CHAPTER TWO

The Demon Lord Gets a Job

The Familia’s alarm function woke Machina up.

The alarm didn’t sound by vibrating; it used aether communications to echo directly in the user’s brain, as with the Whisper spell. It essentially forced a person to wake up.

She had been depressed at the thought of waking up the last few years. Or rather, the last five hundred years—not a single day went without her feeling down at the loss of her king.

But that was no longer the case.

Machina looked at Veltol, sleeping right beside her. She felt the warmth of someone by her side after so long.

It felt as though a void inside her had been filled. Indeed, it was a very fulfilling awakening.

“Eleclait.”

She used the Familia’s voice recognition to summon the artificial spirit installed within.

Like the Familia, artificial spirits were products of magineering. An extension of artificial intelligence technology, these manmade spirits with learning capabilities were converted into data and installed in Familias or computers.

A girl appeared on Machina’s virtual retinal display (VRD). Her long silver hair was done up on both sides, and she wore a black-and-white dress. The beautiful girl had red eyes and was barely fifteen centimeters tall, but of course she was only a collection of data—although it wasn’t quite right to refer to her with feminine pronouns, since artificial spirits had no concept of gender. In any case, the girl herself—Machina’s artificial spirit—was no more than an avatar.

Numerous article holograms appeared on Machina’s VRD. Her artificial spirit Eleclait had gathered news from various sites across the aethernet, to which the Familia was connected at all times.

IHMI announces the development of a new generation of its land-based magiweapon, the Exoframe… The war’s over, and they’re still making those things… Unless they have city conquest in mind, that’s way too much firepower for supposedly maintaining public order.

She flicked through each headline and skimmed the articles, then looked again at Veltol sleeping by her side. Was he still recovering from his wounds? Or was he just that tired from his five-hundred-year slumber?

His breathing was peaceful.

Seeing her king’s sleeping face after such a long time brought a smile to Machina’s lips. The simple fact of being together with him again brought her no end of joy.

She had been worried for five hundred long years about whether Methenoel would really work.

Machina genuinely felt that her king’s mere existence was itself her own source of happiness.

“Lord Veltol…,” she murmured.

His lofty goal of world domination was but a trifle to her. She wanted to make it happen precisely because he so wished it.

If only this happiness could last forever…

She put her hands together in prayer.

“Sh-shall we get going?”

At Machina’s suggestion, they left the house and headed for a clothing retailer near the loop line: UNI4LO. It was an old shop from before the Fantasion.

“Before anything else, we need to get you some clothing, my lord.”

His aether armor could easily pass as fashionable so long as he claimed he was a full-armor type magiborg, thanks to the current revival of the classic style, but it was still a bit much for everyday wear.

Plus, he needed something to protect him from Shinjuku’s cold.

I wish I could take him to several different places instead of settling for this cheap retailer, but it is what it is…, thought Machina.

Upbeat music played inside the large four-story building.

They made their way to the common-size section and looked around.

“I’m truly sorry, Lord Veltol. I realize I should provide you with much higher quality garments…”

“Ha, no matter. Dressing up is never the main point. When one is as truly beautiful as I am, no matter the cheapness of his clothes, that beauty keeps on shining through—in fact, I would argue the cheap clothing would only further prop up my looks.” A short pause. “What I mean is, I would be perfectly fine exposing my naked body to the masses.”

“No, please do wear something…”

The masses aren’t worthy of seeing your unclad beauty, my lord.

She had to restrain herself from saying that last part. Her long-forgotten memories of her lord’s strange habit of wandering about the Demon Castle nude resurfaced.

“Do you have any clothing preferences, Lord Veltol?”

“No, I’ll leave that to you.”

“As you wish.”

Machina was truly worried at his response. Choosing a king’s clothing was a huge responsibility. She had to make sure to choose an outfit that wouldn’t put him to shame.

Having said that, I don’t have many choices, financially speaking. In terms of cost, practicality, and versatility, the best option would be…

Machina thought about it from many angles before deciding on a simple monotone tracksuit.

N-no, wait—the Demon Lord shouldn’t be wearing a tracksuit!

She immediately shook her head, then glanced at Veltol; he was staring at the outfit in awe.

“This is it!” he proclaimed. “Such perfect form! This is exactly what I was looking for!”

“Huh? But this is just a track—” Machina was confused; who would’ve thought this would make him so excited?

“Your taste is exquisite, Machina. I knew I was right to leave this in your capable hands. This simple yet refined design is marvelous… Both materials and craftsmanship are far improved from my time.”

“W-well, if this is what pleases you, my lord…”

Machina also got a coat to keep him warm and went right to the register near the entrance, then handed both items to the magiroid cashier.

“Welcome!”

The magiroid swiftly put the clothing in a bag.

In this era, large shops like this one had magiroids working customer service.

“Thank you for your purchase!”

The magiroid handed Machina the bag and bowed. Then Machina received a notification on her Familia regarding the payment from her bank. This was all done through the aethernet.

“Let’s go to our next stop,” she said, bag in hand.

“Wait a second, Machina. Don’t you have to pay for that?”

“Oh, I already did. All currency these days is digital. Shinjuku is a fully cashless city. There’s no such thing as physical money here.”

“Hmmm…?”

Veltol cocked his head, perplexed by the mysterious concept, which Machina found cute. They exited the store.

“Machina, I’ll take the bag.”

“No, I can’t have you—”

“Please, let me do this at least.”

“I-if you insist…”

Their fingers brushed against each other during the transfer, which was enough to make Veltol’s return feel real to Machina. She suddenly wanted to yell and burst into tears—the impulse to just hug him very tight was strong.

Ah, what a long five centuries that was…

Those many years without her lord had been a gray blur.

She’d been so worried whether Methenoel would actually work. Her desire to see Veltol once again was what kept her going.

That’s why she now felt so overjoyed to be reunited with him and spend time together in this new world.

Looking back, I think that was the moment when I was truly born.

Machina recalled the day she first met the Dark Lord Veltol many centuries earlier.

Machina Soleige was born in a mountainous region at the south of the Vanfall Kingdom’s territory in Alnaeth, in a small ignian village.

Ignia looked almost identical to humans. They had black hair and dark eyes, tan skin, and most unique of all, initializing their mana turned their hair and eyes red due to their genetic affinity for fire.

Machina, however, was born with silver hair, light crimson eyes, and white skin.

Her fellow ignia found these differences repulsive. They called her names and talked about how unsightly she was behind her back.

One day, Machina was rescued in the forest by a phoenix. It granted her immortality—a double-edged sword—which only made her even more ostracized.

Many methods of execution were tried on her, but no attempt from that time—much less from such a remote village—managed to destroy her, until they decided to throw her into a volcano’s crater.

Then, just as she was about to be executed…

…there came a gust of black wind.

Machina was sure she would never forget that moment, not until the day her soul rotted away.

That wind was a man with black hair, black robes, and a black sword.

The villagers who tried to kill Machina had collapsed.

Sparks fluttered in the breeze.

The black hair and coat billowed with the scorching wind. It was a sight straight out of a nightmare—a devil standing tall before destruction.

And yet, Machina knew he was her savior.

“I heard rumors of an immortal around here. And sure enough, it seems I’ve gotten my hands on quite the diamond in the rough,” the man said with a bold smile. “Do you find my appearance frightful, woman?”

“Yes…” Machina nodded in response. Fear prevented her from saying any more.

His beauty was spine-chilling, his gaze striking. It was as if violence and fright had taken shape—yet his garments seemed noble.

She was so frightened she couldn’t even blink.

The man stroked Machina’s cheek.

“Beautiful. Your soul shines like the scorching, dazzling sun. I cannot have you perish here,” he said to the girl who had only ever received glares of disgust before. “I am the Demon Lord Veltol, the man who will conquer the world. Come with me, woman. Devote your body and soul to me.”

The Demon Lord extended his hand.

That was her king’s first order.

A burning flame began lighting up within her—perhaps the flames of love.

“Hey… Hey, Machina.”

Veltol brought her back from memory lane.

“Y-yes, sir! What is it?”

“So how exactly…does this Familia function?”

“Um, how do you mean, my lord?”

“Leaving Marcus’s rebellion aside, the Familia certainly seems like quite the revolutionary device. So I was wondering about it…”

“Ah… True, it is very useful. You can surf the net while you work, for one thing. Apparently, Earth had similar handheld devices, but a Familia is certainly much more convenient than having to carry around a physical device.”

“Hmmm. Let me see it.”

Veltol suddenly reached out to Machina’s neck. She reflexively winced and let out an uncharacteristic yelp: “Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-what are you—?!”

“Don’t move.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

Machina shut her eyes, clenched her fists on top of her chest, and stiffened up.

His slender fingers brushed against her hair, touched her neck, and then slid around her Familia.

We’re in public…! But I have to follow my lord’s orders! I have no choice! Indeed, refusing him is completely beyond me! Nor do I have any reason to refuse!

Machina was ready for whatever came next, but Veltol withdrew his hand immediately. “That was all,” he said.

“Huh? Ah! Yes…you wanted to see my Familia… Of course…”

“It doesn’t bother you, having that attached to your nape?”

“It felt strange at first, but I’m already used to it.”

“You got used to it…,” he repeated to try and take it in.

“That’s right,” Machina replied. “Not having one is very inconvenient… Although as you can see, getting one of my own didn’t improve my quality of life significantly…”

They continued walking in silence for a while, until Veltol turned to Machina and announced:

“I’m going to look for a job.”

“What? Lord Veltol, what are you—?”

“I said I will get myself a job.”

“There’s no need for you to do such a thing, my lord! We may be struggling right now, but I’ll find a way to make things better! Specifically, um, I’ll pick up more shifts to boost my income—”

“Times have changed, and I am not all-knowing nor all-powerful. Granted, not even the omnipotent gods of yore could predict the change that occurred eighty years ago. We—that is, I—have lived for an eternity and honored traditions for just as long, but perhaps the time has come for me to change.”

“…”

“Besides, I can’t stand around doing nothing while you work and provide me clothing, food, and shelter. Without my duties as king, I must now devote myself to labor. After all, the Demon Lord Army consists of only you and me at present.”

“Lord Veltol…”

“Let me make myself clear, Machina. I haven’t given up on taking over the world.”

“I understand! I will continue to serve you as long as I live.”

As long as I live.

For an immortal, such a promise was akin to pledging eternal loyalty.

Once they finished shopping, Machina and Veltol went back home, and Veltol changed into his new clothes.

Veltol then ventured out into the city, though not before having to convince Machina to let him go alone.

Despite his grandiose statement, Veltol didn’t know how to get a job—he didn’t even have any idea of what sorts of jobs existed.

Such was the downside of having been a king and dedicating himself solely to politics for all those years.

However, his pride kept him from turning back and asking Machina what to do. He was also quite overconfident, convinced that he could get a job on his own. Nonetheless, he found himself wandering Shinjuku hoping for some sort of lead.

He passed through a narrow alley, and amid the stench of alcohol and cigarettes, an appetizing aroma wafted his way.

He looked to the back of the alley and saw a stall with a sign written in Japanese reading UDON. Red lanterns hung from the sign, and he saw orcs and goblins slurping steaming bowls of noodles.

“That looks delicious… What is it?”

This udon was made of soybeans instead of wheat. Soy had saved this archipelago from the food shortages during the dawn of the Fantasion because it could be mass-produced with little labor.

And soy’s usage was wide in its applications. It not only worked as food but as fuel, too. Soybeans were even called “the beans of life” in elvish.

Udon was comfort food for the islands these days.

There were many food stalls in this alley: udon shops, orc-style yakitori, pop-up pubs, sushi bars, and more, all of them emitting appetizing smells. The already narrow alley was so cramped that there was barely enough space for one person to walk through.

“I’m hungry… My faith must be at rock bottom for me to feel so famished… But it’s almost nostalgic. It’s been a long time since I last felt this,” Veltol muttered to himself while holding his growling stomach.

The bread and soup he had for breakfast was naturally not enough to fill him, and he had gone out without having lunch. Everything he looked at seemed appetizing. An immortal felt less pain the stronger they were, and this applied to hunger and thirst as well.

Veltol wasn’t at risk of dying of starvation, but the alluring smell stimulating his long-lost sense of hunger was hard to resist.

He did have some money. Machina had given him a PDA—a personal digital assistant—with electronic money in it. She’d explained how to use it, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around the concept. It was hard for him to believe such a small machine had money inside, when he had been using physical currency like gold or silver coins all his life.

Veltol kept on walking while thinking about that bizarre concept of economic transactions through digital data.

He noticed several vagabonds in the alley—not an uncommon sight in Shinjuku.

“Eh? Nah, I’m tellin’ you, man. Seriously, don’t worry about it. Bunny Bones has it covered. Yeah. Yeah. Thanks. And be careful, all right? I trust you, it’s just, we’re talkin’ confidential info here, that’s all.”

There was an orc vagabond talking on the phone in one of the booths left from wartime.

Another street urchin—a cat therian woman—was standing below a streetlight, just looking up at the clouds.

Seated on the ground was a dog therian man with a sign written in sloppy elvish: LOST MY LEG IN THE WAR. NO MONEY FOR A PROSTHESIS. THANK YOU FOR YOUR DONATION.

“…”

Veltol looked at the therian with the sign and sank into thought.

Years ago, Veltol would’ve pitied the man, even scorned him. This begging would’ve disgusted him. But not anymore.

Machina’s face came to mind. Considering her lifestyle up to this point, she had no trouble throwing her pride away.

Veltol stood beside the therian man and took a deep breath.

“Does anyone have a job for me?!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

He was used to giving speeches or using Tei Sem to boost morale during wars, and he had even studied how to project his voice without magic.

“I have no money, so I’m looking for a job! I don’t have many skills to speak of, but I’ll do anything!”

Pedestrians turned to see what was going on only to shoot Veltol weird looks before passing by without saying a word.

The therian with the sign glared at him, annoyed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The orc in the phone booth approached Veltol before he could shout again.

Like the rest of the street urchins, the orc was dressed in tattered clothes, but given his complexion and build along with his gait and breathing, Veltol could tell that he was much healthier than the others.

“What are you doing?” the orc demanded.

“I’m looking for a job.”

“A job?”

“Correct.”

“Just take your citizen ID to the Commerce Guild. Granted, with the employment rate being what it is, you’ll be hard up for an opening…”

“Citizen ID? What’s that?”

“You from out of town or something, man?”

“No, I’m from five hundred years in the past.”

The orc furrowed his brow. His frown was asking, What the hell is up with this guy?

“Whaaat?” he replied.

“Nothing,” said Veltol. “Forget about it.”

“Look, I don’t give a damn where you’re from, but we can’t have you doing this stuff on our turf.”

“Turf?”

“Yeah, this is our place. Even outcasts like us got our own set of rules. You’re messin’ up our business.”

“You’re doing business here?”

“Okay, I’ll only tell you ’cause you’re not from the city. There’s plenty of guys in this business we’ve got goin’ on in here. And by that I mean gettin’ our daily bread from generous donations. Although…I’ve got my own actual job elsewhere…”

“So you’re beggars? Is that profitable?”

“Eh, we get by. Look, I’m a nice guy, but you oughtta know there’s plenty of other folks more protective of their own turf, and with good reason, ’cause it’s a matter of life or death for them. So I recommend you don’t do something like that again—not anywhere.”

“I see…”

“You’d better go somewhere else if you want a job.”

“Yes, I understand. My apologies. Thank you.”

“No prob. Hang on—do you even have a résumé, man?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Figures. Have this.” He handed Veltol a crumpled-up piece of paper.

“What is it?” Veltol asked.

“You’ve never seen a résumé before?”

“Pardon?”

“You fill it out with your work experience for employers to examine. It’s super important to Earthoids, especially the Japanese. They say it’s tradition or whatever, though I personally think it’s stupid. Take it to the Commerce Guild’s employment information desk and maybe you’ll get something.”

“Now I understand. Much obliged. I am in your debt.”

“See that building over there with the huge sign that says Kaneyasu? That’s a junk dealer, but on the fourth floor you’ll find the closest Commerce Guild office. Oh, and also…” His tone had been amiable until then, but it suddenly turned serious. “…Don’t join any company connected to IHMI.”

“IHMI… Marcus’s business? Why?”

“You never hear nothin’ good. But hey, maybe I’m just paranoid. Their construction jobs are especially bad, though it’s slim pickings if you cut out anything that has to do with IHMI.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Veltol thanked him and left, brimming with hope and more eager than ever to find employment.

“…”

“…”

Silence fell over the room.

Specifically, a drawing room in the Commerce Guild. Veltol had used a translation spell and was now seated facing a sullen Japanese interviewer across a long table.

Machina had advised Veltol to tone down his regal demeanor when speaking with other people. He understood this was her nice way of telling him to lower himself to mortal commoners’ standards, approach them on equal terms.

He was trying his best to appear as “normal” as he could, but his inborn lordliness was too great to suppress—his mere presence was intimidating.

“U-um…Mr. Veltol,” the interviewer began.

“What? What’s the matter? Ask me anything. I don’t mind.”

Veltol’s imposing demeanor was making the interviewer sweat. It begged the question of who was interviewing whom.

“So…you have Dell Stella listed under your special skills…”

“Indeed, the annihilation star.”

“What exactly is this annihilation star?”

“It’s a type of large-scale annihilation magic.”

“Um, and what exactly would that be?”

“It allows you to instantaneously destroy an entire enemy army across a large area.”

“I see…”

“Indeed. But it’s one of my most secret and powerful magics, and as such, consumes a considerable amount of mana. I’m ashamed to admit I currently lack the sufficient power to use it.”

“…”

“…”

Silence.

“…You also list army tactics and strategic command.”

“Yes, leading large armies is my forte. I can say with confidence my capacity for accomplishing military objectives is unmatched. The Battle of Orbeall that took place in 723 of the Continental Era is a good example, though I have many other glorious achievements.”

“Orbe…what?”

“You don’t know the Battle of Orbeall?!”

“I’m, ah, afraid I’m not well-versed in such topics… By the way, what is this ‘construction of the Vaunheig Sanctuary dungeon’ under your list of achievements?”

“Ah yes, that’s one of the best dungeons I created. It was a difficult dungeon, yes, but difficulty isn’t what sets a truly great dungeon apart from the rest. You need to make the most of your limited manpower and budget without losing the thrill.”

“…”

“…”

Silence once again.

“Um…about the ‘kingdom management’ listed in your work experience…”

“Yes, I was king for around a thousand years. My kingdom experienced many wars due to various political matters, but I’m told that happiness was mandatory among my subjects.”

“Right… Um, one more thing…”

“What is it?”

“You have quite a gap in your résumé…”

“Is that a problem?”

“Uh, I’m seeing here a five-hundred-year period of inactivity… Is that accurate? You didn’t mean to write five years?”

“Indeed, it was five hundred years, no question. No need to worry; not a day of that was blank from my point of view.”

Veltol was very confident that he had demonstrated his worth perfectly.

“Well then, Mr. Veltol.”

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to…reject your application.”

“Why?!”

Veltol stood up from his chair and approached the interviewer.

He had done everything within his power to be as appealing as possible. This couldn’t be.

“Taking your résumé into account…as well as our interview just now… I’m terribly sorry, but…hiring you would be a bit, well, difficult… Moreover—”

“Moreover?”

“We do not hire people without a Familia.”

“H-hey, Machina.”

“Yes, Lord Veltol?”

“Could it be that—hypothetically speaking, of course, as you know I don’t think this at all myself, but…”

“What is it?”

“Could it be that I’m utterly useless in this new era…?”

Veltol had six more interviews and failed at every single one of them. He was now lying with his head on Machina’s lap, depressed as never before.

The self-esteem, ego, and dignity as a king that had kept him afloat for so long were torn to bits after mere hours of job hunting.

Veltol was sure of his talents and knew that he could perform any regular job as easily as grabbing a kobold by the tail. Even though civilization had progressed so quickly and jobs were now more complex than they were in his heyday, he was nonetheless confident that he’d be quick to adapt. But there was no point in adapting if no one let him take a crack at the job in the first place.

He felt humiliated.

Machina had come home from work early, worried about him.

It was four o’clock. Still a tad too soon for the sun to set.

“I’ve lost all confidence…”

“Lord Veltol, please don’t be so hard on yourself! These puny, foolish mortals can’t possibly comprehend your greatness! You can’t expect them to recognize quality even if it hit them in the face!”

“Y-yes… You might be right…”

“Of course I’m right! I can assure you of that!”

“R-right…”

“Besides, you’re far and away the greatest of all! You, bending the knee to someone else? That’s no different from a slime owning an elder dragon as a pet! You aren’t yet accustomed to this new world. I think you should stay here and rest a bit longer.”

“I can’t just do that… Machina, do you know anyone from this world who could help?”

Veltol stuck to his resolve. Machina furrowed her brows in thought.

“Mm, I do have someone in mind,” she muttered. “Yes…she’s not always the most helpful, but she’s very wise. I think we can ask her for a helping hand.”

“My, that’s high praise, coming from you. But more than anything, I’m relieved to hear you have friends in this world. I know you tend to keep your distance.”

“I’m not quite sure we’re what you’d call friends… We just go shopping or eat out together from time to time, or sometimes we hang out and I’ll spend the night at her place, but that’s it.”

“That…certainly sounds like someone you’d call a friend…”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it. Give me a moment.” Machina sent her acquaintance a message through the Familia. “I asked her to meet us at a nearby café. She should be heading there soon, but let’s go now so we can get a coffee and take a little break.”

Machina and Veltol made their way to a restaurant that was somewhere in between a café and a bar, very close to her house. It had a relaxing ambiance—rare for that part of town. They opened the old doors, made of now precious wood, and a bell rang as they entered. The inside was quite cramped, with just a single two-person table and four seats at the counter.

Relaxing orcish jazz was playing.

There were only two patrons inside: a pair of dog therians wearing hunting caps. They turned to look at Veltol and Machina as they entered but immediately averted their gaze.

Behind the counter was the owner, a sleepy-looking orc nearing old age and smoking a cigarette. He glanced at Machina with a listless expression and raised a hand slightly.

“Hey, Machina.”

“Good afternoon, sir. How are you feeling today?”

“Not half bad. What a surprise seeing you here with someone other than the usual doofus.”

“Y-yes, for now.”

They took the two middle seats at the counter.

The smell of alcohol and the faint aroma of coffee filled the café.

“What should we have?” said Machina.

“Let’s go with two coffees,” replied Veltol.

The owner got right to their order.

“Here you go.” He put both cups in front of them.

This particular café didn’t serve pure coffee. Coffee beans were rare, so they used synthetic coffee powder, made to resemble the original’s taste and smell.

Machina and Veltol drank their coffee while enjoying the music and relaxing atmosphere.

Once their cups had cooled down slightly…

“Heya! Sorry I’m late!”

…the door burst open, and an Asian girl rushed in.

“Huh?”

“Hmm?”

Veltol and the girl exchanged glances. They recognized each other’s faces.

“Ah! You’re that guy!”

“You’re from the other day…”

Black hair with a red streak, a dwarven jacket and qipao, plus the sunglasses on her head—she was none other than the aether hacker Veltol met on his first day after being resurrected.

Machina stared at them and asked hesitantly, “Excuse me, do you two know each other?”

“Yes, I met her recently.”

“Yep. He was kinda hitting on me.”

“What?! Lord Veltol?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We were simply talking.”

“Hee-hee. Wow, guess the rumors were true—you really are the Demon Lord from way back. Ah, I’m Takahashi. Nice to meetcha…though I guess we already did, huh?”

Takahashi took the empty seat next to Veltol and amiably tapped his shoulder with a friendly smile on her face.

“Hey, Takahashi! Don’t be so rude!” Machina chided.

“No, it’s fine. I’m supposed to be asking her for help, after all,” said Veltol. “Pleasure to meet you, Takahashi.”

“If you could please mind your manners…,” Machina added.

“Hey, the friend of my friend is another one of my friends, y’know. Pleasure’s all mine, Velly.”

“Taaakaaahaaashiii!” Machina yelled, visibly upset.

It so happened that Velly was the legendary Demon Lord’s nickname on the aethernet.

Machina wasn’t normally this emotive with others as far as Veltol was aware.

He was pleased and relieved to see such a healthy friendship. He realized Machina hadn’t been alone in this world after all.

“How did you two get to know each other?” he asked.

“Mm? The net,” Takashi replied.

“Don’t you dare say anything out of line, Takahashi,” Machina warned.

“Relax, Machina. It’s all right. Well, Takahashi?”

“Uh-huh. We first met on a Demon Lord doujin forum—”

“Doujin?”

“Sorry, forget about that part. Anyway, we first met in a chatroom for people who’re into, uh, creative endeavors. Machina’s the most senior member there, and we hit it off. We both live here in Shinjuku, so we met up offline and then became real-life friends.”

“T-true… That’s more or less accurate.”

“Oh, by the way, Velly, I already know you and Machina are immortals. No worries, though. I’m from the postwar generation, so I’m totally against immortal hunting, plus I’m already friends with Machina. I’m no bigot.”

“You don’t need to say all that!” Machina cried.

The two of them exchanged friendly banter, which brought a slight smile to Veltol’s face—their friendship broke down barriers between mortals and immortals.

“So, Velly, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but uh…you’re a man, right? You gotta be, yeah?”

“Of course I am.”

Takahashi sized him up from head to toe. “Yeah, I guess so. Although you’re pretty enough to look like a woman with just a li’l makeup…”

“Why do you ask?” said Veltol.

“Wellll, it’s just that the Demon Lord Veltol is as popular on this island as Oda Nobunaga, the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven, so people like to depict you as a woman in these, uh, creative endeavors quite often. Actually, more folks believe you’re a woman these days.”

“Oh.”

“There’s all these records of you being beautiful and long-haired, so that’s where the theories come from.”

“Is that true?” he asked Machina.

“Yes… Well… Such theories do exist…and many do believe them. Indeed. But I always offer a rebuttal to resolve such misunderstandings. I’ve written three hundred gigabytes worth of material on the subject.”

“Wow, freaky much? Anyways, she told me how ‘Lord Veltol’s gonna be revived soon!’ But I had my doubts up until I saw you with my own eyes. I believe it now, just from your looks and your whole vibe. And besides, I gotta trust Machina on this one.”

“And who was it who still insisted, ‘No way, lady! Veltol’s totally my headcanon!’?”

“I mean, that’s way more fun, though!” Takahashi said as she scratched the back of her head. Veltol caught a glimpse of the black metal Familia on her nape.

“Pardon me for a moment, Takahashi,” he said.

“Bwuh?”

Veltol reached out and touched it. From the outside, it looked as if he were trying to hug her.

“Hmm…”

“W-wait, Velly! Uh, Veltol, sir?! Machina, help me out here! What’s going on?!”

“H-he did that to me, too!”

“Huh?”

Machina stared dead-eyed at Takahashi, who could clearly see her friend’s gaze burning with jealousy.

“And he did it to me first!” Machina added.

“Gah, you big dummy! That’s not the problem here! C’mon, Velly! What are you—?”

Veltol unhanded the already frozen-up Takahashi.

“Sorry for the insolence. Your Familia is different from Machina’s, so it caught my attention. I was looking for differences in its operation and structure.”

Veltol was correct: Takahashi’s Familia had a different shape from Machina’s. The original developer, IHMI, had the top spot in Familia sales, but other companies sold their own, too. Shape and performance varied between individual manufacturers.

“Well, yeah, mine definitely outperforms Machina’s. Wait—by ‘looking for,’ you mean… You were analyzing it? You can do that?”

It was a natural question. Normally, special knowledge and equipment was needed to analyze a magi-gadget’s function and structure. No one could understand the technics that comprised magic through mere observation or touch.

No one had been able to analyze ancient magi-gadgets even at a superficial level—of course a magimachine full of trade secrets with encrypted technics would be no different.

From Takahashi’s point of view, what Veltol had just said was no more than lunacy or a really bad joke. It would be more understandable for it to have been a simple excuse for harassing her.

Machina noticed Takahashi staring at Veltol like he’d lost his mind, so she rushed in to explain:

“It’s Sage Eyes.”

“The what now?” Takahashi asked.

“Do you know about special abilities?”

“Ohhh, like Heavenly Sword’s Gift or Sixth Sense? I thought those were invented for fanfic. So they’re real?”

“What Lord Veltol just used, Sage Eyes, was one of those special abilities. He can feel the movements of what he touches through the flow of mana. It’s all thanks to his extremely high sensitivity to aether and mana.”

“High sensitivity, eh? So that’s how he noticed my hacking that one time.” Takahashi eyed him suspiciously.

“These magimachines seem to be different from regular magi-gadgets,” Veltol explained. “Nonetheless, I was able to get a general, albeit shallow grasp of what goes on inside your Familias. I have to hand it to Marcus—I can’t entirely figure this machine out.”

Veltol was able to get an overall sense of the Familia’s basic structure and its operation. First, there was a nerve connector, which, as the name suggested, connected the machine to the user’s spinal cord via artificial nerves. Then there was the protective cover, which guarded the connector from dirt, sweat, and sebum, as well as any external impact. Last came the main body, the Familia itself—the processor. These three features were collectively referred to as the Familia.

Veltol only understood that the base program (or technic) powering the Familia—something common among all modern magi-gadgets—was made up of a code. That code, or spell, was an intricate, complex form of composite magic. He couldn’t comprehend what function the technic at the Familia’s core served.

“Yeah, engineers all over the world would go crazy if you could analyze the whole thing just by touching the quantum core,” said Takahashi.

“What’s that?”

“The quantum processor. That’s where the base program’s calculations occur using quantum superposition. It’s the most important part—what makes the Familia tick.”

“…What does any of that mean?”

“I’m no expert, so not even I totally get it myself. But in real simple terms: The quantum core’s job is to observe, calculate, and demonstrate via quantum physics and maginformatics a situation where both sides of a coin exist at the same time.”

“Both sides of a coin…superposed…” Veltol pondered this with a serious expression while putting a finger to his mouth.

“But anyways, this isn’t why you called me, right?”

“Ah, right.” Veltol had to do away with the thoughts still welling up in his mind.

“I called you because I want you to find Lord Veltol a job,” said Machina.

“A job? Just go to the Commerce Guild, then.”

“That’s what I did. My résumé and interviews were perfect, but they turned me down just because I don’t have a Familia.”

“What?! You don’t?!”

“Due to various circumstances, yes. I can’t get one.”

“Wooow. Aw man, that’s gonna be tricky. You need a Familia for pretty much everything nowadays. Without one, you’re real short on job options.”

A sense of gloom swirled in Veltol’s chest after hearing the answer he feared. This wasn’t an issue of money or time—he simply could not acquire a Familia.

“It’s not just a convenient communications device—it seriously functions as proof of citizenship. Like, people without Familias in Shinjuku basically have no rights,” said Takahashi. “Job applications don’t list a Familia as a requirement out of consideration for folks who can’t get one for physical or religious reasons, but it’s basically an unwritten rule that you gotta have one. And getting a citizen ID is that much tougher since it’s a huge pain in the butt to sync an ID without a Familia. Not to mention all the other governmental or medical services you won’t be able to sync…”

“So there’s nothing I can do?”

“Wellll… You don’t seem like the kinda guy to work under someone else, Velly.”

“Yes, I agree,” Machina interjected.

“Got anything specific in mind?” Takahashi asked the Demon Lord.

“Hmm… I want as many people as possible to know who I am. That would increase faith in me, which would bring back the power I’ve lost.”

“So you wanna be famous. Okay, then crossing off any education, experience, or a Familia… Your best bet would be something aethernet related—something that doesn’t use a Familia, of course. You’d get popular for sure… Plus, you’ve got a pretty face and a nice voice…but obviously you’ve never played video games… No, hold up. We could use that as a selling point. Yeah, you could be a…”

“Good evemortal! How’s the pain of life treating you mortals today? It is I, the Demon Lord Veltol Velvet Velsvalt.”

On the desk was a bottle of mineral water and an aethernet-enabled tablet that projected two holographic screens: a video game and a livestream chat. Connected to the PDA was a webcam, mic, and game controller.

Veltol was sitting in a gaming chair, wearing the all-black tracksuit Machina had bought for him, along with a white T-shirt underneath with the words Demon Lord printed on it in Japanese. The jacket was unzipped so as to show the design.

“The time has come to continue our journey through Bloody Spirits 3. Today will probably be our last stream…but who knows? It’s a hard game, so we must stay sharp until the very end. Join me on this epic quest!”

He grabbed the controller and started the game.

The graphics were gorgeous—almost indistinguishable from real life.

Veltol moved his on-screen armored character and recalled his conversation with Takahashi three months before.

“You could be a livestreamer.”

“Live…streamer?”

“Yeah, they broadcast videos of them just, like, playing games or chatting or even singing. I guess there’s others, but I only watch video game streamers. They get money through advertisements and donations. The popular ones are pretty much celebrities.”

“Mm-hmm. I can’t say I understand it, but is this something I could do?”

“Totally, it’s super easy. I’ll give you my old computer and all the gear I don’t use, and you can buy newer stuff once you start earning numbers—”

“I cannot allow this!”

“M-Machina?”

“I can’t let Lord Veltol work such a risky and unstable job—it’s not even a real job in the first place! He should have a steady, reliable source of income!”

“Whaaat? C’mon, Machina, get with the times. It’s not like any job’s stable in this day and age anyways. I mean, sure, there’s work out there that’s at least a bit more reliable, but Velly’s got a great voice and a pretty face, and also, like, something I can’t quite pin down… His aura, I guess? You’ll see—he’s gonna be a star!”

“W-well, I can’t argue with that…but still…”

“A li’l streaming income will help pad your bank account, Machina. He won’t be able to play those full-immersion games that are hot right now, but he can stream older games without a Familia no problem. And most of all, livestreaming is part of aethernet culture, and being an entertainer is a perfectly upstanding job.”

“U-um… What do you think, Lord Veltol?”

“It’s true that I have no options, plain and simple. Let’s go with Takahashi’s proposal. She’s your friend, and that’s more than enough reason to trust her.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. Take it from a freak like me who spends twenty-four hours a day on the net watching multiple streams on different windows: I just know Velly’s got what it takes to shine brighter than a diamond. Leave this to me; with his talents, we’ll have results in three months.”

And sure enough, three months later, they had results.

Veltol had amassed a million followers in such a short time, with live viewers averaging at around a hundred thousand per stream. He rapidly became one of the most popular up-and-coming streamers on the aethernet.

He put on full display the charisma he’d honed managing an entire country and leading an army across the world as the Demon Lord. The masses were fascinated by his every movement and bewitched by his voice.

What brought him the most attention was that he kept his webcam turned on instead of using an avatar. Given how commonplace Familias had become, almost all aethernet denizens used avatars, and live-streams normally involved what was called full-dive theatrical streaming where people played as virtual avatars they’d either bought or created themselves.

As such, no one streamed using their real faces anymore—except for Veltol. This anachronism, paired with his beautiful looks and sloppy skills at analogue games, made the Demon Lord a huge hit.

His main demographic was women, although he still maintained a strong male following. And his audience kept on growing.

Of course, this achievement was not Veltol’s alone. His popularity might have come from his charisma, but what really kickstarted his fame was Takahashi’s skill as a producer. She promoted him through her many connections. She thought anyone who gave him a chance would be hooked, and it turned out she was right.

Having him stream using his real name and Demon Lord title was also Takahashi’s idea. According to her: “If there was a streamer who called himself Oda Nobunaga and he looked exactly like official descriptions of the guy—that’d grab people’s attention, right? So let’s do just that!”

“LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Veltol’s victory cry echoed through the small room.

After five hours of gameplay and a total of seventy-two attempts, Veltol’s character finally defeated the gigantic demon lord.

The credits rolled on one screen, while the live comment feed popped up on the other:

CONGRATS!

STFU

HE’S GONNA PIN U TO THE WALL AGAIN

THE DEMON LORD OWNS!

BS3 TAUGHT HIM HOW TO LIVE

DUDE’S GOT GOD-TIER LOOKS AND VOCALS AND ENDURANCE

Most of the comments were in elvish, though languages from many species and countries (the term countries being used only as a way to describe what they once were) were there as well—either due to remaining tribalism from before the wars or simple proof of civilizations standing the test of time.

“Ahhh… This catharsis after defeating a strong opponent—now this is the good part…”

Veltol put down the controller and leaned back in his chair.

Aside from comments, the window also showed amounts in various currencies—Shinjuku yen, Yokohama yen, dollars, thermus, and more. Those were tips. Donations.

These tips were immediately transferred to Machina’s bank account once the platform’s commission fee was deducted.

“Big thank you for the tips. As always, you didn’t have to bother. I’ll be sure to spend it on some delicious udon.”

This was the Demon Lord Veltol’s current source of income.

He couldn’t believe this was an actual job when he first started—getting money just for broadcasting himself on the aethernet playing games and chatting? But Takahashi explained that the fans were overjoyed just knowing that their money was used as nourishment for their favorite entertainer, and now he gratefully accepted it.

He also received money from advertisements based on his number of views, and he had even started selling merchandise like the Demon Lord T-shirts he wore.

And on top of that, his fans’ donations were clearly contributing to his positive faith.

“I’ve gotta say, BS3 was quite intense. I thought I’d improved after the first two games, but this one truly took me by surprise. Really though, as soon as I started BS1, I knew this wasn’t the kind of game a beginner should be playing. I’m sure many of you were stressed out just watching me die at every turn. Hmm? You thought that was funny? You liked how I got angry at the game? Ridiculous. If I were truly upset, you’d see the earth trembling and hear the aether screaming.”

Veltol spoke elvish during his streams, although he didn’t like it. No one understood Elderish, and only a few users had a translator plug-in installed.

Just then, there was suspicious activity in the comments. First there were the more direct insults—KYS, BORING AF, ET CETERA—and then multiple nonsensical character strings appeared.

Oh, there it is again.

Naturally, with his sudden success came people who envied and hated him. Put simply: haters. They were fools going against the king, but Veltol tolerated it. Their anger and hatred became negative faith.

Veltol knew it was best for streamers to keep their distance from such people, but nonetheless—rather, because of that—he decided to feed the trolls and pit his fans against the haters. The resulting synergy intensified each side’s feelings for him, which exponentially increased his faith.

Takahashi had told him that it felt too sneaky for the Demon Lord to be doing that, but Veltol wasn’t one to worry about the means. He simply took advantage of the current era and transformed the aethernet into a faith machine.

His scheme was a success. Although he hadn’t obtained the kind of power he’d had all those centuries ago, he was significantly stronger than he had been before his streaming career took off.

“Now then, that’s about enough for today. A huge thank you to everyone who followed me through this series from the very beginning. A smaller thank you to those who joined partway through. Don’t forget to like and subscribe! I haven’t thought about what I’ll be playing next, so I guess we’ll decide that in the chat during our next session. Until then—a swift and peaceful death to you fools.”

He tapped the holographic screen to close the streaming app, then turned the PDA off.

Despite how widespread Familia had become, physical computers like this PDA still existed, and there was a demand for them.

“Haaah…,” Veltol sighed and leaned back in the chair. “The aethernet, eh?”

He looked at the PDA and took a sip of water—some much-needed hydration after all that talking.

“What a revolutionary concept, where all sorts of people can share their thoughts anytime, anywhere. The spread of information has really come a long way from my days as king. Fascinating. But this only furthers the ignorant masses and snuffs out the outstanding individuals. And as those individuals continue to assimilate, their potential decreases. They grow weak and lose their independence. Free will cannot be controlled, but once given the chaos of freedom, humankind succumbs to sloth and malice—their value plummets, then disappears. Their unified consciousness approaches rock bottom. It does not average out. It merely keeps on falling.”

What I mean is…

“This world is so perfectly convenient for me,” he said as he turned around. “Right, Machi—?”

What he saw there was Machina wrapped in a towel, having just finished her after-work bath.

“…”

She was in her own little world, not noticing Veltol at all. She took a can of orange soda from the fridge, cracked it open, and brought it to her mouth, then put a hand on one hip and downed the can’s contents.

“Phew!” Machina wiped her mouth with her arm, let out a deep breath…and then her eyes met Veltol’s. “Eek!”

She quickly got changed, then came back and shyly met Veltol’s eyes.

“I-I’m so sorry… I lived alone for so long, and once I get relaxed I…start acting like I used to…”

“Oh, so you always did that when you lived alone?”

“Uh… Ah… Well… I have nothing to say in my defense…”

“Bwa-ha-ha! Fine, fine. It’s part of your charm.”

“Th-thank you… Just living the two us of together is like a dream come true…”

“Hmm? Did you say something?”

“N-no, nothing at all! Come to think of it, Lord Veltol, I got a call from a delivery person. Apparently you have a package at the collection hub.”

“Yes, I ordered a new mic. I can’t exactly compete with full-dive streaming quality, but compromise isn’t an option, either. I require the best video and sound quality possible. I’ll go get it.”

“You don’t have to do that, my lord. I’ll go.”

“No, it’s fine. I need to get myself moving after being seated for so long.”

“Understood. I’ll get dinner started, then.”

Machina smiled gleefully while Veltol put on his fur coat at the entrance. Machina had bought it for him recently, and he enchanted it with cold-resistant magic. The coat was all he needed to stay comfortable outside.

A quality piece of magical armor, it was also blade and magic resistant, and it automatically cleaned and repaired itself from simple frays and stains. The enchantments were quite high level, which was bigger proof than anything that Veltol had amassed a decent amount of faith.

A similar product would cost as much as the average Shinjuku worker’s annual income, although there was no use selling this particular coat since it only reacted to Veltol’s mana.

His breath came out in white puffs as he looked up to the sky. It was covered in thick clouds, the surroundings dark like the evening despite it still being daytime.

“Cloudy as always. And just as filthy, too,” he whispered.

The skies and streets of Outer Shinjuku lacked the vibrancy that was characteristic of Inner Shinjuku. Red rust and white smoke, pipes protruding everywhere, flickering aether neon, a scant few drones and flying vehicles in the air as well as people and automobiles on the ground.

And yet it was still livelier than the city’s outskirts. Veltol didn’t hate this hollow, filthy section of Outer Shinjuku.

“This area is hardly glamorous.”

Veltol entered a winding alleyway. He didn’t usually take this route, but he thought it might be a shortcut to the collection hub.

It was dark, silent, and dank. Like the shadow within Outer Shinjuku’s already desolate shadow. A part of Shinjuku usually gone unseen—the Outer Shinjuku slums.

The concrete walls were cracked, the houses short, and the air stank of cigarettes and alcohol and sewers and vomit. A constellation of cables connected the illegal buildings decorated with dirty posters while the people hurriedly crossed the streets.

There were many seedy open-air shops in the narrow streets, most of which presented their tagged goods on top of blue tarps. One particular shop offered bottles with yellow liquid and some sort of larvae, dried fairies, “stones” that most certainly were eyeballs, and other strange objects. The one next to it had boxes full of plugs, cables, and old storage media from who knows where.

Once Veltol left the area, he saw even more vagabonds on the streets.

Outer Shinjuku was still inside the cryotolerance zone, but it was much colder than in Inner Shinjuku. The street urchins nonetheless did what they could to survive even then, covering themselves with filthy blankets—in a sense, they were the polar opposite of immortals like Veltol.

Many of them didn’t have the finances to get a Familia, which prevented them from finding employment, and that only made them poorer. It was a vicious cycle.

Postwar neoliberalist thought had taken deep roots in Shinjuku’s politics, and so the poor received no governmental assistance. A few support groups had been established looking to break the cycle, but there was no chance of adequate aid reaching all of the needy. There were too many of them.

“I suppose you’d call them the crooked dregs of Shinjuku society…”

It was then that Veltol noticed something—and not by chance. It was no miracle that he recognized this person among the dozens of vagabonds.

“…!”

Veltol gasped when he saw him. This person couldn’t be here—there was no way.

The man wore a tattered blue cloak and old military armor under it. His blond hair hadn’t been groomed in days. He was holding an unsheathed, terribly rusty sword as support.

This was but one of the many vagabonds in the city. And yet, there was no mistaking him. Veltol knew this man. Even after five hundred years—even though he looked like a decaying blade—he was instantly recognizable.

The last mortal Veltol saw before disappearing five hundred years earlier. The one who had defeated him. Humanity’s shining hope…

“…Gram.”

The Demon Lord Veltol’s bitter, fated, sworn enemy—the Hero Gram.