The Heavenly Mandate Cult's Optimized Talent

Lupin still hadn't come back, no matter how long they waited. Uneasy, Yegor and Vatslava returned to the station—only to be thrown into custody out of nowhere.

"Our apologies. Until your companion returns, please wait here."

Clang.

The iron bars shut, cold and final.

According to the guard captain, Lupin's identity had yet to be properly verified, and so her two companions could not be spared suspicion either. Something to that effect.

Looked at one way, Yegor's improvisation had failed.

"Fair enough. Even while I was saying it, I thought it was a bit of a stretch."

"Y-you did?"

"I figured it might still be all right, since Lupin played along well enough. Nothing for it now. We'll just have to sort it out properly."

But with things having come to this, even Yegor found blind optimism difficult.

Inside the Imperial Alliance, once the Cult branded you, that stigma never came off for the rest of your life. Clearing it by ordinary means took ages. There was a mountain of things to prove, and even when you dug up evidence to dispel the suspicion and submitted it, more often than not it was rejected. In the meantime you couldn't hold a job. You were hunted as a wanted criminal. You had to swallow the world's condemnation whole.

Which was why plenty of people, deciding it was hopeless, crossed over into the North Country.

The Red and the Blue from before—that is, the North Country's Seven Star corps—mainly set their sights on people like that when they went recruiting. Nothing was sweeter than a hand of salvation held out to those with nowhere left to go.

As for other ways of lifting the stigma, there was something called the Special Pardon Act, but it existed in name alone. Almost no one was in a position to make use of it.

Put simply, a member of the imperial family within the top ten of the line of succession, or a Grandmaster, had to vouch for your identity. In exchange, whoever stood guarantor was stripped of every honor. An imperial lost their status and right of succession; a Grandmaster lost a Round's authority and seat.

Yegor, who had been turning it over, shrugged.

"Still, nothing's been confirmed yet, so it shouldn't be a major problem."

"And if it is confirmed?"

"We become wanted criminals, for a start. They drag their feet on other crimes, but when it's Cult business, even the Adventurers' Association pulls together and gets aggressive."

"That's ridiculous. Miss Lupin does kill people, but those people probably weren't particularly good ones."

Not exactly the sort of thing you announce with your chin held high.

Even so, Yegor found himself agreeing with Vatslava.

"Call it bad luck. I didn't know the kid looked that much like a Shrine Maiden until we got here either."

"Isn't there some way we can help?"

"The fastest way is to get help from an imperial or a Grandmaster we know."

"That's... impossible from the start, isn't it?!"

There was, in fact, a tremendous connection. The others simply didn't know it existed—all except one person.

...Yegor had his reasons.

"It's not as if there's no way at all. If Lupin drags in an actual Shrine Maiden, the suspicion and everything else will clear on the spot. Or if she racks up some undeniable merit that puts the doubt to rest."

"Neither of those sounds easy..."

"Don't get too down. She'll manage on her own."

Even in a mess like this, Yegor was calm.

Vatslava thought it was his years of adventuring ahead of her shining through, but the reality was a little different. Yegor didn't particularly care if Lupin caused trouble.

As he had said, a certain kind of person could, simply by standing guarantor, be sure of clearing someone's false charge. At the same time they could set down a status that bound them like chains—so for some, it was a lifelong wish.

In a way, it was also proof that Yegor trusted Lupin absolutely. No matter how well she got along with the Cult, she would never fully convert.

Pure madness, by its nature, possessed a power that made even evil tremble. Yegor had already seen that side of Lupin more than once.

The underground laboratory, when she returned to it, was a very different sight from before.

The moment the lights blazed on, the magic beasts yearning to escape their iron cages locked eyes with Lupin. Some of them tried to intimidate her—growling, howling to the effect of the moment I get out of here, I'll tear you to shreds.

They were creatures she had seen at least once or twice.

Yeah? And what.

Keep acting up and I'll fold your skull into a U.

At Lupin's threat, a few of the beasts whimpered and fled.

Honest creatures, when it came to raw power.

Among them was a gargoyle—a mysterious magic beast with uncanny defenses, one that shrugged off even the most powerful attacks with ease.

And those very gargoyle wings were one of the core materials of the veil!

"So everything in the treasure chest was veil material."

"That's right. This place is one of the workshops that supplies the Shrine Maidens' veils. But when were you here before? You talk like you already know everything."

Lupin pointed at a scrap of hide hanging from a harness, proudly announcing that she had already swiped a piece from the treasure chest.

Parmenia counted the gargoyle wing membranes with a troubled look. Fortunately, there was still enough veil material for the new Shrine Maidens.

Soon, with practiced hands, she poured a test subject's blood into the cauldron, tossed in a gargoyle wing membrane, and set it to a rolling boil. The membrane drank the blood and swelled as if it might burst at any moment.

"Ooh. It got all puffed up."

"If you grab it like this and stretch it waaay out, it turns translucent—just like the veil you know so well."

Soak it in the test subject's blood. Blow on it, then pull it long. Once it goes translucent, hang it to dry. As the blood soaked into it dries, that power naturally settles into the veil.

An explanation both simple and complicated followed, one piece after another.

Once the drying was underway, idle hands began to wander.

Parmenia, reading the room, asked very carefully.

"...You didn't fall victim to the boss's bad habit, did you? People who don't know this place almost never show up for any other reason."

"The boss fell victim to my bad habit."

A boss who had rolled in of his own accord and kindly become ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the sixteenth sacrificial lamb.

In other words, Lupin was immune to Parmenia's special dissociation poison.

The floor above had been nothing but a sea of blood, but that was business as usual, so it had never occurred to Parmenia that the boss might have been the one taken down instead.

"You... you're resistant to dissociation poison? Where did you get an antidote?"

"Dissociation poison?"

"The boss didn't explain?"

"He died before he could."

"...What is this. Some kind of unique constitution. Anyway, good work. Honestly, I only cooperated because I was short on hands, but that bastard deserved to die a long time ago. Lasting this long was already impressive."

So even bad people, while they worked together, loathed and shut one another out?

They were exactly like ordinary people.

Lupin was, quite literally, startled. She had treated every villain as a gnat until now, so there had been no reason to think any deeper.

She muttered with a pure heart.

"By that logic, it's a wonder you're alive too, Parmenia."

Parmenia let out a short laugh.

"Funny. That's a first, hearing something like that."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is. Everyone I've met outside the Cult has been dying to stab me or cut me down the moment they lay eyes on me. They never had any intention of talking in the first place."

In a way, that was only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠natural.

Person to person, Parmenia might come off as an airhead who lost her own veil and wandered around dishing out gap appeal in a cute, adorable voice. But her influence on the world was black and cruel enough that even Lupin, who couldn't care less about worldly affairs, had come to grasp the whole of this vast facility beneath the city hall. She was pitch-dark enough that if someone wanted to learn about the Cult, you could introduce her as its representative.

She outsourced murder to bandit gangs. She made dangerous substances out of the corpses and the blood. A mad scientist who would do anything for the Cult.

That was the true identity of the woman called Parmenia.

And yet.

So what?

"Speaking of which, it just occurred to me. That cute, adorable way of talking—can you show me?"

"Don't suddenly make me do something like that."

"Hawawa. Shrine Maiden-chan wants to see it."

"......"

"Come on. I'm a little curious."

"Hawa... wawawa...... Is this how you do it."

"Good, good."

"Hawawa. Shrine Maiden... Shrine Maiden-chan.... Shin—aaagh, I can't!"

"Aw, you were almost there."

To Lupin, she was nothing more than a slightly amusing bug anyway.

Lupin didn't particularly like bugs, but she didn't kill them on sight either. Whether they were nearby or not, she usually paid them no mind. If one invaded the personal territory that was her home, she would haul it up to the gallows without mercy—but if that same bug suddenly broke into a tap dance, Lupin was the sort to let it live. So long as they didn't cling to her or mess ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with her treasure chests, she left them alone.

That was how Lupin, five years into Elysium, dealt with villains.

Being too busy looking after her own hide was no different now than it had been at the start of the possession. Shouldn't the people of Elysium handle Elysium's business themselves? She had lived all this time thinking something along those lines. The fact that she had even started glancing around her lately was already generous.

Even now, Lupin's head was full of nothing but the next treasure chest.

Wing cloth. Aerial raid. Treasure chest. Treasure chest.

Before she knew it, eroded by the high-school-girl-chan, Lupin let out a strange sigh.

"Hawawa..."

In the meantime the stretched gargoyle wing finished drying and became nearly identical to a veil. Translucent. Springy. Stretching on and on.

"So how on earth did you lose the veil?"

"...It wasn't so much lost as taken, really."

"Taken?"

"Klein... no, you wouldn't understand if I put it that way. Some crazy bitch said her own veil got cut, and she swiped the one I kept in my private room. It's my fault for letting it get taken, but... I was just so weak. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It stung."

Lupin scratched her cheek. She decided not to mention what had happened with Klein.

Parmenia, ignorant of the truth, lifted the finished, tailored veil high with a bright expression. It glittered, and yet you could faintly see through it from behind.

A veil for the Cult's Shrine Maidens was complete.

"There. It's done!"

Which was to say, it was time for Lupin to act.

"Thanks for the hard work."

Crack.

Lupin's knife-hand flew like a shot and struck the nape of Parmenia's neck. Parmenia collapsed without even managing a reaction.

"So that's why those Western bastards were so obsessed with serfs."

It was, quite literally, automatic farming. Automatic harvest.