4

Once again, nothing but green, green, green as far as the eye could see… and I silently held my head in my hands at the sight.

There were rises and dips in the terrain, sure, but no man-made structures—not even any landmark that might give me a clue as to where I was. The sameness of the view was enough to make me dizzy.

Looking around, there were indeed places higher than here, and others of about the same elevation scattered here and there.

But the highest point I could see within range was something I could only describe—crudely—as a “towering lone turd”: a bare rocky spire sticking straight up from the forest with no visible footholds.

Crude as that sounded, it was basically a rock stick jutting out of the greenery.

(I don’t know of any region that has a landmark like that.)

It might have been formed as a result of the war, but nothing in my memory matched it.

At least I could say—if only as a bitter consolation—that I’d figured out I was in territory unknown to me.

Unfortunately, I had no rock-climbing experience, nor the skill or knowledge for it.

Given my current huge body, even if I had the arm strength to support the extra weight, there was a very real chance whatever I grabbed might crumble.

For now, I decided on a policy of safe, steady actions rather than risky feats.

So I scanned the sea of green below for a river… but saw nothing.

For the record, I could barely make out the research facility.

Its outer wall was only just visible where the greenery hadn’t completely swallowed it, and from this distance, you’d never notice it was man-made without looking closely.

Staring hard in that direction brought a discovery.

When I focused intently on the same spot, my field of vision narrowed, as if I were adjusting the zoom on a telescope, letting me see distant objects more clearly.

Repeating it several times, I quickly got the hang of it.

Before long, I could use this ability at will.

Testing it, I found I could not only magnify distant things, but also inspect nearby things in fine detail.

In short, I had a “zoom function.”

I had no idea how I’d acquired such an ability, but it wasn’t exactly unwelcome, so I accepted it without complaint.

My body was becoming ever less human… though my appearance had long since gone far beyond that anyway.

Using this newly discovered ability, I began searching for water—not necessarily a river, but any source.

I abandoned the idea of pinpointing my current location from here.

With the sun almost directly overhead, I’d decide on a direction of travel once it began to set; for now, survival meant finding water.

Scanning the seemingly endless forest from above, I spotted something with colors too unnatural to be part of nature.

Zooming in to the limit, I saw something white with a red stripe, covered in greenery but clearly man-made.

I couldn’t tell what it was from here, but it was worth checking out.

Fortunately, it was in the opposite direction from the research facility, so the connection between the two was unlikely—meaning less worry about contamination. And who knew, there might even be something useful there.

I climbed down from the cliff and lumbered toward the object.

It took some time to reach it, but by the time the sun began to dip, I had arrived without incident.

The closer I got, the more certain I became of what it was.

Standing close enough to touch it, I looked up at the thing lying in the forest and knew for sure:

A massive, sturdy-looking fabric, and through a broken glass front, something like a cockpit—

(Airship, huh?)

Apparently, humanity still hadn’t given up on the skies.

With giant birds, dragons, and countless other flying monsters around, it was no mystery what happened to humans who dared float in the air.

(Still… I get why they’d want to try.)

“To control the sky”—there wasn’t a soul in this world who didn’t understand that.

For military or commerce, the value was immeasurable. The wealth it could generate was beyond imagining, and it could even spark revolutions.

But no one had ever managed it.

Everyone had written it off as “a waste of effort,” yet clearly, someone was still trying in this age.

(Which makes me wonder how old this one is. If it crashed without burning, maybe it was powered mainly by magic? That’d point to the East or North…)

If I knew who made it, it might tell me something. But at a glance, there was no such information.

If I could date the crash, I could learn more—especially if the cargo included preserved rations still fit to eat.

This wreck, in other words, was packed with potential.

I was a bit surprised at my luck—but given what had happened to me, the world owed me a little compensation.

So I started investigating… and was quickly disappointed.

Besides the cockpit, there was only a small room with seats and a tiny cargo hold.

Partly because of my size, I couldn’t search inside properly—I had to rip apart walls and doors just to squeeze in.

So I searched from outside—and found skeletons.

Including partial remains, I counted about four people’s worth of bones.

Some were gnawed, and I didn’t want to imagine by what.

From their tattered clothes, I’d hoped to guess their nation, but after 200 years, the designs were nothing like those I remembered.

In the end, I found two main things:

First, emergency rations in cans.

Not as trustworthy as Imperial-made ones, but I hadn’t expected to find so many intact.

Second, information—something I valued even more.

The airship had crashed in 1867.

This confirmed the 200-year gap, and given the date I knew from the facility, the crash had happened about five years ago.

I learned this from a crewman’s diary, still readable inside a bag, written in Canaan Kingdom script—which I could partly read.

The Kingdom of Canaan lay north of the Empire, a monarchy that combined magic and science, and the first to open hostilities with us.

By the time I was school age, we were already at war, and some teachers would scold us: “Learning an enemy language is outrageous.”

When told that directly, I’d reply mildly, “Wouldn’t that make it hard to train spies?” Somehow, that got twisted into “aspiring spy,” causing me plenty of trouble.

Not that I had the patience for an intelligence career—flipping through this diary was tedious enough that I almost quit several times.

Still, I’d never expected my first foreign-language choice to come in handy like this.

If I’d known, I’d have studied harder.

“Given the 200-year gap, it’s only natural there are big chunks I can’t read,” rationalized the ex-Imperial soldier who’d woken two days ago, now living on what should’ve been his pension.

From what I could tell, this airship was experimental, and—predictably—was attacked by flying creatures and went down.

Even in my time, that was practically a cliché—but seeing it here wasn’t funny.

The diary was mostly useless, filled with gripes about superiors.

Interpreting the legible bits:

“Damn it, I didn’t sign up to crew a flying coffin, be a test subject, or an explorer. I applied to be a tester for the latest magitech engine. What the hell is this junk? This looks like something from a hundred years ago. ○○○ [unreadable, probably a name], do you even get blood to your brain? Feeding that bald head of yours is useless—send it to your brain. And your breath stinks. Brush your damn teeth.”

The rest was pure abuse, so I should skip it. Day two was similar:

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—we’re flying, sure, but at this speed? I thought we’d be accelerating! At this rate, we’re perfect targets for a Flyneedle. Oh, those flashy red markings are for scorekeeping, huh? What, you think I’m joking? I’m not suicidal—turn back and drop me off now.”

“Flyneedle” was the nickname; officially, they were Katarunya—slender, winged fish about 50 cm long.

Better known as “flying stakefish,” they had razor-sharp, hardened snouts that could punch through steel plate, and they attacked airborne targets at 120 km/h.

Frankly, even I wouldn’t want to take a hit from one.

“Goddammit. Yesterday I got punched for letting them see this diary. And now, just like I said, we’ve been attacked and can’t keep flying. ‘Only three hours left before we’re done?’ Don’t care. I’m done. Let’s crash already—I’ll find a way to get out on my own.”

It seemed the airship went down after about three days, and judging by the crew’s low morale, the rest was predictable.

Useless as the diary might seem, it did suggest why so much food was untouched—likely because it was abandoned.

As for the contents, I hoped Canaan’s tech could keep them safe for five years… prayed, really.

Unlike Imperial cans, these had lids instead of seals, so without magical preservation, I was wary—but I wouldn’t know without opening one.

I picked up a can about the size of a human fist and examined it.

If I remembered right, there was a tool for opening these, but I didn’t need one now.

I simply crushed it.

It shattered easily under my current strength, revealing rock-hard bread—hardtack, the classic kind.

After checking for mold and finding none, I hooked it with a claw and crunched it down.

“Better than nothing,” I thought, the phrase surfacing in my mind.

(Couldn’t they at least throw in some dried fruit for nutrition?)

There was a decent amount, but given my size, it’d last me a day for sure, maybe two at most.

Half or more of the stock was damaged anyway.

And the dryness made me want water even without feeling thirsty.

So finding a water source was still essential.

I stuffed as much into my backpack as would fit, packed the rest into a fairly intact wooden crate, and held it in one hand.

After testing by walking a bit and judging it fine, I left the crash site.

Not a bad haul, but I couldn’t help muttering, “Wouldn’t mind if there was a bit more.”

Running risked breaking the crate, but thankfully, it stayed intact.

It was more to carry, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

(Airship… only moving at low speed, three days out. If it’s not far from Canaan’s border, maybe I should head east.)

I didn’t know Canaan’s current borders, but geographically, heading east should bring me to a city called Grasseru or the railway leading to it.

Even if the city was gone, finding its ruins might tell me how the war ended.

I could judge east from the sun’s position.

(East first—then adapt as I go.)

So, backpack in one hand, crate in the other, I experimented with moving in ways that would help me get used to my body as I headed east.

Having both hands full made balancing trickier than expected, but thinking of it as training made it fine.

After all, I was a soldier once.

Even as a recruit, I’d gone through basic training—enough to think, “No way I’d give up over something like this,” especially with my boosted, tireless body.

Though in truth, my training period had been very short.

Whether that reflected the Empire’s desperation or its might in having gear that needed little training was something for historians to argue over—an argument I’d love to end myself, if I could speak more than “gao gao.”

But imagining it was half the fun.

After all, waking up as a monster in the world 200 years later was the height of misfortune—finding ways to enjoy it was the only way to cope.

As the sun lowered toward evening, my nose caught something.

A scent.

No—honestly, a stench.

Trusting my sense of smell, I wandered toward it…

And unexpectedly, I saw something.

“Eh? How’d I find a river?”

I muttered in my familiar “gao-gao” voice.