Chapter 104
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 104
Chapter Title: 11th Floor - Lv. 765 Stormhowl Armored Brigade (1)
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This game's devs were a bunch of truly experimental game nerds.
You could tell from the fact that it started more like a club for hardcore gamers than an actual company. Commercial viability? Not even on their radar.
They just made what they wanted to make, hustled their asses off, and ended up founding a company.
Then they barely ate or slept, grinding away until they somehow achieved legit success and started hiring more people.
A heartwarming tale, right?
Naturally, the game itself was built less for user convenience and more to scratch the itch of those game nerds.
And they never compromised on that.
At least not until the moment I got dragged into this Labyrinth.
So development here was basically a war against data mining.
I can still hear that planner's smug declaration.
[There's no way to completely stop data mining. But what if there's just a shit-ton of data? Wahahahahaha!]
Data mining means ripping apart the game files to figure out how everything's structured.
That statement was bullshit code for "so much content you'll never know what to look for, endless possibilities, and random encounters crammed everywhere."
But these lunatics actually pulled it off. Partially, anyway.
Sure, it's a retro dot-pixel game with dogshit graphics that doesn't eat up dev resources.
The company grew quietly big enough to throw manpower at it.
And even if the CEO and all the founders were out of their minds.
In a game with a decent player base, they built a maze so convoluted even the data miners got lost.
Tons to mine, but good luck sorting through the mess—even the miners were confused.
The devs probably were too, but surprisingly, they pulled it off. It was a mystery to me.
After coming to the Labyrinth, I kinda get it now.
Maybe those bastards all visited this place?
Cleared it even?
How the fuck did you beat it? You pricks.
Get me out too!
In that sense, the first thing I needed to check was whether this future worked in my favor.
Even back in my gaming days, the planner racked his brain to implement a system like this.
The result? A medieval fantasy world as the baseline, with futures and pasts branching off from there.
Specifically, near-future and far-future, near-past and far-past.
The most fluid of them all is the future.
Futures aren't set in stone.
The one I experienced could be altered by someone else's meddling.
To lock it in for good, it has to be solidified beyond any interference.
So first, I needed to confirm whose ship this crashing battleship belonged to—what race or faction.
My party members scattered, busy with the survival scavenging mission I'd assigned them.
The info from my future self only went as far as "intense crash right on entering Floor 11."
Anything more specific? Impossible.
Future me and present me are on entirely different timelines—anything could change.
The party fans out. Ideally, lifeboats, water filtration for producing drinking water, rations—anything helpful for surviving an unknown planetary surface.
Me and the kid move separately. The vampire can free-fly, so the crash isn't a crisis for her.
Though the blazing sunlight would be pretty damn painful.
The hull shakes again.
Explosion somewhere.
Still taking fire, looks like.
This is one big ship.
I sprint down the corridor, scanning.
Ceiling's not that high. Too cramped for trolls, let alone ogres.
Orcs are big too. Average adult male orc hits 2 meters, so even with space-saving in mind, not Greenskins.
Finish work's too clean. Greenskin techies can't shake their crude, rugged style—they love it that way.
Doesn't feel this smooth.
Good news so far.
But no signs pointing to goblins either.
Goblins are small. In a future with guns and fleets, that's a huge advantage.
This corridor's sized just right for humans.
And decorative magic runes everywhere.
Has to be ancient fairy script as the base.
Who else would dig this stuff? Fairies, obviously.
Got the rough layout now—know which way's the front. I bolt toward what I figure is the bridge.
Sense hurried movement. Not my party.
Eye contact.
Grove Fairy.
"You...?"
I scan the rank insignia on her uniform. Three unfamiliar symbols. Captain? Colonel? Mid-grade officer at least—not an admiral.
Subdue her? Negotiate?
I hold off aggression to gauge her reaction first.
She draws her gun.
"Exile? Hold on—which side?!"
"Enemy of the Greenskins."
"The big ones or the small ones?"
Great question. Looks like the Gobletarian Federation's still kicking here too.
"Same side as the small ones."
The Grove Fairy's expression shifts rapidly. Wheels turning.
She scratches her head irritably, then decides.
"To the captain!"
She grabs my arm and runs. I go along with it.
Exiles' rep skyrockets in the future.
Continent locals aren't idiots. Tales of endlessly appearing Exiles spread by word of mouth up to pre-modern times.
Once proper comms gear develops and internet-like stuff goes mainstream, everything gets recorded.
Scientific progress hits the same way.
Rational, logical thinking.
As tech advances, locals start researching Exiles.
By this era? Exiles aren't burdens anymore. Powerful strangers with missions.
I ask while running.
"How many years since the Fairy Wars?"
She glances back like "why ask that?" then remembers I'm an Exile.
Exiles who meddle in the future are rare.
Don't show up often, so even if they know the lore, firsthand? First time.
"Around 1500 years, I think."
So about 500 years past Floor 10. Long-lived races might still be kicking.
The captain's surprisingly a fox-eared leaf fairy.
Looks late twenties. But fairies age slow—won't look a day over thirty till death.
Leaf fairies don't usually crew ships, though. Rare.
The Grove Fairy snaps a crisp salute.
Fox-ear captain half-asses the return and eyes me.
"What the— you're an Exile...?"
Her face goes blank. Oh, I know that look. She knows me.
Fox ears? Where've I seen 'em?
Fox-ear fairies are pretty uncommon.
Captain's face twists in distant memory, eyes blinking fast.
They narrow.
Finally hits her.
"Great Mage... sir?"
Shit. Got it.
Komma, the leaf fairy who heard my exploits on Floor 6. Hunter was especially fond of her.
This is why you build good connections.
I'd been ready to straight-up loot if needed, but no reason now.
Gathered the party.
The old man gets escorted in, looking majorly distressed. Kid too.
Hunter slinks along awkwardly.
Orc and orc-looking human.
Can't help that.
Hostile races popping up on a fairy ship outta nowhere.
They're lucky they weren't shot. Hunter's advocacy kept it to this.
Old man's mind-fried from this first-ever sight and situation.
Crew's all heading to lifeboats. Captain sidles up cautiously.
"You here to save us again?"
Just moments ago, cool pro soldier vibe.
Now? Glimpse of childhood innocence.
500 years ain't young for a fairy. Veteran of veterans.
But humans, fairies—same deal.
Hard-knock childhood on the run, then an Exile wipes the pursuers and spins fun tales.
How deep does that memory cut?
I've kept friendly ties with fairies since.
This is childhood hero worship territory.
I'm the fairy-tale figure.
To not shatter her revived innocence, I reply.
"Of course."
Captain chuckles. Like her own words amused her.
"Ah, must be the shock. Hop on quick."
"No room for other crew?"
Shadow crosses her face.
"No helping it. Let a legendary Exile returning after 500 years die? I'd get demoted. Die socially even if I survive."
That's how I'm remembered? Perfect. Just as planned.
"Nah, my party's crash-proof."
Don't mention the looting supplies plan.
She shakes her head.
"This is enemy turf. Planet's crawling with orcs. Even in a lifeboat, survival's iffy."
"Aw, we remnants now?"
"Yeah."
Flash of emotions: grief, shame, duty.
Good upbringing.
"Alright, time to help fast then."
"Huh? How...?"
"No vampires in the Gobletarian Federation?"
Captain's eyes blink like crazy. Thinking tic?
"Vampire?"
"Nah, can't tell?"
"Well..."
"Forget it—vampire'll play chaff, best damn decoy ever."
"Ah... thank you. We don't mount that gear anyway."
Ship not built for atmo combat?
Captain looks sheepish.
I get it. This era leans less on personal gut-checks.
Tech scans over eyeballing.
Spotting vampires on sight? Old folks' trick.
Now it's inspection magic gear.
Personal spellcasting's downplayed too.
Exiles same. Most yanked from modern Earth or similar.
Medieval fantasy Exiles are "futurians."
More advanced mindset, tactics.
But now?
Exiles benchmark off medieval era—most crucial, most visits.
Today's Exiles wield forgotten tech from the past.
Not all bad.
Exiles can't hack medieval thinking; locals forgot personal might.
Era of no lone heroes battling the world.
True—can't tank particle beam crossfire, even as great mage.
So no one expects it.
"Got any blood?"
"Medic has human blood packs."
"Human crew too?"
"Ah... yes. Humans and fairies same nation now. You jumped a ton of time."
Good. Great. Perfect.
Lock this future down.
Ship rocks hard again.
Solid hit.
Fall accelerates—lost remaining thrust, freefall now.
"Take care of my party."
"What are you gonna—?"
I bolt past to the lifeboat launch tube.
Sea of clouds below.
Mad AA barrage pouring.
Greenskins' greeting.
Lucky—breathable air planet.
Well terraformed. Not by Greenskins—stolen.
I split into as many bats as possible.
Sun stings. Major damage incoming.
But won't drop my vampire tier.
Ship this size? Blood packs aplenty.
Surface first, think later.
Bats scatter, blasting mana.
Sensors won't tell decoys from real.
Chasing hundreds of phantoms? Miss the real deal.
Tech advances, old magic slips through cracks.
My bits start getting shot down.
Lifeboats survive instead.
Some unlucky ones blasted, but party hits dirt safe.
Charred, ragged, corner of planet.
I tailed interference—farther out.
Sun brutal. Shade first. Body's burning. [Blood Spring] near cap.
Then the Nature God speaks.
"This... is quite the ideal future."
"Don't you rarely use divine speech?"
"How could I not give special treatment after your devotion?"
"Cut it—tell me the era's sitrep quick."
God observes futures through Exiles.
Just processed 500 years' worth—head full till now.
"Ooooooh!"
Purple void throne, nothing else.
The Goddess of Chaos leaps up, yelling.
Her latest future connection via believer dumped insane intel.
No god keeps medieval glory into the future era.
Science erodes faith—even real gods lose blind devotion.
Ex- Exile origins usually public knowledge.
Ruins purity hard.
Gods need mystery.
But the Holy Gobletarian Federation? Nah.
Last theocracy of this era.
Fanatic state lurking to chaos the world.
Spanned servers, ages—never this loyalty.
New even for her.
"This is almost burdensome."
The Chaos Lord's billions of faithful make her sheepishly scratch her cheek.