So It Was a Test?
The philosophy could wait. What I had been told, in any case, was that the body's original owner was dead, and that the flesh had recovered only because I had come into it.
However much this was a world of healing magic and prayer, a corpse could receive neither. Had I never entered this body, that healing would never have taken hold. There was also the chance that a game had been built with this world as its setting — not that some game world had turned real, but that someone had lived through a place like this and gone home, or dreamed it, and made a game from what they brought back. Chicken or the egg. That sort of argument.
Even so, if this place really was a game world, one thing refused to add up.
"I've played games, sure, but I don't think I ever made a nun character. I don't even know what game this is supposed to be. So how does that work? I just got sick back where I used to live, and when I died, this is what I woke up to."
Couldn't very well say I'd killed myself. Died of an illness would do.
"Uh... then should we just call it reincarnation? Maybe it's nicer to think you've been given a second life and enjoy it. If you're living again anyway, you might as well live happily. And you've gone and become a pretty nun while you were at it."
Even that, once I heard Aggro out, didn't seem especially important. Whichever world this was, so long as it was a place I didn't know, what remained was the same: adapt, and keep living. It might matter to other people. To me, it made no difference whether this was the backdrop of a game or some other world entirely.
"Please, the two of you, carry on. I have a matter to see to, so I'll step away for a bit."
"Then... should I wait here?"
"You may, or you may return to the church. I'll stop by here once I'm finished, and if Sister Selenia isn't here then, I can simply go to the church."
Was he trying to allow me a measure of freedom? I was grateful Hamil had guided me this far, but I had assumed he was sticking close to keep watch. That he would yield the room so easily was surprising. He must have meant for the two of us to talk at our ease.
Once Hamil had gone, Aggro turned to me with a bright, easy smile.
"Congratulations. You passed Hamil's test."
"A test? There was a test?"
"Well, we did come into other people's bodies. To the eyes of people from this world, that's hard to look on kindly — even if the person would have died had they simply been left alone. So he was probably watching, cold and careful, and testing you in his own way. You felt guilty, Selenia. That may not prove you're truly good, but it does mean you're no villain."
I hadn't imagined he was sizing a person up to that degree, and I stared, sour-faced, at the door Hamil had left through. Well. Life was like that, wasn't it. Think of it as an interview, and it was an evaluation that had to be made — all the more so for work that put dangerous weapons like guns in your hands. Strict conditions were probably the right call.
My own country had been a little strange about it, of course. So long as a dick was attached — missing an eye, sick with cancer, orphaned — they dragged you into the army all the same.
"So if I hadn't felt any guilt, and had just been thrilled about the whole thing, would they have branded me a witch and burned me at the stake?"
"Come on. Medieval fantasy or not, it's not that bad. Some people have been shut in a house of prayer and made to live in austerity until mind and body were purified, though."
I had cracked the joke to shake off the chill, and the answer that came back was so grounded it raised the hair on my arms all over again. If I hadn't worried over this body's original owner, firearm collection or not, I would have been locked in some solitary cell, lingering on scripture and weeds. It landed like a threat that wasn't quite a threat.
Still, it hadn't happened. I could ease up a little. She was saying that unless I turned into human garbage, I wasn't getting hauled up onto a pyre. So I decided to focus on the information I actually needed. Philosophy and the rest of it was for when you were fed and full. With the road ahead this unclear, thoughts like that were a luxury.
"Well, then. They told me to go around picking up guns. Have you ever heard of work like that? I'm also curious whether the rest of you don't carry guns of your own. Fantasy world or not, a gun seems a lot more powerful than a sword or a bow."
"Oh, sure. Without skills, a gun is much stronger in the moment. You can put someone down without putting yourself in danger. But ammunition is hard to come by. Even if you commissioned the dwarves to make it, the research and development alone would eat an absurd amount of money and time."
"Ah..."
Right. That would be a problem. In the end, bullets were consumables. Powder detonated, the casing spat the round, and the brass hit the floor. Collect the casings, melt them down, make new bullets — fine. Where were you supposed to get the powder?
"And a reasonably solid barrier can stop them, too. Oh — you know elephants and wild boars don't drop the instant they're shot? It's the same thing. Bullets aren't even close to enough for the monsters in this world. A machine gun and a skill like Infinite Magazine, maybe. This isn't that kind of setting. Burn through your rounds and the gun just becomes dead weight. So all of us specialized in the skills we already used. If you hate fighting, you drop into a production class entirely."
Yeah. That was a problem too. This was a fantasy world. Guns were easy to handle and they hit hard, but they still weren't much good for bringing down enormous monsters. Mass-produce the ammunition and the story would change, but for now the supply had to be severely limited. They used the word collect because the things crossed over from another world often enough to gather — not often enough that anyone could go around wasting bullets.
But wait. Skills. That was a word that belonged in a game, and I couldn't let it slide.
"Skills? So the rest of you can just throw Meteor and all that? Like game characters?"
"It would depend on the class. This game isn't that much of a munchkin title, so Meteor is probably out of reach... Mages do sling Fireball and Frost Arrow, though. Of course, every class has its own list of skills it can actually use."
"Then I..."
"Ah, people from here use skills too, same as us. Not the way we do it — say the name and it just goes off. They seem to have other methods. You're a nun, Selenia, so maybe you can use healing? Look up some skill names later and try one."
That was welcome news, mid-conversation. Whether a delinquent nun like me could actually cast the healing magic the clergy used was another question. Ask Hamil, and he would probably answer. If Inquisitor counted as a different vocation, I could slip the question to Sister Victoria instead. I had a feeling she would be delighted — at last, this wayward nun means to take her faith seriously — and the thought quietly pleased me.
The background of it all made rough sense. Which brought me to the thing that mattered most.
"So what do you think of the work? From what I can tell, they want someone to collect the weapons crossing over from our world. They said they'd grant Inquisitor authority, too."
Before you took a job, it mattered that you ask the people already in the trade.
"Inquisitor means you answer directly to the Holy See. Nobody gets to lay a hand on you, so I think it's a good post. Being an Inquisitor doesn't mean you can point at someone, call them a heretic, and have them killed. But if you can walk away the moment it looks dangerous, isn't that enough to make it worth doing? A few months ago, I probably would have called it an adventure and signed on the spot."
Adventure. I had been quietly disappointed by all the talk of games and skills, and here was a word that struck a match in my chest. Crushed by people, crushed by work. Paper still piling up after clock-out, no proper overtime pay, the wages handed over to my mother, and what little allowance remained stretched until it tore. Adventure sat a long way from any of that. Rotten through with a life that dull and that empty of reward, I couldn't help being tempted by fantasy. By adventure.
And honestly, just the fact that I could fire a gun. Against monsters I would be at a disadvantage beside people armed with spears, blades, bows, and magic — that much was true. Against people, a gun was still devastating. Not that I wanted to shoot anyone. Only that, when things turned dangerous, I could be the one holding the one-sided advantage. The thought made me feel safe.
"Then why aren't you taking it, Ms. Aggro...? Nim...?"
"Ahaha. Among us you can stick on -nim, or -ssi, or just call me unnie. We're all former gamers, so the nim-nim thing sits easier. Anyway, the reason I'm not doing it is that I've got a baby in my belly."
"Oh. Congratulations."
Pregnant. That meant she had settled here for good. Talk of games all you liked — this place was the reality we were living in, too. I decided not to think any further down that road.
As for the work the Pope had offered... well. It came with a rather embarrassing epithet. Collecting death. Look at it another way, though, and it was almost cool: gather the guns before someone used one wrong and got badly hurt. Make the thing safe. It was good work. I could try it, and if it truly didn't fit, hand in a resignation.
More than that, I didn't merely disbelieve in gods. I hated them. A nun's life was not going to be much fun from where I stood, and my heart leaned toward accepting the Pope's offer.
"And since you said you're a nun — when you get back to your quarters, try looking for something like a diary. Adventurers who don't keep a log sometimes land in real trouble, because they can't remember what they were in the middle of. A nun who lived in one place might have left a clue or two."
"Ah, a diary. Thank you. I hadn't even thought of that."
I hadn't touched one since the vacation homework back in elementary school. The things had fallen clean out of my head. Whether a delinquent nun had bothered to keep one was another question. Who knew. Maybe she had written in secret, with some tender little sensibility nobody else was allowed to see. Looking couldn't hurt.
I had heard about as much advice on the work as there was to hear. I thought of waiting for Hamil, then decided that since I was already moving, I might as well find the diary and read it first. I stood.
"Thank you for the advice. May I come again?"
"Anyone from back home is welcome anytime. Someone as pretty as you, Selenia — even more so!"
Honestly, that was the second time I had been called pretty, and part of me wanted to get into a room and find a mirror. I was curious. What did I look like?