Henderson Scale EX (Measurement Impossible)
Commonly referred to as the drunken eccentric’s prank.
Henderson Scale 1.0 Ver0.3
Set in the world of Lord Drift.
In a quaint open-air tea shop, a student in casual clothing sipped tea, feeling somewhat out of place.
The location was the main street in the northern part of the Imperial Capital. A noble strolls gracefully, with shops displaying prices unattainable for commoners lining the elegant avenue.
Among them was a shop serving a rare item known as “black tea” from the East, adorned with seasonal fruit pies that complemented it, where the apprentice was picking at a pie that nearly overflowed from their wallet.
Everything stemmed from the master expressing a desire for sweets, a request reminiscent of a young girl.
Before the apprentice, Lord Drift enjoyed his pie with delight, but he tended to feel embarrassed about visiting such places alone, contrary to his usual brazen demeanor.
He loved alcohol but was equally a fan of sweets, particularly those made with sugar, honey, cream, and seasonal fruits. Upon hearing about a café in the Imperial Capital that mastered the latest trends and tastes, it was no wonder he showed interest.
Many ladies would surely be delighted to accompany him, yet for some reason, as always, he chose to take the apprentice along. Without hesitation, he ordered several pies—more accurately, all the varieties—and had them laid out on the table, which likely cost as much as a commoner’s monthly salary.
Truly an incomprehensible person. Contemplating this, the apprentice shot a displeased glance at the master, who was clearly satisfied with spending an extravagant amount, which could lead to financial ruin if they had done this on their own.
“Hmm? What’s wrong? Was it not delicious?”
“No, it’s very tasty! I didn’t realize figs could be this sweet, and the pie has such a wonderful texture!”
“Indeed, when made by a top-tier chef, it’s something else entirely. It has a refinement that my leisurely sugar preserves cannot replicate.”
Hoping not to offend the master who was happily consuming pie with a disposition that could shame a noble, the apprentice once again took a bite of the pie.
The slightly tart red tea and the pie that seemed to be the epitome of indulgence surely brought her an indescribable happiness.
However, as a young woman, she couldn’t help but worry about how this might affect her waistline, a daunting adversary.
The pie’s crust, fragrant with butter, was undoubtedly packed with large quantities of butter, that is, milk fat. Moreover, the notably good texture and sensually sweet fruit preserves were made using “equal parts or more sugar” when cooking, crafted with a vengeance.
The thought of stuffing herself with such goods and considering what her weight or figure would be like the next day was something she didn’t want to entertain.
Consulting the master would yield nothing more than the trivial advice to exercise lightly, and while Lord Raizenitz was admirable in many ways, it was painfully clear that he couldn’t gain weight despite indulging, compelling her to worry about her own belly.
Confiding in her few classmates wouldn’t offer comfort either, as they would likely scold her for indulging in haute cuisine in such a high-end establishment.
Ultimately, the prospect of running around the Imperial Capital in absurd penance for her gluttony left the girl feeling utterly despondent.
“Kyah!?”
Instead of a sigh, she let out a startled scream.
Suddenly. Yes, without warning, a streak of light pierced the tranquility of the Imperial Capital. A moment later, a whirlwind swept through, lifting multiple hats high into the air and ruining their meal.
Fortunately, thanks to the anti-physical boundary that the master had habitually established, the pair avoided disaster, though the cries of falling ladies and startled horses filled the air, creating a scene reminiscent of chaos.
“Ah, not again…”
However, the residents of the Imperial Capital quickly returned to their daily routines despite the chaos.
The source of the explosion was in the southwest of the Imperial Capital, in the madman’s den known as the Magic District.
Explosions originating from the lairs of sorcerers and mages who toyed with dangerous spells and magical drugs were not frequent, but occurred several times a year. Though the barriers between urban zones prevented major damage, citizens occasionally suffered inconveniences from the aftermath.
Seeing the apprentice scream at the unexpected nuisance, the master chuckled, but beneath that smile lurked a hint of unease.
That was because the direction of the explosion and the small mushroom cloud aligned with the location of the private residence where members of his academic faction, including its leader, gathered for personal experiments known as “tea parties.”
He wondered if he might be caught up in that; with a slight frown, Lord Drift sipped his now lukewarm tea…
—
[Tips] Even sorcerers with a workshop in a nest of crows often have a less discreet workshop in the Magic District to invite others in for business.
Especially for professors who have dealings with nobles, one of their roles is to boost research budgets by developing products targeted towards them.
—
It was rare for Lord Drift, who had acquired considerable power and was nearly synonymous with the derisive title of ‘drifter,’ to be perplexed.
The immense magical power swirling within him, his skill with the sword stepping into the realm of concepts, and his extraordinary spells capable of overwhelming armies. Using the “translocation” spell, which often caused combat mages to throw up their hands in surrender, he had created a protective spell known as “retaliatory barrier,” akin to cheating.
Moreover, most friends and acquaintances could easily devise solutions to his troubles, and with an annual salary exceeding fifteen hundred and continuous income from published papers, he could usually push through most hardships.
Yet, he found himself in a situation where he had to lower his head in frustration, devoid of any consideration for his reputation.
He had sensed something was off. After finishing a delightful time with sweets, he decided to muster up the rare spirit of diligence for preparing lectures when a magical letter descended upon him.
It was one that mages aligned with Lord Raizenitz, a member of the Dawn Faction, often used, unmistakably a private note sent by the faction’s host resembling a charming little bird.
After grimacing at the typically troublesome matters usually contained therein, Lord Drift reluctantly read the contents as he felt it inappropriate to ignore a letter sent by the host of his own faction.
Thus, after seeing the unusual message that simply read “help me,” he knelt in her workshop—not in the Magic District, but in the Magic Academy’s workshop.
The figure introduced by the clearly distressed undead was a single, stunning woman.
She appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties, yet her poised and composed demeanor suggested a maturity that could pass for someone in their thirties.
Her golden hair, gathered into a bundle that reached her feet, shimmered as if crafted from shards of sunlight. The blue eyes that adorned her milk-white skin could easily originate from the purest lake, while her honeyed lips, glistening with moisture, held a tantalizing charm, seemingly too inviting to remain tightly sealed.
Her finely chiseled features and high nose bestowed her with a somewhat masculine beauty, clad as she was in a pure white monk’s robe. The robe, solemn yet modest, was only adorned with gold thread, and the golden holy emblem swaying on her chest symbolized her faith as a devotee of the Sun God.
Such an unembellished monk’s habit testified to the high virtue of its wearer, and combined with her golden hair blessed by the sun god’s grace, she radiated an aura fitting for a distinguished monk. Her quiet demeanor and impeccable manners left no room for criticism, suggesting she could hold her own among the nobility.
If that were all, Lord Drift’s heart would not have been swayed by the surreal sight before him.
Indeed, it was unusual for a priest of the Sun God, known for their disdain for the undead, to be in the presence of an undead, such as Lord Raizenitz, but it was said that even cats and mice could forge friendships. He could have rationalized that such interactions were plausible.
However, what shattered his composure was not the circumstance but rather her name. The moment he laid eyes on her, he felt an uncanny sense of empathy, almost as if he recognized her.
“I am a follower of the Sun God… and due to certain circumstances, I humbly hold the position of junior high priest, known as Erika of Königsstuhl Manor.”
Now, in the Threefold Empire, as well as the western continent, many prominent names derive from the heroes, kings, or saints of the Age of Gods, often existing in a male and female form that echoes the same person’s name.
For example, the ancient war god Alexander has the female form Alexia, while the renowned queen Victoria of the northern islands would correspond to the male Victor.
In light of this, Erika is the female form of Erich.
The sense of déjà vu and empathy, alongside the physical features mirroring this unknown “self” who claimed to be from the same hometown, all led Erich to realize something profound.
He understood that she was himself, but with her gender reversed.
After a brief moment of stupefaction, Lord Drift stood up, casting aside all pretense and approached the undead with an intensity that suggested he would have seized her by the collar, had he been able.
Conveying his intent to either clarify everything or confront her with everything he had.
The teary-eyed undead spoke.
She said she wanted to observe the childhood forms of those she liked.
The openly acknowledged secret of Lord Raizenitz’s troubling sexual inclinations had a broad target base. While the upper end was narrow, the lower end favored the younger, making him an eccentric who was particular about adorning even infants in cuteness.
After finishing her lectures, speeches, and research, she impulsively conceived a rather inappropriate idea.
Perhaps seeing the past forms of her beloved children would be more enjoyable.
Usually, such wicked notions were best confined to the realm of ridiculous fantasies, best left to one’s bed at night, but in this instance, her connection woefully twisted fate.
One could not simply become a professor at the Magic Academy through mere charm or eccentricity; considerable magical mastery and exhausting training were required to head the faction. Unfortunately, those in such positions always found a way to realize their foolish delusions.
Well, it could be said that this peculiar reality is what birthed our current civilization, but this crazy undead took a fleeting thought seriously, even meddling with time, a realm humans were meant to never touch.
It was undeniable that it was a foolish endeavor, yet faced with the weight of the matter, Lord Drift resolutely stated.
Let them have a chance to.
—
[Tips] Time manipulation magic has been eagerly sought after and researched by countless mages, but no publicly established spells have ever existed.
—
In the heavily protected workshop, deep within his study, Lord Drift retrieved his pipe and prepared to smoke.
After receiving the crisp, clear acceptance of his request, he placed the pipe in his mouth and selected a particularly “strong” calming leaf to puff on. He only resorted to smoking such when in dire straits; on occasions where he’d pulled all-nighters for three consecutive days of research and faced an arduous situation, he might smoke to help fill the gaps in sanity when madness threatened to overwhelm him.
And after a while, they both locked eyes…
Something broke within them, and they erupted into laughter, holding their stomachs.
“Bwah!? These breasts! They’re huge! And she’s taller than I am!?”
“Ahh! What!? She’s so tiny! Adorable! Hahaha! I can hug her!”
“Fufu… Ah, I can hug her too! What!? What is this!?”
It seemed both of them, perhaps driven by the heavy reality weighing down their minds, resolved to set aside everything and simply “enjoy.”
Pointing at each other, they laughed for several minutes, breathless, tears gathering at the corners of their eyes, appearing unbefitting of their esteemed positions as they gradually shared their backgrounds.
And then, they discovered that they were the same person sent to a world of mirrored oppositions by the hands of a future Buddha.
Comparing their fading memories of their previous lives, they came to understand that they had originally been of different sexes.
Erich was a male in his past life, known as Karachi, while Erika had been a female, called Karachan. Two identical existences, both indulgent in a tabletop RPG and perishing from the same demise, arriving in this world.
And what was amusing was that it was only their genders that had swapped.
As the sorcerer recounted his past, the nun did similarly.
She had decisively utilized connections cultivated by the upper echelons from an early age and sought to perfect herself as a monk while honing her skills in the faith category. It seemed that women often had a more determined approach compared to men in such matters.
If one were to colloquially describe her, it would be to label her a warrior monk dedicated to the Sun God, who boasts formidable power and extensive, dynamic miracles.
Erika was quite powerful, engaging in close combat while invigorating herself with sunlight, an embodiment of self-recovery. The Sun God’s protection granted her fists the power to dismantle various “absurdities,” crushing tangible forms with supernatural strength.
Furthermore, mirroring the inexhaustible force of the sun that rises no matter the darkness, her miraculous rejuvenation abilities allowed her body to persist, regenerating even after total annihilation.
This meant that even the most notorious sorcerer capable of decimating nations with the wave of a hand could not help but burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.
Indeed, she laughed at the madness of the retaliatory barriers modified from space translocation spells that rebounded attacks.
Once they had thoroughly indulged in their shared hobbies and reminisced as the only compatible souls in this world, they broached the topic of a significant dilemma.
Now, how do we get home…
—
[Tips] The vastness of the world is beyond human comprehension, filled with boundless possibilities.
This was a prank born from a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a muddled brain.
Perhaps I will regret this by tomorrow.
I hope you can laugh at it.
