Who Is the Savior? (2)

It is common sense in this world that even a stray dog becomes emboldened in front of its own house.

Even so, I was momentarily speechless when I saw Leo and Ben dragging a young white man in like a piece of loot.

“No, you guys. I told you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to just listen to what he had to say and chase him off, not beat him to a pulp and drag him here! What are you going to do if he reports this to the sheriff?”

Of course, I didn't raise my voice too much, knowing that Leo—if not Ben—wouldn't have done something like this without a reason.

As expected, Leo threw the limp man down in front of me with a voice full of confidence.

“We’re the ones who should be reporting to the sheriff, sir. This guy isn't a Southerner. Nine times out of ten, he’s a Northern plant who came here to harm you or our plantation.”

“What?”

“We have evidence, too.”

Ben searched everything hidden in the man’s pockets and carriage, placing it all on my desk.

One Derringer pistol.

A note that read: Isaac Smith / Light of the World.

Up to this point, I wasn't sure what to make of it, but the next piece of evidence was decisive.

A notebook describing my name and simple appearance, along with a rough sketch marking the plantation’s access roads and the positions of the slaves standing guard.

Hearing that he had even fallen for Leo’s leading questions, it was definitely an open-and-shut case.

Good grief... I don't know if he’s an assassin or a spy, but either way, people from the North are already coming down here to target me?

Have I already reached that level?

A dry laugh escaped me, but a slight chill ran down my spine.

Perhaps it’s because I still have the sensibilities of a 21st-century person that I’ve been underestimating the initiative of these 19th-century gentlemen.

Let’s never forget that.

This is a place where, if things go south, congressmen will duel and shoot each other.

“Anyway, you two did very well. You’ve truly performed a great service.”

“Not at all. We only did what had to be done.”

“Leo is right. It is only natural to exterminate the pests that try to harm you, sir.”

It’s a joyous thing to have such high loyalty, but merit is merit, and rewards are rewards.

Since rewards and punishments must be clearer than anything else, I naturally have to give appropriate compensation to the warriors who achieved such a feat.

I was pondering what I could do that would have a positive impact on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the entire plantation—giving something extra during a company dinner felt a bit lacking—when...

“Ugh...”

The man who had been lying on the floor groaned and slowly pulled himself up.

Ben gripped his club again, but I raised a hand to stop him and told him to bring some cool water instead.

Then, I pulled up a chair and sat in front of the man.

“You understand your current situation, right? I’m asking just in case: since you’ve been caught like this, are you willing to give up on everything and tell me your real name and who sent you?”

Seeing that he came all the way from the North to this distant Mississippi to do something about me, it’s highly likely he’s a true believer filled with conviction to his very bones.

As expected, the man glared at me with eyes full of contempt and spat blood-mixed saliva onto the floor.

Leo proposed a strategy as if to make sure the man heard it.

“Sir, he doesn't look like the type to open his mouth even if we torture him. He must have accomplices. How about we use him as bait to draw out the rest of the bugs, catch them all at once, and hand them over to the authorities? It would be a great help to your reputation, sir.”

At those words, the man’s eyes trembled with agitation for the first time.

It seems his affection for his comrades is quite touching; perhaps his basic character isn't entirely rotten, regardless of his ideology.

“You foolish, pitiful people! You’ve succumbed to fear to the bone and become dogs for your master! We came to save you from the clutches of that devil, and instead of cooperating, you point your swords at us? You’ve been brainwashed! Wake up!”

“...Salvation?”

At the man’s cry, Leo and Ben looked at each other with dumbfounded expressions.

Then, they burst into laughter, as if they had just heard the most absurd joke in the world.

“Pfft! Salvation? You? Us?”

“M-Master. I apologize. May I laugh a little? Hahaha!”

“What. What is so funny? Damn it, to think we’ve been fighting and bleeding to save people like this...!”

Oh my, what a great crusader we have here.

That is the average white male in the United States right now... no, actually, that might be in the top 1% of character.

Regardless, the man believes slavery is wrong and is acting on his own to punish the slaveholders who commit evil deeds.

I heard he called them the n-word, but honestly, if you came to liberate slaves and got backstabbed and dragged away by those very slaves, could you really keep your cool?

Perhaps because he understood that shitty reality, all emotion vanished from Leo’s laughing face in an instant.

There was no sense of disgust or anger in his voice when he spoke.

“Let me ask you one thing. Did any of us ever ask you to save us?”

“That is... yes, I admit it. Calling you by a slur was a slip of the tongue born of agitation. But... you have already made subservience a part of your life...”

“You aren't trying to save us. You are just an invader who came to destroy this paradise we built with our blood and sweat. That is why you are lying there right now.”

“Paradise? You call this paradise? Don't be fooled! You have been brainwashed by fear! Wake up now and punish that devil with your own hands! And return to the North to enjoy the life of a proud free man! You black people also have the right to enjoy freed...”

WHAM!

“Gah!”

Before the man could even finish his sentence, Ben kicked him mercilessly in the stomach.

Leo grabbed the man by the collar, him gasping and spitting up saliva in pain, and hauled him up.

“Look at the way you talk right now. You claim to be trying to save black people, yet you take it for granted that we are stupider than you. Isn't that why you fell so easily for my pathetic leading question?”

“W-what? That’s impossible. I just thought you hadn't received an education...”

“If the person who asked you that had been white, would you still have been fooled so easily?”

“Of course...”

The man started to retort, but then shut his mouth.

He muttered something to himself, and his face turned beet red.

“I... damn it, my father always told me that black and white people were no different intellectually... ha... I knew it in my head, but...”

I get it now. The reason this man was caught so easily by Leo.

The thought that a black person who hadn't even received a proper education wouldn't be able to play psychological games with him must have been subconsciously rooted in his mind.

Or perhaps, even though he knew rationally that there was no difference between black and white people, the situation was so urgent that his era’s stereotypes just popped out.

Perhaps because he had fully realized the contradiction that existed within him—one he hadn't yet been able to shake off—the man’s face was stained with shame and humiliation.

But conversely, the very fact that he could feel such shame meant that this man was a rare person of conscience in this country.

If his father had also taught him that black and white people were intellectually equal, he must be in the top 0.01% of character, hard to find in this day and age.

Since Leo and Ben had already poured out everything I wanted to say, I intervened in the conversation, pretending to hold the two of them back.

“Now, now, our guest seems to have received quite a shock, so let’s end the argument here.”

I had thought about handing this man over to the authorities immediately, but on second thought, that wasn't a very good plan.

Even if I used him as bait to round up his accomplices, there was no guarantee that would be the end of it.

What if people came shooting at my carriage, claiming they were avenging their comrade?

“It’s a bit awkward to keep calling you ‘you,’ but tell me, are you still not willing to tell me your name?”

“......”

“Then how about a bet with me? The duration is exactly three days. If you accept these terms and your mind hasn't changed after three days, I’ll just let you go. But if you find yourself wanting to hear what I have to say, reveal your real name and let’s seriously pit our convictions against each other.”

“...Pit our convictions against each other?”

“Naturally, we’ll compare whose methods are more correct.”

“Ha... Hahaha! A slaveholder, debating with us who want to liberate the slaves about whose methods are correct!”

The guy looked genuinely dumbfounded, but I couldn't help but point out one important fact.

“The problem is, you were beaten to a pulp and dragged here by those very slaves. And even at this very moment, not a single one of them is on your side.”

“That’s...”

“Do you want to engage in mental gymnastics and say it’s because they’ve been brainwashed? Or are you unable to take the bet because you’re afraid your own heart might waver? If that’s the case, I’ll make a special...”

“Don't make me laugh! I was just worried you wouldn't keep your promise. Do you think I would degenerate into a corrupt slaveholder like you!”

“Good, good. If that’s the case, we can make the bet without any problems. I’ll make every slave on this plantation a witness. Surely you don't think I would lie publicly in front of hundreds of slaves?”

With this kind of person, you have to break their hostility toward you, not their life.

Only then will they return to their organization or their comrades and declare that James Sett should be left alone.

“No matter how much sweet talk you use, I will not waver!”

And exactly three days later.

I got him to confess that his name was Owen Brown and that he was the son of the famous John Brown.

Yeah, you degenerated pretty easily, didn't you?

You son of a... at least you keep your promises well.

*

When the son who had gone out saying he would just test the opponent suddenly went missing, even the great John Brown’s mental state was severely shaken.

Owen was a comrade who supported the abolitionist movement most zealously among the many children John had fathered.

“...Sir, you still need to evacuate for now. If Owen was caught, there’s a possibility your identity or this location has been exposed.”

“No. My son would rather die than sell out his father. That’s why I’m even more worried. Damn it... I should have gone instead.”

“Even so, sir, Owen would likely just be indicted and put on trial if he were handed over to the authorities. He wouldn't be released immediately since there’s an arrest warrant, but if you were caught, sir, it could be a real disaster, couldn't it?”

If he had been caught by the authorities, that would be true, but the opponent is that devil, James Sett.

Would that guy really keep someone who targeted him alive?

It’s obvious that even if he killed him and buried him somewhere on the plantation, Mississippi would just pretend not to know.

They’d probably even be happy that John Brown’s child went missing while acting out of his depth.

“Damn it... how on earth did he find out? If I only knew the details...”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Mr. Isaac Smith? A letter has arrived.”

“...Yes?”

“I’ll leave it outside the door, so open it yourself.”

I wondered if it was a trap, but the person who brought the letter really did wedge it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into the door and then walked downstairs with a heavy thudding sound.

After confirming through the window that the man who brought the letter had truly disappeared into the distance, John Brown opened the door violently, gripping the gun in his coat so he could pull it out at any moment.

THUD!

“...What the. It really is a letter?”

“Could it be from Owen?”

If so, maybe Owen wasn't caught but had just fled in a hurry due to an unforeseen accident.

Clinging to a sliver of hope, John Brown tore open the letter in a rush, his eyes trembling, before he let out a roar of disappointment, confusion, and fury.

“This... this devil! How dare he touch my son!”

“Sir... i-is it from James Sett?”

John Brown took a deep breath to suppress his emotions and silently held out the letter to the side.

Kid quickly took the paper and read the contents.

The rest of the letter mostly consisted of content saying that although Owen was a bit hurt, there was nothing to worry about, and that he was eating well, so up to this point, there wasn't much of a problem.

But right after that.

Kid’s jaw dropped at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠proposal he hadn't even imagined, and he looked back and forth between the letter and John.

Owen confessed everything?

No, but he knows their identity and location, yet he’s sending a letter like this instead of armed militia or a sheriff?

He couldn't figure out how things were going, but fortunately or unfortunately, the answer to that was also written in the letter.

“I’ll trust that sending this letter proves I have no ill intent. If I did, you would have already been captured by armed forces and dragged before me. That is not what I want. I just want to let you know that you, who are acting as a savior for black people, are running wild in the wrong way. I don't want to criticize you as a hypocrite. I heard from your son that you have very healthy and excellent ideals.”

“But if the method is wrong, those ideals cannot bloom into any flowers. Even so, if you are afraid that the convictions you have believed in until now will be shattered, you may just leave. I promise I will not report you to the authorities or send a pursuit party. I will also release your son Owen safely. However, it is doubtful whether your son will respect you as he did before if you run away without responding to this showdown.”

At the very bottom, he had even kindly drawn a map to the Sett plantation, just in case he didn't want to run away after all.

“S-sir... you aren't... going to go, are you?”

“...If I don't go, what then? Do you mean for me to run away?”

“N-no... it’s a trap... it’s obviously a trap.”

“If he were going to set a trap, he would have sent armed forces here from the beginning, just like he said. If he had just surrounded this boarding house and shot at us from outside the door, I would already be a dead man.”

...That’s true, too.

In fact, if he really wanted to catch them, there would be no need to go around in such a complicated way.

“And I have to hear for myself what on earth he said to Owen to lure him. It means he trusted the guy’s words enough to be sure that even if he spilled our location, I would be safe.”

“But it’s too dangerous.”

“Dangerous? If I had thought about such things, would I have charged directly at the slave hunters with a sword in my hand? If I were afraid of being caught, would I have come down to this South with only the two of you? Besides...”

John Brown snatched the letter from Kid’s hand and crumpled it up.

“A slaveholder, of all people, has sent me a challenge like this. If I run away from here, I will never be able to hold my head high and be active again.”

“But... surely the other side is doing this because they have something to rely on, aren't they?”

“No, I will win regardless.”

Haven't there been those who tried to bend him with their tongues, not guns or swords, until now?

John Brown is standing here right now because he broke through all those arguments.

Even if this whole thing is a trap and a path leading to death, he will not avoid it.

He was a man who had lived his whole life that way, and he was a man who would live that way in the future.

“James Sett, I will peel off that devil’s mask myself.”

A declaration of victory before even starting.

John Brown felt his fighting spirit boiling over like never before.