Ch.204The Sixth Entanglement – Bebop with the Sun God (2)

“What exactly did you do out there?”

The woman who had been held at knifepoint by Sol Invictus returned wearily and asked him as he sprawled across four seats. He didn’t smell of blood. The blazing flames had burned away all scents.

The sun god spoke as if it were obvious. He was a proud man. A man who fought and conquered.

“I helped with a fight. If they want to fight so badly, I told them to do it properly under the name of a war god.”

But he was a cunning god for one who claimed to be the sun. He spoke as if mocking those with whom he had battled. He conveniently forgot that he himself had escalated the fight.

What mattered was conquest and struggle, not explaining or justifying it with words. That’s what Sol Invictus believed. He was too raw and ruthless in his methods of struggle to belong in the 20th century.

Such brazen lies worked in Sol Invictus’s favor. The woman in the seat ahead felt her rising indignation and anger subside somewhat after witnessing his fierce demeanor.

“That’s how all unworshipped gods are, I suppose. You must be glad the God-President has accepted you.”

Sol Invictus shrugged. He couldn’t understand this God-President. He couldn’t comprehend why someone would want to rule from above when they could lead from the front.

That usurper seemed to desire an Iron Age—a terrible world where gods and humans were completely separated, where humans lived human lives and gods lived godly ones.

That would mean the extinction of gods. It meant killing all deities except himself, who could exist without worship. Did he truly wish to become the one and only god?

Sol Invictus clicked his tongue. That god has lived among people for too long. He has forgotten that divinity and humanity complement each other, trying to take fire away like stealing a hearth from a child!

Only when returning to godhood could one understand him. Therefore, Sol Invictus once again concealed his true intentions.

“I suppose I shouldn’t presume to guess his will. Isn’t that right?”

“My… how devout you are.”

With those words, the atmosphere completely relaxed. Though he didn’t act like a clown, he had restored the smile to that woman’s face. The train continued along blood-soaked rails.

The train ran all the way to New Orleans. A place where the air seemed to smell of alcohol. Another battleground, I see. Sol Invictus stepped off the train, smelling the scent of struggle. He had time before his next train.

“Not as metropolitan as New York, I see.”

Leaving only this brief, fragmentary impression, he once again followed the scent of blood and gunpowder. He strode through unfamiliar alleyways as if crossing plains dotted with spears and shields. He looked at unfamiliar faces as if they were comrades.

The god eventually reached where he needed to be. When he stopped in front of an alley, he could easily tell that someone inside was holding a gun trigger.

From beyond the alley came a provocative voice. It was the voice of a bleeding human speaking through gritted teeth.

“If you want a bullet in your head like the other hyena heads… huff…”

Hyena heads, eh? Ah, the Nords! Sol Invictus knew of them, famous for their ruthless and brave warriors. Then there must be another warrior here. He gladly turned the corner.

A man in a trench coat clutching a blood-soaked shirt held a gun. Sol Invictus reflected sunlight—rightfully his—off his gladius blade to prevent the man from hitting him.

Blinded, the man’s aim faltered, and the bullet embedded itself in the brick wall. As the man tried to shield his eyes and reload, Sol Invictus was already before him. He wasn’t a Nord.

The man was standing guard, protecting a woman with a briefcase behind him. Oh, a common tale! Sol Invictus was delighted to finally find a story he could understand in this era.

Sol Invictus laughed like a friendly host. He embraced the man who was severely beaten, with one eye bruised and a knife still lodged in his side.

“You fight to protect, warrior! For that, Sol Invictus loves you. Will you complain that a god descending from the machinery solves all problems?”

The man who had been screaming as if about to faint when embraced opened his eyes wide at the solar scent emanating from Sol Invictus. He wasn’t human. Not simply non-human… he smelled of divinity.

The man somehow managed a boastful voice. He pretended to be strong to attract the attention of Sol Invictus, who was clearly a war god to anyone watching.

“It might not be fun, but you’d like it, unworshipped god…”

Sol Invictus wasn’t a god who considered circumstances. He was a god who gave struggle to those who wanted it, and even gave strength to those who lacked the power to struggle.

Struggle was inherently unfair. Some might be missing an arm, others might be born less intelligent than others. But did that mean they couldn’t fight for themselves!

Sol Invictus denied this fact. Coldly, he rejected the distinction between those who could fight and those who couldn’t. If someone had no arm, he would give them a prosthetic; if someone had a poor mind, he would give them a strong body.

All people in this country, in this world, would wage war with divine weapons. All would fight from the same starting line. Even the weakest could fight for themselves!

The Unconquered Sun didn’t care who won. He didn’t care at all.

He only despised beings who created wars. When Death delivered the news, the detective responded with an expression that suggested he might growl.

“So, His Lordship the God-President just let that sun god incite people until sixty were injured and killed?”

“Our honorable superior merely summoned the Divine Secret Service under presidential authority. As you know, he doesn’t intervene in the name of divinity.”

The detective snorted. He despised both the inhuman divine abilities and intentions—twice as much as he despised other gods.

“Doesn’t that make him less than an omniscient and omnipotent god?”

Even the reporter who had distinguished between the loving father and the hateful Forest’s Firstborn knew they were one person. She was better than the God-President in at least one way.

The detective gestured for Death to continue the report. The pain in his side had subsided considerably. There would be no problem moving around or even making a trip to Little Eire.

“You hate him as if he were your parents’ enemy. Anyway, Sol Invictus should be in New Orleans now. His final destination is… somewhere in Columbia County, Pennsylvania. There’s evidence that someone exchanged letters multiple times with Sol Invictus through the county post office, addressing them to him and having replies sent back to that post office. Probably a pagan who wants to worship Sol Invictus.”

“Where was it sent? That barbarian god couldn’t possibly have a proper address.”

Death slid a photograph of a house to the detective. It was poorly maintained—a two-story detached house with six rooms that office workers might dream of owning.

With no tall buildings visible nearby, it seemed to be in a good location, and the house had a yard large enough for six children to play in, but it was completely abandoned.

“The God-President gave houses to all gods who abandoned their divinity and chose immigration. It wouldn’t have been difficult to find the address. The street has been published in newspapers, and unworshipped gods want to be recognized. It’s common for them to advertise their addresses or phone numbers in newspaper ads, offering to listen to people’s troubles.”

From New Orleans, cutting through the East, it wouldn’t take long to reach Pennsylvania. The possibility of handling the situation before then seemed to be fading.

If only traces of sent letters remained, how could they track him? Even the Divine Secret Service couldn’t track something so old with only records remaining. It was better to give up on the letters.

Whether his purpose in going to Pennsylvania was the reporter’s recommendation or meeting a pagan, he would eventually be spotted by the angels or Madam Gremory. Securing those two alone would give them eyes in Pennsylvania.

“You’ve already contacted the Pennsylvania police, I assume.”

Death was always prepared. That was the kind of entity he was.

“Of course. For now, I haven’t mentioned that we’re on an extermination mission, only that we’re observing. And as you suggested last time, I’ve requested cooperation from Madam Gremory in the name of the Divine Secret Service. An agent is standing by near her, so we’ll know once he arrives in Pennsylvania. Do you think your condition will improve by then?”

The stabbing pain that used to come unexpectedly had disappeared. Uncharacteristically, he had rested for a long time, so his condition was nearly optimal… and he had obtained pills from The Morrígan to ensure sufficient sleep before the operation began.

“It’s the first time I’ve rested for nearly two weeks since I started working. If I said I was in bad shape, it would just be malingering. And you said last week that you’d found almost all the other personnel.”

Death nodded with a hand on his chest. Death, at least, knew how to be kind and courteous even to ordinary citizens. There was nothing ominous about it. Everyone was equal before Death.

“Agent Corner is scheduled to bring someone today. A renowned political theology doctor whose name you might recognize, Mr. Michael… Dr. Albert Pfeifer. Do you know him?”

“If a college-educated man makes a living as a detective, that’s a story worth asking about, isn’t it? I’ve never heard the name. More importantly, which department? The same as mine, or…?”

Death didn’t misunderstand the intent of the question. It had been a week since the detective had accepted the job, so Death believed he was now thinking practically.

“He’s a devout believer in the God-President. The driver is the same, so you needn’t worry… But that’s not it, is it? Are you concerned?”

The detective nodded as if it were obvious. A dog that had worn one leash could easily adapt to another.

“Someone who has already experienced believing in a god might apostatize when Sol Invictus becomes a worshipped god. Which do you think such a person would choose—the divinity before their eyes or the divinity in their heart?”

Death smiled. The detective felt warmth rather than coldness. It was the exact opposite of a passing nurse who shivered from the chill despite not seeing the smile directly.

“I’ve brought someone who will remember our honorable superior even in such a situation. After all, the self-existent, elected one himself ordered us to bring such a person.”

“You’re saying this to someone who hollowed out a Bible with a knife to hide a gun?”

The pleasant conversation didn’t last long. Soon, Conquest knocked on the door. Conquest and evangelism spread like disease, so he wasn’t a being suited for hospitals.

“Agent Corner, Elder Desmond. I’ve brought the professor.”

“Bring him in. Michael is here too, as it happens.”

They lacked goodwill but maintained courtesy. They didn’t have affection for people but had enough ability to convey the God-President’s feelings toward humans.

The hospital room door opened. An elf in a neat suit entered first, followed by an elderly man with white hair. He appeared to be in his mid-60s.

With thick hair neatly combed to the side despite his age, thin-rimmed glasses, and a rough-textured suit complete with a vest, he resembled the lecturers the detective had encountered during work-related visits to universities.

Nevertheless, he didn’t have the physique of someone who sat for long periods. At the very least, he didn’t use a cane, but his steps were slow, and his left hand moved somewhat awkwardly.

The detective reached one conclusion: this professor would be no help in the hunt. He hoped that a professor who studied gods could at least recite Sol Invictus’s weaknesses.

He felt that useless cards were gathering in his hand. If this were a poker game in a bar, he would have already cursed the dealer and folded, but this game had to be played to the end.