Aizen of the Potato Territory (2)
Several years later, rumors began to spread around Arclight Territory.
"There's some kid in Arclight Territory who's got a knack for necromancy or something."
"He digs potatoes all day and spends his free time studying animal bones and muscle structures."
The prodigy necromancer of the Arclight family. The identity of this bizarre figure who had suddenly appeared? None other than me, Aizen Arclight.
They say the rumors started when a merchant came to buy magical beast materials, got splattered with blood, and fainted in shock at the sight of him assembling bones.
And the rumors usually concluded like this:
"Isn't he just crazy from digging too many potatoes?"
Excuse me? How rude to someone as busy as me, digging potatoes every day and researching robots—no, mecha.
Of course, I only heard about it yesterday while helping out in a nearby village. I scored a cheap chicken by chance and overheard it in passing. This isn't a world where rumors update in real time, so that gossip was probably over a month old.
I'd heard other things too—like the tense atmosphere between the Vespa Kingdom where I live and the Empire, or news about a chimera the knight order was tracking—but none of it mattered to me.
Let's see. If I do it like this...
In the barn I used as a workshop, I assembled the bones of the chicken that had become yesterday's meal using magic.
Bones are actually incredibly engineered. Every movement has a reason, and they take forms optimized for kinetic efficiency. Naturally, such structures served as perfect reference material for bipedal locomotion.
How should the skeleton and frame be structured to support weight smoothly without straining mobility? In this rural backwater with no proper references or expert books, bones were the best I could study.
I magicked the chicken leg bones to bond together and grinned in satisfaction. I picked up the assembled leg, tested its movement carefully, and mimicked the structure...
"Come forth, Guardian of the Earth."
I gathered mana and cast the spell. Soon, a golem with chicken legs took shape. Unlike my uncle's, it mimicked the chicken bone structure.
I nodded and hauled over the upper body mounted on the workshop wall. A bare-bones frame with arms roughly approximated for research. I stood it up and attached the chicken legs.
This is the beauty of golem magic.
With golems, surprisingly for magic constructs, they didn't collapse immediately after creation. Sure, my uncle's designs crumbled once the spell wore off, but the components didn't vanish. Most magic was one-shot and disappeared after use, but sustained spells like these, which shaped earth or stone, left tangible results.
You couldn't whip up gold out of thin air or anything, but maybe extract metals like iron from the soil or infuse mana into metal? Come to think of it, metals form underground too, so digging them up with magic... maybe?
It didn't feel impossible, but I had no idea how to pull it off right now. For the moment, I had to keep experimenting with what I could manage. The good news? Repetition refined the parts, so treating it as practice made it even easier.
Yeah, build up the tech like this. It's only my height now, but honing the skills would eventually lead to true bipedal...
CRASH!
"Aaaagh!!"
As I pondered, my masterpiece chicken leg collapsed. The test frame toppled after a few steps.
The symbol of dreams and hope, the chicken leg frame, had failed.
"Damn it, the legs are still too much!"
I'd half-expected it. With my past-life memories, I knew bipedal machines were tough. Not impossible, but knowing didn't mean I could perfect the structure overnight.
That's why I'd studied animal bones, especially from massive monsters. I believed their bodies held the answers. For years, I'd analyzed how they balanced without toppling.
But it also confirmed one thing: Even roughly calculated, materials are lacking.
Even a simple frame couldn't walk yet—knowledge and materials both fell short. Mana-infused metals were easy to process, strong, light... but insanely expensive. No samples to study, and even scraps cost a fortune.
What to do.
Bipedal is the dream. But I wouldn't stop there. What I wanted was a steel giant rampaging across battlefields, not just standing!
"Need more data for that..."
Having a goal made my thoughts race. So much to do: not just legs, but arms, torso, head unit, controls. Tons of research ahead.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—the rest was doable, but proper testing...
Knock knock knock.
Fun times always end too soon. An unwelcome guest.
I ignored it, pretending not to be home. But they lacked the patience to wait.
BAM!!
The door flew off its hinges, light flooding in. A burly young man silhouetted against it strode inside. When I first awoke here, he was smaller than me, but years of focused training and good food had bulked him up. Still shorter than me despite my potato-heavy diet—that made me tall, not him small.
"You could've come when called, Aizen."
Flanking him were retainers' kids, maybe. Smaller and weaker than Mark Arclight, but here as escorts. Mark had never visited before, so I puzzled briefly before tilting my head.
"What brings you here, young master?"
By status, Mark outranked me, so politeness avoided trouble. The head tilt wasn't polite, but the words were—he couldn't complain.
Mark approached, swaggering. "You must've heard. Father's heading to the palace for a promotion."
"I heard he'll be gone a few weeks to two months."
Recently, family head Edmund Arclight was summoned to the capital. Some family milestone, I gathered. Perfect timing for Mark, entering the academy soon—a huge boon.
Mark puffed up proudly. "While Father's away, I'll be handling territory affairs."
Why state the obvious now? A suspicion hit, and sure enough, Mark grinned brightly.
"Aizen. Get out of this house."
I blinked, not grasping it. Could he even decide that?
"Did Uncle approve?"
Uncle had brought me here; his call on staying or leaving.
But Mark smirked coldly. "I'm in charge of the territory now. Doesn't that make me the top authority?"
I got the logic. Maybe clarify firmly? His snickering goons made me sigh. Vassals should restrain a rampaging lord. This challenged the family head—tampering with the head's ward crossed lines.
Not that logic sticks with him.
If Mark had rivals, maybe different, but as sole heir, he'd inherit power eventually. No choice but to leave. Without research materials, my "belongings" were worthless anyway.
I shrugged. "Then I'll take my research materials. Give me two days. That okay?"
"Research? What research could a wretch like you do?"
Mark tilted his head. A retainer scanned the room, face paling as he yelled.
"M-Mark! Inside there?!"
"What the hell! Bones everywhere, and what's that devil statue doing?!"
Huh? I glanced around. Straw bed, rickety desk, potato baskets, bone assemblies for bipedal research, and a clay figure recreating a past-life plastic model treasure.
Perfectly normal. Devil statue? Harsh.
These barbarians couldn't appreciate its greatness? Not just any clay doll—born from decades of research and fandom, recreated by my hands. The effort, the original mech's glory, the series' epicness... would they get it?
My mouth opened unbidden. "That's from one of the greatest mecha masterpieces, Mobile..."
"This damn freak really dove into necromancy!!"
Mark smashed the clay figure. Not plastic or metal, so it shattered easily. Head off, arms detached. Like denying a last shot, only right arm and legs remained as bits scattered.
"Wha... what?!"
I hadn't expected such brutality. Even kids charging at robots wouldn't smash like that. Not even holiday gremlins named nephews.
Rage flipped my vision. I grabbed Mark's collar. "You bastards, what the hell?!"
I roared, breathless, eyes bulging—but next instant, I was shoved back. I'd trained some, so no fall, but Mark startled briefly. His retainer had form, though.
"Necro-mad bastard!"
"Summoning demons?! This lunatic's gonna ruin the territory?!"
Fists and kicks flew; I blocked with arms and legs. Mark joined, turning it into a four-on-one brawl.
"You savages! Trash who can't grasp mecha's greatness even if preached! Know what you've done?!"
"This psycho grabbed the young master!!"
"Aizen, showing your true colors at last! Don't you know how dangerous abused necromancy is? Die! Kill him! ...Let go!"
Fists flew wildly. I aimed for Mark's head repeatedly, but retainers shielded, blocking desperately. Mark figured magic would end it, but up close with punches flying, spells were useless. Farm work had built my strength and stamina—we had the edge in grappling.
But numbers favored them; I took hits anyway.
"You little..."
Mark panted; his retainers looked spooked. In the lull, I wiped my mouth—blood from split lip.
The clay figure's head on the floor caught my eye. I'd heard of kids sacrificing antennae on holidays, but never such merciless smashing.
Yeah, even kids wouldn't. Time for these fools to taste farm-hardened potato fists.
Knights swarmed, prying us apart only after I pummeled them demon-faced.
***
Long story short, it hurt.
Retainers' desperate friend shields foiled my Mark-beating; I ate the hits instead. Knights tasted my fists too, shocked at the shut-in's power, downing three before numbers overwhelmed me.
"Bastards..."
Bruises throbbed. The shattered clay figure from the melee glared back.
"Damn it..."
I wanted to build a steel giant. Labeled a heretic necromancer instead.
Despair and fury warred inside. Bipedal unfinished, so much left to do.
I nearly slumped. Overload hits, and people crumple first.
No. I won't quit. You think I'd give up?!
Even if detoured, I'd master bipedal. Much to do, but a workaround existed.
If legs won't work yet, make it crawl anywhere.
Strictly, more efficient anyway. Not my preference, but data was data.
I recalled the "failure," yet protagonist mech: no walking, but packed firepower and upper-body robot glory!
Shelve the legs for now.
Obsessing stalled progress. Design schematics bloomed in my mind.
Engine this size. Structure like so. No engine? Direct mana link substitute...
Stone for now, but it'd move fine.
Let's do it.
I rose with resolve. No expecting understanding. Prove it. The steel giant dream wouldn't stop.