The City of Magic Engineering (4)
The ma-in race were a kind born of low-quality magic; in Hell they counted as demon troops.
They were feral and violent, but possessed a bit of intelligence, and sometimes even attacked cities.
"In real-world terms, like monkeys." Shirone had no idea the thing that'd attacked was literally a monkey.
"Whatever. Don't worry about it. They'll be caught soon enough."
Following Satan's maxim that there are no enemies in Hell, Raviet's city gates were lax.
Still, the city's own forces were formidable, and its administrators could be compared to Hell's armies.
"So this is the magic engineering district."
Shirone arrived at a street lined with countless shops and ducked into a two‑story building.
"Hello."
A purple‑skinned woman who had been straightening items on the shelves turned her head.
"Welcome. An organ specialty shop… huh?"
She inspected the customer, fluttered batlike wings, and flew to the counter.
"How old are you?" The woman asked; Shirone estimated an age using information from Ultima.
"102 years old."
"Wow, that's so young. And you still come to places like this. You're an intelligent type, right? Where were you born?"
"On the Grill of Ambition. You're an intelligent type too, nuna, right?"
Demons inherited certain traits from Satan; the intelligent type was the cleverest among them. Archduke Magrite was also an intelligent type, and their appearance shifted with age.
"Hoho! I even sat the administrator exam once. Of course I failed, so here I am." She chuckled.
"Mm." Shirone answered perfunctorily and handed over a list.
"I want to buy some items. Give me everything on this list. I'll pay in Des."
Using the archduke's credit card would leave records; cash was better.
"I thought I recognized some of these. Don't worry—none of them are stolen. Huh?"
Her eyes glittered as she checked the list.
"You want hearts? Those are delicate organs. Can you handle them?"
"Of course. I even placed in a competition hosted by the Pyrotechnics Guild. I'm buying these with the prize money."
A lie, of course.
"…All right. Wait a moment. Two hearts from witches burned at the stake, and one heart from someone drowned in ice water."
A heart's properties could be used differently depending on the emotions at the moment of death.
She dumped everything into a large box, slammed it on the counter, and said, "That'll be 700,000 Des. By the way, what kind of contest pays that much?"
"It's a secret."
If Shirone wanted, he could invent a reason—and people would draw their own conclusions.
"Could it be the Pyrotechnics Guild offered to scout you? You must be really smart."
"Something like that."
Shirone began checking quantities and condition.
"You must have made a lot of Des. Good for you. I'm putting myself through this for the same reason."
The woman rested her chin on her hand and fell into thought, then suddenly furrowed her brow and smacked Shirone.
"Ouch! Why did you hit me?"
"You're young and already full of yourself. If you're an intelligent type, your dreams should be big. Why aim for the Guild when you could pass the administrator exam and run Hell?"
Clutching the box, Shirone pouted.
"What's that got to do with you?"
Not wanting to reveal too much, he deliberately acted childish.
"Sigh. What can I say? I used to dream of a title too. To have a fief named after me. In that sense, Raviet is truly splendid—the archduke's aesthetic sense, and how it functions…"
Her long spiel was cut short as murderous intent filled her eyes.
"But Yahweh—that loathsome human—has come here, I hear. You heard about that, right?"
"Huh? Oh, yes. I heard."
"He's a bastard who deserves to be torn apart. I want to skin him alive. If I could hear that vermin's screams, I'd do anything."
Shirone had a mouth but nothing to say.
"Why do you hate Yahweh so much?"
"Hmm?"
"Well, I know you hate Yahweh, but I don't get it. It's odd to hate someone from the moment you're born."
The owner cocked her head.
'They say the exceptional intelligent types transcend reason. This one might be like that.'
Archduke Magrite was the most famous example.
"A reason for the hatred… I've never really thought about it, but maybe—" she leaned her chin on her hand and snorted. "Could it be because we love her too much?"
Shirone was at a loss for words, and she continued.
"Honestly, I don't know. But when I look at the color of the hatred I feel… it's closer to betrayal."
"Betrayal."
"It's like, in human terms, watching the partner you love sleep with someone else. People usually go mad in that situation, don't they?"
Only an intelligent type could make such a deduction.
"At the moment of our birth, that event acts like a betrayal to us. So we want to tear them apart, we want that person to be utterly miserable…"
Her expression softened briefly, then a blazing ferocity returned to her eyes.
"I'll kill them! I'll cut them open, pull out all their guts, and chew them up right in front of them! That damned bastard!" She calmed enough to hand over the change.
"Anyway, don't forget—Yahweh is our mortal enemy. You seem exceptional, so aim for administration rather than the Guild. You could even aim for a duke's title."
"Thank you."
Shirone pocketed the Des, bowed, and left the shop.
'Betrayal, huh.'
His steps toward the laboratory felt heavy.
That night, Raviet barracks.
The makeshift huts looked as if beast innards had been glued together.
In that grotesquely alive space, seven demons sat around a round table.
Raviet's Seven Generals.
Now holding ranks as chief security officers, they were battle‑hardened veterans who had served the archduke for a hundred million years.
"So we missed her after all. We searched the city thoroughly but couldn't find the woman. She's got some kind of concealment ability."
Son Yujeong was hiding somewhere in the city.
"We received a report that Yahweh entered two days ago. We allowed passage at first, but there's no record of her leaving. If she's in the city, this could be connected to today's incident."
"Hm. They might have already met by now. Whatever they're planning, we can't just wait. We should report to the archduke and request full authority."
"That would be humiliating, wouldn't it? How could one of the Seven Generals, who've occupied so many fiefs, admit they couldn't catch one person?"
"If she really is Yahweh's associate, this is serious. That woman's strong—black box footage shows the gate being struck at beyond‑Mach speed."
Silence followed.
"…Then who will report it?"
"I will."
Execution Captain Itaka.
Her jet‑black hair was so long it pooled across the floor like shadow.
"And from tomorrow we'll strengthen security. Reinforce the gate guards by at least twenty times the usual number."
"That's for you to decide, but giving orders like that is annoying. We have no reason to obey you."
"Then you report it yourselves." The meeting ended.
The next morning.
"Kiiiiiii!"
A huge bird, specialized for high‑speed flight, landed nimbly in front of Raviet's city gate.
"Whoa."
Lethe, head of the Pyrotechnics Guild, leapt down.
"Long time no see, Raviet."
She pulled her cloak down from under her chin to reveal a beautiful face worn thin by fatigue.
"Stop! Don't move or we'll shoot!"
Demons on the walls shouted, and two armored security officers approached.
"Identify yourself. State your affiliation."
"Huh? Identification?"
Lethe cocked her head; the security officer's face twisted with irritation.
'We're already exhausted.'
They'd been scrambling all night since the gate had been breached.
"Where's your fief? What's your name? What business do you have in Raviet?"
Lethe squinted one eye and snapped, "Shut up! One question at a time! Do you think I have ten mouths? I'm here to see the archduke! What are you going to do about it?"
"What?"
The officer grabbed Lethe's chest.
"Are you insane? Do you know the situation? If you talk the wrong way—"
A crisp slap rang out.
The officer's head snapped sideways.
It was an instantaneous judgment, and still none of the demons on the wall moved.
'What just happened?'
No one knew.
It had been the world's fastest slap, and it was astonishing the neck hadn't been broken.
"Don't touch me! I might just blast you to pieces!"
"All units—attack!"
As the demons on the walls trained their weapons, the gate split open left and right.
Thud! Thud!
Armored knights strode in with ponderous steps.
"Hold it."
Raviet's Seventh General, Kimara.
True to his title as the armored knight, even his armor had been born of magic.
Lethe placed a hand on her hip.
"Hey, Kimara. You better get your kids under control."
The demons' hearts sank as she addressed the security captain—who'd served for over a hundred million years—by name.
"Um…excuse me, but who are you?" Before anyone could answer, Kimara drove a great sword into the ground and dropped to one knee.
"We apologize, Lady Lethe. The city's situation is complicated, and we were discourteous."
"Huh? Lethe?"
Recognition drained the demons' faces of color; they prostrated themselves.
"Hail, Mother of Hell!"
"Ah, shut up! I'm busy. What happened? You're all panicking and blocking the road."
"Last night the city gate was breached. We suspect Yahweh's involvement and have been strengthening defenses."
"Yahweh? Ah, right! Yahweh!"
Lethe crouched and pressed her face close to Kimara's; there wasn't time even to lift him.
"Is Rian here too? That big one who carries a huge sword on his back and is ridiculously strong."
"I heard a disturbance at the tavern. It seemed like someone was looking for the archduke. He's been missing since yesterday."
'Yesterday, huh. That was close.'
Relief flickered on Lethe's face.
"You're at the archduke's castle, right? Guide me. And tell Monoras I've arrived."
A puzzled look flashed from beneath Kimara's helmet.
"The archduke will welcome Lady Lethe. But the chief secretary has not entered the city."
Lethe groaned as she rose.
"What do you mean? If Yahweh is here, Monoras should be here too."
"My patrol radius extends far beyond Raviet. I can say with certainty the chief secretary has not only avoided the city, but has not come within a hundred kilometers." The bundle in his hand thudded to the ground.
"Lady Lethe?"
In that moment Kimara understood, with stark clarity, the wrath of an untouchable goddess.
"That damn swine is for real!"