The Kidnappers
Ignoring the men as they continue to pummel, their shoulders heaving up and down with their breathing, I go over my stats.
If I was able to increase my toughness, then can I raise my other stats, too? Let’s try durability first.
[Spend 1,000 points to increase durability by 10?]
I can upgrade my durability? Well, considering how many points I need to use, it doesn’t seem that efficient. If it were 100, I’d raise it without a second thought. What about the others?
[Spend 10,000 points to increase strength by 10?]
[Spend 10,000 points to increase speed by 10?]
[Spend 10,000 points to increase dexterity by 10?]
There’s an extra digit there… Strength, speed, and dexterity aren’t stats a vending machine needs, and I don’t plan on increasing them, but that’s absurdly expensive.
If I increased my strength or speed, I wonder if I’d be able to walk around by shaking the vending machine back and forth. That would be pretty funny, if possible.
I can’t increase my magic stat no matter what, though. It looks like we won’t be seeing the birth of a magical vending machine. That’s too bad.
“All right, let’s leave it at that.”
“Yes, sir.”
Oh, they’re finished. I raised my toughness once my durability had gone down about thirty points, so I must look pretty beaten up.
“Hey, the thing isn’t repairing.”
“B-but that can’t be. It fixed itself before. I saw it with my own eyes! H-hey, you bastard, fix the damage already!”
I refuse. I’m going to keep pretending to be broken-down now. I don’t have the slightest desire to give them any drinks… Actually, wait, I changed my mind. I’ll give them some.
“Gugoyle, you know what happens if this thing is broken, right?”
“Y-yes, sir! H-hey, you crappy box, fix yourself already! I know you’re just pretending you can’t move!”
Oh, now he’s panicking. I’ll be keeping the damage, but don’t you worry—I’ll give you a drink.
“B-boss! An item fell out! L-look, it’s not broken!”
I drop enough drinks for everyone, and they happily pick them up. You should be thanking me for my kindness.
“Well, fine. For now, just give me one. I don’t care which.”
Everyone gets a drink. Exhausted after “beating me up,” the men open their caps in unison and down the liquid inside.
“Blech!”
“Gah, ugh, what is this?!”
“This is awful!”
How do you like the taste of my top ten worst juices? I’ve bought every new product I’ve ever seen in a vending machine, and if I get lucky some of the time, I obviously pull short straws as well.
There are actually a lot of drinks that are so unbelievably terrible that their manufacturers must not have any taste buds. One of the lighter drinks is a carbonated beverage that tastes like vegetables covered in mayonnaise; another is a carbonated beverage with the taste of strong-smelling seasonings used in Japanese cooking… Both come from the same company.
There is a fair number of other ridiculously absurd combinations. It just goes to show how deep the world of beverage manufacturing can be.
“Think it’s broken after all?”
“Whatever. We’ll figure out what to do once we get back to the hideout. If worse comes to worst and it is busted… Gugoyle, don’t think you’re getting out of this unharmed.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Gugoyle goes so white in the face after his boss’s threat that he looks like he’s about to faint. I have no sympathy for him, though, so I don’t care. He’s the one who told them about me in the first place; it’s his fault I’m here.
They must believe attacking me further really will break me, because they handle me rather delicately after that. I’m glad things have eased up, but what do I do now? I can’t think of any noteworthy plans. I guess I’ll just have to be flexible and respond to situations when they come up. If things get really bad, I’ll fight back with my Force Field.
After about two hours without quarrel or item purchasing, we arrive at our destination.
As the path transitions from dirt to slightly better-maintained gravel, I see a man-made building, an unnatural sight in this place abounding with nature. The fortress has big holes in its walls, every part of it on the verge of rotting away and collapsing. It’s fairly small compared to the Hunters Association HQ, but it was probably once a full-fledged fortress.
It looks as though it’s been left alone for months, with ivy crawling about here and there. Seems like a fun place—if I came here for ruins exploration.
“Bring it inside. Just give it to her to check out.”
“Right, sir, but I don’t think it’ll listen to what we say.”
“If it doesn’t, then your body will find it’s missing its head.”
“Eek! Y-yes, sir!”
I’m demoting the low-life villain to a low-life peon. Anyway, I wonder who they’re talking about. They don’t seem to trust one another, despite being allies.
That’s what I thought about as the six men laid me, a vending machine, on its side and carried me away. It takes six of them just to have a chance at moving me, which really puts Lammis’s extraordinary ability into perspective.
We pass through double doors, the hinges of which look like they would fly off if you gave it a firm hit, and we steal into the beat-up fortress. It’s tidier inside than I thought. A few sets of long tables and chairs, which look clearly homemade, inhabit the large, hall-like area we’re in.
The big sofa against the wall looks timeworn but is of decent quality. No piles of dust litter the floor; someone must sweep it diligently. For people who look like evil octopi, they seem to have a penchant for cleanliness.
We pass through the hall, and just as I think we’re going up the stairs, we instead head toward a metal door in the right-hand corner. The door creaks open, revealing a dark staircase leading down.
They carry me down like a palanquin, and then we go deeper still to find two men—probably guards—wearing metal armor and protecting a bolted door. The guard situation makes it seem like they’re holding a terrible criminal inside.
“She behaving?”
“We gave her a magic item, and she suddenly quieted down. She’s clacking around with something in there now.”
“I don’t understand that woman. Anyway, I don’t think she’ll cause a fuss when we give her this.”
I’m listening to the villains converse, but now I know even less about the person behind this door.
The guards lift the bolt across the door, and as they open it, they keep their spears at the ready. Is there some kind of magic-item-loving wild animal in there, or what?
“Hey! We brought a toy we thought you’d like. Analyze this, and if it’s broken, get it back to normal.”
“What was that? Who said you bastards could talk to me like that? You’re trash—less than trash, so don’t give me orders!”
A menacing voice fills the room. This seems to discourage the low-life peon, and he averts his eyes as they put me in a corner of the room.
“H-here’s some details. Give them a good read.”
“Heh. Didn’t your mother ever tell you to look at a person’s eyes when talking to them? Or are you scared or something? Scared of a weak little girl like me?”
The lady drawls on like an angry street punk. I stare hard at her. For a woman, she’s fairly tall—my height, or only a little shorter.
Her long hair is the hue of milk tea, and it’s tied behind her, but probably only because it gets in the way. Several clumps of hair are sticking out.
She’s staring at me dubiously with her thin, narrowed eyes. Her light-pink lips mutter a quick curse—she seems ready to spit on the floor.
She’s wearing clothes that were probably white to begin with, but now they’re a mess of brown and black, clinging to her body. I think for a moment she’s wearing a black coat on top of it, but on closer inspection, it might be a white cloak stained black. The front of it is open, and since her clothing is tight to her body, you can see her entire figure.
Her chest is so flat I do a double take. Almost nothing whatsoever.
I get it. Tall, a scary face, and a flat chest. The exact opposite of Lammis.
“The hell? They left this thing here and ran away. Guess that’s the only thing they’re good at. Now, what’s this? He said something about details.”
Annoyed, she looks at the sheaf of papers on the ground, skimming through it. This bad-mouthed woman seems the sort of person I shouldn’t get involved with too deeply. I can’t help feeling like I should continue pretending to be a harmless hunk of metal.
“Really? You’re a magic item with a mind of its own, eh? That true?”
Is that written in the papers? I don’t think playing dumb will get me far here. She may have a bad mouth, but it seems like she’s not friends with the others. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, or so they say. Hmm. I’m not sure how to respond.
“Oh, you think I’m one of them, do you? They kidnapped me and locked me up here. I’m a victim. I may not look like much, but I’m actually a famous magic-item engineer. I think they brought you here so I could investigate you.”
If that’s true, then that means they’re treating her like this because of me. It would be incredibly cowardly of me to keep up this “I’m just a vending machine” charade.
“Welcome.”
“You really can talk! Whoa. I’ve never seen a magic item that understands words before. I guess one good thing came of getting captured.”
Her narrow eyes open wide, and her languid attitude from before dissipates as she starts breathing heavily, observing every last part of me.
“Mind if I ask some questions?”
“Welcome.”
“It says here that means yes. Then, as for my question… Wait, I guess I should introduce myself first. It’s only polite. My name is Hulemy.”
Wait, I’ve heard that name before. Who’d have thought I’d meet her here before even Lammis. This must be the magic-item-engineer friend Lammis wanted me to meet.
