The Fate of Murder
"Are you trying to prevent this girl's misfortune, Your Grace?"
"No. I told you, she's not the type you can save that way."
"Then... how do you plan to avert the world's doom?"
"I'll make her acknowledge her own misfortune. It'll be pretty pathetic for her... but it's necessary anyway."
If Zara became too happy, the world would end.
The moment she wished this instant could last forever and uttered, "Stay a while! Thou art so beautiful! (Verweile doch! Du bist so schön!)"—game over.
But Zara was genuinely unfortunate from the start. She was just denying it for now... Facing her reality head-on should be enough to save the world.
"...But didn't you say this girl was born with a talent for murder? If she admits her own unhappiness... she might try to destroy the world herself."
"Then that's perfect."
"Pardon?"
"I'll awaken Zara's 'talent for murder.' She's just unlucky. As long as she wants the world's destruction, she can never actually destroy it."
Awakening the Heavenly Murder Star and having her kill a few people? Fine.
Even declaring herself the Demon King and the world's enemy? Not bad.
Zara was unstable right now. By her innate 'fate,' she should hate this world... but for some reason, she was absurdly lenient toward it.
"...Is that what you call rehabilitation?"
"Depending on your perspective."
The current Zara was clearly sick. She neither raged, grieved, nor suffered. She couldn't express her emotions properly. You could call it a case of 'good girl syndrome.'
Whether treating that was truly 'kind' to her was debatable, but it was necessary for this world.
"......"
"Canaria."
"Yes."
"We can save the world. You know that, right?"
Canaria's face twisted. Her tightly pressed lips trembled. Unease flickered in her eyes—a posture that questioned if this was truly right.
Probably wrestling with the dilemma: Is a world that can only be saved by sacrificing an innocent girl even worth saving? Like the 'sekai' trope dilemma, tagged that way.
"Canaria."
"Yes."
"If you don't want to, you don't have to."
"Pardon?"
Normally, I'd toss her a gold coin to fire her up. But moral dilemmas don't need gold.
I showed Canaria an illusion. In the empty air, footage of me and Priscilla replayed.
The conversation from rehabilitating the Suicide Witch Priscilla.
"So, what do you think, Canaria?"
"......"
"Can you still be proud about saving the world?"
The Suicide Witch Priscilla was an undeniable sinner. She'd sacrificed countless lives for her own immortality.
But Zara was different. She was just too kind. We had to deny that kindness.
Canaria's mind tangled in complexity. I could read thoughts, but not everyone thinks clearly all the time. Sometimes even they don't know their own mind. They blurt things without thinking.
Canaria's head was like that now—a snarl of emotions where she couldn't tell what she affirmed or denied.
And Canaria was one of the boldest, wisest people I knew.
Instead of unraveling the tangle, she cut it.
"What a dog like me needs isn't character—it's loyalty."
"......"
"Whatever you choose, Your Grace, I'll go with you. I'm your loyal dog, after all."
Ha. She got me there.
Zara heard voices every night. From birth, the flame hidden in her core whispered like this.
- Kill them, and it'll be easier.
- Hate.
- Why won't they pay what they promised?
- It's not my fault. I'm not bad. That's not me.
Each time, Zara imagined something a bit scary. A knife in her hand—like the one-handed sword, about 30 inches, the mercenary who'd tormented her carried.
She swung it. No need to grip hard. A light swing, and a sharp, cold blue wind sliced the mercenary's throat from the blade's tip.
Then the sky cackled, and monsters from sewers, forests, rivers surged out to kill with her. The city became a bloodbath. A hero came to slay her, but died pointlessly.
She killed everyone who'd tormented her; people feared her and stopped. And then—
Blood tears from Zara's eyes. She turned the bloodied sword on her own heart—
- "Wake up! Zara-dummy!"
"Uhehe."
A shout-like blare jolted her awake. Zara wiped drool from her mouth, smiled at the hallucination.
Feels like a good morning.
"Heh heh. Had a scary dream."
- "Dreams are just dreams. Only Fucking Idiots fear dreams. What's important is you're wasting a precious morning right now. Get up. A miraculous day awaits."
- Who's this dumb musclehead? Kill him.
- No, it's a hallucination. I'm weak and stupid, that's why.
- Just die. You're not worth living.
Voices overlapped. Familiar morning. A weird musclehead mixed in, but same as always.
"Today's the day to clean Gordon's chimney! Gotta hurry. He'll get mad if I'm late."
Zara grabbed her chimney tools and headed to Gordon's. This was the only work she got—chimney cleaning, sewer scrubbing. Dirty, dangerous jobs others shunned were her true calling.
"Hello! Uncle Gordon! Here for the chimney cleaning!"
"Tch. Why so late? Get to it."
"Yes!"
Zara needed no ladder or rope. She hopped onto the roof, tools in hand, into the chimney.
Up and down the dark, narrow flue, scraping soot and ash from walls. Half with her clothes and body, half with the brush.
"Kek! Cough!"
In the acrid ash cloud, smoke and heat rose from below—a signal to finish.
She climbed out, knocked. The grumpy man tossed a few coins.
"What took so long? Take this and scram."
"Yes!"
Far less than promised, but he paid—Gordon was kind.
"Lucky today... Got four coins!"
- "You Fucking Idiot!"
As Zara smiled, thinking it lucky, the muscle hallucination bellowed.
- "Zara-dummy, how much were you supposed to get?"
"Um... Twenty coins."
- "Then demand twenty from that Fucking Asshole bald bastard. Your labor's worth that. Only you can clean that narrow chimney perfectly."
"But... others don't pay even one sometimes?"
- "Zara-dummy. Get properly angry at unfair treatment. Don't cheapen yourself."
Something in Zara's heart shook. Voices whispered through the crack.
- Damn bald bastard. Just kill him. Kill and take the money.
- You're worthless. Four coins? Even one is too much for you.
- You're cheap.
- Should've fallen from the chimney and died.
The Heavenly Murder Star. Her innate fate of murder. Evil impulses caressed her heart.
But Zara shook her head. And smiled brightly.
"By skimping on me, Uncle has more coins for his family, right? I have no one to spend on... so it's better if he uses them!"
- "You Fucking Asshole, Zara-dummy. It's not about the money. It's that you worked hard. You have the right... no, the duty to be mad. Pound the door. Demand all your pay. You Idiot."
"But—"
As Zara started to reply, the door flew open. Bald Gordon stormed out, spotted her, clicked his tongue.
"Why's the beggar kid still hanging around?"
"Ah, was just leaving!"
"Tch! Take this and beat it."
Grimacing, he flung sixteen coins to the ground.
Zara stared blankly, then scooped them up, bowed deeply.
"Thank you!"
"Scram!"
"Yes! Heh heh."
Zara strolled grinning. First time for such a haul.
"Lucky today."
- "Not luck. Your standing firm made the change, Zara-dummy. If you'd Pussied out satisfied with four, no way.
"Heh heh, thanks to Gigachad then?"
- "Zara-dummy, you did it yourself."
Zara's day was busy. Somehow lucky. All pay stolen, shack burned, leg broken—but good things too.
She lay on her burned shack's ruins, staring at the night sky. Gloomy clouds. Sudden downpour.
Drenched in the torrent, Zara shivered.
"...Body was filthy from cleaning, good thing it rained. See? I'm lucky."
- "Zara-dummy. Stop the obvious lies."
"Huh?"
- "You're fooling yourself. You Liar. You don't think you're lucky at all. You were happy with proper pay. Now you're shivering like a wet goldfish. Why lie?"
"...Ehehehe."
Zara smiled brightly. Her clear eyes fixed on Gigachad.
"See? Lucky today after all."