The Gamer Chapter 1109 – Classified and Chained 6 – Large talent, small body (Patreon)

‘Oh Lord, now I see why Max is always worried about his sister’s spending habits,’ the Gamer thought as he walked through Abyssal Vienna.

It was his first time in the city. During the Five Days War, he had been on the mundane side of things, and even then, he had only been travelling through. Despite not knowing what the city had looked like a year ago, he knew for sure that things were changing rapidly around here.

On a canvas of gorgeous renaissance mansions and castles of moderate and ambitious sizes, an eccentric technocrat was painting with monorails and hyper-advanced energy transportation systems. One would expect the two aesthetics to clash, but the casing put around the wires and the pillars used to elevate the infrastructure above the streets remained on theme with the other buildings all around them. Even the trains looked less like metal and more like moving rooms of creamy beige and gold. The opulent splendour of design and technology was on open display, winding around castle towers, quietly gliding over rooftops, and vanishing into tunnels.

The only element in the landscape that was unseemly were the many, many scaffolds all over the place. Renovations to hook mansions onto the new energy grid, putting up additional pillars and, this John found particularly interesting, small mana factories. Everything around had the gleam of newly built or freshly painted.

Which made John think that the state’s reserves must have been majorly diminished. There was a reason why immense infrastructure projects were undertaken seldom and that was because putting together such a large-scale operation was incredibly costly in time and treasure. It spoke to Ria’s genius that she had been able to put all of this together in such a comparatively short amount of time, but old business wisdom stated that something that was done well and fast could never be cheap.

‘Also, I get why Lydia has to keep negotiating with Ria about new funds,’ the Gamer thought while he, along with Nightingale and Metra, were guided onto a metal platform. It erected a weak barrier around them, just strong enough to protect them from the wind, and then hovered upwards. Once high enough, it slotted onto one of the monorails and started gliding along.

Although the details of the movement were different than he was used to, a hovering platform wasn’t entirely novel. What was impressive about it wasn’t the speed but the availability. Several other platforms all across the city rose in a similar fashion, slotting onto rails and gliding along until they were around their destination. All of that happened without collisions. The programming involved must have been quite the piece of work.

The palace at the centre of the city was the only structure that John would have identified as immediately supernatural. Had it not been for the arcano-tech that plastered every last surface, the buildings would have looked mundane. Incredibly impressive, masterpieces of architecture, but ultimately mundane.

The Habsburg’s palace, by comparison, was a supersized structure with six corners, marked by impressive towers that served as plinths for even more impressive statues. Forged from silver, polished to the extreme and each depicting a noble of past importance, they stood watch over the city in argent glory. The walls of the building that spanned between the towers were dominated by massive windows, interrupting the same creamy beige and gold combination so common elsewhere in the city.

Drones swarmed around the entire structure, making their way to different areas in the city for various tasks that John could only guess. ‘Maybe the Abyss Auction leased one of the towers?’ he thought. The Abyss Auction loved to employ drones wherever it could and John couldn’t imagine that the entire palace was occupied. ‘For being less populous, Abyssals sure love building supermassive structures for no real reason… If I said that out loud, I’d definitely be called a black pot.’

The rail eventually curved away from the palace, causing the platform to disengage from it and hover the rest of the way at a slower pace. Eventually it settled on a landing spot in the green area surrounding the structure. Upturned dirt indicated that the spot had only been placed there recently.

After the barrier lowered, the trio stepped off the platform. An alarm sound caused John to raise an eyebrow, wondering if he had somehow broken the travelling device. It turned out to be a warning for people to get off, as the platform sank slightly under the ground. A shutter closed above it. John assumed that there was an underground system that assured there were enough of these hovering plates distributed across the city.

“Alright, let’s hope that Max told them we’re coming,” the Gamer said and led the way towards the front entrance.

Unsurprisingly, it was guarded. Not to the same extent as Fenrir had been, not even remotely. ‘Presentation over practicality’ seemed to be the theme of the uniforms, whose design seemed more concerned to fit with the castle than be practical. A mixture of cloth and small armour pieces, utilizing black, yellow and silver as their primary colours, covered each of the royal guards. While their levels were high enough to showcase that this was indeed a position people had to work hard to reach, they weren’t anywhere near high enough to prevent any actual assassination attempts. Most likely, their duty was more focused around crowd control and impressive displays.

Checking who entered and left was not actually part of their duty. Stoically, they kept staring ahead, while John approached the servant overseeing the front gate. John was far from the only person who wanted to enter, with a small crowd of supplicants waiting to be heard or ignored. The tradition that the monarch was to hear the problems of the populace during court sessions was apparently still alive in these parts. While outdated, John was not fully against it. There were certainly worse ways to keep in touch with the people.

Normally crowds were quite miffed when people cut through them, but in the case of this particular trio, nobody said anything. Although John would have loved to think that this was because of his body language, it was more likely that Nightingale prevented people from asking any questions. If she had been famous in Austria previous to her ascension, she would have become widely known enough to be recognized. Even if not, as goddess of night she had a particular aura about her that doubtlessly established that she did not belong in a crowd.

For all of his power, unless he radiated any strong emotions, the Gamer was still a human. Very attractive, finely clothed, but a human, who could easily get lost in a crowd and overlooked. Metra stood out a tad more, with her skimpy clothes contrasting the suits all around.

“Name and…” the gatekeeper, sitting in a walled off box next to the closed gate, started the usual spiel before seeing who was in front of him. “Ah, Nightingale, I take it you want to visit Delicia?”

“Indeed,” the songstress confirmed, and the gate opened without any further hassle.

“You know where to find her.” With those parting words, the servant watched the three of them walk inside and then sealed the gate again. They entered a courtyard, where several more butlers and maids waited. Regularly they would have likely guided guests towards their proper destination. Since they had Nightingale as their guide, none of them bothered. Instead, they entered the palace proper through a regularly sized door.

Splendid artworks of all varieties filled the corridors, arguably the corridors themselves were works of expert craftsmanship, yet John had little time to enjoy what he saw. This entire trip was eating into his working time and Metra deserved that they were as quick about this as they could be. Nightingale knew about his circumstances and strutted along ahead of them as rapidly as her long legs allowed. Among superhumans, that meant they were walking through the palace faster than most people ran. Only stairs slowed them down.

A sudden change in environment indicated that they had reached the part of the palace dedicated to the court scientists. Barren walls, reinforced against explosions, and a lack of windows combined with the ever-present buzzing of ventilation to give the impression of a chemical plant. Rooms, large and small, contained workshops of varying crafts.

They had no time to inspect even one of them and headed towards a spiralling metal staircase in the middle of the main hall, where a dozen or so apprentices went after their work, uncaring for the visitors. At the top of the staircase was a closed door.

Behind it was an apartment that was a fusion of regular home, workshop, and hospital room. While the former two existed in harmony, the latter was a definitive later edition. All of the health-related equipment, the movable bed, the oxygen pump, the stacks of disinfectant and pills, were all scattered around a corner of the main room and could be removed whenever no longer necessary. Simultaneously, it looked like they had been there for a while.

Nightingale let out a long sigh upon seeing the bed empty. A snicker came from a neighbouring room in response to the sigh. “You always do that first when you get here, Gale!” The somewhat squeaky female voice had a careless and friendly mocking undertone. A moment later, the person it belonged to stuck her head past the doorframe. “Ahahaha, and you have exactly the same expression as usual too! Lucky that you’re a god, or you’d get wrinkles!”

“What are you doing over there?!” Nightingale demanded to know, her sing-song tone compromised by worry. Stomping over, she left John and Metra no choice but to awkwardly follow.

They entered the neighbouring room, which turned out to be a proper alchemical lab. Winding glass apparatuses whose purpose John could at least guess shared their space with constructs of metal and plants that were strictly confusing to him. Comprehending the looks of the workshop’s owner was more in his interest.

The woman called Delicia was small, tiny even. Before consulting Observe, John already knew that she had to be about 1,50 metres, which was Sylph’s height. Her hair was an odd colour, a light grey with a hint of washed out blonde, while the blue colour of her eyes was comparatively normal. She had a round face, free of any wrinkles, that would have looked strictly cute had it not been for the mocking smile that spread her pink lips.

Eyes wandering downwards, John first spotted her tits. This was not merely because they were closest on the path. Her breasts were absolutely enormous. Like, an absolute pair of badonkers. Unignorable honkers, attached to a small frame, just barely skirting the border of ridiculous disproportion. While her height was close to Sylph, her chest was approximating that of Salamander. They fully stretched out the lab coat she was wearing.

“Ooooh? You like these?” Delicia immediately started to tease him, folding her hands behind her hips and bouncing softly on the spot. Jiggling all over the place, indicating a lack of bra, her massive tits drew John’s gaze before he could even try to prevent it. “Bwahaha, can’t look anywhere els- oww- owww- ow- ow…”

The alchemist shortstack suddenly stopped and Nightingale grabbed her by the shoulder. “You shouldn’t play around like that,” the goddess chastised her friend, while guiding her towards a nearby chair.

“But he looks so honest and teasable…” Delicia complained, even as she let herself be sat down.

“Further, you should not practice alchemy in your condition.”

“I can walk though.”

“Which is a miracle in and of itself,” the goddess sighed. “My apologies, John. This is our unwilling patient, Delicia Poor.”

“Poor choice of last name, I know,” Delicia asserted before anyone else could make that joke.

“I wasn’t about to say that,” John assured.

“I was, though,” Metra grinned, “and he only says that because he has manners.”

“Oh wow, other people have my level of trash humour?” Delicia asked and looked to Nightingale. “Did you bring me another pair of potential doctors or people that can actually talk to me without looking constipated?”

“This is John Newman,” Nightingale introduced him, “he-“

Delicia interrupted with her eccentric enthusiasm, “The world renowned pervert? Oh wow! Sad to say, but I’m in no condition to fuck around. Not that you should think I’m that easy in the first place.”

“You shouldn’t wave your tits around like that if you aren’t,” the Gamer drily pointed out. Truth be told, he wanted to see the rest of her body, but the loosely sitting lab coat prevented further analysis.

“But it’s so funny!” Delicia countered and then leaned back in the chair. “So, do you want to give me an exam or…?”

John shook his head. “That shouldn’t be necessary. I’ll use Observe, that will hopefully tell me if I can do anything about your condition.”

“That’s fast at least,” the shortstack alchemist hummed.


Scratching the back of his head, John admitted, “Sadly that told me nothing.” He considered his options, then shook his head again. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a look at your condition. I have no cure right now, but maybe I’ll come across something down the line.”

“Eh, sure.” Delicia shrugged, demonstrating a level of acceptance the Gamer wasn’t entirely comfortable with. On one hand it was admirable that she was taking this so well, on the other it struck him as weird how nonchalant she was about potential survival paths.

Since he didn’t know her, he spared himself any psychological advice and just watched while she stood up. The lab coat was quickly thrown over the back of the chair, revealing a knitted sweater and jeans underneath. Both stuck tightly to her hourglass shape, confirming that she was, with nicely shaped hips and an overall healthy build, the full package of a shortstack. Before John’s primitive mind could start taking over and make him salivate, she pulled up the lower edge of her top.

Magical necrosis had been an apt term for her disease. While the majority of her midriff was smooth skin of a standard, eastern European complexion, it was covered in dark spots. They reminded John of the many little bumps a whale accrued over their life, except they were sickly dark and the opposite of healed. One of her abdominal muscles seemed to be wasting away in its entirety, its outline visible as black and dark blue.

“You need to lay down!” Nightingale shouted.

“I can lay down when I’m dead,” Delicia waved off. “Might as well search for a cure while I’m still stuck in this flesh prison. Seen enough?”

“Yeah,” John confirmed. His stomach was too used to disgusting sights to be upset by this. “You have a pretty strong will,” he complimented her.

“I hear that often, so it must be true,” Delicia lowered her clothes again. “What bit of my medical data did you Observe anyway?”

“Well, just that you managed to dislodge your soul somehow,” John shared what he had read. “Obviously the two treatments that come to mind for that are to either lodge it back into place or transfer your soul into another vessel. Guess nobody figured out how to do either yet.”

“I was thinking lichdom, but sadly I have no talent whatsoever in necromancy,” Delicia joked. “I’m trying to find some kind of potion that undoes the effect.”

“No remorse about living as an undead?” John wondered.

“Eating and sleeping is really annoying.”

“…Guess I can understand that much,” the Gamer agreed.

“I can’t,” Metra grinned.

Looking at the ancient weapon, John had an idea. “So you wouldn’t mind being put in another body?”

“As long as I have hands.” Delicia raised hers and made a random grabbing motion. “I’d prefer to stay humanoid, with all the bits and boobs. I wouldn’t be a chooser though.”

“Do you have an option in mind?” Nightingale asked, a bit of hope resonating in her voice.

“Nothing concrete,” the Gamer was swift to dismantle any misunderstandings. “When it comes to securing your soul again, all I can hope for is that Undine, my water spirit, increases her healing aptitude to a level where she can work that miracle. If it’s something not even Romulus can do, that’s exceedingly unlikely to happen. As for transporting her into a new body, if I can find a way to consolidate your soul into an Artificial Crystal, I would be able to grant you a new body that way.”

“Yeah, someone else already presented that thought train,” Delicia shrugged with a bored expression on her face. “No such procedure though. Thanks for thinking about it.”

John felt challenged by her uncaring attitude. “If there is someone who can do the impossible, it is me,” he stated, firm in his conviction. Their eyes met and slowly her smile returned.

“If you want to prove just how great you are, you got all my support.”

“We’ll see what I come up with. Undine?” The water spirit manifested upon his request. “Before we go, patch her up as best you can.”

“Certainly,” Undine agreed.

The healing was relatively swift. Enveloping the short woman in the mending goo, the abysstide elemental repaired all about the alchemist that she could. When she had finished, and John went to the door, Nightingale accompanied him to the exit of the palace. “You’ll stay here?” he asked when she stopped.

“Yes. I thank you for the attempt to help her.” The goddess lowered her head a bit deeper than was necessary for gratitude. Slouched shoulders, downcast gaze, and a lack of energy in her voice told John everything about her state of mind.

“I don’t plan to leave it at an attempt,” he told her. “I don’t have an answer today and probably won’t have one tomorrow, but I will look for one.”

The assurance did nothing about the goddesses’ body language. She raised her head sluggishly and with a forced smile said, “I pray that will be enough.”

With that, they went their separate ways.