Chapter 154: A Half-Naked Guy Drinking a Domestic Energy Drink Means it's Weak

"Hahhh... I came... I actually came back..."

"Hm? If it isn't Sunraku. Unless my internal clock has gone completely haywire, is it not currently night? Are you perhaps nocturnal?"

"Yo, Araba. My active hours are exactly whenever my motivation burns hottest. Day or night has absolutely nothing to do with it."

"I-Is that so..."

The rest of the crew... they're holed up in a different building, but it doesn't look like they're logged in. Emul is asleep. This specific house serves as a base for just the three of us: me, Araba, and Emul. The players had to split up and scatter across different houses purely because there weren't enough beds to set everyone's spawn points in one place. Because of that, I can't really tell if the other players are currently logged in or not.

"...Well, whatever. No point waking Emul up. I'm heading out for a little night exploration, Araba."

"You're one of those, aren't you? Someone who only ever either sleeps or runs around frantically? Are you one of those creatures that literally dies if they stop moving while awake?"

"Who are you calling a tuna? You want me to rip off your fins and turn you into shark fin soup? Anyway, I'm just gonna go mess around for a bit."

Doing any serious dungeon progression right now is impossible. I mean, I could go suicide-charge one of the Sealed Generals, but for tonight, my main goal is to explore Ruluiath while testing a few things out. I'm fully planning on dying without hesitation, so I can't exactly drag an NPC along with me.

Heading outside through a hole in the roof, my night exploration of Ruluiath begins by hopping across the rooftops. Ruluiath, situated upside-down at the bottom of the sea, gets its illumination from some mysterious light source, so the concept of day or night shouldn't really mean much, but having the enemy spawn tables flip depending on the time of day is a classic gaming trope.

"Whoaa... Now this is quite the fantastical sight."

If the daytime version of this place was a "Profane City roamed by Zombies[*1]," then right now, the phrase "A ruined city turned into a paradise for fish" is far more fitting. Fish, fish, and more fish swimming through the empty air. The sheer bustling activity of what could only be called a massive shoal of fish was a spectacle you absolutely could never see in reality. The rotting Fish-Men are created from fresh marine life... which means the true, original forms of the Fish-Men that flooded the city in broad daylight are probably this very school of fish.

Thanks to my dad's hobbies, I have a decent understanding of the names and appearances of various fish despite not being all that interested in fishing myself. Because of that, I feel an indescribable sense of surprise—who knows for the umpteenth time—noticing how every single fish swimming through the air possesses characteristics similar to real-world marine life, yet features designs that are definitively different. It's not like anyone would get mad if they just copy-pasted real fish designs into the game, so why did they go out of their way to meticulously craft the models like they were inspecting the corners of a lunchbox with a microscope?

"That being said, just because the Fish-Men are gone doesn't mean nighttime is going to be an easy win..."

Now then, here's a question: Why do fish form schools? The answer is simple—because the more tickets there are in the lottery, the lower the chances of the jackpot[*2] being pulled.

"So daytime is a Zombie Panic, and nighttime is a Monster Panic."

A massive shadow lunges into the school of fish. Opening a set of jaws as large as a train car—despite being vertically elongated—it ruthlessly gouges out a massive chunk of the densely packed swarm of fish. Moving with the speed and length of an express train, maintaining a sense of elegant mystique despite its gigantic size, the creature is none other than the Arctus Regalecus—the exact same monster that waged a massive, chaotic battle in broad daylight.

But if that was all there was to it, I would have just thought, "Oh hell yeah, a bonus mob!" and gleefully picked a fight with it. The reason my monkey-brain decided to describe this as a "Monster Panic" was...

The answer, as expected, lies in the sky[*3]. Within Ruluiath, providence itself is inverted, but even before that, physics are entirely upside down. Because of that, an entity that entered the city as if surfacing from the ocean depths would—the moment it fully entered the "sky" from the sea—fall upwards. Twisting its body, spiraling upwards from below exactly like how I barrel-rolled to dodge the molten iron bullet when fighting Katzo just a while ago, the creature spreads its beautiful "wings" and lunges straight at the rainbow-banded Dragon King Fish.

Erupting from the ambusher's body is a brilliance far too unfitting for this place. Due to its nature being the exact polar opposite of the underwater world, it shouldn't even be allowed to exist within the water... Cloaked in an intensely vivid "Blue" flame that stands out even in this entirely blue city, it forcefully beats its pectoral fins—which look exactly like wide-spread wings—and effortlessly snatches the title of "Apex Predator" right out from under the Arctus Regalecus, who had held that position up until mere seconds ago.

"Hey, hey, hey... You're telling me a monster that completely eclipses the Giga-Oarfish can spawn? Daytime is way safer, what the hell!"

The crystalline structures growing from its pectoral fins—looking like a cross between blades and feathers—relentlessly batter the Arctus Regalecus. Though it sounds like a simple attack in words, the Arctus Regalecus, which should possess an HP pool matching its massive size, thrashes its body while letting out a roar that sounds awfully close to a scream.

If the swimming of the Arctus Regalecus evoked a strong sense of beauty, then the ambusher's swimming was the form of a true "Strong One" that demanded raw power. Even watching from a distance, its forceful turns create the illusion of feeling wind pressure. With a rumbling roar that shakes the very buildings, the massive body—smaller than the Arctus Regalecus, but still the size of a heavy-duty truck—charges forward.

Executing a dynamic U-turn that looked exactly like an invisible giant winding up for an underhand full-swing, the ambusher swims back upward with its jaws wide open. Thrashing, suffering, and yet still following its biological instincts to escape the predator's fangs, the Arctus Regalecus tries to flee. But despite boasting a top speed comparable to a train, its massive body tragically lacked the burst acceleration required to instantly escape from a standstill.

The fangs bite down. The roaring blue flames are by no means just for show; the unmistakable shriek of the Arctus Regalecus—its flesh torn by fangs and its body roasted by blue fire—echoes across the entirety of Ruluiath. Attempting to resist, the Arctus Regalecus coils its massive body around the ambusher... but shockingly, even while being entangled and constricted by that colossal mass... the ambusher's physical strength still overwhelmingly surpassed the rainbow band.

That constriction definitely packed enough raw STR to instantly crush a hundred players like me simultaneously, yet the ambusher, while still being tightly squeezed by the Arctus Regalecus, continues to swim without dropping its speed in the slightest. This is no longer a battle between equals; it's simply a predator undergoing the mundane task of finishing off its prey.

The ambusher's wings begin to emit light. The glow radiating from the crystal-like edges is an entirely different element from the cloak of fire covering its upper half. It lacks the warmth of the flames that illuminate the dark, violent depths; instead, it radiates a cold, ruthless killing intent that refuses to allow even a single speck of dust to exist if it defies the "King's" will. An absolute real-world cheat skill that, on top of being an ultra-fast frame attack, practically guarantees instant death upon a direct hit—a phenomenon that humans have feared since ancient times as the work of the gods.

In other words, people call it "Lightning."

The crystalline wings crackle with sparks. Accumulation and amplification—the electrical power of a lightning strike can reportedly reach up to hundreds of millions of volts depending on the scale, though obviously a single monster couldn't output that much firepower. But even so, a massive, unquantifiable number completely validates that absurd logic, granting the ambusher wings of thunder. Was it a system-scripted behavior, or an alarm bell triggered by its simulated "instincts"? The Arctus Regalecus finally unravels its body from the ambusher and attempts to flee, but it is deeply mistaken. Nothing about this hunt has changed from the very beginning.

The moment it entered this inverted city, the hunter was the ambusher, and the prey was the Arctus Regalecus. And the fact that the one being caught this entire time was the Arctus Regalecus, while the one doing the catching was the ambusher, has never once been overturned.

If those blue flames are the ambusher's lifeblood, then the lightning it unleashes is equally blue. The Arctus Regalecus—which certainly hadn't lost an ounce of its imposing presence even though I managed to beat it in a 1v1—writhes in an incredibly unsightly manner, repeating its futile struggles. But it's only called a futile struggle because it accomplishes absolutely nothing, and thus, the Reaper's scythe is swung down.

The brilliance of the lightning wings reaches its absolute peak, completely overwriting the glow of the blue crystals illuminating Ruluiath with the flash of electrical discharge. The "Lethal Zone" expanding spherically around the ambusher engulfs a chunk of Ruluiath along with any unfortunate fish that were too slow to escape, detonating and scattering a storm of blue lightning across the entire area—an attack harboring such extreme damage values I don't even have the urge to try and tank it.

"...Thirty seconds, two seconds, five seconds. That's short."

Every single monster across the board is an entity that players should face, and is an enemy that can be faced. That logic cannot be denied even for friendly NPCs like Emul, and that ambusher... that Flaming Orca with crystal wings... is no exception. If that's the case, my job isn't to cower in fear at the power that instantly slaughtered a Giga-Oarfish; my job is to pursue exactly how to overcome that power.

Every single area across the board is a dungeon that players should conquer, and is a dungeon that can be conquered. That remains true even for a domain ruled by a monster like Ruluiath. If that's the case, my job isn't to give up on clearing it just because of an unfair reset mechanic; my job is to verify exactly how to tread through that unfairness.

Things I want to do, things I should do, things it would be better to do. When you have no idea where to even start, allow me to specially demonstrate a highly intelligent solution. Since I don't have an audience right now, I'll compromise and show it to you, Dual-Attribute Orca.

"If I had one single complaint about this game, it's that the monster feeding animations look super jank because of the gore censorship."

Watching a monster chew on raw polygons looks incredibly ridiculous precisely because ShanFro's graphical realism is so outstandingly high. Sneering at the Dual-Attribute Orca as it does so, I ostentatiously snatch up several of the drop items that fell to the ground. Now, what are you gonna do, Dual-Type? Even if it's just the scraps of your feast, an arrogant little bug just swiped them right from under your nose, you know? And on top of that, said bug is disrespectfully directing blatant hostility toward the absolute apex entity of this underwater ecosystem—we're completely excluding Ctarrnid since he's an existence that shouldn't even be placed on the pyramid.

"Physically flaunting your overwhelmingly high spirits like that... well, two can play at that game...!!"

I didn't taunt it because I actually want to kill it. There's something I need to test, and for that, I strictly require the presence of "an entity capable of wielding utterly massive destructive power."

That is exactly why, without a shred of fear, I picked a fight with the King of the Seabed looking down at me from this inverted sky. And now, acting right now, I'll even throw in a Taunt Command absolutely free of charge! Thanks for the drops, idiot!!

Author's Afterword
Though my drawing skills are rather amateurish, I've posted something resembling a concept art/character sheet for the Dual-Attribute Orca—aka the "Atlantis Repnorca"—in the lore-dump side project: "Setting Key Inventoria: Various Things About ShanFro."
I hope it helps visualize the written descriptions in my work. Thank you for your continued support.

By the way, the "Thirty seconds, two seconds, five seconds" the protagonist was counting refers to the following:

• The charge time for the lightning attack.

• The wind-up time from the start of the attack animation until the damage hitbox becomes active.

• The active duration of the attack where the damage hitbox persists.

Translator's Notes

• *[1] Zombies: The Kanji is written as "Half-Fishmen" (Hangyojin), but the ruby text dictates the reading "Zombies."

• *[2] Jackpot: The Kanji is written as "Hit" or "Winning Ticket" (Atari), but the ruby text forces the reading "Myself" (Jibun). Sunraku is stating that the fish swarm together so that the predator eats someone else instead of him.

• *[3] Sky: The Kanji is written as "Underwater" (Suichuu), but the ruby text reads "Sky" (Joukuu). Because Ruluiath is an inverted city, looking "up" at the sky means looking deep into the water column above.