The Script (1)
After unpacking back in the dormitory, the very first thing I did was head to the training grounds with Yuna.
"Yohan asking to hit the training grounds! You've finally decided to become my disciple, haven't you? Well, if you had any conscience at all, it was about time!"
"Nope."
"Why not?!"
Yuna screeched at the top of her lungs. But what was I supposed to do? I was the eldest son of a respectable noble house, and I harbored no burning grudges that made me want to go around assassinating people.
"Just try lunging at me for a second, Yuna."
"How hard? Should I subdue you with overwhelming force?"
"...Please keep it at a speed my naked eye can actually track."
"Fine, got it."
Yuna began stretching her limbs, running through warm-up routines. I was pretty sure I had explicitly asked her to keep it within a visible threshold, so why on earth was she limbering up and psyching herself into full combat mode?
"Yuna, you know what 'go easy' means, right?"
"Aw, don't worry. I'll move at just the right tempo for you to pull off whatever little trick you're planning."
"Right. I'm trusting you."
"Here I come, then!"
With that, Yuna darted toward me. Her movements were nimble, swift, and remarkably light on her feet. Gliding forward so quietly she seemed unlikely to leave a single footprint behind, she closed the distance in the blink of an eye.
Fortunately, she had kept her word and advanced at a pace I could visually follow. Alright, then it was my turn. There was only one reason I had come to the training grounds today.
"Huh?"
Rushing in a straight line toward me, Yuna suddenly lost her footing and tumbled.
Sensory Disruption
Ironically, the moment I severed my lingering attachments to the past, I had attained high-tier magic. The pinnacle realm of high-tier illusion magic—capable of distorting even another person's sensory perception. If this could work on someone like Yuna...
"Whoa! That gave me a start."
"Gah?!"
Crack!
Before the thought could even finish, Yuna regained her balance mid-fall, surged forward, tripped my legs, sent me crashing into the dirt, and twisted my wrist into an excruciating joint lock.
"Whoa, in a split second my left foot and right hand swapped functions! That's super neat. High-tier illusion magic, right?"
"Yeah, it is..."
Why was it so damn easy for her to recover? Here I thought I had made tremendous strides, only to have my newfound confidence instantly crushed to dust.
"Now you really can become my apprentice! Combine my assassination arts with your illusion magic, and the student will outdo the master in no time!"
"No. And get off me."
"Then I say no too!"
And so, I spent the next several minutes pinned flat on the ground, staring vacantly up at the drifting clouds. The world truly was vast. Even now, I couldn't fathom the true depths of Yuna's strength.
"Yuna."
"Mm?"
"Seriously, get off."
"Heave-ho!"
Yuna pushed herself up with a light grunt. Yes, good girl. Listen to reason.
"What are you doing next?"
"First, I'm heading to the library to return some books, then back to the workshop."
"You're working hard."
"Trust me, I'd rather just slack off, but there's too much on my plate."
Cure Ariel's condition and elevate her to Archmage. Fulfill the pact with Great Warrior Vidar. Stop Cult and save Helena.
How on earth had I gotten so deeply entangled with the realm's most pivotal figures? No, let's not make excuses. If I truly hadn't wanted to, I could have walked away. I could have turned a blind eye to everything. But...
"I have to reap what I sow."
Even a cynical bastard like me had a conscience. The messes born from my own blunders were mine to clean up.
By the time I returned the books and made my way toward the alchemy workshop, Yuna and I parted ways. Even though I hadn't asked, she seemed intent on investigating the rumors spreading through the capital lately. Well, keeping tabs on her surroundings was practically an occupational hazard for an assassin of her caliber.
To be completely honest, I had zero intention of meddling in whatever was happening this time around. It felt like another main plotline branch from the original game, meaning it was Lobelia's problem to solve, not mine. At most, my role would be patting Ariel on the back when she returned and telling her she did a great job. That was where I stood.
"Now then, where's Professor Georg...?"
When I stepped into the workshop, all that greeted me was an empty room. Normally, either Senior Jabir or Professor Georg would be holding down the fort, but it seemed the school break had drawn them both away.
"Must've had somewhere to be."
Wondering if something had happened to them, I checked the reagents in the back, but found no anomalies. In fact, everything had been meticulously treated for long-term preservation. This wasn't an emergency departure; it had been planned from the start. Seeing as both were absent at once, Georg had likely dragged Jabir along to an academic symposium or some such gathering under the guise of mentorship. It sucked that I had no extra hands to assist me, but at least they were safe.
"Time to get to work."
In the end, all I needed to do was burn through the workshop's expensive reagents, just as I always did. Things like taxes and academic budgets were merely trivial stepping stones in the path of great innovation. Fully prepared to squander the Cradle's institutional grants with reckless abandon, I scavenged an armful of top-shelf reagents from the storehouse.
When I returned to the desk that had practically become my private workstation, something caught my eye.
"Hm? What's this?"
Perched atop my desk was a palm-sized spider... no, a mechanical device forged in the likeness of a spider.
"What is that?"
Raising my guard, I edged closer. Technological craftsmanship of this caliber could only belong to Ex Machina. And within my sphere, only two individuals were tied to that organization: Koron Reckias, with whom I had barely an acquaintance, and Emily Robinhood.
"Hmm."
Keeping a cautious distance, I inspected its exterior. The moment it registered my presence, the automaton waved its two front legs in the air, almost as if greeting me.
"This is definitely Emily's..."
Judging by its structural finesse and sleek aesthetic, there was no mistaking Emily's personal touch. But why was it sitting on my desk?
Skrrrt! Skr-skr-skrrrt!
Before I could puzzle out the answer, the spider automaton began violently scratching the wooden desktop with its metallic forelegs.
Oh boy, Georg's going to throw a fit about someone ruining the furniture. Wincing at the noise, I examined the characters carved into the wood.
[An Address in the Imperial Capital]
"What's this? An address?"
The automaton bobbed its head in a nod. Did this thing have an AI installed? Or had she pre-programmed response routines predicting my questions? Whichever it was, this was undoubtedly a signal Emily had left for me. But she knew I had returned to my family estate for the break. If she had left this here regardless, it had to be a distress signal—or a matter of extreme urgency.
"..."
Had something gone wrong with her research? Or had her affiliation with Ex Machina been exposed?
"Or..."
Emily wasn't just an Ex Machina operative; she was also the younger sister of Stan, Lobelia's devoted retainer. If a rival imperial heir wanted to rein in Lobelia, cutting down her loyal subordinates was standard textbook warfare. On top of that, reports had already reached us that Second Prince Loki was making aggressive moves. A prince that vile and calculating didn't stir without being ready to strike at the other claimants. It was entirely possible he had targeted Emily to leverage a weakness against Stan.
"...What should I do?"
Loki was cut from the exact same cloth as Cult. But unlike Cult, Loki possessed neither a grand vision nor a shred of guilt. A cruel, contemptible imperial royal. That was precisely what Second Prince Loki was.
Having finished etching the address, the mechanical spider ceased all movement. Its operating sequence had likely been programmed to shut down the moment the message was delivered. First and foremost, the device was unmistakably Emily's. Having carried multiple gadgets she crafted, I recognized her mechanical signature immediately.
"Hmm..."
What if this really was an emergency? I could pretend I never saw it, but if something happened to Emily, that spelled doom for Helena's artificial heart.
"And Yuna won't be back anytime soon."
Despite all my elaborate rationalizations, this was the true source of my hesitation. Without her guarding my back, I had become entirely incapable of stepping out into the world. Yuna had spoiled me rotten.
"...The timing is way too convenient."
An urgent summons. A recent surge in confidence from mastering High-Tier Illusion Magic. The sudden, insidious feeling that maybe I could handle things just fine on my own without Yuna. That was the most dangerous trap of all.
"Mmmph..."
I had no interest in walking into a blatant trap. Wouldn't it be far wiser to sit tight and wait for Yuna? But what if delaying put Emily's life in danger? Strictly speaking, I wasn't even supposed to be back at the academy yet. Emily had probably dispatched this automaton with little real hope of me finding it. My instincts were screaming: Do not trust this and do not walk out that door.
—Careful as ever.
"...?!"
While I wrestled with the dilemma, an inorganic, monotone voice drifted from behind my shoulder. I spun around on instinct, but saw no one. Instead, the faint crackling of burning firewood fizzed in my ears.
—Just as anticipated.
The second voice originated from right on top of my desk. From the very automaton that had just finished carving the letters. Over the mechanical shell, something began clinging and spreading like creeping rust.
Engulfed in the blink of an eye, the tiny device swelled in size and reconfigured its anatomy, morphing until it stood as a human-sized contrivance. Flashing crimson optics, the bizarre mechanical figure spoke.
—I presume taking proper physical form is the polite way to converse, yes? Now then, Yohan Damus. Who do you take me to be?
Emily held an executive rank within Ex Machina. That standing was rooted entirely in her extraordinary technological mastery—for within Ex Machina, hierarchy was dictated solely by technological supremacy. If so, what did that make this entity standing before me, defying all natural law?
"The Playwright."
The supreme architect who scattered nanomachines across the entire Empire to monitor the realm and choreograph every grand design, overseeing the researchers of Ex Machina.
"Deus."
—Correct. You have my praise.
Staring at the mechanical construct, I swept my bangs back with an exasperated sigh. Honestly? I wasn't even that surprised anymore. If anything, what shocked me was that he had taken this long to rear his head while every other lunatic had already made a scene in front of me.
"What happened to Emily?"
—Nothing has befallen the girl. I merely borrowed this unit for a moment.
"Then why did Emily send this thing to me in the first place?"
Borrowed or not, the device itself was undoubtedly hers. That meant Emily had dispatched it with business intended for me, hadn't she?
—You truly wish to hear the reason? I assure you, it will bring you little joy.
"Are you sure she's unharmed?"
—Hm. I sense distinct hostility.
Naturally. Hijacking Emily's machine just to pop up unannounced was insidious and downright creepy. How was I supposed to trust a mad scientist who would stop at nothing to advance his research? For all I knew, he had already harmed her.
—Very well. Then I shall grant you the truth. This machine is simply one of several units she has stationed to keep you under constant surveillance.
"...Excuse me?"
—She was presumably thrilled beyond measure to make a friend outside her own kin. Thrilled enough to monitor, log, and analyze your every waking movement.
"..."
—Did I not warn you? No good could come from knowing.
It really was information better left unknown. That meant a younger girl I treated like a little sister had been actively stalking me. Gross... It was so disgusting. If I had remained in blissful ignorance, I wouldn't have to suffer this creeping discomfort.
"If you say 'one of several units'..."
—I respect the personal research of my subordinate scholars and do not meddle. You may extrapolate the rest.
"Excuse me, shouldn't you be managing your people?!"
It was precisely because those lunatics ran wild without a leash that Ex Machina was lumped into the same tier of terrorist organizations as Eden and Lemegeton!
—I will manage them as I see fit!
"..."
An irritated outburst that felt entirely uncharacteristic of such a synthetic voice. As expected of a deranged scientist, his temper was foul.
—Now then, may I finally state my business?
"..."
—I need your assistance.
"Why on earth would I help you?"
—Because I require your cooperation.
"Ah."
Look at this utter lunatic.