If I Could Leave (5)
Collective responsibility—punishing someone solely because of their connection to another. The institution that birthed the punishment of extinguishing a great traitor's three generations of kin.
I found it barbaric and cruel, yet I could not claim I failed to understand it.
Especially for high treason like rebellion. Was it not done as a warning, a political statement, a procedure to forestall vengeance by wiping out three generations?
Moreover, the eras that enforced such systems had nothing like modern human rights or sensibilities. So while I did not approve, I had been half-accepting the institution itself as... understandable enough. Until now.
"...This is a bit startling."
"Ah, forgive me. I apologize for barging in so suddenly. The matter was urgent. The execution—will you truly not watch?"
Fine, accepting the extinction of three generations as unavoidable world-building was one thing. But why the hell was he inviting me to watch?
Did I look like the type who enjoyed that sort of thing? Granted, given my concept's temperament I was supposed to not so much as blink if someone died, and for the most part that was correct, but still...!
"Such... executions by collective responsibility are rare in the outer lands. Personally, I find the deaths of the innocent distasteful. Both I and my companion here."
"Is that so. A pity."
Once I knew he was a domestic abuser, his face went beyond merely unpleasant—just looking at him made my skin crawl. He flashed a thin smile.
I nearly snapped "Why the fuck are you grinning? Makes me want to smash that grin right off," but I barely held it in. My concept did not speak in such vulgar ways. No cool points in that.
"Had you come, the children might have been spared."
But this bastard was going there?
"...What exactly do you mean by that?"
Atart shrugged at Archmage's question.
"Nothing in particular. I merely intended a small bit of theater. Extinguishing a traitor's three generations is Bigabol law, yet many young children are among those slated for today's execution. Killing them all seemed a shame. So I thought, if you came, I could claim I disliked leaving such a cruel impression on our guests and quietly pull the children aside."
The words flowed like polished silver. In the end it was still a threat: "If you do not come, the children die."
"But since you refuse..."
For the record, this was not mere prejudice because I had heard he was a domestic abuser. Of course that played some part, yet something else weighed heavier on my judgment.
"It cannot be helped."
Of course. If he truly pitied the children and wanted to save them, would the bastard be smiling right now? He would have begged us on his knees, earnest and desperate.
"Then enjoy your meal."
Yet I still could not grasp why he was playing it this way. Had he wanted to confirm that children were my weakness? To exploit that?
But for that, the smirking face was far too...
I really want to kill him.
Fucking disgusting.
Worse than the sly intent to use me was the arrogance in that smile—as if using me were only natural, as if he were certain I stood below him.
"...Chief. I understand the urgency, yet simply dropping the matter and leaving is rather disconcerting."
Archmage bought me time. I let my thoughts race through the rising fury.
Anger, if anything, made cold calculation easier. The desire to thrash this bastard and then thoroughly humiliate him sharpened my mind to a razor edge.
Which brought me circling back to the fact that he was a domestic abuser.
More precisely, to the psychology of the abuser.
"Ah, have you changed your mind?"
One root of domestic violence is when violence is chosen as a means to seize power or feel superior. Inferiority expressed through brutality.
That explained why this bastard so abruptly took the children hostage and strutted with such confidence.
A man who beats his own family to feel superior would hardly hesitate to threaten me with children as leverage. And a man who had long measured his own standing through such means would of course feel superior from this very threat.
From the moment he threatened someone he could never match in power, he must have decided he was the better man.
"I am not saying I will join immediately, yet there may still be room to discuss a little further..."
The truly infuriating part was that real children's lives hung in the balance, so I could not simply ignore him.
Can't I just kill him?
I looked down at the teacup I had been holding awkwardly, having not quite decided to pick up my spoon.
"If you do not come yourselves, it will have no effect at all."
"Chief."
"Regrettable as it is, what can one do? I did make every effort—"
If this bastard believed he held the upper hand, then I would drag him back down.
Only then could any conversation begin.
"So you thought me a joke."
Crunch.
For showmanship, I crushed the teacup bare-handed. Being wood rather than glass, the sensation was different.
It splintered along the grain.
Archmage and Atart both snapped their mouths shut at once.
"...How could I ever? I merely—"
Look at him, still trying to talk, clinging to his chief's dignity.
I finished pulverizing the cup, then brushed the powder and shards from my palm. Of course, having shattered it without wrapping it in mana, my hand was scored with cuts.
Even through the gloves, fragments had punched through and gouged the flesh until blood welled.
Blood mixed with water and dripped.
Show him the price.
Did it hurt?
Not particularly.
Thorough terror...
What truly hurt, what really ached...
【Waaaaaah!!!】
Why?
Every time I heard a child cry, my heart hammered somewhere near that sound.
Why does the sorrow for something dying rise before the anger at something crawling up?
I hate the sound of a child crying more than anything else in the world. No trauma, no particular past incident—I just hate it.
From toddlers to adolescents on the cusp of adulthood, I simply want them all to be happy.
"Did you think that if you spoke that way I would leap up and take my place at once?"
Purely because I am the adult. Because I have lived more years than those kids. Because that is the right thing to do.
"You thought a thing like you could use me?"
I simply wish for children's happiness.
"Know your place."
And yet this motherfucking piece of shit dares take kids hostage? Fucking hell itself, should I just rip your balls off, shove them down your throat, and turn you into ground meat for real? That what you want?
"The only reason any of you still draw breath is that you first made an offer I found useful."
I rose slowly and walked toward Atart. Our heights were similar; no need to look down. Our gazes met dead level.
"And because I simply did not feel like dirtying my blade with blood for no good reason."
I murmured it.
Men who crush the weak so they can stand above others will, when they finally face something they can never defeat, usually bow their heads. That was the threat I had just delivered.
"......"
I had half-expected it, and the answer was exactly right. I looked down at the bastard who, for all his matching height, was already flinching and sliding his eyes away.
If I had my way I would shove his face into a morality textbook while chanting "Now, repeat after me—human rights!" But the lack of any such textbook was a tragedy for the ages.
My eyes pinned him with relentless intensity.
"Best you remember this well. From this moment, a child's life will hold the exact same value as your own."
Damn it. It already pissed me off that I had to leave a known domestic abuser alone simply because I had no opening to intervene. And now he dared threaten me with kids?
You son of a bitch. Whether the others rage that you broke custom or not, that is your problem now. You yourself just handed me the crack to step into when I had none.
If so much as a single fingertip on those children is harmed, you die with them. Understood?
"Get out."
I delivered the order to leave without the slightest concealment of my disgust, loathing, and contempt. Only then did Atart's face flush dark with humiliation, yet he did not dare retort.
Classic strong-to-the-weak, weak-to-the-strong.
"I-I'll be going, then."
The door closed, and quiet returned.
"Well done."
Archmage had somehow drawn near and gave a few soft claps. Each time her palms met, white light bloomed and began orbiting until it brushed the walls.
"Truly well done."
She followed the path of the orbiting light and began writing something with mana. A spell, most likely. Of what sort I could not tell.
"Even if it is custom, what crime have children committed that they must die? Thanks to you, at least the children will live."
I strained my ears toward the outside. I could not understand the words, yet I felt the children's crying grow distant. A little more focus, and I sensed a whole cluster of young presences being moved somewhere.
A different direction from where the adults' presence gathered—so the odds were high they had been pulled from the execution. Somehow, I had saved them.
"The problem is that the chief will not let this pass quietly... I wonder what will become of the surviving children's lot."
Well, as Archmage said, this was not the end. They had survived, yet their parents were all marked for death. And these were, originally, the children of high traitors who should have died with them.
Being orphaned already made life hard enough; add the label of a criminal's child and...
"Leaving those children in the village will be a burden even for the chief. Yet whether sending them to another tribe is even possible..."
Ha. Helping others without a proper plan is never wise either. Ah, what now? I cannot exactly take a pack of kids with me.
"We shall have to ponder that carefully in time. It is not the sort of problem that yields an answer on the spot."
Anyone out there willing to take in a large group of children?
Atart strode forward, face flushed with barely contained rage. Those waiting outside watched his expression and cautiously fell in behind him.
【Was there some problem...】
Yet the unguarded look lasted only a moment. He forced his feelings down and restored his usual expression. In this position one had to smile outwardly even while cursing inwardly.
【Our guests—especially the Black Snake Warrior—said they did not wish the children to die. Haha. As I thought earlier, he is a man who truly cherishes children.】
At that single remark the faces around him changed. They marveled at the magnanimity of a guest who, for all his terrifying power, was so generous and merciful toward the young.
【Having received such grace, there is no need to leave them with the impression of a cruel tribe. Spare all children under ten... no, under twelve.】
【Understood.】
【Chief... when you say under twelve, do you mean only from one to twelve years of age...?】
【Is there a problem?】
【There is one child who turned thirteen just the day before yesterday.】
【...Then include that one as well.】
【Yes.】
To Atart it was nothing but an irritation. He had hoped to make use of the situation, yet instead he was left with the seeds of future unrest inside the tribe.
Worse, because the threat had been framed around the vague word "children," he could not simply spare only those too young to know better. Twelve- and thirteen-year-olds were better than fourteen- or fifteen-year-olds, yet still old enough to nurse vengeance.
【Spare them, but do not release them into the village at once. Keep them isolated and observe their condition before freeing them.】
【Yes.】
【You lot—select every child from one to twelve years old and move them back to the original prison. Include Akata, who turned thirteen the day before yesterday. This is an order of mercy.】
Wearing a mask of calm, he took his place at the execution. Before the eyes of the entire tribe the rebels were dragged and flung near the block while a portion of the children were led away.
【What do you mean to do with my child!】
【Akata!】
【Mother, Father!!】
The newly thirteen-year-old was Taposhaka's daughter, Akata, was she? He should not have spared her.
Atart glanced at the child who, for thirteen, was large and evenly muscled. The eyes burning hot made it plain she would never forget this day.
A seed of betrayal. Killing her would have been correct.
But the order to spare had already been given. And this was not a place where words could be taken back.
【I'll kill you, I'll kill you all! You and the outsider you dragged here!!】
Then, like thunder, the frantic scream reached Atart's ears.
【Yes. And conveniently, the place I gave those two is...】
【Pardon?】
【Nothing.】
A truly excellent plan had just occurred to him—one that could both deliver a warning to the outsider who had not only refused his offer but dared reverse-threaten him, and also snuff out that yellow shoot.
A cold smile curved Atart's lips.