Chapter 220
Chapter 220
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 220
Chapter Title: The Dog's Transformation
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“Shouldn’t we take a break?”
It was an unexpected response.
I raised an eyebrow and looked at the person who said it.
It was Narke.
‘…Leo’s not saying it anymore, so now Narke is.’
Compared to when we first met, I could feel just how much my friends had changed.
The skeptical, safety-first Leo now fully trusted me—and the promise I’d made with him—so he supported me. Just as I trusted him more than before, it probably wasn’t just because of the artifact for him either.
Narke, who seemed indifferent to others on the surface, always smiling and watching from the sidelines no matter what they did, was now trying to hold me back.
Watching these new sides of the people I knew as time passed and our relationships evolved was more fun than I’d expected.
As I thought that and smiled, Narke gave a troubled smile, narrowing his eyebrows.
“You pushed yourself too hard today. You need to wash up too. Your hair and face are covered in egg.”
“Oh, obviously. But not right now.”
I brushed the egg white off Narke’s glove as I spoke.
“I want to wrap this up as quickly as possible. Will you help?”
“…….”
Narke smiled faintly and took my hand.
When I opened my eyes, I’d arrived at the Cadet Corps dormitory.
I entered the white building and headed up to the floor with the third-year rooms.
I knocked on a random door.
“Who… Oh.”
A third-year saw me and stepped back.
His gaze naturally drifted to my crooked hat, eyes, and shoulders.
What would’ve felt like nothing before now made me feel a wave of disgust as I spoke.
“Hello, senior.”
I tried to speak softly, but maybe my voice lacked soul—his eyes widened in surprise again as he looked at me.
“Ah, uh… What is it?”
“Could I borrow some paper and a pen?”
“Paper…?”
The third-year was flustered by my sudden request. But as I just stared at him, he quickly fetched a palm-sized notepad and fountain pen from inside.
I scribbled something and handed it to him.
“Please.”
The third-year nodded after glancing at the writing on the outside of the note.
I headed next door to the third-year lounge. Other third-years passing in the hallway looked flustered at my expression and clothes, stepping aside.
I knew why they avoided me: my face was off, and like most students and citizens, they weren’t used to the uniform symbolizing Imperial affiliation. It wasn’t the hopeless gaze they’d given that irredeemable Pleroma at the start of second-year first semester—in fact, it was gratifyingly the opposite.
Still, it was irritating enough.
Probably because of that culprit who had no intention of getting caught by me. That was likely why, even as I failed to focus on everything lately, I was registering and moving past each thing one by one.
I opened the lounge door.
Fortunately, it was empty.
Feeling liberated from the sensory overload, I sat on the sofa and gazed out the window. A crow was gliding with wings spread.
The birdsong from outside grated on my nerves.
How much time passed?
As I sat with eyes closed, waiting, no sounds reached me anymore.
I could tell my seat wasn’t the same as before.
Creak—
Someone in an all-black robe, face covered, entered the room.
“Smells like egg.”
“You can tell?”
“With that fishy stench, how could I not?”
This was who I’d come to meet.
The only wizard I knew with transformation abilities, a Catacomb wizard surpassing Pleroma in spatial magic.
Richthofen pulled the cloth covering his face down below his chin, removed his robe hood, and sat.
The note I’d given the third-year had asked Richthofen to lay spatial magic and come to the lounge.
The culprit didn’t want to end up in a cell, keeping his distance—so I had to make full use of available resources.
“That’s not a junior’s uniform either. I was startled at first, thinking you’d come to the wrong place.”
“You really are a dog.”
“Because I am one.”
What’s with the dog…
He’s doing self-deprecating dog jokes. Wondering if all Catacomb people were this unfunny, I stared at him seriously.
“Hahaha, that look hurts a bit.”
“Then just get hurt.”
At my response, Richthofen smiled.
“Now you feel like your usual self. What happened to make your face like that?”
“Got hit with an egg.”
“Oh, really? Should’ve watched from the side.”
“…….”
I was speechless, just smiling, and he laughed.
Unlike before, I checked the air’s mana, now subtly altered. Richthofen’s spatial magic enveloped the space. No matter how much the culprit watched or eavesdropped, he couldn’t here.
Time was precious, so I cut to the chase.
“The egg’s no big deal, but there’s an actual problem.”
“A problem, huh. Figures. Not many in this country harbor enough malice toward you to throw eggs.”
“You think so? That’s surprising.”
“There’s a difference between slight discomfort and hatred strong enough to act on.”
The image I had of myself differed from others’ perceptions.
My status window’s impression score was rising, and survival chance had jumped 15%p in a month—no wonder things felt different now.
Hoping for 30%p next month. Thinking of this effort as for that made the punches hurt less.
“I’ve got a stalker.”
“Pardon?”
Richthofen froze, face like he misheard, then gave an ambiguous expression—unsure whether to laugh or disbelieve—as he spoke.
“A stalker on a Newtype….”
“Surprised me too.”
“Maybe not a stalker, but an assassin. Imperial wizards often face assassination risks.”
Knew he’d say that.
I pulled the egg-soaked note from my pocket and placed it on the table.
Richthofen grimaced at the fishy smell.
“Ugh….”
“Don’t dogs like food smells?”
“I’m human.”
“No idea where to play along. Just read it.”
Richthofen nodded and picked up the paper. It was the note I hadn’t solved yet.
“…Thought about it, and those pink eyes would be nice to inherit. Mana’s pink, so possible? If my eye color inherits, discard and synthesize until pink eyes appear.”
“…….”
Richthofen froze, then tossed the note on the table like he’d touched something nasty.
“Exactly. What is this?”
“How many times do I say stalker?”
Uncharacteristically, Richthofen studied my face. With his usual lazy smile, he said,
“The color’s unique, sure. People crave uniqueness. Unrelated, but watch out for mana theft.”
“Weird way to comfort. Anyway, a favor. Turn into a dog?”
Silence fell again.
No energy to build up politely, I’d blurted it dryly—must’ve thrown him off.
“…Turn into a dog?”
“I know it’s rude, but please.”
“Hmm….”
Richthofen laughed like it was absurd, scanning me.
“Why?”
“Well, I have to, right? How do I know you won’t blow my core?”
“No plans to.”
“…….”
His enigmatic smile lingered, so I snapped my fingers.
Only then did Richthofen reflexively frown.
He gave a hollow laugh and stood.
“Feels off somehow.”
“What can I do? That’s just who you are, senior.”
He only acts under coercion.
Even in the Catacombs, he could dispel the vigilante captain’s curse-like vision-sharing magic but complied. He led the coup when realizing the wrong path, but basically used others’ pressure as excuse for action.
‘Can’t endure the gap between true feelings and duty.’
Here, his self-image hated his animal transformation, but his true feelings lacked aversion—creating dissonance. Mentioning the core was his excuse; my denial stalled him.
No matter how disliked, it’s part of him. He knew he couldn’t live hating his self-made self every moment, yet couldn’t escape.
So what could I do?
‘Just give him what he wants.’
“Why suddenly? Your stalker has the same ability as me?”
“Something like that. Newtype turning into Oldtype. Possibly other special abilities too. Can’t tell all now.”
Richthofen’s eyes widened.
“…Transformation ability?”
“Yes.”
“Not just me, then.”
After long silence, Richthofen muttered.
“That person’s lucky. Humanoid transformer.”
Fair take.
I waited without more words.
Richthofen, lost in thought, said,
“Humanoid’s a bit different from mine. That okay?”
“Fine. Probably not much different.”
He stomped once. Blink—and a massive black wolf-dog stood before me.
No matter how I looked, it was a wolf. It approached; I instinctively recoiled, and it playfully leaped.
Boom—thud—
I knocked over a wooden side table, jumping up.
The dog seemed to mock me.
To the spinning dog, I asked helplessly.
“What are you doing, senior?”
It turned human, plopping down before me.
“Never knew you feared dogs.”
“Not afraid.”
Wolf visuals—who wouldn’t startle?
Otherworldly instinct screamed flee.
Richthofen picked black dog fur from the floor, blew it away, and asked.
“So, this good enough?”
“Questions. Mana feels weak in transform.”
“Can control it. Like human state. Can lower to indistinguishable from real animal.”
“I see.”
Casual reply, then,
“Mana consumption?”
“Not much. Varies, but if Investigation Bureau can’t catch ’em, not heavy like mine.”
“Right. Impressive. Visit Elias like that often.”
“Hahaha, trying to get me hated?”
You know it?
Elias, thinking him a dog, petted and played—nearly puked that day. One more, and friendship ends. Maybe not.
“Hereditary?”
“No. If so, I’d have pride or solution long ago.”
“…….”
I nodded, thinking.
Snapped fingers.
“But organs differ between forms—how transform? Uniform vanishes then reappears?”
“Who knows? But… heard from Catacombs magic prof once. Replaces with same-core entity from synced world in real-time. Call this A-World, mana-only world we can’t know/enter B-World. Coexist, but we perceive only A.”
“Yes.”
Like not perceiving 4D+ from 3D.
Plausible theory after theological god-granting-power.
“Dog transform: my body to B-World, invisible; B-dog to A. Strictly, dog lacks Max Richthofen genes. Core/consciousness stay. Ties me to dog— I sense as dog here. Uniform explained?”
“Ah… Then core key—partial dog parts impossible? Your nose suggests yes.”
“Why partial?”
“Dog abilities usable. E.g., need smell-ID as human—why full dog, not just nose cells?”
Richthofen shook head.
“With training, isolate ability. Brutal training assumed.”
“…Fine. Amazing anyway. Invincible even. Per you, fatal dog wound—return human, no human scars?”
“Yes. Separate entities. Your stalker humanoid—two human bodies. Maybe more.”
Two bodies.
Like possessing B-World alternate.
Great ability. Attacks meaningless.
Laughable as his enemy.
“Weaknesses?”
“Dog weaknesses…? Same as any. Or human-difference minor?”
“Can’t use ability, or transform but can’t return?”
Precise question—his expression changed.
“…Ah~”
Richthofen grinned amused, eyes wary.
“Tell me, what’s in it for me?”
“Tell Imperial News I’m Nikolaus.”
Richthofen smiled silently, staring.
Thought gathered, he said.
“Got it—no such thing. Mana depletion post-transform—no return. Wait till refilled. Per earlier principle.”
“Personal experience?”
“Yes.”
How? Mana rarely depletes naturally—spectacular life.
Valuable anyway. Unique info, spawning possibilities per word.
Stockpile resources. Our ally, but if we’d killed Richthofen for poisoning us initially, no this. Reckless killing for amateurs.
Relieved smile.
“Thanks. Helpful.”
“Good. No more questions?”
“No.”
“If you meet him, let me too?”
“…….”
Sudden, but intent clear.
Hopes to learn ability removal.
Makes sense—noble diving Catacombs 10+ years for that, worth interrogating.
“I’ll try.”
“Thanks. I’ll go.”
Richthofen rose, then snapped fingers like remembering.
“Oh, your mission changed?”
“Huh?”
“Eschet. From tomorrow, 9th-grade rampagers like us.”
News to me.
Eyebrow up—he chuckled hollowly.
* * *
“Rampager duty and they set records.”
“Ten today only? Not from yesterday?”
“Crazy….”
Next day.
Cadet Corps HQ command center. Drenched in sweat, Ulrike and I trudged in. Other team students chattered over mystery papers, fell silent seeing us.
‘We were crazy.’
9th-grade rampagers not tough victims.
We paired two-three per team, three teams—rushed first to reports.
Even so, four-five each daily—insane.
For favor, teamed with Ulrike. He tried Leo-pairing; refused today.
Fortunately, gained 2 favor from Ulrike.
‘Sticking long best.’
Crises bond fast. Both love magic; fun boosts mood. His combat sense minimized friction.
Problem: still 7.
Five more needed.
Wish Hyke gave more—nope.
Must hang solo.
Before conference room with team, extended hand to Ulrike.
“Good work today.”
“You too. Ah, we did real work today.”
Misc still work…? Hated prior.
Smiled at his words. He slapped briefly.
“But isn’t this what Julia did often?”
“Contagious.”
“Hahaha! Yeah, all closer good.”
Ulrike laughed, opened door.
We last—team all gathered.
Leo, unlike yesterday Baden talk, pro-politician calm. No greet, cold stare.
Elias jumped, rushed me.
“Why so late!”
“Last dispatch. Hello, professor.”
Finished roll call, greeted homeroom prof here.
Prof chuckled, returned, explained tomorrow.
Next month: 8-9th rampagers, Brandenburg-wide beyond Berlin.
Pentalon main stadium one day for opening.
Ad gimmick persists. No other plans.
My new plan left.
Unlike yesterday overlooking head—fail-mirror, apply Richthofen info, refined capture.
If he thinks to evade cell, I counter new.
Just timing.
Minimize damage: stall to Pentalon eve? Or execute post-prep?
Pointless overthinking—underestimated his madness.
Dawn 4 AM.
[Plan changed. Back to main stadium from today. Or precisely, Grand Hotel and Imperial Central Hospital.]
“…….”
Artifact: Leo’s voice. I eyed pink note.
Mansion, awake Elias/Narke faces stiffened.
[Sorry. My fault rampagers…. Picked return method. Back to easy work.]
[Again, truly sorry. No intent rough jobs. Want meet-apologize, but can’t.]
That “return”: unthinkable normally.
Set note aside, read article below.
[Alexanderplatz Grand Hotel: 18 foreign athletes rampage-dead—9 ICU]
‘Want meet-apologize, but can’t’?
Who says? Must meet for apology now.
Leo link cut; Elias/Narke shut artifact.
Leo now private channel to me. Voice in ear.
[Lucas.]
“Yeah.”
Why only me: obvious. Excluding them, no one remembers—but thorough.
“Buy time. Now get drug I used early December. Ledger has it.”
[Got it.]
Good.
Elias/Narke puzzled—I still linked.
Retry window open:
“See ya later.”