Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

"Altria?"

Her unwavering gaze made my skin crawl. I stammered, "Is something wrong?"

—Oh no.

The moment I saw Altria's behavior, I knew exactly what was up. In my last simulation run, I'd been a bit overconfident—and I'd completely forgotten that poor Altria was cowering right in the next cell over.

And there was one more critical problem: right now… I wouldn't stand a chance against her. If this little boar‐princess really decided to rough me up…

I glanced at the prison door she'd flung aside. Danger prickled my spine as I swallowed and asked, "Weren't we supposed to lie low and not break out just yet? Did you… change your mind?"

But that question seemed to strike a nerve. At once, Altria's eyes lost their spark and grew dim.

"Don't you want to leave here?"

"Uh… what are you talking about? Of course I don't want to stay in prison… But we agreed to wait here one more night, then I'd go compete in that… um… sword tournament."

I wiped sweat from my brow. My voice wavered.

She only grew more forlorn. "Oh… Bavantzy… she was so nice…"

"N—no, that's not it." I felt her mood shift into dangerous territory. I hurried on, "Who cares about Bavantzy? Didn't that strange maid say there's a powerful guard outside? Some Queen's Knight? If he were truly unbeatable, I'd have slipped away already!"

"Oh~" Altria's eyes lit up again.

"So long as I can handle or bypass that guard, you'll agree to escape with me?" she asked.

"Yeah…" I scratched my cheek sheepishly, watching her face. "Why wouldn't I? Do you think I enjoy prison? That Bavantzy's temper, the unpredictability—of course I'd run if I could."

"All right." Altria nodded. "In that case, leave the rest to me."

She turned and strode out of the cell, then ran to the discarded iron bars. With raw strength, she began tearing them into individual steel rods. As she hammered and mumbled strange words I couldn't understand, I watched in growing alarm.

"Altria?" I poked my head out. "What are you doing?"

"Gacha." She answered tersely—and I didn't get it.

"Gacha?"

Was she summoning with the system here? But why would that need all these bizarre props?

I blinked as she kept hammering, fusing rods into a steel hoop, chanting incantations I couldn't parse. Finally she sighed and tossed the hoop aside.

"What is this?" I picked it up, bewildered.

"A magic slip‐ring," she said. "Step inside it."

"Okay." I placed it on the floor and stepped in—then slipped and nearly face‐planted, saved only by Altria's quick catch.

"What…?" I gaped.

"This," she said, "is a trick ring that makes whoever steps in it lose their footing. Pretty useless junk."

She sounded disappointed. "I cast spells to open portals and compress space—but somehow it became a slipper. I can never predict where my magic items will go wrong."

Yet that was her unique ability: every item she made would gain a random extra effect—but she couldn't control what it would be. Sometimes she'd accidentally forge something astoundingly useful, sometimes utter garbage.

Like once she tried to craft a hat to boost defense, but it became a hat that turns the wearer into an invisible rock. Or she attempted to make a spellbook that records enemy magic, and ended up with one that simply blocks all spellcasting.

I twitched. "Really… gacha?"

"Yes." She shrugged. "I have to make hundreds of items before I get that one miracle tool."

My eyes flicked to her "Forbidden Transmutation" skill: Items you craft have a chance to gain random new effects.

I sighed. "I think I get it… Your power is huge, but you need insane luck. And you have no time to farm dozens of prototypes right now."

I paced, rubbing my chin. "But if you can't control what these props do, how can you promise to get us past the guard?"

Her eyes glimmered. "That's easy." She raised a finger. "The exact effect doesn't matter—only how you use it. Watch."

She pointed at the pile of scrap metal. "I might not know its final form, but if I shove a bunch of junk together, bind it so it doesn't explode, it has a good chance to turn into a rampaging monster. We just need to assemble it near the exit—then the guard will come running to deal with the threat, and we slip out."

My heart thumped. She'd kept this stone‐cold expression… like her soul was already gone.

"Uhh… that sounds… dangerous." I wiped sweat again. "What if the creature attacks us first?"

"I've thought of that," she said, brandishing the crowbar. "That's why I welded this crowbar into its hand. The moment it swings, it'll lose its balance. Then we're safe—just watch it wreck the place while we run."

I stared. "There's… that kind of strat?"

She nodded. "So, do you agree?"

I thought it over. There was no obvious flaw—"Sure. Why not? Let's get ready."

I stood and headed for the scrap pile. Behind me, I heard her shift, her gaze suddenly unreadable.

She picked up a scrap rod instead of the crowbar, slipping it into her pocket.

"If he's truly the Tyrant," she thought, "he'll react immediately—dodge, block, counterattack… Instincts never lie."

This was my chance. I needed to know if he had a simulator too. In a real fight, his reflexes would reveal whether he was playing by saved memory or truly in the moment.

As I gathered metal, she slipped the iron bar onto my back.

And when I turned around, Altria charged me, nailing me with a sudden overhead swing of…

──

Completely unprepared—my only battle experience came from simulated runs—I froze in place, too shocked to move.

As her blow swung past, Altria lost her balance and tumbled into me, knocking us both to the ground.

"Whew… that's close."

She curled up against me, whispering, "Thank goodness…"

Curled in my arms, Altria sounded relieved. She'd realized: he had no simulator.

If I did… she'd never have the courage to trust me.

"Wh—what happened?" I blinked, still dazed on the floor.

But Altria didn't answer—instead, she held me tight, saying nothing at all.