The Dullest Blade of Justice
The power to shatter fate must surely resemble a sword crashing down with unrelenting force. Justice is a blade. If it doesn't pierce straight through, it can't be called justice. Without obstruction, it's merely morality; if confined to the heart, it's just conscience. Justice is the edge that wounds another. Thus, one who resolves to uphold justice must first decide what they will wield. They need a merciless justice worthy of being imposed on all—crushing dissenting voices beneath sheer power if necessary.
But that blade's first stroke must always turn inward. Endless leniency toward oneself disqualifies it as justice. The foremost enemy of justice is always the self.
[Do not abuse yourself.]
This precept is the inaugural blade aimed solely at the self—dull, so profoundly blunt it wounds nothing at all. Yet precisely for that reason, it fulfills its purpose to perfection. Like a blacksmith thrusting iron into the flames and hammering it relentlessly. Zara's first precept was forged in the blazing hearth of Justice and Seasons.
Crimson flames seeped into Zara's soul. Unlike the painless rituals before, this time a searing agony scorched her, as if her very essence were charring in the fire.
"I am a shameful person. Yesterday's me was even more shameful than today's."
She bears the hatred of the entire world. She hates the entire world in return. Thus, she hates herself—and must hate herself twice over, matching the world's loathing manifold.
The furnace roared. The God of Justice and Seasons hammered Zara's heated soul. The infused blaze coalesced, birthing a new authority within her essence.
What she needed was the strength to never lose herself. Zara became the bluntest sword imaginable. It would wound no one—
but on the harshest journeys, it would serve as a steadfast staff to lean upon.
Zara continued stacking her precepts, establishing standards to pierce justice through and embracing self-righteousness. She declared that in this world, only she herself was right.
[Do not kill.]
Yet Zara's self-righteousness lacked sharpness. It wasn't vicious enough to slay others, nor cruel enough to sever necks. If anything, it was absurdly lenient. An easy precept to keep, granting her only modest power in return.
Truth be told, Zara didn't desperately need a hero's might. The power to enforce justice through killing? She was born with plenty of that already.
[Do not persecute the weak.]
What Zara truly required wasn't harsh precepts yielding overwhelming force. What she yearned for was precepts to dull the horrifically sharp sword she'd clutched since birth.
[Do not wield power intending to harm others.]
And so Zara's precepts lacked order. Vows to oneself are rarely tidy, after all.
[Do not suppress others' opinions with force.]
Zara relentlessly blunted the sword lurking within her depths. And with her final precept sworn, she completed the burnt offering and stepped from the hearth.
The shrine maiden and Dandelion awaited her.
"Well done. Your soul must be weary—rest deeply in the temple's sleeping chambers."
"Yes!"
"...And in my opinion, you don't suit being a hero."
"Pardon?"
"The god called you hero material... but a hero who doesn't swing a sword? That's meaningless. Justice is a blade. Justice that doesn't pierce through holds no meaning."
The shrine maiden gazed skyward briefly, as if peering beyond the ceiling. Then she frowned.
A shrine maiden of justice isn't exactly a servant of the gods, after all. Even divine will, if unjust, can't be affirmed.
Zara had used most of her precepts solely to bind herself. Hardly heroic.
But Zara beamed innocently at the shrine maiden.
"Swords are for the weak to swing!"
"Pardon?"
"With enough power, you can enforce your will without needing a sword, right? Hehe."
"......"
Only then did the shrine maiden realize something off about the authority emanating from Zara.
Self-binding justice is inherently frailer than justice that condemns others. Justice grows sharper with dogmatism, heavier with cruelty. Justice is a blade. To pierce one's justice through, one needs overwhelming power to trample others' justice unilaterally.
But to trample oneself? No such monstrous strength is required.
"......"
Yet from Zara emanated... a ferocious authority as if poised to slaughter the entire world. Like the God of Justice and Seasons descending in person.
"What is this power...?"
The shrine maiden didn't know—but Zara was the scapegoat burdened with the world's every misfortune. Bearing universal hatred, harboring universal resentment. Her innate malevolence, her grudge against the world—none could compare.
"Ehehe."
"......"
And she had sworn: I shall not wield my own malevolence.
Blunting a sword sharp enough to slay the world? The price of such a vow must naturally be power to rival the world itself.
"Well then, Dandelion Auntie, I'll head back to the city now!"
"...Won't you call me 'sister' at the end?"
"Ugh, my gut suddenly aches like it's been sliced by a blade..."
"You've grown so brazen in the meantime..."
"Hehe."
"It's unfolding just as you planned, Your Grace. The precepts match your predictions too."
"I'm wary of Zara's malevolence myself."
Zara had denied her malevolence her whole life... but now she affirms even that.
She no longer clings to simplistic good-over-evil. At least, she's degenerated enough to hurl curses at those tormenting her. Still cute, for now. But corruption is a slope without brakes.
"It wouldn't be bad if Zara rampaged to destroy the world... but what if she accidentally hits the doomsday button? We need a safety measure."
Zara must ceaselessly battle the world. That's how the world stays safe.
But her power is too violent. The Heavenly Murder Star, the Demon King's bloodline—all tied directly to her malevolence.
If she keeps embracing it bit by bit, she'll inevitably fall to corruption.
So swap it out. Pledge that power as collateral for something better.
"Better to preempt her demon king awakening by making her a hero first."
In truth, Zara's vows were a declaration of war against her own fate. Her malevolence was innate as the scapegoat.
The foe blocking her justice? The world that torments her. The fate that dooms her to misery.
And the god of justice grants power to pierce through injustice, to affirm oneself against it. Power to conquer fate—abstract, yes, but gods themselves are abstractions.
"Justice lacks flexibility... but it's far more merciful than Zara's fated path. And the strongest by far."
"Didn't you say gods are useless?"
"Gods are useless, but their authorities aren't."
"How brazen."
"I donated heaps to the Pantheon."
"On second thought, you could stand to be more brazen."
Canaria shuddered, lamenting the gold sent to the Pantheon. What to call it—her blatant gold worship was oddly endearing. Stirred memories of my capitalist past life.
"So, this blocks Zara's doomsday?"
"Who knows?"
"Pardon?"
"I don't fully grasp how the God of Justice's authority works. This is just a minimal safety net."
The core issue remains. The moment Zara loves the world—cries Oh moment, stay! Thou art so fair!—her malevolence floods free.
That's why I made her embrace it. Told her it's fine to resent the world, to fight it.
But "it's fine to resent" doesn't mean "you must resent."
"Zara must resent the world endlessly. This isn't about power—it's about motive."
"......"
Ultimately, Zara's ceaseless misfortune is the world's desperate thrashing to survive. I loathe this guppy of a world... but we share the wish against its end. Birds of a feather, same boat.
We've boarded together.
Thus.
"In the end, this world is designed for the Player to torment Zara."
"......"