by Carlo Zen
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.
