Explosion Neurosis
"Move the bricks over here!"
"We need to head west to buy some bricks and cement. Marge! Bring the truck and follow me! Beastmen of the Hellhound Brigade, would you mind coming with us to the West?"
"We have to pick up flour sacks from the Leonard Trading Post! Rabbit beastmen, come along with us!"
The North had grown busy.
It was bustling, and a sense of vitality was beginning to return.
The warehouses were filling up with all kinds of foodstuffs and various materials needed for the reconstruction of the North.
The money extorted from the West, South, and East was doing its job perfectly as the capital to rebuild the territory.
"Count Fairbairn. You are the linchpin of this infrastructure reconstruction. Not a single penny must be wasted. Keep a meticulous ledger of all expenditures and report back to me later."
"I shall do so, Grand Duke!"
He was the only man in the North to rise to the rank of count without ever stepping onto a battlefield.
Count Fairbairn, who had led the Northern merchant guild back when the original female and male leads were still fine, had become the core of this reconstruction project.
Utilizing the Hellhound Brigade, the rat beastmen of the Twisted Tail Clan, and Hybel's rabbit beastmen, he was meticulously planning and executing the work.
I trusted Count Fairbairn.
After all, he was one of the key supporting characters whom the original female lead had personally scouted to grow her merchant guild.
He was the best person to make use of the Defense Contribution Fee I had squeezed out of the other dukes.
"Let's go."
And so, I left the North once again.
Part of me wanted to settle down and systematically direct the reconstruction myself, but the North was currently in a state where such simple measures wouldn't suffice to revive it.
Only by successfully executing the plans found in the female lead's basement could we open the floodgates for the North's salvation.
And the absolute core of her plan was neither oil nor greenhouses.
It was the infinite Elixir duplication cheat key, possible only for the North due to its close proximity to the Magic Realm.
The technology to extract Elixir from the carcasses of demonic beasts.
And to complete that, a mage was not an option—it was an absolute necessity.
Inside the rattling military truck.
Hybel was at the wheel.
The rat beastman Kka-Chi, myself, Marquis Krat, and Count Rompelt—the Knight Commander who led all the knights of the Northern army—rode in the cargo bed in the back.
Though it was a bit bumpy and noisy, it was more than adequate for holding a conversation.
"I recommend against visiting the Southern Magic Tower," Count Rompelt said, shuddering with disgust.
It was the first thing the Knight Commander brought up.
"Mages are stubborn traditionalists. And magic towers are closed societies with their own rigid cultures and quirks. I've seen many magic towers, but the one in the South is particularly bad. They don't even accept mages who aren't from the South, and they have absolutely no intention of ever leaving their region."
Kka-Chi's whiskers twitched as he let out a sharp hiss.
"Chik! Agreed. Don't associate with those Southern pigs. If there's anyone worse than the noble pigs, it's those staff-wielding bastards of the magic tower. They'll just sneer at us, calling the North a wasteland of beastmen and barbarians, and refuse to come."
I agreed.
Considering the rotten personality of that daughter-fucker, Duke Luvheim, and the various rumors floating around, skipping the South was definitely the right call.
But would going to the East or West solve anything?
There were problems there, too.
"The Dukes of the West and East will never sit idly by and watch us contact their magic towers," Marquis Krat noted.
"They will do everything in their power to stop us," Count Rompelt added. "They've already been stripped of their money and resources; they won't hand over their mages on top of that. Mages are invaluable assets anywhere. They won't just let them go."
I agreed with Marquis Krat and Count Rompelt once again.
There was no way that rat-faced Duke Leonard of the West and that absolute bastard Duke Orph of the East would let us have them.
In fact, they might even team up to beat me down, claiming I was being too greedy after already taking so much.
When you extort someone, you have to read the room and stop before they completely lose their minds.
The moment I forced them to bleed any further, they might decide to bite back, even if it meant getting hurt themselves.
That left only one place.
"Then there is only one place left. The people of the Golden Magic Tower in the capital..."
I let out a long sigh.
If there was any sliver of hope, it lay with the Golden Magic Tower.
Like it or not, His Majesty was in a position where he had to rebuild the North, and he would do his best to help if he could.
The problem wasn't the Emperor, but the mages themselves.
The mages of the capital were nobles who had served the imperial family for generations and held key government posts.
Their pride pierced the heavens.
If I told them to pack up and come to the ruined North to suffer alongside us, there was no way they would happily follow.
"Grand Duke. Didn't you meet many combat mages during the ten-year war?" Marquis Krat asked.
"I did, Krat. I have quite a few connections."
"Why not try to persuade them using those connections?"
"That is indeed my plan."
I said this aloud, but internally, I was tearing my hair out.
There was a limit to what personal connections could achieve.
What on earth did the North have to offer that could entice a mage?
Did we have proper research facilities? No.
Did we have archives or research records accumulated by mages over the years? No.
It wasn't like we had the financial power to match the hefty salaries they received from the magic towers, either.
If I asked them to come to a magical wasteland that had absolutely nothing, even comrades who had risked their lives fighting alongside me would likely refuse.
Frankly speaking, how was this any different from asking someone to co-sign a loan?
"Will the mages really be willing to come to the North based on connections alone?" Count Rompelt asked, looking at me with a mixture of vague hope and anxiety.
How should I know, you bastard? I've spent my entire life fighting wars. There's no way I'm good at sweet-talking people.
Still, this was not the moment to be honest.
"Trust me, Rompelt. Comrades who have risked their lives together on the battlefield share a bond thicker than blood. I am confident I can persuade them. You two should dress in your formal attire and prepare to meet the Magic Tower Master. Frankly, in meetings like this, you will be of more help than the beastmen."
Kka-Chi snickered.
"Chik! That is true! But we are not useless either! If you ever need to dig up the Magic Tower Master's dirty secrets to blackmail him, just say the word! Our long-tailed kin live beneath the sewers of the capital as well! We can get their help anytime."
"Yes. If necessary, I will use that method as well, Kka-Chi. You will have your own tasks to attend to."
While listening to our conversation, Count Rompelt suddenly turned to Kka-Chi.
"Hey, rat. Kka-Chi. I heard you guys are well-versed in the rumors of the shady underworld."
"Indeed! Indeed!"
"Then, by any chance... have you heard any rumors about why the former Grand Duke, Lord Theodore Adrakin, passed away? Like the use of an assassin, or perhaps a special poison?"
Kka-Chi shook his head.
"I do not know! But I will do my best to find out if there is anything I can do. The North will now be the home of my people. I will do whatever it takes to protect and defend my home."
Count Rompelt let out a soft chuckle at those words.
He extended his hand to Kka-Chi.
"I feel the same way. Let us work well together from now on."
Kka-Chi stared at the offered hand in surprise.
But soon, he smirked and shook it.
"I thought you were just another noble pig, but I like you. Let's do this!"
"Right. But you might want to take a bath. Even if it's your culture... it would be best to compromise a little on that front."
"We don't smell like this because we want to! Do you think there's clean water in the sewers? Washing in a shower with hot running water! That is our dream!"
I chimed into their conversation.
"If this venture goes well, that might actually become a reality. So let's all do our best. Kka-Chi, Count Rompelt, and Marquis Krat."
"Of course, my Lord."
"Chik! I'm looking forward to it! Haha!"
The atmosphere was warm and friendly.
I, too, forced a smile to match the mood.
But deep down, I knew.
A strategic asset like a mage would not fall into our hands so easily.
And as always, my worst apprehensions were realized with irritating precision.
"Absolutely not."
The Golden Magic Tower Master scowled, pointing toward the door with a firm gesture that was even more resolute than his stern expression.
"Leave at once."
Count Rompelt, dressed in his neat armor.
Marquis Krat, clad in a formal suit.
And I, in my military uniform, sat dejectedly on a bench outside the magic tower, staring blankly up at the structure.
Looking back, we had prepared as thoroughly as possible.
We had even brought quite expensive gifts.
Marquis Krat, with his extensive experience in high society and diplomacy, had presented our proposal as smoothly as possible, weaving in diplomatic rhetoric to avoid causing any offense.
Count Rompelt had done his best to secure the meeting by utilizing his connections within the imperial palace from his academy days.
And I, using my authority as the Grand Duke of the North, had practically begged, promising as much support as we could muster.
Yet, the result was a flat rejection and an immediate dismissal.
"Well, I fully expected a direct approach to fail. Unless the Magic Tower Master has lost his mind, he wouldn't willingly dispatch mages to the North. Don't worry, you two. If the tower refuses, we just have to make individual mages want to come to the North of their own accord. Trust in my connections."
"Are you planning to personally ask a combat mage you know?"
"Yes. Go back to our lodging and rest for a bit. I'll go and talk to them alone."
After sending my subordinates away, I requested a meeting with a specific combat mage inside the Golden Magic Tower by name and visited his laboratory.
However, this encounter turned out to be even more miserable than being kicked out by the Magic Tower Master.
"Volka! Haha! Major General Volka Adrakin! It's been a while! A really long time!"
A haggard mage approached me, limping.
He was someone who had fought alongside me in the war against the demonic beasts and the battle of the Grand Duchy of Kramkin.
His name was Velmut.
But only the name was the same; he was not the Velmut I once knew.
"You've lost so much weight. What happened to you?"
Velmut looked hollow.
His eyes were sunken as if he hadn't slept in days, and his hands trembled constantly as if he were having a seizure.
"It's nothing. My health just took a turn for the worse after returning from the war."
"This is more than just taking a turn for the worse."
"Haha! They call it Explosion Neurosis! It's apparently a side effect that happens when you're exposed to too many artillery blasts, rattling your nerves. Don't worry! According to the medical community, it's not a serious condition! I'm looking into a cure. I'll be fine soon."
He lifted a bottle of alcohol with his trembling hand and poured it down his throat.
But contrary to his words, his body was reacting honestly.
Insomnia. Nervous breakdown. And as if he had been plagued by nightmares, the documents and books in his laboratory were scattered in disarray, piled up haphazardly.
On his notebooks and memo pads, all sorts of phrases were frantically scribbled in a chaotic hand.
I knew exactly what this condition was.
On Earth, my home in my past life, it was called shell shock after the First World War.
In the modern terms of the world I lived in before reincarnating from reading romance fantasy novels, it was PTSD.
"Have you received counseling?"
"Counseling? I don't need that! I told you, I'm fine!"
"You are not fine, no matter how you look at it. You need professional treatment and counseling. You are wounded."
"I said I don't need it! Are you trying to make me out to be a c-coward? Huh?"
Velmut slammed the bottle down violently as he shouted.
But the anger quickly gave way to a sudden wave of depression, and he began to sob, tears streaming down his face.
"I-I'm not a coward who pisses his pants and has fits just from hearing artillery and gunfire on the battlefield! Volka! I'm not like that! I-I'm perfectly fine! I don't want to be expelled from the magic tower. Explosion Neurosis is only for cowards! I'm not that weak! I'm not!"
I looked at Velmut with a heavy heart.
A romanticized medieval era.
An era where knights swung swords imbued with Aura Blades and mages cast spells.
Although bolt-action rifles had been developed, firearms were still operated much like muzzle-loading matchlocks.
Ironically, back when the original plot of the romance fantasy was unfolding, people still thought war was romantic.
When the war against the demonic beasts broke out, many young men enlisted in search of that romance.
But what awaited them was anything but romantic.
The era of magic and swords was setting.
Machine guns, trenches, poison gas, and a deafening daily barrage of artillery shells were the reality of the battlefield they faced.
The people of this era still didn't know what PTSD was, nor did they have the data to properly understand it.
They simply dismissed it as a weak nervous disorder that only affected cowards.
"Are there many mages showing the same symptoms as you?"
Velmut sniffled, wiped his tears, and took a ragged breath.
"There are. Everyone is just hiding it."
"I will keep your secret. I won't tell a soul. You are a great mage, Velmut. Don't die. I've already lost more comrades than I care to count. I don't want to hear that you've passed away too."
"...Thank you, Volka."
I couldn't bring myself to ask him to come to the North to conduct research, or to look at the magic circle for extracting Elixir from demonic beast carcasses that I had taken from the original female lead.
I couldn't force a broken man to work when I couldn't even offer him proper comfort.
With a heavy heart, I left the Golden Magic Tower and returned to our lodging.
As expected, there wasn't a single piece of good news...
"Chik! Volka! I found them! I found the goat beastmen! Just as expected, they were in the red-light district!"
Or so I thought!
"But there's a problem! Apparently, one of them drank an entire barrel of alcohol and got caught sleeping with ten male prostitutes in a brothel without any money to pay! They're being held hostage right now! We need some cash to bail them out!"
You fucking goat beastmen Satyrs. What kind of lives are you even living?