Chapter 106
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 106
Chapter Title: 11th Floor - Lv. 765 Stormhowl Armored Brigade (2)
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A single butterfly flapping its wings in Beijing could summon a storm in New York.
This was a situation that perfectly matched the definition of the butterfly effect.
How had things spiraled this way?
Even for me, this level of chaotic progression in a future timeline was a first.
Factions splintering off was par for the course.
Three-way wars happened all the time.
Since it was a game modeled after reality, the emergence and clash of capitalism and communism were commonplace too.
Just another cliché.
But a theocratic communist state?
In a world where gods actually existed, the definition of materialism had to shift somewhat, so it wasn't impossible.
Yet for it to birth a nation this fanatical and blindly devoted...
What on earth had happened?
But the fine details in between didn't matter to an Exile.
The odds of a future this advantageous to me unfolding were infinitesimally low.
Really.
It couldn't get any better.
This all stemmed from a bit of agitation to topple a single fortress. And not even some grand ideology I'd plotted out—just one I'd picked as needed.
I'd hoped it might work, but it wasn't proper foresight.
No one can predict what chaos a small action might unleash.
Should I tell the captain? Hmm.
[The Goddess of Nature says it's a bad idea.]
Yeah, figured as much.
No matter the relationship, it was too big a bombshell for a mere captain to handle.
The Girl rubbed her head against me like a cat, breathing strangely, all panty and ragged.
I fiddled with her hair as I asked,
"But what's the Goddess's doctrine, anyway? Was there even such a thing?"
A god's constraints didn't automatically become doctrine.
If anything, they were more like loose guidelines.
Unless it was a god bound to dogma, they had autonomy in those matters.
And the Goddess was the Goddess of Freedom, to boot.
"Freedom and democracy aren't antonyms to communism. Capitalism is."
"Well, sure, but..."
"The doctrine I set was that all beneath me are equal. From each according to their ability, to each according to their needs. Haha. Looks like I showed off my powers and kept guiding them steadily. I did a pretty good job, huh? Heh heh heh."
"No, why are you so well-versed in ideology, of all things?"
"Remember that Bolshevik among my followers?"
"Oh, yeah, that was hilarious. I remember."
"The guy wasn't even that experienced, but he was so zealous. Tried teaching me of all people. Spouted pure Stalinism like it was gospel. It wasn't anything I planned—it just stuck because Exiles habitually memorize stuff."
I had plenty to say, but I held my tongue. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
Even the Exile who'd taught the Goddess communism couldn't have foreseen this outcome.
At any rate, the Gobletarian Federation had mobilized with supernatural speed, beyond imagination.
The divine proclamation echoed to all believers simultaneously.
They said the federation's clocks froze for the brief moment the Goddess spoke.
What in the world was going on?
Even amid all that, the fleet battle raged overhead.
This was the Empire's capital planet, after all. The odds were stacked brutally against us.
I asked why they'd launched a full assault straight into enemy territory like this.
The captain grimaced.
"No idea. It was an insane order. We had no choice but to obey."
"What?"
"Fairies don't live long, do they? Must've looked that way to the humans. It's an old grudge. Getting worse by the day."
Ah, I think I get it. Lifespan issues.
It was odd that the crew was all fairies, despite having blood packs ready for human medics.
Irony of ironies. In eras of coexistence among races, racial traits often escalated into social problems.
Lifespan was an especially touchy subject.
No one could fix it. It festered quietly inside.
Long-lived races just mourned their short-lived friends.
But short-lived ones felt the world was unfair, envious.
You couldn't just blame someone.
But letting it escalate this extremely? That was another matter.
"Still, what does that have to do with anything? Sounds like the alliance isn't as tight-knit as it seems."
"Always the way. Things splinter when times get good. Everyone's got their own ideas. This is the alliance's golden age, more prosperous than ever. You can tell just by how boldly they're waging war. It was decided by vote."
The 500-year-old battle-hardened captain gave a bitter smile.
Those who've lived history learn from it. But equal lessons from unexperienced events? Tough.
A fairy's long life became poison here. Constantly adapting to changing societies.
I wondered how the Fairy King and Queen were holding up. Looked like they had their hands full.
[The Goddess of Nature says there's no need to worry about it.]
This one knew everything, huh. Most fairies were still her followers, after all.
Not an urgent issue right now. Hard to pry when a god doesn't volunteer it first. Even close as we were, from a god's view, Exiles were clearly beneath them.
"Even so, they didn't just send you here to kill fairies, right? Doesn't add up."
"The God of Discipline issued an oracle."
Another puzzle piece clicking into place.
"...So, are the humans' religions unified?"
"No reason the faith of the God of Discipline and Coin would weaken in a capitalist society. He's the god of capital, after all. Seems he foresaw victory in this war."
At least that cleared one thing up. The Saintess had succeeded in the end.
I glanced at the old man, who looked downright sheepish.
"Didn't see this coming."
"Neither did I."
Even with all conditions perfect, the odds of it actually unfolding like this were slim.
Unless probability wasn't converging to the mean but bouncing wildly.
The Saintess's path was a perfect outlier.
But anomalies like this had plagued this run from the start.
Before even reaching the kingdom, we'd hit a concrete historical future. Impossible from the outset.
But now, not everything would flow so favorably.
Alliance fractures were a headache. Especially if the God of Discipline fanned the flames.
Strictly speaking, I sided with the fairies, not humans.
Unlike the Goddess of Nature, the God of Discipline wouldn't act without compensation, given his seat's nature. Though he'd step up for mutual gain.
Could turn foe anytime, if needed.
At least in this future.
So if he moved for his gain now, he'd have an angle.
Victory in war? Fair point. A nation under the Goddess's de facto dictatorship. Even riding coattails profited him.
And with the Empire gone, much would change. This future solidifies; the alliance falls to the God of Discipline.
A neat checkmate. No need to weigh pros and cons yet.
First, crush the common foe: the Empire.
Wonder how much faith the God of War retained?
He must've felt like he'd been royally screwed the moment he saw the future.
The God of War gnashed his teeth at the newly unveiled future possibilities.
The first board laid on this server was a world ruled by Greenskins.
It evolving into a three-way deadlock was lamentable enough, but now a hopeless war loomed.
Gods turned foes began interfering en masse. Chaos among them formed an excessive barrier.
Totalitarianism backed by faith? He'd never seen such a deranged combo.
What were these reds doing, not denying gods?
All people equal under the Goddess? That rotten joke just earned curses.
Don't treat gods special. They're mere Exiles, for crying out loud.
But the God of War had to admit it.
This was his defeat.
In this era, blinded by money and tech, Greenskins no longer offered him blind loyalty.
Uncontrollable Greenskins would chase selfish desires and self-destruct.
Not yet, but inevitable defeat.
But the God of War wins wars—that's why he's the God of War.
Futures can be changed.
He turned his gaze past time's barrier, back to the past.
Not the future, but the present: an emperor lounging lazily on his jade throne.
He noticed the God of War watching.
"My god, what now? You foresaw the future?"
"You've lost. That's the future I saw."
"Is that so? That Exile's a real pain. Did the Empire fall?"
"Not yet. But soon. In that future again. Goblins are the issue. After breaking away, they got baptized in advanced science."
"Hm, goblins. Even those puny things become a threat in the future?"
The emperor tilted his head. He couldn't imagine how those weaklings posed danger.
The God of War had no intention of lecturing a historical figure on tech history.
The emperor was an orc.
What an orc must do—what an orc God of War must do—was set.
"You win."
"Or should I wipe out the goblins now?"
"If you wish. Do you want to?"
"I'm no fool. Wars aren't won by the strong. The survivors are the strong. Right?"
The God of War burst out laughing. The laid-back emperor was spot on.
A genuinely pleasant laugh after ages.
Of course, he had no plans to let that Exile rampage in the future.
All problems stemmed from that annoyingly competent Exile.
Right now, he was isolated. Not with his sturdy ally, the Federation.
A glaring opening.
The God of War, diminished from before but still commanding hefty faith, issued a divine proclamation to his followers.
A man who must die.
For the great war and eternal Empire!
If that Exile croaked in the future like this, everything would change.
Truly everything.
Everything in the Labyrinth boiled down to probability. The futures it showed were mere possibilities.
This one emerging meant its probability had spiked dramatically.
"Confirmed" futures weren't truly fixed.
They could converge infinitely toward 100%. Nothing was impossible in this world.
Time to look away from thorny issues. A simpler, vital problem loomed.
Survive. Ejection to the next run voids all scheming.
The medic brought a big box, saying no humans available.
No need to open the blood packs myself. Blood floated up, flowing into me.
I shared some with the kid too.
I also requested spare gear for the captain and crash-landed soldiers.
This era had potent sunblock for vampires.
Might contact Federation folks, so the medic pulled a backpack from his load, prepared.
Though using it restricted bat or wolf transformations. Not combat-oriented anyway.
The Hunter eyed the handed plasma rifle with a bizarre expression.
"Don't sweat it. Same as any gun. Aim and shoot—the target's toast."
"A bluish mist zips out at hypersonic speed, burning and melting foes? Hard to picture."
"Not much different from magic. Science explains the principle, but the energy source is magic, probably."
Labyrinth science was magitech ultimately. Why develop pure science in a magic-filled world?
No reason to.
The Hunter stuffed mana battery packs—equivalent to mags—then test-fired.
As in games, a bluish beam shot out fast. The hit rock charred, melted, then cooled solid.
"Nice. Top-notch. No recoil."
The Youngest, as a shooter dipping into off-meta, hefted the shield one-handed. In this era, few attacks could be blocked without [Barrier] active.
But shields with [Skills] had their effects.
The pure tank now packed serious offense.
All attacks had vastly extended ranges compared to old times, blurring front and back lines.
Most enemies here were gunner types.
So the Youngest got a plasma rifle too.
He disassembled it with eerie familiarity, like he'd done it a thousand times.
"Room-temp fusion power source? First time seeing one this compact. Old boss said miniaturization wasn't there yet."
Well, yeah—not pure science, but magitech.
Wait, what'd he say?
Too comfy with unfamiliar future weapons. Party went quiet, suspicious.
I spoke for them.
"Hey, mind if I ask what year it was on the calendar before you entered the Labyrinth?"
The Youngest blinked, puzzled.
"2077."
Party faces grew weirder.
Huh. Figures they felt too dystopian. We'd skimmed personal stories, so it slipped by.
Slum tales stay similar across eras—hard to distinguish.
As we reeled, the Youngest's expertise across weapons surfaced.
As the gang's enforcer, he'd handled plenty.
Naturally, he'd learned back then.
Oddly, magitech gear mirrored structures from his outside world.
He adapted fast.
Convergent evolution in tech? Or yet more proof the Labyrinth was just a game...
The Youngest seemed to notice something off too.
His rare smile soured slightly.
But faith held strong. The Goddess's mercy eased his face.
As always, he stood ready to fight for her.
If the Goddess had a high priest and grand warrior, her holy knight was here.
A burly, bald Hispanic hunk.
Plasma rifle in right hand, mountain-like shield in left.
The cross of chaos was his inner faith and devotion.