Although “Themis 11” had successfully disengaged from the battlefield, its internal systems were far from stable.
The atmosphere was tense, as thick as if the air had acquired physical viscosity, between the warriors of Tupiarius who regarded us with suspicion and our allies who remained on high alert, anticipating an imminent attack.
“Sorry about that, Nozomu. You see, my folks, well, they don’t know much about outsiders. It’s either hang ’em or hunt ’em; that’s about the extent of their interest.”
“Well, as long as they don’t cause trouble, it’s all good. Let me escort you to the edge of the forest.”
“Is that so? Thanks a bunch. Still, what a close call once again. The next battlefield seems a long way off.”
Though she wore her usual grin, glancing at her talking face-to-face with me amidst the two still-tense factions, with no one stepping in to stop her, it was clear she was quite the seasoned warrior.
“But wow, this is incredible! Something this massive is moving! And it’s floating! What sorcery is this?!”
“Oi, don’t touch the console! You’ll mess up the controls!!”
Despite her apparent calm, she was looking around the ship with unbridled curiosity, reaching out to touch anything that caught her fancy, which was becoming a problem. If she kept tampering with things, she’d disrupt the instrumentation and interfere with the ship’s operations.
“I’ve never seen anything this big except in trials!”
“Trials?”
“Ah, what was it… something with binary codes… You know, there’s this place in the forest, off-limits normally, and if you survive going in there, you get praised.”
“Kind of like a test of courage, huh?”
“Maybe? Here’s the proof!”
With that, she abruptly pulled up her jacket—let me just say that the mucosal areas were the same color as the inside of one’s mouth—and showed her back.
On her back was a complex tattoo. Unlike the armor’s designs, which were drawn using special paints, the mural-like patterns here were intricate. Among the tattoos was a scene resembling a massive ship-like structure with trees growing out of it, rendered in a style that used only straight intersecting lines, making it appear almost like a religious painting.
I thought I’d seen this somewhere before, maybe in a VR game.
Ah, that’s it, the Tree of Sephirot. Its circular parts—Sephiras, if I remember correctly—had been replaced with something akin to a starship…
“H-Hey! That’s indecent, Nozomu! Tell her to stop!!”
“Understood, Galatea! Stop covering your eyes! You won’t damage them, but they could get scratched!!”
For just a few seconds in real-time, I noted the observation until Galatea, caught off guard by the uncouth display by the lady’s standards, turned bright red and tried to block my main camera.
Though I had disabled my pain sensors for the mission, the alarms going off from damage to my Type-2 chassis’ pseudo-membranes were becoming quite bothersome.
Unaware of the impropriety, Hyunf blinked innocently, while a few Tupiarius, witnessing the exposed tattoo, placed their forefingers on their foreheads and then ran them down to their mouths, muttering something inaudible through sub-cameras.
Was this some sort of religious gesture, akin to honoring the Buddha even as we ventured into space?
In other words, these tattoos held great reverence for them—particularly since, upon closer inspection, individuals resembling male forms were conspicuously absent—suggesting that simply viewing them was worthy of respect.
Recalling the data extracted from the “Corrupted Male Deity,” I nodded in understanding.
Part of a broken dataset from the so-called “Project Eden,” it was tied to a term related to “Christianity,” an ancient Earth belief still practiced in some minor sects.
According to archived literature, the land of Eden, created by the Holy Four-character God, was a place lush with trees that bore fruits both pleasing to the eyes and fit for consumption—an idyllic orchard without hunger.
This place, Eden, held at its center the Tree of Sephirot, revealed earlier by Hyunf—also known as the Tree of Life, which bore fruits promising eternal life—and paired with the Tree of Knowledge located nearby.
It was said that humanity’s tasting of the forbidden fruit from the latter Tree resulted in their expulsion from Eden by an irascible deity—though the fault arguably lay with poor management protocols—sparking a curious association in my photonically simulated neurons regarding “eternal life.”
Eternal life, machines that keep running despite lacking maintenance, and some influence unaffected by humanity’s acquisition of knowledge seemed eerily connected to this narrative.
Perhaps a bit too convenient, but intriguing nonetheless.
As I asked Hyunf to put her clothes back on and shook off Galatea’s grip, I found myself drifting into thought but quickly snapped back, setting a mental reminder to revisit these insights later. Adding a conjecture that the radical events carried out by certain individuals on Terra-16th likely attempted to interpret this planet’s nature through existing mythological frameworks.
“Captain, we’re now fully out of the main cannon’s range. Shall we park near the forest?”
“Getting too close might provoke an attack. Cease maneuvers around 20 kilometers away.”
“Understood. Be cautious, as the current state of ‘Themis 11′ permits only minimal self-navigation. It’s practically a coffin on the move.”
Without complaint, Themis 11 carried out the order as if a lack of grievances was programmed into its AI—sometimes making it feel rather unendearing.
“Hereabouts alright?”
“Uh-huh… Wait, what’s wrong, Miilé… Oh, sir?”
Though she momentarily slipped into binary language, Hyunf corrected herself in her native tongue when alerted by the individual gripping her shoulder—who, upon closer inspection, was the youth I’d taken as a prisoner of war—and proceeded to converse briefly. Their discussion turned hostile almost instantly, ending with them grabbing each other by the collars, foreheads pressed together and teeth bared in an aggressive display.
As tensions escalated, their allies reached for their weapons, but I quickly intervened to diffuse the situation.
“This one here suggests it might be best to kill you and Nozomu’s group. Haven’t you seen what happened on the battlefield?”
“Aye, but I have! Nozomu’s gang pushed in, causing the enemy to falter and cease retaliating! The forest stopped burning! Would you kill the brave warriors who helped you, on mere assumptions?!”
While her defense was appreciated, I wouldn’t mind if they refrained from coming to blows. We were making progress; I didn’t want an unforeseen snag.
Besides, much of our appearance resembled the individuals who had set the forest ablaze, despite significant differences in essence. To the isolated gardeners, our humanoid design was unsettling and perhaps even threatening.
Too bad the classic joke of decapitating ourselves to prove we’re not robots—either garnering laughs or utter mortification—is an impossible trick with this exoskeleton.
Their heated debate continued in a language beyond my comprehension, until other Tupiarius joined in, eventually convincing Miilé to stand down, looking considerably disgruntled.
Most likely, the individuals with more moderate perspectives among the culturally divergent group persuaded her to calm down, given the necessity of future cooperation between our factions.
After all, it wasn’t just us mechanized humans and multi-variant entities adept at self-sacrificing tactics. While superficially it might appear we value lives cheaply because they’re expendable, nothing is further from the truth. We, as military personnel, fully accept our mortality and often cite training mantras about regarding our existence lightly.
But something about the Tupiarius ethos felt different. In the short time we’d been exposed to them, it became evident during the one battle. While we might die joyfully under the promise of achieving extraordinary outcomes, the Tupiarius seemed to revel in death itself, especially when it came with the promise of inflicting a thousand enemy kills. Perhaps it’s the packaging that distinguishes us from their approach to warfare—like the difference between rice cakes wrapped in mochi and those wrapped in sweetened bean paste.
Thus, if there’s to be collaboration, having someone from the more moderate spectrum on their side is essential.
[Chief, what’s the plan? These folks are clearly unstable.]
[Mentioning it so blatantly suggests you think they can’t understand us. At least try to mask it in our expressions.]
[Even if they don’t understand our nuanced expressions or shrill language, better safe than sorry.]
I glared at Ridelberdy, who suspiciously fiddled with the safety of his coilgun while contracting his yellow camera-like eyes. I had little doubt the Tech Gobs’ subtle cues could escape the Tupiarius’ understanding, but better safe than sorry.
Damn, is diplomatic work always this taxing? If I ever get out of this alive, I’ll treat a friend from the diplomatic corps to dinner. All our military posturing, teasing them about being the first fallback if things go awry, must have stung more than I imagined.
Ah, I knew avoiding such feelings of duty was why I’d never progressed beyond Captain.
“At any rate, everyone is satisfied for now, so we’ll head back. The battle has calmed down, so we need to extinguish the fires. Plus, this is Nozomu’s trophy, so the right to display it belongs to him.”
“Ah, okay…thanks for your consideration?”
But, really, everyone on this planet seems fond of trophies. The Tech Gobs want skulls from defeated enemies, and the Tupiarius, as evidenced, are similar. Can’t we be satisfied with kill marks like good old days?
Guarding against any odd behavior, I escorted the mechanical-Elven troops until the last of them disappeared over the horizon as dawn’s light began to rise.
“Sure was an intense night…”
“Captain, you’re acting like it’s over, but there’s still so much to do—prisoner interrogations, securing the ship from remaining threats, the list goes on.”
“Can I at least pause for five minutes?”
Scratching the back of my head, I exhaled heavily among the half-ruined remnants of the starship.
Being in charge of a land cruiser or even a provincial lord sounds like a great promotion, but when the wind whistles through the cracks and everything’s falling apart, even acquiring such a title doesn’t feel so great after all…
[Planetary Recon Supplement]: Though integrated higher forces rarely use captured enemy weapons due to the efficiency of producing their own, a small faction finds great joy in employing such gear in their colors. Therefore, manuals, protocols, and training were established to ensure such equipment could be utilized.
Next chapter begins a new arc.
Due to illness, the next update schedule is uncertain. Thank you for your understanding.
