Miss Hebe Is Fighting Her Way Out of the Lostbelt! Chapter 36

The successive emotional upheavals, coupled with having been drenched in rain for so long, left her on the verge of collapse.

Toyokawa Shoko's consciousness finally sank into darkness. Before she completely lost control of her body, she heard Hebe's voice echo in the depths of her mind.

"Enough. I'll take over."

The rehearsal room door was pushed open. Toyokawa Shoko stood in the doorway, rainwater streaming down from the ends of her hair.

"Xiao Xiang! Thank goodness, you finally came..." A girl hurried toward her, but when she saw Toyokawa Shoko soaked from head to toe, her expectant expression turned to concern. "You're completely drenched. Are you okay?"

As she spoke, she took out a handkerchief and offered it to Toyokawa Shoko.

"Thank you very much."

Toyokawa Shoko spoke with the formal language she rarely used, smiling as she accepted the handkerchief and gently wiped the hair at her temples.

Then, as though she realized that smiling was not quite appropriate in this situation, the corners of her lips slowly fell.

Pale blue-white branches of light stretched down from the clouds, joining heaven and earth.

Toyokawa Shoko's face was instantly illuminated to a deathly white, only to sink back into shadow a moment later.

"Thank you very much." She repeated herself, folding the handkerchief and returning it to the kind girl. "...Sayo Nagasaki."

"Huh?"

Sayo Nagasaki instinctively accepted the handkerchief, only to see Toyokawa Shoko take two steps forward and stop precisely in the center of the rehearsal room.

Of the three girls remaining in the room, one was seated on the floor with a notebook full of lyrics open before her; one stood with her back to the door, facing the window; and the last sat behind the drum set, her gaze filled with uncertainty.

But now, they had all stopped what they were doing and turned their eyes toward Toyokawa Shoko, standing in the center of the room with moisture clinging to her entire body.

Water dripped onto the floor, one drop at a time. Toyokawa Shoko glanced at the wet marks, and the corners of her mouth rose slightly again.

"Oh my... pardon me." Toyokawa Shoko gave a slight bow. "Over this period of time, I have not responded to everyone's messages, nor have I come to rehearsals. It was not because I had other intentions, but due to changes in my family circumstances... yes, yes, well, I truly feel terribly sorry."

She smiled apologetically and leaned forward.

The drummer's back had already pressed against the wall.

Toyokawa Shoko slowly straightened up. The curve of her lips seemed to flatten again, so subtly that it was almost possible to believe it had only been an illusion.

"Your voice has always been lovely. I hope you can keep singing forever—" Toyokawa Shoko nodded to the girl sitting on the floor. "I truly mean that, Takamatsu Tomori."

She turned to the girl clutching the guitar. "Actually, your guitar playing is very good too. If you are always troubled by not knowing how to express your feelings, why not try pouring them into a solo? What do you think, Wakaba Mutsuki?"

At last, Toyokawa Shoko's gaze fell upon the black-haired girl who had been standing against the wall, guarded and wary, ever since she entered.

"Shiina... Rikki." Perhaps because of the rain, Toyokawa Shoko's voice sounded faint and unsteady.

Ignoring Shiina Rikki, who looked ready to bristle, Toyokawa Shoko looked around once more. "I treasure, cherish, and value the time I have spent with all of you, but I may no longer have the chance to perform in a band from now on. No matter what, this is my fault. I hope you can forgive me..."

She turned and walked toward the door. As she passed Sayo Nagasaki, she smiled once more and gave a slight nod.

Toyokawa Shoko said nothing. She gently closed the door and left.

Then, a somewhat ethereal voice rose from beside the window.

"Shoko... wasn't herself." The guitarist tightly hugged her instrument.

Distant thunder rumbled from within the clouds.

"Huh? Don't say something so scary. That was obviously Shoko..." Sayo Nagasaki's voice gradually grew quieter.

She saw the drummer pressed against the wall, wearing an expression of extreme terror that none of them had ever seen before.

"The one who came in just now was not Shoko at all." The drummer spoke in a low voice. "It was a fox demon..."

Lightning suddenly crashed down, turning everyone's faces deathly pale.

They saw the lead singer sitting on the floor, her shoulders trembling violently.

"That really wasn't... Shoko." Takamatsu Tomori murmured.

A tremendous boom came from the clouds, and Sayo Nagasaki instinctively let go.

The handkerchief fell to the floor, yet none of them dared to pick it up again.

Second Dream Entry

For the moment, let us not discuss how Toyokawa Shoko, upon waking up in bed afterward and seeing the messages from her friends, would react.

Hebe, in Blanckug, had finally received a definite time for the countdown to the new Lostbelt.

Before that, however, a new month had already arrived. That meant she could perform Dream Entry into the Wasteland once again.

During her previous dream entry, Hebe had become the "Serpent Who Knows All Roads of the Woodland," and the creatures of the Woodland had bestowed upon her the honored name Path Excavation, which could increase the success rate of rituals.

From Hebe's experiments, the effect of that honored name seemed particularly focused on summoning rituals.

That was where the problem lay. Even if a summoning ritual succeeded, it did not necessarily summon a Wasteland resident. The process was like fishing: the summoning ritual was the rod, while the herbs and ointments consumed during the ritual were bait used to draw in fish.

But if the fish did not bite, then no matter how good a rod Hebe switched to, the result would naturally still be nothing.

Summoning rituals in reality were like fishing, while Secret History Simulator's summoning function was like pulling for cards. One meant coming home empty-handed, and the other also meant coming home empty-handed.

"I feel like someone is targeting me, but I have no proof..." Hebe's face twisted.

Better take a look at the Dream Entry function, whose cooldown had already ended.

Path: Return to Woodland—During your next dream entry, you may choose to begin a new birth from the Woodland.

You cast a sliver of spirituality through the Side Gate of the Wasteland. Following familiar markers, you pass through the roads between dreams. You remember this place: it is a pitch black Woodland, and you descend here once again.

The Woodland is a realm of chaos, whimsy, and irrationality. Here, you forget nearly all knowledge that does not benefit survival, traveling through savage mountain forests and meadows in the form of a young lizard.

You refuse to accept the rule of any Woodland lord and are therefore unable to venture deep into the Woodland. You arrive at the border between the Woodland and the snow mountains, where you settle down.

You believe the young lizard's form to be too weak. After settling down, you constantly train yourself.

The Wheel of Seasons points to February, Scar Father's month. At this time, warriors hone their blades and beat their war drums. Spirits form ranks and march in silence, beginning their war against the Woodland.

You are conscripted into the army of spirits. The commander observes your form, judges you unfit for use, and expels you from the ranks.

You believe yourself insulted. After returning to your cave, you begin even more terrifying training. The Fisher King teaches his people that all achievement requires first giving something up. You put this teaching into practice, dulling your sharp senses and layering armor upon yourself like mountain crags.

The foundation of strength is flesh and blood, and flesh and blood are the most fitting armor. Time and dreams intertwine, while your form stretches within the mountains, aching from growth and shaking the mountains whenever it moves.

The Wheel of Seasons turns without cease. You gradually gain renown on the Woodland's frontier. The Woodland's inhabitants fear your immense strength and call you "Wrath of the Jagged Rocks."

The lizard's form has its limits, but your ambition knows none. Flesh and blood are the domain ruled by the Holy Grail. It teaches all life that the more one devours, the stronger one becomes.

The Wheel of Seasons points to September, Celestial Flint's month. At this time, furnaces burn fiercely, and opportunities for strength and ascent arrive. You begin devouring the rocks and earth veins within dreams, causing frequent earthquakes in the mortal world.

Earthquakes are the gentlest tremors of the earth. They merely remind us that the earth is not dead, only sleeping.

The Wheel of Seasons roars endlessly. Kūi Bull, lord of the Woodland frontier, feels threatened by your immense strength and launches a campaign against you.

Kūi Bulls are mountain creatures with one leg and one horn. They possess sweet yet powerful voices, powerful enough to "split mountains." Sometimes they trample pilgrims, sometimes they heal them, and sometimes they force them to transform into their own kind.

Amid drumbeats that summon courage and fury, you make your argument with sinew and bone, brute strength, and scaled armor. Your reasoning is irrefutable and admits no challenge, so the Kūi Bull can answer only with blood. At the end of the debate, the Kūi Bull falls silent, and you are victorious.

You crown yourself with the former lord's blood. Your sinew and bone grow sturdier like the roots of stone; your scales accumulate in layers like unpolished jade; your brute strength becomes ever more majestic, like pent-up rage; your horns grow increasingly formidable, like bamboo and pine breaking through the soil.

You are granted the honor of frontier lord, bearing the name "Dragon That Shakes Mountains."

The dreams of the Wasteland and the present world intertwine. More and more people learn of your existence. Sorcerers beseech your strength to raise or calm earthquakes, and thus you are also bestowed the byname "Great Quake Master."

Your form grows ever larger. As your strength increases, the earthquakes you cause grow more frequent. To prevent people with ulterior motives from exploiting you, the Great Lord orders people to lure you out of the Wasteland and kill you.

You fall into the Sea of Silence, becoming another remembered name beneath the Duke of Sighs's pen.

Only when spirituality passes through the gate of dreams once more do you recall what you gained in the dream.

Obtained: Wrath of the Jagged Rocks—Emotion is the key that pries open strength. Though the mountain dragon lord has passed away, its teachings remain effective. Calm as towering blue stone, furious as a mountain collapse. Your strength is enhanced, and when your emotions rapidly fluctuate and shift, your strength will increase even more dramatically.

Great Quake Master—Shake mountains with immense strength and wield the authority to disrupt the stable earth. Though the mountain dragon lord has passed away, its crown remains heavy. Your attacks can produce tremors and transmit them through contact.

Dragon That Shakes Mountains—Antaeus could draw strength from the earth to wrestle Heracles, and some say the former was also a giant as mighty as a mountain dragon. Now, so long as you are in contact with the earth, you can continuously heal yourself.

Hebe nearly laughed aloud.

After the Egyptian Lostbelt, all of her attributes had reached an extraordinary level, yet strength alone had shown no improvement at all.

This dream entry had not granted her a road leading elsewhere, but it had successfully filled Hebe's final weakness.

Hebe descended the Grand Spiral Staircase and arrived at the Martial Practice Garden on the left side of the Colonnaded Courtyard. Training dummies stood here, along with training swords left behind by visitors throughout the ages.

Those training swords were arranged in order from lightest to heaviest. Hebe had come here before, but she had only been able to lift some of the lighter ones.

But now, she walked directly to the far right and picked up the heaviest training sword—though calling it a sword was less accurate than calling it an iron block.

"Using one hand is still a little difficult..." Hebe tested its weight. "But with both hands, there won't be a problem."

The iron-block-like greatsword smashed heavily into the ground, then swiftly rose again.

The blade cut an arc through the air before slanting down in another crushing strike.

Hebe gripped the hilt with both hands. Her movements looked quite clumsy, almost less like she was swinging the sword than being dragged along by it, as though she might fall at any moment.

But if someone were standing before her right now, they would never think so. Though the terrifying sword had no edge, it still blocked every possible route of escape. Like a massive boulder collapsing down a narrow mountain slope, it could neither be evaded nor fled from.

This was not a technique Hebe had learned before, but the "memory" left within the weapon by the person who had once used this training sword.

Sobek's Training could draw it out, allowing it to rapidly become one of Hebe's own abilities.

But that was not the most efficient method. The most efficient way was to find a sparring partner with exceptional swordsmanship.

Some Growth

Hebe believed that in a place as vast as Blanckug, there would certainly be no shortage of skilled swordsmen.

The problem was that she could not find a sparring partner she could trust.

During their regular gathering at the tavern, Hebe brought up this request.

"Find me." Mordred walked over carrying a bowl of stew. "By the standards of the Eastern Kingdom, I count as a swordmaster at the very least."

"Let's put aside how good your swordsmanship is..." Hebe scooped up a spoonful of stew. "What exactly is the standard for an 'Eastern Kingdom swordmaster'?"

Mordred wiped her hands on her apron, her expression carrying a trace of nostalgia.

Morgan had told her this knowledge after she came to the present world and regained a body.

"Scar Father practices His path of authority in Albion, while in the Eastern Kingdom, He tests the arts of battle and slaughter. According to one's level of cultivation, there are three ranks: swordsman, swordmaster, and sword saint."

At the swordsman rank, apprentices learned the various sword arts taught by their dojo, cultivated their bodies and minds, and, through long training, brought themselves into harmony with the spirit of their school's founder. In doing so, they comprehended unique techniques known as "secret swords."

If they wished to complete their training and graduate, apprentices had to master at least one secret sword.

This truly was a system Hebe had never encountered before. She realized that the Eastern Kingdom's system also used the term "apprentice." Could this too have developed from the Path of Ascension?

Presis raised a similar question. She had noticed the same thing.

"All systems are inseparable from the Path of Ascension," Mordred answered. "Naturally, the Eastern Kingdom is no exception."

But much like branches growing in different directions from the same seed, the Eastern Kingdom's system began to differ at the swordmaster rank.

The standard for judging a swordmaster was not whether one had gained a mark and advanced to the Daylight rank.

It was whether that person could wield secret swords as naturally as their own limbs, incorporating them into every strike they made.

In other words, as long as one could accomplish that... even at the Dawn rank, one could be counted among the swordmasters, qualified to establish one's own dojo and teach swordsmanship to others.

Beyond that came the sword saint, but it was not Dusk.

If swordmasters could still barely be compared to Daylight, then sword saints had absolutely nothing to do with Dusk.

Morgan had only given Mordred a rough description of this system. In the Fallen Empress's assessment, every Knight of the Round Table could be counted among swordmasters, and if they were fully armored, continuously cutting down swordmasters would not be difficult.

Mordred did not describe sword saints in detail, because in her understanding, sword saints simply did not exist.

The former Knight of the Round Table watched Hebe with concealed anticipation, waiting for the girl before her, so similar to a sage, to extend an invitation.

Hebe saw the eagerness in Xiao Mo's eyes. After thinking for a moment, she stood and invited her. "Xiao Mo, could you temporarily be my sparring partner?"

"It would be my honor, my lady." Mordred gave a deeply gentlemanly bow.

The two of them left the tavern, leaving Presis behind, still holding her spoon and thinking.

Only after a while did Presis belatedly realize, "...Could Xiao Mo be a Daylight-ranked hero?"

Then she immediately realized something even more astonishing.