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Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (124/?) Revised Version 1
🕑 Added 2025-04-12 17:39:38 +0000 UTCAuthor’s Note: Hey everyone! There’s only been a few changes in this one but as always I do suggest you guys give it another read through! :D Some of the more notable changes include my small addition in the section where Emma goes through the motorcycle printing timeline with the EVI, to better convey the fact that she’s already gotten it started back at the dorms before leaving for Rila and Sorecar! :D Speaking of Sorecar, I also decided to add a bit more flair to his visuals in the scene where he first sees the hologram of Emma’s motorcycle! :D Aside from that, there’s the typical grammar corrections, alongside some rephrasing of certain sections to improve with the flow of the chapter and the meaning I wanted conveyed by the characters! :D That’s about it this time around! As always, all of the revised sections are highlighted with an underline to easily see what’s been revised! :D
Author’s Note 2: I’ve also attached the PDF and EPUB versions of this chapter, since Patreon is still working on a solution for the recent formatting bug! :D
Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 29, Living Room. Local Time: 1725 Hours.
Etholin
My ears rang and my whole body tensed.
My breath heightened, as did the vertigo that threatened my balance.
My arms felt constrained and my lungs felt constricted as the serpent in front of me barreled insult after insult straight to my face, ignoring every word of reason and offer of reconciliation that I gave.
“I’m trying my best to—”
“NO YOU AREN’T!”
“I’m really just—”
“OH, ARE YOU REALLY?!”
“I have the group’s best interests—”
“NO, YOU DON’T!”
I eventually reached a breaking point. I couldn’t hear Ilphius anymore — just shrieking. As a sharp ringing in my ears turned her words into distant and unintelligible shouts.
She was a force of nature, and I just couldn’t—
“Ilphius, that’s enough.” The slick-scaled Teleos finally interjected, positioning himself between me and the steaming serpent.
“So you’ve finally decided to choose sides—?!”
“No, I’ve finally decided that I simply cannot tolerate your incessant whining.” He hissed out. “Because despite your grandiose insistence on making a positive contribution for the group, all I’ve seen you do is yap, whine, scream, shout, and complain. I’ve waited ten entire minutes to see where your yelling was headed, but instead of it leading to something profound as you’ve promised, you’ve only managed to go around in circles. If anything, you’ve proven only to be capable of venting your own frustrations and little else.” The man was on the offensive, tearing the serpent down piece by piece, and yet throughout it all, his voice had surprisingly raised little.
Ilphius on the other hand… simply stopped, going still following Teleos’ calm and controlled ‘outburst’, her eyes narrowing with her focus now squarely placed on the merfolk’s static gaze.
This didn’t dissuade the man from continuing his assault, however, as he went in for a closing statement.
“So instead of actively contributing anything, you’re now actively taking away from what little our group has left.”
“And what exactly am I taking away—”
“Cohesion, or at least the illusion of it.” The man spoke through a gravelly, heavily accented voice. “This is not to say that I believe this group had any chance at success to begin with.” He acknowledged bluntly. “Not with your hot-headed and short-fused temperament—” He began, quite literally pointing out Ilphius, before turning to me. “—your ineffectual leadership and milquetoast demeanor—” The man dug into me with the same cold vigor, before pausing and shifting his gaze towards what seemed to be an empty spot on the couch. “—and your practical nonexistence.” He seethed for a moment, letting out a sigh more directed towards himself than anything. “Pun unintended.”
“Well… I for one appreciated the pun, Lord Teleos Lophime.” A shrill yet throaty voice echoed from the dimpled couch seat as the perpetually truant fourth member of our dysfunctional company finally made himself known.
Baron Kamil Lyonn, formerly absent from most of the week’s classes, at long last became visible to the naked eye. The process of this… decloaking, was as bizarre as it was novel to most adjacent realmers, and even certain Nexians.
It all started with his silhouette, as the edges and contours of his body suddenly popped from the background of wherever it was he stood or sat. From there, the effect traveled inwards towards his core, akin to an artist coloring and shading in said silhouette. To extend that metaphor further, his colors started off muted, off-palette, almost akin to an unenchanted painting that had been left exposed to the sun for far too long. Then suddenly, and without warning, this sun-bleached color palette exploded in the opposite direction. With a whole host of vibrant colors and textures coming to dominate the progressing canvas before finally settling into his natural green, yellow, and tan colors.
His clothes followed the same trend, owing to the magical aspect of this predominantly physical trait.
In a rare moment of group solidarity, all of us narrowed our eyes towards our peer-in-absentia, the man simply shrugging in response at all of the sudden attention.
“What? I enjoy puns. We consider it to be an extension of the oratory artform in my realm. I can’t help it if all of you are simply too savage and uncouth to appreciate such a storied—”
“That’s not the point, Baron Lyonn.” Teleos sighed out in frustration, eliciting a playfully pouty expression from the ever-absent Baralonrealmer.
“You’re no fun.” The man whispered out, crossing his arms in the process.
“These interactions simply prove my point further…” Teleos spoke disapprovingly, regaining the reins of the conversation. “Our group is never meant to win.” He proclaimed bluntly. “Given the makeup of our pod and the dysfunctional dynamics and personalities within, we are… for all intents and purposes, meant to win what we are offered but lose at whatever challenges we face.”
“A self-fulfilling defeatist prophecy.” Ilphius humphed out. “Though what else could I have expected from a noble of the lesser merfolk?”
Teleos, thankfully, did not succumb to her goading, as he simply stood up and began walking towards one of the many windows lining the living room.
“You should stop floundering like a fry who’s lost its shoal, Lady Ilphius. It is unbecoming of your station.” The man breathed out, adjusting his cloak in the process. “To those ends, I simply direct you to our pod.” Teleos spoke plainly. “My conclusions are founded on reality and in acceptance of what is, for all intents and purposes, an admission of our limitations.” The man’s voice grew increasingly hoarse and gravelly by the second, prompting him to make his way towards a tray of perpetually iced refreshments… drinking the whole jug in a matter of seconds. “Who among you believe yourselves to be capable of fighting that newrealmer beast, hm?”
I shuddered at that thought whilst Lyonn merely shrugged. It was Ilphius, however, who seemed poised to respond, only to slink back into the couch once she actually gave it some thought.
“Precisely my point. Which leads me to the dismissal of your argument, Lady Ilphius.” The man took a seat opposite of the fuming noble. “Lord Etholin is well within his rights to move forward with this… offer from Lord Ping. It is, in every conceivable fashion, the one and only chance we have to dig ourselves out of this mess.”
“And in so doing, we will be digging ourselves a hole of social debt to the most volatile Sovereign-to-be within our year group.” Ilphius countered sharply.
“You wish to win, do you not, Lady Ilphius?” Baron Lyonn offered with a smirk. “Lord Teleos here is merely offering you a more palatable perspective on our dear Lord Esila’s actions as peer leader.”
Ilphius went silent again after that jab, prompting me to stand up and to finally take charge.
“I… wish to make something very clear to everyone.” I began as stoically as I could given the situation. “My decision to accept Lord Ping’s offer — nay, my decision to stand against Lord Rularia’s group — was made with all of you in mind.” I enunciated my words, steadied my cadence, and attempted to bring back order and civility to this chaos.
“I understand that recent events have given cause for doubt in my leadership. But let me be absolutely clear — I stand for our group, first and foremost. Every step I’ve taken, including the decision to preserve our right to quest, was a calculated one. A public statement to show that I will not allow our merited rights to be relinquished by mere request.” I paused, taking a moment to meet the gaze of everyone present. “Even if that means we must embroil ourselves in contests, duels, or whatever else is necessary to maintain our dignity.”
I puffed up my chest at the end of that speech.
Though despite my best efforts, I seemed to have only elicited a raised brow from the likes of Baron Lyonn, a dismissive cold shoulder from Ilphius, and the departure of Lord Teleos towards the front door.
“L-lord Teleos, where are you going? It isn’t dinner yet! D-did I say something to—”
“No, Lord Esila. You’ve made your stance known and I appreciate your efforts.” The man responded in a tired, yet earnest tone of voice.
“Then where are you—”
“He’s headed to the one place he truly cares about here, to visit the one thing that matters to him, beyond grades, social standing, and yes, even beyond us — his peers.” Ilphius spat out, her features scrunching up in the process. “Go on then, be with your hopeless venture.”
The man, in a rare display of emotion, turned back towards Ilphius with two eyes filled with restrained fury. “You know nothing, Lady Ilphius.”
SLAM!
=====
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Healing Wing. Local Time: 17:45 Hours.
Emma
Rila, as it turns out, was actually turning out to be pleasant company.
Because after successive days of visits — and more care packages than she knew what to do with — our conversations began to drift into topics far too casual or off-topic to broach as strangers.
We didn’t just chat about pertinent topics anymore, or issues related to our respective predicaments.
Instead, we started chatting about… literally anything.
Discussions drifted from serious issues of Rila’s immediate future to what could only be described as a barely coherent stream of consciousness connected only by the frailest of threads or absolutely none at all.
It was in these conversations that I managed to actually lose myself a little bit, relaxing in a bubble disconnected from what felt like the insanity of the outside world.
More than that, though, it was through Rila that I managed to catch a real glimpse at the world outside of the Academy’s walls.
Something not only invaluable for the quest ahead, but likewise for the seemingly unending list of research objectives issued by the social science departments back home.
“Just one sit-down interview with a Nexian local can jumpstart the careers of an entire class of grad students.” I recalled one of the scientists desperately pleading his case to me.
In fact, the entire social science department came out in droves in the days leading up to portal-day, each one of them with some last minute optional requests for me to carry through to the other side.
Some of those requests were slowly checking themselves off with each visit, and a handful were even addressed today.
So in a way, I considered these visits something of a working vacation — a half hour reprieve from the chaos that awaited me outside of the healing wing’s walls. Though frankly, even these visits couldn’t match the real downtime back at the dorm, as despite the constant workflow demanded from the tent and its various experiments, it was the presence of allies forged in fire that really gave me a deeper sense of reprieve.
Speaking of which…
“Right.” I steadied myself through a muted mic. “EVI?”
“Yes, Cadet Booker?”
“Let’s get to work. Do you have the bike’s condensed production schedule ready to go?”
“Affirmative. Request for Condensed Production Timeline completed. Displaying Fabrication and Assembly Schedule for the AT2WV now.”
The production timeline was divided into two main columns: Time to Print and Time to Assembly. With each having rows divided up into the various components arranged by order of operational priority, beginning with the most critical components required for the bike to function.
“Right, the motors and drivetrain.” I muttered out, my eyes looking through the excruciatingly tight schedule. “You couldn’t squeeze it into anything less than a day, huh?”
“Affirmative.”
I opened up the drop-down menu for the motor, unleashing the Bill of Materials. Which, while not excessive, was still a decent enough size to give me pause for thought.
But that wasn’t why the whole process was going to take a while.
Because hidden beneath a set of ‘View Only’ menu options were two greyed-out columns titled QA Testing, and within those were a litany of unskippable protocols baked into every step of the printing and assembly pipeline.
Integrity checks… Calibrations… Diagnostics… Structural Verification… Stress testing…
Literally everything you could imagine.
All of which were untouchable. All of them hidden. All for good reason.
Because the engineers back at home didn’t want field operators to be messing around with critical production processes — the kind that could make the difference between life or death.
“Yeah, that’s why it’s going to take a while.” I sighed out, before shifting my attention towards the small progress bar that had already started its arduous race towards completion. “Thank god I already got the ball rolling on that front.”
“Affirmative.”
“Right, moving on…”
I began scrolling through the next row, eyeing up the ETA of both the printing and assembly times.
“Chassis and frame — one day due to its size. Tires — one day because of curing and chemistry-related shenanigans. The rims — one day as well.”
I quickly shifted my gaze to the overarching timeline the EVI had come up with. A timeline which showed just how down to the wire we were with the assembly of this bike.
“We’d be missing most of the bodywork, huh?” I noted.
“Affirmative. Output reflects parameters set by Operator’s deadline restraints. Vehicle Viability Assessments reflect the order of production based upon priority and critical—”
“With the bodywork not really something that’s vital to vehicle operation, yeah, makes sense. But still… I gotta outsource some things to Sorecar. I’m thinking the external bodywork would be perfect for him, honestly. For starters, there’s nothing sensitive in there that can be extracted given it’s literally just bent and folded metal. Plus, we’d be saving on metal from the wealth cube in the process!”
“Affirmative.”
“Honestly, depending on how things go with Sorecar, I might just ask if we could have him do the rims too since those are also kinda basic and—”
Bzzt!
[Collision Alert.]
[A74 LORD TELEOS LOPHIME]
I stopped in my tracks, barely avoiding the scaled man as he exited a neighboring hallway.
Though no accident had yet taken place the man seemed to regard our proximity as something significant enough to warrant addressing, as he crossed his arms before proceeding to look me up and down with a raised brow ridge.
“You come here often, don’t you?” He started up abruptly, beginning the first conversation we had since we first caught glimpses of each other in the healing wing at the start of the week.
“I could say the same to you, Lord Teleos.” I replied plainly, matching his mildly confrontational tone.
The man’s eyes narrowed at that, as he took a step closer towards me. “If you were anything but a newrealmer, I would have suspicions over your intent. Though by that same reasoning, it is suspicious in and of itself that a newrealmer would have made the healing wing of all places their regular haunt.”
“I’m just visiting a friend, Lord Teleos—” I responded with a nonchalant shrug. “—plain and simple.”
That response clearly didn’t placate the man though, which prompted me to pull a page out of the escalation handbook. “The way I see it, suspicion goes both ways. So I'd rather mind my own business, and you mind yours.”
That one line seemed to be exactly what was needed for Teleos’ speech check as he actually relented, taking a step back and nodding.
“An acceptable compromise.” He nodded deeply. “Though I must say… I wish this mindset was applied equitably when it came to you and your actions.”
I had two ways I could play things off at that point. I could either just walk away and disregard him entirely, or take the bait and see what he had to say.
While the first option was appealing, there was one thing preventing me from commiting to it — the fact that Teleos was Etholin’s peer.
There was… a lot brewing beneath the surface of that group to say the least, and I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t have anything to do with it.
This was perhaps as good of an opportunity as any to begin setting things straight. To try my hand at mending relations by putting my best foot out to the more reasonable member of Etholin’s group.
So, with a sigh, I took the man’s bait.
“Lord Teleos, I understand you might not currently have the best impressions of me. However, I want to make it clear that I’ve never meant any harm or ill will to your group. If anything, I just want what anyone else here wants. To get through the school year, to learn what there is to learn, and most importantly, to forge bonds with those willing to take my hand in friendship.”
The man’s eyes never once flinched, nor betrayed any emotion other than a calm, neutral sort of apathy towards my words.
That was, until I finally finished talking. At which point his features revealed a startling degree of tired dissatisfaction. “Yes, yes, newrealmer. You’ve made your stance clear to all during the emergency assembly.”
I raised my brow at that, surprised not by that reminder, but the fact the man had actually taken that speech to heart.
“And to be perfectly clear, I have no qualms with you personally nor your intended mission.” He took a breath, reaching for his forehead. “The problem, however, arises when our two paths cross and your bold and boisterous bullheadedness comes to disrupt the predictable stability of Academy proceedings.”
“I mean, I can’t really control the course of events, Lord Teleos. It’s not like I could’ve predicted that we’d be tied today, nor could I have known that this would be the way Professor Belnor picked out groups for the quest.” I offered politely.
“No, you couldn’t have, but that is beside the point.” The man’s frustrations grew, though not nearly as quickly as Ilunor or Ilphius. “You had, within your hands, the choice of forfeiture.” He stated clearly. “And yet you stayed the course, refusing to relinquish your right to quest.”
I allowed those words to hang in the air, as it was now my turn to cross my arms. “I was well within my rights to do so. It was an opportunity, and a right presented to me by virtue of our group points. You’re blaming me for the situation when all I did was exercise a right.”
The man took a moment to pause, letting out a tired sigh as he gestured for me to follow, pointing at the setting ‘sun’ as a subtle way to indicate the rapidly approaching dinner.
“Let me ask you a few things, newrealmer. You seem like the type to care little for the greater social games of the Academy, correct?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” I answered, choosing to play along for now.
“And I assume that extends to your aspirations to become Class Sovereign?”
“Correct. I made my disinterest clear to Qiv and Ping when they were on their floats.”
The man nodded, moving on to his next question. “So do you have any aspirations to become the highest-scoring group, house, or anything of the sort?”
“Again, no.”
We finally reached what was effectively the emptiest part of the spindly hallway connecting the healing wing to the rest of the Academy.
It was here that Teleos made his point clear.
“Then why are you doing this? You have nothing to gain from this quest, but all to lose from refusing forfeiture.” The man spoke matter of factly.
“I simply want to see the Nexus and all that it has to offer, Lord Teleos. I mentioned that earlier, didn’t I? How I’m here to learn all there is to learn? What better teacher is there than the mother of all teachers — experience herself.”
Teleos blinked rapidly at that answer, his features curdling into disbelief, confusion, and everything in between.
“I guess the old adages are true. True naivety still lives and breathes in the mind of a newrealmer.” He spoke through a breathy chuckle, though not a derisive one.
Plausible deniability. I smiled to myself. It’s better to be perceived as a dumb tourist, than to attract unwanted suspicion for the real reasons behind our stake in the flower quest.
“Allow me to give you a word of advice, newrealmer.” Teleos spoke up once more after recovering from that palpable pause in thought. “While I now understand your… intentions, this doesn’t detract from a pressing issue actively plaguing you and your group. It is because of this that I highly suggest you throw tomorrow’s fight.”
This definitely took me off guard, as I took a moment to stop in our tracks once more. “What? Just so you guys can take the right to quest? Listen Lord Teleos, if you wanted to request that I give up, you can just say it. I don’t need to go the long way round just to reach—.”
“You misunderstand my intentions, newrealmer… I’m only advising you on this path, out of good faith. Because given your stated intentions, this is the only logical path I see towards restoring balance to your social station.”
It was at that moment that it clicked, and the man’s intentions now wandered between self-serving and utilitarian.
“Believe me, Lord Teleos. If you’re worried about Lord Ping, then don’t be. I—”
“Your naivety must know its bounds, newrealmer.” The man interrupted once more. “Please consider the following — by losing the fight, you will be paying the man his dues. The social recompense which you incurred over the incident with the library card and your victory in physical education. By losing this challenge, you would be making it right by him, by acknowledging defeat and mending relations—”
“But why?” I interrupted. “I don’t owe the man anything. For starters, the library card incident was precipitated by him. And second, the physical education challenge was one issued between the both of us. It was a challenge — fair and square.”
This answer… once more seemed to perplex Teleos, as he shook his head in response.
“But you do, newrealmer. You stated how you wish not to be involved in Sovereign affairs. You claim to not have any vested interests in competing for a higher station. This is why you must return that which you’ve taken from a man occupying said station. To put it simply, you’ve wronged a better, newrealmer. Thus, an equal and reciprocal action must be taken to make amends.”
I had no words.
Sure, Thacea, Thalmin, and even Ilunor had mentioned this time and time again. But the way the man explained it put a new spin on it that just felt so… oppressive.
What’s more, this was coming from a man who — at least by Nexian standards — didn’t come off as particularly haughtier or standoffish. If anything, he was being as frank as could be throughout all of this.
Which just made the whole thing even worse.
“So even if he started it, it would’ve been better if I rolled over—”
“What’s done is done, but recompense must always be paid. Nexian convention insists upon it, newrealmer.”
I took a deep breath, looking into the man’s eyes that betrayed no sense of malice, but only a sense of genuine bluntness.
That in and of itself was perhaps worse than any look of enmity or hostility. As it betrayed the normalization of this entire system.
=====
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Armorer’s Workshop. Local Time: 1940 Hours.
Emma
There was one place where the rot of the Nexus was at least not as apparent.
Cleansed by the flesh-searing steam of the underground manufactorium and the roaring furnaces of the first-floor workshop was a man who seemed far too jovial to even exist in the same reality as Teleos.
Though frankly, it was probably because he’d lived through enough eternities in it to simply not care.
“Ah! Cadet Emma Booker! Please, please! Make yourself comfortable!” The boisterous and echoey voice bellowed from deep within the armor, eliciting a small smile as I stood just behind him, watching as he pieced together the finishing touches on the very armor I’d accidentally shot at on that fateful first week.
“You always seem to pick juuust the right time to visit. A thematic presence is one that beckons greatness, you know?” He pointed out the amusing coincidence, humming a tune to reinforce that notion as I watched his dexterous hands cobble together a ludicrous-looking pauldron shaped in the form of an oversized wing. “Not my best work, mind you. It’s a custom commission by the lesser of two Midland dukes. He wishes to enhance his silhouette by adding larger-than-life elements to his smaller stature. I wouldn’t say I necessarily agree with the taste behind the design, but I most certainly do admire the intent behind it!” He chuckled boisterously.
“So! What brings you here to my eternal abode?” He finally turned to face me, his faceplate rising in a show of high-energy optimism.
“Oh, well, two reasons really. One, I wanted to see what you wanted to talk about earlier.”
The man paused, the visor of his helmet rising and falling, as if in an attempt to convey equal parts confusion and thinking effort.
“Erm, you mentioned back on Wednesday, remember? When I asked you for a permission slip for town?”
“Ah, yes! Yes yes yes!” He snapped his fingers, sparks of fizzling magic and grinding metal echoing throughout the room at ear-splitting decibels.
A part of me subconsciously assumed it was to root out any would-be spies who might’ve snuck past the golems. Ilunor’s first week escapades bringing back fond memories.
“Right! I remember giving you that invitation!” He remarked brightly.
“Alrighty—”
“But I don’t necessarily recall what in particular it was my invitation was about!” He interjected, not necessarily deflating my expectations, but certainly causing me to pause on the spot.
“Oh.”
“Such things happen; alas, I am sure I’ll remember soon!” He beamed. “Oh! Right! I do remember one pertinent topic!”
“Go on, Sorecar?”
“Have you seen Larial around recently?”
This definitely caught me off guard, as I shook my head in response.
“I’m afraid we’re both in the dark on that particular issue, professor.”
“Ah. Well, it was worth asking. Though one pertinent issue precedes another — have you met an elf donning a particularly well-adorned set of gold armor recently?”
That definitely caught me even more off guard, as I stuttered out a response.
“Y-yeah—”
“Where.” The man interjected, his happy-go-lucky attitude fading sharply for just that one moment.
“In the apprentice tower.”
“...the one where students are forbidden to dwell? Though, I suppose there are many uncountable places that students are forbidden to dwell—” He paused, cutting himself off. “In any case… I’d have preferred the answer to both of those questions to have been reversed.” The man went silent for a moment, placing a hand on my shoulder for emphasis. “Emma Booker, I need to make one thing very clear. I want you to avoid any more encounters with this individual if you can help it.”
“Understood, professor.” I responded affirmatively, garnering a soft sigh from the man.
“Let’s move on to your second reason for visiting me now, shall we?” He managed out, prompting me to reach for my tablet, placing it on one of the tables.
“So you know about the whole flower quest thing, right?”
“The Quest for the Everblooming Blossom?”
“Yeah, that one. Well, given the fact that I’m unable to interface with magical conveyances and the fact that the armor is far too heavy for most animals, I’m actually working on a little project to help bring me up to speed, so to speak.” I offered vaguely. “Are you familiar with horseless carriages, golem horses, and monotreaders?”
“May as well ask if I know how to breathe. Then again… I do not.” The man followed along intently, chuckling and placing both of his elbows on the table in front of us.
“Well… since we’re severely lacking in mana back home, necessity and adversity has forced us to innovate our own takes on horseless carriages and golem horses.”
“Horses and beasts of burden just weren’t good enough, were they?” The man egged me on.
“Nope, not at all. And given we had no source of mana, we instead were forced to innovate through lightning and steel, instead of mana and iron.” I paused, bringing up a holographic projection of the beast in question. “This is what I’m planning to build.”
I could count the milliseconds it took for Sorecar’s mind to crumble and reassemble, and despite lacking a face to emote with, his flapping visor, trembling armor plates, and cacophonous jittering was just about as good as a shocked expression.
The man began crab-walking around the table, his eyes leveled with the tablet, as he moved with a hunched-over back and wide-legged stance around the projected hologram.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 140% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
His visor was practically — and literally — beaming with bedazzlement, poking through the grid-like light of the screen at certain points, as he held his nonexistent breath all the while moving to get just the right angle at the bike.
“The combination of sharp curves and rounded edges, this… intestine-like collection of metal in its interior, the ergonomics made for an elf, but built with the focus of an otherworldly mind…” He muttered out to himself, before pulling back to his full height, his visor dimming as he turned to me.
“All of this…” He paused, gesturing not only at the projection, but the bike itself. “... is manaless?”
“Yup! So I was meaning to ask—”
“Then I’m afraid all of it is impossible, Cadet Emma Booker.” He tsked dismissively.
This took me complete off-guard, as my mouth widened in shock at both the logical and emotional disconnect here. “W-what?”
“Well, does it or does it not have mana, Cadet Emma Booker?”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Well then it doesn’t exist.”
“But I can assure you, it does exist, Sorecar.” I urged, lifting the tablet to point at this supposed ‘impossibility’.
“Nono, I assure you, Cadet Emma Booker, that it does not.” The man insisted, his voice becoming more jocular by the moment.
It was then, and only then, that I finally got it.
And his attitude finally made sense.
“Oh, you know what Sorecar? I think you’re right.” I started playing along, garnering a series of insistent head bobs from the man as he gestured to the holographic projection.
“As we all know, manaless means simply cannot achieve any of the processes you are suggesting, Cadet Emma Booker. However! I am a man who loves a good story. So how about we discuss the story of this fantastical means of conveyance?”
Comments
Owyou Shotme
Can't help but love Sorecar chapters, he's such a fun character.
Michael Halpern
he probably suspected it when they met
UC-79
"The ergonomics made for an elf" He's close, if he doesn't suspect it already.
