Emotions (2)

For a second son of some obscure house, there's certainly more to him than there should be.

A man of middling rank would never have attempted something like this. But he was a High Executor. The way his mind worked sat well outside anything an ordinary person would recognize.

No matter what else happened, the first priority never changed: fulfill the Royal Family's orders. Adding anything extra, or leaving anything out, was forbidden unless it served the Royal Family. Which was precisely why Dante seemed all the more unsettled. A mere young lord who knew the methods of the Executioners.

Strange. Truly strange.

"Ghk—ghk!"

"Gaaah!"

Dante crushed the resisting knights until bone gave way with a sickening crunch, then locked his gaze on me. That stare alone carried a crushing pressure. It did nothing for me. I had crossed blades with the Hero, who could slaughter even most Transcendents, and I had fought the Demon King who brought the world to ruin. The pressure of a High Executor who wasn't even a Transcendent was a feather settling on my head.

"What exactly are you? No mage's power. No knight's strength. Not even a whisper of any other mystery. You are nothing but an ordinary human. So how do you endure my pressure?"

As if running an experiment, he pressed down on the knights — and they reacted at once. They were already being crushed by his shadows; the suffocating killing intent on top of that nearly knocked them unconscious. Which only made me look stranger. I hadn't so much as flinched at a killing intent that knights couldn't withstand.

So I answered him.

"I'm nothing."

Powerless. Just an Immortal.

"So do what you came to do, Executor."

His face had gone rigid — if anything, he looked like the one being pressured. He knew I was right, and still didn't want to do it. It sat wrong with him. In the end, he conceded. If he had decided ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to kill the knights and Caron here, I would have thrown out the original plan.

"Fine. I'll do my job."

The shadows smothering the knights scattered. As the shadow's power thinned, the darkness covering Dante's entire body receded, if only a little. Tattoos written across his whole body. All manner of grotesque ornaments. They covered him in the form that marked a shaman. His hair, gone white, spoke of his age.

"Come along, then."

What the Executor revealed was unexpectedly open. The moment he showed his face, he let his voice out unmodulated as well. Not the kind of behavior you'd expect from an Executor, for whom secrecy mattered above all. He gestured, and I felt a tremendous power rising from the floor.

I thought I understood exactly why he had shown himself. He wasn't leaving himself even the luxury of hiding his identity — all so he could bind me completely. It was practically a seal. This, at least, was a shamanic art so powerful I couldn't stop it without calling on black magic.

No, I really am nothing, you know.

A faint sense of injustice welled up, but things had gone as I'd intended, so I supposed I should be grateful. Even then, I saw a knight trying to move — bones shattered, still trying to protect me — so I spoke.

"Knights, stay where you are. A High Executor is beyond you."

They must have thought he was concentrating, that this was his most vulnerable moment, and meant to strike. You'd all die if you tried. If he were the kind of man who'd die to something like that, the me of the past — the one who'd contracted with the Great Demon — would have killed him five times over while dying in the process.

The knights who had already felt the Executor's terror firsthand, at least, didn't try anything reckless. Of course, if I'd so much as asked for help, they would have thrown themselves at him.

And yet. Someone still came toward me.

"Young master."

Her face was deathly pale — probably from having her throat crushed by shadows only moments ago. The Executor was pouring every ounce of his focus into sealing me in shadow, which left us a brief window to speak.

"...Why are you crying?"

Caron's eyes were full of tears. Even if the madness had left my emotions numb, even if I'd grown unable to read other people's feelings — this much was certain. She was grieving for me.

"Just a moment ago, you were suspicious of me, weren't you?"

And what I'd just shown her was more than enough to turn that suspicion into certainty. Because it was nothing like that frail boy. It wasn't the Argal Briten she knew. Caron knew perfectly well that I had no spine, that I couldn't even kill an ant.

And yet her answer caught me off guard.

"No. Young master is still young master. You've just changed, that's all."

"...Why would you think that?"

"If you weren't the young master I know, you wouldn't have tried to save me."

"People save other people sometimes."

Like the Hero would. But Caron's next question drove into me like an awl.

"But the young master you are now isn't like that, is he?"

I had killed everything. My life had not been one of helping others. It had been a life of slaughter, over and over. My heart answered Caron's question with complete honesty. If there was nothing to gain, I would never have saved anyone.

So why had I saved Caron? She was just a maid. If she disappeared, it wouldn't have been a problem. If anything, trying to save her had only gotten in the way of the plan. By any rational measure, there was no reason to save her at all.

And still, I had wanted to save her. This heart of mine — the same heart that had wanted to kill everything — had wanted to save someone.

Why did my head hurt like this?

Something I had forgotten for far too long. Something that had been swallowed up and vanished was beginning to surface again. Something so small. So insignificant.

A single scrap of affection.

Through the confusion, I felt the shadows gradually swallowing me. There wasn't much time left.

"...I'll come back, Caron."

"You have to come back, young master. If you don't, I'll come find you."

"You won't need to."

Those were the last words. The shadows sealed my vision completely.

The floor was cold. Or, more accurately, a familiar one. Half my life had been spent not on a soft bed, but on hard, rough floors.

I pushed my stiff body up and slowly took in the place. Of all the blurred memories, this scene had remained relatively clear. It was familiar to a startling degree. Someone had already changed my clothes. A colorless gown covered my body.

I smoothed down my rumpled hair and reached for the memories of the past. How many years had I spent here? Five? Six? The madness had left me without a single precise memory. I was groping through the things that wouldn't surface, piecing together what I had done here, what had happened, one fragment at a time.

Thud. Thud.

Footsteps approaching this underground cell stopped my thoughts cold. In the dim light, the silhouette I glimpsed was someone I could never forget.

First came rage. The one who had condemned me to a lifetime of immortality — and here I was, meeting him again, having crossed decades through regression. The moment I faced him again, I couldn't help but fill with fury.

Then came elation. Once more. I could kill him again. Even thinking back on it, he had died far too cleanly. He might not suffer the same pain I had, but he ought to come close. I couldn't help but sink into that pleasant little problem.

The black mage Gaudium. The man who had succeeded in his immortality experiments and used me as a slave, a meat shield, and a test subject all at once. An Immortal makes an extremely useful slave. You could treat them however you wanted and they wouldn't die. They could take the heaviest blows in any dangerous battle. And because they wouldn't die, they made excellent experimental material.

I chewed on the hatred. Gaudium, who had dragged me along and experimented again and again on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whether he could achieve immortality without side effects, had eventually been torn apart by my own hands. This time the result would be the same — only it would come much sooner.

"So you're the new test subject?"

He had the gloomy air typical of a black mage, and he rolled his eyes over me as he inspected me. It wasn't the gaze you give a person. It was the look of a man checking the quality of newly arrived meat.

"A well-behaved one this time. How nice."

He seemed pleased that I'd stayed still even in this situation. Chuckling, he opened the cell door. Even face to face, with the door open, I didn't so much as twitch. Gaudium looked satisfied.

There had been plenty of test subjects who stayed still at first, then lunged at a moment like this. The memory surfaced on its own. After receiving the curse of immortality and becoming his slave, I had handled the test subjects myself, in something like an assistant's role. Naturally, the resistance of people who had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fallen from ordinary lives to the status of test subjects had been fierce.

"I'm a man who believes in clear rewards and punishments, you see. Behave, and you'll get a modest reward. Resist, and you'll be punished. Shall I show you a fine example?"

He had me step out of the cell, then showed me the one across the way. Beside it, I saw a girl. She looked as if she'd been tortured. There wasn't a single uninjured place on her.

I had no memory of her. She might have died too early for that. In that condition, it wouldn't have been strange if she died on the spot.

"Get up."

The girl lifted her head. Her condition was a wreck, but there was still fire in her eyes. Whether it was mental strength or sheer stubbornness, I couldn't tell — but the will not to yield was plain. The prisoner's collar around her neck was no ordinary design. I guessed she possessed some special power — a mage's or a priest's — and the collar was there to block it.

"Have you a mind to obey me?"

"Hah. You who have abandoned all humanity — rot in hell."

One thing was certain: this girl was either a noble, or held some position like a priest. No one else could carry themselves like that. A noble, from the pride of never becoming a slave. A priest, because she could not submit to a black mage and abandon her faith.

"Heh heh. If that's your wish."

The black mage began to chant something.

Black magic was a power more directly bound to the soul than any other, and in the single art of plunging someone into horrific agony, it had reached its peak. A minute — no, ten seconds — and it wouldn't be strange for the mind to break. The moment the black magic took hold, the girl began to convulse like someone in an epileptic fit.

...If she could endure that much, she was definitely a priest. Even the proudest noble couldn't withstand torture magic. This was a torture only priests could endure — the fanatics who would rather die and return to their god than abandon their faith. Which might be why I didn't remember her. She would have died like that.

"Did you see that clearly? Behave yourself, and you'll never need to suffer that kind of torture."

I nodded. For now, I needed to play along. Until I got what I needed from him, and killed him. Gaudium assumed my stillness was fear. Grinning, he gestured for me to go back into the cell.

Once I was inside, he vanished soon enough. The only presence left was the girl across the way, unconscious from the torture magic.

And here, I found myself deliberating. Whether to save that cleric or not. The very fact that I was considering saving someone whose name I barely knew felt awkward — but there was something to gain from it.

One way or another, I was going to learn and use black magic. But black magic was a vicious power. Use it even once, and the trace remained forever. I was delaying it as long as I could, but the moment I used it even once, anyone connected to the divine — clerics, the Hero — would recognize me as a black mage.

Which meant I needed a cleric's help. Even one. If holy power covered the Magi, anyone short of the Hero's level would have a hard time detecting it. But to get help from a cleric who fanatically despised black mages, I would at least need to put her in my debt by saving her life.

So I tried speaking to her.

"Hey. You all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right?"

"Uugghh... Fuck. You piece-of-shit black mage bastard. I'm going to burn every last one of you."

"..."

Did I... misread this person?