The ground shook as multiple large carriages bearing the emblem of the Beginning Footprint rolled in one after another.
The powerful horses, clad in metal barding, had been specifically trained for Treasure Hunter use and remained unshaken even by the peculiar atmosphere of a Treasure Hall.
Stepping down from the carriages were Hunters affiliated with the Beginning Footprint. Their equipment and attire varied widely—the only thing they had in common was a small Beginning Footprint tag somewhere on their person.
Yet their demeanor belied the typical image of freewheeling Hunters. Their expressions were deadly serious, as though heading to a battlefield, and their movements were efficient and refined, lending them an almost military air of discipline.
The Hunters from other groups who had been conducting preliminary surveys of the area welcomed the reinforcements with expressions of stunned disbelief.
Perhaps it was partly the jarring difference in atmosphere, but above all, it was their sheer numbers that no one had anticipated.
"Hey, hey… reinforcements? How many people did you actually call in…?"
The brown-haired Hunter who had been questioning Sven's judgment just moments ago let out a voice laced with a mix of exasperation and apprehension.
For a Treasure Hall of the White Wolf's Den's scale, the number mobilized was extraordinary.
"…Are you planning to annihilate the Treasure Hall?"
A Treasure Hall was a "field." Simply destroying the building wouldn't make it disappear.
To truly destroy one, you'd have to do something about the Ley Line transmitting Mana Material—which wasn't exactly a realistic proposition.
Yet the sheer intensity radiating from the arriving group conveyed an absolute resolve so overwhelming that even such an absurd statement seemed warranted.
A young Hunter stepping down from the lead carriage spotted Sven and hurried over.
A sharp-featured, handsome young man—Lyle. One year younger than Sven. His Hunter Level was also lower, but among the Parties affiliated with the Beginning Footprint, they held equal standing.
The crowd filing down from the carriages didn't even bother sitting down—they immediately began scanning the surroundings on guard.
Lyle cut straight to the chase with Sven.
"Good work, Sven. What's the situation?"
"Nothing's happened so far. Anyone here who wants to take command? You're free to act as you please, but given what's at stake…"
Sven quickly surveyed the newly arrived members.
A Party was, by nature, a self-contained unit.
Each had their own preferred tactics, and their own hidden cards they'd rather not reveal. Even within a Clan, unifying command was virtually impossible—but with numbers this large, the calculus changed.
At the very least, they needed to establish a general direction, or casualties could spiral needlessly.
As Sven scrutinized the group with a wary gaze, Lyle's lips curved slightly upward into a faint smile.
"The Black Gold Cross is the highest-ranked here. None of the other high-level folks are around."
"Krai not showing up is par for the course, but what about Riz? She'd definitely want to come."
He named the infamous Thief who threw herself into danger of her own accord, actively seeking out battlefields.
Her strength was undeniable, but she was an exasperating Hunter who refused to command yet refused to follow orders either—an impossible existence whether as an ally or an enemy.
The only ones who could keep her in line were her fellow members of the Mourning Specter.
"Krai took her with him. Tino too, apparently—he had something else to ask of them. Besides, she'd never ride in a carriage anyway."
Lyle's bitter expression as he relayed this told Sven something had happened, though he chose not to press it.
Whatever the errand was, it could wait. Thinking about the Thousand Transformations' movements was a waste of time.
Sven nodded once, then raised his voice so everyone could hear.
"Alright, gather up. We're holding a strategy meeting."
§ There exists a monster called a Slime.
It was a creature with a viscous, amorphous body, commonly found in wetlands and marshes.
Visually, it resembled nothing more than a puddle. No muscles, no bones, no blood. It hardly looked like a living thing, yet it apparently possessed some rudimentary awareness—it would slowly move about, absorbing and digesting small insects through its entire body.
It was a type of magical creature, known to arise both naturally and through the work of Alchemists. In Sven's estimation, it was something so far beneath notice that calling it a "monster" felt almost presumptuous.
Slimes were weak. Vulnerable to both magic and physical attacks.
Their liquid bodies, organized around a small organ called a core, were extraordinarily fragile—a single bare-handed swipe could split them apart with no resistance. The severed portions received no commands from the core, meaning the Slime's effective size simply shrank.
Their acidic properties were negligible against creatures the size of humans; even if swallowed, they couldn't eat through a body from the inside.
To ordinary people, they were considered essentially harmless monsters.
For Treasure Hunters, who had surpassed the limits of normal human capability, they were opponents one could hardly even lose to. Most probably didn't even classify them as monsters in the first place.
From a slightly elevated vantage, Sven looked down at his companions sitting cross-legged on the ground in full gear.
"Has anyone here actually fought a Slime head-on?"
"No."
"Nope."
"None, really."
"I mean, are those even the kind of thing you fight?"
"Stepped on one by accident without noticing, maybe…"
As the Hunters offered their bewildered, rambling responses, Sven grimaced.
Sven and his fellow Black Gold Cross members had攻略ed a wide variety of Treasure Halls. They were probably top-tier even among the Hunters assembled here.
Yet even so, their combat experience with Slimes was nearly identical to what these others had described.
The term "Slime" encompassed a wide range of species. Far to the east, there were reportedly strange Treasure Halls where Slimes appeared exclusively.
He'd heard whispered rumors that some Slimes possessed enough power to kill Hunters, but he'd always dismissed that as tall talk. Naturally, he had zero combat experience against them.
Sven scratched at his hair and let out a deep sigh.
"Of all things, Slimes… I'd rather it were a Dragon."
"Oh, come on, that's laying it on a bit thick."
One of the surrounding Hunters teased him with a laugh, but it wasn't entirely a joke.
Against Dragon-type monsters, he'd fought before. With exhaustive preparation, grim resolve, and desperate life-or-death struggles, he'd emerged victorious.
But Slimes? He had nothing. He didn't even know what to expect.
What peculiar properties did these abnormal Slimes possess? What offensive capabilities did they wield? What were their weaknesses, and how should one maneuver to gain the upper hand?
With Dragons, at least, he knew what to be wary of. A claw strike, a tail swipe, breath attacks—and upper-tier Dragons could even wield powerful ancient magic. Difficult opponents, to be sure.
But this time, the enemy was arguably even more troublesome.
"Did anyone bring Slime countermeasures?"
Sven closed his eyes, waited a few seconds, and then asked. The cross-legged members responded one by one.
"They're weak to slashing, so I've got my usual sword."
"Brought a hammer. Apparently Slimes are weak to blunt force. Just crush them along with the core."
"Our Party's Mage can take one out with a single fire spell."
"My wind magic would finish it in one hit too."
"I bought a spray supposed to repel Slimes. It's a store-bought item for 700 Gill—not sure how effective it actually is, though…"
"I'll crush it with my shield."
Is this really going to be okay?
Everyone wore serious expressions. Forget the spray—the Slime's weakness was "everything."
Sven's arrows delivered point attacks, which weren't the best matchup, but even so, piercing the core would kill it. And with Sven's skill, he wouldn't miss even the tiniest core.
No problem. There shouldn't be a problem. Even if one appeared right in front of him, he should be able to dispatch it easily.
And yet the unease wouldn't subside. There was simply too little to work with. He wanted to know what they looked like, at the very minimum.
"Didn't Krai say anything else?"
At Sven's question, Lyle, seated three spots to his left, furrowed his brows into a pitiful expression.
"Only that they're not normal Slimes…"
"Yeah, no shit, I know that! Can't you do something about his habit of drip-feeding information!? Every single time…"
"Even when you press him, all he says is that he doesn't know…"
He wore such an genuinely clueless expression that it somehow made things worse. The Thousand Transformations' ability to reveal nothing about their inner workings was legendary within the Clan.
A silence fell.
Then the brown-haired Hunter, who had been standing a step outside the circle listening in silence, spoke up again.
Was he irked by the reinforcements' timidity? There was a mocking edge to his voice.
"…Tch. This is pointless. Sitting around thinking won't get us anywhere. We've got more people now—future-sight or whatever, who cares. We should just resume the exploration. If you're really that scared, we'll handle your precious Slimes for you. If they show up, that is."
The Beginning Footprint Hunters said nothing. They simply looked at him with an expression one might reserve for a pitiful creature.
Given how fiercely proud most Hunters were of their abilities, one would have expected a rebuttal. Instead, faced with this unexpectedly lukewarm reaction from Hunters unlike any he'd dealt with before, the brown-haired Hunter's cheek twitched.
"Wh-what's with those looks!?"
"You don't get it? Everyone here thinks you're gonna be the first to die. Just so it's on the record—I tried to stop you. I tried, okay? Don't come back as a ghost. And, well… don't just die for nothing. Leave some kind of record. We'll avenge you."
"Damn it… You're all insane! If nothing happens after we've come this far, what then!?"
Sven didn't answer. He turned back to face his companions.
For a Hunter, death was self-inflicted. No matter what an outside Hunter said, the balance of power here was clear—the Beginning Footprint held the numerical advantage, and that wasn't changing.
Fewer casualties was preferable, but with no information, there were sacrifices that simply couldn't be avoided.
"Alright, understood. No effective countermeasures. Then, next—does anyone here have expertise in magical creatures? An Alchemist, perhaps?"
At Sven's words, the Hunters exchanged glances and fell silent.
Alchemists were specialists who excelled at refining a wide variety of substances through the fusion of science and magic.
They weren't an essential presence for Hunters—more often than not, they belonged to national research institutions or trading companies dealing in pharmaceuticals.
It was a profession that required both vast knowledge and enormous capital to be viable.
Having a member of the Mourning Specter who was an Alchemist was an exceptionally rare case.
Seeing the reaction, Sven clicked his tongue in frustration.
He'd figured there wouldn't be one, but still—it was frustrating. Damn it, why did Citry have to be the one who didn't come back, instead of Riz…
So in the end, he'd just have to grit his teeth and brute-force his way through, casualties and all.
He took a deep breath and surveyed the assembled Hunters once more. That was when he noticed a small hand raised tentatively at the edge of the circle.
It belonged to a female Hunter with a somewhat timid demeanor. She wore oversized round glasses, and her hair hung long enough to reach her eyes. She looked like someone who'd be more at home in a library than a Treasure Hall.
The sudden weight of collective attention made her shrink back slightly, but she spoke in a clear voice. Her eyes, despite her diffident appearance, burned with a surprisingly strong light.
"Yes. I've only recently qualified—I'm Level 3—but I'm Talia, an Alchemist."
Beside her, a girl who appeared to be a fellow Party member patted her shoulder encouragingly as if to bolster her confidence.
She didn't exactly inspire confidence, but Level 3 meant she had at minimum the baseline capability of a Hunter.
Still, Citry aside—were all Alchemists like this?
The thought flickered through Sven's mind, but right now he'd take help from anyone, even a cat's paw.
An Alchemist's knowledge was deep, broad, and utterly unique. Even one who'd just qualified would know more than what Sven and the others had.
Sven put on an exaggeratedly bright voice and welcomed her.
"Oh, there actually is one! Was this Krai's doing?"
"No. …But apparently, there are only two Alchemists in the entire Beginning Footprint—Citry and me…"
Should she have said "only two"? Or perhaps "as many as two"?
Before Sven, Talia reached into a pouch at her hip—two sizes larger than the standard potion pouch carried by most Hunters—and produced a glass vial. She lifted it with careful, deliberate movements.
What it was made of, he couldn't tell. Inside, a dark liquid swayed gently.
Talia took several deep, nervous breaths, then spoke. Through the glint of her lenses, her dark eyes shone.
"A potion that kills Slimes… a special-purpose remedy designed exclusively for Slimes. It won't work on anything other than a Slime, but against a Slime… it will kill it nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand."
A small cheer went up. This was exactly what every Hunter present had been hoping for.
Sven was momentarily stunned, but quickly furrowed his brow and studied the liquid intently.
"That's… impressive, but…"
Was it really… safe?
He'd never seen or even heard of a potion made solely to kill Slimes. Slimes were cannon fodder, to begin with.
Krai had only declared them the enemy a few hours ago. Could a new potion really have been developed in that short a time?
And even if such a potion had somehow existed already—these particular Slimes were supposed to be far from ordinary.
It was all far too convenient.
Above all, Talia was Level 3. While that was considered mid-tier, in Sven's eyes she was still essentially a rookie.
If it had been Citry from the Mourning Specter, the situation would have been different.
She was a perfectionist. She'd never produce anything flawed.
Her officially certified Level was the lowest among the Mourning Specter—no, even lower than Talia's. But her actual ability was known to every single member of the Beginning Footprint.
No one spoke her name aloud, but everyone was surely thinking the same thing.
Meeting Talia's gaze—now tinged with a knowing苦笑—Sven's skeptical stare only deepened. She smiled wryly, then spoke with firm conviction.
"Rest assured, Sven. I didn't make this… Citry did. She gave it to me to study—apparently she crafted it while conducting Slime research. She told me that if there were any Slimes this didn't work on, and I could capture one and bring it to her, she'd buy it for a billion Gill."