Alice in the Land of Steam

The moment Pereira was released from her restraints, she didn't feel a surge of magic power. Instead, she felt a detachment akin to emptiness. The magic power that symbolized sin to her, a power that could bring calamity to the world at any moment, was now being devoured by a beast that seemed inexplicably satisfied. She could even feel the thirsty tremors of the Skyship and the frenzied screams emanating from the depths of its magical engines.

A dark purple magical energy, symbolizing an overload of energy, surged into the sky, almost dispelling the heavy, abyss-like clouds overhead. The sky was almost completely evaporated by the intense heat, but what appeared was not a faint glimmer of dawn, but rather…

rain.

At first, a few scattered, heavy drops struck the scorching armor of the Taikong, emitting short, mournful hisss before instantly turning into white vapor. Then, the rain poured down like a burst dam, countless silver lines connecting the gloomy sky with the barren earth, as if the whole world was responding to the call of destiny, determined to unleash a baptismal symphony to purify all impurity and filth.

The storm, brewing since before the war, finally arrived, its arrival perfectly timed, as if all the preceding storms and thunder were merely a long prelude to this moment. It was also one of the few recorded storms in the history of Atoliga, its interval from the previous one long enough to turn mountains into wastelands and cities into ashes. At that time, the hero had not long since departed, his blessings and admonitions still fresh in the minds of the inhabitants, mortal civilization was in ruins, and the three thousand meters below the surface of the Fesse Mine had not yet given birth to those bizarre and wondrous stones. A barbarian who stumbled upon this place discovered the unique structure of the region and its surprisingly cool atmosphere. Years later, a tyrannical monarch would order the construction of a summer palace here for his favorite concubine, even if the project was enormous and required the sacrifice of three hundred thousand slaves. His arbitrary and tyrannical rule forever set the tone for this land's sustenance of disaster and suffering.

On this land abandoned by gods and civilization, people act as they please, killing each other for resources to survive. From ancient times to the present, betrayal, invasion, curses, and destruction have never ceased. They are intoxicated by long-standing struggles, having long since abandoned their tribal history, erased the names of heroes, and even forgotten the majesty of nature. Now is the time to remind them of that vast and mighty power.

Roaring, billowing, and surging, the inexhaustible rain seemed to pull this parched land into an ancient ocean. From a higher vantage point, one would be astonished to see a gigantic cumulonimbus cloud, 330,000 square kilometers in diameter, blanketing the land, a harbinger of impending doom. From the withered salt flats to the burning ruins of towns; from the towering fortresses where sound and slaughter coexisted, to the army encampments shrouded in the dust of war, countless people simultaneously witnessed, observed, and gazed upon this torrential downpour, feeling an unparalleled awe of nature. In the desolate wasteland, the elders of ancient barbarian tribes silently watched their jubilant people in the rain. They were celebrating the season of abundant water and grass, the season of life's flourishing after the storm—a rare period of prosperity for this barren land, dating back to the early days of dynasties when all people paid homage.

Only the elder's eyes were filled with worry. With his long experience and seasoned wisdom, he understood the ominous sign behind the torrential rain. He knew that disaster always accompanies prosperity, just as wild beasts lurk where water and grass flourish, and the season of life's reproduction is the beginning of struggle. Rain brings life, life ignites competition, competition breeds hatred, and hatred settles into new misfortunes and disasters, awaiting the next cycle. So, on this land, what is the greatest disaster, and when did the most distant misfortune begin?
The elder knew the answer, and that was... battle.

Battle is the eternal melody of the Atoligarians, an inseparable destiny that accompanies their birth and death. It does not begin with the clash of swords, nor stem from the ambition of a king or the hatred between two tribes, but is deeply rooted in every breath of this land, existing long before the first drop of rain seeped into the cracked earth, long before the first mortal learned to wield a stone tool.

The admonitions of heroes were once engraved on stone tablets, but now the tablets are shattered, their fragments sinking into the quicksand; the tyranny of kings was once etched in fear, but now the dynasty is decaying, and only the ruins of the palace weep in the wind. The tyranny of the evil dragon cannot be taken away, the blessings of fairies cannot be remembered, all specific names and deeds will eventually be forgotten, only the "battle" itself, like the torrential rains of ancient memories, will repeat itself endlessly.

So, at this moment, where, who, and for what reason are they fighting?
The elder was very old, no longer possessing the boundless energy and surging ambition of his youth, willing to travel thousands of miles to find the end of the tribe's migration. All he could do was pray, pray that everything would settle down before the rain stopped.

Because he knew that if the fighting did not end, the rain would not stop.

The cycle of reincarnation is endless.

……

The moment the first raindrop fell, the Taikong moved. No longer content with the constraints of the earth, its thirty-meter-tall steel body suddenly bent its knees, and the thrusters on its feet and the energy nozzles on its back simultaneously erupted with unprecedented, dazzling purple flames. The earth collapsed into a giant crater amidst a deafening roar, and an eerie purple meteor shot into the sky, tearing through the thin air and the lingering raindrops, streaking straight toward the warship high in the sky. As it rapidly climbed to the same height as the Nibelungen, the rain was already pouring down, soaking the sky and the earth, a torrential and mournful downpour.

Was the speed of the Sky-Piercing Ship not fast enough? Perhaps the speed of the raindrops was even faster, for they had waited so long at the farthest distance in the mortal world, precisely to become the best backdrop for an epic duel destined to be recorded in history. Great actors always crave a suitable stage; for example, the stage for a knight is on an endless plain, and the stage for a chivalrous thief is in a steam-filled city. This is what is meant by setting, plot, or destiny.

The wild beasts will fight to the death in the rain.

The battle entered its most intense phase right from the start.

The Tayron made no attempt to probe with any long-range attacks; its instincts whispered that the only way to deal with such a behemoth was to close in, tear it apart, and dismantle it from within. Its right claw extended, its alloy talons flashing with a ghostly purple light, and slashed fiercely at the seam of the Nibelungen's side armor, producing a sickening metallic twisting sound. Sparks and fragments of shattered armor flew everywhere. It had actually, through sheer brute force and energy, plucked a several-meter-long, gruesome gash in the sheer weight of the armor, like a beast tearing the first wound on a whale's back. In its first response to this fierce attack, the Nibelungen also moved.

Contrary to expectations, the massive warship moved with surprising fluidity under Ovira's control. The movement was subtle yet precise, causing the Taikong's follow-up claws to strike empty air. Simultaneously, countless tiny propulsion nozzles on the hull's underside flickered silently, generating subtle thrust variations that, centered on the colossal hull, created an invisible whistling airflow, firmly and undeniably propelling the Taikong outwards.

The Taikong's reaction was terrifyingly fast. It didn't lose its balance after missing its target; its left claw suddenly gripped the newly torn crack, using it as a fulcrum to twist its body in an unbelievable manner. After readjusting its angle, its dorsal thrusters erupted at high frequency in less than a second. Each short, fierce burst of eerie purple energy flame wiped away large swathes of the dense rain, evaporating them into expanding clouds of steam. Propelled by inertia, this machine, with its almost instinctive combat awareness, maneuvered along the ship's surface several times like a satellite orbiting a star, dodging wave after wave of powerful air currents. It also circled to the other side of the Nibelungen's blind spot. Only the contrails left by the clouds and mist whipped up by its high-speed maneuvers proved that it had left traces of battle there.

Having learned from the failure of its first attack, the Taikong temporarily curbed its ferocious offensive desires and, following its pilot's will, adopted a more intelligent combat strategy. At times, it would swoop down from the thick rain clouds above the Nibelungen, its claws tearing through the rain curtain with a piercing shriek; if its attack missed, it would use the ship's hull as a springboard to quickly retreat into the clouds. At other times, it would speed along the rain-soaked side armor of the ship, its high-speed movement whipping up fan-shaped sprays of water like outstretched wings, the dense barrage threatening to cleave the aerial fortress in two. Most astonishingly, it no longer focused on mere claw-and-tooth combat, but began to utilize its mechanical advantages, using the inexhaustible supply of magic power from its pilot to convert it into tangible energy attacks. It could unleash dozens, even hundreds, of eerie purple energy beams at once, bombarding the Nibelungen's deck for fifteen seconds with such brutal firepower that even the rain evaporated, creating a suffocating vacuum.

The torrential rain gradually turned into a deluge, filling the ocean. Anyone witnessing this scene would inevitably think of fishermen hunting whales on the high seas, leaping onto the backs of these colossal creatures with their tiny tools, attempting to tear open their flesh and drain their lifeblood. Yet, the struggle between fishermen and whales eventually sees a glimmer of hope, while the figure that weaves through the rain, flashes beneath the clouds, its attacks as swift as lightning, dazzling yet breathtaking, seems unlikely to inflict any real harm on its prey.

The Nibelungen remained a silent, dark mountain range amidst the storm.

Ovira's control was so exquisite that it seemed she had foreseen the mindset of the Skyship. Otherwise, how could she always respond so perfectly? Every seemingly aggressive physical confrontation by the Skyship was neutralized by the ship's precise slight deflection, the turbulent airflow caused by local tilting, and even the inertial effects of altitude changes. The dense and terrifying energy beams bombarded the Skyship, but because of Ovira's adjustment of the ship's flight angle, they could not hit weak targets and could only leave insignificant marks on solid areas such as the deck.

The cumbersome feel of the Nibelungen's massive size seemed to vanish in Princess Beman's hands; every movement was effortless and precise. She didn't even need to use any of the skyship's weaponry to withstand wave after wave of attacks from the Skywarp.

If you still agree with my analogy of the fisherman hunting whales, then you will find that her way of dealing with whalers is almost exactly the same as how whales deal with whalers: by slightly adjusting the angle of her body, she can make the enemy on her back fall into the sea; by slapping the water with her fins and tail, the waves she creates can easily capsize the enemy's boat; and even with just a little struggle, she can expose the flaws in the seemingly tight encirclement.

Confrontation with mere claws and weapons is often a inferior strategy; only a thorough understanding of one's own situation is suitable for such bold and arrogant tactics. But Ovira has only recently become the master of the Nibelungen; how could she possibly know its structure and parameters so intimately? However, the Mysterious Kings are omniscient; for her, acquiring and assimilating knowledge is perhaps as simple as breathing?

As Pereira pondered this, she halted the Sky's pointless attack. In truth, she didn't need to stop it; the Sky had already shown an intention to temporarily cease fire. But that wasn't because it had finally realized its attacks were futile. In fact, for this beast, as long as it could fight to the death and vent its restlessness and unease, it would continue even with futile attacks. What truly made the Sky feel this battle was meaningless was that it had finally realized… Ovira's attitude towards it.

Contempt.

Yes, that enemy was looking down on him. Otherwise, why would she fight him in such a flippant manner? Just like a whaler's harpoon that couldn't even penetrate a whale's skin, the whale simply swung its body and threw it back into the sea, then told it in a tone as if it were a child: Stop fooling around.

"Did you finally realize it?"

In the control room, Ovira smiled slightly, making no attempt to hide her attitude. Rather, this was her purpose: "When you wantonly trampled and ravaged Miss Cheryl's dignity, you mistook that pathetic emotion for satisfaction; now, I treat you in the same way, so why should I feel ashamed? In your eyes, this is how the strong treat the weak, isn't it? Or is it that you can only accept that you are strong, but cannot accept that you are actually weak in some sense? You're just being unreasonable like a child."

“It seems,” she said with pity, “that a beast is still a beast after all.” (End of Chapter)