The Script (Part 2)
"Setting aside everything else, let me ask you just one thing: why me? Are you another lunatic who thinks I'm some sort of prophet?"
"A prophet? I don't believe in such drivel. Even if such things existed, what changes the future isn't a pair of clairvoyant eyes, but the brilliant epiphany of a great inventor!"
"Ah. Right."
For a fleeting second, I had wondered if he suffered from some novel, exotic brand of madness, but no—he was as thoroughly unhinged as I remembered. Then why on earth had he come to me?
"I sought you out simply because several necessary factors happened to align."
"What factors?"
"First, you possess ties to Ex Machina."
"You mean my connection to Emily and Koron Reckias."
"Indeed."
If it was because of those connections, I could somewhat understand.
"Second, you do not belong to Ex Machina."
"Excuse me?"
"It means you haven't reached the absolute pinnacle of self-absorbed egotism like my subordinates."
"Ah. Understood completely."
At the very least, the man possessed an accurate grasp of the organizational culture he fostered. Then again, wasn't he the one who exclusively recruited sociopathic freaks like that in the first place? Selfish bastards, the lot of them...
"It's plain as day what you're thinking. But hear this, boy. True invention is born only from unrestrained, free thought, unburdened by the shackles of others."
"That's not freedom; that's reckless indulgence."
You people never take responsibility for the catastrophic messes you make. Wasn't that just basic common sense?
"Whichever it is, what do I care?"
Ah, right. This bastard was the undisputed monarch of selfish pricks, wasn't he? Because we were holding a coherent conversation, I had momentarily forgotten. He cared about nothing and no one but himself.
"Let us return to the matter at hand. The third reason is that your field is alchemy—specifically, pharmaceuticals."
"Pardon?"
"I've read your thesis regarding the cure for Transcendence Sickness. Producing a pristine result while completely disregarding the cost... I found it quite impressive."
Screeech!
The Playwright's metallic frame groaned with a sharp, mechanical creak. What looked like molten red iron trickled from his fingertips, swirling and coalescing before solidifying into a distinct shape.
"You qualify."
An intricate gear bearing meticulously engraved geometric patterns. An Ex Machina's Token.
"...To think I'd receive a lunatic badge to go along with my social misfit badge."
I had just secured the second most unwanted gift of my life, trailing right behind a grimoire from Lemegeton. Still, compared to Lemegeton, this was infinitely more civilized, and it didn't feel entirely terrible. Receiving this was, in essence, an acknowledgment that I belonged among the ranks of apex geniuses. Well, that aside...
"If you thought I'd jump for joy upon receiving something like this, you're sorely mistaken."
"Why is that?"
"Because it's practically a criminal brand!"
"You remain bound by the petty rules of ordinary mortals. Do you truly not realize that such laws and regulations are merely weights shackling your ankles?"
"I am a law-abiding citizen."
"A law-abiding citizen does not conceal and shelter members of Ex Machina, Eden, and Under Chain."
"Wait, no..."
That the Playwright knew about those incidents wasn't particularly shocking. He was a mad scientist who commanded nanomachines. If he dispersed them across the empire, he could easily amass mountains of intelligence. What truly rattled me was his assessment of my track record.
Eden? Well, fine. I had deliberately let Jeff slip away in the past, so fair enough. Under Chain? Jeff and Melana were a package deal, so viewing it that way made sense too. Ex Machina? Emily and Koron Reckias were right there. In fact, Emily and I were still keeping in regular contact. And though the Playwright hadn't mentioned it, I had also been chosen by a grimoire from Lemegeton's Books. I had received an Ooparts and exchanged a pact with the Great Warrior Vidar. On top of that, I maintained a lucrative partnership with Andvaranaut.
Hmm. Well, then.
"I mean, you're not wrong, but..."
When had I ended up walking on such a perilous tightrope? At this rate, wasn't I the real criminal mastermind behind the scenes? I held deep ties to literally every major terrorist faction on the continent. Compared to my fragile connection with the protagonist's camp, my underworld roots were practically forged of steel.
"If you do not wish to accept it, I shall not force you. But what if I offer you the solution to the problem currently giving you a massive headache?"
"I have so many problems right now that you'll need to be specific. Which one?"
Haah, damn it. Which crisis is he talking about?
"The Firebird's Heart and the Frost Giant's Blood."
"..."
"I will teach you the proper synthesis method. You can hardly sustain your experiments relying on blind flukes like last time, can you?"
Strictly speaking, I had synthesized it using the conceptual authority of Maxwell's Demon, but regardless of whether he knew the truth or not, one thing was undeniable: I desperately needed that synthesis method.
"What do you want from me?"
"Now you're speaking my language."
Had anyone else made that offer, I would have suspected a trap, but coming from the Playwright, it was a different story. He was a monster of absurd capability who had mastered virtually all mortal knowledge and sought to engineer God through sheer technology. Compared to the heads of other rogue factions, he was relatively moderate... He was merely an unrepentant narcissist; he harbored neither active malice nor hatred toward humanity.
"Stop the Second Prince, Loki."
"Farewell. And let's never cross paths again."
Is this lunatic out of his mind? A person ought to have some semblance of a conscience. Asking me to do that was tantamount to shoving me off a cliff to commit suicide.
"Hear me out to the end."
"I'd really rather not."
I knew how this worked. If I listened to the whole pitch, it would turn into the kind of inescapable quagmire I could never squirm out of. Did he take me for a fool?
"The Second Prince, Loki, is targeting the First Prince, Theseus."
"Then he'll self-destruct all on his own. Job done. No need for me to help."
Even if Loki threw every single military asset and assassin at his disposal, defeating Theseus was a flat impossibility. The gulf in raw martial strength between the two brothers was just that abyssal.
"Do you truly believe the Second Prince intends to face the First Prince head-on?"
"..."
Yeah, fair point. Definitely not.
The First Prince, Theseus, was powerful enough that, had he desired it, the imperial succession would have been sealed without debate. It was solely because he vehemently rejected the throne that the current cutthroat succession race existed in the first place.
"The Second Prince seeks to shatter the First Prince's mind."
"..."
"Though he renounced the throne of his own accord, the First Prince still enjoys overwhelming popular support as a contender. You understand why without me spelling it out, do you not?"
Theseus championed absolute righteousness, traveling far and wide to aid the downtrodden. A man of the highest station living purely to uplift those at the very bottom. A heroic epic brought to life, through and through.
"The Second Prince intends to strike at that very foundation. He plans to crush the First Prince's convictions and unhinge his mind. And if the First Prince snaps and flies into a rampage, do you know what happens?"
"...A catastrophic disaster."
"No. Incorrect."
The Playwright shook his head placidly. Then, in a voice that sank into an ominous murmur, he added:
"My laboratory located there will blow up. The region where the First Prince has recently established his base happens to be right next to my facility."
Ah, of course. I had forgotten. As if this bastard would ever worry about anyone else! Because of the dramatic buildup, I had naturally assumed he was talking about general casualties.
"For such a selfish reason...?"
"And inside that laboratory lies a nuclear warhead. Ah, does the terminology escape you? Wait a moment. Let me explain in simpler terms—"
"Wait, hold on a second. There's a what?"
"Hm?"
"Are you telling me you left a weapon capable of wiping out the entire empire in an unmonitored dump like that?!"
"Oh, you comprehend the term? Now I see why everyone around you touts you as a prophet. To grasp its nature just from the name alone... Do you happen to understand its underlying principles as well?"
"That's not what's important here!"
"What could possibly be more important than that?"
"The nuclear warhead!"
"Hmm... No matter how I weigh it, scientific theory seems far more critical. What an odd fellow, having your priorities so terribly skewed."
Could someone please arrest this lunatic and lock him up in a padded cell? A shiver ran straight down my spine at the horrifying realization that a psycho packing nuclear warheads was casually wandering around the realm.
"There is no need to fret so intensely."
"Is that so?"
"Even in the absolute worst-case scenario, it will only vaporize about a third of the empire."
If the worst-case scenario wipes out a third of an entire empire, that is precisely when you ought to fret, you madman!
"You actually possessed a weapon of mass destruction like that...?"
"What barbaric phrasing. It is merely an accidental byproduct generated in the pursuit of greater inquiry."
"But the point is, you have it, right?"
"I intend to decommission it once this problem is resolved."
Well, at least he had a shred of conscience left.
"After all, it would be quite inconvenient if the blast took out my other research facilities along with it."
Nope. His conscience was thoroughly dead and buried.
What on earth was I supposed to do with this?
If I hadn't heard, ignorance would have been bliss, but now that I knew, there was no way in hell I could ignore it. No matter how determined I was to mind my own business, even I couldn't brush off the revelation of an active nuclear warhead.
"Can't we just report this to His Majesty the Emperor?"
As a law-abiding citizen, shouldn't hazardous contraband be handed over to the state?
"Preposterous. Do you genuinely believe that man would quietly decommission it? Or would he confiscate it to use as a weapon for his own ends?"
"..."
Yeah, that was out. Even from where I stood, Emperor Abraham seemed far more likely to weaponize the damned thing.
"Do not even entertain the thought of running to the Third Princess, either."
"Why not?"
"Because in the end, the person stuck doing the dirty work will still be you. It will only overcomplicate the matter and land both of us in a tighter bind."
"..."
He wasn't wrong. If the Playwright was seeking my cooperation, it meant the situation couldn't be resolved without my direct involvement. And what would Lobelia do if she caught wind of this? She would brandish the contract we had signed, a triumphant smirk plastered on her face, and threaten me into compliance. Just as the Playwright said, I'd end up doing the work anyway, only with twice the bureaucratic headache.
"Have you pondered why I am entrusting this matter specifically to you?"
"Honestly, I had no intention of accepting, so I didn't give it much thought."
"Because the Second Prince's plot involves poison. To thwart his scheme, an antidote must be concocted... and that process promises to be exceedingly intricate."
"Which is why you came to me..."
"Precisely."
How many people in this world wouldn't bat an eye at the name of Ex Machina's Playwright, would actually listen to his proposal, held the potential to cooperate, and possessed the alchemical mastery needed to pull off the scheme? Maybe my nerves had been completely dulled by all the horrifying ordeals I’d suffered recently, but honestly, looking at the board right now, there really wasn't a better candidate than me.
"So it's just brewing an antidote? Wouldn't it be faster if you made it yourself? You're far smarter than I am."
"Undoubtedly. However, I cannot afford to step away from the experiment I am currently conducting. I refuse to allocate computational resources to side ventures."
"A selfish reason as always. So all I have to do is formulate the antidote?"
If that was all, it was actually manageable. The poison Second Prince Loki brewed was an abhorrent, lethal toxin, but I already knew the antidote's recipe. That's right—it had appeared in the game. Even if I couldn't recall the exact step-by-step measurements, I remembered all the core ingredients clear as day, so brewing it wouldn't be difficult. I never imagined the day would come when I'd exploit game meta-knowledge like this...
"No. Due to certain circumstances, I cannot roam outside in my true body. Nor can I venture there in this metallic guise without being torn to shreds before I even get close. Therefore, you must handle the delivery and execution yourself."
"Can't you just send your nanomachines to form a body once you arrive, like you did just now?"
"And who delivers the physical antidote? A royal mail carrier?"
"Ah."
Not a single thing ever goes smoothly in my life. Yet I desperately needed the synthesis method for the Firebird's Heart and the Frost Giant's Blood. If I didn't elevate Ariel to the realm of Archmage, I wouldn't be able to honor my vow to the Great Warrior Vidar, and if that fell through, Damus County would be reduced to smoldering ash. Even setting that aside, I wasn't nearly carefree enough to sleep soundly knowing there was an unexploded nuclear warhead sitting right next door.
"I knew I shouldn't have listened."
I had seen this coming. I knew from the very start that the moment I heard him out, I wouldn't be able to refuse...
"It seems you have reached a decision. Then allow me to brief you on the situation."
"..."
SLAM!
Just as I had given up all resistance and resigned myself to being swept along by the Playwright's script, the door to the alchemy workshop was violently thrown open.
"Johan Oppa, are you all right?"
It was Emily, her face wearing its usual placid, deadpan expression. Her voice and demeanor seemed calm on the surface, but something was off. Strands of hair clung damply to her skin, slick with sweat—she must have sprinted here in a mad rush.
Did this girl really have me under real-time surveillance? Did she run here in a panic because she detected something?
"Tsk. What a nuisance. You will find the precise details at the location I designated earlier."
At Emily's sudden intrusion, the Playwright dissolved into fine dust, scattering back into the surrounding air as microscopic nanomachines.
"Oppa, are you all right?"
"I am not all right. Not in the slightest."
I'm genuinely having the worst time of my life. Why do these things only happen to me? What did I ever do wrong?!
"Who did this to you?"
"..."
For starters, you.