Chapter 30
Chapter 30
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: Survivors (2)
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They say it’s better to live, even if it means rolling in a field of dung. But I wonder, could anyone really say that after seeing this?
I’m not so sure.
It wasn't just that he had been dragged to the bottom.
A red circle, drawn one meter around the tent, as if to declare a severe punishment for anyone who approached. Piles of trash and filth encircled it like a wall.
[A traitor to the Empire. Settled here by the boundless grace of His Majesty the Emperor.]
A mocking sign.
“Fuck… really. This can’t be right.”
“Stop bothering my papa!”
Just as I was being consumed by an unbearable emotion, sinking deep into it.
A sharp, yet childish voice came from behind me.
“I said, stop bothering my papa!”
A tiny, blonde girl who didn't even reach my knees.
She was so emaciated that her wrists were nothing but bone, but seeing her raise her short arms to punch me with her fists made my eyes well up.
Did this little girl’s actions not speak volumes of the scorn and hardship she had endured, enough to understand this cruel reality?
Is this Haveron’s child?
This child… Before I died, Haveron’s wife was pregnant.
Yes. That’s right. He said they had already picked a name for the baby.
Anya.
“Anya!”
Someone rushed out of the small tent, shouting.
“Papa—!”
His hands fumbled, his body unsteady.
He had changed so much from over a decade ago, but it was undoubtedly Haveron.
Ah, Haveron…
A bushy beard, so overgrown he was nearly unrecognizable. An emaciated frame.
And long scars across both his eyes.
His once-blue eyes were now a murky gray. They didn't seem to focus properly.
Haveron stumbled toward the sound of Anya’s voice and collapsed to his knees.
What kind of malice must one harbor to reduce a man to this? That the once-proud Haveron would drop to his knees so easily, as if begging for his life.
He had committed no sin. No, if there was a sin, it was being too close to me.
“I don’t know who you are, but we haven’t done anything. We’ll continue to live as quietly as mice. I apologize for my daughter’s rudeness, so please… have mercy…”
“Waaaaah— Papa—!”
A wave of emotion surged up, choking me, and the words wouldn't come out.
“Have…”
My voice suddenly cracked. How fucking embarrassing.
“…”
“Aren’t you from the Imperial Palace?”
I took a gold coin from my inventory. Pulling out a lot of gold here would obviously make them a target, leading to their death or only worsening their situation.
And with the Empire’s surveillance, I couldn't just take them somewhere else right now.
I didn’t have the power yet. No foundation. This was the best I could do.
I clenched my fist so hard my nails dug into my palm, but it did little to quell my anger.
The sudden commotion must have drawn attention; I could feel eyes on me from the surroundings. Along with a sticky, viscous aura.
Vile bastards. To think they’re still watching.
“Just wait a little longer. Just a little. A little bit more.”
I put the gold coin back in my pocket and turned to leave the area. For now, just confirming they were alive was enough.
Even if I wasn't in the guise of Prometheus, what right did I have to appear before Haveron?
If I couldn't change his circumstances immediately, I would only be giving him false hope.
A gold coin was an item of a value Haveron couldn't handle right now.
This was a place where those who coveted it could stick a knife in his back at any moment.
Now is not the time. Not yet. I must come back when it’s quieter, more secretly, when the night is deep.
That is the right thing to do, for Haveron's sake.
My steps felt incredibly heavy as I walked away.
***
I stopped by an inn, changed back into Kratos’s face, bought some bread from the market, and purchased a potion imbued with holy power from the temple. The potion was for Haveron, for my visit tonight.
He couldn't see, and it looked like he wasn't eating properly either.
“Anyone here? I’m Kratos from the White Mercenary Corps.”
“Oh, so you’re ‘that’ Kratos. I’ve heard the rumors. You handled the Ashar Desert job splendidly.”
“Haha. Well, I was lucky in a few ways.”
“And with no casualties, too. The talk of the town is that you’re the luckiest man in the mercenary corps.”
I decided to spend the afternoon at the White Mercenary Corps’ liaison office. Since I was in the capital, I needed to show my face and file a report.
The current liaison, Alje, had apparently been at this office for quite a while. If so, I figured he might know something about the rumors or the situation in District 13.
“By the way, do you happen to know anything about District 13?”
“Hmm. District 13, you say.”
“Rumors, anything. To be honest, I was surprised to see such a large slum in the capital. The atmosphere didn’t seem very good either.”
“Well, the mood there has been particularly bad lately.”
“Yes. Normally, you’d think there’d be some relief efforts. I don’t know, it feels like the gap between the rich and poor is just too severe.”
At Kratos’s question, Alje stroked his beard and recalled District 13.
There were more than enough rumors. The atmosphere was as grim as it could be. Should he call it a completely different world, separated by a thin veil?
“There’s always been talk about District 13. Originally, that slum was centered around the stream you see now. But the state stepped in and forcibly relocated everyone beyond it. The uproar back then was unbelievable.”
Having worked at the capital’s liaison office for over ten years, Alje remembered the beginnings of District 13.
“They call it a slum, but it didn’t exactly start as one.”
“So the slum isn’t actually a slum?”
“Well, not entirely. It’s closer to a concentration camp, really. The name District 13 was only given less than three years ago. Before that, it was just called the camp or the slum.”
A concentration camp, he says. What was this about?
“As you know, after the rebellion came the Night of the Purge. Countless people died. The traitors had their assets confiscated and were sold off to remote regions or mines across the continent. Those who remained were forcibly moved to the slum.”
Alje took a drink of water, recalling the night of the purge. Just thinking about that day still sent a chill down his spine.
“There’s no way out. You either live there forever or kill yourself. That’s why it’s literally a prison without walls.”
That madman of an Emperor had created the slum as a giant concentration camp and an example of what happens to those who oppose his power.
Right before everyone’s eyes. And among them, Haveron, who was close to me, was an example of an example.
“That’s why District 13 has become a place no one cares about. People are afraid they’ll end up there too if they get involved. But the rumors have been getting pretty grim lately.”
“Rumors?”
“There have been a lot of disappearances recently. For the rumors to be so widespread that they’ve reached this side of the river, the number of people vanishing must be quite high. It seems children, in particular, are disappearing a lot.”
Disappearances. Right, I knew there was something. In a slum like this, no one would care if people vanished or died.
I remembered the expressions of the residents when I visited District 13 this morning. Was that why they were so on guard?
Especially the way they were hiding the children, it seemed entirely possible.
If that was the reason, it made sense for them to be so wary of outsiders.
“But some people think it’s a good thing. You know? They might know why the Empire leaves that slum as it is, but at the same time, many wish it would just disappear. For various reasons.”
In the span of ten years, people had grown accustomed to District 13.
To the nobles living in the capital, it was likely seen as nothing more than a nuisance. A blight on the city’s ‘beautification.’
“Anyway, it’s best to stay out of it. Nothing good comes from getting involved with District 13. There are rumors, but they say those Grammaton bastards are sometimes spotted there.”
That sticky aura I felt in District 13 earlier. Was that them?
Grammaton in the slum. If rumors like that were circulating, their actual movements must be far more frequent.
Tonight, while visiting Haveron, it seemed I would have to investigate.
***
In a basement where not a single ray of sunlight penetrated, only sporadically placed magic lamps flickered, illuminating the surroundings.
Odilo, the established leader of the lawless in District 13, trembled as he bowed his head before the Grammaton executive who had come to see him.
Trembling despite having done no wrong was a conditioned response etched into his body. He could never forget the terror of when he first became involved with them.
“The materials?”
“As of last week, we’ve met the target you specified. However, acquiring materials is becoming increasingly difficult. The Holy Kingdom bastards are the biggest problem. They keep coming in and out under the pretense of charity…”
Odilo’s voice grew quieter as he made his excuses. As he spoke, the Grammaton executive’s magi began to erupt violently from his body.
The executive took a deep breath, calming his magi. This man, Odilo, was still useful. Grammaton couldn't handle such trivial tasks themselves.
These people were, for all intents and purposes, willing slaves.
He glanced down at Odilo as if looking at trash discarded on the street, then shook his head.
He had come to this garbage heap in person because new orders had come down from above anyway.
“District 13 is to be shut down. It has nearly served its purpose. We’re running out of useful materials anyway.”
“Shut down, you mean…?”
Over the past three years, they had secured hundreds of materials from District 13. This was more than enough for a sufficient sample size.
Once all the materials were moved, the place was scheduled to be closed to erase all traces.
“Collect the maximum number of materials you can secure today. We are moving to another region.”
The one material they had left untouched until the very end must surely be perfectly ripe by now.
“And make sure to harvest the material I mentioned last time. We’ve spent a whole ten years cultivating it, after all.”
“Yes, I understand. I will see to it personally.”
Just imagining how sweet the fruit of ten years would be was enough to make his tongue dart out.
Of course, the opportunity wouldn't reach a low-level grunt like him, but the mere thought of tasting its remnants sent shivers through his entire body.
“A prototype will be arriving from the research lab. Use it to defend the portal, just in case. That’s how important today’s harvest is.”
At the word ‘prototype,’ Odilo’s eyes gleamed. Though it was only a prototype, as someone who supplied materials to the lab, he had witnessed its insane power time and time again.
“There are three of them. They should be able to handle most problems.”
“A prototype. So, the first step of the grand plan is finally…”
With those words, light erupted from the portal used to send materials to the lab, and the prototype slowly revealed its form.
His heart pounded. A prototype from the research lab.
He had already seen—and was still seeing—the power of the things made there.
“Use it only in case of an emergency. It must not, under any circumstances, get out.”
“Yes, I understand. I will ensure the job is a success. Even if I have to gather every outlaw in the capital.”
This was a job that could not fail.