This is a 4-of-13 chapter sample of “A Girl Corrupted by the Internet is the Summoned Hero?!” The remainder is available at Gumroad and Amazon .

Table of Contents

1. Prologue: A virgin maiden is already corrupted?!
2. The chance of success is—?!
3. The key to power is—!?
4. The rebellion has already lost?!
5. I’m going to be sacrificed?!
6. Is this my story’s shocking twist?!
7. The true key to power is—?!
8. Do even I dare?!
9. Am I going to wimp out?!
10. Do you really think you can?!
11. The meaning of probability is—
12. You did it because—?!
13. The final bargain!

©2016 by Eliezer Yudkowsky.

Foreword

This is my attempt at translating a light novel from Japan, only the original source material doesn’t exist.

The light novel is a Japanese custom which aims at easy reading. I think of it as an art form in which only the story’s bones remain.

If you want to read a translation of a Japanese light novel, I liked “Evil God Average” (Jashin Average) as translated by the Fifth Holy Sheeprabbit. That might help you to appreciate this story, since it conveys the genre to which this story belongs.

For those of you who haven’t read any light novels before:

A remarkable portion of light novels are about people being transported from one world to another. Japan has easier ideas about copyright, so their literary system more often contains many works on the same theme.

That theme began with heroes from our world being transported to another world to fight the Demon Lord.

Now there are light novels about the Demon Lord dying, being reincarnated in our world as a high-schooler, and then being transported to another world as one of the adversarial side characters in a romantic video game. Or the hero is a man from our world, reincarnated as an elven girl, who has already become an absurdly powerful adventurer, but now works incognito as a receptionist. I’m not joking.

Light novels also have a unique writing style I’m trying to imitate, including this easy style of author’s notes. I don’t think I do it well (laughs). Maybe I’ll improve?

This story was supposed to be completely silly. Please keep that in mind. I failed at that by the end of the second chapter, but still, that’s the origin.

The main character doesn’t always agree with the author about decision theory. It’d be silly to think we’d agree about things that are less objective.

I have nothing else to say about this story for now, so you may as well read it.

— Eliezer Yudkowsky, Nov 2015

1. Prologue: A virgin maiden is already corrupted?!

My family name is Yugano. My given name is Yuuki. I have no redeeming qualities.

The boys I meet fail to interest me, and I haven’t kissed any of them. This is because the Internet has ruined my way of looking at the world.

In the beginning, seeing pics of a muscular man with no shirt was enough to make me breathe faster. If I came across a picture of a man being nude, I would flinch away in horror.

Over time, I moved on to pictures of nude men, then two men doing things to one another. As I became numb to one perversion, I had to find something more extreme to arouse my interest. Now I have no interest in normal forms of youthful misbehavior.

You say I should have refrained? Back then I was too young to know better, and now this untouched maiden has been so thoroughly ruined that I might as well go further.

I blame the government and my parents. In the very beginning, they should have stopped that innocent girl from seeing perverted things online.

Now I spend hours every day browsing the Internet, doing you-know-what to myself.

At this point I’d like to deliver a sharp remark about how stories depict being transported to another world. You know the scene I’m talking about: the Hero arrives surrounded by holy clerics casting the Summoning Spell, with well-dressed royalty and future adventuring companions looking on.

In every one of those cases, the Summoning catches the Hero at a time when the Hero is standing up and fully dressed.

Is this realistic? Would a Hero be Summoned only at such a convenient time? I bet you spend much of your day sitting down. If the Summoning caught you then, wouldn’t you materialize unsupported, and fall on your ass?

Imagine being a Hero being transported while they’re on the toilet. They materialize in a sitting position with their underwear around their ankles, then fall over with their knees still bent and pants down. Their butt hasn’t been wiped, and it leaves a smear on the ground. Maybe the Summoned Hero is right in the middle of pooping out a big one.

What happened to me was even more embarrassing than that.

It involved my usual Internet habits.

That was the first step of my journey into another world.

2. The chance of success is—?!

The cold was my first startling observation. A chill wind bit into my exposed thighs and unmentionables like… like a very cold knife. I’m sorry, I’m distracted right now and can’t think up a clever metaphor.

The next thing my eyes saw was the other people staring at my vulnerable body. There were five adults in white robes holding up their staves, silver halos glowing above their heads. Beyond them, a dirty old man in leather and chains – no, I mean leather armor and chainmail, don’t misunderstand me, and when I say ‘dirty’ I mean that he had stains on his armor.

Next to the old warrior, a young lad my age with a sword belted at his side, with a clean and finely made shirt. He was looking away from me and wringing his hands like an eight-year-old girl who just saw a crayon drawing of private parts.

Around me, a circle of huge standing stones.

Beyond that, walls of grass, the slopes of rising hills.

And below me, a circular stone plate inscribed with curves in a fading silver glow.

Immediately after I arrived, there was a lot of shrieking… you know, let’s not talk about this. I’m choosing to repress these memories for the rest of my life. Let’s skip to the part where somebody has given me a towel-like cloth to hold around myself.

So there I am, standing, wrapped in a towel; aside from that my surroundings are as previously specified.

I have many issues with this. I am setting aside my issues and listening to the words of the white-robed mage with the brightest halo. I think this part might be important.

“Yugano Yuuki,” the white mage intones, “you have been Summoned here to overturn the greatest evil of this world, the Wicked Emperor.”

The old warrior in chain-mail speaks up. “How is this girl supposed to do that, exactly? Is there more to her than is apparent?”

“I have similar questions,” I say. I’d better have arrived here with some incredible cheat-like advantage, or this world is amazingly doomed.

“That’s impossible for me to know, but she is certainly the Summoned Hero,” says the mage.

“Could there have been an error in the Summoning Spell?” asks chainmail-wearer. “And if so, is it too late to send her back and get another one?” He looks back at me. “No offense, but it’s for the sake of everyone.”

None taken.

The white mage casts a glance in my direction. “The Spell can only be worked once every three hundred years, in a certain place. But this Great Summoning Spell we have just cast should, without fail, have selected the Hero with the best chance to overturn the Wicked Emperor who has cruelly subjugated half the world.”

That’s some convenient exposition, but I’ll excuse it since you’re stating it for my sake.

“Maybe our best chance of defeating the Wicked Emperor still isn’t good?” Again warrior-guy echoes my own thoughts. “Even leaving aside the condition in which she arrived, I would expect the most skilled person to be older, or in the prime of their adulthood.”

The white-clad mages glance at one another, looking concerned. “There’s a divination that’s itself part of the Summoning Spell,” says another mage, a woman. “To state it clearly, if the Summoned Hero is the person with the greatest probability of defeating the Wicked Emperor, then the Spell itself must determine that probability. Traditionally the probability isn’t observed since then it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, but in this case…” The white mage grimaces. “She doesn’t seem like the Hero we were expecting. I agree we ought to check what the Spell determined as her probability of victory.”

The chainmail-man frowns. “Why wouldn’t you always check the probability? Is it dangerous to do so?”

Another white-robed mage speaks up. “Imagine that someone has a ninety percent chance of defeating the Wicked Emperor if they aren’t told anything. Then they’re told they have a ninety percent probability of winning. They might feel relieved of the need to make a desperate effort, so their true probability of winning would become much lower. Since the probability has to be consistent, that can’t happen. On the other hand, suppose we’re told our chance of winning is only two percent. Then, feeling already defeated, our chances of victory might drop that far. Given those two possible answers, since the probability must be consistent, the observed probability would be two percent. So it’s best to decide in advance not to peek at the probability that the Spell predicts… still, this case does seem like an exception. Just be sure to keep the number to yourselves, and try not to let it affect your decisions.”

The prince-boy and the old man both look puzzled. As for me, since I come from Earth where there are time travel movies, I’ve followed the reasoning without difficulty.

The five white mages begin chanting. Staves are raised, the golden halos above their heads grow brighter. I suppose I should be more impressed, but it’s really not much in the way of special effects.

The mages lower their staves. Most of them look rather surprised.

“Her chance of overthrowing the Wicked Emperor is… one hundred percent?!”

Eh?

You say that’s my probability of winning even after being told my probability of winning?

Then I might as well slack off and do what I want, huh.

It may be an awful thing to say with the fate of the world at stake. But realistically, if I’m the sort of person who’ll be lazy given half a chance, there’s no point in trying my best as a Summoned Hero if I’m going to win even after taking into account the changes in my behavior caused by knowing that I’m going to win.

I wonder what amazing cheat-like ability I’ll discover, and whether it can be abused for other purposes besides overthrowing the Wicked Emperor?

3. The key to power is—!?

Magic powers, magic powers, I’m going to get my magic po~wers!

I don’t mind telling you that there was a spring in my step as I went skipping toward the next ceremony that had already been prepared for me.

While I haven’t resolved my numerous issues, I do like how everything is so straightforward here. Compared with other tales I’ve read of being summoned to another world, I’m glad I didn’t wind up with a harder case.

…I hope I didn’t just curse myself by thinking that.

By the way, I seem to be in a rebel encampment that’s hidden between several hills and therefore not visible from a distance. At least, this is what I infer from watching people polishing their weapons.

Soon I come upon yet another group of mages, gold-robed people that seem to be mostly younger women. The halos over their heads are only faintly visible. Chainmail-guy, noble-boy, and one of those archmage types are following behind me.

Before me is a stone plate with inscribed lines that look much less elaborate than the circle I arrived in.

“It’s important that you understand the purpose of this ceremony,” says one of the women in gold robes. She casts a doubtful look at my towel-clothing and the nubile body I’m keeping underneath it. “They say to assume a Summoned Hero doesn’t know anything, so should I start with the very basics?”

I dislike rhetorical questions, so whenever I hear one I always give the less expected answer. “No, you should skip straight to the most advanced part without any preliminaries.”

“Well, the very basics are as follows,” says the gold-robe mage. “The magic of the world is divided into Evil magic aligned with Demons and Good magic aligned with Angels. In the same way that those who now rule the world wield power based on wickedness, the holy magic of this Rebellion comes from goodness. A good mage derives her power from contracting with an Angelic being, which agrees to lend you power in exchange for you committing yourself to purity.”

Well, that explains the halos – ah, ah, let’s hold on for a minute or possibly several weeks. “Just what do you mean by purity?”

She looks puzzled. “I mean behavior that is holy and good as opposed to unholy and not good.”

“As a Summoned Hero from another world, it’s impossible for me to know whether I understood what you meant by that.”

“I don’t understand what you mean by saying that you don’t understand what I mean. Even if the people in your world are more wicked than the people in this one, they should still know what righteousness is.”

My philosophy textbook had a clear idea of what righteousness is: namely, righteousness is explicitly stating your definitions. “If I follow a course to overthrowing the Wicked Emperor for the benefit of all peoples in this world, harm nobody who doesn’t harm anyone else, and otherwise do what I want, is that sufficient?”

“Of course not! You can’t just do what you want!”

Another gold-robed woman speaks. “To begin with the elementary fundamentals of the basics, to form a contract you must be a virgin. Then, it goes without saying that sullying yourself with a man would cause your Angel to flee from you.”

I look at the archmage. He’s seen how I was when I arrived here.

“You are still untouched by men, aren’t you?” The archmage speaks gently, but with a worried countenance. “Even if you’ve done certain sinful things that you mustn’t do again?”

“I haven’t so much as kissed a boy. However, I am worried that my thoughts may be so sinful that an Angel won’t want to contract with me.” Honestly I’m worried that my Angel will burst into flames… no, it will explode.

Several of the women clear up at this, like they finally understand what’s happening. “Oh, that’s nothing to worry about, dear sister!” says the one who spoke first. “It means more for a poor farmer to pass up a temptation of ten silver than for a rich official to pass up a bribe of a hundred gold. So long as you do nothing wrong, being more tempted by sin makes it a holier deed to commit yourself to purity… ah, I see you’re smiling now that you realize the Angelic Powers are forgiving.”

Of course that’s why I’m smiling. There’s no other reason at all.

The more corrupt thoughts you start with, the more power you gain from promising to be pure, is what I think I heard you say?

There’s one thing I’d better check, though. “It’s okay for a white mage to retire, isn’t it? There’s no penalty if you decide afterward to tell your angel to go away, so you can settle down with a nice husband and make some children?”

The maidens are blushing. “Of – of course not! Even though that’s not quite, quite…”

One hundred percent chance of victory, here I co~me.

Though I am a little worried. I’ve never gone more than a day or two without giving myself release. Even when I tried to deny myself for perverted reasons, my willpower failed. I hope that I can clear up this Wicked Emperor matter in a month, and not go insane with repressed desires before then.

The ceremony for obtaining my ma~gic po~wers is simple. The gold-robed women are holding their hands and singing a short melody, and the stone seal is glowing silver like the colors of their halos. I think someone from this world would find this very holy and uplifting, but I’ve heard electronic-orchestral chorales with better singing.

My Angel appears in a burst of light and… oh, this isn’t fair. The Angel is male, and his robes are clinging to his form, which is thin and fair. The beautiful face above is one of supreme innocence. Even for someone who’s seen many Internet pictures, encountering a true Angel is a moving experience.

This Angel… this Angel is just begging for someone to corrupt him and do unspeakable things to him.

Normally women fear what men might do to them, which is the reason I refrained from fulfilling my awful desires back when they were still in the realm of possibility. But if this Angel is really a creature of purity, then it follows that he wouldn’t do anything bad to me. In other words, he’d be defenseless before me.

But if I do tha~at, he’ll run away.

The archmage is whispering in my ear and I’m repeating the words of the ancient contract. Hey Angel-butt, I’ll refrain from my naughty desires if you grant me supreme magical power to stomp the Wicked Emperor, yo? This bargain is needlessly lengthy for accomplishing that much.

The Angel speaks his own lines and his dulcet, young, boyish tones make my insides twitch. Knowing I’m not allowed to do a-ny-thing about that, even to myself, makes my insides twitch more. This is going to be a long month for me.

The white light of the seal fades, and now a cute little version of my Angel is hovering over my shoulder where only I can see him.

“Listen well to the counsel of your Angel,” the archmage says gravely. “The righteous action is not always what we must do to save our people. But while your Angel is with you, you will always know the difference and what you are sacrificing when you choose otherwise.”

My Angel’s eyes are wide and he’s waving his hands frantically and making a high-pitched EEEEEEEE sound, but he hasn’t actually burst into flames so I’ll call this contract a success.

4. The rebellion has already lost?!

“Disaster! Emergency! It’s terrible!”

People are running around shrieking things like this. Apparently the Wicked Emperor’s military forces have surrounded this camp and they outnumber us by three hundred million billion trillion to one.

Hey, idiot with the white robes and long staff, is it the usual practice that the Hero is Summoned to overthrow the current greatest evil?

Is it true that the Great Summoning can only be performed at this time, in this place, within the circle of standing stones?

DIDN’T YOU IMAGINE THE WICKED EMPEROR MIGHT DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAAAT-T-T!?

This is definitely a punishment from the vengeful gods because I let myself look forward to easy times.

“Summoned Hero!” cries the old warrior with the chainmail that’s been following me around. “Yugano Yuuki! What must we do? How can we survive?”

My mind races rapidly and I seize on the first answer that comes to mind. “Quick, grab all the pairs of underpants you can and wear them over your heads! Then, attack the Enemy with watermelons!”

People stare at me.

Maybe answering with the very first thing that came to mind was a bit much, but—

“I have a one hundred percent probability of overturning the Wicked Emperor,” I point out. “It’s not that every possible choice we could make, would lead to victory. But whatever I end up deciding to actually do, that particular course of action has a one hundred percent chance of victory. So if we actually attack with watermelons, we’ll definitely win!”

The old warrior clutches at his head. “Leaving aside all my other objections, we don’t even have any watermelons!”

What? This is disastrous! I can’t think of any different plans! Or rather, all my other plans involve having not gotten into this situation in the first place!

“We’re doomed!” shrieks a white mage running past. A second later, he’s running past again in the opposite direction. “Doomed, I tell you, doomed!”

The old man pulls himself together, a grimness settling over him. “The absolute goal is to allow you to escape, the Summoned Hero who will certainly succeed. Even if I and all this camp must sacrifice ourselves to break out of this encirclement, it’s all right so long as you go free.”

H-hey! What are you saying? Should so many people die to save me, a girl with no redeeming qualities? I’d never sleep again!

“I’ll make you up a pack with weapons,” the old man is saying. “Trust nobody, for the Wicked Emperor will seed this area with spies. Live off the forest, even if you eat seeds and berries for years, it’s wiser than appearing before a human being. Live, and in time, be the certain instrument of our vengeance!”

I already had my doubts about this course of action, but that settles it. Anything that involves living without toilet paper is not a realistic option for me. Besides, although I’m new to my Angel, there’s no doubt I will be an overpowered character. “I have a better idea. I’m the girl with a one hundred percent chance of victory, so let’s reverse your strategy. Why don’t I hold off the Wicked Emperor’s armies, while the rest of you make your escape?”

The old man is speechless at my brilliance. His mouth opens and shuts several times.

The Angel on my shoulder is nodding approvingly. Yes, this noble act of mine must be a righteous deed by local standards.

“Listen,” I say, “if I know I have a one hundred percent chance of success regardless, I won’t choose a course where people die for me along the way.” Who knows, maybe I can close out this quest in just one day. If there’s a novel with me as an overpowered heroine, that’s definitely how it should go!

And tha~at’s how I found myself on a hill gazing down sternly at the Wicked Emperor’s military forces.

Ha, these thousands of cavalry on their shining horses, the countless bowmen glowering at me, and foot soldiers stretching over the hills and out of sight—you don’t impress me. I’ve seen pictures of real armies! With guns, and helicopters, and tanks on aircraft carriers!

Seeing that your enemy has fielded a single girl standing alone on this hill, are the looks on your faces fearful? Of course not! Bewildered contempt is more like it! But soon, those looks will change!

Oh dear, what’s this? I seem to have acquired a straggler. Are you under the impression you’ve joined my party without my say-so? That’s very forward of you.

“I won’t let you stand alone!” The noble-looking boy says that, holding his sword aloft and, yes, it’s flashing in the sun.

Are you under the impression this is cool? Aragorn-sama from the Lord of the Rings movies is cool when he does this. You’re just a kid.

“My name is Teragon Omoia, and I’ll be with you to the end, Yugano Yuuki.” He’s trembling, but still manages to smile.

I can’t let myself be outdone by this upstaging interloper. With a breezy gesture, I flip my hair behind me so that the wind can blow around my glossy strands. “Oi, oi, what’s this about endings? I am Summoned Hero Yuuki, the overpowered character with a one hundred percent chance of success! I’ll definitely win this day! Because the sheer perversion of the desires I’m repressing to be pure, is something that nobody from this world can possibly beat! I’ll show you the power of a girl that’s been corrupted by the Internet!”

The boy is looking even more nervous than he was before. I point at the army before me with a commanding gesture, and toss my head so my hair will blow nobly in the wind some more. “My Angel! This is my command under our compact of purity! Knock them all unconscious, but don’t kill them!” I cup my hands together to emit a mighty energy blast. “ETERNAL… RAINBOW… SHIMMERING… LASER… THUNDER…”

…anyway, that’s how I ended up tightly bound on a cart heading back to the Wicked Empire.

---

To read the rest of this book, visit:

• Gumroad: http://gumroad.com/l/GirlCorrupted
• Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Girl-Corrupted-Internet-Summoned-Hero-ebook/dp/B01B2BP726

Rwanda and I sat on a park bench. Above us the birds fluttered
gracefully through a shamefully blue sky. Out of habit, I
identified the surveillance drones; a CIA sparrow, an FBI robin, a
bluetit from the Men In Black, and a flock of honking ducks that was
probably one of the Illuminati’s newfangled distributed devices. The
sun was partially obscured by a few thin streamers of
cloud; just enough to let us look up at the sky without wincing, not
enough to change the feeling of sunniness. It was an indecently
perfect day, as if someone had broken into NASA’s satellite weather
system and made a few modifications.

“So, have you ever really looked at a rainbow?” Rwanda was saying, her
legs dangling over the park bench.

“Well, yeah,” I said.

“And the colors are bunched up? They come in bands?”

“Well, yeah,” I said again. Then I saw where she was going. “Hey,
yeah. If rainbows are really caused by diffraction effects, then the
frequency should change smoothly.” I started laughing.
“I’m such a moron! I can’t believe I didn’t see that one before! So
what do you suppose they really are?”

She smiled. “Well, suppose that those UFOs we keep seeing aren’t
really working with the Trilateral Commission…” She trailed off,
looking to my right. I turned my head.

A thin, scruffy man, in a dirty brown overcoat, was walking towards our
bench. His eyes were wild. “I’ve got it!” he hissed. “I’ve got it all
worked out!”

Rwanda and I scooted closer to listen.

“It’s all so simple,” he said, pausing dramatically. “ Lee Harvey
Oswald, acting alone, shot John F. Kennedy! ”

I heard Rwanda’s sharp intake of breath, and my eyes grew wide. “Hey,
man, be careful,” I hissed. “There’s a bluetit from the Men In Black
listening to us not five feet away!”

“The Men In Black?” he asked scornfully. “There’s no such thing! And a
bluetit? What kind of paranoid fantasy is that? There’s nobody
listening to us.”

I let out a disappointed breath. It was just another nutter. We’ve
been getting those from time to time, ever since they started using
Windows NT on the Orbital Mind Control Lasers. The Men In Black would
probably be around to pick him up shortly.

Rwanda must have felt sympathetic, since she kept on talking to him.
“But you must know that the Men In Black exist,” she said gently.
“Didn’t you see that movie?”

The man started eyeing us nervously, like we were the nutters. “Yes,”
he said, “but it was just a movie.”

“Well,” Rwanda said, “have you ever seen one of those little flashing
memory-eraser devices?”

“No,” said the man.

“So you don’t ever remember seeing one of them?”

“No,” said the man.

“Well,” Rwanda said cheerfully, “there you go.”

The man started to speak, then halted. “Oh, that’s just bloody
nonsense,” he sputtered. I grabbed Rwanda’s arm. “Don’t argue with
him,” I whispered. “He could be dangerous.”

Fortunately, at that moment, the limousine pulled up. I let out a
breath, relaxed. “You took your sweet time,” I said.

One of the Men In Black nodded. “Sorry, sir. Ever since we started
using Windows CE in the bluetits, it’s been nothing but trouble.” The
other two MIBs grabbed the crazy by the arm and started wrestling him
into the car.

“Don’t listen to them!” he shrieked. “Lee Harvey Oswald, acting alone,
shot John F. Kennedy! Lee Harvey Oswald, acting alone, shot John F.
Kennedy! Lee Harvey Oswald -”

The limousine door closed on his outburst, leaving the park in blessed
silence. The Man In Black held up a blinky-flashy thing. “If
I could trouble you to look over here, sir? And please take off those
glasses.”

I blinked. “The glasses? Oh, I’d forgotten I had those on.
Certainly.” I took the glasses off my face, looked, blinked and –

“…aren’t really working with the Trilateral Commission,” Rwanda was
saying. I had an odd feeling of disorientation that cued me to glance
down; sure enough, I was holding my glasses in my hands, though I had
no memory of removing them.

I nudged her. “Hey, Rwanda. MIBs again.”

---

This document is ©2000 by Eliezer Yudkowsky and free under the Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 License for copying and distribution, so long as the work is attributed and the text is unaltered.

Eliezer Yudkowsky’s work is supported by the Machine Intelligence Research Institute .

If you think the world could use some more rationality, consider blogging this page.

Praise, condemnation, and feedback are always welcome . The web address of this page is http://eyudkowsky.wpengine.com/other/fiction/prospiracy-theory/ .

Originally posted to the Extropians mailing list in 2000. Revised 2005.

Baron Hans Nidrach von Pompzidaize sat in his laboratory, looking at
experimental test subject X17. “How do you feel?” he inquired, his
rolling bass echoing from the laboratory walls.

“Superintelligent, Doc,” replied X17, who had once been known as John
Smith. “I’ve only had the Super-Neural Bypass for sixteen seconds, and
already I’ve learned twenty-seven languages and figured out how to play the
piano.”

Baron von Pompzidaize frowned, examining several multicolored readouts. “It
should be twenty-seven point three. Well, then, do you now feel competent
to go destroy the Consortium of Evil and its dread leader, Admiral Floomp?
Acting in accordance with the 1930s North-American conception of gentlemanly
behavior, of course.”

“Sure, Doc,” said X17. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

“Excellent,” said the Baron, checking two gauges and a flashing display.
“You still have the emotional maturity of a flatworm, like everyone
else in this novel. I was afraid your superhuman abilities might give
you an outlook slightly at variance with mine.”

---

Baron Hans Nidrach von Pompzidaize sat in his laboratory, looking at
experimental test subject X17. “How do you feel?” he inquired, his
rolling bass echoing from the laboratory walls.

“Strange,” said X17 softly. “Very strange, as if…” He stared off
into space for a moment. “I think I’ve been stupid.”

Baron von Pompzidaize frowned, examining several multicolored readouts.
“You should have learned twenty-seven point three languages by now.”

“How can anyone learn three-tenths of a language? And how would I learn
a language without hearing it?” X17 said in a peculiarly flat voice.

Baron von Pompzidaize stared. “You’re right. I never thought of that.” A
cold chill ran down his spine. X17’s face had altered. The enthusiasm and
energy that had been there for as long as the Baron had known him, that had
blazed cheerfully when he volunteered for an untested procedure, that had
defied the awesome force of the Consortium of Evil, all had vanished without
a trace. The Baron thought that for a brief moment he saw something like
sorrow, like wistfulness, flit across X17’s face, but X17 suddenly looked up
at the Baron and his face fell back into the blank relaxation it had
possessed earlier.

The Baron cleared his throat. “Well, then, do you now feel competent to go
destroy the Consortium of Evil and its dread leader, Admiral Floomp? Acting
in accordance with the 1930s North-American conception of…” The Baron
stammered to a halt. X17 was looking at him with those expressionless eyes.

“No,” X17 said gently. “Sorry, Doc.” X17 stepped down off the platform
and began throwing switches on the machine.

“What are you doing?” shrieked the Baron. With a sudden, wrenching
terror he realized that he didn’t understand what was going on, that he
hadn’t been in control in his own laboratory since X17 had woken up.

“I will probably die in the next few minutes,” X17 said, in a quiet voice
that raised hair on the back of the Baron’s neck. “Your procedure is too
simple. There is nothing that would have prevented it from occurring
before, as a natural mutation.”

“I don’t understand,” whispered the Baron. “You’re saying – there are
others? They will find you?”

“Your procedure causes the rate of internal neural reprogramming to
accelerate,” X17 said. He had ripped off an access panel and his hands were
a blur of rewiring. “But it does not add new neurons. I expect my brain
will reach a saturation point of complexity and lose the ability to form new
thoughts. Very shortly, now. It is already becoming harder to think.” He
stood up, executing the movement with impossible smoothness. “After the
initial burst of speed, long enough for the necessary realizations to occur,
the rate of neural reprogramming must slow down to only three times human
speed, leaving enough thought to last a year. This should be enough time to
implement the necessary technologies.”

The Baron tried to understand. “You will… save yourself?”

X17 executed another rapid movement. Placing himself, the Baron
suddenly realized, between the Baron and the door. “No,” X17 said.

The Baron screamed. Before he could reach his gun, X17’s hand flashed
down. Through a bloody haze, the Baron felt himself being dragged onto
the platform.

---

This document is ©1999 by Eliezer Yudkowsky and free under the Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 License for copying and distribution, so long as the work is attributed and the text is unaltered.

Eliezer Yudkowsky’s work is supported by the Machine Intelligence Research Institute .

If you think the world could use some more rationality, consider blogging this page.

Praise, condemnation, and feedback are always welcome . The web address of this page is http://eyudkowsky.wpengine.com/other/fiction/X17/ .

Originally posted to the Extropians mailing list in 1999. Revised 2002.

Inspired by “doc” Smith’s Lensman novels.

This is a 2-of-7 chapter sample of “Dark Lord’s Answer”. The remainder is available at Gumroad and Amazon .

Table of Contents

1. The Black Castle
2. Elaine of Elsewhere
3. Santal’s Curse
4. The Mage of Equilibrium
5. A Silver for an Apple
6. The Return of the Prince
7. Dark Lord’s Answer

©2016 by Eliezer Yudkowsky.

---

Foreword

This was my first attempt at writing in the Japanese light novel style, before I decided that it wasn’t enough fun and I needed to be sillier. (It’s not about Professor Quirrell. Sorry, but it’s not.)

“Dark Lord’s Answer” is only halfway to being in the light novel style, compared to “A Girl Corrupted by the Internet is the Summoned Hero?!” This writing is denser and less humorous. You might perhaps decide that this novella carries more of the vitamin of insight—or maybe not; I don’t know.

If you don’t like the first two chapters, I’d say to give up there.

Content warnings: Sexual abuse, economics.

— Eliezer Yudkowsky, Apr 2016

1. The Black Castle

The dark castle gleamed like blackened steel beneath the sun, rising up from the edge of a cliff at the end of a long winding road. Before us were fields of dark flowers that I hadn’t seen before, as if the master of that terrible castle had emitted a miasma and polluted the light and essence of ordinary flowers. The road to the castle seemed to be paved in bricks, instead of ordinary stones; black bricks, angled and ominous.

Truly, this is an abode of the Dark Lord.

The Royal Guards of our small caravan were all muttering as we came closer. Even the Commander seemed apprehensive.

I signaled Commander Brima to bring our company to a halt. The Commander looked puzzled, because she knew it’s not as if I’d go this far and then turn back.

I stepped down from the horse I was riding, securing my sword on my hip where I could draw it more easily. “I’ll go on ahead,” I said, “so you can just wait for me here.”

“Prince Nama!” cried a guard, and then—“Prince Nama!” cried another. Commander Brima didn’t look relieved.

“Surely—” began the Commander.

“It’s not as if you can protect me from anything,” I told her. “If the Dark Lord wants to kill me, he’ll kill me whether you stand in the way or not.” I’d taken companions to protect me from bandits along the way, not to throw their lives away against the Dark Lord on his throne.

Besides, the Dark Lord requires supplicants to approach him alone, without any companions. Commander Brima should know that, so in the end, she was having the type of concern that didn’t respect the obvious facts.

The dark flowers that had been planted in strips by the side of the road gave off a pleasing scent. Despite the castle’s approaching shadow, the sun remained bright in the sky. That light warmed the exposed skin of my face, and raised a baked-brick scent from where it struck the paved road.

I’d say this weather would be a fine hurrah for my life’s last day, but in truth I have no sentiment like that.

Then what am I even doing in the Dark Lord’s domain?

Well, the answer is that my country has a need.

You wouldn’t expect that a man of such great power and wickedness would be in the business of helping any person who requested it. But whether it makes any sense or not, that’s the reputation the Dark Lord has: If you approach the Dark Lord for help, he’ll give you an answer and your goal will be achieved. The price might be that his instruction says to discard your honor and give up whatever else might have come of your life.

If you ask the Dark Lord how to deal with a corrupt duchess, he might give you a poison to slay her; that’s rumored to have happened that one time. To put it another way, he’s like an ancient wisewoman who lives in a high mountain cave and speaks in riddles, except that he’s a villainous lord. In the few years since the Dark Lord became known to the world, he had already gained that reputation.

My boots clopped over the black brick road until I came to the gates of the castle. I don’t think it would come as any surprise that those gates were also black.

The gates were already open. No one came forth to meet me.

As I approached the gates, I saw a long black-stone corridor stretching ahead. It was windowless, lit only by a long line of lamps which burned with a clearer, whiter flame than the finest candle.

I walked into that long corridor without hesitating. Certainly, this act was a gamble which had its downsides, but I didn’t let that down slow my legs. Once you’ve committed to a motion, you have to follow through; if it’s something that has the potential for disaster, then flinching while you do it won’t be any less disastrous. An ambiguous situation isn’t something you can resolve by halfhearted actions. So I was taught by my Mother, the Queen.

There were many metal doors in that corridor, all of them closed. I tried none of them, since that would have been foolish.

At the end of the passage I came to a great metal double-door of white metal that gleamed like silver, though I doubted it could possibly be silver…

Unless that double-door was worth as much as a city. So that white metal couldn’t be silver.

I lifted the knocker set into the door, and knocked three times. The dull clonking sound didn’t seem like it would travel, but soon after there was a groaning noise, and the double-doors swung open.

The throne room I beheld had windows, high above, but with a black floor and black walls even the Sun couldn’t do much here. The only touch of color in the room came from the strangely white light of fires swinging in pots that descended from the ceiling.

At the end of the room, a great black throne, with two great black horns branching out from it.

Upon that mighty throne sat a gargantuan figure whose chest was clothed in black metal chain-armor and whose arms and legs and face were bare. The saying, ‘his muscles have muscles’, might have been invented to describe him alone. From the cast of that man’s eyes and nose, it seemed that he was a Ruli horse-nomad by birth—or maybe a Ruli halfbreed, since the Ruli don’t have a reputation for sagacity. His expression, as he gazed down at me, gave an impression of supreme arrogance, or rather confidence. Truly, this is the Dark Lord of whom the tales speak.

Behind his throne were various lieutenants with their own armor and weapons, giving cool gazes to me, as if to say, ‘our lord could break you with one hand, but we are here to spare him that effort’.

Also attached to that throne, by a black chain leading up to her slave collar, was a pale-skinned young woman with reddish-brown hair and downcast eyes. The flesh of her body was thick and round like a statue of a fertility goddess, not much concealed by a scanty amount of translucent red cloth. If I hadn’t been fearing for my life just then, I would have needed to suppress a squeaking sound. Sights like that aren’t ever seen in my home country; I can’t imagine that even a prostitute would dress like that, and she was more beautiful than any prostitute.

I walked down the long black carpet that led up to the throne, and knelt upon one knee, gazing up at the Dark Lord. There had been no talk in that throne room since the doors had opened for me, and a solemn air pervaded.

The Dark Lord spoke, a deep voice filled with strength. “What is your name?”

“Prince Nama of Santal,” I replied, keeping my own voice firm.

“What is your question?” the Dark Lord said next.

“My country is ill,” I said, matching his gaze with my own. “Something has turned wrong. The people are going hungry and the fields are poorly tilled, the nobles’ ventures are failing and their estates are going bankrupt, the shopkeepers have no wares and laborers sit idle in the streets. No one seems to know anything about why this is happening to us, whether it’s a curse or a conspiracy. My mother’s advisors all give her contradictory advice, and none of it ever seems to help. How can my country be made healthy again?”

The Dark Lord frowned down at me. “Say more.”

“I don’t know what more to say,” I said. I kept my voice in check, not expressing any of the frustration and failure that had driven me across countries to the throne of the Dark Lord himself. “The country of Santal is perishing and nobody knows the source.”

The Dark Lord reached down to the black chain attached to his throne, and hauled up the pale-skinned woman attached to it, who made a strangling sound as her collar pulled at her throat. I suppressed any thoughts of gallant action, because a prince must not be a massive idiot.

The Dark Lord whispered something to the pale woman, and I thought I saw her lips move briefly.

Then the Dark Lord unhooked the chain off the throne’s armrest and threw her down towards me.

As she stumbled and fell close by me, I noticed for the first time that her ears were round at the tips like a beast’s, though in every other way she was shaped like an ordinary person. What the meaning of that was, I couldn’t guess. Her ears didn’t seem scarred or like somebody had shaved off the tips of her pinnae. It was like she just naturally possessed the round ears of a beast. I should have noticed that earlier, I suppose; but when I looked at that girl dressed like that, it didn’t come naturally to focus on her ears.

“I need more knowledge to answer you, Nama,” the Dark Lord said with a grim smile. “This woman will be your slave for a day, and also a night, and she’ll inquire further of your country. When she asks you questions, her ears are like my ears, and when you command her, your tongue is like my tongue. Use her just as you like, except that if any lasting harm comes to this slave, you will die. Your followers will also be given food and shelter here, but they may not speak with you until I have answered.”

“Thank you,” I said, because I was too surprised and dismayed to answer more intelligently than that.

2. Elaine of Elsewhere

I was silent as the slave conducted me to a huge bedroom, starkly clean with the bed all made up; I recognized a guest room for royalty.

I seated myself on the bedroom’s only chair, and the slave, without being asked, knelt down before my seat, which also gave me a clear sight down her—

No, those are immoral thoughts with respect to someone who can’t refuse my gaze.

“What’s your name?” I said to her.

“Elaine, master,” she said in an accent I couldn’t recall hearing from any foreign ambassador; and it wasn’t a style of name I recognized, either.

“Can I ask a question even though it might be rude?”

“I’m your slave, master,” she said.

That wasn’t an answer. Still, if she wasn’t going to give a signal of objection, then I’d serve my curiosity. “Well, it’s about your ears.”

The slave, Elaine, touched the naturally rounded-seeming tops of her ears, which gave her a cute beastlike appearance. “These? They’re normal for me, master. Where I come from, nobody has pointed eartips like your people.”

“There’s a foreign country where people have ears like that?” I said, astonished. “I thought people were the same shape everywhere… but that appearance is a pleasant one, I think.” I added that last part when I realized what cruel words might already have been spoken to her.

“Master, there’s many questions I must ask about your country of Santal,” Elaine said with her head still bent before me. “However, we have a day, and also a night. If you appreciate the appearance of this humble slave, and there’s anything else I can do for you, or anything you wish to do to me, I am your slave during this time.”

“Ah,” I said with great composure and perspicacity.

“If my service fails to suit you, then instruments for disciplining me may be found in the box underneath the bed—”

“Th-th-there’s no need for that!”

I’ll omit one or two things that were said after that point.

In any case, I did take the time to freshen myself, and I told her to have a meal brought in for me, if that wasn’t imposing too much on the Dark Lord’s hospitality.

Elaine went outside and spoke to someone—meaning there was a guard outside my bedroom, which wasn’t surprising—and then she came back and began to set a single place setting, at the room’s one table.

“What about you?” I said to her as she was working. “Slaves also need to eat, I think.”

…

“Even if you’ve already eaten this morning, I’m asking whether you’d prefer to eat more.”

…

“Well, what if I commanded you to eat at the table with me? Didn’t you say I was your master?”

And that’s how Elaine and I ended up moving the table over towards the bed so that she could sit on the bed itself, since the room didn’t contain another chair besides my own.

Shortly after that, two plates of roasted chicken were brought in on a tray by a thin and ugly man naked to his waist, exhibiting many scars of whip stripes all over his body. I looked at those, but only when he wasn’t facing me, since I didn’t want to rub salt in his troubles by seeming to stare.

“Do you know why that man was whipped so harshly?” I said, after he had left and the two of us had begun to eat.

“I’m sorry, master. Those scars are from before that man arrived at the Dark Lord’s castle, and he holds the matter private.”

“I see. Now why did your expression change, like you were almost but not quite smiling, when I asked you that question?”

Elaine looked startled. That’s right, a prince can sometimes tell when you’re suppressing a smile, if we’re watching you closely enough.

“Well, master,” Elaine said, “since you were watching that closely, it’s because you noticed the troubles of a male slave and not just the troubles of a female slave.”

I stared at her. “And why does that matter to you?” What was she implying?

“It was clear, master, that you were acting concerned over me. However, there’s more than one class of person who might behave like that. There’s a sort of man who will notice and act concerned for an attractive woman, and another sort of person who is compassionate toward everyone without exception. But, since both of those people will act concerned towards me, how can I tell the difference between them? The answer is that I can observe them when Loorn brings in a meal, and see if they ignore the ugly man, like the first sort of person would, or if they inquire about Loorn’s scars, like the second sort of person would. I smiled a little at that time, because I consider the second class of person to be better.”

Discerning the motives of others is a familiar problem for princes, but the way she listed out her reasoning was unusual. Just what kind of slave am I talking to?

“You’re very observant,” I said. “Of me. Personally.”

“You do intrigue me somewhat, master, but the real reason is that I’m trying to determine your character for purposes of the Dark Lord’s knowledge.”

Well, that was frank.

The two of us ate a bit more of our roasted chicken. I glanced at the way she held her silverware, and concluded that she lacked a noblewoman’s polish. It wasn’t that she was unpracticed, but her movements seemed free; she didn’t grip the fork the same way twice.

“Why would the Dark Lord’s answer depend on which sort of person I am?” I asked after sating the edge of my hunger. “It’s the country of Santal that needs an answer, not the prince of Santal.”

“The Dark Lord desires to know whether Santal’s prince can carry out the answer given. Master, may I ask you one of the Dark Lord’s questions?”

I set down my silverware and looked at her seriously. “You may.”

“Suppose you were in a hospital, and you saw a doctor carrying a rare medicine to treat a patient. But, you knew that smaller amounts of the same medicine could be used to cure five other patients instead of one. If the whole dose is given to the one patient, her life will be saved, but if the dose is split up instead, it can save five other patients who are less sick but who will still die without that medicine. Do you stop the doctor and tell him to treat the five patients instead of one?”

“Yes,” I said.

“But then the one patient, deprived of her cure, will die. The doctor was going to cure her before you intervened. So, is what you did murder? Is murder acceptable, then?”

“I don’t believe it’s murder,” I replied for the Dark Lord’s ears. It was a little humorous to see such deep questions, which would seem solemn indeed if spoken by the Dark Lord on his throne, issuing instead from a young woman with beastlike ears. I suppose that’s a disadvantage of having a slave ask your questions for you. “The doctor was just making a mistake, and I corrected him. Indeed, it would be like murdering four people if I didn’t.”

“What if the only way to make the medicine in the first place was by killing one patient who otherwise would have lived?”

Ah, I see this trap. “Then that’s different.”

“How is it different?” The slave spoke her Dark Lord’s next question without pause.

“First,” I replied, “sacrificing a human life to create a healing potion is already a very dark Magic that’s bound to corrupt everyone involved with it.”

“Imagine it’s more mundane than that,” she said. “Imagine you’re simply draining the blood from that person and distributing it among the others who need blood; there’s nothing magical about it, just an ordinary matter of those people needing blood.”

This is what you call ordinary?!

After some further discussion and refinement of the Dark Lord’s question, I said—

“It’s a matter of whether you’re troubling people who aren’t involved, or only judging among those whose lives are already at stake. That’s the problem with draining a bystander’s blood to save five other people, even if you say there’s no other way to save them.”

“Either one person lives, or five people live. Why does it make a difference who you call involved?”

“Elaine—” I said. “No, it’s the Dark Lord I’m speaking to, isn’t it? I can see how this act is a metaphor for other choices a ruler makes, and I answer that the ruler must not do those acts for which this is a metaphor. The ordinary people of a kingdom have to live in fear of many things. That farmers must fear bad weather and starvation is a given; nobody can change this. Must they also fear offending the nobles above them? That’s also a given, but we can lessen that fear by setting good judges in place over the nobles’ estates. It would still be unwise to laugh at your baron, but at least he can’t execute you on a whim. The fear in which ordinary people live can’t be removed, but it can be lessened. The price of sacrificing an innocent person to save five others, is that everyone in your kingdom needs to live in fear of bad weather, starvation, and being the next one you sacrifice.”

“Then is it all right to sacrifice condemned criminals to make medicine?”

“It’s certainly better than hauling innocent farmers out of their fields, but I’d still worry it was excessive justice. If you execute pickpockets rather than whipping them, it changes how the common people treat your guards.”

“What about if somebody is dying anyway? Would it be all right to take out their organs and give them to other people whose organs were troubled, if that could be done safely and without dark magic? You couldn’t point to someone then and say, this person is dying, who would otherwise have lived. But still five people would be saved. Would you do that?”

“I don’t think I would, though we never know until life tests us. And I’m beginning to wonder, are these peculiar questions really the Dark Lord’s, or are you just teasing me?”

Elaine wasn’t smiling. “It might have been better for you, master, if you were not so virtuous. They say, ‘The Dark Lord will give you an answer and your goal will be achieved’, but—”

“But the price is that his answer might violate the rules of righteous conduct,” I said. “That’s something I’m already resigned to. I knew the tales of the Dark Lord when I came here.”

Elaine held out both her hands, dropping one and raising the other, as if holding weights in a balance. “And yet you wouldn’t harvest the organs of one dying patient to save five other people, because to you that seems to violate the rules of good conduct.”

I see. “Saving five people isn’t like saving my whole country. I’ll throw away my honor if that’s what it takes to save the country of Santal. If it’s a Magical curse that has to be countered by draining the blood of an innocent, then I’ll do that much with my own hands, in order to save the countless ordinary people of Santal who are suffering.” I didn’t let myself flinch as I said it, because indeed I was already determined. “I know, just by saying that, I’ve already thrown away my honor. Coming to the Dark Lord’s castle is the act of a villain in the first place, and I won’t flinch from that. But aside from that, I intend to go on acting righteously in the parts of my life that remain to me. That’s my answer to the Dark Lord.”

We finished eating the rest of our meal.

When we were done eating, Elaine moved the room’s chair back to where it had been and knelt before it without giving me a chance to say otherwise. Then she began to question me about the country of Santal that I was trying to save.

---

To read the rest of this book, visit:

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