The Babel Cult, and Scala Cervello. (1)

***

Now, this should go without saying, but the Babel Cult — known among the players as the Fanatics — was openly, publicly evangelizing across our territory, strolling about like they owned the place.

And as if that weren't enough, I had received a request to approve the construction of a shrine to the Outer Gods — a place where, on rare occasions but by no means impossibly, an Outer God might actually descend.

I told Ilena that I'd need to give this matter some thought, then immediately headed to the gallery to hash the whole thing out there and get some cross-verification going.

But once I actually threw the topic out to the gallery, something strange happened: the users' reactions were, for once, nothing like what I had expected‧‧‧‧‧‧.

"Ugh, can't somebody just hand me a straight answer."

Instead of converging on one clean conclusion, the thread had split down the middle like a coin flip, arguments flying in both directions. Naturally, upon witnessing that spectacle, I entered what could only be described as "waaah, baby gallery-dweller just wants a quick verdict, pwease" mode, and I could feel myself rapidly dissolving into a wailing, teary-eyed mess.

But mercifully, right around the time those thoughts were taking shape, a savior appeared — as if the great, tireless explainer-meta itself had heard my unspoken plea. Dr. Midori's analysis post went up on the gallery‧‧‧‧‧‧.

"Hmmmm."

It turned out that the image of the Babel Cult I'd been carrying around was, at best, a fragmentary impression held by the natives of this world — Ilena and her ilk. And layered on top of that was contamination from some untraceable, origin-unknown 'meme' drifting around the gallery. Reading Dr. Midori's post made me realize I'd been wearing beanpod-colored glasses of an entirely different sort all this time — and that it might be worth approaching the Babel Cult with a somewhat more open mind.

And having reached that state of enlightenment, I naturally concluded that even Ilena's worried reaction to the whole affair probably wouldn't turn into much of a problem.

So after a brief period of solemn deliberation — during which I cross-checked the gallery intel for any red flags, just to be thorough‧‧‧‧‧‧.

"Okay. I've decided what we're doing."

"And what would that be, Consul?"

"First, summon the Cult's branch director. Better to make a proper judgment after hearing it straight from the horse's mouth."

"Understood. Then before your meeting takes place, I will prepare a ritual ward for magical containment."

"Oh, right. Yes. Do that."

Listening to Ilena's words — a fresh reminder that this world's genre was not, in fact, pure science fiction but some manner of fusion punk — I resolved to meet the Babel Cult's Milan branch director in person and talk things through.

Which was all well and good in itself, but even amid all that, things felt... how should I put it. Off.

Dr. Midori had dismissed every other rumor as mere memes, sure — but notably, he had never once denied the 'Fanatics' part. On top of that, there was the sheer scale of the heretic purges the Babel Cult had carried out in the faith's name, one atrocity after another; the superhuman knights called the Paladin Order who were said to crush capital warships with their bare hands. Between that and the whole martial-arts-sect flavor of it all, this world kept revealing how utterly detached it was from any reality I recognized.

Perhaps because of that, in my head the slander toward the Babel Cult drained away — only to be replaced by a strange, unplaceable mood settling into its place.

And then, in a sense the most important point of all: when Ilena sent out her summons — strictly speaking, a polite 'request' — for the director of the Babel Cult's Milan branch‧‧‧‧‧‧.

"Doctor, the Babel Cult's branch director is reportedly already here at the Lombardia Central Government building — the very one we're in right now."

"Eh? What do you mean, already? It's been less than five minutes since I asked for them?"

"Well, about that‧‧‧‧‧‧it seems that before we even sent our request, they had already approached President Heisenberg for a meeting, and were in the middle of one."

"‧‧‧‧‧‧HmmmMMMM."

So they had come to us before we'd even called — and were currently locked in a one-on-one sit-down, or more precisely a full-blown summit, with Heisenberg, that golden sun of dangerously obsessive pure devotion.

From the moment I heard it, my mind conjured the memory of how Heisenberg had once rolled over completely for a slapdash ritual ward thrown together in a few sloppy minutes of prep. And layered on top of that: the de facto ruler of the Milano System was now me, the branch director of the Demonia office — yet the Babel Cult had gone straight to Heisenberg.

A distinctly uneasy feeling welled up from every direction, and I could feel a suspicion blossoming lush and full: were they, perhaps, playing both sides of the fence?

But that anxiety didn't get to linger long. The summit with Heisenberg seemed to have wrapped up faster than expected. By the time roughly ten minutes had passed since Ilena's report, the Babel Cult's branch director — after passing through what was described as an 'appropriate and suitably lengthy ritual procedure' — emerged for a private audience with me, and it wasn't long before‧‧‧‧‧‧.

"Our Babel Cult Milano branch shall spare no effort in supporting you, Lady Benya, so that we may walk alongside you."

"Uwah?"

"Shall we proceed as with Mr. Heisenberg — that celebrated master of buying at the bottom? In a word, I believe the phrase 'one heart, one body' would serve us best."

"Whiiiiiine."

There they were, arriving with the exact same terms Heisenberg had once brought me — we'll shower you with our full and unconditional support, so please, please simply treat us as your ally.

Which left me with the distinct impression that something, somewhere, had gone terribly sideways — and I could feel my face twisting into a full-body grimace.