Leave a comment

The room was wrapped in dimness and silence.

There were no windows. The space was nearly completely sealed off, supported by arched pillars at intervals, each with a brightly burning lantern affixed. But given the vastness of the chamber, such light sources weren’t nearly enough to illuminate it fully.

A rough glance told me the room was about thirty mertes wide, forty mertes deep, and—though I could only guess since the ceiling lay beyond the reach of the light—about twenty mertes tall. It felt less like a room and more like a gathering hall, or perhaps even a chapel.

(Feels like a courtroom…)

As soon as we were shown in, the most eye-catching feature directly ahead was a massive wooden wall that loomed like a cliff face. On its right hung a large tapestry bearing the symbol of the Saintess Church, while on the left, a flag emblazoned with the national crest of the Eunice Theocracy had been placed. Dominating the space between the two, however—commanding the entire wall with overwhelming presence—was a gleaming silver relief of Saintess Snow, nearly five by three mertes in size. It shimmered brilliantly. (Could it possibly be real silver?)

“…Hey, Coppelia. It doesn’t really look like her, but is that supposed to be Saintess Snow?”

“Probably meant to be, yeah. If you look closely, it actually resembles the face engraved on the gold and silver coins of this country… In fact, I bet this is the original they used as a mold.”

While gazing at the unavoidable relief, I whispered in secret to Coppelia, who stood beside me.

I hadn’t noticed until she pointed it out, but now that I thought about it, the coins of this country did indeed feature a woman’s face. I had always ignored it since it was so small, but pulling a silver coin from my pocket to check, I saw that it was unmistakably a shrunken version of the same face. It didn’t click right away since the coin’s surface had worn smooth from use, but the resemblance was clear.

“Ah… now that you mention it, you’re right.” I tilt my head slightly. “But doesn’t the statue we saw in the underground lab at Lake Quartz look completely different? Face, body, age—everything?”

For the record, the saintess depicted here is a graceful young woman, around eighteen to twenty years old, with a serene, benevolent expression and an excellent figure.

In contrast, the sealing statue from Coppelia’s—no, Victor’s—lab shared almost nothing in common with it, other than being female. That one had the innocent look of a girl around twelve or thirteen, and its overall vibe was much more… aggressive—ahem, energetic.

And first of all, the chest was completely flat, with what looked like padding. Could it be that she’s grown since then? A growth timeline, perhaps? But honestly, the difference is so dramatic, it’s like saying a wolf pup grew up to become… a manatee. That level of before-and-after.

“Since you’ve actually met the saintess, Coppelia, which one do you think is the accurate version?”
“What are you even saying? There’s no way someone like me would be acquainted with a shady, sideshow act like that ‘saintess,’ Lady Clara.”

Coppelia waved her hand in front of her face like she was batting the idea away.

“…Am I just misremembering, then? Back when we met her in the dungeon, I distinctly recall you saying things like, ‘She’s a monstrous abomination,’ or ‘A demon hiding behind the name of a saint.’ Pretty much insulting her from start to finish.”
“I have no memory of that whatsoever. I mean, thanks to that idiot Igoronak, some of my memory sectors are malfunctioning, so I get a lot of errors around that area. But no worries! My advanced fuzzy memory system helps me recover just fine.”

…That doesn’t sound like a fuzzy system. That sounds like you’re just winging it.

“Is that… safe?”
“Totally safe. I can make fuzzy judgments too, so there’s no problem at all. Like, if I run into trouble, I can instantly go: ‘Hmm, was it like that? Maybe? Possibly? Whatever, let’s go roast some pork instead!’ See? It’s a judgment system so unmatched, no one else can compete! Amazing, right? I’m the type who thrives on praise, so please don’t hold back, Lady Clara!”

Her brain is definitely not built on zeroes and ones. Honestly, I’d be more convinced if someone told me it ran entirely on random number generation.

“…Victor really did leave behind something quite terrific, didn’t he?”
“He sure did.”

As we wrapped up our slightly off-topic whispering and turned our eyes away from the relief, we noticed what lay beneath it: a raised dais two or three steps high, large enough to seat several people. In front of that, one step lower, sat the clerks’ and scribes’ desks, and to the left and right of those were curved, single-step platforms set with observer seats for a handful of others.

Behind all that was a gallery for spectators—but since this was an ultra-confidential meeting with no outside presence allowed, the oval-shaped room, nearly the size of a small auditorium, now held only a dozen or so individuals affiliated with the Church.

And at the exact center of the front of the room, a single accused figure stood in the spotlight.

Unlike the warm, dim light of the lanterns, this piercing radiance was clearly not of natural origin.

In this world, light sources were typically candles or lanterns fueled by animal fat (including fish oil) or plant oils. At best, these would produce a glow perhaps one-fiftieth—or at most, one-tenth—of what a 60-watt incandescent bulb would emit.

So when night falls, people generally go to bed. However, a few privileged elites or wielders of “light”-type magic or sorcery enjoy the luxury of lighting comparable to modern incandescent bulbs or even LEDs. That said, unlike the modern world, there are no businesses open at night (even the Adventurers’ Guild closes its doors after dark), so such lighting is more of a status symbol than a practical convenience.

As for this spotlight, it was likely created by some kind of magical device or spell. (Given the stable mana vibrations, it was probably a magical item.) And this wasn’t just a flashy showpiece—it served a very practical purpose.

From all directions, stark white beams shone precisely on the person at the center. The contrast with the surrounding dimness made it impossible for the one under the lights to see anything around them. Conversely, everyone outside the light could see every detail of the person in the center—their slightest movements, facial expressions, even the sweat on their brow.

In an otherwise open space, this was effectively a prison of light—a kind of isolation chamber carved out with illumination.

Squinting against the brightness, I swallowed hard.

“Kinda feels like a lynching, doesn’t it? Or like being strung up for public shaming.”

Coppelia gave her assessment in her usual unbothered tone, as if she didn’t quite grasp—or, inversely, perhaps perfectly grasped—the gravity of the situation.

No, anyone could see this for what it was: a courtroom, yes, but not one defined by democracy or fairness. This was a religious tribunal, a witch trial in all but name. Thank you very much, truly.

In that heavy silence thick with tension, I once again looked around.

Aside from the templar knights present for security, the ones lined up here—the judges, the condemners, the higher-ups of the Church—all wore expressions as if they’d just bitten into something incredibly bitter, staring daggers our way.

Among them were a few familiar faces—like Lady Teressa, my direct superior, or Father Lawrence, the monastic priest who’d accompanied us during the Maria Lou incident. (Though from the way he was positioned, it looked like he was more of a gofer, sticking close to the towering, boulder-like figure known as Archbishop Georgios—who stood well over two mertes tall.) Then there was that one cardinal with the Afro hair and wiry build, slouched with his feet propped on the seat in front of him, swinging his legs like he had nothing better to do.

The rest, however, were mostly unfamiliar. And yet, just from the atmosphere, it was obvious: every last one of them was a major figure from some division of the Church.

I’d heard whispers about them—members of the so-called Council of Sages, a tiny circle of clergy wielding real power and influence within the Church.

They didn’t openly exercise authority, but in truth, this group governed not only the Holy Eunice Theocracy but effectively dominated the northern nations as well. And now, almost all of them were here… their brows furrowed, their faces twisted in bitter, displeased grimaces.

Leave a comment

Type-Kou No. 27, after repeatedly reaching and stretching to grab the banana hanging from a rod extending from the platform, eventually noticed a box in the corner of the room. After a brief period of trial and error, it successfully stacked the box and retrieved the banana.

““Ohhh, impressive (isn’t it)!””

“Ahahahaha! Ideally, I’d make it human-sized, add a bit more flexibility, and perfect it… Well, creating intelligence equal to a human’s artificially may be impossible, but I aim to get as close as possible. Even so, for now, this is undeniably the most advanced autonomous golem on the continent—closest to a human in design.”

Buoyed by the textbook line from the female art of flattery—“Sasuga!” (“As expected of you!”)—Mr. Edward happily launched into his explanation.

Well, given that this is the result of confidential research, he rarely gets the chance to boast about it. On top of that, the audience is a woman—it’s no wonder he’s over the moon.

“Oh, really? I had no idea! That’s amazing! Hey, Coppelia, how would you get that banana?”

Following up with another classic from the female flattery arsenal: “Shiranakatta!” (“I didn’t know that!”)—delivered with enthusiastic repetition.

When asked, Coppelia replied matter-of-factly:
“I’d kick the platform down and break it!”

Her deadpan declaration drew a wry smile from Mr. Edward.

Incidentally, other phrases in the female art of charming men include:

Su = “Sugoi desu ne!” (“That’s amazing!”)
Se = “Sense ga ii desu ne!” (“You have a knack for this!”)
So = “Sou nan desu ka!” (“Is that so?”)

I’ll be mixing those in as needed.

“Exactly. With that in mind, you can understand just how advanced Type-Kou No. 27 really is. Sure, there are rumors—urban legends, really—about an automaton discovered in ancient ruins that were supposedly indistinguishable from humans, or about some alchemist a few decades ago who allegedly created one. But speaking as a researcher, I can say without hesitation that the idea of artificial intelligence on par with humans is pure fantasy.”

And just like that, Mr. Edward, in his good mood, casually dismissed Coppelia’s existence.

A faint, twitching vein surfaced near her brow—perhaps my imagination.

Hmm… Still, to deny the accomplishments of the past just because they don’t fit within the boundaries of your own work—this man is certainly a serious and sincere researcher, but the type who’s too bound by established ideas to ever achieve true greatness.

Well, to be fair, Victor had the opposite flaw—he was so far ahead of his time that he forgot to watch his step and walked straight into disaster.

At any rate, the conversation had conveniently drifted into territory relevant to the purpose of our visit, so I feigned casual interest and asked:

“Oh my? I’d heard rumors that you once collaborated with that very alchemist on some kind of research into life itself?”

“Wha—!? Where on earth did you hear such nonsense? Well… now that I think about it, I did hear something from my predecessor about research into artificial lifeforms—homunculi—being conducted in the past. But that was abandoned quite a long time ago, I believe. You see, lifeforms tend to vary too much from one specimen to another, making them unreliable and impractical. They also have issues with durability. In the long run, mechanical models are far more dependable.”

“Mhm! You get it, don’t you? For a talentless nobody, that is!” Coppelia, clearly pleased, clapped Mr. Edward casually on the shoulder.

This is exactly why I keep telling her to stop speaking so informally… Ah—wait, could it be that she’s showing this friendliness because she’s adjusted her evaluation of him slightly upward, after initially looking down on him so completely?

“Um, so, just to clarify—there’s currently no ongoing research into homunculi, and no accessible records on the subject either?”

“Yes, that’s correct. Though I believe you can still access the records.” When I asked Mr. Edward—who looked a bit thrown off by Coppelia’s overly familiar demeanor—he seemed somewhat relieved as he gave a nod. “Ah, or perhaps the medical wing might have someone who knows more about it. I’ve heard rumors that some of the researchers involved in the homunculus project transferred over there.”

I see—so the next place to investigate might be the medical wing. I mentally filed that away while continuing the conversation with a show of interest.

“We’d eventually like to make them more human in appearance as well, but there are mixed opinions. The closer they look to humans, the more unsettling they can become. So for now, this is our compromise.”

Coppelia, meanwhile, was amusing herself by challenging Type-Kou No. 27 to rock-paper-scissors—cheating shamelessly with late plays, sudden rules like “no rock allowed,” and calling her move in advance only to switch it at the last second. Unsurprisingly, she was steadily increasing both her win rate and the automaton’s hostility level.

As I watched this unfold from the corner of my eye, Mr. Edward continued speaking with a cheerful smile about his dreams for the future—but from where I stood, the road ahead looked anything but smooth.

“Hah, laughable. To settle for such a compromise is the mark of a fool—owfgh!!”

Coppelia, about to lean back arrogantly and say something unnecessary, was cut off mid-sentence as I quickly stepped in, slipping a body blow into her side from a hidden angle and shutting her up before she could do more damage.

“I understand perfectly. To be allowed a glimpse of such remarkable research, despite being mere outsiders, I am deeply grateful.”

I gave a polite bow.

At that exact moment, an unpleasant sensation ran across my rear.

“～～～～～～～～～～～～～～～～～!?!”

“Hmmmmm… what a supple rump! The shape, the firmness, the give—truly the backside of a temptress. I nearly lost my senses, I did.”

I turned to see a man—perhaps in his fifties—dressed in the ceremonial robes of a high priest, flexing his fingers as if savoring the memory of the touch.

He was a lanky figure with sloped shoulders and a spectacular bald crown save for the sides of his head, giving him the appearance of a matchstick or a lightbulb. Despite the sacred garments, his face bore more the air of a scholar than a priest, now lit up in a broad grin as he addressed me.

“I’d heard the rumors, but you truly are the real deal. No wonder they call you the ‘Shrine Maiden Princess’ out in the city. I’ve got no objections—none at all… but if you’d let me give that bum and those breasts one more feel, I’d be willing to officially recognize you as such. Let me just—ghah!!”

Before the lecherous high priest, hands writhing obscenely, could take another step forward, Coppelia’s rocket punch smashed square into the middle of his wide forehead, sending him crashing to the floor.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! YOUR HOLINESS POPE THEODOROS!!!”

Mr. Edward, who had been stiff as a statue this whole time, suddenly screamed like the world was ending.

“ “Pope…?” ”

Coppelia and I looked at each other in stunned disbelief, then down at the man now collapsed with a bloody nose and a weirdly satisfied smile.