Honestly, I Don't Know What I Expected: First Meeting

Honestly, I Don't Know What I Expected: First Meeting

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Commissioned by Patreon Special

Word Count: 1624

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Let’s not beat around the bush, there’s only two kinds of people who want to be Adventurers. 

Idiots and idiots with grudges.

The former are what I call fodder. People who join up with some no-name Familia, learn a little bit, and maybe go through one of the Workshop’s I’ve set up with the Guild who’ll all eventually die, but make everyone else’s job easier. They are the nameless, faceless basic unit of this long-term, turn-based strategy game I am playing. I upgrade them so that they’ll be resource efficient, throw them at the problem in droves, and don’t care about their lives in the least. If they live, and become strong, good on them. 

The latter, however, are individuals who I have a vested interest in. They’re not idiots out for gold, power, or prestige, but because they have a chip on their shoulder. A chip that involves working themselves to the bone, never resting, and always throwing themselves at the nearest challenge, so that they can get stronger. Instead of being cheap, disposable units, they are heroes who must be carefully cultivated, invested in, and utilized with extreme prejudice when they can’t get any stronger, in a resource-efficient manner. 

So, while Alf, Landrock, and Deimne pored over the new recruits who were going to shape up into mid-line units that the Familia will need to maintain our status, prop ourselves up, and ensure that we aren’t left behind, I had my eye out for any living, walking weapons of mass destruction. 

But only specific ones.

Established, young adults weren’t in my interest to train. They had a firm mindset, were nearly impossible to train, and just downright pains to manage. Even with my long-term plans, it was easier to start at 0, instead of -100. As I’ve always maintained, to work hard is to lose, therefore I wasn’t interested in them.

Though I’m certain that my various ancestors, parents, and friends would have words with me, perhaps with a few police officers, I was only interested in young, easily-manipulated brats with a very, very deep grudge. 

Thus, though I was already keeping an eye on her, Ainz Wallenstein proved to be exactly what I was waiting for. 

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The first few levels of the Dungeon are piss easy, especially for a magnificent Adventurer as myself. What? What do mean I’m not magnificent? Is it because I’m just Level 2? That I’ve been a Level 2 for over five years? Well, buddy, I’ll have you know a few things: to gain a level, one needs to be in danger, I’m in the Familia that holds the modern record for the lowest depths reached of the Dungeon, therefore I’ve been down there and back, without levelling up.

You know what that means? 

That means, while you risked your life and levelled up against trash like Minotaurs, I haven’t levelled up after fighting wyverns and pseudo-dragons and literal lava demons.

In conclusion, I’m better than you, blah, blah, blah, case closed.

Anyway, as I said before, the first few levels of the Dungeon is just a place to horde for resources. If I want something, or if Loki asks nice (translation: begs), I’ll go to where the horned rabbits are, run a few laps, and pull in a few million Valis an hour, eight hours a night, over the course of a week. A hundred thousand or so of that is just me walking to my prime farming location, where I act like a bug zapper while walking around pulling a wagon with a rotating shovel wheel at the front, that picks up the stones for me and has a frontal nook to hold a book I can peruse at my leisure. 

Still, while I can just trawl around the place like a janitor in the middle of the night cleaning an office, that wasn’t the case for regular Level 1s or 2s.

They tended to have a dying problem.

Naturally, though I wanted another tome to rub into Alf’s face, I was interested in what Wallenstein was going to do.

The seven-year old had gotten some weapons from the Guild a few days ago, according to my contacts. Since she took her job as Supporter/Mule without complaint, I had little reason to think she was doing something uncouth like selling weapons that the Guild provided for her, like a few who manage to sneak in do, before I… correct them. My completely-non-stalkerish methods of observing Ainz, while she attended the Familia’s regular training, made me only see the generic, vengeance-obsessed little girl that the she was. 

Naturally, I was surprised, by the fact that she wasn’t an idiot.

When her weapons from the Familia chipped and broke, as well as her own armor, she stepped back, resupplied herself, took a stamina potion, and went right back to fighting. While Guild-issued armor was cheap, stamina potions weren’t. Given the fact I managed the books alongside Landrock, I knew that our new recruits were given enough Valis to live it up a few days every month, but they’d only be able to buy three of such potions with their weekly allowance.

Surprise, surprise, she was already on her third, and was working hard towards getting the next one down her throat.

Hmmm… note to self: never use that phrase to describe a seven-year-old blonde ever again.

Lolicons are not allowed to exist in my presence. 

Anyway, shame at Japanese otaku aside for corrupting my feeble mind before I even stood a chance, I was at a crossroads.

What do I do with this out-of-curfew Familia member, utilizing Familia resources to get stronger ahead of her peers, at the cost of her own enjoyment? The right thing to do would be to pack up her stuff, pick her up by the scruff of her neck, and drag her back to the Familia to get a stern talking to. However, on the other hand, I could take the blame, take her under my wing, and cultivate her mindset of getting more power through killing and killing vast numbers of monsters, until I had an asset I could chuck at my problems with relatively returns on my invested time.

That, of course, is a trick question.

I didn’t intend to suffer when I didn’t need to, especially for some little girl I’ve just met.

I can benefit twice over by turning her in without mercy, then asking Loki to give her to me to train personally.

I win and Wallenstein loses.

That the latter doesn’t matter really doesn’t have to be said.

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Before me stood a girl morose, chastised, and filled with anger. Loki, understandably, had a few words with her after I brought her back. Then, when I asked to be the one to oversee her chastisement, given my reputation Loki accepted. 

Now, I was in charge of training the child soldier with a grudge against me.

I dropped a dozen knives and a bandoleer at her feet.

“Your swordplay’s an absolute shitshow. Practice on your off time if you want to keep using it, otherwise you’ll be using those. Break or lose any of them and you’re replacing them.” There was an equal measure of surprise and lack of comprehension on her face. I was tempted to call her cute, but she wasn’t my little sister. Even with my loner-based social ability, ergo: nonexistent, I knew that those words should never cross my mind, let alone leave my lips. There was no cuteness to be cared for here. Only potential and lethality mattered. “We’re going to start at Level One. You’re not going back down to where you were, until you’re not worthless.”

I had to give Wallenstein some credit, she was a quick one. 

No questions. No hesitation. No nervousness.

The situation was in her favor, therefore she took it without question.

Still, while I was enticed with the thought of having an unspeaking attack dog, I preferred my attack dogs with the ability to think, reason, and provide useful advice, if possible.

“You will refer to me as Sensei. When I talk to you, whether I am asking you a question or just gave you some information, you will say “Yes, Sensei.”” Calling upon what I remembered  of my nation’s educational system, I established the hierarchy of our relationship. “You think when I ask you to think. You do as I say you do. You learn what I want you to learn. Do you understand, Aiz Wallenstein?”

“Yes, Sensei.” The voice was soft, almost silent, but I heard it. I didn’t believe in volume meaning anything, but I could read between the lines. Even if those lines were just two words. There was no subterfuge in her voice. Actually, there was almost a semblance of relief. I didn’t particularly care how she felt, as long as she did what I told her to. “I understand.”

“Good, then, I’ll be teaching you how to kill.” There was a distinct difference between fighting and killing. I preferred fighting. Winning the battle, eliminating the threat, and gaining long-term or short-term benefits was good enough for me. Retreat, or taking a loss, was acceptable  to me. That wasn’t what I planned for Wallenstein. She didn’t need to think about retreating, or feeling fear, because if she was hit, I’d just heal her. The only thing that would matter is that she stayed whole long enough for me to heal her. If everything goes to plan, if I tell her to fight, she will win. “Come, then. We’re going to the dungeon.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

I needed a sword to reach the end of the Dungeon.

If I’m lucky, it’ll be her.

If I’m unlucky, she’s dead.

I risked nothing.