The Babel Cult, and Scala Cervello. (2)
Naturally, of course, things hadn't started off with that kind of blunt conversation out of nowhere.
Let's rewind a bit from the moment the cult's branch director declared her full support for us — back to before she'd even stepped into my room.
After all, the difference between us was merely one of scale; from a cosmic perspective, I and the Babel Cult's branch director were, frankly speaking, supposed to be 'equals.' Which meant the meeting inevitably went through a suitably convoluted and harrowing process, and by the time everything was arranged, the introduction with the director rumored to wield the power of an Outer God only got underway a full five minutes after she'd announced she'd arrived.
And then, at long last, I laid eyes on the branch director herself.
"I trust you have been well, Director of Demonia, Ms. Benya Tomiri. I am Scala Cervello, branch director of the Babel Cult's Milano chapter."
"Whoa."
I could feel the remnant of my masculinity still buried in my heart trying to blurt out a mindless holy crap, that's amazing the instant I saw her — and honestly, could you blame it?
The branch director of the Babel Cult, Scala Cervello, was, how do I put this… built like the words BWAAAH lololol given physical form. The woman had a spectacular figure.
I'm not joking when I say she didn't lose out one bit compared to Ilena standing at attention beside me. Even if I had been one hundred percent a woman, I'd have thought my eyes were being treated to a feast.
There was another crucial point here, too. In Ilena's case, thanks to her thick formal uniform plus the fur-lined coat she was always draped in, that magnificent figure of hers almost never saw the light of day — whereas the director standing before me was wearing the classic traditional nun's habit… no, wait.
If I'm being honest, it was closer to what I'd occasionally seen back on Earth called a 'Nunbelpia-style saintess' — a modified nun's habit with a degree of exposure so extreme that any casual observer would have to conclude she was an exhibitionist.
On top of that came golden blonde hair long enough to brush her hips, a beautiful face dominated by enormous eyes so pale white you couldn't distinguish the iris from the sclera, and — as if all that weren't enough — a height towering well above mine, easily 170 centimeters or more, all of it stretched along a pair of frankly gorgeous legs.
With that ample pair of faith pouches and faith tanks squeezed tight within the outfit, I gave a slow nod of approval.
Can't pass up a verification shot.
I quickly snapped a commemorative gallery photo of those magnificent faith pouches and drilled into the heads of my fellow users the fact that I am not just some cursed-image-posting hag.
Admittedly, if the day ever came, or if the gallery blew up badly enough to interfere with my lurk sessions, I might just spam it with nude wrestling shots of Ggomuli and Ulongi while shouting Matteku!… but that was beside the point for now.
I wiped it from my mind and got down to properly welcoming the branch director standing before me. It was time to have a real conversation.
And now, back to the present.
A whole lot of this and that had been discussed, but to summarize, it went something like this:
"So‧‧‧‧‧‧ asking us to let you build a sanctuary for the Outer God — that was all just a negotiation gambit on your end?"
"Of course it was, dear. Speaking plainly, an Outer God's descent could very well annihilate an entire planet if things went wrong. Surely you didn't think we'd actually bring one over for real?"
"Er, hm."
"I hesitate to say this, but had you accepted those conditions without a second thought, we would have actually kept our distance from you, Ms. Benya."
"‧‧‧‧‧‧Hmm."
As the director sipped her herbal tea and walked me through the traps embedded in the conditions I'd originally demanded, I nodded along — and slowly came to appreciate that Dr. Midori had been right: the cult's people were, decidedly, quite far from the raving fanatics I'd imagined them to be.
And the longer we talked, the more something started to feel… off.
"But how fortunate it is, Ms. Benya — you never greedily snatch at overwhelming power, and you consistently show a self-sacrificing streak‧‧‧‧‧‧ how shall I put it, as a priestess, I find it absolutely thrilling. Fufufut."
"‧‧‧‧‧‧Huh? Self-sacrificing? What on earth are you talking about?"
"Let not your left hand know what your right hand does. An admirable attitude indeed. Everything you do just keeps adding points in my book."
"No, seriously, what are you on about?"
I had no idea why, but she just kept radiating escalating waves of goodwill throughout our entire conversation, and then at some point —
She stopped calling me the formal 'Ms. Benya Tomiri' or 'Director Benya' and switched to a cozy little 'Benya, dear.'
Her whole face had melted into a smile brimming with something almost maternal — the exact look of someone watching a cute hamster stuff its cheeks with sunflower seeds they'd given it.
Watching that sourceless, infinite affection come flooding in alongside a 'declaration of unlimited, unconditional support,' just like it had with Heisenberg, I had absolutely no idea how to respond.
I could feel a Confusion debuff slamming into my mental state in real time, and hitting hard.
Of course, Scala Cervello's bottomless wellspring of friendliness toward Benya had reasons of its own.
Back when Cervello was first conducting her interview with Heisenberg, she'd been expecting more of the same from every entity she'd dealt with so far.
There was the ACIC branch director Robert Salandra, whose men secretly circulated the nickname 'Golden Pig' behind his back, for one. And for another, the snake-like Mirai Yuki, Earth Alliance's Milano branch director, whose slippery manner made her an absolute headache to negotiate with. Cervello had assumed this meeting would feel roughly like those two and everyone else she'd encountered.
But then she sat down face to face with Heisenberg and actually heard him talk‧‧‧‧‧‧.
"Benya is the best! Benya is the best! Say it! Say Benya is the best!"
"Is that so?"
"You too shall yearn to be crushed beneath Benya's feet! For her, I would gladly lay down my very life!!!!"
"Oh."
"She is lewd yet holy, and cruel yet keeps to the line of righteousness!!!!"
‧‧‧‧‧‧And so President Heisenberg — whom the outside world regarded as the 'kingmaker' who'd bought Benya at her lowest and raised her up — just kept gushing praise right back at Benya.
Then, too, there was the cult's signature magic: a subtle enchantment that made people roughly 0.1% more honest than usual. Perhaps because of it, Cervello found herself hearing all about the heart-pounding foot-sniffing sessions and happy reward-begging Benya had shared with him, and — as a pleasure-seeker deeply rooted in human nature, and a member of the Babel Cult to boot — she even felt a flash of kinship: oh, this one. I think this one and I would get along.
And then, at long last, one final thing‧‧‧‧‧‧.
"She possesses a spirit of self-sacrifice, you say?"
"She declared that if need be, she would offer up her own body and sacrifice herself for the greater good. With that frail little frame of hers — what a magnificent thing it is."
"‧‧‧‧‧‧Truly admirable. She is, in every sense, the very ideal our Babel Cult aspires to."
Granted, this was Heisenberg's assessment wearing some fairly thick rose-colored glasses — but between her self-sacrificing nature, utterly unlike her youthful appearance, and the fact that she never simply unleashed mindless slaughter, instead guarding the line of righteousness with a human heart intact, the picture had become clear.
Cervello was, before anything else, beneath her rank as branch director of the Babel Cult, a priestess. And so, shortly after finally meeting the woman herself and confirming that everything discussed in the Heisenberg summit had been the plain truth — her affection didn't just climb sharply. It blew straight through its MAX value.