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Chapter 6: The Reincarnator's Great Escape
The damp cobblestones of the Nightless City blurred beneath my boots. Breathe. Don't think about the burning in your lungs, just keep those legs churning. One foot in front of the other, faster than the pulse thrumming in my ears. I couldn't stop. If I stopped, I was a dead woman.
How did it come to this? Actually, the answer was tucked into the satchel bouncing against my hip. It was the books. Those damn, beautiful, high-margin books.
It had only been a few minutes since the world turned upside down.
—————
The sun was dipping low, painting the spires of Orario in bruised purples and burnt oranges, but in the Entertainment District, the night was just waking up. Business was, quite frankly, intoxicating. Dealing in erotica featuring Bell Cranel—the "Rabbit Foot" himself—was essentially like finding a glitch in the world's economy. Why would anyone risk their neck in the Dungeon against bloodthirsty monsters when you could print money with a pen and a bit of imagination? Guehehehe—
"Excuse me... do you have a moment?"
"Yes! Welcome to the—!"
I turned around, my face set in a practiced, charming sales grin, only to feel my heart drop into my stomach. Standing there, amidst the neon signs and the scent of cheap perfume, was a Half-Elf who looked like she'd stepped out of a high-society gala. Sharp, elegant features, long ears, and a gaze that could cut through mithril. It was Eina Tulle, the Guild's star receptionist.
She wasn't just a familiar face from the street; she was the star of my Volume 2. Seeing her here, in the heart of the red-light district, was a clash of worlds that shouldn't happen. And the look in her eyes made the reason crystal clear.
"I was informed," she began, her voice low and vibrating with a frequency that made the hair on my arms stand up, "that someone was selling... lewd... unauthorized books using citizens of this city as models without their consent!"
"Ah... well..."
The air around her seemed to distort. I swear, a spectral Hannya mask was manifesting behind her shoulders, teeth bared in a silent snarl. I had a Falna. I had inherited the monstrous, world-shaking talent of Alfia. By all logic, I should have been able to flick a civilian aside. But this? This was a primal, instinctive terror. My soul recognized a "Mother's Wrath" that no level of power could overcome.
Fight? No way. There was only one logical response to a raid by the Guild.
"Of the thirty-six stratagems, fleeing is the best!"
"Hey! Wait!"
I grabbed the day's earnings, ignored the falling stacks of paper, and sprinted. Eina was fast for a civilian, but against the speed of even a Level 1 adventurer, the gap widened instantly. I was halfway to the next block, feeling a surge of relief, when a pink-haired obstacle stepped into the light.
"Hold it right there!"
"Misha, nice!" Eina shouted from behind.
It was Misha Flott, Eina's colleague. She stood with her arms wide, effectively sealing the narrow alleyway. Behind me, the Hannya-possessed receptionist was closing in with a terrifying, rhythmic thud of boots. I was trapped in a pincer move.
But they were forgetting one thing. I wasn't just an artist; I was a fan.
"Wait! No way!? They aren't slowing down!" Misha squealed.
I charged at her full tilt. At the last possible microsecond, I shortened my stride, my weight shifting in a jagged, violent rhythm. My body blurred, casting a visual afterimage that made me seem to flicker out of existence. I slipped through the gap in her arms like a wisp of smoke passing through a keyhole.
This was the forbidden art of the run.
[Devil Bat Ghost]
"—Wh-What!? They disappeared!?"
"Misha, you idiot! They're behind you!"
I didn't stick around for the post-game analysis. I needed to vanish. But as I rounded a corner into the next district, my intuition—that sharp, agonizing legacy of Alfia—screamed a warning.
"Whoa—!?"
Thwip.
A heavy, weighted net slammed into the spot where I'd been standing a second ago. I looked up. Perched on the clay tiles of a nearby roof was a figure draped in a hood. Even without the signature oversized backpack, I knew those eyes. It was Liliruca Arde.
"You're... with Mr. Cranel!?" Eina panted, catching up to the scene.
"It seems we all have a vested interest in this 'author' today," Lili replied, her voice eerily calm.
She hooked a line and rappelled down with the grim efficiency of a commando. She was decked out in combat cloth, gadgets and tools strapped to every available inch of her small frame. This wasn't a girl looking for a conversation; this was a Supporter on a warpath.
"Lili... you're wearing battle gear in the city?" I muttered, my eye twitching.
"Lili is very, very serious about this," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Understand that".
I had to get out. Now. Eina was a terrifying civilian, but Lili was a Level 2 adventurer. In this world's hierarchy, she was my superior.
I had to rely on my secret history. When I first arrived, I'd tried the "Metal Gear Solid" approach to the Dungeon—sneaking through the Middle Floors to loot rare items like Cadmus spring water without fighting. It had worked until the Hellhounds caught my scent. The memory of their burning breath and the relentless, predatory hunger in their eyes still gave me nightmares. I'd barely escaped a "Pass Parade" by the skin of my teeth.
That trauma had manifested into a specific, specialized power.
[Skill Acquired: Escape Hermit]
The effect was simple: an astronomical, reality-defying boost to Agility and Stamina, but only when running away.
"""SO FAST!!!"""
I kicked off a stone wall, defying gravity as I leaped from building to building. My legs felt like they'd been replaced by pistons. Movements that should have shattered my ankles felt as light as a feather. I was a Level 1, but with this skill active, I was outstripping Level 2s and 3s with ease. I glanced back to see the three of them—Lili in the lead—shrinking into tiny, angry dots.
I ducked into a side street, leaning against a wall to catch my breath. "Phew... I think I'm—ah".
"Ah!"
Standing there was a man who defined the word "average". Raul Nord. High-ranking Loki Familia member, yet somehow perpetually a mob character. I didn't care about his status; I just saw the Level 4 emblem on his gear.
"H-Hold on, please!"
He lunged for me. Even with my skill, a Level 4 was a different beast entirely. He was a veteran of the deep floors, and he was gaining. Fast.
Think. Think!
We were in the Entertainment District. This place had a specific gravity. I spotted a "Gentleman's Club" manned by a particularly busty Cat-person. I dived straight through the front door.
Raul, bless his innocent heart, turned a shade of red that matched a healing potion. Before he could process the "hospitality" of the Cat-person at the door, I was already out the second-story window and three alleys away.
"Hah... hah... a Level 4 is too much..."
I was drained. My stamina bar was flashing red. I just wanted to go home and update my stats. But then, the air around me died. It didn't just get cold; it became stagnant, like the air in a tomb.
"Grey hair, black clothing, a woman of mature years... Are you the evil entity who has been creating those vile books about Bell?"
I spun around. There she was. The Gale. Ryuu Lion. The model I'd spent the most time on, making sure every line of her wedding dress was perfect.
"Eh? No... uh... you must have the wrong person...?"
Her face was masked, but her killing intent was a physical weight. She didn't buy the "wrong person" act for a second. Her fist clenched, the leather of her gloves creaking.
"Those... those shameless books! How dare you! And putting those disgusting, brazen lines into my mouth!"
(I am so dead. I am actually going to be erased from existence.)
She didn't even use her usual catchphrases. She was past words. While she was momentarily paralyzed by her own shame at the memory of the book's contents, I bolted.
"—I won't let you escape!!!"
She lived up to her name. A green blur, she was on me in seconds. I was screaming as I pushed my Agility to the absolute breaking point.
"I can't keep this up! If I don't use it, I'm dead!"
I had a trump card. Parallel chanting. A high-level technique I'd mastered only because Alfia's talent was basically a cheat code.
(Go beyond! Plus Ultra!)
"[Fall, my soul. Drape a veil over my minuscule self. The tree in the forest, the person in the crowd. Cloak my tiny, rat-like form.]"
I was chanting while sprinting, my breath perfectly timed between syllables. Even Ryuu looked stunned. A Level 1 performing a parallel chant while outrunning a Level 4? It was a miracle of talent.
"[Fairy's Petty Prank.]"
The magic flared.
"—[Fairy Wicked]!"
A blinding, iridescent light erupted. When it cleared, the street wasn't empty anymore. It was packed. Hundreds of people—exact duplicates of the crowd—filled the alleyway.
"An illusion spell," Ryuu hissed, looking at the shimmering decoys.
By the time she realized which "person" was real and which was a phantom, I had already slipped into the sewers.
—————
"Hah... hah... I made it".
I climbed out of a manhole blocks away from the heat. My magic, [Fairy Wicked], was an illusionist's dream. Since it was my spell, I could see through the phantoms perfectly. Ryuu was gone. The Guild was gone.
I should have felt terrified. I'd just been hunted by the city's elite. But the adrenaline was a hell of a drug.
"Well... the Guild is after me, the Loki Familia wants my head, and the Gale wants to kill me. I guess I might as well go all in!"
When I got home, my Goddess just laughed. "Why not?" she'd said, leaning back with a flask of wine. "Tomorrow isn't promised to anyone. Live for the 'now' that makes you rich".
I picked up my pen. My inspiration was screaming.
"Next... the Fox-girl and the Amazons. Oh, and definitely a Volume 2 for the tavern cat".
A few days later, a fresh batch of "Bell Cranel Erotica" hit the streets. The hunt was on, but so was the profit.
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