Chapter 209
Calling it a "tactical retreat" might sound better, but in reality, it was a full-speed escape.
And it was entirely my mistake.
"Haaah! We made it... somehow!!""Liberta! You're alright!?"
Cutting through the frontlines of the monster horde, we somehow managed to make it back to our base.
This could have easily been a total wipe—my greed pushed us too far, and now I'm drowning in regret.
"Hahh... Hahh... I'm almost out of mana...""We made it, but... I'm exhausted.""......""Lady Ingrid, rest for now. Catch your breath first."
Without thinking ahead, we fled to safety, but Madalda is now in complete chaos.
Lady Esmeralda gasping for breath.Nel wiping sweat from her brow.Ingrid, though keeping a calm face, unable to hide her fatigue.
We had just sprinted through hell—a Rainy Devil, a World Monster, had driven every monster in the vicinity straight into the city.
The fact that we got off relatively lightly might sound like consolation, but the real problem is that my decisions led us to this point.
"I can't say the situation is 'fine,' but physically, I'm okay."
Like sweeping up trash with a broom, the Rainy Devil was herding monsters into the city. Its actions were a hair's breadth away from ensnaring one of us in its tentacles and devouring us alive.
I forced a smile in response to Amina's concern, but I wonder—does my face really hide my unease?
"What in the world...?""Just bad luck—we ran into a World Monster."
If I showed fear now, the rest of the party would panic too. But declaring everything "fine" would be irresponsible.
"A World Monster?""A troublesome creature that roams the world."
Chaos erupted everywhere, and by the time we made it here, we were running on fumes. And even now, the monsters keep multiplying.
Retreat. The word flashes through my mind, and I know—that decision wouldn't be wrong.
If we've regrouped with Amina and the others, staying here any longer is beyond dangerous.
I feel guilty toward His Grace the Duke, but we should abandon the carriage and evacuate immediately.
Even the dungeon entrance is swarming with monsters, some forming packs to fend off others. Trying to escape with the carriage now would be suicide.
For now, the golems the spirits are piloting are keeping monsters from entering the dungeon.
Normally, monsters wouldn't try to enter a dungeon where the boss has already been defeated—but with the Rainy Devil driving them, some are desperately trying to slip inside for safety.
The golems are holding them off at the entrance, but if we're unlucky, the Rainy Devil's tentacles might breach inside.
If that happens, lingering here is a death wish. We'll leave as soon as we finish explaining the situation and resting.
"So, right now, outside the dungeon is a living hell.""Ugh..."
I quickly relay what we know—and my own knowledge—to Amina. Her face twists in horror at how dire things are.
Seeing her expression, I realize—we can't take any more risks. No, more accurately, I already made the wrong call and dragged everyone into danger.
I don't think of myself as perfect.
I have desires. Wishes. Even back in Japan—even in the game—I failed over and over.
I know the ideal is to suppress emotions, act with pure logic, and move with machine-like precision. But failing because of my own decisions and putting my comrades in danger? It hits harder than I expected.
Part of me wants to scream I've had enough and just give up. But another part refuses to abandon responsibility for what's happened.
"Fortunately, we have water and supplies. If we lay low here until the Rainy Devil leaves, we should be safe for now. But since the danger isn't zero, abandoning the carriage and fleeing is our best bet.""Can't we defeat it?""Impossible. If anyone tries, they're suicidal."
Amina looks at me like she expects my usual clever solutions, but this time, there's nothing. I cross my arms in an X, signaling helplessness.
The guilt of not just risking my own life but also Amina's gnaws at me.
On the surface, I'm acting normal. But deep down, I want to crumble and apologize over and over.
In the game, failure just meant respawning. I could laugh it off, say "My bad," and try again.
But this isn't a game.
It can't be.
And if I had to pinpoint the cause of this mess? It was impatience. I knew it the moment I faced reality.
"At the very least, we'd need advance warning and specialized gear for even a slim chance. And even then, one party wouldn't cut it—we'd need an entire clan. No way six people can whittle down that health sponge."
Explaining our helplessness only deepens my self-loathing.
World Monsters are broken by design. Solo kills aren't impossible, but they demand absurd time, money, and patience.
Even a full party isn't enough. You'd need an organized group—multiple roles, expanded tactics.
Even in the game, I knew that. That's how I managed to take them down and farm them reliably. But pulling it off with zero casualties? Nearly impossible.
You'd need perfect execution.
Anything less, and mistakes would creep in.
And those mistakes wouldn't just hurt me—they'd hurt others.
Ah, damn it.
The more I face reality, the more my own incompetence stares back at me.
"Even you can't do it, Liberta?""Physically, we lack the damage output—and the manpower to sustain it. Its regeneration outpaces us completely. We're outmatched.""If we were to try, how much force would we need?"
Claudia hands me water, and I gulp it down, feeling it soothe my rain-soaked, sweat-drenched body.
Then I look at her—and realize she isn't blaming me for this.
Endangering the party is a taboo in teamwork.
Ignoring that now might be fine, but eventually, it will lead to a fatal mistake.
This pressure—the kind I never felt in the game—makes me want to quit, even for a second.
To stifle the ugly emotions, I drain the rest of the water in one go. It doesn't soothe my heart, but my dehydrated body appreciates it.
As Claudia's question lingers, my mind races—anything to distract from failure. But the thought stabs at my chest like a needle.
"At minimum, two fully-leveled Class 7 attacker parties—all frontline physical DPS. That's twelve people."
The numbers come instantly, borne from experience. And that's what stings—how easily I recall them.
That same experience is what led to my overconfidence.
But it also lets me analyze my own mistakes coldly.
And with every analysis, something whispers: If you knew all this, why did you fail?
Self-loathing.
Japan and this world—I understood the difference. Yet, remnants of my Japanese instincts made me choose wrong.
I never thought my game knowledge made me invincible. But subconsciously? I still saw myself as stronger.
Had I grown arrogant? The self-mocking question answers itself.
Knowledge lets you dominate. That much was proven.
But in this world, relying on it for split-second decisions? That was my mistake.
I knew the odds were under 1%. It'll be fine, I told myself.
And now, here we are.
I rolled a critical failure.
In the game, that was just a funny story.
Here? It's no laughing matter.
"Plus one idol-tank buffer party like Amina's—eighteen total."
Despite the guilt, my mouth keeps moving.
The basics of fighting large monsters aren't different from standard party composition.
You need attackers, tanks, buffers, healers—the usual roles.
"And then—""Liberta."
Just as I'm about to continue, a soft voice interrupts.
"What is it, Nel?"
Mid-explanation, Nel peers at me with concern, calling my name gently—as if not to unsettle me.
"Are you okay?"
Her words feel like she's seeing right through me.
"Tch—"
Normally, I'd say I'm fine. But this time, I can't.
I can't even ask why she's asking. Instead, it feels like she's telling me—now's the time to apologize.
"I'm sorry. I put everyone in danger."
An abrupt apology. But if I don't say it now, I never will. So I bow my head.
"If I'd just listened to Nel and retreated..."
I stay bowed, drowning in regret.
Then—
"Mhm. If you understand, then I'm okay with it."
Nel's reply is light. Too light for a life-or-death situation.
"Nel?"
I look up, confused. How can she forgive me so easily?
"But—everyone was in real danger!"
Her smile doesn't waver.
"Everyone fails sometimes. And—"
Even in this dire situation, she grins.
"Danger's just part of the job! As long as we're alive, we'll manage!"
Her "just surviving is profit" attitude leaves me stunned.
"That doesn't mean you shouldn't reflect, though."
Her firm follow-up finally makes me laugh—wryly, but genuinely.