Youjo Senki - Volume 1 - Chapter 2

[chapter] II The Elinium Type 95 Computation Orb 

AIRSPACE OVER KRUSKOS ARMY AIR CORPS TESTING LAB 

The skies above the Kruskos Army Air Corps Testing Lab, southwest of imperial capital Berun, are noisy as always. 

Orb and scepter once brought about miracles that were recorded only in lore. Now, thanks to scientific investigation of these myths, it has become possible to replicate those marvels, and thus modern magicology was born. The field discovered a method for changing the world through the use of computation orbs. In a physical world bound by three dimensions, the technology actualizes phenomena by applying the appropriate amount of stimulus to the right location. To give a simple example, you can flick the flint wheel of a lighter with your hand, or you can do it with the power of magic. Once you understand the mechanics, it’s possible to reproduce any number of magical wonders. Yes, magic has become a technology. 

Naturally, the principles of the fundamental elements, such as mana and interference formulas, are still not very well understood. Magic engineering was pushed to achieve remarkable progress in order to secure military advantages and established as an academic field following a decisive breakthrough in the Empire. By combining mana with an analog arithmetic unit, they created computation orbs. Unlike in the age of legends, it’s clear what locations, methods, and degrees of power are required to cast magic. 

The quintessence of this technology would probably be its practical application in aviation formulas that allow a mage to levitate without a vehicle. By generating propulsion, it thrusts the operator into the air and keeps them balanced. If they feel like it, mages can mimic witches riding on broomsticks. Rifles with fixed bayonets are more convenient than scepters as focuses for casting. Well, firearms are also good for shooting battle formulas in long-range combat. 

In any case, engineers replicated miracles with technology. An extremely wide range of militaristic applications was also recognized. The importance of the orbs had been widely acknowledged for a long time, which is why the technology race between the world powers grew so fierce. 

As the pioneer in the field, the Empire naturally participated in that race. 

It’s a day with clear skies but strong winds. My current altitude is four thousand and climbing. Roughly half of the scheduled tests for the day are done. My situation is more favorable than last time, when I nearly died after my parachute failed to open due to humidity, but I’m not in the mood for this—especially not under such demanding conditions where a slight lapse in concentration could cause the computations to fail and the orb’s engine to catch fire. 

Fighting to keep my face from twitching, I cautiously maintain a cruising ground speed according to the plan. As long as I keep clearing tests without incident, I have to keep going. And that means ascending. 

Yes, I have to continue climbing using the “new model”: an absolutely unreliable, horribly flawed prototype orb. 

Is this the joy of holding the world in your hands? The access to the world’s laws that the orb symbolizes is an elaborate operation that demands finesse. Under orders to oversee that process—using something that has no tolerance requires the utmost care—Tanya is getting her hand ripped to shreds. 

If it weren’t for advances in medical science, she would be stuck spending her life with only her left arm. 

Holding an unreliable orb isn’t much different from holding a grenade. The end result is obvious. That’s why Second Lieutenant Degurechaff is so loath to be doing this. She heaves an inward sigh as she flies. 

“The engine exploded! It’s on fire! Abort the test! Abort the test!” 

Yet another day of piercing shouts from Control and Tanya’s agonizing groans echoing across the sky. 

How did I wind up in this mess? It goes back to when I was ordered to the rear after getting injured in the north. 

Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff was still recovering at the time, and she considered where she would be reinstated a matter of life and death. She had fought hard, creating something of a war record for herself, and even received a medal… That could be beneficial for my future promotion, but it entailed the delicate problem of potentially trapping Tanya on the front lines. 

“I’ll review it now.” 

So when I received an envelope and opened it, the thought running through my mind was I just hope they don’t redeploy me to the front . But my fears turned out to be unfounded. The envelope contained a document from Personnel with undated orders for domestic service. In other words, the orders weren’t official, but they would take effect once dated and signed by a superior officer. This was the so-called informal job offer by army standards. 

“Rejoice. It’s unofficial notice of your domestic assignment with the combat instructor unit, along with a request that you be lent out to headquarters as technology inspection personnel.” 

In sum, the proposal wasn’t bad. In fact, it was rather ideal: a domestic position that was, for all intents and purposes, rear service. But the instructor unit and tester positions were still associated with a strong career path. She could tell they held her in high regard. 

Most importantly, getting assigned to the domestic combat instructor unit had many benefits. As the Imperial Army’s most elite group, not only were its members given the best equipment, but it was also a holy land for combat research. The unit was a great place for me to hone her skills—an excellent environment for improving the chances of survival as much as possible. Even if Tanya had to teach, it was a perfect position from which to steal other people’s techniques. To top it off, an attachment to the instructor unit would be no stain on her record. 

The vague temporary transfer request to serve as technology inspection personnel for headquarters wasn’t so bad, either. Headquarters was practically the epitome of rear services. As long as I was a tech verifier there, I could hide out in the rear behind the excuse of conducting tests. 

If there was anything to nitpick about, it would be that a position in the Railroad Department or General Staff was even more preferable due to the low probabilities of accidents in both. But it was such a minor difference, the compromise seemed more than acceptable. 

“I intend to respect your wishes as much as possible, but is it safe to assume there are no objections?” 

Perhaps the commander respected Tanya’s wishes as a matter of form, but in reality, the decision had already been made. There was no expectation that she would reject the offer. It would be inexcusable to turn down the positions after they had been served up on a silver platter. The only three options were “yes,” “oui,” or “ja.” 

“Yes, I have no complaints. I humbly accept my deployment orders.” 

“Excellent. You will test a new model at Supply and Logistics Headquarters. As a formality, you will transfer there from the instructor unit,” the commander said before scribbling my acceptance onto the document. He proceeded to sign off on the orders and hand them back; on paper, my transfer was complete at that point. How efficient. Perhaps the whole “unofficial notice” was a formality in its own right. 

“Nonetheless, I’m sure you must have some things you want to ask. Permission for questions granted.” 

I always love a sensible superior. He deserved my admiration. 

“I appreciate it. In that case, first I’d like to ask why you went to the effort of assigning me to the instructor unit.” 

Normally, wouldn’t a position at headquarters be good enough? I couldn’t help but wonder. 

Of course, I was more than happy to have a career in the instructor unit, but I was keen to figure out the politics and circumstances that led to Personnel giving Tanya not one but two great positions. I didn’t want to accidentally step in a pile of trouble later and take a nasty spill. But the answer to Tanya’s question was quite simple, if exasperating. 

“Ace or not, sending a child to the front is bad for optics.” 

…I knew the brass were a bit slow, but it took them that long to catch on? I’m technically a child. Meaning I should be cared for. Apparently, the bigwigs had finally woken up and smelled common sense. 

“So you’re telling an ace to go be a decoration in the rear?” 

Obviously, showing too much enthusiasm over getting away from the front lines would be bad, but I needed to confirm the situation. If things were going the way I hoped, I would be set with optimum conditions for her survival plan. Wonderful. Truly wunderbar. Right then, I felt as though I could reach an understanding with all the people of the world. I was so thrilled behind Tanya’s cool expression that it made me worried that I might get strange ideas. 

“What a novel opinion, Lieutenant. It never would have occurred to me.” 

With those words, Tanya was confident her predictions were on the mark. I didn’t know what the higher-ups were after, but at least the superior officer before her hadn’t denied her conjecture. That meant she was probably in the clear. The safety of service in the rear was truly wonderful. 

“Do excuse me.” 

“The higher-ups think highly of you. That’s why they’ve made you a position in charge of developing the new model.” 

Actually, it was within the realm of common consideration from Personnel to assign a capable mage back from the front to instruction or tech development. In that sense, it was a plausible reason for transferring a young soldier from the front. Probably anyone in the army would accept it without issue. 

I’d caught a break, but still, what was this about a new model? I doubted they would use Tanya as a guinea pig, but at least it would be reassuring to know what kind of technology she would be inspecting. 

“May I inquire about the new model?” 

If he said it was confidential, I would simply have to back down. Still, I needed a certain level of preparedness. You take far less damage when you have warning before you get hit, as opposed to a punch out of the blue. In order to personally brace for what was coming, I wanted to know what Tanya was getting into. 

Not to mention I was terribly curious. 

“Hmm, I was only told it’s a prototype computation orb.” 

“I see. Thank you.” 

All of those things wound up to be undeniably true. Tanya is in the safety of the rear conducting various tests on a new computation orb. Her commander never told a single lie. But neither did he mention that the orb is as unreliable as an Italian “Red Devil.” 9 

And that’s why I’m suffering like this now. 

At twelve thousand feet in airspace southwest of imperial capital Berun, I’ve already broken the maximum operating altitude for existing computation orbs. Without an orb specially outfitted for the single-minded pursuit of record altitudes, operating this high up shouldn’t be possible. The oxygen concentration is distressing, and if that isn’t bad enough, my body temperature is seriously low. 

Taking so much time to acclimate at 6,800 has come back to bite me. Humans aren’t designed to survive for this long so high up. 

“Lieutenant Degurechaff, are you conscious? Lieutenant Degurechaff?” 

With a heavy head and a leaden, sluggish body from the low oxygen level, even just responding to Control over the radio seems like a horrible bother. Even dressed for the cold, I can only conduct experiments at this altitude carrying an oxygen tank, an aerial radio, and an emergency parachute. 

A single thought fills Tanya’s mind: Whoever thought it’s a good idea to send an unprotected human this high should come see what it’s like for themselves. 

“More or less, but I won’t last long. Frankly, I’ve concluded that it’s impossible to go any higher unprotected.” 

It’s a good 21.6 degrees colder than on the ground. Oxygen concentration is just under 63 percent. Whether or not someone can temporarily withstand this altitude for air combat maneuvering is unclear, but it’s a space that’s definitely not for humans. The typical computation orb has a maximum operating altitude of six thousand feet in the first place. Any higher and it can’t produce the propulsion necessary to break free of gravity. 

This is why Tanya estimates that mages have roughly the same level of air superiority as an assault helicopter. In fact, the gap in altitude has even convinced the Empire that combat between mages and aircraft is unrealistic. The barrier it presents is that insurmountable. 

Of course, if the concern is purely altitude, and I have a special orb designed for reaching record-breaking heights, things might be different; however, what Tanya is currently testing isn’t a specialized tool for exceptional climbing ability but a military tool positioned as the “new model,” created in the pursuit of versatility. 

But even though the new model, Elinium Arms Type 95 computation orb prototype, is intended for the army, it’s creating ludicrous propulsion that usually isn’t even possible. The actual method it uses to do that is extremely simple and cliché. It follows the usual engine development scheme: If one is too weak, use two. If two won’t cut it, use four. 

In the end, minus the “tech research” stamp to indicate that it is indeed a prototype, the orb doesn’t look all that different from any other. Design-wise, it’s still a spherical hunk of machinery the size of a conventional orb, packed with countless gadgets. 

But what really matters is on the inside. 

“Worst of all, this absolutely guzzles mana. Its magic conversion efficiency sucks.” 

Instead of gasoline, computation orbs use mana; a piece of gear with four engines would consume four times the usual amount of mana. But expanding a human’s mana reserve isn’t as easy as installing more fuel tanks, which means the operator will get exhausted much more quickly. Maybe this prototype has revolutionary capabilities according to its specs, but the practicality of an orb that demands the impossible and leaves the mage extraordinarily fatigued is questionable. Not only does it consume four times the mana of a conventional orb, but it’s also hounded by the technical problem of synchronizing its four cores. 

Since the developers have successfully miniaturized the cores, the orb itself is barely any bigger than its peers. Surprisingly, it maintains the same compact size of regular orbs and can fit in a mage’s pocket despite the contents. It’s very easy to handle. 

I have to respect the technology that allowed the researchers to shrink down the cores to such an astonishing degree, but as the one using the orb, all I can comment on is how unbearable it is. Miniaturizing a delicate device means losing whatever tolerances the original had. If tuning the quad-core synchronized activation isn’t bad enough, the shrunken orb cores make for an unreliable system with poor stability. 

So while the mana consumption for this new model should be four times the norm in theory, it actually needed considerably more. Including mana leakage, even a conservative estimate puts the expenditure at six times the usual. While the fact that I’m not used to being this high is probably a major factor, the altitude test alone invariably leaves me feeling horrendously drained, as though I’ve exhausted all my energy in air combat maneuvers. As I rapidly become more fatigued, it’s also getting harder and harder to breathe. 

But upon receiving Tanya’s bone-weary report, the radio spits back an engineer’s utterly uncaring voice. “Lieutenant, can’t you climb a bit higher? Theoretically, you should be able to get to eighteen thousand.” 

The curse damn mad scientist echoes silently in Tanya’s heart as she scowls instinctively at the command plane carrying the evil mastermind on the radio. I can only imagine how refreshing it would be to shoot it down. Tanya heaves a sigh as she fights the truly tempting urge. 

The voice belongs to Adelheid von Schugel. He is the chief engineer overseeing the prototype, as well as a bona fide mad scientist. It frustrates me that I have to restrain myself from shooting him down because it would only create more problems and resolve none. All Tanya can do is lament life’s absurdity. Getting stuck testing this engineer’s invention is a prime example of that. 

“Dr. von Schugel, please don’t be unreasonable.” 

For a person to climb any higher, they would need heated, not just insulated, clothing. And based on my experience in actual combat, the orb would be rendered impractical the moment I needed to fly with an oxygen tank strapped to my back. It’s obvious that it would only take a single shot to the air supply to give everyone besides Tanya a pretty exciting show. 

Let’s assume a mage uses a formula to generate air and could withstand this upper realm without heated clothing or an oxygen tank. If that output depends on the computation orb, it would make the already inefficient device burn through mana even faster. The possibility of sustained combat operations is exceedingly doubtful with the anticipated level of magic consumption compared to existing orbs, and due to issues such as low oxygen concentration, there’s a high risk of losing consciousness during maneuvers. 

Thus, a parachute is critical, and while that’s fine for conducting flight trials in our own territory, an immobile, barely conscious mage lugging around a parachute is a sitting duck in combat. Even if the operator did reach the ground, their safety wouldn’t be guaranteed. If they landed in enemy territory, they were sure to be taken prisoner. 

Not to mention there’s no small risk that the parachute would catch fire or fail to open due to humidity. Tanya herself went through hell just to find a trustworthy parachute. 

“You should still have enough mana. Likewise, the stress on the computation orb is within permissible levels.” 

Alas! This engineer—unfortunately the type of eccentric only interested in his inventions—apparently feels that theoretically permissible values are all that matters. 

“Doctor, this thing doesn’t have enough tolerance! Who knows when this defective junk will burst into flames?!” 

For a soldier with experience in life-and-death dogfights, reliability is always more important than theory. At least for Tanya, even just recalling the last test climb disgusted her all over again. 

That was truly awful. I lost balance at four thousand feet the moment the cores slightly desynchronized. Supposedly it happened due to a minor disparity in the magic bypass circuits’ conduction velocity. The bypass circuits used for research were built with vastly more precision than the existing ones used for combat, and yet they couldn’t fix the disparity? When I learned of the apparent cause, I seriously wanted to scream. How unrealistically precise are you trying to make this thing?! 

Any mana that can’t be controlled by the computation orb’s inner mechanics will go haywire. As a result, the cores, unable to withstand the overload, blow up in a chain of magic explosions. Luckily, I was able to quickly suppress them with a spare computation orb I brought as backup. 

But I was only able to handle the crisis because it had happened at around four thousand feet. Up at twelve thousand, where the ambient temperature is too cold to move around in (the air was thin on top of that), I’m not sure I could hold on to consciousness. In the event that the prototype orb catches on fire at this altitude, if I can’t get it under control, I’ll end up sharing an intense kiss with the earth. 

Even if Tanya doesn’t have any attachment to her first kiss as a girl, nobody would want a kiss like that. Isn’t it common sense, in a totally normal understanding of the word, to toss something if it can’t be controlled? But life isn’t that easy for someone with professional obligations. 

I’d throw it away in a second if I could, but the prototype computation orb is a mass of secrets. I’d never get away with it. The moment I lost it, a mountain of preemptive measures would be taken to secure secrecy. 

And after all, it was the duty of the tester to safely recover the prototype if at all possible—which was why I have to be careful to control it in a way that keeps accidents to a minimum. Using this tolerance-less orb is hard to describe, but if I have to compare it to something, it’s like riding a unicycle through a ring of fire across a tightrope while juggling knives. 

You’d have to be stupid or suicidal to keep climbing with such an unpredictable prototype. Of course, a combination of the two is also a possibility. 

But apparently, my candid opinion as a tester is immensely disagreeable for the chief engineer. 

“How dare you call my greatest masterpiece ‘defective junk’!” 

Naturally, even Tanya could honestly recognize the machine’s outstanding specs. 

A system with quad-core synchronization was once only theoretical, so the mere fact that the chief engineer realized it, albeit poorly, is a testament to his terribly fine skills. Then he succeeded in shrinking the cores to their current size while retaining the functionality of conventional models. From a purely historical standpoint, that is truly ingenious. I’m willing to hail it as the greatest technological breakthrough since unraveling the link between the orb and scepter. 

So I’m begging you, could you please keep the users in mind when you’re making these things? As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter how high the performance is—people shouldn’t be forced to conform to the doctor’s invention. It’s possible to order someone to adapt to their uniform by altering their physique, but that only works if the size isn’t too far off to begin with. 

“Look at application, not the specs! You at least need to give redundancy a bit more consideration!” 

The general assumption is that military equipment will be used under the intense circumstances of war. The army wants dienstpferd , not thoroughbreds. 

“Do you realize what you’re saying?!! Are you trying to desynchronize the optimized orb?!” 

“Dr. von Schugel, please don’t yell over the radio.” 

“Silence! First you must take back that insult!” 

The explosive exchange of verbal abuse echoes across the test airspace, albeit via radio. Aaaah, not only is he fanatical about his field, but he also has the mind of a brat. I want to cradle my head in frustration. This guy, of all people, had to be the chief? It makes my head hurt. If I were in charge of personnel affairs, I would have at least ensured a managerial officer capable of controlling that tech freak was appointed chief so he could rein him in. 

But in reality, this man is the chief, and I am the lead tester. I have no objections to the Empire’s meritocratic evaluation system, but I sincerely wish they could at least take administrative skills into consideration. I just want to scream, It’s high time you figured out the difference between technical and administrative roles! 

“Like I said…” 

My dissatisfaction with the Empire’s administration rose from my prior experience as an administrator ages ago. At the same time, as long as I’m a soldier forced to abide by given conditions, there’s no choice but to quietly endure. But as the price of distracting me, the migraine-inducing argument is cut short. 

“The temperature of the engine—the cores—is rapidly increasing!” 

Tch! Ahhh, damn it! The way trouble arose from such a brief irregularity makes me want to groan. The orb’s cores are on the brink of chaos. When synchronization failed, I lost control of them. Without a moment to waste, I urgently cut off the mana supply and perform an emergency discharge of the energy inside the computation orb. It’s possible to execute these measures with a single motion. 

Fortunately, safety mechanisms were implemented as a result of the lesson learned last time, and they’re more effective than anticipated. During that earlier test, there was an explosion and the engine caught fire, but this time I just barely manage to stabilize the circuits. Still, that doesn’t mean the mana inside the computation orb will simply discharge without causing any harm. 

The desynchronized orb cores crash mana against one another from all directions, and the circuits blow instantaneously. But what luck! The reinforced casing I repeatedly requested was completed in time for this test, so I narrowly avoid sustaining any real damage. 

And so, a look of relief appears on Tanya’s beautiful face as she radios back the controller about following procedure to descend, sounding annoyed. “Control, are you aware of the situation? I’m releasing my parachute.” 

I have plenty of altitude, and this is near the imperial capital, a noncombat zone at the rear. Under such conditions, it’s safer to open the parachute than scramble to activate a spare computation orb while falling. 

In the capital, I can float leisurely down without worrying about getting shot at. In this case, all I need to do as I come down is hang tight and prepare for landing. But just as my parachute opens, and I begin to slowly glide down… 

“Rog— Hey, Doctor, stop it! Get back! Please get—!” 

Upon catching the sound of a stupid argument over the radio, Tanya couldn’t help but look up at the sky and waste some precious oxygen on a heavy sigh. This is clearly the sound of a struggle for the radio set. Apparently, a certain someone is throwing a fit trying to forcefully snatch it away. 

Did Chief Engineer Adelheid von Schugel obtain genius in exchange for good sense? While there are plenty of cases where an individual’s character isn’t correlated with their capabilities, I never expected to encounter someone this bad. 

Either the world hates my guts, or I’m cursed by the devil. Well, given something as unscientific as magic exists, I’m going with the devil—Being X. 

“Lieutenant Degurechaff! It happened again?!” 

Apparently, the signaler’s noble battle ended fruitlessly, and the evil scientist has swiped the radio set. Even so, I have to appreciate that he fought bravely to defend it from the doctor. But since that battle was unsuccessful, I have no choice but to exercise my right to self-defense against the mad genius. I never dreamed my world would become a place where I needed to save myself. 

If I have to put it into words, Where is, repeat, where is law and order? The world wonders. 

At this moment, I feel the utmost respect and admiration for jurists. I genuinely wish someone, even a formalist, would restore legal order. 

“If I may speak freely, that’s exactly what I’d like to say!” 

After all, the bizarrely intricate system prevents even simple explosion-type magic formulas from properly activating. Actually, the number of times the malfunctioning system exploded on the ground outnumbers the times I’ve managed to create an explosion with a formula. 

When they told me that I would be conducting test flights, I never thought I would end up once again recognizing the greatness and struggle of flying. I’m not one of the Wright brothers, but this has made me realize anew how the pursuit of flight technology is intimately tied to the risk of a fatal crash. At least those pioneers flew personally, shouldering the danger upon themselves. 

Chief Engineer Adelheid von Schugel makes others do it for him. And to top it off, he’s so self-indulgent—I couldn’t believe my ears when he claimed that safety features lacked functional elegance. 

The moment I was finally able to manage proper evaluations, albeit barely, he added strange test items and tasks. That was when I impulsively submitted a transfer request. Unfortunately, it was denied. Why? As immensely unfair as it was, apparently I was the only one who had even managed to get any testing done. In fact, my contact at Personnel Affairs actually told me to forge ahead atop the corpses of my fallen predecessors when he admonished me. 

I assume he meant it figuratively, but apparently he meant exactly what he said. The front lines seem more promising in terms of survival. Just the other day, I heard that I now qualify for the Wounded Cross Badge. 

“It’s your lack of concentration that causes these problems! And you call yourself a soldier?” 

I’ve endured Schugel’s insults and fought the inner desire to launch into a screaming fit of curses. I certainly didn’t join the army because I wanted to, and it isn’t a fun profession, but I did indeed join. 

“I assure you, I’m an imperial soldier! However, a soldier’s duty is to wield weapons. By no means does that include coaxing some defective junk to work!” 

I had originally perceived the job of an imperial soldier as waging war with a computation orb in hand and a rifle over the shoulder. By no means did I ever think it entailed carrying faulty machinery and blowing up without warning. Even soldiers have the right to complain if they’re issued a broken rifle or a computation orb gone haywire. At least, that’s certainly the case in the Imperial Army. 

Not to mention reliability and durability are imperative for a mage’s equipment in the harsh environment of modern warfare. That’s common sense, even among new officers. And it extends beyond mages—sturdiness and dependability are supposed to be top priority for all military equipment. Bluntly put, a bizarrely elaborate, one-of-a-kind item isn’t suitable for combat. 

It’s the same as how a race car designed in the singular pursuit of bleeding edge performance can’t withstand the grind of general everyday use. A delicate, intricate weapon that can’t tolerate rough handling by soldiers is practically meaningless on the battlefield. 

“What was that? Did you call it ‘defective’ again?!” 

Naturally, it isn’t as though the army doesn’t understand the necessity of technology inspection. And sometimes, to exhibit its technical might for propaganda, the Empire would produce trial equipment that specialized in a single area in order to shatter records. If it’s racing to break a world record, that would be one thing, but the prototype orb issued to Tanya is known as the “leading next-generation candidate,” making versatility absolutely essential. 

Does this mad scientist even take weapons development seriously? Isn’t this more like a hobby for him? As Tanya questions the chief engineer’s common sense, she can’t help but wonder how Supply and Logistics Headquarters could go along with this. 

The world truly is a mysterious place. 

“What part of a computation orb that randomly breaks—at this altitude—could be considered a legitimate weapon?!” 

If an aircraft’s engines suddenly stopped, everyone would call it a “killing machine.” 

If the defects were particularly awful, it would even acquire renown as a “widow maker.” But this computation orb has even bigger problems than that. After all, it’s nigh miraculous to get the thing to run at all. 

Not only is it prone to malfunction and breakage, but also its output is unstable, and overall, it’s completely unreliable. I can’t help but feel that this thing shouldn’t even be called a weapon. 

“Only because you oafs smash them left and right! How do you break my precision instruments so fast?!” 

“Because you build them so fragile. Do you know what ‘military usage’ means?” 

This mad scientist definitely does not understand the term. Admittedly, though, he has managed to fulfill all the specs that the army requested. 

Although it only holds true on paper—and only to a certain degree, at that—the prototype has a functional altitude that makes it possible to intercept bombers. This capability would once again dramatically increase the strategic value of mages. Immediate applicable firepower would be quadrupled, theoretically. The attack potential of mages would skyrocket. 

But that’s all assuming the damned thing works properly. It should be a given, but frankly, an orb that’s a work of art or requires lab maintenance is useless. It’s tempting to ask if all the chief engineer wants to make is a thoroughbred that only needs to deliver top performance for a brief moment during a race. 

Normally, computation orbs are precision instruments that work fine if they receive basic maintenance once a month. Mobilizing the entire technical staff to work on an orb after every use is absolutely outrageous—by which I mean the full technical staff of the research institution equipped with the most substantial rear support facilities. Namely, the Supply and Logistics Headquarters. The doctor must have forgotten the meaning of maintenance . 

Not only did he miss the desired maintenance standards for the front, he wasn’t even in the ballpark. The fact that this is an advanced prototype must imply that Tanya is expected to perform a certain degree of certification. But I’m endlessly amazed by just how many of its application problems can be resolved. 

“Why don’t you understand how revolutionary the technology behind synchronizing four engines is?” 

“I’m perfectly willing to admit it’s revolutionary. That’s why I keep telling you to make me one that actually works.” 

“Theoretically, it does work! Why can’t you use it right?” He’s more like an academic scholar than one of the top engineers working in the field. He spouts exasperating nonsense with a straight face. 

Based on Tanya’s personal views and her albeit somewhat biased theory on human resource management, in the event there is a scientist at her workplace in the future, there’s only one thing she needs to watch out for—simply put, whether the person is nuts or not. Before even worrying about administrative abilities, first things first: Can they manage the basic communication needed to work in a team? Just that one point. 

Incidentally, people say there is a fine line between the brilliant and the insane, but I feel like it’s actually fairly easy to tell them apart. If by the end of a conversation you’re filled with the urge to empty an entire magazine into someone, they’re nuts. If you can hold another amicable conversation with them, they’re brilliant. 

“Dr. von Schugel! I want it to reach a level fit for practical use.” 

“That’s precisely why we’re conducting these experiments! Haven’t you ever heard of the PDCA Cycle?” 

…It would feel so wonderful to knock him out of the sky with my backup orb. Anyone who provokes this sort of thought is a mad scientist. If the voice of reason wasn’t holding me back, I definitely would have dirtied my hands. 

Needless to say, I know all about the PDCA Cycle. Design a plan (plan), try it out (do), evaluate the results (check), and implement improvements where needed (act)—a commonly known process. It isn’t as if I have objections to using this completely ordinary method. 

In fact, I’m all for following even stricter procedures. I desperately want to tell him to at the very least give his creations a proper once-over. 

As the one using the orb, I can say the defects aren’t the kind that can be fixed with minor improvements. The orb has too many serious glitches, problems, and flaws. The thing is such a mess that despite my obligation to secrecy, I seriously would hurl the damn thing away if it weren’t for the safety mechanisms built into it. 

To top it all off, the safety mechanisms in question aren’t necessarily up to standards. It had gone off without a hitch, and Tanya had avoided the worst outcome. But this thing couldn’t completely contain the mana. If the circuits do blow, the orb will be rendered useless, so I always have to keep the worst-case scenario in mind. 

The absolute worst would be if an explosion ignites my oxygen tank; that would not be fun. Based on past progress, I’ve also been issued improved parachutes made from fireproof, tear-resistant fabric. But even these don’t guarantee safety 100 percent of the time. 

If Tanya falls unconscious, there’s always the concern that the parachute might not open automatically. Or depending on the scale of the explosion, there’s the risk of getting caught in the ropes and asphyxiating before ever hitting the ground. 

Humans have learned through experience that, as indicated by Murphy’s Law, 10 anything that can go wrong will. If an office employee has the ability to cause trouble, trouble there shall be. For example, it’s common knowledge in personnel management not to keep a bankrupt employee in a department dealing with finances. In the same vein, flying with an orb that can explode at any time is like sitting around waiting for the blast to happen. 

Upon landing, I decide to submit a transfer request in earnest this time. An emphatic nod reveals the depth of Tanya’s determination. Even if the worst should come to pass and I fall out of favor with my superiors for a time, I swear that I’ll negotiate with Personnel. 

As things stand, a hundred lives won’t be enough for her. The assignment to the instructor unit is Tanya’s only hope. I used my affiliation with them as a shield and begged to assume my duties there, but begging didn’t cut it. There’s a very real possibility I’ll become a human sacrifice to one of the mad scientist’s experiments unless I give up on unofficial overtures and submit an official transfer request. 

I gotta send that transfer request—and as fast as possible. 

And so, immediately after I land and fulfill my obligations, I pick up my pen. 

IMPERIAL ARMY SUPPLY AND LOGISTICS HEADQUARTERS, TECHNOLOGY DIVISION 

The transfer request adhered to the official format. Magic Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff’s application conveyed a dire sense of urgency. As a sophisticated bureaucracy, the Technology Division within Supply and Logistics Headquarters had to accept and process any officially submitted transfer requests. 

General consensus was that she was very serious about wanting to transfer. This was not surprising, seeing as this was—imagine—her fourth request if they included unofficial overtures. 

Her previous unofficial attempts were wishes unaccompanied by documentation, so the staff had gotten away with calming her down, but with each attempt, she grew more earnest and imploring. This request was bound to come eventually—it had only been a matter of time. Nevertheless, upon reading Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff’s transfer application and petition, all the managerial staff at the Supply and Logistics Headquarters’s Technology Division were left holding their heads in frustration. 

“So what should we do? These are all official forms, you know. Should we give it to her?” 

The soldier had commendably allowed herself to be soothed each time in the past, but submitting this request showed that she had reached the limits of her patience. As far as Personnel was concerned, there was leeway in the Northern theater, so they were in the middle of assigning young soldiers random posts in the rear out of consideration for political and international standing. 

As such, it would hardly be any trouble at all for Supply and Logistics Headquarters to reassign Degurechaff to a random posting. But while it wouldn’t be hard to find her a new post, she was too valuable in her current position to let her go. 

“Out of the question. She’s the only one even marginally capable of meeting Schugel’s standards.” 

Chief Engineer von Schugel was outstandingly proficient despite having only his talent, or rather, nothing besides his talent, to call upon. Development of the next-generation orb combined basic-level data collection with the objectives of creating and certifying advanced technologies. He had managed to meet the standards indicated by the Technology Division, at least in the planning documents, despite how ambitious (to put it mildly) they were. 

“Good point. Shouldn’t we also take into account the fact that his research might finally come to fruition?” 

His brilliance was prominent even in the Empire, which had pioneered in magic technology research through scientific observation. Even as magic engineering gained recognition as an independent field of science, there was still room for error, and many elements remained vague. Schugel had made great contributions by pushing the field down a focused if rocky path and then improving on it. 

If, as an extension of his methods, they considered purely the research aspect, it was clear beyond a doubt that the data and theoretical values Type 95 achieved had borne fruit in the form of great progress. That appraisal, however, only held true in terms of research. Groundbreaking advancements might have sufficed for a research institution, but Supply and Logistics Headquarters wanted a product that could withstand military operations, so they required more comprehensive judgment. 

“Conversely, even if she can manage to operate the Type 95 prototype orb, it would be a shame to run someone with that kind of talent into the ground.” 

“We should look at the long run. Such excellent testing personnel are irreplaceable.” 

The voices drifting from the department heads expressed concern for crushing an invaluable mage of such talent. In actuality, competition between nations was driving rapid advances in military technology development and innovation, so while it was rare to sacrifice valuable lives in the name of scientific progress, it did happen. 

Weapons development was put on tight schedules due to national defense concerns, which resulted in the occasional accident in an overworked section. The list of people who died while on duty was by no means short. 

“Agreed. If we look at the long run, the acquisition, cultivation, and retention of capable mages is also a subject of concern for the Empire.” 

“And if I might add…I realize her age shouldn’t be taken into account, but no matter how talented she might be, she’s still a little girl. It pains my heart to make her Dr. von Schugel’s toy.” 

Another major factor for the Empire was that in the navy and mage forces, both of which were under pressure to expand, individual polish could only be achieved with long-term training. They could mass-produce computation orbs or warships, but it wasn’t so easy to cultivate a competent, highly experienced core team. 

On this point, not only did Degurechaff fall into the youngest age group in the army, but she was also an academy graduate with actual com bat experience. All of this made her truly valuable. It would be a waste to ruin her. Additionally, Elinium Arms wasn’t the only factory striving to be chosen to manufacture the next-generation imperial standard-issue computation orb, and that created a problematic political situation. Everyone present had to hope they could prevent the media storm that would arise if they allowed the promising recipient of the Silver Wings Assault Badge to die on duty. 

Above all else, Degurechaff was simply too young in the eyes of anyone sensible. Even if they didn’t make it a matter of conscience, there was the possibility her talents would dramatically improve with time. The skills she had already demonstrated made it clear that she had a promising career in the military. If they asked themselves whether they should throw her to the dogs, the answer was no. 

The higher-ups might have permitted her temporary transfer, but they made their message loud and clear by appointing her to a position in the instructor unit: You’re free to monkey around with her all you want, but send her back alive. 

“But the whole reason we’re stuck agonizing over what to do is that the Type 95 orb is too promising to lose!” The words slipped from the mouth of one participant with his head buried in his hands, summarizing the group’s predicament. 

“In reality, it has also been a fruitful endeavor. The technological achievements are by no means insignificant.” 

The anticipated returns from the research were gigantic enough that the Empire was willing to tolerate a certain level of risk. That was precisely why they poured money into the Type 95 budget like water. And after investing a massive amount of capital, they were finally beginning to see a glimmer of potential. 

When it came to military technology, the Empire dominated. One of the central pillars of its technological supremacy was its revolutionary advances in magic technology. That potential had implications. The returns would be massive, so wasn’t developing the project worth the cost? They already had proof of concept for the synchronized orb core technology. With that alone, it would be possible to dramatically boost mage capabilities. 

“I will acknowledge the significance of quad-core synchronization, but we hardly have any idea if it will ever be practical!” 

Naturally, even the opposing faction was willing to acknowledge the project’s technological significance. It wasn’t as if they didn’t appreciate its revolutionary nature. Nor did they deny that the Empire profited greatly from devoting itself to backing the scientific analysis and cultivation of magic. But in their opinion, certain aspects regarding the development of Type 95 made it too expensive. 

After all, regardless of its theoretical values, user feedback indicated that it was too problematic for practical use. And besides that, the thing was packed with so many cutting-edge, revolutionary mechanisms that it was liable to surpass not only the “next generation” but possibly even the “next-next generation.” When the idea of it being practically implemented at this point came up, it seemed like an unlikely story. That was precisely what had them going around in these endless circles. 

What eventually brought that debate to a halt was the consideration of a single report. 

“Have you read the technical report? Lieutenant Degurechaff’s analysis is rather insightful. No matter how much mana you had, it wouldn’t sustain the orb.” 

The test report submitted for Type 95 displayed keen analytical skills and even a hint of profoundness that seemed to be backed by experience. The office was shocked to think a ten-year-old could have written it. Some even questioned whether she had done it herself. 

That said, the actual content of the report was fitting and immensely perceptive. And as far as they could find, she had written it herself. At the tender age of ten, Degurechaff was too young to attend military prep school, but she was a mage with average mana capacity. Based on her talent and the amount of mana she possessed, she was practically guaranteed a promising future. But even this precocious, capable magic officer was crying that she couldn’t make it work reliably. 

“Its range, increased power, and ability to activate multiple formulas are all excellent improvements, but it’s worthless if those things detract from its usability in prolonged combat to a critical degree.” 

The goal may have been technology inspection, but a magic consumption rate that rendered combat maneuvers unsustainable meant the quad-core engine design was simply flawed. Perhaps it had enhanced instantaneous firepower, but that was unacceptable if it came at the price of drastically reducing the amount of time combat could be maintained continuously. 

In a sense, it could be said that a healthy evaluation mechanism was at work here. Part of what made technology inspections important was catching flaws in advanced equipment such as this. That said, if the issue was excessive mana consumption due to a structural problem with pouring mana into multiple orb cores, there was nothing to be done for it. 

“From the very beginning, our objective has been to verify and test advanced technology. It’s still within acceptable parameters.” 

The pro-development faction, on the other hand, was willing to admit that the project was lacking when it came to combat sustainability. However, that was of no particular concern, at least at the inspection level, if they specified that the objective was proof of concept. The engineers in the faction felt that the restraints on usage weren’t terribly important. 

The technological race with the surrounding great powers was so heated that in everyone’s heart of hearts, they had a great desire for Type 95 to ensure technical superiority for the fatherland. If trailing behind in innovation presented a grave threat and gaining the advantage ensured overwhelming returns, they would want to keep pushing forward. If they evaluated the project based on potential, they could have approved all the costs related to Type 95. 

“Its technological significance aside, the army can’t afford to fiddle around.” 

The thing is, only the engineers engaging in development and the researchers supporting them felt that way. The troops, who used a variety of different weapons and weren’t terribly gentle with them, had their own theory. As it was, normal computation orbs already cost as much as their most powerful weapons. This one-off special-order prototype frequently broke down and had blown through its initial development budget a long time ago. 

It had already consumed unbelievable sums of money, and they were increasingly hesitant to invest more. If they shifted the budget elsewhere right away, wouldn’t it still prove more cost-effective? Such assertions made perfect sense. The Empire was powerful, and while its military budget was by no means meager, it was finite. Since funds were limited, efficiency was required. 

“What about the potential to convert mana to a fixed state? Isn’t that more than enough reason to continue development?” 

“Do you intend to send him off in pursuit of alchemy? We can’t afford to waste our limited budget and manpower on this forever.” 

They were never able to see eye to eye about whether it was possible to sustain mana and store it. In theory, it made perfect sense. Even Schugel acknowledged that the orb’s voracious consumption of magical power would impede continuous combat. 

As a countermeasure, he figured if he could store mana the way chemical energy was stored in batteries, that would solve all his problems. People were constantly trying to make a breakthrough in the transformation of mana to a fixed state in reality only to give up on the impossible task. 

By optimizing mana through a computation orb, a mage could superpose interference effects upon reality with their will. That interference creates a concrete phenomenon. This was principle behind the formulas mages used. 

Naturally, the magic mages cast is temporary. Say someone wished for an explosion, and that creates one. Not only is it a temporary phenomenon, but also the mana that caused the explosion disperses, making it impossible to hold on to the mana. If it were possible, the mage would have only needed to will the phenomenon to remain in the world to fix it in place. 

Concepts along those lines had been entertained shortly after the practical usage of computation orbs became viable. But each time the idea of using mana to fix mana in the world was attempted, the failures only multiplied. 

Though researchers were often optimistic, there were mountains of papers describing failed implementations. All the great powers that had put serious effort into the idea thus far had already abandoned it. 

By interfering with the world with one’s will, an object could be created. It sounded easy enough, but telling a mage to actually do it was akin to telling them to defy the laws of nature and perpetually bend the laws of physics. At that point, it was venturing into the realm of alchemy from the stories of yore. 

In other words, that was how far-fetched it sounded, at least to the row of realist soldiers. In their eyes, the overly hyped new technology was plain suspicious. The theory itself was also quite old. 

In a sense, the theory stemmed from a technological dream that should have been left to future generations, much like alchemy, but it had become so notorious that not only soldiers involved in weapons development had heard of it but also anyone working in magic. 

Bending the laws of nature and maintaining that state required a massive amount of mana. In order to raise the amount of mana that could be poured in at once, phenomena had to be cast with at least two cores. Likewise, fixing phenomena required another two cores. As a result, fixation required perfect control of at least four synchronized cores that were also performing their own tasks in parallel. Up until now, all of that had been merely theoretical. 

“He’s already realized quad-core synchronization. You can’t deny the possibility.” 

“As it stands, we can’t count on it reaching perfect synchronization. Lieutenant Degurechaff is the only one to have had any luck with it, and even the mission capable rate she’s achieved is unsatisfactory.” 

This was precisely why the pro-development faction and the group that suggested pulling the plug reached completely different conclusions despite observing the same results. The former saw a glimmer of hope, while the latter dismissed it as futile, and both conclusions were logical to a degree. Realistically speaking, an orb that had trouble with each and every test was unreliable. Of course, there was no such thing as a perfect first prototype, so a certain number of problems were expected. 

But such a frequent occurrence of major accidents was unprecedented. Based on what they discerned from the reports, it seemed like Degurechaff was hanging on by the skin of her teeth. And despite risking life and limb on these experiments, she had only just barely managed to operate the orb. 

This alone was proclaimed a remarkable improvement on existing progress, which made it clear how “well” it was actually going. As such, when a number of soldiers were about to protest that it was a massive waste of money, a certain mid-level officer from Personnel who happened to be at the meeting posed a question from a slightly different perspective. 

“I can’t help but wonder—why her?” 

Superficially, this was an innocent question. On the other hand, it certainly brought up an intriguing point. Magic Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff’s career wasn’t bad, but there were plenty of soldiers with superior credentials. Perhaps if they compared her to the previous testing personnel to see why she was the only one to succeed, they would get their answer. Once this occurred to them, they saw the value of delving into this modest question. 

“No, you have it backward. We should focus on why she succeeded.” 

At this point in the conversation, the director of Supply and Logistics Headquarters, who was leading the meeting, brought up one of the most obvious questions of all. “Why did she get selected? Who chose her?” 

Without a doubt, the Personnel Division at Supply and Logistics Headquarters approved the assignment, so someone must have dropped off the paperwork. And that paperwork should have included the reason behind her selection. 

At their superior’s question, younger administrators flipped through documents and found the personnel assignment form. It had gone overlooked thus far, but it contained all the answers. 

“Chief Engineer von Schugel chose her personally. Apparently, he claimed she had the highest chance of successfully operating the orb.” 

“How would he know that?” 

Given all the previous testers’ failures, there had to be something convincing him that Second Lieutenant Degurechaff could do the job. Why did he specifically want someone like her from the front lines? Was it something unique to her? Was it her skills? Something else entirely? It was a truly intriguing question. 

But the answer Chief Engineer von Schugel wrote on the form was exceedingly simple. “…It says that since she is not set in her ways with the conventional orb, he figures she wouldn’t treat the prototype the way other soldiers treat their orbs.” 

Well, the orb was brand-new. His logic was perfectly rational. The quad-core synchronization system was a whole other animal, so trying to conduct mana the same way as before would prove difficult. 

It took a child’s malleability to understand that even if conducting the mana felt awkward, they shouldn’t fight it. Someone as precocious as Degurechaff had a good sense for conduction and comprehended the logic behind it, and not only that, she could pull it off. The logic was nice and sound. 

Assuming they understood everything up to this point, that was precisely why the whole row of participants let out the same groan. It was the groan emitted in the face of an unpleasant truth. 

“…Hey, there aren’t all that many skilled mages out there who are unaccustomed to conventional computation orbs.” 

That went without saying. Even if they turned human resources upside down searching for such opportune mages, there would be painfully few who met those conditions. Naturally, the minimum requirement for the orb to be issued as the next-generation standard was for the majority of existing mages to be able to use it. If it couldn’t reach full operational capability, there was no point. 

The implications were that using Type 95 was a hurdle too high. Until the training system could be overhauled and all the active-service mages retrained, the next-generation model would be useless. It was also more difficult to use than the existing computation orb, so the drills used for the new recruits also would need to be reevaluated. 

Even assuming they could accomplish all that, the orb’s mission capable rate, reliability, and cost were enough to give them second thoughts about mass distribution. Considering the level of craftsmanship the devices demanded to function, they would be accidents waiting to happen. 

“We don’t have an infinite budget. Are we placing too much emphasis on versatility?” 

“We’ve already achieved innovations in orb safety mechanisms and other areas. Don’t you think it’s about time we called it quits?” 

In conclusion, perhaps it would be wise to call off development or, at the very least, scale it down. It was hardly surprising when that opinion began to dominate the conference room. 

No matter how alluring the technology, the army had no choice but to abandon the project if it couldn’t be implemented in the near future. The Imperial Army didn’t have the budget, manpower, or resources to play around. 

“The promise of amplifying firepower is just too enticing. Couldn’t we just do dual core instead of quad core?” Naturally, those who would regret halting development still couldn’t shake their lingering attachment. 

“That’s a good point. If there were only two cores, wouldn’t it make synchronization that much easier?” 

“Relatively, yes.” Compared to quad-core synchronization, coupling only two cores together would of course be easier. Ironically, the solution came from a member of the technology department who was part of the pro-development faction. “But even then, we believe lackluster mission capable rates would be unavoidable due to its complex structure.” 

The mechanics for synchronization itself had been innovative and complex from the get-go. They couldn’t really hope for an improved availability rate. 

“In that case, it’d be quicker to just have mages carry two computation orbs.” 

“They’re useless if their operation is spotty on the front. From the looks of it, we’re not ready for synchronization technology yet.” 

They stopped further development. At that point, it was the natural decision. 

BEYOND THE REALM OF PERCEPTION 

“Gentlemen, I fear the situation is grave.” 

This was the godly realm. And in one corner of this realm, the gods were genuinely distraught. Their distress was sincere, even benevolent. 

“As you already know, the number of pious humans is decreasing rapidly.” 

“It is immensely difficult to balance religion with the advance of civilization.” 

Some guided man to higher planes of existence. Others intervened as little as possible. Regardless of which method they subscribed to, a growing number of limitations threatened the continuance of the life-and-death cycle system. 

In particular, the more advances people made, the happier they were and the more their faith crumbled. For the system, there could be no worse nightmare. 

“How did the test fare?” 

“Not good. They may have perceived it as a supernatural phenomenon, but beyond that…” 

A radical archangel and some others had advocated for generating supernatural phenomena to restore faith to the hearts of the people. Believing they should follow the example set with Moses, they had been experimenting, but their results were far from successful. Science would probably be able to explain things someday. 

The phenomena exceeded the people’s comprehension at that point in time . It was simply unexplained and, as such, nothing more than a subject for investigation and research. 

“I had a feeling it wouldn’t go well.” 

“I wonder what the issue is. In the past, all we had to do was talk to them and they would understand that we were gods.” 

“Sometimes they would even call on us.” 

Yes. They should have spoken to the people when they were deeply religious. Then they would have been able to communicate their divine will. Not only that, some people would have called out to the gods of their own accord. Now there were none. There were hardly any voices truly seeking salvation. 

How had it come to this? When an answer proved evasive even upon extended consideration, it was important to go back and reexamine your successes. That statement was in and of itself extremely logical. As such, their noble ideals and sense of duty led them to take action, and they investigated everything from the age of myth to modern times. To them, the age of myth was just another memory of the past. Naturally, they could recall each case one by one to examine if they so desired. 

“…Isn’t divine grace what made it work?” 

The conclusion was very pragmatic, in a way. 

“What do you mean?” 

“In the past, back when human civilization was terribly undeveloped, we intervened to protect them from catastrophes that would have been impossible for them to avert on their own.” 

In the contemporary world, storms no longer posed a significant threat to developed countries. Not even a hurricane could crack their foundations, let alone destroy them. Frankly, for the majority of nations, high winds and heavy rain would only manage to paralyze the cities. 

It was a completely different environment from the age when a single storm could devastate farms, wash people away, and leave entire families destitute. Hence, the gods took care not to intervene more than the humans wanted, and because of that, they were being forgotten. 

It was essential to encourage mankind’s self-reliance so they could develop higher-order cognition. Yet for the longest time, no one foresaw this would lead to a lack of faith. 

In ancient times, the people would praise progress as divine favor. The Roman Empire existed right alongside the gods. After the fall of Rome, the Church ruled the Middle Ages in the name of God; however, advocates for the divine right of kings argued that sovereignty was bequeathed by God. This caused the Church to gradually change its doctrine. Then, out of religious faith, scientists began to seek the truth of the world created by God. Before anyone knew it, mankind had completely lost their belief, although that was no one’s intention. 

“Yeah, lately the civilizations in the mortal realm have been progressing nicely, so we decided intervention could stunt their development and left them to their independence.” 

“Isn’t that precisely what makes it hard for them to recognize our existence?” 

They didn’t particularly mean to hinder mankind’s development. Really, looking at their original plan, they wanted them to progress. 

We must seek the order created by God. The natural sciences stemmed from that objective, so the gods had actually been all for them. Mankind would evolve from mindless worship to reverent devotion with greater understanding. That logic would allow them to reach higher-order intellection. The gods even considered it a first step worthy of commemoration. 

However, if it was having the opposite effect, that could cause extremely serious problems—they were inevitable. Too many worlds had cultivated only the natural sciences. 

“Hrm, that would make things difficult.” 

The whole group grew pensive. If they couldn’t resolve the issue with fairly minor corrections, they feared it would be excessively laborious. This was a tight spot. And they foresaw it getting worse the longer they neglected it. 

“Does anyone care to propose a way out?” 

The cherubim never failed to disappoint, and one of them explained the plan he had racked his brain to devise. He asserted that for the most part their basic policy was fine. In essence, if they had a system that could compensate for lost religious faith, they would have no problem. 

“As such, we really should refine one point and revive their faith.” 

The proposal was accepted almost unanimously. However, considering their previous policies, it felt like they had run out of specific ideas. 

“This plan makes a lot of sense, but what precisely should we do?” 

“I’m not sure, but perhaps we should give the world a new holy relic?” 11 

“Hmm? What do you mean?” 

They had already deposited as many in the mortal realm as there were stars in the sky. The numbers may have differed slightly between a nation or region, but they had already invested more than enough in the things. In terms of promoting faith, it wasn’t a very successful method. At best, the relics were prized as historical curiosities. 

“The current relics are treasured, kept under lock and key. They’re unable to adequately fulfill their role in making divine grace known to the masses.” 

The gods didn’t know that. After all, they had long lives. They still remembered giving the holy relics to people, but it wasn’t as if they constantly kept tabs on the artifacts thereafter. Upon looking into the current state of affairs, they had finally discovered that the items had been relegated to decorative purposes. 

“I see. No wonder they’ve forgotten religion and prayer. In a way, it’s rather ironic…” 

The gods were becoming dispensable. That’s all there was to it, yet they couldn’t help but feel a flood of mixed emotions. They had no intention of unilaterally forcing religion on people. But if they didn’t boost faith, the system was in for rough times. So to help people come to understand on their own that faith was necessary, shouldn’t they periodically deposit divine relics where they were needed? 

The gods thought this was worth a try. 

“In that case, let us bestow the holy relic they need upon the world and teach them how to pray.” 

“Great idea. Let’s do it right away.” 

“I have just the thing.” 

The decision was made very quickly. Though the gods were patient and laid-back by nature, they were taking this situation seriously. Because of that, they carried the whole process out wholeheartedly, neither cutting any corners nor getting bored halfway through in the way gods sometimes did. 

“Oh?” 

“There is a human in the mortal realm researching an item that is just a step from the godly realm. Given another one thousand years, it could be successful.” 

“Ah, a singularity. Were you able to contact this human?” 

It was extremely rare, but in the past, too, on all the worlds, humans had appeared who neared the godly realm in pursuit of natural sciences. The unusual phenomenon was remarkable these days, but not without precedent. And this human seemed to be the most appropriate specimen for this test. 

“He must have realized he has a long way to go. When I reached out to explain the works of God, he was exceedingly impressed.” 

“So are you suggesting we send down a holy relic there?” 

“No, it should be a miracle.” 

“A miracle?” 

Apparently, there exists such a thing as news that is both good and bad. This is Magic Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff’s unfeigned sentiment upon receiving the notice. 

While only an unofficial notification, the higher-ups are indicating that they aren’t going to provide additional funding. The implicit suggestion is probably that they intend to ax development of Type 95. At the same time, the Personnel Division is sharing their intentions by telling me to focus on my upcoming duties with the instructor unit. This is exactly what I want. 

I should be thrilled by the termination of this flawed orb’s development and my return to the instructor unit. The only problem is that this is only an unofficial notification, not an official decision. But it’s probably already decided. Since I won’t have to risk my life anymore, the news couldn’t be better. 

The bad news is that since the research can’t continue no matter what happens after this point anyway, the mad scientist has become defiant and decided his department should conduct experiments that were previously suspended as too dangerous. If only he would get depressed or discouraged so he could become more docile! But such hopes have proved meaningless, and this mad scientist even seems to be equipped with the ability to tune in to radio waves from somewhere. 

Out of the blue, he starts shouting that he’s received divine inspiration from the heavens and begins yelling, “Now we can do it!” In his usual frame of mind, however, even the mad scientist deemed this experiment too risky. If in his agitated state he insists on going through with it, this can’t possibly go well. 

It doesn’t help that the other engineers have been shaken by the impending end of development. What engineer isn’t eager to see the fruits of their project? Full of those sentiments, they make only halfhearted protests. It’s all too easy for the mad scientist to get his way. 

I’ve managed to survive up until now, but I’m unable to stop them from forcing me to conduct an experiment that any sane scientist would certainly frown upon as suicidal. We’ll be testing the fixation of materialized mana phenomenon to spatial coordinates via overlapping compound interference. “Mana fixation” for short. It’s the product of one soul’s crazy imagination. 

Apparently, the ultimate goal in developing Type 95 was originally to conduct this experiment successfully, but it was considered so unlikely to succeed that nobody took it seriously. It’s hard to imagine this ending in anything but failure. The theory itself is well-known for being plausible. It isn’t as if Tanya had never heard of it before. 

Type 95’s delicate internal structure means it will inherently be frail and suffer from a poor mission capable rate and ease of maintenance. In order to overcome those shortcomings, I would need to use mana to recognize a phenomenon in this world, then secure and maintain power via fixation. 

Theoretically, Type 95’s quad-core synchronized system means that the technological groundwork to make such a thing possible has already been laid down. Tanya’s doomed attempt to reach Type 95’s ultimate technological goal will still hold great significance in terms of exposing its flaws. 

When the engineers told me that, I thought it sounded similar to a bureaucratic explanation of budgetary provisions. They usually sound quite clever. But now I have no doubt they were only doing this experiment because the mad scientist is curious. Even if I form an argument to point out the obvious obstacles involved, it would be futile; surely the loon has no intention of calling off the test. He’s desperate for it to go well, and he has to be pushing ahead based on unhinged judgment that relies entirely on luck. 

“Lieutenant, you’re ready, right?” 

Of course, he has to understand what level of danger is involved. So how in the world can he crack such a gleeful smile? I suddenly question Schugel’s sanity. An urge comes over me to tell him to take a good look around. 

We’re in one corner of a vast live-fire exercise range with absolutely nothing man-made nearby as far as the eye can see. If I go out of my way to look for evidence of human activity, all that catches my eye is the recording apparatus and the doctor. The rest of the team appear to have accurately assessed the danger—they’re currently at an observation station considerably removed from the test site, monitoring the situation only through the on-site viewing device. No one’s willing to run through the standard signaling checks. In other words, all the personnel have taken shelter on the assumption that Type 95 will explode. 

Hence Tanya’s apparent misery as she continues to suggest canceling the experiment. “Doctor, can we please just not do this? According to calculations, the worst-case scenario has the entire exercise range blowing sky-high.” 

Schugel is the only one with unwavering faith that Tanya will pull off the nigh impossible task of attaining absolutely perfect control. The thoughtful development team is kind enough to have a fully equipped medical team on standby. Their elaborate preparations include a highly experienced critical care team and a full-scale field hospital. 

“Scientific progress always has its sacrifices. Naturally, it won’t just be you—I’m here as well. So what’s the problem?” While everyone else feels apprehensive about the experiment, this one man, Chief Engineer Adelheid von Schugel, retains his cheerful smile as he makes that statement with confidence. How glorious it would feel to smash my fist into that cheerfully smiling face of his. 

Maybe you want to get blown to smithereens by your own invention. Talk about getting what you deserve. What I want to know is why I’m stuck killing myself with this mad scientist. Isn’t a compulsory double suicide a bit too much? But Tanya manages to express those feelings in a genuine but socially appropriate, roundabout way. 

“Honestly, I wish you would employ that grace for something else.” 

“…? A scientist must stay loyal to their pursuit. Now stop complaining and start the test.” 

But evidently, the moral madman is too much for Tanya. If that’s how you’re going to be, then go ahead and die if you’d like. Just do your best not to inconvenience those around you. If that’s too much to ask, at least don’t bother me. 

“I’m a soldier, not a scientist.” 

Tanya is only working as a soldier. Under no circumstances does the job description include committing suicide with a scientist. 

And in a sense, the scientist has the perfect response to her protest. 

“Then consider it an order. Now, get going.” If Tanya is a soldier, she should obey the orders according to chain of command. He’s completely tied her hands with that, but he’s absolutely right. 

“…Supplying mana to Type 95 now.” 

Having resisted in every way possible, Tanya laments her misfortune as she begins slowly, carefully pouring energy into Type 95. 

“Observation team, roger. Our prayers are with you.” 

It’s common courtesy to say that, but now the words have taken on an ominous tone. The fear that Type 95 will explode at any moment is plain in my expression. Frankly, I feel like my life is in greater peril here than back on the battlefield. 

Both a mage’s tough defensive shell and the protective film for deflecting direct hits are cast using magic orbs. The thought that I’ll have no protection when the orb explodes is worrying me to no end. 

But upon seeing the indescribable emotion contorting Tanya’s face in response to the anxiety for this absurd situation, Schugel dares to smile. Tanya feels as though it’s virtually the first time she has seen the doctor smile reassuringly out of consideration for her. His expression almost seems to be telling her to relax. 

“What? No need to worry. This is practically guaranteed to work.” 

When Tanya sees how he has the pure, innocent, dangerous gaze of a cultist, skepticism transforms into blaring alarm bells in her head. I should steer clear of that crowd… 

“…Doctor, what makes you so confident?” 

If he’s simply a psycho, it would come as no surprise. The problem is that his insanity threatens to involve Tanya in an immense, inexcusable crisis. 

“What? It’s quite simple.” 

The doctor flamboyantly opens his arms, acting as if he’s about to start expounding upon a simple truth. That alone is enough to send chills down Tanya’s spine. Confidently preaching the truths of the world with innocent eyes? That is something fanatics do. The type that’s immersed in some dangerous religion. 

“…And what might that be?” 

The most dangerous move to make when dealing with a blind believer in something is expressing agreement or denial. I was taught back in my human resources days that if I ever needed to peacefully force resignation from an employee under the influence of a cult, it was necessary to avoid affirming or denying their beliefs. The idea is to remain distant and leave no room for misunderstanding. 

Thus, all Tanya can do in this situation is try to prolong the conversation using the gentlest voice she can muster. 

“I am the chief engineer. Lieutenant, you are the lead tester. That is to say, if we work together instead of standing at odds, we can do anything.” 

All cult members are just like this. They only say reasonable things in an even tone with an innocent expression at the very beginning of an encounter. 

“The other day I received a divine revelation.” 

“…A divine revelation?” 

Yeah, figures. I was afraid of this. Hmm. It’s probably just a figure of speech. But this ominous premonition—the voice of reason—won’t stop screaming. I’ve got a bad feeling, like super-dreadnought-class bad. 

“That’s right. If we say a prayer to God for success, those who believe in him shall be saved.” 

“………Ugh.” 

I groan in spite of myself, although I braced for this. Before realizing it, I also heave a massive sigh. 

He just said to ask God for success? A scientist just told me to pray? Thinking that far, it quickly occurs to Tanya how unlikely this scenario is. Did the chief engineer lose his mind over the project getting terminated? That’s entirely possible. 

Realizing as much, I judge that regardless of orders, it’s too dangerous to go through with the experiment. In a split-second decision, I curb the flow of mana and initiate safety mechanism activation to prevent the orb cores from going haywire. 

“I am told it’s important to be humble, free of arrogance.” 

But the safety mechanisms won’t activate. Feigning calm externally, Tanya can’t hold back her shock as she looks again at the orb in her hand. It’s the same all-too-familiar prototype orb she conducted countless tests on. Multiple safety features could clearly be seen…and aren’t activating? In which case, they’ve been disabled…? He just had to mess with it, didn’t he? 

The only one who could have done it is the peacefully smiling chief standing before me. He’s serious about this. He’s so crazy to begin with that it takes me a moment to fully realize. 

“Isn’t this a wonderful opportunity? Let us join in prayer for success.” 

“Doctor, aren’t you an atheist?” 

“The god of invention came down to me. Now I’m a devout believer.” 

Crap. Things really do look hopeless. 

The Type 95 starts acting wacky, much like its creator. I’ve been controlling its coating with mana but can’t any longer. Something about the circuits doesn’t feel right, either. At this rate, the mana will hurtle straight down the path to chaos. And the safety features I normally rely on aren’t functioning. 

“……………” 

If I try to extract the mana manually, it’ll throw the whole system off-balance, resulting in certain collapse. So despite realizing how dangerous it is, I have no choice but to keep feeding the engine energy. But at this rate, I’ll eventually lose control. I’m caught by this dilemma, but it seems as good as settled that the orb will go berserk in the near future. 

…At this point, I can’t stop myself from imagining my unpleasant fate in vivid detail. 

“We’re sure to succeed if we become believers of invention and pray.” 

“…By the way, what would happen if I don’t pray?” 

“Well, I suppose we would both become martyrs,” the lunatic replies simply. The dangerous smile on his face indicates he would undoubtedly embrace martyrdom with pride. It could be described as the ecstatic smile of a suicide bomber. 

“We should call for a medic right away. Or would you rather I simply put you out of your misery?” From Tanya’s point of view, if she’s doomed to die anyway, at least she could kill this lunatic with her own two hands. If she takes him out as she’s being killed by his defective orb, at least she won’t be the only one suffering a loss. An enticing prospect. Granted, it isn’t much of a fair deal, but market principles assure me it’s better than winding up completely in the red. 

“Calm yourself, Lieutenant. Have you not met God yourself? If we both trust in God, we’ll be saved.” 

He says this at the very moment I’m winding up to make my hidden desire to kill him a reality. Tanya stops short. Whoa, wait a minute. 

“The energy coefficient is rapidly destabilizing! The mana is out of control!” 

“This is insane! The cores are about to melt! All personnel evacuate!” 

The observation team is shrieking. Tanya can’t hear the screams as anything other than noise, but a second before she falls unconscious, she definitely feels it— 

I swear I can feel that damn devil—Being X—grinning at me. Oh yeah. It’s a supernatural being who plays with the laws of nature. It’s the vile devil, who toys with human lives. 

“You set me up?! Damn you, Devil!!!” 

“After much deliberation, the Lord has approved of causing a miracle during the—what is it you’re developing again? Elinium Type 95?—that thing’s activation experiment.” 

When I come to, I’m in a familiar space, and at some point, an entity slightly more intellectual than Being X approaches me. The reason for my visit this time is directly connected to the mad scientist demanding to conduct such a reckless experiment. 

But he’s only a mad scientist, not a religious fanatic. Based on how he was acting just before the accident, he’s a victim, too. It’s probably Being X and his sect pulling the strings. They must have been manipulating him, at least as far as this experiment is concerned. Not that I feel a particle of sympathy for him, let alone a full ounce. 

“Ahh, I see.” 

The entity before me only seems decent compared to the one that came before it. In other words, this one is more like a fanatic capable of holding down a conversation. I can’t let my guard down. I’m basically dealing with someone steeped in a religion of one kind or another. At the moment, I don’t care if he’s a god or devil. 

What I need to watch out for is the very likely possibility he’ll try to push his values on me rather than discuss things rationally. His values are completely insane. He might seem intelligent, but the core of his nature is no different from an incompetent worker’s. 

I should eliminate him immediately. If he’s at least an incompetent bum, I can put up with him. Still, competence notwithstanding, all religious fanatics are diligent workers. It would be a truly praiseworthy virtue if not for the insanity. 

“Allow me to congratulate you. The Lord has determined that you have led a sinful life out of ignorance. He has decided to guide you down the righteous path.” 

“I’ll pass on that.” 

…Wow. A fastball? I figured he was up to something, but pitching an incredible fastball down the middle? Messing with people’s lives is quite honestly a lot of fun, but it’s completely unacceptable for me to be on the receiving end like this. Why can’t I decide how to live my own life? Isn’t my existence as an individual the least I should be able to control? 

“Oh, set your mind at ease. Doesn’t your distress stem from the fear that you’ll be forced to act against your will?” 

Well, it’s hard to say. I’m not sure how to describe this sense of trepidation. It’s true that I resisted the idea of being forced to follow a path determined by somebody else. 

It would also be immensely humiliating for these beings to control my mind or lead me to think a certain way. Mass hallucinations should only be shared among the people who want to get intoxicated by a particular story. If there’s profit to be had in illusions, we’ll invest in them; if there isn’t, they aren’t even worth taking an interest in. And if any crazy people become a threat, I can always kick them awake and make them guzzle down the sludge of reality. 

As an individual, I have to firmly resist this attack on free will that compels participation in mass hallucinations. Freedom. I’m free. I don’t want anyone to violate my freedom. 

I would hate to act against my own principle and violate the freedom of others, but honestly, I can deal with that. The thought of someone else violating my personal freedom, however, is absolutely intolerable. I was once equipped with the resources and connections to protect that freedom. Now I possess certain powers to defend it, coupled with an appreciation for the significance of its value. 

“As such, worry not. We shall bless your computation orb so that it may bring forth miracles. You shall use it and feel the grace of God. Surely that will enable you to offer him words of prayer.” 

“‘Words of prayer’?” 

“That’s right. The words for praising the Lord were forgotten by your ancestors. It is through no fault of your own that they were not passed on to you.” 

“Well, that’s obvious. Although I think there’s more to it than that.” 

Where the heck does that reasoning come from? Someone give me a proper explanation. And right now, if possible. You can even interpret or run it through a translation machine. Since it’s a rush job, I’ll pay extra, and I’ll even throw in a tip, so someone please make it clear what this guy is saying. 

“As I said, the Lord has made it so words of prayer shall flow from your lips, his voice shall be heard by your heart, and you shall believe in miracles.” 

“…That sounds like a really nasty form of brainwashing.” 

Let’s try to sort this out. These evil guys threw me into this world. They may as well have abducted me. And since I haven’t caved, they’ve come up with a new scheme. They’re going to make me use a cursed computation orb. And the more I use it, the more it’ll consume my soul? Oh, screw that. 

As if that isn’t bad enough, they have me in a nasty predicament. They had me in checkmate the moment I realized accepting their offer might be my only way to survive the war despite the price I have to pay. 

These beings are like glory seekers, stirring trouble just to dash in and save the day. Insider trading doesn’t hold a candle to this unscrupulous foul play. For them to get away with this absurdity would be no different than wiping law and justice off the face of the earth. Perhaps I should try to be the representative for the mortal realm’s core values. 

“We won’t actually force you to do anything. You will simply be able to offer prayer in earnest upon experiencing God’s miracles. Such is the blessing the computation orb in your possession has received.” 

It must take a lot of nerve to say that. You hurled me into an environment where I could die at any time in some war and then tell me you aren’t forcing me? That’s like telling someone in a desert not to drink water. You might as well tell me to die. In other words, threatening me much? 

“I see. By the way, what happened to my real body?” 

“You people are being protected by divine grace. Go now, you’d best set forth. Spread the name of the Lord.” 

And on that creepy note, my consciousness is pulled back to the mortal realm. In a most unfortunate turn of events as I snap back to reality, I’m greeted by the face and voice of the last person on the planet I want to see. If I were an imperial judicial clerk, I’d immediately create a law that states mad scientists are to be executed by firing squad. It would be my duty to pass such a law for the sake of the Empire; I have no doubt of that. 

“We were in the presence of the Lord! It’s a miracle! Blessed are those who believe!!” 

The dangerous gleam in the mad scientist’s eyes makes me worry he might burst out shouting, “I am the new prophet!” No, he might actually believe he is a prophet now. 

“Calm down, Chief.” 

I’m begging you, please shut up. There’s no need to emphatically boast that you’ve scientifically proven a mad scientist can change jobs to “religious fanatic.” Please, get out of my sight. 

“Oh, Lieutenant Degurechaff. The experiment is a success!! Let us exalt God’s name together!!!!!” 

Alas, he may have become a religious fanatic, but he’s also still a mad scientist. He’s batty for his beliefs. 

“Come on, come on. Show me the miraculous gift of God!” 

“Degurechaff to Control. Is Type 95’s control formula functioning normally?” 

I’m hoping they could call this all off due to technical difficulties. But a curse has been placed on this device by more or less supernatural beings. How easily they could trample my hopes and wishes. Alas, how powerless humans are… 

“It is, as far as I can tell, but that could be due to issues with the observation apparatus.” 

“Maybe. I guess we don’t have much choice. We should probably seal up Type 95 and examine it back in the lab.” 

Excellent. Caution is an indispensable quality in engineers. While it’s hard to forgive the way they all abandoned me and ran for the hills, I can come to terms with that now. If their survival leads to the end of this experiment, then I’ll allow it. 

“Bite your tongue! Activate it right this instant, Lieutenant!!” 

Thus begins the struggle. Seriously, can’t this damn mad scientist catch a friendly bullet or have an unfortunate accident one of these days? Actually, I’m sure he’s gotten mixed up in more than a couple situations like that, so why is he still alive? I sincerely doubt this is true, but could he be a pawn for Being X and his clique? I know he’s my enemy, but is he my mortal enemy? 

“…I’m activating it. Theoretically, it will either work or the whole lab will blow up with us.” 

“I’m afraid that joke wasn’t funny, Lieutenant.” 

It wasn’t the least bit funny. Mostly because I was dead serious. But seeing as this thing is cursed, I don’t understand how this could end well. 

I run mana through the computation orb’s circuits and begin synchronizing the four cores. The energy flows absolutely smoothly, no difficulties whatsoever. As for the core synchronization, it’s so effortless I do it without thinking. The mana loss is undoubtedly on par with the theoretically projected value. 

Now I get it. Just going by its specs, I have to admit this truly is amazing. Definitely worthy of praise. But, although it’s truly regrettable, this thing is cursed. 

“Oh, great are the wonders of the Lord. Praise the Lord and the glorious name of God,” I shout, the emotional words pouring from my mouth. Every cell in my body suddenly yearns to praise the Lord. 

“It worked? …It actually, really worked?!” 

When the observation team plunges into a whirl of astonishment, their shouts of wonder finally bring me back to myself. 

“…What did I just do?” 

What was I just thinking? What did I say? Did I offer praise? To that thing?! 

“Oh, Lieutenant. We share this faith, don’t we? It’s a miracle! A miracle!” 

“A miracle?” 

“Give glory to the Lord and bear witness to his miracles.” 

Everything that transpires is like a living nightmare. Ultimately, I’m cursed, I have a horrible time, and in the end I finally—finally—get released after we finish collecting a certain amount of data. I don’t care where I go as long as it isn’t there. I just want to get away. 

As if to grant my wish, the Republic to the west goes out of its way to declare war. Just the notice I’ve been waiting for. It arrives right as I’m about to despair for the world. My mind is saved. 

But I guess the easy life is hard to come by.