Porter

We finally delved into the dungeon again after coordinating our schedules.

The usual party consists of me, Novem, Aria, Miranda, Clara, Poyopoyo, and Porter.

We positioned Porter in the center, with Aria leading the way as we moved.

The modified Porter now had thin pillars attached to its cargo bed, supporting a ceiling overhead.

Weather has no bearing inside a dungeon.

However, we'd installed it to protect the cargo from stray attacks during combat.

"Would it be better to go with a box shape after all?"

Poyopoyo propped her chin on her hand and spoke up when I said I wanted it sturdier rather than prioritizing weight reduction.

"On the contrary, instead of deploying a shield on the front, why not go more aggressively... add some spikes and turn Porter into a ramming type? Just smash through enemies and traps as we go!"

When I heard that, I actually thought it might work for a second, but quickly shook my head.

If Porter—carrying our precious cargo—charged in and got destroyed, we'd be in real trouble.

Clara also pressed her fingers to her forehead and said:

"...What if we drag other adventurers into the crossfire? Absolutely not."

The oversized lantern we'd mounted on Porter, however, was a nice touch.

It kept mana consumption down.

In exchange, it cost money to maintain.

The problem was that the corridors stayed bright, and we couldn't turn it off frequently enough.

Aria, walking ahead, halted—and by stopping right where the corridor turned, she signaled enemies ahead.

"You could be a little quieter, you know. I need to be able to hear things over here."

Novem walked beside Porter on one side, with Miranda on the other.

Clara walked in front of Porter.

The rear was open, but her plan was to hide behind Porter's shadow if things got dicey.

That being the case, sturdiness was definitely desirable.

Inside a corridor with metal plates bolted on haphazardly, Aria's warning proved accurate—we could hear footsteps approaching.

I decided to take charge of giving orders.

But this time, things were different from before.

"Novem, prep your magic. After you land one hit, Aria and I will handle the rest. If they break through, Miranda, cover the two of us. Poyopoyo, you've got rear guard."

Poyopoyo was the only one assigned to rear guard, and she grumbled unhappily—

"I can see perfectly well even in the dark... and those numbers would be taken care of in no time..."

She was complaining.

I knew what she could do, but the point of this dungeon run was to test what the current roster was capable of.

Deploying Poyopoyo against enemies on floors one through five ran counter to that purpose. At the same time—

"You don't earn a thing when you fight."

An approving voice came from the Jewel as well. The Fourth Generation was strict about money.

*'That's right. Venturing in already costs money, so if the automatons in here get smashed to pieces, income drops... Honestly, just doing normal cargo runs and collection would be more efficient.'*

What the Fourth Generation called "normal" was me using Porter to transport adventurers to their destinations, or collecting them on the way back.

And that actually earned really good money.

Adventurers heading deeper could have their gear hauled—and depending on the situation, ride Porter for an easy trip.

For those returning, they didn't have to carry heavy loads when they were exhausted. Some could even ride back, which made them extremely happy.

Both services cut travel time, which meant we could earn gold just from the round trip.

*(...Though what the Fourth Generation calls "normal" doesn't quite match what I imagine when I think of adventuring.)*

They weren't wrong, necessarily, but it felt pretty far removed from what I pictured as an adventurer.

It was true I'd earned money through Porter, but that was a means, not an end.

The Fifth Generation inside the Jewel chimed in to warn me.

*'...It's not your money, you miser.'*

The Fourth Generation fired back.

*'Earning is important! You can't live without earning!'*

They weren't wrong.

But then the Sixth Generation offered—

*'Money is only valuable when it's spent, isn't it? Hoarding it won't do you any good if you die and can't take it to the afterlife.'*

Even if you had a fortune, it was meaningless if you couldn't use it well.

In that sense, I wanted to become someone who could use money wisely.

The Fourth Generation, though, was quietly skilled at making money.

They could gauge the line adventurers were willing to pay, then negotiate to get discounts. By deliberately backing off, they ultimately still turned a profit.

As I was thinking about all this, a monster appeared in the corridor.

Metal-clad goblins—just as Aria had described—came charging toward us.

Novem, who had been preparing, unleashed—

"Fire Bullet!"

Multiple fireballs shot out and made the monsters flinch. Even through their metal armor, they appeared to have suffered burns.

Aria and I stepped forward.

Aria was carrying a shorter spear than before, with a small shield held in front. She deflected the enemy's attack, disrupted their stance, then drove her spear into the gap in their metal plating.

It was a departure from her old style—no more wide, sweeping swings.

*(Much easier to work with.)*

I'd swapped my mace for a saber. I dodged a goblin's attack by pulling my body to half-step, then sliced through its neck.

Blood gushed from the severed neck as the goblin crumpled to the ground with a metallic clang. Another goblin tried to slip between me and Aria, so I drew my saber with my left hand and cut its head clean off.

"Ah..."

It let out a dopey sound as its head thunked to the floor and blood spurted from the stump.

Blood splattered everywhere.

Fortunately, only Aria and I got dirty.

Aria said:

"...You know, blood makes everything slippery."

She'd gotten remarkably tough.

Facing such a grisly scene and her main complaint was that blood made the floor slippery... She wasn't the sheltered young lady she used to be anymore, and that made me a little sad.

"Sorry about that. Really, I..."

I looked at her with a complicated expression, and Aria tilted her head in puzzlement.

"Why are you making that weird face?"

Once the fight was over, Clara approached and began stripping valuables off the goblins. The tools she needed for that were also stowed on Porter, so Clara only carried a minimal load.

Metal scraps could just be tossed onto Porter's cargo bed.

Aria took up a perimeter watch while Miranda guarded the rear.

I helped Clara and then checked in with Novem.

"Novem, you tired?"

Mages expended not only physical stamina but also mental energy when casting. Controlling mana took a mental toll, which meant fatigue.

If a mage was the core of the party's offense, it was important to always keep tabs on them.

Their condition could change day to day, so apparently a leader needed to communicate regularly with the team.

I didn't think a single spell would exhaust her, but Novem smiled at me.

"I'm quite all right, Lord Lyle."

"Good... then once we finish collecting, we'll move on."

I didn't have Novem help with looting, finished up with just me and Clara, then got everyone moving.

Just like before, I left point to Aria.

*(Since Aria takes up the watch without being asked, I get to talk freely while we move.)*

In the past, I'd relied on Skills and only had a vague sense of my companions' conditions.

That was probably why conversation was so sparse.

*(I can't exactly say I'm bad at talking anymore.)*

I called over to Clara as well.

"Clara, how's Porter handling?"

"It's fine, as long as the movement speed stays moderate... The stairs are tiring, though. Not having to prepare light sources is a help, but still."

She seemed frustrated that she couldn't adjust the lantern brightness herself.

*(That's something to address going forward.)*

Then I spoke to Miranda.

"You're moving really well, Miranda."

At that, Miranda beamed and said:

"Thank you. If that's not a backhanded compliment, I'm genuinely happy."

I let out a dry laugh, confirmed Miranda was doing fine, and finally addressed Poyopoyo.

She was sulking for some reason.

The Second Generation spoke up.

*'This one's an automaton but still a pain in the neck. Sulking, of all things!'*

She was probably dissatisfied about not being useful.

Somehow, she seemed even more expressive than a human.

"Sigh... You can work during our rest break, so just hold tight until then."

When I said that, Poyopoyo pulled out a frying pan and cooking utensils and declared:

"Leave it to me! From cooking during rest time to putting everyone to bed, I'll handle it all perfectly!"

—I wasn't exactly expecting a gourmet feast inside a dungeon.

But Poyopoyo was taking this way too seriously.

"You don't need anything that elaborate..."

As we continued onward, I finished the conversation and turned my attention to our surroundings.

The rest spot we'd chosen was a decent size for an overnight stay.

No monsters in sight, so we set down the goods from Porter and sat on them to eat.

Poyopoyo was energetically preparing soup.

She baked bread and stuffed it with ham and other fillings.

For a dungeon meal, this was extravagant. Normally you'd have strong-flavored soup and whatever bread you'd brought along. People didn't want to haul extra supplies, so they never packed elaborate cooking gear.

But because Poyopoyo had loaded cooking utensils and ingredients onto Porter, a small party could enjoy these little luxuries.

Currently, Miranda was keeping watch.

Novem and Clara had finished eating and were already asleep.

Poyopoyo had prepared Miranda's portion and was waiting with the freshly made plate.

While eating alongside Aria, I said:

"...The count."

"What about it?"

"Coming this far, we only got lost once."

When I said that, Aria rushed to make excuses.

"Ah, that was because I joined up later! And anyway, you remember that? You're such a nitpicky guy."

As Aria got huffy, I said:

"No, that one wrong turn was the only mistake. Compared to a few months ago, everything's so different... Even traveling together, it's been easy to fight alongside you."

At that—

"...Hmph. My apologies, then."

She went back to eating, but she looked a little pleased. We chatted a few more times before Aria went to sleep first.

Since Aria was the one who burned through her nerves the most during travel, I decided to remove her from the rest-watch rotation so she'd be fresh for tomorrow.

Once everyone was quiet, I murmured:

"Completely different from before. Having more people probably helps."

Poyopoyo, who had overheard, said:

"Talking to yourself? How lonely. I'll listen for you. Bring me any troubles you have—I'll turn them into material and tease you mercilessly."

"That's not even remotely comforting."

Then I repositioned myself on a wooden crate and spoke to Poyopoyo. It wasn't so much a request for advice as it was a confirmation.

A confirmation within myself.

"Last time was a disaster. Aria was on the verge of tears, I caused problems for Clara, and with Novem—I tried to micromanage when I should've let her make her own calls... It was all spinning its wheels."

Poyopoyo said:

"You've grown, Chicken Boy. From today on, I'll upgrade you to Chick Boy."

"Hey, I haven't grown at all. What's with 'Chick Boy'?"

I glanced at the three who were sleeping, and then over at Miranda. Right now, I was basically just a backup lookout.

Poyopoyo, apparently finding my gaze suspicious, said:

"Flirting in a place like this... Honestly, men are all the same."

"Don't get the wrong idea. Also, why are you taking off your clothes? If you're sleepy, go to sleep. I'll wake you up later."

"Tch, Chicken Boy after all. That weak-spined attitude even in the face of my alluring charms... Hmph, one day I'll make you cling to me."

"Want me to choke you out? Go to sleep already."

Poyopoyo shook her twintails and protested, "No, no, I want to hear what happens next!"

...I couldn't figure her out. Cute on the outside, but nothing about her demeanor matched.

"Today felt good. There are issues to work through, but basically everyone performed well—just like Clara said."

Poyopoyo nodded in agreement.

"While we were running the Porter business, I watched the other adventurers a lot... and honestly, each of them looks strong individually. They're in a party? Once they form squads, things fall apart fast though."

Right now, everyone was just doing their own jobs.

Party coordination wasn't something you polished overnight. Each person moved and judged differently.

You tested teamwork again and again across multiple party setups until the party finally came together.

"Yeah. I've talked to a few leaders, and they all say instinct matters more than raw ability—like whether you can work well with someone."

Because of the Porter transport work, I'd quickly built up a lot of acquaintances among the adventurers of Aramsass.

Being able to chat on the road and observe how other parties operated had been valuable.

Every party did things differently, but the ones that stuck to fundamentals always seemed to be the strongest.

I'd started the Porter service as a way to learn about operations and logistics, but unexpectedly, I'd made a ton of connections in Aramsass.

Being called "Carried-by-Lyle" by a lot of adventurers was something I laughed off bitterly, but even that was a form of adventurer jealousy.

A cool, respectable nickname would mean you were a hardened adventurer whom people both respected and feared.

I was still too young for that.

Still, being talked about meant the nickname gave people something to chat about, which helped. I was bad at conversation, but having one or two go-to topics like that made socializing much easier.

*(Come to think of it, it's not so bad... even the "carried by" part.)*

I'd heard that some male adventurers resented how I was surrounded by beautiful women who doted on me.

There was also the belief that clearing Floor Forty had been thanks to Damian's doll.

But honestly, that was largely true.

I'd pulled my weight in the boss fight, but everywhere else, Damian's doll had served as a tank and gotten me out of several jams.

I looked at Porter.

"...Porter's a good companion too, isn't it?"

When I murmured that, Poyopoyo—

"He's the love child of me and Chicken Boy, after all. But I want you to give me a real name soon—not a placeholder, a proper one. I'm still furious about losing to Porter. Those mass-produced tin cans rag on me nonstop!"

I cocked my head at Poyopoyo.

"Did they really say that much? You fired back, didn't you? Like 'I'm not like those mass-produced models'?"

"That's why you shouldn't be fooled by someone who looks innocent... They are genuinely foul-mouthed. No comparison to me! I, your angel, Chicken Boy, am the one being bullied here! Protect me more!"

I said:

"I wouldn't say you're being bullied... more like you're making a scene?"

Poyopoyo made a sorrowful face, sank to her knees, and sat on the ground.

She started singing a mournful song—and it was surprisingly good.

*(This one really can do everything, huh... Why did she insist on being a maid, of all things?)*

I couldn't understand what purpose the ancients had in creating Poyopoyo.