Chapter 506: Atonement(3)
Chapter 506: Atonement(3)
The unscheduled penance continued steadily.
The more I typed, the more the people around me gradually turned red.
It meant their resentment toward me was growing stronger. Nevertheless, I did not stop typing.
Because this was the story I wanted to write. Because the gods said I could. Because the reaction had been incredible.
Was I irresponsible regarding what was to come? That was half right and half wrong.
While it was true that I lacked a sense of reality, it was also absurd to blindly shift all the responsibility onto me.
I had stated myself that I was no prophet, and even if the gods favored me, I never affirmed that title.
In other words, it was only right that the responsibility be shared to some extent. At least, that was what I believed.
Whirrr—
The writing of Volume 11 finished in an instant. I set the printed manuscript aside and looked around once more.
People with red blotches all over their bodies were walking past me with indifferent expressions.
As if the moment they had stared straight at me was a lifetime ago, they went on their way as if they didn't even know I was there.
Very rarely—truly rarely—someone would stare intensely at me. Those people were completely consumed by red blotches.
'...What do you want me to do?'
It wasn't as if I had written this with the mindset of "let the world go to hell," and the Great Depression was an event bound to happen sooner or later anyway.
If they had given me even a single hint that I would have to undergo this penance, it might be different, but forcing this on me so suddenly was beyond my understanding.
They said I could write it. They confirmed it every single time. They told me I didn't need to worry.
Just as the red blotches appeared on their bodies, I felt as if red blotches were forming in my heart as well.
'With great power comes great responsibility?'
It was a famous quote I deeply empathized with, and now I was experiencing it firsthand. To wield great power, one must bear the corresponding responsibility.
I hadn't realized that fact while writing the Xenon Biography, but I did now.
There were people all over the world who treated my every word as prophecy, and even Geas had sought my advice.
This could be considered my responsibility. The fact that a revolution broke out in Machina was entirely my responsibility.
But the Great Depression? This was different. Why were they pinning all the blame on me?
'Because my book is a book of prophecy?'
Bullshit. Even if it's a story from Earth, I clearly emphasized that it was a fictional tale, and they were the ones who chose to imitate it.
Was the fictional story a lie? I have absolutely no intention of revealing my past life to anyone except my family and loved ones.
In other words, from the readers' perspective, it truly is a fictional story. It's fantasy.
Just as one doesn't blame the media when a copycat crime occurs, the responsibility for following what's in a book should lie with the instigator.
If I had reacted with a "so what?" attitude, I could understand this penance. That would be acting without a shred of decency.
But I only needed 'advice,' not 'penance.' I wanted to finish the book quickly and put out the fire.
'Why is Lady Mora doing this? No, did Lord Hirt and Lord Luminous permit this as well?'
Why on earth? If they were going to do this, why didn't they do it sooner?
They left me alone to do as I pleased during the Xenon Biography, so why treat me like this now? For what reason?
Was it because resentment was building up like the people around me, and I was about to suffer a great calamity? If that were the case, I could understand.
Humans were fickle creatures. Even if the Great Depression broke out early, it didn't mean there was no damage at all.
'I know. I know, damn it.'
I grit my teeth and moved on to the next volume. It was irritating, but if this was responsibility, then so be it.
Volume 11 ended with Kristallnacht. Volume 12 would describe the Second Sino-Japanese War and the situation in the United States.
At the same time, it would cover the Spanish Civil War as it neared its end. Since the Spanish Civil War was a battlefield for all sorts of ideologies, I had been describing it intermittently.
To do that, I needed to examine the situation of each country more closely.
Tap—
As I was about to start the next volume, I felt someone touch my hand.
It was a fleeting contact, but a red mark remained clearly on my hand.
Did this mean the resentment I had scattered was returning to me as karma?
"Seriously..."
Why are they doing this now? They should have done it from the start.
I let out a hollow laugh as I looked at the red blotch on the back of my hand.
One moment they were coddling me, and the next, they thrust this penance upon me. Were they planning to completely break my spirit?
The advice Grandfather Clark gave me long ago—not to have blind faith in the gods. Was it because of this?
'What exactly do they want? What do they want me to realize? What on earth...'
I grit my teeth again and began writing. For now, my priority was to write without paying attention to my surroundings.
Even if it was a penance, it was difficult to break my concentration. In fact, because of the nature of this space, I completely forgot that time was even passing.
Tap— Tap— Tap—
However, my concentration was inevitably broken at intervals. It was because people kept touching my hand.
Not just my hands, but my arms, shoulders, and even my face. Except for my lower body, there wasn't a place they didn't touch.
Thanks to that, my body became covered in red blotches. It must mean their resentment was flowing into me.
Whirrr—
Even so, stopping my writing was out of the question. Before I knew it, the final manuscript for Volume 12 was printed out.
I was about to set the manuscript aside when I froze.
I didn't know who had touched it, but that manuscript was also covered in red blotches.
"...Dammit."
I almost swore but barely managed to suppress it. They were starting to cross the line.
No, the line had been crossed a long time ago. I ruffled my hair violently.
Let's think for a moment. If these blotches slowly consume my body, what happens to me? Does it mean I'll die?
Or does it mean it will have some kind of ill effect on me? Honestly, there's almost no chance of me dying.
The people protecting me are world-class leaders with immense martial power.
In other words, these blotches were more likely to mean an influence close to death.
'My parents? Or my brother and Nicole? Mari? Or...'
I didn't know. But I was getting angrier.
They could at least tell me this much. They could warn those who try to harm me.
They could issue an oracle saying the Great Depression isn't my responsibility. They could say that while it's fine to believe in my writing, the responsibility for following it lies with the people themselves.
They're gods. Transcendent beings who can treat even Emperors and Popes as 'nothings.'
I truly didn't know. I didn't have the slightest clue what the gods wanted.
I irritably rubbed the blotches scattered across my body and immediately focused on writing. Next was Volume 13...
Grab—
The moment I tried to write Volume 13, it wasn't just a touch anymore; hands were being pressed against me like stamps.
As a result, the back of my hand was completely covered in red blotches. I stared at the marks in dismay.
Then, with a hollow face, I looked up. The white people who had been going their own way until just a moment ago...
Now, there were more red parts than white. The number of people resenting me had increased significantly.
"...Fuck."
What do you want from me?
"What exactly do you want?"
You could have just said it with words.
"What do you expect from me?"
You could have told me in a kind, educational tone like before.
"When did I ever say I would change the world to suit my tastes?"
If that's really what this is about.
"You said you can see the future. It shouldn't matter if that future changes because of my work."
Emperor Albert of the Empire. Friedrich, the Prince Consort of the Kingdom of Tayros. Queen Arwen of Albenheim. Geist of Machina, and so on.
"Why am I the only one who has to take responsibility?"
Why aren't they undergoing this penance?
Is it because they also formed a connection with me?
Because their destinies could change entirely because of a single word from me?
Because I am Xenon, the one hailed by the world as a prophet?
Slam!
I slammed my fist down on the desk. Perhaps because of the unprecedented anger and sense of injustice, I put too much strength into it.
Crack!
The desk that Cecile had personally prepared for me split cleanly in half. The typewriter, as well as the neatly organized manuscripts, were tossed into a mess.
Regardless of whether the desk was broken or not, I kicked back my chair and stood up.
Then, I chose one of the people who had been watching me indifferently and slowly approached them.
"I know what this red color means. The people who suffered because of the books I wrote. And the negative emotions those people have toward me. And what's on my body..."
I choked back my words for a moment. I was so angry that my throat was starting to tighten.
Had I ever felt this wronged, this angry, in my life?
Yes. Just once. There was one time.
"It means my family will suffer, doesn't it? So that I can feel that resentment too."
When my parents in my previous life died in an accident. Back then, I was insanely resentful and furious.
What did I do wrong? What did I do that gave you the right to take my parents away?
Why do the ones called gods break a person so easily? Does God even exist?
"Do you really have to do this? Do you want me to break mentally? What the hell is the point of this!!"
Tears flowed because I was so angry and felt so wronged. I think I have a rough idea of what Mora and the other gods are trying to tell me.
The more I write, the more the resentment toward me grows, and that resentment can harm the people I love.
For someone like me, who had lost loved ones in an instant, it was an experience I never wanted to go through again.
If that were to happen, I would have stopped writing or cut off my own wrists. The only reason I've been able to endure until now was because of my family.
"You could have just said it! To make me realize my recklessness and responsibility? What does that have to do with this! At least tell me in advance!"
The affection I had steadily built for the gods seemed to crumble all at once.
I think I understand what the warning Grandfather Clark gave me meant.
But...
"I know better than anyone that I'm not a hero! I'm just a writer who borrows memories from a past life to write books! A writer! I have the power to move the world? To hell with that! Even if I have that power, what could I possibly do before you?! I am nothing more than a mere mortal!!"
I am a mortal. A being that is nothing in the face of a Transcendent Being.
The gods of this world were not reckless like the Greco-Roman gods; they truly loved mortals.
But the moment they are insulted, they retaliate without mercy. There have been countless people struck by divine punishment.
"What exactly do you want? Are you afraid of my power? If so, you should have done this since the Xenon Biography! Or do you just want Blood and Iron to stop? Then you should have told me not to write it from the start! It's neither here nor there, yet you blindly demand I take responsibility? If that's the case, you should have issued an oracle that the Great Depression was coming!"
It was a mass of contradictions. Nothing was properly explained.
The gods who read the future. I can glimpse that future in advance in exchange for divine power.
It would have been enough to just show me those scenes, but this is too cruel. It's cruel, but more than that, it's irritating and unfair.
"So... so please..."
I sobbed, wiping away the tears that kept pouring out.
The fear that my peaceful daily life could be torn to shreds.
The terror that I could lose the people I love in an instant, just like in my previous life.
The futility of not being able to do what I love normally.
All sorts of emotions swirled within me and would not easily settle. It felt as if all the accumulated stress had exploded at once.
"Tell me what responsibility is appropriate for me. If you tell me not to write even now, I won't. Just say something."
I wanted a clear answer. I wanted them to give me advice like before.
I wanted them to trust me, not subject me to this forced penance. I didn't hate the gods; in fact, I liked them.
I have no intention of ever rebelling against them. I just want to live in harmony with the people I love for the rest of my life.
I have no desire to rule the world. Even if the world moves because of me, I don't have the slightest plan to control it.
Ordinariness. That was enough for me.
It didn't matter if demon worshippers threatened me occasionally. I had reliable guards by my side.
But for a god to pressure me like this... it was too terrifying.
Though I had matured mentally through various events since my reincarnation, my inner vessel was no different from my previous life.
"I don't know what you're worried about, but... I..."
"I'm sorry."
While I was pouring out my grievances and wiping away my non-stop tears, I heard a voice right in front of me.
A woman's beautiful voice that I had heard somewhere before. At this, I struggled to open my swollen eyes and looked ahead.
A woman was looking at me with a face full of apology.
The people who had filled the surroundings had vanished without a trace, and the space was once again the white space I had first seen.
"...Lady Mora?"
I blankly muttered as I looked at the woman in front of me. The woman nodded slightly.
Jet-black hair reminiscent of Cecile's. Silver light shimmered throughout it, like the Milky Way in the night sky.
Her eyes were the same. Silver stars twinkled in her black eyes as if they held the cosmos.
Aside from that, she was a woman with a beauty so striking she could be a double for Cecile. If there was a difference, it was perhaps her slightly drooping eyes.
"I never intended to deceive you. I just wanted to prevent the worst-case scenario. I'm truly sorry."
Mora apologized again with an expression full of guilt. I was able to quickly come to my senses at that apology.
Regardless of the apology, it was true that my mind had been pushed to its limit. Even so, I couldn't understand.
Why did they try to pin all the responsibility on me? Instead of awareness and responsibility, only fear had increased.
"...Can you give me a reason I can accept?"
"...No."
"Then why?"
Her readily admitting it was even stranger. I asked as if demanding an explanation.
It felt like I was dealing with a person, not a god. I even wondered if this was possible.
At my question, Mora glanced at me tentatively, then took a deep breath and spoke with difficulty.
"...Because I was afraid."
"...What?"
"Because I was afraid that something might go wrong with you. You are one who receives our love and trust. The stronger the resentment toward you becomes, the stronger the resentment toward us becomes as well."
Was that all it was? I felt as if one of the unresolved questions had been answered.
But the questions still remained. I spoke with a hollow voice.
"If that's the case, you could have just told me sooner. If you can see the future..."
"I can't."
"...Pardon?"
Mora shook her head, immediately denying it. Her jet-black hair, which seemed to hold the Milky Way, moved gracefully.
Then, she gazed intently at my bewildered face and revealed a shocking truth.
"We cannot see your future."