Check out my new translation!
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The Dragon's Breath shells packs a serious punch; when facing Ethereals, they could effectively destroy their bodily structures. But that power came at the cost of the barrel's lifespan.
Ignis's autocannon was itself an artifact excavated from the Old Capital, and its condition wasn't exactly good. Ever since he acquired it, the intensity of combat had never been low, and the number of shells fired was considerable.
Especially after he began using Dragon's Breath shells recently, the barrel erosion had become severe. After all, this cannon had originally been designed as an anti-air turret—its barrel specifications were never meant for ammo as corrosive as Dragon's Breath. Pulling an extendable cleaning rod from the storage compartment of his power pack, along with an oil-soaked cloth, the Salamander began cleaning the chamber.
During the process, Ignis could feel the internal deformation and partial flaking caused by the extreme heat from the secondary-converted Ether Fuel. The barrel was reaching the end of its lifespan—he could only hope it held up through this mission. He had already placed an order for a spare barrel with Marcos, but the merchant claimed the factory supplying the parts had been attacked recently; workers and engineers were heavily injured, so production would take time to resume.
"Um…" As the Salamander cleaned the barrel, Corin approached cautiously.
"What is it, young lady?" Even while sitting, the Salamander was far taller than the girl—especially since she always hunched timidly.
"Do you… need help? I have cleaning supplies." She pulled a handkerchief from her apron.
"Thank you for the kindness, young lady." Ignis laughed, his voice booming through the audio system like thunder. "But your handkerchief is too pretty for this."
Rejected, Corin looked a bit dispirited—but the gloom soon vanished. Seeing her standing nervously nearby, the Salamander simply let the girl help him wipe down the shells. Corin happily accepted the task, pulling rounds from the drum magazine and polishing them.
Of course, the process served no technical purpose—Ignis had already cleaned them carefully before loading. It wasn't a matter of obsession; during training, an old sergeant had drilled into him the importance of weapon maintenance—care for your arms, and their machine-spirit will aid you when it matters.
Corin hummed a tune as she worked, clearly in good spirits. The barrel cleaning soon concluded, and the oil cloth was covered in unburnt residue. This wasn't something that could be tossed aside casually. Ignis found a corner and lit it using his flamethrower.
When he turned back, he saw Rina massaging Phaethon's Bangboo, Eous. Judging from Eous's expression, it felt incredibly relaxing.
Robots in New Eridu were all strange—Billy was one case, but even Bangboos displayed surprisingly human-like emotions. Eous lay comfortably on a bench while Rina's long, slender fingers kneaded its limbs and joints. The tiny intelligence unit even shifted positions now and then, letting Rina apply better pressure.
"Is that so? Your master has it rough, then." Rina seemed to be conversing with Eous.
Ignis had never fully understood Bangboo speech. These little things only produced monosyllables like "Eh-ne, ehne." The Salamander could read their emotions from tone, but not the meaning.
He had asked Nicole about it once. The leader of the Cunning Hares had immediately brought Amillion and conversed with it—yet even then, Ignis could only understand the emotions, not the words. Nicole had insisted this was normal; supposedly, every native of New Eridu could interpret Bangboo language.
Then she remembered Ignis himself wasn't quite a native of Eridu. After an unsuccessful attempt to teach him, she gave up.
The real problem was that Bangboos used varying tones and pronunciations for the same word. It was impossible to determine if any syllable actually held fixed meaning. Not even a Space Marine—whose learning capacity was immense—could decipher their language.
"Your master is impressive. You must be proud of them."
Eous rolled over under Rina's fingers, meeting the Salamander's gaze. The tiny unit immediately began babbling at length—judging from its gestures and tone, it was complaining.
Thinking back to how he had poked the little squishy thing repeatedly the first few times they'd met… yeah, no wonder.
"Oh? Is that so? How difficult." Rina glanced toward the Salamander, her eyes smiling.
This little one had clearly spilled everything. What exactly did it say? Did it reveal something it shouldn't?
Apparently dissatisfied with mere vocal complaints, Eous stood and waved its tiny fists—perfectly imitating Ignis's jab, hook, uppercut, and flamethrower stances. It even mimicked him bracing the autocannon, reloading the magazine—which had been a straight magazine back in Hollow Zero.
It had absolutely been coaxed into this. Rina now regarded the Salamander with even more curiosity. When their gazes met, she walked toward him.
Yes—walked. Inside the Hollow she'd floated, but outside, she walked normally. Her two Bangboo assistants rested on her shoulders instead of hovering.
"Lord Ignis, from Lord Eous's description, you are quite the formidable warrior. With you here, our upcoming operation will be far easier." Rina's tone was exceedingly respectful.
Despite the Salamander being addressed as "lord" aboard the battle barge and most people saluting him, he still felt uncomfortable. After all, he came from a world where kneeling was forbidden. Such hierarchical gestures always felt off to him.
"So, it really told you everything." Ignis sighed lightly. "You seem very good at communicating with Bangboos."
"Rina very good!" chirped the golden-haired Bangboo.
"Very good, very good," echoed the brown-haired one.
"Let me introduce them. This is Drusilla," Rina motioned to the golden one as it curtseyed. "And this is Anastella."
Both Bangboos floated up, lifted their skirts in a perfect curtsy, then returned to her shoulders.
"Would you care for a little snack while resting?" Rina suddenly offered, catching the Salamander off-guard. Still, refusing here felt inappropriate—even if he wasn't hungry.
Seeing him nod, she cheerfully pulled a small silk pouch from her apron. It was beautifully tied with a ribbon—though laughably small in his massive hands. Opening it took effort. During the process, The Salamander happened to meet Lycaon's gaze… and the Wolf Thiren looked at him with what seemed like… pity?
Confused, the Salamander poured the cookies into his palm. They looked odd in color—not burnt, just strangely unnatural. Their aroma was pleasant; the spices, sugar, and chocolate were top-tier. But mixed together, the scent became peculiar.
Ignis removed his helmet and studied the cookies. With his pre-set stomach system, even poison wouldn't faze him.
So, he tossed them into his mouth and began chewing.
The regret hit instantly.
His superhuman senses identified how much care Rina had put into them: every spice selected deliberately, batter tested repeatedly, sugar–flour–butter proportions precise.
But the flavor…
Why… did combining them… produce something so bizarre?
Each spice blasted individually in his mouth, clashing violently. Then the sugar, flour, and butter joined the brawl. Finally, the chocolate descended like a daemon prince, turning the chaos into the very depths of the Warp—a culinary hell.
Ignis felt his mouth hosting a WAAAAGH! of orc warbosses, with Chaos Space Marines from the Black Legion joining mid-battle.
It wasn't poisonous—but it was far more terrifying than poison. For the first time, the Salamander felt his enhanced senses had betrayed him utterly. The cookie's flavor was so grotesque he immediately regretted his decision.
He suddenly understood Lycaon's earlier expression. Rina must have made many people eat her pastries—and none of them had good outcomes.
"Well? How is it?" Rina asked eagerly. He was the second person to eat her food without immediately collapsing.
"Try something… simpler next time…" The Salamander took several long breaths to purge the lingering taste. "More spices does not mean better flavor."
Rina evidently didn't grasp the meaning, but Eous began chattering urgently, so the maid resumed massaging it.
"Mr. Ignis, I finished wiping the shells." Corin patted the Salamander's greave, holding several loaded drum magazines out to him.
This girl was strong. These were multiple 40mm drum magazines—each one held twenty-five rounds.
What on Terra were modern kids eating nowadays?