Chapter 26
Chapter 26
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 26
Chapter Title: Realm Disparity
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Dungeon.
A threatening space created by a mad wizard, or an ancient structure crafted by great beings of the past. The dungeon we were exploring fell into the latter category.
Now used for practical training after being cleared by the vanguard team, it was managed by the Empire. Anyone could use it as long as they followed the proper paperwork procedures.
Which explained why it was so brightly lit and impeccably clean. Exaggerating a bit, it might even be cleaner than the Violet Magic Tower's laboratories.
"I heard academy students come here often because the facilities are so clean."
"They really rack up experience comfortably, don't they?"
"Yeah. If you start your career as a mercenary..."
Scar-Faced Senior and Tear-Mole Guy walked ahead, chatting away. They grumbled about academy kids raised in warm greenhouses lacking real grit, or how the one they hired last time fled at the sight of a goblin.
As their stories devolved into how much tougher their own lives had been back in the day, I slowed my pace to lag behind. I'd already heard the same tales twice last night.
The beastkin thief seemed to feel the same way.
She must have enjoyed yesterday's Illusion Magic apology fireworks extravaganza and the two-hour Romance of the Three Kingdoms recitation by the campfire. She sidled up beside me, signaling with hand signs to ask if I had any more fun stories.
But you can't receive without giving. For the sake of fair trade, I asked the beastkin thief,
"Why don't you speak?"
Didn't she rave about the delicious food (illusory, of course) last night, calling it just like back home? Her voice had sounded fine then, and she didn't seem incapable of speech.
Yet she handled most casual conversation with hand signs, which piqued my curiosity.
The beastkin thief hesitated for a moment, then stuck out her tongue.
Her tongue bore a vivid, earthquake-like brand from some tool. It was a pattern I'd never seen before.
She tucked her tongue back in and said,
"I didn't want to show you this."
I'd memorized the common patterns used in the Magic Tower. The fact that I didn't recognize this one meant... it was something secretive or covert. The way she hid it suggested it wasn't anything good.
I took a stab based on the shape of the brand.
"Vampire? Bat? Bloodsucker?"
"No. It's the shape of a thorny chalice. The brand of sacrifice, of offering."
"Black mages use it?"
"Yeah. I barely escaped. Thanks to Rowilen."
The beastkin thief gazed at Tear-Mole Guy's back with a strange look in her eyes. A jumble of goodwill, gratitude, affection, and more.
A backstory flashed through my mind. Evil black mages raid a beastkin village for experiments, killing resisters and dragging off the rest as test subjects. Dark, gloomy days. Looming death.
Right before being offered up in ritual, Tear-Mole Guy bursts in with sunlight at his back, long sword and shield in hand, charging forward...
Yeah. Something like that probably happened.
"But... is it okay to show me?"
If she hated it so much she kept her mouth shut tight and used hand signs to avoid revealing it, there was no reason to show someone she'd only met a few days ago.
I cautiously gripped my necklace. One of the 49 artifacts the Violet Magic Tower Master had tried to foist on me. I tensed up, half-expecting the beastkin thief to reveal her true colors and declare, "Now that you've seen this mark, you won't leave alive—!"
The beastkin thief pointed her index finger at me.
"You smell similar."
"...Similar?"
"Yeah."
Taking the conversation at face value, didn't that mean I reeked of slave? But no, I laundered with Clean Magic every day...
Or maybe this was some advanced grad student disdain...?
As I debated whether to defend the Violet Magic Tower's excellent male employee welfare, the beastkin thief scampered ahead. I was left with a strangely sticky feeling.
Like I'd missed something.
"Kyyyaaaaah—!!"
I jolted in shock and clamped my hand over my mouth. Image-wise, I was the only one in the group who might scream like that. But even muffled, the scream echoed on.
Someone else was screaming. Who?
Was it time to rename Tear-Mole Guy back to Tear-Mole Freak?
Or was the beastkin thief or elf archer pulling off some unexpected gap moe?
No, no. That rising, piercing shriek belonged to Scar-Faced Senior. Tear-Mole Guy looked at him in bewilderment too.
Senior wailed like he'd seen a bathtub crawling with cockroaches. Had some evil black mage conjured human-sized insects? I followed his gaze.
"...A golem?"
"It's a golem, a stone golem."
It was a golem.
A tiny cleaning golem, at that. Barely a meter tall, no offensive arms—just a single feather duster attached haphazardly.
I patted the shivering Scar-Faced Senior's shoulder and stared holes into the golem. Was there something my low realm couldn't detect? Or did it have built-in Illusion Magic like Infinite Revulsion?
To me, it was just a golem. No extra magic loaded on.
Tear-Mole Guy voiced exactly what I was wondering.
"Why are you so afraid—no, disgusted by it...? It's just a golem."
Scar-Faced Senior caught his breath and muttered,
"If an illusion mage had to name their one true fear, I'd pick golems, Junior."
"Extrapolating personal experience to the general case isn't a great attitude..."
"Go on, fight it and win. Beat 'that thing,' and I'll knock 30 model slots off your debt."
"Just you watch."
I rolled up my sleeves and stepped forward. No reason to refuse a sure win. One cleaning stone golem for 30 modeling slots—practically a Modeling Copy spell.
Sure, I'd poured my life into TRPG simulations to make ends meet, but who am I? Pretty much the direct disciple of the Violet Magic Tower Master herself. No way I'd lose to a rock.
The butterfly flitting around tried to block my view in fierce protest, but a mere insect couldn't stop my passion for those 30 slots.
I drew my staff...
It didn't work.
It didn't... work...!
A red light flashed in the golem's eyes. Weeeeeng. It approached me, emitting an irritating noise, shrugging off all my spells head-on!
"C-Come out, Heart—!"
I unleashed my trump card: the maximum hologram I could summon solo without assists—ten physical illusions charging in!
Heart and her butler legion, plus new full-plate armored knights! (I'd masked Heart just in case.)
They swarmed and pummeled the golem—but it wasn't enough. The physical force was woefully inadequate!
Golems lack faith, so holograms could only muster child-fist power. The cleaning golem pressed on steadfastly amid the barrage, clunking along like it was nothing!
"N-No way... it doesn't even tickle—!!"
-Beep. Beep-boop.
"G-Gyahhhh!!"
Whack! Whack!
The golem swung its feather duster. Cornered in the dungeon nook, I curled up and endured the blows as it dusted every inch of me...
Tears pricked my eyes from the humiliation.
I had to rally. There had to be a reversal. I couldn't lose. It was just a cleaning golem! I...!
"I don't... wanna lose...!!"
Golems have no soul, no advanced senses to disrupt. Illusion Magic was useless. If only it were a cutting-edge thinker—I wouldn't feel this powerless!
I desperately wove a spell. If Illusion Magic failed because golems lack thought, then infuse it with thought and strike!
No such spell existed. Fine, I'd make one!
"You walk inverted, hanging upside down, treading the sky and falling to earth, wheel about and descend from the heavens— Forced Personality..."
⟨ Forced Personality Grant ⟩
The feather duster jammed into my mouth. My 80% complete spell shattered. I collapsed, all motivation gone...
The cleaning golem dusted my face three times like a victory lap, then trundled off into the dungeon depths. Now I understood the depth in Senior's scream. It was profound lament...
Total counters.
All my resistance crushed.
The adventure... was a success. I gathered combat data on Tear-Mole Guy and the other adventurers, learned how ogres move. First steps meant a lot. Feed it to the AI, spin infinite loops in accelerated time—who knows?
Original swordsmanship, martial arts would emerge.
Infinite time and infinite monkeys write Shakespeare, right? With base data included, odds were better. More data meant higher chances of something viable.
Wuxia... I can do it!
The golem thrashing sparked interest in boosting my own combat power. I couldn't just die with a "urk" to a random stab.
Link it to the combat data, give holograms martial arts—might feel like real summoning. Base physics needed buffs too. Budget and effort required.
Use all this harvest to craft a session for the First Princess.
But tonight, I wanted to sleep off the bitter sting of defeat...
That night, I dreamed of being chased by the golem.
In a certain room of the dungeon after the adventurers left. The cleaning golem, in standby sleep mode, 'awoke.' And it pondered. Why could it think? Who was it? What was this implanted knowledge?
It noticed the gap. About 20% empty space. Connecting missing links, mulling its existence, piecing together the puzzle, its first answer was.