When you mentioned the "Solomon Islands," the most infamous Ship Girl that came to mind was, of course, Yuudachi.
Nicknamed Poi, she was constantly the butt of jokes like "Poi'd again today" or "got done in by Yuudachi."
All thanks to her dog-like hair, she'd collected a whole catalog of terrible nicknames.
But during the Solomon Sea battles of World War II, Yuudachi was anything but a joke. She fought like a Chihuahua—no, like a foxhound let off its leash, ferocious and relentless.
Though her name faded with the collapse of Japan's militarist regime, Yuudachi had already etched herself into the annals of WWII with a fearsome reputation.
And in the Type-Moon World, fame and legend translated into raw strength. The more renowned the ship, the stronger the "correction" it would receive upon revival.
Revive the destroyer Yuudachi, and she'd come back with the strength of a hunting hound—brutal, deadly, unstoppable.
That was exactly why Rhodes had come to the Solomon Islands: to seek the "aerial warship" he'd long dreamed of.
The capital, Honiara, wasn't anything like the quiet backwater villages. As the political and commercial hub of the islands, it had the trappings of a modern city—though more like Rio at its worst, and in truth even smaller and less orderly than that.
As the Infiniti sedan rolled into Honiara, an invisible ripple of mana brushed against Rhodes. Resting on the plush lap pillow of one of his maids, his expression hardened.
The wave carried no vitality, only the stench of decay. It reminded him of the magic of Faerûn, steeped in negative energy.
Back in Faerûn, he might have suspected a Lich. But here, in the Type-Moon World, he had to consider something far more common—Dead Apostles.
"Tch. A Dead Apostle, huh…" Rhodes muttered, his voice layered with caution and steel.
Whether Dead Apostles or vampires, all these undead shared one thing: time. Endless years to waste. Cross one, and you'd have a shadow dogging you to the ends of the earth.
Once they started treating humans as food, they abandoned law, morality, and every restraint. Enemies with no bottom line were the worst kind.
At that moment, the Infiniti screeched to a halt.
"Master, someone's blocking the road. Scans confirm: Dead Apostle. Threat level: negligible." The maid at the wheel spoke softly, but her words dripped with killing intent. "Do you wish me to erase it, or should someone else—"
"No need. If the host invites me, I'll give him face." Rhodes's smile was polite, but inwardly he was cursing his luck.
This was a Black nation, after all. And vampires were famously picky eaters. He'd never once heard of one roaming Africa. Yet here was this anomaly.
As the maid opened the door with elegance, a voice rang out before Rhodes could even step down.
"Mr. Rhodes, an honor at last!"
The Dead Apostle looked like a gentleman of twenty-eight or twenty-nine—but there was no way he was as young as he seemed.
"Oh? I doubt my reputation's big enough to reach the ears of you little bats."
Tone sharp, Rhodes played the aristocrat's role to perfection, mimicking the smug nobles of the Clock Tower. He intended to probe and play this one just as mercilessly.
"That's a shame. It seems Mr. Rhodes isn't familiar with those of us under Van-Fem's command." The Dead Apostle shrugged, his smile tinged with bitterness. "Our lord, the King of the Magic City, cares deeply for ecological preservation. He stationed me here to collect data on atmospheric cyclone patterns."
His face carried the awkward look of a man saddled with a ridiculous job. Rhodes had no sympathy. He only chuckled, mocking him.
"Lord Van-Fem truly has lofty aspirations—beyond the likes of us to fathom. As for me, I've business here in the Solomons, so let's part ways."
Hearing the name Van-Fem eased Rhodes's guard slightly. The Dead Apostle Ancestor wasn't exactly a vegetarian, but his subordinates were certainly among the tamest. The fact that this one had survived openly on the Christian Solomon Islands without the Church swooping in spoke volumes.
"If Mr. Rhodes requires assistance, I'd be honored to help." The Dead Apostle bowed his head low, but his eyes carried a strange glimmer.
"Oh? And the price?" Rhodes asked with a smile, fingers idly stroking the antique pistol at his hip. That gun had once been used to assassinate Lincoln. Its legendary notoriety made it a weapon of terrifying correction—powerful enough to kill even a first-rate magus in a single shot.
"The price is knowledge. I need your research on 'enchanted weaponry'—your methods of adapting modern arms. A gift like that, I believe, would delight Lord Van-Fem."
"Interesting. Seems you know how to play the game." Rhodes chuckled. "Then here's my end. I need to salvage the destroyer Yuudachi from the Pacific, overhaul her with modern technology, fit her with external armor plating, and mount the latest radar and weapons systems."
"No problem. For Lord Van-Fem, who controls Las Vegas, any problem solvable with money isn't a problem at all."
The Dead Apostle's tone was smooth, his face brightening with relief.
If he could curry favor with his master through this deal, maybe he could finally leave this island prison behind.
◇◇◇
As the sun rose and set, in a manor study in Las Vegas, a vigorous middle-aged man sipped red wine and admired the elegant handwriting of the research notes before him.
"Oh? Rhodes, was it? Quite the interesting newcomer. To think of fusing modern weaponry with Magecraft… exactly my own line of thought. Another magus with no regard for honor, I see."
At that moment, a folded slip of paper fell from the stack. Written boldly across it: On the Modification and Practical Application of Large-Scale War Golems.
"This… could it be that little fellow's gift?"
Van-Fem's lips split into a vicious grin. He shot to his feet, barely able to contain his delight.
"To possess such mastery of the golemic arts… who are you? Paracelsus von Hohenheim? Or… Avicebron himself?"