Kays Translations

Chapter 18: A Man Must Be Ruthless with Himself

The so-called “Plane Projection Fragment,” fashioned out of a poor-quality crystal sphere and modeled after the great battle of Coriassa, was something Musa Mein had stepped into more times than he could count.

Because of his familiarity with this place, the path through its lower corridors was effortless under his lead. Guided by Musa Mein’s steady pace, Marlon and his two companions made their way safely and without obstruction, eventually arriving at the third deck of The Isumenas Valkyrie.

The third deck belonged to the vessel’s midsection. Unlike a civilian airship, this was a military craft built with airtight precision far beyond ordinary standards. Yet even with such meticulous sealing, the sheer number of soldiers and the heavy stockpile of supplies had saturated the air with an oppressive foulness. Every breath tasted of sweat, oil, and smoke—it was suffocating.

And yet, when Marlon recalled the outer deck—the choking stench of blood and ruptured entrails carried by the wind into the nostrils—he found himself oddly grateful. Compared to that nauseating miasma, this stale, tainted air was a mercy.

Outside, the war between airships raged on without pause. The roar of cannons thundered ceaselessly, each muffled by the hiss of compressed air as shells were discharged. The tremors seemed to pulse through the bones, a grim reminder that death was never far.

Even here, in the third deck, the Valkyrie was not spared. Allied artillery frequently slammed into its hull, forcing squads of soldiers to rush frantically through the central passage. Some bore extinguishers, dousing flames before they spread; others hastily sealed off ruptured compartments where fire and smoke threatened to consume everything.

Every so often, Marlon noticed pairs of men—clearly officers by their bearing—barking orders in the harsh syllables of the Helfa tongue. He could not understand their words, yet their intent was obvious: command, control, survive. Ordinary soldiers scrambled under their directives—plugging breaches, tending to the wounded, or dragging corpses out of the way.

But whenever those officers caught sight of Marlon and Musa Mein, they did not dare impede them. Instead, they straightened at once, saluted crisply, and stepped aside with almost fearful haste.

Only after Marlon passed would their eyes flick curiously toward the woman trailing at his back—Alice, the crimson-dressed beauty whose dog-leg blade still dripped blood. The combination of elegance and savagery clung to her like perfume, making her an unforgettable sight.

“The Helfa army is built on strict hierarchy,” Musa Mein explained at last, breaking the silence as he led the way. His tone carried a hint of pride, as if the rigidity of such discipline were a shield in itself. “The ranks of the men we’ve possessed are high enough that here, on the third deck, no one has the authority to command us.”

He halted, turning toward a massive circular bulkhead at the corridor’s end.

“We’ve arrived. Beyond this sealing gate lies the stairs to the captain’s quarters on the fourth deck.” His gaze lingered on the enormous valve wheel embedded in the door. “It’s notoriously stiff. Two people at least are required to force it open.”

Marlon nodded and stepped forward. Mimicking Musa Mein, he grasped the valve with both hands. The iron wheel was nearly a meter across, its cold steel biting into his palms. He braced himself for a struggle.

But to his surprise, the strength of the Helfa officer whose body he wore surged through him like a second skin. What should have been grueling labor felt almost natural. Together with Musa Mein, he rotated the stubborn wheel, the grinding metal yielding with a groan.

The design, as Musa Mein had warned, was anything but efficient. Though the door itself gleamed as if newly forged, its mechanism demanded excessive effort. Yet Marlon could not fault the engineers. Sealed doors are meant to seal, he thought. If they fail at that, what use do they serve?

With this in mind, he slipped first through the narrow gap they had pried open.

“We must hurry,” Musa Mein urged, following close behind. His voice carried the calm certainty of a prophet. “Soon the fourth deck will be struck by repeated bombardment. Those shells carry freezing enchantments—when they detonate, three walls of solid ice will rise to bar the path to the captain’s chamber.”

The warning struck a chord in Marlon’s chest. His pace quickened as he descended the stairwell. Yet before he could take five steps, the steel wall to his right erupted with a deafening roar.

The explosion tore the corridor apart. Razor-edged shockwaves scythed through the air, sharper than any blade. In their wake came an unnatural chill, so intense it drove the temperature instantly below freezing.

Marlon had no time to register what was happening. Darkness slammed into him, and the world collapsed into nothingness.

When sight returned, he was no longer aboard the Valkyrie.

Instead, he stood amidst the chaos of a battlefield on solid ground, where men were lined up in grim silence, executing each other with gunfire.

Just two meters away lay the husk of a Lorin Defense Army steam tank, completely destroyed. A soldier—perhaps the tank commander, perhaps the gunner—hung upside down between its triple cannons and the shattered tread. His torso had been charred to a blackened husk, a grotesque statue of agony.

From the smoldering wreckage beside it, something stirred. The twisted steel groaned as a figure pulled himself free: Musa Mein, his body burned over eighty percent, flesh cooked and sloughing. He staggered once, then drew a crystal handgun without hesitation.

Bang.

He shot himself clean through the skull.

Yet scarcely moments later, he rose again. The ruin of his face had smoothed over, flesh knitting as if time itself rewound. He looked once more as though nothing had happened.

Watching this resurrection, Marlon’s gut twisted. A bitter laugh nearly escaped him. So that’s how it is… a man willing to be this ruthless to himself—how much harsher will he be to others?

“Does this surprise you?” Musa Mein’s eyes narrowed, catching the unguarded thoughts flickering across Marlon’s face.

He offered the explanation with chilling matter-of-factness:

“When you’ve entered this projection fragment three hundred and seventy-nine times, and died nine thousand, eight hundred and sixty-six—ah, now nine thousand, eight hundred and sixty-seven—deaths, you grow accustomed to it. These are false deaths. No pain. Just a blink into blackness, a short pause, and then you live again. Not true death. Merely a shadow of it.”

It was the perfect justification, yet cruel beyond measure.

“Your humanoid mage construct—the summoned servant—did she die?” he asked casually, as if Alice were no more than a trinket.

Marlon nodded grimly. The bond he had shared with her was gone, the mental thread that once connected them severed. Without it, she was nothing but silence. She must have perished in the explosion. And unlike Musa Mein, she could not revive; as a spirit-crystal servant, she was bound by different rules.

He considered invoking the incantation again, reshaping another “Alice.” But the thought alone sent a lance of pain through his skull, sharp and merciless, killing the idea before it could root.

Musa Mein did not press. His curiosity ended there. Instead, his next question fell like a stone into the quiet:

“And the gun?”

The crystal handgun—the tool of escape from this fragment—had been in Alice’s hands.

“I don’t know,” Marlon admitted. He lifted his eyes to the sky. Above, the colossal silhouette of the Isumenas Valkyrie still floated, battered by volleys from thirty, forty enemy airships. Black smoke billowed from her flanks, yet she refused to fall. “It’s probably still up there.”

“I see.” Musa Mein followed his gaze, then eased himself onto the husk of the ruined steam tank, sitting as if he had all the time in the world. “Then we can only wait. Eventually, the Valkyrie will be shot down. Until then… this is as good a place as any. At least here, I can explain to you the principles of the projection fragment without fearing unwanted ears.”

Marlon opened his mouth to respond, but his words were drowned by the incoming scream of an artillery shell—an augmented incendiary, glowing with malicious light.

The world exploded once more.

BOOM!

Previous chapter | TOC | Next chapter