Kays Translations

Chapter 15: The Valkyrie of Isumenas

Within the depths of the crystal ball, the scene continued to unfold with an almost theatrical cruelty—the grim and merciless tableau of the Battle of Coriasa, where soldiers lined up only to face mass execution by firing squad.

Though his movements were hesitant, Marlon’s trembling fingers eventually brushed against the surface of the crude, low-quality crystal ball. The sphere was cold—so cold it seemed to drain the warmth straight from his fingertips.

And in that very instant—at the moment his skin first touched the icy surface—Marlon felt something stir within him. A strange and uncontrollable shiver rippled through his soul, not his body. It was so sudden, so primal, that it left him breathless.

That involuntary tremor of the soul blurred his vision for the briefest of moments. When his sight cleared again—what he saw struck him like a thunderclap. He froze, utterly dumbfounded.

For the ramshackle little hut in Musa Mein’s slums was gone.

Instead, Marlon now stood upon the thunderous deck of a colossal airship, a floating fortress of steel that roared through the skies at full speed.

The sheer scale of it stole his breath. The bridge’s deck alone stretched out as wide as four football fields, an expanse of steel alive with soldiers, machinery, and war.

Beside him loomed a monstrous black iron gun turret, taller than a man and wide as a house. Five or six burly soldiers—dressed in the thick winter uniforms of the Helfa Empire—were chanting in rhythm as they labored together, their arms straining as they slid a massive golden shell into the cannon’s gaping maw. The shell was as thick as a bucket, as long as a man was tall, gleaming dully under the harsh light of the sky.

The cannon itself was terrifying—like an earth-world howitzer, but far larger. Its rear end flared wide, at least a meter across, built to contain the terrible energies it was about to unleash.

When the loading was complete, the breach slammed shut with a heavy clang. One soldier, clearly the gun captain, took up a glowing shard of crystal—a chunk that shimmered with eerie blue light, thrumming with power Marlon could feel even from a distance. With steady hands, he slid the crystal into a socket at the cannon’s side.

Another soldier, with three stripes of rank glinting on his shoulder, barked out an order—words Marlon could not understand, though the tone made the intent clear. They were sighting the enemy, feeding firing data into the cannon.

At once, the crew sprang into motion, each man seizing a hand-cranked wheel. Metal groaned and gears clattered in protest as the entire weapon shuddered to life, turning with grinding precision. The barrel began to rise, swiveling left and right until it leveled squarely upon its target.

Through his sharp eyes, Marlon followed their aim—and saw it.

Another airship in the distance, painted with the sky-blue insignia of the Loring Republic’s Sky Patrol Fleet. Its own cannons were already swinging around in reply, their dark muzzles yawning wide, the predator’s gaze fixed back on them.

But Helfa’s weapon spoke first.

BOOM!!!

The blast was deafening, a roar that rattled Marlon’s bones and turned the air itself into a trembling wall of sound. The golden shell tore free from the barrel, streaking across the sky in the blink of an eye before slamming into the Loring vessel.

The effect was catastrophic.

The shell, infused with unimaginable energy, ripped through the airship’s outer steel plating as though it were paper, plunging deep into its innards. The next moment, the ship swelled grotesquely, ballooning from within like a toy being inflated by some cruel hand.

And then—collapse.

The Loring airship spun out of control, spiraling downwards, its vast body tearing apart mid-air. Massive chunks of steel and wood rained down like meteorites. A whirling tornado of blue flames and wind coiled around the largest fragment, dragging it in a slanted arc toward the earth.

“Huha! Ah-hura!”

The Helfa gunners erupted into wild cheers, clapping each other on the back, their faces alight with savage triumph.

But their victory lasted only a heartbeat.

Without warning, the deck beneath them lurched violently, as though the entire vessel had been struck by an earthquake.

The jubilant cries turned to screams. Two soldiers, caught off guard, were hurled from the deck into the endless sky below, their triumphant shouts dissolving into desperate wails as they plummeted toward their deaths.

Marlon himself staggered, nearly flung overboard. His stomach lurched with terror as the void yawned beneath him—

—until a strong, steady hand seized his arm.

“Down!”

The voice was Musa Mein’s. Even as he shouted, he yanked Marlon down, dragging him flat against the freezing steel of the deck.

Pressing his cheek against the cold iron, Marlon dared to lift his head—and what he saw froze his blood.

Another airship, its hull engulfed in fire yet still roaring defiantly, bore down on them. Its guns spat fury, vomiting streams of blazing red shells. This was no Loring vessel—this was a warship of the Serpa Alliance of Nineteen Nations, Loring’s staunch allies.

A rain of shells streaked across the sky, striking with merciless precision.

The Helfa cannon that had just claimed glory exploded in a storm of fire and steel, ripped apart in an instant. Shards of metal scythed outward, carving through the gunners around it.

Marlon’s eyes widened in horror. In a single breath, men who had been cheering moments ago were torn apart—limbs severed, bodies shredded. The ground was slick with gore, the deck spattered with brains and entrails glistening in a grotesque rainbow of colors.

The stench hit him next. Burnt flesh, acrid smoke, hot iron, and blood—the suffocating cocktail flooded his nostrils, making his heart hammer in his chest.

The shockwave from the blast rolled over him, rattling his skull until the world spun dizzily.

Fear.

The raw, suffocating fear of standing face to face with death. It clamped down on Marlon’s chest, crushing him, reminding him brutally that he was no hardened warrior.

He was just a man. A man who could laugh, weep, and tremble. Not some cold machine like the unflinching Terminator from films back on Earth.

“Where… where is this?”

The words slipped from his lips without thought. He had seen war movies, had even watched grisly horror films back home—but this? To be here, in the heart of it, with death a heartbeat away? The difference was an abyss.

From behind him, Musa Mein’s voice came again—steady, calm, almost detached.

“This is the Isumenas Valkyrie, flagship of the Helfa Empire’s southern air fleet. The pride of the Empire in the skies. But…” His tone darkened. “Within hours, it will fall. Surrounded by the third and fourth fleets of the Loring Defense Force, along with the Serpa Alliance’s Expeditionary Fleet, it will be hunted down and destroyed. Its wreck will crash into the ground below, crushing the Lightning Duke, Griffin-Stein, who commands the Crown Prince’s Guard and the Seventh and Ninth Armored Divisions. That death will shift the fate of the entire Battle of Coriasa.”

The words sank into Marlon like stones dropping into a still pond, each one heavier than the last.

At last, he understood.

He wasn’t just watching anymore. He was inside.

Inside the crystal ball that Musa Mein had been holding—living, breathing, and trembling within the re-enactment of the Battle of Coriasa itself.

And then, Musa Mein’s voice echoed in his mind once more, calm yet brimming with ambition:

“Now… do you understand? The vast fortune hidden within this invention of mine?”

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