Kays Translations

Chapter 36: Monsters

“Mokutan, Sekitan, Tsubaki! Gather!”

“Mii.”

“Mit.”

“Mimimi.”

At my call, the three fire lizards playing in the ash mounds in the backyard chirped and came running to my feet, lining up neatly in a row.

“Burn this.”

“Mii!”

“Mit!”

“Mimimi!”

I held out a crucible containing a platinum ring (pt950, 95% purity) with tongs in front of the three, and they all spewed fire from their mouths at once.

The triple flamethrowers hit the crucible perfectly, gradually turning it red-hot. Within less than a minute, the platinum inside melted into a bubbling liquid.

“Alright, stop! Good, good, good—you’re such good kids!”

When I signaled them to stop, I rewarded the fire lizards with their favorite treats: charcoal, coal, and camellia oil. They wagged their tails happily and dug into the food. Adorable.

The Blue Witch, who was watching from behind to observe the results of my training, clapped in admiration.

“This is incredible. You’ve trained them so well.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. It took me two months, after all.”

Wahaha! Praise me more! With this, I’ve finally become a full-fledged monster trainer.

If I’d spent two months with zero results, even I would’ve been depressed. But thanks to referencing the breeding techniques from the Hokkaido Monster Farm, I managed to succeed.

Ever since embedding the gremlin in my hand, I’ve gotten along much better with the fire lizards.

The fire lizards now seem to see me as either the elder of the pack or an adult of their species. Considering the size difference, it’s not surprising. Early on, they would sniff my rear anxiously and even tried setting my butt on fire a few times (don’t tell the Blue Witch), so I’m certain they consider me part of their species.

However, within three days, they seemed to understand that I could stay healthy and active without being enveloped in flames. They even tried licking my minor burns to heal them, showing they had both intelligence and learning ability. Not only cute, but smart too. A week of having a sore, burnt butt that made it hard to sit was a small price to pay.

When I moved the fire lizards to the furnace where they could make their nest out of metal, I carried them there myself and provided high-quality binchotan charcoal as an incentive. They quickly adapted, even creating a new nest inside the furnace rather than returning to their original one.

The furnace, located on the mountainside behind my house, was the ideal location for training. It was far enough away that a fire wouldn’t spread to my home, and it was convenient for checking in on them or doing maintenance.

According to the secret manual of the Hokkaido Monster Farm, training monsters generally relies on establishing hierarchy and controlling their food supply. If you assert dominance and manage their diet, most monsters will comply, even if they’re not thrilled about it.

Additionally, each species or individual monster has unique behaviors and personalities that must be considered. Some species enjoy physical affection, while others are content to coexist with minimal contact. Some have habits like bathing in water, playing with carcasses, or licking gremlins as a sign of trust. The variety is endless.

For me, embedding the gremlin was enough to establish dominance. This allowed me to move the fire lizards into their new nest with relative ease, where I further deepened our bond through feeding and observing their behavior.

The first thing I discovered was that they had clear food preferences. While they generally consumed anything combustible—coal, charcoal, old gasoline, kerosene, ethanol, rapeseed oil, whale oil, camellia oil—they refused to eat firewood or gas fuel. They might eat them if starving, but I didn’t want to test that out of pity.

Each lizard had its favorite:

• The biggest and boldest, always leading the trio, loved camellia oil.
• The laziest, often sunbathing by a fire, preferred coal.
• The most curious and friendly one loved charcoal.

Initially, I didn’t name them and just called them “hey,” “you,” or “fire lizard.” But as they began responding to their favorite foods, those names stuck.

Spending more time with them helped me understand their habits. After the initial “butt-fire” incident, there were no accidents, and their endearing behaviors began to emerge.

For instance, fire lizards love rolling in ash despite their preference for keeping their scales clean. When I brushed one’s scales with an old toothbrush, the others would come over, tapping the brush with their forelegs, demanding their turn. Once their scales gleamed, they’d joyfully dart around and dive back into the ash pile, getting completely covered again. Why bother cleaning? Well, they seem to enjoy it, so I let it slide.

They also have a habit of falling asleep after eating a full meal. Come to think of it, the Flame Witch used to nap after eating charcoal too. It might be a familial trait.

Their daily cycle is simple: wake up, eat, play tag or wrestle, eat lunch, play more, eat dinner, and sleep. They live entirely by their instincts.

Despite their carefree nature, they’re not diligent about maintaining their nest. I left plenty of metal for them to build with, but their half-sphere-shaped nests always stayed ragged and uneven. Even when parts rusted, they didn’t seem to care.

One time, I fixed their nest while they were away, only for them to look uncomfortable and restore its jagged, messy shape by breathing fire on it. Clearly, they have their own reasoning for keeping it that way, even if I don’t understand it.

Interestingly, they seem to prefer higher-melting-point metals for their nests. They used platinum much more frequently than lead or iron.

Their most intriguing and practical trait, however, is their ability to control their firepower—something they seem to have inherited from their mother.

Platinum melts at a higher temperature than iron, requiring at least 1768°C. Yet when they breathed fire at my butt, I only got minor burns. Their firepower is clearly adjustable.

Even when they breathed fire at a piece of wood to turn it into food, the surrounding area didn’t overheat. Using a self-made temperature sensor, I discovered that their flames focus heat only on what they intend to burn, leaving nearby objects relatively untouched.

In other words, fire lizards can selectively burn targets while avoiding unintended collateral damage.

That said, there are limits. Embers can still spread, and their precision isn’t perfect. They can’t avoid burning unwanted objects with pinpoint accuracy.

Their flames, while magic in nature, lack any special properties. Unlike the Flame Witch’s magic fire, the fire lizards’ flames couldn’t melt the Blue Witch’s enchanted ice or disintegrate gremlins—they simply melted them.

It seems that among magic flames, only the Flame Witch’s “Flame Jin-Ga” series possesses special effects. Truly, her fire is in a league of its own.

I drastically reduced my magic power with the Gremlin embedding, so it’s a relief that the fire lizards can handle fire magic for me. They don’t breathe fire nearly as much as I expected, and they don’t have a pyromaniac tendency either. While there’s a risk their behavior might change when they grow up, they seem pretty safe from accidentally starting fires while they’re still small. It also helps that my “butt-burn incident” apparently taught them that “breathing too much fire isn’t good.”

I’m not sure about regular fire lizards, but my little ones are cautious with their fire-breathing.

The Blue Witch listened to my story of training results and proud achievements, nodded in understanding, and lowered her weapon.

She promised not to kill them anymore, so I felt relieved.

Crisis averted: no child-killing by the Blue Witch! Plus, now we have magic creatures living in the smelter.

From now on, when working with fire to make Dairi-brand products, we’ll be able to advertise them as “forged with the fire of monsters.” The Flame Witch caused a huge mess, but I managed to bring everything in for a soft landing.

Let’s consider this a happy ending for now.

“Do you think they’d warm up to me?”

“Mimimi…!”

As the laid-back Sekitan sprawled on his belly near the tip of my shoe, the Blue Witch reached out her hand toward him. However, Sekitan let a small puff of fire escape the corner of his mouth and flicked his tongue to intimidate her.

The Blue Witch pulled her hand back in disappointment. Blood ties don’t seem to matter at all here. I guess it’s really about nurture over nature.

These guys are already set to be part of our workshop’s forge team. Don’t try to poach them from me now.

“If you want a pet, there are other good monsters out there. Like, the ones sent over from the Hokkaido monster Farm. They seem handy based on the care instructions I read.”

“I’ve been debating whether to raise a Pouch Sparrow. But honestly, my Eyeball Familiar is enough.”

“Ah, I get that. Personally, I’m interested in the Steel Wool Sheep—or more specifically, their wool.”

While brushing the scales of my fire lizards with a toothbrush, I chatted with the Blue Witch about monsters.

The Hokkaido Monster Farm sent three types of monsters to Tokyo.

• Pouch Sparrows, known for their loyalty to their leader and their ability to carry things.
• Steel Wool Sheep, prized for their highly valuable wool.
• Cannon Balsam, specialists in territorial defense.

These are the three types.

Pouch Sparrows are mutated sparrows. Since sparrows are naturally abundant, one of their evolutionary offshoots, the Pouch Sparrow, is relatively easy to secure and train.

They resemble sparrows but are a bit larger and clumsier, with slower flight. Instead, they have a pouch made of soft, sagging fat on their stomachs, resembling a kangaroo’s pouch. This pouch can carry an absurd amount of items that shouldn’t logically fit, and the contents lose their weight while inside.

The pouch’s storage capacity is quite large—about the volume of a small refrigerator. However, if the Pouch Sparrow dies, the pouch loses its storage ability and releases everything inside. Biological entities placed in the pouch experience extreme motion sickness, making it impractical for such uses. Furthermore, time continues to pass normally inside the pouch, and it’s slightly warm and damp, making it unsuitable for food storage.

That said, Pouch Sparrows are unwaveringly loyal to their leader or tamer. Once trained and accepted as their leader, they follow commands faithfully—even to the point of risking their lives. It’s almost heartbreaking how devoted they are.

While their intelligence is on par with parrots, making complex orders difficult, they have an excellent memory for geography. At the Hokkaido monster Farm, they’re the backbone of the transportation industry, handling everything from debris removal to lumber and steel transportation. They’re even used for mail delivery.

Pouch Sparrows originally use their pouches for nest-building. Since they’re slow and lack any special attack power, they collect rocks, logs, and iron to construct incredibly sturdy nests. Though they themselves are weak, their nests are their strength.

When moving to a new location, they carry their nest materials in their pouches and rebuild their fort-like homes at the new site. Even in open plains with no cover, they can build strong shelters to protect themselves, which is a testament to their adaptability.

As for their diet, they eat insects and carrion, preferring the soft internal organs of monsters, meaning they don’t compete with humans for food. They never attack humans. On the contrary, Pouch Sparrows are more likely to be attacked by other monsters when outside their nests, so they’re best kept in safe urban environments.

Their reproduction rate is fairly high, making them excellent monsters to strengthen transportation infrastructure.

Steel Wool Sheep are mutated sheep.

While Hokkaido is famous for lamb barbecue (jingisukan), over 99% of the lamb is imported, and the local sheep population was under 10,000. However, when domesticated sheep mutate, they always become Steel Wool Sheep, and efforts to capture, raise, and breed them have been successful.

Sheep are inefficient livestock, with a feed-to-meat ratio (feed conversion ratio) of 15.0. This means they require 15 grams of feed to produce just 1 gram of meat. Steel Wool Sheep have a similar ratio.

Compared to chickens, which have a ratio of 1.7, sheep meat is resource-intensive and expensive. Growth is also much slower—sheep take two years to mature, whereas chickens only take three months.

However, the true value of Steel Wool Sheep lies in their wool.

Steel Wool Sheep’s wool is normally soft and fluffy but is highly fire-resistant, insulating, and hardens like steel when exposed to high heat. This hardening lasts for about a day and can be reactivated after a few hours of rest.

Clothing made from their wool retains these properties, lasting at least four years without degradation.

Their wool is incredibly valuable as it doesn’t burn, insulates against extreme heat, and can harden to a level that resists blades and even bullets when woven tightly. Despite its strength, it’s lightweight, easy to handle, warm in winter, cool in summer, insect-resistant, and doesn’t shrink when washed.

This makes it a perfect natural material for clothing.

Unfortunately, there are still few Steel Wool Sheep, and they can only be sheared once a year in spring, limiting production. But with increased numbers, production capacity will rise. Considering its extraordinary qualities, it’s worth any investment. Clothing made from Steel Wool Sheep wool could greatly reduce injuries among guards constantly battling monsters.

Steel Wool Sheep are also non-aggressive toward humans.

They mainly eat grass, including weeds, but require small amounts of salt and iron in their diet. They’re very skittish around non-herd members and immediately flee. They recognize the individual with the largest horns as their leader, so tamers must wear artificial horns on their heads, which is a bit cumbersome.

The third type of monster that Hokkaido’s Monster Farm is proud of, the Cannon Balsam, is a mutated plant.

While it is named after and resembles the balsam plant, it doesn’t necessarily mutate from balsams. This plant-based monster grows to about the height of an adult and is an annual plant that sprouts in early spring and withers in winter. What’s fascinating is that shortly after sprouting, it blooms flowers and quickly produces seeds.

The Cannon Balsam uses these seeds as projectiles, shooting them at approaching animals or monsters to kill them. Its accuracy and power are significant, and the seeds germinate within the decaying bodies of its victims, making it an aggressively hostile plant-beast. It continually produces and stocks seeds from spring through autumn, always ready to fire.

True to its name, the Cannon Balsam is an excellent defensive turret, highly effective for protecting bases. It can eliminate enemies classified as “Type C-1” (clearly monstrous creatures) and even handle “Type B-3” enemies by halting or repelling them. Although it’s ineffective against “Type B-2” or higher, which require intervention by mage squads, expecting it to deal with such threats would be asking too much. Just being able to handle Type C monsters and stop Type B-3 ones makes it invaluable.

However, the Cannon Balsam is indiscriminate—it will shoot seeds at humans just as readily. Managing and maintaining it, including fertilizing, watering, and transplanting, absolutely requires a trained monster tamer.

All three monsters—the Pouch Sparrow, Steel wool Sheep, and Cannon Balsam—are remarkable despite their quirks.

At the Hokkaido Monster Farm, efforts to domesticate new types of monsters are ongoing, and they have promised to continue sending successfully domesticated monsters to Tokyo. They might as well be gods.

Of course, this isn’t free. In exchange, Tokyo has agreed to export magic staffs and dispatch instructors for magic linguistics. Hokkaido Monster Farm even has its own agricultural school, which functions more like a vocational training center for magical beast handlers. The envoy sent to Tokyo is reportedly a graduate of that school.

I’m looking forward to seeing this exchange develop. And while I might not directly be part of the circle of exchange, I’ll still benefit from it in my own way. Well, technically, since I’ll be crafting the magic staffs delivered to Hokkaido, I’m at least contributing a little to the collaboration.

Speaking of collaborative efforts, two of the five major survivor communities—Lake Biwa Pact and the Arataki Group—are still outside the growing nationwide network of exchange. Neither sent aid to Tokyo.

The Lake Biwa Pact is reportedly dealing with internal conflict between hawks and doves, triggered by a political upheaval during the Mushroom Pandemic. It seems they’re in no position to offer support to Tokyo.

Fair enough. Even Tokyo’s Witch Assembly isn’t entirely united.

As for the Arataki Group, they completely ignored the request for aid. It’s unclear if they’re experiencing political turmoil like the Lake Biwa Pact or if they have other reasons. They’re rumored to be a rough group, so it’s possible they intend to benefit from the agricultural magic without giving anything in return.

Or, they might simply resent Tokyo for spreading the fungal disease in the first place. Though it wasn’t intentional, being afflicted by such a brutal plague wouldn’t be something they’d easily forgive. Perhaps we should be grateful they haven’t filed for damages.

The Mushroom Pandemic left scars across Japan, but ironically, it also strengthened ties, brought in new ideas, and gave birth to innovations.

The pandemic’s impact was immense, but humanity has persevered, steadily advancing the restoration of a collapsed world.

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