I Shall Present the World to Lady Articetia

Central Control Room, Super-science Dungeon.

Mechaman slotted a cable into the nape of his neck. A sharp click rang out, and his red optical sensors flared to life with a low electronic hum.

"Strategic bomber Bomora. Report current position."

Keyboards clattered. The Mechabots threw a map of the Korean Peninsula across the monitors.

"Ex-Bomora currently transiting Seongnam City airspace."

"Altitude 8,200 meters. Dense cloud cover, Level 3 white density."

"Stealth module and radar-evasion systems functioning normally."

"Estimated entry into Seoul airspace in one minute."

Mechaman confirmed the bomber was closing on the Han River, then swept a hand through the air.

"Disengage stealth. Rapid descent to eight hundred meters."

A disc punched down through the clouds. The UFO-shaped super-science bomber shed its invisibility and showed itself to the world.

The pumpkin-headed boy, Pumpchi, sucked on a butane canister and frowned.

"I don't get it, though. Why'd Maesat tell us to show the bomber's real face?"

A little flame popped from his mouth.

"If we'd just bombed them stealthed, Seoul would've been a sea of fire by now. Why go the long way around when the easy road was right there..."

The red points of Mechaman's sensor array slid toward Pumpchi with a thin electronic whine.

"There is no need to question."

The voice was purely mechanical.

"The Master's plans are always perfect."

Pumpchi blew out a sigh of fire.

"Aigoo... that mecha nerd. Maesat went and sniped his exact type..."

He never finished the sentence. A knife-hand strike buried itself in the center of his pumpkin.

"Ow!"

Pumpchi glared up at Hongryeon.

"Why'd you hit me?!"

"......Please ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mind your words regarding Lord Maesat, Pumpchi."

Hongryeon looked down at his eyes without expression. In that instant her pupils flooded black.

"A switch is the finest medicine for an ill-mannered child."

"Eek!"

Pumpchi crumpled his entire body into the pumpkin. A dull thud, and only the hollow gourd sat on the chair.

Hongryeon let out a quiet breath and gathered the pumpkin into her arms.

"Pumpchi."

Her voice had already softened.

"The reason Lord Maesat revealed the bomber's form is a kind of warning."

Flame kindled at last in the pumpkin's carved eyes.

"......A warning?"

"That is so."

Hongryeon nodded.

"Of late, heroes have been infiltrating the Super-science Dungeon in great numbers."

A brief silence settled over the room.

"If no retaliation is carried out......"

Her voice dropped.

"The heroes will come to look down upon our dungeon."

Mechaman inclined his head at her answer.

"Hmph. As expected of the Master's secretary."

His ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠red sensors glowed.

"An answer approaching 99.99 percent accuracy. Humans rely upon visual information, and fear is contagious. Should they witness overwhelming technology...... they will volunteer themselves as the Master's slaves."

He turned to Hongryeon.

"Is that not so?"

No answer came.

"Hongryeon?"

He shifted his gaze to her. She was staring blankly at the monitor.

The 120-story L Tower filled the screen. The bomber that had appeared overhead was already in close proximity, and as the system rapidly scanned the surrounding data, a close-up bloomed across the display.

A platinum-blonde girl stood at Lee Dogwang's side. Naksan Park, dyed in twilight. The two of them were even holding hands, as if their passion itself were burning.

Hongryeon's lens-pupils lost all focus, contracting and expanding ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in a frantic, broken rhythm.

"Arti...cetia...?"

She had served that woman for hundreds of years. There was no world in which she would fail to recognize her.

But the moment those slender fingers traced gently across Lee Dogwang's chest, hundreds of monitors in the Central Control Room drowned in static. The overhead lights died with them, snapping over to red emergency lamps as a siren began to howl.

"Eek!"

Pumpchi had become an ordinary pumpkin all over again.

Mechaman pressed a steel hand to his forehead.

"Haa... Mecha Unit 17. Summon the Maid Corps."

His mechanical voice trembled.

"Tell them to come retrieve the Head Maid. As quickly as possible......"

The Hero Association was in a state of emergency.

Air-raid sirens screamed through the building. Association President Jang Taegwon burst into the situation room at a run, breath ragged, sweat beading along his temples.

"Report the situation! Now!"

The operator listened to his headset and delivered the briefing in the same breath.

"One minute ago, an emergency dispatch arrived from the Air Defense Brigade! An unidentified giant aircraft has been identified on Seoul airspace radar......"

He swallowed and pressed on.

"They're returning fire as we speak!!"

Jang Taegwon stared at the monitor and clenched his teeth. A UFO had appeared over the Han River — and it was the size of a World Cup stadium.

"Damn it...."

Even if they managed to shoot it down, the crash would be catastrophic.

"How the hell did you people monitor this?!"

His fist slammed the table.

"You didn't notice it until it was that close?!"

Then he looked at the monitor again, and understanding arrived all at once.

"W-wait...... what?!"

The anti-aircraft guns mounted on the high-rises — M167 Vulcans — poured 102-millimeter rounds from their six-barreled turrets at a thousand shots a minute, a tearing roar that split the ears. And every last one of them evaporated under the rain of lasers pouring from the UFO.

The surface-to-air missiles fared no better. They detonated over Seoul before they could even close the distance, bursting into gaudy flowers of fire. The armament on display was something current technology could not begin to approach — an overwhelming, almost insulting display of force.

Jang Taegwon muttered before he knew he was speaking.

"Maesat......"

The command-and-control room door opened. A presence poured through it that crushed the entire situation room flat, traditional Korean shoes clicking sharply against the floor.

"......It's that lunatic, isn't it."

An SS-Class hero had arrived. Sinnyeo flicked the knot of her jeogori into place with an idle hand and sent a look across the room. Jang Taegwon let out a long breath and nodded.

"As things stand, that's the most likely possibility, but..."

He hesitated.

"Well. We can't rule out the Main Association's Alien Lord, either."

As if to kill the speculation where it stood, a colossal hologram lanced down from the UFO. A miniature Maesat stuck out his rear and started twerking.

The grotesque laughter rolled out across the whole of Seoul.

Sinnyeo had been straightening the sleeve of her black cheollik. She stopped.

"That... son of a bitch......"

The operator swallowed hard. His eyes had found her waist. She was carrying a weapon she never wore on ordinary days — a sword whose hilt was carved with shamanic patterns. A famed blade commissioned by a Joseon king, forged in the Year of the Tiger, the Month of the Tiger, the Day of the Tiger, and the Hour of the Tiger... the Four Tiger Sword.

Sinnyeo drew it halfway. Star-charts and classical Chinese characters tangled together along the revealed blade.

"If dying like that's what you want......"

She turned the sword and slid it home, then turned on her heel.

"I'll set up an ancestral altar for you today."

She looked ready to leave that instant — then her steps halted dead. Her voice dropped to a low warning.

"Nobody lays a hand on him."

She glanced back over her shoulder, and her eyes were full of murder.

She left those words behind, black cheollik snapping, and crossed the automatic doors. Astonishingly, her figure vanished in the space of a breath.

Jang Taegwon watched the doors ease shut and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Haa... I just want to retire already......"

Good, good. I'd been right to give them a heads-up beforehand.

I could see the bomber Ex-Bomora punching down through the clouds, and right on cue the ground batteries opened up. As expected of the world's fifth-ranked military. Their response time was sharp.

Missiles bloomed in midair in fat, satisfying detonations. A fantastic laser show evaporated the anti-aircraft rounds before they could land. The three-dimensional thunder of the blasts reached us even here.

Articetia leaned her arms on the fortress wall of Naksan Park and watched the fireworks beyond the mountain with a vacant, almost idle gaze. I propped my chin in my hand beside her and smiled, thoroughly pleased with myself.

"Heh. Well? Do you like it?"

She flicked a glance at me, then immediately turned her eyes back toward the magnificent explosion of a Hyunmoo-5. A high-yield ballistic missile with a nine-ton warhead — the shockwave rolled all the way to Naksan Park, a fair distance from the Han River, and a violent wind tore through the trees.

That overwhelming scale. Of course she'd be spellbound.

The crowds that had been packing the park moments before were screaming and scrambling down the mountain. Heroes arrived on-site and began guiding people toward the shelters. Fortunately, it didn't look like there would be any casualties.

A high-risk training exercise for the Hero Association! Plus a fireworks show for the couples, all in one! Who else in this world thinks about the heroes as much as I do? Once the whole truth comes out, I might even get a Nobel Peace Prize.

Heh heh heh.

The park emptied by degrees. It was about time I paid Articetia a proper courtesy.

"Ksssss... This Maesat knows how to read a face, you know! Shall I try guessing what Lady Articetia is worrying about right this moment?"

Articetia looked at me and tilted her head.

If you ran her movements to date through the data, the answer was obvious. Take, for instance, The Swarm — the insect faction that had occupied parts of China. Or Natura, the beastman faction that had nested in the Amazon of South America. The Main Association had seized territory from their respective nations one after another.

The Mausoleum Temple had done no such thing. It had hidden in the shadows and moved with exquisite, painstaking care.

Which meant—

"You wish to take the Republic of Korea intact, with destruction kept to an absolute minimum. Yes?"

I raised a finger. Bullseye, surely.

Articetia stroked her chin. She thought for a moment, then gently took my hand, spread my palm, and wrote across it.

Close enough — so I'd only gotten half of it?

She wrote nothing more. Writing instead of speaking was probably a bother.

I looked up. The clouds were splitting left and right. At last — the highlight I had prepared. The circus of the SS-Class hero, Sinnyeo.

Seven flashes painted the night sky in radiance, a parade as if the Big Dipper itself had descended to earth. God, that was gorgeous. I swept my bangs back and called out.

"Lady Articetia's wish is Maesat's dream!"

I held out a hand to her, inviting, coaxing.

"A dream is a command of will that the brain issues to itself."

I put every ounce of conviction I had into my voice.

"It is not an illusion... It started in reality, and so it sits within the range of what can be made real!"

Sinnyeo, right on cue, delivered the climax. A colossal tiger of light took shape in the night sky and brought a forepaw down on the bomber Bomora. The strategic bomber tore into five pieces and went up in a savage chain of explosions. Talismans rained onto the wreckage like a hailstorm.

I turned my back to the scattering fire and dropped to one knee. I drew the back of her hand gently toward me, and I kissed it.

"Once the calculations are done..."

"...the implementation is my responsibility."

A brief silence.

Sparkling, earnest eyes were the key. You don't even have to go yourself. I won't get greedy. Please, just let a clone go to the Hero Association!

But that expressionless face held. I couldn't read a single thought in it.

At last Articetia lifted one slender finger. I swallowed, forcing down a heart swollen with anticipation.

Yes or No! Man or woman! Dip or pour!! What would she choose?!

In the very instant that was about to decide my fate, a heavy iron plate tore through the air.

"......Huh?"

A wet, crushing crack.

Ah...... shit.

A cold I could feel on my skin. I could say it with certainty: this was the Mausoleum Temple. My mind had snapped back into my real body.

I did not want to open my eyes. I wanted to drop the shutters on my gas mask goggles. Somebody, please tell me this was a dream. Waaaaaah!

Even if it was only a clone — I killed Articetia? I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠turned the Lord of the Underworld into dried jerky with a ten-ton outer hull plate!

I was done. I was completely, utterly done!!

A cold touch settled against my throat. Eek! That soft sensation was unmistakably Articetia. Was she going to strangle me?

Haa...... I'd been so happy when I got my Gift, and what a spectacularly screwed-up life it had turned out to be.

I was just about to surrender to despair when — what was this? She gave the back of my head a gentle push and drew my face toward her.

"Mm?"

I felt the gas mask come away. And then, against my forehead......

Soft — and under that softness, the rough texture of thread.

Only then did I ease my eyes open. Articetia was already drawing back, walking toward the bedroom deeper in the pavilion with her hands folded behind her.

Wait...... what did that mean?

"......Lady Articetia?"

I pulled the gas mask off my head entirely.

"The Hero Association infiltration operation... is it, by any chance......"

Articetia stopped. She glanced back over her shoulder. Blue letters rose above her lifted finger.

Then she twirled her finger. The letters scattered into smoke and reshaped themselves.

Articetia drifted the blue smoke apart with her fingers and continued into the bedroom. The door creaked, then shut with a solid thud.

Good lord.... I... I had permission.

"Kiyaaahot!"

I ran in place. At last! I could infiltrate the Hero Association myself! I wouldn't have to use someone else as an intermediary anymore!

"The moment I set foot in the Hero Association!"

I was getting short of breath.

"The margin of error on this plan drops to zero percent!!"

No — it was a clone, so maybe 0.1 percent of error was still on the table! But the failure rate was shrinking toward nothing! This time, I could actually escape the Mausoleum Temple!!

"N-now then! Look forward to it, dear heroes! The curtain is rising on a brand-new stage!!"

White coat flaring, I wrenched open the pavilion doors.