Ooze Balloon Launch
Safel Dulla is a city inseparable from its horses. To be precise, the horses could be separated without issue, but separating the city from them would spell disaster. Raising large numbers of horses requires vast spaces and plenty of grazing pastures. Hay can be transported by train somehow, but there's no escaping the sheer land needed for the ranches themselves. And that loops right back into opportunity costs. Dedicating broad swaths of land to horse breeding means forgoing whatever other businesses that land could support.
In short, Safel Dulla's expansive ranches exist because no more profitable industries make sense there.
"Of course, it's also famous for the horse racing industry that spun off from them... but even if the side income is decent, it's ultimately just a way to advertise the individual ranches."
The sweet revenue from military contracts is an unchanging truth, past or present, previous life or this one. Safel Dulla's horse races are basically a billboard for those contracts—or the occasional big spender.
Anyway, the upshot is that aside from horse breeding, the city has no standout industries. I laid that out and turned to face forward.
A first-class seat without a bed, much like the one from two weeks ago. Across the floor-mounted table, my eyes met Beni's.
"So, to answer Miss Beni's question about whether there's anything worth seeing besides the racetrack: no."
"Ah... I see."
Beni gave a small nod at my words. Surely she figured a city couldn't revolve around just a racetrack—there had to be other sights. That's why she'd asked... but nope. Really nothing special.
It's not like the place is a barren wasteland with a lone racetrack plopped in the middle, so you could wander and find things to gawk at if you tried. The empire's most famous horse races draw crowds, after all, and where there are people, facilities spring up. So Safel Dulla is bustling enough in its own way. Just that all the buildings are purely functional—no flair.
"You can't help but wonder if it's really worth coming all the way to Safel Dulla for that."
It probably doesn't feel much different from strolling around Karimille, where the academy is. Beni nodded again, offering an awkward smile.
"Then why did Riley pick this place for the field trip...?"
"Horses!"
"...Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
She started to voice the follow-up but clamped her mouth shut. How much Riley's tribe reveres horses? You could guess from the fact that getting chewed out for horse abuse happens in public. Even warriors who don't need mounts developed combat styles around riding them. There used to be a horse-worship faith in the region too, I think?
"......"
Even someone as sunny as Riley wasn't purely innocent here. Someone had directed her to choose this spot. Though I doubted she could fake enthusiasm that well, so she must genuinely be thrilled about the ranches. Her goals and hobbies aligned perfectly, you could say.
"I've brought your meals. May I come in?"
"Ah, yes. Please do."
We were chatting amiably when a knock sounded. I answered for the group, and the door slid open with a rattle. In stepped a crew member in a crisp suit.
...Her chest was so voluminous it threatened to burst the buttons. My eyes flicked there involuntarily. One perk of this country: no one bats an eye if you stare at a woman's breasts. Even on a gender-flipped Earth, ogling a man's pecs that intently would look suspicious... but in the empire and other western continent nations, it's considered polite.
The crew member parked her cart in the corridor and brought over bread, soup, and a bit of fruit to our table.
From Karimille, near the north, to Safel Dulla in the imperial south. Not an absurd distance, but still several hours by magic train. Definitely farther than our last field trip to Yugten. So we'd left earlier this time. The train departed just as the early spring sunrise began, meaning we'd skipped breakfast.
Come to think of it, Beni had fretted a bit. Knowing my appetite, she must've wondered if delaying breakfast was okay. But I'm not one to cave to hunger pangs. I just figure it's smart to stuff yourself when you can. Frontline units don't survive by being picky eaters.
Meal times shifting is routine; we've run ops on a single proper meal all day plenty of times.
"Enjoy your meal."
"Yes, thank you. You've worked hard."
The crew member delivered the food and departed. I clasped my gloved hands together. Not because I'd binged too much anime and wanted to ape the culture—just hygiene.
"Behold, wash this hand and lift it once more to smite my foes. Forgive its cleansing for the sake of purity, but grant that no cloying fragrance lingers."
1st Circle spell: Purification. Cleanses the caster's skin and touched objects. Popular belief holds that higher-circle spells are stronger, but this proves otherwise. The biggest factor in a spell's circle is its risk level. Higher-risk spells demand greater authority—common sense.
Other factors play in, but that's the core structure. Research on circle openings gets security scaled to the level. 1st or 2nd Circle stuff isn't locked down tight. It's loose enough to print and hand out to students.
What is it? Like handling small-caliber guns in America? Never lived there, so maybe not spot-on, but that's my vibe. America's gun culture stems from the frontier days, right? With beasts and river monsters crawling out regularly, personal armament had to be lax.
The empire's conscript system—where every able-bodied woman serves—factors in too. Even 21st-century Korea arms most troops, but they return everything post-discharge, so no issue. Imperial soldiers? If magically apt, they train spells and open circles. What then on discharge?
No convenient meridian-sealing like in wuxia novels. So... they go home armed. Even if sealing existed, would they use it? Service is three years—longer than my old Korea, but short for a feudal monarchy's peasant levy.
Why? Discharged troops become reserves for local defense. Sealing them would vaporize the reserves. So they just manage info enough to keep it off the streets. Can't control beyond that anyway. Talented folks pop out aura with effort; this is minor by comparison.
Over 3rd or 4th Circle, though? Good luck without rooting in the military or labs. Academy kids usually enlist or are nobles, so access comes easier.
That's why Beni, picking at her salad, gets such props. Enrollment unlocked her permissions months ago, and she's already at 4th Circle. Officially three months, but really shorter.
I mulled that while tearing bread and dipping it in soup. The slightly thin cream soup soaked into the crumb. I popped the lukewarm bite in my mouth and chewed.
A bit heavy on pepper—typical of the empire and western continent. Salt's precious on both continents. Probably scarcer than Earth's Middle Ages. Sea salt's suicide with lake monsters around... so rock salt dominates, but it's rare here.
Not an expert, but gut says Earth had more. Pepper—ear-like clusters, not quite my old world's, but close enough in scent—grows plentifully up north. Not water-cheap, but way less than gold-tier salt.
Reverse Earth's positions: more common pepper here than medieval salt there; rarer salt here than medieval pepper. Early reincarnation, I worried about sodium... but humanity's thrived a millennium, so fine. Maybe the body craves different minerals, or pepper packs enough salt.
Spices center on pepper, so no bland-food headaches. Pretty good for a modern guy dropped in pre-modernity. Average Korean might gripe... but imperial food beats my past life's low-salt, skimpy rations. No wonder I gorge at every chance—zero body backlash, brakes vanishing.
"......?"
We were eating slow from chatting. I'd nearly cleared my plate when boom-boom thundered distantly outside. Loud enough to startle the timid.
Beni flinched but stayed seated—good. Then the train screeched to a halt, hurling us back. Cushy seat or not, the force pressed hard. I fared better; they faced forward.
Beni shrieked girlishly, grabbing the table to stop her lurch. Riley, mid-bite on her last bread bit, made a weird noise.
At least no plates flew—the table's fenced edges. Rare for such a hard stop, but imperial trains jolt more than cozy Earth rails. Sharp curves too. Hence the design.
I restacked the shifted dishes one-handed and peeked out the window.
"Oh... an Ooze Balloon, right...?"
Beni named it. Makes sense—she's probably seen it, working magic-train part-time gigs. Maybe her flinch was trained protocol.
"Probably."
I nodded, stood, and cracked the window for a look. Near the tracks lay massive metal rectangular containers—like Earth's shipping ones. Dented from impact, but originally cuboid. Same purpose too.
I clicked my tongue. One had crushed the rail outright. What a pain. Last time trouble on return; now outbound?
Ooze Balloon. That fly of a grand witch, Pious Hag's periodic terror tool—mostly targeting rails. Thinking of what crawled out inside drew a sigh.
"I'll help the crew. Wait here."