“A shocking proposal.”
“Yes-affirmative, Commander Ma’am. I did not predict this level of decisiveness.”
A proposal from Player: Amajio Salmon.
To transfer command authority over every subordinate unit.
In game-system terms, it was treated as total surrender—ownership of all units and resources moved to the other party.
If any independent AI existed, such AI would be reassigned under the receiving AI’s command.
“In <World of Space>, wasn’t total surrender basically a function you only used when retiring?”
Her memory was hazy, and that was only natural. It was a command that handed over all in-game assets to another user. Normally nobody used it, and nobody even considered it.
“The biggest issue with that proposal is that it places no binding constraint on Amajio Salmon himself. We cannot interfere with a player’s consciousness.”
“Hm... but we’d also gain access to Mr. Amajio’s cyborg-body permissions, right?”
“Yes-affirmative, Commander Ma’am. Full-body cyborg conversion has been performed, so access rights can be acquired. However, if taken offline, access becomes impossible, so in practical terms it is meaningless.”
Externally controlled machines could be obtained, but devices operating offline could not be controlled—naturally. Usually that was not a problem. Internal control programs could be modified in advance.
But Amajio Salmon was different.
Even if mechanized, the core was human. Rewriting the neural network that served as the source of thought from the outside was close to impossible. Even if it could be rewritten, that was personality destruction. It would be done if necessary, but Eve would never authorize that execution.
“Hm... well, fine. We’ll accept the sincerity. And we want information. <Ringo>, you understand the value of information, right?”
“Yes-affirmative, Commander Ma’am. ...How far do you intend to permit it?”
“Hm...?”
Asked by <Ringo>, Eve tilted her head.
“Will you authorize the restoration of the command AI that Amajio Salmon keeps in storage?”
“Oh.” Eve nodded.
So this was the watershed.
The question was whether to increase the number of super-intellects with potential equal to <Ringo>.
“Let’s see... if the affiliation becomes the same, it’s probably not a bad option. There would be a hierarchy between you and that side, but you’re not planning to treat that side carelessly, are you?”
“That is... yes-affirmative. It aligns with the raison d’être of faction expansion. However, depending on what that side’s objective is, conflict may occur.”
“Ah, that side’s raison d’être. We don’t know that yet.”
In the game <World of Space>, an AI assigned the role of assisting a player was set with three objectives at activation.
First: protect the commander.
Second: serve the commander.
Third: expand the faction.
For <Ringo>, those three were the set.
All AIs under <The Tree> made decisions along those three imperatives.
Any order executed from this point would be evaluated as: “Does it protect the commander?” “Does it follow the commander’s will?” “Does it contribute to faction expansion?”
Projected futures differed by AI performance, but all would obey that.
“Well, we can only ask. It has an independent will. To deal with it, it comes down to one thing—whether we trust it. And there’s no need to restore the AI immediately. We can watch a little longer.”
“Yes-affirmative, Commander Ma’am. As you say.”
◇◇◇◇
A flash tore across the sky.
Charged particles streaked through the air, scorching it—yet missed the target and vanished into the distance.
In the airspace at the foot of the Northern Mountain Range, wyverns were fighting.
Circling each other, trading breath attacks.
When both realized it was getting nowhere, they closed in—body slams, bites.
The two were evenly matched, and the fight refused to end.
The location—an estimate—was the territory of the wyvern that had been shot down by that mysterious beam. The neighboring wyverns had deployed to expand territory and collided in the middle airspace.
The two kept fighting violently.
Breath attacks smashed into the mountainside, gouging straight lines through the vegetation growing there.
Charged particles fired upward were confirmed to have reached an altitude of 400 kilometers, spreading as they went.
For now, <The Tree>’s equipment was unaffected, but in terms of range, it was confirmed that the blast could sweep satellite orbit.
It had been expected, but confirming it as fact was something else.
Hours passed after the battle began.
The two wyverns were still fighting with energy to spare.
Another breath attack.
It stabbed into the ground. Soil and trees seared by high heat exploded and burst apart.
Normally, mere scorching by a heat beam would not cause an explosion like that. Some magical, fantasy effect must have been added.
If a breath attack hit an empty patch of ground, there was no real problem. At worst, some trees would be blown away.
But this time, the location was bad.
A wyvern breath attack struck the rocky mountain Asahi had named <The Reflector> head-on.
The few trees growing there were erased, and rock and soil burst up into the air.
The impact made the rocky mountain tremble.
Multiple cracks opened, and accumulated soil and trees spilled away. Dust billowed, and the ground shook.
An eerie atmosphere.
Sensing something, the two wyverns that had been in close-quarters fighting pulled apart.
<The Reflector> awakens.
“—And that’s how it looks! That’s all from the scene!”
“Is this the opening narration of a story?! And don’t end the broadcast on your own!”
Because a wyvern territorial fight had begun, all the sisters—including Eve—had been watching the live feed. Asahi had gotten carried away and added commentary.
“Also—this chain reaction looks kind of bad. Is this really okay?”
“Yes-affirmative, Commander Ma’am. This is the workings of nature. It will be what it will be.”
“Look at us properly, <Ringo>. Why are you turning your face away?”
“Big Sis, Big Sis, it’s finally happening! Finally, <The Reflector> is starting to move!”
“Ahhh—this is insane!!”
While the sisters (mostly Asahi and Eve) squealed over it, <The Reflector> began to move in the feed at last.
It had probably shuddered.
Soil that had accumulated over long years °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° blasted away, and the rocky mountain slowly rose.
The surrounding ground cracked and bulged upward.
“...Isn’t it huge? Isn’t that ridiculously huge?”
“Measuring. By estimate, height has exceeded 100 meters.”
“Big Sis, incredible! It was buried pretty deep underground!”
“Big Sis, I’ll overlay size indicators on the feed.”
Ichigo, being considerate, overlaid size readouts onto the video.
For image analysis, the size values wavered slightly.
“...Standing height: 116 meters. Body length: estimated 182 meters.”
The ground rose dramatically.
No—this was not ground. It was <The Reflector>’s body.
The full shape came into view.
What had seemed like a rocky mountain was part of the shell on <The Reflector>’s back.
Piled rock and soil poured down like a waterfall.
Now the highest point exceeded 130 meters.
It moves.
<The Reflector> slowly steps forward.
The lower side was hard to see under tree cover, but a gigantic leg broke the earth and lifted.
“Overlaying image analysis. Estimated giant land-turtle type. However, six legs are confirmed.”
Akane, rich in knowledge, added that.
A wireframe was added to the feed to supplement the obscured underside.
Six massively thick legs.
A tail that had been curled unrolled, sweeping trees aside as it extended.
Slowly, a head stretched out from within the shell.
“Estimated body length: 265 meters. Standing height: 142 meters. Width: 180 meters. Weight: unknown.”
“No—wait, that’s way too big!”
An absurdly massive monster had awakened.
