[Mike POV]
Claude is weird...
He suddenly asked to accompany me when I mentioned visiting Roa. I've known him since childhood—better than he knows himself, I'd wager.
But ever since that day we met with Rudeus, something changed in him. On the surface, it seems like a positive transformation, but I can feel it...
There's something unsettling beneath that change. Something festering in his mind, constantly distracting him.
Each time we meet, his exhaustion is more apparent. I notice it in his sluggish movements, the forced smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
Whenever he winces and touches his head in pain, I can tell he's carrying a burden he won't share with me.
I've always had a knack for reading people—it's why I was chosen as an apprentice merchant and groomed to inherit leadership of the merchant group. My judgment is trusted; the group has faith in me. Every major decision I've made has proven profitable for our merchant group.
But that's beside the point.
Some things bear repeating.
Claude is weird.
Yes, he's been eccentric since birth—that's never been the issue. But lately, there's a new anxiety to him, a nervous energy that wasn't there before.
What has him so frightened?
Would he confide in me if I asked directly?
I've never been one to dance around issues, and neither has he. So I decided to confront him during our journey to Roa.
"What makes you so anxious?" I asked, watching his face carefully.
"There'd be a massive incident in the future..." he replied without hesitation, his expression unnervingly steady.
I was taken aback. I hadn't expected such a straightforward answer. Whatever this "incident" was, it had to be something monumental—something beyond his control—to affect him so deeply.
"Tell me more about it," I said, my tone serious.
"Whoa, I never thought you'd believe me." Surprise flickered across his face, but I know Claude better than most. He doesn't joke about serious matters.
I didn't respond verbally, just fixed him with an expectant stare.
And there, under the weight of my gaze, he revealed everything. Claude had somehow become a Miko—someone who could glimpse the future. He knew that after this coming "incident," his life might be forfeit.
That explained his frantic self-improvement: learning martial arts from Mr. Paul, studying magic under Rudeus, and developing enchantment skills through what he claimed was his "Miko ability."
The truth was terrifying. The entire Fittoa Region would soon be teleported across the world without warning. We'd either perish in wilderness or fall prey to slave traders. No wonder he'd been obsessively raising awareness about slave trafficking and organizing brutal raids against illegal slavers in our area.
The mental image made me shudder—Claude, his hands stained with blood, all in service of preventing a future tragedy.
I've read about Mikos in various merchant reports and informational notes. "Blessed children," people call them. There are supposedly many throughout the world, though most remain unknown or unrecognized.
This was my first encounter with one, and it happened to be my childhood friend.
I found myself drifting into contemplation, as I often do...
Claude is a Miko. Fascinating, really.
But beyond his ability to glimpse the future, I realized the magnitude of what we faced. This wasn't some minor calamity that ordinary people could handle. Even those in the flying castle might be unaware of what was coming.
From what Claude revealed, even Perugius of the flying fortress knew something of the coming disaster.
All I could do was help fortify our defenses—both within my merchant group and throughout the village.
It was time to take action.
Our first priority was creating safer trade routes—specifically, smoother roads for our carriages.
I initially suggested paving stones, but Claude dismissed this as inefficient. Instead, he proposed using mages and his own abilities to create durable roads through a combination of solidification magic and an original spell he'd developed using earth, water, and fire magic.
He called his creation "Tartar."
The process was fascinating to watch. First, workers would level the ground. Then Claude would apply his hot, black tartar substance across the smoothed surface. Next came a layer of pebbles—collected each morning by Claude and willing villagers—followed by another application of hot tar. The final step involved a mixture he called "asphalt," spread atop everything else.
To complete the road, Claude employed a massive stone wheel pulled by a pair of docile but enormous beasts, compressing the layers into a remarkably smooth surface.
Throughout the process, Claude instructed the villagers with surprising patience, supervising their work and gradually improving his standing in the community.
I couldn't hide my amazement at his knowledge.
"Where did you learn all this?" I asked, offering to help spread the technique to other areas.
He merely waved his hand dismissively, as if it were nothing special. "Don't bother."
Later, I discovered why he was so nonchalant—the magic spell was his original creation, and he was the only one capable of using it effectively. The roads couldn't be easily maintained without him.
There was another purpose to these roads, I learned. They served as bait for slave traders, luring them in with the promise of easy travel, only to spring Claude's trap.
His small militia had become terrifyingly efficient at ambushing and eliminating slavers on sight. I never discovered what fueled such hatred in him, but the cold efficiency of his group was undeniable.
One project led to another. The village flourished under Claude's innovations, yet he remained dissatisfied, convinced his efforts weren't enough.
He never ceased his training—constantly improving his martial skills, refining his magic, working the forge for smithing, and experimenting with enchantments. The man barely slept.
Then one day, he presented me with what he called a "mass-producing tool."
"This artifact will scatter a signal continuously," he explained, dark circles prominent under his eyes. "It's a simple creation that can't be turned off. It emits a mana signal that allows this monitor to observe the holder's surroundings." He gestured to a crystalline object that displayed blurry images. "I can only make the monitor show the surrounding area. It's still impossible to detect the Mana GPS over 10km from the GPS monitor..."
His explanation left me bewildered. The theory was convoluted, filled with terms I'd never heard before.
"Whoa... GPS... what's that?" I interrupted, focusing on the unfamiliar word.
"This stone produced by the mana tool is a GPS," he replied, holding up a small, glowing pebble.
"That's an abbreviation, right?"
"Oh, right... It's... umm..." He frowned, clearly struggling to remember. "What did they call it again? A Global Positioning System? Right, it's a Global Positioning System!"
His uncertainty was odd. How could he create something whose name he couldn't even recall properly?
"Okay... I understand that a system is a way the tracker detects, but what's 'global'?" I asked, feeling somewhat embarrassed by my ignorance.
Frustration flashed across his face. "Heck, you asked too much! Just know that it's an item that allows your location to be known!"
His irritation was telling. Claude didn't fully understand the principles behind his own creation—he just somehow knew it would work.
How could he create something he didn't completely comprehend? It was yet another mystery surrounding my friend's newfound abilities.
Setting aside his flimsy explanation, I immediately recognized the commercial potential. Such a tracking device could be incredibly valuable in the marketplace. The coin that would flow into our coffers if we could mass-produce these artifacts...
"How many can your tool produce?" I asked, already calculating potential profits.
Claude rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "I have one mass-producing machine right now. It can create five a day using ambient mana. It needs to rest for 5 hours weekly to prevent overheating, so expect about 135 GPS stones every 4 weeks." He scribbled the calculations on a nearby board, his handwriting increasingly erratic.
I frowned. "That's not really that much, huh... Given our approaching deadline, how many monitors can you make?" The trackers were useless without devices to view the signals.
"With our deadline, I can create five monitors and two more production machines."
"Just create one more machine and focus on making more monitors," I countered. "Two machines should be sufficient for my merchant group and the villagers. We need the monitors more."
His shoulders slumped. "...I understand."
Claude seemed dejected by my decision, but practicality had to prevail. Our time was limited.
I could read his thoughts as clearly as if he'd spoken them aloud: What? Do you want to save more people? With our limited time? No way.
Based on our calculations, we could equip the entire village and my merchant group with these GPS stones, leaving the monitoring to those stationed outside the affected area.
I could tell Claude understood the logic behind my decision, even if he didn't like it. We needed to prioritize who to save and who we might have to forsake.
Besides, these devices weren't perfect. Having a GPS stone didn't guarantee salvation—it merely made tracking the soon-to-be-missing people easier.
I sighed heavily.
"Charles!" Claude suddenly called to one of his men. "Help Mike with the scheduling! We need to speed up our second plan too!"
I watched as a gaunt man with hollow eyes nodded respectfully and approached me. This was unexpected—I hadn't anticipated that Claude's vigilante activities would evolve into an actual organization. But additional hands meant faster progress, so I welcomed the help.
Claude's group was clearly still in its infancy—most members bore the vacant expressions of people who'd seen too much hardship. Yet they regarded Claude with unmistakable reverence, almost like devoted followers rather than colleagues.
Is this what they mean when they say power attracts people?
The collaboration proved fruitful. My caravan became the most respected in the village. Since all the combatants in Claude's organization were trained as magic swordsmen, they handled bandits with remarkable efficiency, further enhancing our reputation.
Trade routes expanded, safety improved, and with it came better quality goods and faster travel times.
Our situation improved daily, but the shadow of what was to come loomed over everything. Our time was running out.
Two months remained until Rudeus's birthday...
The cataclysm would occur just one day after his celebration.
The year K417 would soon come to its catastrophic end.
I could only hope our preparations would be enough.
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