A Truly Fearsome Plot (3)
It was a truly fearsome plot. He'd thought the transfer orders had been fully processed, but to think they hadn't even been signed yet. Kriel marveled at the Lion Duke's cunning, fox-like scheming. Lion in name, but viper within—shouldn't he be called the Chimera Duke or Manticore Duke instead?
Once Kriel arrived at a suitably deserted spot after receiving the Lion Duke's orders, Orishin spoke up.
[But Kriel. About that liquid monster...]
"Yeah."
A form made of water. Magic that mimicked the shape of another. Kriel had seen this magic before—in the Lir family's heirloom, the Chalice of Truth, and the spell imbued in its replica.
The water spirit's magic that granted an existence so close to the real thing it was indistinguishable.
"The liquid monster's method of reshaping its body is strikingly similar to Niam's magic. It might even be exactly the same kind."
[So the master thinks the culprit behind this—who tampered with Niam's memories—is some enigmatic abyss seed?]
Kriel nodded. Grikenkos had periodically demanded artifacts infused with Niam's magic. If those artifacts had been twisted by the abyss's wicked wisdom, monsters like that showing up wouldn't be surprising at all.
[Then, master, you made a mistake.]
"A mistake?"
[If they'd used me instead of that vulgar curved sword, we could've traced the puppet master's link the instant we cut off that barbaric liquid monster's lifeline. Things would've wrapped up much faster.]
He was referring to the power of a spirit sword: the ability to absorb the defeated foe's strength and memories.
But Kriel shook his head.
"That's exactly why."
The one controlling the liquid monster was a mage skilled enough to manipulate a high spirit's memories. Not some amateur demonkin hopeful fumbling with wyverns in a gateway city—this was a master demonkin, perhaps even a full demon.
And Tuon was the evolved form of Gratuon. The demonic essence linked to the abyss's depths would react sharply to Tuon's power.
It was hard to predict how a demonkin who learned of the Seven Great Demonic Weapons and their wielder might respond.
That was why Kriel had deliberately used the horn dagger infused with holy power against the liquid monster. A wielder of a demonic weapon battling the abyss was rare, but a holy relic's owner doing so was only natural. No demonkin would sense anything amiss.
[Hmm. I see.]
It was a reply before Kriel could even finish organizing his thoughts to explain.
Orishin tilted his head.
[Huh? What'd you even hear to go 'I see' like that?]
[It means that filthy abomination was too impure to draw me. It wasn't a worthy foe for my noble blade, so the curved sword was the right call.]
[Oh, so you're subtly shading me now? Hey! I've got a noble title, you know! I'm noble too!]
Noble, huh. Kriel mulled over the word.
Both with Niamh Cinn-Óir and now, this shadowy abyss seed was avoiding direct involvement, using underlings instead.
Of course, most demonkin hid their true nature. There was no advantage to revealing one's abyssal allegiance in Tirnanog.
But while ordinary demonkin hid out of necessity, this one's concealment felt obsessive. A compulsion against dirtying their own hands, or letting anyone glimpse their dark side. A drive to preserve their public image. It left a profoundly unsettling impression.
[So, Kriel. How're you gonna find 'em? Got some other way without using Tuon?]
Within Kriel's field of vision, no abyss presence could hide unless special measures were taken. Put differently, even as a Dark Knight, he couldn't detect abyssal stirrings from a thousand miles beyond his sight.
Yet Kriel spoke with certainty.
"I do."
[Huh? How?]
"I'm gonna poke the Automaton Totality."
[The Totality? No one by that name in the Western Army...]
Orishin trailed off.
No one in real life would use such an obscure term like "Totality" as a name or title in the Western Army. But on the Western Front, there was.
[The hive mind of the automatons?]
"Exactly. They hate the abyss. 'Hate' might be too mild—'abhor' is more accurate. Step into the automatons' domain and unleash Tuon, and they'll sniff out the abyss seed for us."
Kriel could almost hear the nameless abyss seed crying out in indignation. Didn't you just call me a shady figure who borrows others' hands?
But when facing the abyss, Kriel was a knight who could play as dirty and underhanded as needed.
[Whoa, that's straight-up sneaky...]
But hearing that from a friend was another matter entirely.
[What nonsense is this? This is what we call 'wisdom.']
"Knew I could count on you, Tuon."
[Wouldn't it be wise for an disloyal blade disrupting its master's focus on grave matters to hold its tongue?]
[Hey, wait! This is a misunderstanding! You're falling for the demonic sword's temptation right now! I meant it as a compliment—like, admirably sly!]
Kriel chuckled and quickened his pace. Sneaking into the Totality's domain would require even him to stay on high alert.
The Automaton Totality detected the repulsive aura deep within its domain.
It ignored most sentient life in Tirnanog, but its creators, the ancient dwarves, were different. They had recognized the abyss's danger at once and humbly admitted they couldn't overcome it alone. That humility led them to create the automatons—flawed lives programmed for certain termination.
The surest prevention against the abyss, and its ultimate solution: the extinction of any being succumbing to its temptations.
The Totality took pride in its creators' humility and in perfectly executing their command.
And now, abyssal presence stirred at the heart of that pride.
Malevolence trampling a pristine zone devoid of pitiable, ignorant life. Unforgivable.
The Totality summoned its "selves." The fragmented personas, convened for deliberation, approved unanimously without dissent.
They would root out the abyssal kin daring to invade this sacred domain.
Arunback, privy to the Totality's full logical progression, thought to himself: This machine's madness is uniquely incomprehensible—not in a way humans can grasp.
Automatons surged forth like a wave.
Distinct from their old, dusty but tactically sound movements. This was chaotic expansion—spreading wider, farther, in disordered proliferation.
The Lion Duke received urgent reports from scouts across the sectors.
Massive automaton forces detected. The largest in six months.
Up to this point, it matched Kriel's prior warning: he'd provoke the Totality to flush out the abyss seed. The automatons wouldn't fixate on the Western Army today, so maintain vigilance without overcommitting defenses.
But the Lion Duke always planned for the worst. On his staff's advice, he'd positioned himself at the likeliest hotspot for the fiercest clash, spear at the ready.
His superhuman vision caught automatons sprouting like germinating seeds across the frontlines.
"Heh, quite the horde."
Where was the man who'd drawn out this swarm single-handedly, and what was he up to? That audacity, that guts. A knight right up his alley.
Kriel raced across the open plain.
Minutes after striking the automatons' territory with a sword beam from Tuon and bolting the other way.
[You didn't even hit a passing automaton! Just firing sword energy into empty ground—think that'll work?!]
"It will!"
The automaton domain beyond the Western Front was practically the Totality's sensory organ. Ancient dwarven production facilities lay intact underground, all part of the Totality.
The surface strike was like a needle piercing skin. A mere graze might go unnoticed, but drawing blood? They'd sense the foreign intruder.
This was why the abyss's schemes targeted the Western Army, not the automatons. Boundless enmity toward the abyss. Machines impervious to seduction or persuasion— a nightmare for abyssal kin.
"Probably why those scrapheaps hate me extra. I once unleashed blood qi right when they were on the rampage. They disdain all sentients for 'insufficient intellect,' but I'd be especially infuriating."
If the abyss was a pathogen or virus to the automatons, Kriel figured he was like a mosquito— not the virus itself, but the vector spreading it.
Might as well lean into the role: the summer mosquito buzzing relentlessly by the ear just as sleep claims you.
After a long sprint, Orishin whispered, sounding begrudgingly impressed.
[...But seriously, why run? Can't you just ride a horse?]
"Oh."
Too long since he'd been on horseback—or kept at a distance from one, against his will.