Chapter 46

PROLOGUE Demon Lord 2149: Endgame City—Washington Year 2149 of the Fused Era Month of the Undine, Day 31, 18:22 “Already fifty years since they got me out of Akihabara. It feels like such a long time…and yet so short, too.” Washington City, outside the air defense zone. In that exact moment, a fight was reaching its end. It was graphic. The Hero swung her silver sword in a flash that sliced through the air, tore the aether, and stopped the madness—it cut down the goddess of weal and woe. A dragon fell. The metal lindwurm, reinforced in heaps of steel armor, plunged from the sky. Two figures faced each other above the giant mechanized dragon, below the gray clouds, amid the drifting scenery. Hither, a girl with pale golden hair in braids wearing a tattered white combat vestment and a copper-colored gauntlet on her left arm. Thither, a half-elf girl with vivid golden hair in half-up pigtails wearing a pure-white dress, a black visor that covered her eyes, and a golden crown on her head; she held a golden blade in one hand, and a cog that glowed gold like a halo was at her back. The braided girl’s silver sword atomized into light. The other girl’s back cog crumbled loudly. She fell to her knees, and her golden blade and crown vanished. “Life was more fun than I expected…,” she groused. “My sword merely…didn’t have the reach. And after all the training she gave me… Your might is the real thing, Hero.” “Agreed.” The Hero girl nodded; her voice sounded artificial. “Being the strongest of all is my purpose, and that is something I take pride in.” Yet within that robotic voice was a sense of reverence and enthusiasm. “My analysis says you were strong, too, Duchess of Weal and Woe, one of the True Six Dark Peers. It just so happened I was stronger—and cuter.” “You’re funny for a machine. You don’t have me beaten in cuteness, though.” “Disagreed. If I fail in one aspect, it is only in the breastplate area.” “Get an upgrade, then, you piece of junk,” the Duchess of Weal and Woe sneered as her body cracked and began to turn to dust, starting from its ends. This was her demise—the phenomenon of irreversible soul damage that made resurrecting the physical body impossible. The spiritual death of an immortal, thrown from the rules of this world and freed from the constraints of life. Indeed, the one crumbling before the braided girl’s eyes was a being who had conquered death itself. The Duchess of Weal and Woe kept wearing a sneer even as she faced her demise. “But remember, machine doll. The Eschaton Demon Lord will exterminate the mortals you protect and bring ruination to humanity. The day is near. Enjoy the last moments of peace you’ve got.” Finally, the Duchess of Weal and Woe whispered: “I’m sorry…Machina…” Her black visor broke, revealing her heterochromic eyes, one vivid scarlet and the other faded gold. Her whisper was blown away by the wind, as was her crumbling body. “Termination of the Duchess of Weal and Woe confirmed…” The fierce battle had nearly depleted the Hero’s internal mana, worn out her mainframe, and weakened her pseudo-organic parts. The status window in the corner of her vision showed how much fatigue her machinery had accumulated. She required immediate maintenance. Between the bleak gray sky and the forlorn red earth, during the brief period in which the mechanized dragon fell to the ground, she considered resting. Would this victory be followed by the start of a counterattack or the trumpet of demise? She wished to achieve what she was created for. “First, I must reassure everyone by showing them my cute, victorious face.” Her voice melted away into the sky and land that were fated to end. Humanity was about to reach its doom. United States Special Protected Area Washington, D.C.—aka Washington. The city was built around the governing body of the White House on the eastern side of the continent, protected by the barrier of the holy Pentagon. It had a population of about a million—the planet’s entire human population. The city of Washington was humanity’s last bastion. Fifty years earlier, on the thirty-first day of the Month of the Undine, Fused Era 2099—December 31 on Earth’s calendar—an immortal calling himself the Eschaton Demon Lord Veltol declared war on humanity. The True Six Dark Peers led the New Demon Lord Army, an organization for the destruction of humanity, which made its base in a city in the far east before advancing westward. The New Demon Lord Army’s forces increased day by day, and the humans’ habitat grew smaller and smaller. The remnants of humanity fled to Washington and formed an armed resistance under the Guild—the Salvation Church—which gathered enigmas in preparation for the end of the world. They then waited for a chance to retaliate against the New Demon Lord Army. The base of the resistance was beneath the East Wing of the White House in Washington. The control room—the Bunker. “A toast to victory!” The people in the Bunker raised their jugs and glasses with a cheer. The usually solemn control room was buzzing with revelry. They busted out their precious liquor and food to celebrate. The losses were big, but the city’s functions and civilians were unharmed in the long battle between the New Demon Lord Army and the Guild, which had succeeded in taking down one of the Demon Lord’s top brass after a fifty-year struggle. The star of this achievement was a girl with long, golden braids, who had a cup full of hot milk in her hand. “I can’t believe you did it, Matoi!” “They don’t call you the Einherjar masterpiece for nothing!” The mortal combatants—Matoi’s comrades-in-arms—were gathered around her and singing her praises. “If I may, while I admit our little sister is quite accomplished, our combat experience has been synchronized. Therefore, logic dictates we, too, are masterpieces.” “Agreed. Besides, my analysis tells me even if she has higher specs, I am superior in charm.” Matoi’s “sisters” offered rebuttals, their faces utterly expressionless. “Actually, I’d say you’re equal in charm… Okay, okay, quit it already! Stop giving me that blank look with your hands on your cheeks.” Her comrades’ and sisters’ comments reached her emotional system through her pseudo central nerves and produced a small amount of benign static—in other words, Matoi felt embarrassed. “My analysis says I merit further praise for my achievements in this battle,” she said. “However, my victory did not come to pass by my efforts alone. It was thanks to everyone putting their lives on the line.” Matoi raised two fingers up to her face, making a horizontal V-sign she slid past her eyes. Her expression remained impassive. “However, the undeniable reality is I am the cutest of all.” One of Matoi’s sisters shook in chagrin at her cutesy pose. “Ugh, you’ve come up with a new cute pose. I request synchronization.” “The latest Ange-type artificial spirits never cease to amaze me. They talk like regular people,” said a mortal combatant. “Whatever, let’s just drink!” said another. So began the victory feast. Matoi put her cup down while being jostled around, then grabbed a salted fry before escaping the crowd. She called out to a man who was watching the party by himself in a corner of the Bunker with a glass in hand: “Commander Heygrams.” “Matoi. Good job out there. Spectacular victory.” “Thank you.” “You’re the star of the day.” “Yes. I am aware of my feats.” “Good to hear.” “And I’m cute, too.” She made a horizontal V-sign. “Ha-ha-ha! What a girl.” The laughing elf man was Albert Heygrams, commander-in-chief of the Guild and leader of the Washington government—the president. He was nearly seventy, still young for an elf, but the deep wrinkles on his face were those of a man reaching middle age. A reflection of the severity of the past five decades. The data in Matoi’s memory said he was a nobleman from the city of Akihabara in the far east who had escaped the New Demon Lord Army to reach Washington. He’d been commander for less than a decade.