Arc-6 Ch-07

"Falling into the Sky"

It sounds like the kind of nonsense a lunatic would babble, but there’s really no other way to describe it. Physically, it feels as though I’m floating, yet the altimeter insists the airship is still climbing.

Human senses are notoriously unreliable. You might think you’re walking straight ahead, only to discover you’ve been veering off course all along.

A veteran pilot once trusted only his eyes instead of instruments, and in doing so, crashed straight into a floating island. Died instantly. It’s the kind of tragedy that happens every few years, no matter which floating island you live on.

I grip the control stick tightly—not to steer, but to keep myself from collapsing.

Gradually, the floating sensation wrapping around my body begins to fade. A glance at the altimeter shows the needle slowing.

We’ve reached peak altitude, deep within the clouds. Everywhere I look—left, right, forward, behind—there’s nothing but a suffocating wall of white. Visibility couldn’t be worse.

And to top it off, the wind howls and rages, battering the ship and shaking it violently.

Even so, this vessel holds together. After all, it’s a custom-built airship, specially commissioned by the Roseblade family.

Thank you, Earl Roseblade. Thank you, Dorothea-san. As a token of my gratitude, feel free to flirt with my brother to your heart’s content—I won’t stop you. I estimate the destination by watching the clouds’ movement, cautiously steering against the flow of the wind.

Piloting an airship is a balancing act: how much you rely on experience, how much you trust your instruments.

Rely too much on instincts and neglect caution, and disaster is inevitable. Trust blindly in instruments without recognizing malfunctions, and you’re just as doomed.

So I inch forward slowly, carefully, almost as if I’m crawling.

Being overly cautious—that’s the Bartfort way. My way.

The dense, suffocating whiteness finally begins to thin. The storm subsides, the ship stops rattling. I push forward, never letting go of the control stick, bracing for the possibility of something appearing without warning.

And then suddenly—the view opens.

Sunlight pours down, dazzling, and the greenery of grass and trees floods my eyes. It’s here. It’s really here, right before me. I came all this way believing it existed, but deep down, I could never fully convince myself.

Now, confronted with it, I can’t hide my bewilderment. That dreamlike conversation I had—it was true.

Me, a king?

A reincarnator…?

What the hell kind of joke is that?

Part of me wanted to deny it outright. To dismiss it as nothing more than some childish fantasy from a late-blooming adolescence. But the reality before me doesn’t allow denial. This floating island exists. Which means the Lost Item hidden here must also exist.

A chill creeps down my spine before any joy can take hold. I’m just an ordinary man. Small-minded. The kind who’d be content with a quiet life, surrounded by a wife and kids. I’m no hero. I’m not someone destined to change the world. Being entrusted with something like this is nothing but trouble.

…But I made a promise, didn’t I?

And I can’t completely rule out the possibility that someone else might stumble upon this island one day. I have to be prepared for the worst. At the very least, I want to prevent the kingdom from falling into ruin like in that nightmare. Why am I breaking my back for no decent reward?

I deserve a damn medal. I haven’t told Angie about this, so I can’t consult her. And if she finds out, she’ll be furious—absolutely livid. So the best way to avoid that is to deal with this quickly and quietly. If I get the trouble out of the way now, maybe I’ll feel just a little better.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

I circle the floating island once from above. Ph

At its center towers an enormous tree, its massive roots sprawling across much of the surface. At a glance, it resembles the Sacred Tree of the Alzer Republic, though I can’t say for certain. Not far from the tree’s base, I spot the crumbling outer walls of an old structure. From here, it doesn’t look large—certainly not big enough to house airships.

“Underground, huh…”

The thought alone makes me groan. Exploring a buried dungeon alone feels like a death sentence.

I’ve prepared as best I could, but I’m not sure it will be enough. At most, I can spare a few days here. Maybe it’s smarter to treat this as a reconnaissance mission. For now, I bring the airship down toward a flat area not far from the ruins. The ground is overgrown with grass and shrubs, but it should be manageable for a landing.

Dropping lower, I carefully guide the ship down.

The sound of snapping vegetation cuts through the air like a scream, but I ignore it. Better this than hitting rocks I can’t see.

Once the ship touches down safely, I let out a deep sigh of relief and check my position.

I deliberately leave the ignition key in place.

No one’s around to steal it, and losing track of it in an emergency would be far scarier.

I step onto the deck and begin preparing my gear. Most of it was packed beforehand, but the island looks different from what I imagined.

As I finish unloading, I hear something.

Not insects buzzing. Not wings flapping.

A steady, high-pitched tone—mechanical. Artificial. Scanning the surroundings carefully, I spot it: a silver, disc-shaped object hovering near the ship.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

On reflex, I draw my small pistol and fire three quick shots.

Clang…

One connects, but it’s no decisive blow. The disc wobbles but stays aloft. I grab the rifle from the gear on deck and take aim. Before I can fire, movement catches my eye. From the woods, a silver humanoid figure emerges.

For a split second, I think it’s a person. But no.

It only resembles someone in armor. Moss and grass cover its shoulders and head.

More importantly, it has no lower body. Nothing below the waist—yet it floats closer, unimpeded.

Every instinct in me screams danger.

I shift my aim from the disc to the humanoid and squeeze the trigger.

Bang…!

The rifle cracks, the shot slamming into its chest—or maybe its neck. The thing staggers back.

But then it steadies itself and charges, moving even faster than before.

“No way…!”

This is bad. This is really bad.

Bullets not working? That’s just unfair.

Against armored infantry, sure, bullets might not penetrate, but the impact alone should at least stagger them.

But this? Getting faster after being hit? That’s outright cheating.

There has to be something—anything!

I know how to deal with people. I’ve hunted wild animals. But monsters? I’ve barely fought any. I have no idea what works. Then, my eyes fall on something: a gleaming black weapon.

On instinct, I snatch it up with both hands, turn toward the humanoid, and fire.

It’s already within a dozen steps. I align the sights and pull the trigger.

BOOM!

The recoil slams into me, my ears ringing, wrist flaring with pain. The humanoid collapses to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Ow, damn it!”

The large-caliber bullet ripped straight through its chest, leaving a gaping hole. My arm throbs, fingers numb from the recoil. Even for someone who trains regularly, it’s brutal.

“What the hell did that guy give me…?”

This monster of a pistol isn’t mine.

It’s a cutting-edge prototype developed by the Holfort Kingdom’s military tech division—sent to me by that muscle-brained Greg, who, for some reason, likes me.

It’s chambered for a caliber larger than standard pistols, and with special bullets, it can pierce even iron doors.

Hit a person with this and they’d be minced meat. It’s clearly not meant for human targets.

The recoil alone could injure the shooter.

Apparently Greg distributed them because he oversaw development, but only someone with serious strength and a sturdy build could handle firing it. Geniuses are a pain—they always use themselves as the baseline.

Still, it saved my life, so I can’t complain.

But as I turn toward the forest, despair grips me.

More of those humanoids are emerging—one, two, more still rustling in the trees.

“Give me a break…”

Why does it always turn out like this?

I could cry.

What did I even do?

Grinding my teeth, I channel frustration into resolve.

I reload the rifle with a fresh round—this time a magic-infused bullet.

Far superior to normal ones.

And worth a fortune. One magic bullet costs more than several boxes of standard ammo.

Three humanoids now stand before me, and the woods suggest more are coming.

“Damn it! Come at me, you rusty junk piles!”

The crack of gunfire and my shouts echo relentlessly across the clearing for a long time after.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Clank…

The last one finally stops moving, but I keep my sights fixed on the humanoid until I’m absolutely certain it’s dead.

Only when I confirm it’s completely still do I allow myself to exhale.

Seven humanoids and one disc—eight enemies down in total.

I approach cautiously, rifle ready, and inspect them for signs of life.

One way to distinguish monsters from animals is that monsters vanish after death. These don’t. Their remains remain, suggesting they’re not monsters at all.

Inside, their bodies are a tangled mess of metal chunks and wires—nothing I can make sense of.

Rather than monsters, they might be small-scale armors, or perhaps even Lost Items. If that’s the case, destroying them might have been wasteful. Collectors would likely pay handsomely for something like this.

Through trial and error, I’ve learned that the most effective ways to take them down are strong physical strikes or magic bullets imbued with lightning or fire.

One humanoid I shot with a fire round actually exploded, probably from some internal oil igniting. Effective, yes, but dangerous—I’ll need to be careful.

In a way, being attacked immediately after landing on this floating island might have been a stroke of luck.

If they’d come at me once I was out of ammo or explosives—or worse, deep inside a dungeon—the outcome would’ve been disastrous.

Since I can only carry so much, it’s smarter to prioritize lightning and fire bullets, stockpile the effective stuff, and avoid unnecessary fights whenever possible.

Once I finish inspecting the remains, I return to the airship to resume preparations.

Guns, ammunition, a sword, explosives, rations, water, a recording device, paper, pen, compass, lantern—the standard kit for an expedition.

I pack more magic bullets than ordinary ones, with lightning and fire attributes as the priority. I also include a set of special rounds for the oversized pistol.

For explosives, I take both standard and magic-enhanced charges.

The gear goes into a sturdy backpack. Weapons I strap at my waist or sling over my shoulder for easy access, while ammo and explosives are stored separately for safety.

Altogether, the load weighs about as much as a small adult. But back in the kingdom’s army, I trained with marches carrying loads equal to my own body weight. I’ve grown stronger since then—this much is manageable.

The straps dig into my shoulders, but it’s not so heavy that I can’t move freely. If this burden increases my chances of survival, it’s worth the price. Landing near the ruins was fortunate—it means I can navigate without getting lost.

Leaving the airship unattended is risky, but I can’t accomplish anything by staying put.

With a reluctant glance backward, I set out from the airship.

Step by step, rifle at the ready, I advance.

Clearing grass with a machete or sickle is something we did during staged marches to conserve strength. But with my weight and this pack, simply trampling the roots suffices.

Along the way, I encounter more humanoids and discs. I crouch low, holding my breath, letting them pass. Compared to when I led an infantry assault on a Principality of Fanoss facility, this feels far less perilous.

They attack if they spot me, but their detection is sloppy. They barely react to sound or light, and they don’t track footprints or obvious signs of passage. Most just patrol the same routes or stand fixed in place. When they block my path or spotting them is unavoidable, I have no choice but to fire.

Lightning bullets drop them instantly—two or three shots and they collapse, lifeless.

What’s more, they don’t raise an alarm when one of their own is destroyed. Others simply march past, oblivious.

They remind me of soldiers who follow orders blindly—or green recruits who lack awareness.

Since dungeons are often ancient ruins or tombs, these might be tomb guardians.

The thought gnaws at me: am I just a villain here, gunning them down so easily?

The guilt is sharp, lingering. At last, I reach the ruins. Checking my watch, the hour hand has circled twice. The distance wasn’t far in a straight line, but avoiding battles forced detours, and the thick overgrowth slowed me further.

I sit down, take out rations and a water bottle, and eat while surveying the ruins.

The surface is heavily damaged, vegetation having claimed most of it.

Never underestimate plants—given sunlight, water, and soil, they’ll sprout even from a tiny crevice.

Without maintenance, even a lived-in house crumbles within decades.

These ruins aren’t made of wood—stone or metal, I can’t be sure—but for a structure to decay this much, it must have stood for centuries, perhaps a thousand years. As for the interior, who knows what state it’s in. I spot what looks like an entrance and step inside.

Not far in, faint lights flicker to life.

The outer walls are in ruins, but the interior seems less overtaken by growth.

Still, the place is only marginally better than the collapsed sections—moss clings to the walls, and vines dangle from gaps in the ceiling.

I move carefully and find an open door. Steeling myself, I step inside.

The sight on the floor nearly rips a scream from my throat. A corpse. Long decayed, now nothing but a skeleton. Glancing around, I can’t tell what this room was for. I force myself closer to examine it.

Definitely human bones. I can’t identify the race, but from the jaw’s size and shape, I’d guess an adult male. The cause of death is unclear. No damage to the bones, so it likely wasn’t trauma.

His clothes are badly rotted from age. The bone’s coloration suggests this isn’t a recent death—fresh bones are… different.

“Enough. Stop there.”

My stomach twists as I recall unpleasant memories. During the war, I saw corpses with raw red flesh and stark white bone—those images are seared into me. With time, bones darken to brown or black.

The preservation here suggests the room was shielded from wind, rain, and extremes of temperature. While examining the body, my hand brushes against something not bone or fabric.

I carefully check the spot and find a small plate.

Metal? Or maybe resin?

Whatever it is, it’s distinctly out of place.

The man’s clothes are no different from what we wear today, but this plate is something alien.

It bears unfamiliar symbols—not the kingdom’s common script. Vertical lines, etched irregularly. In one corner, a faded picture—maybe a face.

Crafting something like this would demand advanced technology.

As I suspected, these ruins likely conceal Lost Items. Perhaps the entire complex is one.

“I’ll borrow this… please don’t curse me.”

I slip the plate into my pocket and bow my head to the corpse.

I’ve never been comfortable around the dead. Ghosts, though—they terrify me.

Even now, I still see the hateful eyes from my nightmares—whether hallucinations or spirits, I don’t know.

What I do know is that I deserve the hatred of those I’ve killed, and of their families.

Each time I find happiness, guilt resurfaces to smother it.

Shaking the feeling, I move on.

I sling the rifle and take out compass, paper, and pen, sketching a rough map of the ruins.

At corners, I mark stones, roots, and walls, adding them as landmarks.

After some time, I come across another door, this one closed. I want to explore as thoroughly as I can, but forcing it open by hand looks impossible.

Guns or explosives aren’t an option—I can’t waste supplies, and I don’t want to damage the ruin itself.

And if there are discs or humanoids inside, I’d be cornered. Looking closer, I spot a strange black panel blinking beside the door.

Its shape matches the plate I found earlier.

“No way…”

I hold the plate to the panel.

Beep!

A high-pitched tone, and the door slides open.

Seriously—what kind of mechanism is this?

At least I know now: the plate is a key.

Inside, the room is larger than the last.

The walls are lined with boxes filled with small cylinders. Shelves hold several bottles, though they’re all empty.

In the center: another corpse. No—two of them. They sit on what appears to be a sofa, leaning against each other.

Lovers? Siblings? Parent and child? I can’t tell.

But it’s clear they faced their final moments together. I bow my head in silent prayer before disturbing them, guilt twisting in my chest. I’m really not cut out for this.

Every time I touch a corpse, fear and remorse threaten to crush me. Sometimes I just want to break down and cry. Another plate is found. I bow again before leaving the room. From there, the process repeats.

I walk, map, open doors, investigate rooms, and store anything that might be worth keeping. The deeper I venture into the ruins, the less overgrowth there is compared to the entrance and outer areas. The corridors and walls of the rooms become progressively cleaner the further I go.

But with that change comes another—the deeper I descend, the more discs and humanoids I encounter.

I’ve managed to hide and slip past most of them, sometimes forced into combat, but somehow, I’m still alive.

One thing I’ve noticed while fighting these discs and humanoids is that they hesitate for a brief moment when I appear before them. They freeze, as though trying to confirm something, and only after that pause do they start attacking. Striking first during that moment of stillness gives me a decisive advantage.

Maybe they mistake me for a resident of these ruins, causing them to falter.

Exploiting that hesitation to raid this place feels underhanded. A cowardly trick. I really am a despicable knight.

Sometimes I hit dead ends. Other times, the facility is partially collapsed. Occasionally, I find myself looping back to my starting point. After repeating this cycle countless times, the first day finally comes to an end.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Waking from a nap in one of the ruin’s rooms, I check the time. I must’ve been more exhausted than I realized—about eight hours have passed.

I get up, stretch thoroughly, then eat some portable food while drinking water. Afterward, I check both my condition and inventory.

Today, I’ll head to the underground entrance I found yesterday. If something’s going to happen, it’ll be there.

After finishing preparations, I descend the stairs leading underground. The lights here are off.

Looks like I’ll need a light source from this point on. I ignite the lantern and hang it from my waist as I proceed.

Living creatures instinctively fear the dark. As I move forward, keeping one hand against the wall, I can’t shake the illusion of something unseen watching me.

The echo of my footsteps is annoyingly loud. I can tell how tense I am.

I reach what at first seems like a dead end—but it isn’t. Before me stands a massive metal door, several times my own height.

Inspecting it by lantern light, I spot a black panel. When I hold the small plate against it, the door begins to open with a low rumble.

Clank… Creak…

The sound of metal grinding against metal is like the growl of some great beast.

The moment I step through the massive doorway into the chamber beyond, my pulse spikes at the bizarre sight before me.

“What the hell is this…?”

What lies ahead is a gigantic metal ship.

Airships the size of small towns are lined up inside the vast chamber.

No—this isn’t a chamber. It’s a hangar.

The space is so immense I can’t even see its far corners from the entrance. Could this entire floating island be one gigantic hangar?

The airships within are unlike any I’ve seen. Their designs don’t even resemble those in the latest airship catalogs.

But they’ve been neglected for ages. Their hulls are rusted, covered in moss and vines.

Some are in such poor shape their hulls have split wide open, exposing their gutted interiors.

“Guess my hopes are slim, huh?”

That’s fine. At least I’ve fulfilled my duty.

I’ve accomplished what I came here to do. Now I can return home, play with the kids, finish some paperwork, take a bath, and collapse into bed.

I’ll zip back to Angie, report that this troublesome job is done, and retreat to the Bartfort territory.

The capital’s endless drama can rot—I’ll live a simple, quiet life. That’s what I tell myself, yet my feet keep moving forward of their own accord.

“Hey, stop it.”

“Please, just stop.”

I desperately want to turn back, but curiosity and an inexplicable urgency drive my body onward.

“No, I don’t want to see it.”

“This is way beyond me.”

Still, I keep walking—deeper, and deeper—into the hangar. Even as I pass the hulks of decayed airships hundreds, even thousands of times larger than myself, my steps don’t falter.

At last, I reach what looks like a wall.

For a brief moment, relief washes over me—until I realize it isn’t a wall.

It’s a smooth, curved something, distinct from the airships around it.

Even though moss and vines cling to its surface, its hull remains pristine, without a single spot of rust.

Its presence is so overwhelming, so out of place, that my brain struggled at first to even register it.

It’s like lumping a crude stone axe together with a masterfully forged sword under the same label of “weapons.”

This vessel, stripped of all excess and honed for a single, absolute purpose, radiates a beauty both terrifying and sublime.

It’s so far beyond any airship I’ve ever known that I couldn’t even recognize it at first.

It was here all along.

The sole survivor in this graveyard of rotting airships.

“Ha… haha. Hahahahaha!”

It takes me a moment to realize the laughter echoing in the hangar is coming from my own throat. Now it all makes sense. How I became a king in another world. How I conquered nations.

“You idiot…!”

What have I awakened?

There are things in this world you should never, ever touch. And this—this is the worst of them all, don’t you understand?

How much blood was spilled for this?

How many lives were sacrificed so that you could become king?

Nausea churns in my gut, and a splitting headache pounds behind my eyes.

To think another version of me used this to become king?

Of course he did.

I recall the nightmare—the airship annihilating the Holfort Kingdom’s forces in an instant.

And now, faced with the reality that the gates of hell lie open before me, my knees give out, and I collapse to the floor.

I’d rather be ordered to charge headlong into the Principality of Fanoss’s army again than stand before this.

I’d stand better odds naked in front of a hundred lit cannons.

The overwhelming gap—like that between a human and an insect—leaves me trembling in terror. I don’t even know what the tears streaming down my face mean as I sob silently. I don’t know how long I cried.

But what finally rose in my chest was an intense sense of duty. This thing cannot be allowed into the world. If it ever activates, the blood spilled won’t be in the thousands, or even tens of thousands—it could easily consume entire nations.

I must stop it from moving—or destroy it, so that it never can.

But how?

The explosives I brought wouldn’t even scratch its hull. Should I get help?

No. Anyone confronted with this kind of power would lose their ability to think rationally.

That’s why I came alone. Seeking help would defeat the entire purpose.

For now, I’ll document everything—take photos, gather detailed information, and postpone action until later.

I pull the camera from my backpack and begin shooting. As I work to capture as much of the area as possible, a strange unease prickles at me.

“Is the airship… moving?”

No way. Peering through the lens, I see the lower section of the airship shift.

Vrrrrrr… Vrrrrrr… Vrrrrrr…

A discordant, brain-rattling noise reverberates through the hangar. Red lights begin flashing.

This is bad—my instincts scream that something catastrophically bad is unfolding.

I scramble to escape, but the massive entrance door begins sliding shut.

No matter how fast I run, I’ll never make it in time.

Turning back toward the airship, I see a section of its hull open like a door. From within, a steel-colored, humanoid figure emerges.

It resembles the humanoids I’ve fought, but this one is far larger—like a small suit of armor.

The machine turns its head toward me, now cornered in a life-or-death situation.

Its cold, merciless mechanical eyes lock onto me with the sole purpose of ending my life.

“—Intruder detected. Eliminate. Eliminate.”

The voice I’ve heard countless times in my nightmares now declares its intent to kill me.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳

Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

Leon’s Perspective Begins

The depiction of the facility where Luxion sleeps is drawn from a composite of the web novel, light novel, manga, and anime versions, each of which contains slight differences. (The light novel served as the primary reference.)

The robot battles in the ruins were also adapted. The reason Leon defeats the security robots so easily is due to the vast level difference: in the original, Leon was only 14–15 years old with little combat experience, whereas in this story, he’s in his twenties with extensive military training.

Luxion taking the initiative here stems from Leon defeating more security robots and spending longer exploring the ruins compared to the original.

It’s like trying to clear a DLC dungeon blind on the first attempt—brutally unforgiving.

Addendum: At the client’s request, illustrations of Angelica were drawn by freedomexvss and vierzeck, and an illustration of Dorothea was drawn by yamame. Thank you very much.

freedomexvss: Pixiv

vierzeck: Pixiv

yamame: Pixiv (Note: adult content warning)

I’d be grateful for any opinions or feedback to keep me motivated moving forward.