July 6, 1617 Central Calendar; 21:00 Local Time

  Samboangan, Malayo Province, Eastern Maritime Holy Milishial Empire

  Luger Lugh slipped the change into her pocket, thanked the noodle shop clerk, and stepped back out into the street.

  Taking in the scene of a town around her, for a moment, she could have sworn she had never left the Annonrial Empire, the only country she had ever been in her entire life until now. It was a scene of unpretentious vitality, of a community winding down its day. And it was this very normalcy that struck the individual who had been one of the Messiah's most loyal enforcers. This could just as easily be a night in a regional seaside settlement back home. Only different banners hung overhead here. Their beliefs clashed so completely, and yet the people moved the same way, bargained the same way. They lingered on corners, waiting for nothing in particular, the same way. Even the occasional strays that wandered through were nearly identical, despite the vast distance separating the two territories.

  Walking swiftly back toward the pier, Luger punctured the seal of a boxed fruit drink she had kept from earlier and took a pull through the straw. It was overly sweet, cloying on her tongue, but it cooled her throat. As she drank, she let her senses unfurl again.

  Being a sensor, she could sense presences distinct from the lively townsfolk. Every one of them was focused on her. If those watchers were sensors too, they would have registered Luger's brief flare of her sensing field—a kind of 'handshake' between sensor mages, acknowledging awareness and intent.

  This was how they chose to do it.

  The silver-haired young man had agreed to give her space. He allowed her the semblance of solitary movement, punctuated only by these quiet but persistent reminders that she was still under scrutiny after her recent... transfer of allegiances.

  Luger didn't feel any objection to the arrangement. No matter how hard she thought about it, various factors made her just couldn't muster the conviction to see it as hostile. In fact, as she crumpled the empty juice box and tossed it into a street-side bin, she found it the least constraining treatment she had expected of a secret society that infiltrates nations like White Lotus. She had reasoned her way to that assessment, yet the result still felt strange—novel, yes, but way too lenient. It was either that the White Lotus Leader was too na?ve, or that the young man possessed ways of watching her beyond anything she could perceive. If anything, she found this lenient treatment suspicious. If the White Lotus Leader possessed a subtler, more pervasive form of watchfulness, then every moment of perceived privacy was a test. Such thoughts surfaced again and again whenever she reflected on the arrangement, steadily nudging her toward believing that this possibility might be real.

  '...I wonder if the White Lotus Leader is tolerant of criticism?'

  That being said, Luger was also inclined to offer her opinion based on experience.

  Nearing the sea, Luger cut off the main road and slipped into a narrow alleyway between two storefronts, encountering two figures lingering near the other end.

  The White Lotus Leader, Meteos Roguerider, leaned casually against the alley's far wall, posture loose. A few steps away from him stood Lugiel, the blonde-haired elf who was also there when she first woke up in this country. When Luger came into view, Meteos straightened slightly, a lopsided grin tugging at his mouth.

  "How do you find the town?"

  "Foreign... but familiar."

  She answered without hesitation, tilting her head as she witnessed Meteos' grin faltering—not quite disappearing, but loosening, as if he were turning the word over in his mind.

  "...I see," he said at last. He turned his head, angling his face away from the lamplight. Shadow swallowed his features, leaving only the faint glow of his azure eyes visible. Somewhere in the darkness, he chuckled softly to himself, a sound more amused than derisive.

  "May I ask something?"

  Meteos inclined his head in permission, a silent cue for her to go on.

  "What do you expect of me, now that I'm here?"

  "Well... the immediate plan is to get you to the mainland for a thorough round of medical examinations. You'll be leaving early tomorrow morning. That should suffice as your initial assignment."

  He said it casually, but Luger understood the subtext. She was a foreign entity and a super-soldier made by a country hostile to Meteos' faction. It was quite logical.

  "As for what comes after, I trust you'll assist in the way you can."

  "Yes," Luger replied at once. Her gaze then slid silently past Meteos to Lugiel, who had been observing the exchange with an air of exasperation—not at her, however. The blonde elf met her look and simply shrugged one shoulder with a wry smile on her lips.

  "Good. That's all for tonight. Good evening, Miss Luger."

  Meteos pushed off from the wall. He took a step as if to leave, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

  "...Hm, are you heading back already?"

  Luger tipped her head, the motion almost avian. "I have what I need. Thank you, Mr. Roguerider."

  "No. Thank you, Miss Luger."

  Meteos nodded, and without another word, he slipped deeper into the alley's shadows, likely returning to the other half of his carefully divided life. After he vanished, Lugiel exhaled softly and motioned for Luger to follow.

  "We're done for the night, right? Let's go."

  As they walked back toward the pier, the lively sounds of the main road fading behind them, Luger found herself murmuring, almost to herself.

  "...For someone who styles himself as selfish, he's... surprisingly generous with his trust."

  A few steps ahead, Lugiel's shoulders trembled with a soundless laugh.

  "Just don't mistake it for naivete."

  "Is that so...? Duly noted, then."

  "...Got something on your mind?"

  The elven woman turned her gaze at Luger's absent-mindedly muttered remark and slowed down, matching her steps. The hairless woman's complexion held more color than it had when she first awoke the day before, yet the absence of hair still lent her a sickly air.

  "Oh... it's just that my whole 'transfer' feels oddly anticlimactic. It sort of just... happened."

  "Well, too much spectacle rather defeats the purpose of being stealthy, doesn't it?"

  "I suppose you're right..."

  "Hmm... you sure that's all? You've had that look on your face since the alley."

  Luger blinked. "Is it okay? It's just a personal reflection."

  In response, Lugiel simply nodded coolly.

  "Consider me a soundboard. Or don't. but I'm listening."

  They walked a few more steps down the empty pier before Luger unconsciously decelerated, then stopped altogether. The flying boat lay ahead, its mooring lights bobbing gently, but Luger's gaze drifted past it toward the open sea. The dark water reflected the stars in fractured, trembling lines.

  Lugiel came to a halt beside her.

  "...I think... that I'm disappointed," Luger began slowly. "I once believed in the cause I served, and I was proud. But I never knew of its end goal to turn me and everyone else into expendable offerings."

  She was referring to Zarathostra of the Messiah's holy war. Though the Annonrial Empire was built on the belief in genocide of every other people except the Nephilim, few were aware of its raison d'être: to be consumed by the reborn Ancient Sorcerous Empire as Zarathostra's humble offering to his brethren. Not symbolically—literally. They were nothing more than exalted, high-grade livestock, no different from the so-called 'obsolete' races they had been taught since newborn to slaughter.

  Even relying on propaganda, Zarathostra found it easy to sway his subjects. After all, this world was addicted to ending itself every five minutes over the stupidest reason imaginable, while the Nephilim had not waged an internal war in centuries. The last one had been launched by ideological dissenters who dared oppose the Messiah's vision, and who were annihilated with horrific brutality by the Messiah himself. From that moment on, the Annonrial Empire knew no internal discord. Belief in the Messiah's way was absolute.

  Zarathostra nevertheless learned an important lesson: complete honesty was not always wise. From then on, Annonrial society was stratified by how much its members knew about what truly awaited them on Reclamation Day. Most believed only that the reborn Ravernal Empire would welcome them, while a select few zealots understood the sacrificial reality—and embraced it, viewing their flawed existence as Nephilim as a sin in need of purification. Only Zarathostra, the perfect specimen, would be accepted into Heaven.

  Lugiel hummed. "Yeah, I balk at that too."

  "But you started on the opposing side of that idea, no? You knew what it was, even if not all the details. I didn't."

  Luger exhaled slowly.

  "I try to think it through logically. But every time, my desire to live gets in the way. No matter how I dress it up, I can't make myself accept a future where existence itself is a mistake to be erased. And knowing that the Ravernal Empire never even saw people like me as people... it's difficult to offer your life to resurrect a world that would end you the instant it returned."

  "...Is wanting to live really so wrong?"

  "To live... is that what he's fighting for?"

  Lugiel snorted in amusement and fished a cigarette from a slim case. A snap of her fingers produced a tiny flame at her thumb's tip, and she lit it, taking a slow drag before answering.

  "If you asked him that, he'd probably look at you funny."

  "Hm?"

  She exhaled, eyes drifting out toward the dark horizon alongside Luger's.

  "He's an entity older than he appears masquerading as a boy... after seeing it all, he once said this whole world is his treasure... Every stupid, fragile, contradictory piece of it. He'll tell you outright—he's not doing this out of some grand moral obligation. He guards it because it's his. Because he wants it to keep existing."

  Another drag. Another thin stream of smoke.

  "He's so unapologetically selfish about it that it somehow circles back into something that looks a lot like selflessness."

  Luger listened in silence, then tilted her head slightly.

  "...If that's true, then a man like that could just as easily become a destroyer. If those treasures were taken from him. Or betrayed him."

  "Yeah, that's why I won't let it come to that."

  Luger turned to her fully then, studying her profile, then said, "...You're a kind person."

  "Kind?"

  Lugiel shook her head.

  "...You've seen and heard the ugly things I've done to get here, and you still say that. It's strange to hear. But... thank you. Truly."

  For the first time since her awakening in this foreign land, a genuine, small smile touched Luger's lips. It was tentative, but it reached her eyes. Lugiel saw it and answered with a wry, tired smile of her own.

  "...Anyway, the schedule is tight, isn't it? I'm afraid I can't accompany you all the way to the mainland—I got commitments I can't shake off."

  "I'll manage somehow," Luger replied evenly. "You need not worry."

  Lugiel giggled in response.

  "Stay safe, okay?"

  Seen off at the edge of the pier by the elf patting her on the shoulder, Luger boarded the flying boat without ceremony.

  ?????

  The MOASEC flying boat with Luger and the other Unidentified Lifeform aboard departed for Runepolis at sunrise the next day. From a waterfront, Meteos watched as the aircraft shrank into a dot against the coral-tinted sky, the weight of recent events settling in his thoughts.

  "Another piece is in place..."

  His gaze turned southward, as if he could see across the vast ocean to the ticking time bomb that was the Annonrial Empire. It remains to be seen if they will lash out in a very violent manner, but here's hoping.

  "Looking forward to it, Little Brother."

  "You..."

  Meteos turned from the empty horizon at the sound of the voice and found Legiel standing there, the newly stirring city stretching out behind him. The Horseman inclined his head slightly.

  "........."

  Legiel stepped closer until they were face to face, the pale morning light outlining the disturbingly affectionate curve of his smile. The weight of Meteos' thoughts seemed to part under the intensity of that gaze.

  "What are you looking at?"

  "Oh, nothing," Legiel giggled. "Something just crossed my mind. I heard you've been curious about the origin of your name. What a curiosity. Naming a child after a falling star is poetic enough, but let me spoil you as to its true meaning."

  He pivoted eastward and walked away, lifting his face toward the rising sun as he spoke.

  "In an ancient tongue, the latter half of your name is a cognate of 'Theos,' one of the old names for God, the divine principle. And the prefix 'Me-'... it's a verbal maker. It translates most accurately as 'to be,' or more dynamically, 'to become.' In other words, my dear Little Brother, even if Father and Mother didn't know it... they didn't just name their son. They branded him with a declaration."

  Slowly, Legiel raised his right hand and pointed skyward, his silhouette framed by the newborn sun.

  "Walking the path of Heaven, the one who will rule over all," he said, before snapping back toward Meteos and pointed decisively. "I WILL BECOME GOD! That's who you are!"

  "........."

  Meteos was speechless. He turned back to face the sea, and then, a scoff escaped him. It was followed by a low disbelieving laugh.

  "—How very convenient... Especially coming from you."

  Legiel watched him and simply pulled his grimoire. The camera shutter click was absurdly loud in the quiet morning. He had captured Meteos' moment of amusement perfectly.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "At least I made you laugh," Legiel shrugged, being a good sport. "Remember, no casualties by your hands... But if you can defeat the Annonrial Empire in such an ideal way, you can do anything. All your wishes may come true if you are the chosen one, after all."

  Slipping the phone away, Legiel left the scene with a chuckle.

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  "Somewhere," Legiel replied offhandedly. "I feel like seeing the consequences of your existence. It's good to see you start taking steps to walk the world again, so I won't spoil you on this one..."

  His parting words silenced Meteos again.

  "That being said... even sardonic, you really have a nice smile."

  July 10, 1617 Central Calendar

  Ainank Airbase, Mykal, Kingdom of Mu

  For the people of Mu, it was no longer unusual to watch biplane fighters more sophisticated than the Royal Flying Corps' mainstay S.V Challenger lifting off from one of the kingdom's major airbases. Their differences also went beyond mere looks; the noise of their engines and the atmosphere they carried felt subtly unfamiliar compared to the flying machines the Muish populace had long known.

  From a nearby building with panoramic windows, technical officer from the Defense Ministry stood watching as a flight of these brand-new fighters thundered into the sky, embarking on yet another training sortie. Standing beside him was Roche Leclerc, head of Leclerc Aviation Company and the individual tasked to bring this aircraft into being with the Kingdom of Mu.

  "To think we've come to this point. This kind leap didn't seem possible a decade—or even five years ago."

  At Roche's offhand comment, the technical officer nodded slowly, his eyes still tracing the flying machines' movement in the sky.

  "Hmm? Oh, yes. Quite."

  The Muish RFC aircraft now dominating Ainank Airbase's runways was, in every measurable sense, a departure. Though they retained the Challenger's familiar white-and-blue paint scheme, even an untrained eye could immediately recognize them as superior. Their fuselages were noticeably larger and, being constructed entirely of metal, heavier as well. They were powered by a different type of engine altogether—no longer the V8, but one that produced an alien whine beneath the steady droning of the propeller. This new powerplant gave the fighters four times the operational range and twice the top speed of the Challenger. Their armament, too, was markedly more formidable.

  Yet for people like this particular technical officer, the decision to make the aircraft the future backbone of the air force inspired more lethargy than excitement. The reason was simple: the new fighter was essentially a modest offshoot of the Roguerider Foundation's Dreaming Child, a semi-Heavenly Vessel. Yes, the Kingdom of Mu's supposed successor to their pride and joy, Challenger, was magitek.

  Developed jointly by the Holy Milishial Empire's Roguerider Foundation and Mu's own Leclerc Aviation, the aircraft had already been officially designated the Roguerider-Leclerc S.VI Marin. Its formidable engine? A Manadriver. Of the aircraft's major components, Mu could only truly claim the twin 7,7 mm machine guns and the duralumin structure—and even the latter's knowledge and means of production had been actually supplied free of charge behind the scenes by the White Lotus at its leader's directive.

  For a part of the government already embedded within the White Lotus network, the issue caused little genuine resistance, despite the public performance of heated debate. To those outside the web of conspiracy, however, the program was nothing short of an insult to everything Mu supposedly stood for. Most galling was that, despite being branded a "joint development," the Holy Milishial Empire's "all give" attitude and the agreed divide of profits in Mu's favor only underscored how submissive Mu's role really was. But despite the negative sentiment, in the end this outcome was only natural given how outmatched Mu was in terms of technological might.

  They would have to set aside their pride if they hoped to survive—an irony not lost on Meteos, who used to receive such comments for at least half a century.

  By rendering everything Mu was currently capable of producing obsolete, Meteos had already gone some way toward fulfilling his previous life's ambition of countering Japan's influence in his capacity as an inventor. Now, should the Gra Valkas Empire or even Japan ever emerge in this world, Mu would offer no market for them at all. In truth, even the White Lotus Leader found Mu's awkward position within the broader World's Defense Line initiative very headache-inducing. To him, Mu was simultaneously powerful and fragile, with a technological lineage entirely incompatible with standardization. But he couldn't simply pretend this country just didn't exist, so correcting this contradiction became his first priority. Meteos Roguerider would even turn Mu into a magitek country within a generation or two if he has to.

  Among the advantages Meteos' technology nullified was Mu's status as the only nonmagical nation, a status once granted the Muish ability to be invisible in a mana detector's search. In his previous life, Meteos had been unable to realize this technology, having died before its development could proceed. However, with pedanium technology at his disposal, he was able to program the magic particles forming a mana detector's sensing field to stick to solid objects, effectively turning it into a form of motion sensor capable of detecting even those without magic. Ironically, this also rendered obsolete the radio wave-based conductive magnetic radar he had once rushed to develop. With this new detection method, only incorporeal entities could evade detection, making the development of stealth technology otherwise effectively impossible in this world.

  Maybe in time, this technology would become indispensable, its importance rising to nothing less than the salvation of the world. Who knows at this point, but here's hoping.

  "...Anyway, what's with the long face, officer?" Roche asked innocently.

  "Hm? Uh... I mean... is it really okay to proceed like this, Mister Leclerc?"

  "Well, we're simply carrying out decisions made above our pay grade. You must harbor some sentiments, but if that's the directive, there's no helping it."

  The officer was slightly taken aback that Roche managed to read him, but maybe he was just being too obvious.

  "...Not even half a year, this has been a very confusing time, it seems."

  "That, I can agree," Roche laughed slightly in response.

  "Is the gap between the two countries really that vast?"

  "More than you'd think."

  At Roche's rather cryptic tone, the still-uninitiated officer raised a questioning eyebrow.

  "I heard it from an associate who trades with the Holy Milishial Empire," Roche elaborated. "Over the past ten years, their national power has expanded to such a degree that Mu no longer has any realistic means of defending itself—much less surpassing them in any field."

  "That's..."

  The officer let the sentence die unfinished, but the reality was self-evident. Mu's own industrial goods were utterly non-competitive on the global market, leaving the country trapped as a raw material exporter with declining leverage. Facing potential threats from more advanced armed forces of the Holy Milishial Empire made independent development too slow for a counter that would be obsolete anyway. In theory, acquiring even limited access to advanced production techniques through joint development (even if in reality they're just handed a design) could help them learn, reverse-engineer, and eventually build up their own advanced aviation sector.

  Setting aside what might be Lucius of the Morning Star's barely disguised ambition to turn the world into a network of vassals, this was also their first significant conciliatory move since the Sol Islands Dispute, grating as it was.

  "Indeed. And you've heard that they plan to sell these exports worldwide, haven't you? Even if Mu turns the offer down, Milishial will just export it to other countries anyway. Imagine what happens if Leifor or Magicaraich gets their hands on the Marin first. So, I reckon the decision to enter joint development will give our country some leverage over other nations by having it sooner."

  "I wonder how much of the Marin is actually 'jointly' developed. It feels to me that they are checking other countries to stop looking at them the wrong way—in their own way, of course."

  "The takeaway is that they seem to take the Ancient Sorcerous Empire's resurrection very seriously."

  When the officer thought about it, it kind of made sense politically, as there was no other choice. Leifor would surely escalate its saber-rattling along the borders with a superior air force, while the Magicaraich Community, though not hostile, was hardly on friendly terms with Mu, especially given the unresolved southern Mu ethnic tensions. These two countries were receiving investments from the Holy Milishial Empire, rendering the economically stagnant Kingdom of Mu encircled by two leery neighbors. If Mu accepted, they would be the first to increase their strength ahead of everyone else, as well as obtaining a deterrent against its two neighbors.

  "...Also Mr. Leclerc, they claimed the first production run would be ready within one month. Do you think that's actually possible?"

  Roche rubbed the back of his head.

  "The implication is big if they can actually pull it off."

  As it stood, the Cauldrons were already churning out Marins in numbers sufficient to replace twice the entirety of Mu's thousand-strong fighter fleet, and those were variants built with mithril woven directly into their structure. The first batch of exports was scheduled just next month to Torkia and Agartha in the First Civilization Area and to the Magicaraich Community in the Second Civilization Area, and supporting facilities were being established one after another in Mu, fully bankrolled by the Holy Milishial Empire to facilitate the integration of the new tech. There was no longer any room to search for other options.

  Just then, Roche glanced at his wristwatch and cleared his throat. "Ah! If you'll excuse me, officer? I have some matters to attend to at home."

  He gave a slight, polite bow and turned to leave.

  "Wait, Mister Leclerc! You seem remarkably unconcerned about all of this..."

  "At the end of the day, I am a simple businessman with an eye for profit. Good day, officer," Roche retorted as he continued walking away.

  The officer didn't watch him go. His gaze was fixed on the empty runway.

  If it was this simple for the flying machine, then where would it end? The navy's next generation of ships? Army vehicles? Communications? He imagined that the so-called joint development of Marin was merely a launching pad for more of such endeavors in the future, as Lucius of the Morning Star was gearing up the World's Defense Line plan.

  As magitek devices became ever more widespread within Mu, such as anti-pollution towers currently being constructed all over Otaheit and Mykal, the Holy Milishial Empire, and by extension the White Lotus, had already begun to erode at Mu's long-standing resistance to magical technology. The August Star of Heaven, after all, was an outlier in which power and status were no longer gauged by how much an individual's magic power compared to others. This was also the same country who regulated spellcasting even more strictly than the possession of guns, and they treated their magic tools as nothing more than differently-powered machines that everyone can use. Even the other magic civilizations resented the Holy Empire not just for its technology, but because its worldview was so fundamentally alien to their own.

  "...Could it be that this country will really be absorbed into this world this time?"

  For ten millennia, there was never a time when this country was truly at peace. Natural disasters, foreign invasions, populace succumbing of cerebral cancers the moment they awakened the ability to control mana—the energy that permeated this world... A nation that once boasted a population of a billion was whittled down to a mere one hundred and eighty million, scraping just to live by beneath the dazzling veneer of the world's second-most powerful country. The original Muish lineage had vanished long ago, replaced by hybrids devoid of magical aptitude but able to survive in the hostile environment where even air slowly kills. And then magitek advanced, convenient enough that it granted even them the power to use magic, rendering centuries of hardship meaningless—utterly, irreversibly meaningless.

  "Destiny... what a cruel bitch..."

  The officer sighed wearily. The world is running amok, there's no more time to bring it back to its former self.

  July 13, 1617 Central Calendar

  "What's on your mind this time?"

  "Jaunte..."

  "Hmm?"

  Meteos opened his eyes at Lugiel's voice, clearing his throat as he drew himself upright. He abandoned his relaxed sprawl just as the spymaster princess entered the cabin and sat on the seat across from him, a tray balanced in her hands, with two bowls of iced fruit cocktail resting atop it.

  Once the tray rested on the table between them, Lugiel reached for a bowl and dug in.

  "Mmm~"

  As she savored the sweetness of the various diced fruits she scooped up, Lugiel hummed approvingly. Then, without looking up, she asked lightly, "That is a term from a novel I've read before. But just to clarify, what exactly are you referring to with Jaunte?"

  "As expected from Your Highness. Anyone who has read that novel would grasp my meaning."

  Meteos grinned, picking up a spoon next to the other bowl and scooped a red diced fruit, bringing it to his mouth.

  "Still naming your things around literatures, I see."

  "Maybe I'll consider switching conventions once I get bored. It's not that deep."

  "Such light treatment..."

  Meteos swirled a piece of white dragon fruit in his bowl, watching the syrup coat it.

  "The name is merely the box you put it in after it's done. That's what I think."

  "Hm, if you say so," Lugiel conceded. "In that case, let's hear it. So, now that you're talking about teleportation... don't tell me you've seen it in your future visions?"

  "No."

  "No?"

  At Lugiel's raised brow, Meteos merely shrugged and went on.

  "If you accept the legends of the Ancient Sorcerous Empire, Mu's creation myth, or the tale of the otherworldly army that once stopped Demon King Nosgorath, then it's only reasonable to believe—or at least consider—that instantaneous travel through spacetime is a scientific possibility," he explained.

  The final example alluded to the Emissaries of the Sun God. In this Third Timeline, however, the removal of all memory of other deities in exchange for Astarte's restoration had diminished their exalted legend into a vague tale of "an otherworldly force that repelled the Demon King's army in the ancient past before vanishing, never to be seen again." When he asked "Do you know anything about Emissaries of the Sun God?" on Robin, someone who had once spoken at length about them with him in the Second Timeline, her response was, "Emissaries of what? Sun Goat? Who the hell are they?" That reaction confirmed the alteration had fully taken hold.

  Meteos knew little of Shamash, and Kagaseo rarely spoke of her. Still, if she truly had ties to Legiel's Civilization Annihilation Game, then Meteos had every reason to remain wary.

  "Hmm... that's true, but teleportation has been one of the legendary magical feats for Goddess knows how long. It is believed that mankind would never come close into learning it due to how fantastical it sounds."

  Teleportation, like shapeshifting and resurrection, was long considered as the theoretical zenith of magic. A lesser feat of the latter, known as necromancy, merely reanimated corpses as remote-controlled flesh drones devoid of memory or personality and was far more feasible; nevertheless, it was considered a desecration of the dead and was outlawed by the Holy Milishial Empire's Second Amendment, the same amendment that restricted the ownership of firearms. It was inferior to Meteos' Magias, anyway.

  "Well, sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from fantasy. It should be a good exercise to see how far the power of mana can bring our civilization."

  "So, you're interested in finding out about it?"

  "That's a silly question. Do you turn to the sun and say, 'Are you the sun'?"

  "Right," Lugiel snorted at Meteos' deadpan tone.

  Meteos looked her in the eyes, his gaze filled with conviction. He had seen it and lived through it. It is real.

  "But seriously, teleportation at our disposal would give us a decisive edge in the struggle against Zarathostra of the Messiah, for one thing. Beyond that, imagine when humanity finally launches a vessel into Kosmos. Wouldn't it be nice if you don't have to wait for some more years to be able to visit a neighboring planet? Humanity would be free to go wherever it desires. If that isn't freedom, then I don't know what is."

  Kosmos. An abyss of scale that defied intuition, where even light required years, centuries, or longer to cross from one point to another. Between worlds lay gulfs so vast that numbers lost their meaning. A single wanderer was separated from its star by millions of leagues, yet that span was insignificant when measured against the void between stars. To cross such expanses by conventional means was to consign generations to the journey, to accept that those who departed would never meet those who arrived. Beyond even that lay the spiral arms of the galaxy, each one a river of countless stars, drifting apart on scales that mocked the lifespan of civilizations. The galaxy itself was but one island in a greater sea, with other galaxies scattered so far away that their light reached the world as ancient history, carrying images of stars that might already be dead.

  "Freedom, huh..."

  Of course, that was the romanticized future where all is good. Used as a weapon, it weapons harder than anything else known so far.

  Even so, Meteos was determined to bring it to fruition. Though accessing Attarsamain's inherited memories meant overcoming an unspecified mental block, it had already been proven by someone else that instant travel through spacetime was possible. With ample resources at hand, he could begin experimenting even without access to those ghost memories. Better yet, the more he exerted himself, the more they might eventually surface on their own.

  "I understand. But researching such a massive undertaking won't exactly be a quiet affair in a dusty library."

  "Of course not. But we already have unlimited power," Meteos pointed out lightly. "That should amount to something."

  If teleportation demanded an enormous amount of mana, that requirement would become non-factor if the mana supply were infinite.

  "How very convenient," Lugiel joked.

  Cracking a smile at her remark, Meteos continued.

  "I would like to bore a second hole to the Hollow Planet. The location would be Hyperborea, as the farthest point from the Annonrial Empire within our reach. Specifically, underground beneath the Trans-Hyperborean Mountain Range. That way, even if the other nations decide to explore the North Pole in the future, they won't immediately stumble into the Holy Empire's operation in a worst-case scenario."

  "Right. Leave conveying this plan to the Emperor to me."

  "I'm looking forward to it."

  ?????

  When the rest of the vacation group finally boarded the flying boat with their luggage, they came across Meteos who was exiting the galley, a neatly folded apron dangling from his hand.

  "You guys sure took your time," he called out with a thin smile plastered on his face. Of course, this elicited weirded-out looks from his friends. Annette and Walman even added voice.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "No, Meteos—isn't that backwards? You're the one who disappeared way ahead of everyone else."

  "Ah, well... That is because the one who cooks your next in-flight meal..." Meteos trailed off, "is me."

  After discussing the tentatively named "Jaunte Plan" with Lugiel, Meteos found himself hungry, and while he cooked something to himself, he had a thought: why not cook for everyone else? That was all there was to it—nothing particularly deep behind his decision this time.

  "Huh, that explains the getup," Walman nodded sagely as he noticed the apron, while the silver-haired noblewoman's eyes lit up.

  "Heee... interesting! Let's dig in!"

  Sensing Annette's intention, Meteos took one long step sideways, arm braced against the doorframe, body angled just enough to completely block the entrance to the galley.

  "Hey, where do you think you're going?" he said. Annette had already leaned forward to peer past him, but he gently pushed her back with two fingers to her shoulder and nodded toward the windows, where deckhands were still finishing their checks.

  "The flying boat's about to depart. You don't want to be standing around when we take off. Shoo."

  "So mean..."

  "No. Walman, Kaios. Restrain her, would you?"

  With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered down the corridor toward the passenger quarters with Nadia, calling over his shoulder far too casually. As for the two nominated boys, Walman and Kaios looked at each other.

  "...Why us?"

  "Dunno."

  Irmiya was already laughing, while Gabi snorted outright as they followed the couple. Annette, meanwhile, puffed out her cheeks like an offended squirrel and jabbed a finger down the corridor.

  "That's unfair! Meto! If your cooking isn't delicious, you're buying me ice cream!"

  Meteos' head immediately popped back into view from around the corner.

  "That's abuse of power."

  Says the abuser of power.

  ............

  Later, once they were all seated in the plush, sunlit cabin, a friendly voice crackled over the intercom.

  "Attention passengers! This is your favorite pilot Baridero speaking—hope you're all buckled in and ready for a smooth ride. We are now departing for Altaras Kingdom. Estimated travel time is approximately six hours. Weather looks clear, views look spectacular, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight."

  Through the windows, they could see the water of the harbor begin to churn away and fall away as the graceful vessel lifted itself into the late afternoon sky. With a smooth surge, the flying boat banked gently eastward as it aimed for the distant shores of Altaras.