Kirunax
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Chapter 21
🕑 Added 2025-06-11 22:24:36 +0000 UTCAnother day, another opportunity to network.
Earlier, I contacted Armsmaster to inquire whether he was experiencing any lingering discomfort from his healed injuries. In truth, I just wanted to remind him that I existed.
It’s a standard strategy—one that translates cleanly from the world of sales to the battlefield of career advancement. Visibility matters. People forget, impressions fade, and if you're not careful, so does your relevance. A subtle check-in, a reminder of past favors rendered and future value offered—that’s how you keep your foot in the door.
Executed well, it cultivates a quiet, persistent awareness: that you are useful, competent, and, above all, worth keeping around. Executed poorly? Well, then you’re just another email in the inbox or another corpse on the field. The principle is the same; only the scenery changes.
In that sense, the Empire ambush turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It gave me the perfect opportunity to assist in Armsmaster’s recovery—something I’m sure he appreciates, given his monstrous schedule and pathological refusal to rest.
You’d think the man would be given time to rest and recuperate. Instead, the capture of Hookwolf’s crew just dumped more work on everyone’s plate. Half the Protectorate was reassigned to guard duty at HQ, while the Wards’ patrol routes were stretched thin to make up the difference.
Curiously, the prisoners were being held in the PRT HQ. A fortified position, certainly—but the Rig, a literal fortress wrapped in forcefields and seawater, seemed the more secure option.
Apparently, Director Piggot wanted them out of the city as quickly and securely as possible. The real issue was transport security.
The best time to mount a rescue was always during transport—when security was in motion, visibility was high, and the defenders were stretched thin.
Moving them from the PRT HQ to prison was always going to be a vulnerable moment. But the real issue was the starting point. Transfers from the Rig required crossing a long forcefield bridge—hard to disguise, easy to ambush, and impossible to fake with decoys. That alone made it a poor choice for staging the transport. So for now, the prisoners stayed where they were: secured in the PRT HQ, behind as many walls and guns as could be spared.
So for now, I had to be content with national socialists as neighbors. I could have gone downstairs to engage in political discourse—if I believed American cosplayers capable of it. As it stood, I wasn’t even sure most of them had finished high school. Alabaster, in particular, struck me as someone who failed to graduate from kindergarten, both intellectually and morally.
The ambush itself was unwelcome—but the outcome worked in my favor. I got to assist in taking down one of the Empire 88’s more violent factions. Shirou didn’t object to downplaying our role to give Armsmaster more credit, as long as I agreed to write his report. Fair enough. And I helped bring Armsmaster back to full functionality, which only reinforced my usefulness.
Unlike my maddening stint at the hospital, this time I had only two patients—neither of whom demanded juice boxes or threatened to sue if they didn’t feel "healed enough." With that and a steady supply of calculators, I was more than happy to take my time.
Of course, that didn’t eliminate the need to avoid straining the repaired tissue—unless you were a mage with the luxury of casting healing formulas on yourself like a walking medbay. Which Armsmaster, unsurprisingly, was not.
Naturally, Armsmaster had ignored that part of my recommendations—hence the lingering pain in his arm. Brilliant man, baffling disregard for basic instructions.
So I offered to bring Shirou in for some tinker-time while I handled another round of healing. Armsmaster agreed—likely recognizing the efficiency of handling both tasks in one visit.
I hoped he appreciated the premium treatment. In the Empire, you got patched up from what was lethal and let the rest heal on its own—preferably in a trench, not a climate-controlled lab. Ignoring a medic’s orders wasn’t just foolish; it earned you a formal reprimand and a very unpleasant week.
So once again, I found myself dragging my frustratingly reluctant brother through the halls of the Protectorate HQ on our way to his father’s lab, though in full uniform this time.
It’s for your own good, Shirou! Armsmaster is one of the premier Tinkers in the country! Do you even understand what Chris would give to be in your position?!
Reluctant or not, I would make Shirou into a splendid hero—efficient, respected, and with a long, sustainable operational lifespan. Right up until it was time for our peaceful retirement in a safe city with a strong Protectorate team, preferably far from anything important enough to attract Endbringers.
The doors to the lab slid open with a hiss, allowing us to step inside.
It really was impressive—compact, focused, humming with directed intent. Like someone had taken the principles of industrial optimization and distilled them into architecture. No wasted space, no ornamental nonsense. The kind of environment that rewarded clarity, precision, and long hours. Armsmaster’s fingerprints were on everything, even in his absence.
It made me think of a forward command bunker during a high-intensity campaign—tight corridors, triple redundancy on essential systems, and absolutely no room for inefficiency. Everything built to support function, not comfort. In the Empire, a setup like this usually meant you were in for a brutal week. Here, it simply meant this was how Armsmaster lived.
I wasn’t sure whether that made me respect him more… or pity him. Possibly both.
It was as if someone had taken Taiichi Ohno-san’s principles of efficiency and pushed them past the breaking point. I couldn’t decipher ninety percent of what I saw—but what I did understand left a deep impression.
I’d have to ask whether Armsmaster was familiar with Ohno-san’s writing. If nothing else, it’d make a useful conversation starter. The man clearly lived and breathed Kaizen.
A good role model for Shirou—assuming he didn’t follow his father into the same extremes. Dedication and professional self-improvement were key to a successful life, but living on the job was absolutely not.
Admirable work ethic—right up until it kills you. Assuming, of course, that his monstrous schedule was a personal choice—and not a grim necessity in a city overrun by criminals. Or worse, an unspoken expectation for every Protectorate leader. Legend had looked quite gaunt during our brief meeting.
I was leaning toward the latter. Not even the most die-hard Japanese salaryman—the type who viewed cardiac arrest as a performance metric—would keep Armsmaster’s schedule. The Empire during the wartimes however...
Oh well. That was a problem for future me. For now, I just had to keep Armsmaster alive—because apparently ensuring the health of overworked technocrats had become part of my job description. Couldn’t have him collapsing and depriving Shirou and me of his backing.
“Good afternoon, Armsmaster,” I said in a professional tone—one I felt he’d appreciate.
“Argent,” he nodded, not turning away from the holographic displays filled with arcane, indecipherable data.
“I hope you’re ready for another healing session. May I ask what led you to disregard explicit medical guidance?” I kept my tone professional, but I was undeniably irritated. I didn’t appreciate having my work wasted—or worse, made to look inadequate because someone else couldn’t follow basic aftercare. The memory of whiny, self-important hospital patients still made my blood pressure spike.
“The Undersiders raided a gambling den in the Northern Docks. I attempted interception, but my bike is still undergoing repairs, so I resorted to using a grappling hook for mobility.”
And stressed the injury again as a result, obviously. Ugh.
“Did you catch them at least?”
“No. Grue’s power made pursuit infeasible.”
“I take it tinker-tech solutions proved ineffective?”
Given the Protectorate’s standard operating procedures, Armsmaster should have tried to build countermeasures for darkness-generating cape by now. The Undersiders were small-time villains—but not exactly new.
“Mostly. Neither echolocation nor EM-based solutions are effective. My armor includes protocols that take environmental snapshots for Undersider engagements, but they aren’t reliable under these conditions.”
“I see. You can move through the fog without losing speed, but they just shift direction and throw you off.”
“Correct.”
I wondered if my observation formulas would work.
“You should listen to her, Colin,” a new voice chimed in.
“Dragon! My apologies, I... didn’t notice you,” I said, recovering awkwardly.
Dammit, Armsmaster—you could have warned me.
“Hello, Tanya,” she said, clearly amused. Her image flickered onto one of the monitors, confirming my suspicion. “Forgive me for not saying something sooner. It was just too good, watching Colin interact with children.”
Yes, well. I’d still prefer to know who’s eavesdropping on my conversations.
“I hope we didn’t interrupt anything important?” I asked.
Say hello already, Shirou! You can get away with rudeness in front of your father—but Dragon is another matter!
“Not at all. Colin invited me to observe. I’ve heard your brother is quite the talent.” She smiled, clearly enjoying herself.
“That he is,” I said with a nod, then added—louder, “Say hello, Shirou.”
What I got in return was a grunt from the direction of the halberd’s cradle. Charming.
“My apologies, Dragon. He’s been in the mood lately. Puberty, I’m afraid,” I tried for an excuse, earning a flat look from my brother.
You could try talking for yourself if you don’t like it, Shirou.
“Is that so?” Dragon laughed. “Perhaps Colin should have a talk with him.”
“Indeed,” Armsmaster said, approaching one of the workstations where a device was already laid out.
It looked like a very advanced microwave. Matte black, bristling with unnecessary angles, and overengineered in the way only tinkertech could be. It sat on one of the auxiliary benches, humming faintly, with side lights flickering in a rhythm that felt too precise to be random.
A small, glowing, transparent cartridge was embedded in the side—cylindrical in shape, with what looked like a single drop of some unknown substance inside.
Armsmaster pressed a few buttons. The glow diminished—though it didn’t disappear entirely—before he carefully removed the cartridge and handed it to Shirou.
My brother examined it with a frown, flipping the cartridge and watching as the substance... oozed... downward. I couldn’t quite explain it, but something about the motion was wrong. It didn’t behave like a liquid, and there was some kind of strange visual distortion as it moved.
Glowing lines spread around the cartridge. Shirou’s frown deepened.
“Nanometric dust... nanomachines?”
“No. It’s a smart metamaterial designed to form structures under specific emissions. The idea is to use it to sever molecular bonds.”
“An all-cutting blade,” Shirou said, a flicker of interest appearing in his voice.
“Precisely. Can you replicate it?” Armsmaster nodded toward the cartridge.
Shirou was silent for a few moments, but then shook his head. “No. In this form it’s just a slurry without identity. But even if I could, each grain would be its own distinct object I would have to project separately. Not worth it. Not to mention, there is only so little energy I can put into each projection, so not energy efficient either.”
“Unfortunate, but within expectations,” Armsmaster said with a nod. “Instead, I want you to replicate the nano-fabricator itself. It’s a small-scale unit, but with a multitude of them...”
“Yes, yes. You can scale up the production. No need to explain the obvious.” Shirou waved his superior off without looking.
Sigh.
Armsmaster returned to the workstation. Shirou followed, placing his hand on the device.
I’d noticed it last time too. For someone who’d dragged his feet all the way here, my brother sure perked up the moment he got near Armsmaster’s tech. Shirou could grumble all he wanted, but put him near a tinker bench and he’d light up like a targeting array locking onto coordinates.
After a few moments, he turned to Armsmaster. “Do you have something like a design document? Something that describes the function of each component in detail. It might be doable, but I need a better understanding of what I’m working with.”
A holographic interface lit up beside the workstation as a keyboard extended from its housing. Shirou leaned in and began reading silently.
“Perhaps we could start with your treatment while Shirou familiarizes himself with the nano-fabricator?” I suggested.
“Very well.”
Armsmaster stepped over to the wall and activated a recessed seat, which slid out with a soft mechanical click.
He removed armor from his hand and offered it to me.
A few minutes into the treatment, the room began to smell.
“My apologies,” I sighed. “Can’t really do much about the scent of burning plastic.”
Armsmaster silently activated the air filtration system.
“I’ve read your profile, Tanya,” Dragon said. “Your power requires extensive calculation, hence the need for a computation device, right?”
“Correct.” There was an opportunity here. “I submitted a request for a tinker-tech solution, but so far nothing has come of it.”
“I see...” Dragon threw a glance at Armsmaster. “Perhaps I could help with that?”
What? Why would Dragon volunteer for this?
“Is it a question of computation power?”
“Not exactly. More computation power would definitely help. Memory too, so I wouldn’t have to brute-force everything. No, the main problem is materials.”
“How so?”
“Pocket calculators are too delicate. The energy I have to channel through them to activate my formulas overheats the materials. A fully mechanical analog device would work better—ideally one made entirely of durable metals.”
Plastics turned out to be very poor conductors for magic.
“So something like a differential analyzer?” Dragon asked.
“I’m not familiar. Is it connected to Bruno Abakanski’s work?”
Bruno Abakanski was widely regarded as the father of modern computation orbs. A mage of Slavic descent, he had built upon the revolutionary work of Gustave de Corilac—who himself had pioneered the use of machines to facilitate magic, discarding the crude, often mystified tradition of magical foci. While the application of mathematical principles to magic predated both men, it was de Corilac who first envisioned a mechanical interface, and Abakanski who brought that vision to fruition.
The Empire identified his potential early on and offered him the chance to realize his vision in Berun, with what would later become Elenium Arms.
A brilliant man. Perhaps even a visionary—though I suppose the term 'pioneer' already implies that. Regardless, few matched his clarity of thought, even though his judgment faltered in later years, given the company he kept. Namely, one Adelheid von Schugel.
“I believe you mean Bruno Abdank-Abakanowicz, Tanya. The Polish mathematician and electrical engineer who created the first practical Intergraph. And yes, the Intergraph was a precursor to the differential analyzer.”
“In that case, if I could get one, it might solve a lot of issues.”
Dragon winced. “Ah... not quite that easy. The full-scale models take up entire rooms, and even the smallest ones are heavier than you and about twice your height.”
Well, I definitely wasn’t going to carry that around.
Dragon mused, “Now, if only someone here specialized in miniaturization...”
“That won’t work,” Shirou interrupted.
Armsmaster stood from his seat. “Do you need a deeper exp—”
“No. I’m talking about your discussion. It won’t work.”
“What do you mean, Shirou?” Dragon asked.
“Unlike fully artificial materials like plastics, refined metals do hold up better—yes, but that’s the problem. Where plastics would quickly break down, metals will retain Tanya’s ‘energy’ far too well, causing a buildup. You’d basically be constructing a bomb.”
I frowned. What Shirou had just described sounded like a desynchronization failure.
Computation orbs did experience mana buildup during active use. Part of the regulated maintenance procedure for aerial mages involved measuring that buildup and scrubbing it regularly. After a certain threshold, the orb was no longer safe for use or field servicing and had to be sent back for specialized maintenance—or decommissioned entirely.
I drilled it into my men to treat regular maintenance as seriously as their own lives. We couldn’t afford replacements for the Type-97s. If anyone in the 203rd was slacking, I made them regret being born.
Desynchronization, however, occurred when a mage failed to control their orb. There was always a certain level of skill involved in managing the ebb and flow of mana—but synchronizing that flow with the orb’s operational core to actually cast formulas required significantly more. Desynchronization happened when a mage lacked that skill but tried to use the orb anyway.
Or if the orb was so stupidly complex that synchronization was actually impossible. The Type-95, with its four cores, was the prime example. It wasn’t enough to sync with the operational core—you had to constantly maintain and adjust it. And with four of them, that became impossible. The cores actively interfered with each other. The mental throughput required was simply beyond human capability.
I had assumed that simply channeling mana through calculators caused them to melt—either from overheating or some form of ‘mana friction.’ It made sense; metals are more durable than plastics. And without synchronization or memory, I had to brute-force every formula into a device never intended for that, increasing the mana flow.
But if Shirou was correct, then the real problem was mana buildup.
Personally, I had never connected synchronization with the mana buildup issue. My synchronization levels had always been high—that’s why I qualified for Type-95 testing—and it never occurred to me to measure mana accumulation against synchronization levels after a battle. Why would it? As far as I knew, it was simply a natural byproduct of orb usage. Scrubbing it was like cleaning a rifle of residual gunpowder.
Following that analogy, the mana buildup levels were due to the fact that no one had 100% synchronization levels – and if they did, I doubt they could keep 100% of the time. That mana itself was a residue of using formulas, or simply channeling mana into computation orbs.
No one ever actually pushed their orbs past decommission buildup levels. Given how costly they were, letting it buildup to decommission levels was without respectable reason – like an extremely protracted battle – was grounds for facing a firing squad. Even the laziest soldier would never allow it to get that bad.
Unless of course...
One could, in fact, cause a deliberate core overload by inducing extreme desynchronization in an active orb. And desynchronization alone didn’t prevent casting—in fact you had to increase mana flow, just in the ‘opposite’ direction, to trigger explosive reaction. It's how I survived my so-called ‘suicidal’ maneuver in Norden: by using a barrier formula while the core was already overloading.
So if Shirou was correct, all this time I was casting formulas with calculators in basically core overload mode. The only thing saving me from a catastrophic explosion was the fact calculators couldn’t hold enough mana to begin with. Their threshold was too low to reach explosive levels before melting down.
In hindsight, it made sense that the explosion was the result of uncontrolled mana buildup. It just never occurred outside of core overload maneuvers or the Type-95’s catastrophic four-core desynchronization. I had always assumed that an unstable core flooded with mana would trigger some kind of explosion formula. After all, simply channeling mana into something had never caused it to explode on its own.
“I have channeled my energy through metal objects before, brother. I’ve never encountered the effect you’re describing.”
“Did you just push raw energy through it did you actually use a formula?” Shirou pressed, refusing to let it go.
“The former.” Obviously. Why would I ever run a formula on anything but a computation device?
“Explosions, lasers, cutting edges—most of your formulas are destructive by nature. That kind of... structured flow tends to imprint itself on... frequently used objects. And the device you’re describing would effectively act as a... dedicated matrix. Depending on your Element...” Shirou trailed off, looking somewhere between lost and constipated.
“Look, I know what I’m talking about,” he said, crossing his arms. “Even if I’m wrong, it’ll just fall apart or become unstable in some other way.”
“That’s not how you’re supposed to evaluate designs,” Armsmaster said. “We test, or we don’t talk in certainties.”
“Trace on.” Shirou scowled and conjured a blade. A shortsword? It looked a bit too large to be a dagger. He tossed it to me.
“Try channeling your energy into it.”
I did so—and my eyes widened.
Mana stucking?!
It wasn’t anywhere near the capacity of the Type-95. Even though I had only just begun channeling mana into it, I could already sense the finite size of the blade’s reservoir. The same principle—a stable, static store of energy. Not an unstable loop waiting to explode, but something deliberate. It also somehow made the mana I put into it inaccessible. I couldn’t touch it. How in the world...?
“Something the matter, Tanya?” Dragon asked gently.
I pulled myself together. “A-ah. It would seem this dagger functions as a battery for my energy.”
I looked at my brother askance but he just scowled deeper and sighed.
“I know what I’m talking about,” he repeated—quiet, and oddly weary. Then he turned away and resumed reading.
Armsmaster looked like he wanted to say something, but Dragon beat him to the punch.
“What would you suggest for Tanya’s computation device, Shirou?” Dragon asked, watching him with a trace of concern from one of the monitors.
“Hm? Ah. Try using a jewel as the core. It will act as a stabilization matrix and energy sink. The more facets, the better.” He sounded like he was done with the conversation.
What’s with him?
I wanted to press him about the dagger, but it didn’t feel like the right time. I looked at him a moment longer, then let it go and returned to healing Armsmaster.
My brother wasn’t going anywhere.
Comments
Chayut Panvilai
Ah that so Tanya easy way of getting comp device are out but no worry, big bro Emiya are coming to the rescue with Tohsaka certified gemcraft 555
Green0Photon
I am in awe of the genius of this fic. Crack premise, but it works so well. And is written so well. I also love this chapter. Finally the fam doing things together (besides the fight earlier), and we're getting more and more tension of how it's the two of them that do magic. I can imagine a book two of post leviathan having them need to reveal it to each other and have tanya start learning proper magecraft. But it's crazy hilarious that despite how paranoid all of them are, they're also so focused and stuck in their world views that they couldn't possibly consider the other as being in exactly the same reincarnated circumstances as them. This fic is divine holy shit.
