That said, using a single N2 bomb or mine was out of the question, and planting highly powerful booby traps around the town's perimeter was, unfortunately, a terrible idea that would cause far more damage than it was meant to prevent.
Now that the lust for power in Rémy's heart had faded and his mind had cooled, he realized that possessing military hardware far surpassing the technological level of most, if not all, of the world's armies was giving him a massive headache.
He wouldn't get the chance to use half the things he'd bought, not without exposing himself as a global threat to not just sorcerers, but all forms of life.
All the objects would be kept safe in his personal magical mini-bunker until further notice. Except for a few weapons, of course. In the meantime, Eric's training resumed without a hitch, once all the complications that had kept Rémy busy decided to take a break and, for once, bother the true protagonists of this world. Or so he hoped.
As hundreds of flamethrowers assaulted Eric, aiming to make him immune to flames or perhaps grant him a heat-based power, Rémy compiled the scant information he recalled from the anime and its memes into a small notebook, a whiteboard covered in sketches and potential dates for major events written in colored markers, and sticky notes filled with random comments.
The anime's timeline was uncertain. Even if Rémy knew exactly where this world stood in the story, the information would ultimately be useless. He wouldn't know what came next, making it impossible to formulate a plan based on it. And if a plan was impossible, his vulnerability would only continue to grow day by day.
He remembered the elimination game, of course. The video of Hakari... ¿Hahari? ¿Sanji? Or whatever it was called, the one where he fought an electric femboy to the beat of Brazilian phonk, was one of his favorites. But all the details and events that led up to the arc, its consequences, and which locations would be affected were hazy, and dwelling on that would just be a waste of time.
He also just couldn't be bothered to do it.
That was where Utahime, the aggressively cute Mai, and the other girl, whose name Rémy couldn't recall, came into the picture. According to his system's reward mechanics, altering the canon was the primary trigger for reaping massive amounts of credits. Yet, his interactions with them had yielded only meager gains from minor events. The explanation seemed logical: either those incidents lacked the magnitude to impact the plot, or the girls simply didn't represent a pivotal enough turning point for a few days in their company to derail the story's true trajectory.
Considering this, only two scenarios came to mind.
1: They were still far removed from the anime's major events, so the time spent in the village was inconsequential, and nothing of importance was missed.
2: They were merely "ordinary" inhabitants of this world who never actually appeared in the manga.
Only the first option seemed realistic to him. Especially given Mai's impeccable, beautiful character design that sharp gaze that seemed to calculate exactly how many seconds it would take to trample your ego, paired with an attitude so bossy and haughty that... well. The point was, Utahime and her two students were far too striking to be relegated to mere background characters.
¡May lightning strike him if that were the case!
For the moment, time was on his side. Or perhaps... not quite.
An annoying buzzing sound echoed through the air.
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—BROADCAST RIGHTS ROYALTIES—
Status: Reward received.
Details: Your troublesome capitalist machinations and the impact of your actions have stirred up trouble. "
You have eyes and ears everywhere, but you aren't the only one."
Factions affected: 1
Credits earned: 8,000
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—ambiguous...
He snapped his fingers, and instantly, thousands of screens unfurled around him, bathing the room in a cold, bluish glow. The true genius of his surveillance network lay in its everyday use. To the mayors, business owners, and directors who had accepted his charitable "donation," the devices operated exactly like high-end, conventional security cameras. They could monitor their properties from their computers or via a convenient mobile app, feeling at ease and in total control thanks to the permissions Rémy himself had granted them with a smile.
Yet, he remained the owner. His interface allowed him to bypass any terrestrial server and manipulate the network at will. He could alter camera angles, tap into microphones, erase evidence in real time, shut down the equipment, or, as he was doing now, project the entire feed directly into his field of vision.
Rémy enlarged three of the main screens, lazily swiping away those showing the dull downtown traffic, and it took him no more than a couple of minutes to locate the intruders. Men and women dressed in impeccable dark suits were moving through various parts of the town, trying to blend in.
To the eyes of an ordinary civilian, they looked like mere office workers or government inspectors. But Rémy, while he didn't know every single resident of his hometown, certainly knew their habits, their ways of speaking, dressing, and moving. Spotting an intrusive outsider was simple, especially when they had no suspicion that someone was watching them.
On screen one: Shizuka's butcher shop.
Two investigators, posing as officials from the local health department, were scanning the back room with instruments concealed inside their coats. One of them held a cut of the System's "Nutritious Veal" with a pair of tongs. His lips moved rapidly, and the camera's omnidirectional microphone allowed Rémy to hear the sorcerer's whisper.
—It's just a piece of meat...
On screen two: The middle school courtyard. Schools were often natural breeding grounds for minor curses born of adolescent stress and angst, making this a logical checkpoint. However, the camera captured a sorceress, disguised as a substitute PE teacher, staring intently at a brick wall. Minutes earlier, the janitor had tried to scrub off some graffiti using industrial chemical solvents, but the wall, coated in a repellent paint Rémy sold as "eco-friendly insulation", resisted the acid. The sorceress traced symbols in the air, breaking into a cold sweat as she became convinced the entire school was encased in an incomprehensible barrier technique that repelled her attempts to inject cursed energy.
Rémy leaned back in his swivel chair, interlacing his fingers beneath his chin as the glow from the monitors reflected in his eyes. No doubt Utahime had rushed off to tattle to her superiors.
¿Had the "Men in Black" memory-wiper malfunctioned?
He hadn't had time for field testing. The moment the device appeared before him, he'd rushed out to use it and nip his biggest headache in the bud. Rémy refused to doubt alien technology from such an excellent film franchise. If the gadget hadn't worked perfectly, he must have simply overlooked an instruction.
Either that, or the sorcerers' mental resilience far surpassed that of ordinary civilians, drastically dampening the effects of the memory wipe.
For a fleeting moment, his heart skipped a beat. The mere thought of the sorcerer elite hot on his heels, far sooner than anticipated and in numbers that exceeded his expectations, threatened to shatter his flawless, untouchable facade. Yet, as his eyes scanned the inspectors' movements on the screens, his anxiety quickly vanished, giving way to a deep frown. Something about the whole hunt simply didn't add up.
If the higher-ups in the sorcery world really knew about him, Eric and Shinji, their tactics would be vastly different.
They would be questioning neighbors, tracking financial movements, or simply kicking down the door to his base with lethal intent. But they were doing none of that.
Rémy shifted his attention to the third screen, where a trio of female sorcerers was busy at work. They were scouring the cemetery, the hospital, and basically anywhere Rémy used to hunt down curses. A slow smile began to spread across Rémy's face.
The memory wiping and the cognitive dissonance he'd inflicted on the Kyoto team had yielded... peculiar results, to put it mildly.
Utahime's report must have been a disaster of disjointed fragments. The higher-ups certainly weren't looking for a teenager trafficking in items from an interdimensional system, that's for sure.
You didn't need to be a genius to notice the suspicious lack of curses in the town, either. After his meticulous initial purge, camping out at spawn points and wiping every trace of those spectral killers off the map, not a single curse had dared to show its face.
As long as humanity kept breathing, exuding stress, and oozing negative emotions, curses were bound to manifest by sheer inertia. And although Rémy had never bothered to get a PhD in cursed reproductive biology, nor did he fully grasp the gestation period a spirit required before crossing into the earthly plane, simple math told him the town should be generating at least one new monster a week.
Yet that never happened.
Now, let's put things into perspective. If you were sitting at the helm of a rather paranoid, hierarchical organization, one dedicated heart and soul to hunting down monsters that were springing up like a plague across the globe, and you suddenly discovered an entire town where not a single one of these abominations existed... ¿what exactly would you do?
Well, you'd study how the hell that was possible, of course.
Rémy let out a soft chuckle. It was easy to picture that council of decrepit, paranoid elders losing their minds, analyzing useless samples and absurd clues. A simple, chaotic report from a group of women had led them to discover a veritable paradise on earth, an immaculate oasis in the middle of a desert teeming with scorpions eager to snap the fingers off anyone who stepped onto the sand.
And the most hilarious part of the whole affair was that never, not even in their feverish nightmares, would they suspect the culprit was a little angel standing barely 1.56 meters tall.
—¿Do we kill them now? — Eric asked out of the blue, holding one of the most powerful rifles at his disposal while parts of his clothing were on fire.
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—PASSIVE TRAIT UPGRADE: "Hostility Thermal Insulation"—
Type: Passive attribute · Conditional offensive
Rank: D
The bearer or modified object gains an anomalous structural tolerance against extreme heat and direct flames. It does not grant absolute immunity. At least, not yet.
Throwing it into a magma pit would still result in a painful cremation. However, it withstands minor explosions, conventional fire, and extreme friction as if the high temperatures were merely a mild weather nuisance. Flames that would char flesh or cheap metal merely heat up its surface.
Type: Attack attribute · Offensive
This heat does not dissipate; it is stored and compressed within a thermal core that feeds directly on temperature. When internal pressure reaches its critical point, the energy demands to be released.
It unleashes a violent, concentrated frontal blast of flame, perfect for roasting anyone foolish enough to disrespect your authority.
System Warning: Friendly fire is enabled for this incendiary attack. If you char your own loot, your furniture, or your teammates during a fiery tantrum, the system will wash its hands of the matter and laugh at you.
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Rémy slowly shook his head, not bothering to look away from the holographic screens.
—There's no need. Even if they miraculously knew who they were looking for, they'd never find us unless we did something stupid. We're ghosts, undetectable. ¿Have you forgotten? We'll keep playing the part of mysterious figures farming power from the shadows, unnoticed by anyone. And then... ¡Boom! We'll be so ridiculously strong, handsome, and untouchable that no one in this world will be high-level enough to mess with us.
—Mi, mi, mi, mi, mi...— Eric mocked, mimicking a high-pitched, childish tone as he turned to leave the bunker chamber, leaving Rémy to talk to himself and his fantasies of grandeur.
—Asshole.
Rémy gritted his teeth, annoyed. The following days dragged on in an unbearably tedious loop. Sorcerers and assistants scurried through the town like disoriented ants; they collected pointless samples, measured energy levels in random alleyways, and eventually took off empty-handed.
Fed up with such a passive stance, Rémy convinced one of his nine sisters, the family beauty and owner of a dessert shop, to go harass the least intimidating assistant with the most docile face he could spot on his screens. The mission was simple: corner the guy and force him to buy a couple of treats from her small basket.
The poor assistant, completely overwhelmed by nerves and unsure how to handle the girl's sudden charm, gave in to the extortion disguised as sweetness and bought the merchandise without a word of protest. Immediately afterward, he stumbled back to his vehicle and sped out of the village.
—It is done... — said Noémie, Rémy's sister, over the phone. —This is the beginning...
—Of an era of darkness —Rémy continued.
—In which parliament weeps at the injustices of the sun —Noémie added.
—¡Muahahaha!
Both burst into a perfectly synchronized, evil laugh.
Hours later, the assistant, a young man named Shinra, arrived at the grounds of a rather "elegant" institution. Nestled deep in the mountains and hidden from the civilized world by an intricate web of thickets and trees, the Metropolitan Magic Technical School stood with imposing majesty. To any unsuspecting hiker or satellite map, the place appeared to be nothing more than a vast, ancient, and highly private estate.
Its sprawling grounds consisted of a series of pavilions featuring traditional Japanese architecture, with dark, curved roofs peeking out from among the crowns of ancient trees. The buildings were connected by an extensive labyrinth of stone paths, all surrounded by a dense forest. There were towering torii gates, solid wooden walls, moss-covered stone lanterns, and endless flights of stairs, all enveloped in a silence broken only by the singing of cicadas and the occasional echo of workers' voices.
It was an impregnable stronghold, the ancient heart of sorcerer society, designed specifically to keep the world's darkest curses and threats at bay. And yet, Shinra had just shuffled through its impenetrable magical barriers, weary and dragging his feet, carrying a harmless bag of sweets bought from a charming woman in a strange town, completely unaware that he had just introduced a Trojan horse.
Rémy snapped his fingers again, genuinely excited to test the small project he had been working on since unlocking NERV technology after summoning Shinji.
Logistics of Infiltration and Navigation in Clandestine Environments
Or simply L.I.N.C.E. for the buddies.
A bionic spy-fly. At first glance, it was nothing more than an insignificant, buzzing insect, but beneath its synthetic exoskeleton lay high-fidelity optical sensors and a military-grade transmission system.
It was hidden among the wrappers of the candy basket that the naive Shinra had just brought into the school perimeter. Upon activating the fly's control link, a heavy CRT television with a rugged metal casing materialized on the desk, accompanied by a bulky arcade-style controller. The controller was a tangle of thick cables, stiff analog sticks, and emergency buttons marked with yellow-and-black hazard stripes. The heavy screen flickered with static before lighting up, displaying the fly's faceted view.
The entire interface exuded that unmistakable, unsettling 1990s retro-futurist aesthetic: hexagonal grids, flashing neon-green topographic maps, and massive warning text in red lettering. It was like having a miniature Tokyo-3 command center.
It was a purely original design that Rémy had managed to link to his main camera network; a device so well-assembled that the system itself had assimilated and classified it as an inventory item mere hours after he finished soldering the final circuit.
Rémy cracked his knuckles, gripped the controller's rugged joystick, and pushed it forward decisively. With a synthetic hum completely imperceptible to the human ear, LINCE lifted off from its hiding place amidst the basket's wrappings and began to fly over the surrounding area, scanning the wooden corridors and mapping the school's ancient architecture on the screen of the cathode-ray tube monitor.
But a single-lens view wasn't enough to satisfy his thirst for knowledge. With a Machiavellian smile, Rémy lifted the acrylic safety cover on the retro-futuristic control panel and pressed a heavy red warning button.
On the screen, tactical diagrams flickered in neon green. A tiny compartment on LINCE's back snapped open, releasing hundreds of spheres the size of grains of sand. In mid-air, the capsules unfurled translucent wings, taking the form of secondary flies, far smaller than their mothership. Operating with perfect swarm intelligence, the squadron of micro-drones scattered in every direction, slipping through window cracks, ventilation ducts, and under doorways, ready to infest every hallway, room, and pavilion that seemed even remotely important.
¡A resounding success!
Rémy repeated the process with every sorcerer who dared to enter his home; each and every one of them returned to their headquarters unknowingly carrying a microscopic stowaway equipped with RÉMY-brand espionage technology.
«Maybe I should sell this to the government and control the world.»
By the end of the week, Rémy stood in the center of his bunker, arms crossed and wearing a look of utter satisfaction. Chest swelling with pride, he gazed at his massive corkboard, now completely covered in high-resolution photographs, tactical diagrams, and geographic coordinates. In a matter of days, his swarm of flies had managed to infiltrate, map, and compromise virtually every covert base of operations, technical school, traditional temple, and front corporation that the secretive sorcery society used as a cover across the country.
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—BROADCAST ROYALTIES—
Status: Reward received.
Details: Your meddlesome capitalist schemes and pathological need for absolute control have turned an ancient magical society into your personal reality show. You manipulated the wizarding elite into chasing an imaginary curse all over town, all while exploiting their paranoia to infest their most secret strongholds with biomechanical technology hidden inside baskets of children's candy. The level of gaslighting inflicted upon this faction has shattered every known ethical standard.
"Sometimes you scare me."
Outraged factions: 1
Credits earned: 120,000
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¡Hello, Muffin here!
My original plan was to add this part to the previous chapter, but I want to keep the word count under 6k per chapter.
So... ¡this counts as a gift for the support! Or something like that. As a way of apologizing, I did a quick drawing of Rémy and his cool counterpart.
[IMAGE >:0]