Chapter 3: Illegal Alien (1)
—Good morning, citizens of Magiterra! Today, corporations are hitting record profits once again, and citizens are achieving record overtime!
—Is it mana that powers the city? Or is it your souls?
—The answer is both! So don't be late for work, and don't forget to check your mana circuits! Just yesterday, 23 people were rushed to the hospital from circuit overloads!
—This has been Silas Volt, and as always, Magiterra thanks you for your labor!
Beep.
My aimlessly wandering hand barely managed to find the remote control.
Setting the alarm to the morning broadcast seemed to have been a mistake.
"Good morning," my ass. Sunlight never even reaches the Lowest Level to begin with.
Magiterra Lower District, 7th Industrial Zone, Block D-12, LL-20, Unit 1409.
That was the address of the place I now called home.
Calling it a "home" was generous.
The room was so cramped I could barely lie down.
It was basically a chicken coop.
The only saving grace was that the room actually came with its own bathroom.
I couldn't help but sigh at these dismal conditions and the utter absurdity of my situation.
It was a bit embarrassing to say out loud, but I used to be a fairly famous archmage.
Back then, my room was so vast this shabby hole couldn't even compare to it.
Hearty meals were served every single day.
Above all, I had the perfect setup for researching magic.
I had planned to spend the rest of my days living in the Magic Tower.
"…"
I pinched my cheek, still wondering if this was a dream.
Pinching my cheek had become a habit over the past year.
It had taken no small effort to get used to my current reality here in Magiterra.
* * *
The place I first transmigrated to was Level 1 of Magiterra.
A surface bathed in sunlight—and the bottommost level where full citizens actually lived.
Looking back now, I had been quite lucky.
If I had landed in the Underground Waste Zone or the Outer Radiation Ruins right from the start, I would have died before even learning the city's name.
Of course, back then, I had no way of knowing that.
Everything in sight was completely alien to me.
Flying vehicles slicing through the sky and corporate logos floating in midair.
Surveillance drones patrolling every corner of the streets.
Now, I know what those things are.
The drones were especially impressive, equipped with mana lenses and tiny levitation circuits.
They were precision machines, patrolling all across Magiterra to instantly look up citizenship, residency permits, tax records, and circuit registrations.
Though to my eyes back then, they looked like nothing more than small metallic familiars.
I did my best to conceal myself and gather information.
I figured I shouldn't make a rash move until I understood how this place worked.
Of course, that judgment itself was not wrong.
The problem was that this city had far more eyes than I thought.
Not long after I slipped out of the alley and blended into the main street, a small drone descended above my head.
It was a metallic sphere, gleaming with a bright silver sheen.
A blue crystal lens was embedded in the center, with thin wings spread out on both sides.
That lens locked in on me.
Beep.
A blue light scanned me from head to toe.
[Scanning.]
Soon, red text rose in midair.
[Checking identity.]
[No registered citizen info.]
[No residency permit.]
[No tax record.]
[No employment registration.]
[Mana circuit registration mismatch.]
The lines appeared one after another, until a final line flashed red.
[Illegal alien confirmed.]
I quietly stepped back.
I intended to run.
At the very least, I had to get out of the crowded street.
But I was too late.
Burly men appeared from both sides of the alley.
As I learned later, they were private security contractors hired by the Public Safety Bureau.
One had an entire arm replaced with a black metallic prosthetic, while another had a thick mana tube plugged into the back of his neck.
The last man had a red lens implanted in place of an eyeball.
Stamped across each of their chests was the same insignia—a winged shield and a cogwheel.
Back then, I mistook that symbol for a noble family's crest.
Now, I know better.
It was a security firm logo.
"Illegal alien confirmed," the man with the red lens said.
"Age?"
"Scan shows around sixteen. Low circuit output. No combat aptitude."
I chuckled inwardly.
No combat aptitude, huh?
Imagine saying that to the archmage who killed the Demon Lord.
Of course, back then, I couldn't argue.
Still, I hadn't earned the title of archmage for nothing.
It wasn't like I lacked the means to handle the three men before me.
The black metallic arm, the mana tube in the neck, the red ocular lens—every single one of them had an opening.
The prosthetic's joints were overly exposed, and the mana tube sat completely bare at the back of the neck.
The guy with the red lens relied so heavily on his vision correction device that his reactions to attacks on his left flank were noticeably sluggish.
In a matter of seconds, I could break one guy's joints, rip out another's mana tube, and smash the last guy's lens.
It wasn't impossible.
But that was as far as it went.
Even if I took them down, the surveillance drone had already scanned me.
The ID scan results must have been transmitted somewhere.
With the entire street acting as the enemy's eyes and ears, making a scene right then and there was basically suicide.
Above all, I was completely drained of mana at the time.
I could make one move.
However, I couldn't guarantee a second.
Starting a fight relying solely on close combat was way too risky when I didn't even know this world's weapons or suppression tactics.
I slowly exhaled.
Not now.
A mage has to know the difference between a fight he can win and one he needs to avoid.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," I spoke as calmly as possible.
The man with the black metallic arm grabbed my shoulder.
"Misunderstandings get handled up top."
"Up top?"
"Nah."
The man sneered.
"Down below."
At those words, I didn't resist.
Pretending to cooperate while gathering information was the best I could do at the time.
Soon, I felt a sharp sting at the back of my neck.
An injection.
More specifically, a mana suppressor.
A low-grade neural suppressor used to subdue illegal aliens in the Lower Level.
Its effect was crude, but sufficient.
Instead of biting my tongue to endure it, I deliberately relaxed my body.
The world tilted on its side.
The holographic signs along the street stretched and bled into one another.
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