Miori Shiba hadn't really wanted the job. Serving a ruler was like serving a tiger—how much more so serving a "god" like Zeroy?
As for power—if you had no ambition, if you weren't like the Holy Child living for the people, then restricted power wasn't worth much. It was work, not privilege. Who liked exhausting work?
And…
"..." Miori stared at the idol in her hands. Her slender fingers absentmindedly stroked the wings—one feathered, one bladed. Selling weapons wasn't inherently evil—she had sold many. The problem was use. She never sold low-grade weapons, only high-grade ones for fighting Gastrea. She wasn't short on money, nor did she inherit her family business. She sold one-to-one, only to people she found interesting, knowing full well what they'd do with them. If they wanted to use weapons for evil, she had no interest in selling.
That was why she survived.
If Zeroy's sense of good and evil was like God's—or was God's—then her father and uncles died in the Purge because they sold to the wrong people. Not for merely producing and selling weapons.
Weapons weren't evil. They could protect or destroy depending on the user. So, those who died deserved it. Her feelings were complicated. No hatred, like no one hates fair law.
She wasn't a saint either. She still felt something toward Zeroy.
Still, she accepted. Reason and instinct told her this was a chance—a chance to step beyond the ordinary. She had lost everything. Now she longed for power, for control of her fate. She bore no malice toward Zeroy—or she would already be dead.
And so, the three agents were set:
One—the most beloved by the people, pure and kind, wholeheartedly good.
One—uncaring of all else, blindly loyal to Zeroy, carrying out her will with ruthless devotion.
One—hungry for power, working hardest for the strength she craved.
By Zeroy's plan, the Holy Child would lead, her kindness preventing misrule.
Anyhow, kindness alone was insufficient—Kisara's force would balance it and execute what the Holy Child could not. Miori would handle strategy.
···
Back in the Main God Space, Zeroy's Hellfire skill leveled up.
[Hellfire LV1 → LV2 → LV3 → LV4]
Not just once, but three levels at once. The description was unchanged, only the power magnified.
Her other skills didn't change; still unready to upgrade. Zeroy was puzzled. She had killed so many pests—why hadn't [Evil Slayer] or [Nonhuman Killer] advanced? Nearly seven hundred million dead, yet no progress. Were the requirements too strict? Did it need more than numbers—special conditions, or quality?
Unsure, she asked Patchouli.
"Your skills are slow to upgrade?"
"Yeah. Nearly seven hundred million, and still nothing. But Hellfire advanced easily."
"Perfectly normal," Patchouli replied, floating a teapot and cups to the table in her library-like space. "Not every skill levels the same way. Even the same skill may change requirements at different levels."
"Conditions fall into three types:
"Proficiency type: just use it. Build proficiency until it upgrades. Usually for low-level skills. Like your idea of killing enough pests.
"Growth type: like a child needing to be fed. Feed it enough of the right nourishment, and it grows. Your Hellfire, for instance—it feeds on sinners' karma.
"Special type: requires specific conditions. Different for each person, each skill. That said, you'll sense it vaguely."
"Your [Evil Slayer] and [Nonhuman Killer] are likely Growth type too. They just need more—either stronger prey, or more evil prey. Your Hellfire advanced because it found pests tasty. The others thought, 'edible, but bland.'"
"You should feed them more nourishing prey. Enemies more evil, or stronger."
Patchouli paused, watching Zeroy's thoughtful look with a subtle expression. These two skills of hers… very abstract.
"When facing targets you deem {evil} or {nonhuman}." So, special attack on whoever you decide qualifies? Constant special bonus? For most, it's restrictive—you must truly believe the target is evil or not human. Otherwise, the bonus won't trigger.
Unless you self-hypnotize…
However, that's difficult.
Like her thinking chili-spiced tea was garbage. No matter how she convinced herself otherwise, one sip still made her want to curse.
Albeit, they weren't ordinary people. With some training, self-hypnosis was simple.
...
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