The Satan Gun
"You're— you're back already?"
Florene and I had bolted from the elf forest straight to Taliesin's smithy in a single bound.
The moment I pushed open the entrance, a wave of sweltering heat rolled out, and there was Taliesin, hammer in mid-swing.
"Anything happen while I was gone?"
At my question, Taliesin wiped the sweat from his brow.
"What could possibly happen in so short a time? It's only been three days since you left."
With that, he began peering around the entrance this way and that.
"By the way, I take it you didn't find Floren?"
"As if."
Floren popped out from behind me with a cheerful little tada.
His pupils went round as saucers.
"Floren?!"
"Long time no see, Taliesin. You haven't changed a bit."
"You're alive—!"
His face lit up with delight as he hurried over, reaching to take her hand.
But I stepped squarely between the two of them.
"?"
Where does this old geezer get off pulling moves like that?
Even if his intentions weren't impure, it didn't exactly make for a pretty picture.
A creepy old man grabbing a beautiful young woman's hand?
Something about that composition just doesn't sit right, you know?
"Catch up on your own time later. How far along is the weapon?"
"About halfway done. Give me four more days and she'll be finished."
I nodded with a satisfied look.
"Good to hear. Been any inconvenience living here?"
"None whatsoever. If anything, it's been too comfortable—that's the problem. The demons who wouldn't give me the time of day just days ago are now bowing and scraping with honorifics every time they address me. Just what the hell are you, anyway?"
Taliesin looked at me with pleading eyes, as if to say it was finally time to come clean.
But I had no intention of telling him.
Like I said before—this old bastard gave me no end of grief back in the game.
"We settled this with the bet. You lost, so you don't get to ask."
"Ahem. You really are a cruel one."
When Taliesin clamped his mouth shut, Floren added her two cents.
"This is a human who contracted with a Spirit King, after all. Can't say I'm surprised."
She'd been fussing and fussing the entire way here.
How on earth did I contract with Sylphid? How strong was I, exactly? A ceaseless barrage of questions had poured out of her.
Not that I answered a single one of them properly.
"Enough chattering—we're getting down to business. We don't have far to go."
"An exploitative client, aren't you. Shouldn't you at least let me catch my breath?"
"Time is money. Once this job is done, I'll compensate you both so handsomely you'll have nothing to complain about."
"Fine, fine."
Floren said this and picked up the paper lying on the workbench.
It was the shotgun design I'd sketched for Taliesin a while back. The only difference was that unlike my crooked, wobbly doodle, this one was rendered in precise, blueprint-quality detail.
"Hooh. Not bad at all?"
Her pupils darted left and right across the blueprint, as if speed-reading it.
Gradually, admiration began to bleed into Floren's expression.
"Incredible. Simple on the outside, intricate within—exactly to my taste. How did you ever come up with this, Taliesin?"
"Floren, I didn't design this weapon."
"Hm?"
Floren tilted her head, baffled by what he meant.
"The man standing next to you designed it."
"!"
She stared at me, mouth hanging open.
It seemed she'd never even considered the possibility that I was the one behind it, because the surprise on her face was genuine.
"...So you're one of us, huh?"
That, from her, was the highest of praise.
Saying I was "one of them" meant I was a genius in the field.
...Now I feel awkward for no reason.
To their eyes it must have looked like my own creation, but the truth was I'd ripped it off from someone else too, and my conscience stung a little.
Feeling sheepish, I hurriedly changed the subject.
"Now that you've seen the drawings, here's the general idea: I pull this trigger here, and the magic power erupts outward."
"I know. I've already worked out how to do it. It's a simple matter of inscribing a dynamic mana circuit through the interior. The output will be on the weaker side, though. That acceptable?"
I shook my head.
"Maximize the mana output. Enough to blow this entire smithy sky-high."
"Haha, that's a funny joke. You really think that's possible?"
"If it's you, I'd say it's more than possible."
At my words, Floren's mouth curved up ever so slightly—pleased, it seemed—before she spoke again.
"I can do it. The problem is that you can't survive it."
"What do you mean, I can't survive it?"
"The higher the output, the greater the burden on the user. You'd pull the trigger and your hand would melt right off, you know? And the recoil? Discharge that much mana at once and inertia will send your body flying backward. At that point it's not a weapon anymore. It's just a suicide aid."
"Don't care."
"...Are you insane? Are you trying to die?"
"No, I'm not going to die. It doesn't matter, so proceed."
If the power wasn't overwhelming, it had no right to be called a shotgun.
It'd just be some backwater popgun.
It absolutely had to be devastatingly, mind-bendingly strong.
If not, I never would have bothered choosing a gun in the first place.
"...Fine, I don't care anymore. If you die, it's not on me."
Seeing the resolve on my face, Floren threw up her hands in surrender.
"I'm counting on you. Build it to the maximum output you can manage."
"Hah... I'll do my best."
"Then I'll see you in four days."
Only then could I leave the smithy wearing a look of complete satisfaction.
"Dermian."
After leaving the smithy, Seina and I—who had been waiting outside—returned together to the Monarch's Castle. The castle, as it happened, wasn't far from the smithy at all, so we made good time.
"Yes, you called for me?"
The moment I got back, the place I sought was not my bed but the office.
Before me stood my Chief Aide, Dermian, head bowed, waiting on my word.
"Send a firm message to the Western Magic Tower. If they so much as glance in the direction of an alchemist named Floren ever again, I will not forgive it."
A while back, I had made a promise to Floren.
That I would make sure the Magic Tower never hunted her again.
And it was a laughably simple task for me.
One sentence was all it took.
"Understood. I will deliver your instruction in the strongest terms, exactly as you have said."
"And summon the twins for me."
At my words, Dermian's face stiffened slightly.
"Have those two, by some chance, offended Your Excellency again?"
There was an air about him of a man ready to cut them down on the spot, and it caught me off guard.
"I merely have business with them."
"Understood. Is there anything else you would command?"
When I waved my hand in dismissal, Dermian bowed his head and left the office.
I let out a long breath and ran a hand through my hair.
As of today, the question of my defense is officially closed.
Walking the outer grounds of the Monarch's Castle, one came upon a training yard.
They said it was where the knights usually drilled.
Today, it was mine to use.
"You called, my Lord? What for?"
"Yeah, why'd you call us?"
Rose and Marie, both small of stature, tilted their heads in unison.
"You two are going to help me out today."
"Us?"
"What do you need help with?"
With time to spare, I'd decided today was the day I'd finally put my ability through a proper test.
And these twins were the perfect candidates for the job.
"Hit me."
"......"
The twins' expressions froze in an instant.
I supposed I had it coming—I'd cut straight to the point without any context.
"Don't get the wrong idea. This is for an experiment..."
"I like being the one getting hit... more than the one hitting."
"I prefer being stepped on..."
Huh?
What on earth were these two saying?
Flustered, I hurried to cut them off.
"No, that's not—!"
"It's fine, we respect you, my Lord. Want us to stomp on you with our feet?"
"Stomp on you?"
I shook my head vigorously.
"Not that either—I'm ordering you to cast magic on me."
I'd nearly been dragged off course by the twins' tempo.
My Mental Fortitude stat was over 999, yet somehow, standing in front of these two, I kept getting flustered.
"Magic is boring, though..."
"Still, let's do it. It'll make our Lord happy."
At Rose's words, Marie gave in with a resigned air.
"Okay then. What spell should we use?"
"I'd like you to lower the temperature around me. Can you manage that?"
"Easy."
Rose thumped her chest as if to say, leave it to me.
Watching her, Marie turned to me urgently.
"Hey, my Lord! What do I do?"
Her eyes were brimming with expectation.
If I told her to just stand there, she'd be crushed, so I gave her a reasonable answer.
"Help Rose."
"Okay!"
And so, with hardly a moment's hesitation, the twins began chanting their spell.
"Borrow the power of the cold air."
A blue glow began to swirl in their hands.
Then it scattered into the air as fine ice crystals.
Wow.
It was a scene straight out of a painting.
Not because the backdrop or the magic was beautiful.
The twins were just devastatingly pretty.
As I stood there thinking that, my body began to shiver, little by little.
Rattle, rattle, rattle.
...So this is something defense can't handle?
The question was: what would happen if the damage came not from a direct attack on me, but indirectly, through the surrounding air?
And soon enough, I had my answer.
"Are you still lowering the temperature?"
"Yep. Cold, isn't it?"
I shook my head.
At first, the cold had bitten clear down to the bone.
But the lower the temperature dropped, the more I could feel my defense mechanism kicking in.
In other words, anything that threatened my life—direct or indirect—was covered by my defense.
That is legitimately, ridiculously broken.
"You can stop now."
At my words, the twins ceased their casting.
I nodded along, deeply satisfied, and thought to myself:
So as long as nobody feeds me poison, I have no weaknesses at all?
Though I couldn't be entirely sure.
Poison, too, might be purified by the defense mechanism the moment it activated.
Short of actually drinking some, I couldn't say with one hundred percent certainty.
But honestly, when was I ever going to be poisoned?
Wasn't I effectively invincible?
That was exactly what I was thinking.
"My Lord! Should we stomp on you now?"
"Barefoot, or...?"
"What are you two on about?!"
I nearly got dragged off course by their tempo yet again.
And then, three days later.
The weapon I'd been waiting for was complete.