Repeating Peaceful Days? (3)
The video had racked up an unusually high number of views. I skimmed the title and immediately hit play. The moment the scene unfolded on screen, my suspicion hardened into certainty. There was no doubt about it—the location shown was the very dungeon that had started everything.
When I first got my hands on a phone, I’d searched for any mention of the incident out of curiosity, but nothing had turned up. A commotion of that scale, yet not a single related article existed. I’d found the circumstances suspicious, and now the truth was finally surfacing.
Feeling uneasy, I focused on the footage. A familiar anchor and several experts appeared, exchanging comments. The screen shifted rapidly, showing the area around the dungeon gate, the pouring rain that day, the temporary headquarters tent I had stayed in, and ambulances casting red lights in every direction. Council investigators in black suits moved through the scene, along with paramedics carrying stretchers covered in white sheets.
I worried for a moment that my own face might appear, but fortunately it never did. The camera lingered on one spot, revealing a cordon that kept civilians away from the scene. The view then returned to the desk, where the anchor and experts resumed their discussion.
“Professor, would it be fair to say the cause of this tragedy was the party’s negligence?”
“Based on the circumstances alone, yes. It’s already well known that the preparation levels of smaller subcontracted parties these days are seriously lacking. Hunters don’t all make huge sums of money anymore, so concrete government support for the field is necessary…”
When the young female anchor asked her question, the white-haired elderly man continued without pause. He went on at length, but the core message was simple: the government needed to support impoverished small parties, which had become a social issue. On its own, there was nothing particularly wrong with that stance. The topic had been raised in multiple media outlets recently. Yet something else caught my attention.
No matter how closely I watched, the only conclusion presented was that the victims’ party had been inadequately prepared. The most crucial points—namely, that the dungeon’s difficulty had been higher than measured and that a large quantity of magic stones had been discovered inside—were nowhere to be found. Both were issues significant enough to spark major controversy, yet they had been completely omitted. There was only one possible explanation: the Council, which had taken sole charge of the incident, had deliberately concealed those facts.
That also explained why public discussion of the event had been delayed. Even if the dungeon itself had been closed, silencing everyone who had witnessed it would have taken time. The fact that the story was surfacing now likely meant the Council had finished whatever measures it deemed necessary.
“……”
I stared expressionlessly at the people on screen who were passionately debating the “inadequate preparation of small parties.” The invited professor cited recent survey data with a serious face while the anchor nodded repeatedly. Contrary to their assumptions, however, the party that had entered the dungeon that day had not been poorly prepared. I had checked that detail myself, and I was certain of it.
Of course, having the public misunderstand the situation worked in my favor. Still, the faint discomfort lingering in my chest refused to fade. Perhaps it was because I was witnessing the Council’s information suppression firsthand, something I had only heard about in rumors.
[Oh? That’s clearly the outside of the dungeon where we first met, isn’t it? Wow… seeing it again brings back memories. And, as expected, that part wasn’t made public.]
Ulthar, who had been watching from a distance, lightly leaped over and approached me. After glancing at the playing video, the cat spoke in a calm, unsurprised tone.
The “part” Ulthar referred to was obvious: the fact that the dungeon’s recorded rank had been incorrect. Although the ranking error wasn’t directly responsible for the party’s annihilation, a mistake in the official grade was an enormous problem. It directly concerned the lives of every hunter who entered that dungeon.
From what I had overheard while inside the tent, the investigators’ sudden arrival without any prior warning seemed closely tied to that very issue. Yet the Council had chosen not to disclose it. Since they themselves had assigned the original rank, they must have feared damaging their credibility. An organization that aimed to completely dominate Seoul would never willingly reveal its own mistakes within its territory.
While I gazed at the screen with sunken eyes, lost in thought, a suspicious black object brushed against my cheek. Ulthar’s tail swayed gently, tickling my face. Unable to endure the sensation any longer, I frowned and sat up, leaning back against the wall. I grabbed the cat’s body with one hand and pulled it into my lap. Warmth immediately spread through me. I had never particularly disliked cats, so the contact didn’t bother me.
Surprised by the uncharacteristic action, Ulthar widened its golden eyes and looked up at me. Those eyes, holding an enigmatic light, resembled a full moon shining in the middle of the night. As I stared into them as if entranced, the cat carefully opened its mouth, as though it had read my unsettled emotions.
[Do you regret what happened that day?]
The sudden, serious question made my eyes widen slightly. Yet when I considered the current situation objectively, the meaning behind the words became clear. Given that I had been wearing a gloomy expression while watching the video, it wasn’t strange for Ulthar to assume that.
“No, I don’t regret it. In that situation, there was no other choice but to take your hand. It’s just… a small fear about an uncertain future, I suppose.”
With a faint smile, I spoke while gazing at the ceiling. Looking back now, I could truly feel how far I had drifted from my old life. From becoming something that wasn’t even human to having an appearance with no trace of my former self left, it was as if the person who had lived for decades had simply evaporated in an instant.
When Ulthar had said it peeked at my memories in that dream, my strong reaction hadn’t been unrelated to this. With my outward appearance completely changed, the only thing left to prove that “I” existed was my memories. I had instinctively become sensitive to the possibility of losing even those.
Everything had progressed so rapidly since that day that I had almost forgotten, but deep in my subconscious, I had been fiercely guarding my sense of self against any threat. Separate from adapting to my current form, the fundamental terror of transforming into an entirely different existence still lurked quietly beneath my consciousness. On top of that, the fact that none of this reflected my own will only amplified the anxiety.
Even though it had been unavoidable, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being dragged along by circumstances beyond my control. Lately, with more time to focus on things in peace, those thoughts had been circling endlessly in my head. In short, it was anguish over my future and my identity.
Although I had decided to follow Ulthar’s advice for now, I at least wanted to clarify the root of it all—my current “self.”
“Do you remember what you said when we first met? You asked if I wanted to become a guardian of justice, since you would grant me new life and power.”
[That’s right. I definitely said that.]
“Then… what exactly is this ‘justice’ you spoke of? Simple good deeds? Or slaying monsters and conquering dungeons? …I know what ideal justice is supposed to look like. But in this cruel reality, perfect justice like that can’t possibly exist.”
In a self-deprecating voice, I recalled past memories. Countless hunters had been called heroes by the public in this chaotic world. Yet up close, even they were nothing more than ordinary humans—people honest about their desires, reacting according to their emotions, merely stronger than others. They simply hid their darker sides. For hunters who moved according to profit, “justice” was nothing more than a tool to maintain their image.
In the end, the word “justice” itself was contradictory. Moreover, the fact that I had slaughtered every last one of those subhuman creatures inside the dungeon that day could hardly be called justice either. No matter how guilty they had been, my actions had been driven by revenge. The only justification was that they possessed high Karma values. Then what sin had the families of those I killed committed? Their resentment for losing husbands and children overnight would naturally turn toward me, the one who caused it all.
Ultimately, the “justice” I enacted inside that dungeon had been nothing more than self-justification to ease my own grievances, no matter how polished it appeared on the surface. Did someone like me even have the right to speak of justice…?
Of course, I didn’t regret what I had done. Still, when viewed through the lens of justice, there were countless aspects I couldn’t overlook. In other words, I was posing the question to the cat before me: perhaps the request to become the hero of justice Ulthar had spoken of that day had been an impossible proposal from the start.
After reading my thoughts, Ulthar remained silent for a while. Then, after staying still for some time, the cat finally spoke again in a light tone.
[…It’s true that perfect justice can’t exist in this world. The word “justice” itself is an abstract concept created by humans. Standards of good and evil are equally vague and uncertain. So, couldn’t we say the opposite? That the standard of good is simply whatever someone decides it to be.]
“…!”
[There’s no need to agonize over every little detail. It’s enough to pursue the justice you believe is right and that others can accept. At least, that’s what I think. And to do that, you need the “power” to make others accept your definition of justice. The concept of justice humans created has no fixed form—it’s a kind of thought that shifts constantly according to the era and its standards. In that case, why not set that “standard” yourself? As you just said, absolute good that everyone acknowledges doesn’t exist in this world. So you have no choice but to create your own standard.]
The black cat continued its calm explanation from within my lap. Its words felt forced and difficult to accept, yet when I thought them over, there was a certain logic to them. Just as in history, society’s justice had always been shaped by the strong.
After glancing at my confused expression, Ulthar smiled faintly and spoke again.
[Of course, I’m not telling you to become a tyrannical ruler! I just wanted to say that realizing the justice you believe in is the correct answer. The moment you aim for flawless justice, your body and mind will surely break first. Besides, the visible Karma values are merely a gauge to assist your thoughts and judgments. They can’t be considered an absolute standard for dividing good and evil.]
After adding that explanation, Ulthar peeked up at me. Ignoring the cat’s gaze, I sank into deep thought. Creating my own standard of justice… I still couldn’t fully grasp what that meant. Yet my previously tangled mind felt much clearer than before.
The moment Ulthar saw my expression soften, it raised its head with a triumphant look.
[Well, the process won’t be smooth, but don’t worry! If you start heading down the wrong path, I’ll pull you back. After all, I’m your one and only partner! Preventing a magical girl from straying into darkness is an important duty of a mascot, after all. Hehe.]
“……”
I really wished it hadn’t added that last part… I had been genuinely impressed that it could offer such serious advice, yet it still lived up to expectations. Instead of tossing Ulthar away, however, I set the phone down for a moment. Then, with the bewildered-looking cat still in my arms, I hugged it tightly. Though my strength wasn’t great, Ulthar let out a suffocated yelp and flailed about. Pretending not to hear, I buried my face in its black fur for a while. Right now, I simply wanted to do this. The cat in my arms was always causing trouble and was a constant headache, but it was also the only being left in this world who still knew the “me” that had disappeared.