Ch.235The Seventh Entanglement – Variations on a Blind Revolution (5)

“Inspector Senoy, don’t we need people to go into the factory district for reconnaissance?”

At the detective’s words, Inspector Senoy, who had been smoking while standing on a gargoyle decoration of the Anti-Spirit Party building, looked down at the ground. If an ordinary person had suggested this, he would have dismissed it as absurd.

Well, it was an absurd suggestion even coming from a contractor with twice the ability of normal people. Those who were better at their jobs than others usually tried to work half as much, not take on extra duties.

He leapt from the decoration with his wings slightly spread. Though spreading golden wings wouldn’t reduce his falling speed, it seemed that even the laws of physics worked differently for beings created by the God-President’s power.

After landing on the ground, he looked down at the two humans and asked. Though this was work for angels, he had no intention of stopping humans if they insisted on doing overtime.

“What’s your reason? As long as you’re not suddenly trying to join the Reds’ parade, it’s fine… Someone upstairs wanted to go, so I sent them. Can’t help it.”

The detective reached out and patted the back of the Blingkerton-originated terminal infused with the Hive Mind. It was a signal. The man tried his best to deliver the excuse the detective had prepared as naturally as possible.

“My brother was working in there. I thought if I helped the police, I might be able to get inside the factory district to check if he’s still alive. That’s why I came along, and now that I’ve found a reliable colleague, it seems like the right time to go. It wouldn’t be a loss for you either, would it?”

Though his manner of speaking was somewhat stiff, Inspector Senoy didn’t mind much. He knew that when emotional beings try to appear unemotional, they generally speak in such awkward tones.

“No loss, I suppose. The higher-ups are also pressuring me to assess the internal situation, so go check if the Industrial Spirit King is alright. Those who guard that concrete tomb where the Machine of the Age resides will have prepared reports.”

So our destinations are the same. It won’t take long if we pass through. Finding the way would be easy since he was accustomed to moving around the factory district for work.

“That works. It’ll take quite some time. We need to check on this fellow’s brother too. You’re waiting anyway, so just think of it as waiting a bit longer.”

This Idealist uprising was a disaster occurring within manageable limits. The damage hadn’t spread far beyond the factory district. This was an excellent opportunity to eliminate the Idealists and their collaborators.

The Industrial Spirits were already crushing their terminals in their own way inside the factory district, so with the power of the Industrial Spirit King, it wouldn’t be difficult to eradicate the so-called Reds.

When everyone dies, the case ends. Evidence will die, and traces will burn. Everyone wanted something different, but the detective’s hand was reaching out first.

Inspector Senoy briefly thought that this detective might know too much. He might be a contractor who thinks for himself rather than just accepting and completing jobs.

Still, the fact that he continued to work under the name of a contractor suggested he wouldn’t let personal opinions interfere with his work. The inspector was somewhat suspicious of the detective’s attitude but had great faith in his abilities.

“Good thing you’ve got a working brain. Tell them Senoy sent you, and they’ll understand.”

Instead of answering, the detective checked his gun. Inspector Senoy didn’t keep his gaze on him for long. He was a reliable contractor even without constant supervision. Rather, the human standing beside him was more concerning.

Planning to enter the factory district with just a pistol. Still, he was quite large for a human, so he should be able to fire the inspector’s gun too.

There was something that couldn’t be explained by size alone. Despite having a body at the level of an ordinary human, that contractor fired guns that even angels fired without recoil, but Inspector Senoy wasn’t one to question good fortune.

Inspector Senoy showed his gun to the somewhat awkward man before him. It was a situation where he could make excuses about it being an emergency.

“Do you know how to shoot? Sending a citizen into a dangerous place with just a pistol isn’t something an angel should do.”

Inspector Senoy didn’t need weapons anyway. Blocking his back with gold-crafted wings while punching would be sufficient.

The Hive Mind, no matter how hard it tried to get accustomed, couldn’t get used to the kindness of the police. Most of their memories of police involved angels spreading their wings and flying in to shatter worker marches.

The situation wasn’t relaxed enough to comment on unfamiliarity. He accepted the rifle offered by the angel. It was the same as what the detective was holding, but it was definitely heavy for this terminal with a larger build.

It was remarkable to see the detective checking the magazine while holding such a weapon in one hand. Fortunately, the Blingkerton-originated terminal seemed to have used this gun before, judging by how he gripped it.

The two headed into the factory district. The air was dreary. Only the unpleasant clicking of Industrial Spirits crushing terminals at a nearby processed meat factory echoed in their ears.

Unlike the Blingkerton-originated terminal who was gripping the gun tightly with both hands, the detective had his gun comfortably slung over his shoulder with a strap. The detective clicked his tongue once at the sight of the other man with his finger on the trigger guard.

“Can that Hive Mind detect when one or two terminals die? If it’s not that sensitive, lower your gun. We’ll enter quietly until we see some terminals.”

There were no watchful eyes or angels here. The Idealist Hive Mind spoke somewhat more comfortably.

“It’s impossible unless I concentrate. Those reactionaries don’t have a Hive Mind as experienced as ours. And if our inference is correct, they won’t be focusing on the terminals.”

Since the goal was to be seen by the Industrial Spirit King, there would only be terminals meant to cause disturbances and those monitoring the surroundings in the factory district.

The entrance to the factory district where the two were now was already mostly cleared of terminals, so unless they encountered those orc-like collaborators who had led the terminals, there was nothing to worry about. They advanced with guns ready.

As they went deeper inside, terminals gradually began to appear. They were deactivated while standing, placed at quite a distance apart, perhaps set to activate when someone approached.

Though they stood on two feet, they had no will. Yet it was certain that if someone approached, they would scream terribly like beasts. Their hearing would be active too.

There were just over ten terminals guarding the main road. Thirteen, to be exact. A number the detective could handle alone.

With numerical advantage, there was something that needed to be done, so the detective leaned against a wall, avoiding the terminals’ line of sight, and said:

“How did they attack you again?”

Though it was phrased as a question, it wasn’t one. The Hive Mind had already shared with the detective that terrible sensation of having eyes and ears covered while magic was extracted.

The detective drew a dagger. It was a long-bladed weapon commonly used by gnolls. Though the blade was twice as sharply honed as those typically used by gnolls. It was meant for complete severing rather than just cutting.

The Hive Mind somewhat anticipated the detective’s actions. Since simply letting him proceed seemed like it would be the start of a rather satisfying revenge, it decided, uncharacteristically, to leave the future to the future.

“At first, we didn’t even know what was attacking us. The second time, they revealed themselves, but the ability gap was so overwhelming that we could only flee. They’ll feel something similar.”

With just a nod, the detective slipped into the blind spot of a terminal that was looking across the main road. He moved without hesitation, as if it was obvious where a person could and couldn’t see.

He approached with shortened strides, waiting for moments when other terminals weren’t looking at this one. Despite wearing shoes with metal plates on the heels, the detective made not the slightest sound.

The guard terminal failed to guard. The detective approached right behind it and grabbed the back of its neck and part of its head, just as they had done to the Hive Mind itself.

It wasn’t magical power. The detective simply used brute strength to hold it immobile, then horizontally drove the long-bladed knife into the middle of the terminal’s neck.

What followed was as natural as eating breakfast. He pushed the knife forward as if spreading butter on toast, mechanically. The terminal was rendered completely unusable.

No matter how incapable of feeling pain a terminal might be, when all parts necessary for survival are damaged like that, the consciousness might still connect, but it couldn’t be controlled. A dead body is a dead body.

The inability to feel pain was more problematic. If someone thought a knife had been thrust into their neck, they might regain their senses and prepare relatively quickly, but a terminal simply malfunctioning wasn’t like that.

Though he was moving quietly, his purpose was to cause a disturbance. As if saying “see if you want to see, hear if you want to hear,” the detective approached the next terminal without smashing the head of the first.

A terminal that was still maintaining its guard stance as if nothing had happened searched for the dead terminal’s body. It didn’t realize the detective was in its blind spot.

As soon as that terminal twitched, showing signs of the Hive Mind connecting, the detective revealed himself right in front of it. Before the Hive Mind could say anything, he covered its mouth with a gloved hand.

He vertically stabbed the sharply honed dagger into the lower abdomen covered only by a layer of work clothes. He twisted it until the blade was completely horizontal, then pushed it sideways in a horizontal line before throwing the terminal to the ground.

The Hive Mind of that terminal must be experiencing quite a terrible sensation. It would be feeling the sensation of consciousness becoming hazy and then suddenly being cut off, as if hit on the back of the head with a hammer.

If the detective and that… journalist’s inference was correct, the Hive Mind controlling that terminal would be a person with a body, and experiencing death without dying would not be pleasant for a being with a physical form.

It was exactly what the Hive Mind itself had experienced. The first terminal died without even knowing it was attacked, and with the second terminal, consciousness was connected as quickly as possible but couldn’t prevent it.

He seemed to be trying to deal with the detective by throwing all eleven remaining terminals at him. The Blingkerton-originated terminal raised his gun to provide covering fire, but there was no need.

The detective alone was sufficient. The Idealist Hive Mind restrained its desire to search through the memories of the minds that had participated in the Great War right then and there.

With his hand stretched out to create a little space in his palm, he struck the cheek—or more precisely, the ear—of an approaching terminal. Though it was just one hit, the terminal staggered and fell, bleeding from its ear. The hand trick of Sol Invictus is quite effective, the detective thought.

Though there were eleven terminals, the ink gentlemen connected to these terminals didn’t know how to properly utilize their numbers, as if they had never gathered to lynch someone.

Should one say the experienced side is stranger? That couldn’t be the case. After kicking the knee of a terminal that was running with both hands raised high to cover its face, dislocating it, he struck the side of its head as if catching a rabbit.

Days of fighting like this always left a bad aftertaste. The detective vertically thrust his dagger between the collarbones of the terminal in front of him. He immediately turned around and struck the head of another terminal with twice the muscle power.

Whether because it was an elf terminal and thus fragile, or because of excessive force, the terminal’s head bent backward. The Hive Mind was now genuinely feeling awe.

It’s something a human couldn’t accomplish. It’s impossible to withstand a punch from an orc terminal with one’s body, then stab a knife into the middle of its thigh and pull it out. Yet such things were happening right before their eyes.

The orc terminal tried urgently to stop the bleeding in its thigh, but the price of diverting attention was severe. In the end, the orc knelt with one hand on its thigh and the other on its neck.

It didn’t take long for only one to remain out of the thirteen terminals. The civil servants of the Spirit Management Department connected to the terminals exchanged conversations, trying to interpret the incomprehensible situation. No conclusion was reached.

They were being used for a noble purpose. They were advancing with a single will, united as one, but now everything was about to be ruined because of one human with a knife who had interfered.

Most of the terminals were fighting in front of the concrete temple guarding the Machine of the Age, so they couldn’t easily pull out manpower. The human’s destination was obvious.

“No other choice, I guess. Do we have to use the prototype?”

A voice that was a jumble of many voices asked. The same voice answered.

“If we’re going to do it, we need to do it quickly. The concrete temple needs to be damaged for the end to properly come, and for it to feel like we’ve endured it. Because that’s what must happen.”

It was the voice of those who had shed the natural human form. It was no different from the words of people gathered under childish and pathetic phrases like “the power of unity” after abandoning individuality. The same voice answered.

“Since the flying function hasn’t been restored, we’ll have to make it run on the ground. I wonder how the most high and intelligent designer made those things fly…”

By the time those words ended, the detective had grabbed the wrist of the last terminal and crushed its head under his foot, making it uncontrollable. The edge of the concrete temple where many terminals would be gathered was faintly visible.

The Hive Mind asked in an anxious voice:

“They must have noticed the attack, and they know you can’t cast magic to steal terminals like they do… Why aren’t terminals pouring out?”

Only now did the detective pick up his gun. Since they had been shattered by a single dagger and fists, they wouldn’t send terminals that would be shattered by such things anymore. Even the orc terminal with the most outstanding physical abilities couldn’t withstand it.

“They’ve probably figured out that pouring in ordinary terminals would have obvious results. They’ll send out something fucked up, so look forward to seeing what comes out.”

The detective was sneering, but for a sneer, he was speaking the truth. When they turned a corner to head toward the building where the Industrial Spirit King resided, they encountered an angel.

One of its wings, delicately crafted in gold, had been perfectly severed and replaced with a mechanical device made of steel, but such a wing couldn’t possibly fly. It was like a child sticking clay onto an already perfect work.

It seemed they had tried to improve the golden arm resembling the God-President’s mighty right hand by replacing it with a steel prosthetic, but the result was only deterioration. They faced an angel with about one-third of its body made of machinery.

The useful part of that angel’s body was the two-thirds directly molded by the God-President, not the one-third where they had forcibly amputated and stuffed in mechanical devices imbued with the Industrial Spirit King’s power.

However, even with just that, the detective desperately needed the Hive Mind’s supporting fire. That’s what angels were. Looking at the deteriorated yet still powerful angel, the detective sneered:

“At least it’ll listen better than Yehoel. Though it won’t be as useful as him.”

It was directed at the Spirit Management Department civil servants who had created something worse than one of the most incompetent angels. The detective felt his side, which had been injured when he was rammed by an angel last time, aching again. Phantom pain.