Normalization (1)

Roughly two hours had passed since the Cain Statue plunged through the cave ceiling like an orbital strike.

Those two hours were a miserable slog spent patching the gaping crater overhead. Having burned through all our reserve materials, I was forced to drag Ggobongi out into the bitter cold to haul more lumber.

"Don't wanna work! Too cold!"

"Sweet potatoes confiscated."

"Actually, got fat. Need exercise."

That was roughly how our negotiations went. Every time I held a conversation with him, I found myself questioning whether he was actually a gorilla or just a hairy, cynical man in a monkey suit.

In any case, with the civil crisis in El Dorado safely resolved, the only looming concern left was the Blood Cult. According to the Heavenly Demon, they hadn't mobilized any large-scale movements yet, but their operation was expected to begin soon.

Still... did this tiny hunk of rock really balloon into something that massive?

I stared down at the Cain Statue sitting innocently on my workstation—the very entity that had ostensibly saved El Dorado from ruin. In the photos posted all over the Gallery, it towered two to three times higher than a multi-story cathedral, yet the thing sitting before my eyes was barely larger than a hand puppet. Could such a pint-sized carving truly transform into a colossal titan dwarfing city ramparts?

To call it a coincidence strained credulity; the timing was far too exquisite, and their features were identical down to the finest filigree on the armor. More than anything, the way it had squirmed and twitched after plummeting back into my cave proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that it possessed a living will.

Even if it is the same statue, why the hell was it tucked inside a mimic in the first place?

Examining every detail only raised more questions than answers. But this was the Forest of the Four Seasons—a primordial realm where burning common sense at the stake made life infinitely more tolerable.

Wait... what if?

What if I hitched a ride on this thing when it took off? Couldn't I use it to launch myself clear out of the forest? To an outside observer, the idea sounded completely unhinged—suicidal, even. But I was entirely serious.

For that scheme to work, however, specific conditions had to be met. The first and most critical was the Hero.

Ludwig said it blasted into the sky declaring that it was answering a righteous call.

The video clip circulating on the forum showed the exact same thing: the giant titan thundering that it had answered the summon. That call almost certainly belonged to Hero Asella. Her Holy Sword must have acted as a spatial beacon, guiding Cain directly to her location. Without such an anchor, there was no way it could have pinpointed the exact plaza before the Papal Palace with pinpoint ballistic accuracy.

Which means if I want to run experiments, I need the Hero's direct cooperation...

To be frank, I had already pieced together the Hero's true identity.

The Gallery's orange-tag head administrator: Don't Abandon the Hero.

Beneath that slightly clumsy, earnest demeanor lay an unyieldingly righteous heart. Her occasional mentions of being pursued by inquisitors, her fanatical devotion to Aris, and above all, the way she bent over backward to grant me special favors just so I could care for Ludwig all pointed toward one person.

Still, I have to account for the possibility that I'm wrong.

She was likely neck-deep in post-crisis political cleanup right now, so confronting her directly was best postponed. Posting about it openly on the Gallery was equally out of the question; there was no telling what kind of catastrophic ripple effect it might provoke. If foreign zealots discovered that a holy relic capable of crushing armies resided right here, hordes of crusaders might march blindly into the deadly forest on a sacred pilgrimage.

Would more people entering the forest be good for my chances of rescue? Once again, emphasize the word blindly. If they came thoroughly prepared, I wouldn't stop them, but reckless zealots would only feed the wildlife.

Still, I need to understand its mechanics.

I decided to consult Allfather. When it came to high-concept magical theory and ancient artifacts, no one was better qualified. Setting aside public posts, gathering intel was my top priority.

Perhaps he, too, had been monitoring the situation in El Dorado, as he was logged on and responded almost immediately. He had gone completely silent after desperately requesting more ambergris the other week, which had left me somewhat concerned.

That made explaining things far simpler. I summarized the sequence of events: the sudden ignition, the blast into the stratosphere, and its subsequent re-entry as a miniature meteor crashing right into my shelter. As far-fetched as it sounded, the probability that this carving was the exact entity that manifested in El Dorado was virtually absolute.

Allfather listened quietly, then let out a breathless, unhinged gasp through the screen.

To be honest, I was fully prepared to send it over. It would have made it much easier for Allfather to analyze its structure. But the moment I dragged the Cain Statue into the Gallery's parcel interface, my worst suspicion materialized into cold, hard text.

"..."

The cardinal rule of the Gallery: living organisms were strictly prohibited from dimensional parcel transfer. In other words, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠system recognized this carved hunk of rock as an autonomous living lifeform.

A statue is alive? Are you kidding me?

I had harbored my doubts, but seeing system confirmation laid bare left me speechless. Then again, the colossal titan displayed on the forum had moved with organic fluidity and even spoken with a thunderous voice. A fleeting memory resurfaced of the living mithril vein we had mined in the cavern, which had also registered as a living entity despite not having a mouth.

In the end, observation was our only option. If El Dorado ever faced another catastrophe, Cain would likely answer the call again. If I timed it right, could I seize that moment to break out of this cage? It felt like a plausible gambit.

In steampunk engineering, vacuum tubes were communication and transport conduits, serving as the high-pressure precursors to landline telephones and pneumatic shuttles. The Holy Sword and the statue operated on an analogous principle—the critical difference being their operational vector.

Holy shit.

What kind of ancient civilization built an intercontinental ballistic missile delivery system into a religious carved effigy? This wasn't fantasy magic; this was straight-up military-grade sci-fi weaponry. Yet as absurd as it sounded, Allfather's hypothesis accounted for every single anomaly: the violent vertical launch, the atmospheric sonic booms, and its burning descent like an orbital re-entry vehicle. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Its targeting precision was immaculate, striking the capital plaza with negligible variance.

I snapped my head around to glare at Ludwig. As if sensing my gaze through pure holy intuition, the old paladin sat serenely in the corner, clasping his hands in silent prayer. A heavy sigh escaped my lips. Part of me wanted to chuck the relic straight into the river.

That settled it. The piggyback ICBM escape route was scrubbed. Even if I survived the launch, there was no telling when or where it would deploy next. Living normally and keeping an eye out for grounded opportunities remained the only sane path forward.

Better keep this entirely off the Gallery.

Broadcasting its location wouldn't benefit me in the slightest. It would just sit on a shelf as an eccentric paperweight. Still, since I had no idea when it might decide to rocket into space again, constructing a designated launch hatch felt like an urgent necessity.

The launch chute... right over there should do.

My eyes drifted toward the ceiling patch that had been blasted apart twice in a single afternoon. Right now, it was held together with timber and twine, but framing it into a chimney-style blow-out hatch would save my ceiling from further structural demolition.

"Old man. Wrap up the prayer session. Let's make dinner."

"Mm."

Obsessing over an uncommunicative rock wouldn't fill our bellies. I called Ludwig over to prepare our evening meal, and as Tyrano bounded outside to play, I turned to gather my cookware.

Clatter—

A sharp rattle echoed from behind. I glanced over my shoulder. The statue, which I had loosely rested atop a wooden crate, lay face-down on the cave floor. Come to think of it, it had rattled and twitched persistently when it first crash-landed.

My gaze slowly traveled upward toward the hastily patched ceiling, then back down to the figurine.

"...Hey."

"..."

"Quit pretending to be an inanimate toy and drag your ass over here."

Did it think this was some children's animated movie about living toys? It possessed a proven consciousness, and it had delivered booming speeches across the plaza in El Dorado. Even compressed into this miniature form, there was zero reason it couldn't move.

"I'm giving you three seconds before I use you as a pumice stone for my crusty heel calluses. Move."

"..."

"Three... two..."

Right before the final count left my lips—

Clack! Clack! Clack!

With stiff, mechanical jerks like an antique nutcracker, the stone figurine marched across the stone floor. To an ordinary person, the spectacle of a carved relic waddling autonomously through a dim cavern would have been deeply terrifying, but in my eyes, it was merely an annoying, ceiling-wrecking pest.

Finally, the Cain Statue came to a crisp halt before my boots, puffing its miniature chest out proudly.

And then...

"$%$#%$... #$%#%!"

A string of ancient, utterly unintelligible syllables spilled from its stone jaw—the exact same alien dialect Ludwig spoke.

Naturally, I couldn't comprehend a single word. But from the stiff, solemn salute and the resonance in its tiny cadence, the nuance came across crystal clear.

I have answered the call.

"...Good grief."

First an ancient dragon hatchling, and now a talking, walking ballistic statue. Life in the wild was certainly never dull.