Anomaly on the Western Front (5)
The Masked Man targeted the girl-shaped automaton. Whatever the circumstances, it was clear this was a machine the Automaton Totality had poured considerable effort into crafting. It wasn't just the intricately engraved artificial mana circuits that allowed it to wield magic. The form was an astonishingly precise recreation of a human. It was estimated that producing a single ordinary automaton required resources equivalent to crafting ten automated machines. To mimic humanity at that level would demand the cost of ten or more such automatons.
Why would the Totality, which always prized quantity over quality, create something like that?
That stubborn fool, who dismissed all intelligences besides itself as dim-witted—it beggared belief that it had changed its mind. This was an event that shouldn't have happened originally. But now, with the Demon King dead and the Seven Great Demonic Weapons left behind, the state of Tirnanog diverged from the post-ending scenario of Tirnanog RPG. No surprise was out of the question.
The Masked Man assessed the enemy's magical prowess.
Impressive.
Yet there were odd habits it displayed that the true Totality never would. The magic the Totality wielded through its higher-grade automatons was mechanically precise in the literal sense—characterized by mana distribution without waste. Attacks that maximized effect with minimal mana expenditure, the epitome of efficiency.
But this girl automaton's magic was different. The mana stones embedded within it must have been substantial, for it unleashed mana explosively when needed, without restraint. Another unexpected trait.
A successor model completely at odds with its own nature...?
He knew the Totality was prone to splitting its ego into multiples for "debates" on "more constructive paths to life's evolution." But even if fragmented from one, the core temperament of the Totality itself wouldn't vanish. If it could pivot to such flexible thinking, the ancient dwarf civilization might never have fallen.
More questions piling up for Grikenkos.
The Masked Man chanted incantations from his lips. At the same time, he formed hand seals with his fingers. Normally, combining chants and seals sharpened focus on a single spell—etching will through words, amplifying with symbolic gestures.
But the Masked Man employed no ordinary methods.
"Weave shadows of the moon and seize it. Behold your own terror in the misty darkness."
The incantation spilling from his mouth was an illusion of dread, one of the spells handed down from Grikenkos. Phantasms of fear bloomed from the blackness. The symbol traced by his hand was flame. Blind with fog, reap life with fire. Even if instant death was avoided, the burns would cripple combat ability.
Yet both were ill-suited against automatons. Where was fear in a machine? How could burns mar a body of steel? Even melting steel to slag with overwhelming power availed little—the automaton simply transferred consciousness to a new body.
This was a test. If its essence was the Totality's, it would show little reaction to illusions or flames. Something immutable lingered, no matter how the personality was tuned.
But if, as he suspected, some separate self-awareness dwelled within, it would react differently.
The girl automaton mimicked nearly all human vital signs perfectly. Thus, the Masked Man could closely track the flicker in its pupils.
In that initial instant—less than a second—it was struck squarely by the illusion. But the next moment, its gaze sharpened, locking onto the Masked Man.
Had someone awakened it from outside? A defensive spell then blocked the flames. An automaton could afford to sacrifice a limb or two—yet it guarded its body like a human.
He recalled the initial frenzied tone. Words that seemed to relay someone else's message. The Totality's will must have snapped it awake from the illusion instantly.
With this, the Masked Man concluded his test.
Was that "someone" the Totality itself? Has it truly embraced a complete other?
Absurd. Had it liberated one of the ancient dwarf brains it hoarded, implanting a self into the doll? That scrap-heap lunatic, who treated even its creator as a calculator to avert abyss corruption—what shift in sentiment had overtaken it?
But now he was certain. The girl automaton's ego was, naturally, far more human than the Totality's.
This encounter was less dangerous than anticipated. The plan to reclaim the Seven Great Demonic Weapons would be postponed, but escape should be straightforward.
Mages were deceivers of the world by nature. If he could divert its gaze for even a split second, fooling an outdated hunk of junk would be child's play.
He focused on the fight while subtly shifting his footing. His leg movements formed the axis of another spell. Dance had originated in history as part of rituals offered to gods. If hand seals symbolized spells, simplified footwork derived from dance served the same.
Triple casting. The pinnacle realm for combat mages.
Kriel focused on the Masked Man's movements. The atmosphere had shifted. His steps followed points with an eerie repetition, like an extremely simplified choreography.
[...Huh? What's with that guy. Mages still using that?]
"A familiar technique?"
[Yeah. A branch of spellcasting shortcuts via dance... No, even back when rituals were more widespread, barely anyone used it in real combat. What kinda nut is he?]
Spells via dance? Reminded him of old Earth novels. Dancing King Wizard or something. Kriel gripped his blade, nostalgic, opting not for the greatsword or Tuon, but the red-horn dagger.
Tuon grumbled petulantly in his mind.
[Master, take care. That curved blade envies your noble steed. Can you trust a sword with dark designs?]
[Slander, you wretch! Where's the black in me?!]
[Doesn't the abyss shard linger in your heart's depths? Pitch black as oblivion.]
A hacking cough escaped Orishin in tandem. Kriel simultaneously released the shadow horse summon overhead.
[Wha—? Kyaaaaaaaah—!]
Orishin shrieked as the ground rushed up abruptly.
An eerie wail echoed across the Western Front. A scream chilling even machine circuits rang out as something black plummeted from the sky.
No, not a mere fall—it was a controlled descent.
Boom!
Dust billowed. The impact cratered the earth. Several automatons beneath were pulverized by the shockwave.
Through the unsettled dust, baleful red eyes gleamed. In his right hand, a red line was gripped—a glow of fighting spirit, yet it writhed like a living serpent. A venomous viper flicking its tongue, seeking its next victim.
The shadowy figure in the dust stepped forward. An unforced stride, yet the dust settled instantly.
Revealed at last was his true form. The hand clutching the sinuous red blade was sheathed in bracer-black as an abyss. His irises, gleaming with a luster akin to—or surpassing—fresh blood entwined around the blade, shone even more sinisterly than through the haze.
The horns jutting from his black plate armor evoked the dread sovereign of the abyss, while the gold filigree edging the black plates proclaimed him no mere servant, but a master in his own right.
That one?
The Masked Man knew intuitively. This was the one who'd unleashed the automatons against him. That menacing visage and aura. Unmistakably a Demonkin. Perhaps on the cusp of ascension to Demon.
Attention snagged on the massive greatsword on his back, and the sword at his left hip whose hilt alone was visible. A Demonkin of three blades. A distinctive appearance.
Did Grikenkos know of such a Demonkin? Arunback realized Kriel's identity the instant he landed—not through his own insight. He'd glimpsed Orishin soaring, battling Nayd, but now in Kriel's grasp, Orishin pulsed with blood qi, fiercer and wilder.
The Totality had whispered the truth to him.
"Kri-el."
The Totality seized Arunback's chassis and spoke. The mass-produced automatons nearby lacked vocal organs, forcing the choice.
That's Kriel?
The Masked Man reeled. The appearance diverged wildly from his intel. Kriel of the Western Army was said to don worn, scorched armor. But this suit looked forged from some abyssal demon's remains.
"...So the rumors of a gift from the Wraith King weren't utter nonsense."