Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: City of Original Sin (2)
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'Damn, that scared me.'
I had to press my hand against my wildly beating heart to forcibly calm my startled nerves.
It was because of what the young man named Joseph, collapsed right in front of me, had just done.
I'd saved him on a whim, thinking maybe I should at least hear his story first. But the moment he woke up... he slashed his own throat. His sudden, unexpected action caught me so off guard that I reflexively used my ability.
'I saved him, at least...'
Before long, the young man let out a faint groan and opened his eyes again.
"Ugh......"
He stared blankly into space for a moment, then touched the back of his neck.
But his fingertips met only smooth, unscarred skin that had healed perfectly.
A look of utter incomprehension at how he was still alive and breathing.
"What in the......"
Joseph's eyes filled with bewildered confusion as he faced this unreal miracle.
Finally, his gaze turned to me. His distant, unfocused eyes looked at me as if in a dream, and in a trembling voice, he asked,
"...An angel? Are you... a god?"
Before I could even respond, he spoke again, dropping to his knees in desperate plea.
"If that's true... please, can you forgive me for the things I've done?"
His voice carried a deep, earnest longing.
A guilt so profound that he hadn't hesitated to end his own life. The memories of harming innocent people must have tormented him that much. If I hadn't used my ability right then, he would have died without a doubt.
His desperate eyes flickered with a yearning for atonement.
But unfortunately, I wasn't the being he hoped for.
"First off, I'm neither an angel nor a god. I'm just a person, like you."
His expression twisted into even greater confusion at my answer. Ignoring it, I continued.
"And I don't have the authority to forgive you, either."
It was the obvious response.
I wasn't some judge sent down to condemn him, and even if I were a true divine being, it would be the same.
Back in the old world, I'd heard stories like that.
About heinous murderers who, late in prison life, converted to religion and calmly claimed they'd been forgiven by God, inflicting even deeper wounds on the victims' families.
I thought that was clearly wrong.
Sins committed against people must be atoned for to those people.
Not by judges, priests, or gods up in the heavens—only the victims themselves can absolve those wrongs.
"But......"
The young man still looked utterly lost.
If the one who saved his life wasn't divine salvation, and he wasn't forgiven for anything, then why—how—was he still alive? His voice carried that exact bewilderment as he asked,
"Then why... did you save me?"
"......Well."
I paused for a moment.
At first, it had just been Esty's suggestion to hire another bodyguard, and I'd agreed lightly.
I knew what 'Cybernetic Rage' was—a mental illness that could turn even the kindest person into a raving murderer in an instant. It didn't erase all responsibility, but I didn't want to brand someone a villain for something beyond their control.
So I'd thought to chat with him a bit. But when he came to, he was in a far more extreme state than I'd imagined.
Seeing him judge himself with death made the weight of his regrets painfully clear.
'...Maybe he's a victim in another sense, too.'
I had no right to judge his sins, sure.
But seeing him suffer like that... couldn't I at least feel some pity?
Couldn't I listen to what happened for a little while and offer some small comfort?
So, in a gentle voice, I asked him,
"So, first... could you tell me your story?"
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ It was a story neither particularly long nor short, and now it was over.
And now, Joseph stood alone in the churchyard.
The weather was foul. The sky hung low as if rain would pour any moment, and in that humid, stifling air, Joseph silently began to dig. Without even wiping the sweat, tears, and dirt from his face.
Afterward, he carefully carried the corpses that had littered the chapel outside, one by one. Some had already begun to decay slightly, but he didn't grimace once, wiping away all the blood and filth with a cloth soaked in water from a bucket.
As if handling living people, with utmost respect. He wrapped the cleaned bodies neatly in white cloth he'd prepared in advance.
Each time he tended to a body, he dug into the earth again.
"........."
Esty and I watched quietly from a distance.
I'd only listened to his rambling tale in silence.
But sometimes, just truly listening is enough for a person to find their own path.
After pouring out his story, Joseph no longer tried to harm himself under the weight of despairing guilt.
Instead, in a trembling voice, he said he'd do what he could first to atone. That was the start of this long, grueling labor: gathering with his own hands those he'd sacrificed.
We'd offered to help at first, but he firmly shook his head.
His eyes were unwavering—this was a responsibility he alone had to bear.
After that, we didn't interfere anymore. We simply watched him complete every step in silence.
Thud-, thud-
Only the sound of the shovel breaking hard soil pierced the silence.
Joseph dug deep holes, gently laid in the cloth-wrapped corpses, and covered them with earth. He even made small mounds and marked them with makeshift stones atop. Every action carried clumsy but sincere atonement.
One, two, three... Joseph kept moving without rest.
Time became hard to gauge.
But without a single break, like a machine, he dug, cleaned, and buried.
The final count of those interred was exactly 153.
People who had once been someone's family, who had gathered here clutching even false hopes.
Now, cold corpses awaiting eternal rest in the earth.
When he finally patted down the soil on the last mound by hand, cold raindrops began to fall from the heavily clouded sky.
Filthy with the marks of labor, Joseph slowly surveyed the many graves he'd made with empty eyes.
I approached quietly and spoke to him as I watched.
"What will you do now?"
Joseph didn't answer for a long while. The rain grew heavier, soaking him through.
At last, he spoke. His voice was weary, but strangely, the previous despair was gone. In its place was something heavy yet firm.
"I'll liquidate all the remaining church assets... and find the victims' families to return it."
He looked up at me through the rain on his face.
"I'll go to each one personally... confess what I did, and beg forgiveness."
His eyes held no tremor.
"I don't dare expect forgiveness. I'll get pelted with stones and pointed fingers. But... that's my responsibility."
He gazed down at his bloodstained hands. Evidence of his unwashed sins. He stared at them quietly, then slowly knelt before me again. Rain and mud soaked his worn pants at the knees, but he seemed not to care.
"Thank you. I'll repay this grace."
His low but clear voice. He bowed deeply to me.
Thanks for what? For saving his life on the brink of death? Or for showing him, amid unbearable guilt, the path to face and atone?
I didn't ask.
Whatever it meant, from now on, it was a weight for him to bear and walk alone.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ In the end, we never brought up the original purpose: the bodyguard contract.
The atmosphere wasn't right. He'd faced the horrors he'd wrought, been crushed by guilt to the point of suicide.
Before protecting others, he needed to sort out his own heart first. Who would entrust him with a job now?
'Even if I suggest it later, right now would be too much.'
Still, he'd promised to repay me. Opportunities wouldn't end here.
Thinking that, I glanced at Esty, who was walking beside me.
"......"
She was the one who'd first suggested hiring Joseph as a bodyguard.
But had she really not foreseen this outcome? Truly?
The thought crossed my mind. Maybe her suggestion wasn't really about hiring muscle, but to naturally lead me to take interest in Joseph and help him.
So I probed casually.
"You knew it would turn out like this, didn't you? Was bringing him up from the start for his sake?"
Esty didn't deny it.
"I'm sorry for the trouble."
"No, it's fine. This much is nothing."
Even if she'd maneuvered me into it, it didn't feel bad.
Considering all she did for me usually, I could gladly handle a non-request like this.
It was just pure curiosity.
"This is new. First time seeing Esty care about someone else."
Her response was uncharacteristically sentimental.
"...It reminded me of my old self."
Her golden eyes gazed into the distance, veiled emotions scattering beyond.
"I wanted to give him a chance. Like I got."
Short words heavy with implication—a faint clue to her past.
She'd said she'd lost many memories.
But some pasts seemed impossible to forget, no matter how you tried.
'What the hell has she been through...'
Did she recall her own past from that horrific scene of screams?
Maybe she'd committed sins beyond her control, too.
Refuse and face execution. Obey and be drenched in innocent blood. Perhaps she'd endured that countless times.
If so, whose sin was it?
The superiors who issued cruel orders?
Or her, for not mustering the courage to refuse despite knowing it was wrong?
'Then what about Joseph's sin?'
Cybernetic Rage was a side effect of excessive cybernetic modification.
So was the blame on the cult leader who deceived him into turning his body nearly mechanical?
Yet why was Joseph the one tormented by guilt?
Because he'd willingly accepted the mods to save his sister?
If he truly was a sinner... was I one too, for letting him live?
Could all this be free acts stemming from prior causes—actio libera in causa?
In a world where lines between sin and innocence, perpetrator and victim blurred.
Everything felt ambiguous. Pondering left only a bitter taste, no answers.
Joseph had done his utmost to protect his sister, his everything. Yet that best effort ended in horrific slaughter. Hard to say if he bore responsibility or not.
Maybe this world made you sin just by struggling to survive.
A place where sin began from the moment you were born.
The City of Original Sin.
"......."
If my being thrust into this world truly was someone's design.
What did that entity want through me?
Why was I brought here?
Still, I knew nothing.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Days later, Joseph's atonement began with seeking out the families of those he'd sacrificed.
He liquidated all the One Heart Society's remaining assets. Money scraped from exploiting believers by the leader and executives—it belonged back with its rightful owners, he thought. He divided it equally and, list in hand, visited each family.
He'd steeled himself. Rejection at the door was a given; grabs at the collar or stoning possible. He might even die at an enraged family's hands. He was prepared for all blame and resentment.
But reality differed sharply from his expectations.
"...Dead, you say? Hah... Damn world."
The middle-aged man who answered the door looked shocked briefly at his daughter's death, then clicked his tongue indifferently. Even when Joseph confessed in a trembling voice that he was the massacre's perpetrator here to atone, the man's reaction was lukewarm.
"Hmph... So what? What do you want?"
His eyes shifted subtly at the money envelope Joseph offered. He took it reluctantly and waved him off irritably.
"That damn cult already sucked my family dry years ago—money, ties, all cut. Now you say she's dead? Whatever... I'll take the cash. Go peddle elsewhere."
It wasn't just that house.
Families shedding no tears at the news; parents relieved with "Good riddance to the headache"; siblings counting the envelope and grumbling "That's it?"
Surprisingly few raged or vented resentment at him.
Most victims had cut ties with those around them as they sank deep into the cult.
Borrowing from family and friends to offer to the leader, facing finger-pointing and scorn for their blind faith. Even families had long washed their hands of them.
So when Joseph returned the donations, they seemed inwardly pleased at the windfall more than saddened.
"Aigoo, that fool gave us headaches too... Better this way. At least you didn't come empty-handed."
Joseph confessed every sin to every family, but scarcely anyone reproached him or demanded accountability.
This might be the city's denizens' true face: cold indifference to anyone not directly tied to them, blood be damned. Caring about every stranger's misfortune wouldn't let you survive long in this merciless place.
Joseph swallowed the bitterness, realizing the city's essence anew.
But others' attitudes aside, he still had to atone. The results of his hands' deeds wouldn't vanish.
After the families, Joseph visited the small businesses the One Heart Society ran. Mostly fronts for funding, but some workers there earned livelihoods unrelated to the doctrine—mere employees.
With the leader and executives gone, they faced dire straits. They needed protection. Joseph couldn't abandon them. He declared he'd guard this sector. Like fighting gangs on the cult's orders before, but different now. No deifying the dead leader or protecting "brothers in faith" pretenses.
Just minimal responsibility for what he'd ruined, one form of atonement.
At one such business he'd oversee, a longtime elderly manager asked Joseph cautiously,
"Um... with the leader gone now... who do we believe in?"
Belief. What Joseph himself had once craved. He pondered briefly.
Images flashed: blood-soaked chapel, his suicidal despair.
And the miraculous encounter at that abyss's edge.
Even now, she seemed less human, more angel. The warm, dazzling light she'd shown—inexplicable. Pulling him from death's door, opening a path through guilt. It felt like...
"...Radiance."
The word slipped from Joseph's lips unbidden.
The manager asked, bewildered.
"Radiance... you mean?"