This Isn’t an E*otic Game?

Mayor Lagot reacted quickly.
“Move!! Even shaving a few seconds off the portal’s opening time matters!”

Throwing away every heavy object—guns, packs, anything he carried—Mayor Lagot sprinted toward us.
So did the other guild leaders.
And so did Captain Jerome.

Captain Jerome lifted me up, while the others hoisted up Old Ban.
“Don’t you dare die!! You old bastard!! I won’t forgive you if you die!!”
Old Ban seemed too drained to even respond.

His body, collapsing under the weight of excessive divine authority, convulsed as he vomited blood.
The expedition began to sprint like mad.
[No!! Ponemkin!! You bastard!!]
“You fucking—!!”

The screams of Valram and Lucifer echoed out.
But they were too late.
Abandoning every weapon and burden, the expedition focused on nothing but running, completely insane with desperation—and crossed through the portal before any of their spells could land.

And in the instant the entire expedition passed through the portal—
Ponemkin, as if he'd been waiting, shut it tight.
The surface.

It wasn’t the air of the Grand Labyrinth anymore, but the cold, biting air of the familiar surface brushing against our skin.
But there was no time to feel relief at having survived.
“Doctor!! Where’s a doctor?!”

Priest Mathieu shouted at the top of his lungs.
Old Ban vomited blood again.
His elderly body was never meant to bear such divine might.

At this rate, he really might die.
“I’ll...”
[You’ll fucking drop dead if you try to use your powers again, you idiot Amayel!!]

[I do not permit it. You’ve already gone far beyond your limits. Further use of divine power could truly kill you.]
I let my hand fall limply.
My body wasn’t in normal condition either.

Forget divine power—just trying to summon the faintest bit of holy light made me feel like my flesh would rip apart.
I was useless.
I couldn’t save Ban.
“Doctor!! Medic!! Someone, please!! Come o—...”

Priest Mathieu, mid-shout, suddenly fell silent.
So did the rest of us.
The central plaza of the Labyrinth City, Labyrinthos.

Normally, it should’ve been packed with people, hunters swarming to and fro.
But now, not a soul in sight. Utter silence.
Even before we could register the uncanny unease of such emptiness—

A massive explosion thundered from the east.
And only then—
Were we able to pay attention to our surroundings.

The plaza was empty of people.
But an enormous number of spent bullet casings were scattered across the ground.
Here and there, streaks of human blood stained the stone.

And...
Something else, yellow and mucous-like—deeply repulsive to the eye.
“Gunfire.”

Priest Mathieu’s voice trembled as he stared toward the source of the blast.
“It’s gunfire.”
Quieter than the explosion—too quiet to catch easily.

But if you listened closely—
It sounded like rain.
A massive volume of bullets tearing through the air.

“If it’s the East Gate, isn’t that where we came in?”
I spoke to Captain Jerome, my voice shaking.
Where we came in.

The entrance to Labyrinth City, Labyrinthos.
“...Did someone invade?”
In other words, the fact that we could hear gunfire and explosions from that direction meant someone was trying to push into the city.

Even before my words ended—
A plume of red smoke shot high into the sky from the east.
Priest Mathieu, the hunter guild leaders, and Mayor Lagot rose to their feet, supporting Ban.

“We need to evacuate.”
Their faces were deathly pale.
“Labyrinthos is under attack from the outside.”

Another blast.
A sound like something massive collapsing followed.
It sounded like—

The city walls had been breached.
 
****

Eastern Gate of Labyrinthos.
John stood up, brushing off his hands after finishing repairs on the heavy machine gun mounted on the observation post.
The hunters warming themselves with coffee on the post whistled as they watched him.

“This bastard’s a natural, seriously. From heavy MGs to pistols, there’s nothing he can’t fix.”
“It’s not that big a deal.”
John wiped off the grease from his hands and stood.

Night.
The nights in Labyrinthos were truly beautiful.
Stars looked like they might fall from the sky at any moment.

John stared wordlessly up at the sky for a while, then descended the guard post.
“Old Ban’ll come back, right?”
His friend tossed out the question casually, and John froze mid-step.

“He will. He definitely will.”
“Yeah. That old man’s not ordinary. Ponemkin, the God of Courage, huh. Who would've thought he was real? If you end up a descendant of the Hero line, don’t forget us. Let’s use your name as an excuse to head down to the Empire.”
At the joke, John just waved a hand and walked off the post.

Descendant of Hero Karim.
He hated the phrase.
Just hearing it made his blood boil.

His grandfather.
His father, his mother.
All of them, as if bewitched by that single word, had thrown themselves into the Labyrinth and never returned.

“What the hell even is a ‘Hero’?”
John hated Heroes.
He despised them.

He loathed that word that had taken away every one of his loved ones.
He wished his grandfather would fulfill his dream.
But even if he did—if Ponemkin returned to the surface again—John had no intention of ever tying himself to the Hero Order.

He planned to live and die a gunsmith.
Ponemkin, Heroes—he wasn’t even going to look that way.
“Time to go.”

He made up his mind.
With his skills, he could leave this city and start a new life elsewhere.
Whether his grandfather succeeded or not.

He didn’t want to stay here any longer.
Until now, he hadn’t had the luxury to leave, busy taking care of a limbless old man. But now, he was finally off to chase what he truly wanted.
So now, he too was free.

And he knew exactly who could grant him salvation.
“Lady Cecilia. You have a visitor.”
“Let them in.”

Cecilia.
A genius affiliated with Karma Company.
Daughter of a corporate titan who pulled the strings of the Empire. If he could win her favor, he might be able to make a living as a gunsmith in the Empire.

“Ah, John... was it? What brings you here?”
She was seated, still frantically handling paperwork as John swallowed hard and looked at her.
“Once the Saint returns... would you be willing to take me with you down to the Empire?”

Cecilia tilted her head slightly.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t want to stay in Labyrinthos any longer. I want to go to the Empire and work as a gunsmith.”

“With your skills, you’d succeed anywhere in the Empire. But John—if the Saint has returned, then that likely means Lord Ponemkin was retrieved. Which would make you a descendant of the Hero line. You wouldn’t need to work as a gunsmith.”
“I don’t care if my grandfather succeeds or not. I don’t want anything to do with Heroes. I hate them.”
Cecilia removed her glasses and put down her pen.

“Having a Hero’s descendant reappear in this world would be far more valuable to the Empire than just another gunsmith. Are you sure you won’t regret it?”
John gave a bitter smile.
“Our family’s not a Hero’s bloodline. That much is obvious. No blue eyes like Hero Karim. No divine power. No blessings. It’s all a delusion, if you ask me.”

“After 300 years of relentless pursuit, that’s no longer a delusion.”
“It’s a foregone conclusion. There’s no way we’re descended from Heroes. My grandfather’ll probably come back, disappointed after Ponemkin tells him the truth. It’s time for him to give up, too. How long is he going to keep chasing that fantasy? I want to go to the Empire and succeed.”
Cecilia stared at him for a moment in silence.

“I’ll do as you ask. For a gunsmith of your caliber, Karma Company has no reason to refuse. But John—just know this.”
“......”
“What your family has done all this time is more noble than anything. Even when no one believed in you, you didn’t abandon your faith—and in the end, you carved a path all the way to the seventh floor of the Labyrinth. I don’t believe Heroes are born. Heroes are made.”

John said nothing.
Cecilia looked at the complicated emotions on his face for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“Whether the expedition succeeds or fails… I’ll go with you to the Empire. Do whatever you want there.”

John gave a slight bow of his head.
“Thank you.”
“It would be good if the Imperial Army were armed with your guns, too. From heavy machine guns to pistols… I hear you made most of them? Especially that mass-issued semi-automatic pistol.”

John’s cheeks flushed with slight embarrassment.
“Yes. That one’s mine. It operates on a short recoil system and uses a cam-lock mechanism to close the chamber. Aside from that, I’m also working on developing a gas-operated rifle with automatic reloading.”
“Impressive. Start packing your things in advance. The moment the Saint returns, you’ll be leaving with us—”

Cecilia’s words were cut off.
John’s gaze shifted outside.
“Ah…”

The sound of a bell.
An ominous bell rang out across Labyrinthos.
“What is that sound? John?”

Cecilia stood up in alarm, but John quickly waved his hand.
“You need to evacuate. The enemy has invaded Labyrinthos.”
“The enemy? Who in the world would attack Labyrinthos—?”

“Lady Cecilia!”
The door burst open, and one of the Gold Company guards charged in, breathless.
“You must evacuate! We’re under attack!”

“Who?! Who is attacking us?!”
“Melting monsters! They—!”
The sentence never finished.

Something burst through the ceiling of the town hall where Cecilia worked and slammed down into the room.
A stench rolled in, making everyone inside wince.
An utterly revolting odor.

Half-melted flesh, streaming with pus and rot.
A giant, fly-like creature crawling with maggots stared vacantly at Cecilia.
Seeing humans, the fly extended an obscenely long tongue and licked its lips.

[Going to eat you.]
Cecilia’s face went pale as her eyes caught the glowing sigil on the monster’s forehead.
“…Beelzebub.”

“Fire!!”
The Gold Company guards opened fire immediately.
The rotting skin split and splattered as bullets tore into it.

Chunks of flesh flew across the wooden walls and floor, and began to melt everything they touched.
“You have to escape, Lady Cecilia! Now!!”
The problem was—there was no place to run.

And John provided the solution to that problem.
He threw open the window.
“Step on the protruding bricks and climb down!”

The exit was already blocked by the fly demon.
The window was the only way out.
John and Cecilia scrambled toward it and began to climb down in a hurry.

“Hurry! We’ll hold this thing off—AAAGH!!”
One of the Gold Company guards screamed.
His body began to melt as if something had eaten through it.

His scream turned to a whistling gurgle—and in an instant, he dissolved into nothing.
“Lieutenant Akim!!”
“We have to run! We have to get to the shelter!!”

Cecilia and John hit the ground.
No one else came through the window.
From inside the town hall, only gunfire could be heard.

No one followed.
There was no time to wait.
“We have to get to the shelter! That’s what matters now! If you die, Lady Cecilia, we’re all in trouble!”

John’s words made Cecilia grit her teeth.
She ripped off the shoes she was wearing and tore her skirt.
Her thighs were fully exposed, but she didn’t care in the slightest.

“Lead the way to the shelter.”
“Leave it to me.”
The two of them began to run.

As they reached the main street, they saw elders and children rushing toward the shelters.
In contrast, the young and able-bodied were grabbing guns and sprinting east.
“Those bastards have taken every checkpoint in the corridor!!”

“Mom! I’m scared!!”
“Rotten sons of bitches!!”
“Emily! Emily!! Where are you!!”

“It’s Beelzebub!! The Rotting Legion!!”
John clenched his teeth as screams rang out from every direction.
“This is the shelter! Get inside and take cover!”

He dragged Cecilia into a nearby underground shelter, then pulled a pistol from his waistband and handed it to her.
“A semi-auto pistol chambered in .45 ACP. Just in case. Keep it for self-defense. It only holds seven rounds, so be careful.”
“John! Where are you going?!”

“I was planning to leave—but for now, this is still my city. I have to protect it.”
With that, John turned and bolted out of the shelter.
He ran back to his workshop.

He rushed into the storage room and approached a gun that had been on display on the wall for years.
His father’s gun.
A gun that hadn’t been fired since the day his father died.

A monstrous double-barreled shotgun that fired 4-gauge shells and kicked like a demon.
John wrapped his hands around the gun.
He loaded it.

With a clack, the break-action shotgun locked into place.
Just before heading off to blow the hell out of the demons from the pit—
John glanced at the engraving on the barrel and couldn’t help but smile faintly.

He remembered the words his father always used to say when he lifted that gun:
“With this baby, you’ll be seeing some real big-ass guts, John!!”
John’s father had one hell of a twisted sense of humor.

The shotgun’s barrel had one phrase crudely engraved:
[Big Fucking Gun].