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[Translation] Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | The Scrapped Princess's Casket | Part 3/10
It's my birthday, and I'm feeling expansive, so here. Have another translation. XD
[Content Notes]
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | The Scrapped Princess's Casket | Part 3/10
It was a spacious room.
It seemed to be a chapel or something similar. Large stained glass windows were embedded in the walls, but nearly all the panes had been broken out. Aside from the raised platform which seemed to be an altar, there was the perfectly level floor. That was all there was. Furniture, carpeting, décor--every last trace of these had been removed.
And.
Beneath the stained glass window, a lone man was sitting on the altar.
A man who wore a cloak striped in blue and white. Even though he was covered by that dingy garment, she could tell that he was unusually thin.
The man was half-curled away from her, and he was holding something in his arms. He rocked it preciously, gently, just as though he were soothing a baby to sleep.
"Ah . . ."
Pacifica's voice wouldn't come out.
He was so entirely out of place. Given the circumstances, he may have been working with Big Noise, but . . .
". . . so you came, Scrapped Princess."
With these few words--tinged with an echo of grief and melancholy--Pacifica knew that her retreat was cut off.
"Wh . . . who are you?"
She knew it was a stupid question, but no other words would come out.
"My name is Convict. But . . . there's no need . . . to remember it," he said, swaying to his feet.
In the light, the thing he was carrying was revealed . . .
For a moment, Pacifica did not understand what it was.
No . . . it wasn't that she did not understand. It was just that for a moment, her instincts took over her mind as it tried to process what she was seeing.
And then.
Comprehension gradually spread through her mind like a slow-acting poison.
"--!"
A voiceless scream struck the air of the chapel.
The thing that Convict was holding with such great care.
It was . . . a small child's decaying corpse.
Big Noise knew that playtime was over.
That scream probably meant that she had seen Convict's "beloved daughter," and it was little wonder she should react that way.
Just to be sure, it would be best if he hurried to catch up to Pacifica. If she were to blurt out something that stirred Convict's wrath, it was likely he would recklessly tear her to pieces.
He quickened his pace and walked on.
In the very next moment, the ground beneath his feet emitted a flash.
". . . !"
Erupting flames.
Big Noise instantly threw his body aside to avoid the blaze. The flames reached up to the ceiling, and the air--swollen by the massive amount of heat--resounded in a low rumble.
There was no mistaking it. It was the same military-grade offensive spell he had used earlier, Lævateinn, though the power of the attack just now was greater by far.
Looking back over his shoulder, Big Noise saw the form of a slender young woman standing in the dim light. He groaned.
"Raquel . . . Casull!"
"Hitman-san . . . right?"
Raquel said this just exactly as though she were talking to someone at a neighborhood liquor shop. Was she a simple fool who lacked all sense of tension? Or could it be that she had absolute confidence in her own abilities?
"I'm sorry, but I need to beat you beyond all hope of recovery."
Her voice was indifferent. She even sounded a bit slow. But her voice held no trace of the determination to take down an opponent, no hint that she bore any menace toward him. She sounded as though she were talking about something that had been arranged in advance.
"I find that kind of joking around quite annoying," Big Noise said, giving her a watery smile. "I am a professional assassin, and accordingly, I am a mage who has plenty of fighting1 experience. To suggest that I could be beaten by some little amateur--"
"O Denizens of Flame, dance."
An explosion blew Big Noise's voice away.
If flames and shockwaves erupt beneath their feet, even grown-ups will be blown away, flung into the air, and smacked against the wall.
"Wha . . ." His speech had been violently interrupted. "What on earth did you--?"
"O Denizens of Flame, dance."
The military-grade offensive spell, Múspell.
The repeated explosions sent Big Noise flying without giving him any chance to recover.
"O Denizens of Flame, dance."
And yet another explosion.
"Wai . . . waaaaaaaaait!"
Without being allowed enough time to regain his feet, the hired killer was bounced wildly down the corridor, leaving only his shriek-tinged voice behind.
"Is . . . is that a batch speeeell2?!"
"Yes."
Raquel, who followed after the hired killer as though she were taking a stroll, nodded.
Magic requires an incantation. That is an incontrovertible principle. It is impossible to activate a spell without using magic words.
However, that casting time creates an opening that could prove fatal to the mage.
The latency between the decision to attack and the execution of said attack is too great.
One cannot simply abbreviate the incantation itself. For this reason, from the time magic first came into this world, countless experiments have been performed in an effort to reduce casting time as much as possible.
Batch spells are the fruits of one branch of that research.
An incantation is chanted beforehand, then frozen just before it activates. It is then compressed and stored deep within the mage's consciousness. Now, when the spell is needed, this virtual consciousness3 is decompressed by a previously registered phrase, and the spell within is activated in a high speed chain reaction.
Of course, this is not an orthodox means of activation, and it requires enough magical power to be able to go through with it . . . More precisely, it requires the mental capacity to endure both the original spell and the Emulator decompression spell--in other words, the double task of two different classes of magic. If a person who possesses insufficient mental capacity were to attempt this technique, she would risk disintegrating her sense of self.
"Even among military mages, you wouldn't be able to find fifty who can do that, y'know? How the hell could a girl like you, an amateur--"
"O Denizens of Flame, dance."
"Wai--"
This futile attempt at dialogue was cut short as a fourth explosion blew Big Noise away. Unable to keep even a hand or a foot on the ground, he simply went flying. About the only thing he could do was howl.
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) The text has aragoto (荒事), literally, "theatrical fight scene." Aragoto is a kabuki style in which actors use exaggerated fighting stances to relay a sense of roughness. It's also used just to mean a big brawl, iirc. Back
2) Almost certainly derived from batch processing and its ilk. YOU'RE SHOCKED, I KNOW. Back
3) Probably along the lines of a human equivalent of virtual memory? Iunno. Back
[Content Notes]
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | The Scrapped Princess's Casket | Part 3/10
It was a spacious room.
It seemed to be a chapel or something similar. Large stained glass windows were embedded in the walls, but nearly all the panes had been broken out. Aside from the raised platform which seemed to be an altar, there was the perfectly level floor. That was all there was. Furniture, carpeting, décor--every last trace of these had been removed.
And.
Beneath the stained glass window, a lone man was sitting on the altar.
A man who wore a cloak striped in blue and white. Even though he was covered by that dingy garment, she could tell that he was unusually thin.
The man was half-curled away from her, and he was holding something in his arms. He rocked it preciously, gently, just as though he were soothing a baby to sleep.
"Ah . . ."
Pacifica's voice wouldn't come out.
He was so entirely out of place. Given the circumstances, he may have been working with Big Noise, but . . .
". . . so you came, Scrapped Princess."
With these few words--tinged with an echo of grief and melancholy--Pacifica knew that her retreat was cut off.
"Wh . . . who are you?"
She knew it was a stupid question, but no other words would come out.
"My name is Convict. But . . . there's no need . . . to remember it," he said, swaying to his feet.
In the light, the thing he was carrying was revealed . . .
For a moment, Pacifica did not understand what it was.
No . . . it wasn't that she did not understand. It was just that for a moment, her instincts took over her mind as it tried to process what she was seeing.
And then.
Comprehension gradually spread through her mind like a slow-acting poison.
"--!"
A voiceless scream struck the air of the chapel.
The thing that Convict was holding with such great care.
It was . . . a small child's decaying corpse.
Big Noise knew that playtime was over.
That scream probably meant that she had seen Convict's "beloved daughter," and it was little wonder she should react that way.
Just to be sure, it would be best if he hurried to catch up to Pacifica. If she were to blurt out something that stirred Convict's wrath, it was likely he would recklessly tear her to pieces.
He quickened his pace and walked on.
In the very next moment, the ground beneath his feet emitted a flash.
". . . !"
Erupting flames.
Big Noise instantly threw his body aside to avoid the blaze. The flames reached up to the ceiling, and the air--swollen by the massive amount of heat--resounded in a low rumble.
There was no mistaking it. It was the same military-grade offensive spell he had used earlier, Lævateinn, though the power of the attack just now was greater by far.
Looking back over his shoulder, Big Noise saw the form of a slender young woman standing in the dim light. He groaned.
"Raquel . . . Casull!"
"Hitman-san . . . right?"
Raquel said this just exactly as though she were talking to someone at a neighborhood liquor shop. Was she a simple fool who lacked all sense of tension? Or could it be that she had absolute confidence in her own abilities?
"I'm sorry, but I need to beat you beyond all hope of recovery."
Her voice was indifferent. She even sounded a bit slow. But her voice held no trace of the determination to take down an opponent, no hint that she bore any menace toward him. She sounded as though she were talking about something that had been arranged in advance.
"I find that kind of joking around quite annoying," Big Noise said, giving her a watery smile. "I am a professional assassin, and accordingly, I am a mage who has plenty of fighting1 experience. To suggest that I could be beaten by some little amateur--"
"O Denizens of Flame, dance."
An explosion blew Big Noise's voice away.
If flames and shockwaves erupt beneath their feet, even grown-ups will be blown away, flung into the air, and smacked against the wall.
"Wha . . ." His speech had been violently interrupted. "What on earth did you--?"
"O Denizens of Flame, dance."
The military-grade offensive spell, Múspell.
The repeated explosions sent Big Noise flying without giving him any chance to recover.
"O Denizens of Flame, dance."
And yet another explosion.
"Wai . . . waaaaaaaaait!"
Without being allowed enough time to regain his feet, the hired killer was bounced wildly down the corridor, leaving only his shriek-tinged voice behind.
"Is . . . is that a batch speeeell2?!"
"Yes."
Raquel, who followed after the hired killer as though she were taking a stroll, nodded.
Magic requires an incantation. That is an incontrovertible principle. It is impossible to activate a spell without using magic words.
However, that casting time creates an opening that could prove fatal to the mage.
The latency between the decision to attack and the execution of said attack is too great.
One cannot simply abbreviate the incantation itself. For this reason, from the time magic first came into this world, countless experiments have been performed in an effort to reduce casting time as much as possible.
Batch spells are the fruits of one branch of that research.
An incantation is chanted beforehand, then frozen just before it activates. It is then compressed and stored deep within the mage's consciousness. Now, when the spell is needed, this virtual consciousness3 is decompressed by a previously registered phrase, and the spell within is activated in a high speed chain reaction.
Of course, this is not an orthodox means of activation, and it requires enough magical power to be able to go through with it . . . More precisely, it requires the mental capacity to endure both the original spell and the Emulator decompression spell--in other words, the double task of two different classes of magic. If a person who possesses insufficient mental capacity were to attempt this technique, she would risk disintegrating her sense of self.
"Even among military mages, you wouldn't be able to find fifty who can do that, y'know? How the hell could a girl like you, an amateur--"
"O Denizens of Flame, dance."
"Wai--"
This futile attempt at dialogue was cut short as a fourth explosion blew Big Noise away. Unable to keep even a hand or a foot on the ground, he simply went flying. About the only thing he could do was howl.
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) The text has aragoto (荒事), literally, "theatrical fight scene." Aragoto is a kabuki style in which actors use exaggerated fighting stances to relay a sense of roughness. It's also used just to mean a big brawl, iirc. Back
2) Almost certainly derived from batch processing and its ilk. YOU'RE SHOCKED, I KNOW. Back
3) Probably along the lines of a human equivalent of virtual memory? Iunno. Back
no subject
What a pleasant surprise. Thank you for another translation so soon.
Finally the siblings showed up ...
"batch spell"
lol. Awesome - I do like Raquel and her spells.
"...Big Noise ... howl."
The last paragraph, so appropriate :D
no subject
I like how the sci-fi element is implied right from the start. XD I also like that the anime kept the rapid-fire blasty scene more or less intact, just with a priest replacing Big Noise and Diana replacing not!Wesson.
no subject
Yeah, me, too. That's a great/fun scene. I can't remember if Diana was in the book or not. In the anime, iirc, the three have started their journey when they met Diana. With only 26 episodes, something has got to give, I guess.
no subject
Zip file!magic in the Sutepri-verse, but of course >_
no subject
Haha, what else would we expect, right?