Hell Is Other People
Perception varies slightly from culture to culture. In some regions, snakes are seen as ominous and evil, while in others, they're symbols of wisdom and compassion. But amid all those countless symbols, there are some universal ones that hold true across many places. Blood and skulls, flames and darkness... elements that often lead humans to death tend to become symbols of ill omen.
The sea—especially a raging, storm-tossed ocean or the vast, endless deep—has long been viewed as something foreboding. And that held true in this world too, not just on Earth. If anything, it was worse here. Earth's ancients feared the sea and imagined monsters lurking within, but here, there were real sea monsters powerful enough to threaten humanity's survival. Not just one, but many.
In fact, the Angras Empire didn't even have a term like "navy." Sure, there were units operating in deep waters, but most Imperial Army vessels stuck to inland rivers and coastal areas. So, they were called the water army, not a navy. It wasn't divided equally into land, sea, and air forces like on modern Earth; it felt more like a specialized branch within the army.
The sea was a present-day hell where you could vanish without a trace, not even a body left behind. It was that detached from everyday life. That's why "ships," regardless of nation, were seen as otherworldly, ominous symbols.
Of course, not every ship in every situation was reviled. Ships were just tools, after all, separate from the eerie unease they evoked. But a "ship flying through the sky"? That changed everything. Its mere existence inspired fear and loathing, no context needed.
"......"
High above the clouds. A ship cloaked in the shimmering space itself like a mirage sliced through the watery sky. Ancient relics from the Dark Ages all boasted incredible technology, but this ship was among the very best. The colossal hull, like an uprooted mountain drifting through the heavens, exuded such overwhelming pressure that just revealing itself could shatter the will to fight in green recruits.
The Empire called it the Pious Hag's airship, or a ghost ship deserving of curses. Its owner named it the Golden Carp. The name engraved inside was Tal-Rahvelia-Velia-Velia, but since no one knew what it meant, no one used it.
A woman strode down the corridor of that massive galleon—actually rigged with sails, pointless for sailing or flying, but installed to suit the captain's tastes. The hat on her head marked her as first mate, a badge allowed only to the captain and herself on this ship. Considering it was the only dress code aboard, it was quite the privilege.
The captain was a human who pursued boundless freedom, unconcerned with attire as long as she didn't touch the hat. She'd even laughed off a crewman wearing an animal-tail anal plug. Of course, he got caught by a nearby beastkin sailor and torn limb from limb.
What a shame. He had real talent for getting himself killed so quickly. The first mate crossed herself sincerely, mourning him. But you reap what you sow. Knowing there were beastkin aboard and still making that choice? He must have accepted the consequences. Same survival odds as flirting with a Groomha savage. Natural selection.
'I warned them during rounds not to fool around, and how long ago was that?'
That memory didn't last. As she walked the corridor, her foot squelched on something sticky. Dried residue clung to her shoe sole—thoroughly unpleasant. A faint smell soon followed, wrinkling her nose. Her glasses slipped slightly down the bridge.
She knew exactly what it was and how it got on the floor. The Golden Carp was fundamentally a no-man's-land. They didn't forbid abducting men, but they usually didn't last long. Couldn't handle the high-altitude life assuming aura users. Yet that "no-man's-land" environment didn't stop these rough sailors from blurring freedom and debauchery.
Republicans sought republican politics. Witches dabbled in taboos. Heretics defied church faith. And anyone committing one usually hit all three eventually.
Against nature's order? Against church doctrine? That wasn't a reason not to do it. If it wasn't a reason to, they'd count themselves lucky. Anyone capable of restraint wouldn't join a flying pirate crew like this in the first place—discipline was impossible. They only held together through the captain's ability and charisma.
Or maybe her charisma was more impressive for leashing these wild dogs. The first mate kept walking, thinking that.
'Though right now, charisma's the last thing on her mind.'
She stopped at the captain's quarters.
"Captain, coming in."
Not asking permission—a declaration. No knock, no waiting for reply; she opened the door. Normally she'd wait, but she knew no answer would come.
Dark room. Far more luxurious than standard crew quarters, but... it felt hollow now.
"...Captain."
No blanket on the bed. Pillow precariously hanging off the edge, rumpled. As if someone had yanked the covers away. Probably exactly what happened.
As the first mate stepped further in, she spotted the blanket's whereabouts. Tucked between the bed and wall: someone huddled under it, shivering visibly even from afar.
"Ah, ahh... aaah......"
"It's over."
"H-heek?!"
She strode over, yanked the blanket off. The scene beneath was laid bare.
Sunset-hued hair, thoroughly tangled. One twin tail undone. No mere huddling under covers would do that—she'd probably clawed and torn at it herself. Crimson eyes like red jade stared blankly, unfocused and quivering. At least 170 cm tall, yet she looked tiny—not just from crouching, but from utter mental collapse.
Anyone seeing this for the first time... who'd guess she was the Golden Carp's captain, the great witch Pious Hag?
Even with the first mate right there speaking, she didn't notice, just mumbling to herself.
"Elin. Elin Blair. Snap out of it."
"......!"
Only after shoving her face close and calling her name did she turn.
"Ah, F-First Mate. Turn the ship around. Turn it around now..."
"You gave that order fifteen minutes ago, Captain. Even said to move before the scout spots us."
"R-Really? Then......"
"Yes. Scout's gone. They won't track us right away."
Those red eyes bored into her, probing for lies. Finding none, her tension eased. The rigid shaking slowed, stopped. After about a minute, Captain Elin Blair slowly rose.
Her expression back to normal. The wrecked hair... well, it happened after fierce battles too, so barely passable as usual.
"...Cancel the assault terror plan. At least until we exit Imperial airspace."
"Yes, Captain."
Not that the order to turn tail and run sparked mutiny among the crew. The original plan: disguise as ooze balloon terror, then hit the responding Imperial unit head-on.
Until the captain, admiring the surface from observation gear, screamed and fell on her ass.
"Huuuuh?! Ah, aaaah... AAAAAH! Turn around! Turn the shiiiiip!"
Sudden cancellation. But no one questioned why. Who else could make Elin react like that?
Most crew had tangled with the scout at least once. Seven times? Enough to trigger a breakdown.
Though even the first mate, always glued to her side, thought it overkill. She stayed calm. But no one wanted to meet the scout in inescapable skies, so they followed orders silently.
Impressive she gave the right call even mid-breakdown—or that she kept her charisma wrangling these thugs despite periodic freakouts...
The first mate sighed softly. It'll work out somehow.
"But why was the scout there? I heard she got a job at the Academy..."
"No idea. But she was deployed for terror suppression elsewhere last week. Probably patrols various spots regularly."
"...No Imperial skies for a while, then."
"Wise choice, Captain."
Meteors are insanely dangerous. Unless you're a reincarnator like Yura Konstantia, you might not know they wiped out dinosaurs. But even without that, a massive heavy object plummeting from on high? No way it's harmless.
If a big meteor strike was confirmed somewhere, 99 out of 100 would steer clear. One fool might loiter hoping for loot, but most value their lives enough for common sense.
"L-Long live Her Majesty the Emperor! Sergeant, y-you need to salute the tower, quick!"
"What? No way, what the hell on a weekend?"
"Th-The rails are wrecked from ooze balloons, so emergency engineer support..."
"Fuck."
In other words, a cubic iron hunk dropping from the sky was a major incident!
"No, but seriously, a duke riding or what? Why a salute tower..."
...wasn't the point. The sergeant flung off her loose shirt, grabbed her nearby uniform jacket, muttering as she shrugged it on.
"The battalion commander decided to go herself."
"...A real duke?"
"W-Well, baroness for now..."
"For now? Spit it out straight. Who's gonna eat you?"
"One-Star's aboard."
Holy fuck. The sergeant muttered involuntarily. Some high-altitude scrap falling? Kid stuff compared to shooting stars from the night sky.
Word that a major in their sector had an accident? The Imperial Army's 147th Engineer Battalion ignited instantly.