First, I had to eliminate the Technomagic Army stationed before the building. Leaving them to interfere with us later would be a nuisance. To sever any lingering concerns, it was best to finish them now. I didn't intend to waste time; I would crush them in a single stroke.
I began to channel my magic. I infused the spell with miasma, ensuring it would be a lethal blow. A black sphere manifested above the army, its density increasing as it swirled. Within it, power was compressed to a degree that made golems and tanks look like children's toys. An ordinary person would have felt their flesh rot and turned into an undead just by standing near it.
The Technomagic Army reacted instantly. The golems moved first, firing their finger guns in an attempt to shatter the orb. The bullets struck the surface but were swallowed whole, vanishing into the core. They caused little more than ripples, like pebbles tossed into a lake.
The tanks began to maneuver. Too close to fire their main cannons, they scrambled to reposition, but they only succeeded in colliding with one another in their frantic haste. They wouldn't be ready to fire anytime soon. Soldiers clad in peculiar armor fled the area, faces pale with terror. Only the golems remained, relentless in their attack. They were pilotless, and their masters clearly believed that the machines' destruction wouldn't mean their own.
(Naive...)
I watched the golems fire their weapons with detached calm, then triggered the spell. The sphere burst. It transformed into a black torrent that flooded the ground. Faced with such a massive volume of miasma, the golems were swallowed without a prayer of resistance. They vanished beneath the tide, emitting plumes of white smoke. The tanks were similarly swept away, pushed along by the dark surge.
In a panic, several cannons fired. Beams of light gouged into nearby buildings, and unlucky soldiers caught in the crossfire were obliterated. Overturned tanks melted away, coated in corrosive miasma. Meanwhile, the soldiers leaped. With surprisingly agile movements, they landed on the rooftops to escape the flood. They stared down at the black torrent ravaging the street below, their faces ghastly white.
I watched them closely. Their movements were too nimble to be explained by simple physical enhancement alone. The secret lay in their strange armor. It was bulkier than standard gear, with a box-like apparatus mounted on the back. Magic power circulated between the suit and the box. The output was impressive—roughly equivalent to two mages' worth of power per person. By channeling that energy, the armor bolstered the wearer's physical capabilities. It was a weapon in its own right.
The box on the back served as a mana fuel tank, and the armor itself was inscribed with control formulas. Judging by the structure, it was a subspecies of golem. Miniaturized golems were integrated into the joints to assist the soldiers' movements.
(Fascinating. This wasn't in any of the intelligence we gathered. A new proprietary weapon?)
It was a complete departure from traditional armor. Compared to the tanks and golems, these suits were incredibly swift. Since humans were at the helm, their proficiency in close-quarters combat was high. They were versatile, adaptable, and formidable.
"A magnificent invention. John Doe is truly a genius."
"Is this the time for praise? They're coming!"
Logan's warning cut through my musings. The soldiers who had escaped the torrent were closing in across the rooftops. They had finally pinpointed our position. The guns they leveled at us were tipped with magic power blades, each clearly imbued with the holy attribute. They were weapons designed for both range and melee.
(Well-equipped, perhaps, but still short-sighted.)
I invoked a forbidden magic, taking control of the torrent soaking the ground below. I lifted the mass of liquid into the sky and detonated it. The miasma scattered, raining down upon the soldiers.
"Ugh, what is—?!"
"My eyes! My eyes!"
"H-help! Please, someone!"
The soldiers collapsed, rolling across the tiles in agony as they transformed into ghouls. The miasma downpour ended quickly, but it had been total. Every soldier who had attempted to approach us was gone, replaced by mindless monsters. Only Logan, whom I had shielded, remained unscathed. The remaining miasma evaporated into the air.
The soldiers were fast, but brittle. By focusing entirely on mobility, they had left themselves with zero defenses against magic. Against someone who can cast without a single word, they were nothing but target practice.
A low moaning drifted from a nearby building. A robed undead tumbled from a window. Then another, and another—about ten in total. They shambled away aimlessly.
These were the casters who had been operating the golems. Since they were indoors, they hadn't been touched by the rain; they had been transformed because of the connection they shared with their machines. A remote operation link is a two-way street. By seizing the control formulas of the golems swallowed by the torrent, I was able to backflow the miasma directly into the operators. To those who thought they were safe in their bunkers, it must have been a terrifying surprise.
I had spent years mastering the manipulation of miasma. In this life, I could use techniques that were impossible when I was human. I saw no reason not to utilize them to their fullest.
Logan looked at the carnage and let out a long sigh.
"Tell me before you use miasma next time. It’s bad for the heart."
"...I'll do my best," I replied after a beat.
I couldn't make a firm promise; in the heat of battle, such courtesy isn't always possible. Logan wasn't truly complaining, though. He had already been preparing his own defenses even before I extended my protection. He had known me long enough to anticipate my moves.
We climbed down from the roof and approached the massive white building. No more troops emerged. My perception magic told me there were plenty of people inside, but it was unnaturally quiet. Perhaps they realized that sending more men out was futile.
I looked at the entrance. It was sealed with magic, but I sensed no traps. I could have easily blasted it open. If I were only after the Secret Stone, I might have been more heavy-handed, but I wanted to speak with John Doe. I had to proceed carefully to ensure his safety—and the stone's.
Just as I reached for the door, a sharp crackle of static echoed through the air. I paused. A magic tool was mounted beside the door frame. The noise smoothed out, eventually becoming recognizable as a voice.
"...Can you... hear me? Do you hear me...?"
It was a man's voice, stiff and heavy with tension. He was testing the waters. Logan and I shared a look.
"I hear you," I said. "Who is this?"
"My name is... John Doe," the voice replied, tinged with a faint, lingering hesitation.