Of course, the Divine Chosen wouldn’t fear bugs. The idea that the Empire’s hero, the savior of the world, could be scared of a tiny insect—now that would be utterly absurd if spoken aloud.
He had merely beaten to tears those childhood boys who pulled bug pranks on “pretty girls,” and been particularly ruthless when dealing with insect-affiliated enemies.
So it wasn’t fear—it was disgust.
He repeated this reasoning to himself once again—a conclusion his past comrades would surely mock with cries of “Your Highness, the Princess”—as he stared at the other man with solemn sincerity.
His nemesis gave him a vague look, gently placed the chubby bug on a Langrom flower, and graciously refrained from commenting on how every twitch of the savior’s face screamed resistance.
The dark-haired youth opened his notebook again and motioned for Azukar to come take a look. This time, he switched to the common tongue:
“Plan One is low-cost but moderately effective. Adjust the positions of your catapults to avoid smashing buildings. Based on my observations, small to mid-sized dragons tend to launch attacks from shaded, tree-dense areas—this direction, specifically—rather than diving straight from above. So if we place the machines here, here, and here,” he circled a few areas with charcoal, “you’ll get much wider coverage.”
He circled a few points with his charcoal pencil and jotted down some calculations next to them.
Azukar gave a thoughtful hum and nodded slightly. “What about a more effective plan?”
“Plan Two: build aerial nets,” the professor pointed at the map. “I’m not sure about your metalworking capabilities, but from what I’ve seen, it should be feasible. Nets can give you more reaction time. Widening the mesh can help avoid injuring ground beasts or birds. Downsides? It’s labor-intensive, time-consuming, and requires someone to constantly monitor and maintain it.”
Before Azukar could comment, he continued, “There’s also Plan Three—something I personally find fascinating: sonic weaponry.”
“…Sonic what? Is that a kind of spell?”
“Nope, not magic. Simply put, it’s about finding a certain frequency of sound—inaudible to humans, but audible to dragons. Harmless to people, but unbearable—or even lethal—to dragons.” The dark-haired youth explained casually, entirely unaware how horrifying this sounded to a native of this world:
“Since you raise dragons in the valley, I’d recommend installing these devices outside the gorge—say, along those lower slopes near Mount Asachi. Even if we don’t find a frequency strong enough to kill them, we could at least drive them off or herd them into one area for concentrated elimination. That way, we avoid harming the dragons you’ve domesticated.”
“…Have you already found such a ‘sonic frequency’ that drives dragons away?” the Divine Chosen asked, his voice softening.
“No. I know how to construct a basic prototype emitter, but details like the exact frequency, high-power sound source engineering, beam-forming or directional emission, and acoustic dampening—those are all still theoretical. It’s just an interesting project idea right now.”
His speech picked up pace, and many of his technical terms sounded so arcane and elaborate it was as if he had stitched together a string of synonyms.
“But if you could provide me with a few dragons and access to certain sites near Mount Asachi for field testing—”
“Absolutely not.” the Divine Chosen interrupted, his tone uncharacteristically firm.
The other looked unsurprised, nodding calmly. “I figured you’d say that. This plan is too difficult to implement under the Natalin’s current circumstances—too unrealistic.”
“And mass extermination is a little… brutal?” Nova glanced at the Divine Chosen’s face and begrudgingly added, “That’s why I personally suggest combining the first and second plans.”
“…It’s not about cruelty,” the Divine Chosen replied quietly. “Humans kill dragons, dragons kill humans. Competing for scarce resources on this plateau is already a life-or-death struggle.”
“Oh, so it’s because it’s dangerous.”
—A new kind of weapon, one that could kill dragons without spells, without a sound—an act of dimensional warfare. And it wouldn’t take much for others to start wondering: what if the real target weren’t dragons? Nova didn’t consider himself a madman who disregarded research ethics, but he couldn’t control how others thought.
Sure enough, the other replied seriously, “Because it’s dangerous.”
Nova blinked. “I can sign a soul pact to guarantee I won’t disclose the technology, use it to harm humans, or compromise Natalin’s interests—I already said I find the subject fascinating.”
He had entirely begun treating the soul pact like a research proposal cover letter.
“…That’s just one side of the matter, Professor. And personally, I don’t believe you’d use an unfinished technology like this to harm anyone. You’re not that kind of person.”
“Okay. So what is it then?”
The dark-haired youth gave a quick, half-hearted twitch of his mouth in response to the reassurance—his expression clearly read “I don’t care what you really think,” as he motioned for the other to get to the point.
Azukar sighed—a sigh that seemed to happen more and more whenever he spent time with his rival.
“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly.
Nova gave him a wary look, silently asking what that had to do with anything.
But the Divine Chosen calmly rummaged through the other’s backpack for a fire starter, leisurely gathered some dried twigs using wind, started a fire, and then reached into an inconspicuous hole to pull out a squeaking little creature.
“This is what I meant by danger.”
“…A grey-backed field mouse?”
“That’s right.” The Divine Chosen effortlessly held up the struggling rodent, then naturally extended his long, fair fingers toward Nova. “Do you have water and a knife?”
“…”
The professor stared blankly as the other expertly gutted the unfortunate grey-backed mouse, stripped its fur and membranes, then used wind to control a glob of water to clean the innards, tossing all the waste down the mountain.
The scene reminded Nova once again of a fairy godmother—except this was the wilderness survival edition.
Soon, the now snow-white and tender mouse flesh sizzled over the fire, releasing a strangely pleasant aroma into the air. Nova’s stomach twisted in a sharp, greedy spasm—it had been a long time since he’d actually felt hungry.
He frowned, placing a hand over his abdomen and averting his gaze.
“It’s edible, don’t worry,” the other said gently, clearly misunderstanding his reaction. “Grey-backed field mice are herbivores—very clean. They taste pretty good too.”
Professor Brody replied with a frosty expression, “I don’t think this is the right time to be discussing the edibility of rodents.”
“You look pale. You need food.”
“That has nothing to do with you.”
Brushed off so directly, the Divine Chosen didn’t grow angry. He continued to gaze at the other with patient, calm, unwavering silence. Nova met his eyes for a moment, then finally drew in a restrained breath and removed one glove.
“…I’ll take a leg, thank you.”
He said it grudgingly.
Seeing his nemesis begin to eat, with a hint of warmth finally returning to that deathly pale face, Azukar resumed roasting the meat contentedly to keep it warm—and finally continued his explanation.
“Grey-backed field mice are a plague on this plateau. These little creatures are extremely attached to home. A mouse couple can produce five to eight pups each year, and the loving parents and elders won’t drive them away, even after they grow up. Not until the colony becomes too large to fit in the crevices or when food runs out. Then the whole clan migrates to claim new territory—no matter how many perish to the harsh environment or predators along the way, the swarm stays together.”
“But every so often, a strange mouse appears in the swarm,” the Divine Chosen’s voice grew quieter, and against the monotonous, blustery winds of the plateau, it took on an oddly eerie tone. “It separates from the group, ignoring the anxious calls of its kin, heading alone toward Mount Asachi—even if the others bite its legs off trying to stop it, it will still crawl, dragging itself toward its destination.”
“The closer you get to the snowy mountains, the harsher the conditions. Vegetation vanishes beneath ice and snow, leaving no food. Its only fate is death.” His voice now dropped to barely a whisper, yet perhaps carried on a subtle gust of wind, it still managed to worm its way into Nova’s ears. “Why does it do that? What does it hear? What is calling to its nut-sized brain from the depths of Mount Asachi? We still don’t know.”
“But once a single ‘pilgrim’ appears in the swarm, its suicidal behavior spreads like a plague,” the dreamlike voice continued to narrate. “It’s a grotesque and terrifying sight—greyish mice no longer hide in their deep burrows, but surge forth in waves across the landscape, marching toward the heart of the mountains, dying of cold and hunger along the way. The pilgrimage, fated to end in death, continues until only a dozen remain. Then, like waking from a dream, they finally scurry back into the rocks.”
“Professor,” that voice was now right beside his ear, “do you have any thoughts on this?”
“…Some kind of ultrasonic or infrasonic frequency?” Nova muttered around a mouthful of roasted mouse leg, frowning in thought. He shifted uncomfortably to the side—talking was fine, but why did he have to get so close? That unfamiliar breath tickling his ear was unbearably itchy.
“Perhaps.” The Divine Chosen straightened and returned to a normal speaking volume. “There is something deep inside Mount Asachi that emits sounds inaudible to humans. I never knew how to describe it before, but your ‘sonic’ interpretation makes sense—so, if we rashly set up ‘sonic weapons’ around it, would that provoke a response from it? A catastrophe none of us can foresee? That is what I meant by ‘danger.’”
“Your concern is valid. I was careless.” The professor admitted his mistake decisively. “But I still need to point something out.”
“Go ahead.”
“Please don’t communicate with me through stories in the future. It affects my efficiency in processing information.” He looked up and bluntly pointed out, his smoky-gray eyes practically spelling out, You talk too damn much.
The long-winded Divine Chosen: “……”
The professor stared at him for a moment, then suddenly had an epiphany. “Wait—I get it now. You were trying to scare me?”
The other sighed—deeply and helplessly—yet again. (Seriously, his sighing rate was clearly on the rise.) “Yes. Every time I tell that story, the kids in the tribe always end up bawling.”
Which, in turn, had an excellent safety education effect.
Azukar lowered his eyes, sliced off another mouse leg with his knife, and handed it to his nemesis. Watching the other accept it and start gnawing without hesitation, a faint smile flashed across his eyes—but it vanished almost immediately.
“Then let me be clear.” The Divine Chosen’s tone was calm, but a familiar sense of authority and pressure returned to him once again.
“No matter what—do not try to approach Mount Asachi. You will die.”
