The Submerging City

Nautilus fundamentally resembled a submarine. Though it burrowed through the earth rather than water, it had to be hermetically sealed, and the inherent stillness and gloom of an enclosed space weighed on the laborers, filling them with stress.

But when Daiyen released alcohol ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and even permitted gambling, the workers laughed as if they'd never felt anxious, clinking their cups and cards together.

"Long live Nautilus!"

"Nautilus forever!"

"Long live Lady Daiyen of the merchant company!"

It was hard to believe these were the same people who'd just been fretting about being trapped inside Nautilus, wondering if she'd made a pact with a black mage. Daiyen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sighed and spoke to Thomas.

"Cut off the alcohol once the designated time is up."

Thomas, tasked by Daiyen with overseeing the laborers, let out a small sigh and nodded. For Daiyen, allowing booze and gambling just meant covering the tab, but Thomas now had to supervise to prevent fights or drunken brawls, slumping into his seat with a gloomy expression.

As Daiyen stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her, the laborers' cheers faded, drowned out as they poured more drinks into their cups.

She walked the corridor—made not of rot-prone wood favored by commoners, but of thinly sliced stone slabs—to the bridge and approached Suhyun at the captain's chair, manipulating Nautilus.

"Hey."

"Yeah."

The spacious bridge had plenty of chairs prepared, and Daiyen settled into one, reporting on the cargo aboard Nautilus.

"We've got a ton of food."

"Floods ruin provisions first, after all."

Over half the cargo in Nautilus's holds was foodstuffs, the rest medicines and clothing. Floods made much of the food inedible, and contaminated water spread waterborne diseases easily. Weakened immunity from hunger, plummeting body temperature from soaked clothes, and nearby sick folk led to rapid outbreaks, so imperial officials responded per manual.

"Plenty of merchants like me must've gotten hit by this bolt from the blue."

The empire's governance seemed solid even to Suhyun, a modern transplant. With superhuman individuals who could face armies alone, it differed from modern politics, but he found many aspects superior. Graduates from countless imperial academies were dispatched as administrators to territories. Manuals abounded, and they followed them to the letter.

"Rumor has it there's a separate manual for every natural disaster."

For Daiyen, semi-forced into transport contracts via manuals directing surplus grain shipments from territories to disaster zones, it was infuriating—but vital for flood victims. In theory, sequential deliveries from nearest territories minimized damage.

"Without those manuals, food prices would've jumped fiftyfold."

"Fifty times?"

"No matter how precious gold is, does it match food for the starving?"

Goods' value hinged on supply and demand, but imbalances could skyrocket prices insanely. The empire managed staples tightly, but Daiyen figured fiftyfold was plausible based on other commodities. She wouldn't get full price due to competing shipments, but three times? She smiled happily, calculating.

"Mage, you must rise."

"Yes."

In a cramped side room used by the manager of the territory's largest granary, Lucy Hitman wiped her face unconsciously, having slept under a damp blanket in the corner. Her face felt splashed with water—droplets trickled from nose and mouth with every breath, irritating her.

"Humidity's already at eighty percent."

The eyes of the warehouse keepers guarding the grain with her, and their underlings, were dead-fish dull, but duty dragged their fatigue-soaked bodies onward.

Tasked with using magic to light fires and dry the humid warehouse, Lucy forced her sluggish mind awake and cast her spell. From a pouch of beast hide—smoked to death by fumes—she withdrew ash gathered from embers burning unquenched for a hundred days, piling it with catalysts into the central brazier.

"Hearth that warmly guards the home, I call upon the spirit of the flame to shield the home with its warm glow."

Warm light from mana-born flames filled the warehouse, instantly warming the space and driving out humidity.

"Ugh!"

Unlike the suddenly cozy interior, Lucy's body was soaked as if dunked in water, shuddering like an aspen leaf. The cost of spellcasting without ample mana or catalysts: robbed of body heat and dryness.

Leaning against the still-hot brazier, trembling hands outstretched to a waiting keeper, Lucy accepted the warm soup he offered, sipping carefully before heading outside to gather mana.

'Too little fire mana.'

Disciple of Lutisat, bronze brazier mage of Ifrit's Hearth Tower—which handled fire mana—she'd normally light fires around her to replenish, but Chromore lacked magic-free ways to kindle flames now. Focusing solely on mana, excluding senses, felt like drowning; ambient water-attuned mana was the culprit. Even indoor firewood was sodden, fires snuffed easily, and attempts to start new ones failed against the damp.

Water mana overflowed, spawning moss and mold everywhere. Eating moldy grain poisoned folk with water bloat. Edibles fouled by moss and mold, people chilled constantly like perpetually soaked, suffering chronic hypothermia atop waterborne plagues.

"How long can we hold out?"

Eyeing her lightened reagent pouch, Lucy wondered how long her remaining supplies would last, praying her master and the lord returned soon.

The moment the passage linking Nautilus to the surface opened, Daiyen panicked.

"Agh! Water's flooding in!"

Ankle-deep water gushed through as the door parted. She slammed it shut in horror, ordering workers to block warehouse inflow via the uphill ramp.

"How far did the flood reach?"

They'd positioned the exit higher than elsewhere anticipating floods, yet ankle-deep water still? Securing against inflow, she reopened it.

The scene was otherworldly. Endless rain wasn't odd, but it piled like snow. Visibility wrecked by sheets of rain and ankle-deep floodwaters, Daiyen surveyed outside Nautilus.

"Worst conditions for commerce."

Trudging through drowned grass and sucking mud, she grimaced in disgust. Terrain unfit even for walking, let alone wagons—Suhyun pulled catalysts from his inventory.

"Wood, change your form. Become a vessel, shed your weight upon the waters."

Wooden wagons morphed into flatboats; using down from high-mountain birds and wind-borne plant seeds as catalysts, they floated even in shallow ankle water. Laborers gawked in awe.

"What're you gawking at? Push!"

Lifelong wagon-pushers with no boating experience, they spun in circles at first, directionless on water—but slowly, surely, advanced toward Chromore's castle.

Finally reaching the gates after wrestling unfamiliar boats along the road, Daiyen shouted amid pounding rain.

"Delivering relief supplies on imperial administrator orders!"

Guards atop walls, on emergency watch, startled at the first visitors since the flood, scrambled. No plans to open gates, they rounded up folk to heave them ajar, staring incredulously at Daiyen's sodden caravan.

Merely a half-hour wagon jaunt turned into an exhausting battle against pooling bilge and wayward boats—yet Daiyen and crew arrived intact, exhausted but whole.

"No monster attacks?"

"Faster under a roof first. Waterproofed, but not perfectly—food could still get wet."

"Right this way."

Inside a roofed territory warehouse, Daiyen recoiled at the state: pillars blanketed in mold and mushrooms, air thick with rotten grain's fishy reek. Safe to unload relief here?

As she pondered, the administrator rushed in.

"Relief at last!"

Ignoring Daiyen, he inspected goods—better than expected—and knelt in grateful tears.

"Pardon me. I'm Tottiem, chief administrator of Chromore."

"Daiyen of Nautilus Merchant Company. Please verify and sign quickly?"

"Ah, yes, of course. Let me check."

Reading the imperial contract form, he balked at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dates: dispatched from a fifteen-day-distant territory, arrived in two? Stress-fried brain? Even fit administrators cracked after three sleepless days of disaster duty—like his recent blackout. To confirm not dream or hallucination, he jabbed his thigh with his quill.

"Not a dream."

Tears welled from sharp pain; rereading dates, he gaped dumbly at Daiyen.

"This right?"

"Yes. With Mage Suhyun's aid, we made record speed."

"Oh! Thanks to His Majesty watching over the empire! Prayers to all gods blessing the realm!"

Signing the parchment with his thigh-pricker, he thrust it back, gripping Daiyen's hand.

"Help us, please! Grains and woods rotting, folk falling ill. City not yet swamped by that damned water, but soon—and monsters outside block evacuation!"

"Monsters?"

"Didn't you see coming? Aquatic beasts surfacing to attack people!"

Having unloaded right beside the city from Nautilus, Daiyen saw none—but monster-infested wilds horrified her.

"No mages here?"

Tower graduates stayed for research or contracted as territorial mages, paid to aid lords—chief duty: averting mana disasters. Mana blessed life but imbalances wreaked havoc, so territories hired mages to balance flows mandatorily. Water mana was mild; fire excess would've ignited brushes on contact, mummifying life.

"We have one—from Ifrit's Hearth."

"Ah."

Among imperial magic schools, Ifrit's Hearth produced combative fire mages—most battlefield casters—but useless against water disasters. Rain already nerfed them; near-submersion? Half efficacy at best.

"Plus, scouring for the crisis's cause with the lord—one disciple left."

"Hiring one school happens often."

Mages were pricey: rare talent, long costly training, high salaries, stubborn egos. Daiyen once hired a mercenary mage worse than toenail grime—arrogant slob, tempting daily head-bashing with her abacus. Specialists shone in niches, useless elsewhere. Larger entities diversified hires; small territories couldn't.

"For a fair price, I can ward against humidity."

"Really?!"

Beaming at Suhyun, the administrator led to the granary.

"Lucy! Merchants arrived!"

"Really?"

Meditating outside amid rain to gather mana, Lucy's eyes flew open, welcoming Suhyun.

"Welcome. I'm Lucy Hitman, disciple of Lutisat, bronze brazier mage of Ifrit's Hearth."

"Suhyun, Sage's Cauldron graduate, thanks for the welcome. If alright, may I cast to preserve this warehouse's grain?"

"Of course."

Settled territorial mages attuned deeply to local mana balance. Same spell's power varied: desert vs. sea fire magic. Flows shifted by locale and casting, so courtesy dictated asking residents before major spells.

Entering, Suhyun eyed the central brazier repelling damp, grasping Lucy's method. Fire held traits beyond destruction, purification, creation—like warmth. Mother's cooking flame comforted; hearth drove winter's chill. Using fire's warmth to heat and repel humidity/water mana—clever. Suhyun drew an artifact.

"Th-that's Ice Flame!"

"Yeah, got lucky snagging one."

Among famed rare flames, Ice Flame didn't burn matter for heat—it burned heat away. Stealing target's thermal energy froze it; purer the flame, colder the chill.

Detaching a portion from the blue flame flickering in its ice brazier, Suhyun wove a spell instantly.

"Heavens!"

Blue Ice Flame flooded the warehouse, plummeting temperature—walls frosting over. Flames engulfed like inferno, yet interior froze pristine white, unburnt.

Sodden exterior iced solid; lingering Ice Flame smoldered atop, siphoning rain's heat. Lucy gaped.

"Rain won't snuff it till it stops."

Rain fed the flame by donating heat drop by drop—no extinguish worry till dry. Moisture sublimed to frost, safe from spoilage; no mana upkeep needed. Lucy sighed relief, thanking Suhyun.

"Thanks to you, the grain's preserved. My gratitude."

"No trouble. Mind explaining what happened?"

Natural disasters were admin turf; mana ones, mages'. Officials could only say "mana concentration"—lacking arcane insight. Not full mage yet, but trained, Lucy was best ask.

"Water mana surged earlier than usual this year, so we prepped for heavy rain."

Lucy hid nothing, spilling all she knew—nothing secretive anyway. Routine aid with mana-sparked embers and hot soup amid early rains, then exponential water mana spike.

Showing past and current mana distribution logs candidly, she eyed Suhyun expectantly.

"Likely prelude to a magic realm incursion."

Beyond the empire's material plane lay countless dimensions—some aberrant. Ifrit's Hearth drew from Fire Heaven Realm, naming its lord; tower linked thereto, rich in fire mana—easy pyromancy, but flammable everything, scorching air.

Such dimension-proximate sites were magic realms; some ancient, others sudden. Necropolis linked abruptly to Tartarus, becoming city of death; Prigida to Niflheim, kingdom ice-locked.

"So lord and mage scout to halt realm-ization?"

"Yes, not severe yet—said they could manage."

Most realmings stemmed from attractor cores: Ifrit's massive crimson-gilt brazier; Necropolis's crown of death; Prigida's frost heart. Weak initially, strengthening ties overwhelmed mortals. Even managed Ifrit's cost millions yearly in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠upkeep—cores demanded destruction.

"Not our problem, right? We just sell what we brought."

Suhyun nodded at Daiyen's words, face grave no more.

"Yeah, none of our business."

Chromore drown or core smashed back to normal—irrelevant. Wallets empty, they'd scraped souls for this grain and relief; botch the deal, massive loss.

"Leave the trading to me."

"No worries—I'll shake every gold coin from this territory's panties."