Chapter 2: Quest 1: Defeat the Zombies [Part 1]
Bitterness spread through his mouth.
If he had to compare it to something, it would be that cocktail he once drank out of curiosity, or a cheap mouthwash knockoff bought at a dollar store.
No, he felt like there was a more accurate expression.
Makoto groaned to himself as he searched for the right words.
Then something crossed his mind.
Of course, it was not something meant to be drunk.
Probably ninety-nine out of a hundred people would say they had never tasted it.
He had never tasted it either, butâ
“Probably hair gel.”
“Huh!?”
Startled by the response, he opened his eyes.
A girl wearing black-rimmed glasses was looking down at him.
Her glossy black hair reached her shoulders, the ends cut straight as if measured with a ruler.
She had a straight nose and thin lips.
Her eyes, visible behind the lenses, were slightly upturned.
She wore a black cloak and a pointed witchâs hat.
Under the cloak was a white sailor uniform, so she was probably between fifteen and eighteen.
“Halloween?”
“As if. If your injuries are healed, get up already.”
Her brusque tone irritated him.
Why did a man pushing forty have to be spoken to so casually by a high school girl?
Still, he could not lie there forever.
Makoto tried to sit up and grimaced.
“My head hurts.”
Holding his temple, he looked around.
All he saw were rocks.
It seemed he was inside a cave.
For some reason, even without a visible light source, he could clearly see the interior.
“Where is this?”
“A dungeon, obviously.”
“A dungeon?”
Makoto reflexively asked again.
“Yes.”
“A dream?”
“Unfortunately, itâs reality.”
She said it with a sigh.
It was hard to believe, but the pain in his temple felt far too real for a dream.
“If you donât know where this is, were you directly summoned? You were collapsed here covered in blood, so I thought you were one of my party membersâ”
“Covered in blood?”
Makoto looked down at himself and caught his breath.
His coat was soaked in blood.
It was also torn to shreds.
He did not understand.
His memories were jumbled.
“What the hell is this?”
“Donât ask me.”
“No, wait. Why am I in a place like this?”
Makoto searched his memory.
Today was supposed to have been an ordinary day.
He woke up in his apartment, went to work, and stayed until the last train preparing documents.
And thenâ
“I was attacked in the park.”
“Attacked?”
“Yeah! I was attacked!”
Makoto stood up and looked around.
“Damn it! So I just have to swallow it!? Youâve got to be kidding me!”
“Calm down!”
“How the hell am I supposed to stay calm!? I got beaten half to death and I canât even report it to the police!”
“And what can you do about it!?”
“Shut up, high schooler! Show some respect to your elders!”
“Elders? At best weâre the same age!”
“No way in hell!”
“Fine, then show me proof!”
Makoto pulled out his driverâs license and thrust it toward her.
He never thought the license he got for work would come in handy here.
The girl took it and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Where did you pick this up?”
“Itâs mine!”
“Well, you do kind of look like it.”
Annoyed by her attitude, Makoto reached into his jacket for a cigarette.
Then he noticed something.
The sleeves were too long.
Not just the sleevesâthe pant legs were too long as well.
His waist was loose, and even his leather shoes no longer fit.
What did this mean?
“Do you have a mirror?”
“I do, but donât lose it.”
She reluctantly handed him a small mirror.
Makoto took a deep breath.
He knew he was thinking something ridiculous.
Slowly, he looked into the mirror.
Makoto was there.
Not a worn-out middle-aged man, but a boy with traces of youth still in his face.
“…Iâm younger. Whoa, this is bad. This is really bad. Iâm younger.”
“For someone almost forty, your vocabulary is pathetic.”
“But my eyes look kind of mean.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, he stared at his reflection.
He was sure his younger self had had a softer gaze.
“Well, I guess it canât be helped. A lot happened.”
“Give me back the mirror.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
He handed it back.
“…So I really got younger.”
He muttered blankly.
The earlier excitement had already faded.
In its place was a vague anxiety.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
“What do you mean? We escape the dungeon.”
Her sharp tone irritated him again.
“Let me have a cigarette. Then weâll talk.”
“At a time like this!?”
“Just let me smoke.”
When irritated, cigarettes were the answer.
Makoto pulled out a Marlboro and lit it with his Zippo.
He tried to draw the smoke deep into his lungs and immediately choked violently.
“Ugh, this tastes like crap.”
“Done yet?”
“Of course not.”
He tried again.
He choked again.
Even after his breathing settled, the result was the same.
“Is this because I got younger?”
“Be glad you can quit smoking.”
“Quitting is supposed to be by choice.”
He tossed the half-smoked cigarette to the ground.
“Now we can finally get to the point.”
“Iâm still older than you, you know.”
“So what?”
“Thereâs a way of speaking to people.”
“Iâm your lifesaver. I used a precious potion on you. You could at least be grateful.”
“Tch.”
Whatever he said would come back doubled.
This was why he hated dealing with girls.
“Fine.”
“Iâm glad you understand.”
Her smug tone annoyed him, but complaining would not help.
“You said weâre escaping the dungeon. But where exactly are we?”
“I told you. A dungeon.”
“Thatâs not what I meant.”
Makoto scratched his head.
Dried blood flaked down.
He had a mountain of questions, yet she did not seem to understand.
Then again, maybe this was just how high schoolers were.
He remembered being yelled at for not reporting properly when he first started working.
It was harsh to expect others to do what he himself once could not.
“Then firstâ”
“Not âyou.â Sato Yuka.”
“Yuka, can you tell me why youâre here?”
“…Where should I even start?”
She paused before answering.
The pause was likely because he had called her by her name without honorifics.
The glare she gave him proved it.
“Start from when you came to this world.”
“About a month ago… The moment I stepped into my classroom in the morning, my vision turned white. When I came to, I was lying in the basement of a castle.”
“Whose castle?”
“A place called the Kingdom of Veris. Then the king cameâ”
“What is this, some RPG?”
“Itâs the truth!”
She raised her voice.
“And according to the king, we were summoned by a Divine Messenger.”
“A Divine Messenger?”
“It means a servant of God. Donât tell me you donât know that.”
“Stop with the sarcasm.”
“Anyway, the Messenger summoned us.”
“Us? There are more?”
“Our whole class. Around twenty.”
“Twenty, huh. When something you only see in light novels or web novels happens to you, itâs terrifying.”
“You read light novels at your age?”
“So what if I do?”
“I didnât mean it like that.”
“Even people in respectable positions at companies arenât all that great, you know.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Adults did not automatically become better people just by aging.
He had learned that the hard way.
“So why were you summoned?”
“They said they didnât know.”
“Thatâs reassuring. So no way home either?”
“They said maybe if we defeat the Immortal King No Life King.”
“And you believed that?”
“I said we shouldnât take it at face value, but my classmates didnât agree.”
She sighed.
“They joined the knights to defeat him. We needed food and shelter.”
“So the king wonât support you for free.”
“If he did, we wouldnât have joined.”
“Tough world.”
“Still, itâs not all bad. We get food, shelter, and training.”
“Thatâs not free. Youâre manpower.”
She did not deny it.
“The other option is becoming an adventurer.”
“So thereâs an adventurersâ guild.”
“There isnât. The church handles that kind of work.”
So much for clichĂŠs.
“Adventurers arenât stable. No guaranteed food or training.”
“Then youâre here on knight duty.”
“Yes. We were ordered to defeat the Corpse King, a subordinate of the Immortal King. But I got separated.”
“Do you have a map?”
“No. No food either. Just water.”
“And potions?”
“I used them on you.”
“Sorry about that.”
She blinked in surprise.
“So about this Immortal King?”
“Heâs considered an enemy of God. When people die, theyâre supposed to go to God. But if theyâre not properly buried or have lingering regrets, they canât.”
“So they become undead?”
“Thatâs what I heard.”
“And dungeons?”
“Strong undead can create them. Even weaker ones can if they gather.”
“And if you defeat the strong one?”
“The dungeon disappears.”
“Seriously fantasy.”
He touched the wall.
It felt solid.
“So you saved me because you needed a frontliner.”
“Yes. Iâm a mage.”
“A tank, huh.”
“Youâve never played an MMO?”
“Never, but I know the basics.”
“And youâre Ichijo Makoto. Main job: Spirit User. Sub: Martial Artist. Level 1. HP 12. Strength 9. Agility 11. Magic 10.”
“How do you know?”
“My rare skill. Appraisal.”
“And you think thatâs good?”
“If 10 is average, youâre around average.”
“Average, huh.”
“Didnât you practice martial arts?”
“I did Shorinji Kempo in high school.”
“Chinese martial arts?”
“Itâs not Chinese.”
“Whatever.”
“You think that makes this easy?”
“Doesnât it?”
“I got beat up in sparring.”
She sighed heavily.
“What do we do?”
“Donât count on me.”
“I wasted a potion!”
“Calm down.”
“Youâre useless!”
“Donât call me useless!”
“You are!”
She glared.
He stared back.
“Instead of fighting, shouldnât we find a way out without combat?”
“…Maybe.”
“What floor are we on?”
“The tenth underground level.”
“…Thatâs hopeless.”
Makoto looked up and sighed.