Vol 1.2: Practice Makes Perfect
Dominating the center of Shiganshina District stood a large castle-like structure, called by locals as the military HQ.
A handful of individuals, roughly 36 in number, seemed to occupy its walls. If I were to discern the secrets hidden within, a covert infiltration might be in order. Information, schematics and...muskets lay in abundance, though their appeal waned in my eyes.
4 shots in one minute at best.
As I surveyed the surroundings, a mother and her enthusiastic son distracted me for a moment. The little boy marvelled at the ODM gear worn by the passing soldiers who were grumbling about my recent misdoings. They still couldn't catch me.
A century of peace. With no war or inner conflict recorded. Either the politicians were masterfully educated to avoid such conflicts or someone is lying.
"Look, look Mommy! Isn't their ODM gear so cool?!"
"It sure is. Come on now, we don't want to leave Daddy behind, do we? Let's head back."
"Kay'!"
Their voices faded into the bustling crowd, blissfully unaware of my watchful eyes. Days turned into nights, and I spent a significant portion of the week covertly studying this place. Clothing and food weren't pressing issues, my nimble fingers securing necessities undetected. The absence of omnipresent cameras was a welcome relief.
Surprisingly, finding shelter proved to be a straightforward task. Abandoned or shuttered houses, particularly on the city's outskirts, offered ample shelter. Stringing up a makeshift hammock, and securing foundations, I could enjoy a peaceful slumber.
Shiganshina District seemed to be the opposite of the housing crisis plaguing modern times. Thousands more could find accommodation, fueling my theory that this was an undesirable, vulnerable location.
Backtracking a bit...
ODM gear piqued my interest. The grapple system, triggered by controls on the equipment's sides, hinted at a propulsion mechanism using compressed air canisters.
Odd, I thought.
Compressed air propels forward for a limited time before depletion. Was there a type of condensed gas they used for ODM gear? Given the supernatural situation I'm in, that is in the realm of possibilities.
Balance, I also surmised, played a pivotal role in mastering the ODM gear. Secure practice grounds and storage would be essential if I ever acquired a set. I had one in mind, but needed to adequately prepare beforehand.
And then there was the matter of a horse. I still needed one.
"It's so scratchy..." I grumbled.
Assimilating into the era proved effortless, but the discomfort and the threat of lice in my hair cast a shadow. There was also the fact that the clothing was less than comfortable. Also, the pervasive stench of the early 1800s permeated everything. It was as if Victorian London was on steroids.
I think I just stepped in some horse dung...
Repulsion surged within me. The lack of a proper sewer system and waste disposal turned the surroundings into a cesspool. It was becoming unbearable.
I never knew I had a preference for keeping things tidy and clean—but now I do. I miss modern waste management systems.
"I'm getting out of here..."
"Ah...fresh air..."
The departure from Shiganshina District gifted me the solace of the great outdoors, mercifully free from the omnipresent fragrance of dung.
Equipped with a newly acquired medium-large backpack, its contents funded by a resourceful repurposing of local funds, I carried my uniform, provisions, and essentials like a flint rock and iron for igniting fires if the need arose.
Under the moonlit night, a few hours post-sunset, I trod the path on foot. Exiting Shiganshina District, I found myself amidst a stream of people, likely farmers from the interior of Wall Maria. Their laden horses dragged an assortment of goods—cabbages, wheat, carrots, turnips, and potatoes.
The scene struck me as tedious. How I longed for a twist of fate, a military messenger perhaps, falling right into my waiting arms—
Neighh!
"Woah girl, what is it? Hm?"
Fortune seemed to smile upon me, and I silently revelled in the pleasant turn of events. If I could, a mad grin would undoubtedly stretch across my face at this very moment.
||𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑: 𝐖𝐀𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒||
Early morning, Trost District.
"Be careful with that equipment. That's expensive stuff, you know," admonished a military police officer, his voice carrying indifference. His gaze bore into a subordinate meticulously packing up ODM gear and weaponry—a shipment destined for the outer walls, already delayed by three days. Only now, under mounting pressure, were they rushing to deliver it.
"Oh, sorry. I'm still new..." came the flat, uninspired response.
"Yeah, yeah. That's what they all say. Just don't drop that shit, and we won't end up knee-deep in paperwork, got it? Paperwork is a bitch," the sergeant grumbled.
"Ah, yes sir."
The recruit's lack of a salute went unnoticed by the sergeant—a gesture relegated to the annals of tradition within the Military Police. The concept of dedicating one's heart to a seemingly lost cause left a bitter taste in their collective mouths.
"Now get a move on!"
With a cautious hand, the recruit mounted the horse-drawn cart, setting off at a measured pace. Meanwhile, the sergeant, burdened with administrative duties, sighed heavily, pen scratching against paper before his temples found solace beneath his weary fingers.
"Oy! Nick! Come here, let's play some cards!"
The man, now identified as 'Nick,' turned his head toward the familiar voices. In a group of four, his friends beckoned him, a vacant seat—or rather, a crate—awaiting his arrival. Amidst the card game, a substantial pot of coins is implied at a lively session in progress.
"Sigh...Seriously? I'm still on duty..."
"Ah, come on! Just a little bit! Plus you're like, the top...top..erm..."
"Are you wasted or something? That fuck are you stuttering for?"
"I only had a little bit to drink," came the sheepish admission.
"It's so early in the morning for this shit...Alright, I'll bite, but only for a short while. What are we playing?"
"Poker, duh. Nothing else to play other than that! Come on!"
Concealed from prying eyes, Ayanokouji Kiyotaka finally freed his face from the hood he was wearing. Could it genuinely be this straightforward to steal from the military? No probing questions, no interference—just a stroll away. He absentmindedly adjusted the scratchy stolen attire, pondering the sheer audacity of the act.
Could incompetence reach such heights, even within the military's supposedly elite ranks?
As Kiyotaka mulled over his adventure, he contemplated the image of the Military Police, purportedly the crème de la crème, the top 10 of their classes. Were they all indolent gamblers? He couldn't help but draw parallels to the early days of Class D, minus the alcohol.
Observing them up close, he noted their youthfulness. Some, he reckoned, were not much older than himself, yet their demeanour suggested a lack of education and intelligence. Kiyotaka speculated that even Yamauchi possessed more cognitive prowess than these inebriated bunch.
How are they stupid?
Drunk slackers—that's how Kiyotaka classified them. Entering the Military HQ, clad in his stolen uniform, he faced no scrutiny and underwent no identity checks. It was as simple as identifying a late order in one of the offices, packing it up, and casually walking out.
The blatant absence of discipline among superior officers, coupled with a lack of tact, fueled Kiyotaka's contemplation of a repeat performance at another HQ, just for the fun of it. The soldiers he anticipated, disciplined and organized as per 19th-century records, failed to materialize.
His expectations were already low, but somehow, reality managed to undershoot even those modest benchmarks.
Kiyotaka could've sworn he was the most productive person in that entire complex, and he wasn't even a part of the military.
||𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑: 𝐖𝐀𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒||
Finding a secluded spot within Wall Maria turned out to be a simple task. Vast expanses of unused land stretched endlessly, especially as I ventured farther from the meandering river that carved through the center of the colossal landmass.
The scenery transformed into vast, flat plains extending for miles—an oddly soothing sight. Back in ANHS, the distant hum of cars and the persistent sounds of the city formed the background noise. Here, in contrast, there was a profound absence of such urban clamour. Only the soft cadence of horse hooves and the rhythmic rattle of the cart reached my ears.
Chomp!
I took another bite of the remaining piece of bread. There were more tucked away in the cart's depths, but the effort to retrieve them seemed unwarranted at the moment.
"Still stale..."
The persistent unpleasantness of the food made me ponder the culinary mysteries of this place. Or...lack thereof...
Upon closer examination, the culprit seemed to be the nutrient-deprived soil—unsuitable even for cultivating hardy plants like potatoes, let alone yielding wheat for bread.
This land, simply referred to as 'The Walls,' perpetually teetered on the edge of famine. The pitiable soil quality, combined with what I suspected to be the hoarding of resources by the denizens of Wall Sina, contributed to this grim reality.
"Sigh...feudalism..." I muttered, my gaze falling upon a vast formation of trees that loomed into view. "That has to be larger than the walls..."
Indeed, the trees stood as formidable giants, surpassing the walls with their towering height—around 80 meters compared to the walls' 50. It seemed to me as the perfect training ground.
Omni-Directional Maneuver gear, a means to move in three dimensions rather than the standard two. Excellent for combat... but against what?
The locals in Shiganshina spoke of creatures known as titans. Were we battling those colossal beings? The connection to Greek Mythology remained, and if the Titans matched the enormity of these trees, then the need for such advanced gear made sense.
I highly doubt it, though. I believe the Titans to be much smaller than the walls.
They also ate humans. For what reason, I don't know, but what's for certain is that I'm most definitely not on Earth right now. This is getting more and more odd the longer I stay here. Did I get isekaied?
Drip!
Drip!
Drip!
"I'm so unlucky..."
My gaze shifted skyward, recognizing the impending arrival of a rainstorm. Glancing back at the cart, the strategically draped tarp assured me that it wouldn't get wet anytime soon. I wasn't sure if ODM gear was waterproof, but I was certain that keeping the muskets and the powder dry was a must.
Calculating the distance, roughly 800 meters separated me from the expansive forest. No signs of nearby habitation were evident unless I so happened to choose an uninhabited part of the land.
Taking up residence here seemed like a reasonable decision.
Upon emerging, the sheer magnitude of the trees left me utterly bewildered. Not that I hadn't seen taller trees—Redwoods in the northwestern United States could surpass 100 meters in height. What truly astounded me was the colossal width of their trunks, spanning around 7 to 10 meters.
How on earth would I even cut these down?
Venturing deep into the forest, I stumbled upon a spot that felt like my own sanctuary. A petite grove hugged by towering trees, allowing gentle rays of sunlight to filter through. White flowers adorned the clearing, I didn't know how I felt about them.
As I dismounted, the unwieldy weight of the ODM gear reminded me of its presence. It was just a few kilograms, nothing too overbearing, yet its discomfort lingered. I reassured myself that I'd get used to it—it was a temporary inconvenience.
My stay here was to be brief; a few days to rest. A makeshift camp unfolded beneath the forest canopy, using the wagon, boxes, and muskets as structural support for the securely fastened tarp. Nails and a stolen hammer ensured everything stayed firmly in place.
Electronics. How I missed the convenience of modern gadgets. If I am stuck here for a while, then I could just replay my memories over and over again like a movie.
I left spare muskets and ODM gear beneath the improvised shelter, venturing out to test my newfound tools.
The lack of a guide on ODM gear usage at the military HQ forced me to fumble through its functions independently. I'd teach myself.
With a distinct "Shing!" I drew the two swords from their holsters, noting the presence of spare blades in separate slots. An indication that these metal blades were prone to breaking and lacked strength. Medieval knights had better weaponry than this...
These blades are connected to a hand-guard-like mechanism, linked to a strong rope-like material preventing loss.
Pressing a trigger, a grappling hook shot out forcefully, embedding itself into a nearby tree trunk.
"I see... so that one..." A second grapple hook followed suit on the right.
Depressing the other trigger released a puff of gas, propelling me forward. "Woah... so if I press them at the same time..."
I adjusted the grapple hooks, aiming higher. I propelled myself forward after some trial and error and ended up four meters above ground now, my feet dangling.
Balancing was surprisingly easy; the challenge lay in mastering this newfound third dimension of travel—
TUMBLE!
TUMBLE!
THUD!
TUMBLE!
THUD!
"Itai..."
A few hours would likely suffice to master ODM gear, but the prospect didn't exactly fill me with anticipation. My aching back was a testament to that.
I had to make sure I didn't get sick...or infect the locals with any diseases I might have brought with me. It wouldn't be the most ideal if the Black Death devastated the population right about now. I need them for later.
I was currently upside down, my grapple hooks attached to nearby trees, attempting to read a small section of text, trying to determine the language system used.
Initially, I would've thought the Latin alphabet would've been used, but it appeared to be unintelligible gibberish. At first glance, I couldn't tell what was being said. But that led to my current situation, I was upside down.
The text or, alphabet used by these walled people was Japanese Katakana, just upside down. That threw my head for a loop—or was that the blood rushing to my head? I didn't know.
I had to mentally flip every katakana right-side up to read.
|| JOIN THE SCOUTS! THE WINGS OF FREEDOM CALL TO YOU! ||
German language, Japanese writing system. I feel like the world has conspired against me.
Crack!
"Shoot..."
Thud!
"Ow..."
The gear is prone to releasing its grapples early if not cleaned properly. Noted, I'll just get a new set from the boxes. The MPs I stole this one off probably hasn't been cleaned in months. How tiresome.
||𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑: 𝐖𝐀𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒||
The rain poured heavily, drenching the dirt pathway with an ominous aura. The atmosphere crackled with tension as the Military Police patrol scrutinized the grim spectacle before them—a lifeless body sprawled on the ground, charred beyond recognition.
It was a truly horrifying sight.
The corpse lay scorched as if struck by a bolt of lightning, its features obliterated to mere fragments. No clues remained as to the cause of death—an enigma destined to remain unsolved, like so many before it.
"Augh... so what do we put on the report?" muttered one of the officers, a palpable sense of disgust evident in his voice. He fought the urge to suppress the rising bile in his throat, if only for a little longer.
"Well, we've reached out to the military HQs in Trost and Shiganshina about any missing personnel, but they reported none. So..."
"Probably a new recruit or something—they might have slipped through the cracks, forgotten before they were even noticed."
"Eh..." his partner exhaled heavily. "Disgusting work, all of it. But still beats being out with the Scouts, that's for sure."
"You can say that again." He cast a solemn glance at the remains. "I still feel sorry for the poor guy, even though we can't even see their face. Just... life extinguished, left to rot on the roadside. Burned alive or worse... Sigh..."
The two officers turned away, making their way towards their mounts, leaving the body abandoned at the roadside as they trotted off into the rain.
"Yeah. But these things happen. Fights over rations, supplies... it's the same old story."
"Mhm, idle hands lead to dark acts... sigh..."
"But what can we do? Someone's clearly behind these deaths, yet without a shred of evidence, what's the use? Especially in this rain... it's likely washed away any clues. It's useless."
"Hm, I suppose. Let's head back to HQ and file it under 'unsolvable.' "
Later in the day, Trost District Military HQ would raise the alarm, reporting the brazen theft of 4 sets of ODM gear, 16 gas canisters, and 4 muskets—complete with powder and shot.
Patrols were promptly dispatched, fanning out across the vast expanse of Wall Maria with a focused gaze on the Forest of Giant Trees, singled out as the potential hiding ground for the stolen military equipment. The theft had set in motion a frantic search, each patrol tasked with locating the missing gear and apprehending the crook responsible.
Meanwhile, Ayanokouji Kiyotaka slept in the trees.