Staying in formation was crucial not only for effective attacking but also for defense. The basic formation that allowed each fighter category to shine was tanks at the front to keep the monsters away from the rest, spellcasters behind them, and healers at the back. That way, the tanks could focus on holding back the enemies, the attackers on dealing damage, and the healers on casting heals on whoever needed them. It was a sustainable strategy.
But what if a party’s healer ran away midbattle? The tanks wouldn’t be able to keep tanking without getting healed, and if they didn’t notice that the healer wasn’t there anymore, they might even die. And without the tanks keeping the aggro on them, the monsters would attack the glass-cannon casters, killing them easily. Having a single person run away could have a domino effect, leading to a wipeout.
The eighteen players whom Amakusa was talking about had been effectively killed by their allies.
“We’ve just been in a pretty pickle, and as far as we know, there might be a whole jar of them waiting up ahead. Monsters insanely stronger than us. Now, imagine some of our team run out of courage and leg it. What’s gonna happen next?”
Misaki didn’t need to answer. It was obvious that in such a situation, the remaining players would get slaughtered.
She watched the Crest players talking with the four Aegis members. Two of the latter stormed off in indignation, leaving only two recruits.
“I’m happy even with just a third of that group passing. Those two had been through that battle; they didn’t run away. They’re hella strong.” Amakusa let out a little chuckle. “I don’t subscribe to Wataru’s policy of ‘let’s give it a go and rethink our strategy if people die,’ you know?”
The sad image of Wataru walking away popped up in Misaki’s head.
“I will never get over having people die because of my decisions. It’s not something you should allow yourself to become desensitized to. I will never forget the faces of those who have lost their lives because of me,” he’d told her then.
She would never forget how anguished he looked, biting his lip to fight back tears.
Does he seriously think Wataru is so reckless? This man has no idea how much thought Wataru was putting into leading our guild.
If Amakusa noticed how incensed Misaki was, he didn’t let it show.
“And you, Misaki—you use yourself strategically, like a pawn. In a situation where an enemy will die in one hit but you may also die in one hit, you choose to attack without hesitation. You’re going to be a terrific asset—”
Misaki didn’t let him finish, unable to hide her outrage any longer.
“There may be some logic to what you’re saying, but it would be truly frightening to have to rely in battle on people who think nothing of deceiving their allies.”
The Aegis members had probably heard her. Everyone was watching Misaki and Amakusa.
“It’s easy to reject people, isn’t it?” said Misaki. “I’m sure your team, populated only with the choicest fighters, is very strong. But unlike you, Wataru didn’t reject the weak. He extended a helping hand both to those who were courageous and those who weren’t. He was fighting for all of us. I will not allow you to disrespect him.”
Her seething rage shut Amakusa up.
“I’m not joining your team. Good-bye,” she spat before turning on her heel and leaving.
Amakusa watched her go.
“Got turned down, huh?” asked the Crest member who’d been briefing the two remaining Aegis players.
Amakusa looked at him and then gazed at Misaki in the distance again. “You can’t survive on idealism alone,” he muttered sadly.
He and his companions went into the building.
Inside the dimly lit, steel-walled tavern, a man was getting drunk. He was clearly worn out, but he kept refilling his glass. The double door swung open with a creak, letting in a sliver of light from the outside. The man didn’t turn to look at the newcomer.
“So that’s where you were…,” Misaki said softly.
“Whatcha want?” asked Makoto, who looked haggard.
“A drink,” she replied, forcing a smile.
To Makoto’s surprise, she snatched his bottle and poured the liquid into her own glass.
“Hey, now! You’re underage!” he protested.
Misaki ignored him and downed the drink. She set the empty glass back down with a loud clunk, and for a few moments, they were both silent, until Misaki spoke again, getting the words out with effort.
“I just… My mind’s a mess right now.”
Tears flowed from her puffy eyes.
“I guess it’s okay for you to drink in a game,” Makoto said, pretending not to notice she was crying.
He poured her another drink and added, “I heard about Wataru leaving the guild.”
“…He’d been carrying too much on his shoulders. It’s going to be difficult for Alba and Flamme, but it’s probably for the best.”
“Yeah.”
They drank together, talking a little in between sips. After some time, the door opened again. Byakuren walked in and took a seat opposite Misaki. She poured herself a glass in silence. She wasn’t there to celebrate stopping the invasion.
“So the guys who went to investigate in Calloah got back with a report…,” Makoto began. “According to which, after the Liberator’s killings, Barbara’s party went to the monastery to look for mementos of the victims…and they never came back.”
Makoto’s hands were shaking.
“A raid team of thirty people went to that monastery. Twenty-nine died, and one’s missing. No witnesses. How’s that make any sense?! Byakuren, your friends were there! The branch boss was there!”
Byakuren pressed her lips together. Misaki stared darkly into her glass.
“And you know what really gets me?” Makoto continued. “They’re treating Kettle, who’s gone missing, as a suspect! Just because she was the only one to survive. Kettle, who doesn’t have an ounce of cruelty in her…!”
The night after he found out Barbara’s party was dead, Makoto had tried to leave the town by himself. He’d gotten into a scuffle with the well-meaning players who stopped him and had been put on sort of a house arrest.
When he was notified of the investigation team’s findings an hour earlier, he’d desperately wanted to join anyone going back to Calloah, but he was the only one. He’d been in the tavern drinking ever since.