash-san said.
”Wait. Tell me that much. I appreciate the concern, but I don’t want you to judge without hearing it—” I began.
This world had a culture of chokusho. People used it to tell authority figures their needs without following normal procedures. Put plainly, it was a direct complaint or charge. In my previous life, chokusho had been a common act too. People used it to expose the neglect of officials or to tell on small abuses in government offices. It could end with a mild scolding, or, as in period dramas, with a stopped noble procession and a punishment as severe as capital penalty.
Even now it was the same. Townspeople or the lower classes might be treated poorly by officials. If their direct superiors were corrupt, they would try to speak to someone higher.
But chokusho meant a single thing when addressed to me: the woman asked for mercy of a sexual kind. If a woman had lost the right to be with a man—because she failed to pay taxes, had an accident, or lost her looks to illness—she would use chokusho as a last hope. Answers almost always came back with a sword. A woman’s chokusho to a man was like that.
The middle-aged woman, pressed to the ground, grabbed on to my words and answered in a weak voice, “It is osso.”
”I see, so it’s that kind,” Trash-san muttered.
Osso was a stronger kind of chokusho. It asked for tax relief in a bad year, the reversal of unfair punishments, or the impeachment of town council members. It was a loud, social plea made to a high noble. That meant she carried complaints for her town and her neighbors, not a request for my seed as some chance at advantage. That was why Trash-san had been so angry. The letter she carried was what ordinary men received, not this kind of appeal.
”All right. I’ll read it,” I said.
”Young Master…” Trash-san began.
”I’m only reading. I am not promising to act on it,” I answered.
If a woman made an osso to a noble of high rank, the usual pattern followed. I understood the situation. Her resolve to risk her life for society was admirable, and it deserved some sympathy. But if others followed, it would cause trouble, so often they were killed. Even when accepted, they might still be killed. This happened often. She would likely get a fitting punishment.
It would be better to read it and then hand it back, to end things quietly. If I showed any pity, the town might get a lighter sentence.
”When you are finished, may I have it too?” Trash-san asked.
”Of course. Check it well,” I replied.
Trash-san watched to make sure I would not be taken advantage of. I was curious about what the townspeople wanted to tell me. We had traveled together for a long time, yet they had never spoken. Reading this would answer some of those questions too. She had come ready to die for her cause.
”Himawari-sama is here. Before they see it, please, hurry,” she begged.
”All right,” I said, and took the letter from the bamboo pole. It looked like something she did not want the town authorities to read.
The letter smelled of blood. It was sticky to the touch, and red slime had soaked into the paper. It was still warm and showed dark spots here and there.
When I opened it, large red letters read:
”Please skin Your Lordship and put it in his entrails.”
I threw the letter away without thinking.
”What… what is this!” I said.
The writing was a dark red-black. Looking closer, small bits of flesh were scattered across the page. I had blood on my hands. I could not make sense of it. The Japanese was out of order, but the few words that did come through only made the feeling worse.
”My lovely one, I saw you. I have always watched you. If the interfering skin is gone, we can live together!” she cried.
Her wide eyes stared into my face. If you looked closely, you could see the stain of sand and blood from when she had been held down. She did not seem to notice.
”This is…!” Trash-san said. He read the letter, then grabbed the woman’s arm and tore the shoulder from its socket. A dull sound came with a scream.
”No! Stop that. Please, do not be violent,” she begged.
Flatty-chan stepped forward to shield me. I peered out from behind her to see what was happening.
”What do you mean? Are you a monster?” someone asked.
”No, I found out. Everyone here, listen. I want the town to hear. I know the truth. This ruined city is the normal world!” she shouted.
”Shut up. I’ll gag you. You madwoman,” Trash-san said.
She turned to the crowd and shouted. People had gathered, watching this strange arrest with suspicion. Soon the area around us was in a loud commotion.
”Please stop! Imperial Guard, why do you do such cruel things?” she wailed.
”Anyone — run to the front and fetch the town leaders of Isumi. Tell them a monster disguised as a townsperson has appeared. Ask if we may dispose of it,” Trash-san ordered.
He was no longer calm; he moved as if he would kill the woman. He no longer treated her as human.
I tried to call an attendant from the surveillance group who might know the dungeon’s ways, but then Himawari, clad like a black oni, and several women slipped through the crowd.
”Hey, hey. What’s going on? Why all this noise?” Himawari called as she came up to the screaming woman.
The woman, still held down by Trash-san, began to struggle without caring for the pain in her shoulder.
”It’s the humans outside who are wrong. Those abnormal people with skin! Spit! We must peel them off!” she screamed, spitting and shouting.
The red-stained letter lay on the asphalt. My fingers still felt the warm stickiness from touching it. Himawari picked the paper up with her nail.
”Isn’t it ridiculous? Skin only makes a wall between people. What good is it? People worry about the shape of eyes or nose! That just makes hate,” Himawari said.
”Ah — she did this, huh…” someone muttered.
”Because of skin, beauty and ugliness appear. People look down on others for wrinkles or spots and kill people from other places. If we shed ugly skin, we could live in peace!” the woman cried.
”Did she come out of one of those buildings?” someone asked.
Himawari did not seem surprised by the woman’s madness. She talked to the crowd with calm disbelief and began checking a few things. She then noticed I was hiding behind Flatty-chan.
I could not help asking, “Himawari, is this… still a person? What happened to her?”
”She’s gone to the other side,” Himawari answered simply. She showed no hurry. Her voice was calm, like someone who already knew the case. Maybe this had happened before.
Himawari pointed at a red-black house with a broken wall. In the half-ruined living room, a television and sofa lay in pieces.
”There are many useful mystical objects in houses like that. Ordinary people will pick them up without thinking. Especially those who are poor,” she said.
”By mystical objects you mean like the speaker you used on me?” I asked.
”No. Nothing that strong,” she said, shaking her head. She meant ordinary tools. “Flat stoves that light on their own, boxes that wash clothes, good iron pots and kitchen knives, fine dishes and cloth. All of it works like normal.”
She spoke of stoves and washing machines—furniture that looked normal and was installed in the houses.
”But if you take them and keep using them, you slowly get stained,” Himawari said.
”Stained how?” I asked.
”By the common sense of that side. Furniture is the daily life of the people who lived there. If you use it, you become part of that life and join that region,” she explained.
Himawari paid no attention to the woman held by the officials and kept explaining. She treated the scene like something familiar and ordinary, unlike my panicked state.
”So if you keep using it, you begin to want to live in that house. That fate is what this woman has,” she said.
The woman had already become fully at home in the red-black world. She looked oddly neat—shiny hair and good clothes, strange for a townsman of Isumi.
”Hmm. It’s a trap that takes a long time to work,” Himawari said, a little tired. She no longer watched the woman closely; her voice showed a light resignation.
I shuddered and asked, “So she can’t be saved?”
”If it was at the first stage, she could have returned. But once it reaches this point, the town people give up and say she was taken by gods. They think a greedy person was carried off to the god or monster world,” Himawari said.
Himawari used words that sounded like folk tales or old beliefs. She compared this to eating in the land of the dead—yomotsu hegui (underworld eating)—or Persephone’s descent to the underworld. The idea was the same: once someone takes in the things of the god’s world, they become part of it and cannot come back.
”At some point, they start to peel their own skin. They stop speaking the same language,” she said.
”I see…” I said.
”Poor people are the same. We told them not to touch those things even if they looked useful. But some can’t help themselves,” Himawari said.
It seemed this woman was too far gone. She had taken goods home because she could not bear the hunger, and then she lost the right time to let them go. She could not resist the small temptations scattered through the ruins. It was a bitter story. Worse, the symptoms did not always get bad right away, which made it even more cruel.
The woman kept groaning in pain, yet even the fearsome psionic user Himawari did not scare her. She glared up from below as if she meant to accuse Himawari of some great sin.
”It’s wrong. Himawari-sama, you have changed. How can that monster shape of yours be normal? Strange doors appear from nowhere, and powers that twist reality are everywhere. Our world is not sane!” she cried.
”So what then? Should we peel off our own skin and live here from tomorrow?” Himawari said.
”I understand now. This place—this world is the real one!” the woman declared.
Her desperate face made me step back. It was the same look she had when she begged me. The frightening thing was that I could not find clear malice in her.
”Even if humans ruined the world, this is the truth! Even if we destroyed ourselves with power we could not hold, this is the right history of true humans. Please believe me!” she shouted.
She truly believed what she said. So if someone kept using these tools, they would begin to think the strange valley world was the real one, and the surface—the normal land—was the dungeon, a twisted world instead.
”So even the mystical object itself can be a trap,” I said.
It was a trap that changed a person’s view. Because the item looked normal, it must never leave the dungeon. If such things spread, users would be slowly pulled toward this town. That was why, even though goods filled this floor, Isumi never grew richer.
”This one is rough. No one around you will believe you at all,” Himawari said.
”You knew too?” I asked.
”I let myself get caught on purpose once. Then I died once and fixed it clean,” she said with a shrug. Then her face lost all warmth as she spoke to the woman.
”You broke the town’s rules.”
”Please, come back to your senses! Himawari-sama, you suffered because of that strange form you gained. You don’t need to suffer like that anymore!” the woman begged.
She tried hard to make Himawari listen. At least she believed she was right. She thought the world of red fog, broken land, and roaming flesh creatures was the normal one.
Himawari grabbed the woman’s arm with her sharp oni claws. The woman cried out, “Himawari-sama, please stop, hear me!”
”Don’t say my name. You’re not one of us anymore,” Himawari said.
She dragged the woman away. When they passed out of sight, a thin scream echoed.
”…Maybe I should not have accepted that osso,” I whispered.
She was simply someone who had fallen for a dungeon trap. Watching someone die hurt. That woman had been foolish, but she did not mean to harm anyone. She even tried to pull me into what she thought was safety.
Still… better to die by the hands of someone from her own town than be eaten by a monster alone or toyed with by other traps. Maybe taking her osso had some small meaning…
No. Stop. I should not dress this up to feel better. It was too heavy for that. I just needed to keep walking. Walking kept my mind quiet.
People around us cursed the woman for breaking their customs. No one mourned her.
”Sorry, Trash-san. You tried to stop me,” I said.
”It is fine. Don’t blame yourself. Let us move on. Are your legs hurting? Is your throat dry?” Trash-san asked gently. Her calm voice made me take the next step forward.
The town went on even after the houses ended. Not every place had traps; most of the time, nothing happened. Sometimes Trash-san and Flatty-chan carried me in a small basket like a hammock.
Later, we spent a sleepless night in a place like a cinema. The building was locked tight. Outside, the red fog rose again, and something huge moved with a deep roar. This fog was a common thing across the world. They said that at this time you had to face traps and monsters at once, so staying outside was almost the same as choosing death.
The next day at noon, the bell that called the fog finally stopped. The blue sky looked clear and pretty. The cold asphalt and houses were wet with red drops, but no monster remained.
Even on the road, they never explained the traps well. The orders they gave were half-answers, with no reason, just rules to follow.
”Never fall.” “Don’t stare at clouds with strange shapes.” “Speak insults as you walk.” That kind of thing.
I didn’t understand the meaning, but it wasn’t hard to do. Sometimes we passed through a tunnel under a bridge that felt full of unseen eyes, yet that time we got no orders at all. As if acting normal was the only correct answer. Some traps were so old that people now followed the rules only because they were told, and no one remembered what happened if they broke them.
”Dungeons are hard to walk unless you’re a local explorer,” I said.
”Yes. Unless one is a very strong psionic user, it is—ah, oh, um. Did you touch my stomach?” Flatty-chan squeaked. I had pinched her side to refresh my mind.
”Were alien ships like this too?” I asked.
”N-not quite this bad… I-I mean… um… both the valley place and the alien ship were about medium level as dungeons,” she said.
”This is medium?” I asked.
”Yes. About average,” she replied.
A scary thought.
Still, this road felt like a tour of old village customs before a village dies. Like a showcase of bad old beliefs. Maybe Isumi’s old superstitions came from this dungeon.
Trash-san joined our chat for a while.
”Young Master, in Kujukuri Town there were once metal monsters. The town failed to settle three times and paid a great price,” she said.
”Wow, I didn’t know,” I answered.
”May I tell you how our ancestors came to live on the first floor?” she asked.
”Yes, I want to hear,” I said.
So Trash-san began to tell dungeon stories to pass the time. She liked learning about mysteries and dungeons and wanted others to feel the same. It was just right to lift my mood a little.
”So there were robot people? Like little tin soldiers?” I asked.
”They were not cute at all. They had no emotion and did not fear any wound. They were strange monsters,” Trash-san said.
Her tale of the early days of settlement was exciting to hear.
The alien ship dungeon felt like a spaceship where aliens had killed the crew. On the second floor, aliens appeared, but on the first floor, there had been silent killing maids that delivered death to the guest rooms. Long ago, there was a fierce fight to take control of those maids. That fight was also an exploration. In one white hallway lined with rooms, only one was the right one. The control panel inside it was the key to clearing the floor.
In the end, it was not the Imperial Guard or a psionic user who won, but a town child. In the heat of battle, the small child crawled through a vent into the security room and stopped all the monsters. That child was still a legend in Kujukuri Town.
”What a brave kid,” I said.
So that was why the first floor had no monsters. I had always wondered why they did not appear anymore.
”It was a rare case where townspeople cleared a floor. Sometimes the core of a floor can be taken even by a child. Great power is not always needed,” Trash-san said.
”You think I could clear one someday?” I asked.
”Yes. I believe there is a dungeon somewhere that you could pass,” she said.
Sometimes you did not need to beat a boss at all.
As I listened, Trash-san told me more about the alien ship. The metal monsters were part of the ship’s defense system. Like white blood cells, different machines moved around to remove intruders. I had only seen living monsters before, but in that dungeon, aliens and machines each made up half.
So on every floor, aliens and robots fought each other. And of course, to the defense system, humans were the same as aliens, so it attacked us too.
On the fourth floor and below, this war grew worse. Five-meter walking weapons loaded with laser guns and missiles wandered, burning monsters as they hunted. Even deeper, alien queens that bred without end fought the ship’s defense systems day and night in a world of endless killing. At that level, most psionic users could not win. Only first-class Exploration Squads could explore there as a perfect team, risking their lives. The mystical objects found there were top-class, good enough to support a whole town.
It was a grand story. Even now, steel giants still fought for their dead captain. I wondered if, at the very bottom, there was a lonely A.I. that kept the ship moving for tens of thousands of years, still looking for a safe place.
The scale amazed me so much that I stopped pinching Flatty-chan’s soft side. She looked relieved, but I still felt like doing something, so I held her tied hair as we walked. Her face turned red and she froze again. Cute. It soothed me.
”Trash-san, do you think this move will succeed?” I asked.
”We must see the third floor first. Kujukuri Town took a long time just to settle the first floor. Isumi’s plan seems quite forceful…” she answered. She could not say more with locals around. It also bothered me that almost a third of the people chose not to move, even under attack. Life on the surface would be hard after that, yet they stayed. Something felt wrong.
As we talked, I saw a small shape on a distant roof.
”Ah, someone is falling from the roof,” I said.
A figure jumped from a fence about a hundred meters ahead, head down, falling toward the road. In a few seconds, they vanished behind a building.
”I’m getting used to this. I’m not even that shocked,” I said.
It was scary, but it was surely a monster or trap. No one around reacted. If I were alone, I would have been terrified and locked myself inside a room. Moving with hundreds made it easier not to feel fear.
”When you see it again, don’t imagine who it is,” Himawari said from ahead. She walked without a care, listening to our talk with interest. I was not following her black tail because I liked to—she told me to stay near in case another mad person attacked us. Trash-san and Flatty-chan looked annoyed at her joining our chat. It was rude for a woman to cut into a talk that had a man in it.
”You two are close, huh. Men and women talking together,” Himawari teased.
”Don’t eavesdrop,” Flatty-chan said.
”I’m not trying to. We’re just too close to miss it!” Himawari answered.
”Well… true,” I said.
She looked back. Her body was covered in marks from blocking traps for us.
”If someone like that appears again, it will be dangerous. Don’t stray away,” she warned.
She had shown no fear of the roof fall. Seeing how relaxed she was, it had to be a dungeon trick. I had not seen it clearly, but I knew the falling shape was human. It felt strange, like the truth reached my mind first.
”Don’t imagine who it is, right? That makes it harder not to,” I said.
”Then imagine someone you don’t like. As long as you don’t picture someone dear to you, it’s fine. Understand?” Himawari said.
”…Got it,” I said.
”You’re not thinking of me, are you?” she asked.
”No,” I said.
Her face clearly showed doubt.
After a while, we passed by the building. On the ground lay the body of a woman with Himawari’s face. It was not really her. People saw a different face depending on who they imagined. If you pictured someone dear, that person’s dead body would appear.
The body caused no harm. It was just a cruel trap meant to bother the heart.
Without warning, I might have been shocked too. …What a tasteless dungeon.
Eventually, we reached a nature park in the city. It stretched over many hectares, a large rectangle with no fence, open from all sides. But the trees were rotted away, and the artificial streams and ponds had dried up, cracked like a child’s scribbles across paper.
The attendant who had been guiding us let us go.
”We will reach the next floor soon. We will rest here for a moment.”
”We’re resting in this park?”
”The line has stretched too far. We will adjust here. Please wait for departure.”
They had split us into groups to make sure the trap rules could be followed properly. The later groups had not arrived yet—children and elders either ignored or failed to understand warnings, so they moved slowly.
I sat down a short distance from the crowd with the two Imperial Guards.
Inside the park was a ruined glass dome. A single tall tree stood inside. Until now, we had seen no healthy plant life, yet this one’s brown trunk looked fresh and glossy, and even its thin branches seemed to pulse with life.
”Is it a fruit tree? I’ve never seen one like it,” I said.
Strangely, despite its strong branches, it had no leaves. Instead, various fruits grew from every joint—apples, persimmons, even cucumbers, loofahs, and eggplants dangled from it. It looked like a magical tree from a picture book, full of fruit.
As I stared, moved by the sight, the black oni approached from behind. The two Guards stiffened and tried to block her.
”What do you think? Do you hate the Uncanny Valley?” Himawari asked.
”Uh…”
”Does it drive you mad just being here? Or do you hate even talking about it?”
Himawari walked past the Guards and placed her hand on the trunk.
”I meant for you to see only the good floors,” she said.
Above us, the tree hung heavy with beautiful fruit. She stroked the bark gently.
”We call this the General Store Tree. Everyone who visits this garden cherishes it. My mother’s mother found it first. Some call it Daikokuten’s Pillar or the Ninety-nine Storehouse…”
A twig trembled lightly, almost answering her. It looked… lonely.
”It’s not really anything that great,” she said, pulling her hand away with a sad smile.
This mystical object was something she had known since childhood. Strange as it was, it did not seem dangerous.
”So many things grow on it. Does it sprout naturally?” I asked.
She pointed to the base of the branches.
”All grafting. We grafted greens from the surface. At the roots we planted turnip and radish.”
Grafting meant attaching a useful but weak plant to the trunk and roots of a stronger one. Borrowing the body of a hardy plant.
With permission, I dug at the soil and found a long radish. Even the roots produced a variety of vegetables.
”I’ve never seen a tree with this many crops. They’re from different families, even different orders. She even grafted vine plants,” I said, stunned.
You could graft a pear onto an apple, but not a plum onto a cherry. Plants too far apart could not usually merge. But this tree ignored that rule.
”It’s an amazing stock that can take anything. It looks odd, but it gives all kinds of food. You may think it creepy, but it’s truly good,” she said.
The look was strange, but if true, it was a useful mystical object—like a dream plant that could grow any crop.
”Even if it looks twisted, it works hard for everyone… a tree that gives its all,” she said softly.
For some reason her mood dipped. I thought it was wonderful.
”No, this is amazing. It’s beautiful too,” I said.
”R-really?”
”Yes. Anyone who says otherwise is the weird one.”
Her face lit up. She suddenly became cheerful—she must really love this tree. I didn’t understand girls at all.
After Trash-san tested it, I picked an out-of-season akebi and tasted it. It was fresh and delicious.
”I want people to see the good sides of Isumi. I want them to love our town and visit. That’s my ideal,” she said, looking up at the tree with affection.
”If we brought this back and planted it, it would be incredible for the town,” I said.
This place was both a rest stop for explorers and a snack source. Even in my previous life, there had been ideas like this—like the chimera plant with tomatoes on top and potatoes on the bottom. Pomato, was it? This was the ultimate version.
Maybe this tree was a research achievement from this world’s lost civilization.
”It would be nice, but it’s not that simple,” Himawari said sadly.
”You can’t bring a living tree back?” I asked.
”No. It’s a rule.”
Not that the soil was wrong—this was a dungeon rule. Living things could not be taken outside. If they passed through a door, they died.
You could bring material back, but not plant it alive on the surface. This was the same across all worlds. Even between floors, living things couldn’t move—let alone to the surface or other dungeons. For dungeon life, anywhere outside its own floor was deadly poison.
There was an upside—there were no invasive dungeon monsters. If monsters could travel and breed across worlds or escape to the surface, humans would have to seal the doors forever.
Still, some monsters were too strong to die even from that. Like the dragon god in my blood contract.
Generally, dungeon rules and strange phenomena were absolute, but if a being had too much “mystery defense”—or simply overwhelming physical strength—it could resist. Too strong to be affected.
Even so, no monsters ever settled outside their native floor. Tough ones or reviving ones still took constant damage and vanished instantly.
”There are a lot of things like that here, so everyone decided it was better to live inside. Well? Did this help you see us differently?”
”The tree is amazing. But… I still feel more fear than anything.”
”Too bad. But there are plenty more wonderful mystical objects! I’ll show you as many as you like. And the real highlight hasn’t even started!”
Himawari laughed brightly. Even with pitch-black skin, I was starting to read her expressions clearly.
…She truly loved her hometown. Her love for the place was so strong she treated townspeople as barely human outsiders, yet she didn’t resemble the refined daughters of old noble families—those indirect, snide, polished capital nobles. She was different.
”You really love your town, don’t you?” I said.
If I had been born in Isumi, I doubt I would have felt the same.
”Do I look like I do?”
”Yes. You always look happy when you talk about it.”
I spoke bluntly. Girls rarely took offense at anything I said—at least that part was safe.
”That’s right. I love Isumi. I love my family, and the people too. So I decided to love even the bad parts.”
She said it cheerfully.
”Sure, being poor is tough. But it’s the town I was born in. Even the Uncanny Valley is a precious property our town has explored for generations.”
”You never wished for a different dungeon? Never envied other lands?”
”Not at all. Ours is a good one.”
There was no shadow in her face. Aside from the male issue, she didn’t dislike the Uncanny Valley. The fact that men hated her made all the difference.
She had always spoken fondly of her home.
”Women of Isumi don’t fear the Uncanny Valley. If you’re scared, then you may as well get used to it. Hate keeps fear alive, so better to love it—that’s the Isumi spirit.”
It was also the quiet sorrow of noble daughters tied to their land. In mountain regions with little farmland, dungeon resources meant survival. Decades of mapping, research, and development built up like long-term investments.
”My mother found that area. And the reason we know how to defeat that monster is because my grandmother risked her life.”
Those things passed from mother to child over generations, expanding little by little at the cost of lives. For the locals, it wasn’t something you could sum up with simple words like affection.
”Hatred doesn’t end hatred. Only love wipes it out—something like that,” she said with a crooked smile.
I couldn’t recall the quote. She laughed often—a little too often. I was beginning to understand it was how she endured a harsh reality.
But pity was forbidden. I must not help anyone just because I felt sorry for them.
Before departure, she suddenly changed the subject.
”Hey, sudden request… but when we arrive, meet my master.”
”I don’t mind. Why?”
If she asked, I had no reason to refuse. Maybe she wanted me to greet them.
Her face clouded.
”You’ll understand when you see him… He’s been unwell for a long time. He won’t speak to me.”
A moment ago she had been cheerful; now she plunged like a roller coaster. She was emotional, but still a teenager for her status.
”He talks with the other Imperial Guards, but not with me.”
”All three of them?”
”Yes. Why? Is it because I look creepy…?”
She looked like a high-schooler fretting over her appearance.
Then she explained what she really wanted.
”Please talk to him. You know… between men, some things are easier. I just…”
”Okay. I’ll ask, casually, why he avoids you,” I said.
I agreed, though I had a bad feeling. Trash-san said that a floating persona could be created in men whose hearts had been trained to share the same inner wish. But I doubted anyone could manipulate someone’s subconscious desire that much. And three men at once?
What if he ended up like Natsume-san’s favorite mystical object—electrodes in the head, locked in a white room? That worried me. But I couldn’t imagine Himawari doing such a thing. She truly cared for her master. Hearing my answer, she blushed slightly and looked genuinely happy.
Then I noticed her hairstyle had changed. I mentioned it without thinking.
”Oh, you put your hair up and showed your forehead.”
”…Is that a problem? Does it look weird?”
Her bangs were parted at the center. I just looked at her silently and after a few seconds she confessed.
”I thought… if it’s you, then this wouldn’t look strange.”
She touched her own horn. A black cone protruded visibly from her hairline.
”I used to keep it exposed. I stopped when my body changed—it stood out too much…”
”It’s fine. Doesn’t look weird.”
I didn’t care much, but she seemed pleased enough just that I noticed.
After more hours of walking, we finally arrived. My legs were exhausted.
Ahead of the huge stairway underground stood a worn sign: “Designated Refuge Area.” Below it, a long message in English.
Abandoned cars, scattered cargo—signs of people desperately fleeing in this direction. At the end of the painted arrows on the road, where all those seeking salvation had run, stood a single dungeon door. Beyond it, a metal hatch lay open, a downward slope leading into the depths to escape the mist.
A door tucked away in exactly the kind of hidden place you’d expect.
Embarrassed but reliable as ever, I called for my English–Japanese dictionary.
”Flatty-chan, translation please.”
”It says it’s a shelter. And from the additional text, not a temporary one—this is a large-scale facility.”
This was the floor she wanted to invite me to. Where were the rescue teams now? I did not yet know that, unseen, a strange townswoman had just handed something to Trash-san.
We opened the door to the third floor, a highland blooming with beautiful flowers.
Notes:
• Himawari – Young oni/aberration-type psionic; town leader/face; asks for promotion help; apologizes for killings; sets 2‑day deadline.
• Natsume – A female companion and younger sister of Kaede-san, cared for by Kaede-san during their journey through the dangerous valley, at risk of infection from the parasitic creatures.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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