Wandering Agent
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Machinist of Mana Chapter 128 Seas and Islands
🕑 Added 2025-06-27 12:53:55 +0000 UTCWith little else to do and few places I could reasonably go I spent much of my journey studying language in an intensive way. This of course led to a certain goblin girl joining along with my lessons, because she too was bored.
“I cannot think we not allowed to see ship... insides?” she tried, struggling with the foreign grammar and words.
“No, I cannot believe they won't let us see the internals either,” I agreed, subtly correcting her. We both spoke in the southern dialect, practice makes perfect after all.
“Bah, you're both allowed to visit some of the parts of the ship,” our teacher pointed out from his nearby desk. He sometimes added in comments or corrections if he thought we needed adjustment in our speech.
“Not the guns,” I said. Interestingly 'guns' was the same as in English; I'd been informed that it was in all of the elven dialects.
“Yeah!” Greta agreed.
“Much as I find you two amusing I'm not letting you see what are undoubtedly military secrets that you might export to your own countries. Same for the engines, before you can bring that up. The elevators at least were fun for you two.”
I laughed at his words. “Why exactly is it you don't care about those though?”
“Because the one who invented them was very specific about how they be made, and that that be the proper design, and shared freely with everyone. If there were some in the human lands, and there might be, I honestly don't know, we'd happily share our designs and maintenance protocols.” Trying to work out the words maintenance protocols was a bit of a strange one, sounded almost like 'cleaning and fixing times' only more formal.
“That's a bit strange though isn't it?” Greta pointed out.
“His Majesty got irritated deeply by people doing it wrong and would absolutely drill people who did. It stuck around in governance even after he left.”
“After he left? You make it sound like you were there, but that was very long ago was it not?” Greta asked, seemingly confused.
“It was, and I do don't I?” The Councilor didn't elaborate, and it was clear from his tone that he preferred the topic dropped.
“I'm still surprised you brought a whole warship for this,” I said.
“Sea monsters are no joke,” he pointed out, happy to change the subject.
“That bad?”
“Some are larger than this vessel, though not many, and many of them have extremely potent magical abilities. Fish and octopi the size of buildings, sharks that can rip smaller boats to shreds and even predatory whales that can control the weather are only a few. Even I don't think I've had a full cataloging of them in all my time. New ones pop up often enough that the depths must still have secrets.”
“Should I be worried?” Greta inquired.
“No, none could destroy this ship so easily, and with me here there is little danger. There are things in this world that can defeat me, but not many. Even if we did find such an enemy, they'd prefer to go for easier prey.”
Eventually conversation petered out, the day had worn on, and the time had come for me to rest once more. So I made my way to my assigned quarters, a room of steel panels and simple furniture, bolted down to the floor so as not to move with the gentle swaying of the ship. I thought to write some letters as I went, knowing that most couldn't be delivered until well after I left Elazia, but satisfied that my family would still want to hear how I was doing over time.
My desk was... well, in some ways nicer than the one I had at home. It was functional, very basic, but decorated as well. Gentle curves were on every surface, with small carvings on the legs ans sides of some geometric pattern. The pieces were so tightly fitted together that there seemed to almost be no seam, and there might not be if it were magically grown. Basic, but still a piece of art.
Everything on the ship was sort of like that. It was all functional, and not covered in needless bits, but all still subtly beautiful. Designs were present, but toned down, lacking any gaudy or ostentatious pieces, no odd sculptures or ceiling fixtures. No each looked like it was made to function, not show off, but each had so many small details that stood out when you looked, adding a simple beauty.
The running of the ship was much the same too. Each of the crew seemed to know their jobs so well that it was almost effortless, intrinsic to them, or it seemed that way from outside. This didn't mean that they slacked off though, no, they were still disciplined, still watching for anything wrong and reacting quickly. Practice, that was it, they were practiced until each was a master of their craft.
I'd known very few elves, other than my grandfather and the ambassador there were basically none in our lands. Here though I started to get an inkling of their culture. Long lives meant that their masters eclipsed ours by a high degree, and those who humans would consider experts were adepts for some of them.
Every mechanic on this ship would be in charge on a human ship, the old man who knows what the engine is doing just by its sound and the vibrations in the water, the savant whose advice would always be heeded. But it was like that for every single job. The cooks knew their craft like five-star chefs, the sailors read the sea like a book. It was in its own way beautiful, but seemed also rigid, planned, routine to them.
I wrote of this, and as the days went by other things too. Humans were clearly behind on magic, as these people used it for almost everything. The ship itself was packed full of magical items, not just technology, because each of the crew seemed to have at least a bit of mana. In Exion they'd have been called talents, but here they were just another elf.
While deep in study of a small enchanted lamp, examining the many ways they'd used to squeeze more function and efficiency out of it I was disturbed. Someone came to knock on my door and tell me that the Councilor wanted me to come up to the deck to see something.
“What's going on?” I asked, looking out into the thinning rain. It had been pouring on us for days at this point.
“We should be approaching the goblin island now. My understanding is that this storm sort of covers it all the time. Thought you might want to see,” he informed me. Greta was already here, looking through some spyglass she'd found toward where we were sailing.
Sure enough before long the clouds slowly cleared, the storm falling back behind us. I expected an expanse of green, but no such thing greeted me. Instead there was nothing but bare rock, pockmarked oddly here and there, with darker patches in circles upon it. Craters, like from some vast attack, like something out of the history books showing no-man's-land.
“What's happened?” I asked.
“Something unpleasant,” the Councilor said, frowning deeply.
“Another ship,” Greta called, pointing.
“Ours,” he informed her. “We'd planned to meet here, but there should be vegetation, the reports said...”
“What about the goblins? Where are they?” she asked fearfully, to which the rest of us could only frown.
