Chapter 138
Chapter 138
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 138
Chapter Title: Star Fall (23)
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"Balance... balance... In a fantasy world, a technique to balance an airborne object..."
"Captain, what are you mumbling about while eating?"
"Tut tut tut. Get a grip on yourself. You'll spill all your soup."
"Huh? Oh, uh. If I use water magic to encase the whole thing in water—no, that would make the mass ridiculously high... Ow, hot!"
"I knew it."
Ottman clicked his tongue as he caught the soup just before it hit the ground and returned it to Professor's bowl.
"You've been acting strange ever since we entered the Ley Line! You couldn't focus during the last fight, too! And earlier today, a few ghouls slipped past your section—what if that had caused a major incident!"
Smack. No words for it.
Just as Ottman said, I hadn't been focusing properly lately. With the church's oversight loosening up, even the Ley Line—now bathed in holy water and faintly glowing with holy light—still had undead wandering in from the surroundings. And while dealing with them, I'd nearly caused a disaster by spacing out like I just did. No excuse would cut it...
'But what can I do? It's tempting!'
They say seeing something stirs desire. Watching Roman fly his model airship every night with that whirring sound, I outwardly grumbled 'Eh, useless junk' but inwardly hoped 'How could I make it work?'
Forgetting it wasn't an option—the gains from an airship were too huge.
'Roman said himself everything's solved except balance. If we fix that, this invention could upend the entire war! Logistics? Flying handles it. Combat? Load it with fuel, and it wipes out all low-grade mutants below rank 6—halves the burden of attrition warfare. Our troops' mobility skyrockets, letting commanders craft fluid strategies. In a world without air superiority, flying units are straight-up cheats!'
Everything else done, just solve balance, and it unlocks so much. The Ley Line start was monotonous enough, but with Roman constantly testing models, my mind kept racing. Maybe this way. Or that approach.
Conveniently, chat had Goldman—top effort in sparking a tech revolution in GG's world. Asked him, got:
'Any real-world tech just triggers that shitty [Devil of Technology] setup.'
'Pardon?'
'GG lore! Player-introduced modern tech gets upgraded a step and falls to enemies! It's conclusion-based judgment, not method. No matter how clever, if game NPCs recreate modern tech under your involvement, it's game over the instant it happens. I blew five characters scheming windmills into my fief. Spent three months subtly muttering 'Wind always blows... how to harness that power?' and gifting maple seeds to a promising guy—finally succeeded. Then a month later, neighbor hires wind mage, invents [Wind Ram Siege Cart], smashes my gates, takes my land.'
'So... no way to develop new tech?'
'Yep, none. Unless it's brand-new—possible in fantasy, impossible in reality.'
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.
.
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Summary: No mimicking modern tech; must squeeze from world lore.
Instantly thought magic. Fantasy-exclusive tech. And I'm a mage. Rare mage player, destined to fulfill airship dreams countless players chased and cried over...
'Hahaha! Think I didn't try? I was a water mage once!'
'Th-this won't work? Balance issue! Fill lower hull with water like ballast, maintain equilibrium...'
'Impossible! Fine for hovering. But airships must move forward! Your water ballast becomes an anchor flipping the ship on inertia.'
'Magic for that? Mages with [Shaping] insight cut water like pudding—houses, furniture!'
'Regrettably, airship's magitech circuits packed with tiny public mana stones. Most areas under thin mana repulsion fields, barring isolated rooms. Small spells sustainable, but ship-wide? No. Can't crew multiple mages for support either—it's pure magitech invention!'
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He gripped my hand tight. Thanks for pondering seriously.
'Third day in Ley Line. Parting soon... Just a failed gacha pull?'
Ship-wide grand magic impossible due to mana circuits. Modern tech blocked. Only magitech left, and only Roman has that knowledge. Player-free invention doomed to fail—no angle. Dead end?
Thud!
Crunch!
"Argh!"
"Attack! Monsters this time!"
"Cockatrices! Watch for petrifying breath!"
"...Tch. No time to think now."
Deeper in mountains, more undead and monster raids—nearing core. Probably split from caravan today.
'Already talked to caravan. Not amateurs—full retreat while we distract. Opposite ridge imperial territory.'
"Kweeeek!!!"
"Kokook! Keeeik!"
"Don't approach rashly!"
"Don't underestimate 'cause it looks like a chicken! Beak shreds steel shields!"
Professor rose, shield up to avoid eyes, watching mercenaries approach. Regretfully shelved airship regrets.
"Forget that—haul all tents! Covers eyes and petrifying breath!"
"Yes, hero!"
Dodging synced mercenaries, Professor leaped at cockatrice head.
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"Quit whining about giving up! Uuuuurekaa!!!"
Ten minutes later, Professor cackled madly, clinging to cockatrice neck, throttling hard.
"Kwaaak! Keeeik! Kokook! Kweeeeng!!!!"
"Hold tight!"
"Captain! Breath incoming!"
"Water shield the oiled rag guy—block tighter! All snake venom arrow vials! Cockatrice breath deflects on venom!"
"Th-that Kingsland 5,000 silver venom-full?"
"Dump 'em! Liquefied cockatrice breath worth 20x more!"
"Waaah! Wing ropes loose! Hero! Herooo!"
"Kweeek! Kraaak!"
"Hang on! Tie this one, coming right over!"
Three cockatrices raiding caravan far stronger than average. Feathers-or-scales? Clanging metal on hits. Kill by blunt force sans berserk? Lose arms or burn mana on blood armor. Uncomfortable with drain soon—deeper mountains, distract while caravan flees.
Solution: Cling to chicken head, snap neck raw. Mercenaries tent-covered head, church blessed ropes—he stuck, wrung neck.
Discovered something amazing mid-twist.
"Kweeek! Khek! Keeak! Kheeeek!"
"Oy oy! Hero! What're you gonna do with live captures..."
"Pull ropes tight! Retie soon!"
First neck snapped, dodged breath—told mercenaries capture rest. Looked insane at first, but tents and ropes worked.
"Koeeeek! Kheeeek!"
Thud! Thud!
Rustle! Rustle!
"Captain! What on that chicken head?!"
"Hahaha! Borca! Check this! No wobble! Steady!"
'Berserk again. Rambling on thrashing monster head...?'
Mercenaries pinned hard-won captures—joking? But Borca's pity for fidgeting atop head turned quizzical fast. Sharp eyes caught cup of water Professor placed there.
Staked ropes prevent charge, but desperate spins, massive body shakes. Yet water cup atop? Slight slosh, but upright on bucking bull head?
"How's that! Freaky, right!"
"What... magic trick?"
"Magic my ass! See hands off? Natural! Chicken heads move like this!"
Chicken heads detach from body for balance—unique trait. Shake body, head steady. Cockatrices same!
Airship-balance obsessed me? Auto-leveling chicken head—epiphany.
"Kkegaaak! Kweeek!"
"Notum! Aldrich! Soul-seal item? Small as possible!"
"Cockatrice soul? Hmm... Handle human souls only..."
"Notum! Saw you playing with skeleton wolf soul!"
"Gruk. Big-small human. Needs soul vessel. Tooth, bone. Body part..."
Crunch!
"Here!"
"Argh!"
"Hero! Your haaand!"
"Hero self-harms!"
"Nah! Tossing breath-soaked hand anyway!"
Mercenaries yowling around ropes—Notum stroked petrified-skin hand pleased, raised neck totem.
"Three—twist neck, big-small human, rope humans all flee. Caught in it, dead! One!"
"W-wait! Rugby-neck? Won't turn easy...!"
"Two!"
Crackle, grind! Cracklecracklecrackle!
"Gh-ghost! Troll's ghost! C-captain!"
"Drop ropes, back off! It'll snag!"
"Waaah! Die, chicken head! Loosen neck! Looosen!!!"
"Keeeeek! Kuaaaak!"
"Three!"
Snap!
"Mashar ga urca! Chirxen! HOMA!!!"
[Kiiiiiiiiik!!!!]
I wrung neck, leaped—Notum gripped gray hand one side, totem other, chanted unknowable tongue. Limp cockatrice head—pale soul shrieked out.
"De Mato! HOMA! Chirxen DUKAaaaa!!!!"
[Kheeeek! Kiaaaak!]
Windless—Notum's clothes flap, soul writhes, sucked into severed hand.
Flop!
Neck-twisted cockatrice down—chilling gale, storm skies cleared pristine.
"Krung! Done."
"Uh, uwaaa..."
Notum snorted—mercenary clutched pants, slid down. Crotch stain spread—no blame. Closest to spell sans me. Superstitious merc facing troll whirl soul-clouds, chant unknown tongue. Praise for not crapping self.
"D-done?"
"Sure. Big chicken, stone hand trapped."
Weary Notum sat, set temp soul-jar hand—twitched, revived. Middle finger cocked chicken-head style, high; others waddle-walk.
Peck, peck
Waddle, waddle
"Gruk. That's all I know."
"Fr-from here, me!"
Aldritch—gawking with caravan—snapped, grabbed twitching gray hand, sprinkled reagents, magicked.
"Stably soul-bound. Soul arts need rapport—hard cross-species..."
"Gruk. Humans other race to me. Post-mother-separation, all met异族."
"Indeed! Infancy shapes soul form. Notum's... hyper-adaptable, elastic—fits accepting others. That chant? Never heard, let alone taught. Genius or not..."
Notum swatted fly-like, scowled at Aldritch query.
"Days ago, weird ancestor spirits nagging lessons. Yell home, shoo—keep coming."
"Ancestors? Troll ancestor-spirits? Wh-what'd they look like?"
"Three. Unlucky old troll faces."
"Details!"
"Gruu. Beard tree-roots troll..."
"More!"
"Grinning, red-eyed female..."
"More!"
"Lush beard, fancy molars—left broken-"
Grab!
"Broken left molar! Diagonal face scar! Tidy bound hair-beard—not trollish! Matches!"
"Eh... Ghost-old-man sees 'em too? Red-eyes swore invisible..."
"Half-molar Magnauka! 70 years back, Princess kin great-hero, blocked undead troll chieftain! Others equal—visible only if they wish! Souls far beyond mine!"
Aldritch—lunged at Notum—wild-eyed, no gruffness.
"No wonder talent insane! Chosen by them! Rare troll gift—primal mysticism, their shamanism essence! Successor!"
"...Ghost-old-man master? Conspired? Same spiel."
Notum's half-yes—Aldritch near-tears.
"N-no, later. Chat ancestors! Past troll chieftains! Soul talks galore!"
Whish!
"Uh... Aldritch?"
"Preserved, sealed, engraved! No shock, soul treats hand as body! Busy—don't talk!"
Pre-answer toss cockatrice-soul hand—birthday-kid eyes, dragged Notum to caravan corner.
Peck, peck? Poke poke-
Post-chaos frozen folk—floor finger pecked sand, waddled alone.
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