Aizen of the Potato Territory
I love mecha.
In my previous life, getting crushed at school and crushed at work, I'd console myself by humbly assembling plastic models and playing nearly dead mecha games. Mecha had given me those happy days of arguing endlessly in online communities. I loved the epic clashes of steel giants that embodied human hearts and wills.
I'd heard the genre was slowly fading away over time, but any news of a new release always set my heart racing. I don't really know how that life came to an end. Maybe that day the house felt unusually dark, and there was someone there. All I remember is getting my head bashed hard, and in my final vision, seeing myself collapsing along with the little plastic figures tumbling down with me. That's about it—nothing else sticks.
The one thing etched in my memory is the wish I made as my body grew cold, staring at that white plastic piece right in front of me.
Next life, make it a sci-fi world with robots.
And now.
Recognizing my small two legs and two arms, aware of my lowered field of vision. What entered my eyes was—
A dust-free but cracked wall.
A basket full of dirt-covered potatoes.
A shabby yet flashy-dressed couple and a smug-looking boy for some reason.
And me, looking up at them.
"Aizen. Once you've dug up all the potatoes, go do some cleaning."
"The Arclight family took in an orphan like you, so work for it."
I had become Aizen Arclight of the Arclight family.
"The Arclight family has for generations listened to the voice of the earth and acted upon it."
"Our specialty is wielding the power of the earth itself. In other words, earth-attribute magic."
"Remember this well: it is our power and our privilege."
Those were the words of Edmund Arclight, the current head of the Arclight family and my uncle.
Magic. That was the reason this world felt oddly abundant in resources compared to my modern one. Of course, being able to use magic usually meant you came from an impressive family.
That's right. Even this family—with its rundown mansion but flashy clothes—was impressive in its own way.
Once a year, he'd cast a large-scale production spell in the center of the territory, and lo and behold, the world was blessed with nutrient-rich soil! It was great for growing crops, but especially perfect for potatoes, making potato farming the territory's and family's main business.
And I was technically part of this family too. My father, who died around the time I was born (or so I heard), had been one of them.
But with both parents gone, I felt more like a stray rock that had rolled in—an extra, a spare. In the end, my role here was potato-digging labor.
It was only natural, in a way. The family had hardly any servants and no means to hire laborers. Potatoes might fill your belly reliably, but they're still just potatoes.
In a world where magic made resources decently plentiful, potatoes didn't hold as much value as you'd think. At best, their good quality let us harvest diligently and offer them as taxes, but they weren't exactly a cash cow.
So my uncle had to work to make money too. And for that, even the lord's family had to pitch in.
But Uncle had an excessive sense of noble pride. That's why the mansion stayed unrepaired while their clothes were top-notch.
Auntie was the same, and their son—my cousin Mark Arclight—was Uncle version 2.0.
They knew digging potatoes could help them scrape by and live a bit more comfortably, but they hated doing it, so they focused on collecting taxes and buying clothes instead.
Thus, the labor fell to me.
"Life really is unpredictable."
It had been about two years since I fully awoke to my situation here. I could fend for myself now, but I was still too young to call myself grown.
Even at that age, not a single day had passed without me digging potatoes.
But complaining was tough. In this world, someone in my position was lucky just to be taken in.
If something happened to my cousin Mark, I'd be next in line for family head, making me a potential rival from Auntie and Mark's cold perspective.
From the head's standpoint, it made sense to discard me to avoid succession chaos, but Uncle had taken me in out of blood ties.
They could've used me as a guard dog for the territory till I dropped, or shipped me off as a soldier or mercenary to die on the front lines. Plenty of ways to dispose of a human like that.
Forcing me to keep digging potatoes could even be called merciful by comparison.
Enough useless thoughts. Time to dig.
I shook off the distractions and plunged my hands into the soil.
Then I focused my mind and visualized.
This was a world of magic. And I was, at least nominally, an Arclight.
Of course I could use magic.
Most magic here didn't require special chants or seals. Those were for powerful or large-scale spells, but did a simple potato-digging spell need that?
What mattered was imagery. Mana reinforced it from there.
Rise up.
I strongly pictured the soil parting softly and bulging upward. Mana reinforced the image, imposing it on reality as a law of the world.
And soon, the soil swelled gently.
It split to the sides, revealing a yellow potato nestled within.
A fine potato, grown strong in the high-quality soil Uncle had painstakingly made.
No need for more magic now. Just grab and pull.
Rinse and repeat.
For a good while, it was simple repetition: dig, pull.
About thirty now, huh.
I paused to rest my back, eyeing the pile of unearthed potato plants to gauge progress.
The potato field was vast, plenty left to harvest, but my pace was solid and my stamina held.
Magic minimized physical drain while letting me stack up visible results.
At this rate, filling a basket to the brim would be quick.
Not a bad haul.
Simple labor, but seeing the results made it enjoyable.
There were tortures out there that forced meaningless repetition, so compared to that, potato digging had its own fulfillment, right?
Plus, it was training in its way.
Magic grows the more you use it.
Something Uncle had once told Mark.
Like muscles, mana and skill improved with practice.
In that sense, the potato field was ideal training ground.
Soil-shifting spells built mana bit by bit; when it ran dry, physical digging built stamina.
I used to collapse after three potatoes from mana exhaustion. Now I could pass thirty easily.
Not as good as Cousin with his proper lessons from Uncle, but better than nothing.
At least it wasn't pointless.
"Oof."
My focus slipped a bit.
Daydreaming as I resumed, I overdid it, and my back ached again.
Figuring I'd hunched too long, I took a break under a tree.
A breeze cooled my sweat, my body relaxed, and soon I subtly stirred my mana.
Imagery first, mana correction next.
Soon the soil clumped into a familiar shape.
"Better than nothing."
Plastic models that once adorned my shelves.
Now earthen dolls recreating them.
Strong imagery, good mana support—the joints even moved.
Downside: being dirt, they crumbled on motion.
Clay might work better, but I hadn't sourced any yet. No time, really.
But being able to make something like this was a relief.
Relics evoking my old passions. I was truly grateful for that much.
"...Ahh. I just wanna see some mecha already...."
I love mecha.
Mono-eye, goggle-eye, dual-eye—doesn't matter.
A steel giant standing on the earth? Heart-pounding stuff.
This world's got magic, but no steel giants.
Just uninvited guests.
—"Monster!!!"
A scream rang out.
I shot to my feet.
The worst thing in this world had appeared.
Monster!
More fearsome than any beast. Shapes varied wildly, but spotting them was easy.
They carried mana and leaked it everywhere. And they popped up out of nowhere.
Even their origins weren't fully understood.
I whipped toward the sound.
Run first, but identify the threat to know who to call for help.
And soon, the monster in question appeared.
Thick legs shrouded in ominous black aura.
Tusks as big as a man's torso.
Muscles screaming "I'm not normal."
A wild boar monster.
—Buuuhhhrooo!!
Its roar alone spread mana, knocking people down. No ordinary specimen.
Sacrifices seemed inevitable—
"It's the lord!"
"It's Edmund!"
Someone with seriously fast legs must've been nearby. Maybe Uncle was close.
Anyway, breather time.
Nobles had magic. And there was an unspoken rule—non-mandatory, but nobles fought monsters.
Noblesse oblige or showing off, whatever. If those with power didn't fight monsters, who would?
Uncle, bursting with noble pride, followed it faithfully.
I saw him charge the beast, laughing dramatically.
"A big one after ten years! But a mere beast is a mere beast! For invading Arclight territory—you'll pay with death!"
Grand words, but wasn't this just a potato-packed dump? I wanted to retort.
But he was serious, so he cast.
The ground trembled.
Uncle grinned and bellowed,
"Come forth, great guardian of the earth, golem!"
"Golem?!"
Why'd it hit me now?
Potatoes fried my brain?
Persistent magic's poster child—I'd just remembered.
Golem. Rock giant born of earth.
That's right.
It's a robot!!
A protector standing tall on two legs! I could see it!
My eyes widened, gaze locked—just as the golem formed.
For the first time here, facing my dreamed-of ideal. Hope surged.
Robot, golem, robot, golem!!
Crude was fine. Just the potential—that was enough.
I'd dig potatoes forever for that chance. Please, I prayed inwardly.
Then—thud—the rock giant appeared.
First: eight massive, heavy legs.
A spider-like body, lumped round.
And a hunting dog's face.
"Uh."
My dream died in an instant.
Eyes twitched involuntarily, cold sweat beaded.
The bipedal hope birthed... an indescribable horror.
Yes, that wasn't a golem.
That was a monstrosity.
Slow, jerky motion. Poorly jointed. No neck on the dog head—forcing the whole body to bend. Grotesque.
"I... can't... accept... thaaat!!"
Aizen Arclight.
The poor soul self-aware for two years.
Screamed with a vengeful ghost's face.
"...Hey, Aizen!"
"Why'd this kid suddenly faint?!"
The sky had turned crimson.
Around me, the odd jobs Uncle called on.
The dead boar's carcass was butchered, bones and meat scattered.
The stench was brutal.
I saw bones piled neatly too.
Staring blankly at what looked like a leg bone.
Still couldn't fathom how that eight-legged horror was birthed.
Visions of an upright earth giant haunted me.
But if eight-legged abominations were the norm here...
Who'd even try for my ideal?
Was there truly no one in this world to attempt it?
Then—a spark in my mind.
"...Heh, hehehe, haha...!"
There was.
Exactly one.
The only one I knew.
The one I trusted most.
"Puhahaha!!"
Laughter burst out.
Why'd it take so long? I'd overlooked the obvious, thinking it'd be easy.
Or the boar's stink rotted my brain.
Despair forgotten. Ideas flooded.
Sure, the golem wasn't what I envisioned.
But that was just local common sense and knowledge combined.
I approached the bone pile.
Lifted a boar leg bone.
Start with the frame, like bones supporting massive life.
Interlocking bones could make human-like limbs.
Metal skeleton with armor plating—frame and plates sharing load.
A heart to move the bulk too.
Mana flowing like blood? Magic-reinforced joints?
Control program via magic? Direct neural link if not?
Ideas exploded.
My chest cleared.
Yeah, that was it.
"No relying on others. I'll make it myself."
Call me idiot, pelt me with stones for madness, pawn my soul—didn't matter.
I couldn't abandon the romance of steel giants.