"Are you okay, Sir?"
I groaned, banging my head to clear the nasty headache that soon followed my return to consciousness.
"Sir?" I frowned at the gender honorifics. Had that voice been talking to me?
"Affirmative. Your physical attributes would see you of the female type, but your chi count is of a volume belonging to the male counterpart. Therefore, I calculate that you are a male hiruda inside a female host," said a clinical voice.
I was greeted by an animachine in a lucky blue and dragon gold full body uniform similar to the type Forneas wore. Unlike Forneas, this animachine's head was a fox with two small round dishes for ears and a rod poking up from the top of his forehead. A gold star was pinned to his right breast; the same star as the one the Evadale Knights wore on their ties and caps.
"Um, I'm not a hiruda." I corrected the animachine.
"Well, my analysis does calculate a probable chance of 0.5 percent of you being some other creature." The animachine was adamant his analysis hadn't been wrong.
"My analysis tells me you're one hundred percent wrong," I argued.
"Stevie, is this male creature dangerous?" said a deep, smooth voice like the one that said the spell.
The animachine paused before it returned with an answer.
"Whilst Charlese-sama is a skilled force magis. Her body's mana has dampened tremendously, rendering this male-hiruda incapable of magic abilities."
I frowned at the fox-animachine and turned my head to the sound of the other voice.
"Uncle Smithsonian?!" I accidentally blurted when I saw a grandpa version of Wilfred sporting a bushy black beard, which ran the length of his round chin, so the tips was a finger span away from his collarbone.
A navy-blue Lincoln top hat added a few graces of height to him. He wore a different version of the Evadale Knight navy-blue attire being a single breasted jacket, opened to reveal his double-breasted vest with gold buttons running parallel lengths down his torso, white cotton shirt and black silk cravat with the ends tucked into his vest. I was impressed by his well-kept physique of long legs in navy-blue slacks, a lean waist and stomach (free from a pot-belly), and broad shoulders. A well-worn double belt with a gun holstered to his right and short sword sheathed to his left, was evenly balanced on his hips. It was clear he was a gentleman of action. My mind wandered to a memory of sketched men modelling various fashions in Bulldog's Velvet Rose season catalogues.
I frowned at his steel cap boots. His soles were steel as well. Why steel?
"Boy, I do not believe we have had the pleasure." Uncle Smithsonian frowned, rather perplexed by my outburst. "How have we met?"
I gulped. Damn my stupid mouth. "Aah, no, just something in this head."
"Ganmo. Good, you're alright."
I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard Leinard's voice. I turned my head and realised I was sitting on cold grass, underneath a bushy canopy of an ancient elm tree in full bloom.
A quick glance of the rest of my surroundings made me realised I had somehow been magically zapped from the Triuta's Indulgence Floor to a forest somewhere.
I stared at the sky and blinked at the glaring blue visage. It was a lot different to the daylight from Apocalypse's Second District.
"Ganmo's your name?" Uncle Smithsonian chuckled. "Let me guess, your surname is Doki, right?"
"How'd you know?" I acted surprised and cursed my growling stomach. "More importantly, do you have any because I'm starving?"
"No." He blatantly confirmed.
YOU ARE READING
"I'll find a way to save my brother. Do whatever the hell you want. I'm stealing your guns." Famine is a man determined to save his three brothers after they were tragically separated when a magical fire destroyed their monastery home. He finds him...