Alice in the Land of Steam

“Take Miss Cheryl back to rest first, Serphis.”

"Ovira spoke softly," her voice carrying to the ears of the guardian beasts on the ground. Serphis then turned her gaze to her wounded master, who nodded slightly. She knew from this moment on, this battle was no longer her concern. But Cheryl wouldn't feel resentful. From beginning to end, her unwavering belief was "to do everything in her power." As long as she gave it her all, whatever the outcome, she wouldn't be blamed.

“Leave it to Miss Ovira, Serphis.” The leader of the Holy War Army stood up with difficulty. After handing over the fairy sword Hydras, she lost her only support and could only stand on her own two legs, yet she remained so straight, like another unbreakable sword, or an eternally proud flagpole. As a leader, one should possess a tenacious spirit, harder than the ancient rocks buried deep in the Feather Mine, she believed, and she was sure that her brother would think the same way.

“Our mission is complete.” She smiled at her comrades-in-arms. “Now it’s her turn to fight.”

And it must be her victory.

After all, the legendary fairy sword and the sky warship reuniting to reenact ancient history is a memorable plot, not something created to celebrate defeat.

The Nibelungen's engines emitted a deep hum, vibrating the atmosphere like the heartbeat of a behemoth. The steel hatches were tightly shut, shutting out the outside wind, sand, and bloodshed. Ovira stood in the center of the control room, her fingertips tracing the cold spine of Hydras's sword, the fairy blade regaining its eerie blue glow. She looked down through the massive glass curtain wall; Sephis was using his tail to lift the heavily wounded Cheryl, carefully placing her on his back, then staggering towards Blackfire Fortress, leaving a trail of dust in his wake across the wasteland.

"Please rest assured, Miss Cheryl, Serphis, and everyone else." Ovira whispered her promise, but it was unclear to whom she was speaking—to her departed companions or the enemies she was about to face: "The battle will be over soon."

The Skywarp slowly withdrew from its downward-looking posture, its crimson eyes rising again to rest on Nibelungen. It seemed to have completely lost interest in Cheryl; a weakling already severely wounded and powerless to resist was hardly worth a second glance. The roar of the magic reactor deep within its body suddenly intensified, becoming more violent and ravenous, the joints emitting a teeth-grinding metallic scraping sound, as if taunting a truly formidable enemy. Its impatient fighting spirit almost materialized into a tangible storm, churning the nearly frozen air beneath it.

Pereira did not issue any orders to pursue the enemy who had left the battlefield. She also quietly watched the Nibelungen, watching the legendary behemoth slowly turn its bow, hundreds of armor plates unfolding like dragon scales, gleaming with a cold, hard metallic luster in the light breaking through the clouds.

"How pathetic." Ovira's voice echoed clearly across the battlefield, piercing the air as sharply as a sword despite the great distance. "Does harming and trampling on others bring you satisfaction?"

The signal lights on the Thai Air Force suddenly began flashing rapidly, a sign of impending danger.

While man-made machines may lack intelligence, instinct told the Skywarp that the words were directed at it. If it were an angry provocation, or the hysteria of an enemy cornered, it would undoubtedly have pleased it; however, Ovira's tone was calm, indifferent, and tinged with pity. Every word in those words deeply stung this ferocious beast, for it is well known that the stronger the beast, the more sensitive it is.

Perhaps only Ovira and Pereke can understand the evil nature of the Sky.

That is related to its prototype.

Alexander the Great, the visionary machine who controls, dominates, and even transcends time and space, the instigator and leader of the Steam Holy War, and the only enemy that the Witch Society finds troublesome. He originally intended to lead this world to a world of steel and gears, order and iron laws, but at the last moment he witnessed the glory of mortals and recognized their efforts to fight for freedom and humanity. So he voluntarily gave up his faith on the earth and threw himself into the endless vortex of time and space, never to return.

The Witch of Reality, Tentis, once described Him as the most divine of all conceived gods. But what exactly is this divinity? It is neither lofty arrogance nor unvented compassion, but a contradictory combination. When He decided to mold this world into an ideal divine kingdom, He simultaneously replaced fanatical faith with cold, mechanical rationality, unilaterally deciding the fates of a billion people, causing them to kill each other or take away what was most important to each other, without batting an eye. And when He decided to depart, emotional thought spontaneously and invisibly arose from the steel teeth. He liberated all the souls He had refined, while blessing those who had never been willing to convert to the steam faith. Before departing, He cleansed humanity's memory of Him, because He did not want them to lose this hard-won freedom and fall back into the endless struggle between faith and reality.

The most obvious evidence is that after the end of the Steam Holy War, a group of fanatical followers of the Steam Church, unwilling to accept defeat, secretly stole the cult's secret scroll, the "Enigma Codex," before disbanding. They renamed it Time-Space Enigma and spent the next thousand years conducting clandestine activities in the shadows of the Western Continent, attempting to restore the glory of steam and call for the return of the Machine God.

But Alexander never responded. He simply watched silently from the cracks of time and space as human civilization progressed or regressed, prospered or declined, endured or perished. In any case, He would witness it to the very end.

The reason why Alexander the Great, the god of steam engines, exhibits a divinity that is so different from other conceived deities is determined by the nature of this special group. In essence, conceived deities are like mirrors, faithfully reflecting the desires of believers. Alexander's group of believers is unique in the entire history of religion. The massive faith, numbering in the hundreds of millions, flowed into this new era and created this unique god.

Faith is such a unique force in the world that, at certain times, it is destined to lead deities to extremes. This is because the human heart is complex and unpredictable, and most people's desires are directly linked to their own desires, such as wealth, power, and strength. However, when the number of believers exceeds a certain threshold, the complex desires will converge into pure faith. This does not mean that greed for wealth, pursuit of power, and desire for strength have disappeared, but rather that when they are integrated into this vast collective unconscious, they appear so insignificant that they can no longer influence their own being. The only thing that can shape deities is the purest of desires.

Historically, only the number of followers of Alexander the Great, the god of steam engines, exceeded this threshold, to the point that the collective subconscious of mortals miraculously shaped divinity. The prototype machine, the Taikong, went to the other extreme. As a machine created in imitation of Alexander, it possessed, in a sense, the ability to absorb the power of faith. However, no one would believe in this steel machine. The researchers who created it treated it merely as an innovative project or a revolutionary weapon of war. Their enthusiasm, confidence, and determination during the experiments influenced the Taikong's subconscious, causing it to remain stable during that period and not exhibit any dangerous or threatening aspects.

However, upon entering the Eastern Empire continent, the established state of affairs changed.

Because beneath its feet lay the most fanatical and chaotic land of faith on Mirror Star. Here, gods either devour humans or face destruction; its ancient laws dictated that the Taikong must either accept this chaotic change or slink away in disgrace. But we all know that such a proud beast would never accept defeat, so it chose the former.

Is this decision, so different from its original form, driven by instinct, or by its resistance to that soul?

Everything is unpredictable.

“Your prototype—the psychic god Alexander—I once glimpsed its form in the night of Renweting,” Ovira continued, still vividly remembering that epic duel. “It analyzed mortal emotions with mechanical rationality, and guarded the order of civilization with absolute logic. But that was a realm unimaginable and incomprehensible to you, wasn’t it? The only emotions you learned from this world were greed, tyranny, and the desire for domination. Perhaps you’d say that’s the meaning of your creation as a weapon of war, but I would say that, even among created machines, the gap between you and it is simply too vast.”

At this point, Princess Beman seemed to recall something and sighed deeply, "Perhaps even Nidhogg understands what true power is better than you?"

Although he only understood this truth after his death.

Her response was the sudden roar of the Thai Air Force.

It didn't know who Nidhogg was, but it could hear the regret and pity in Auvila's tone, which was tantamount to humiliation to it. Moreover, comparing it to anyone else and concluding that it was far inferior was itself a provocation. If it could swallow its pride in the face of an enemy's provocation, it wouldn't deserve to be called the most ferocious and savage beast on this land.

It wasn't a sound emanating from its throat or tongue, nor a groan from its mechanical structure, but a direct impact that could be described as a physical attack. A violent surge of magical energy exploded outwards from its center, instantly shattering the suspended sand and dust. It arched its steel back, its beast-like claws snapping shut, and its back armor folded outwards like a living creature, revealing a dense array of eerie holes beneath. As the magic engine at the very core of the machine roared and overloaded, a ghostly purple light seeped from the joint gaps, from the visual sensors, and from every seam of the armor, transforming it into a sinister behemoth that seemed to have crawled out of a nightmare.

Pereike pressed her lips tightly together, her lips slightly pale from blood loss. The sound she heard was completely different from what Ovira heard. To the latter, it was anger, intimidation, and the cold declaration of a beast's attack; but to her, it was demanding, craving, and an insatiable, greedy desire. The Sky was demanding more magic from Pereike, which to it was equivalent to power. Only by mastering greater power could it defeat the superior enemy, crush its corpse under its feet, and never allow anyone to look down upon it.

But it also knew that the only person capable of providing it with ample magical power was Perec. The new pilot it had finally welcomed after many years, though weak, insecure, and hesitant even on the battlefield, was, so far, the only one with both the ability and the motivation to command it. The initial pilot was too weak; it had absorbed only a small amount of magical power before devouring her body and soul—how tragic. Later, the researchers who created it attempted to use a core crystal containing magical power as a new power source, but that weak and insignificant magical power was unpalatable to it, and it held no interest in fighting whatsoever.

It was precisely because it understood this that it had not resisted Pereike's orders too much so far, even though the other party had repeatedly suppressed its bestial instincts with its willpower during the battle. The Skyhawk had endured it. It didn't want to return to that cold hangar, facing the darkness and dust alone. Having witnessed the bloodshed on the battlefield, how could a warrior be willing to lie dormant? For the sake of freedom, it didn't mind temporarily submitting to others, because it knew that its dignity was only related to battle. From this perspective, it was rational enough not to be a beast.

Of course, this relationship is mutual. The premise that the Thai Air Force is willing to accommodate Perec is that Perec must also accommodate it. There is no master-servant relationship in the world that is more peculiar than theirs. Perhaps it can be called another form of mutual understanding?

I have already issued a challenge to the enemy; what about you?
How will you choose my driver?

That will determine whether you are still qualified to control me.

But there was no other choice. Pereira thought to herself: Wasn't this why she came here? For the Skywarp, this was a battle; but for her, it was destiny.

Fate is inescapable.

and so--

“You have awakened the sleeping beast,” she sighed softly.

As she finished speaking, she lifted the restriction on magic input. For her, it was merely a thought, as easy as flipping her own hand; but for the battlefield, it felt like another storm had descended. No calamity in the world could be more violent, more aggressive, or more unstoppable.

Just as the Plague Witch said, a sleeping beast has been awakened. (End of Chapter)