Chapter 116
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 116
Chapter Title: 12th Floor - Lv. 445 Fairy Mafia (1)
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The Labyrinth had never been generous with inventory space, even back in its game days.
It factored in weight, of course, but volume was the real killer.
Any veteran gamer knew the grid-based inventory system all too well—it enforced volume limits with ruthless efficiency.
Equipment didn't just weigh you down; it took up space in shapes like 2x4 grids or 4x6 slabs, flaunting their bulk.
The inventory's capacity scaled with bag quality, but bigger physical size meant more room overall.
Once reality kicked in, though, all that complexity vanished.
Games simplify reality, sure—but sometimes reality simplifies things even more than the game.
The Hunter smacked his lips in disappointment, but the party had no more room to carry anything.
Even the Orc shaman wielding his Thunder Hammer had snagged a plasma rifle tuned to his massive frame.
The old timer believed true combat meant steel clashing against steel, but he'd chased novelty from the start.
Weapons like these, straight out of some wizard's fever dream, clearly fascinated him.
"One shot from this, and the magic barriers were shaking like leaves in a storm. The principle's not far off from fire magic, is it?"
Seizing a moment of downtime, he launched into his own magical analysis. The pint-sized wizard jumped in, and even the little one eavesdropped quietly.
The three magic users seemed to click just fine.
The Girl flipped the switch, eyes wide with awe.
"Lightsaber...!"
"Why's a squirt like you geeking out over that?"
"Lord Vader's my idol!"
Talk about old-school tastes. Not that it's a bad thing.
The game's devs shared those tastes, so the lightsabers here worked exactly like that.
Plasma contained by magnetic fields or whatever. Scientifically dubious window dressing—and with magitech, there's no room for logic anyway.
I'm no expert in magitech myself.
No need to be.
Once science mixes in, every weapon and tool needs maintenance.
And for that, you have to head back to the server era where you got it.
That's not sustainable in practice.
You could force it, but Mjolnir's already a top-tier out-of-place artifact for this era.
Raiding [Main Dungeon] or scouring every era on the continent for more gear makes sense long-term.
Realistically, personalized firearms you can use for ages are the practical pick.
Maintaining them doesn't take much study.
The youngest was teaching the newbie gun-bearers basic disassembly and reassembly.
Plasma and beam rifles need cleaning after use. Batteries too.
Energy's plentiful, but the plasma conversion gear wears out.
It's a game mechanic that treats guns as consumables—and a penalty for firearm rangers.
Insane firepower comes free, so you grind proficiency elsewhere.
While that wrapped up quick, I was having my own intriguing chat.
"You've got a captured Exile?"
"Yes, that's right."
Word of an Exile probably sent them into a frenzy, scheming how to squeeze him dry...
With all the massive events we've faced, it's not like we haven't seen this before—it's more common in medieval fantasy eras, actually.
Anyone would think to capture an Exile and bleed them for info.
That's why it happens so often.
In medieval times, a spring alone looks like a miracle, so it's even worse.
But organized, predatory Exile hunts? Those are future-era traps. They know exactly what they're doing, so once you're snared, escape's brutal.
"If you plan to rescue him, we'd be happy to help..."
"I'll think about it. Now spill everything you know. Starting with who these guys are."
What I learned: it happened three years ago. And since he's their golden goose, security's tight.
They might even have him in a coma to prevent suicide.
Go figure. Too few space-theme survivors means odd floors aren't working right, mimicking even floors.
But still, tangling with Exiles? Hilarious.
"Kingdom folks, maybe?"
"Why do you think that?"
The Hunter shot back.
"The God of Order's already on the move. We've had the biggest hand in shaping this future. Hell, we've basically done it all. But we weren't the first to hit the future, were we?"
The Hunter showed his veteran chops, rare these days.
Smart enough to reach the kingdom solo, even without our party.
"Hard to believe they all wiped."
"Rumors spread. The Goddess tipped us off via angel, right?"
"Yes—a tiny few veterans slipped through to the kingdom first."
"God of Order among them?"
"Plausible."
Future stages are deadly.
Fewer hero-tier powerhouses, but individual firepower rivals them thanks to gear.
And there are way too many such individuals.
The scale's insane. Pure chaos variables.
It's all luck. But the luck variance is massive.
Powerful Exiles dive in and hit disasters, getting locked down.
Locals who know Exiles block suicides, trapping them forever.
Until their vitality runs dry.
Hunted, plain and simple.
"We'll try to spring him if we can."
"Right."
He nodded, but struggled to keep up—never been past the kingdom, so it feels like another world.
Finally, the vampire swordmaster decided to tag along.
"Why?"
"Just..."
Pretty flighty for an ancient clan master. I pressed.
Probo sighed, coming clean.
"I'm sick of scraping for reasons just to stay alive. Exiles are rare sights now—I wanna memorize faces, build some rapport."
"Hang on. As master of a vampire clan splitting a planet, couldn't you command Exiles?"
Our massive backing warps expectations.
Most Exiles never snag continental power—they drift like nomads.
"Why? This whole universe is built for Exiles anyway..."
Probo slipped, spilling his heart.
My hunch solidified into certainty—he'd guessed the truth.
He stopped, reading my face.
"Not many piece it together that deep."
"Oh my god. It was true? Just a gut feeling."
Some hit truth without logic, rarely. Long-lived types who don't go nuts, like dragons.
A mere vampire pulling it off? Surprising, even in a run stacked with shocks.
"Anyway. Wanna head to the kingdom or something?"
Kingdom NPCs gather from servers, bond with Exiles, learn their own fakeness, and crave that higher plane.
Common enough—NPC numbers stay steady.
Swordmaster, non-human one? Prime asset. I pondered recruiting—then he shook his head.
"Nah, I'll stick here. Too late for new starts. Duties... not sure I'm handling 'em right, but I've got the minions."
"Fair enough."
"I didn't survive because I'm strong. Got strong surviving."
Too modest? Daywalker vampire swordmaster? Kingdom welcome mat out.
Could mean a lot.
"Just wanna know your faces. I'll keep living, so we'll cross paths again."
Either way, transport to Fairy Mafia turf was set.
* * *
"Whoa..."
"No idea how long since last use. Lucky the maintenance system's still alive—should be safe."
The Girl gawked; the dwarf arms dealer groveled.
Some subway-elevator hybrid piercing the planet's core. Or more like an elevator?
Artificial planet, smaller than standard—but still half the old mothership continent.
Future/space theme issue: scales balloon. Transport advances, but environments defy prediction.
"Contacted the Fairy Mafia ages ago?"
"Just formal check-ins. This is a real city. Most of the surface? True lawless wastes, even for settled factions."
"This thing actually arrive properly?"
"Doubt they use it much either, but system's up, so maintenance holds."
Abandoned post-alliance experiment.
They don't map everything. Info ends here.
'Goddess of Nature, anything you know?'
「All I know post-Second Fairy War: more fairies ditched my faith than expected. Scattered ones I don't know? Probably them.」
'Ditchers, huh. Traitors on-site, maybe.'
「Betrayed right after the final battle—can't track 'em since. Watch for leaf fairies. Lifespans mean heroes still live.」
'Probo was easy pickings, huh.'
No Nature faithful in Fairy Mafia turf.
Nature faith thrives in mysterious wild eras.
Long-lived pure fairies sustain it; converts are rare.
「No help from me, Great Warrior.」
"Why're Goddess followers only in federation lands?"
「Persecuted elsewhere—flock naturally.」
Chaos cult's numbers don't reach here.
Federation ignores this fringe-of-fringe planet.
Makes sense.
Dunno what's across the way.
Future me skips these details—too variable.
Old timer's words to the saintess too.
Human saintess, barely Orc-lived, inspired by shaman master's line to spark a holy war...
Merged human faiths by force, handed alliance hegemony to humans.
Her purity helped, but tweak his nuance—what then?
Medieval fantasy's easier. History doesn't swing wild there.
"Prep magic barriers, just in case. System's live, so no dying—but still."
Mages shielded each of us for accidents.
Confirmed, then the train—elevator—
damn rocket launched.
"Fuuuuck this is faaaast fuuuck."
"Wheeee this is awesooome!"
Full hour at that speed. Girl thrilled throughout.
Rest of us wrecked. Pint-sized wizard unconscious.