[779] The Definition of Evil (1)
When Shirone and Uorin returned to the room, Minerva had already set 〈법살〉 on the table.
To her right sat the card players—Gudio, Agaya, Nes, and Maise, in that order.
"Have you calmed down a bit?" Minerva asked with a smile that implied it wasn't her responsibility, and Uorin answered with a smile of his own.
"Sorry. I showed my shameful side in front of my immature little brother."
Now that Shirone's heart had been checked, there was no reason left to be shaken by Minerva.
"So there was something."
Mitochondria Eve's perception far exceeded that of ordinary people, so Minerva dropped the idea of probing further.
"Let's get down to business. As promised, I brought 〈법살〉. Tell me how we're going to deal with the Extreme Evil."
Uorin turned his gaze to the card players and gave them a meaningful smile.
"Some impressive people have come."
Uorin would certainly recognize the faces of the four best gamblers in the world.
"The Ivory Tower is taking this seriously. With these people, handling 〈법살〉 will be a huge help."
Shirone took a seat beside Minerva; Gando served tea, and Uorin sat last.
"As you may have guessed, the Extreme Evil I'm pointing at is the emperor of the Gustav Empire—Gustav Havitz."
The card players' eyes narrowed.
"The Gustav Empire has already finished preparing for war. A world war will break out within the next forty-eight hours."
Some nobles near the border had already liquidated their assets and fled abroad.
Uorin spread out a world map.
"The spark will be here—the Cotria Republic."
The Cotria Republic, a peninsula nation jutting toward the Pacific from the northern continent, had been squeezed by the Gustav Empire.
"Gustav can't expand without eliminating Cotria. He really should've taken it already, but…"
"Ancient weapon Ex-Machina," Minerva said.
"Right. I'll explain later, but that's why Gustav hasn't been able to invade Cotria until now. Still, once full-scale war breaks out, occupation will be only a matter of time."
Shirone asked, "What's Cotria's stance?"
"They haven't issued an official statement. They're probably weighing the Temple against Gustav. Their fate will depend on which side they choose."
Minerva scoffed.
"If it were me, I'd side with Gustav. Geographically they're hopeless. By the time the Valkyries move, their country would already be ruins."
"Same here. So they'll be negotiating alliances behind the scenes. The problem is, if Havitz truly is Extreme Evil, he won't accept offers."
"So the core is Havitz. We should eliminate the Extreme Evil as soon as possible before the war's damage grows, right?"
"That's right. That's why we need 〈법살〉."
Havitz had shattered a perfectly balanced tripartite structure; kill him, and balance would be restored.
Uorin looked at the card players.
"What you must do is design a Law, using 〈법살〉's power, that will definitely kill Havitz. Change humans, emotions, finances, culture, law—any aspect you choose. All support will come from the Temple."
"That won't be easy."
Gudio said, and the card players fell into thoughtful silence.
"Of course not. We're talking about killing an emperor. That's why I called the world's best gamblers."
"We're not the best," Maise said, eyes narrowed as he glared at Uorin.
"Maybe no one knows how we met or why we came into the Ivory Tower."
"What are you talking about?" the bald old man Agaya asked.
"Yeah, we were once the best. But we all share one thing—we lost to the same person fourteen years ago."
Even Minerva had never heard that story.
"Lost? To whom?"
Nes's skull-like face darkened even further.
"It seems they call him Gustav IV now. The god of war, Balkan."
Uorin recalled the hulking impression of Balkan he'd seen in the Temple.
"What were the odds of winning?" Gudio asked.
"There weren't any. We didn't win a single game. In any contest with winners and losers, Balkan never loses."
They couldn't fathom such a disparity.
"How is that possible? No matter how skilled a gambler you are, you can't break probability."
Agaya shook his head. "I don't know. I could calculate perfectly, but when the game ends I feel hypnotized. It's like he alone knows the rules."
"It's not about probability."
Nes, the shock from fourteen years ago flowing back through the years, spoke with intensity. "He reads gun-gi."
Also called crowd-qi.
The Gustav Empire's imperial city, Marshak.
One of the largest man-made structures in the world alongside Jincheon's Yelma and Kashan's Aganos.
While every ministry was frantic with war preparations, military Balkan sat calmly playing chess.
Hundreds of chessboards were linked together as one.
"What are you doing? Move already!"
The twenty-three imperial officers facing Balkan strained over the positions of more than two thousand pieces.
'I don't know. What should we move?'
When you contest a single chessboard, whether you win or lose you can usually see which side is leading. Just the first move drastically reduces future possibilities.
'But if hundreds of boards are linked…'
It crossed into a realm beyond human calculation; the standards of probability vanished.
"Let's move this one."
After long debate, the twenty-three moved a pawn on the board at column 127, row 278.
'I don't know.'
A piece can affect all the connected boards, so they couldn't be certain their choice was right.
"Foolish judgment."
Balkan's remark made the officers flinch.
"If you respond like that, there's no solution, is there?"
A bishop on a board that seemed utterly unrelated—column 7, row 16—moved.
'I can't make sense of it. What connection could that possibly have?'
Maybe something would become clear after another two thousand moves, but the number of possible choices available to the officers and Balkan before reaching those two thousand moves was infinite.
'Prediction is impossible. It's not a matter of calculation; it's probabilistically wide open. This is only the beginning.'
Then why had they never won even once?
'In the end, the general's pieces decide the match.'
Blessed by both the literary and martial deities, Balkan was feared by the officers.
'What does that man's eyes see?'
From the edge of the hundreds of boards, Balkan sat cross-legged and looked down at the field.
'This place is weak.'
Through the thousands of pieces, a golden melody surged that was clearly visible to him.
The officers moved their pieces toward a single point in the radiance that was notably dimmer.
"Weak judgment."
A servant could compute overall piece placements.
'You might find peace in giving up, but…'
Gun-gi denies probability.
Gun-gi doesn't see form; it sees the crowd's gaze, shifting moment to moment because of that form.
"Stop. You've already lost."
Through the positions the officers had placed, the gun-gi conveyed reverence for the man called Balkan.
"What about His Majesty?"
"Oh, I heard he's out walking the grounds…"
"How boring."
Balkan yawned. "Why is today so long?"
Shirone asked, "Is he really that difficult an opponent?"
The card players answered in unison. "Difficult."
Agaya raised a finger. "Gun-gi is not objective probability; it's the apex of relative response. In games with an opponent, there may be no decisive winner. If someone like that attaches to Havitz, they could fully counter any Law from 〈법살〉."
"But also…" Nes said, "that's why he's an enemy worth breaking. This gamble—we will win it."
The card players' fighting spirit flared.
"All right. Let's start analysis. First we need to know the enemy we'll face."
Uorin looked at Shirone. "The Extreme Evil. Have you ever met one?"
"Hm, hard to say. I've met plenty of bad people…"
Minerva pointed at herself. "Me?"
"You're not the Extreme Evil," Uorin said, shaking his head. "Of course, Minerva, you're bad in your own way, but Extreme Evil isn't described like that."
Minerva pouted. "So you probably won't want to hear this, but—"
This is a story.
"You'll want to ignore it your whole life."
A story about the human farthest removed from the world: the Extreme Evil.
* * *
"Please! Save him! My husband is dying!"
In the commoner district of Marshak, a woman ran into the street, screaming at the top of her lungs.
"What's happening here?"
A man hurried over—an older fellow in a jester's outfit with a drum slung across his back.
"Ah, it's like this…"
The woman, about to beg for help, frowned when she saw a traveling-salesman's costume.
"Can someone help us! My husband…!"
She failed to recognize Zetaro, the jack-of-all-trades—one of Gustav IV's circle.
"Then tell me! I know medicine. Shouldn't we save people?"
Zetaro was said to be the Empire's finest physician.
"Can you really save him?"
This wasn't a casual claim, and the woman decided to trust him.
"He's here—he suddenly foamed at the mouth and collapsed."
The husband lay on the floorboards while the little daughter and son sobbed by the stairs.
"Let me have a look."
Zetaro checked the husband's complexion and pupils and immediately recognized the symptoms.
"Baskia virus strain. Been to a lake in the last two months?"
"Huh? Ah, yes! I went fishing with friends!"
Zetaro rummaged through his satchel and pulled out a vial of brown liquid.
"This medicine—"
"Will that save him?"
"No, that's for my own condition. I have a chronic illness."
The woman blinked in disbelief as Zetaro opened the vial and downed it in gulps.
"Please save my husband! You can save him, right?"
"Baskia virus. As for treatment…"
Hesitating as he drew a scalpel, Zetaro bit his lip and suddenly shouted, "How the hell would I know that?!"
Veins bulging, he looked up at the ceiling and began hacking into the man's chest with the scalpel.
"Aaah!"
The woman screamed; blood spurted, and the children, seeing the grisly scene, went pale and fainted.
"W-what did you do…?"
Already vaccinated, Zetaro, splattered with hot blood, stepped outside.
"Hey, Zetaro. I'm hungry—want to go get something to eat?"
Havitz, dressed in shabby clothes, and Natasha, in a suit, approached with the guards.
"Your Majesty, another life has been taken. It's so, so sorrowful…"
Overcome with mock sorrow, Zetaro could not continue.
"I'll play a tune."
Hopping on his left foot and striking the drum with his right, he brought out a trumpet.
"Trou-bap-tu-du. Trou-bap-bap-tu."
The trumpet, played by the empire's best singer, tugged at the hearts of passersby.
"You bastards! You killed my husband and act like nothing's wrong!"
When the woman rushed out with a knife, the guards immediately knocked her to the ground.
"Ahhhh! The Emperor!"
Those watching the performance in a daze finally grasped the situation and dispersed.
"Puhahaha! Puhahaha!"
Finding the whole scene hilarious, Havitz clutched his sides and exploded with laughter.