Chapter 136. Ear-ling (3)

I had a dream.

It was a dream of the city being invaded by giant spiders.

It was Seoul.

In the middle of the forest of endless skyscrapers that I hadn't seen in a long time, I went down into the basement of a collapsed single-story building.

In the dream, I was a survivor of the last invasion and the leader of an exploration team.

Strangely, the city already had a history of being invaded once before.

That was the dream's setting.

How the last invasion had proceeded, and how much damage the city had suffered, remained vaguely blurred and didn't come to mind, as dreams often do.

The same went for how I, an ordinary person on Earth, had survived.

Hanging from a sturdy rope, I descended deep into the basement.

On a floor chaotically littered with steel H-beams, a broken elevator, electrical wires, and materials, I discovered a nest from which spiders were endlessly pouring out.

Upon my return, as the exploration team leader, I predicted the spiders' second invasion.

A few hours later, a swarm of spiders poured out from the underground.

They burst forth from the ground like an oil field that had erupted in the middle of a desert.

Fleeing the wave of eight-legged beasts that devoured and tore apart everything they touched, the me in the dream attempted to escape Seoul.

I headed south with my parents.

We moved on foot, passing through underground shopping arcades, corporate headquarters buildings, connected subways, and department stores, avoiding the crowds of people and the spiders that preyed on them.

The moment I realized it was a dream was when I recognized my parents beside me.

My parents had passed away when I was in a coma from an injury in the army.

The dream closed as the memorial photos of the two of them with their warm smiles came to mind.

I blinked my eyes.

A strange, no, a familiar ceiling.

It was the bedroom on the 6th floor of the Lord's Castle in the pioneer city of Kalisto.

“…Shit.”

I got up, letting out a curse I rarely used.

Out of habit, I went into the bathroom, finished showering, and got dressed while munching on the breakfast a servant had brought.

The mithril armor and sword I received from the Dwarf King.

A Pansteel robe and staff.

After grabbing a pouch of gold coins, a potion belt, and a small dagger, I picked up the piece of cloth placed on the drawer.

It was the rectangular, thin cloth I had removed from the queen spider's head after exterminating the spider swarm three days ago.

As far as I knew, this was an identification tag.

One that a special race attaches to a special kind of livestock.

“……”

There was work to be done.

* * *

The expedition's return is being delayed slightly more than planned.

This is because a few things have come up that need to be handled, including the matter of the elven delegation.

In a forest far to the south, the work of hiding the Aerial Battleship underground is in full swing.

I originally planned to entrust it to the strong orcs or Necro Ogres, but it seems their heads are also filled with muscle, as they can't distinguish between digging and smashing the ground.

Fortunately, among the forces bound this time, there was a race that lives its entire life underground.

The Ratmen slave soldiers are earning their keep.

Old man Brol took full charge of the stable settlement and management of the smuggling organization.

I was a little worried since he didn't have much connection to the underworld, but once he got into the practical work, he did well.

I heard he didn't give any special work instructions, but just visited once in a while and silently watched the members work with a blank expression.

They said that when a man with a bushy beard stared at them with wide eyes for several hours, the dawdling members gradually started to move faster.

“It's just because he's always smiling, but the old man's face value is pretty intimidating.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Is the list organized?”

“Yes, my lord. From here to here are the adult men of conscription age. From here are the adult women, minors, and their careers and family details are tied in the back. And….”

Anyway, while the expedition's return was being delayed, the first group of immigrants arrived.

Five hundred in number.

These were the immigrants who had received the ‘Pioneer Support Benefits’ as promised by Archduke Gabir before.

I thought I would only be able to handle the administrative processing after returning to Wolfskrig, but….

“You can just put your seal here and here. When you have time, please contact the Wolfskrig administration through the crystal sphere for confirmation.”

Our genius administrator, Bart, had pulled one off.

The competent administrative team he established had been communicating back and forth from Wolfskrig to Kalisto, handling the work efficiently.

This is a world where there are no messengers to exchange documents, let alone the internet, telephone, or even the telegraph.

Seeing that they came up with the new concept of remote administrative processing just by being given a single communication crystal sphere, Bart and his team must be geniuses.

“This is the list to be checked first, and I will organize the rest and submit a report tomorrow.”

“Alright. You've worked hard.”

“You've worked hard.”

I put the documents in the safe and left the Lord's Castle.

As I went out into the street, I saw crowds of people here and there.

There are a few civilians, but most are soldiers of the expedition.

Those who followed me across the distant wasteland, listening to my words about supporting a different race they had never met.

For them, Kalisto had become a semi-resort city.

The taverns were open 24 hours.

Steam was rising from the open-air baths.

If they just played, ate, and performed moderate training and guard duties, it would be counted as being on an expedition, and they would be given a generous reward.

That's why there are no particular complaints even if the return is delayed.

Of course, not everyone is resting.

The administrative staff is buried in documents, and the intelligence department is struggling to move the lanky organization members.

There is one more busy person.

It's William.

He is sleeping in snatches while researching the dwarven-made weapons he received from Everlasting Mountains Hold.

In particular, he is in the midst of researching the flamethrower, the ‘Breath of the Subterranean Dragon’, which underwent a live-fire test three days ago.

I visited his temporary workshop, which was a 10-minute walk from the Lord's Castle.

As soon as I opened the door, black smoke billowed out.

[[Selective Loss of Taste] is deployed.]

“Cough! Ahem…!”

“It seems there is room for improvement.”

William said from within the dense smoke.

Even if I block my nose with a trait, it only hides the smell; the acrid sensation that irritates the throat doesn't go away.

“How long have you been cooped up in here?”

“Continuously since returning from the operation three days ago.”

“Why don't you get some ventilation?”

“I open the windows from time to time. Living with a pile of highly explosive gas is a suicidal act.”

So this is what it's like even with ventilation?

This terrible smell of something burnt that I can't figure out?

[[Wind Spirit's Aid] is deployed.]

‘Ugh! It stings!’

‘What is this smell! Get out of here!’

I immediately opened the window and used the spirit's help to clear out the smoke.

William stood in front of the workbench and continued his explanation.

“My uncle once told me how he designed the Breath of the Subterranean Dragon. It works on the principle of using the burning air that comes out from underground.”

“Natural gas.”

“Uh… do you know something about it?”

“I don't know much. Continue.”

“Anyway, that air is called the ‘Breath of the Subterranean Dragon’ among the dwarves. They collect it, compress it into a cylinder, connect a hose, and attach a trigger. Then when you pull the trigger, like this-!”

Kwaaaaaaaah-!

“The flint sparks, the compressed air is sprayed, creating a storm of flames.”

William had a proud expression on his face.

I roughly understood the principle.

It's a basic flamethrower.

One that uses compressed gas instead of liquid fuel.

I once heard that a quirky entrepreneur and the world's richest man in a foreign country made and sold flamethrowers to his fans.

Honestly, out of curiosity, I considered buying one, but even with my rather deep pockets, it seemed like a waste of money, so I gave up.

Anyway, while it's a simple toy on Earth, it's an innovation in this world.

Because it means that an ordinary individual, not even a School of Fire mage, can freely handle flames.

“However, it has a weakness. It was revealed in the recent operation.”

“Tell me.”

“First, the range of the flame is short. Second, it's weak against the wind. Unlike a spell, not only can the direction not be controlled, but if there's a headwind, it could easily engulf the user.”

William began to clumsily put on a strange-looking outfit.

Protective gear.

Wearing the protective gear that covered his entire body, he poured magic stones into a complicated-looking device and pounded on it.

Before long, there was a loud noise as if something had exploded, and a huge fan connected to the device slowly began to turn.

‘Oh, master. That's a power source. A steam engine that runs on magic stones. It probably works on a similar principle to the engine of the Aerial Battleship.’

‘Tick-tock?’

‘This era is developing so quickly. To think a portable power source has already appeared. We can entrust the improvement of the Aerial Battleship's power unit to that friend later.’

“……”

A hero who changes the game genre to steampunk.

As I let out a dry laugh, a large ventilation-fan-like thing started to turn.

William pulled the trigger while facing the headwind.

Kwaaaaaaaah-!

The flame that shot out like a dragon's breath immediately changed direction and engulfed its master.

The protective gear was engulfed in flames and began to emit acrid smoke.

So that was the source of the smell.

“Ouch, ouch, like this! It happens!”

“…You're going through a lot.”

“Perhaps this is why the dwarves of Everlasting Mountains Hold lost the Steamforge to the Ratmen?”

It's a valid opinion.

The Ratmen possess personal firearms with superior range.

In particular, the Technopriest Council even trains their own snipers and develops explosives specialized for terrain like underground caves.

Even if you block a narrow passage with a wave of fire, that wave of fire can't block a bullet flying from a distance.

“Anyway, unless we're fighting in a narrow mine shaft like the dwarves, the fuel part definitely needs improvement. I've spent the last three days conceptualizing that.”

“How are you thinking of changing it?”

“By making liquid fuel.”

William, who had thrown off his protective gear, grinned.

“We'll douse the enemy with burning oil.”

* * *

While our inventor was creating a modern flamethrower by burning down his temporary workshop, I left the workshop and headed for my final destination of the day.

The sun is slowly setting.

It's the time when people gather in taverns.

In our expedition, there is one person who is introverted like me.

Of course, unlike me, she is sociable, so normally around this time, she would be peeking her head out from among the people, shaking a beer mug, and smiling drunkenly.

To solve the problem that has been holding back the expedition, I need her help.

I went to the officer-class lodging complex that old man Poodle had neatly renovated.

Number 34.

Karen's house.

Knock, knock.

Not long after, the door slowly opened.

The 2nd Battalion Commander greeted me with a haggard face.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“……Yes.”

“May I come in?”

“…Yes.”

I followed her weak footsteps into the house.

It was neat.

Contrary to her saying she was sick, it seemed she was keeping her place tidy.

Considering that the illness she is suffering from is not a cold as she claims, but a mental one, the fact that it's tidy is probably a good sign.

While Karen was preparing tea, I placed the item I had prepared on the table.

“…This is.”

She, who had brought a teapot and two teacups on a tray, paused.

“Do you know what it is?”

“…Of course. Where did you get it?”

Putting down the tray, she picked up the piece of cloth.

The item I had taken from the queen spider three days ago.

“It's an identification tag.”

Her voice was trembling slightly.

“The kind that elves use to tame beasts they classify as ferocious animals.”