The welcoming banquet was larger in scale than last time…rather, I was surprised to see so many children.
When asked what this meant, it seemed that by reclaiming the Great Mother, the ability to produce children from the “photon crystals” left by their ancestors had been restored, and efforts were being made to recover the population, taking into account what they could support.
Apparently, they were manufactured here using “Tiamat 25,” and after cleaning the unusual production pods, they succeeded in creating children based on the “genetic information” stored in the photon crystals.
“So, this isn’t exactly cloning, is it?”
“Perhaps it could be called a kind of technical inheritance. I’ve just gone through the logs briefly, and it appears that only the technical memories stored in the secondary brain were duplicated.”
They’re certainly doing something remarkable here.
We acquire basic skills by downloading software into our systems—but there are also plenty who learn through their own efforts using VR, like me—while the Tech Gobs seem to be born with the knowledge of the technologies their ancestors had.
Even if they can reproduce without the “Great Mother,” it’s understandable why they would want her back.
Many technologies were lost over these two hundred years, but by the time this generation of children grows up, the Tech Gobs will likely be thriving many times more than they are now.
“Ah, there are piglets! They’re so cute.”
“It seems they’ve even begun raising livestock. Truly an extraordinary species.”
In the settlement built beneath the feet of the “Great Mother,” new animal enclosures had been constructed, and inside them numerous piglets were being raised. It seems they had succeeded in domesticating the wild boars they’d previously managed to tame during their settled days.
Still, I wonder how they’re handling the rutting season. It’s fiercer and more powerful than with pigs, but perhaps the Tech Gobs’ immense strength allows them to handle it.
As we walked through the developing settlement, we finally reached our Rustiagis base, conveniently located close to the base of “Tiamat 25.” Our position is excellent, with plenty of sunlight in the morning, and the heat of summer will be shielded by the ship’s hull.
There, lined up, were square homes made from plywood. When Ridelberdy shouted out that the chieftain had returned, the residents poured out one after another.
Yes, everyone looks healthier, with better skin tone. The warriors are maintaining their armor well, shiny and polished, and even appear more muscular than before. I think it’s due to eating well and constant training, and I must say I’m proud of them all.
[Was there any trouble while I was gone?]
[Yessir, Chieftain. Everyone lived peacefully and contentedly.]
When I asked the old man who had been the former chieftain of the Gravgolb clan—whom I’d asked to oversee things in my absence—his green single eye softened into a kind smile. The ruggedness from our days on the run had disappeared, and holding an orphaned infant, he truly looked content and fulfilled.
[If so, that’s good. Warriors, how has the hunts been?]
[Thanks to the guns left to us, we’ve been doing well! The armor allows us to run fast enough to catch deer, making it much easier!]
A warrior adorned with four antler skulls as decorations on his exoskeleton gleefully held up an old-style coilgun to answer.
I see, light exoskeletons offer speed, so even when spotted, they can run, close the distance, and engage. That’s impressive hunting, even against deer known for their explosive bursts of speed and endurance.
By the way, some estates have been troubled by deer causing agricultural harm. Perhaps we could form a multi-clan hunting association and dispatch them. Doing so would not only foster goodwill between species but also ensure bountiful forests—a win-win situation.
Next time, I’ll subtly suggest this idea to the Margrave. They, too, might desire the forest’s bounty. Animal proteins are precious.
[Clan chief!]
[Clan chief, welcome back!]
“Clan chief!!”
As children swarmed me, I played with them, lifting them high, while heading toward my home. However, the knights’ gazes—except for Galatea’s—seemed somewhat piercing. I’ll have to clarify whether they’re discriminating against the Tech Gobs or disapproving of my familiarity with other species.
My home was an especially large building made by a 3D-forming machine. Though a single-story structure, it doubled as a community center, offering considerable space. Near the entrance stood a long table, and the coilgun used during the “Great Mother’s Reclamation” hung on the walls, giving it a slight resemblance to a Viking longhouse.
The seating capacity seemed to be about fifty, but if we removed the tables and held a standing buffet, it could hold a hundred. At the back, raised slightly on a platform, was a lectern and the chieftain’s seat, with a door to the storeroom and private quarters behind.
I took my seat at the chieftain’s chair, trying to look as dignified as possible, and received reports from the elders and war chief on the villagers’ well-being and harvests.
[This summer alone, we caught seven boars and twenty-four deer, not to count the numerous smaller prey thanks to electromagnetic traps.]
[The elders and children process these for trade, which has seen good results. From the rabbit people, we’ve exchanged for fine iron and artifact fragments, and from nearby estates, we’ve received dairy products to share with other tribes.]
[There have been no injuries or sicknesses, as no one is starving, so everyone is healthy.]
Hmm, it seems the Rustiagis have been doing well in my absence, which is a relief. The distribution of simple sewing machines, tanning tools, and hard-tipped blades for crafts has clearly been effective. That the elders are active and healthy speaks to their realization that they are not burdens but contributors to the new clan.
[Excellent. The Great Mother must be pleased with your devotion and your prosperous days.]
[A most profound honor.]
The elder, dressed in a muscle suit similar to the one gifted to the Sylvanian elder, bowed deeply, and the warrior knelt in respect.
Having learned what I needed, I dismissed them with permission to rest, noticing Falken standing nearby, eager to say something. I beckoned him closer, allowing him to whisper in my ear.
“So, does the saint rule over the Tech Gobs?”
“Pay attention to your words, as I’ve said before. I’m merely the honorary chieftain of the Rustiagis clan and not the leader of all clans.”
I added that they were intelligent, which seemed to leave him unconvinced.
Well, it’s understandable. They were raised believing that all sacred machines were creations of the Machine God and thus belonged to them. It must be difficult to suddenly accept that the Tech Gobs are a wise species on par with themselves and that “Tiamat 25” is an entirely different kind of vessel.
“The children are clever. They have blacksmithing skills… what you’d call Gear Spells in Holy City terminology… and they use them.”
“But in the literature, they’re described as barbaric, plundering relics entirely…”
“That’s prejudice, Knight Falken!”
Our low voices must’ve been overheard. Galatea, angered, stepped between us and pointed to Ridelberdy standing guard.
“They freely gave us information when we, as the vanguard, spoke of reclaiming the Great Mother. And when we fled in defeat, they treated our wounds and introduced us to Nozomu. They shout in battle and never retreat from their positions when on defense. I won’t tolerate you referring to them as barbarians!”
“S, sorry, Knight Galatea!”
Embarrassed, he retreated, but bridging the gap between knowledge and reality will be challenging.
At least, their education will start with joint training to instill appropriate humility…
That evening, a banquet was held to welcome us back, now equipped with new technologies and items to enrich the “Great Mother.” The Magius Geanaite guests were also warmly welcomed, though they did not seem overly entertained.
Their customary grand feasts were likely more formal and ordered. Presented with unlimited servings of dishes laid out haphazardly and watching the Tech Gobs indulge in wrestling games and arm-wrestling-like contests after drinking might have been overwhelming for them.
Instead, they stayed by my side, eager to hear about the recovery of “Tiamat 25.” Gathering Tech Gobs and Sylvanians who’d been part of the assault, I told them vivid tales of the operation.
They were knights after all, and clearly interested in stories of battle. The exaggerated recollections of my own swordplay and the strange foes we faced had them captivated. Impressed, they scrutinized the alien skulls brought as trophies of war.
Hm, it seems this is a way to bond.
Thus, the following morning, I arrived at the knights’ sleeping quarters at dawn and woke them up by clanging a pot and spoon.
“What… What is it?”
“An enemy attack?!”
“What’s this nonsense of sleeping in?!”
The borrowed pot from the kitchen made a satisfying sound, fully sufficient to wake the drowsy knights with only a few hits. I wonder if they’ve never been trained the Spartan way due to their noble background?
“Saint-sama…?!”
“What is the matter?!”
“Are you truly knights if you cannot wake with the sun to train your bodies? Look—Knight Galatea!”
Pointing outside where their sleeping quarters were located, Galatea was doing planks with heavy weights on her back, her coverall slightly damp with sweat, showcasing her toned body beneath despite being fully clothed.
“Ah… have you all woken up?”
“K, Knight Galatea, what are you…?”
“Since losing to the nameless monster at the “Great Mother,” I’ve been ashamed of my weakness and have been practicing under the guidance of Nozomu…”
Every muscle was apparent beneath her coveralls, which strained against the fabric as if it would burst. Even standing still, her body radiated with the intense pressure she was exerting. The exercise not only strengthens the core but every limb through muscle usage, making it highly effective.
And the harder you get used to it, the more challenging it gets.
“Alright, let’s start with stretching. Follow my posture.”
Within two minutes, the knights were changed into their coveralls and lined up. Though my prosthesis is actuated and doesn’t require flexibility in the joints, I deemed an example necessary. Don’t underestimate radio exercises; done seriously, they make you sweat.
“Alright, now we’ll build stamina. Follow me!”
“““Yes sir!!”””
Leading the knights, already drenched in sweat after stretching, I circled the “Great Mother” five times. The ship was massive, the perimeter long enough to qualify as a proper long-distance run for a good warm-up in the morning. Along the way, alert warriors mistook this for some ritual and joined, creating a long procession, which, though unexpected, added an interesting twist, so I let them be.
“Wh… wh… wh… wh…”
“Ha…ha…ha…”
The knights were gasping for breath, clearly suffering from what we call “exoskeleton syndrome.”
“Saint-sama… what… what’s the point of this…?”
“You think something you can do with an exoskeleton can be done without one?!”
This isn’t an official diagnosis; it’s simply a term we mechanized humans use to describe the common ailment among old humans who overly rely on exoskeletons, leading to weak physical bodies. It’s particularly prevalent among those in space, where osteoporosis risks are high, compounded by constant use of exoskeletons, which exacerbates the issue. We jokingly refer to it as a disease to taunt them.
They may call themselves knights, but their physical training is inadequate. Sure, reinforced exoskeletons enhance strength and speed, leveling the field regardless of natural physical prowess or weakness, but stamina will clearly differ, leading to vulnerabilities.
And a worn-out exoskeleton user makes for an easy target—either knocked out repeatedly by coilguns or diced by monomolecular blades, depending on the opponent.
But having such half-measures as my personal guards won’t do.
“To be chosen as my guards means you must be the best of Magius Geanaite. I’ll reform you until you can be the best. Prepare yourselves!”
“S…such a thing…”
“Respond!!”
Their pitiful, strained responses had me sighing. They have a long way to go before they’re ready to be recognized as soldiers.
Ah, training organic beings is a test of patience and quite demanding. If they were prosthetic, it’d be simply a matter of immersing them in VR combat realms, subjecting them to thousands of hours compressed in time, and they’d emerge as formidable killers.
With little time but a long path ahead, it’s quite a conundrum.
“Next, weight training! Take the same posture as Galatea! Start with thirty seconds!”
I kicked the butts of the rookies who cried out pitifully, channeling my inner drill sergeant as I resumed brutal training…
[Supplementary Notes on Planetary Exploration] – Despite having prostheses, soldiers in the Unified Army undergo countless hours of arduous training in VR programs designed to simulate fatigue and hardship. Thus, they have an incredibly tenacious spirit. Only those who can endure such training become career soldiers capable of earning a living.
Our total points have surpassed 20,000. Thank you for your support.
The next update is scheduled for around 15:00 on August 10, 2024.
