"It seems the bomb I created is capable of killing a Cerus. To think that years of building that weapon would be gone in an instant," the man muttered. He lifted his goggles, revealing a face that looked to be in its late twenties. He had a light beard and a forehead lined with the weariness of dark circles under his azure eyes. "Well, it did what it was intended to do. I guess it was worth the years I spent creating it."
The craft was a biplane, its frame built of sturdy wood with an upper and lower wing. The engine, forged from crude metal, rattled with a rhythmic intensity as the propeller chopped through the cold night air.
The pilot scanned the wide, circular span of Manilia. From his height, he could see the lanterns of empty streets and the pulsing lights of combat in every direction. "It seems what he said came true. This town is being attacked by numerous Cerus. But why now?" the man pondered. "Good thing I made it in time."
He glanced at the circular gauge on the dash. The needle hovered dangerously close to the empty pin.
"I used my entire reserve just getting here," he muttered, his voice raspy. "Even if I wanted to turn back, there's nothing left in the tanks. This is a one-way trip."
Even over the heavy, rhythmic thrum of the engine, he heard it—a piercing, sky-tearing screech. He felt the surge of hostile mana before he saw the shape: a Corrupted Wyvern diving through the clouds, its predatory eyes locked onto his strange, non-flapping bird.
Before the beast could close the distance, the pilot shoved the stick hard to the right. The biplane banked at a sharp sixty-degree angle. The frame groaned under the sudden G-force, the wooden struts crackling and the canvas skin straining against the pressure.
"Easy now," he hissed, feeling the air whip through his long black hair. "If you snap, all my work goes to hell."
He circled, keeping the plane tilted to maintain visual. Above him, the Wyvern hovered, its massive wings beating the air into submission. It seemed confused, its primitive mind examining this rigid, white intruder, unaware of what the craft was truly capable of.
The pilot gripped the joystick and hauled it back toward his chest. The biplane's nose pulled up, clawing for altitude. Once he gained the high ground, he banked toward the creature and leveled out.
"I was supposed to take this to the Republic for mass production," he said, glancing at the fragile frame that felt as thin as paper. "But this is the perfect time to show what she can do. If I survive, maybe the budget approval won't be such a headache."
He reached into his coat pocket and felt the edges of a folded paper airplane. For a second, his gaze went melancholic. This whole journey—the engine, the wings, the dream—it had all started with a single paper airplane made by a hero who showed him that humans weren't meant to be grounded.
Humanity can fly. That's what the man had told him.
"Tiger... if you're watching, you were right. We can fly. But with this... will I ever be able to reach her?"
He shook the thought away. There was no time for the past.
"You bastards took her from me," he growled, his eyebrows knitting together as he locked eyes with the Wyvern. "Now I'm coming for you. I'll fly higher than any of you ever could."
He snapped his goggles back over his eyes. "Time for a dogfight."
He raised his index and middle fingers. A sharp, purple mana flared from his hand. Suddenly, spear-like projectiles mounted beneath the biplane's wings began to glow with that same violet energy. He had prepared for this.
With a flick of his fingers, the first spear ignited. It shrieked away from the wing like a modern rocket, trailing purple smoke as it streaked toward the Wyvern.
BOOM.
The impact was a blooming flower of fire, but the beast was tough. It shook off the soot, let out an irritated roar, and folded its wings to give chase.
The two silhouettes blurred against the moonlight—a white, filmy bird of wood versus a beast of rotted scale. The pilot wove the craft left and right, dodging the Wyvern's snapping jaws. His engine was primitive, a mess of copper piping and iron cylinders vibrating with a metallic chatter. It smelled of hot oil and gasoline, struggling to maintain its max speed of 100kph. The Wyvern was close behind, clocking 90kph. He had the edge, but only just.
"Need to act fast," he muttered.
He raised his fingers again. A second spear detached, flipped mid-air to face the pursuer, and ignited. It slammed into the Wyvern's chest, the explosion buying him enough time to pull into a steep climb.
The Wyvern was furious now, its hide smoking as it flapped upward after him. They climbed higher and higher, heading straight for the glowing face of the moon. The engine began to sound like clanking scrap metal. He had no altimeter, but the thinness of the air told him they were at six thousand feet.
Behind him, the Wyvern opened its maw. A ball of flashing light pulsed in its throat—it was charging a breath attack.
"Range isn't working," he realized. "Time to get close."
He cut the engine. The silence was sudden and terrifying. Gravity claimed the plane, and it dropped like a stone. The Wyvern's breath attack roared through the space where he had been a second before, missing completely.
The Wyvern hovered, confused, then dived after the falling plane.
The pilot unbuckled his seatbelt and drew a set of daggers from his hip. He looked back at the shadow of the beast closing in. "This is a definitely a stupid idea. But screw it."
He stood up on the seat and jumped.
He vaulted into the empty air, clearing the tail of his plane. Falling through the night, he crossed his arms, his daggers glowing with purple magic. He spun in mid-air and hurled them. The blades whistled through the wind, piercing the Wyvern's hide.
Before the creature could react, the man landed squarely on its head. He didn't hesitate. He drove his main dagger deep into the beast's skull, twisting the blade like an assassin. The Wyvern let out one final, wet gargle and went limp, its burning green fire dying out as it tumbled toward the earth.
The man was now a mile above the ground with no magic to float and no parachute. He looked down at his own plane, which was spiraling away from him.
"Focus..."
He closed his eyes, reaching out with his mana. He visualized a purple tether, a line of magic connecting his soul to the plane's joystick. He felt the phantom touch of the controls.
He straightened his body into a needle, diving to gain speed until he was neck-and-neck with the biplane. He "steered" the joystick remotely, bringing the cockpit right under him. With a desperate lung, he grabbed the wooden frame, hauled himself back into the seat, and slammed the buckle shut.
The ground was rushing up—the rooftops of Manilia were close enough to touch.
"Pull up, pull up, don't snap the wings!"
He hauled the stick back gently but firmly. The biplane leveled out just feet above the chimneys, the wind of its passage rattling the roof tiles.
He exhaled, but the relief lasted only a second. In the distance, two more Wyverns were closing in—one heading for him, the other for the West Sector.
"I'm definitely not making it back to the Republic with an intact plane," he said, glancing one last time at the paper airplane tucked into the dash. "But I can take down one more."
He throttled what was left of his fuel and banked toward the next monster. "I'll fly toward you. That's a promise."
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This will be a completely different story in the same world as Transported Into Another World With My Tank, and I hope for your support once it's released! Let's fly toward the future! Prologue Will be released here in Royal Road and Webnovel. Thank you for reading my story so far!!!