I fed the alchemy formula in my head into the calculation core. The magic circuits engraved on Astaroth’s frame activated, glowing crimson in the night. A red alchemy circle appeared in its mechanical palm. Intermediate healing potions required two ingredients the basic ones didn’t: ebony root and crimson grass. Luckily, whenever I went herb-gathering, I picked up every herb I came across, so I had both in stock. I placed the ingredients from my item box in the mechanical hand and started the alchemy program. Red arcs of light flickered between its metal fingers. To the hunters’ astonishment, nine intermediate healing potions took shape, bottles and all, arranged in a neat square in the center of its palm.
“Faenda,” I said through my voice changer. “Give these intermediate healing potions to the seriously wounded.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you very much.”
Faenda, who usually loved putting on airs, actually dropped to one knee with unusual deference before taking the intermediate healing potions. I had a lot of confidence in my alchemy. At the very least, I ought to be able to make silver-grade potions, right? Watching the seriously wounded recover as the potions took effect, I finally let out the breath I’d been holding. People were bound to die in a war, but the right tactics could minimize the casualties. It was my duty as a front-line commander to carry out my superiors’ orders with sound tactics, and today, I’d done my duty well.
Ding-dong!
A chime sounded, and I looked at the blue dialogue box that popped up in the center of my vision.
(System notification: Defeated 1 Ork Centurion, 32 Ork Warriors, and 88 Snotlings in total. EXP gained: 278,000. Level up: Lv. 8 → Lv. 31. New skill unlocked. New title acquired.)
Huh, wait… So killing monsters in a mech gave me experience too? After accepting that this world wasn’t a game but a real place, I’d practically forgotten about this “system.”
“Open status screen.”
Name: Elsa von Lancelot
Gender: Female
Race: Vampire (True Ancestor)
Level: LV31/LV999.
Skills: Blood Sucking, Blood Weapon, Mist Form, Dominator’s Evil Eye (Unavailable), Domination of the Dead (New), Beast Bloodline (Passive), Mecha Master (Passive MAX), Herbalism (Advanced, New), Potion Making (Advanced, New), Sniper’s Eye (Beginner), Swordsmanship (Beginner), Swift Run (Intermediate), Alchemy (Advanced, New).
Titles: Last Vampire Princess (Innate/Hidden), Otherworld Transmigrator (Hidden), Vampire Slayer, Ork Annihilator (New).
Buff: Noble of the Night (+15% to all stats).
Abnormal Status: Loli-fied.
Herbalism, Potion Making, and Alchemy—all three crafting skills—had reached Advanced. Was I on track to become a crafter or something? Domination of the Dead had appeared among my innate skills, and Mecha Master had reached MAX among my passive skills. I lightly touched Domination of the Dead with a finger and opened its sub-skill tree. Only two skills were lit up: “Control Corpse” and “Create Ghoul.” All the options below them were grayed out and displayed as gibberish. It looked like the system didn’t want me to see them. Fine by me. I had no plans to make zombie skeletons, let alone ghouls.
After checking the updates to my status, I closed the screen. The only thing bothering me right now was the abnormal status “Loli-fied.” Was there any way to get rid of it? The status description was gibberish too.
Well, I’d deal with it later.
After closing the status screen, I recalled the Sky Eye, which had been monitoring the battlefield above the fortress. It flew over to Astaroth and tucked itself into the hatch on top of the helmet. So this little guy really was one of Astaroth’s subsystems. It reminded me of the “Hummingbird” unmanned reconnaissance drone carried by Argos. During sieges and urban combat, I’d usually send one ahead to scout, so I could spot enemies as early as possible and reduce the risk of an ambush.
“My lord,” Faenda said, kneeling on one knee before Astaroth and bowing his head deeply. “Thank you so much for your help. If you hadn’t come to our aid in time, we’d have ended up as the Orks’ emergency rations. I’m bold enough to ask your name. When we return, I’ll report everything to our lord, and we’ll do all we can to repay you for saving our lives.”
“There’s no need to repay me,” I said through my voice changer. “Head back to the lakeshore at dawn. Your companions are waiting for you.”
With that, I made Astaroth stand and fired up its thrusters, soaring into the sky. I deliberately flew toward the moon, and only changed course for Teardrop Lake once the fortress was out of sight. I put the mech away by the lakeshore, not far from the hunters’ camp, then pulled the same trick as before and slipped back to my tent without a sound. I pretended I’d fallen asleep from exhaustion.
The next morning, O’Neil and Rosen finally reached an agreement: they’d exchange hostages.
While the hunters were busy loading the boars onto wagons, Faenda returned with the survivors. They seemed to have ignored my orders, fleeing the fortress in the middle of the night and risking a trek through the forest. They finally reached camp after sunrise. Seeing that every one of them had made it back, I felt a little relieved. Truth be told, I hadn’t thought things through. I’d killed the Ork Centurion and cleared the fortress of enemies, but as victims, they hadn’t wanted to stay there for another minute. What if the Orks came back?
It’s hard for people to stay rational all the time. Even me.
Seeing most of the group return, everyone looked relieved. But when we took a head count, we found that three mercenaries and two hunters would never make it back. The hungry Orks had eaten their bodies on the spot, and the Snotlings had gnawed their bones to bits. After a brief mourning, Faenda reported what had happened the night before to Rosen and O’Neil. He gesticulated wildly as he claimed that a Mech Knight had suddenly descended from the sky and slaughtered the Orks and Snotlings in the blink of an eye. The knight had even crushed the Ork Centurion with a single stomp.
Faenda’s story was so bizarre—so outrageous, even—that Rosen and O’Neil thought he’d gone mad at first. But when the other survivors confirmed it one after another, the two of them finally accepted the truth, dumbfounded.
“We can’t stay here,” O’Neil said. “We have no idea how many Orks have crossed the Grey Snow Mountains. We need to get out of here, fast.”
Everyone agreed with him, and that was how our autumn hunting trip came to an abrupt end.
Just like on the way there, I rode back to Nagu Town on a supply wagon. It took two and a half days. For some reason, my mood suddenly soured. I’d been looking forward to this trip, too. It was all those Orks and Snotlings’ fault. They’d ruined all my fun.
Damn it! I’m so mad!
