“Request: Informal naming system not compatible with Ex Machina processing. Rename.” “Did someone finally just tell me to abandon my name?! It’s Stephanie Dola!” “Deprecation: Disclosing most useful information from advice of entity provisionally labeled Unknown.” Sora began to weep, bringing the total number of people with tears in their eyes to two, including Steph. Emir-Eins continued on indifferently. “Elucidation: Master permits lies, jokes—but not lies to self.” Then, with a “Therefore,” Emir-Eins smiled faintly. Even Sora, who was so good at reading people, could just barely follow what she was saying. But in the end, he didn’t know what it meant. She kept grinning. It was a declaration of war against all other women. “Pledge: Until precise moment functional life of this unit ends, this unit will never hide her love.” “…?!” “—Uh, whaaa…?!” Emir-Eins left Shiro and Steph speechless and pale as she turned. “Estimation: If this unit restricts operational output—this unit can operate six whole years more.” With that, she faced Sora again and took an elegant obeisance with the implication, See you again. As for Shiro and Steph, she gave them a glance, with an expression that this time was clear. It was a sneer. “Determination: This unit will not lose—to foes who are not true to themselves. Easy. No sweat.” Well, then. What’s wrong? Smile, Sora, virgin, age eighteen. Ex Machina’s still here! And just as you wanted, you’ve got your perfect stage equipment, and she’s a girl! Not even a girl who thinks you’re someone else, but one who’s spelled out in no uncertain terms that she loves you. You’ve come all this way surrounded by gorgeous girls and women from many races, and yet, this is the first time one has said she loves you. Weren’t you looking forward to this? Was this not the trope you desired? It was just that…this girl seemed a little bit…off. Wicked enough to, for some reason, look at Shiro and Steph as if they murdered her parents. Imagining what would happen if Jibril showed up gave him the chills…and…another thing. For some reason, it seemed as if everyone was looking at him as if they wanted to stab him now… Hmm… “Man…how do alternate-world protags maintain their harems?” Sora decided that, at any rate, he wasn’t up to it. That much he knew for now. Instead, he focused all his energy on how to get out of this situation. This commotion now behind him…Einzig chuckled, acknowledging his jealousy for Emir-Eins. He walked slowly so as to record every bit of this scenery he might never see again. In this city, built up by their distant descendants, which could be expected to endure— “…O thou. Ex Machina. Presumed to be individually named Einzig…” —someone was standing there, so naturally to the point that it seemed unnatural. Out of place in a city of Immanities, yet, as if she belonged there. With her inkpot, a god in the shape of a little girl…Holou spoke. “Thy advice hath enabled Holou to form a provisional hypothesis as to the nature of hope and wishes…methinks.” “…………” As Einzig stood silently, overcome by a strange sensation, Holou heedlessly failed to get her words out repeatedly. What was it she wanted to say? What was it she wanted to tell him? She seemed to guess hundreds of millions of times and verify each guess— “…Holou hypothesizes…she must convey thanks… Gratitude!” Awkwardly, but with a smile, she got her point across. Einzig— No, Ex Machina…replied: “A god is a god for that she is a god. Therefore, we shall never be able to answer thy question.” Puzzled by this unprompted utterance, Holou cocked her head to one side. But even the speaker himself did not know its meaning any more than she did. They continued speaking as if their voices were merely being played back, their thoughts clouded by noise. “But we shall reply to thy doubt. Doubt is the heart. Therefore, thou who questionest the doubt art the heart.” Einzig did not know. None of the surviving units did. “Thou art she who resolveth the will. Thou art she who wisheth for hope. Thou art she who is life in all who have hearts. Yet, thou art she who doth not perceive it.” Only one person knew the question that Ex Machina had been unable to answer for eons. “Thus, let us now answer thy question of that distant day.” “Our answer: If thou wilt hear us…we will talk.” The question was known only to that god who had asked it, who now stood wide-eyed. It was an answer to Holou’s former self, the Holou from a past far too long ago to conceive. “…O ye, is it as suspected…? Are ye the machines of that day…?” Holou gave a bitter smile. Even after filtering the noise, Einzig couldn’t grasp what she meant. The machine man turned his head as he suspected a failure of severity exceeding that which had been detected by his self-diagnostics, yet— “I must thank thee again. However— Holou…is fine now!” He felt strangely convinced by Holou’s smile. He left her just a narrow-eyed smile in return and slipped away into space. “…Accursed Tet. Foul knave… Thou dare call Holou too fast?” Holou mumbled, grinning. It was just her now. “How perverse! Holou is outstripped by her own creations!” Loaded once more now, the memory, as ever, had a number of consistency errors. It must have been all the damage and logical faults: The data was inordinately abstract and fuzzy. But even Azril, no, everything that had been alive that day had heard it. “Nameless weak one—thou mayest hold thine head high, having truly proved thyself worthy to be mine enemy.” The last words of the god of war, commending his foe before he fell, were as follows. It is said that only the mere twenty-eight Ex Machinas, marred and smashed and broken from head to toe, recorded them… “…Challenge me again at any time, O weak one.” It could scarcely be believed that he was on the verge of vanishing, gouged of his ether, so steadfast was the simmering of the god of war as he declared war once more. It was all the machines could do to reply. “—You wish in vain, O fallen strong one.” But the god of war laughed it off as if amused beyond knowledge. “It could not be that I might fall, and yet, it is. Aught can be. Tell your lord, O blades.” Yes—his words were not for Ex Machina, but for their lord. The weakest, whom the strongest had been forced to define as his natural enemy. The machines who had been able to gouge the strongest of his ether because they were the blades of the will of the weakest—now listened to his words for those who had forced him to no longer be the strongest. “It was a fine match—and next time, I will win.” …With all due condolences to this god of war, these words could never be said. For the lord of these blades, the natural enemy the strongest of gods had recognized…that is: the weakest of all…the Spieler and the Preier…were no longer with us. For they had been succeeded by a different weak one—the two of Immanity. …… Far above Elkia, in Avant Heim, the city of the heavens, Azril sat on its edge, watching the machine man, Einzig, shift away. She remembered a story he had recently told her—one of her lord’s final moments. “—Azril. Do you mean to let them go?” Avant Heim’s question reverberated within her. She smirked. “…What would be the point…? Lashing out at the blades that pierced my lord, after all this time…” And rules were rules. “I said I’d let them go if they gave an answer that tickled us. Aren’t you tickled, Av’n’?” Azril smirked more deeply at the hushed Phantasma and recalled. —That day her lord was slain, he was…smiling. A broad smile had spread across his face—the first and last time Azril had seen such a smile. …He must have been so happy. After six thousand years, she finally realized. After an eternity of ennui, he had met an enemy he could challenge with all his spirit…and lost. Still. He intended to win: Next time, next time… For his disciples to complain before such sublimity was nothing short of blasphemy. “…For me to let defeat make me despair…I truly am…a false disciple.” All she had left to do was laugh. Azril just walked and thought: “…The enemy of the strong…is the weak…? Hrmm… Hrm?” …Sora and Shiro. Indeed, they were weak. The more strong allies came, the more strong allies fell before them. Their nature was pure—they devoured the strong. They were so weak… So weak you had to ask, You have to go that far to win? They were so foolish… So very foolish, and still they’d dared to challenge a god, and brought her down. Their weakness was beyond the ability of the strong to imagine, even to comprehend. Thus, they stood as the enemy of the strong, fulfilling their duty as the weak. Azril now believed she faintly understood them. However— “Hmmm? Then couldn’t you also say, the enemy of the weak is the strong?” The weak devised tricks, tactics, and strategies to combat the strong. But they devised them—always—to defeat an enemy too strong to beat fairly. Then was not the enemy of the weak—the overpoweringly strong, strength beyond the ability of the weak to imagine? Losing was not an option—they devoured the weak. “…Nyaahhh, I dunnoooooo… Who should I root for?!” As she walked, a thought popped into her head that made her clutch her head and squirm. They weren’t the same individuals. They weren’t even the same in form. Yet they, the weak, had succeeded them. And if someone took the place of the strong, who were left with the will to take on challenge after challenge—if, having tasted defeat, having learned of the weak, the strong stepped forth for next time… If these strong and weak faced one another once more, for whom should she root…? Azril writhed under the serious weight of this concern, until—boom. “…I know! I’ll just pick the side that’s more fun. Nya-ha-ha! ” Her head nearly exploded from overheating. Her thoughts ceased, leaving only a carefree laugh, full of hope, to ring through the city of the heavens… Three days later, at last, the sign that read CLOSED FOR BUSINESS finally disappeared from Elkia Castle. Shiro had mumbled, “End of turn,” as it went down, and immediately, all manner of national apparatus scrambled back into motion, breathing life back into the once-deserted castle. “We’ll be so busy… I don’t even wanna think how much work’s piled up.” Steph sighed in disgust, but the monarch rested on the throne with dignity. “Hmmm! Bet you’ll have to work especially hard, Steph. Meanwhile, we’ll be doing the usual.” “…We can, count on you, Steph… We’ll…do, our job…!” “…Understood. Your Majesties intend to play as usual… Hff…” They were playing games on their portable device even as they spoke, which made Steph heave an even deeper sigh. But— “Well, yeah, you could say that…since that’s our field.” With that, Sora and Shiro lifted their faces from their game console…at… “It’s always best to leave things to the experts. So we leave politics to the politicians.” There was a glint in their eyes as they looked over the people gathered in the throne room: the ministers and staff who had returned once the castle was reopened, along with some others as well. “And so—leave gaming to the gamers. We’ll solve problems the way gamers do.” Representatives of the commercial associations and guilds, even a number of lords, were in attendance. “Hey, Steph. In strategy games, you only skip a turn…” There was a distinct air of discontent, as the entire group appeared murderous while Sora and Shiro alone stayed jovial—as if mocking them. “…when you’ve, got…tonnnns of free time…or if you’re, waiting for something…or both. ” Sora and Shiro’s statement only made Steph blanch with the worst premonition she’d had yet. The two of them grinned at her and thought— Expansion-oriented strategies were such a pain. Once your country got more powerful, you had to deal with all the new pressures from inside and outside, all the footwork. For instance…in this turn, they’d had nothing to do. They couldn’t attack, and they wouldn’t be attacked. But now with this next turn, that unbearably boring situation gave way to a whole spectrum of choices. That said, this new turn had a problem of its own. —of the slight uncertainty as to whether they could survive. But that’s what makes it so thrilling. Sora and Shiro grinned. “So, Steph! This is our last chance. While we still can, draw us up a national missive.” “—Huh? Uh, y-yes…? T-to whom shall it…be addressed?” Steph seemed confused by their disregard for the crowd’s agitation. “Mm. To whom…? Hmm, we haven’t decided yet, but anyway, this is what should say.” Sora went back and gave it some extra thought… To whom should it be addressed? The fairy-girls, or the dwarf-girls, or perhaps they could even go for the dark horse? He considered with amusement who should be first—for the loss. Meanwhile, he dictated the letter he would have Steph send to them. “Hey, dumbasses, need some help? How ’bout you thank us by giving us your whole damn country?” Now back to the beginning. Remember the law of increasing entropy? The law that it’s easier to destroy than to build, easier to lose than to keep. Right, so…what does it mean to recap? To recapitulate. To settle the capital one has built up to build further capital upon it. How does one go about this? Well, normally, one would check one’s foundations. This would involve a careful review of the status quo and a thorough survey for any existing problems. When problems are found, one must address them one by one in an assiduous process of correction. It’s a painstaking operation. Unfortunately, our two gamers despised games where they had to grind. As such, they dismissed this custom out of hand and opted for a mode that was easier and much more badass. So with that, let’s get back to that spoiler. On this day. At this hour. Sora and Shiro, king and queen of Elkia, lost everything, in a domestic insurgence: the throne of the monarch, the position of agent plenipotentiary, their home, their power. They lost most everything associated with their royal authority, and about one month later— —the country known as the Kingdom of Elkia disappeared from the map. It was the easiest and most badass method of recapitulation… Indeed. The means to an end known as destroying it all. It was as if to say, I think this ought to be the fastest route.
Chapter 145
13 min read