Interlude: The Second One, or So It Was Told

“Master, what kind of person is this Renya Kunugi?”

The sudden question forced me to turn my attention away from the work I was occupied with and toward the direction of the voice. In the process of doing so, I quietly lamented the unending nature of problems. Honestly, they’re just one continuous pain in the butt. You get rid of one and another pops up. It’s like playing Whack-a-Mole, except it never ends and you can’t stop. In fact, I was just dealing with one of them. Specifically, a couple of hero types somewhere — we’ll just call them Protag and Co. — genuinely believed that they could change the world through the power of will. The whole “you just gotta believe” thing. Which was all fine and dandy until they believed so hard they became stronger than the local Administrator and started overwhelming his willpower. They were on the verge of actually effecting some change on the world, so he sent me a request for help. In return, I made him sit down and write “My will is strong” on a piece of paper over and over again until I said stop. I told him it was for strengthening his willpower. In the meantime, I had to go deal with Protag and Co. by siccing a supercharged Demon King on them to give them just the right amount of ass-whooping; not enough to kill, but demoralizing enough so they won’t try this again.

As for the dumbass Administrator who needlessly increased my workload, well, I haven’t said stop yet. After all, what better way to punish — erm, I mean, educate — the ignorant than a good millennium or so of copying out the same sentence over and over. It builds character.

Of course, the Demon King didn’t just randomly gain a bunch of godly new powers. That was all me. Even now, he’s probably still scratching his head over how he managed to defeat Protag and Co. If things had proceeded without my intervention, the Demon King would have been defeated, the heroes would have returned to their kingdom amidst flowers and fanfare, and they would have all lived happily ever after. Things, however, did not work out for them. What can I say? Reality is harsh.

You can preach all you want about dreams and ideals and making a world where no one need weep, but a world can’t exist without tears. Someone, somewhere, is always crying. I remember hearing it said at some point that the job of Administrators boils down to distributing suffering amongst their people. If a world could run on ideals, there’d be no need for an existence such as mine. And I wouldn’t have to keep up this mind-numbing cycle of endlessly patching and balancing and fixing things. I can’t even vent because there’s nobody to vent to.

For the case in question, I also could not let the Demon King just wipe out Protag and Co., because then I would have to turn another group of people somewhere into heroes to maintain equilibrium. It would just be more work. Therefore, I gave them a chance to compromise by keeping about half of Protag and Co’s party alive, hoping — praying — that they’ll shake hands and make up. But therein, you see, lies the irony. While man may pray to God, to whom shall God pray? To whom… can I pray?

“So, what were we talking about again?”

“Geez, Master. How much more of a tangent could you go on?” asked the blonde beauty in a tone of exasperation.

“Plenty more. You want me to take it further?”

“Please get back on track.”

The blonde’s standoffish tone irked me a little, and I entertained the notion of reincarnating her as a frog or caterpillar, but soon dispelled the thought. All the work she was supposed to do would end up falling to me. It would be pointless, and more importantly, exhausting.

Okay, fine, I’ll get back on track. I’ll stay on the damn track for another three hundred and sixty billion seconds, so just let me do my work in peace. Plus, she’s the one who talked to me, and now she wants me to get back on track? Who does she think she is, anyway? I didn’t raise her like this. Then again, I don’t remember raising her at all. And look, it cost me twenty four seconds to think that. That’s a 0.000000006% loss. What a waste. Ugh, I can’t stand this.

“Master!”

“What do you want, damn it?! Huh? What’s a Renya… Oh, you mean the old-timer.”

After yelling back at her, I finally figured out who she was talking about and turned my attention away from my work. The supercharged Demon King might have just killed the hero’s mistress (whose love for the hero seemed narratively flimsy, in my opinion), and the hero might have just sworn revenge, and there might be some very dark emotions brewing, but I definitely noticed none of that. Even in the entirely hypothetical situation that I did, I wouldn’t mind if they dragged both their nations into the ground with them. Maybe then they’d stay quiet for a while. It’d also teach them a lesson about how precious the peaceful monotony of everyday life is.

“If it’s the gramps you’re talking about, then I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I mean, I did a search for compatible souls that lived long and prospered and he just happened to pop up. It’s not like I dug out his whole life history. I skimmed the notes and it seemed like he was something of a foodie. That’s about it.”

It was a good thing I skimmed the notes, too. Otherwise, I would have had no idea how to convince the old man. I figured it would be annoying if the soul had some sort of weird lingering attachment to their previous world, so I searched for one that died peacefully of old age. I have now realized that method has some downsides, as well. Lesson learned.

“You are sending a soul into another world, you know? Are you sure it’s okay to have put so little thought into it?”

“What’s the problem?”

My reply caused Subordinate A’s jaw to drop in shock. I honestly had no idea why.

“From the scope of an entire world,” I continued, “one person’s like a drop in the ocean, isn’t it? It’s not like this is some wing flap-tornado butterfly effect nonsense. What can possibly happen?”

“If you say so…” she acquiesced halfheartedly. She began to glumly make her exit, but I stopped her.

“Well, I guess I should take a quick look, considering I’m responsible for sending him there in the first place. Here, come help me.”

“What is there to help with? All you have to do is pull up the search history, right?”

She had a point. I pulled up the history for when I was searching for souls and found the corresponding information. It appeared on the display.

Renya Kunugi, Human

Age at Death: 94

He was sent across the boundary of 9201-0846-2525-4989 to alleviate its Resource deficiency. Original World Identification Number is 8190-9735-1414-3878, of which there is nothing remarkable to report. Before the boundary crossing, he was the fourteenth headmaster of the Kunugi Itto-ryu school of swordsmanship. He displayed interest in kendo at a young age and took up kenjutsu at the age of thirteen. His talents blossomed thereafter. At the age of fifteen, he set out for mainland China, reportedly on a journey to improve his swordsmanship, and became active in the Chinese mafia. Known to cut down numerous foes with but a single katana, his exploits earned him the nickname “Sword Demon.” In his five years in the Chinese mafia, his total body count was 912. Afterwards, he enlisted and participated in the World War. During his four years in the military, his total body count was 3712. All victims were killed by blade. His code name of “Blade Ogre” struck fear into the hearts of many. After the war, he succeeded the Kunugi school and became its headmaster, devoting his time toward nurturing young talent and increasing public interest in kenjutsu. His widespread performances and live demonstrations of kenjutsu caused the Kunugi Itto-ryu school to become renowned and eventually led to the establishment of forty-nine dojos throughout the world. In his later years, he became a successful swordsmith, signing his creations with the inscription “Ka-Ren,” and was designated a national treasure. He was also known to be a gourmet, refined not only in taste, but in culinary skill, as well. He died of old age at 94 years and one hundred twenty-seven days.

Lifetime Body Count: 5730.

I looked up from the window with what I was sure were hollow, withered eyes.

“…Omfg wth, op much?”

“Your words, Master. Good girls use their words, remember?”

Not missing a beat, Subordinate A makes a snappy remark at my string of inappropriate abbreviations.

“What the hell is this?! I just randomly picked a guy! How did I end up with someone who lived such an outrageous life?!”

“That’s not the kind of life that tends to end in bed at home… It astounds me that someone like him managed to die of old age.”

“He killed over five thousand people with nothing but a katana! How the hell?! And he— Wait, am I reading this right? This bastard’s post-war body count hit four digits! What the flying frack?!”

“And the fact that no special notes came up means he never became a criminal!”

A criminal record would show up under special notes in the display. It only counts, by the way, if there was a factual record of the person breaking a law in their world. Otherwise, it would show up for basically every human being.

Despite the fact that I was in a pinch, I definitely had no intention of sending a criminal across the boundary. My method might have been a tad rushed, but this was still one heck of a bad card to draw. In this person’s original world, there were a couple billion people, so while five thousand was still a ridiculous number of people to have killed, it was small enough to have minimal impact on the world at large.

This world, however, had a population of at most ten million or so. I just sent them a guy who could kill five thousand people on his own. And I gave him superpowers. I could feel the headache coming on.

“So much for a drop in the ocean… This is a nuclear explosion!” I exclaimed with my hands up.

“Turns out, it was some wing flap-tornado butterfly effect nonsense, wasn’t it?” she replied with a shrug.

“I swear I’ll kill that lady someday,” I muttered, “and I hate myself for not doing it already. Freaking Subordinate A.”

Had I made good on my promise, I would have had to fill the void she left. All I needed was a new angel, but considering I was the one who had to create said angel, it would only make more work for me.

“Subordinate A, name please.”

“Unassigned, I believe?”

“…Come here. Lemme tweak your appearance a bit. I’ll give you a name, too.”

“Huh? Um, wait, what are you…”

Ignoring my flustered subordinate’s protests, I opened up her settings window and began tapping on various options.

Speaking of appearances, why were all my subordinates blond-haired ladies again? I dimly recall making them reasonably distinct at first, but after a while… I think I got lazy and started copying them all from the same template?

The old geezer did not seem to have any particular love for blondes, so I gave her black pigtails, unendowed her a little, set her age to look like eighteen, and made her voice sound calm and cool.

“Starting today, you are Giriel. I’ll make you an archangel, so head over to that world and be Renya’s guardian angel. Your previous duties remain unchanged, so don’t slack off on those either.”

“Stop increasing my workload, geez…” said a profoundly displeased Subordinate A, who was now Giriel.

I bared my teeth. It seemed to work and I managed to extract a reluctant “Fine, understood” from her. It would have to do for now.

“Are you sure about this, though? You would be ignoring the Administrator’s wishes.”

“There’s nothing wrong with sending an angel. Plus, you’re only providing personal protection. If he complains, I’ll just claim providing divine protection is part of your job. It’ll work.”

“In that case, you could have just sent an angel to deliver the Resources,” she said, her tone smug as if she just came up with a brilliant idea. I leapt up and gave her a good smack on the head. The process reminded me that I had been a little girl for quite some time now, and the appearance was definitely starting to feel inconvenient. I considered changing it, but nothing came up, so whatever. Little girl it is.

“I can’t possibly station one of you angels down there for a long time now, can I?”

“Th-That’s true.”

“Enough talk! Get moving already! Go watch over the old man and make sure he doesn’t do anything crazy. If he does something crazy, stop him. Got it?”

“Okay, I’ll do what I can~”

I shook my head at the frivolous reply, knowing full well that it was impossible to ask a subordinate to show some energy when the creator herself could not even muster up any. Despite that, she bowed her head in compliance. Just as she turned to leave, I gave her one further instruction.

“Also, that bamboo sword needs a facelift. When you get the chance, turn it into a katana, would you?”

“So, finding the right time to do it will be important, right? Along with a decent explanation for changing its appearance. I’ll do my best~”

Without turning, she waved her hand as she walked off. As I gazed at the back of her slowly departing form, I mentally redirected my attention back toward the work I had put on hold.

Well, then.

The mistress-less hero was committing indiscriminate demon genocide…

Maybe I’ll just leave them alone for a while… Maybe it’ll all work out… Somehow…