Chapter 408
Chapter 408
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Railed (12)
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Racial laws. Or racial customary laws.
They're not laws with any particular binding force. Think of them as a type of customary law established after the Mutant Race War, during the great interspecies unification.
For example, trying to put a dwarf on a horse will start a fight, or telling a beastkin their fur is soft is a compliment, but mentioning its sheen is considered sexual harassment—guidelines like that for taboos stemming from each race's characteristics.
At first glance, you might think, "Oh, humanity put in quite the effort to bridge interspecies differences!"
"'Dwarf-style labor reeducation'?"
"That's right! Your boy injured our comrade, so this Professor punk has to make up for what Gary lost!"
"We've got a fair number of dwarves in our city too, but I had no idea about customs like that."
"It's the tradition of the Blackfoot clan! Instead of chopping off hands or feet, it's about making them repent through sacred labor and sweat... something like that!"
"The injured dwarf's name was definitely 'Gary Coralhand,' wasn't it?"
"Hey, kid! I'm Blackfoot! This one's the guy I raised!"
I swallowed hard at the sight of the family head staring down at the two dwarf fathers (Gary Coralhand/Bout Blackfoot—drinking buddies) with a cold expression.
As you can see, what they call racial customary law is just nylon culture—hang it on your ear, it's an earring; on your nose, a nose ring.
Truth is, even humans from the Tel Drat Empire and the Western Empire have completely different cultures. You think dwarves or elves all share the same one? Dwarves live scattered in villages, greenskins in tribes.
And in this current 4th World, exchanges between cities are heavily restricted. If someone insists it's their race's culture, the other side—who doesn't know better—has a hard time refuting it. What are you gonna do if they claim it's their racial tradition?
That elf Naelda insisting "She got jumped, so she has to marry him!" worked because of preconceptions about elves and exploiting this ambiguity.
Of course, since everyone's got their own version, these racial customary laws have no real enforceability—they're just hard to argue against.
"Labor reeducation... How long?"
"Uh... The kid's a vegetable from mana addiction, so at least a year!"
"No! That's a year of dwarf labor. For a nine-year-old human kid's worth, it should be at least eight years! Damn right!"
"Have you ever seen parents hand over their kid for eight years over something like this?"
"Fine, forget it then! But Pardau Fortress will get a reputation as a fortress swarming with snipers targeting engineers!"
"Is that a threat? You, mere magitech train workers, threatening Delpiad Brasstoll, head of the Brasstoll family?"
"It's not a threat—it's the truth! We got shot, and it was at Pardau Fortress station!"
"The reporters all saw that punk Professor causing a ruckus by firing a gun in front of the station! They're all curious about that second shot, and if we so much as open our mouths—"
"...Enough."
Racial law was just an excuse to get me on the train.
What really pressured the Brasstoll family was the fact: "A shooting happened at the fortress city's station."
There was a dwarf right there collapsed from a bullet wound, and the perp himself confessed, "I shot him! To exterminate pests!"
From the family's perspective, even if it was sending me to my death instead of labor reeducation, they had no choice but to hand me over.
"...I'll discuss it with the retainers."
"No need to hear it! What discussion with engineers who have to leave tomorrow? Hand him over! We're putting him to work!"
"Just as you have your racial cultures, we humans have our own discipline."
"We don't wanna hear it! Some psycho kid shoots with clear murderous intent, and you're just gonna teach him a few years of work and send him back? What meeting? Instead of groveling in thanks!"
"Leave it to us! We'll shove this rotten brat's mind into the engine and burn it to a crisp!"
At least a few months of rumors that could dry up the fortress city, plus the family scandal of their prized live contract.
The family head's choice was decided from the start.
"Five years! No less! It'll take over four just to learn the work!"
"Agreed. In exchange, announce publicly that my son is boarding the train to fulfill a noble's duty."
"Do whatever. Now, we'll take him!"
'Worked out well.'
Five years. Exactly the timeframe we discussed at the station. From the family head's view, as long as I was back before turning fifteen—an adult—they could still use me for marriage alliances, so five years was fine.
Of course, I had no intention of slacking for five years, so by then I'd have enough power to break free from family orders.
Now, just get out safely and party with the Railship crew...
"Ah, before you take him. Mind if I speak with the boy a moment? He's my son, after all. Surely you'll grant parents a little time with a child they'll be separated from for years?"
"Well... sure. We can't stop you from—Gah!"
'You idiots! I told you beforehand—only say you "won't listen" to anything else!'
I pinched their calves hard to cut them off mid-sentence, but the answer had already slipped out.
A voice cold as ice, despite the words. Anyone could see no warm parent-child talk was coming, but the dwarves, thrilled things went their way, let their guard down.
"Family matters, so outsiders wait outside, please."
"Uh... Mr. Brasstoll, on second thought, our dwarf racial law actually—"
"Professor, come here. Thank you for understanding. Haurus? Escort the guests around the mansion for now."
"Yes, family head. I'll guide you, engineers."
"Uh, uh uh..."
The dwarves, catching my glare, tried to backpedal, but the mood had already shifted.
Thud.
The office door closed,
"Hoo—"
followed by the family head's heavy sigh,
Slap!
"If you're useless, learn to hold your breath. You know being alive is already beyond your station, right?"
The true face of family head Delpiad Brasstoll revealed itself.
'Well, figured he was this type.'
A typical noble. Nothing special. Especially as a regional lord in such isolation—basically a king without accountability.
When the fainted kid woke up and they didn't even check his face, I knew: "This guy's the type."
'...Hm?'
The family head's expression after the sudden slap was odd.
Contempt, irritation, annoyance... mixed with a strange flicker of interest.
"Still, you've proven half Brasstoll blood at least."
"Pardon?"
"Disgusting, isn't it? Pests playing human, clinging to fleeting popularity to claim rights. Tending livestock well doesn't mean the owner respects it—they don't get that."
"Should've taught you to handle a gun properly. If you're gonna shoot, kill them."
Huh?
The family head was showing me some goodwill, however slight.
The very sentiment the character "Professor Brasstoll" had craved for nine years.
What was this?
Suddenly?
Toward me?
Tick, tick, tick—
Ding!
'This guy's a bad one! Passive effect kicked in—gained favor!'
[Evil Aura Lv.3]: Righteous types irrationally hostile toward me; evil types gain slight fondness.
Hence the odd camaraderie. Huh? The bastard stashed in the warehouse went out and shot a dwarf? Just wanted to kill the pest on sight?
"Not bad for tainted blood. You can even think properly."
That act pleased the eyes of family head Delpiad Brasstoll, a true racist bigot.
'Uh... good? Deal's done anyway—train trip confirmed...'
"Follow me. Since you're pretending to be family, I'll give you a chance. Railship's perfect—ties into what our house is pursuing."
The deal closed well, but now the family head was adding something extra.
"Uh, um..."
"Don't stand there like an idiot—move. The butler can't hold those pests forever."
"Yes, sir."
Didn't know what, but had to check what they were doing with my future home, the Railship.
The family head urged me into a passage hidden behind the bookshelf.
"So. When did you start thinking like that? Until recently, you were no different from a beast—throwing things and bawling."
"Uh... Just snapped when I ran into them by chance?"
"Excellent. Means you've matured enough for proper thoughts. Revulsion at cockroaches is instinct."
"You mentioned work—any pay?"
"Pay? You think vermin like you can demand from me?"
"No, gotta live in filth for five years—thought of bringing a maid—"
"If you need a woman, just say so. Do this well, and I'll give you one. Usable even after five years, unless you turn savage."
Step step.
Tap tap.
'...Why? Why do we click?'
Every word hit home. In the short descent to the family underground, the family head's gaze grew greedier.
'Pretty deep... Basement level 2?'
No rebar concrete era—basement carved from granite bedrock. Roughly 7-8 meters down. Stairs suggested not directly under the mansion, but offset.
Secret passage from the office already suspicious; at the stair end, fully armed private soldiers waited.
"...Family head. What exactly is the job?"
Step. Step.
Clank.
Stair's end. Before a door lit by hazy blue mana lamps, the family head flashed a similarly hazy smile.
"Fearful eyes. What do you think's inside?"
'Whatever it is, doesn't feel good.'
No retreat. Straight granite stairs—no detours.
Closest allies: three surface dwarves. Combat dubious.
Predictable threats: eight heavily armed noble guards. Arcane shooters like rifles, plus melee gear and more.
'Worst case, snatch a gun, shoot the lights, bolt.'
Magitech firearms' perk: low recoil, kids can handle roughly.
Checked escape right at the door.
Because an impossibly thick stench of blood wafted from beyond the sealed door.
'Black magic? Cult? That vibe from earlier? Not open to just anyone.'
Thud—
Grind—
While I sharpened senses, two guards ahead of the family head heaved open the heavy stone door.
Unlike the blood stench, the interior was bright and fresh.
People in dark robes milling about, one wall filled with gleaming multicolored gems.
"Those are..."
"You went out today to see a Shard Knight, right? Interested in them?"
The family head crossed to the strictly secured gems.
"Me too. These shards are our house's future—humanity's last hope!"
About twenty shards lined one wall. Some handled carefully on lab tables; opposite...
Shing!
Slice, splatter!
Drip drip!
Others in robes—chill blade work carving flesh.
"F-Family head, this place..."
"Didn't I say? Those up top are just livestock. Feed them well, coax milk, produce value."
"This is just where we slaughter the raised stock."
Only then did I recall the city's layout I'd vaguely memorized earlier.
Central tracks. Bustling mix of market, industry, station on the outskirts.
That prominent crematorium that stuck out.
Robed figures stuffing butchered corpses into furnaces confirmed it.
"Harvesting... shards from city folk?"
"Harvest fits domesticated better than gathering wild resources."
"Gathering—that's your job."
Approaching my shocked self, the family head pressed a small bundle into my hand.
Faint mana-mixed lump through thick leather.
"Railship has a Shard Knight named Volteus aboard. You know the name at least."
"Hide this in his quarters. As close to him as possible."
"What... is it?"
"A trap. For beasts using our name but shirking duty. Already settled with the Straugh side."
The family head smiled whitely, forcing the pouch into my grip.
"Soul mage treasure. Bone shard for soul jars."
Only then did the rattling piece in my hand feel familiar.
The robed ones' mana resembled someone's from long ago too.
"With it, you'll recover Volteus's shard."
"Success, and Railship returns to Straugh, shard to us. Kill the rest, no need for your five years slaving for inferiors."
"Happy? Chance to atone, rise as family member? Nobles handle it like this."
"H-ha... Yes. Thrilled, really."
I flashed a bright smile at the smirking family head.
No lie. Mood was pretty good right now.
'Brasstoll house—blow it sky-high from the roots.'
Joined plot to gut my new home, Railship, from the pillars.
Gotta use it, right?
"Hahaha, can't wait to kill 'em all."
"Understand the humiliation, but rush and you'll die."
I savored the family head's satisfied back, then got details from the responsible mage.
"Soul mage guilder, they say."
"Soul mages..."
Come to think—Railship talk mentioned soul mages among mainstream.
"So these mages here... all soul mages?"
"Think you handle shards without them?"
"Ah."
Seemed like plenty to learn.
Before wiping them out—while still "ally."
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