Magic Beasts

"Mokutan, Sekitan, Tsubaki! Assemble!"

"Mii."

"Mit."

"Mimimi."

When I called out, the three fire lizards playing in the ash pile behind the house came running to my feet, chirping, and lined up in a row.

"Burn this."

"Mii!"

"Mit!"

"Mimimi!"

I grabbed a crucible containing a pt950 (95% pure) platinum ring with fire tongs and held it out in front of the three. All at once, they spat fire from their mouths.

The three jets of flame struck the crucible without fail and gradually heated it red-hot. In less than a minute, the platinum inside had melted into a thick liquid.

"All right, stop! Good, good, good, good—good kids~!"

When the fire lizards stopped breathing fire at my signal, I gave each of them its favorite food—charcoal, coal, and camellia oil. They wagged their tails happily and dug in. Adorable.

The Blue Witch, who had been watching the results of my training from behind me, applauded in admiration.

"This is incredible. I can't believe you managed to train them this well."

"I suppose I am. I spent two months on it, after all."

Wahahaha! Praise me more. With this, I'm a full-fledged magic-beast tamer.

I would have been pretty depressed if two months of effort had produced absolutely nothing. But I used the animal-raising know-how of the Hokkaido Magic Beast Farm as a reference and pulled it off.

After implanting the Gremlin, I became friends with the fire lizards.

The fire lizards, having developed a sense of kinship with me, apparently recognized me as the elder of the pack—or an adult individual. Considering the difference in our sizes, that was only natural. At first, they anxiously sniffed around my backside and even tried to set me on fire a few times (the Blue Witch must never hear about that), so they clearly thought I was one of their own kind.

But after about three days, they understood that I was perfectly healthy even without being wreathed in flames. They were also intelligent and capable of learning enough to lick the minor burns on my backside in an attempt to heal them. They weren't just cute—they were smart, too. Not being able to sit because my backside hurt for a while was a small price to pay.

I carried the fire lizards, cupped in both hands, to the reverberatory furnace where I had tossed in metal for nest material and put them inside. They tried several times to return to their original nest, but when I lured them with high-quality binchotan charcoal, they quickly understood and built a new nest in the reverberatory furnace.

The reverberatory furnace was in the back hills a short distance from my house, so even if a fire broke out, it wouldn't spread to the house. It was also easy to visit and care for them. It was the best place to keep them while training them.

According to the Hokkaido Magic Beast Farm's secret manual on raising magic beasts, the methods of training that work on almost any monster are establishing a hierarchy and controlling their food. If you put yourself in the higher position and control their food, most will obey even if they have reservations deep down.

You also have to pay attention to each individual's personality and the instincts of its species. Some species enjoy physical affection, while others are more comfortable simply staying in a group without much contact. Many monsters have unique habits, such as bathing, playing with corpses, or letting another creature lick their Gremlin as proof that they trust it.

In my case, implanting the Gremlin had already established the hierarchy, and I was able to move them to a new nest relatively easily. So I lured them with food, deepened our bond, and learned about the fire lizards' habits.

The first thing I discovered was that they had individual food preferences.

I tried all sorts of things to see whether they ate anything besides charcoal, and they ate pretty much anything that could be used as fuel: coal, charcoal, old gasoline and kerosene, ethanol, rapeseed oil, whale oil, camellia oil, and so on.

There were exceptions, though. They didn't eat firewood or gaseous fuels. They might eat them if they were starving, but they didn't like them, at least. I felt sorry about starving them, so I didn't test that.

Their food preferences differed from one individual to the next.

The biggest one, who always ran at the head of the group and was the most bossy and energetic, loved camellia oil.

The most easygoing one, who came over to bask by the fire and stare blankly whenever I lit a bonfire, loved coal.

And the favorite food of the most curious and friendly one was charcoal.

At first, I didn't give them names and called them things like 'Hey,' 'You,' 'Fire Lizard,' and 'Little One.' But gradually, they began responding to the names of their favorite foods, and those became the names of the three.

After getting them accustomed to me with food, I spent as much time with them as possible and observed their habits.

After the initial incident where they set my butt on fire, there were no more accidents, and I learned one endearing fact about their lifestyle after another.

For example, fire lizards love rolling around in ash, but they also like keeping their scales clean.

Whenever I brushed one of them with a used toothbrush, the others would come over, smack the toothbrush with their forelegs, and demand that I brush them, too.

Then, once their scales were sparkling clean, they would run around happily before charging into the ash pile and covering themselves in ash. What was the point of brushing them...? Well, they looked like they were having fun, so whatever...

They may have developed this habit as a countermeasure against parasites or something. Like cats and monkeys grooming each other's fur. I have no idea whether this world even has parasites that infest fire lizards, though.

Falling asleep after eating their fill was another one of their habits. Come to think of it, Tsugibi also went to sleep after eating charcoal. Maybe this was less a species trait and more a family trait.

The fire lizards' daily routine was waking up in the morning, eating, playing by chasing each other and roughhousing, eating lunch, playing again, eating, and going to sleep. They lived entirely according to instinct.

They weren't very diligent about maintaining their nest. Even though I had put plenty of metal nest material into the reverberatory furnace, their hemispherical nest, made by melting the metal, remained crooked and battered no matter how much time passed. They didn't seem to care even when parts of it rusted.

However, when I secretly repaired their battered nest while they were away, they fidgeted uncomfortably for a while before breathing fire on it and turning it back into a crooked, battered nest (though not quite its original shape). From a fire lizard's perspective, they apparently had a definite reason for leaving it battered. I can't make heads or tails of fire-lizard sensibilities.

They also seemed to prefer nest material with a higher melting point. They used far more iron than lead, and far more platinum than iron.

Their most amusing, fascinating, and useful habit—or rather, ability—was their control over the power of their flames, inherited from Mama.

Platinum has a higher melting point than iron. The fire lizards' flames, which could melt it, had to be at least 1,768°C. Yet when they breathed fire on my backside, I got away with only a minor burn. They were clearly controlling the heat.

Even when I watched from nearby as they breathed fire onto embers and turned them into food, all I felt was hot air. It wasn't nearly as hot as it should have been.

I built a thermometer that used spectral reflectance and took measurements. I learned that only the objects the fire lizards intended to burn displayed a physically anomalous heat distribution, with the heat concentrated in them.

In other words, fire lizards could burn only what they wanted to burn and leave alone what they didn't want to burn.

Of course, there were limits. Embers could fly off and accidentally ignite something they hadn't intended to burn, and their control wasn't precise enough to form a perfectly sharp boundary and avoid everything they didn't want to burn.

This mysterious fire breath was downright magical, but unlike Tsugibi's fire magic, it had no special attribute.

The fire lizards' flames couldn't melt the ice created by the Blue Witch's Great Glacier Magic (I had her freeze an abandoned house at reduced power), while the Gremlin melted instead of turning to ash.

Apparently, only the fire in Tsugibi's 'Jin-Ga' line of spells was special, even among magical fire. I suppose it really does come with some strange special effect by default.

The Gremlin implant had greatly reduced my magical power, so having the fire lizards handle even the fire magic for me was a huge help. They spat fire far less often than I had expected, and they weren't arsonists. There was a significant risk that their habits would change once they grew up, but while they were small, there seemed to be no danger of them starting fires at all. It also helped that they seemed to have learned from my burned-backside incident that breathing fire too much was probably a bad idea.

I don't know whether ordinary fire lizards are like this, but my little ones are cautious about using their flames.

After listening at length to my account of my training and my boastful stories, the Blue Witch was convinced and let the matter drop.

I was relieved when she promised not to kill them anymore.

The Blue Witch's child-killing: avoided! And a monster had moved into the reverberatory furnace.

From now on, whenever I make Dairi-brand products involving fire, I can advertise them as 'forged in magic-beast fire,' you know? Tsugibi had caused an unbelievable mess, but I had somehow managed to bring it in for a soft landing.

For now, let's call this a happy ending.

"Do you think they'll take to me, too?"

"Mimimi...!"

The Blue Witch reached toward Sekitan, the easygoing one sprawled on its belly at the toe of my shoe, but Sekitan let fire leak from the corner of its mouth and flicked its tongue threateningly.

The Blue Witch withdrew her hand in disappointment. Blood relation had nothing to do with it at all. As they say, the one who raises you matters more than the one who gives birth to you.

These guys are already earmarked for the smithing crew at my workshop. Don't come along and take them away from me now.

"If you want a pet, there are plenty of other good magic beasts. Like the ones sent as gifts from the Hokkaido Magic Beast Farm. Their care methods are already established, and judging from the materials, they seemed pretty useful."

"I'm debating whether to keep a Fukurozume. But an eyeball familiar would do the job just as well."

"Yeah, I get that. I'm interested in Ironsteel Sheep—or rather, Ironsteel Sheep wool."

While brushing the fire lizards' scales with a toothbrush, I discussed magic beasts with the Blue Witch.

The Hokkaido Magic Beast Farm sent three kinds of magic beasts to Tokyo.

The Fukurozume, prized for its loyalty to its leader and its carrying capacity.

The Ironsteel Sheep, whose wool was valuable above all else.

And the Cannon Housenka, a specialist in defending strongholds.

Those were the three types.

The Fukurozume is a monster that mutated from a sparrow. Sparrows were originally abundant, so one of their mutations—the Fukurozume—could consequently be found and trained relatively easily.

It looked like an enlarged sparrow, retaining the bird's basic features, but was more sluggish and flew more slowly than one.

In exchange, it had something resembling a kangaroo pouch made of loose, sagging fat on its belly. The Fukurozume could carry an absurd amount of supplies in that pouch—far more than should have fit inside.

The pouch had a considerable capacity, enough to hold roughly the volume of a small refrigerator. As an added bonus, the weight of anything stored inside it disappeared.

When a Fukurozume died, its belly pouch lost its storage function and expelled everything inside. Living creatures placed in the pouch developed severe motion-sickness-like symptoms, so that wasn't a practical use for it. Time passed normally inside the pouch, and it was slightly damp and lukewarm to boot, so it wasn't very suitable as a food-storage space either.

But the Fukurozume was utterly loyal to the leader of its pack—to its magic-beast tamer.

Once the tamer had trained it properly and been recognized as the pack leader, it would listen to instructions and obey faithfully. It was even willing to face death. Too earnest for its own good.

It was about as intelligent as a parrot, so it couldn't understand complex orders, but it had excellent spatial memory. At the Hokkaido Magic Beast Farm, Fukurozume handled the entire transportation industry. Its roles ranged from clearing rubble and scrap to hauling lumber and steel. Of course, it could be used for mail delivery, too.

The Fukurozume normally used its belly pouch to build its nest.

The Fukurozume itself was slow and clumsy in flight and had no particular offensive power. Its peck was no stronger than an ordinary sparrow's.

So the Fukurozume gathered rocks, fallen trees, and steel in its belly pouch and used them to build an extremely sturdy nest like a fortress. Its body was weak, but its nest was strong.

When moving nests, it stored the nest material in its belly pouch, carried it to the new location, and rebuilt the nest there. The ability to construct a sturdy nest that could conceal and protect it even on an open plain with no cover could be called the Fukurozume's true strength.

Its food consisted of insects and carrion. It especially liked the soft organs inside monster corpses, so it didn't compete with humans for food and never attacked people.

If anything, it was more likely to be attacked and eaten by other monsters while outside its nest, so the Fukurozume was primarily used in urban areas where its safety could be guaranteed.

Its reproductive rate was fairly high. It was an excellent magic beast that could firmly support the transportation infrastructure.

The Ironsteel Sheep is a monster that mutated from sheep.

Hokkaido is famous for mutton barbecue, but in reality, more than 99% of it is imported, and fewer than ten thousand sheep were actually being raised within the prefecture.

However, every domesticated sheep—that is, every breed raised by humans—always mutates into an Ironsteel Sheep when it becomes a monster, so the farm had apparently succeeded in capturing, raising, and breeding them.

Sheep are livestock with a poor feed-conversion ratio. The ratio, which measures the efficiency of producing food from the feed given, is 15.0 for sheep.

In other words, you have to feed a sheep 15 grams of food to produce one gram of meat. Ironsteel Sheep had roughly the same feed-conversion ratio.

Considering that chickens had a feed-conversion ratio of 1.7, it was easy to see how inefficient sheep meat was and how much feed this expensive meat required.

They also grew incredibly slowly compared to chickens. It took them two years to reach adulthood, while chickens took three months.

Though, to be fair, chickens were simply too excellent as livestock.

But the true value of the Ironsteel Sheep lay not in its meat, but in its wool.

Ironsteel Sheep wool was normally soft and fluffy, but highly resistant to fire and excellent at insulating. When exposed to intense heat, it hardened like steel. This hardening lasted about a day, and even after it wore off, it could be activated again following an interval of several hours.

Clothes made from wool sheared from Ironsteel Sheep and woven into fabric had the same properties, and had been confirmed to remain usable without deteriorating for at least four years.

Ironsteel Sheep were exceptionally wary of monsters that manipulated fire, so they were believed to possess this nature as a defense against fire-based monsters.

Ironsteel Sheep wool didn't burn even at temperatures hot enough to melt iron, and its extremely high insulating ability protected the wearer. Hardened wool was strong enough to stop even an iron blade. If woven tightly enough, it could even stop bullets, making it a natural slash- and bullet-resistant suit.

Despite all those capabilities, it was light and easy to handle. It kept the wearer warm in winter, yet was strangely cool in summer. Insects didn't infest it, and it didn't shrink when washed.

It was almost too perfect as a material for clothing.

The unfortunate part was that the number of Ironsteel Sheep in captivity was still small, and they could be sheared only once a year, in spring, so production was limited.

However, increasing their numbers would increase production. Since this was such a high-performance natural material, any amount of investment would be worthwhile. Clothing made from Ironsteel Sheep wool would make life considerably easier for the security forces, who suffered constant injuries in their daily battles with monsters.

I definitely wanted Ironsteel Sheep wool to protect against burns while raising the fire lizards.

Like the Fukurozume, Ironsteel Sheep didn't attack people.

Their staple food was grass, and they ate anything, including weeds, but they also wanted small amounts of salt and iron, so their nutritional balance had to be monitored.

Ironsteel Sheep fled as soon as anything other than one of their own approached. They regarded the individual with the largest horns as their leader, so an Ironsteel Sheep tamer had to wear a set of horns on their head. Apparently, the extra weight made their head surprisingly heavy and caused some trouble.

The third type of magic beast the Hokkaido Magic Beast Farm was proud of, the Cannon Housenka, was a monster that evolved from a plant.

It was named Housenka and resembled the balsam plant, but it didn't necessarily evolve from balsam.

This plant monster grew to about the height of an adult. It was an annual plant that sprouted in early spring and withered when winter arrived. The interesting thing was that it bloomed soon after sprouting and produced seeds almost immediately.

The Cannon Housenka shot these seeds into approaching animals and monsters, killing them.

Its accuracy and power were considerable, and its seeds sprouted inside the rotting bodies of the monsters it killed. It was an aggressive plant monster.

Once it had fired all its seeds, it bloomed again and continued stockpiling seeds from spring through autumn.

As its name suggested, the Cannon Housenka was an excellent turret and extremely useful for defending strongholds.

It could slaughter Class C-1 monsters—in other words, 'genuine monsters with unmistakable mutations'—and could be expected to hold off or drive away even Class B-3 monsters.

It was powerless against Class B-2 monsters and above, which required the deployment of mage units, but expecting that much would be asking too much. It was more than enough for it to automatically handle Class C monsters and stop Class B-3 monsters.

However, the Cannon Housenka also fired shells at humans without hesitation, so extreme caution was necessary when raising and operating them. A magic-beast tamer was essential for fertilizing, watering, and transplanting them.

The Fukurozume, Ironsteel Sheep, and Cannon Housenka all had their quirks, but they were exceptional magic beasts in every respect.

The Hokkaido Magic Beast Farm tried to domesticate new monsters every day, and they had apparently promised to send Tokyo any monsters for which they managed to establish a stable method of raising them. What are they, gods?

Of course, it wasn't free. Tokyo had apparently been made to promise exports of magic wands and the dispatch of teachers of magical linguistics.

The Hokkaido Magic Beast Farm apparently had an agricultural vocational school—or rather, a vocational school for magic-beast tamers. The envoy sent to Tokyo was also one of its graduates.

I was very much looking forward to future exchanges. I planned to watch those exchanges from the outside and take advantage of the best parts.

Though, come to think of it, I was making the magic wands delivered to the Hokkaido Magic Beast Farm, so it wasn't as if I was completely uninvolved in the exchange network.

Speaking of exchange networks, the remaining two of the five large survivor communities—the Biwa Lake Accord and the Arataki Group—had stayed outside the nationwide network of exchange that was beginning to form. In the end, they hadn't sent any support to Tokyo.

Apparently, the Biwa Lake Accord had undergone a political upheaval triggered by the Mushroom Pandemic, and the hawks and doves within it were embroiled in a serious dispute. They had no time to send support to Tokyo.

Oh well. Even the Tokyo Witches' Gathering wasn't completely united.

The Arataki Group had completely ignored the request for support.

It was unknown whether they had undergone a political upheaval like the Biwa Lake Accord or were dealing with some other circumstance.

They were apparently a pretty rough community, so perhaps they intended to take the Fertility Magic we offered and give nothing in return.

Then again, they might quite reasonably resent us for the Mushroom Disease being spread to them. It hadn't been deliberate, but that didn't mean anyone could simply laugh off having such a nasty disease brought to them.

Maybe we should consider ourselves lucky that no demand for compensation had come flying at us.

The Mushroom Pandemic had scattered disaster across Japan.

But ironically, it had strengthened the bonds of exchange, brought in new things, and led to the creation of new things.

The scars left by the pandemic were deep.

Even so, humanity was unquestionably pressing forward with rebuilding the world that had collapsed.