Kays Translations

Chapter 96: The Peak and Foothills of Magical Technology

I hate hospitals.

Doctors always start with a consultation. Just hearing “Where does it hurt?” makes me feel worse.

But when it comes to life and death, I can’t afford to be stubborn. I had holed myself up at home, plowing through 80 years’ worth of magic research papers from the University of Magic. After Hiyori repeatedly pestered me, I reluctantly went to the Tokyo Magic Hospital to get vaccinated against Shadow Withdrawal Syndrome.

Shadow Withdrawal Syndrome, also known as Shade Syndrome, is an infectious disease that raged across the world thirty years ago.

It’s a contact-transmitted disease spread through human shadows. Though it’s said to have originated in Europe (ground zero), the truth is unclear. The European faction claims it was brought in by travelers from Asia.

In any case, Shadow Withdrawal Syndrome caused a high death toll at the time. While not as severe as the Mushroom Pandemic, it was dangerous enough to cause lockdowns and national emergencies.

The disease has about a ten-day incubation period after infection. Once symptoms begin, the person’s shadow gains a will of its own, siphoning magic energy from its owner to grow stronger.

There aren’t many physical symptoms, but during the symptomatic period, one’s maximum magic capacity declines. This leads to slower mana recovery, loss of control during spellcasting, and hypersensitivity to magic.

If the infected person’s mana reserves fall below 3.0K, they almost certainly suffer magical death—turning to dust and disappearing entirely.

If you can control your mana, you can force the pathogen out of your shadow and recover naturally. Even without control, if you have at least 5K mana, you can endure until the disease reaches its final stage and the shadow splits and escapes.

Survive that, and you gain immunity and can rebuild your lost mana through training.

However, during a regional resurgence in America just five years ago, even someone with 3.1K mana died from magic depletion. The second wave was clearly more virulent than the first.

I have 6.6K mana, so I should be fine even if infected.

But if a third wave hits, and the disease mutates to be even more aggressive, I can’t say for sure. If it drains all 6.6K, I’ll suffer a magic death that no resurrection spell can undo.

That’s why the vaccine is necessary.

Shadow Withdrawal Syndrome is no longer as lethal as it once was.

Now, weakened strains—called weakened shadows—are stored in hospitals worldwide. Infection with a weakened shadow causes a temporary drop of 0.5K in mana capacity, but grants lifelong immunity once recovered.

After I received my vaccination, the doctor ordered seven days of rest.

They said it was best to avoid using magic and stay indoors, so I obediently stayed home. The weakened strain didn’t cause serious symptoms—my shadow just swayed gently, without the wild behavior of the original virus.

With nothing better to do, I used the downtime to upgrade Kyanos.

This time, I created a hybrid system combining the Demon King-style chantless mechanism with the Yamashiro system.

Previously, I had to manually input all mana; now it should work semi-automatically. Full automation is still only theoretical.

The Yamashiro system differs fundamentally from the Demon King-style geometric Gremlins.

Though the materials are similar, most of the Yamashiro system’s structure is absent from the Demon King Gremlins. I suspect that’s because the Yamashiro system is inspired by lost technologies from a pre-magic, electrically powered age.

I believe the magic civilization never had electricity—or if it did, it was underdeveloped.

Humanity on Earth lost electricity in the Gremlin Catastrophe. But the magic civilization relied on chipped-stone magic that used Gremlins by default, indicating it developed based on Gremlins from the start.

So, rather than evolving from an electric civilization into a magical one, it probably never had electricity to begin with.

One key piece of evidence: lightning magic doesn’t exist in the magical civilization.

There are similar spells, but they’re only “lightning-like.” The magic language doesn’t include words like “electricity” or “lightning.”

Thus, Gremlins based on the Yamashiro model, which use ancient electric appliances as templates, are a completely different breed from the Demon King-style Gremlins.

They’re different departments within the same field.

The Yamashiro system’s flaw is its bulky size, due to undeveloped manufacturing techniques—but with my skill, I was able to shrink it dramatically.

I disassembled the old chantless module from Kyanos and replaced it with a tightly-packed, seven-layered hybrid of Demon King and Yamashiro geometric Gremlins.

Thanks to the availability of high-strength and ghost-type Gremlins, I had enough materials.

The base efficiency improved with the high-quality remelted-and-resolidified Gremlins.

I also recreated and incorporated the legendary dodecahedral fractal that had become an out-of-place artifact (OOPArt).

As a token of thanks, I sent Mr. Yamashiro five of those dodecahedrons—apparently in high demand among lost technology researchers—as a down payment for his technical insight. I hope we get along. Remotely, of course.

Thus, the 2111 model of Cureanos was complete—a fusion of magical and electrical civilizations.

Yamashiro-style? Eighty years of progress? Too soft, too slow.

Even after 80 years, no one matches my skill. I absorbed every bit of progress and pushed beyond it.

By fusing the Demon King theory—developed under the twisted guidance of the manipulative Iruma—and the Yamashiro system, the Kyanos Gremlins evolved from “able to do basic arithmetic” to “able to handle simple calculus.”

It’s like jumping from 3rd grade to 11th grade.

The gold and silver magic used by Octameteorite is still far out of reach for this system. However, I might be able to handle magic five or six tiers below that.

Maybe I could even use side products like Silver Fist or Golden Tentacles—degenerate derivatives born from Iruma’s attempt to imitate Octameteorite’s spells.

I’ve finally reached a technological level where I can see the incredible height of the Demon King Gremlins’ summit. That alone is huge.

At this rate, in another 100 to 150 years, I might be able to completely decode the Demon King Gremlins.

I poured my heart into the 2111 model Kyanos, enchanted it with emotion, and returned it to Hiyori. Then, I offered a prayer to the fragment of Octameteorite enshrined on my altar.

O gods, O spirits, O mighty Octameteorite. Not only did you risk yourself to beat down a wicked and tyrannical mage, but you also showed us an example of ultra-advanced magic (according to Iruma). I thank you.

I, humbly, the great sage Dairi, shall continue to strive. Please continue watching over me—

“Hey, Dairi. The number of mana input ports has increased tenfold. I have no idea how to use this.”

As I was offering my prayer, Hiyori, staring at the new model of Kyanos with a troubled expression, asked a question that seemed to be weighing on her. I paused my worship to give her an explanation.

That said, I couldn’t exactly give her detailed instructions. In the end, she’d just have to learn by using it.

“I think the fastest way to learn is to actually use it. But if I were to lecture a bit… the default circuit layout is, uh, that thing—you remember the simplest black beam, right? It’s set to that. If you pour magic into the frontmost input port, it’ll activate.”

“That part I get. But what about the other nine magic input ports? I have no idea what they’re for.”

“Think of it like a calculator. You’ve got numbers from 0 to 9, and symbols like plus +, minus −, multiply ×, divide ÷, right? The one on the front face is the equals sign =, which outputs the result—the spell. The seven input ports in the middle layer of Kyanos’s multi-layered structure are… how to put it? They’re the components where you input the magical elements. They correspond to the numbers on a calculator from 0 to 9. Got it?”

“…………. I… think I get it. They’re a system that accepts simultaneous parallel input through magic control and retains that information…?”

“Yes! That! That’s exactly right!”

Hiyori furrowed her brow and stared hard at the core of Kyanos, clearly deep in thought. Her hesitant answer, however, was absolutely spot-on.

So, it’s true after all—if you can control magic, you can intuitively understand these things. Iruma’s theory was correct, as frustrating as it is to admit.

“If I hadn’t been using the previous version of Kyanos, I wouldn’t have understood any of this. It feels like I’ve been doing basic arithmetic this whole time, and now I’ve suddenly been told to jump into high school-level math.”

“That’s a perfect analogy! Exactly. And to continue—those remaining two input ports…”

I carefully and thoroughly explained the design philosophy and operational principles to Hiyori. But our perspectives were fundamentally different.

If I had the ability to control magic, I could probably explain it in a way more tailored to the user. But I’m a technician, and Hiyori is a field operative. While we have some shared understanding, delivering a perfectly aligned explanation is difficult—especially with a complex device like this version of Kyanos.

I worked closely with Hiyori, practically forehead to forehead, matching up our understanding as I walked her through the use of the new model.

“…And once the manual input is done, you just use the equals input and the spell will assemble and activate automatically. Simple, right?”

“Simple!? My head’s already hurting just from the explanation…!”

“Come on, you’re good at magic control, right? Once you get used to it, you’ll master it easily. Oh, and you know the magic-powered communicator? This can theoretically interfere with those. Might even be able to intercept communications.”

When I casually mentioned one of the features of the new Kyanos, Hiyori recoiled in shock.

“Y-You added a hacking feature!? That’s not okay!”

“No, no! I mean, it can, that’s all! It’s not like I’m going to do it! It’s like you—you could kill me, like, ten thousand times over, but you don’t, right? Same thing. As long as you don’t do it, it’s fine.”

“Dairi, your metaphors. Don’t use such terrible examples. But… hmm… Dairi, you really are beyond standard. Just reading one paper caused such a dramatic change?”

“Well, that’s…”

I was about to say “Thanks to my joint research with Iruma,” but quickly changed course so as not to upset Hiyori.

“Ah—no, that was thanks to the Octameteorite.”

“The magic stone…? I heard from the Spider Witch that Iruma was messing around with it.”

“Yeah, the Octameteorite suddenly unleashed some crazy advanced magic and beat the crap out of Iruma. That served as a model in a way. But then Iruma, yelling something like ‘Yuraut-Kunas?’ or whatever, ended up destroying it.”

“…So someone used the Octameteorite to amplify some advanced magic and resisted Iruma?”

“No, there was no one else there… I think?”

From my perspective, Iruma entered the workshop and suddenly started writhing in pain.

Then the Octameteorite began to radiate this brilliant golden wave, completely wrecking the workshop along with Iruma. Iruma’s chant got sealed, and then came a silvery wave—like a knockout spell?—which turned him into a trembling newborn fawn.

Finally, he screamed something like “Yuraut-Kunas!” and shattered the Octameteorite.

Looking back now, it all seems kind of surreal.

But I do know that the Octameteorite beat down an evil sorcerer. It really was the guardian deity of my workshop. Truly, I am blessed.

As I once again pitied the tragic remains of the Octameteorite and offered a prayer, Hiyori spoke with a thoughtful expression.

“I don’t know about Yuraut, but Kunas is a word in the magic language that refers to a ‘great woman.’ It’s an honorific used for women of higher status than a king.”

“Oh? Then… what does that mean?”

“Who knows…?”

Both of us tilted our heads in confusion.

What was Iruma thinking about the Octameteorite? What did he know? That bastard took all that information to the grave when he vanished. What a piece of trash.

“Did Iruma think the Octameteorite was a great woman? A witch, maybe?”

“Iruma had that kind of kink!? Actually… yeah, that tracks. That trash would go after any witch he laid eyes on, no matter who she was.”

“He was aroused by a magic stone? That’s terrifying. What a degenerate. And a sadist too—destroying the girl he liked? That guy’s seriously messed up.”

We both shivered and decided to drop the subject.

We didn’t want to know about Iruma’s perversions. Too creepy.

It looked like the Octameteorite had used magic on its own, but maybe, like Hiyori suggested, someone had been hiding nearby and used magic to save me.

Or maybe—just like how the Demon King, from America, somehow resonated across the world and summoned all kinds of Class-A monsters—someone somewhere had used some kind of ultra-long-range magic.

It made more sense to assume that than to think a mere magic stone like the Octameteorite had cast spells on its own.

Hmm. A mystery. I don’t get it at all!

The Demon King Gremlin and the Unnamed Epic are already full of riddles, but now even magic stones are becoming mysterious.

I wonder if the day will come when we finally understand what a “magic stone” really is.

Just like how the analysis of Demon King Gremlin and the study of chantless casting are making progress, I want to believe that one day research into magic stones will advance too, and the truth behind them will be revealed.

Previous chapter | TOC | Next chapter