At home, Mahya was still fiddling with the rifle, inspecting every part with an intense focus.
I leaned against the breakfast bar. “So, how did your murder spree go?”
She shot me a murderous glare, and four bodies of enforcers appeared on the floor.
Al crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the bodies. “What did they do?” he asked, his voice concerned.
“Two of them were beating a woman,” Mahya said, not looking up. “And the other two cornered a merchant and took every coin he had at gunpoint.”
My core ate the bodies, and I cast Clean and Restore at their stuff to give to the residents.
I eyed the rifle in her hands. "Anything interesting with that gun?"
Mahya’s face lit up, and she held it out, tracing a finger along the barrel. “Oh, very much so. It’s completely different from what we’re used to—it doesn’t use gunpowder or regular bullets at all.” Her eyes sparkled as she explained with a huge grin. “Instead, it fires small, round balls—metal and even stone—powered entirely by compressed air.”
“Compressed air?” I asked, genuinely curious. “I Didn’t know air could pack such a punch.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Right? It’s surprisingly efficient. The air builds up pressure inside, and when it’s released, it launches the projectile forward without any explosive recoil or residue. It’s very smooth.”
She angled the rifle, pointing to the muzzle. “Now, here’s the really clever part. The muzzle starts wide, giving the air room to build up around the ball, and then it narrows. Along its length, there are three little openings where the air shoots out, creating a balanced burst of force. It’s like a controlled valve system, focusing all that air into a powerful push.”
I leaned in, studying the unusual shape as she continued. “Each shot hits harder and flies farther than your typical gunpowder bullet. That even pressure keeps the projectile stable and lets it hold its speed longer, almost like a mini air cannon.”
"Oh, excellent," Al muttered. "So, I do not need to keep looking for a recipe for gunpowder?"
Mahya shot him a look. "Of course you'll keep looking. We have a lot of weapons that still need bullets, and I've already figured out how to cast the shells."
Al huffed, but gave a resigned nod. "Fine. I will."
"I’m heading to the kitchen. We’re low on everything I prepped," I said, already running through my inventory.
Mahya perked up. “You still have a big stockpile of legumes and grains from Earth, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, why?”
“Please give them to me,” she said quickly, “and instructions on how to cook them. I’m out of everything. I cleared my Storage to help out women with kids.”
I gathered up a hefty supply of beans, grains, and beef from Earth, and gave it to her. With that, I turned back to my task while she inspected the ingredients. They joined me in the kitchen soon after, each one claiming a spot. Realizing we were short on burners and oven space for three people, I glanced around and asked the house for more, crossing my fingers. A second later, the kitchen wall and counter elongated gradually and extra burners and an oven grew out of them.
“Yes!” I pumped my fists in the air.
Mahya chuckled, rolled her eyes and clapped me on the back. “It’s just the core replicating the originals.”
“Still cool,” I said, defending my core’s honor.
“Fine, I’ll give you this one,” she laughed, shaking her head.
Al was helpless in the kitchen, but he was good with knives—probably from all his potion making. We quickly designated him the chopping maestro, while Mahya and I handled the actual cooking. I set up pots of stews with meat, beans, grains, and vegetables, each one filling the room with a delicious aroma.
By the middle of the night, we had enough food to feed at least two hundred people. They helped me divide everything into lunch boxes, and then, exhausted but content, we all headed off to bed.
In the morning, we met up with Cloud at the same spot and resumed our rounds, visiting house after house. The second day was much like the first, with one significant improvement—we didn't have a funeral to attend. I was beyond relieved about that.
The enforcers, however, had changed their routine. On the first two days, they patrolled in pairs or groups of three, not just on the ground streets but also going up the terraces. Their presence had forced us to hide more than a few times, waiting for them to pass before moving on. Today, though, we noticed them traveling in larger groups of four or five, sticking to the broad streets below. A refreshing change, in my opinion.
Cloud picked up on it right away and guided us to take a different route, leading us up onto the terraces and, occasionally, across the rickety bridges that linked rooftops. The first time we approached one of these creaking bridges, Cloud stopped and told us to cross one by one.
I stepped onto the bridge with little concern—I could always take to the air if things went south—but when Al took his turn, I had a knot of tension in my gut. Despite the bridge’s precarious look, it held. We soon learned that as long as only one person crossed at a time, the bridges were sturdier than they looked.
Between patient visits, I kept feeding Cloud and healing her, watching as her thin look gradually filled out. By the evening of the second day, she no longer looked like a child but had filled out and blossomed into a girl on the verge of womanhood. She had the beginnings of an hourglass figure with breasts and rounded hips.
I studied her transformed looked, noting the confidence in her stance. “How old are you?” I asked softly, genuinely curious.
“I’ll be seventeen summers this winter,” she said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face looking self-conscious.
“And...what season is it now?" I asked.
She gave me the famous look, shrugging. "Late autumn."
Al perked up. "Does it snow here in winter?" I suspected he was dreaming about hockey.
Her brow furrowed as she mulled over the term. "What’s snow?"
“Frozen water,” I said.
Her face lit up in recognition. “Oh, the ice balls? Yeah, those fall nearly all winter. That’s how I know autumn’s ending—the dangerous balls started.”
That evening, we arrived home to find Mahya in a foul mood, pacing the room with a stormy expression.
“What happened?” I asked, watching her clench and unclench her fists.
“The enforcers,” she spat, her frustration practically radiating off her.
Al straightened, with a concerned look. “What about the enforcers?”
“They’re moving in larger groups now,” she said, her voice tight with irritation. “And the residents—well, they disappear the moment those thugs show up. I couldn’t pick up any more guns.” She bit out the last sentence through gritted teeth.
I gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, leaning in with a grin. “Hey, don’t stress. If it comes to it, I’ll find their armory and bring you a whole stockpile of guns and projectiles.”
Her face lit up instantly. She practically tackled me, wrapping her arms around me in a fierce hug. “You are the best friend in the world!” she exclaimed, squeezing me tight.
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While we were cooking, rain began to fall, and gradually intensified into a steady downpour that lasted through the night and into the morning. By the time we met up with Cloud, it showed no sign of letting up. Al and I barely noticed, thanks to our mana shields keeping us dry, and our high Constitutions making us luss susebtible to the cold. Cloud, on the other hand, stood there, shivering in her thin clothes, raindrops clinging to her hair and shoulders and running down her face.
I checked my army surplus supplies and found a thick parka and a rain poncho, and gave them to her She stared at them for a moment before quickly putting them on. The parka looked like it swallowed her, but her big smile said all was well.
She ate breakfast huddled under an umbrella—an item that seemed to fascinate her to no end—she kept staring at it as though it was some kind of rare treasure. We chuckled at her amazement as she finished eating, then packed up and resumed our rounds through the city.
When we arrived at the usual spot to meet Cloud on the morning of the fourth day, I was surprised to find Flower there, standing beside a woman I didn’t know. As soon as the woman saw us, her eyes went wide, and, without hesitation, she dropped to her knees, and prostrated pressing her forehead into the mud in front of us.
“I ask forgiveness from the messengers of Zyrran,” she said, her voice wavering with reverence. “If I had known who you were, I would never have forbidden my son from helping you.”
Al and I exchanged bewildered look, completely caught off guard. I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a baffled, “Huh?” Not exactly my most eloquent moment—I sounded like an absolute idiot.
Al stepped forward and gently helped the woman back to her feet. “What are you talking about?”
She kept her gaze respectfully lowered, her hands trembling slightly as she spoke. “I know the messengers of Zyrran work in secrecy. I promise I won’t breathe a word to anyone. My son will accompany you and help you however he can.”
Before we could respond, she took both our hands, pressing her lips to the backs in a gesture of reverence. She then folded her hands in prayer and touched her forehead, murmuring something under her breath, before turning away and disappearing into the shadows.
Al and I stared at each other, sharing yet another baffled look, before shrugging it off. There wasn’t much to say about that encounter that would make sense. So, I pulled out some food, fed the kids, and we continued our rounds.
In the afternoon, the weather took a turn for the worse, and soon, hail began falling down with a vengeance. The hailstones weren't small either; they hammered the ground with enough force to bruise. I had no intention of risking bumps on my head—or worse, endangering the kids. So I sent them home, giving them strict instructions to stay indoors until the storm passed. Al and I made our way back to my place, ducking under any cover we could find. The muck was disgusting, but I didn’t want to fly in those conditions.
The hailstorm persisted, coming down hard for two days with only occasional breaks, the non stop drumming against the roof becoming an almost constant backdrop. We took the time to think, sitting by the fire and weighing our options for the city.
On the one hand, none of us wanted to abandon the people here to their miserable conditions. The desperation and hardship we’d seen were awful. On the other hand, what could we really do? We were only three people—and a dog, who now looked at us with a questioning look, sensing our concern.
The reality was, even with all our abilities, we were just a small group. A handful of individuals against an entire city’s suffering.
"In my opinion, the best solution would be to ask the residents themselves," Al suggested. "What do they think would actually improve their situation?"
Mahya and I shared a look and nodded, getting his point—it made sense. So, we agreed to ask everyone we met what they thought, gathering any ideas they had.
On the night of the third day, the hail finally stopped, leaving icy chunks scattered across the streets. By morning, the sky was wide open and bright blue, not a cloud in sight. Temperatures shot back up, easily passing 30 degrees Celsius. I just shook my head—this world’s weather was seriously neurotic—hail one day, scorching heat the next. In less than half an hour all the hail melted, and the puddles grew bigger and deeper.
We met with Cloud and Flower and continued our medical rounds. Each time I healed a woman, I made it a point to ask her carefully what she thought might improve things here, hoping to gather some insights. But every time, they gave me panicked glances and shaky hands, their eyes darting around like they were worried someone might overhear.
No matter how subtly I brought it up—whether I slipped it in casually or danced around the question—their reactions were always the same. The fearful silence told me all I needed to know about the level of fear in this place.
Around noon, we were crossing another rickety bridge when, suddenly, Cloud let out a piercing scream. She staggered, collapsed to the ground, and curled up in pain. I rushed across the bridge, heart pounding, reaching her just as I felt intense mana turbulences swirling around her. I cast a diagnostic spell, scanning her, but nothing unusual showed up—at least nothing physical.
Her screams quieted to muffled whimpers, her body twisting in agony, each tremor shaking her. I cast Anesthesia right away, hoping it would ease whatever was tearing through her, and waited anxiously for the mana turbulences to calm down.
It took nearly ten minutes, but gradually, the mana calmed, the air around us feeling less charged and chaotic. I cast another diagnostic spell and noticed a newly formed mana orb behind her diaphragm. I recalled my own experience when my mana first awakened—a memory that made me shudder in sympathy. It was no wonder she’d screamed. The memory of my own awakening, that deep, bone-aching pain, made me shiver all over again. Seeing Cloud writhing like this felt like looking into a mirror of my own past—an experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I ended the Anesthesia spell as her breathing steadied. Now she was lying peacfully on the ground.
“What happened?” Al asked, his voice thick with concern.
“Her mana has awakened,” I replied, keeping my voice low.
He shuddered, a look of understanding crossing his face. “Yes. It’s… not a pleasant experience.”
“Wait, you went through this too?” I asked, surprised. “It wasn’t just me?”
Al nodded, his expression darkening as he looked off to the side, as if recalling something unpleasant. “Of course. It always hurts when the mana starts burning through to create the orbs and channels. In Leylos, we have a device that indicates when it is about to happen, and we usually give a potion to anyone about to go through it. The potion dulls the pain and makes the transition easier to bear unconscious.” His expression grew darker. “But… the royal family does not take the potion. We have all experienced the full pain, conscious.”
“Why?” I asked, frowning.
“In my family’s archives, there are theories suggesting that if mana awakens while the person is unconscious, their mana level might develop lower.” He shrugged. “I have not seen proof, but since we are royalty, my father refused to take any chances.”
Flower’s face went pale as he took a shaky step back, his hands lifting slightly as though to ward off an unseen threat. His eyes darted between us. When he finally spoke, his voice came out barely above a whisper, disbelief etched in every line of his face. “Are you… are you a king?”
Al’s mouth curved into a small, self-deprecating smile. “No,” he said, shrugging lightly. “Just a prince.”
Flower’s gaze flicked nervously between us again, his hands clenching as he took another step back.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, cnfused.
“P-please…” he stammered, his wide eyes locked on Al. “Please don’t kill me.”
Al stayed calm, his voice steady as he replied, “Relax. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so the first day we met.”
The words seemed to have their intended effect. Flower’s breathing slowed, and the color returned to his cheeks. Meanwhile, Cloud lay passed out on the roof, either asleep or completely out cold from the ordeal. I knelt down and scooped her up gently, then turned to Flower.
“Go home. We’re done for today.”
He looked at Cloud, concern flickering in his eyes. “What… what are you going to do with her?”
I adjusted her in my arms, cradling her protectively. “I’ll take care of her until she wakes up. Then I’ll explain what happened to her.”
“What exactly happened?”
I gave him a reassuring look. “It’s not my place to tell you. If she wants to talk about it, she will. For now, just tell her mother she might not come home tonight. Make sure she knows Cloud is safe, and nothing’s going to happen to her.”
He still looked uncertain, glancing between Al and me several times before he finally spoke again. “Promise?”
“I promise. I’ll take care of her like she’s my own child.”
Flower gave a small, hesitant nod, finally convinced. He cast one last look at Cloud, then hurried off.
Unfortunately, flying with Cloud wasn’t an option. Even with an invisibility spell cast over me, she remained visible, her limp form a clear giveaway. Al and I exchanged a resigned look, grunted in defeat, and began the long trek back to our area on foot. Twice we had to duck into shadows, pressing against walls to avoid passing enforcers, but eventually, we made it home safely.
The moment Mahya saw Cloud in my arms, her brows knitted with concern. “What happened?”
“Her mana awakened,” I replied, shifting Cloud slightly to ease the weight in my arms.
Mahya’s face softened with understanding, though there was still a flicker of worry in her eyes. “Did you give her a potion?”
I shook my head. “No. She passed out from the pain—or from the mana surge itself. Hard to tell.”
Mahya assessed Cloud with a quick, clinical glance, nodding. “She’ll probably sleep until morning.”
I cast Clean to rid Cloud of the mud and grime, then carried her to the empty room and laid her down gently.
Al followed me, his expression thoughtful. “What are you planning to do with her?”
“Nothing, for now,” I replied, adjusting the blanket over her. “I just want to make sure she’s okay. When she wakes up, I’ll ask what she wants to do.”
Mahya crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “And if she says she wants to come with us?”
I paused, weighing the question carefully. “No,” I said at last. “That’s not an option. I’ll give her some spell scrolls I have, and maybe I’ll even make a trip to the Gate to Lumis to get a few more that might actually help her out. But there’s no way she’s coming with us.”
Al gave an approving nod. “Good,” he said, and Mahya’s expression softened, clearly relieved by my answer.
Rue, in protector mode, settled himself beside Cloud’s bed, his massive form sprawled out as he kept a watchful eye on her, his ears twitching at every small sound. I wondered briefly if she’d panic when she woke up and saw him looming nearby, but Rue was resolute, his eyes fixed on her protectively. There was no moving him.
With a sigh, I left them be. “I’m off to cook lunch,” I said, hoping the smell would eventually lure Rue out of the room. If anything could pull him from his guard post, it would be the promise of grilled meat.