*
"It seems this is the point where introductions are needed."
Introductions? There were fourteen of us who would be fighting together from here on out, so I supposed that much was necessary.
"Then I'll give you time for a light round of greetings. Start with the one seated in front. Begin."
The moment I heard that, I figured out my position. One, two, three, four, five, six? I was probably the sixth seat from the front.
Sixth was a decent position for thinking up a proper introduction. Of course, that only applied to the sixth person, so it had nothing to do with Mr. Gregor, who was first in line.
Gregor, instinctively realizing he was first, said with a weary expression, "Why is it always the front row for things like this... I'm already sick of being the one to step up first."
"You're the one leading us... what was it again, the Manager, they said."
Dante asked when he heard a word he didn't know in Gregor's speech.
"Manager?"
"Yeah, so I was very curious what kind of person you were, but..."
Gregor thought for a moment, then clicked his tongue as he realized his words were all over the place.
"Uh... hmm. Tch. Right, making something sound polished is hard."
As if giving up on difficult wording, Gregor finally voiced his honest thoughts without any embellishment.
"I don't know where you sold your head, but everyone's got their own circumstances."
"I'm Gregor. Nice to meet you, Manager."
Just as Gregor was about to finish, Rodion, who was next in line, suddenly cut in and scolded him.
"Greg! What's with the 'sir,' huh? To the person who's about to bring us a whole lot of money!"
Greg?
"Greg...?"
Both Gregor and I were taken aback by the sudden nickname, but Rodion showed no intention of explaining herself and simply kept going.
"Forget 'sir'... Dante! I'll call you by your name. You can call me Rodion too~"
"I believe there's a reason you've become our... hm, Manager."
Apparently Rodion had already guessed Dante came from a high place and was full of thoughts about squeezing money out of him.
"You were definitely some big shot in a Nest, right? Just imagining money pouring in if you show even a little of those old habits... heehee..."
...That was the kind of thing she said.
Before long, Rodion realized she'd dragged things out too long while thinking about money and turned to the next prisoner.
"Oops, look at me. You! You're next!"
The next prisoner was a boy who looked like he'd been raised in a wealthy household, completely out of place in the bus's dreary atmosphere.
"Hello..."
...That's it?
"How dull~ That's all?"
Only after Rodion said that did the boy seem to realize he hadn't even said his name and hurriedly added, "Ah! I'm Sinclair..."
Sinclair. Hearing the name jogged my memory of who he was, more or less. The introduction poster had definitely been half-color, half-black-and-white.
Sinclair, perhaps feeling uneasy at the sight of everyone saying nothing, asked in a trembling voice, "...Do I need to say more? It's my first time at a company..."
...Was this kid really so anxious about failing to introduce himself that he came onto this bus of his own free will?
I didn't know whether Rodion had the same thought, but she seemed to pity the trembling Sinclair and comforted him.
"Well, there'll be plenty of days left ahead of us."
And under Rodion's lead, the introductions continued.
"Then let's have that eccentric friend go next!"
Eccentric... Yi Sang?
"I am Yi Sang."
...No way.
"...That's it?"
"Hm. Yi Sang it is."
...Should I call that distinctive, or just call him insane?
Having apparently said everything he intended to say, Yi Sang kept staring out the window, and while I was looking at him in bewilderment, Ishmael, who had been growing impatient, began to speak.
"Haa... this is frustrating. The first step in social life is greeting people, you know?"
"Please call me Ishmael."
Having finished a textbook introduction, Ishmael thanked Dante and said, "I heard my broken body was restored thanks to you. I look forward to working with you."
After saying that, she bowed politely and returned to her seat.
Then... was it my turn now?
I stood up and said to Dante, "Hm, hello?"
"I'm Saramago. I used to work as a doctor for a while in a Nest."
"I feel like we'll be seeing a lot of each other from now on, so please take care of me... so, um, Mr. Dante? Is that how I should address you?"
"Mm."
After that short greeting, I gave Dante a light bow and went back to my seat.
The next prisoner was the one with the iron club who had rushed out after Gregor in the earlier fight.
He stood up before I had even fully sat down and said, clearly a very impatient man.
"Sorry about that. I'm not exactly cut out for social life."
Was that really something you'd say in front of your superior...?
Ignoring Ishmael's incredulous look from earlier, he went on.
"Heathcliff. I specialized in smashing and breaking things."
"Not because someone told me to, mind you. I just went after anything that got on my nerves."
So he was just a thug, then?
"You'd better watch yourself too."
Right. A guy trying to stage a mutiny during his first introduction to his boss was a thug if nothing else.
"I've got an allergy to people who strut around acting like they're above everyone else."
Dante, who had done nothing to us yet, was probably making an incredulous face... probably. Hard to read a clock head.
The next prisoner was the one just introduced—Heathcliff, right... My memories of the prisoners from the previous world were starting to blur.
Ah, I got sidetracked.
Anyway! The next prisoner, who seemed just a little more short-tempered than the last, was Don Quixote, who introduced herself with bright energy.
"At last, it is this one's turn! I am Don Quixote!"
She seemed to be defined by her small build, a massive spear that looked to be one and a half times her height despite her being a woman, and a boisterous, manly personality.
...It wasn't just boyish. It was so masculine it was a little off-putting.
"A Fixer who shall run toward dreams alongside thee. I ask for thy favor."
Fixer. A word I'd seen in the scraps of memory earlier.
Unexpectedly, the work was exactly what the name suggested. You take requests in the City and solve them.
"A Fixer...? That's definitely a word I knew, but..."
Hearing Dante's question, Don Quixote's eyes sparkled as she said, "A Fixer, you say? I can answer that! They are those who protect the City!"
That's not exactly what a Fixer's purpose is, though...
Or did some Fixer associations actually have that kind of purpose?
Well, whatever. Normally the introductions should have ended around here, but Don Quixote still seemed to have more to say.
"Ah! I do not properly remember the City either! The City is..."
Perhaps guessing that Don Quixote was about to go on for a very long time, Vergilius's cold voice came from the front of the bus.
"I thought I said to keep it brief."
"Ugh..."
Ignoring Don Quixote's short groan, Vergilius continued the introductions.
"I'd prefer not to have to say this twice. Next."
The next turn was...
"I'm called Hong Lu. Let's do well together."
A young man who looked aristocratic at a glance, with a long ponytail that men usually don't wear. Mr. Hong Lu.
...I think I should give up on trying to remember the prisoners I can't recall until I hear their names.
I can't even bring them to mind before I hear the name.
"Wow~ Your hair looks great. Is it some kind of trendy style these days?"
"This isn't..."
"Not really my taste, though."
What kind of rude thing was that?
"...What kind of rude thing was that?"
Heathcliff and I were on the same wavelength.
Of course, unlike me, who only thought it, Heathcliff actually said it out loud, and his grip on the club in his hand tightened as if he were about to swing it...
But when he realized the red gaze from the front was fixed on him, he let out a pained sigh and sat down.
"Ryoshu."
"Yoroshiku."
"...Pfft."
What kind of eccentric person was this? Was "Yoroshiku" some kind of joke based on her own name? Did she make the joke herself and laugh at it herself?
With that question in mind, I looked at the black-haired woman prisoner, Ryoshu, but she soon lost interest in the introductions and only stared at her sword.
I dug through my memories from the previous world for any useful information, but nothing helpful came up.
If anything, the thing that stood out more than my old memories was how she'd fought like a madwoman and laughed during the earlier battle.
...This one's no less insane.
"Meursault. Would you address me as such?"
"You're very polite."
It seemed Dante was already dazed by the parade of lunatics that followed my turn.
"It is nothing special. Merely ordinary conduct."
"I'm a little moved, honestly. Thank you."
...For a moment, I felt sympathy for Dante, who was simply grateful for basic courtesy.
"Yes."
Meursault gave no reaction to Dante's words and simply went back to his seat. This one wasn't normal either, was he?
And then Otis, who was next, carefully sized up Dante standing in front of her before walking forward with her characteristic air of authority.
"I..."
Dante tried to bow under Otis's pressure, but Otis stopped him and said, "It is improper for the Manager to lower his posture first."
"My name is Otis. I would like to apologize for my earlier discourtesy."
Was the discourtesy she meant the part where she referred to Dante as "that pitiful thing writhing around on the ground"?
I could only marvel at Otis's shamelessness in saying something like that and then putting on such a polite front.
"Discourtesy...?"
"Hahaha. My, my. To think your heart would be this broad as well."
"As expected, I knew at a glance that you were the one who would lead us from the very beginning."
...Seriously. Flattering someone with a sly expression while pretending not to remember your own rudeness is only possible with an extraordinary level of shamelessness.
"...Huh? Hm?"
Dante already seemed unable to keep up with Otis's dazzling tongue, but even as his mind went hazy, her silver tongue kept moving without pause.
"Most humans clash with one another to produce noise and friction..."
"But among them, there are a few who gain mutual benefit by clashing."
"Just as a sword needs a strong whetstone to be sharpened."
"I will devote myself to you more than anyone else, Manager. Please use me as you see fit."
"Y-you're reassuring... Thank you."
After hearing all of that, Dante looked completely out of it.
As Dante nodded in a daze and Otis, satisfied, was about to return to her seat, Ishmael's voice came from behind.
"You were calling him pitifully writhing around in the forest just a moment ago, and yet you can so easily let those words slip out of your mouth."
So she remembered that, huh. And after confirming Dante's slightly tilted, confused-looking expression, Otis quickly sat down.
At last, Faust, the final one, opened her mouth.
"I'm last, then. I am Faust."
"A genius you may encounter once in a lifetime."
This one wasn't normal either. How could she say something like that so calmly?
"Hmm..."
"A response that suggests you do not accept it, Dante."
"It is fine. Through experience, you will come to understand it in time."
Apparently Faust's pride was considerable.
"Understand what...?"
"That Faust is a rare genius."
"Just because the observer fails to realize it does not make the fact any less true."
Wasn't that a bit much...?
"I see..."
That was Dante's final answer, sounding utterly drained by Faust's peculiar way of speaking, and the introductions came to an end.
At the right moment, Vergilius stepped in to mediate.
"That concludes the introductions."
Having finished the greeting time, Vergilius looked at Dante and said, "Dante, I'll tell you your duty."
"Duty...? You mean the Manager?"
Dante, predictably interested by Vergilius's words, asked.
"I'm asking whether you mean the Manager."
Right. Vergilius couldn't understand Dante's speech. I'd forgotten that.
After hearing Faust's interpretation, Vergilius finally understood Dante's words and answered the question.
"Correct. Manager Dante. You will be going on a journey through hell with these thirteen prisoners you've just been introduced to."
Did we really have to go to such a hellish, unpleasant place? Of course, I had already signed the contract, so there would be no right of refusal.
...I wasn't the one who moved, though. Couldn't you let me off just once?
"Hell...? Why do I have to go to hell?"
Unlike me, Dante was still free—unbound by the silent law, having not yet signed the contract. In other words, unlike me, he still had a choice.
"He's asking why he has to go to hell."
"Hmm... if I say there's treasure waiting at the end of hell... would that suffice?"
Was going to hell not necessarily a bad thing? I felt a sliver of hope.
"What...? Are you saying I was treasure hunting or something?"
"He truly does not understand at all."
Before long, a small sigh was heard. And to persuade the refusing Dante, Vergilius said, "I wasn't asking for understanding, Dante. Nor was I asking for your opinion."
"If you want to recover your memories and your head, you'll have to listen to me."
Hearing that, Dante seemed to make a reluctant face...
"That's... I do want to recover them, but..."
"You're hesitating."
"Ms. Faust. If Dante keeps refusing, what happens to us? You didn't expect him to refuse, did you?"
Vergilius sounded concerned, but if it was Faust, who was so proud of herself, hadn't she prepared something?
"What are you saying? Faust anticipates everything."
"Dante, once all the missions are complete..."
"You will be able to inscribe your Sin."
"I guarantee it."
At those words, Dante's body stiffened. Was there something to this "Sin" after all?
And the next thing the stiffened Dante did was...
"See? He's nodding."
A nod. What on earth was this "Sin" that could turn Dante's mind around so quickly?
It was information that didn't even remain in my memory.
"Good. We can keep going."
Satisfied with Dante's answer, Mr. Vergilius tilted his head as if something seemed odd.
"But Charon, why haven't we departed yet? Did you doze off?"
Come to think of it, I couldn't hear the bus's engine noise. Had something gone wrong?
"Bus drivers only nap at rest stops, Ver."
An unexpectedly sensible answer came back. So she did have some awareness of being a bus driver.
"There were weird guys loitering in front of Mephi."
Weird guys probably meant attackers. No, rather, it would have been stranger if a bus that looked this expensive didn't attract attackers.
We weren't in a Nest managed by a Wing, and we were driving this expensive-looking bus through backstreets no different from lawless territory.
Of course someone would latch onto it, hoping to make a big score.
And Vergilius scolded Charon for not saying anything when something unusual had happened.
"Charon, I told you. If anything happens to the bus, you're supposed to report it immediately."
At that moment, Dante asked Faust about a word he'd never heard before.
"Mephi? Who's Mephi?"
Mephi... that was definitely a word I'd heard before. What was it again?
"Mephistopheles. The name of this bus, and the name of the engine that drives it."
Ah. It had definitely been in Faust's introduction...
"...And Faust's painstaking masterpiece."
Right, that was it. Faust's invention.
"It could hardly be a more fitting vessel for cruising through hell."
After saying that, Vergilius suddenly asked Dante, "Wouldn't you agree, Dante?"
What was he expecting from someone who'd lost their memory...? Hearing that, Dante apparently couldn't find a proper answer and turned his head toward the window.
And Vergilius seemed to have realized who the attackers were.
"Looks like it's the familiar rats who dwell in the backstreets."
Rats. A general term for the kind of people who survive day by day in the backstreets by killing people and making money off corpses.
Most attackers in a place like this count as rats.
Considering the design of the bus, they were probably rats who'd spotted an expensive-looking vehicle passing through and decided to make a big score.
"This works out nicely, Dante. It's the perfect condition for practicing command."
And through Vergilius's words, the handling of those rats became our responsibility.
Since rats weren't especially stronger than ordinary people, from Vergilius's perspective this was probably ideal for Dante to gain some proper combat experience.
"Dante, the first battle omitted a lot of things."
"We didn't have time to explain properly."
"But if combat were always conducted that way, we'd be butchered every time."
"You'd have to endure meaningless pain in order to keep us alive."
"Pain... to save you? Then that earlier..."
"Yes. Because you 'turned the clock' for us, we're able to live again."
So resurrection worked on that principle? It seemed to be one of the effects of the "contract" Dante had formed through the chain at the beginning.
However, while explaining combat, Vergilius seemed displeased that the conversation had gone off track and said to Faust, "That doesn't seem like the explanation we need right now, Ms. Faust."
After saying that, Vergilius immediately ordered us to disembark.
"Save the small talk for later, you lot. Everyone out."
"...Let us continue the explanation of combat."
As she got off the bus, Faust began explaining combat to Dante.
*
The enemy was right in front of the bus. The more hot-tempered prisoners rushed out the moment they saw them...
"I'll sweep them all away!"
By contrast, the more timid prisoners who hadn't gone out yet stepped forward cautiously after Otis's sharp shout.
"Get out here and take the front line, you slow-witted fools!"
Otis was sweating bullets trying to coordinate the chaos caused by the prisoners who had charged out ahead of time.
"Gregor, over there! You've gone too far in. Pull back a little!"
And Faust, watching them, began explaining to Dante.
"Combat is simple."
Faust hadn't exactly stepped out of the fight; she was mixed into the melee like the others while still explaining things to Dante, and I could only describe that as impressive.
"Certain actions of the prisoners are designated as 'skills.'"
Crack
Meursault crushed the arm of an enemy who had rushed Faust.
"You should remember that when you command a prisoner to use a skill at the desired timing, the prisoner performs the action assigned to that skill."
"Mm."
Clang!
Faust parried an enemy's one-handed sword with her Zwei Hander and continued, "This time, I'm going to explain the details of that. Dante, your clock can roughly tell the 'speed' of enemies and allies."
"I think I kind of sensed that last time too."
Thwack
After blocking all of the enemy's attacks, Faust swung her Zwei Hander horizontally and struck the enemy in the head.
"Hup!"
Ching!
I quickly rushed in to stab the bastard with my spear, but the one beside him blocked for him instead.
Tch.
"Good, this will be easy to explain. All living beings move in order of their speed."
"Clock head! Do your job properly! I can't hit the enemy—agh!"
Crack
Ah, Heathcliff had been hit by the enemy's attack.
"What happens if the speed is the same?"
"You brat! Stop cowering there and go help him already!"
"Y-yes!"
Sinclair, somehow understanding Otis's words, hurried over to Heathcliff's position and blocked the enemy's attack instead.
"Speed is only measured approximately, so if it's the same, there's no clear order."
"And when you use a skill, you'll get the feeling of 'if I use this skill, I think I'll win.' That's also one of that head's abilities."
"Hup!"
Thrust!
The enemy in front of me took Yi Sang's stab and fled in a panic.
"And the power of a skill is usually determined by the prisoners' mental state."
Shhk
"I'll cut you down!"
I could see Ryoshu, with a higher-than-usual level of tension, slicing apart a panicking enemy. She was definitely an ally, but that eerie smile made me not want to get anywhere near her.
"If their mental strength drops too low, panicked prisoners may fail to obey commands, so be careful."
Whoosh!
After saying that, Faust swung her Zwei Hander, but the attack missed.
And soon enough, the bastard seemed to lose all will to fight and turned to flee.
I turned my head to target the next enemy, but...
Was the one who had just dodged Faust's attack and run away the last one?
When I looked around, it seemed all of them had fled except for the one Ryoshu had split in half.
Hah. Fighting the battle and still not getting the enemy killed properly was exhausting in its own way.
The urge to get back on the bus and rest drove me onward.
"That concludes this battle. Let's return to the bus."
Thank goodness. Thinking that, I headed back to the bus first so I could rest as soon as possible.