5. John Armstrong
5. John Armstrong
The Sage and the Prophet did not seem to believe me.
Fortunately, there was someone here who could vouch for my age.
Archbishop Alex.
He was my baptizer, agency chief executive, and guardian.
"All—John is indeed a minor. As I explained, our order's god issued a special oracle and granted him baptism, allowing him to participate in filming."
"I still found it hard to believe. No minor has become a Hero in a Sanctuary for a hundred years, not since Constellation Arthur."
"Perhaps the god recognized that John has just as much potential as Arthur did."
The only person here who knew my real name and identity was the Archbishop.
The director, screenwriter, and distributor knew nothing about my true identity.
"By the way, Archbishop, why did you come here?"
"To be honest, there's a matter that requires you to come to the temple at once."
I did not ask why. I immediately packed my things.
In the meantime, the Archbishop asked for the film crew's understanding and told them that shooting would likely be difficult for a while.
The crew had no intention of making a third installment anyway. They planned to produce a story about John's past as a follow-up instead.
On top of that, with the Imperial Counterintelligence Department matter and all, the plan had been to take a break from filming for the time being.
The Sage and the Prophet readily gave their permission, saying they'd go use up their backlogged vacation time.
The Archbishop then took me to the producer-priest and repeated the explanation. The priest seemed to have heard from the Imperial Counterintelligence Department as well and sent me away after proposing that we film the follow-up several years later.
*
I left the set with the crew seeing me off and headed for the temple.
Maybe it was thanks to the John Series' string of blockbuster successes.
The temple, which before I'd arrived had been a modestly sized building, now flaunted a truly majestic presence.
Still, no matter how majestic a temple it was, to me it was no more and no less than the agency building.
I passed through the temple doors, crossed the lobby, and went into the Archbishop's room.
With a rank as high as Archbishop, you'd think he could afford to spend a little money, but his room was nothing if not ascetic.
"Archbishop, we have money now. Please spend some of it. You must be the only person who still lights candles because buying a lamp feels wasteful."
"I can't very well fritter away the offerings our faithful have sent us, now can I?"
"Just go to the flea market around the corner—they've got lamps way better and sturdier than this. Pick one out there."
"I must repeat myself—extravagance is..."
"You do know it's because you're like this that the fathers in our order can't buy themselves a single lamp and have to read scripture by candlelight, right?"
"..."
"You didn't know."
In the end, after dramatic negotiations with the Archbishop, we settled on gifting one lamp apiece to the order's priests at the end of the year.
Honestly, what era was this? Lighting candles to save money was taking thrift too far.
For crying out loud, even the butcher down the street uses a lamp.
I took my personal mug from the cupboard and dropped five sugar cubes into my coffee.
"Allen. When you're young, eating too many sweets—"
"Enough. Why did you bring me to the temple in such a hurry?"
"...Who knows?"
At my question, Archbishop Alex smiled and answered with a question of his own.
"...Is it possible that Lord Rictus suddenly told you to summon me?"
"Yup."
What's with the "yup."
Everyone in this order was pleasant. The problem was the god and the priests' doctrine.
Rictus, the god of entertainment and amusement.
As his domains suggested, this order believed that enjoyment was all that mattered.
They didn't particularly seek enjoyment in money or authority; they were the kind of people who could find fun just by being alive. Before I came along, they'd been maintaining the order just enough to avoid problems.
That said, if you asked whether the god's authority was weak, that wasn't the case either.
Entertainment and games always rested on agreed rules.
Tag worked because everyone agreed that whoever was touched became 'it.' Red Light, Green Light worked because everyone agreed not to move while the caller watched.
Anyone who broke those rules was excluded from the game, which made agreements a serious matter in play.
For that reason, Rictus also governed promises and contracts, yet the god himself advertised amusement as his defining identity.
So this was an order with strong authority but a considerably flippant image.
"I am sorry. I was not given a detailed explanation either. I only received an oracle ordering me to bring Allen to the temple."
Rictus almost never crossed the line, and whenever he did, there was always a reason. I therefore accepted the explanation.
"That is fine. I will hear him out, and if he summoned me for some bizarre request, I will settle for making him put on a talent show."
A talent show, or a jesting fool's act—that was our order's traditional method of repentance.
It was a practice born from the doctrine that the resentment caused by a broken promise should be laughed off and forgiven charitably.
Perhaps Rictus's true essence was contracts and promises, but if contracts became too strict, the world would become a hard place to live—so maybe that was why the god emphasized play and amusement.
The Archbishop also muttered, 'Trust between church members is a serious matter, after all,' and accepted my words.
"I came as Rictus instructed. When does he plan to deliver this request through an oracle?"
"Who knows? Perhaps he will deliver it soon."
Generally, gods tended to deliver oracles in places like confessionals or prayer rooms, but our laid-back god would drop an oracle without warning no matter where in the temple you were.
Some people say that lack of formality is nice, but, well...
I wish he'd cut me some slack when I'm in the bathroom or eating.
And right on cue.
As I slouched crookedly on the sofa, an oracle came flying into my head and lodged itself there.
[Ahh, can you hear me~?]
"Yes~, I can hear you~"
It might've come off as a rude attitude, but even the Archbishop didn't fault me for it.
The doctrine went that formality is an unspoken contract, and since the god hadn't observed that formality first, this side didn't have to keep it either.
I questioned the childlike voice echoing inside my head.
"So why did you call me to the temple today? I was going to visit the temple soon anyway, since I'm off filming for the time being."
[The truth is, Allen, there was a risk that your identity would be exposed unless you hurried out of that set.]
"Oh dear. Did some paparazzi come barging in or something?"
[Nope?]
"Then a stalker fan?"
[That too... Ah, perhaps you could call them a stalker fan?]
"..."
His vague answer brought far too many possibilities to mind.
The Constellations who kept chasing after me wanting to form contracts, the burly knights who called me "master" and stalked me, the pointy-eared bastards spouting nonsense about copyright infringement.
There were so many possibilities, it was hard to narrow them down.
"Well. I've left the set for now, so it should be safe. No way some lunatic would chase me all the way to the temple."
[Ah. That's a flag...]
No sooner had the words left my mouth than the temple entrance erupted in commotion.
I stood corrected.
It had gone beyond a commotion. The place had been smashed apart.
"...Archbishop. Didn't we just switch that to an automatic door not long ago?"
"We went through all that trouble to sign a contract with the Magic Tower and got it switched for cheap..."
"Ask for after-sales service. The warranty period's not even up yet. If that doesn't work, I'll go beat that bastard up and collect damages."
"I'll leave it in your hands."
Our god was lenient about fighting.
Something about how children fight while playing and that's how they become friends.
I fastened my holster, checked the chamber, and looked toward the entrance.
At the entrance, some woman stood bold and upright, a mace in one hand and a crossbow in the other.
Her white ponytail, against her faintly pinkish-red skin, rippled behind her back.
My gaze moved from her hair color to her forehead.
'An Oni, huh.'
A people with horns on their heads who knew nothing but fighting.
A warrior race that boasted enormous stature regardless of age or gender.
That race believed every conversation could be resolved through combat, and most of them worshiped the God of War.
"I am Skadi Sigurdsdottir! A great warrior and the Great Warrior who bears the name of a Constellation! Era, the Goddess of War, revealed that the world's most honorable warrior was here and demanded that I offer her a battle with you as a rite before the festival! Come out and let us fight a battle that will be recorded in history!"
Right on cue—sent by the God of War, it seemed.
True to her nature as a goddess who loved war, she wanted to watch me fight her proxy.
But if I remembered correctly, the Goddess of War was Rictus's sister.
"May I venture a guess?"
[...]
"Rictus played a prank on Era, did he not?"
[...I was wrong.]
As expected.
Our god never disappointed.
This was hardly the first time that man—no, that god—had played a prank on another god and left me to clean up the aftermath.
I received John's avatar from the Archbishop and headed toward the lobby.
My still-youthful appearance vanished. In its place stood a middle-aged man with untidy long black hair and a scruffy beard.
I stood before her in the guise of John Armstrong.
Skadi looked me over from head to toe.
"Huh. So you're John? I watched your exploits in the movies. You put on an impressive fight."
"Yeah."
John wasn't the type of character who enjoyed personal conversation.
Especially not with women other than his wife.
Fortunately, the Goddess of War apparently retained enough conscience not to reveal my real name.
It was a relief that it hadn't snowballed unnecessarily into a cold war between the Oni nation and our Empire's intelligence bureau.
It suited a goddess who enjoyed watching fights but hated seeing people die in war.
She apparently took my approach as acceptance of her challenge. She drew her weapon and backed away to make room.
I, too, opened the chamber halfway to inspect my ammunition, then entered a combat stance.
This was the Sanctuary.
Even without being on a set, you could resurrect as many times as you wanted inside a Sanctuary, so there was no need to change locations.
...Resurrecting somewhere other than a set might leave her with some trauma, but I was not the one dying, so I let that slide.
"I thought you only used pistols in the movies, but you're a genuine pistol user? You must be older than you look."
John's appearance was that of an attractive middle-aged man approaching his forties.
Considering that pistols were outdated weapons even elves hardly used anymore, her reaction was only natural.
Bang, bang.
Without any signal to start the fight, my pistol spat fire.
Some rounds flew fast, some flew slow.
The bullets flew on an off-beat to disrupt her rhythm and struck the oni woman.
Thud, thud.
But the lead slugs that had flown with such vigor couldn't penetrate Skadi's skin and fell away feebly.
'This is why I hate the Oni.'
With the same amount of mana, a lead slug could easily penetrate most people's skin.
However, there were a few races that wouldn't even get a scratch from lead slugs, and the most common among them were the Oni.
She didn't even spare a glance at the incoming lead slugs and loaded a bolt into her magic crossbow.
From the arrowhead to the shaft and even the fletching.
Every part was metal, making me wonder whether it could still be called an arrow.
The monstrous projectile—written as an arrow but better described as a short spear—shot along the magic crossbow's rail.
And in rapid fire, at that.
Not to be outdone by her performance, I demonstrated the trick of catching the incoming bolts between my fingers.
"You madman! If you'd handled a crossbow with that kind of skill, you'd be far stronger than you are now!"
I doubted it.
I already had a specialty; was there any need to throw it away?
Counting my past life, over half my life had been spent on gunplay; I couldn't be bothered to invest time in a similar weapon like a crossbow.
More than anything, for my combat style, a pistol suited me better than a crossbow.
Crossbows were a pain in the ass to mix with hand-to-hand fighting.
I retransmuted the bundle of bolts in my grasp.
Mother often told me I was not bright, but she praised my talent for transmutation.
From the bundle of bolts, I crafted a hooked dagger; from the leftover material, I crafted a thin breastplate.
I added a slight feint, and the belligerent Skadi closed the distance just as I hoped.
The moment she came into range, I cut the crossbow's string to force close-quarters combat.
Just as I'd wanted, she discarded the crossbow and began swinging her mace.
Skree-ee.
I dodged the mace driving down over my head, and my dagger slid along the mace's haft with a sharp metallic sound.
The blade traveled past the haft and aimed for Skadi's hand where it rested on the grip.
Skadi cleanly abandoned the mace and let go of the handle, dodging the dagger.
Once even the mace was disarmed, the real close-quarters brawl began.
As expected of a race with solid muscle and bone, her fighting style was tough as hell.
Unconcerned by the blade in my hand, she swung a fist as though intent on breaking my bones.
Her pure, relentless assault relied on her weight advantage and ignored defense, making it somewhat difficult to evade.
Not that I was at a disadvantage, though. It just left an impression of being extremely tough.
If anything, thanks to that tough-as-nails fighting style, disabling her wasn't all that difficult.
The reason bullets couldn't pierce her hide was because they were too small to easily imbue with mana, but a dagger-sized blade was more than enough to cleave through flesh.
All I had to do was hold the mana-focused edge out wherever she threw a punch, and she'd cut herself for me—no effort required.
When she punched, I cut her wrist. When she kicked, I cut her Achilles tendon.
Occasional knees and elbows struck my solar plexus or other vital spots, but the breastplate I had made prevented them from becoming critical hits.
We hadn't even exchanged many moves before she was sprawled on the floor, unable to stand.
"Kugh. Kill me."
"Yeah."
She was going to resurrect anyway, so there was no reason to decline.
I drew my pistol and shoved the muzzle deep into her mouth.
She must not have expected me to finish things this way, because her face went pale and she screamed.
"Aa-ua-aa! (What the hell is this!)"
I didn't want to do this either.
But her skin was so tough—I had no choice but to aim for her internal organs, didn't I?
Bang.
The oni had tough skin but ordinary internal organs, and a single lead slug killed her.
Fortunately, the shot did not end with spinal matter and blood splattered across the floor.
It was because, before the blood could splatter, Skadi's body turned into particles and disappeared.
Figuring that this much would satisfy the Goddess of War, I returned to the Archbishop's office.
"Is it finished?"
"Yes. But I killed her outside the set—where is she going to resurrect?"
"Who knows? She looked rather young. I hope she resurrected somewhere that would not traumatize her."
"Well, she's an Oni, so I doubt she'd care much unless it's a truly awful place."
"Allen, that is racial prejudice. Girls her age are delicate."
If you died on set, you resurrected in the set's designated area while still conscious.
But if you died outside the set, you resurrected at random somewhere within the Sanctuary, except at temples or the set.
If your luck was good, you'd end up in the plaza; if it was bad, you'd end up on some spire roof or in a public toilet.
My own worst luck had landed me in a trash bin.
"First, let's write up the bill for the War God's temple."
"Already written it up."
He put the bill into an envelope and sealed it with wax.
But why was he holding the letter out to me?
"Allen, please deliver it."
"Me? This? Why??"
I really had no idea.
"The people at the War God's temple are a bit rough, you know. You're aware our temple's priests don't get along with their side..."
"Is that not because you keep doing things that get you beaten?"
Just because the gods were siblings didn't mean the relationships between the temples' priests were good.
Most incidents involved Rictus's followers pranking Era's followers and getting hit for it, so they could hardly call the treatment unfair.
"Honestly. What made me choose a god like this?"
"You, too, are a splendid follower of Lord Rictus, are you not?"
"I pride myself on being a mature and dignified person."
I fluttered the letter and headed for the War God's temple.
And once I arrived at the temple, I kicked the door open and shouted.
"Your Great Warrior was weak!!!"