Chapter 3

The city was a forest, and power poles were its trees, cables stretching everywhere like a giant spiderweb. Humans, elves, goblins, and many other species spoke a hotchpotch of languages—elvish, Japanese, English, Chinese, dwarvish, orcish—as they walked the streets beneath swarms of surveillance drones. “What—” Aether neon signs in various languages jutted out from shoddily constructed buildings, their surfaces crisscrossed with steaming pipes and gutters reminiscent of veins. The streets were littered with all manner of trash: old flyers, cigarette butts, empty cans, bottles of moonshine. Below a poster reading PUT A STOP TO HOMELESSNESS! PEOPLE ARE FREEZING TO DEATH ON THE STREETS! in elvish, the common tongue, lay a street urchin wrapped in filthy rags—it was difficult to tell whether the person was alive or dead. All of this was decidedly different from the culture of any country Veltol knew. “—the hell is thiiiiiissssss?!” The Demon Lord screamed to the sky in astonishment. This was the Cyberpunk City of Shinjuku. One of the biggest cities in the world, with a population of over three million people. Veltol was on Kabukicho Street, the main drag through Shinjuku’s southern end and the city’s biggest shopping district. Civilization had advanced too much over these past five centuries. Throngs of people and ground vehicles navigated the streets, while flying vehicles and surveillance and delivery drones crowded the skies. The Demon Lord was aghast at the fantastical landscape. “This is how much that little island to the east has prospered…,” he murmured. The Japanese archipelago that Veltol knew—the Myrd archipelago, that is—had been undeveloped land, used only as a destination for exile. Criminals there lived in caves, and that primitive state was the last he knew about it. “The country located in Earth’s version of this archipelago was already highly developed. A paradigm shift occurred after Earth’s advanced scientific technology and Alnaeth’s magitech became intertwined, and development skyrocketed.” “The mortals’ civilization is this advanced and yet the gods haven’t taken matters into their own hands…?” “The gods are dead.” The catastrophic planetary fusion affected more than just humankind. There were new denizens from a different world, an influx of unfamiliar religions. People’s values changed; various apocalyptic philosophies took root; morals and ethics were turned on their head. All of this cheapened the divine and debilitated faith. The gods fell to degradation. “Existing civilizations regressed heavily right after the Fantasion, which led many scholars to believe that had been the gods’ last show of wrath.” “I see… So the world has really ended…” Veltol’s words were tinged with sorrow. His fight in the olden Alnaeth was not only a struggle against the mortals but against the fate the gods had created, too. And it had ended without him even knowing. He cast his gaze downward. The people walking the streets looked absolutely bizarre to him. “I see many people here have arms and legs that are rather…inorganic.” Their extremities appeared to be made of steel or some mysterious black material. “Indeed, they are using artificial limbs,” said Machina. “Artificial…? Are they really? They’re quite lifelike.” Prostheses existed even back during Veltol’s time but in much simpler and cruder forms, mostly just pieces of wood or bone sculpted to resemble the intended limb. “Those are called magiprostheses. They use a metal armature for the bone, which is covered in artificial muscle made of synthetic mithril fiber. Aether is used to simulate the nerves, so these work exactly as real arms or legs when connected to the body.” “This many, though? Is it because of the wars?” “The wars have something to do with it, but I believe the main reason is most jobs around here involve physical labor.” “So accidents are common?” “That’s another part of it, but it’s mostly because of frostbite. Many of these people work outside the barrier, and it’s truly freezing out there…” The city’s climate was certainly cold enough even for Veltol. Even within the cryotolerance zone, you needed enough protection from the cold if you didn’t want your fingers, ears, and nose hurting. A regular person would surely freeze to death just staying put for a few hours. “By the way, they call people with magiprostheses magiborgs, although some consider the term discriminatory as of late.” “Hmm… And what about them?” Here and there were folks wearing some sort of bucket-like metal tubes or helmets on their heads. Their bodies underneath their clothes were similarly metallic. “Those are full-borgs, people who supplement their bodily functions with machines. It’s a sort of full-body version of the magiprostheses.” “…Wait, wait, wait. Supplement their bodily functions? You mean their organs, too?” “Correct. People who replace everything but their brains and spines are not uncommon.” The machines Veltol knew of were much simpler and more primitive. It was easy for him to imagine how artificial limbs worked, but he couldn’t fathom how an artificial organ was even possible. “There are also automata, which look just like humans. They’ve been getting quite advanced lately, so much so it’s hard to tell them apart from the real thing.” Veltol also noticed that everyone had a piece of metal affixed to their nape. Machina had one as well, although Veltol couldn’t see it since it was hidden beneath her hood and long hair. He wondered if that, too, was some sort of prosthesis as he stood dumbfounded, watching the pedestrians coming and going. He was so wrapped up in thought that he was too slow to notice someone walking right his way. “Ah, Lord Veltol, you’ll—!” “Tsk! Don’t just stand there blocking the way, asshole!” The big ogre with an artificial arm clicked his tongue as he bumped into Machina, who had stepped in front of Veltol. “Sorry, I had something on my mind. Are you all right?” “Oh, yes, I’m fine. Forgive me…” “Honestly, does that oaf not realize he just bumped into one of the Six Dark Peers?” Veltol looked up at the thick clouds covering the night sky. “…” Then he smirked. “Is something the matter?” Machina asked. “I think it’s time to shake those foolish mortals to the core… Make them well aware of my triumphant return.” “L-Lord Veltol?” Machina knew very well he only made that expression when he was about to do something ludicrous. “Hah!” Veltol’s internal mana initialized and constructed a technic that expanded into a large, elaborate magic circle. “Ell Stunna!” As soon as he said those words, a pillar of light emerged from the circle, piercing the thick clouds and opening a big hole in the sky. Moonlight and starlight shone over Shinjuku for the first time in fifteen months. Veltol had performed a method of aether-based phenomena modification. In other words, magic. Magic involved the initialization of one’s internal mana followed by the construction of a technic using a spell. Next came the technic’s expansion in the form of a magic circle, then the incantation—reading the spell aloud—and finally, the proclamation of the maginom, or the magic’s name. Those were the five processes needed for magic. The Elderish spell names belonged to ultimate magic used by rulers since ancient times to demonstrate their royal might. And Veltol didn’t need one of the five processes—the incantation. Not even a demon lord should have been capable of skipping the steps necessary for magic activation. But Veltol, with his enormous mana capacity, natural affinity for magic, and ultra-high-speed magical processing output, was able to compress the most time-consuming step into the next one. The result: a quasi-omission of the incantation process. That was what made the Demon Lord the Demon Lord. His forbidden secret technique: chantless magic. “…Hmmm?” Veltol looked up at the sky and squinted in dissatisfaction at the light shining through. “I’ve gotten far too weak.” The ultimate magic manipulated the weather on a scale big enough to get rid of all the clouds in the area, yet as he was now, he could barely open a hole in one of them. “Is that…?” Veltol looked through the hole at the dark red star shining beside the moon. It symbolized a bad omen in ancient Alnaeth. “It seems I am not welcome in this world.” The star shone mysteriously, sinisterly. “Wh-what the hell?!” “The sky…” “Who’s stupid enough to manipulate weather with magic these days?” Right then… …a shrill siren went off. Veltol’s magic had tripped the sensors that picked up anomalies in nearby mana. The commotion started spreading even farther. “What’s that racket? It’s ruining my triumphant return. Has the concept of respect vanished while I was gone?” “Oh no! You can’t use ultimate magic inside the city!” Machina flailed her arms in dismay. “The City Guard will come! Let’s get out of here!” She grabbed Veltol’s arm and dragged him away. “Wait, Machina, why should I be the one to flee?” “Please! I insist!” Veltol shook off his growing concerns and allowed Machina to lead him down the main drag through the throngs of people. That was when he spotted it—something impossible in the crowds. A hooded man was approaching, his face momentarily visible when the wind lifted his hood ever so slightly. “Huh?!” Veltol couldn’t help but stop and look back as the man passed by, but he had already vanished into the crowds. “Is something the matter?” Machina asked, puzzled as to why Veltol had stopped. “No, it’s nothing,” he answered, shaking his head. There was no way that man could be here in this world after five centuries. Veltol tried to convince himself of it. He squeezed his hand, open and shut, to rid himself of the reluctant sensation—and to gauge his own power. “Hmmm… My mana has certainly weakened greatly compared to five hundred years ago, in terms of both output and capacity. Beyond that, my body itself doesn’t feel up to my standards, either. It feels as if I’ve entered the battlefield without any armor, though it pains me to admit.” “It must be because faith in you has plummeted, Lord Veltol…” “Yes, I sensed that as well. I’m no stronger than an average human. My power as an immortal is also weakened. It seems hardly anyone in this current era knows who I am.” Faith was what higher incorporeal beings, such as gods, needed to intervene with the material world. This power was derived from the thoughts or emotions an individual conjured from the masses; the stronger these emotions were, the more power they provided. There were two kinds of faith: positive and negative. Negative emotions such as anger, sadness, and fear fueled lower incorporeal beings such as demons. Despite their opposite aims, both kinds of faith were based on a third party’s observations and feelings toward a subject. Veltol, having elevated his soul while retaining a corporeal body, was in between god and demon, so he was strengthened by both positive and negative faith. Five hundred years earlier, during his reign as Demon Lord, he received positive faith from the immortals and their brethren who adored him; the mortals who spread his infamy and terror throughout the world provided him with negative faith. He had achieved the kind of power that gods could only dream of. “Even elves live a mere three hundred years, so those who were infants during your reign have long since died,” said Machina. “You are only talked about as part of history, my lord. Even the gods are starting to be forgotten.” The opposite of faith was oblivion—or even apathy. Faith was determined by how many people recognized and had feelings toward an individual. A loss of recognition translated to a massive power deficit. That was the root cause of Veltol’s weakened state. With five hundred years gone, he was just as forgotten as the gods. “It is what it is,” he said. “In any case, I now have eternal life—it’s only a matter of gradually reclaiming my faith. Now, Machina, what are the other Six Dark Peers and nobles up to? What about the Demon Lord Army?” As he asked, he looked toward the entrance of a narrow alleyway at one end of the street. He saw an ogre, an orc, and a therian engaged in a fistfight around a steel drum, lit up as a bonfire. “From what I can tell, it seems members of the Blood Alliance coexist in peace,” he continued. “What happened with the treaty?” The Blood Alliance was a treaty the Demon Lord Army formed with the orcs, ogres, and therians. The purpose was to give favorable treatment to these three species so that they could prosper together. Of course, this was only a temporary pact born from aligned interests. Both the immortals and the three species had planned to kill the other in their proverbial sleep. The mortals greatly outnumbered their immortal counterparts, and the Blood Alliance was formed in order to bridge that gap. “The Alliance was disbanded after our army’s defeat. The leaders died during the Three Blades Revolution in 1616 CE, and the remaining populace submitted to the mortals,” said Machina. “I see.” “The species allied with our army suffered awful treatment. I heard they were forced into brutal slave labor. Discrimination is still very pervasive to this day, just not as explicit as it once was.” “Mm, I expected as much.” A common trait between all three species of the Blood Alliance was that none possessed a great aptitude for magic. The reasons were manifold: orc, ogre, and therian mana stores were small and their magitech crude, a byproduct of their paltry education standards. As a result, the other mortals always looked down on them. Furthermore, these three species were sturdier and tougher than the rest, which stoked fear and a sense of inferiority in other mortals. Those feelings only served as further proof among mortals that magic was greater than physical prowess. That’s why Veltol welcomed the orcs, ogres, and therians into the Blood Alliance. He could easily imagine that they would end up subject to other mortals if he was defeated and the Alliance was disbanded. “The Immortal Kingdom agreed to a ceasefire with the mortals,” Machina explained. “The Six Dark Peers assembled under Ralsheen of the Blue Storm and decided to wait in hiding until you were to be revived. And just when there were less than a hundred years left before your resurrection, the Fantasion destroyed the world as we knew it. We were also greatly affected by the disaster—the Immortal Kingdom’s citizens went their separate ways to various cities. Then one year after the First City War, several corporations started leading a massive city-wide movement.” “What kind of movement?” Machina held her tongue for a moment. Her trembling lips signaled it was hard for her to say it. Finally, she squeezed the words out: “…The Immortal Hunt.” “Immortal Hunt…?” “Its purpose was to annihilate or imprison all of the immortals scattered worldwide. A number of immortals produced various military achievements during the First City War; our kind doesn’t die and tends to be very experienced in battle, so between the Earthoids who didn’t know of our existence and the Alnaethoids who had largely forgotten about the threat we could present, our wartime achievements came as an enormous shock. During the interwar period, darklings were considered an inhuman evil to be exterminated.” That was also the common preconception five hundred years prior, and even back in ancient Alnaeth. Darklings, being immortal, were feared by the mortals as monsters because of their extraordinary power. “We resisted as much as we could, but advances in magineering led to the mass production of anti-immortal weapons. Once those became increasingly commonplace, the mortals grew overwhelmingly powerful, and we were defeated.” “What…happened to the Six Dark Peers?” “They were…annihilated…,” Machina replied morosely. “I don’t know where May of the Mournful Firmament, Sihlwald of the Black Dragon, or Ralsheen of the Blue Storm are. I’m not sure if they were killed, or if they’re captive somewhere, or if they’re still in hiding. I haven’t been able to confirm whether they survived the Immortal Hunt. As for Zenol, Duke of the Karmic Sword, since only Ralsheen and I knew how to activate Methenoel, Zenol acted as a decoy so that I could escape imprisonment…and he alone stayed in the enemy camp…” May, Sihlwald, Ralsheen, Zenol… All of them were Veltol’s vassals, immortals who had served him for a long time. He had thought the sadness of losing someone was something he’d left in the past. That his ability to think fondly of someone had died long ago. And yet now, the loss and emptiness felt insurmountable. “But the Immortal Hunt is now a thing of the past. Fear of immortals has been diminishing since the City Wars ended, so there’s no need to be as wary these days. It used to be so much worse—there was a lot of betrayal, and some mortals were even arbitrarily labeled as immortals…” “The Immortal Hunt, huh…?” Then Veltol realized there was one person Machina hadn’t talked about. The Six Dark Peers were, naturally, six darklings. The four Machina mentioned plus herself amounted to only five. “What about Marcus?” Marcus, Duke of the Bloody Arts. He and Ralsheen assisted Veltol in political matters. A dark elf, Marcus also oversaw the Immortal Kingdom’s magitech research. “…U-um…L-Lord Marcus…is…” Machina looked away and started twiddling her thumbs. It was very clear she was hiding something, but before Veltol could get a word in, Machina shouted: “I-in any case, Lord Veltol! Aren’t you thirsty?!” “Huh? No, not rea—” “The city air may be harmless, but it is much too filthy for you, sir! So! I’ll go get you a beverage to moisten your noble throat! Please wait right here for a moment!” “W-wait a second, Machina…” Machina cut the conversation short and scurried off into the crowds. Veltol couldn’t tell if there was something wrong with Marcus or if Machina simply didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew she wouldn’t to lie to him. Seeing her change the subject indicated that she would rather not say anything than lie, something he felt came from her sense of loyalty. “Sigh. What am I to do with her?” Veltol muttered. “Machina hasn’t changed a bit in five hundred years.” He felt relieved that at least she had stayed constant in this world so sweepingly changed. Veltol stood beneath a streetlight and eyed his surroundings. He could hear people talking and even shop barkers hawking their wares. To the main drag’s north was the ever-visible landmark: the aether reactor. A holographic display that covered one side of a building was playing an ad for a flying vehicle. The music was loud but catchy. “Become one with the wind and leave time in your dust. Always there to enrich your life, IHMI presents the winner of the Shinjuku FVotY award: the Vagen 07.” The screen showed the hottest virtual idol trio’s adorable avatars riding the flying vehicle into a tunnel full of psychedelic lights. “Huh… So it’s the same principle as image projection…? But something so large and detailed… Surely it must be a waste of mana…?” Veltol watched agape, when a black-and-white police cruiser—the words Shinjuku Police written in Japanese on it—passed by, sirens blaring and red lights shining. “Hmm…?” Then he looked around. He sensed a slight distortion in the aether. It was a variation small enough that a normal person wouldn’t notice. Even with his reduced power, the Demon Lord’s aether sensitivity hadn’t lost its edge. He turned to see a girl with a strange outfit—although as far as he was concerned, everyone was wearing strange outfits. Her black hair was cut short, and a tuft of her bangs was dyed red. She was wearing a red qipao with golden embroidery and a short-sleeved dwarven jacket along with a pair of comfortable-looking shoes. On her head sat a pair of round sunglasses. Her black hair, brown eyes, rounded ears, and peachy skin were characteristic of humans from the East. She looked to be around seventeen or eighteen years old. Her graceful features, strong eyes, and general poise gave her an energetic aura. The girl was leaning against an iron fence and staring straight at the ad playing on the holographic display. The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile. Suddenly, the screen went black. A funky logo of a bunny’s skull appeared for a split second before the screen turned black again. Then it started playing something entirely different from before: an ad for a pornographic video site. “Ahn! Mmm! Ah! Ahhh!” Sensual moans echoed throughout the city at full volume accompanied by uncensored nudity. Passersby couldn’t help but stop and stare because of how sudden it had been. “Whoa, what’s up with that?” “What’s with the porn? Did the video bug out?” “I think it got hacked.” “Mommy, what are they doing?” “Don’t look!” The crowds were astir. Meanwhile, one person in particular wasn’t watching the video but clapping and laughing at the resulting confusion: the girl Veltol had just glanced at. He approached the girl as she grabbed her sides in laughter, then addressed her in elvish with a strong Elderish accent: “Hey, lady.” “Huh?” Her shoulders twitched, and she looked around. “You, with the black hair.” “M-me?” “Indeed.” She pointed at her face, and Veltol nodded magnanimously. Her eyes darted back and forth as she asked, clearly very wary, “Wh-what is it?” “What did you just do?” He crossed his arms and motioned to the screen with his chin. “Huh? Wh-whatever could you mean? I have nooo idea what’s going on! It’s probably just a bug or something.” She put her hands behind her head, crossed her legs, and gazed into the distance whistling a dull tune. “Do not utter such falsehoods in my presence. That video changed following an aether disturbance in your vicinity. You were the only one whose surrounding aether wavered, and the only one directing your attention to that screen. Of course you must have done something.” The girl looked even more suspicious and shocked. “…You could tell I hacked it from an aether disturbance…? No way. Not even wizards can sense that much… What exactly are you?” “Hmph. Is it not obvious? Ignorance is a sin, but I’ll forgive you. Today is a national holiday—the celebration of my rebirth.” “Uh, pretty sure it’s just a regular weekday…” “Therefore, I grant you pardon.” “Okay, okay, whatever. Just tell me who you are,” she demanded, obviously very annoyed. Veltol paid no attention to the way she glared at him. He raised his arms to the heavens, eyes closed, and announced: “I am the Demon Lord.” “Are you being serious right now?” “Surely you at least recognize my face.” “Uh, nope…” Veltol looked at her in disbelief, then immediately sighed and shrugged. “So are you gonna report me to the City Guard?” the girl asked. “Save yourself the empty sense of justice. Those bastards won’t give you anything in return.” “I’m not quite sure I follow, but rest assured I won’t hand you over to any sort of law enforcement.” The girl seemed relieved to hear that. “Then what do you want?” “What kind of magic was that just now? I can tell you used the aether to change the image projected on that screen, but I don’t understand the principle involved. You used a magical technique beyond my own comprehension, so you piqued my interest. You must be quite dexterous for me to be unable to discover how it works at first glance. And I can tell you’re confident in your skills by how you conduct yourself.” The girl’s cheeks relaxed into a dopey smile, pleased by Veltol’s praise. “Aw shucks, it’s not thaaat big a deal. I just did a li’l hacking!” she chirped. “Hacking…?” “Yep. Aether hacking. This may come as a surprise, but I’m actually an aether hacker, which means I’m always risking my life for my job. Anyway, those IHMI holodisplays are super common here in Shinjuku, and they all have a fatal security flaw in their technic’s logic barrier. I just took advantage of that to swap the video with some porn. The actual trick is real simple—what’s hard is finding that vulnerability in the system ’cause you’d basically need to be a genius like me, y’know? Oh, but don’t get me wrong, I didn’t just do it outta curiosity or boredom or as a prank or whatever. Thing is, IHMI’s always trying to censor the net or put filters on it, and me, I think the net’s the only truly free place out there, so IHMI’s basically my enemy. I mean, yeah, I do this stuff as part of, like, a bigger social protest. I’m pretty much the embodiment of punk, rebelling against this rotten society we live in.” “I—I see…” “Yep. So like I said, your average hacker wouldn’t find this weak spot, but this super genius hacker babe was able to spot and exploit it. Plus…” The girl kept on rambling at full speed. Veltol was getting more and more confused, so he tried to interject, “Oh, by the way—” “Then the technic fluctuation algorithm… What? I was just getting to the good part.” Veltol had to make her stop, otherwise she would never shut up. “Do you know of a man named Marcus?” he asked. “Marcus?” Considering the whole Immortal Hunt situation, Marcus could still be in hiding somewhere if he was alive. Not that Veltol had high hopes that this random girl he’d just met would know about the man. Then, against all odds, he received an unexpected answer: “Oh, you mean the director of IHMI? Yeah, I know about him.” “What…?” “Look over there.” She pointed to a large limestone tower of neo-elvish architecture in the distance. “That’s IHMI’s headquarters. You might find him there. I mean, he’s head of the company, so he’s a pretty famous guy.” IHMI—Ishimaru Heavy Magical Industries. Formerly Ishimaru Heavy Industries, the megacorporation IHMI started as an arms dealer during the City Wars before expanding at breakneck speed. It was one of the biggest companies not only in Shinjuku but the entire world. Construction and administration of the aether reactor, the core of the city’s infrastructure, fell under IHMI’s jurisdiction. The company also excelled at magicalectronics and communications. It even had strong sway in the Shinjuku City Council. IHMI was the city’s de facto ruler. “Technology is the spark of a new era” was its slogan, and its logo was based on a torch, displayed proudly on the second-tallest building in Shinjuku. And Veltol was about to enter that very building. He wanted to ask Marcus for help. Their world had been destroyed, the Immortal Kingdom had fallen, and Veltol’s own power had weakened—he needed a new direction. It would be easy to decide a new objective if he had great social status, authority, and assets in this world. That’s why he needed Marcus. Veltol arrived alone, without Machina. He’d kept this visit a secret from her since she seemed to be hiding something from him and would have very likely stopped him from even going. The question is whether this is the Marcus I’m looking for. It’s a bit of a puzzle how he managed to nab such a lofty position while this Immortal Hunt was going on. The automatic double set of vertical and horizontal doors opened, and Veltol entered the lobby. The lobby was spacious, with a color palette and interior somewhat similar to the furnishings in Marcus’s past manor. There were a few people in suits here and there. In a corner was a bizarrely prominent presence: a mysterious, short and chubby, pink costumed character. “What is that strange rabbit…? Or rather, that literal insult to rabbits…” The character noticed Veltol’s stares and waved at him, but Veltol ignored it and looked away. He headed straight for the elf woman standing at the circular reception desk by the entrance. “What can I help you with today?” she asked with a smile. Veltol felt something was off about her facial expression and, indeed, her entire aura. Her voice was also flat, lacking any real humanity. “Tell Marcus that Veltol has arrived. He’ll know what to do.” “…Unable to confirm any previous visits. I’m afraid we cannot allow any visits without a prior appointment,” she answered in a polite yet direct manner, her voice just as flat and a smile still on her face. “Never mind that; just tell Marcus I’m here.” “I’m afraid we cannot allow any visits without a prior appointment,” she repeated with the same expression and tone. “Sigh… For goodness’ sake, does no one in this day and age know who I am? So be it.” Veltol decided to use magic to get done with it quickly. “Rexagino.” This spell made it possible to manipulate a target’s mind through their mana. A type of charm, it temporarily attracted the target to the caster. In the hands of the Demon Lord’s magitech, the spell was almost as powerful as a geas. “Call Marcus.” So the Demon Lord demanded. This was an absolute command a mere elf receptionist shouldn’t be able to resist. Shouldn’t being the operative word. “B-level mana assault detected against this unit. Suspect designated a threat. Authorities have been contacted. Now entering combat mode.” “Wha—?!” Veltol was shocked. The elf woman appeared unfazed by his mindjacking, and not only that—she was now on top of the desk taking a fighting stance. “Wh-what’s happening…?” “What’s that guy doing…?” The people in suits, startled as well, turned to look at the sudden commotion happening at the entrance. Did she block it…?! How?! Veltol immediately reconsidered the situation. It didn’t feel like his magic had been blocked—it was as if it had never taken effect in the first place. Like trying to use mind control on a tree or a rock. So that means… Between his feeling that something was off, the elf’s reaction to the magic, and even her motions when getting on top of the booth… It’s one of those things Machina was talking about…an automaton! Veltol’s guess was correct. The receptionist wasn’t an elf; she was a magiroid made to resemble them. In other words, a robot. Of course mind control didn’t work on her. “I will now suppress the threat.” “Ha! A modern-day puppet? This should be entertaining.” Just as they were about to enter battle, a calm voice echoed through the lobby: “That’s enough.” The unrest settled immediately. “T-260F, cease all combat operations.” “Administrative order received.” The magiroid immediately relaxed and returned to the reception desk. Veltol turned his attention to the voice’s source: a human woman exiting the elevator. She appeared to be in her early twenties; her long hair was in a ponytail, and she was wearing a women’s business suit. Veltol couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was good-looking, yes, but that wasn’t why he was staring. Still poised for battle, he’d instinctively turned his attention from the magiroid to her. She reminded him of a fine naked blade. Clearly, this was no regular woman. It was obvious from her poise that her confidence came from plentiful combat training and surviving many a serious fight. Her aura was enough to let the Demon Lord conclude she was strong. She walked straight toward him, then stopped just a meter away. “Please excuse T-260F’s discourtesy. This product line also functions as a security guard, so it is very sensitive to magical attacks. You have my apologies.” She bowed deeply with an affable smile on her face. Even while giving that charming smile, her sword-like aura didn’t falter. “I am Director Marcus’s private secretary. My name is Kinohara.” “I’m Veltol.” “Yes, I am aware. I took the liberty of looking at the footage of your exchange with T-260F. You asked to meet the director, correct? He’s instructed me to let you in, so I will guide you to his office.” Veltol followed Kinohara into the elevator. She operated the control panel, then the elevator quickly began rising. The weight of gravity on their bodies was barely noticeable, however, thanks to the constant use of gravity-manipulation magic. A heavy silence settled over the elevator, which was much too spacious for just the two of them. Were there a third person there, the tension would be enough to make them faint. Veltol stared wordlessly at Kinohara’s chest. “…Can I help you?” She glared at him, thinking he was looking at her breasts. However, that wasn’t the case. Veltol was staring at the strange decoration on the end of the pen clipped to her suit’s breast pocket. “Oh, that bizarre creature caught my attention… There was one at the entrance, too. Is that a…rabbit…?” “You must be quite the connoisseur to have noticed. It’s our company’s mascot, Ishimary. We intend to expand its popularity worldwide.” “R-right… Indeed, it’s quite the, uh, distinctive creature, I see…” They arrived at the top floor in no time. The elevator’s doors opened, and they immediately found themselves at the director’s office. It felt empty and desolate compared to the lobby. That much was to be expected, since the immensely spacious office took up an entire floor, but most of all, it was practically bare. There was a chair and a desk, but nothing more. The walls were made of glass, allowing an unbroken view of Shinjuku’s nightscape. Facing the elevator was the company director, like a king in his castle. His hair was pure white and his skin brown, his eyes red and his ears long. He wasn’t in the crimson armor Veltol was used to seeing him in—instead, he was wearing a crimson suit, a long scarf around his neck, and red-rimmed glasses.