Arc 1: Epilogue (3)

Epilogue (3)

Side Story: Takanashi Miyu

'Don't worry. I'll protect you.'

A black-haired woman floating on the screen said so in Japanese.

Her ink-black hair and wine-red eyes, her porcelain-like skin so beautiful it was hard not to stare.

Send an electrical signal, and she would once again form words with those thin lips.

'Don't worry. I'll protect you.'

It was not her real voice. The 'real' audio data had not been preserved.

No, to begin with—

A knock interrupted my thoughts. I returned my consciousness from cyberspace and completed the link to the machine.

I activated the internal cockpit camera. Beyond the open hatch stood a Black woman with dreadlocks.

"T-chan. Were you playing a game again?"

'Squad Leader. Have you finished the maintenance?'

Jennifer Lawrence. She was only twenty-five, but had served as a military mechanic for ten years.

She was a mechanic I could trust.

"Of course! It's in perfect condition. ...Well, as perfect as the parts currently available allow."

'I see. Thank you.'

"...T-chan."

She closed the toolbox and turned her eyes toward her 'real body.'

The brain inside the container beneath the seat.

"This operation is going to be a pretty big one."

'Yes. I hear it's a defense operation for an underground facility, with even the rear personnel, including you, being brought along.'

"...Doesn't that mean it's dangerous?"

'Yes. But it is necessary.'

"...Yeah."

After readjusting her hat, she began speaking haltingly.

"...A child was born recently. A healthy baby boy."

'Oh, yes, you mentioned that. Congratulations.'

"Thank you. ...Not that that's why. It's just far too late for that now."

The squad leader clenched her fist tightly atop the toolbox.

"T-chan. You—"

'Squad Leader.'

This person had told me many times that I was insensitive to the movements of other people's hearts.

Even so, I could tell.

'I am NO. T300. I am a mechanical soldier belonging to the United States Anti-Spirit Corps.'

"!"

'I have resolved to fight with this steel body for the sake of those without power. I will not retreat except by order, nor leave the front line.'

I knew she had been trying to say something out of goodwill. I would not preserve the audio log of this conversation.

But I would make my own intentions clear.

"...I'm sorry, T-chan."

'If you're apologizing, I would prefer that you address me properly as T300...'

"Nope. Then you have to call me Jennifer-nee-san too."

'...I will consider it.'

"Hahaha! I'll think about the day I can call you by your real name, too."

Waving her hand, she closed the cockpit hatch.

A mechanical soldier could reclaim their real name only after returning to a human body. That was the rule.

But there was only a 'paper' precedent for that.

...It had nothing to do with me.

They said that after fighting for ten years, one's achievements would earn them a return to a human body. But even beyond that, my way of life had already been decided.

No one else had decided it. I had.

Following the check manual, I verified every function. No problems. I left the mechanical soldiers' staging area under the squad leader's guidance.

A male soldier stood beyond the rusty iron door I opened.

His stern face was covered in stubble. A body that well trained was rare in the military by now.

Sergeant Sanders. My superior officer.

'Sorry to keep you waiting, Sergeant.'

Using my brain waves to produce a voice from the speaker, I saluted.

He returned the salute, then opened his mouth with a deep furrow between his brows.

"I wasn't waiting, T300. We still have plenty of time."

The sergeant glanced at his watch, then looked back at me.

"...A lot of new mechanical soldiers are participating this time. Say something to them before deployment."

'Yes, sir. But what should I say?'

"...Something about how to survive, or what you want to do after surviving."

'Understood.'

I folded my arms behind my back and thought for a moment.

Now, what should I talk about? There wasn't much time before deployment. I wasn't good at improvising a speech.

However, when a superior ordered me to do something, the basic rule was to answer "Sir" to anything that was not impossible.

As I fretted over it, the sergeant asked in an oddly quiet voice.

"T300... How many years has it been for you?"

'Yes, sir. This is my eighth year.'

I answered immediately, but had I made some mistake?

For an instant, his eyes as he looked at me seemed to twist.

"...I see. Yes. You've been at this for eight years..."

'Yes, sir. I owe my survival this long to your guidance, Sergeant.'

Sergeant Sanders had been an instructor at the mechanical soldier training facility. For the past three years, he had once again been fighting on the front lines with a gun in hand.

"...I see."

His feeble reply was far removed from the feared instructor at the training facility or the brave fighter he had been until yesterday.

I wondered inwardly what was wrong. As if sensing it, the sergeant furrowed his brow again.

Then he took a small, deep breath.

"...Hey, T300. You—"

Just as he began to say something, a voice reached us from far away.

"Aaaaaah! No! I don't wanna! Maaaaa!"

"Hey, calm down!"

"Hold him down!"

Several soldiers were restraining a single boy.

The freckled boy's face was a mess of tears and snot, yet he was desperately trying to escape.

He was... definitely under eighteen.

"Nooo...! I can't do this after all...!"

"Don't screw around! Not now!"

"Desertion is punishable by execution!"

One of the soldiers restraining him raised a rifle.

But Sergeant Sanders forced the muzzle down.

"Stop. Do you intend to waste an anti-spirit round?"

"Yes, sir! No, sir, I mean..."

"Stand aside."

"Yes, sir!"

He moved the soldiers aside and knelt on one knee in front of the crying boy.

Gripping both of the boy's shoulders firmly, the sergeant met his gaze.

"Look into my eyes. Hey, don't look away. Look closely."

"Hic... uuu..."

"That's good. Now we're going to count slowly down from ten. Count with me."

"...Y-yes."

"Ten, nine, eight..."

By the time they finished counting to ten, the boy's breathing had returned to normal.

"...We've finished counting."

"...Yes. I'm sorry, Sergeant."

The sergeant continued in a serious tone to the boy, who was still sniffling.

"You were drafted, weren't you? How long was your training?"

"Three days, Sergeant."

"...I see."

My training had lasted two weeks.

I was a little surprised at how much shorter it had become.

There were many unfamiliar faces among the mechanics, too, as well as oddly old machines. The front must be in dire straits.

I always gave it my all, but this time I would have to work even harder.

"On the battlefield, obey everything I say, no matter what. If you're lucky, you'll survive."

"Yes..."

"If you don't obey, assume you'll die regardless of whether you're lucky."

The sergeant's lightless dark-brown eyes pierced the boy.

"Don't make me use this."

He lightly tapped the holster at his waist. It held a revolver.

Even anti-spirit rounds could not inflict meaningful damage on most monsters when fired from a handgun. Handguns had long since been removed from soldiers' standard equipment.

But human bodies had not changed in toughness, then or now. The warning applied to non-Gifted people, however.

"Eek...!"

The boy let out a strangled sound. Good instincts. He might be a soldier who lived a long time.

After all, this was not a threat. It was a warning.

Sergeant Sanders had shot sixteen people by then—berserk soldiers and soldiers possessed by monsters. Every one with a single, precise shot between the eyebrows.

"If you understand, return to your post."

"Y-yes, siiir...!"

"The response is 'Sir.'"

"S-sir, yes, sir!"

Escorted by the surrounding soldiers, the boy walked away.

Few people besides the sergeant had a heavily muscled build. They must not be getting enough nutrition. Joining the military should at least keep them from starving to death, though.

I had heard that even the sergeant, who looked like a muscleman at first glance, was the result of numerous modifications to his body. Supposedly, they were surgeries that shortened his lifespan.

Well, this was a job where there was no telling whether one would be alive tomorrow. Losing ten or twenty years of life expectancy hardly mattered.

...It shouldn't matter.

I pushed down the unpleasant feeling that had surfaced for just a moment. It was something a mechanical soldier had no use for.

"...T300. About what I was saying."

'Yes, sir.'

I straightened my posture and waited for him to speak.

Unusually, the sergeant let his gaze wander for several seconds before announcing his decision.

"When this operation is over... would you become my adopted child?"

'...?'

I could not understand what he meant, and was unable to answer immediately.

'I'm sorry. What do you mean?'

"...You're supposed to be only fifteen years old."

'Yes. I am indeed fifteen. However, fifteen is considered an adult.'

"But you're still a kid. And you..."

'Sergeant.'

Somehow, I could read his feelings.

And the reason for them.

'I cannot take the place of your late grandson.'

Even when speaking to a superior, I had to say that the impossible was impossible.

That was my duty.

For an instant, the sergeant's eyes widened, then his face returned to that of an ordinary soldier.

"...Sorry, T300. Forget this conversation."

'Sir, yes, sir.'

"And..."

The sergeant turned his back to me.

"I don't intend to make you a replacement for Joseph, my grandson. I already think of you as my child. That's simply the truth."

'...Sir, yes, sir.'

He probably truly felt that way.

This man was strict, but kind. Too kind. The sort of person utterly unsuited to the battlefield.

That was precisely why Sergeant Sanders and Squad Leader Jennifer had to return alive.

Because they were different from me.

＊　　　　＊　　　　　＊

Yes. I had been prepared. I had made my resolve.

But sadly—

I was nothing more than an ordinary soldier. Even if I had survived somewhat longer than most mechanical soldiers, who were called aces after two years, I could not turn the tide of battle all by myself.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!?"

"Damn it! Damn it! Stay away!"

All around me, soldiers were firing wildly at the approaching 'zombies' without any coordination. It looked like something from a twenty-first-century movie I had heard about.

This was a large-scale operation to defend a vital facility built by modifying underground passageways from fifty years ago. A lieutenant general was personally in command.

But it had been going well only through the third day.

On the fourth day, an explosion suddenly occurred in the rear, wiping out the support personnel. They became zombies and attacked their allies.

At the same time, zombies surged through the underground passage from another direction, and the confused unit was being crushed by sheer numbers without managing any meaningful resistance.

There was no turning this around.

'Gaaaaah! Get off me! Get off!'

'Wait! Take your finger off the trigger, aaagh!?'

A mechanical soldier covered in zombies was firing wildly, causing casualties among our forces.

Its ammunition ran out at almost the same moment the machine's cockpit was torn open.

Dodging bullets flying from all directions, I grabbed another mechanical soldier's gun from the floor with my left hand.

Holding a gun in each hand, I kept moving and shot zombies—monsters—relentlessly.

The submachine guns used by mechanical soldiers had originally been heavy machine guns for humans, modified for their use. Zombies with the same durability as humans would be minced by even one hit.

But some were different.

'Vooooooh!'

A large zombie. It was about as tall as Kenning.

It swung a hatchet suited to its build with patchwork arms. It had no skill whatsoever, but was extremely tough.

Shooting normally, I would not be able to kill it even after emptying a full magazine. I closed the distance.

I spun the leg rollers at maximum output. After feinting left and right, I closed in. As it brought the hatchet down, I slid toward its side.

I pressed the muzzle against its temple and squeezed the trigger. As I crushed the large zombie's head, I retreated while checking my sensors.

I ducked the hatchet it swung wildly, roaring as it died, then changed direction. Holding the other gun level with the ground, I spun and squeezed the trigger.

There were already no allied survivors on that side. The bullets spat from the muzzle created a cloud of blood.

Don't stop. Keep moving.

As I retreated in an 'S' pattern, another large zombie leaped into view right in front of me. There were three of them.

I fought back while using my mobility to escape the ones moving as though to surround me, watching for an opening.

Zombies with neither intelligence nor any sense of camaraderie were coordinating. Impossible. In that case—

'Sergeant. There must be an enemy commander. We must kill it, or we will be annihilated.'

I called that into the radio, but there was no response.

I sent the transmission twice more. The result did not change.

'Vooooooooh!'

'...You're noisy.'

My own voice spilled from the speaker without my permission.

Before I could reflect on that, I barely evaded the hatchet descending toward me. I kicked its elbow and shoulder and leaped, reversing my orientation in midair.

I pressed both submachine guns against the large zombie's head and fired. By the time I landed, it had been reduced to minced meat.

The instant my feet touched the ground, I drove the rollers at full power. I leaped into the large zombie's guard as it prepared a horizontal slash, rammed it, and pressed the muzzle against its throat.

I squeezed the trigger, gouging through flesh. Its neck was torn away at the same moment the magazine ran dry.

I immediately released the grip, and another one brought its hatchet down. Without seeming to care that it had cut off its companion's arm, that one attacked me with a backhand swing.

I ducked the blow by lowering my machine, then grabbed the hatchet the arm that had just fallen had been holding.

Heavy. But usable.

I dodged its wild slash and slammed the hatchet into its head in return. The output was insufficient to finish it, but a few more bullets would quiet it down.

I flicked away the empty magazine and loaded the next. While sweeping the main monitor around, I focused on the sensors.

Then I noticed a tremendous amount of magic approaching.

'...!'

I ran toward the wall, kicking away the approaching zombies.

I stopped the rollers and twisted the machine, which flew forward under its inertia, striking the wall soles-first... no, landing. I used my knees to absorb the impact, then spun the motors at full power again.

I ran along the wall and leaped again before falling. I crushed a group of zombies beneath me, then raised my guns.

'There...!'

It was advancing calmly, as though out for a stroll.

It wore fine clothing that even an officer in the modern era probably would not possess, with a cloak draped over its shoulders.

A seemingly elderly man dressed in the attire of a vampire from ancient tales. He was being carried atop a platform borne by zombies, seated in a leather chair.

Data match complete. Dhampir, 'Raymond Valentine'...!

I fired immediately, but several large zombies standing in the way blocked the shots. As I was about to be surrounded by the others, I retreated.

'Tch...! Sergeant, I've found the enemy commander! It's a dhampir! Sergeant!'

At the number of enemies displayed by my sensors, my nonexistent brows drew together.

Thirty large zombies. More than five hundred ordinary zombies.

'Sergeant! I'll take it down! Rally the remaining forces and lead them to—!'

There was no response from our allies.

Within the wall of dead flesh erected before me, I spotted two familiar faces.

'..."T300." Continue the battle.'

After saying that into a radio with no one to answer me—

I raised my gun.

＊　　　　＊　　　　　＊

'Repeating... *static*... evacuate the underground facility... *static*... seal off the underground block. Remaining...'

The broken transmission I could hear was probably being broadcast by the command.

Had my machine's antenna broken, or was there a problem at the source? Or was it a massive flow of magic affecting even radios that had received anti-spirit treatment?

Whatever the case, it did not matter. I would not be saved either way.

My right arm was lost along with my weaponry. The rest of the machine was badly damaged as well. I could not continue fighting. My energy was nearly gone, and the life-support system was on the verge of shutting down.

That was precisely why I would fulfill my duty.

The dhampir should be somewhere ahead. I would charge it and self-destruct. If I was lucky, I might damage its heart.

That would carry things on to the 'next.'

Someone other than me would surely defeat that monster.

I would leave behind the baton 'he' had passed on, for whoever came after me.

Among the precious Gifted, he had been one of the most powerful. He had burned up his life to let ordinary non-Gifted people escape at a port in the Far East.

I would repay him for that. Absolutely.

I passed through the dark underground passage and entered an open space. The moment I captured the enemy, I would charge—

"Ta-da! Gooooal!"

Several explosive pops accompanied the silly voice. I thought they were gunshots, but realized a moment later that they were party favors.

There was a woman there. No, whether she could be described as one person was questionable.

In this place that reeked of death, iron, and gun smoke, she wore a miniskirted nurse's uniform beneath a white coat. It clung strangely to her body, emphasizing the shape of her ample breasts and the narrow waist beneath them.

Beside her, wearing a white coat over what seemed to be a cosplay nurse's uniform, lay a monster.

"Ah... ahh..."

The dhampir I had been pursuing lay with its arms and legs torn off, its heart pierced by a spear like an insect specimen. It groaned, vomiting blood.

When the mysterious woman snapped her fingers, the black spear made a sound like a whip striking the ground. In an instant, lightning flashed, and the dhampir turned to ash.

Such an absurdly easy end. I regarded the uninjured woman with the utmost caution.

'Who are you?'

"Me? I'm Demiurge! Just call me Demi-chan!"

As I watched the woman make a sideways peace sign beside her eye, I checked my surroundings.

...There was nothing that could serve as a weapon. Even if I charged, the chances of catching her in the blast of my self-destruction were low.

"You're thinking about something dangerous, huh? Well, that's only natural."

She folded her arms beneath her breasts and nodded, then snapped her fingers again.

A mysterious ring appeared beside the woman, Demi-chan. It was large enough for Kenning to pass through.

"Sorry, but I don't have time to explain things to you either! So I won't be taking your questions!"

Her left eye was covered by an eyepatch. Her right eye was exposed.

Blood tears flowed from both.

And yet, Demi-chan wore an amused smile.

"I'm sending you to Japan a hundred years in the past!"

...What was she talking about?

I could not retreat, and I had no idea who she was. As I stood there, bewildered and unable to move, she continued.

"It's the world of the past, but also a parallel world. Whatever you do there will not affect this world or this era."

I addressed the woman, who spoke as though singing.

'...What do you want me to do?'

"I told you I don't have time to answer questions, didn't I? But I'll answer anyway!"

With great flourish, Demi-chan extended both hands toward me.

"I expect nothing from you—!"

She stated it flatly.

"Do whatever you want! To be blunt, you're genuinely, hopelessly weak! Your talent is garbage! But with my power, I'll turn you from utter garbage into barely edible garbage!"

I did not understand. I knew full well that I was weak, but...

"And having only a brain would be inconvenient, so I'll regenerate your body with healing magic! I won't alter your looks or figure, so pray you're beautiful! Oh, but as a bonus, I'll give you a house and some money! The 'me over there' will do that! Once you arrive, check the cockpit!"

'...I ask again. Who are you...?!'

"I'm not answering! I really don't have the time!"

A lump of blood gurgled from her mouth.

With her mouth stained red, Demi-chan stared at me with her brightly gleaming right eye.

"Come, come, come! Time to choose! Die pointlessly as you are, or take the suspicious lady's sales pitch! Tick-tock, tick-tock! The hands are moving!"

...She was right.

I did not know her circumstances, but I would die in a few minutes too. My life-support system was already on the verge of shutting down.

If so, rationally speaking—

'Understood. I just have to jump in there, correct?'

"—I'll answer that question. YES."

'Understood.'

I activated the rollers and headed toward the mysterious ring.

As I did, I heard Demi-chan's voice.

"Go forth, newest and weakest Valkyrie. Valhalla is gone, but I hope your soul will shine brightly."

'...?'

I had no time to ask what she meant.

Before I knew it, I was in an unfamiliar place.

My own arms were there, somehow. With these unfamiliar limbs, I moved the controls.

On the main camera was a Japanese signboard and a building called a 'convenience store,' which had disappeared decades ago.

And then.

"The legendary... Super-Pervert Man...!?"

My admired hero was looking at me with narrowed eyes.