１１ いーとーまきまき いーとーまきまき♪

２本の前足の間に、白く細い糸が張られる。

外側に引っ張ると、ミョーンと伸びる。

力を抜くと徐々に元の長さに戻っていく。

うん。

狙い通りゴムっぽくなった。

何してるかって？

蜘蛛糸もスキルだってことがわかったから、熟練度稼ぎのついでにいろいろ実験してんのよ。

今まで糸を使うのは、網を張る時と、そこにかかった獲物を拘束する時にしか使わなかった。

だから、自分のことながら、あんまり糸についてはよくわかってなかったんだよねー。

え？

マイホームから出てレベル上げ？

ムリムリ。

レベルアップ直後はなんかテンション上がっちゃってたけど、冷静になってみるとムリじゃね？って思うわけよ。

だって考えてみてよ。

ゲームだけが取り柄の女が、リアルファイトで勝てると思う？

ムリムリ。

The body may be that of a monster, but if the core driving it is insipid, it serves no purpose.

There is a vast difference between playing a game and actually moving one's body.

A character in a game does not tire, but in reality, the more one moves, the more one tires.

Moreover, in my previous life, I merely attended school—scarcely more than a weakling who panted from exertion.

Facing a genuine monster that lives by instinct, I doubt I could prevail in combat.

It may not be impossible, but the risk is too great: failure equates directly to my death. I would rather avoid such a perilous choice.

Thus, it is far more advantageous to set traps and wait for pitiful prey to fall into them.

This method is safer. It is far more efficient than aimlessly wandering through the dungeon.

I suppose the day will come when I must leave my home, but I’d prefer to wait until I’ve raised my level further and secured a safety margin.

In online games, I used to play reckless, romantic characters. But in other RPGs, my method is to level up aggressively from the start.

There’s a thrill in leveling up rapidly and defeating bosses while humming a tune.

Especially now, with my life at stake, I’ll proceed cautiously until I’m certain I can overcome other monsters.

And right now, this level-up is part of that process—specifically, increasing proficiency in the spider silk skill.

Thinking back, this spider silk is also my lifeline.

The thought of still wandering the dungeon without a home makes me shudder.

In that case, I probably wouldn’t have survived.

Cannot rest in peace, cannot even hunt prey.

The reason I can live comfortably now is entirely due to the spider silk.

Considering that, raising the silk's rank is a priority to address immediately.

The exact changes resulting from a rank increase are unclear, but improving it cannot be a loss.

Thus, rather than simply producing silk repeatedly to gain proficiency, I decided to conduct various tests to better understand its properties.

Began with continuous silk production, then tested adjustments in thickness, adhesion, tensile strength, and elasticity.

Adjusting thickness proved relatively straightforward.

When aiming for finer silk, it became remarkably thin.

It could not be made invisible, but it reached a thickness comparable to that of a human hair.

In the darkness of this dungeon, such fineness would make it difficult to see.

Yet, the strength test afterward revealed that the finer the thread, the more prone it became to breaking.

There is nothing to be done about that.

Logically, finer means more brittle.

Perhaps strength will improve with level progression. That is a possibility worth awaiting.

Conversely, increasing thickness improves strength.

The thickest thread I can currently produce is about two centimeters in diameter.

Approximately the thickness of a standard rope.

That is the maximum achievable in its base state, however.

Should thickness be desired, multiple threads could be bundled together to achieve greater thickness—though that would require significantly more effort.

The adhesion test—I regret having conducted it at all.

Spider silk is often assumed to be uniformly sticky, but some varieties possess no adhesive properties at all.

The spider avoids entangling itself in its own silk by strategically employing these non-sticky strands.

This understanding emerged instinctively during the construction of the web.

To investigate this further, an experiment was conducted—resulting in complete entrapment across the entire body.

Ah, yes.

The necessity to differentiate between adhesive and non-adhesive silk is not optional. Failure to do so results in self-entanglement.

I, in my ignorance, became trapped in my own silk.

Panic set in.

Had I not realized that adhesive strength could be reduced after secretion, I would have died—trapped in my own trap—a truly foolish end.

The fact that silk drawn from the rear could, under certain conditions, alter its properties while still attached became unavoidable to understand.

Afterward, I tested whether detached silk could undergo similar changes—confirmed that minor alterations were possible.

Regaining focus, I verified tensile strength.

Thinner strands became brittle; thicker ones more resilient. However, the exact limit of resistance remained unknown.

Why?

Because when strength was maximized, the silk failed to break regardless of applied force.

Even biting through with fangs proved ineffective.

Once ensnared by this thread, escape would be nearly impossible.

Still, should a creature stronger than myself attempt it, disintegration might be possible. Overconfidence remains unwise.

Thus, the result of the final elasticity experiment is this string, currently stretching and snapping in my hands.

Yes.

This rubber-like thread appears quite useful.

Attach it to a suitable stone, and it could serve as a simple sling.

Many other applications seem possible.

Satisfied with the experimental results.

Yet, despite all this effort, my level did not increase.

Moreover, a significant issue arose.

The more thread I extend, the greater the energy consumption.

In other words, I am already feeling an intense hunger, despite having eaten only a frog not long ago.

The efficiency is not poor, but producing large amounts of thread requires prior nourishment—otherwise, it could be dangerous.