Kays Translations

Chapter 42: Let’s Measure Magic Power!

The results of the functional test for the magic instrument “Seven Ritual Tools of Wind Music Magic,” conducted at the Magic University, were passable.

While it succeeded in activating a type of magic (the magic of the Night Witch) that included one unchantable sound, the tool reportedly developed cracks after just one use. It might only last for one or two more uses.

Moreover, since the Gremlin of the Seven Ritual Tools of Wind Music Magic wasn’t a sphere or a geometric shape, the amplification rate for magic power was reduced to 0.8 times.

Even with a 20% reduction in power, humanity overcoming one un-chantable sound is a significant achievement. It’s a far better outcome than self-destruction from abnormal vibrations on the first attempt.

Currently, the invaluable data obtained from the initial experiment is being carefully analysed to aim for further development and stabilization.

The next step is to restart the effort from the ground up by recruiting experts in spatial geometry and acoustic physics to investigate the relationship between shape and effect in greater detail.

It seems like this research will take quite some time. But that’s just how things go. I hope the professors and students at the university do their best.

And just send me the research results in a document. I’ll be waiting.

Meanwhile, I was pondering the mystery of the black Gremlin on my own.

Warming myself by a charcoal kotatsu, nibbling on crispy river fish skin crackers, and sipping my homemade doburoku (hooray for the natural extinction of alcohol tax laws!), I came up with a hypothesis: Could it have been structural coloration?

If the black color of the Gremlin was due to structural coloration, I can’t explain why it turned to dust, but it would explain the reason for its unusual coloring.

Structural coloration, as the name suggests, is a color produced by structure. It’s not derived from chemically produced pigments, but from physical structures that create color.

For example, when you flip over a compact disc (CD), it reflects rainbow colors depending on the viewing angle. This is due to structural coloration. The fine bumps and grooves etched onto the CD for data recording refract light, creating rainbow colors without any dye.

Structural coloration also exists in nature. The vibrant colors of peacocks and hummingbirds are not caused by pigments but by the refraction of light due to their physical structures. The blue of blueberries and morpho butterflies is the same. In fact, 99.9% of blue colors in the natural world are structural coloration. That’s why concepts like “The Bluebird of Happiness” or “The Miracle Blue Rose” exist.

While structural coloration might seem like a marvel of physics, it’s not an unusual feature for living creatures.

This means there’s a possibility that the black Gremlin of Daidarabocchi also had structural coloration.

Daidarabocchi must have been an animal before it mutated into a monster. If it had some kind of structural coloration that manifested in its Gremlin, it wouldn’t be surprising.

In other words, all the Gremlins of Daidarabocchi were copper-red in color. But the smallest one among them developed fine physical grooves that refracted and absorbed light, making it appear black.

This is my hypothesis.

I can’t explain the dusting effect, but I’m satisfied with the explanation for the color.

To test my hypothesis, I decided to carve structural coloration into a Gremlin.

Black is a color that doesn’t reflect light at all, so I engraved a physical structure into the surface of an ordinary Gremlin that absorbs light. Precisely and systematically, at 500-nanometer intervals.

The steel-wool gloves made from an iron sheep were comfortable to work with, and despite the delicate carving, they didn’t hinder finger movements. It wasn’t easy, but after a day of work, I managed to engrave 1 cm of black structural coloration grooves into the Gremlin.

Rubbing my sore eyes, I took another look at the structural-colored Gremlin.

Hmm, it’s definitely black now. No black paint whatsoever was used. This is true structural coloration. Even though I understand the science behind it, it’s still fascinating.

I removed my work gloves and poked the structural coloration to see if it would turn to dust. That’s when something strange happened.

The moment I touched the black structural coloration with my fingertip, it briefly turned white. It wasn’t an illusion—I definitely saw it.

This time, instead of just poking it, I pressed my finger flat against it. The black structural coloration quickly turned white.

And as soon as I lifted my finger, it returned to black.

Huh?

What’s with this strange phenomenon?

Could it be reacting to human contact…?

No, that’s not it. Is it temperature? Magic power?

I tried touching it with fingers cooled by ice and warmed by a hot water bottle, but temperature didn’t seem to matter.

Also, it only reacts to bare skin. It doesn’t work through gloves. As long as it’s directly touched by the body, whether it’s an elbow, cheek, or tongue, the black turns to white.

Is it reacting to magic power? It could also be responding to life force or lifespan, but given that all the effects from Gremlin processing so far have been related to magic and spells, it’s reasonable to assume this phenomenon is magic-related as well.

To confirm, I went to the blast furnace and pressed the structural-colored Gremlin against three fire lizards drowsing in the morning mist. Whenever it was in contact, the black turned to white.

There didn’t seem to be individual (or species) differences in the color-changing reaction.

Having exhausted all the tests I could perform alone, I summoned a magic expert.

Naturally, it was Hiyori.

Although she appeared groggy and disgruntled from being woken up early, she grumbled and agreed to help me test the structural-colored Gremlin.

“Hmm, the color certainly changes.” 

Hiyori said, nodding as she placed her finger on the structural-colored Gremlin.

I eagerly asked her.

“Hey, is this color change magic-related? It doesn’t seem tied to inherent colors.”

“Hold on. Let me investigate.” 

Hiyori said little and stopped moving. I couldn’t understand what she was doing, but it was probably something with magic control.

Calling Hiyori over early in the morning and still having her help me out—she’s definitely my best friend!

But then again, I’ve also had to stay up late at night listening to her worries about whether she should take up a part-time teaching position at the magic university. We’re even. Let’s just say we’re kindred spirits.

For a while, Hiyori stood motionless, her finger pressed against the structured-color Gremlin, like a statue. Suddenly, she removed her mask, brought her face close enough that her nose nearly touched the Gremlin, and stared intently at it.

After a moment, the structured-color Gremlin began switching rapidly between black and white at an incredible speed.

She’s doing something! What it is, I have no idea!

But I am a legendary magic staff craftsman who can “wait,” so I held all my questions inside and quietly waited for Hiyori to finish investigating.

About ten minutes later, she finally pulled back from the Gremlin and put her mask back on.

“I’ve figured it out. This Gremlin reacts to the amount of magical power things contains.”

“Oh? Tell me more.”

I already suspected it was related to magic, but magic power capacity?

Does that mean it’s like a magic power meter?

“This shows my current magic reserves. Watch… see? When I lower my magic output and reduce the pressure, basically pretending to run out of magic, the gauge goes down, right?”

“Whoa!”

I couldn’t understand Hiyori’s magic control techniques, but I could clearly see the results.

She kept her finger on the edge of the structured-color Gremlin, and as she manipulated her magic, the black Gremlin turned white from the contact point outward, like a volume bar filling up. When she reduced her magic, the white receded back to black.

The lines I had carved into the Gremlin at 500-nanometer intervals to create the structured color now served as something like a scale.

When Hiyori said, “Increase magic,” the black-colored structure filled with white. When she said, “Decrease magic,” the white receded back to black.

The mechanism and its appearance were both easy to understand.

The structured-color Gremlin I had made with 500-nanometer lines had effectively turned into a magic reserve gauge!

“The reserve level is directly proportional to the gauge. See? If I double the magic I pour in, the extent of the color change doubles too.”

“So, this structured-color Gremlin really works as a magic reserve gauge?”

“That’s right. Witches and mages can manipulate the gauge like this, but for people who can’t control their magic, it’s perfect for accurately measuring their reserves.”

“No way. I’ve been waiting for this feature forever…!”

I was overwhelmed with emotion.

Until now, there had never been a way to quantitatively measure magica power.

We had to rely on vague assessments from witches—“You have a lot of magic,” or, “You have so little magic you can barely cast the spell Shoot Aaah once.”

But now.

With this structured-color Gremlin, we could visually measure magic capacity and reserves using an actual scale.

Humanity had gained a measuring stick for magic.

It’s like we’ve been trying to study magic using vague expressions like “as long as the distance between your thumb and index finger,” but now we can say something precise like “188.2 millimeters long.”

This would elevate the precision and scope of magical research dramatically.

A revolution. This is a revolution!

Unintentionally, while trying to solve the mystery of the black Gremlin from Daidarabocchi, I’ve created something incredible.

“Dairi, it’s great that you’re so happy, but this Gremlin can’t measure my magic capacity. It maxes out. Actually, it probably maxes out with your magic too.”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. Now that I know the function and logic, I can improve it in no time. Just you wait!”

My brain was firing on all cylinders with inspiration.

I immediately began working on a structured-color Gremlin capable of measuring Hiyori’s immense magic reserves.

First, I conducted some preliminary experiments.

The structured-color Gremlin with 500-nanometer lines was so sensitive that it overflowed just from my magic.

I experimented with lines at 700, 600, 400, 300, and 200 nanometers, creating structured colors with each.

I found that the shorter the intervals between the lines, the less sensitive the magic detection became.

In other words, a Gremlin with 200-nanometer lines could precisely measure even the extraordinary magic reserves of a witch.

I confirmed that re-melted and solidified Gremlins retained the same magic reserve display function as natural ones (by the time I was conducting this experiment, Hiyori had gotten bored and gone home). I then cast four 20-centimeter-long Gremlin rods.

On each of these rods, I carved 500-nanometer, 400-nanometer, 300-nanometer, and 200-nanometer structured-color lines.

It took an insane amount of effort. Working 10 hours a day, it took me 50 days to carve the structured colors into all four rods, even as I got faster with practice.

This was my most labor-intensive project ever.

But it was worth it. I now had the tools to measure the magic reserves of anyone—human, witch, wizards, or even monsters.

I could measure my own magic, the magic of fire lizards, and even the absurd magic reserves of that blue witch.

I sent the four magnificent structured-color Gremlin rods, which could serve as the standard specimens for a new system of magica units, to Tokyo Magic University.

Gahaha! Let them tremble in awe and amazement!

This is a super-advanced piece of technology that no one but me could ever make.

Go ahead, designate it a national treasure.

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