Chapter Thirty: We Can Do It!

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Ned, the strongest fighter among them, was currently being besieged by four orc warriors at once. A pale-blue mist shrouded the longsword he wielded with all his strength, rippling with a faint chill. It was only thanks to this frost-enchanted weapon that he could hold back the enemies who might otherwise break through and reach Mo Tan and Shuangye. But as the strain mounted, Ned himself had begun to suffer injuries.

During one attempt to intercept a charge, two warhammers struck him simultaneously in the middle of the back. Had he not managed to block one of them with a desperate backward sweep, that single impact might have left him gravely wounded.

All Mo Tan could do was cast a Prayer of Fortitude on him once every five minutes, occasionally weaving in a few Command: Shields and healing spells that were better than nothing.

He truly could do no more. Although Ned appeared to be fighting on the brink of disaster, he was still in the best condition of anyone present aside from Mo Tan and Shuangye…

Salazar’s left arm was broken. A dozen seconds earlier, he had charged in to help Krab escape the predicament of being attacked from both sides, driving his elbow into the enemy behind his companion and forcing him back. But the orc warrior who had been entangled with Salazar took the opportunity to smash a fist into his ribs, leaving one of his arms useless.

Afterward, Mo Tan had barely allowed the Command: Shield around Salazar to lapse, yet he had no way to give the lizardman monk intensive healing.

Yinna and Krab were both in an even worse state. During the melee, a gash had been carved into Krab’s temple, deep enough to expose the bone. Blood kept spurting from it, blurring his vision terribly. The great axe in his hands had clashed dozens of times with a fellow orc only slightly weaker than himself, and its edge had already begun to chip…

And because he hated wearing the tight standard soft armor, his bare torso was now covered in wounds. Even though his physique far surpassed that of the player whose gaming experience had been so miserable earlier, Mo Tan knew that if this continued, it was only a matter of time before Krab followed in that player’s footsteps.

Most of the Holy Healing spells—whose effects were hardly impressive—had been spent on Krab. Though the Prayer of Fortitude allowed him to maintain his fighting strength for now, that was all it was: for now.

After all, Mo Tan’s mana and faith were limited!

Yinna’s wounds were considerably less severe. The elven ranger’s speed and evasive ability were far greater than those of any enemy present. But she was no physically powerful orc like Krab, nor was she a monk like Salazar, who had spent years tirelessly tempering both body and mind. Attacks that the other two could endure after a brief respite would cost Yinna dearly if she took even one.

In simple terms, she had little health and poor defense!

Mo Tan had originally been able to maintain a Holy Word Shield around her as well, but ever since Salazar lost an arm, he had begun to find himself unable to keep up with everything.

To be honest, the reason Mo Tan had managed to maintain such a tight rhythm of support throughout these past dozen or so minutes was not merely that he had used his skills at the most critical moments. More importantly, he had recently acquired a new talent.

[Devotion: Your devotion to the gods is worthy of recognition. The passive recovery rate of Faith permanently increases by 30%. When you are in combat and remain stationary for thirty consecutive seconds, you enter the state of “Devotion,” increasing the passive recovery rates of Mana and Faith by 50%. This state is removed when you move, and reactivation requires you to fulfill the conditions for “Devotion” again.]

This talent was very likely a gift from the gods. Mo Tan had never felt that he possessed the potential to become a fanatic, nor had he made any noteworthy contributions to the faith. Under normal circumstances, there was no reason for him to obtain so quickly a talent that seemed clearly designed to become useful only in the later stages of the game.

The lower the talent’s level, the less practical it was… Mo Tan had complained inwardly about that before, even while enjoying the benefit.

But if not for the support of Devotion, he would have exhausted his mana and faith long ago.

And yet…

[I can’t do it.]

Like a machine, Mo Tan raised both hands for what he had lost count of by now and cast a freshly recharged Holy Word Shield upon Salazar, who had just taken another heavy blow and whose body was beginning to lose its balance.

[Or rather, I can do it, but “I” can’t…]

Ned launched himself into another forced charge, attempting to rescue Yinna, whose avenues of evasion had been sealed by an orc shield warrior. He succeeded—but an enemy following close behind slammed headfirst into his back.

[If another personality of mine were here, perhaps I wouldn’t have fallen into this predicament…]

Mo Tan stiffly refreshed the Prayer of Fortitude on Ned just as its duration was about to expire. When he turned to heal Krab, he discovered that his mana was nearly depleted as well.

His companion had already discarded the axe that was practically ruined. Now he fought barehanded against two orc warriors attempting to circle around and attack Salazar, and several more wounds had appeared on his body without Mo Tan even noticing when.

[“I” can face any desperate situation or hardship with a smile, make effective use of everything to achieve my goals, rely on no one, and leisurely savor the pleasure of that madness…]

Shuangye’s spellcasting came to a halt. She had no mana left whatsoever; by now, she could not even launch the most ordinary fireball.

[“I” can become the most reliable support my companions could wish for, accompanying everyone as we create miracles with our own hands through persistence and conviction…]

Yinna’s face was pale. Although Ned had just created an opening for her to catch her breath, she had already expended far too much stamina. Worse still, the current situation was so hopeless that there seemed to be not the slightest chance of turning it around.

[But “I” can’t do it… Though I possess the same knowledge, experience, memories, and understanding, though I am still “me,” the person standing here is the most mediocre one of all…]

Mo Tan’s hands clenched weakly, his face ashen.

Human beings always reach a moment when they suddenly feel a trace of self-loathing. The gifted, the great, the wicked, the mad, and the mediocre—all of them are capable of it.

Regret and frustration, doubt and self-reflection: these are privileges of intelligent beings.

Loathing the self who betrayed a friend.

Loathing the self who was cold and heartless.

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Loathing the self who failed to fulfill filial duty.

Loathing the self who stopped at nothing.

Loathing the self who lacked courage.

Loathing the self who never changed.

Loathing the self who was of two minds.

Loathing the self who clung to convention.

Looking back, if we could return to those countless moments we would rather not remember, how desperately we would want to slap our past selves across the face.

At that farewell dinner, when the atmosphere had been so pleasant, if only we had summoned the courage to confess our feelings—would the outcome have been different?

If only we had managed to set aside even half a day amid our busy work to visit our families—would we perhaps not be carrying so much regret now?

When a friend encountered hardship, if only we had stepped forward to stand beside them, even if it meant suffering and humiliation for a while—would we perhaps not be so lonely today?

Of course, the world is not so sweet…

Even if we gathered the courage to confess, we might have been publicly humiliated.

Even if we risked losing our jobs to rush home, we might still have arrived too late for that final second.

Even if we stood by a friend through thick and thin, they might one day sell us out.

But the mere possibility of a better outcome is enough to make us regret, loathe, and even hate the selves we once were.

Mo Tan was different… Or rather, a large part of him was different.

In his Chaotic Neutral state, he liked to treat everything as a source of amusement. He would never take responsibility for anything he did, and that naturally included emotions such as “self-loathing” and “regret.” Even the threat of death at arm’s reach would be regarded as a game with a thrilling spirit of adventure~

In his Lawful Good state, he would never do anything that violated his principles. He always knew what he ought to do and what he wanted to do, took responsibility for his every word and action, and felt proud of his good deeds. Naturally, he would never hate himself.

But Mo Tan at this moment was different…

He was no different from most of us, and so he loathed the current self who was “unable to do anything.”

Even though he was only a level-two priest and had already poured every ounce of his strength into this battle, Mo Tan was still deeply dissatisfied with himself.

[If only the “me” of another time were here, I would certainly do better!]

That was what he thought. And it was precisely because he understood “himself” too well that such emotions had arisen. If it were one of us ordinary people instead, we would probably be thinking, Ah~ I’ve already done everything I can~

It was the same principle as a student capable of scoring a perfect hundred becoming far more frustrated than a poor student when faced with a problem he could not solve.

This maddening feeling had not arisen because Mo Tan and the members of the Fenrir squad were especially close, or because they were brothers bound by deep affection. In truth, he could still clearly distinguish between the game and reality. As for Shuangye, there was even less to say—if she died, she would merely be beaten back into her original form and start over.

He was simply dissatisfied with himself…

There could be no hurt without comparison. Sometimes that saying was more than a joke. Mo Tan had been wounded by “himself.”

Because he was, at heart, no different from the “majority of us.”

We need recognition. Even when we are angry with ourselves, what we truly need is often only a little self-consolation…

But the Mo Tan of this moment could not find a single reason with which to console himself.

Yet he was not alone…

“Hey! You’re slowing down!” Ned staggered two steps forward, then suddenly looked back at him with a grin. “Getting a little tired?”

Mo Tan froze.

Salazar gave a soft snort. Before the Holy Word Shield around him could fade, he charged straight into the arms of an orc warrior, using a hidden surge of force to knock the opponent back four or five steps. Then, in a rare display, he grinned and gave Mo Tan a thumbs-up from afar.

“Don’t listen to the captain’s nonsense. You’re doing great! Especially after my arm got broken.”

“Heh heh!” Krab snatched a heavy, crude iron hammer from the hands of an exhausted orc who was nearly panting with his tongue out. He swung it in a broad arc and sent the orc tumbling down the slope, then laughed loudly. “With this kid around, I feel like I can fight twice as well as usual!”

Yinna happened to slip between Mo Tan and Shuangye at that moment. She raised her bow and shot an arrow at the enemy attempting to take advantage of Ned’s pursuit, then turned and smiled sweetly at the two of them.

“The captain never says anything nice. You’re all doing amazing!”

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Shuangye shrugged, glanced toward Mo Tan, and muttered, “He’s way more useful than I am. His mana practically never runs out.”

Mo Tan stood stunned for a long moment, until Krab let out an exaggerated scream from nearby to indicate that he was due for another bit of healing.

Apparently, even if he was not “special,” he was still somewhat useful…

[No! Perhaps I can be a little more useful!]

Mo Tan raised a hand and flung a Holy Healing spell at Krab, then began to think.

[Perhaps the me of this moment can’t devise some unfathomably brilliant plan, nor can I single-handedly turn everything into glorious chaos~]

Mo Tan surveyed the cramped and disorderly battlefield around him.

[Nor do I possess enough courage and willpower to shoulder everything and stand at the front, leading everyone toward victory.]

The figures and movements of every companion around him came clearly into view. After supporting them with all his strength for this brief stretch of time, Mo Tan had already gained a preliminary understanding of them all.

[But…]

Only a healer standing in a support position had the opportunity to grasp, in the shortest possible time, everyone’s habits in battle, their movements, and their abilities in every respect. Only then could he anticipate when to heal or strengthen them.

[There are also things only the me of this moment can do.]

The qualities Mo Tan had always possessed: sufficient knowledge and intelligence, lightning-fast reactions, and keen insight.

The qualities he possessed only as Black Fan: a support-oriented class, an approachable personality, and the ability to resonate with the majority of ordinary people.

“Captain!”

At the sound of his voice, Ned immediately turned around.

Mo Tan suddenly shouted in a low voice, “A little to the left behind you! Keep that shield-bearer pinned down!”

“What do you mean?”

Ned glanced instinctively in that direction. After a moment’s hesitation, he charged over anyway, swinging his sword and forcing the opponent to raise his shield and block.

He did not quite understand why he was being told to suppress a shield soldier with little offensive ability at a time like this, but that did not prevent Ned from trusting Mo Tan.

That trust had been painstakingly nourished by Mo Tan, mouthful by mouthful, over the preceding dozen minutes!

“Krab!”

Mo Tan offered no explanation. Instead, he cast the Holy Word Shield that, according to their previous rhythm, should have gone to Ned upon Krab. Then he shouted, “Take three steps back! Swing at the redhead!”

Krab did not ask a single question. He thudded backward three steps, then swung his hammer at an orc soldier who had been unable to find a proper position and had therefore been unable to attack just now.

The opponent had been conserving his strength all along, so he easily dodged the blow—but he instinctively shifted his body to the side.

“Salazar! Blast him away!” Mo Tan ordered at once. “Use the technique that leaves you recovering for half a minute after one use!”

Bang!!

The lizardman monk struck the man who had just shifted aside, catching him squarely in the back and sending him sprawling forward. He stared at Mo Tan in confusion.

“How did you know about my Shattering Palm?”

“What a stupid question. I’ve been watching you the whole time!” Mo Tan replied offhandedly.

He extended his right hand, and a golden halo flashed across it. It was not a support spell of any kind.

It was the lowest-grade divine art in the Lore of Holy Light, an attack spell with pitiful power—

Radiant Bolt.

But although the skill’s offensive power was poor, it was bright!

“Yinna!” Mo Tan shouted immediately after launching the bolt. “That direction! Salazar has opened up the angle for you! See those filthy backsides? How about a little Scattershot?”

“Got it~~~”

Chapter Thirty: The End

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