I’d come to the Aramsus Guild to figure out how to obtain the right to enter the dungeon.
I’d gone in to check with the staff, but —
“Eh? Permission’s already been issued?”
The clerk — flat-toned — showed me the paperwork.
A faintly mocking attitude.
“Having cleared B40 and completed the academy request, you certainly qualify. — Coming to check this now, of all times?”
The middle-aged male clerk’s attitude toward me was poor.
Worse, the other adventurers in the room were watching me and tittering.
The Sixth — on duty today — said:
“That’s it. They’ve underrated Lyle because of how you were carried back.”
The Aramsus Guild didn’t have warm feelings toward adventurers to begin with.
Even hearing I’d cleared B40, the impression must have just been another adventurer.
(Wouldn’t you normally show better manners than this?)
The clerk explained:
“You completed the academy request and received the bonus. We’ve no business complaining. But if the dungeon is exterminated, you’ll be among the first suspected. Don’t forget that.”
A managed dungeon, to the Guild and the city alike, was a mountain of treasure.
Letting it be collapsed had to be avoided.
So the Guild managed who could enter.
Only when an otherwise impossible request — like Damian’s — came along did they permit regular adventurers in.
And having beautifully completed that request, our skill had presumably been acknowledged by the Guild.
Acknowledged and still no good feeling at all — thanks to the clerk’s attitude.
“So we can challenge the dungeon as we please from here on?”
“As you please. Population control on the monsters is necessary, and we have adventurers shifting their home base. Honestly… think about the position of the people managing this.”
He grumbled about adventurers moving on their own throwing off dungeon management.
The Sixth laughed.
“Aramsus is the academic city — they look down on adventurers. Makes sense.”
The tendency had been there before, and academy students also registered as adventurers.
For the Aramsus Guild, adventurers were necessary for dungeon management. But maybe not more or less than that.
(That’s why the good adventurers leave, isn’t it.)
Seeing the clerk’s response, I was exasperated — but relieved to learn I no longer needed permission for each dungeon run.
Gathering numbers, then applying and waiting for permission, took time.
“Is that so. Then I’ll—”
As I tried to step away, the clerk held me up.
“Wait. The Guild has many dungeon requests. Don’t forget to take those on. — Also, your companions… Novem Fuchs-san, Aria Rockward-san — there are parties asking to be introduced to them. It would be good for them. We’ll arrange a meeting — drop by the Guild. If the party disbands, dungeon permission is revoked — but that may be better for you, anyway.”
Talking down to me — and trying to poach my party.
And on top of that, the premise of his proposal was my party disbanding.
I might be unreliable — but did I deserve to be told it like that?
The ancestors weighed in.
The Second —
”…Oi, oi. This guy just picked a fight with us — with Lyle. Telling the leader to make himself available to be poached?”
The Third, laughing through his anger:
“I wonder who he thinks he’s picking a fight with! Alright Lyle — clear refusal here.”
The ancestors had started to anger. I agreed.
The reach for Novem and the others probably said the others looked more competent in the dungeon than me.
In truth Novem was a fine sorcerer, but her main was healing.
Aria — front-line with multiple Skills, by age alone — was a prospect.
(I’d heard Aramsus drew adventurers looking for parties, but this is too blatant.)
To the clerk who looked down on me, I said:
“Guild-brokered poaching, is it? — I refuse.”
”…It’s a measure so their talents are not buried. Among those who reached out, there are noble children too.”
So: hostile to adventurers, but soft on academy and nobility.
The Fourth:
“This is overreach. The Guild should be impartial. — On paper, at least.”
“It’s a failure of impartiality. If you want to make introductions, could you ask without using the Guild as a threat?”
I said it with a smile. The clerk got angry and snapped back.
“Naive brat —”
The Sixth told me to murmur something.
“Lyle — tell him you got a present from Damian and you’re on first-name terms. Fun, right?”
Imagining the Sixth’s smirking face, I smirked the same and said:
“Actually, on the recent job I got to know Damian. I’m dropping by his lab regularly now. He must have taken a liking to me… I even got an automaton.”
“W-what—”
A Guild soft on the academy.
The clerk too, hearing Damian’s name — a renowned professor — got flustered.
His eyes darted comically.
“You can confirm it, if you like. After all — he’s a comrade who cleared B40 with me.”
The Seventh advised me.
“Hmph. I dislike adventurers too, but this sort of fellow is an eyesore. Crush him early — quicker is better. Lyle, why not tell Damian: ‘My companions are being poached, so I won’t be able to drop by the lab from here on.’”
The Fifth agreed.
“Hardly him alone — but he’ll make a good example.”
The poaching attempts were on Novem and Aria, not Poyo-Poyo, but —
I caught on.
(I see — make him think Poyo-Poyo is being poached too.)
A nasty tactic — but the other side moved first.
More importantly, looking ahead, this kind of thing would keep coming up.
(She can’t register as an adventurer, but can I count her as combat strength?)
I didn’t think the foul-mouthed maid was strong, but she was still a companion.
“That so. Maybe I’ll just have a casual chat with him… mention that the Guild is helping poach my companions.”
The clerk dropped his head.
He was sweating.
The Sixth:
“This type sees all adventurers as one group. Treats them as below him, figures any attitude is fine… probably his standard, applied to Lyle.”
The Fourth:
“Always somewhere. Idiots like this. A moment of thought would tell you which fights to pick — but they don’t bother.”
The Third:
“From his side, maybe he didn’t intend to start a fight. Maybe he genuinely thought it’d be good for Novem-chan and the others. But — yeah, an example’s needed.”
Not every Aramsus clerk was like this, surely.
But the tendency was real.
(Honestly… Hawkins-san from Darion shines even from here.)
Remembering Hawkins-san — who’d treated everyone with courtesy as a Guild clerk in Darion — I realized that the atmosphere differed by branch.
”…W-well, this time, I was urgently asked to—”
To the clerk reaching for excuses, I smiled.
“That’s not okay, is it? Now then, I’ve business at the academy.”
I left the Guild and headed for the academy with Poyo-Poyo, who’d been tagging along.
Poyo-Poyo said:
“A chicken-bastard who’s also a demon Master. He went pale. Strong-arming someone weaker than himself like that… pathetic.”
She had a hand at her mouth, laughing. I said:
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you. — And besides — they hold the power here, position-wise. Normally I’m the weak one!”
Her face went suddenly serious.
“I knew. I was listening. So you’ll have Professor Damian help you out. As expected of a chicken-bastard — knowing how to use one’s friends.”
Should I correct her on the friend part with Damian — or shut up the exploiting friends framing?
While I was hesitating, the Second said:
“Well — it is the case. But in times like this you cooperate with each other.”
The Third too:
“Right. Lyle helps Damian — this much is fine. Oh, since you’re using Damian, going forward hear his asks out within reason.”
I had used him, that much was real.
I should pay it back.
(But Damian’s asks all look like a lot of work.)
With Poyo-Poyo in tow, I plodded toward the academy.
At the academy, in Damian’s lab, Poyo-Poyo and I watched the automatons moving about, busy.
Damian sat at his desk and turned to us.
“Hey — ancients were amazing. Crafted dolls this fine — cleaning, laundry, even cooking, perfectly. Too convenient now, I can’t let them go.”
He removed his glasses and wiped the lenses, saying it gravely.
“Activated them — so you used…”
I looked at him. The answer:
“Just used blood. Come on — my first kiss has to be saved for the ideal woman I’ll one day create. Anyway, that Lyle was nothing short of divinely inspired. My research jumped forward in a major way.”
Damian, smiling innocently. All I could say was “I see.”
“Hmph — receiving Master’s first kiss, I differ from these mass-produced units. The special model, after all!”
Poyo-Poyo’s mood improved, and the other automatons moving around turned to look at us. Their black eyes flickered red —
“As expected of the special model. To burden Master with that instability and that mouth.”
“Quite so. As a maid — no, as an automaton — failing grade.”
“You know? Mass-produced is a man’s romance. Special models, well… hmph.”
The black-bob maids said it with smiles aimed our way.
That they were dolls was astonishing.
Conversation flowed, and they did housework better than half of human women. Aria had teared up looking at Poyo-Poyo more than once.
“For me, mass-produced or unique, what matters is the bust—”
Damian shook his head.
“So — you not asking Poyo-Poyo anything today?”
The visit to the academy was at Damian’s request — he was tracking Poyo-Poyo’s progress.
The automatons activated afterward had been mass-produced units; Poyo-Poyo had turned out to be special after all.
Damian wanted information on her, but —
“This time we’re done. She can do housework, conversation has its issues but works. She heaps abuse on Lyle, but she serves her master as an automaton should — no problem there. Spec issues — we’ll get to. The real question is memory, isn’t it? None of the automatons know the important parts. Just-activated, granted, but it’s like critical memories were stripped… — wait, what’s Poyo-Poyo? A name?”
Damian looked at Poyo-Poyo.
She was sitting on the spot, sulking.
“It’s fine. Until chicken-bastard thinks of a name befitting me, I will accept the name Poyo-Poyo. Yes! Until chicken-bastard comes up with one!”
I scratched my cheek and said:
“Couldn’t think of one — went with the vibe?”
The three other automatons looking at Poyo-Poyo —
“S-she received a name!”
“Our Master calls us [No. 1], [No. 2], and [No. 3]!”
“No, we are not beaten! Not once has our Master misnumbered us!”
Poyo-Poyo, head down, smirked.
“Hmph, mass-produced units. This is the power of the special model.”
(I’d rather have a mass-produced one. — Anyway —)
They looked identical to me, but Damian could tell them apart.
True to one of the academy’s Seven Geniuses — and a pervert.
“A name… I’ll have to think of one fitting my ideal woman too. — Oh, and the Guild thing.”
Damian remembered the favor I’d asked.
The poaching attempt at the Guild — I’d told him about it.
“Yes. Can I count on you?”
“Sure. The Guild’s drawn plenty of complaints. I’ve a mountain of my own to file with them, actually… I’ll pass it along.”
I felt a little ambivalent. Sensing it, the Sixth said:
“That clerk would have invited resentment and burned out sooner or later. You happened to be the one. Don’t waste energy worrying.”
I gripped the Jewel — acknowledgment.
“Thanks. — For the favor, the reward this time is fine, since I’m the one asking.”
“Are you sure? Research funding always runs short, so it helps.”
After chatting with Damian a bit, I left the lab.
Back at the manor, Novem was instructing Shannon on washing dishes.
I heard Shannon shrieking from the kitchen — peered in — found a delicate scene.
“Hii — forgive me already!”
“That won’t do. Miranda-san asked me to teach you properly. Now, once the dishes are done, next is cleaning the room.”
“Ah, Lyle! Don’t just watch, help me! She’s scary! Novem’s really scary!”
Shannon tried to run over and cling to me; I put a hand to her forehead.
She flailed her arms and legs, but her hands didn’t reach.
“You reap what you sow. As punishment for getting off easy until now, this is mild.”
In the end, Miranda-san had forgiven Shannon.
Even after the inner-self stuff — a darker side fabricated for her — the outer Miranda had forgiven her.
Watching, the Sixth muttered ambivalently.
“Overlapping this girl with Mireia…”
The Fifth agreed.
“We were overcautious — but it’s worked out. With Miranda nearby, she’ll come around.”
Novem looked at me.
“Welcome back, Lord Lyle. — And… Poyo-Poyo-san.”
A troubled face as she said the junk-maid’s provisional name.
“I don’t recall granting you permission to use my name! And running wild in my territory — prepare yourself!”
“Quiet.”
I bonked her on the back of the head. Her twin-tails swung as she pitched forward.
She held the spot with both hands and looked at me.
“That hurt, chicken-bastard. Treat me with more care. I am delicate. Scolded by Master, I’ll sob through the night.”
”…Stop, it’s scary. Are you really staying up at night? What are you doing?”
Poyo-Poyo, full of confidence —
“I’m on standby in sleep mode! I’m given that strange thing called mana by Master, so I’m cutting back where I can—ow!”
I bopped her head again.
“You’re SLEEPING. Are you really an automaton?”
Novem laughed at the exchange.
“Truly close, aren’t you.”
I looked at her.
She was a little pleased — irritating.
“So you did lust after me, chicken-bastard. Call my name and I’ll come out of sleep mode — straight to bed—ow…”
I bopped her head again and said I was tired.
Shannon, still pinned:
“Hey, how long are you keeping a hand on me?! My treatment is rude!”
From the Jewel, the Fifth and Sixth.
“Smells small-time.”
“Hmm — this girl…”
Really — whatever had we been treating this kid as a threat for.