Chapter 505: Atonement(2)
Chapter 505: Atonement(2)
"Isaac is going to undergo ascetic training?"
Marie’s blue eyes widened as she stared at Cecile. Cecile gave a heavy nod in response.
She had returned straight to the dormitory after confirming that Isaac had entered the chapel. Then, while Lina was still asleep, she shared a certain fact with Marie and Adelia.
Isaac wasn't just there to write; he was going to undergo ascetic training, much like the mental discipline a real hero receives. Mora hadn't provided specific details, but she had warned that it would be extremely grueling.
Furthermore, while Leona and Arwen should have been called as well, they were to be briefed separately due to their respective circumstances.
"Yes. I don't know the specifics either, but Lady Mora said that Lord Luminous agreed to it as well. He might not be the same person we knew when he comes out."
"Why? No matter how rash Isaac was, he’s trying to take responsibility now."
Marie asked, unable to understand. The longer she stayed by Isaac's side, the more she came to realize about him.
For one, Isaac seemed mature and considerate, yet he possessed a strong, childlike side. He usually carried himself with maturity, but when faced with unexpected situations, he tended to fluster like a child.
It was a somewhat contradictory personality, but considering the miserable life he led in his previous world, it wasn't incomprehensible. He was introverted and preferred to stay out of the spotlight, yet he was someone who secretly craved affection.
His indecisiveness stemmed from this as well. He couldn't bring himself to push people away if they showed him even a little bit of kindness. Isaac was the kind of person who could feel like he owned the world just from the smallest bit of happiness.
"And didn't the gods permit the writing while anticipating this situation? It feels like a massive contradiction."
Above all, it was Luminous and Mora who had given him permission to write Blood and Iron.
While Blood and Iron had triggered a revolution in Machina and an unprecedented Great Depression, it was essentially lancing a festering boil. There were evaluations suggesting that if the Great Depression had hit in the distant future, it would have been several times worse, and the Minerva Empire might not have even been able to recover.
Despite this, forcing him into ascetic training to 'wake him up' was beyond incomprehensible to Marie—it was absurd.
"Marie is right. Even if Isaac was rash, there were parts of this situation that were unavoidable," Adelia agreed, unable to let this pass quietly.
It was like removing a tumor growing inside someone's body, only for them to complain about the pain and demand the doctor take responsibility. It was the height of shamelessness.
From Isaac's perspective, it was a situation that warranted anger, not just a sense of injustice. This ascetic training was more likely to have a negative impact. It wouldn't be surprising if Isaac, his mental state shattered, declared he was quitting writing or published a book depicting Mora as an evil god.
Cecile nodded as if she understood their points, then quietly offered an explanation.
"You're right. I don't deny that. Lady Mora admitted it, too."
"Then why?"
"She saw the future."
"What future?"
At Marie's question, Cecile hesitated for a moment before speaking words that were quite shocking.
"A future where Isaac cuts off his own hands."
"...What?"
"Pardon?"
Marie and Adelia’s eyes flew open at the unexpected statement. For a writer, their hands were the very parts of their body that brought them wealth and honor—literally indispensable.
A writer cutting off their own hands was an extreme declaration of quitting their craft, an act only possible when pushed to a mental breaking point. And for the soft-hearted Isaac to sever his own wrists... they couldn't even fathom how dire the situation would have to be for that to happen.
"He... he cuts off his wrists? By his own hand?"
"Yes."
"Is that a future Lady Mora saw clearly?"
It was a somewhat irreverent question, but it reflected how shocked she was. There were so many people looking after Isaac right now. The future must be far worse than they imagined. She grew afraid of what that future might hold.
"The future is fluid, so even the gods cannot easily predict it. The future where Isaac cuts off his wrists is the same. But as of now, the probability is high."
"Why... just what on earth happens..."
Marie was so stunned she could barely speak. Adelia remained silent, but her face had turned as hard as stone.
Cecile waited patiently until they could compose themselves. However, she was just as conflicted inwardly. She couldn't describe how startled she had been after hearing the story from Mora. At the same time, a massive wave of self-reproach had washed over her.
She and the Demon race had been saved by Isaac, yet she couldn't be his pillar of support when he was struggling the most. But the future Mora had relayed was something even a pillar of support couldn't withstand. This was a matter deeply connected to Isaac's past life.
"...Do you know what kind of future it is?" Marie asked weakly, having finished organizing her thoughts.
Cecile gave a heavy nod. She looked back and forth between Marie and Adelia before speaking in a slightly low voice.
"She said it's a future that touches upon Isaac's greatest trauma, one that has followed him since his previous life."
"From his previous life? Isaac's previous life was..."
Marie stopped mid-sentence and covered her mouth with both hands. Beside her, Adelia stared at Cecile with eyes full of dread.
Everyone close to Isaac—his family and his lovers—knew about his past life. Isaac's world, Earth, was unbelievable in many ways, but even setting that aside, Isaac's personal life had been riddled with tragedy.
Losing his parents in an accident was tragic enough, but his girlfriend had cheated on him. Even though his country maintained conscription, there was no welfare to speak of.
That was the reason he loved his family so dearly after reincarnating. Isaac never wanted a 'happy home' to be broken.
"Who? Just who? Who would do such a thing? A Demon worshipper?" Adelia asked, her voice thick with rage as Marie struggled to recover from the shock.
It wasn't just a matter of being 'touched'; one member of his family—or perhaps more—must have suffered a great calamity. Isaac's status was practically god-like, so the idea of someone harming his family was nearly impossible. Even if someone tried, they would be neutralized beforehand. Therefore, only a Demon worshipper could be capable of such a thing.
"No. She said it wasn't a Demon worshipper."
Cecile shook her head, negating Adelia's guess. If not a Demon worshipper, then who?
"People."
"People?"
"Yes. Following the recent Great Depression, the people who might suffer every time Isaac publishes a book in the future."
People who might suffer, not people who will. In other words, it referred to people who hadn't been harmed yet.
Marie and Adelia grew even more puzzled at the answer that ordinary people, not Demon worshippers, would harm Isaac's family. Even if the Great Depression had produced terrible phenomena, hadn't he simply lanced the boil early?
"Why?"
At Marie's question, which carried many layers of meaning, Cecile let out a deep sigh.
The words she finally uttered were:
"Because people are fickle."
It was a statement that pierced through the ugly essence of human nature.
*
I, too, know what I did wrong. I know I was irresponsible. I know I was rash. And finally, I know I didn't care much about other people's business.
I just wanted to write an interesting story? That excuse works for Xenon Biography, but Blood and Iron is a different beast entirely.
The various ideologies and tragedies contained within Blood and Iron. The world's worst war that resulted from those tragedies. As I've mentioned repeatedly, if I were just an ordinary writer, I would have brushed these off as merely interesting plot points.
But that was a naive thought. I inherited pure authority from Hirt, and I even received an invaluable gift called Ariel. My every word can sway the world, yet I published a book flavored with all sorts of volatile elements. The aftermath was bound to be beyond imagination.
Yet, I didn't accept those phenomena as 'reality' and treated them as someone else's problem.
[I'm sorry, kids. No luck with a job today either...]
[What are we going to do? We're starting to run out of food...]
[Mom. I'm hungry. When do we eat?]
And I realized the moment I entered this space that it wasn't someone else's problem.
Before my eyes now were a father who couldn't find work and a family whose lives were being devastated because of it. The Great Depression that started in the Minerva Empire had triggered a massive global economic recession, and the symptoms did not discriminate by status.
Nobles fell as the guilds and merchant groups they invested in went bankrupt one after another, and unable to bear the shock, they threw themselves into the abyss. The middle class was no different from the nobles. By current standards, they were the biggest victims.
[O God! Why do you put me through such trials!]
Thwack!
While a commoner family who couldn't find work was suffering, someone nearby cursed God and threw themselves off a height. As soon as the person hit the ground, they burst like a balloon—Pop!—spraying crimson blood everywhere.
Normally, this would be impossible, but this was a space specially arranged by a god for my discipline. The red blood that had spread across the floor like a burst balloon soon began to creep and crawl. Before long, the red color spread toward the family huddled together in despair.
[It's just a little hard right now. I'll find work somehow. So...]
Shaaaa—
As the red blood completely engulfed the father who was trying his best to support his family, the man turned to dust and vanished. Just as the shocked housewife was about to say something, she too was stained red and then turned to dust like the man.
In the end, three children were left without parents. Those children weren't stained red, but traces remained here and there.
What did that signify? Did it mean that countless families were being destroyed in this way because of the Great Depression?
Step. Step. Step.
While I was reeling in confusion, a boy I presumed to be the eldest son began to walk forward. His body, which had been entirely white, was now dotted with red spots.
I stared blankly at the boy. He was walking silently toward the street where his father had gone to look for work.
As if to show that time was passing, the boy's height and frame gradually began to grow. Yet, the red spots remained on his body. In fact, because his body had grown, the red spots seemed to have grown even larger.
[Some savior he is... our home was destroyed because of that guy.]
The murmur of the boy—no, the young man—pierced my heart like a dagger. I watched the path the young man took without a word. He was retracing the very path his father had walked moments ago. As if expressing a departing heart.
And the young man wasn't alone on the street. The street that had been deserted earlier was now somewhat crowded. The people around were also stark white, but their attire varied. It seemed they had somehow resolved the Great Depression.
However, red spots were scattered across the people's bodies, just like the young man. Few were as severely marked as he was, but most had red spots.
"..."
I stared blankly at the people passing by on the street before slowly shifting my gaze.
In the center of the street sat a desk and chair I had placed there beforehand, with a typewriter sitting on top. The white people walked around the desk as if it were nothing. As if possessed, I walked toward the desk.
Creak—
A subtle noise reached my ears the moment I sat in the chair. Sitting there, I looked around the street once more. The scene I had just witnessed remained burned into my brain, yet the situation hadn't even begun.
What was my purpose for coming here? Hadn't I come to this space of my own accord to write up to the invasion of Poland?
I swallowed hard and placed my hands on the typewriter. I could feel my palms soaked with sweat from the tension.
Then...
Snap!
The people who had been busy walking the street all turned their heads at once. Every single one of them, without exception, looked directly at me.
I couldn't help but flinch as countless gazes suddenly pinned me down. It felt as if each gaze became a chain, binding my body tight. Their faces were smooth and white, which even evoked a sense of horror. They were human, yet they felt profoundly inhuman.
But that was reality. Every time I wrote, the people of the world gave me immense attention. It was beyond a burden; it was terrifying.
After seeing the broken family and the young man who resented me, the feeling was completely different. They were watching me intently. That hadn't changed.
At the same time, they were now afraid. They were terrified of what social phenomena I might give birth to next after the Great Depression. The red spots all over their bodies were the direct result of that influence. Red spots that might grow even larger than they were now.
Gulp.
I swallowed hard again. I could vividly feel cold sweat trickling down my cheek.
Clack, clack, clack—
As soon as I began to type, even for a brief moment...
Wriggle—
The red spots on the person directly in front of me began to wriggle and grow, just a little—just a tiny bit.
I didn't need anyone to explain what that meant. Yet, I couldn't stop.
Clack, clack, clack-clack—
I tried my best to ignore the phenomenon and continued typing.
Wriggle—
The red spots continued to grow, endlessly.