Episode 10 — Absolute Solution 3

The Professor's judgment was swift.

"Cuticle! Shut the door!"

"Wha— ah! Got it!"

Without even confirming the sound of the door slamming shut, the Professor sprinted up to the third floor. He raced onto the third-floor balcony connected to one side of the hallway and immediately reached for the sniper rifle permanently mounted there.

Sure enough.

Users were gathering, milling around the perimeter of the barbed-wire fence surrounding the Professor's estate.

"Damn it! Of all places, she fled here!"

"What is this place? Should we just go in?"

"You idiot! Stop! Everyone hold position!"

A veteran user, immediately recognizing what the estate was, broke out in a cold sweat and called out to stop the others.

Calling this estate a fortress would be an understatement — it was a hazard zone in every sense. Even the Overlords had once launched a massive assault force against it, only to retreat after suffering catastrophic casualties.

"This is that Professor's estate! Do not cross that fence, and do not go in without thinking!"

"C'mon, he's just some mercenary, right? We've got the numbers here—"

"You moron! The Overlords said the exact same thing and spent three whole months unable to set foot in that house, just piling up corpses before they gave up and ran!"

"!!"

Shutting down the reckless rookie, the veteran handed off all his weapons to a support-role user, gearing down.

"I'll go alone — everyone else wait here. Anyone who tries something stupid and gets me killed will answer for it with their own life."

"Y-yessir!"

Father Masquerade's officer steeled his resolve and started up the winding path. In the distance, on the estate's balcony, he could make out a familiar black figure — the near-singular presence on this server who'd maintained firm neutrality as a freelance mercenary for years.

Judging he'd closed the distance enough, the officer called out to the man watching him from the balcony, rifle in hand.

"Hey! No intention of fighting here! I'd like to talk on the ground floor, if that's all right!"

"........."

The Professor scanned the surroundings for a moment before lowering his gun and disappearing back into the house.

The officer swallowed hard, watching the front door slowly swing open. The first thing he checked for was any sign of Sister Grave. He scanned left and right the moment he stepped inside, but found no trace of her, and gritted his teeth as he sat down on the parlor sofa.

Once the Professor came down from upstairs and sat across from him, the officer got straight to the point.

"Has Sister Grave come here, by any chance?"

"........."

No answer. Was he hiding it? Or had she genuinely never made it here?

"Professor. I'm asking you honestly to answer truthfully."

"...Why would you come looking for her whereabouts from me, of all people?"

He tilted his head, feigning total ignorance. Suspicious, the officer pressed further.

"We tracked her fleeing in this direction while pursuing her. If you've secured her, custody would need to be—"

The Professor toyed with his helmet, answering in a somewhat drawn-out tone.

"So, to summarize what you're saying — Sister Grave, armed, fled here while being pursued by you."

"Th-that's right. So? Have you noticed anything unusual around the estate?"

The Professor let out a short chuckle and shook his head.

"Have you forgotten, by any chance, the rules for entering this property?"

"...?!"

"If she came running in here fully armed — what do you suppose would have happened first?"

The officer, apparently realizing his mistake, glared out the window toward the forest. If she'd entered armed, the automated defense systems hidden in those woods would have opened concentrated fire on her immediately. Which meant—

"M-my apologies. Truly sorry about that."

He shot to his feet, bowed at the waist, and hurried out of the house at a near-run. If she'd been caught by the automated systems, she'd almost certainly respawn back at her respawn point — an inn in Mary's Children's city.

Watching the officer leave the estate, the Professor quietly headed up to the second floor. He'd originally assigned Shadow a room on the third floor, but that had bothered him — too close to his own room, also on the third floor — so he'd since moved her down to the second.

Knocking on Shadow's door and stepping inside—

"Professor. How'd it go?"

"He was dumber than I expected. Just left."

"Phew."

Cuticle, holding bandages and medicine, let out a relieved breath. On Shadow's bed, instead of Shadow herself, lay Sister Grave, wrapped in bandages across various parts of her body, dressed in a patient's gown.

"Cuticle. She's going to be all right now, right?"

"The worst of it's passed."

Shadow watched from the side, looking worried. The Professor sighed and shook his head.

He'd only sent the officer away because Shadow and Cuticle had pressed him into it, but Masquerade would figure out Sister Grave was here soon enough. If he let this continue, protecting her would end up shattering the one thing the Professor valued as much as his own life — mechanical neutrality.

There was nothing for it now but to at least treat her wounds. But if the Masquerade officer came back around, he intended to hand her over. Cuticle, of course, had a vague sense of exactly what the Professor was thinking.

Once treatment was finished and Shadow had been left to watch over her, Cuticle spoke to the Professor in a low voice as they stepped out.

"Professor. So she's really—"

"...Not up for discussion. I won't let one of the most critical rules of this estate collapse."

"........."

Mechanical, almost excessive neutrality. That was the reason the Professor — despite accepting jobs from every faction, shooting at every faction, running sabotage jobs against every faction — had never once been marked as a target for extermination by any faction so far. Sure, there was a bounty on his head, but no faction had ever actively pursued it. If this incident broke that neutrality, though, Crimson Hood wouldn't sit still for it.

"Isn't there really no other way?"

"There's no room for that kind of sentimental judgment in this estate. If you don't like it, feel free to leave. Better yet, take her with you when you go."

"...!"

Tossing that out casually, the Professor turned and headed back upstairs. Cuticle had heard this line more than a few times by now, but it still stung like a nail through the chest every time.

Cuticle's eyes sharpened. He wasn't about to give up that easily, though. There had to be a way — hadn't he always found some way around the Professor's rigid policies before, getting exactly what he wanted?

After thinking it over for a moment, Cuticle opened the door and headed to the two women — determined to find a way to protect Sister Grave without breaking the Professor's mechanical neutrality.

Two days later, Masquerade's officer returned. His expression was harder than the Professor had ever seen it.

"Professor... I believe you owe me an explanation."

"........."

"Depending on your answer, Father Masquerade may end up hostile to you. Answer carefully."

Despite the pressure, the Professor merely fiddled with his visor, giving nothing away.

"Professor! Where have you hidden Sister Grave! Answer me now!"

"...Not particularly. I haven't hidden her."

"Do you think this is a moment for wordplay?"

"........."

Finally unable to hold back, the officer shot to his feet, turning toward the stairs leading upstairs—

"On the day you came here, I found nothing."

"What?"

"Just yesterday, before dawn, I found her on the verge of death while maintaining the forest's automated defense systems."

"...!"

Not quite the answer he'd expected, but at least confirmation that she was here.

"That's good to hear. Please, would you hand over her custody? I'll make sure the compensation is more than generous, so don't worry — just hand her over."

Satisfied, he even brought up the payment, giving the Professor a legitimate reason to comply. Given the Professor's policy of mechanical neutrality, there was no way he'd refuse this proposal.

"So, where is she? Second floor? Third?"

"...I can't hand her over."

"...?!"

The officer's eyebrows twitched at the unexpected answer.

"Professor...? What did you just—"

"Handing over Sister Grave's custody is not something I'm able to do. I don't have the authority."

"Authority? Authority, you say?! What kind of sophistry is this?!"

Without a word, the Professor rose from his seat and pointed a finger down at the floor of the estate.

"As of yesterday before dawn, Sister Grave has been formally hired by this estate — or, more precisely, by the freelance mercenary team I've formed."

"What?! Wait — then as its owner, your own authority should be enough to—!"

"Unfortunately, having formed it doesn't quite work that way. Strictly speaking, each mercenary here operates in an independent business relationship."

"Ugh—!"

Grinding his teeth, the officer glared at the Professor's helmet.

"Professor! Do you understand the consequences of what you're saying?!"

"...And do you understand what it means to make an enemy of my team, in this current situation?"

"?!"

At the Professor's response, the officer faltered for a moment. Knowing the Professor's personality, there was no way he'd gathered mercenaries of mediocre skill — he'd almost certainly assembled top-tier professionals rivaling himself. If there were five or more people of that caliber, they could wipe out Father Masquerade in a matter of days.

"Y-you bastard! Even against Crimson Hood, you'd dare—!"

The officer, gritting his teeth, invoked Crimson Hood — Masquerade's parent faction — trying to apply pressure, but—

"If your side intends to violate my mechanical neutrality... I suppose I'll have to give you the same treatment the Overlords received."

"What?!"

The Professor formed a ring with his thumb and index finger, chuckling.

"The 'Open Season,' as it's known. Don't tell me you don't remember what happened to the Overlords..."

"You... you underhanded—!"

Open Season. A discount event, so to speak, declared by the Professor — well known among mercenaries as something of a trendsetter — targeting every contract against a specific faction. For the duration of the event, the Professor's fees for jobs against that faction dropped from his own premium rate down to standard mercenary pricing. And since it was heavily advertised across the media, other freelance mercenaries and PK specialists would flock in as well, treating attacks on the target faction as something of a fad.

The result: the Overlords, once the largest faction on this conflict-zone server, had been reduced almost overnight to barely holding onto major-faction status. In the aftermath, they'd grown so wary of the Professor that they'd desperately relocated their territory as far from his estate as possible in the next official-match season.

"Business has been slow enough thanks to official-match season, honestly... a little cheap, high-volume work sounds like a nice change of pace."

"Grrrgh...!"

Finally, the officer abandoned his attempt to head upstairs and turned toward the door.

"I'll remember this—!"

"By all means. A shame I couldn't give you the result you wanted."

"Grr—!"

Gritting his teeth at the Professor's utterly composed, mockingly polite send-off, the officer had no choice but to storm out through the door.

A soft voice soon called down from the top of the stairs.

"...He's gone?"

"...Yeah."

—To be continued—