The explosion rocked the inn, shaking the floor beneath our feet. My mind instantly jumped to worst-case scenarios – Elsa Granhiert showing up early? Witch Cultists? Some other horror unique to this broken timeline?
Ram and Rem were already moving towards the door, Ram pulling a small, wickedly sharp-looking cleaning tool (that definitely wasn't just for dusting) from somewhere within her uniform, Rem producing… nothing, but her hands were held ready, radiating barely contained power. Puck zipped back from the window. "Trouble downstairs, Lia's already engaged!" he reported tersely.
Emilia went ahead?! By herself?! The realization hit me alongside a fresh wave of panic. She'd slipped out while we were distracted by the maid banter and my own idiocy. Now she was fighting alone? BAD! VERY UNSAFE! My "bodyguard trial" was already failing spectacularly.
Okay, need to act. Running down there blindly felt like repeating earlier mistakes. Need an edge. Need… practice. Real practice, not just simulated flailing.
Right of Conquest. Step in the Ring. The perks flashed in my mind. Kan's mediocre skills were a start, but not enough. I needed more, now.
Mental Command: Activate 'Step in the Ring'. Target Echo: Composite Echo - 'Ton, Chin, & Kan'. Difficulty Assessment: Minimal (already defeated). Objective: Rapid assimilation of core combat skills via repeated low-threat challenges. Initiate Now!
Simultaneously, another command to the Idle Trainer. Partition Three: Activate. Task: Combat Skill Refinement. Input Data: Assimilated skills from 'Right of Conquest (Kan)', ongoing 'Step in the Ring' echo challenges. Goal: Integrate and optimize basic brawling, knife handling, and footwork into a cohesive, functional fighting style. Priority: Maximum.
The world didn't change externally, but internally, it felt like multiple processors kicked into high gear. A part of my mind detached, entering the Phantasmal Arena, facing down spectral copies of the three idiots I'd already encountered. Another part started analyzing, breaking down, rebuilding the fragmented skills I possessed.
While my internal systems went into overdrive, my physical self needed tools. Ram and Rem were already heading for the stairs. I scanned the hallway quickly. Nothing useful. Then, through the window Puck had just vacated, I spotted it in the street below – a delivery cart, laden with carcasses, seemingly abandoned in the sudden panic following the explosion. And hanging from hooks on its side… butcher knives. Gleaming, sturdy, wickedly sharp.
Not ideal, but better than nothing. Sorry, Mr. Abandoncart.
While Rem and Ram descended the main stairs, I made a detour. Kicking open the window (surprisingly easy with the strength boost), I dropped lightly onto the awning below, then shimmied down a drainpipe with newfound agility (thanks again, Kan's ghost!). A quick dash to the cart, ignoring the stares of a few remaining terrified onlookers. Two hefty butcher knives felt solid, balanced, dangerous in my hands. Their weight felt strangely familiar, Kan's muscle memory integrating with my own.
Okay. Tools acquired. Internal training running. Time to rejoin the fight, hopefully slightly less useless this time. I sprinted towards the source of the commotion inside the inn, knives held low, ready. Let's see what Emilia walked into.
The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of virtual fists connecting with virtual faces echoed faintly in the back of my mind – the Phantasmal Arena partition cycling through echoes of Ton, Chin, and Kan at blinding speed. Each victory, however minor, fed a trickle of refined combat data, muscle memory, and raw physical enhancement into my being via Right of Conquest. It was like cramming weeks of street brawling experience into mere seconds.
Simultaneously, the third partition, dedicated to skill integration, worked furiously, weaving Kan's dirty tricks, Chin's brute force tendencies, and Ton's panicked knife jabs into something resembling a coherent, albeit ugly, fighting style. My body hummed with the influx, movements feeling smoother, sharper, more instinctive with every passing moment.
As I burst back into the inn's ground floor through a side entrance, knives gripped tight, the sounds of fighting were clear – shouts, impacts, the distinctive shing of Emilia's ice magic. The main common room was a chaotic mess. Overturned tables, startled patrons cowering in corners, and Emilia, back-to-back with Rem and Ram, holding off a swarm of attackers.
These weren't the disorganized thugs from the alley. These guys wore matching dark clothing, moved with rough coordination, and wielded crude swords and clubs. Maybe a dozen of them, pressing the attack relentlessly. Hired muscle. But hired by who? And why attack now?
Four of them peeled off from the main group, spotting me entering from the side. They charged, weapons raised, confident in their numbers.
Arena Notification: New Echoes Available - 'Generic Hired Thug x4'. Challenge Initiated.
My internal training partitions locked onto the new threat profiles instantly. Even as the real thugs closed the distance, their virtual counterparts were already being dismantled in the Phantasmal Arena. Their basic sword swings, predictable lunges, clumsy footwork – analyzed, countered, exploited.
The first thug swung a rusty sword in a wide arc. Before the Idle Trainer even finished processing the optimal counter, the combined reflexes stolen from Kan and honed by the Arena simulation had me moving. I ducked under the swing, flowed inside his guard, and drove the pommel of one butcher knife hard into his temple. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Arena Echo Defeated. Skill Data Acquired: Basic Swordsmanship (Crude), Brawling Synergy.
The second lunged with a club. A quick sidestep (Arena practice paying off), followed by a vicious slash across his weapon arm with one knife, then a reverse grip stab under the ribs with the other. He gurgled, collapsing.
Arena Echo Defeated. Skill Data Acquired: Club Proficiency (Basic), Pain Tolerance (Minor).
The third and fourth attacked together, trying to flank me. Bad idea. The Idle Trainer fed me their projected movements fractions of a second before they happened. A spinning back kick (where did that come from? Arena assimilation, probably) caught the third guy in the chest, sending him stumbling back into the fourth. A whirlwind of flashing steel – borrowed knife skills merged with simulated efficiency – ended the encounter moments later. Both lay still on the floorboards, throats slit with brutal, practiced ease.
Arena Echoes Defeated. Skill Data Acquired: Multi-opponent Tactics (Rudimentary), Killing Blow Efficiency.
I stood amidst the four bodies, breathing slightly harder, knives dripping. The entire engagement had taken maybe five seconds. The influx of combat data, strength, and speed from the four defeated thugs washed over me through Right of Conquest, adding another layer to my rapidly evolving skillset.
Looking down at the corpses, a strange disconnect settled over me. I'd just killed four people. Efficiently. Brutally. And I felt… nothing. No remorse, no horror, not even satisfaction. Just a cold, analytical assessment: threat neutralized, data acquired. The sheer audacity of attacking us, disrupting our (potentially free) meal, trying to harm Emilia (and by extension, potentially delaying my meeting with Rem)… it felt like a crime punishable by swift, decisive elimination. But the lack of feeling, the coldness where guilt or disgust should be… that felt wrong. Deeply wrong. Was it the perks? Invictus steeling my will? Well-Adjusted somehow compartmentalizing the horror? Or was something else breaking inside?
No time to dwell. The main fight was still raging. Emilia, Rem, and Ram needed help. I pushed the unsettling numbness aside and charged towards the melee, newly acquired skills screaming for release.
Elsewhere, in a shadowed alcove overlooking the now-quiet street near the inn…
The scent of spilled blood, faint but distinct, drifted on the afternoon breeze, mingling with the usual city smells. A figure cloaked in black leaned against the cool stone, observing the aftermath of the inn brawl with detached interest. Long, dark hair framed a face of porcelain beauty, marred only by the predatory curve of her smile and the unsettling emptiness in her violet eyes. Elsa Granhiert, the Bowel Hunter, surveyed the scene, her expression unreadable.
"Well," she murmured, her voice a low, silken purr that held no warmth, "that was… very expected." She tilted her head slightly, considering the efficiency of the carnage below. "It seems our 'easy solution' wasn't much of a solution at all, was it?" The coordinated attack, meant to overwhelm and eliminate the silver-haired half-elf quickly and quietly, had failed spectacularly. Not only failed, but resulted in the complete annihilation of the hired force. Someone had interfered. Someone surprisingly… effective.
A small girl stood beside her, almost swallowed by the shadows, clutching a bizarrely incongruous creature – something that looked vaguely canine but pulsed with an unnatural, sickly green light. Meili Portroute, the Demon Beast User, looked up at Elsa with wide, innocent eyes that held no innocence at all.
"He was fast, Big Sis Elsa," Meili offered, her voice unnaturally high and sweet. "Faster than the others."
Elsa's smile widened fractionally, a predatory gleam entering her eyes. "Indeed. Unexpectedly so." The initial plan – overwhelm the target's guardians, eliminate the target – was now complicated. This new variable, this 'Shamrock' who had demonstrated such sudden, lethal competence, required adjustment. A daytime assault was clearly too risky now. Subtlety had failed. Brute force had failed.
"Patience, then," Elsa decided, turning away from the scene below. The faint sounds of the City Guard finally arriving reached them. "We proceed as planned, but with adjustments." She glanced down at the small girl beside her. "We attack tonight, don't we, Meili? Under the cover of darkness. Let your little pets have some fun."
Meili hugged the glowing demonic pup closer, a beatific smile spreading across her face. "Yes, Big Sister," she chirped happily. "Tonight."
The shadows swallowed them both, leaving no trace of their presence, only the lingering promise of bloodshed yet to come. The easy solution had failed; the real hunt would begin after sundown.
Back to the carnage.
Amidst the carnage, as Emilia stared wide-eyed and Puck zipped around assessing the room, Rem stepped closer to her sister. She surveyed the scene – the scattered bodies, the sheer efficiency of their demise, and me, standing there trying to look less like a blood-soaked killing machine and more like a helpful (if traumatized) trial bodyguard.
"Nee-sama, Nee-sama," Rem began, her voice the usual soft, polite monotone, yet carrying a distinct note of observation as she looked from the corpses back to me. "It appears Mr. Shamrock, despite his sudden... proficiency... is likely not associated with these unskilled assassins."
Ram, who had been conducting her own silent assessment of the room and my handiwork, nodded curtly, her pink eyes flicking towards me with perhaps a fraction less dismissal than before. "Yes, Rem, Rem," she replied, her tone matching her sister's flat delivery. "This seems like a very unskilled tactical decision – employing such... visceral opposition – if he were collaborating with them."
Their logic, delivered in their characteristic deadpan loop, was sound. Why would I slaughter my own allies? My sudden, brutal effectiveness had inadvertently cleared me of suspicion of being part of the attack force. Now, of course, it likely opened up a whole new set of questions about who I was and how I'd suddenly become capable of single-handedly wiping out a dozen armed men, but at least they probably didn't think I was actively trying to kill Emilia anymore. Progress? Maybe?